The Redeemers

by T. J. Martinell

  He knew her well; she would be back as soon as he left.

  Tossing his fedora onto the bed, he eased into the chair and threw a pack of cigarettes on the desk. Lighting one, he tilted back and stared at the ceiling and let the tension in his body ease out with the cigarette smoke.

  As time passed, he watched people outside the window walking along the street, wondering if they would ever be as happy as he. The sun in the sky sank and then briefly hovered above the waterline. The large orange streaks raced across the horizon, reminding him of the countless nights he had spent with her side by side in total silence. Those had been the best times, when neither one of them had had to speak to know what the other thought. When he thought of the nights like those in the years to come he found himself wiping his eye.

  The sun had all but vanished when he finally rose, putting out his fourth cigarette. He paced about the apartment back and forth like a guard in front of a gate, then glanced out the window to see if she was up the street. By then, there was no one there. The cheers and laughter from the local library echoed down the empty road.

  Suddenly he found it annoying.

  The door creaked.

  Exhaling loudly, he spun around and almost called out her name.

  At first, he didn’t believe what he saw; the boy looked out at him in the hallway. He appeared to be around four with a headful of uncombed hair. He had small eyes but looked at Carl with a firm gaze.

  “What’s going on?” Carl asked.

  “Are you looking for her?” the boy asked.

  “Kaylyn? Yes, yes. Do you know when she’ll be back?”

  The boy shifted his foot around.

  “Did you see her leave?” Carl asked impatiently.

  “Yes.”

  “When?”

  “A couple hours ago.”

  “Did you speak to her?”

  “I didn’t.”

  Carl narrowed his eyes as he bent down on a knee. His voice was mixed with rage and terror. “What do you mean by that?”

  The boy spoke abruptly as though under torture. He started crying and rubbed his eyes.

  “They took her!”

  Carl’s skin chilled. He breathed as though sitting in icy water. “Who? Another man dressed like me?”

  “No. The government men. They took her.”

  It didn’t make sense. There had been no signs of a forced entry, no sign of a struggle in her apartment or indication they had searched through it. They must have ambushed her when she had the door open. Also, she must have been the target, not anything she was hiding.

  Carl stared at the boy for a long time. The boy held the tears back as long he could, then ran out of the room as he broke down again; in the hallway, a door closed quietly.

  More laughter emanating from the library. Carl approached the window near the desk and leaned against the sill. He blinked until his vision blurred. He then tore himself away and opened the closet. All her clothes were gone. He went to the dresser and pulled out the shelves. They were bare.

  He couldn’t tell anymore if he was delusion or if what had happened was real. A part of him dismissed the boy as a figment of his imagination brought on by stress. He had indeed fretted over the proposal for weeks.

  But the apartment door was still open. The boy had neglected to close it behind him. He had been real enough.

  Moving toward the bed, Carl dropped down in front of it as though on command. By now, he could hardly see it or anything else. All he could see was the scene playing in his head again and again of the ISA dragging Kaylyn away. He could hear her screams, her cries for help. For his help. And he hadn’t been there to save her.

  He thought of the ISA agent he had spared, furiously regretting the decision. He should have shot the son of a bitch dead. Why had he let the bastard live? It would have been fitting to dispense with him as had been done with his cronies. A life for a life.

  Maybe the agent was still in the city and hadn’t been picked up. His wound would make him a slow, easy target.

  His fingers clawed into the bed as he fell across it and wept. In desperation, he cried out to God for help, for answers. When none came, his cries intensified. With the door open anyone could walk in and see him there, “Killer Carl” unable to contain himself.

  He didn’t care. Right then, there was nothing he cared about losing. What mattered most had already been taken from him. He hadn’t just lost her; with her also went everything else.

  Finally, he got up and wiped his eyes repeatedly, then went into the bathroom and cleaned himself up. When he emerged from the bathroom, his face was no longer soft and weak, but stiff, conveying a sense of single-minded determination that bordered on religious fanaticism.

