Chapter 39

Darius watched cars pass by on the street below, crouched on the edge of one of Ashebrook’s tallest buildings. The rain was pouring now, plastering his clothes to his body. His hand rested on Life’s comforting grip, its weight situated across his upper thighs. The various lights of the city around him caught the beads of rainwater still glistening across the sword’s black scabbard. Life went with him at all times now, riding in a custom sheath across his back that Harold helped him make.

He used it often, mostly as a deterrent to the petty criminals that robbed, mugged, or tried to beat on people. He also used it as an agent of death against the more ruthless criminals he came across. It has been about two weeks since Anna’s death and since then he’d already killed half a dozen men he caught in the act of trying to murder, rape, or worse. His hand absently went to the inside of his left forearm. On it were a series of six cuts. Some of them had already healed over but the last couple were still healing. Each cut represented a life he took. It was more than that though. It was a reminder. A reminder of not only what pain was but what it meant to be alive. It helped to ground him.

One person, however, was still on the streets, spreading his influence around like a toxic virus. He was letting him live, for the moment. He wanted the scum to grow complacent so he would let his guard down. It would make what he was planning to do to him that much sweeter.

He let his thoughts of revenge fade into the background. A memory surfaced now. It was of Anna’s funeral. He closed his eyes, seeing it in spectacularly fine detail, everything a hundred percent accurate.

It hadn’t been a somber, gloomy day full of cold breaths of wind and dark gray, dramatic looking clouds. Instead, it had been full of sunlight and surprising warmth, even though winter was still going strong. The sun washed down on the proceedings in a blanket of warmth and the cloudless blue sky looked vibrant and inviting. It felt like the world had wanted to create its own memorial in remembrance of Anna, an echo of the woman she had been before Richard Williams had gotten hold of her. She had been exactly like that day, warm and full of life.

The thought brought fresh tears to his eyes and he wiped them away with the back of his fist.

He had watched the funeral from a long distance away, his back to an enormous marble obelisk whose white point reached up to the sky.

Somber faces regarded Anna’s coffin, its surface stained a rich, shiny cherry. People were crying, some hysterical while others tried to reign in their emotions. Anna’s father was on his knees, as if they wouldn’t support his weight. He was dressed in an older black suit he’d at least had the presence of mind to get cleaned and pressed. One spindly arm was outstretched toward Anna’s coffin. His splayed fingers were so skinny that they looked skeletal. It was as if he was trying to tell her she was absolutely, positively, not allowed to leave. Darius could even see him mouthing the word “No” over and over again. His eyes, usually sunken and dark like he’d been in a fight, were now puffed up and red. His face was contorted in grief and the pain of loss.

Darius would have had sympathy for the man, having lost his wife and then his daughter. Instead, all he had for the man was anger and rage, his old friends. Anna was dead because of that disgusting druggie. His addiction killed her.

He spent a great deal of time afterward, convincing himself that others were to blame for what happened to Anna. It was their choices that had led to her death, not his. He told himself that he never really had any other choice in the matter because by the time he found out the truth it was too late.

It wasn’t my fault, he said to himself. This was a mantra he recited daily.

Deeper, however, in a part of his mind and heart that he was afraid to examine, he knew the real truth. That he had a part in her death as well, maybe more than just a part. He closed himself off to that place though. It hurt too much and he didn’t want to feel that pain anymore.

He pushed his dangerous thoughts away, thoughts that came too close to that ultimate truth, and went back to staring at the assembled grievers. He recognized a couple more of her family members. Her aunt, uncle, and younger cousin that lived out in Tucson, two other cousins (one male and the other female) that still lived in Ashebrook, and her grandmother on her mom’s side. Most of the people there, however, were friends. People she’d hung out with, had fun with. Half of those were the other residents of Hill’s third floor, east wing. He was shocked to notice that the mean-spirited Victoria was even one of them.

And of course, there was Alex. He was in the front row, off to one side with one arm around Cassie’s waist. His grief-stricken, blue eyes were locked onto the casket. Darius could see the complex cocktail of emotions in his eyes and in the way he held himself. The most prominent emotion he saw there was shame. He wanted to scream and shout at him, to slice Alex to the very core of who he was with his accusations. He didn’t want Alex there. He didn’t want him standing in front of Anna’s coffin, looking down at her with his shame-filled eyes. He didn’t want to see him living his life like nothing ever happened.

Because he was jealous.

Alex still had Cassie.

Darius, on the other hand, was alone. Anna was dead.

