"I don't know why he saved me. I just remember the look in his eyes. No one has ever looked at me that way. I'm afraid every day that no one will ever look at me that way again. Isn't that funny?"
"Tell me again what happened that night."
"Do we have to? You know it's painful."
"You have to work through this Bethany... There are things that you are not telling me about that night--things that you are not admitting to yourself. If you can't acknowledge them, then you'll never get over this..."
Bethany wasn't lying on the psychiatrist's couch. She found it difficult to sit at all when she talked about the boy with no name. She clutched at the trinket dangling from her neck as she looked out of the office window into the sun. She treasured the light--for that night she had come face to face with the darkness, and she was afraid.
"I don't remember much about it, and I remember so much... you know?"
The doctor scratched a few notes on his notepad, and looked back at her. She could tell she was listening to the story. In truth, Dr. Lang liked to hear it, because to her it was an approximation of the real events made over in the mind of a young woman who was terrified of the truth. Bethany was found running frantically through the marshes just off the 295 freeway where it mates with I-95 South. It wasn't by accident either. The circumstances that set her to running caused quite an alarm with local law enforcement. The young girl had been traveling south with her father, headed for Florida in the late summer. The September nights were long and sultry, she remembered. They'd pulled off the Wagner Road Exit and into a hotel just down from the local Wal Mart. Her father was proud of the time they were making through Virginia, but they were not in any hurry, so he'd decided to get some good rest before starting out fresh.
Her mother was already down there waiting for them. She'd taken a new posting managing a hotel resort near Key West. Her father, a librarian...was not opposed to the change in climate, as long as there was a good library to be had. It had taken him another month to find a posting that would allow them both to move, and Bethany used the summer to say goodbye to her friends in New Jersey, before they made their way down.
They stopped at the Prince George Motel in the evening twilight. The hotel lay a distance back from the road, with the woods and marshlands immediately behind it. She'd almost have called the hotel quaintly eerie, upon seeing it from the word. As they pulled into the drive, she noticed another set of travelers had the same idea. She made nothing of it at the outset.
There were three of them --what looked like a Father and his young sons. The boy could not have been more than thirteen, but somehow she guessed he was only twelve. The father was tall and dark skinned, with deep dark eyes. The second son looked to be about the same age as her, wearing a tank top. He was lean, but well muscled and quite easy to look at. The boy, though, he had looked at her as he got out of the car behind his dad. She remembered that look, even now. At the time she'd only thought he was gawking at her--Bethany knew that other boys found her attractive. Thinking on it now, she remembered and realized the word for that look was-- reverence...
They got a room, and made their way to it as the boys and their father did the same. She didn't see what room they got. The details from there blurred. Her and her father went to a rib place down the road, and came back to their rooms. It started raining; those heavy droplets that pelted everything, making the night hum. They rushed from their car back to their room, which was not far, but they both still ended up getting soaked. Now that Bethany recalled that night, she could have sworn she caught the boy she'd seen out of the corner of her eye, standing in the shadows almost just out of the lights from the hotel, near the corner of it, --standing silently, not moving in the rain.
They watched HBO for a little while. Bethany made her father sit through Sex and the City, and he half pretended not to like it, even though he always managed to be home and in the living room when she watched it. Bethany chuckled to herself at the thought of him trying not to be interested. Her father made a quick trip to the convenience store down the street, after getting directions from the clerk. It seems that the collard greens that he'd had with his dinner did not agree with his stomach.
She waited on him while he was out, content to watch more TV and fuss with her nails. Looking back on it, it seemed so trivial. Bethany hardly fussed with her nails anymore, Dr. Lang observed, instead choosing to let them collapse into disrepair. He observed that Bethany now, took great pains to not bother with anything that might make her seem more attractive to anyone, though she could hardly hide it. She kept her hair in a ponytail most of the time, and when she went to get it cut, choose simply to control the split ends"nothing fancy. She chose clothes that were unflattering, while her appearance was neat, from a distance it would not attract any glances from the opposite sex.
Dr. Lang noted in his notes that she'd begun several self-destructive behaviors since that night, but has since stopped overcompensating for surviving that night. He felt a pang of such sorrow in noting that her life was forever lessened, and that she might not ever recover more than a fraction of that happiness she had before that night. He said nothing as she continued her story.
