Savior (The Savior Series Book 1)

by Bradley, A. King

  My father’s hold over her baffled me. I had seen younger pictures of him as well, and based solely on looks, she was completely out of his league. The more I thought about it, the more I realized that Monica was out of my league as well. Were we destined to repeat the same path as my parents?

  My perpetual nightmare came to mind as I watched my mother sleep. I wondered if the hatred that I saw in Monica’s eyes within my dream represented the way that she would feel about me if I turned out to be just like my father. I knew the dream was more than just a meaningless nightmare. I knew that it was real. The same way Monica knew that her own recurring dream was more than just a random sequence of subconscious images.

  In my heart of hearts I knew that it ultimately meant that at some point she would be placed in incredible danger. That realization should have compelled me to spend every waking second around her in order to protect her from whatever was coming, but my hatred of The Suspect was pulling me down the dark path of revenge. The only thing in the world at that point that could match the strength of my love for her, was my hatred for him.

  “Phillip?” my mother murmured as she finally opened her eyes and squinted at me. She wasn’t calling for my brother. Phillip, Jr. was dead. We both knew that. She had obviously mistaken me for, Phillip, Sr. Her voice sounded so hopeful that it hurt. It was as if she would have burst into tears of joy had I actually been him.

  “It’s me, Mother,” I whispered, ignoring the sting of her confusing me with my father.

  “That’s right,” she said, slightly slurring her words as she attempted to stand, “You can’t be him because Phillip’s dead.” She lost her balance as she tried to take a step. I zoomed over and caught her before she had even fallen an inch.

  “I’ve got you, Mom,” I said to her as she grew tense, still bracing herself for the fall.

  I gently placed her back on the couch and sat beside her. She was still disoriented, but I could tell that she was starting to regain some of the awareness that was taken from her by the alcohol.

  I couldn’t look her in the eyes. I knew that I still loved her, but after what she had said to me the night I left home, I didn’t feel like she deserved my love. I hoped that at some point the flicker of love that still remained within me would wither and die, leaving nothing behind but the hatred that I wanted to feel for her disowning me. The hate was definitely there. In all honesty, I hated her more than I loved her. I hated her for what she had done to me. I hated what she had done to herself, and most of all, I hated her for what happened to PJ. Despite the magnitude of my hate, the remnants of love that remained would not allow me to completely cast her away.

  “Adam?” she asked as she peered at me through teary eyes.

  “Yes, it's me, Mom,” I said as I fought back tears. I clinched my jaw and fought harder as tears began to race down her cheeks. I could never stand the sight of her crying. A few deep breaths allowed me to gain my composure.

  “I'm sorry, Adam. I shouldn't have said those things,” she sobbed.

  “It's okay, mom. I know you didn't mean it.” But it wasn't okay and something told me that she really did mean what she had said. She may have regretted it, but that doesn't change the fact that those feelings were there, buried deep within the bowels of her subconscious. Deep within the part of her mind that was only accessible by way of the bottle to which she clung to on that night. The one thing my father's insufferable brand of parenting taught me was that people often told you how they really felt once they were under the influence of alcohol.

  “He's gone, Adam. You're all I have left,” she said, while fighting hard to maintain her consciousness.

  “Who's gone, Mom?” I asked.

  “Your father,” she whispered as her face twisted into a painful grimace and more tears poured from her eyes. A part of me was hoping she would say that, but I wished it didn't cause her so much pain.

  “He'll come back, Mom. He always does.”

  “No, he won’t. Not this time.” The look in her eyes said it all. I could tell that something big must have happened.

  “What's wrong, Mom? What happened?”

  “Your father, Adam; he's dead. They found his body at the bottom of Lake Victoria yesterday.” Every bit of the composure she had regained vanished and I pulled her into an embrace more out of obligation than out of solace. I couldn’t care less about his death. I only cared that it caused her such terrible anguish.