  He couldn’t lose her. He would get her back, whatever it cost.

  Snatching his jacket from the desk chair, he put it on and turned to the door.

  Tom was standing in the doorway, his hands in his pockets. “Figured you’d be here. I also figured something was wrong when you didn’t call me to report the news or show up at to the library to celebrate.”

  Carl buttoned up his jacket, doing his best to act stoic. “She’s not here.”

  “I know. The boy told me as I was coming here.”

  “I can’t let them take her from me, Tom.”

  “It’s past that, now. They did it, and I’m sorry. But it happened.”

  “Yeah, well I’m not gonna let them get away with it.”

  Tom stared hard. “I hope it doesn’t mean what I think means.”

  “If you think it means I’m going to Bellevue to get her back, then you’re damn right.”

  His friend tried to sound sympathetic. “Look, Carl; I get it. You loved her. Nothing wrong with that. And I don’t want to think of how much this hurts you right now. I’m not trying to be cold about this. But you can’t go after her.”

  “You listen─”

  “No, you listen. You will never find her, you get me? Never. All you’ll do is get arrested or killed yourself.”

  “If I’m arrested, we’ll be together.”

  “Carl, listen to yourself. They ain’t gonna put you two in the same cell.”

  “I’d rather suffer as she suffers then stay here,” he declared.

  Tom shook his head sadly. “You’re not thinking straight. You need to come back with me and let things cool over.”

  “No! I’m not living without her!”

  Carl tried to walk past him, but Tom used his larger size to block the entire doorway. He made two more attempts to get past him, and then he shoved Tom hard.

  “Fool! Get out of my way!”

  He punched Tom in the chest. The blow sent him into the hallway. Regaining his stance, he held himself high as if resigning himself to a decision. All the compassion in his face vanished as he reached for his pistol and aimed it at Carl’s chest.

  His voice was steady. “Carl, you’re my best friend, but if you try to leave, I’ll use this.”

  Carl froze. He refused to believe Tom was serious. He wouldn’t pull the trigger.

  “I can’t stop,” he said. “I wish I could give Kaylyn up, but I can’t this one go.”

  Tom chuckled. “I’ve met lots of girls like that, too. I thought they were the ones. But you know what? They are all just ones. There are a lot of ones. Find another one.”

  Carl moved out of the apartment and stood in front of Tom. He glanced down at the pistol, then at his friend. Tom’s stoic face gave away nothing. But Carl was convinced he didn’t have the heart.

  “I have to go,” he said.

  Tom’s lips shifted slightly. He gestured with the pistol. “Then go.”

  Offering a soft “thank you,” Carl headed toward the stairway. Something struck him in the back of the head, and the last thing he saw before he blacked out was Tom standing over him, gripping his pistol by the barrel.

  “Sorry.”

  ***

  When Carl came to, he was back at their new place sitting on his bed. He
winced as he reached for his head, dabbing at the knot forming near his atlas. There was a bag of ice in a bowl by the night stand. He applied it carefully to his head as he gradually sat up.

  All thoughts of Kaylyn were gone for the moment. They’d be back soon.

  Tom knocked on the open door and leaned against it, a cigarette in hand. He tossed the cigarette pack to Carl along with a lighter. They both took drags until the room was so full of smoke Tom opened the window and let the air clear. By then the night sky was lit up by the full array of constellations. The noise from the library outside that had previously irritated him was now subdued, yet he wished to hear it more clearly.

  Tom grabbed a chair and brought it over to Carl’s bed, plopping one foot on top of it. “When we came here, you said there was no going back. You made me throw away all my papers to prove it. You did, too. We both understood what we were getting into when we arrived. We didn’t want to go back and live that kind of life, no matter how bad it got here. We knew it was going to be rough at times.”

  “That’s not what I went back for.”

