A Dark Angel Emerges

by Damon Young

War of Attrition-Series 2

Nemesis-Series 3

Death of an Assassin

Chapter 1

The assassin let the rain drip into his eyes, unmoving and unblinking. There was intensity in them as he stared at the church across the street from his hiding place. The church was one of those huge constructions of the long dead empire of Spain as the Conquistadors conquered their way through the Americas. It was a legacy left behind that stood for nearly two hundred and fifty years. It would probably stand for two hundred more.

Its tall, ancient spires and gargoyles stood in contrast to the magnificent modern constructs that man chose to make now. It was truly a beautiful work of architectural genius to stand the rigors of nature and man. As it was located in downtown San Francisco, it was even more amazing to have withstood two devastating earthquakes and continuous tries to have it condemned to build another office building. This grand miracle of construction had withstood any attempt to kill its existence. That was something the assassin could understand. It was worthy of respect.

This stalker of the night could understand that form of respect. Never had a mark ever escaped his blades. He was the best within the Brotherhood. He was the second most successful assassin in the Brotherhood’s history, nearly one hundred years. He had killed hundreds, with none knowing who had made the kill. His own Brothers feared him. There was none like him.

Is this the source of my melancholy? He thought. Something inside of him no longer anticipated the hunt or the kill. It held no thrill for him any more. Unfortunately, his Brothers were starting to sense the change in him as well. Three had challenged his supremacy, all within the last week. He had taught them all a very harsh lesson without mercy. One may never recover from his wounds. He had been a friend, if one could have any friends in this profession. The other two died painful deaths, as they had just been arrogant in their motives to challenge him. They had not been friends, only fools.

He knew the change inside him was not a real confusion. He knew exactly what caused his lack of enjoyment. That cause was in the church and he had to deal with it or eventually the challengers would finally kill him.  From his shadowed hiding place, he glanced up and down the street, looking for any who might see him. With the rain and cold, none ventured out into the dark night. He would be unnoticed. He moved towards the church.

Quickly, he was in the shadows of the alley beside the church. He was unbelievably swift, looking as a wraith, quiet and without substance. He climbed the walls with hand claws, specifically designed to grip in difficult places. He was soon on the roof, not even breathing hard from the extra exertion he had to enforce to climb in the rain. He moved quickly behind a gargoyle statue to prevent anyone observing him who just may happen to look his direction.

He knew exactly where he wanted to go. He had been here many times since the completion of his last assignment, always trying to understand the change within him. I must deal with it, he told himself. Resolved to finish this night’s work, he moved towards the door that led into the church from the roof. It was the access door for the janitorial staff to clean the gargoyles of bird dung and any other cleaning or mending which needed doing.

Of course, the door was locked. He knew it would be as it was always locked when he came here. He simply picked his way through the door and moved into the church closing the door behind him. Even this late at night, anyone may come and notice the door was unlocked. He must leave everything as it always is, to avoid suspicions. He could never be too careful. That could get you killed.

Soft instrumental music played over a sound system, allowing the parishioners within to feel at ease with their prayers. He could not tell if anyone occupied the sanctuary from his vantage point on the walkway, which moved to the back corridors of the church. Quietly, as only one of his profession knew how, he moved to a place on the walkway, which allowed access to the rafters high above the sanctuary. The location was perfect for him to watch anyone who may enter the church. It also allowed him time to think how he would deal with his dilemma.

He had just made himself comfortable in a crossbeam in the rafters when someone entered below. He stiffened as he recognized the individual as the root of his uncertainty. The irony was not lost on him as he stared at the person below him. It was a little girl, no more than eight years of age. She wore a nightgown of white cotton and carried a dark brown teddy bear. How could one so little cause so much difficulty for me? He thought angrily. He stared at her, confusion causing an unsettling in his stomach.

Suddenly, a man, perhaps fifty or sixty years of age, entered the room from the same door the girl had entered. He looked at the girl for sometime before moving towards her. She had been staring at the image that dominated the front of the pulpit area. A crucifix of Christ, stared down on all those who looked at him, showing concern for all his troubled sheep. The man, a priest, moved beside the little girl and gazed with her at the image of the deity who died to save humanity from sin.

“Couldn’t sleep, Briana?” The priest asked.

“No Father Marcus, I couldn’t.” The assassin could hear tears in this little girl’s voice and he felt the now familiar ache inside him. Briana continued. “Why did my parents have to die?” She cradled her face into the priest’s side, beginning to weep soundly. Father Marcus knelt, took the child into his arms, and moved towards a pew. Setting her down, he wiped her tears and smiled at her.

“I have no answer for you, dear child. I know your parents did not want to leave you.” There it is, the assassin thought. The source of my grief. He did not hear the rest of their conversation as he reflected on the one sentence the priest spoke. He was the reason this little girl would never see her parents again. They did not want to leave her, but that had not stopped him from taking them from her life. They had been the marks on his last assignment, and nearly been caught by the little girl. Briana had come home from school early, an arrangement he had not anticipated, for it broke from the couple’s normal schedule.

