World in Tatters Ch. 28

If looks could kill, Jonathan Luther would be a corpse by now.

Chris rushes across the room, muscles tensed. He may not be very large or outwardly muscular, but with the look in his eye, I would not want to be the target of his rage. Luther barely seems to register the boy coming at him. There’s no recognition for the wretch he sold into slavery a year ago.

As soon as I see Chris rear back to slug Luther, I jump into action, grabbing his arm to pull him away. “Whoa, hey. Plenty of time for that later. Right now, he’s actually being cooperative.”

“You know what he did! You know who he is!”

Trying to keep my voice calm and level, “You’re right. I do. But look at him. He’s terrified, and not of us. There’s more going on here. Just let me finish questioning him. Can you do that?”

Chris just stands there, glaring past me, his fists and jaw clenching and unclenching. The tension in his body visibly rises.

“Chris, you know damn well that you won’t get past me by force. Now, I asked you a question.”

The boy takes a sharp breath, forcing air into his lungs. As he breathes out, some of the tension leaves his muscles. He seems to resign himself to the situation. “Fine.”

“Alright. Good.”

I step out from between the two, hoping Chris won’t take advantage of the gesture. I take a few steps away and sit down on a nearby sofa. Some of the tension returns to Chris’s shoulders. I sit on edge, watching him to ensure he doesn’t attack our host.

With clenched jaw, Chris circles around in front of Mr. Luther. I come close to stopping him, but this time, he looks like he’s in full control of his actions. His blood obviously boils just beneath the surface, but he isn’t letting his rage take him anymore. Luther avoids looking at Chris’s face, “Do you know who I am?”

No answer.

“Hey!” I get a little uneasy when Chris grabs Luther by the face. “Look at me, you sick bastard.” Luther finally focuses on Chris. “Do you know who I am?”

“I don’t… I don’t know you. What do you want?”

Hissing, “You mean you don’t recognize your own offspring?”

Looking at the two of them side by side, the resemblance is pretty obvious. I mean, apart from the balding and clear signs of ageing and gluttony, Chris is almost the spitting image of the man before him. A fact that Luther himself appears to be wrestling with.

Thoroughly confused, pulling his face away from Chris’s grip, “I…don’t know what you’re talking about. I only have two children. My twin boys.”

“Think again.”

“Chris!” Jason calls out. “This isn’t the time. We’ve already been here too long. Just let Steven…”

“No, Jason, it’s fine.” I reproach. Jason backs down, returning to his perch on the sofa. He looks nervous. It’s true we’ve been here a while, but I’m confident we’re safe for now.

Chris barely registers our exchange. “Maybe I can jog your memory. My mother’s name is Lena Duran! She used to work for you about sixteen, seventeen years ago. Until you…” The words catch in his throat.

A wave of realization washes over Luther’s face. That name draws him out of his terrified stupor. “Lena? That’s impossible.”

“It really isn’t. You thought you had me dealt with. Turns out, you were wrong.”

“What…do you mean?”

“I came to kill you. About a year ago. You remember?”

“That was you?”

“Oh, so you do remember!”

“Sort-of. I remember my guards taking me to shelter because of a threat.” I can’t quite be sure, but there’s been a shift in Luther’s demeanor. Like he’s setting us up for something. “That doesn’t happen often. At least not here on my own property.”

“So, you’re telling me, you don’t remember selling me!”

“I…I didn’t…I didn’t know who you were.”

In a flash of movement, the back of Chris’s hand whips across Luther’s face. The sharp sound echoes through the room. “You think that makes it better? What would you have done if you knew?”

When Chris goes to strike him again, I intervene, “That’s enough.” I glance back over my shoulder to see Rachel still standing in the doorway, anxiously shuffling on her feet. “Go wait over there with Rachel, please.”

With a huff, Chris complies with my command. I turn my back on Luther, trying to gather my thoughts. To my surprise, Luther speaks, “Boy, what is your name? What name did Lena give you?”

“Why?” One could almost taste the venom in the air.

Luther’s response is timid, feigned, I suspect. “Because I’d like to know the name of my son.”

“I am not your son.” Chris jeers.

Sheepishly, “You…You’re right. I remember your mother. I remember her well.” I sense something in his voice. I think he knows the exact reason for Chris’s fury. This tone almost sounds like remorse. Almost, but not quite. Like he’s trying to garner sympathy from the boy. “I cared for her. Deeply. Lena was a dear friend.”

