Blind pig : A chess term that refers to a pair of rooks (towers) as pigs as they make their way to devour pawns and pieces on the board.
It's also an outdated chess game I made in grade 10 ;)
A/N : This chapter is long, specifically around 9.7K words, and specifically for you guys. I wanted to show you how grateful I was to have such amazing writers in my comment sections supporting me.
So please, do enjoy. ♥️
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What was a week break in comparison to a four year mission?
Bullsiht, that's what it was.
What had been an even sadder reality was the fact that we actually had to fight for this one-week off.
My grandfather had been forcing us to work overtime.
Especially in an era where Japanese elections were rolling around and Joji-Tan Ayumi had nearly gotten curb-stomped by the way he wouldn't let anyone rest about it.
Daniel had been the first out of us to leave the country.
He made great use of his week-off break to spend time with his girlfriend, Narissa, and their toddler, Bravina.
D1 wasn't one to wait.
How could he be? He was the same man who couldn't stand in the same position for more than a few minutes without cringing at the feeling of clothes on his back.
Even after years, already thigh-deep in this, there was no getting used to the itchy outfits he had to wear as the politician's personnel doctor.
But because Ayumi was basically reaching ash age, Alderete's role had slowly transitioned from personnel healthcare professional to slightly lesser than.
A PSW.
His status remained active on Blind Pig, however.
An outdated chess game that had almost been as old as I was.
Dante had brought it back to life for this mission, and this mission only.
It should have kicked rocks along with purble place. But within the last couple years, this seemingly innocent game gave me a way of communication with my other peers on different perspectives of the same mission.
Because of its longevity, the graphics were a little old school. I didn't mind it.
If anything, it brought a sense of nostalgia. A warm feeling blossoming in my chest. A feeling I vowed to keep.
The download on the illegal website Dante led us to was programmed to collapse from the moment the download on all our phones were complete.
Tracking the algorithm of conversation, and when the only four players had been active or typing away at conversation, had been out of the question.
The app had gone through numerous elders of the authority circle's cyber division. It was safe to say our conversation remained a private arsenal between those actually on the front-lines.
We had four separate rooms.
And a single group chat.
It was as permanent as the 'app store' on an apple device.
You could press on the icon, it could do all that shaking bs but you couldn't actually get rid of it. It couldn't have been found as well.
To any install of that nature; the game didn't exist.
And we couldn't exactly delete it. No matter how tempting it was.
I wouldn't however hesitate to slap a child if they asked if I had games on my phone and found that.
The times when Ayumi's nieces came over for the weekends really tested that theory.
As far as I knew about my peers' whereabouts, Dante had been elbow deep in Albanian-grown cannabis consumed in a lesser than popular underground club beneath the city of Shibuya.
He too left the city.
He opted to go in the exact opposite direction as his older brother. Figured.
Adriel was an enigma.
His eyes stayed glued to his watch.
I didn't know whether it was after my father's murderer had died at our hands back when we had impulsively gone down to the Latino south to do it. Or just a new set of symptoms acquired after being an inside-man in Blackstar for so long.
If I didn't know any better, I'd say his constant sense of urgency was not for anyone else. Just him.
With the way his actions were as compulsive as the voice in my head, it was almost like he was counting down his death by the hour. By the minute.
I haven't seen in person for a couple of weeks. My words could have only been false until proven true.But one could only assume.
Last I'd seen Adriel, the anxious expression on his face remained permanent.
The constant tapping of his heel on Ayumi's carpeted foyer could make anyone think he was growing impatient.
Irritated.
That same day, he had left the establishment just as fast as he made an appearance.
Even Daniel found it out of character. The thought left him just as fast as he brought it up. I couldn't let it go that easily.
I had the right to be even slightly apprehensive. If one of us died, this entire rescue mission would have gone to shit.
All that time wasted, the efforts we chose and the sacrifices we didn't, would have been in vain. All for nothing.
The twins and I have always hovered over the gray area between the green and the yellow. The safe-zone and where caution lived.
But Adriel had always seemed to have one foot in the grave. Always in the red. Always in the danger zone No matter how much he hid behind amber colored eyes.
He arguably had the most life-threatening task.
