Sunshine

From Reydala

Am I dead? No. I can’t be; if I was, I probably wouldn’t have this killer headache. I think as I bite down hard on my lip to stop me from complaining. My head is burning and clouded, so I’m not quite sure where I am or what’s going on right now. I try to move my body and quickly find myself tied up to a chair.

“Are you finally awake, Mister Marshall?” A familiar voice asks me, but my head is throbbing too much and I can’t figure out who’s talking to me. I try to open my eyes, to find that I am blindfolded as well. The blindfold must be moving, because I hear the man say “Tsk, tsk, tsk. I can’t have you peeking, John Marshall. Not until my surprise for you is complete.”

“Identify yourself now.” I demand in as sharp of a tone as I can, despite the crippling pain filling my senses, or at least I think that’s what I am saying. My head hurts too much to be sure.

“You can call me, Ralph El Smith, or Smith Raphael if you like. I thought you would have clued in before now.” The man’s laugh and voice are like nails against a chalk board echoing into my skull. It does nothing but make my head hurt more and more as I listen to him.

“I have no need to remember small time targets” I spit out at him, because that is all I am able to do right now, stall for time. Until Cole and Connor arrive, I am pretty much at this man’s mercy.

“For so many long years after you took me in, I dreamed of this day. The day I am going to take my revenge.” The grating voice speaks, from really close now. Despite the burning pain in my skull, I can feel his breath against my ear. I refuse to comment to him, because I know that’s what he wants. If he’s going to kill me, let him get it over with. “It’s about time to get everything set up for your surprise. You just wait right there.” His voice is even more painful to my throbbing head, it’s higher pitched and even amused. What is he planning, and more importantly, how can I escape? I struggle with my bindings with no avail and freeze when I hear a woman older than I scream.

“Do you hear that John? Doesn’t it just excite you to hear the screams of your victims?” He asks me and the woman screams out for help again, but that is quickly silenced with a slap echoing through the room. I am now ignoring the pain in my head and feel completely alert. No, I am not excited, but this had to stop.

“Stop.” I demand of him, though I know he won’t.

“Stop? Why should I?” he asks and I hear the woman whimpering. The room we’re in has to be middle sized, based on the echo, and from the sound of his voice and her whimpering, we cannot be more than twelve feet away. “You have a very beautiful mother, John. It would be such a shame to let her go to waste before I end her life, yes?”

“This is between you and me.” I respond. I have no idea who the woman that Smith has, but it cannot be my mother, after all… he’s saying John Marshall’s mother, not my real name and mother. “Leave the innocent out of this.”

“How cruel, your own son speaks coldly of you in your final moments.” Smith says to the woman who whimpers harder. “I wonder what happened to him to turn him from a cute child to the cold-hearted man he is right now.” I hear him say to her before she gives off a muffled scream. He was covering her mouth with something now.

I struggle against my bindings again and I feel the rope cutting into my wrists. If I listen carefully, I can hear other sounds coming from Smith and his captive among the muffled screams of horror. The air had a distinct smell to it as well, but my head is throbbing again and I can’t tell what it is; something with iron in it, and lots of it.

I am still listening to the endless screaming, and I am not sure if I’ve been listening to it for five minutes, or an hour. The iron smell has become a taste in my mouth, but my head is still too sore to realize just what this is, but I know that I know what it is. I hear him laugh again, this time more menacing as he asks me “Any last words for your mother, John?”

Once again, he calls her John’s mother and not mine. I see your bluff. I think and just want to clutch my head in my hands. Damn, when I get out of here, I’m going to kick his ass. “No? Very well then; it seems your son has no more use for you.” I hear shuffling, someone’s moving and there are two last screams, a man’s and a woman’s. It ends as quickly as it comes, and is replaced with more laughter and a squishy walking sound.

Now there’s something sticky on my legs, no; two things. Smith just placed two sticky round objects on my legs. “You brought this upon yourself, John Marshall. When you captured me, you should have taken me in dead. Leaving me alive was the mistake which led us to this crossroads. I admire your ability to stay cool while I slaughtered your mother and your father, really. If it were mine, I would have flipped by now.”

“Quit your bluffing and end this.” I spit at him. I don’t know if I hit him or not, but I hear him ‘tsking’ from up close. I feel him reach around for the blindfold and untie it. Light fills my vision and I wince both at how bright the room is and how the blood is glistening along the floor and walls around him in this small abandoned auditorium. My mind clued into the smell now, it is the blood of the two people he killed.

