Blind Spot, CH 12 (Patreon)

Killing’s easy. I point the gun, pull the trigger and the other person dies.

Killing while needing to keep someone else alive only complicates the situation a little. I need to make sure I don’t expose him to danger as we move, that he isn’t who I’m reacting to, when I catch motion at the edge of my vision.

A parter helps. Alex watched out back. Bart, he wants me to call him Bart. The problem is that we haven’t worked together often enough for me to predict how he moves. That raises the problem with motion at the edge of my vision again.

Being in a corridor helps. It limits where anyone comes from, limits their actions since they can’t surround us. The problem is that it makes it easier for them to herd us.

Which is what they are doing.

At the intersection, men jump out of doorways firing at us. They don’t hit me, and it isn’t because I react fast enough to move me and Emil in the only safe passage. They aren’t trying to hit us. Alone, I’d take advantage of it.

Bart fired and he joins up, pocketing the empty magazine putting a full one in. “What’s that way?” He nods in the direction of the hall.

“I don’t know.” Then I add, because he doesn’t know me well enough to work out the rest. “I took the stairwell that’s down the other corridor.” I fire three times in the men’s direction before stepping back around the corner for cover. “How did you come down to this floor?”

He shrugs. “Didn’t keep track. The other way I thing.” He leans in, fires until his Beretta locks empty and leans back. “Do we force their hand or go where they want us to?” he reloads.

“Can you pull the architectural plans?”

He checks his phone. “No signal. Must be a jammer, because there isn’t enough metal in this to Faraday the building.”

I lean forward, fire twice take down two more, but neither fatally. That leaves seven men firing only if one of us shows our face.

“Emil, how are you doing?” I ask.

He’s on the floor, arms around his knees, rocking. He isn’t good.

“Whatever way we go,” Bart says, “it’s on us to keep him out of harm’s way.”

His box shivers in response at his concern for Emil, then settles. It’s learning that now isn’t the time for me to be distracted. “Emil, we need to move.” I point to the only unobstructed direction. Bart moves. Emil doesn’t.

He startles when I place a hand on his shoulder, but he finally acknowledges me. “We’ll need to exploit any miscalculation on their part,” I tell Bart as I help Emil up.

“I’m not sure all this warrants that kind of optimism.” He stays close to the wall, testing every door. He opens those that aren’t locked, scans the other side before closing the door again.

Those aren’t how we’ll escape. Gregory didn’t think we’d escape, but he would still plan for it. He picked this building because he can control how we’ll move. I haven’t seen the cameras, but they are there. He wouldn’t leave any of this to chance.

Once we’ll reach the ground floor, our options will increase. It’s unfinished, so as much as Gregory will aim to continue controlling us, wall won’t stop us the way they do down here. Up there. Me destroying a wall means a way outside.

At the next intersection, we’re forced left. “We aren’t taking those stairs,” I tell Bart once I confirm no one is following. The lit exit sign is too obvious. That is where they are leading of toward.

“So we’re going through them?”

I glance around him. Past the stairwell are three doors on each side of the hall. Each had two men aiming their guns at us.

Alone, or if it was only me and Bart…

“The stairs go up,” Bart said, looking through the window. “Clear as far as I can tell. But it’s a potential kill box.”

“There’s no point in Gregory herding us here, just to kill us in there.”

“So he wants you, well, us, now, dead elsewhere. That’s comforting.” His tone is annoyed instead of defeated. “Any thoughts on where he’ll do it?”

“He wants me to suffer for killing his son. He thinks that hurting Emil will accomplish that.”

Bart looks from Emil to me, the raised eyebrow asking if Gregory might not be right. The new box, Emil’s box, shakes. I don’t react to the tightening in my chest. I won’t acknowledge that even to him.

“Then he’s not planning on letting us leave the building,” Bart says, looking through the window again. “He has something planned between here and the exit.”

“To keep me from leaving. He couldn’t plan for you. I didn’t know you’d come.” His box shivers again, but I don’t smile at the idea Bart came all this way to help. Now isn’t the time.

Bart looks at me. “You do get the not everyone is as blind to this stuff as you are, right?” He’s annoyed again. “Anyone who bothered looking when we’ve been together knows I’d cross a lot more than the country to be with you.”

“He hasn’t seen us together until you were before out cell. He used Emil to draw me out, and I made sure to keep you out of it.” I realize the manipulation I attempt after the words are out, and the sickly glow of his box makes me regret it as much as his glare.

“Kept me out of this? Do you fucking expect me to believe this was to keep me safe?”

“No. I’m sorry. I didn’t think of you at all. I said as much earlier.”

“So you just lied to me, anyway?” His tone’s flat and I need a few seconds to calm the reaction his box causes in too many of the other ones. 

