Half-Past Dawn

by Richard Doetsch

  She cut through the potter’s field, staying low, watching her footing over the broken head-and footstones, leaping over fallen trees and bushes heading toward the center of the graveyard. She finally stopped, winded, catching her breath, when all of a sudden, Jacob was there, blood mixed with rain pouring down his face, his gun aimed at her heart. She looked around. There was nowhere to go; she was trapped. She thought of Jack and her children and how she had tumbled into this nightmare before throwing her hands up in surrender.

  “Stupid bitch!” Jacob screamed as he ran toward her.

  And he fell as the earth beneath his feet gave way, sucking him down into the crypt sinkhole that Mia had fallen into earlier.

  Jacob’s hands clawed the muddy ground to no avail. He looked up at Mia, his rage-filled eyes turning to fear knowing that death would soon claim him.

  Two gunshots shattered Jack’s hearing, despite the distance, the rain, and sounds of the night. Fire raced up his spine as he realized that Cristos was playing him and Mia. He had no intention of letting her leave the island.

  Suddenly, an explosion that dwarfed the first two shredded the fabric of the night, and an enormous fireball mushroomed into the sky, turning night into day, lighting the distant ocean, casting enormous shadows. Flaming tendrils spiked high in the air from what was left of the fuel tank and the generator; shooting starlike bits tore through the sky, shrapnel rained down, crashing like tiny meteors. The blast of heat ignited trees, curling leaves, shattering the windows of the mansion. A river of fire raced toward the stone estate.

  Cristos bolted in shock, diving for cover. He reached for his gun, instantly aiming it at Jack.

  With nowhere to run, Jack raced into the mansion.

  He cut through the foyer, its white marble painted red with the glow of flames, only to find three of Cristos’s men charging his way, guns drawn.

  Jack quickly cut through the parlor toward the rear of the house as gunfire erupted around him.

  Frank raced for the rear of the mansion. Seeing Jack run into the house was not on their agenda, nor was hearing the two distant gunshots from where they had left the boat. Hugging the rear of the stone facade, he sought and found an open door. Stepping into the mudroom, he reached behind him and pulled out a second pistol from the small of his back. He knew there were at least three to face, plus Cristos.

  Gunfire exploded around Jack. He was pinned behind the stairs, nowhere to go. He could see the muzzle flashes coming from across the hall and knew it would be only moments before he was shot or they were upon him. His mind focused. He hadn’t come this far only to fail now. Somehow he would escape his position and-

  The gunfire stopped…

  And a gun came to rest against Jack’s head.

  “Can’t kill you, but there’s plenty we can do short of that.” The man stood over him; he aimed his gun at his leg and began to pull the trigger.

  A gunshot exploded, and the man fell dead to the floor beside Jack.

  “You’re supposed to run away from the house, not into it,” Frank said as he crouched next to Jack, handing him a gun.

  The gunfire resumed, chipping away at the stairway around them.

  “I’ve got to get to Mia,” Jack said between breaths.

  “Back door. I got your back.”

  Frank aimed his gun and began firing as Jack raced away.

  The night was awash in fire as Jack headed for the woods. He had no idea where she was but prayed that Mia was being Mia, staying alive for their girls.

  As he raced across the backyard, Jack saw Frank through the window, racing down a hallway, and suddenly stopped, overcome with deja vu.

  Jack was the better shot, always had been, and yet it was Frank who was facing Cristos’s men. Jack knew if he was to find Mia, it was far better if they searched together instead of splitting up. He hoped it wasn’t too late as he turned and ran frantically across the yard back into the house.

  Entering the darkened house, the glow of flame diminishing, Jack was thankful for his heightened sight. He tuned his ears, listening, and the sound of gunfire filled them.

  Jack charged down the hallway and kicked in the door of the library to find Frank pinned behind an overturned table. Two shooters had taken up positions flanking him, relentlessly shooting away. Frank stayed tucked low. Jack could see his thick arms flexed in stress as he gripped his pistol, waiting for an opportunity to fire back. Time seemed to slow to a crawl, Jack took everything in, the flame from the exploding barrels, the smoke drifting skyward in fingerlike wisps, the bullets exploding around the table, splinters shattering, flying around.