While he was out, she decided to go to the lobby for a soda, She pulled her long coat from her back and draped it over her head and night clothes like a makeshift umbrella. She made her way to the lobby hugging close to the building to avoid the worst of the rain. She should have had her dad pick up something, she thought to herself, now that she was getting drenched in clear spite of her preparations. Though she made it to the lobby in just a few seconds, the bottom half of her was soaked.
As she opened the door to the lobby, she noticed the young boy near the soda machine. He was intent upon deciding from the two remaining buttons that were not lit red. She prayed inwardly that one of those buttons would indeed be Doctor Pepper. He started when she approached him. For a moment he froze, unable to move or speak as she greeted him.
"What have they got?" She asked him.
He remained motionless. At first he seemed petrified, but then his look turned to something she could not immediately recognize. He puzzled at her, and then regained himself and looked down at the floor.
"I'm sorry," he stammered. "Please...forgive me." He would still not look up. His accent was too perfect for English to be his native tongue.
She had thought briefly that he might have been embarrassed at his boyish reaction to an attractive girl. Bethany did not think of herself as overly attractive, but she'd heard the compliments enough to know that others thought of her as such. But it didn't take long for her to dismiss that explanation of his reaction. She looked over, and his soda choice had been hers" a Dr. Pepper.
"I can't get enough of these myself." She reached down and retrieved his drink, offering it to him. For a moment, he looked unsure of himself whether or not he should take it. He reached for it. For a brief moment, their hands touched, and the little boy quickly moved his hand further down the side of the plastic bottle and apologized again, never looking up.
She noticed what seemed like glitter on his hands as she leg go of the bottled of soda, but then she got a better look at it. It wasn't glitter at all, but what appeared to be designs set into his skin, running on his fingers over the tops of his hand, to underneath his coat sleeve.
"Magic Marker?" She said, trying to set him at ease. "I used to take those metallic markers all the time and draw on myself, too. Little hearts and stuff like that."
He still did not look up, but responded, his voice nearly a whisper. "They are not magic marker." Without prompting, he slipped the soda into the pocket of his coat and extended his hand so that she could see the design clearly. She was amazed. It looked as though it was a tattoo, but the ink of it glittered silver with flecks of gold, weaving an intricate pattern over the top of his hand. She felt drawn to touch it, but as she reached for his hand remembered his hesitance.
"Can I touch it?" She asked.
He did not flinch this time. He extended it further, in fact, for her inspection. When she touched his hand, the designs felt unusually warm in comparison to the unmarked sections of his skin, which were still damp from the rain. She cupped his hand in hers and traced over them with her free hand. As she turned it over, she could see that the designs were on both sides. She'd never seen anything like it, but it set her mind to thinking of the runes she'd seen in a Tolkien book.
She opened her mouth to ask, but he answered before she found the words.
"They are all over. We are marked at birth, for our protection. To ward off evil."
She was going to ask another question, but was interrupted by the door. The boy jerked his hand away. She turned and saw his Father at the door, who did not look at her directly. The boy looked up and she could see his eyes for a moment, which were so light brown that she could have sworn they were golden. His father motioned only slightly for him to end their conversation and return with him, which the boy did with little hesitation. He slipped past her quietly back out into the rain. His father turned and gave her an almost imperceptible bow as he closed the door behind him.
"That was weird," she said as she picked up her own soda and headed back to her room.
She was soaked in spite of her best efforts, so she took a change of clothing into the bathroom, determined to shower before bedtime. She felt comforted by the rain plinking against the window of the bathroom. Her father entered and dried off again. She noted the time was about 10:30pm by her watch, and she was getting drowsy from the strain of their trip.
She was just closing the door to the bathroom as her father was sitting down. There was a knock at the door. He grumbled to himself and thought aloud perhaps he'd left the lights on, on the car. She remembered that he remarked to himself, how lucky he was that someone noticed it. As he opened the door, her own personal Hell began.
There were several men at the door. She caught only a glimpse of the first man--tall, with a prominent nose, and steel gray eyes. It was enough that she caught the eyes, for they were now burned into her memory. Everything slowed. He pushed through the door, with villainous purpose, grabbing her father by his shoulders. Her father was not a small man, nor infirm, but it seemed as though he was powerless in the man's grasp. He struggled as he staggered backward, his arms waving violently, trying to find some kind of purchase. Once the stranger had seized him, he lunged forward, mouth agape as he violently wrenched him off his feet, turning him as though he were weightless. She heard the rending of her father's throat as the assailant bit down hard and pulled away and the anguished gurgles of his last breath as he clutched at his throat and crumpled to the floor. She could not even scream she was so terrified. She managed to slam the door shut just as the first man stepped over her father. The door was old and heavy, probably made of solid wood, and it locked securely. She had nothing on her that would help, just her nail file and her hair dryer. She couldn't let go of it. Her instincts took over as the first bang thudded against the door, followed by an audible curse she heard coming from the other side of it. She looked up towards the window and was startled by the boy's face there. She almost screamed a second time, but the young boy motioned silence as he slide the window open, ripping out the screen as he did so.
