Saturday, March 25, 2006

The Price of Blood and Fire

Fire was everywhere. My sister threw herself in front of me in a feeble attempt to shield me from the raging flames. I watched, terrified, as the fire closed around us. The crackling of burning wood roared in my ears. Smoke filled my lungs The orange light cast eerie shadows on her ebony hair. I searched her eyes for some sign of fear, but there was none. The brownish-golden spheres I knew so well possessed a foreign light and behind it was calm. " Do you want to live, baby brother?" she asked me with startling coolness. I nodded. She smiled, but the expression lacked her usual spark. " Then we shall not die here!" She lifted my trembling form. Her eyes, trained to search for escape, scanned the flames for a weak spot. She found it. Holding my head close to her chest, my sister charged into the tangle of flame. I heard her scream as the fire seared her flesh, but she refused to slow. Tears flooded my eyes. A wall of flame rose before us. It was a dead end. My sister never stopped running. Bracing herself, she smashed her shoulder against the weakened wall. We fell through the mass of charred wood, my sister landing hard on her back. Then, the flaming house collapsed, sealing our dead parents in a fiery tomb. A slight, smokey breeze stirred the grass. Dara moaned in pain. From where I lay, I could see the seriousness of her burns. I struggled, but she refused to release me. Gathering my body into her arms again, my sister rose from the earth. " You're hurt," I stammered. " We need rest." " If I stop, then I will die." More tears formed in my eyes. Even at my young age, I could see that my sister suffered from unimaginable pain, physical and emotional. Those unpenatratable eyes that had seen nine years more than mine stared into the distance. No tears were shed from her eyes. A calm, more frightening to me than my own fear, resided in her pupils. She hefted my body and staggered into the road. I remember little of the long walk from our burning home to the house of our cousins. I sobbed and cried every time I heard Dara moan or saw the bloody trail she was leaving. The tears that fell from my eyes were not for myself. They were for my sister, my dying sister. Then, the rain poured from the sky. The storm came from far away, soaking the earth and erasing the path of blood. Dara's hair was plastered to her face, caked with blood and grime. She did her best to keep the moisture from my skin, but it came through her jacket. Soon I was as wet as she. After an eternity, we halted in the forest just outside our cousin's house. My sister gently placed my feet on the ground. She squatted so that her eyes were level with mine. " I cannot continue," she whispered, placing her hand on my cheek. " No, Dara," I gasped. " We are so close. You cannot leave me!" I saw a brief flash of pain enter her eyes. " I'm all right, brother. I'm not going to die." " Then why won't you come with me?" I demanded. " It's complicated, Jonny," she sighed. " Listen closly. I need you to tell Cousin Joe that I died with mom and dad in the fire." " You're going to leave me!" I declared, my form trembling from the cold rain. My sister took my hands in hers. " I promise, upon... this stone," she said, handing me a smooth, gray rock," that I will see you again. Do you believe me?" I nodded weakly. " Then, go, and be well, my brother." Clutching the stone in one hand and wiping tears away with the other, I tore through the trees toward the warm, brick house. I never looked back, but I thought I heard my sister crying. It could have been the storm, though. Fifteen years later... I rapped the pen against my coffee cup. Today was Monday. I hated Mondays. So, of course, the day had started with the terrible recurring nightmare about a burning house and a trail of blood. I shook my head, trying to rid my memory of that awful scene. I rubbed my police badge nevously. The dreams had been happening more often. Something was about to happen. Sarah, my partner, burst through the doors to the station. Water dripped from her short, yellow hair. Rain had been plagueing the city for several days. Therein lay another piece of that memory. Rain washed away the blood... " Jon, " she panted, " we've found them." " Who?" I asked, sipping my coffee. " Aw, come on! Don't tell me you don't know who." " I really I have no idea what you're talking about." " Fifteen years ago, a house on West Street was burned, suspected arson. A man and a woman were murdered. Their daughter died in the fire. None of their remains were ever recovered. Only the boy survived." No, I thought to myself, I was not the only survivor of that incident. Although it was highly