  Jack drew his pistol, and with two shots, he took out each shooter, their heads snapping backward in abrupt death. Jack didn’t need to confirm his kills as he raced to Frank’s side.

  “Took you long enough.”

  “Sorry,” Jack said as he crouched down.

  But then Frank rolled toward him, and Jack could see the crimson stain blossoming on his shirt, just above his heart, the blood pulsing out of him.

  “Not again!” Jack cried out.

  “Hey, you knew this was inevitable.”

  “No. It’s not inevitable. I can change this.”

  “No, Jack. Shut up.” Frank’s speech slowed, his eyes falling to half-mast as his life ebbed. “Save Mia. That’s all that matters; that is the only fate you can change.”

  Jack pulled him closer.

  “I’m sorry I never met her.”

  Jack stared at him, confused at his words. “I don’t understand.”

  “You will.” And Frank’s eyes slid closed as a final breath escaped his lips.

  Jack’s heart broke as he laid his hand across his friend’s head.

  His own head throbbed, events of his life merging and falling apart all at once.

  “Jack,” Mia whispered.

  He turned to see Cristos standing in the doorway, his gun jammed into Mia’s neck.

  “Seems you can’t save anyone today, huh?” Cristos said. “Where are my things?”

  “I’m sorry, Jack,” Mia whispered.

  “No. This is my fault. I’m sorry.”

  “My things?” Cristos cut in.

  “Let her go, and I’ll give them to you.”

  “We tried that once already.”

  “Kill her, and it will all burn.”

  “I will say this only one time. No more idle threats.” Cristos’s voice grew calm. “If it burns, I will kill you both and pay a visit to your children. I will kill one of them in front of the other and take the second child to raise her as my own.”

  CHAPTER 44

  SATURDAY, 5:05 A.M.

  Jack walked with Mia at his side; Cristos was ten feet back, his gun trained on Mia. He led them across the long front yard, past the docks, heading north, the grade growing steeper for two hundred yards until they finally arrived at the base of the lighthouse, where the wind whipped the rain into a maelstrom on the high, rocky point. The white structure stood sixty feet tall, its bright light turning in a slow arc, casting its beam out into the world.

  Jack opened the door to find the floor covered in a pool of gasoline, his backpack hanging from a nail in the circular stairs. Jack grabbed the bag and reluctantly stepped outside, passing it to Cristos. Keeping his gun trained on them, Cristos knelt on the muddy ground, oblivious to the rain that fell around them.

  He dug through the bag, pulling out the passport and tossing it away. He found the dagger and looked at it under the wash of the lighthouse beam, its jewels sparking so many memories, but he tossed it, too. He found his prayer book and dumped it aside, finally pulled out the second book that belonged to his father. A smile of triumph creased his face as he turned back the red leather cover. He began thumbing through it, allowing the rain to fall on the pages to reveal his father’s hidden writing. He kept turning, lost in thought, as he absorbed his father’s words. Finally, he came to a section near the end, and his smile was washed away.

  He flipped the pa
ges ahead, back…

  “There are pages missing.”

  “I know.”

  “Where are the pages?

  “They were already torn out.”

  “Bullshit!”

  “How would I even know what pages to tear out?”

  Cristos pondered his response.

  “What is on those pages that is so important to you?”

  “The names of the people,” Cristos said slowly, “who kill me.”

  Jack looked at him as if he was crazy. “So you can kill them first?”

  The rays of the lighthouse swept over them.

  Cristos’s mind was working. He looked around him as if some answer could be found out at sea.

  He finally dug back into the bag, drawing out his father’s money, some papers, the drawings of Jack and Mia, and finally, the wooden prayer necklace. He examined it, rolling it around in his hands. He finally turned to Jack. “Where is the necklace?”

  Jack stared at him, confused. He pointed at the prayer necklace as if it was obvious.

  “These are prayer beads.” Cristos looked back in the bag, but it was empty.

  “Where is my father’s necklace?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Blue stones on a silver chain.”