“It’s a reflex. People want to think they are considered when others make decisions. I use that to put them at ease.”

“So you—”

“I don’t know what to do with you!” the box I keep my anger in flashes red in unison with his golden light. Trying to make one dark his hard, the other impossible. The glow on his box will not extinguish, only soften. I want to study it, its interaction with the other boxes.

“This isn’t the time for this,” I say, eyes closed and regaining control of myself. “We have to protect Emil and escape.” I look at him and Bart glances at Emil, his expression softening.

“How are you for bullets? I’m down to one spare clip.”

“I have three.”

He eyes me suspiciously.

I shrug. “Unlike you, I don’t waste my shots. You need something more powerful.”

He snorts. “That thing nearly broke my wrist. There can’t be enough exercises in the world for me to build the wrist strength I’d need, and the one I’d consider, you aren’t letting me do.” He makes a jerking off motion.

“You…” this time, his box reacts to another one. Disbelief causing it to pulse.

“You told me I couldn’t. It’s one of the reasons I’m here. You owe me one hell of a fuck at this point and I will get it.”

Boxes light up bright and hot, with his at he center. I want him, now, against the wall screaming my name. I’m pressed against him before I realize I’ve moved. The feel of the Desert Eagle in my hand instead of him when I put it on his side is what pulls me out of the blinding desire.

He’s as surprised as I am. We glance at Emil togerthe.

He has his arms around himself; his eyes are glassy. He’s shutting down. He needs to be somewhere safe so he can process what has been done to him.

Only, it takes me too long to make that matter over getting my way with Bart. Their boxes compete with each other. I don’t understand why or which will win if I let them go.

I don’t.

I silence them both hard.

I am in charge, not my emotions.

I step away from Bart. Move Emil between us. “We go up. Once we are safe, we can resolve all of thus.”

Bart nods to my crotch with a loopsided grin. “Think you can last that long?”

I am already soft. “Yes, and so will you.” There is not room in the tone for him to question my order.

He swallowed and grumbles as he opens the door. “I am going to kill each andevery one of them for this.”

Emil doesn’t resist when I push him to follow Bart.

When we reach the ground floor door, the men standing on the one above, aiming guns at us, make it clear this is where we exit. Bart looked through the window and motion me forward.

I look at the building’s lobby with… thirty-one men standing two third of the way to the building’s exit. All of them have the same thuggish look at the once we’ve encountered until now, except one. Those are clearly Gregory’s men. Gregory is absent. Where I’d expect him to be, front and center, waiting to tell me how he will make me suffer, is a man in a black suit. He looks almost governmental, but the suit is too expensive.

Bart’s raised eyebrow asks me if I know him, or what he’s about.

I don’t, but there is something familiar.

Boots on the metal stairs below us take away the time to reason this out. I holster the Desert Eagle. I won’t get answers by starting a firefight.

“Only fire if I tell you to.” I push the door open. “I want to see what this is about.”

“What this is about,” the suited man says, “is an opportunity my employer couldn’t pass up. I was only here to deal with you, but seeing how you both cost him a lot of money recently, I think he’ll appreciate my efficiency.”

There’s only one job me and Bart worked together.

“And who is your employer?” I ask, already suspecting the answer.

“The dead don’t need to know the name of the person who ordered their new status.”

I smile. “I’d still like the opportunity to thank them personally for the attempt, once it’s failed.” My comment angers the thugs, but the suit simply looks at them.

“You might have a point, so it’s a good thing I brought my own.”

Men in suit enter. Thirty of them.

I glance over my shoulder and Bart mouthes ‘how?’

Gregory is involved in crime, Liaison was deep in that. Asyr didn’t uncover a link between that and anything on the east coast, but I paid them to look at a Mexico angle.

“Okay,” Bart says, “at this point I have to ask. What do you people have against women? There’s no way you believe they are too honorable or not strong enough to do this kind of work. If that’s the case, once this is over, remind me to introduce any survivor to my boss.”

“Why we employ who we employ is none of your concern.”

“Why, the dead don’t get to have their last wish granted? Wait, never mind, we’d be the ones stuck going over what the lot of you want.”

“Bart is right. The only think this will accomplish is getting more men killed.” The boxes are quiet. This is a situation they are used to. Survival is never a place for emotions.

The suit raises an eyebrow. “You even reach for that gun, and there’s sixty guys gunning you down. My understanding is that the boy if your reason for being here. He is someone my boss has no interest in, so I am willing to offer you an arrangement.”

I use the time he gives me to answer him to study the men he brought. Most have darker skin, do from the south. Their leader’s accent is definitely not from Mexico, but they could be.

“I’m listening.”

