Dimensional Embrace part1

Light flashes through the car; casting shadows that dance gleefully around me.  The streetlights above enter the car freely, with no physical objects to hinder their intrusion.  Their meticulous rhythm entrances me, my breath keeps tempo with each wave that passes through.  My eyes squint from an occasional flash; but with little annoyance, I drive on.

         The heater blows with great effort, keeping the night air from overcoming my sealed compartment.  It blasts nonstop almost burning my skin, and yet it still soothes me, almost to the point of making me drowsy.  It’s funny how tired you can feel, even without a lack of sleep, causing the body to forget that it prepared for this journey.  My toes feel like they are on fire, smoke about to drift from the tip of my shoe.  Yet, it is easier to alter the position of my leg, than to turn down the intoxicating pricks of heat.

         A greater heat comes from the object lying next to me, the tool of my trade, the instrument of many’s destruction.  I feel as though some inventor made it decades ago with me in mind.  The gun has been waiting for a wielder like me to really bring it to its full potential.  A bond has grown between us because of this reason, to where it is never too far from my grasp.  It constantly reminds me of its presence, I always know that it’s there to join my side.

         Like so many great duos, we have battled the forces that would try to empower the helpless.  Many enemies have tangled with us, hero against villain, and crusader versus the feeble opponent.  Where would the Lone Ranger be without Tonto; or Batman without Robin?  Both of their companions made them the powerful men that they were, just like my gun has made me who I am.

         Ever since I first held my .45 automatic, I have shown who was in control.  I possess great power; no man overcomes me.  A god among men, I have become the deliverer of destinies; I carry my gavel of justice, my own ark of suffering.

         I want to grab hold of it, but instead I concentrate on my driving.  Feeling compelled to turn my gaze from the road, to behold the vision of such a majestic object.  No . . . Not an object, not even a thing, but a living being.  I have felt its life, shared its taste for blood.  When we are combined to kill, we become one; a living creature of pure power and energy, unhindered by any other earthly being.  Nothing in this world can stop us.

         A smile of satisfaction crosses my lips, as I absorb its beauty.  I am quickly engrossed in every smooth curve in its body.  Its silver skin perfect in complexion, shines a sleek flirtation.  Flawless in every aspect, the manmade weapon seems as though it was constructed by means more than man could ever be capable of doing.  The outside lights can’t give it enough justice, their inferior radiance not quite able to bring it to its maximum brilliance.

         I turn again back to the road before me trying to concentrate on where I am going, but it won’t leave me alone.  Mysteriously, it calls to me; to reach out and again become one with it.  As my fingers slowly close around the handle, my heartbeat begins to quicken.  Adrenaline courses through my veins, a rush beyond that of free falling from an airplane presses against my stomach.  I feel as though I’m going to be sick as my body toils in pleasure.

         My forehead actually begins to perspire as I draw it closer to my face.  My breath comes in short gasps; memories of days we’ve share together flash before my eyes.  Countless deaths reenact themselves, like a flood of movie scenes replay in my mind.  I brush the gun against my cheek letting the cool metal embrace a kiss.  I can still smell the scent of gunpowder mixed with lubricating oil as my thoughts explode together.

         I push harder on the accelerator, this new rush addicting me for the bigger one I will get for killing another.  This self -inflicted tumult of past accomplishments edges me closer to my destination.  I cannot wait to fulfill my next mission, my job being a very enjoyable task.  Being a hired gun to some is a disgusting job.  They are the ones I eliminate, those are the people I’m sent to end their waste of life.

         They can be quietly relaxing in the safety of their own home.  The dim light in the back of their living room doesn’t even have an effect on the television that they are watching.  Totally engrossed in the late night horror flick, they reach for a greasy handful of buttery popcorn.  A floor board creaks somewhere in the dark of the night, their groaning home crying a warning of danger.  Foolishly they blame it on the wind, all too eager to return to their private television world.

         That is when I invade, their world becomes mine.  Before they can muffle a cry for help, they leave this hell-forsaken world.  They leave all that they worked hard to build.  They leave their children behind orphaned, still sleeping quietly upstairs, dreams unhindered by the house’s mourning for its lost owner.

         Doctors, congressmen, private storeowners, even police officers have died at my hands.  No title or prestige can stop a bullet from piercing the flesh.  No creature is safe from those that seek destruction.  If the price is right, the job is taken care of.

         

An endless void surrounds me.  The only object I see before me is a vision of the Earth.  Like a small globe, it hovers; its small clouds slowly orbiting its atmosphere.  They seem to protect it from outside interferences, as though they camouflage it from intruders.  Gently they drift over the face of the Earth, their job a duo purpose.  Nothing from the planet can be seen, the inhabitants unknown from this perspective.  It looks so quiet and peaceful compared to the everyday rush I normally see.

         I reach out for it longing to touch the mass before me.  But, it is not really here; the vision remains exactly what it is.  I am only part of the blackness that surrounds the world, I have no form.  Only my presence is here; I can only watch without voice or action.  I am only an observer, eyes without a body, ears without a response.