It was essential to the mission and our roles for us to understand the dynamics of Black Star Structure. In order to successfully infiltrate the house that finds itself behind hell's scorching gates, unharmed and trusted, we had to engage authentically.
They needed to treasure the idea that they've gained another one of them. The organization couldn't have seen anyone as convincing as Hatsushiba.
It could have been basically written on the terms and conditions of the contracts signed. If there were contracts that even existed for the underground east.
If you were the color of a newspaper font, essentially black or white; you couldn't join. It was meant to be discriminatory.
This wasn't the boy scouts. Inclusion or diversity was part of its curriculum. It was the Yakuza, a sacred underground culture.
Purely Japanese.
From what I had remembered, outsider associates were allowed. But it all boiled down to legitimate members. It was monoracial. It was the law.
He didn't choose his role in the mission. But one could have countered that maybe his compulsive sense of urgency had saved his, and our asses a multitude of times.
I assume he also left the city.
WEIA had more than enough hands on board to keep track of the trafficking ordeal, and keep the politician somewhat safe and sound in our 168 hour absence.
I took the chance to head home.
But one thing led to another, and I found myself back into handcuffs. And not the fun kind.
These bitches were cutting off my circulation with every second movement I made. The itchy purple jumpsuit regional police had forced me into didn't help my situation.
It oddly smelt of rot and barbecue.
Two things I had hoped to not have mixed otherwise there would have been a need to have a cannibalism issue discussion at our hands.
I didn't realize just how familiar the sanctuary I had been chucked into on the day of my conviction was until I saw the unmistakable bullet hole right above the grand-piano in the back.
It was like it all came back to me.
The aftermath of the event that changed the course of my life permanently. The death of Tenzin Akio Corinelli; the death of my father.
''If we could all stand in the name of the Lord,''
The pastor's voice bounces off the scarlet tainted glass that had decorated our private church; a sanctuary. My mind was out of it. It would have been nothing short of tortuous if I had forced my exhausted body to rise.
I glanced at my side. The sound of wheels made my eardrums slightly ache.
The agent occupying the wheelchair snapped me from my thoughts. Familiar dirty blonde hair shined beneath harsh fluorescent lights.
He was one to force me up when I hadn't had the energy to.
I rose slower, and later than everyone else had.
But the ceremony would have continued on, regardless of my decision to stand or sit.
I tore my eyes away from the hanging rosary around my neck, to the many rows of heads peeking through long wooden benches. The pastor's voice ran in my good ear, and nearly dissipated.
My head wasn't as present as my body was.
I only found myself growing more and more confused as the minutes on the grandfather clock passed me by. I only found myself asking a single question.
How many people—besides myself— were expecting to step within 50 meters of the house of God and not shrivel under hell fire?
There were too many smiling faces for an occasion like this. It irritated me. I didn't take away from the mere fact that if someone should have burned at the foot of a church's door; it should have been me.
God, I wish it were.
I should have felt the swallow of heat rush to my face before it eventually took over in the very next step I took.
But no.
Instead, after burying the other hearing-aid in my right ear, all I could think about was whether I had actually taken out the toaster strudel from the airfryer this morning.
I knew I smelt something burning when I went to lock my pills away. I just didn't know what. And now that it had registered, maybe, just maybe it was my breakfast I saw Dominic chuck out the window like a brick.
Disappointment crossed my features, but just as fast left me.
I was brought back to the present when D4 had pocketed my hearing-aid. I turned to face him, our eyes connected and we shared a look. He motioned towards the priest, he wanted me to pay attention.
Afterall, I was the reason everyone had gathered here today in this holy house.
The professional church goer, had touched on the subject of a death that would have run the entirety of WEIA into lockdown until further notice. My grandfather had yet to build his strongest army. And my decision was impulsive to the third degree.
In order to protect ourselves from the rebuttal the underground east had for whoever had killed the head to their organization, a code black. We needed to make the most 'pussy moves' possible.
Retract all our pawns back to home base in this open game.
The information he had announced couldn't have stuck more than the washable crayola tattoo I drew on my arm before I got the real deal. I didn't feel comfortable just having a single hearing-aid in my ear.
Even if I didn't technically use the other one, I always found comfort in holding it in my pocket. Just in case.
But as I felt the pastor's discourse come to an end sooner rather than later, I couldn't help the fidget.