She moved towards him knowing that anything out there was better than seeing her father lying dead on the floor. More thuds from behind her, but not against the door. There were tremendous crashes and the sounds of breaking furniture and glass. The boy climbed in the window deftly and silently, as if he was intimately familiar with this type of stealth. He dropped to the floor without a sound, and she cringed at him while pushing back up against the door. She closed her eyes and put her hand up in defense, but no strikes came. When she opened them, He had dropped to one knee and was just a foot or two away from her face. He was soaked through to the bone, not an inch of him dry, and for just a moment, their eyes met again, his were completely different from before--purposeful.
He looked older when she looked into his eyes. He did not have the look of violence in him, at least not to her. He reached out and took her wrist in his hands, his eyes never leaving hers. She could not help but feel safe in his presence. He pulled her to her feet, gently, but with urgency, and bade her to sit on the commode. He turned away from her, towards the door and she moved to stop him, fearing the boy didn't understand they were still out there. The boy had already opened it before she could do anything, and whisked it open. There, covered in blood, were his father and brother, the sigils in their flesh seemed to glow with a dim white light, but she could not be sure. She could see beyond them, the room had been nearly destroyed and there were broken men everywhere.
They looked at her, saying nothing. The father carried what could only be described as a spear, though it wasn't as long as one. The head of it was nearly two feet in length, and covered with blood, the wooden handle was shorter than a conventional spear, perhaps another two and a half, or three feet in length"held in place by a thickly muscled forearm. The three of them looked at each other without speaking, and the father motioned for the boy to bring the girl to the front door, for a hasty exit. They turned to go, but the boy put his hand on his father's arm to stop him. His father turned, noting that the boy had silently nodded towards her father's body, and suggested perhaps that they use the window to exit rather then have her see him like that.
Bethany could do nothing at this point. She had no idea what was going on. She had know idea who the dead men were on her floor or who they were for that matter. The boy had turned her towards the window and motioned for her to climb out of it. She was too numb to appreciate the effort. She knew her father was dead, and somehow she knew it was not safe to stay. The elder son handed her her jacket and motioned her to climb out. She turned, seeing that they boy had already exited the window without her noticing and was waiting for her outside, his arms outstretched to help her safely exit. When they were outside she looked back at the window, and the full weight of what just happened hit her like a freight train. She began to swoon, and blacked out.
When she awoke, they were in deep in the woods behind the hotel. She could tell they were deep in the woods because she could no longer see the lights from the road. It was very dark, and she found herself leaning with her back against the tree. She was there alone with the boy, who crouched facing her. She shuddered violently, with the cold, wet earth sapping every ounce of warmth from her body. As her senses oriented on the moment, she could feel the boy's hands moving over her body. She hadn't realized it until now, that she'd been wearing nothing more than a sleep shirt when they exited the hotel. Looking down, she could tell that he'd slipped a pair of her pants on her and was fixing her tennis shoes. His movements became more rigid when he realized she was awake. She started to speak, but he motioned to her for silence.
"My father... That thing...." was all she could choke out as she clasped her arms around her.
He cradled her face with his hands, "Listen to me. God cares for him now" but now you must focus on the here and now. "
She tried to look away, but he held her face towards his. In the night, she could see just how extensive the runes were, for they were now glowing. "You must believe me; you are in great peril, this night. That thing that killed your father was at once a victim and predator, a lost soul, irredeemably changed from a state of grace, by the possession of a demon--the soul held in torment while the body is inhabited by its tormentor. It was a revenant, and there are surely more of them out there. "
"A revenant?"
