the spirit of vengeance - part i of ii
I immediately realized the irony of the thought as I tried to breathe and felt the intense pain radiating from the gaping hole in my abdomen. Or, what used to be my abdomen. The shotgun shell saw to it that I’d never get in a pool without my shirt off again. In fact, it made sure I’d never do anything again.
As I laid there on the ground, my blood seeping out of my abdomen and into the cold concrete I had only one thought going through my mind.
I couldn’t save her.
I don’t burden myself with a lot of responsibility – aside from taking care of my Charger and making sure there’s food on the table every night, I haven’t got any other job aside from taking care of her. To protect her with all of my strength.
That night I found out that my strength doesn’t quite stand up to the power of a 20 Gauge Shotgun Shell fired a point blank range. Though, in my defense, I imagine there aren’t many things that would.
That night was supposed to have been perfect. I had planned the entire evening down to a tee – I’d pick her up and take her to the Avenged Sevenfold concert. The same band we’d gone to on our first date, almost five years ago. I had planned to recreate the night in its entirety.
I’d pick her up, take her to the same run-down diner on Rosecrans that we had dinner at on our first date, head to The Forum for the concert, and then after I’d take her back to her parents’ house, where both our families would be waiting inside.
See, I had planned on proposing to her that night, right outside of her old house, because it was there – after that concert five years ago – that we sat and talked all night. From eleven at night until the first rays of the sun hit us in our faces. It was there that we connected, and it was there – that same night – that I knew that she was the woman that I was going to marry.
I know that it’s not the most glamorous way of proposing – sitting together in a car and giving her a ring – but it would have been special for the both of us.
Would have been.
We didn’t even make it to the concert before it all happened.
It was my fault, really. I should have known better. Taking my ’69 Charger – decked out with thousands of dollars’ worth of modifications – into an area like that. Something was bound to happen. And it did.
Two thugs cut us off as we walked out of the diner, towards the car. Instinctively I jumped in front of her, which is what they expected me to do, I guess. I never thought about the fact that they’d have someone behind us, ready to grab her.
At the sound of her scream I quickly turned around and saw the masked man, his hand over her mouth, and a pistol pressed against her temple.
There was such fear in her eyes.. and absolutely nothing I could do to stop any of it.
“Easy now, penedjo,” the man said, “let’s not do anything stupid now.”
Beneath his hand I could hear her say my name, “Robbie, Robbie.”
“Don’t worry, mi corazon. I got you. I promise.” I tried to reassure her, even though I wasn’t so sure I could do anything myself. I turned my attention to the man holding her, “what the hell do you want?”
Before he has a change to answer one of the men behind me lunges at me. A couple of years of karate and lifetime of fighting in the neighborhood taught me to react fast. In one quick motion I dodged his attack, grabbed his extended arm, and flipped him onto the ground. Then, while still holding his arm, I dropped my foot on his head. He let out a loud groan as I applied pressure, pushing his head further into the concrete.
“Now, as I was saying.” I said.
“Damn,” the first masked man said, “that was pretty damn impressive. I’m shocked,” he chuckled, “I thought you were just some little sissy boy, but it looks like you actual got some moves.”
“You’re damn right I do,” I push down on the pinned masked man’s head harder, causing him to grown, “now what the hell do you want?”
“Hey man, we’re just here for the car. She’s a real beaut.”
I look back at my Charger behind me. She was beautiful. I thought so the first day my dad brought her home. I still remember the way the reflection of the sun bounced off her and hit me in the eyes as my father pulled her into the driveway. I wanted to touch her, but I was afraid; partly because I knew my father would get angry if I left finger prints on her, but also because of the heat that radiated from her skin. I thought touching her would be tantamount to putting my hand on a flame.
“Magnífico,” he told me one day as I walked outside to watch him coat her in a nice layer of wax. And that she was.. magnificent.
When he died my father left me two things, the deed to his house, so that my mother and little brother would continue to have the home we had lived in all our lives.. and that car. Stupid mistakes led to me losing the house, but I promised myself I’d never just give up the car.