I turned to the youngest Alderete quadruplet. In hopes our eyes would connect and he'd give me my earpiece back with a little level-one begging.
Instead, I found myself facing his freshly shaved jaw instead.
I tapped on the skin to grab his attention. He looked my way, and casted his gaze downward. My hand was open for him to give me back what was mine.
About to refuse, a single piano note on the grand piano had played. It played loudly and echoed even louder.
It caused me to flinch. My eyes shut tightly and my hand dropped to cover them up.
That very same moment, I felt the ear-piece loop through my index finger as a buildup of a song was coming on.
I put it in fast. Pushing it further into my ear canal at the sound of cymbals being added to the live melody.
I exhaled. My shoulders fell. And the acoustic of a piano and drum set had been blocked.
Taking a step back, the recurring movement that comes from the entrance way, one that's vibrations seem a little too off to be part of the performance catches my attention.
It couldn't have been the agent in the wheelchair who was once at my side. He moved two seats down between Daniel and the second eldest Alderete, Dante.
Curiosity got the best of me and I looked back.
It was at that moment, I had seen it.
Younger agents had occupied all sides of the sterling table they were pushing between isles of the sanctuary. They stepped over navy carpet in WEIA attire.
All eyes were on what was on the table, beneath the white cloth.
More specifically, who.
I didn't need to hear anything for the scene to make me do nothing but stare ahead of me. Knowingly.
The body shaped cloth remained unmoving.
Unresponsive.
Unworthy of another breath of life given.
Even in the name of mercy. The man beneath it had been far too gone to bargain.
For a good minute, my back stiffened. I had refused to look anywhere aside from the burning candles and the colossal crucifix that hung above all the religious statues beneath it.
The scent of vanilla burned at my nostrils.
Flames danced around in the dim lighting. For what felt like a single moment, I was hypnotized by its natural beauty. The feeling didn't last as long as I wanted it to. As long as it needed to. The vibration of tires rolling beneath the floors of the carpeted sanctuary had stopped.
The body shaped cloth now stood in front of the entire crowd. Dead center.
Pun intended.
The pastor's assistants, all dressed in the same long dresses and buns, had kneeled in front of the cross. Reducing themselves to half their size. They bowed their heads.
I saw the pastor's mouth move. No sound could have been registered against the hearing aids I had reduced in volume earlier.
He bowed his head. I looked around. Everyone was quick to follow.
They shut their eyes and clasped their hands. Seemingly in prayer.
In prayer for the bastard who had killed my father.
Knowing their good faith, they would have orchestrated a prayer session to bless the soul that departed from its body. I looked around once more. I was the only person who had willingly disobeyed.
I kept my eyes open.
The dead man beneath that tablecloth didn't deserve my mercy when he was alive; he doesn't deserve my prayer now that he's not.
What would I have been praying for? Him to stop haunting my dreams? For his son, Kai, to find me only to give me the same fate I had chucked at his father?
Probably, probably not.
They wouldn't have been able to put a face to a girl who had looked nothing like her father. We had only shared 50% of our DNA, and that could have only been determined by a bodily fluid examination..
It might have sounded like a stretch to go that far. But the worst thing I could do was miscredit the bloodline who stole my father from me.
The worst thing I could do right now was drop to my knees, clasp my hands and pray for the man I had killed.
Who was I going to pray to? I didn't know—I would like to keep it that way.
I was comfortable in that lack of knowledge.
I didn't need some stuck up, falsified, subconsciously corrupted person to tell me to follow their lead, they too were blind in their teachings , I'd rather follow a deaf man for at least he could see.
They could have led me to hell for all I knew.
But then again...
I already knew where I was going the moment my heart stopped beating.
I knew where I was going because I already knew the body that had lied under there, was an act of swiping a king from his throne beneath his feet reducing him to nothing but a sole set to burn for eternity. However long that would be.
Didn't matter. He was gone. I was certain.
I was certain, because I was the one who had killed him, even if Adriel was a first-hand witness that morning. It didn't change the fact that I had pulled the trigger.
The pastor raised his head shortly after the sound of a bell rang. Everyone was slow to follow this time.
