Modern Rituals (15 page)

“I work for the Sinaloa alone. Who’s the child?”

“Ah, but that’s just it Tomas. You choose to work for such a,” he paused. “…paltry cartel. Those are not men—they are animals. You, however, have an integrity I find most appealing. I am here to help you sever those ties, and I’ve brought an incentive along—just in case, of course.”

Tomas looked again—the child’s visage sparked no memory.

“All in due time, my friend. All in due time. First, I would like to tell you a story. Where to begin… Ah, yes.” He considered the child. “Perhaps ten years ago, a man met a woman. This woman was beautiful beyond compare, with a heart of gold—a rare combination. But the man—oh, the man—he had an ice-cold heart. One evening, however, she was able to soften the man’s cool demeanor and they made love. The next day he left, leaving her with his seed well planted. The child came into the world without a father, and has never had a father since. I am, of course, summarizing. How do you like the story so far?” The man’s eyebrows arched high on his brow and he dug his right ring finger into his thumb.

“I’ll take silence as assurance I have your rapt attention! This woman’s name was Lolita,” Manuel said.

Tomas faltered as he stepped back.

“Oh? Does that name ring a bell?” Manuel said. “Good—maybe the gravity of the situation is setting in. Anyway, she raised the child—a boy named Hector—with tremendous love.”

Tomas unscrewed the silencer from his pistol and pointed the gun at the window.

“I’m not sure what game you are playing, but this all ends if I fire and wake everyone.”

Manuel barked a loud, elated laugh. “Tomas, you’re beginning to make me doubt my faith in you. This house is empty. I made sure every last soul was gone. Let’s just say I felt it was a fitting location.”

Blood rushed from Tomas’ face, replaced with what felt like chilled saline.
How? Why didn’t I listen to my intuición—to my gut?

Manuel continued, “Where was I? Ah yes, as fortune has it, this brings us to present day. You see, as soon as I discovered this secret, I had her and the boy captured. Can you guess why?”

 
“No.” Tomas knew why.

“Surely you can put all these bits and pieces together. This boy is your child, Tomas. And I must say, he’s a rather striking young gentleman.”

“You have no proof.”

“No? Oh, who am I kidding—you’ll never take my word for it,” Manuel said. “Let’s just bring her in and ask her ourselves.”

Manuel snapped his fingers and a ruckus erupted from outside the doors. A woman fell into the room followed by two men dressed in black. She writhed on the ground, dazed and whimpering, her face bruised, her wet eyes red and dull.
 

Lolita’s gaze fell upon Tomas. Her apathetic expression contorted into one of wild fury and she cried aloud, “No, no, no…anyone but him.”

 
“Hello, Lolita,” Manuel said, going to her. “I hope my men haven’t been too rough with you.”

He stroked her hair, then knelt down and gripped her chin, pressing his thumbs deep into her cheeks.
 

“My, you are beautiful, aren’t you? Now please tell us: is this the father of your child?”
 

She wrenched her jaw from Manuel’s hand, snapping at his fingers as he attempted to regain his grip.
 

“Oh, a feisty one! This makes it fun.”

Manuel raised a hand, bringing it down upon her in a backhand with ferocious force. A string of blood followed the arc of his hand as it left her face, knocking her unconscious.

Manuel pursed his lips and clicked his tongue.

“Pity. I tried to hold back. Oh well—you wouldn’t have taken her word anyway. I obtained a blood sample from you, which I ran against the boy’s DNA. A paternal match. Is this enough proof for you?”

The bullet wrung a clean channel between Manuel’s two cerebral hemispheres. His pupils dilated as they goggled into unfocused angles. The glaze of death swelled over his eyes, not without a touch of fear. Tomas loved watching men die. He placed two more bullets into the armed guards before they reached for their weapons.
 

He waited, listening for others. None came.
 

Lolita stirred, slowly regaining consciousness. Tomas stood over her, looking down.
 

Her eyes slid open, focused on the floor. Then she looked up, granting Tomas a sweet smile.
 

His bullet seared through her skull.

He closed his eyes and stole a doleful breath. His nerves settled and he walked toward the bound child on the table.
 