Not if I had a choice.
I looked back at the man who had a pistol to my girlfriends – soon to be fiancés – head.
Doesn’t seem like I have one.
I used my free hand to pull the key out of pocket and dangled it up near my chest.
“She’s yours. Just let my girl go.”
The masked man with the gun nodded to the partner behind me, instructing him to get the keys. I wanted to tell him to let her go first, but I wasn’t in a position to be making demands. I felt an actual ache in my heart when the third man snatched them from my hands.
Lo siento, papa.
“Alright. Let her go.”
The masked man with the pistol was still holding the gun pressed to her temple, his filthy hand covering her mouth. He looked at me for a moment and then at her. He bit his lip before he said, “you know, that car is beautiful, but, so is your lady, holmes.”
I unintentionally pressed my foot down harder on the masked man that I had pinned to the ground, which caused him to scream out, “let me go man! Get the hell off of me!”
“I said let her go.” I repeated myself more sternly, trying with every fiber of my being not to lunge at him.
“Well, before anything I’m going to need you to let my friend there go.”
“I’m not doing a damn thing until you-”
He jammed the pistol harder into her temple, causing her to scream loudly into his hand.
Like a reflex I let the man I had pinned to the ground go. He tried to swing at me but I ducked, which caused him to tumble back towards the third man behind me.
“Now, I know I said I wanted the car but, I mean,” he pushed her head near his face so he could smell her hair, “this one looks good, and smells good and I just gotta have her. You understand, right?”
Underneath his hand I could hear her whimpering. It was difficult to watch, to feel so powerless against this man. No, not a man. A coward. Using that pistol. If I could’ve just taken it away..
“There’s no way in hell I’m letting you take her.”
“It must’ve sounded like I was asking,” he quickly retorted.
I instinctively took a step forward and he moved his finger ever so slightly along the trigger, showing me he was serious.
“Don’t lose your cool, holmes. You lose your cool, then I may lose my grip on this trigger and well,” I could see him smiling beneath his mask, “we’d have a helluva mess, know what I’m saying?” He took the gun away from her head and pointed it at me, “now get your ass up against that wall, now.”
I held my ground. I wasn’t just going to keep letting him push me around. He started talking again but I wasn’t listening anymore. I began thinking of something I could do to get us out of this situation.
If he keeps the gun on me, then maybe I can get to him in time. I’ll more than likely get hit, but if he’s caught off guard then maybe, just maybe, I can get away with a flesh wound. Even if he does hit something vital, if I can get the pistol then I’ll have the upper hand. These aren’t men. They’re chicken shits and they’ll probably run away if I can just get a hold of it..
On the other hand, if I do lunge and I’m not fast enough, or if his aim is good, or, shit, even if he just gets lucky enough to put a bullet through my face then it’s all done. They’ll take her, the car, and I’ll be gone. Who’ll take care of mama? And Gabe? Who’ll save Isabella?
This is a shit situation no matter how I look at it. But I’ve got to do something. Anything.
“Did you hear me pendejo?” he shouted, knocking me out of my trance.
“Why are you doing this?” I asked. I needed to keep him talking.
“Just ice this dumbass if he doesn’t want to listen.” One of men from the back said. It sounded like the one I had pinned on the ground.
“If we don’t have to kill the pendejo then we won’t.” He shouted back to him and then turned to me, “we’re not going to let it get to that point now, are we? Because I was hoping this could be a very peaceful little transaction. We take the car, and the girl, and we don’t have to take your life. Sounds real reasonable-like to me.”
“Sounds like a shit deal to me.”
The man with the gun glared at me, “are you looking to die tonight? Because if that’s your aim then I can give you what you’re looking for.”
His voice sounds agitated.
Is he annoyed or nervous? Both carry their own set of dangers.
“If you’re not going to kill this asshole, then I will.”
I glanced over my shoulder and could see the man I had pinned brandish a weapon of his own. A sawn-off shotgun.