"This night, your family is under siege, by someone who knows not only who you are, but commands both the living and the dead. For whatever their purpose is, we cannot allow them to find you"
She looked over his shoulder and gasped. Two flashlights crested a small outcropping of trees behind him. The boy moved pressed to her shoulders"a gesture for her to stay put, and instantly launched himself backwards. The boy barely made a sound as he vaulted backwards, twisting his body so that he landed facing the lights. The boy moved with frightening speed, and utter silence forward, the rain silencing any sounds that his feet might have made in the soft earth. The flashlights turned into his direction, one of them barely catching the motion of his coat, as he dove sideways and rolled to his feet. The men moved quickly as well --three of them, encircling him. The man who had not been holding a flashlight, reached into his coat, a motion she'd seen on the television many times--he was drawing a gun. He leveled it menacingly, but there was no time for him to pull the trigger before the boy had cleared the distance. It looked as though he did a small forward roll to his left, and she heard the man cry out as he dropped the gun and clutched at his thigh. Only as the boy came to his feet behind him, could she see what had happened.
The boy had short blades protruding from the arms of his coat, barely a gleam of metal in the darkness. As he moved towards the first assailant, he had slashed his thigh. As the man dropped to his knees behind him, the boy pivoted and launched himself towards man number two. The second man was fast as well, and had recovered his composure and moved towards the boy. The Third man swept his flashlight in front of him; it seems he was intent on finding her. She pressed her back against the tree and tried to blend in with it as much as she could, but she could not move her eyes from the scene in front of her.
The second man did not try to level his gun at the child, seeing what had happened to his accomplice. Instead he moved backwards stepping deftly into a better stance that would allow him to meet the boy's charge. The second attacker watched the boys arms, once he realized that he was being attacked with blades. The man shifted his weight and pivoted to bring his foot around towards the point where the boys head would be as he charged forward. It was a blow delivered with exacting precision, and it looked for an instant as though the boy would be felled by it--had it connected.
The boy ducked underneath his kick, using his child's size to the advantage. The attacker did not have an opportunity to realize his mistake, for as the momentum of his kick spun him, the boy thrust his blade upward, sliding it underneath his ribs into the vital organs they protected. He collapsed forward, pulling the boy with him. As he fell forward, the boy tucked into a roll and ended up his feet and once again in motion towards the third man.
The third man did not falter in leveling his weapon in her direction. He was a professional. He simply did not have time to accurately aim, and so he pulled the trigger and began spraying in a wide ark, hoping to catch her in a rain of bullets. They sprayed through the forest, glancing off trees in her general direction, but it was clear that the third assailant didn't know which tree she was behind. The boy reached him within a second or two. The third man kept firing, trying to swing around to meet his advance, but the boy was much faster than he was. The boy brought his left arm down with frightening precision, skewering the meaty part of the gunman's forearm--his knife plunging straight through the bone of his arm. The man jerked his arm back, but the boy did not release his grip on the blade. The assailant, energized by the adrenaline of fear and pain, jerked him easily from the ground. It was as if the boy had intended that reaction, for as he was drawn forward into the attacker, his right arm flashed outward, slashing the man's neck before he had a chance to react. Bethany heard a sickening gurgle, as he dropped to his knees, and fell forward. An eternity passed between moments, and the boy sheathed his knives and turned to face her.
He covered the distance back to her silently, scanning the surrounding area for any signs of further danger. Bethany eyes were transfixed on him. She'd never seen such savagery, such ferocity. Tonight she had witnessed it twice. The boy had reached her side while she was lost in her own thoughts, and dropped to one knee facing her. He looked her over to make sure she was unharmed.
Bethany recoiled. The boy realized his error and pulled his hands back. She defiantly got to her feet and backed away. "Who are you!?!"
He rose to his feet. He seemed taller now. The boy apparently surrendered to the idea that an accounting must be given. "You should not address me, I am only a servant."
She could see his eyes in the darkness. There was nothing but truth in them.
"I don't understand." She said. "I'm nobody special."
"There is no time..." he replied
She surprised herself by her boldness and reached for him, pulling him close to her by his coat. He was almost as tall as she, and so their eyes locked as she spoke to him.
"You tell me you serve me. Then if you do, by God, you'd better tell me why!"
He looked at her in a way she could not describe. There was no fear in his eyes, but it was as her rebuke had dealt him a physical blow. He lowered his eyes from hers.
He faltered only briefly. "It is the blood that binds us..."
"What blood? My blood? Your blood? Tell me..."
"Please..." he pleaded with her. "There is no time!"
Bethany stood her ground. "I will not move one inch until you tell me..."
The boy hung his head and sighed deeply, and reluctantly began to speak.