He looked down on the child’s face, seeing his own reflection, though innocent and pure. The boy was asleep.
 

Better this way.

Tomas placed the tip of his FN on the boy’s forehead and tugged the trigger.

Silent, black night filled his vision.

2

Tomas and Anthony followed the group up the stairs.

“So, Tomas, where are you from? What do you do for a living?” Anthony said.

“Here and there. Plumbing.”

“A plumber? I would have pegged you for something else—just a gut feeling. That’s a compliment, mind you.”

Tomas nodded.

3

James walked first in line to the door leading into the underground altar room. He leaned against it, breath held as he inched it open. He strained his gaze through the crack—no zombie girl. He pushed it wide.
 

The creature had left the classroom in utter disarray. Once-tidy desks lay trampled and flung about. Lights swayed clumsily, half disconnected from the ceiling, some on, some off. Chunks of splintered wood littered the floor, and the chalkboard lay on the ground. Dim moonlight shone through the room’s large windows, providing hints as to where they could safely move.
 

James stepped on the remains of a bookshelf and caught himself as it snapped under his feet.

“Damn,” James said.

“Damn is right,” Olivia said as she emerged from the passage.

James and Olivia scouted the room before signaling the all clear. The six of them collected near the classroom’s exit.
 

“Tomas and I will take the skybridge to the gym. We’ll meet you here. Good luck,” Anthony said.

James patted Anthony on the back as he and Tomas departed the room. They all watched as the two walked to the end of the hallway and exited the double doors to the bridge.

“Everyone ready?” James said.

Colette, Keto and Olivia all nodded.

“Let’s keep low and quiet.”

Olivia took off her heeled loafers. Colette followed suit. James and Keto kept their rubber-soled penny loafers.

The group made their way to the stairs opposite the skybridge doors. The darkness overwhelmed them, making for difficult navigation—each kept a hand on the lockers as they moved. They continued to the stairs, stepped down them in darkness and arrived at the doors leading outside.
 

Olivia opened the left-hand door, looked around, then waved to the others to gather outside. They huddled in the entrance alcove.
 

James stepped on Colette’s foot and apologized. She whimpered at this and fell toward James, reached out to catch herself but instead grabbed Keto’s chest. She cleared her throat and made a slight peep.

“Oh dear! Sorry, it’s really dark out here,” she said in a whisper.

“The garden is just over there, across the path that runs through the center of the school,” James said. “Stay close to each other and keep an eye out for the girl. If you see her, run as fast as you can back to the altar room.”
 

“Um…James,” Colette said. “I can barely see anything. Do you think we should hold hands? You know—so we don’t separate?”
 

Speechless, James’ jaw hung limp.

What is this? Junior high?

Any other day James would have welcomed the flirting—Colette was an attractive woman—but dammit if he wasn’t wholly focused on surviving the night. “Uh, sure,” he said.

When their hands met, he felt submerged in the warmth of her skin. A waterfall of changes coursed over him: his head swam, his stomach knotted, a rush of blood surged to his groin, his toes curled and he bit into his lower lip. His muscles ached as he struggled to calm himself.
 

He shook his head—while he loved women, this level of attraction caught him off-guard. An awkward silence followed as Olivia and Keto soundlessly considered the same hand-holding arrangement.
 

“Why not? It
is
rather dark,” Olivia said, taking Keto by the hand. He didn’t object.

Fear, adrenaline and undesired, wanton passion fueled James’ furious pace as he led the quartet. Shadows played tricks on his eyes—movements danced in the distance—no, all over—everywhere. He tightened his grip on Colette, struggling to push paranoia from his mind. The shadows dissipated—they arrived at the garden unharmed.
 

This garden’s architect had peppered in an extra pinch of Zen. While sanctuaries as these generally possess the ability to soften life’s difficulties and gently focus the mind, this particular reserve seemed to inject its visitors with potent antidepressants. It emanated a surreal calm, with its glass-still pond reflecting the moonlight and a bamboo dipping-bird making an echoey
thock.
The four found themselves at a footpath that spread into a confluence of trails.
 