With nothing but voids sounding in my ear, my lips threaten to twitch upwards. I had paid more attention to the single bullet hole on the ceiling than the reaction of the younger range of agents seeing what could have been their first dead body.
I swayed from side to side. An exasperated sigh nearly left my lips. The ceremony was taking far longer than I had thought. I could have been home by now, heating up another toaster strudel.
Or maybe even a poptart this time?
The people around the room began to slowly make their way towards the front of the room. I stayed back. I wanted—had to.
My stomach had been grumbling for a hot minute. The saliva in my mouth dried out. A sour taste lingered.
Damn I was starving.
In all senses of the word; I was starving.
Starving not only for the image of an overpriced dollar desert. But for the repercussions Blackstar would have brung on. They were smart, I should time them before they get to me.
It's the least I could do.
Who didn't love a head start?
They were going to come after me eventually, might as well give them a personal record to beat next time they tried.
I had a feeling it was going to be somewhat fast-paced.
One thing was for certain; they knew it was someone on the assassin's side who had cut the head off the snake.
So prematurely.
So clean.
Had they known he had a child? The only people who had actually seen me hold hands with my father that night couldn't have lived to tell the tale. Not from 6 feet beneath the ground at least.
Staff began to tear off the white-cloth further.
His bathered, violet body now exposed instead of just his lifeless head this time.
Did I take it a little too far for suggesting we stole his organs to sell them to the sick? He did orchestrate trafficking in that aspect, I just wanted him to have the same treatment.
But it seems as though we came a little too late.
Somebody else had already done so. I didn't bother to think about ''who'' could have. I was just slightly relieved I didn't have that type of blood on my hands. Especially for the rescue mission we were headed to sooner rather than later.
As staff begin to unravel the white sheet that had covered the fallen king, the ball that threatens to move towards my throat suddenly dissipates. Like a happy tic, once again, the grimace of joy that threatens to arise is at full effect.
The corners of my mouth grew sore.
I felt the vibration of musical instruments die down. I popped my earpieces out and pocketed them.
I stood on the bench I had been forced to sit in. Now that I had a clear view of the dead-man, I had almost felt something spark within me. I felt almost giddy.
There lied the eastern name that took everything away from me.
There lied a man who was once king to the people he had marveled over.
A liar.
A lazy rich man who had bred another woman to make many more other lazy pricks with the power to command an entire army of more than capable men.
They wouldn't rest until they'd given their godfather the Justice—-the mercy he had deserved. The mercy I stripped away from him.
My heart beat fast in my chest.
My once dry palms became as moist and clammy as a kitchen towel. I felt my lips fall and my shoulders stiffen.
In a room full of loud murmurs, and many people, I had found myself alone in a dark void. It was like the entire room blacked out. I was still on the bench but a spotlight shined on the dead king.
It was almost as if I had felt another presence hovering over my neck. Hot breath wavered over my collarbone. It was just then I had realized another heartbeat sounded in my head.
It wasn't mine.
My heart had been racing. Giving my body all these unnecessary anxious reactions. Misfires in my brain rang. Cognitive distortions maybe.
But this other one had been anything but... This one had been the calmest of the calm.
It was at this moment, I understood the internal shift the chemicals in my brain were pushing.
I understood the shift in my body's own control. It's balanced. It's power dynamic.
I understood the return of an old friend.
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The place had definitely changed drastically over the course of 6 or so years.
The sanctuary still kept its religious statues, log benches and vanilla scented candles. But it was more of a courthouse than anything else nowadays it seemed.
Arrested for the first time, kinda nervous.
I watched as regional police had my face parallel to the concrete while they cuffed me from behind and practically threw me in the back seat.
I laughed at how unnecessarily aggressive these cops were for the crime of involuntary manslaughter, which resulted in me gaining a bloody nose and one of the cops losing consciousness completely.
Now, I was on the count for two crimes.
Triple A batteries and manslaughter.
Or was it just the battery?
It was ridiculous the measure's they had me in for the two days behind bars. The jumpsuit hadn't been much help, but at least I kept my thoughts at bay. Even if Nine would have finally paid mind to creep up every now and then.
But I knew I couldn't overreact.
No matter how shitty the food really was. At the end of the day, they hadn't recognized the last name written on the arrest report. They didn't know who I was yet. Playing along with an arrest is what would make the most of my week off the most interesting out of the other three.