The more I think about it, the more suspect this entire ordeal becomes. Luther’s a good actor, I must admit. I hadn’t even considered he was faking until Chris brought up his mother. How could I have been so stupid? The place being empty, Luther sitting alone in his room. And Alice should be back by now. This is a setup.

Great, now I’m on edge.

“You don’t get to talk about my mother! Not after what you did to her.”

“I know I hurt her. She rejected me, and I—”

“You raped her!”

“I’m so sorry! I never meant her harm.” Luther starts sniveling. The false penitence becoming more evident with every word. “I loved her. I made a mistake. I’ve changed since then. I married, had children. I’m a different person.”

This time it’s me who slugs Luther across the jaw, hard enough to send him sprawling to the ground, hands still bound behind him. “Jason, help me get him up, please.”

The room remains silent. Chris and Rachel stare at me, shocked by my sudden act of violence. Jason is appalled. Half a minute passes before he moves to assist me.

Once Luther is upright in his chair, I pull my weapon from its holster, leveling it at his head. Looking over my shoulder at my companions, “He’s trying to play us.” Returning my attention to Luther, “Have you told us anything truthful? Anything at all?”

“What are you doing?” Jason circles behind our prisoner.

Luther raises his head to look me in the eye, blood trickling from the corner of his self-satisfied smirk.

Suddenly Alice comes rushing into the room, knives out and ready to strike. Startled, I bring my weapon to bear with my compatriots taking a fighting stance. Once we realize she is friend, I drop my arms to the side, breathing a sigh of relief. “Damn it, woman. What the hell?”

“I heard a commotion, so I came to help. You gotten anything out of him yet?”

“Thought we did. Now I’m pretty sure it was all crap.”

“Uh…Okay? Don’t know what that’s supposed to mean, but whatever. Shall we get on with it then?”

“Yes, let’s!” came the response. But it didn’t come from my people. And it didn’t come from Luther. All of us go on guard again. I aim my pistol in the direction of the voice. A dark figure slinks out from around the dining room doorway revealing the light haired man from this afternoon. I draw the hammer back on my Beretta. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

“And why not?”

“Steven!” Jason exclaims. I turn to see a shining blue-green dot reflecting off Jason’s chest. As I look, two more dots appear. One trained on Alice, the other on Chris.

I peer around the room, trying to find the source of the beams. Two appear to be coming from the one open window in the room, the other from the hallway. Two more figures appear behind the blonde man.

The one to his left looks at me from under a wide brimmed hat, “Hello again, Boy.” This time I recognize the voice. Blondie and his two guards saunter into the room. I recognize the man in the hat. He’s the one who shot Mateo. The accent as prominent as I remember, “I suggest you put down your weapons.”

When none of us moves to comply with his order, a shot rings out through the room. Jason shrieks, clutching his arm. Alice rushes to him, pulling his hand away from the fresh wound. “I’m fine! I’m fine. It’s just a graze.”

The blonde man smirks, walking around the perimeter of the large parlor, voice utterly calm, “Please, put your weapons down. I’d prefer to have you all alive.”

Hesitantly, I lower my pistol, holstering it. I pull the holster off my belt and set it slowly onto the floor. Rachel and Chris remove theirs as well. Alice sheaths her knives, but makes no effort to remove them from her person.

Now that we’re in the same room as the man, I can clearly see a large, white scar running down the side of his pale face. There’s something vaguely familiar about him, but I can’t figure out why.

“I can feel you staring, Mr. Tucker.” His voice is smooth, composed. He speaks as a man who believes himself in full control of this situation. His hand drifts to his cheek, tracing the line of the scar. “Please. All of you. Take a seat. We’re going to be here a while longer.”

The others look to my lead. I meet eyes with each of them before nodding the okay. Rachel and Chris sink down into a set of chairs in the corner of the parlor. Jason sits next to the mantle, gripping his wounded arm. Alice’s eyes, however, remain locked on her target, every visible muscle tensing. I can see the wheels in her head turning, plotting. Trying to figure out how to take out as many enemies as possible. She’s coiled tightly as a rattlesnake ready to strike if a chance presents itself.

“I’d rather stand, if it’s all the same.” I move to Alice’s side.

With an exaggerated sigh, “Suit yourself, Steven.” The blonde man paces to the sofa across from the hearth. He takes a seat and looks up at me. The deep blue of his eyes betraying little emotion. “So, the good news is, you can stop searching for us.”

“We haven’t been searching for you.”

“No. You’ve just been playing detective, trying to figure out who you pissed off bad enough to want you dead. Well, I guess there’s more good news. I never wanted you dead. Neither did my employer. Point of fact, I much prefer you alive. You’re more useful that way.”