Aw, shit.
The third man, who stood next to him, yelled, “What the hell are you doing with that?”
“I’m taking care of business!” the other man replied.
“Hey, cabron, put that shit away!” the man with the pistol screamed.
“This asshole isn’t listening and the longer this takes the more likely someone’s gonna see us!” his voice sounded panicked, unhinged. Not like the man with the pistol. I didn’t like that, especially since he had a shotgun pointed at my back, “I say we just shoot the asshole, take the car and the girl and get the hell out of here!”
“Dude, we don’t need to kill this guy.” The third man pleaded. “It’s just a car. It’s just a fucking car.”
“It’s not about the car! This piece of shit doesn’t respect us!”
Hard to respect a man wearing a mask pointing a gun at my back.
“That doesn’t mean we have to kill him!” the man with the pistol said as he haphazardly took a step forward towards the man, and also towards me.
I didn’t like the way it was headed, but I felt an opportunity presenting itself. They were beginning to fall apart, and maybe I could use all of this to my advantage.
Time to put on a show.
“Alright, alright!” I cried out. “I’ll do what you want. Just don’t shoot me, man. Just don’t shoot!”
“Yeah, that’s right,” the man with the shotgun said, “get up against the wall.”
“Okay,” I said as I took a step towards the car. I knew it was a risky move, but as long as he didn’t immediately shoot then I would be able to take it from there.
“Hey!” the man with the shotgun shouted, “I said the wall!”
I quickly turned around and yelled, “Shit, I thought you said the car!”
“Why would I say the car, asshole?”
“I don’t know man!” I held my hands up and inched backwards, “it’s hard to focus when you’ve got two guns pointed at me, okay? Shit, shit, shit!”
I continued to portray the role of a man in distress, all the while inching back towards the car. I swear, if I had known I could have been so convincing I might’ve considered becoming an actor. Though, truth be told, that show was half acting – half expressing how I was really feeling.
“Just please let me go! I don’t want to die! Oh God!” I fell to my knees and tried to hide behind my hands.
“I swear if you don’t shut the fuck up!” the man with the pistol said as he, without thinking, took a few steps forward, one hand over Isabella’s mouth, the other, gun in tow, pointed directly at my head. He was just about two feet away from me at that point.
This is it. I can just lunge at the gun and then–
The man with the shotgun also took a few steps forward, and while not nearly as close as the other man, I knew the damage his gun could inflict from that angle would mean instant death.
Son of a bitch.
“Now get your ass up against that wall over there!” the man with the shotgun took a step forward, and stabbed his gun in the air towards me, “or I will end you.”
I looked at the two men, considering where they stood and how quickly I could get to either one of them. It was like I was back in Geometry class examining triangles. I was stuck on the edge of an obtuse triangle, with the man with the pistol being the closest corner, and the man with the shotgun being slightly father away. And here I thought I wouldn’t use Geometry ever again.
It didn’t make sense to reach for the man with the shotgun, as doing so would only leave me open to be shot several times over by the man with the pistol. However, going after the man with the pistol – as long as I timed it correctly – would have meant that I could’ve grabbed him and hopefully stopped the other one from firing for fear of shooting his comrade in his attempt of shooting.
Then again, he might get nervous and shoot anyway.
“I said get the fuck up!” the man with the shotgun repeated.
I don’t have time to think about this. It’s now or never.
“Okay,” I said, quietly.
I place my hand on the car for leverage, and that’s when I thought about it.
The alarm!
As I got to my feet, I paused for a moment, taking in all of their positions one last time. The man with the pistol was four feet away, the man with the shotgun was maybe eight, and the man behind him, who didn’t seem to be armed, was over fifteen feet away. I also took into account just how far away I was from my car; no more than a foot.
I took another moment to look at Isabella. She looked absolutely terrified, and it probably didn’t help matters that I seemed to be terrified as well. That act, seeing me cowering like a frightened child, probably only served to frighten her all the more.