  I didn't say a word as I tried to comfort her. I couldn't. Instead of remorse, all I felt was anger. Anger brought on by the fact that even in death, he was causing her great pain. When she finally drifted off to sleep, I placed the blanket over her and retreated to my old room upstairs. My plan was to grab a few hours of sleep and then head back to 3D.

  As I approached my old bedroom door, somehow I knew that this would be the last night I ever spent in that house.

  51. FROZEN SKY IV

  THE FLAMES OF MY HATRED RAGED INSIDE OF ME, CHARRING my soul beyond repair. No one could save him from me…The only thing standing between me and the end of his life was the gun that he pressed against her temple. He was going to die, of that much I was certain. The only thing I was uncertain of was if I had what it took to save her.

  We were all surrounded by darkness and standing inside of an unfamiliar room. I glared into the blackened eyes of the frowning tragedy mask worn by my adversary. He was known to the world as The Suspect, but I only knew him as the man responsible for the death of my brother.

  The terror in Monica’s eyes as he pressed the .50 caliber pistol against her temple paralyzed me. He had taken away my brother and now he was a trigger squeeze away from taking the single most important thing in my life.

  “You can’t save her,” a familiar voice muttered from behind me. The voice was weak and barely audible, but I knew who it was. My knees trembled and threatened to buckle as I turned to face my dead brother.

  PJ stood before me, still bleeding from the countless mortal wounds inflicted upon him at the time of his death. It was at that point that I realized that my nightmare had returned.

  “You couldn’t save me. What makes you think you can save her?” he demanded.

  “Brother, I’m sorry! I-I wasn’t there for you! I should’ve-”

  “You were never there for me! Never! This is all your fault, Adam!” PJ bellowed. “It’s because of you that I am dead!”

  The room suddenly erupted into fire with PJ’s last words. As the deadly blaze swelled and threatened to consume us all, I turned and zoomed towards Monica faster than I had ever run before.

  Before long, we were once again soaring through the frozen sky without words. She didn’t need words. Her eyes said enough. I could tell by her glare that she still hated me. I only hoped that whatever I had done to deserve such hate could be reversed.

  52. INTERVENTION

  IT WAS 3AM IN THE MORNING AND THE DREAM HAD TAKEN an emotional toll on me. As I lay there staring at the ceiling, I wondered once more if devoting my time to stopping The Suspect was really what I should have been focusing on. Something terrible was coming. I didn't need the recurring nightmare to tell me that. I could sense it. It was as though a dark cloud of despair had settled above my entire life and everything that I had ever touched was ending because of it.

  As I lay there wasting away in my hopelessness, my only thought was that I had to do whatever it took to make sure she was safe. The sound of the back door suddenly closing downstairs brought me out of my deep thoughts. I heard the door being locked as I pulled myself to my feet. I rushed over and peeked out of the window just in time to see my mother disappear into the thick wooded area behind our house. Where is she going at 3am? I thought as I stared into the dark forest that she had disappeared into.

  I quickly pulled on a T-shirt and a pair of black jogging pants and hurried downstairs to follow her. It took me about ten minutes to catch up to her. I lagged about fifteen feet behind her and hid amongst the shadows so as not to spook her as sh
e made her way through the woods. Her steps were so deliberate that I could tell that she wasn’t simply wandering about. Wherever she was headed, it was obvious that she had been there many times before.

  I tried not to make a sound as I slipped between the branches and bushes that separated us. I found myself wishing I had put on a long sleeve shirt as my skin began to itch due to the countless branches that scraped against me.

  Hell of a way to start my birthday, I thought, sarcastically. I should have been enjoying my day with the girl that I loved, not sulking through the forest in the wee hours of the morning. I paused as she walked into a clearing. It wasn’t until she stopped walking that I noticed what she was carrying in her hands.

  I was tempted to run to her and comfort her as she kneeled and burst into tears, but the bizarre element of this mysterious late night trek forced me to remain hidden in the shadows. I had to wait until she left to see what had drawn her out to this place in the middle of the night.

  After a few minutes, she pulled herself to her feet and whispered the word “Goodbye,” before disappearing into the forest before her.