“My boss wants you dead. Mister Roman wants you to suffer. I believe his plan was to torture the boy in front of you. Fortunately for all concerned, my boss isn’t quite as… well, he would prefer him alive to help him recoup some of what you cost him, so he’s making sure Mister Roman is busy. I, on the other hand, am willing to let him walk away. It’ll be simple enough to tell my boss one of them didn’t know how to aim and the boy was hit by a stray shot.”

Emil grabs onto me and I feel him mouth ‘don’t let them,’ against my back.

Let them what? Take him away? Kill him.

The man smiles. “I think your decision will be easy. His live for your suffering and eventual death, th two of you. These men,” he motions to those in suits, “demanded to be part of this because you hurt some of their friends.” His comment makes them all from Phoenix.

Emil’s grip tightens, and I understand that he isn’t afraid of what they’ll do to him. He’s beyond caring about that. He is afraid of what I’ll let them do to me, be cause of him.

“I didn’t hurt any of their friends,” I reply. “I killed them. I dismembered them once at a time, I watched them suffered. I didn’t even take pleasure in it. I just did it because that is the only thing anyone who comes after me deserves.” My aim is to unnerve them. The thugs are worried, but all I’ve done is anger those in suits. Some take off their jackets and push through the thugs. I can work with anger. Any emotion can be turned against the person feeling them.

“Since Mister Roman made your suffering integral to the deal, and these men do deserve payback in memory of their friends, they’ll get to tenderize you before I hand you over to these fine gentlemen to finish off.”

“Deal’s is we get to kill him,” one of the thug says. “Two of them against all of you, they ain’t going to survive.”

“We won’t kill them, you have my word.”

The man spat. “That’s what your words worth around these parts.” He lobs something at my feet. A pair of switchblades. I look up at him and debate if it’s even worth acting offended.

I pull the K-Bar from my back. “I’m going to use a real knife instead of some toothpicks. Did you bring knives, Bart?”

“Yo know how I feel about them,” he replied flatly.

I kick the two in his direction. “You’ll have to settle for those then.”

He looks at them, then at me, then Emil and me again. The worry is forcefully brought under control. “You’re going to have to stop me. I can’t promise I’ll be able to tell him apart from the others.”

“Emil, you stay against the wall. No matter what happens, you stay there, understood?”

He shakes his head against me, holding on.

I untangle him and crouch. His eyes aren’t glassy anymore. He’s fully aware of what his happening. And that isn’t good right now. I bring his box under control and speak gently.

“It’s going to be okay. These men can’t kill me, do you remember why?”

He swallows and nods.

“Tell me why.”

“You… you’re a monster.”

“And who gets to kill monsters, Emil?”

“G… good men.”

I smile. “Do you thing there’s one good man in this building?”

He glances at Bart who is staring at the switchblades at his feet, looking unsteady, but completely oblivious to our conversation.

“He doesn’t want to kill me.”

Emil looks at me again, then he steps back until he’s against the wall.

Bart picks up the knives and closes his eyes. His unsteadiness feels more intentional now, as if he’d letting a piece of music only he hears push his body about. Survive this, I will to him, because I want to see what you can do once you gain control of that song you hear.

“Not that I expect anyone to stick to the agreement,” I say to the crows, “but we all agree this is using our bodies and knives only? No guns?”

The suited leader looks around, then shrugs. “Why not.”

“And to make one thing clear. If anyone lays a hand on Emil during this fight, I will make them suffer beyond anything they can imagine.” I fix my gaze on the leader. “You said he gets to be free after this, so if anyone her touches him, I will consider that you broke your word. You will suffer even more.”

“Threats from dead men don’t frighten me.”

I grin. “It’s living monsters you should worry about.”

I step forward and away from Bart. The first three men to reach me are good, used to working together, moving out of one’s way, taking advantage of one of them putting me off-balance. Every cut I inflicts costs me multiple punches, one of them slipped on brass knuckles.

But all they cause me is pain, not damage, and it’s been me against multiple opponents my entire life. The first box I build, still in my father’s care, was to house my pain. That is one box that never opens without my consent.

When the K-Bar slips through one of their defense, this fight is over, even if they don’t understand that. The man drops to the floor and it’s two against one. They don’t even land another hit. The one with the brass knuckles is the next to fall when I lock his arm betwee n mine and my side and open his stomach.

I turn to face the third. Behind him, Bart dances around men in suits and in jeans. Instead of holding two switchblades, one is now a Nimravus.

Three suited men detach from the crowd to come help the lone survivor. My attempt to dispatch him before they reach us fails and it’s four against one.

I don’t feel the pain, but by the impacts, I know they are causing damage now. By the time I bring one down, I have to be careful of the weight I place on my left leg. When the next one drops, I know I’ll be pissing blood for a while. The third takes my K-Bar with him when he falls, and my right arm feels heavier than my left.