Tears were still streaming down her face, mixing with the eyeliner and mascara. Her hair was a frazzled mess and I could see that she couldn’t take any more. But even still, as terrified and distressed as she looked, I couldn’t help but admire just how beautiful she was. The most beautiful woman I had ever known, that I would ever know. If nothing else I, at the very least, had to save her.
Un poco más, mi amor.
The plan was simple enough, in my head.
I’d bring my right foot up as quickly as possible and slam it into my car. Then, as the alarm started, I’d use that same foot to propel myself off the car, into the man that was holding Isabella. He was standing three feet away, but with his arm extended, the gun was only about two feet away. I would knock his arm to the side as I tackled him to the ground, taking Isabella down as well.
She’d be safer on the ground.
I’d wrestle the man with the pistol and try to get underneath him, or behind him, hopefully getting the gun at the same time. Even if I couldn’t, if I could just get a hold of him, and stand over Isabella, then I would imagine that would be enough. The alarm would gather too much attention and they’d all be forced to leave. I’d even let the man with the pistol go if it meant saving Isabella.
It seemed easy enough in my mind; but I knew that plans don’t always go the way you expect them to.
It’s now or never.
I brought my right foot up to the car, slamming it as hard as I could.
No alarm.
Shit.
Not stopping to worry, I pushed my bent knee off of the car and lunged towards the man with the pistol.
Just as I pushed off, the man with the shotgun fired and the shell came rocketing out of the barrel of his gun.
BANG!
The shell struck the car and, fortunately, set off the alarm.
BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!
I felt a burning sensation in my leg, and I knew I was hit. I wasn’t going to let it slow me down, though. Luckily, the man with the pistol wasn’t as quick to fire, and I was able to swat his arm away. He fired his weapon, and the bullet went flying into the bumper.
I tackled both him and Isabella to the ground. She rolled to the side, screaming as she crawled away from the fight that ensued. Using all of my strength I managed to get under him and lock my arm around his neck. He writhed and squirmed underneath me, but with a little added pressure the fear of suffocating calmed him down.
I used my freehand to search for the gun but he must’ve dropped it. No time to look for it now. I struggled to bring us up to our feet, as the burning in my leg was almost unbearable. I didn’t want to look though, as I figured looking would only make the pain that much worse.
As I brought us up to our feet, I watched as the man with the shotgun had the barrel of his gun pointed at us.
“Fuck!” he let out in frustration, “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!”
“You better run while you still can!” I yelled over the sound of the alarm in the background.
He continued cursing, and I could tell by looking at him that his mind was racing, thinking of what he should do next.
That’s when I heard her. Isabella.
“Watch out!”
I turned to her, and saw her pointing behind me.
The third man – because of course it was the third man who, up until this point, had been practically harmless – shoved his fist into my face. The force of the punch caused me to let go of my captive and brought me down to the ground.
I scrambled to find my bearings but I knew it was too late. I turned myself over so that I was sitting on the ground and watched as the man with the shotgun closed in on me.
Oh no..
I know that it must’ve all happened quickly, but I remember every moment as if time had slowed down. I glanced at my leg, finally seeing the damage the first bullet had caused. A mangled mess of tattered flesh and denim jeans with patches of bright, white bone was all I could see, and I was right, seeing it made it hurt a helluva lot more.
Then I looked at Isabella, whose eyes were wide with fear. I could see it in those hazel eyes, that she wanted to turn away. She should have. She didn’t need to see what was about to happen.
I mouthed the words, “Lo siento.”
BANG!
You want to know what being shot is like? It fucking sucks.
The impact of the bullet struck me so hard I fell backwards, my head and back slamming into the concrete. It was as though my entire torso was on fire, as though every organ had been torn to shreds, which, quite frankly, I’m sure they had. If the shot itself hadn’t done it, then the ricochet from the shrapnel bouncing off the concrete was sure to have added the extra force to finish the job.