  Jack stared back, trying to hide his shock.

  “Don’t tell me that it wasn’t here, that you don’t know where it is.”

  And Jack realized… He avoided eye contact with Mia, fearing that he would reveal the location of the blue necklace that hung around her neck.

  Cristos grabbed Mia, pulling her close, laying the gun against her temple. “Remember what I said before you had me executed? Hold tight to your family.”

  Jack’s eye filled with rage.

  “Where is that blue stone necklace?”

  The moment hung in the air as Cristos dug the gun into Mia’s head.

  “Ten seconds, and I’m going to start with her.” He scraped the gun through Mia’s dark, wet hair. “Know this. Your daughters are sleeping just across the water. Why do you think I chose this place?”

  Cristos wrapped his left arm around Mia’s neck, holding her tight in a headlock. He turned the gun on Jack.

  And as the revolving light of the lighthouse passed over them, a shard of blue light hit the jewels of the necklace in the gap above Mia’s sweater. Cristos saw it, spun her around, and tore open her sweater.

  And there it was, hanging from her neck against her skin, the blue stone necklace that belonged to his father, the one that was spoken of in rumor, in mystery, said to keep him alive. It was passed down through the years to the leaders of their small country and would have passed to Cristos if his heart was true, if his father so deemed.

  But Cristos didn’t need his father’s blessing now to take possession of it, to avail himself of its power.

  Cristos smiled. What he sought had been under his nose for hours.

  But in all of his distraction and focus on the necklace, Cristos never saw Jack lunge for his gun.

  Jack grabbed it, wrenching it away, launching it toward the cliff’s edge.

  Mia tore herself away from Cristos, backhanding him in the cheek with amazing strength before scurrying away for the gun. And Jack attacked with all of his strength, but the powerful man fought back, possessing the training that Jack could never match, blocking his blows, anticipating his moves. He spun a kick to the side of Jack’s head, sending him sprawling backward to the ground.

  But Cristos didn’t continue at Jack-he dove at Mia and the gun she was picking up near the cliff’s edge. He punched her hard, sending her dazed into the mud. He grabbed the gun, spinning back, bringing it to bear on Jack.

  And as Jack scrambled up along the muddy ground, Cristos saw a flash of Jack’s left arm and became momentarily distracted by the Cotis lettering on his tattoo.

  “Where did you get that?” Cristos demanded.

  Jack stared at Cristos, seeing a look on his face that he thought impossible. It was fear, a look he had seen on Mia when she had asked Jack to hide the case.

  “Do you understand what that is?” Cristos said. “It’s a prayer for the dead.”

  “I don’t want to hear any of your-”

  “You died, Jack, and someone saved you. Who was it? What did he look like? Was it my father? Is he alive?”

  Jack covered his arm with his hand as if in shame, as Mia slowly got to her feet behind him.

  “Let me see that!” Cristos screamed, thrusting the gun at Jack.

  Jack slowly rolled his sleeve down, taunting Cristos.

  “Let me see it, now.” Cristos jabbed the gun toward Jack for emphasis.

  Jack let a smile slip out, mocking Cristos. “How does it taste, the flavor of fear?”

  “Why don’t you tell me?” It was Cristos’s turn to smile coldly. And he pointed the gun at Mia.

  Without warning, he pulled the trigger. The gun exploded, its report echoing across the island. Mia stumbled backward, the bullet hitting her just above the heart. Her eyes fell on Jack, wounded, not comprehending what just happened, and she began to collapse. Jack lunged for her to catch her, but her legs gave out, and she stumbled backward over the cliff’s edge.

  “No!!!” Jack’s scream came from his soul as he watched in pure shock as she fell away, her body tumbling end over end, crashing to the rocky shore below.

  Jack turned his rage on Cristos, grabbing the barrel of the gun, wrenching it out of his hand, but Cristos snatched it back, only to toss it over the cliff.

  Cristos smiled at Jack, his dark eyes filled with malice and hate. He drew back his fist and attacked Jack with a series of blows. He was the expert destroying the novice; there was no need for guns to bring death.