Useful? What use could we possibly be to this man? Who is he? I try to match the tone of my voice to his. I slow my breathing. I force my senses, which have been in overdrive, to focus `on him. “I don’t understand your meaning. What possible use could we be to you?”

“Oh, you’d be surprised.” A mischievous smile cracks his façade, “But first things first. I’m sure you’re wondering who I am.”

“I couldn’t really care less.”

The man’s face tightens into anger, causing his eye to twitch momentarily before relaxing again. Gesturing to Jason, Rachel, and me, clearly trying to change the subject, “I’m actually impressed with you lot. With just the three of you, you were able to take out an entire team of my bounty hunters. And with such violent precision. Who was it that taught you to shoot? Your mother, perhaps?”

“What would you know of my mother?”

The smirk returns to his features, this time there is no shred of mirth. “I know all about you, Steven. And you, Jason, Rachel. Even you, young Chris. Oh, let’s not forget, the great Lady Alice Falstrom. First Child of President Nora Falstrom.” Pausing, feigning remembrance, “Wait! That’s right. Former President. I make it a point to know my targets.”

From the corner of my eye, I see Alice shift on her feet, itching to rip the mystery man’s throat from him. “Well, you know who we are. Maybe you’d like to introduce yourself?”

“Oh, I thought you didn’t care who I am.”

“I don’t. But it’s only polite.”

“Hmm. Be that as it may, I think you already know who I am.”

“Oh, really? Because I think I’d remember meeting the psychopath that’s been hunting my family.”

“Well, you’ll have plenty of time to think about it. We’ll be spending a good bit of time together.” He keeps running his fingers across the deep scar on his face. I would think it a habit, but he seems to be doing it on purpose, drawing my attention to it. After a long pause, “You mean, you really don’t recognize me?”

“Why? Should I?”

Turning his gaze away from me, “What about you, Lady Alice?” There is true hatred in the way he speaks her name.

Alice’s steely gaze never wavers from his face. If she does know him, she’s not saying anything. She stands there, jaw locked shut, eyes burning holes in our captor. Knowing her, if he and his men give her any opportunity, she’s going to put every one of them down. Unfortunately, I don’t foresee them giving her the chance.

Even though I want more than anything to kill this man to make my family safe again, I can’t help but wonder why he thinks Alice and I know him. He does seem familiar though. Or at least, his scar does. It’s an old memory. Vague. Hazy. The more I try to think about it, the more clouded it becomes. Do we know Blondie? How do we know Blondie?

“Hey! Are you ever going to untie me?” Luther shouts from his corner of the room, startling me out of my thoughts. There is a hint of nervous energy in his tone, but it’s mostly overshadowed by bravado—false, I suspect. “I did everything you said. Now, let me go.”

“Oh, quiet, you.” Blondie brushes Luther off with a wave of his hand. “I’ll free you and your family when I feel like it.”

“Screw them! If you let me go now, you can keep them.” The bravado rapidly descends into begging. “Keep them! Take whatever else you want, just let me go!”

“Coward.” Chris spits under his breath.

“Your son is right, Jonathan. You are a coward.” Blondie chuckles at the pair. “Selling your own family out for your freedom. That’s just disgraceful.”

“Says the man threatening children.” I jeer.

“Touché.” He concedes. “But it’s only business.”

“Please. Please! Just let me go.” Luther continues his sniveling, dispensing entirely with any bluster. “I didn’t do anything to you! Rolo, I beg you!”

Rolo? Now that name. I know that name. Everything starts to click into place. I glance over at Alice. For the first time since our adversaries entered the parlor, her expression betrays her mind. She makes eye contact with me, recognition washing over her. That scar. Now I know why it’s so familiar.

But I don’t know how that could be possible. The last time we saw him…or rather, the last time I saw him…He was being dragged away on…President Falstrom’s orders. He was just a boy.

“Rolo Kilik.”

Alice’s voice appears to take him by surprise. His eyes snap over to her, “Finally, we’re getting somewhere.”

“Rolo, let me go!” Luther’s incessant pleading cuts through, “I’ll give you anything. Money. Art? Do you like art? Take whatever you want!”

Rolo begins to get visibly irritated at Luther’s interruptions. Rolo shoots a glare straight to his bodyguard. The man with the accent flicks his hand at his subordinate, who draws a blade from under his coat and steps behind Luther.

Seeing this, Luther becomes excited, “Finally! Thank you, Rolo. You won’t re—”

In one smooth motion, the second guard yanks Jonathan Luther’s head back, drawing his blade across the helpless man’s throat.