The only thing worse than the initial shot was every single breath that came after. Struggling to use lungs that were littered with holes and tears; fighting to have my heart pump blood throughout my body when there were so many gaps between veins and arteries that the majority of the blood was gushing out of my body.
Everything was either damaged beyond repair or simply no longer there.
I tried to turn my head, so that I could see her again, but the pain was unbearable. Or maybe it was the fact that my spinal cord had been so gnawed by the shotgun shell that I couldn’t use any part of it anymore.
I remember the sound of my car alarm being shut off, I remember catching a glimpse of Isabella being picked up and carted off. She reached out for me, and though I wanted desperately to do the same, my body wouldn’t allow it.
Then I saw him, the man who shot me, standing over me, smiling underneath his mask.
“Just had to be the hero, huh?” he laughed dryly, “all the good it got you.”
He then walked away.
The sound of tires screeching and the smell of burning rubber soon followed.
They were gone.
And I was there, alone.
Admiring the stars to keep my mind off my impending death.
Trying not to think of everything that went wrong.
Everything I did wrong.
What were they going to do with her? Do to her? The thoughts that ran through my mind pained me more than the bullet wounds.
I have to save her.
I can’t save her.
“But what if you could?” a voice says.
It startled me. My eyes bounced around their sockets, searching for someone, trying desperately to see where the voice had come from.
I looked up, and that’s when I saw his upside down face.
He was a pale man, who seemed to be in his early thirties. His hair was jet black, and slicked back and his eyes seemed to switch between black and red as he flashed a Cheshire grin.
“What if you could?” he repeated.
A hallucination?
He frowned, “Hardly,” I noticed his accent; British, it seemed, “though I could see why you might think that.
“But, no, not a hallucination. I’m quite real.” He walked around and stood beside me. I could see that he was wearing a black suit and jacket, with a very bright, red tie, “as real as this precarious situation you seemed to have found yourself in.”
I opened my mouth to speak but, instead of words, blood came gurgling out of my mouth.
Why isn’t he calling for help?
“Well, I am the help, my boy.”
I stared at him for a moment, trying to make sense of the situation. It wasn’t the fact that he said he was there to help that had me stunned, it was the fact that he was, seemingly, reading my thoughts.
I tried to push the idea from my head. It had to have been the loss of blood. No one could read minds.
I’m really losing it here.
“I can assure you that you’re not, ‘losing it,” he replied, “unless you’re referring to your life, which, well, yes. I would have to agree that you are about to lose that.”
How the hell are you doing that?
“Doing what?” he asked in response.
Reading my thoughts!
“Ah, yes,” he flashed another grin, “that.”
What is going on?
“A lot more than you’re able to comprehend right now,” his smile faded, “but know that I am here to help you. If you’re willing to accept it, that is.”
Why wouldn’t I?
“Well,” he paused, as if thinking on how he wanted to phrase it. He dug into his suit jacket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. He took one out and placed it against his lip. As he put the pack back into his jacket, a flame appeared on the end of his cigarette and then, just as quickly, dissipated, leaving the cigarette lit. The man then took a deep breathe, pulled the cigarette from his mouth and blew it into the air, “my brand of help doesn’t come cheap.”
What. The. Fuck.
He smiled again, “Yes. I get that a lot.”
Are you.. God?
He let out a thunderous laugh and his eyes flickered red again, “not quite, my boy.”
Then that means you’re.. the other guy.
“The other guy?” he replied, bemused, “I do have a name, you know.”
Lucifer.
He smiled dryly, “Yes. But, my friends call me the Devil.”
I’ll stick with Lucifer, thank-you.
He continued to smile as he took another drag of his cigarette.
So, is this it? You’re here to drag me to hell? ‘Cause I gotta say, I think that’s pretty unfair.
“Are you trying to plead your case?” he asked inquisitively.
Not really. I just. Well I know I’ve done bad, but I’ve tried to do good as well. Tried to make up for the mistakes I’ve made.. so for me to still go to hell after all the effort I’ve put forth. It just seems unfair to me.