  “I know. Doesn’t matter. Fact is, we made a deal. We were in this together. Always have been. I watch your back, you watch mine. What’s more, you knew that there was no chance of a normal life here. It took me a while to figure it out the hard way. I thought you had, too, but apparently you didn’t until now. Having a wife and a family and all that? It ain’t for us. We weren’t dealt the cards to play that kind of game.”

  “It’s different for me,” Carl whispered.

  “Why? Because you’re trying to please Norton, or what?”

  Carl was silent. Tom wouldn’t grasp the relationship. He had never regarded Norton like Carl did. Tom saw him as a boss, no more, and he had no one he looked up to or admired who made him want to aspire to something greater than himself.

  “You’re not getting out of this,” Tom said. “This is how it is going to be. I’m not walking out of here with some girl one day and leave you to fend for yourself. The same with you. They will come and go, but they will always go at some point. When they do, you have to let them go.”

  “Kaylyn didn’t leave. She was taken.”

  “It’s the life we signed up for,” Tom insisted. “They could take me tomorrow. Or you. We know the risks. If they get you despite you giving ‘em hell first, that’s one thing. But I’ll be damned if I’m going to just let you give yourself up to them out of some delusion. You’re not thinking straight.”

  “I love her.”

  “I know. Didn’t say you didn’t. But it’s a lesson learned. This ain’t the place for that kind of thing. Don’t ever make the mistake again.”

  Tom smothered his cigarette under his heel and got up to leave. Carl grabbed his arm to stop him, but wouldn’t look him in the face.

  “I wish you knew how I felt,” Carl said.

  “I imagine if I were in your situation, I’d do the same. I hope you can say the same about mine.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t hit you that hard.”

  The two shared a laugh before Tom disappeared. For a moment, it felt as though everything was well again. Carl rested his head back on the pillow and closed his eyes, praying the heartache would not return. Nevertheless, he realized it would come back, and it was something he’d have to contend with for a long, long time.

  He took out a picture of Kaylyn that she had given him after they had first started seeing each other. It had been taken at some street corner near a lamppost. Her face seemed to emanate a nameless happiness.

  He tucked the photo away near his chest. Maybe, just maybe, the pain would remind him to keep the hope alive; that despite her imprisonment, she would wait for him and one day she would be free, and they would be together at last.

  A single tear fell from his eye as he pressed the photo against his chest. No matter how great the wait, it was going to be too long.

  ***

  He woke up early the next day to a cold room. His head still throbbed, but the pain had subsided greatly. Inured to the low temperature, he stood up in bed and stared at the wall, unable to think what to do. It was the weekend, and he had originally planned to spend every minute of it with Kaylyn.

  That was all over, like so many plans. He needed to not dwell on it.

  Tom was still fast asleep in his room. He always left his door partially ajar. The faint light from the corridor was too weak to reveal the newspaper he left around his bed and the random objects he had scattered on the floor. One of his biggest fears was being murdered in his sleep. The vulnerability didn’t bother him as much as the idea of dying and not having the chance to prepare for it.

  Tom was peculiar in that way. Death was an inevitable fate, but one which he preferred to meet with the right frame of mind. Carl had readied himself for it a long time ago. He would die when he died. The unpredictability of life frightened him more. Death only occurred once. The number of personal catastrophes prior to then were limitless.

  Meandering into the kitchen, Carl hastily fried bacon and eggs on a skillet, then slapped them on a large plate. A glass of watered down scotch in hand, he went over to the table in the main room.

  He nearly dropped them when he saw Norton at the table. He flashed a small, restrained smile. “Hello, Carl.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I’ve been here since last night. Tom asked me to come.”

  “What? Why? And why didn’t I see you?”

  He eyed Carl’s eggs and bacon. “You mind sharing?”

  “Of course.”

  He quickly grabbed a spare plate and divided the food evenly. Sliding one of the plates and utensils across the tabletop to Norton, he sat down and did the same with the scotch. Norton cupped the glass with both hands, a hesitant look about him. He motioned as if to propose a toast, but then stopped mid-action and drank before eating.

  “Why did Tom call you?” Carl asked.