Nothing is broken. But I’m going to need the strongest painkillers in my kit before I open that box so I can properly see to my injuries.

The fourth man stares at me in disbelief.

The crowd is much thinner than it has a right to be, and the bodies lying around Bart are more numerous than they should be. I am angry that they are going after him. That they would dare try to hurt him.

I slam that box shut.

Bart is dealing with them. He is in no more danger than I am, and I am in no danger at all. Two more men fall under the flurry of blades so fast I can’t tell what he’s holding.

The suited leader stands there stunned, looking at the massacre he set forth. He snaps out of it as he notices me watching him. Then I have to deal with more men coming at me.

I deflect the first swing, moving him to take the hit from the thug. They don’t know how to fight together. Don’t keep each other in mind as they move. I move out of the way, releasing the man I’m holding, and the 2x4 hits him across the head, taking him down for me. I take it out of that man’s hands, slam one end into another one’s face before breaking it over this man’s head.

I am now armed with two pieces of construction lumber with jagged ends. They cut and stab the men that come at me. I take more hits, but anytime the room threatens to tip, I will it to remain properly oriented. When I lose one of the piece of lumber it’s because I can’t hold it anymore, my arm going numb. I lose the seconds one because it’s embedded so deep in a man’s stomach it is wrenched out of my hand as he falls.

But it’s okay. There are no men between me and the suited leader anymore.

The look on his face is utter disbelief as I take a step in his direction.

He pulls his gun out and I go for my Eagle in response, but my hand only jerks up before dropping back down. The injuries have taken their toll. The man realizes I am at his mercy, and smiles.

A scream of pure rage cuts through room and stun the man in me in place. It is a scream I know. The scream of someone discovering there is something he is willing to set everything aside for a single purpose.

The 2x4 Emil holds slams into the man’s head and theirs a flash from the gun’s muzzle. I jerk back from the bullet going through my arm. The man staggers. Emil turn the piece of lumber in his hand like it’s a staff and hit the man between the legs, then he hits him in the side, and up the chin. When the man’s down, Emil turn the 2x4 into a club and hit hims over and over.

I smile.

For Emil to be able to do this, there is something left in him I will be able to build upon. Something deep and hard. I will have to be careful that I don’t turn that into me, but I know what went into making me. Once he is done, me, him and Bart can—

Bart heads toward Emil, sways to that rhythm. Emil and me are the only ones still standing. Emil is the only one moving.

I scream, forcing my hand to move. All I can reach if my Eagle, and in my state, I don’t know if I can manage a non fatal shot with it, but I can’t let him hurt Emil.

Before I fire, Bart has changed direction, coming at me. That song recognized me at the larger threat. Good. I can deal with Bart.

I consider my state, what Bart has done holding knives.

I hope.

The motions isn’t as elegant as I’ve seen. He’s moving through injuries of his own.

I block the swing, but at the blade, not his hand. There is no emotion on his face as he cuts through my flesh other than contentment. He is happy not to be in control.

I step away, swing, but he’s already reacting to what I intended to do, so I change. I pivot and slam my elbow where he’ll be. He staggers, surprised. I put my foot down to stop my turn and grunt as it gives out, and I fall on my shot arm.

My senses blur for a moment, when they are in focus again, Bart of over me, the blade moving in my direction. Emil’s scream is approaching.

Their boxes explode and instead of competing as they trigger other boxes, they compliment each other.

I kick Bart’s legs out from under him, and the 2x4 misses his head, pulling Emil off balance. Bart’s head hits the floor and he lets out a pained moan.

“Emil, stop, it’s okay.”

His eyes are wild with rage. He winds up for another swing. One that had no chance of missing Bart.

“I said stop!”

My yell staggers him, and he looks at me, confused.

“He…” his mouth keels moving, but no sound comes.

“I know, but it’s okay. He’s done. He won’t attack me again.”

Bart groans. “Not with the way my head’s ringing.”

“Emil, drop it.”

He clutches it tighter.

“They’re all dead, Emil. You aren’t in danger.” That isn’t what he needs to hear. “I’m not in danger anymore.”

Emil looks at me and something that might pass for sanity is in his eyes. He lowers the stud, then glances over his shoulder. I look at the mess he made of the suited leader as Emil drops to his knees, throwing up bile.

“I remember that,” Bart says, groaning.

I look at him.

“My first kill,” he continues. “Once I realize what I’d done, I lost my lunch. You?”

“My father had broken my ability to care by the time I killed my first man.”

“Bullshit,” he says with enough vehemence he has to spot due to the pain. “You care plenty. We wouldn’t be in so much pain if you hadn’t cared about him.” Bart has to let pain pass. “On the plus side, I definitely don’t feel like getting laid right now.”

I close my eyes at the ridiculeness of the statement.

Emil starts laughing.