He heard the front door open and moved quickly into hiding. Briana called for her parents and rushed into the room her parents lay on the floor. They had been marked and his duty was to kill the mark. Many of his marks had children, but never had the situation occurred the way this was beginning to turn out. He suddenly realized the mother was not dead, as she made a soft noise towards the girl. He assumed it was her name. He was about to finish the job when he heard the mother’s soft words.

“Never doubt the love your father and I have for you, my baby.” She said reaching a blood drenched hand to touch her daughters check. “Know if I had the choice, I would never leave you. We love you very much and we will make sure God sends an angel to care for you and protect you. He will be your guardian.” She suddenly smiled as she spoke. “God loves you too. Never doubt he will take care of you. He did not do this, but because it has happened, he has chosen to take us home. Believe, my baby, we will see you soon.” Her next words came as a whisper, which he seemed still heard from his hiding place. “Go now, and get help. I’ll be with you soon.” When Brianna hesitated, her mother’s voice grew stronger on last time. “Go, Brianna.” The girl departed to get the help her mother asked for.

The assassin came from out from hiding and looked at the mother. Confusion was in his eyes as she looked into them. Her final words struck him as if they had been one of his own knives. “May you know love like that, killer. May it bring you peace and despair, joy and suffering. This I know will happen, for this is your destiny, to know from experience the pain you cause in others.”

“Are you a prophetess of your God now, woman?” He sneered.

“If you like, for these are the words of God. You can guarantee that.” She suddenly smiled and life left her eyes. His departure was much swifter than usual. He attributed it to the potential of being caught, but inside he knew the woman had placed a curse of some kind on him. He had no desire to stay in that place any longer than necessary.

The priest was directing the girl towards the door they had both previously entered. It led to the orphanage behind the church, where this innocent child would now reside. Watching them depart, the assassin’s heart ached, feeling as if someone ripped it from his chest. This little girl was now tormenting him anew, with her tears and quiet determination to seek answers for her parent’s demise. Was he truly destined to bring just death, or was he going to know love and pain, the like he caused in others. What was for him?

As the priest crossed the threshold separating the orphanage from the church, he turned and looked directly in the assassin’s direction. A smile crossed his face that left the assassin cold, in a way the weather outside had not done. The priest turned and withdrew, closing the door behind him. Quickly, the assassin exited the church and ran, as if his life was on the line.

He was four blocks from the church when, out of the corner of his eyes, he saw movement. His fast reactions had saved him before, and they would do so again. It was a close thing though, as a blade pierced his shoulder, where his head had been only a half second before. Blinking through the pain with jaw clenched, he grabbed his assailant’s wrist and jerked the blade free. Pain exploded in his mind and through his shoulder. Ignoring it, he moved quickly and disarmed his attacker. Punching the man in the throat, he felt the man’s windpipe crush under the force of the hit. The man was finished and there was no saving him.

If that had been the only attacker, the assassin would have been fine. Unfortunately, three others emerged out of the shadows so quickly he barely had time to register them through the pain in his shoulder. It nearly cost him his life. He felt another blade enter his side and pain enveloped his mind again. He received wounds many times before in challenges within the Brotherhood, but never before had he felt pain like this. He knew no matter what happened now he was truly going to die. The blades were poisoned. These attackers had been smart and left nothing to chance. They made sure he was going to die. I will make them pay for my death, he thought.

Within a matter of minutes his assailants, all four of them lay dead or dying in the street at his feet. He had received two more wounds, but that was of little concern, as the first ones were guarantee to kill. He wasn’t sure why, but he began to stumble the way he had come, back towards the church. It took much longer this time and he did not climb to the roof to enter. He made straight for the front door.

Upon entering, he moved directly for the front of the church, straight towards the image of Christ and the altar before it. He fell across the altar, reached for the savior of humankind, and suddenly everything went black.

September 2006

Call to Destiny

Chapter 2

Sounds were the first of the senses his mind registered as he woke. Slowly he recognized the song of birds, the laughter of a man in another room, and children playing. Suddenly, memories came rushing into his brain to overwhelm his senses. Pain ripped through his body, causing him to cry out.

With teeth clenched tightly, he opened his eyes, blinking back tears. Even this simple action took effort and caused excruciating pain. There is no way I should be alive, he thought. He could still feel his attackers poisoned weapons plunging into his flesh, feeling the poison flow through his veins, burning his skin, slowly drawing death closer every second. It was a strong poison. He had used it many times and none had ever survived. How could he be different?

Other memories flooded into his mind but one in particular caused him a great deal of concern. It was a hallucination he had just before he drifted into darkness. He remembered reaching out to the statue of Christian Messiah in the church auditorium. It seemed as if the statue looked at him, smiled, shed a tear, and whispered, “Here is a second chance. Live this life with compassion and wisdom.” He knew it was just his imagination, yet it seemed so real it was as if it really happened.