“Hmm, perhaps. But I’m not here to take you to Hell. Well, that’s not the plan anyway. But, it’s odd that you would say it’s ‘unfair.’ Life is unfair,” he cocked his head to the side, “do you honestly believe Death will be any different?”
I didn’t know what to say. Or think. Just as I was about to start I coughed up more blood.
“It seems your time is running out, my boy.”
No shit.
“Rude. But, I’ll chalk it up to your current state. Now, tell me, do you want my help or not?”
I’m going to have to decline.
He seemed shocked, “Interesting. You seemed so adamant about wanting to save your little girlfriend earlier.”
You were watching?
“I’m always watching, my boy.”
And you didn’t do anything!
“I’m the Devil. Why would I interfere in something such as that?” I remained silent, “In fact, the only reason I’m here now is because I feel that you and I can help one another.”
I’m not helping you with anything.
“Even if it means letting young Isabella die? Because that’s what’s going to happen to her. They’ll take her and have their fun, and when they’re spent and she’s all worn out, they’ll discard her with about as much decency as they have you,” he took another long hit of his cigarette, “is that what you want for her? If so then you can die and we’ll be done with it. I just imagined since you had something worth living for..”
What do I need to do? I ask. The thought of them doing anything to her should be worth any cost; I’ve already given my life for her, why not my soul?
“I don’t want your soul, per say,” he said, “not in the way you’re thinking anyway. It’s more along the lines of, well, I want you to work for me.”
Work for you? I paused for a moment as I stared into his ever changing red-black eyes. Doing what?
“You’d be my Spirit of Vengeance.”
Spirit of what?
“Hmm,” he paused to think, “I suppose that’s not the best way of explain it. Umm, to put it simply you’d be an equestrian of sorts.”
Try again.
“Seriously?” he let out an exaggerated sigh, “in the colloquial sense? I suppose you’d be something like a Rider.”
A Rider?
“Yes. You would complete tasks for me when I beckon you. These tasks may vary in complexity and difficulty, but you will do them.. whether you want to, or not.”
And what kind of tasks are you talking about?
Just as he was about to answer I began coughing up more blood. It was then that I noticed that the pain I was in before was starting to subside. I wanted to think that it might have been because of him, but I realized that it was more than likely a sign that I was nearing the end. If I was going to make a decision, it needed to happen now.
“I don’t believe we have time to get into the nitty-gritty of the job. Just know you’ll be my Equestrian when I need you. And as far as what you’ll be doing, well, you’ll be working for the Devil, I think that comes with a certain understanding that you won’t be going on simple coffee runs. But just know that by taking this job, you’ll be given the power to protect not only Isabella, but anyone else you care about.” He took one last puff of his cigarette and then flicked it away. “So, what do you say? Do we have a deal?”
What was I supposed to say? It wasn’t my life’s dream to snag a job as the Devil’s “Equestrian.” To jump into action at his beck and call, to do whatever he wanted me to do, whenever he wanted me to do it.. “whether I wanted to or not.”
Thoughts raced through my mind on the type of things that he might make me do. But I couldn’t get too far. I could feel myself wane. The pain was now completely gone, and my vision was starting to go with it.
“Tick-tock,” I heard him say.
I wish I’d had more time to think about it; to consider the true consequences of making a deal with the Devil. Of becoming his Sprit of Vengeance.. His Equestrian.. His Rider. What will happen to me? What will I become? Will I truly become some sort of Spirit, or a Phantom, or a Ghost..?
Will I still be me at the end of it all? Or will I be someone else? Something else? What does it really mean to become this.. this Ghost Rider he needs?
I wished I had more time, but if I did have more time, would it really have made a difference? Would I have chosen differently? Would I have made the decision to die? To have Isabella die? To leave my mother and my little brother on their own? No. I wouldn’t have. So that’s why, with complete confidence I spoke.
“Deal.”
He flashed that grin again, “Well then. It was a pleasure doing business with you.”
And just like that, he disappeared.
Image by SpiderMedia.com
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