         Suddenly, and without warning, I detect another presence in this dark place.  I scan the surrounding area; only the blackness is seen.  Like a night without a star, it claims everything.  It is just as well that I don’t have hands, because I doubt I could see them right in front of my face.

         There is movement then, breaking my train of thought; emptiness gives way to let another join me in my endless prison.  Like a scene from “Star Trek”, another being gradually appears before me.  Wisps of darkness grasp for him, its “fingers” lick at him, trying to overcome him; the intent seemingly to push him back from where he came.  Still, he remains, unbeaten by the all encompassing void.

         Instantly, I can tell he is a man of great power.  His physique alone claims his authority.  His long jet-black mane rests gently on his shoulders, the lack of wind keeping it in place.  The mass of straight long follicles seems to have life despite their lack of action.  I cannot tell exactly how long his hair is, the scenery around him blends so well.  The strands that creep down his front torso suggest the rest probably travel a great distance towards his waist.  I have never seen hair so dark before, yet it fits him perfectly.

         His wardrobe contrasts greatly, the white outfit almost shines in defense of the all consuming void.  Both shirt and pants drape loosely to cover him, a belt ties at his waist gives the only hint of their separation.  Each fold in the expensive looking fabric swirls a hypnotic temptation.  The fine silk like threads provoke jealousy in my mind; the extravagant weaving foreign to me, is strikingly familiar as if deja vu flirts with my mind.

         Even without the smoky gray boots he wore, he would have towered over me, the added inches of the heels seemingly unnecessary.  His matching gloves hide his strong hands, ending halfway up his forearms, causing his sleeves to bunch up a shortened length.

         A gold ring adorns his right hand, the fit seeming perfect over the gloved finger.  There is a strange figure on it, some kind of beast I don’t recognize.  The only other fault he wears is a golden brooch that pins his gray cloak around his neck.  It appears to be a magnificent snake’s head; its bite clamping the material together.  Its eyes of diamond sparkle off an unseen reflection of light.

         Even though his dress seems relaxed, I can still notice how tense his muscles are.  Their bulky mass leaves traces of extravagant flesh under the bulky material.  His appearance reminds me of the “Dark Ages” when knights in shining armor ruled the land.  Such foreboding tells me he would have been an unbeatable warrior.

         Hovering over me, his presence seems to shadow over that of the world next to him.  Its presence almost forgotten by his unspeakable entrance, I wonder what the purpose of the whole meeting could be.  Before I can think again, he connects all my unfinished questions with provocative answers.  With a gesture towards the small planet, he speaks in a voice that well suits his character.

         The sweep of his hand causes the clouds to drastically gust, the disastrous weather change starts my mind imagining the tiny inhabitants suddenly struck by great hurricanes far below.  This champion could probably cause mountains to move as well.  In the first blinking moments laying my eyes on him, I trembled deep inside of the things I thought he could do.  The rich authority in his voice quickly scatters my thoughts leaving only my strict attention to what he has to say.

         “This could all be yours, if you want it bad enough,” he tempts.  “You too can have the power to control this.”  He walks through the air, closing the distance between us, until he is within a foot of me.  “The people of this puny world struggle to survive, wasting their time on things utterly unimportant,” his eyes narrow to slits, showing his disgust.  The grays and greens in them swirl to the effect of violent tornadoes.

         “I have watched as countless wretches have taken advantage of you, and patiently waited for you to make a stand for yourself.”  Again he waves a mighty arm toward Earth.  “Now is the time to take control of the situation.”

         “Now, is when you fight fire with fire.”  He slams his fist into an open palm for added emphases, his gloves not hindering the thunderous roar the impact produces.

         

Instantly, I am sent back to reality.  The dream of old again returned to me, the source of my life’s sudden change.  Three years ago he came to me in my sleep.  The powerful man in white gave me some of his strength.  I know this is true just by the internal feelings I now possess.  In my dreams I saw, now gained something new; the “sleep of the dead” gave me new life, and the next morning I met my present employer.

         Arden Steel is a man with many influences.  With a snap of his fingers, people jump to his every command.  He gets whatever he wants; including the death of any person he feels gets in his way.  I don’t exactly know how I met him, because it all happened so fast.  I know the dream had something to do with it though.  Before I knew it, I became a very powerful individual under Steel’s command.

         Whatever Steel wanted done, I did without question or error.  I had it made under his employment, and I didn’t want to ruin a good thing.  Money, expensive clothes, cars and any other luxury I could think of were easy access.

         Steel’s newest job brought me to my present situation.  I have no idea why I have to do this for him, but then again I never ask.  I just do what I’m paid to do.  This time I have to kill a minister, a man of God.  I have never had to shoot a holy man before; but how different can it be?  This is nothing new to me, death is my toy.

         I still feel the rush I always feel before a hit, even though I have never killed a person whom you’d stereotype as innocent.  But, then again, those jerks on television aren’t as innocent as they seem either.  Those who rob people blind with a twist of their words, they use peoples’ generosity for their own financial gain.

         I slow down and quietly crawl past the house.  The streetlights once again take control of the scene I examine.  All appears quiet in the house, except the tint light emanating from his room.  The rest of the neighborhood seems just as calm, most people probably in bed at this late hour.  I watch the path of a couple leaves sliding sown the road, the wind blowing them as a pair of lone ice skates across ice.