He gazed around the room, mainly to change his course of thought, but also to gather some idea of where he was. He lay on a small bed, not much more than an army cot in a small, spartanly furnished room. The bed rested against a wall with a nightstand next to it, while a table and single chair rested across the room. The only furnishing of any significance was a large dresser with a mirror next to the single door to the room. Fixing his attention to the door, he made the choice to discover where he was.

Getting out of the bed caused pain the likes he never felt before. His body protested with every movement, and it seemed his joints would object to any additional abuse. Never had his body refused to respond to any command he had ever given it. His quick reflexes and formidable constitution were the reason he was the best and were a great source of pride. Their refusal to function as commanded brought vast concerns about his future survival if enemies lurked close by.

He stood slowly, taking time to gather strength in his legs to hold him steady. The door to the room opened unexpectedly and he sprung into a fighting stance and prepared to defend himself. Unfortunately, his sudden movement was too much, creating such intense pain, the room began to spin. He fell heavily to the ground, barely able to breathe. Before unconsciousness took him, he saw a man in black rush to him. The man’s face was familiar, filled with concern and not revenge.

As he came out of unconsciousness a second time, he learned greatly from his first experience. He opened his eyes slowly, allowing the room to come into focus. That was when he noticed the man in black sitting in the chair gazing at him. When the man saw his ward was becoming conscious, he gave a friendly smile, showing many ivory teeth.

“It is good to see you awake,” the man said. “I began to wonder if you would ever return to the land of the living.”

“Why am I here Priest?” he rasped.

“Please, call me Marcus.” A tray with a glass and a pitcher of water, which had not been there previously, was placed next to him within easy reach. He poured half a glass and reached to give it to his patient. “What should I call you?”

“Call me whatever you like, but answer my question.” As he reached for the glass, he wondered how long he was unconscious this time. Apparently, long enough for the priest to gather this water and sit waiting for him to regain awareness.

“I think I’ll call you Lazarus, considering you should be dead and you aren’t.” Marcus chuckled at his joke, but noticing the growing agitation of his charge, he continued. “You are here because I thought you would either recover from your wounds or you wouldn’t. As traveling to the hospital would only make the situation worse, I chose to see to your wounds myself.”

“I am not without honor, so I thank you for caring for me. However, that is not what I meant. Perhaps I should have rephrased the question. Why I am still alive? I know of none to survive once given the poison used on me. I should be dead.”

“Yet you are not, as to the reason I call you Lazarus.” Marcus chuckled again.

“Fine.” Lazarus sighed. “That is how you shall know me. Would you still answer my question? Why am I here?”

Suddenly serious, Marcus gazed deeply into the eyes of the man before him. The look was so intense, Lazarus shifted uncomfortably. “Maybe destiny is calling to you.” Confusion swept across the face of the priest, causing Lazarus to wonder at the man’s sanity.

“What do you mean destiny is calling me?” came a whispered response. This was not what he expected to hear. Truthfully, he didn’t know what he expected to hear. He knew none would have the reason for his apparent miracle chance at a second life. Actually, he had become uncertain in life only recently, but now his life seemed to have completely turned upside down. Nothing made sense and it was a little unnerving.

“All I know Lazarus is you should not be here. I have seen the work of that particular poison as well, from my years as a missionary in Thailand. No one survives, as you have said. Yet you have and that can only mean there is a destiny for you greater than the one you lived previously. All I know is you have been given a second chance and you need to figure out what you are going to do with it.”

A flash of the face of the statue of Christ flew though his mind. It smiled and seemed to know his deepest thoughts. I’m not even a believer in this Christ, he thought. Why would he care about me, let alone give me a second chance?

A sudden movement in the doorway caused both men to shift their attention. Lazarus froze as he recognized the cause of the movement. The little girl, Briana, who was the cause to all of his inner turmoil, stood in the doorway, intently looking at him. She entered the room and walked straight to him. As weak as he was, he was unable to move away from her; still he tried to retreat further into the wall behind him, hoping to escape the torment he felt when he gazed upon her.

She reached him and took his hand in hers, looking at his hands as if to find some unspoken answer in the lines and details within them. Her eyes shifted and gazed into his and seeing his apprehension, she leaned forward and whispered to him. Marcus could not hear what it was, but he saw the reaction it caused. Lazarus went pale and fear showed on every feature on his face. Suddenly tears flowed freely from eyes that had never known this kind of release before.

Briana held him close as he wept; instinctively knowing he needed to hold on to her. She also knew he would never be the same. Her words had shocked her as well, but she meant everything she said. She said her first words to frighten him. “I know who you are,” she whispered. It was the next sentence that would forever change the two. Words that would bring healing. Words that would recreate a man's destiny. Words that are difficult for most to say in less difficult situations, yet if spoken more, many more lives would change. There are no stronger words to end hate and bring healing than the words, “I forgive you.” Now the time of healing could begin, for both of them.

December 2006