Sanctuary (Part 1)

For all my blog readers, this is something special for you guys to read. Its a story I've written, a piece of mostly fiction. I will post the first half of it for now as I'm still working on the second part. Let me know what you think as I really appreciate your feedback. Enjoy!

Sanctuary

Her rubber-soled boots hardly made any sound as she quietly ran in almost total darkness past the back entrance of the pawnshop. She stood up against the wall, hoping that her ragged breathing could not be heard. There it was; the sounds of footsteps approaching the alley where she was hiding. Suddenly, the footsteps stopped. Although her night vision was impeccable, she still couldn’t make out where he was.

Then, she heard the unmistakable faint metallic click of a gun being cocked. Her slender and muscular 5’10” frame tensed as she reached for the stiletto in her back pants pocket. Before she could whip it out, a single gunshot rang out in the night.

A hot searing pain filled her right shoulder. Not knowing what do to, she ran away in the opposite direction of the gunshot trying hard to focus past the throbbing pain that almost paralyzed her. Her 5 years of military training paid off as she was in excellent form. But, the wound was deep and bled out more the harder she ran.

She finally stopped 4 blocks away from the pawnshop under a dim street lamp in front of a small chapel. Almost fainting from the loss of blood, she pushed pass the heavy front door and stumbled into the sanctuary. She needed to rest, needed medical attention she thought as she sank into one of the pews at the back…

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With a rag in one hand and a pail of slightly bloody water in the next, Father Armando tried to wash away the bloodstains on the pew and on the floor. She was sound asleep in the spare room the last time he checked. She had lost quite a lot of blood but would live as he had found her just in time. She was unconscious when he examined, cleaned and stitched up the small round hole in her shoulder. Amazingly, there was only damage to the soft tissue or else, he would’ve had to take her to the authorities. From his experience, late night visitors usually liked to avoid the unwanted attention.

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She awoke two days later in a dark room except for the line of light beneath the door. Still feeling disorientated, she tried to sit up but then, felt a stab of pain in her shoulder that almost knocked the breath out of her. Only then did she remember what happened. Not knowing where she was, she tried to put on her shoes when the door opened.

“Oh, good to see that you’re awake. You must be hungry. I brought you something to eat.”

He could tell from the bewildered expression on her face that she did not expect to be where she was.

“You need to get some more rest. Let me know if you need anything else,” he said before he left and quietly shut the door behind him.

Hundreds of thoughts raced through her mind as she tried to understand what happened. Her hunger ravaged body was only too eager to accept the warm bowl of stew and the slightly bitter tea that the brown-haired man in the dog-collar left behind.

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On a cold winter day two years later, a young woman in a black coat casually strolled down the bazaar, occasionally stopping to look at something. Melian kept a sharp eye open behind her dark glasses. The bazaar was a good place to meet Raoul. One could easily disappear amongst the throng of people in case the moment came.

“You’re looking well,” a husky voice whispered into her ear from behind.

She turned, smiled and pecked the man on the cheek; a customary thing to do. He was around her height, powerfully built, and fit in spite of his age. Of all the years that they’ve known each other, he had always been good to her. It was he who first introduced her to her current profession, her guru. From then on, she never looked back.

“Let’s walk. I’ve got a job for you. It’s rather urgent.”

“Did you bring the money? My asking price has increased.”

“Why ask questions you know the answer to? Nunez wants this done tonight. Make it clean, we don’t want the cops nosing around,” he said before handing her a black briefcase and disappeared in the crowd.

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As soon as she reached her apartment, she secured the door before opening the briefcase. The combination was always the same, 1255. She badly needed the money for a new car. She had to trash the last one to get rid of evidence and the fifty grand would get her a nice new one.

Underneath the neatly bundled stacks of bills, she found what she was looking for. She took out the picture and studied it for a moment. The dark-haired man looked rather familiar, too familiar in fact. He looked older, more fatherly probably due to the beard that now covered part of his face. Turning the picture around, her suspicions were confirmed. It was him.

When she saw him for the first time, it was also her last. She had escaped in the middle of the night but not before swiping one of his name cards from his office. That was how she knew who he was.

Over the past two years, she had written to him several times to express gratitude and to let him know that she was okay. Despite her frequent moving from place to place, she always kept some contact.

Now, she had to kill him; kill the man who saved her life.

*as published in The Life and Times of Being Rotten