         I come to a halt a couple of houses down the road.  As I sit putting my leather gloves on, tender crackles come from the rapidly cooling engine, reminding me of the coming winter.

         The house seems peaceful from this distance, as it sits next to the adjoining church.  The soft eggshell slats of the siding trace elegant line around the home, the dark brown shudders setting off a colonial flavor to the otherwise modern looking building.  The church has a total different feeling to it, being totally red brick; a large white cross symbolizing its meaning of existence covers the whole front span of the complex.

         Glancing back to the parsonage I peer at his bedroom window.  I know that is his room, even though I have never been in the house before.  The information I’m given is always thorough.  I know every inch of the house, right down to the color of his bed spread.

         Again I strangely remind myself of this being the first time I have to kill a preacher.  I can’t let it change the situation at all.  A job is a job; for whatever reason Steel wants him eliminated, I fulfill my duty to him.

         A new rush comes to me as I grab hold of the gun.  Its life ever present excites my very soul.  Already, I know this won’t compare to the rush I will soon receive.  Nothing can match the feeling of ending another’s life, such raw power is incredible.

         Deftly, I add the silencer to the barrel; the fit is perfect.  Releasing the clip, I double check to make sure the bullets are ready for flight.  The sharp snap of its return to the handle sends a spasm through me; anticipation strikes again.  I drop my hand into the deep pocket of my overcoat, never letting go of the powerful gun I claim as my own life’s blood.

         I exit stealthily from the car, hurrying to the protection of the shadows.  My well-practiced footsteps bring me to the side of the house.  Still, all is silent except for the slight rustling of the wind.

         The one story building rests quietly in the night, the wind pushing it to no avail.  Crickets can be heard chirping, their music plating on despite the cold weather.  As I edge to the side door, they sense my presence, afraid of my nearby danger.  Almost as if a barrier surrounds me, they become silent within a couple foot radiuses.  As soon as I am out of range, they continue their orchestration.

         I glance around again one last time making sure no one watches me, and then I search around the door.  I can almost always expect to find a spare key nearby.  Private homes are so easy to get into.  People feel safe in their own homes, and hardly expect danger to walk right in.

         I could probably get in faster picking the lock, but the less evidence to find, the better.  Even the littlest scratches around the lock can be used against you these days.

         Then almost by instinct, something tells me to try the knob.  As I reach my hand forward, the thought comes to me with a bit of humor.  This preacher trusts the world, despite the evil he probably sees every day.  I know for a fact that even before my hand closes around the doorknob, that the door is unlocked.

         I climb the steps in the entranceway, heading for the kitchen.  I can tell the house is fairly new, because the stairs make almost no noise under my weight.  This guy is making this so easy it is pathetic.  I couldn’t ask for better conditions.

         The kitchen is kept quite well for a single man in his early thirties.  The dishes are all caught up, and no clutter is left on the counter tops.  Soft looking curtain hang in front of the window, giving a woman’s touch to this bachelor’s home.  I wonder if he had someone help him decorate such a loving atmosphere.

         Not wanting to waste too much time in the house, I quicken my pace.  I make my way to his room; light escapes into the hall.  The door, slightly ajar, dares me to venture closer.  I ignore any other doors, knowing he waits ahead.

         Peering through the crack, I see a lone man sitting at his desk.  He looks as if he is studying something very intently. Unaware of my presence, he continues undisturbed.

         The description I was given matches perfectly to the man before me.  His short, dark hair parts to the side, showing he isn’t affected much by fashion changes.  The gold, wire-rimmed glasses reflect the light of the lone lamp on his desk, keeping his eyes from view.  Even though he sits, I still estimate his height to be just shy of six feet.  This man is William Krause, pastor of Faith Temple Church.

         As I push the door open with my left arm, my right simultaneously raises its aim.  Taking a few steps forward, I enter his domain.  I doubt that ever before, such power has crossed into his chambers.

         Slowly, he lifts his head; his eyes make contact with mine.  The soft blue pupils become visible now, their tenderness clashes with the harshness of my own.  Realization crosses his face, but something does not.

         Always have I glanced into the eyes of my hunt.

         And always have I seen fear.

         Fear…

         Until now.

         Like an unseen force he assaults me now.  It seems as if he is at total peace; his expression is soft and innocent.

         With easy motions, as if he thinks the room will explode with any sudden movement; he stands.  For the first time in three years I have been doing this, I feel like I don’t have total control of the situation.  Cautiously, he steps around the desk making his way towards me.

         Breaking my biggest rule, I speak.  “Stop!”

         The only word I can force out slams into the silence of the room.  Even though I’m shaking, the authority in my voice returns a little control towards my side of this confrontation.

         Abruptly, he ceases.  His arms stretch from his sides, leaving himself vulnerable.  “Whatever your reason, I still love you.”

         The tenderness of his voice overcomes me like a tidal wave.

         My mind reels, fighting for some sense of sanity.  Why did he say what he did?  I should never have let an interaction take place.  There should never be bonds between me and the kill.



         Why can’t I just shoot?!