“Well, we’re here. Now what?” Olivia said.

“Let’s split up,” James said. “It’ll be faster if we search in pairs—plus this place isn’t that big. I think we’ll be able to see each other at all times.”
 

“And for what are we looking?” Keto said.

“You got me—the card didn’t explain much did it? Perhaps another altar? Anything that looks out of place? I’m not familiar with Japanese gardens, so this is a shot in the dark, literally,” James said, snickering, and when no one else laughed, “You know, because it’s dark?”

Blank stares.

James wanted his arms free for the search—he didn’t need a miss grabby girl latched onto him. “Olivia, you and I are together. Is that okay with everyone?” James said.

Colette puffed her lower lip and nodded. Keto and Olivia agreed.

Keto surprised James with his easy-going attitude. For a man whose stalwart face could scare the freckles off a redhead, he played well with others. Tomas should take a lesson or two.

“Let’s go, then. Remember—run back to the classroom at any sign of danger,” James said.

Olivia followed James and when the path forked, he went left and watched Colette and Keto head right.

Common dirt mingled with common plants, and ahead the path splintered before rejoining into a trail that ended at a towering pagoda. They stumbled upon a tiny Buddha statue, no taller than James’ knees, nestled in neatly contoured shrubbery. Olivia bent down and attempted to pick up the statue but only mustered a grunt and a meager shove. James helped her, and they flipped it on its side. Nothing.
 

This became a regular exercise. They inspected statues, trees and plants—anything conspicuous—and discovered only more dirt, statues, and plants.

The path cut in toward the pond, butting against a tiny cove where the water lapped. James pondered the inlet, staring down at a glassy mirror that reflected his ruminating face.

“Man, this water… It’s so still. You’d think there might be a ripple,” James said.

Olivia joined him. “Or fish. Don’t these usually have koi or something?”

“Yeah, that’s strange. Have you noticed a breeze at all?”

“No. Probably just the time of year, right? Can you see Keto and Colette?”
 

“They just rounded a bend over there,” James said, pointing. “They’ll turn up soon.”

They scoured the area to no avail. When Keto and Colette appeared again, James signaled them, throwing a thumbs up and then a thumbs down. Colette returned a thumbs down. Long minutes passed. James and Olivia meandered over to the pagoda steps.

“I hope they’ve had more luck,” James said.

“Me too.”

The pagoda’s center bore a wide, multistory obelisk that clawed at the sky. Rings of tiled roofs, spaced twenty feet apart, stacked around the enormous spire on curved, decorative struts jutting outward from their corners. They grew smaller as the central column tapered, and an ornate steeple adorned the terminus. These impressive roofs sheltered a shrine to Buddha, whose massive, bronze figure sat amidst granite pews and incense holders and towered over James.
 

“You know, either they have amazing janitors or this place doesn’t get many visitors,” James said running his fingers over an incense burner. He rubbed them together and looked.
 

“Clean as a whistle. Come to think of it, doesn’t this entire place seem a little too perfect? It’s as if no one has ever worked or attended school here.”

“The Japanese are a clean people. Perhaps it just seems that way since you are a dirty American—always leaving behind a mess,” Olivia said, her tone somewhere between sarcasm and seriousness.

“As if the British are much better.”

James had spent time in London during an exchange program. He’d left convinced that their impeccable manners and diction concealed a simple fact: each and every Brit was an asshole. That said, Britain produced many of his favorite writers, painters, singers, and other artists—he figured being an asshole was a fine trade-off for that much creativity.
 

“Oh, we are,” Olivia said smiling.

“Funny—ah, I’ve been meaning to ask. You said our dates were totally out of sync right—our arrival dates, that is?”

“Yes.”

“How is it then that we were able to wake up so quickly? I mean, if we were sedated for days, it would be an amazing feat to make us ‘turn on’ as if nothing happened between the time we got here and the time we were taken. Did you notice any lapse in the last emotion you felt upon arriving? I didn’t.”

“No, it was immediate.”

“Even what our muscles were doing—I was still in mid-jump when I arrived in the gym, for Christ’s sake. That just seems impossible.”