Might as well carry the plot for real.
A plot my father had drafted but never finished.
My shoulders feel again. My head whipped back, keeping my eyes set on the single bullet hole in the ceiling.
The judge's voice kept sounding in my ear like one of a history teacher yapping away the class's consciousness with his slow-paced reading.
My mind returned to what has happened to me all the way up to this point.
It was such an untimely aspect of life that was always an unavoidable consequence. Some could say you reap what you sow, and might that have been true, but what did I sow? I was just a kid.
I couldn't fathom that reality falling to my feet; so quickly, so stealthy.
My father had always bred me to believe that we had ruled the world. We were the good guys, nothing could happen to the good guys; we were plot armor in the eyes of the almighty.
What could have possibly come between the author and the characters they had intended to reach the finish line? The end of the storyline?
Statistics of most tropes would have argued nothing; but it was clear I had been thrown into a different story set. One that had harbored the harsh reality that ; We weren't as immortal as we had thought.
It panged at my chest for only a moment, but eventually the sensation fled. I passively sighed. My shoulders droop along with my eyes,; struggling to be kept open. But I had remembered thinking back to the day Tenzin had died.
Was that the moment I had reaped what I sewed?
I didn't reap anything–up until now I hadn't even known what that meant.
I didn't do anything to punish my father, so why was he taken from me? Was I the one being punished?
I understand if it had been vice-versa and he was in the position I was, but that would have been more plausible than the current environment.
By all means was my father not good of any sort...
Hadn't even scraped the surface of saintism if we were really pushing it. But did he really have to die? At the hands of death–at the hands of mercy?
Was this a merciful life? Did he get a free pass? If so, why did he leave me behind? I won't understand, and frankly I wouldn't want to. It would be too much of a pain weighing down onto me to even attempt at figuring it out.
I was comfortable being oblivious.
But I still couldn't shake it.
The thought was still there, wavering over my head like a halo, had it been anything else I would have worked away to clear out the intrusive thoughts.
Not even the anti-psychotic pills could clear these ruminations from my head as of right now. It worked temporarily, but the worse cures tend to do that.
Licking my lips, my cognition pangs at my head; pulsating every few thoughts or so.
Heroes weren't meant to die; it didn't feel very ethical. It wasn't very hero-like.
Anyone who tells you otherwise is an insecure loser. Ten always taught me that. I couldn't help but take a step back and analyze everything he's ever said, showed or taught me from a third person's perspective.
It made me think; had he really been all that bad in the eyes of those he didn't raise?
The question remained; Was Tenzin Akio Corinelli really as bad as everyone around me had claimed?
I tried to shake off the thought because truthfully speaking; they haven't—don't— and will never know him like I did. They could have only spoken from distant judgment; they were, are, and will remain side characters in my story; why did their opinion matter?
He was my hero, but to the eyes of those who conjured up the sudden bravery to step up to him; got to see the act behind that cunning smile had been a villain tainting tales.
Apparently.
If I was given the chance to reverse time I would do it in a second, no hesitation on my part. The thought seemed so plausible, I had almost forgotten where I was in the moment, reality ; Reality didn't work that way.
Death was an easy escape. If I wanted to kill myself, I would have done it the night my father was killed.
We were that close. That linked.
But who did I look like admitting defeat?
One bad grieving day? No problem, I'll cry it out that night and thug it out tomorrow.
What was the big deal?
Nothing—nobody was permanent. It would have only been a matter of time before I had joined him.
I haven't constructed my broken pieces in a healthy way–considering I was and still am the grieving child of the greatest man I had ever known ; it wasn't to be expected of me. And it shouldn't have been an element to look forward to.
There wasn't a solid platform handed to me, not even from my own grandfather nor the family that had surrounded me in the confines of the organization.
Instead, to find my clarity elsewhere had resulted in the death of a man of whom I had strongly suspected ended Ten's life.
With distant help from an agent already abroad; who had still been embedded in the priority; I had traced the bastard all the way to the ends of Sao Paulo Brazil, off this throne away from his worshippers; had the crown been tilted before inevitably shattering beneath me.