"Father says you must never know, but if an answer will allow me to keep you safe, then I must give it. Since your birth, my brother and father have watched over you. As we have watched over you, my father's father and his sons watched over your mother. It is our sacred duty to keep you safe."
"I don't understand..." she said, her mind racing over his words. She could see in his eyes and hear the trembling in his voice when he spoke to her. She realized that he had tried to keep silent because he was in awe of her. As the boy spoke, she knew that his words to her were the absolute truth. She felt it in her soul that he was incapable of lying to her. He continued to answer her.
"It is the blood that binds us to you. We watch over you, and we are always here... It has been this way since...." He paused.
"Since when?"
"You will not believe me"
"Since when!?!"
"Since the founding of the First Kingdom...." he answered. Bethany didn't really understand the implication of his statement. His eyes never wavered when he said it. "You have seen things tonight, horrible things. There is worse to come. "
Just as he stepped forward, the boy froze in his stride, his eyes catching site of something on the ground. She followed his eyes and caught site of a hint of metal partially obscured by the fall leaves. The boy knelt down, and brushed away the foliage. She could tell that it was a rifle, but she had no idea of weapons so she couldn't tell what kind it was. She did see the silencer and large scope mounted on the top of it. The boy lifted the chamber to his face, sniffing it. He turned to look at her.
"It's already been fired...."
"What does that mean? There were only three men here and they didn't have this on them when you""
The boy sloughed his shoulders, and exhaled heavily. He rose to his feet slowly, his fists clenched so tightly that they shook.
"They are dead. We have to get you to safety."
"How can you know? They could be just hiding, or trying to make their way back some other way. You can't just say that!"
The boy turned to her, his eyes blazed with fury and pain, but he could not hold her gaze. "I have failed you twice this night..."
"You can't"
"They are dead! Don't you see? I cannot defend against what cannot be seen or heard! If they used this, then it's over for them!"
"But"
He rushed over to the bodies of the three assailants, and located a pistol and some extra clips. The men also wore body armor under their clothes. He quickly removed the vest as well.
"Put these on."
She did as he told her quickly. Her senses were numb. She didn't know why, but she slide the vest on under her shirt and coat. With the dark night around them, and her bulky coat, no one would be able to see the vest. While she did so, the boy scanned the surrounding woods. She noticed that he had the other two weapons in hand. He changed the clips with cold precision.
"The police should be coming this way very shortly. With the gunfire, and the condition of the hotel, they will have started searching the woods. If anything happens, go that way" He pointed through the woods, presumably back towards the hotel.
"What about you?"
"I will do what I can to hold them here until you make it to safety. As we are, I cannot get you safely away from here. I'm not strong enough."
She started to protest, but she knew the truth of his words. She could hardly believe half of it now, but she believed him just the same.
"Please," Dr. Lang said. "Go on."
"It runs through my head nights when I cannot sleep. I was not there, but I know what happened. I can see it clearly if I try. I know it sounds crazy, but I know what he did. What he had to do, what he suffered. I know everything. He ran back into the woods, looking for the bodies of his father and brother. With no time to mourn, he had to get to the one chance there was for both of us. I was not the target that night--they were. With them gone and their line ended, then I could be dispatched without a thought.
He ran fast through the woods, faster than anyone would have thought possible for an athlete, much less a boy. His size worked to his advantage.... very hard to spot being so small. At first I did not understand why the spear was so important, but as I dreamed it over and over again, it became clear. My father was a librarian, so I'm no stranger to books. People know about the Spear of Destiny, but I know more than anyone could have ever guessed. It came to me later, when I was struggling to understand it all. It was what he said that I remember most:
"It is the blood that binds us..."
"It is our sacred duty to keep you safe."
"Since the founding of the First Kingdom..."
"It took a long time for me to piece those things together, but the boy, his brother and his father were from Northern Africa, a place once called Cyrene--an Ancient Greek Colony. A black man called Simon found himself in Jerusalem, witness to a crucifixion, by the Romans. They made an already bruised, tattered man carry his own cross to the place of his execution. Fearing he was already too weak to make it, they made this black man take up the burden of carrying it for him the rest of the way. By this time, the rough wood of the cross had already been stained with his blood. In touching the blood, the line of Simon had become forever bound to it, able to sense it, calling to him like a beacon.
