Until The End

CHAPTER 13 - SWEET DREAMS

Soon, the sun strolled to the other side of the world, swindled of its dazzle by the glowing crescent in the sky. The sound of Dylan's laughter was replaced by echoes of gunshots and the smile on his lips was washed away by the ghostly taste of blood in his mouth. An hour had passed since the nightmare jolted him awake, but the lingering sensations were still fresh in his mind—no less than the night he had lived it.

Approaching footsteps from inside his mansion resounded in the silence of the night. He knew it was Markus coming to join him on the deck; he had watched him park in the driveway only moments ago. And yet, it was enough to raise the memories that play themselves in his dreams every night in vivid detail.

The faint sounds of leather boots on the carpeted apartment floor.

A loud crack followed by the press of a trigger.

The vibrations in the chest as the metal pierced through the flesh.

And the whisper of one name as the world had gone dark: Castillano.

Dylan heard the glass doors slide open behind him as Markus stepped out on the deck. For a moment, he could feel his friend's eyes on his back. The approaching question hung in the air like the noxious scent of gunpowder had.

"Who was holding the gun this time?" Markus asked conversationally.

"I was." Dylan didn't turn to look at him. He wasn't concerned about him figuring out the lie. Markus, like others, had never been able to read him. But Markus had been there when it had happened. He knew what it had been like. And while Dylan considered that—although horrific, nightmare-inducing—part of his past an incentive to what he had become, Markus looked at it as the greatest deterrent to never step out of the line. He was always the voice of rationality, counselling caution to his audacious ways. And Dylan was in too foul of a mood to dive into that contentious debate.

"Only in the nightmares," commented Markus. Ignorance had never discouraged him from running his mouth.

Dylan glanced at the tall trees lining the edges of his private estate, separating the lawns and gardens from the Pacific coastline. Even from the deck of his stone mansion, he could notice the bright lights of the guardhouse, like orbs of flames in the dark of the night. High-tech security systems and dozens of armed guards were guarding every inch of his residence. The small apartment during his start-up days was no comparison to the security fortress he currently inhabited. Anyone trespassing the property would be detained within a minute. And yet. Dylan thought back to the outrageous burning in his chest as blood had leaked through the open wound. And yet, no amount of luxuries of the present could silence the echoes from the past.

"Remind me again why did I call you here?" Dylan turned around to lean on the stone balustrade.

Markus had made himself at home and was savouring a glass of whiskey on the rocks at the bar. "You didn't."

"Exactly."

"I heard Zeke is running some errands."

"That doesn't explain why you'd be at my place in the middle of the night."

Markus took a generous sip before replying. "There was a helicopter missing from the company's hangar and your bodyguard is out of town. You thought I was going to miss the party?"

"Last time I checked, you were being a wimp for having a party."

Markus didn't seem to take offence. Instead, he gestured with the glass in his hand as he spoke, "I'm only concerned about the bash taking a bad turn, until then, I don't see why I should deprive myself of the celebration."

Dylan recalled the tinge of exuberance in Zeke's tone when he had called him, requesting an earlier meeting. He might have found something worthwhile. Though he doubted his idea of a celebration aligned with his friend's.