The death had placed a bounty on my head for years to come, and even now, as BlackStar threatened to rage tenfold for cutting off the head to their hierarchy, was it all the more prominent.
I knew what I did four years ago.
–And I also knew the shit I would get into once it was discovered by WEIA who had killed the silver king; Hamasaki Daitan.
But as a punishment to me, the all knowing God had well understood what my next steps would have been without a lapse of time—when my world had stopped and time had decided to move away from me instead of with me.
I had felt trapped in the eternal present ; no past, nor future just the now.
My hands weren't mine to hold anymore.
My thoughts drifted away along with the premier dose ingested previously that day; my thought process couldn't have been more ungrateful.
I had to have been grateful ; Ten would have wanted me to.
I brought my head back to the front of the room. My conviction was still happening.
I didn't mean to hit the pedestrian with my car.
That was my manslaughter charge.
I didn't mean it I swear.
But...
Hey, In my defense, I was only speeding because 'aunt flow' just hit town. I was getting pretty impatient. But I didn't exactly know what to expect when I floored it at that specific intersection.
But, instead of creating a time warp of some sort like one would think before speeding, it ended with the death of a man who had adorned the Blackstar structure mark on his neck.
It was almost as if he stood there, facing left in the middle of the road, running to where the vehicle had drifted in hopes of getting hit. He was chasing death. Almost knowing a witness, a non criminal, a regular-degular individual would see such action, and twist the story painting my action as intentional.
Pleading was pointless.
Do you understand how stupid you'd have to be–to be pleading against law enforcement, explaining the laws of he ran into my car and it just so happened to hit him?
You'd have to be some advanced type of special.
Regardless, I would be lying on the name of my dead father if I said I wasn't even slightly paranoid after that.
How'd they find me?
Let alone know what I'd look like?
I knew one thing, and one thing only.
I would have needed to contact the rest of the agents on mission about this entire ordeal.
...Yes.
Right after the elderly woman clutching her rosary stops staring at me like I ran over her pet bird.
Sitting back into the long wooden seat of the church, I remember just how messy this place had looked years ago, when Hamasaki's demise was announced from point A–losing a powerful underground name- to point B–the death of a businessman.
A crowd of WEIA gathered around the church's rounds to simply witness a carcass of a coward. Hamasaki Daitan didn't look so big and bad lying in the open casket now did he?
It was a relief, his funeral was.
Well, second wake.
It felt like just yesterday I had been staring at everyone who had been bowing their heads. Secretly wishing I would have shriveled up in hell fire the moment I stepped into the sanctuary.
My grandfather had personnel flown to the opposition point, dig up Hamasaki's dead body, leave the casket as hollow as the man's body–considering the organ smugglers were very prominent in the east– and bring it to the estate.
The fallen king was wrapped in pure sterling fabric, heavy to touch, as the younglings were given the chance to unwrap his carcass like a christmas presence. Decay was what had remained that day, and that too, was a reminder that death simply wasn't on anyone's timing.
I smacked the bitter taste of Zyprexa away from my mouth, washed in saliva before I sat.
As quietly as I could, I exhaled.
It was going to be a long couple of days.
*********
Manslaughter.
Was it the act of attempting at milking out one's cognition for the information so desperately needed with the use of physical brunt? Furthermore, what was the type of leverage used over the tormented?
Has it varied?
Was there a spectrum?
Did it waver over the caliber scale—from a point of best to worst? One to ten?
Which steps has propelled the probability to intensify the risk of conditioning a dead body before its heart has even scraped the surface of its last lively beat?
How did it undergo as a whole?
How was it even initiated?
How would it have escalated?
What were the cognitive advances those authoritarian hands took out of a chapter of some unique tactic to gain information one had wanted—desired at most.
Those were the sole points—the sole questions, roaming through my mind at such speed. It was nauseating to the stomach.
But I couldn't hold it at the moment. With my grasp trapped between two members of local police; my movement was easily restricted.
All because of a crime I hadn't even seen coming.
The crime–my crime– had easily translated to being an accident in my mind.
What else was I supposed to do? Tell the truth? Everybody and their mother knew I would have easily gotten mocked by the elders that stood behind the bench like some cheap budgeted harry potter wizard council.
White wigs had adorned their heads, possibly taller than their actual standing heights.
Although an assumption, it had seemed very possible.
