Anthony Puyo's The Compelled

by Anthony Puyo

  A few awkward, tense seconds go by. Suddenly. Robert begins to laugh out loud. He gazes around at his surrounding men. They gently share in his arrogant laughter from the pressure of his look. He takes a huge swig of his whiskey bottle in their direction. “Do you believe this sack of bones of a man?” His cronies laugh louder.

  Blake sees his chance. I got to make it count. The Captain’s drunk, occupied by his own conceited and pompous ways. But he’s a behemoth of a man, dangerous on any occasion.

  Blake, with all his strength, puts a fist into the Captain’s neck, making the man stumble. Hawks drops the bottle of booze, immediately grabbing for his neck, choking.

  The crowd of soldiers irrupt in fighting chants in favor of Hawks. “Get him, Cap!” “Punish him!” “Kill the bastard!” “Fuck him up!” “Bust him in his face!”

  No one cheered for Blake, but he was too busy to care. He rushes the leaned over Captain, giving him a couple of uppercuts to his head and face. His right hand swells on impact as if he punched a brick wall.

  The much bigger Robert leans forward into Edward, pushing him. It doesn’t take long before both men fall to the ground. The Captain lands on top, close to Edward’s midsection. He begins to crawl up; taking a fist in the face that merely slows him down. Blake gives all he has, knowing he can’t let the big man to get up over him.

  Rico gets to his room. In there lies Jason, asleep on his bed. The chunky man-child has his own bed, but he always seemed to sleep on Rico’s whenever he could.

  Rico kicks Jason’s hanging boot. “Hey, lard ass, get up!”

  Jason lifts his head, eyes tight, a slobber string hanging down to the pillow. He murmurs nonsense.

  “I said get up, fat-boy!”

  Eva turns to Rico. “Don’t talk to him that way.”

  He scoffs in return. “Shut up! I can talk to him anyway I want.”

  Jason sits up, puts his glasses on. His vision kicks in and he sees Eva. He smiles. “Hi, Eva.”

  “Hi, Jason.” She says, gently.

  Rico rolls his eyes at their interaction. “Hurry, fat ass, get out. I gotta girl—something you know nothing about.”

  Rico never loads the insults on so heavy towards Jason, but in front of Eva, he wants to show off. He didn't realize it made him look more like donkey and even more unattractive.

  Jason sighs, gets up and treads towards the door.

  “Wait! Don’t go, Jason,” Eva says, her voice trembling.

  Jason turns. “Rico says I can’t be here.”

  “He can’t stay. Why are you asking him to?” Rico scolds.

  “Because he’s part of the family. Like you were once.”

  “That family shit is over. I brought you here to fuck. So the fat man has to leave.”

  “What are you talking about?!” Eva shakes her head. “I’m not going to do those things with you. You’re out of your mind!”

  Rico puts his hand on her shoulder in which she pulls it away. At this moment, he snaps. He backhands Eva, sending her to the floor in a daze.

  Rico turns to Jason who’s thoroughly shocked. “Get over here. Help me tie her up.”

  Jason doesn’t compute. He sees Rico yelling, but he can’t make out the words. He gazes back over to Eva on the floor; a large red mark, streaks across her face.

  “Fine, I’ll do it myself you pussy.” Rico rips sheet strands before grabbing Eva and hoisting her on the bed. He commences to tie her limbs. She moves little, too groggy to know what’s taking place, or stop him if she did.

  Jason, mouth open, panics and scurries out of the room. He sits across the hall, on the floor, balled up holding his knees. The young man is troubled—shaken. He isn’t the brightest, but he comprehends what Rico is planning to do. For the first time, he misses the old world.

  The old world had treated him cruelly, but what he witnessing right now, is downright ugly. He never had friends before, but if he knew having friends would make him feel this awful, by doing such unthinkable things to each other, then maybe he was better off without them, he thought.

  I miss you, grandma. I miss home. Overtaken by sadness, Jason sobs.

  Sergeant Gary Brimm left before the fight between Blake and Hawks started. He stands outside the hospital, examining the moon in the night sky. A steady stream of smoke drifts from his cigarette, as he thinks. A large star, one he wasn’t accustomed to, blinks brightly near the celestial body. Though unusual, he thought nothing of the beacon.