  But despite being outmatched, Jack remained on his feet. He drove his fist into Cristos’s jaw, all of his anger, all of his pent-up rage unloading into the man, shattering his jaw.

  As if he had had enough, Cristos grabbed Jack, hurling him over his shoulder onto the ground, driving his elbow into Jack’s stomach. Jack rolled away as Cristos grabbed the left sleeve of his shirt, tearing it away.

  Like a desperate animal, Jack grabbed a handful of mud and hurled it in Cristos’s face. He followed up with three hooks to Cristos’s broken jaw, sending him tumbling backward. Jack leaped onto him, driving his fist into Cristos’s exposed neck, his nose, every vulnerable part of his body. Despite all of Cristos power and skills, they were failing against the raging man on top of him.

  But then Cristos’s hand fell upon the prayer books he had tossed to the ground. He pushed them aside, finding the prayer beads, continuing to search… until his hand fell on his goal. With blinding speed, he stabbed Jack in the chest with the jeweled dagger, the blade plunging into the wound just below his shoulder. A fire ignited in Jack’s body as Cristos dug the blade in, twisting it. Jack fell to his back as Cristos leaned over him, leering down on him.

  Seeing Cristos’s dark eyes, seeing the face of the man who killed his wife, Jack refused to succumb. The knife and the face above him only managed to anger him further.

  Jack clawed the ground for a weapon, a rock, anything to attack Cristos with, for Jack knew that despite the hate that flowed through his veins, he was on the edge of death.

  Cristos’s leer curled into a smile. “How does death taste?”

  Jack grabbed the hilt of the dagger and wrenched it out of his chest. He quickly turned it and plunged it into Cristos’s heart.

  “You tell me,” Jack said through gritted teeth.

  And as Jack dug the blade into Cristos’s beating heart, feeling its dying pulse through the hilt, Cristos finally saw the front of Jack’s tattoo, the fateful words written there. And he knew they were written by his father. They were the words from the torn section of his father’s book, the prediction that Cristos had sought in vain, the clue to his future, the prophecy that he had tried so desperately to eradicate so that he could choose his own path, not the one prescrib
ed by his father’s prophecies.

  But as he read them, he understood that his quest, his search, had only proven to fulfill what he tried so hard to avoid. For the phrase in the middle of the prayer of death was written to him by his father.

  You shall die at dawn, on the first day of the seventh month, killed by an enraged man who has lost everything he loves.

  On the eastern horizon, where the dark of night met the depths of the sea, a golden ribbon crested the waves stretching north to south, as far as the eye could see, a subtle glow that began to wipe the darkness from the night, pushing away the shadows, ushering in a new day.

  And in those final moments, no longer able to breathe, his lungs on fire as his heart struggled to burst from his chest, Cristos knew that he wouldn’t escape death for the second time. Jack struggled to his feet, blood pouring from the wound in his chest. He grabbed Cristos, lifted his weakened body, and tossed him over the cliff to be smashed on the rocks below.

  • • •

  Jack raced down the rock face, slipping, sliding, his hand seeking purchase, the sharp rocks cutting his palm. With dawn’s early light still in the far-off distance, he struggled to see through the last shreds of night that danced along the rocky slope. The precarious path provided no firm footing as he tried not to slip and perish on the rocks below. He glanced at Cristos’s broken body, folded over a rock near the base of the cliff, momentarily lit by the sweep of the passing lighthouse beam. A pool of blood coated the sand beneath him. And Jack slipped. He skidded downward, trying not to tumble over and split his head open. As he grabbed a weathered rock with his left hand, it gave way, the sharp edge cutting into his left forearm, turning the tattoo into a shredded mess.

  Jack leaped the final eight feet to the rocky beach, where Mia lay facedown in the shallow water, bent, contorted, motionless. Jack fell to his knees at her side, quickly turning her over to see the spreading wound on her chest.

  Finding no pulse, no breath, Jack laid her on the sand, tilting her head back. He began CPR, forcing air into her lungs, life into her soul. He placed his hands just above her sternum and began rhythmically pumping, forcing her blood to pump. And he could see his efforts forcing the blood to accelerate its escape from the wound.