probable that my sister was dead anyway. " The men who set fire to the house have been found," she continued excitedly. " All you have to do is identify them as the ones you saw. I've got their pictures." Sarah tossed the yellow packet on my cluttered desk. The surrounded officers could only stare and whisper as my trembling fingers pried open the envelope. I gazed at the color photographs with a blank expression. The faces of my tormenters stared at me with arrogant eyes. I tore my gaze away from the images to Sarah's face. She knew what I was about to say. Anger flared in my soul. " Where are they?" I demanded, the anger of fifteen years filling my voice. " They are the ones?" " Yes." " The Chief didn't want you to come to the arrest, but I think you need to," Sarah admitted after a brief silence. I nodded. She was a good partner. " Right, let's go." The drive to the run-down apartment complex was the longest drive of my life. I had to stay in control, but the overwhelming desire for revenge would not be quieted. It had been silenced for too long. I fidled with the sacred stone my dear sister had sworn upon. I had kept it on a chain since the incident. We entered the building and found the criminal's location without any trouble. Sarah and I ascended set upon set of broken staircases. We knocked on door number 26. " Open up, Police Department!" Sarah demanded. There was no sound from inside. The stillness shook my soul. " Open the door!" she tried again. Still, there was no answer. " Move," I commanded gruffly. Sarah stared at me, then silently lowered her head and moved. I kicked open the door. The stench of death overwhelmed us immediately, even before we gazed into the horror the room contained. Sarah and I lunged into the apartment, ready for trouble. There was not any. Chairs and tables had been smashed, but if the men had attempted to use these to defend themeslves, it had failed. The three men lay sprawled on the floor, each with a gunshot wound to the head. Deep pools of blood stained the ancient carpet. The sinner's sightless eyes stared eternally in shock and confusion. My parent's glazed eyes. Blood on the floor. My sister, holding my lifeless mother in her arms. Flames. Rain and blood. I buried my face in my hands, hoping to block out the painful images. This was unexpected. My partner was forced to turn her head. Then, she glimpsed the evidence that would burn my heart more than the fifteen year old fire had burned my home. " Look, there!" she pointed. " A security camera. The lens has been shot, but the tape might still be intact." She climbed on the broken remains of a table and gently removed the tape. I snatched it from her. " We have to wait for the Chief!" she declared. " He'll all ready be mad that I let you come. We can't do this!" What she said made sense, but I was beyond caring. There was something strange about this. The table seemed to have been placed there for the sole purpose of removing that tape and the lens had been shot so that the camera would stop recording, but the tape would be preserved. I turned, only to discover something more disturbing. Amidst the chaos, a single thing remained untouched. The television had not been harmed, although the furniture around it had been destroyed. Someone wanted us to see this video. I slid the tape into the VCR with cold fingers, turned on the TV, and pressed PLAY. A frame of the room appeared. I watched several minutes of the criminals strutting around their apartment, then the door opened abruptly. Three shots were fired. The men did not have time to react. They were dead before they realized it. Sarah looked over my shoulder. A figure stepped through the doorway. It was a woman dressed in the tight fitting black clothes like the secret agents from movies. The cloth hugged every perfectly formed muscle. She was beyond fit. Short, spiky, hair, dyed blue, concealed her true hair color. Three gold ear rings adorned her ears. Dark shades hid her eyes. A maze of scars crisscrossed her uncovered face. Most of them were burns. Around her belt, an assortment of weapons hung. She still held the smoking silencer in her hand. She had come prepared to kill. The woman was an assassin. The shades turned and stared into the camera lens. The woman pointed the gun toward the recording machinery and laughed. Sweat beaded on my forhead. " I kept my promise, brother. The one I made upon the stone, remember? Here I am. I told you you would see me again." A cold chill ran up my spine as the woman removed the sunglasses. Calm, golden eyes gazed at me and winked. Then, the assassin shot the camera. I gulped. Those were my sister's eyes.

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