  He flicks his cigarette bud to the ground. “Another splendid evening?” The guard near the door nods in agreement.

  The Sergeant decides to go for a short walk on the front grass. He comes across a small bush that he feels needs water. So calmly, he relieves himself thereof. A few gunshots ring out beyond the fence, breaking his restful musing.

  “Jumpy, are you?”

  Brimm, startled by the voice behind him, zips up swiftly. “Do you mind, soldier? I was taking a leak.”

  “My bad. Maybe you should have found a wall.”

  “I don’t recognize your voi—” The Sergeant words cut short. To his surprise, it’s the quiet one, the beret’s friend.

  Doc with his shades on, remains less than ten feet away.

  How can he see with those on? Brimm thinks.

  The street lights throw out a faint yellow glow, and the moon offers some of its own light, but with shades on, it was hardly a good idea to be outside. But Doc’s different. He studied as hard at combat and survival, as a lawyer did law. His interest in the Shaolin monks, and movies alike, had him studying the ancient arts from a young-in to adult.

  One of his learnt lessons, received long ago in the rural lands of China, was to feel in the darkness. Become the darkness. In doing so, one could understand his placement in the world, giving him peak awareness in any light; far superior than the one who sees but cannot feel. In this training scenario, vision is the weaker of attributes.

  Doc’s rifle is harnessed on his back, and his military blade is holstered across his chest, at an angle, over his green military jacket.

  At first glance, Brimm’s face lights up like he saw a ghost. “What are doing out here? How did you get passed the guard?”

  The slick, raspy voice responds. “Guard? What Guard?”

  Brimm looks over towards the entrance. The guard is no longer there. Suspicious, he glances back at Doc who has his arms crossed—one under his coat. Gary notices the streaked blood on Doc’s sleeve, the kind that would be made if a person cleaned their knife after a kill.

  The Sergeant’s eyes widen, even the bruised one. He isn’t a fool. He knew why the mysterious man had come. Brimm stares into his dark glasses, stalling while he talks.

  “That’s strange. He was there a minute ago.” He begins to reach slowly for his pistol.

  “Bad idea,” Doc says. A click sound comes from underneath his coat.

  Brimm stops reaching. “What is it that you want?”

  “Blood for a blood.”

  “Excuse me?”

  Doc shows the gun, pointing it at his target. “Take your gun belt off and toss it.” The Sergeant reluctantly does as he’s told. “If you have any other guns—toss them.”

  Brimm replies. “That’s all I got.” He reaches for his holstered knife, assuming he’s going to be told to throw it.

  Doc stops him before he touches the handle. “Keep that, you’re going to need it.”

  Brimm sneers. “Oh? You want to fight . . . But why?”

  “Are all regular army as dumb as you? You know why. You’re a murderer. You killed an officer. Execution at close range. A man like that—Charlie—doesn’t deserve to die that way. If you had honor, you would have challenged him . . . But I’m going to give you a chance to redeem yourself. Die with some dignity.”

  “Is that so?”

  “You took my friend, now I’m going to take the Captain’s. Blood for a blood.”

  Gary folds up his sleeves. The mocking smirk widens. “I take it, you somehow found the
body . . . If it’s any consolation to you, he didn’t beg for his life. Let’s see how you do.”

  Doc grunts from the comment. He tosses the gun, and the two pull their knives. They circle around, keeping their forearms across the front of their faces, serving as a shield while the other hand held death.

  Gary Brimm has killed many. Heartless in his career with the military—the perfect protégé to the fearless Captain Hawks. In his mind, the slick man is nothing but a crack-pot set on revenge. The only thing that frightened him about his adversary, is he didn’t know much about him.

  How different can he be? So what he’s Special Forces. Brimm could have been, if he wanted. That didn’t mean nothing to him—or so he played it down.

  The Sergeant takes the first chance, going in for a straight stab. Doc quickly side steps and locks Brimm’s arm under his. He could have finished him there, with a stab in the kidney, but he didn’t. He head-butted the man, busting his nose and breaking his own shades in the process.

  “That’s a shame,” Doc says, tossing them to the ground.