These things I did not read, but as my understanding grew, sorta just came to me--revelations, if you choose to think of it that way. People surmised the Spear that pierced the side of God had power, but not in the way you might think. As he lay stretched out upon the cross, dying. His blood washed away our sins, but it could not dispel God's wrath. God placed it all within the spear--all the pain, all the anger--the rage that could lay waste to the length and breadth of this world. God placed is anger there, within the spear, where it shall remain for all time. For those who touch the spear, they must endure the very wrath of God.
I can't even imagine what that would be like. But I knew he ran for it without a moment's hesitation. He did it for me"
She shuddered once, and turned back towards the window.
"I felt the bullets wizz past him as if I were right there beside him. I felt every one of them strike him--first the leg. It struck the meat of his thigh, but only the meat. He yelped and continued moving faster, faster... The blood soaked his pants leg quickly, but he pushed himself forward--faster than anyone could have guessed. Only one of them had seen him, while the others were standing over his brother and father.
There is something about the mind of a child that I know that frightens me. As a child knows innocence, and is innocence so a child is. A child is so much more close to God in ways we could never guess. Children know truth when they hear it, they know without doubt, and when they feel rage, it is a perfect rage. I felt his anger when he reached the clearing and saw them. To him, they were his whole world and they had been taken.
He did not hesitate to move for the spear. Men of combat such as these were prepared for his father, not so much for him. There was no subtlety, no feints, and no tricks. He cleared the underbrush and before they could blink, he had reached the spear. He cart wheeled forward taking it from the ground before they had any chance to react. His moves were no longer perfect, for the wound to his leg--he stumbled on the end of his roll, the spear was well in hand. I have trouble counting their numbers because everything moved so quickly. As he came to his feet, he instantly reversed direction. As he brought the butt end of the spear around, I could swear that I heard the heavens wail.
It connected with the first man's head, turning it to jelly as it cracked every bone of his skull. He was in the thick of them now--too close for accurate weapons fire. They were experts, all of them, and then there were the revenants. I've read accounts of their strength. They tried to move in even closer to overpower him. With both of his hands firmly on the spear, he thrust it behind him, impaling one of them. The spear slid out of him with no resistance. as he thrust the butt forward, doubling over another with shattered ribs.
He stood his ground blow after blow, some given, some taken. Several of his own bones were broken, but he would not stop. Man after man, revenant and mercenary alike, he felled them all--but not without cost. He struggled even to breathe, blood bubbling into his own lung--one of them punctured. He did not fail. "
"Meanwhile, the police found me trying to make my way back to the hotel. They said I was dazed and in shock."
"The police report says that there were no bodies found in the woods, other than the three men that you spoke of, including those of this boy and his father and brother."
Dr. Lang looked directly at her, trying to snap her back to reality with his gaze. She turned and looked at him, the sun behind her cast that peculiar aura of light to her frame.
"It took me almost 3 years just to come to terms with what I saw. I have finally realized some things about that night--and they are helping me to move on. I don't need you or Mom to believe me, you weren't there--and all you're rationalizing won't change what happened.
When he looked at me, and told me what he did--I believed him. I know that now, I always will. He gave me that faith. It's all I have."
She turned back towards the window. Two years of therapy hadn't convinced her that she was hiding what really happened on that night, and now it looked as though nothing would ever change that. Dr. Lang had only a few sessions with her, after taking over the case from her previous doctor, who'd perished in a car crash barely a month ago. He removed his horn-rimmed spectacles, and rubbed the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger.
"You know, that's what made this job so interesting..." he said to her--a little more gruff then she remembered his voice to be. He'd reached into the drawer of his desk while her back was still to him, and withdrew a small caliber semi-automatic with a silencer. "It was sheer brilliance to pass myself off as your new doctor, after your last shuffled loose the mortal coil--with a little help from me, of course. Listening to you tell the story made me want to hear it again before I finished this contract."
Bethany didn't turn from the window. "I know who you are, Doctor. A pair of glasses couldn't hide the death in your eyes"
She sighed. "For the first time in a very long time, I know who I am"and I'm not afraid. He's watching over me, I know he is..."
Dr. Lang leveled the gun at her back. "If you say so..."
His finger tightened on the trigger, as Bethany lowered her head slightly. The killer was alarmed by the sound of the topmost window pane breaking. His eyes were not quick enough to register the 5 foot long spear that had broken through it and impaled him to his chair, like a moth in a display case.
Bethany raised her eyes to the window. She could see the silhouette of a solitary young man perched atop the building across the street from his office. She didn't look at Dr. Lang's body as she turned to pick up her coat to leave.
"I know he watches over me...."