  An overwhelming feeling of dread washed over me as I approached the site where she had kneeled and wept. I knew that I should have fled. Something told me that only pain and heartache awaited me in that place, but I couldn't force myself to walk away and add another unknown to the mountain of mysteries that already plagued my life.

  My heart thumped rapidly as I entered the clearing. I shuddered as I laid eyes on the area where my mother had kneeled. My eyes widened in shock and a cold tremor shot down my spine as I realized what lay before me.

  ANGER AND DESPAIR SWELLED IN MY CHEST AS I STOOD there for nearly an hour, frozen in awe as the gravity of the lies that she had led me to believe weighed upon me.

  Suddenly, I was done being lied to. I wasn’t willing to allow it to continue for another second. I firmly planted my feet and rocketed into the forest, heading back to my mother's house. I could feel the darkness in my soul tearing at me as I stormed through the forest reducing trees into splinters in my wake. That speck of love for the woman I had come to know as my mother dwindled with every blazingly fast bound that I took toward the house.

  I knew that I was moving too fast as our house came into view, but I didn’t care. I lowered my shoulder and crashed through the front door as if it were cardboard. It couldn’t stop me. The only thing capable of stopping my rampage in that moment was the sight of her lifeless body dangling from the rope tied to the rail at the top of the stairs.

  There was no use checking her pulse. It was obvious that she had been dead for several minutes. At first I didn’t know how to feel as I stood there in the living room that I had practically demolished upon entry out of my anger towards her. But as she hung there, still slightly swinging back and forth, my indignation dissipated.

  My jaw trembled as a breeze blew in through the hole that I had made in the front of the house. It was cold; as cold as the dead eyes of my mother that stared back at me.

  How could she? I thought as the tears began to fall.

  “How could you?!” I angrily bellowed at her as if I expected an answer.

  Suddenly, I grabbed the couch and hoisted it above my head. As I hurled it across the room, I hoped that its destructive landing would lessen my despair, but it was of no use. Seeing her alive again was the only thing that could have alleviated my suffering. Without thinking, I launched myself into the north-side wall of the living room. I became a tornado of destruction as I nearly demolished the entire house piece by piece with my bare hands.

  After a few minutes, the staircase from which she hung was the only portion of the house left standing. I trudged through the rubble with my right fist cocked behind my head, and I cried out as I prepared to destroy it too.

  But I couldn’t do it. I fell to my knees and unleashed a painful scream as loudly as physically possible as her lifeless body continued to sway from the rope only a few feet above me. I hung my head, as I could no longer bear the sight of her soulless shell of a body. It was then that I discovered the folded piece of paper that lay on the floor a few inches in front of me.

  As I tried desperately to steady my trembling hand, I realized that the people I had come to know as my real family were all gone. I felt as alone as I had ever felt in life. In my heart, I knew that I still had Monica, but I forced the memory of her from my thoughts. I knew that if I focused on her, I would lose the resolve to do what I had decided to do. The never-ending quests for happiness, love, and normalcy were simply too taxing. Every time it seemed as if I was getting close to achieving one of those three, it always ended in heartache and I had had enough of failing miserably in my foolish pursuit.

  I was done. Done pretending that I could ever be happy. Done pretending that I could be normal. Done pretending that I could be anything. It wasn’t that I didn’t think that I deserved those things; it was just that I had reached a point where I no longer wanted them.

  It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair to Monica, but I had convinced myself that her life would be better without me. As I read my mother's suicide note, my desire to follow her in death grew even stronger. Between the clearing in the forest and the note that she had left me, I finally knew the secrets that she had kept from me for all those years.

  I always thought that finding out would bring me joy. I thought that it would bring closure, but the only thing I felt as I zoomed away was an overwhelming desire to end it all. As I made my way to 3D, that was exactly what I intended to do.

  IN NO TIME, I BLAZED A TRAIL FROM MY MOTHER’S DEMOLISHED house to 3D. My hands trembled so violently that it was impossible for me to key in the access code to the front door. Frustrated, I punched through the steel door and ripped it away from the frame.