His hand twitched, moving to the sword he had stowed beneath his heavy coat to keep it from view. He felt his body tensing, but he drew a deep calming breath and did his best to release some of the anger he felt rising inside him. He had decided before he got to the cemetery that he wasn’t going to start anything at Anna’s funeral. He knew she wouldn’t have wanted that. It was the least he could do.

He watched them as they lowered her into the ground, feeling like his world was collapsing around him all over again. It was the finality of it that hurt so much. He had watched her die, but it was a different story when he stood there watching them put her into the ground. The cold reality of it was like someone stabbing a knife deep into his chest, piercing his heart. He would never see her sunny smile, smell the beautiful scent to her hair, hear the sweetness of her voice, or feel the smoothness of her skin. All of that was lost to him forever. He wasn’t getting it back. Marks, Williams, the fat cop, even Alex. They had ended it.

Not ended, he reminded himself. Taken. Stolen.

He made himself watch the rest of the funeral. He watched as the priest offered up a final prayer to whatever Almighty Being lived up there to watch over her soul. He watched again as the assembled mass of people paid their last respects as they piled dirt onto her coffin. Then he waited until everyone left and went up to the freshly dug grave.

As he approached, he noticed her tombstone. It was elegant, made from black granite with flecks of a lighter, gray-toned stone speckling it. The sun’s fading light caused a massive glare to streak across most of its front. He moved closer to it, letting his shadow cut across the glare, bringing the words artfully etched in the granite into view.

It hurt to look at those words.

It hurt to see that name carved into a tombstone.

Most of all, it hurt because he wasn’t in the ground with her.

ANNA

S.

COOK.

1983-2006.

Beloved Daughter & Friend.

He brushed his fingers over the chiseled letters, the granite already absorbing most of the cold beginning to seep back into the world. The wind was picking up now and Darius was again struck by his previous thought, that the world had offered its own memorial for the girl that had been full of life. It seemed to him that as soon as the ground welcomed her into its fold, the day had changed with it. It was crazy, but in a way he believed it. He always thought Anna was the type of person that could make things seem brighter just by standing next to them.

He leaned down, his hands laid across his knees, and saw his reflection in the polished tombstone. He looked healthy, alive, and even clean shaven, but there was a flat and deadened look to his eyes. The way they seemed devoid of emotion was an eerie echo of how Anna’s eyes had looked the day he had wanted to surprise her with a walk in the park. It seemed like that had been a different life altogether, something that happened decades ago as opposed to months. The pain, however, still continued to rip him apart on a daily basis, never fading. The nightmares didn’t help either. They were always the same one too. They started with the way she had looked before she’d died, never in the beginning sequences of that horrible night. She had known she was going to die, he had seen it in her eyes. Then the world around him slowed, the trigger is pulled and then Anna is gone. Forever. Every detail of it was seared into his mind. Every bit of sadness, hopelessness, rage, hatred, and guilt.

All of it was there, unendingly.

“Not long now, baby,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. His eyes started to sting with tears. He reached out his hand and rested it, once again, on the cold granite. “Not long at all. I’m gonna make him suffer for taking you from me. You deserve that.” He waited a beat and then said. “I deserve that.”

He stayed there, in the same position, just staring at her tombstone until the sky darkened. He didn’t notice it when it happened, and when he did realize that it was going on full night he didn’t really care. All he saw was her name, etched into that beautiful granite.

He considered briefly what Anna would say about what he planned to do. He wanted to believe she would have approved. The truth, however, was that if she had been there, she would have told him to let it go. Like she had asked him to do before he set out to rob Exclusive to confront the men that had abused her. He hadn’t known at the time he would murder them. All he’d honestly wanted to do was scare them into leaving her alone. In the end, his anger proved stronger than he thought possible and he got swept up in its crushing embrace.

“Men like that,” he said out loud, telling her the same thing he had told Alex once upon a time, as if it were the only justification he needed. “are like rabid animals and rabid animals need to be put down.”

The tombstone didn’t talk back. The only thing left was silence.

“I’m sorry,” he choked, his voice thick with tears. “I’m sorry I couldn’t see what was going on. I’m sorry I didn’t save you. I wish you were still here, babe. I miss you so much.”

He leaned his head against the tombstone and closed his eyes. Her death flashed for a moment, there and gone. He clenched his fist against it, trying to fight his overwhelming rage. He didn’t want to feel that, not where Anna was buried.

“D?” He heard a voice ask, a voice he’d know blindfolded in a dark room.

Alex.

He turned his head slightly to look at him, his features twisted in a decidedly unfriendly way.

“Leave,” was all Darius said, his voice low and dangerous. “I don’t wanna talk and I don’t want you here.”

Alex continued standing there, his features shrouded in the night’s darkness.