I began to think. I began to wonder whether or not those tower-like hairpieces would have remained intact if the head who had worn it whipped back at the momentum of a bullet.
Just how fast—or just how slow did the metal have to pierce through the front cortex in order to tilt the wig? Even if it was just slightly.
Would it have jerked forward straight up or lean to the side like the tower of Pisa?
I would have had my answer soon enough–I wasn't holding out on the inevitable rather I was actually anticipating it.
The sound of a gavel being hit against polished wood rings in my ear, tearing my focus away from my head and towards the empty panel—what was once a podium a pastor had stood behind had been morphed into a bench; a throne fit for a judge.
The slab of a man– having more rolls on his neck than the arms of a newborn— calls onto me to make myself present on the bench adjacent from where he stood. Straightening my posture with the assistance of two local policemen, they held me in place.
I blinked.
God, that man needs some serious work done. No one's arms should be that comparable to bread that it almost seems delectable, edible–
I fill my stomach with air.
The distant thought of a toaster strudel clouding my mind.
I waited for a solid beat , hoping that one inhale would have shut my hunger up. It didn't work.
The policemen however, at least one makes an attempt to open his mouth as if to voice something. The jury doesn't allow it. I squint my eyes back.
Were they serious?
Yes, WEIA has many faces within its international police system; but you'd think even the local police would have the initiative to decipher the description the granddaughter of the man who ran the entire organization would have had.
They hollered me sideways, grasping my wrists with such force, trying to make our way out of the long church–like benches of the 'courtroom'.
Watch the wrists these bitches designer!
I glanced around, and now my understanding had made the utmost sense, the infrastructure of this place had doubled as a church as well. Due to budget cuts— many to make room for unnecessary land—had it been squished into two settings simultaneously.
No wonder this place looks and smells ugly as hell.
The old grand piano on the second level overlooking the entire scenery with thick carefully sculpted railings were set in a wide motion. The wooden floor arcs, the long log-like benches as well as the new crimson carpet and the huge cross hanging behind the judges bench were present.
The whole works had included the presence of religious statuettes and a multitude of vanilla scented candles. Ignited as if mass was currently happening instead of a conviction for voluntary manslaughter—well, involuntary.
Feeling the handcuffs on my wrists clatter from the solid couple hours of jail time, they scratch at the tattoo on my right arm. My blonde curls shake with an attempt at removing the depth of the earplugs currently buried in my ears.
I had to hear how this entire conviction would go down, being completely deaf in all the sense wouldn't help my case—I was a convict.
Even beyond the earplugs, what could only be a faint taste of the sound emitted from the gargantuan auburn grandfather clock on the wall fills my senses. Like an antique store had the smell surrounded me from all sides; there was no escaping the nostalgia from where I stood—sat.
I look back at the seat as they drag me towards the neck of the margin. The one beside mine was a short-term home for a security guard. It had grown cold.
Before coming up with any baseless conclusions of my own, I diverted my gaze towards the adjacent side of the room. In comparison to my side; it had been more or less packed in full. Like sardines, I swear a toddler could have been able to crowd surf in the tub of spectators.
No one sat beside me.
Local police had also made sure to keep their distance. Had they known who my grandfather was? Did it finally click in their minds that as local police their most valuable bust had come within their field?
I could see them propped against porcelain statuettes of the virgin mary they kept their lips tight and corrupted badges clad.
They don't dare to bury their hands into their pockets, out of fear— of me pulling something in their handcuffs and legal restrictions.
The act was almost dense.
This is some bullshit.
And the walk towards the bench had been unnecessarily long too.
Sitting down, the dark purple jumpsuit that had smelt of rot had become a second skin with the way I hadn't been allowed to change for the last couple hours. I was held in a humid room awaiting a conviction from a judge who had looked almost lost in the moment.
He recovers quickly.
My voice of reason had however silenced itself without much of my help. I was thankful for that.
The sound of clattering heels not too tall, and not too short sounds in my right ear. With the earplugs loose, I can hear the shaking elderly woman with a compulsive shake to the head. She moved a few paces back suddenly.
The same lady who had seen everything unfold. The rosary gripper.
It made me cock an eyebrow.
My head calibrates sideways as I give her a once over.