I stare him down, fearlessly as ever. He smiles back at me and grabs my hair. He forces my head down to stare at the objects on my legs. They are as I suspected the heads of his victims. They aren’t as I suspected; they are the faces of my parents. Their eyes are wide open, and their mangled faces are horrified and filled with pain. “Who’s bluffing, Paul Campbell?” he asks me in a simple tone. I ignore him as I continue to stare at my parents’ faces. My mind is burning this look into it, and I cannot look away. There are no words for how I feel right now, the feeling is crushing is numbing at the same time. It’s terrifying and enraging, I’ll never be the same. “Be it the faces of your parents, or my own. This is your last day on Reydala, John Marshall.” I hear him say and feel a dagger placed by my throat. I can only watch and wait, unless a miracle happens, I am going to die.

“This is the Riscanian Military, local branch. We have the building surrounded. Stand down, or we will open fire.” I hear voices come from all around and feel the monster pull away. I can feel him smiling even bigger now, and I have half a mind to laugh hysterically because of what I see, what I know I heard before, and how he's being so easily fooled. I keep silent though, their gazes have mine locked with their own.

“Tch. Looks like you live for another day. You’ll be surely arrested for this and be forced to endure what I have in prison. So, this really still is your last day on Reydala.” Smith Raphael laughs again and I hear him leave, followed with the sounds of doors opening and two men running in. I don’t need to look to know who they are, but at this moment it doesn’t matter anyway.

“Marshall!” the first voice says frantically as he steps behind me and starts to undo the bindings. The second person remains silent and removes the heads from my legs quietly, leaving nothing but blood left upon my bodysuit. On his back, I see Aisa resting quietly and I know what I have to do. I can’t let him get away. I feel the ropes fall loose and I stand to my feet.

“Cole, give me Aisa.” I demand suddenly as I walk to the second man. He turns and looks at me as if I’ve grown a second head and I stare him down. “Give me Aisa” I repeat and Cole turns back around. I walk to him and remove the rifle from its shoulder strap. I feel the weapon over quickly as I quickly run to the door where I know he left from. Aisa’s a little uncalibrated, but I can hit him, easily.

“Marshall! Where are you going?” I hear Connor ask me from the place he untied me. I ignore his question and leave the building quickly, entering an alleyway used for deliveries. I stop and start looking through the scope. The alleyway is straight and I see him clearly through the scope. I lower my rifle slightly and shoot his left quadricep muscle, specifically the rectus femoris. He quickly falls to the ground and I shift my rifle to the right. I quickly shoot the right rectus femoris now, just to make sure he cannot get back up. I walk over to him and use my foot to flip him onto his back. He tries to stab my leg with his dagger, but I stomp my boot onto his weapon arm as hard as I can. He drops the dagger and I kick it far away. I press my foot against his throat now and stare him down. He looks at me with no fear, and I look at him with no expression.

I shove Aisa’s barrel into his mouth and push it against the back of his throat. “Good morning, Sunshine.” I pause to apply pressure on his throat. “Do you know why I call this rifle ‘Aisa’?” I ask him, rhetorically. I don’t know why I’m even asking, but I am. “In a book I was given by my parents, back when I was a teenager, Aisa was one of three women whom even the gods of that world feared. The three women symbolized all mortality and that even gods could be mortal. Nona was the Fate of Birth, Decima was the Fate of Life’s Longevity and Aisa… well, Aisa’s role as a Fate was to decide just how people should die. Old age, poison, murder, peacefully, all methods were hers to choose. All that mattered was that Aisa followed how the mortal soul was to be judged. Nona spun the thread of life, Decima measured the thread, and Aisa…” Pausing, I look down into the eyes of my target and give him a cold stare for a moment, and then I close my eyes. “Severs the thread” I say as I squeeze the trigger.

I open my eyes and see grey walls, my head and neck are throbbing and I realize I am not standing. I look around and see a syringe on the floor with a liquid dribbling out of the end. I take a deep breath and roll onto my back with a deep sigh. I can now feel my body trembling, and my lungs working hard to take in as much oxygen as they can. My stomach is in knots and wants to expel everything inside it and itself from my body. My head still feels like it was beaten with a brick, but I am quick to clue into my situation. The grey walls are part of my apartment here in Blacot.

The syringe, throbbing neck and this nauseated feeling tell me I just had a post-traumatic stress disorder attack. The throbbing skull suggests I hit my head on something as the attack started. Just another day, I suppose. These attacks originated about two months after that event and have been a recurring problem in my life since then. Luckily they are less frequent and more situational, however I use situational lightly as it can be really random and be only slightly similar. I cannot anticipate when these attacks will happen; I just need to have my syringe on me at all times to help break me out of them as I can. It doesn’t work instantly, but it’s better than being locked for hours in at a time.

I move to my feet and pick up the syringe. Checking it quickly tells me that I have no uses left for the current canister. I grumble under my breath and move to my couch and coffee table to start refilling the medical tool. Refilling the canister for my syringe is an easy job, but a time consuming one, something I’ll do later. I’m just going to nap and hopefully wake up to the sunshine or something.