He could tell Alex was nervous. He might not have been able to see his face, but he saw it in his body language and heard it in his hesitant and unsure-sounding voice. Alex was scared of him. Inwardly, the thought gave him a certain amount of pleasure.

“I know you don’t want to talk,” Alex said, his unsteady voice gaining a measure of confidence. “But you have to. You can’t let what happened ruin who you were.”

“Shut the hell up,” Darius shot back, his tone still carrying that dangerous undercurrent of hostility.

Alex, however, wasn’t budging.

“I’m sorry she died.”

Darius knew he was sincere, deeply sincere, but the information didn’t mean anything to him. Not anymore. People could be sorry all they wanted, but it wasn’t going to bring her back.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there to help.”

“Screw your sorry, Alex!” Darius yelled, furious. He stood up and walked a step toward his old friend. “Is it gonna bring her back?” Alex didn’t answer. “Is it?!”

Darius watched the subtle flinch Alex gave in response to his yelling.

“You can take it however you want, man,” Alex told him, stepping closer as well. There was a visible effort on his face to shove away lingering doubts and fears. “I didn’t kill her, D. Somewhere inside, you know that.”

“You don’t know me anymore, Alex,” Darius said gruffly. “I’m not that guy and I won’t ever be him again.”

“Listen to yourself!” Alex cried, trying to make him see reason. “Do you even know the person you’ve turned yourself into?”

“Just walk away.” He turned his back on Alex. It was too dark to see the grave properly but that didn’t bother him.

“Why?”

Darius blew out an exasperated sigh, fighting to control himself.

“Why what?” he asked, his voice barely more than a growl.

“Why should I leave?” Alex stepped closer to Darius’ back. “Should I just let more people get killed because you want to play the dark angel around the city? Should I let you grow into a monster nobody can stop, letting more people die because you can’t control your anger? People like Anna?”

There was no warning, only a hiss of metal as Darius, in his blind rage, drew Life’s blade with the effortless speed and skill of a master swordsman. Alex saw it coming, but he still wasn’t able to get completely out of its way. The blade was coming too fast for that. His forearm rose to meet it and the blade’s razor sharp edge parted cloth and flesh alike in a long, thin cut close to an inch deep. Blood flowed immediately, soaking Alex’s overcoat and shirt then dripping to the ground. He drew in a sharp hiss of breath, the wound hurting like a bright line of fire burning on his skin. He grunted and stepped back, his face contorted with pain.

“Leave. Now,” Darius said coldly. “Go back to your life. If I see you again, I’ll kill you.”

Alex was shocked. He looked like he meant every word. The sharp, stinging pain was a bitch, but the words coming from Darius of all people and the menace they carried, stung worse.

“Okay,” Alex said, his voice filled with sadness. He took off his overcoat, ripped off one of his sleeves and used that to wrap his bleeding cut. When he was done, he nodded at Darius’s back, something meaning both goodbye and sorry. Then he left, walking back to his car in depressing silence.

Darius never turned to watch him leave and never felt even the remotest trace of guilt. There was no room for guilt now, only anger…and revenge.

His mind snapped back to the present. He looked once again at the street far below him, perched like a gargoyle, and saw an expensive Cadillac he’d once tailed because it held Anna inside, idling along the curb in front of a ritzy apartment high-rise.

The building across the street from him was tall, but not as tall as the building he was crouched on. It was elegant, all steel and glass and Darius knew it housed some of Ashebrooke’s wealthiest citizens. It would have been cheaper to rent a small airplane for the weekend. That money didn’t just pay for a nice place to live, however. It also paid for security. They were, without a doubt, some of the best in the city. But Darius hardly concerned himself with them. At best, they would only be an annoyance. Besides, he had no real intention of going into the building at all.

He waited a second longer, taking in a deep breath through his nose. The air smelled faintly of smog and pollution, but underneath it he could smell the clean, crisp air of a winter night. He took one more deep breath and then got up. He stepped back a few paces, eyeing the distance between the roof he was on and the one on the other side of the street. After a brief pause, he took off, racing toward the edge. When he reached its end, he leaped, sailing out over the street and clearing the distance to the other roof with ease. He landed in a crouch, skidding a couple of inches before coming to a stop.

He jumped up, running quickly to the side of the apartment building overlooking the street. He waited patiently, his eyes locked onto the car. He could see figures inside. Two of them. The dark windows made it hard to get any details, other than the fact that the men inside were huge. Thanks to their vague, blurry outlines he could tell that they both took up a lot of room. Darius didn’t really care about them. They were just collateral damage in his eyes.

Just more obstacles that would need removed.