  “He told me what happened.”

  Carl put down his fork and covered his lower face with his hand. He wanted to hide in his room until Norton left. But his editor clearly had something to say.

  “I don’t know what to tell you,” Carl muttered. “I suppose it speaks for itself.”

  Norton didn’t speak right away. He finished his eggs before working on the bacon piece by piece.

  “She was one of the copy-editors, correct?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “I see.”

  Carl went into the kitchen and made a pot of coffee. When it was done brewing he brought two mugs along with cream and sugar for Norton. They both drank silently. Carl watched him the entire time, wondering what was on his mind. Whatever it was, he had held it back from the night before. Either it was something he didn’t want Tom to hear or he wasn’t sure if it was a good time. Or maybe Carl just didn’t know. He couldn’t be certain about anything anymore.

  Norton pushed his mug away and looked at Carl sympathetically. “Tom did you a favor by what he did, you know that?”

  Carl touched the back of his head and winced. “I guess.”

  “You won’t think of it that way now, but you will. When you do, remember to admit it.”

  “Alright.”

  “It doesn’t hurt as bad as what the ISA would have done to you.”

  “I know.”

  Norton chuckled, adding more sugar to his coffee. “I suppose I owe you an apology. I know why you did what you did. I’m not so dense as to think I played no part in that.”

  “You didn’t demand anything like that of me.”

  “I see you in a very dark place right now. You might get out of it, but it’s a brutal journey to make without some guidance.”

  Norton turned his head slightly and grinned. “I never told you what I was before, did I?”

  “No, you didn’t.”

  “Now is a good time as any. Believe it or not, at your age I was a reporter.”

  Carl’s eyes enlarged. He couldn’t help smiling. So many things about
Norton started to make sense. “Really?”

  “Oh, yes. That was my original profession. I was a staff writer at a small weekly publication. There was very little about it that would make one nostalgic, but it’s hard not to romanticize the past. In some ways, it was ideal. I was young, ambitious, eager, and naïve. I was covering all sorts of stories; the city council, crime, high school sports. It was just the editor and I, so I handled much of the day-to-day things. I loved writing and the immense responsibility given to me despite being young. I loved being able to act on my natural curiosity for a living…. well, not much of a living.”

  “I heard they didn’t pay much by then,” Carl said.

  “They didn’t. I might as well have stuck with cashiering at a grocery store. But that was the less romantic part of the whole thing. Newspapers were dying left and right. Mine was not immune to the financial plague. You could see it in the ad reps’ despondent eyes every time they came to work and left with fewer ads sold. Circulation kept dropping no matter how hard the publisher tried to keep it up. Everyone went to our website, and the online ad revenue hardly paid for the costs of running the site. The fewer ads meant smaller papers. I recall one time we scarcely had a paper to lay out. I could hear the bickering between my editor and the publisher behind closed doors. I wasn’t worried. Why should I? I had no wife, no children, no house mortgage. I also believed that someone somewhere would fix it all and make things right.

  “But no one did. By my second year, the paper folded. I was in the middle of investigating the city council for allegedly violating the open meetings act. I came into work and everyone was huddled in a circle in the middle of the newsroom. I knew right away what was wrong. All the ad reps were in tears, and my editor was openly sipping bourbon from a Dixie cup. Our publisher then announced that paper that week would be our last. I had no idea what I was going to do, other than apply for a job at one of the surviving papers. But how long would that last? I didn’t think like that. All I had cared about was finding a place where I could get paid to do what I loved. I realized at that moment it wasn’t enough.

  “While we were putting together the final issue, my editor took me aside into a private office. By then, he was on his four whiskey. In-between hiccups and moments of confusion, he admitted that he was going to lose his house to the bank and his marriage was already on the rocks, which meant he was also expecting to lose everything. His face was already red, but it got redder as he raised his voice and ordered me to get out of the journalism industry and never look back. He made me promise to pick another career and never allow myself to be in a position where I could lose everything like he was.