  Brimm on his knees, trying to recover from the blow, grabs for his nose. A glop of blood lakes in his palm. His eyes burn through Doc. “You mother fucker. I’m going to kill you!”

  Doc walks up with his knife in a slashing motion. Brimm gets to one knee, putting his hand up to shield himself. The sound of bone being cut, is crisp in the thin night air.

  “Ahhhhh!” Brimm yells, dropping his knife to hold his bloodied stumps. Three of fingers are now missing. “You Bastard! You’re going to pay for this!”

  Doc’s isn’t satisfied. There’s plenty more pain to deliver. “Pick up your knife and fight . . . Blood for a blood.”

  Brimm, in disbelief, begins to feel out matched. He realizes he’s being toyed with. He grabs his knife and stands up gingerly with his other hand covered in red. “Come on you son of a bitch!” Just then, a breeze of wind caresses them both.

  Is that you, boss? You watching? Doc thinks.

  The two circle again. The pain is great for Brimm. He tucks his wounded hand under his armpit, trying to slow the blood loss. Wanting it to be over, he desperately lunges at Doc, hoping to drop to the ground with him and gain the advantage.

  Doc slides timely to the right in a circular motion, swinging his right hand over and slicing most of Brimm’s ear off.

  The Sergeant goes down again, falling to his side. The ear whisks through the air, landing a foot away from the tortured man. His lets out howling scream as he witnesses it lying there.

  The blood flows down the side of Brimm’s neck. The pain, the numbness, are all the likes he has never felt before. He’s sure his death will come now—finally. But it didn’t. Once again he hears the voice he has come to loth.

  “It’s not over. Get up.”

  Brimm rolls over on his back, cradled by strands of grass. He stares up into the night sky; noticing the beacon and its blinking rhythm. It appears to have moved from its original position.

  I hope you kill us all.

  Brimm’s nose is bloodied, his fingers and ear departed, along with most of his spirit. If it’s the end, it’s going to end his way.

  “Fuck you, beret. You aren’t nothing but a coward! You and your kind, are not special! You’re all men . . . Like me. All killers . . . All murderers. You condemn me when you are nothing but the same. Your friend was dead long before I ever put a bullet in him. So are you—and I. This world destroyed us years ago. Don’t you see?”

  Could it be true the words Brimm spoke? Perhaps. It wasn’t that far back. Before the incident. Charlie and his men had grand plans to make it rich. Robbing a bank with the help of the Police Chief and some confiscated C-4. Why would they resort to crime if they hadn’t lost who they were? In the end, it didn’t matter. Craig gave Charlie an outlook that was always there. Beneath the world that had taken it from them.

  Doc makes his way over to the wounded soldier, who feebly, holds up his weapon. It’s easily kicked out of his hand. “Alright, get to your knees.”

  Doc helps the now partially disoriented soldier. When death is at your fingertips, seconds can feel like minutes. And for the first time, Gary begins to whimper at the thought of it. The brick wall he formed around himself, has finally crumbled.

  “Please, don’t kill me? I’ll give you whatever you want. I’ll make sure you’ll be in command. Just please, please don’t kill me?”

  Having power, ruling over the many, showered with the finest of things—none of this was of importance to Doc. After placing Brimm, he casually strolls behind him.

  “What are you doing, why are you doing this? Please . . . say something?” Brimm begs. The silence made him more terrified.

  “You tried to dishonor Charlie. Killing him like an animal. But he didn’t allow you to reap what you wanted. You shot him face to face, and he didn’t beg. He didn’t because he was a true soldier. He kept his honor. A murderous pig like you on-the-other-hand . . . You’re the kind who begs. The kind who has none. You deserve to die like an animal.”

  “Wait! No!” Brimm yells till blood spouts out his mouth. He gurgles. The bubbles of red surface on his lips before dripping down his chin.

  It was the end of the Sergeant. The knife entered the back of his neck and bore out the front, before being pulled out. His body heavily falls over. The fright he felt in his last moments, stiffened on his face, as he lies there, eyes open, staring into space where the beacon once was. A blood pool forms around his head.