  Agent Wells had allowed Jason to keep Charlie’s gun after he defeated him in battle. That gun had been powerful enough to dislocate my shoulder when fired from a distance. I hoped it would do the trick if fired from point blank range.

  But where was it? Where had Jason hidden it? I didn’t see it with the rest of his weapons. My heart rate increased as I searched more frantically. I knew that Jason kept surveillance on 3D. He undoubtedly had seen me rip off the front door and would probably be arriving shortly demanding an explanation. He would surely try to stop me if he knew what I was up to, and I didn’t want it to come to that. But what right does he have to try to stop me from doing anything? I thought. What makes him think he can stop me?

  As if answering my thoughts, the sound of Jason’s bike coming to a screeching halt filled the room. I paused and glared at the entrance. I was just about to yell at him when he emerged through the cavity where the door was once attached.

  “What’s going on here, buddy?” Jason asked. His tone displayed a mixture of confusion and alarm. He was wearing all of his combat gear, except for his mask.

  Did he come here expecting a fight? I thought as I glared back at him. Does he really think he can take me? It was the same question that I had wondered that night he got angry when I attempted to save him from the thug that held him at gunpoint. I was willing to drop the issue in that moment, but as we gazed at each other from opposite sides of our secret hideout, I think we both knew what was silently brewing.

  53. OBLIVION

  AS I LOOKED INTO HIS EYS I COULD FINALLY SEE WHAT Jason had been hiding from me the entire time. He was afraid of me. Not afraid in a sense where he was unwilling to face me in combat, but in a sense where he feared for what I could become. I could see in his eyes that he thought I was dangerous, and he felt that it was his duty to keep me in check. It was as if he had planned to silence me all along, should I ever become out of control.

  For a fraction of a second, I considered the possibility that I could have been overreacting. That was until I saw Charlie’s gun holstered on his hip. Was that why he asked Agent Wells for it? Instead of keeping it as a trophy, did he really keep it as a way to cause me pain, should he ever find himself p
itted against me in a fight? He probably considered his treacherous posturing precautionary and necessary, but I considered it deceitful and betraying.

  “What’s with the gear?” I growled.

  “Adam, what's going on here? Tell me what’s wrong,” Jason said, while remaining completely still. His strong jaw line tightened as he maintained strong eye contact with me. He was acting as if he was interacting with a wild animal, taking extra care not to make any sudden moves, lest the beast lash out.

  “That’s not my name!” I shouted. “My name is The Reaper,”

  “Adam-”

  “Stop calling me that!” I bellowed, clinching my fists as blood and adrenaline rushed to my head, which further clouded my judgment.

  Jason had placed his right hand on the handle of Charlie’s pistol before I had even realized it. Neither of us moved as we glared at each other. Finally, Jason released the pistol and held his hands in the air. Who did he think he was kidding? We both knew that he was still quick enough to draw the pistol regardless of how high he held his hands. Still, I accepted his token and relaxed my fists and softened my aggressive posture.

  “Reaper, whatever is going on, you know I’ll help you through it.”

  “Help me? You came here to kill me!” I growled.

  “Reaper, that’s not true!”

  “Then why are you wearing your gear, Ace? And why did you bring Charlie’s gun?”

  “It’s not what you think,” Jason replied.

  “Then what is it?” I demanded.

  “I’m here to help you, Reaper. You have to know that.”

  “If you want to help me, then give me that gun,” I said darkly.

  “You know I can’t do that,” he replied.

  “Then I suppose I’ll just take it,” I grumbled as I tightened my fists.

  “I’ll have to stop you, Reaper,” he said firmly.

  “I’d like to see you try,” I replied. In truth, I wasn’t sure if I could actually beat Jason, but in the end I didn’t have to win to get what I wanted. I had come there to end it all. It didn’t matter if it came by my own hand or by his. The way I saw it, I would win either way.