  If it’s true, what some Christians believe: that the spirit of a man is in the blood, then Brimm’s found its way onto that soil. Seeping into the ground, finding its home amongst the creepy crawlies of the earth . . . And maybe—that’s where it belonged.

  Doc stares at him one last time, whispering over his lips, “Blood for a blood.” At that moment, the breeze which had once passed, came again.

  “Charlie?” Doc looks around. He sees nothing. The hair slightly rises on his arms, as the soft static passes. He doesn’t notice it. Instead, he chooses to believe . . . “Rest in peace, boss.”

  All that is left for Doc, is to fulfill his promise in helping the group. The diversion. And when it is done, he will trail off into the night before sunrise, and never be seen again.

  29

  The Path

  Lying crouched by the closed door, Jason holds his ears tight. The screams penetrate the walls and through his hands. He squeezes harder, digging his nails into his skin, drawing blood. Rico’s room is at the end of the hallway, so no one can hear anything, but Jason does. The images it conjures, drives him crazy. Then the fight between Blake Edward and Captain Hawks breaks out.

  The hooting and hollering, the sound of Eva being ravaged, it’s too much for the young man to handle. It resurfaces hidden, dark memories of his childhood.

  Enough is enough!

  The fort of his subconscious cracks. Jason rises, facing Rico’s door. His eyes bloodshot, chin trembling. His face wrinkles with anger. The chubby man, who had once been a doormat for the socially cool and strong, grabs his makeshift, broken machete. With no more hesitation, he kicks in the door.

  “Get off her!” He furiously yells.

  Eva’s tied down to the bed, naked, face bloodied and bruised. The rapist had hit her more than once, forcing his way in her.

  Rico, underwear off, and in the act on top of Eva, snaps his neck in surprise. “What the hell! What are you doing in here? Get out, you stupid ass!”

  Jason Charges in, angrier than ever. Rico quickly jumps off. Terror radiates from him as he sees the rage. His only reaction is to cover his face.

  “Wait! Ja—Ahhh!”

  First a thump then a whoosh is heard.

  The machete implants in Rico’s chest with force, flinging him four feet against the wall. Impaled, the hopeless-unromantic falls violently to the floor, pulling an IV machine on top of himself. Needless to say, he was killed instantly.

  Jason gazes over at Eva who seen everything. She�
��s afraid. She never figured Jason to have that kind of fury in him. He senses her fear and lightens up his demeanor.

  A little shocked in his own right, he gapes over her naked body. It wasn’t lustful. It just happens to be the first time he’s seen a nude woman. In real life anyway.

  “Jason.” Eva murmurs. Her tone is weak, tender.

  The chubby gamer snaps out of it. He quickly looks away, embarrassed. “I’m sorry.”

  “Help me.”

  “Okay.”

  Jason covers her gently with a sheet while trying not to gawk, then unties her.

  “Thank you, Jason. I knew you weren’t like him.”

  Hurt was in his voice. “I’m sorry I didn’t stop him before.”

  “I know . . . I’ll get dressed, and we’ll leave here.”

  The beast slams into the door of his cage with great fury, destroying the hinges. What would he do now? Now that he is free to roam.

  Even with all his might, Blake Edward can’t keep the Captain from getting on top, thus getting leverage. Robert pounds away. It feels like bricks to Blake who tries his darndest to block.

  A swing gets through, knocking in one of his front teeth. Then another, this one tearing his upper lip, dazing him in the process. It isn’t long before Blake stops blocking. This doesn’t stop the angry Robert Hawks who pummels away.

  Finally, Hawks runs out of breath. The man before him is now a bloody pulp, swollen to point of unrecognition. Robert’s expression, is of a soul waking from a trance. Getting to his feet, he’s congratulated by his men.

  The Captain points at the faintly breathing Staff Sergeant. Still gasping, he utters, “Finish him.”

  On command, his men gladly kick and stomp on Blake. The beating is short lived, as Hawks’ attention gravitates to the security monitors. Bodies aflame on the lobby lawn, followed by an explosion of military vehicles, this sends the Captain in a rage.

  “What the fuck! Everyone outside, we’re under attack!” The men, along with the Captain, grab for their guns and make their way to the elevators in a hurry.