Her 5'3 frame is clad in tight fitted 'first lady' wear. Aside from the pearls missing from her neck, the fan in her hand and the constant arms crossing over herself when she's seated; I'd say she had looked identical to the aunties you saw at church growing up.
She reeked of the color blue. Its patterns were ridiculous but from other angles it looked more cute than anything else.
I straighten my head as she moves towards the judge, clutching the rosary in her hand at such an intensity anyone could attest to anticipate its destruction.
As whispers are exchanged in swift Japanese, I took the chance to overlook my own disheveled appearance. Raising my wrist, I sighed still seeing the handcuffs threaten to cut off my tightly fitted blood circulation.
The clinking of the sterling around my wrists made me feel like a prisoner more than anything else.
They weren't necessary whatsoever, but being in the fact that I was currently being accused of some serious above-surfaced accusations, above-surface personnel had ruled it out as protocol.
My eyes find themselves connecting with the religious eastern looking mother, a little overcooked in her age.
The pink rosary hangs around her neck reminding me of the cut on my cheekbone. She clutches it immediately as if to hide it. As if my stare would have melted off the iron crucifix.
I bow my head down, my shoulder's shaking.
I chuckle.
WEIA better have come in clutch.
The geriatric returns to her bench to clutch at a bible in her hand. She holds it dear. Almost like a toddler's fixation on a stuffed animal type hold. My head moves to the sound, a downward smile plays on my face, she shuts her eyes for a beat–seemingly in prayer.
I take the chance to look around innocently.
The candles surrounding the makeshift courthouse were at an all time high, as if ready to set exorcism alight.
Watching the woman once more, a light curl had partially covered my eyes. I blew the rebellious blonde curl out of harm's way.
The irritation of not washing a dry scalp couldn't compare to the irritation plastered onto the woman's face as if she was inching to throw me back in the cell I had come from. The corners of my lips widen in a beam.
Immediately, she is seen shifting her gaze from me to the judge who couldn't find a better place to host this prosecution.
A quick panic is exchanged between the both of them. Manic, in the way she moves her feet, she's damn near close to rolling her ankles as if she was getting ready to run up and pounce on me.
Halting her own movements, she becomes quite rude by pointing a finger of accusation in my direction.
''Akuma.''
The finality in her tone suggests she has nothing to add on. I do smile, the name was completely off but I had appreciated her efforts.
'Demon', she calls me.
I can do nothing but pin my lips into a fine line thinking she assumes I don't understand her. My lips lay to the side, glancing at my fit, Still not understanding the jumpsuit procedure, seeing as though this was basically just an old church house and not a legit legal courthouse.
The judge's wife was supposedly a pastor-which didn't make sense because I thought women couldn't speak in church. I thought it was blasphemous and yet here she was here, not set ablaze.
It explained her presence in the setting however. Like very many things it had looked like he took offense to the fact that she insulted him in such a measure. Hadn't trusted him enough to handle this on his own, she just had to be there.
At that sound of my name, one the man on the mic was hesitant to pronounce, I made it my mission to catch a glimpse at the wide-eyed smile the local police officers sent my way as if their career had just flashes before their eyes.
Now they recognized me? Great timing.
I stood up from my bench in solitude, ''I swear to say the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth,'' I memorize out loud, a hand to my chest while my tattooed hand is flipped to the palm.
Glancing back at the judge, there's a look I can't quite decipher. ''You weren't supposed to do that.''
''I'm sorry—I thought this was scripted.'' I glanced around, '' Did I say it wrong?'
''You aren't supposed to say it period; You aren't a witness, you committed the crime!''
I lower my hand, shifting weight from one leg to the other.
''I don't appreciate you yelling at me in this moment!'' I yelled back. Making my argument worthless.
Reaching a hand up to his temple, the other holds his wife's hand.
A ''you want to take care of this, or should I?'' is exchanged between the two. In a clear state of distraught, does his wife step up to the podium–she steps up to me.
''Ms.Corinelli, '' She begins before patting her light pencil skirt down. Clearing her throat, she attempts at enlarging herself like a feline would to scare off a predator.
Pure illusion.
I lean back, arms crossed over my chest. '' Due to courthouse procedure, the jury asks that you keep your voice to a minimum before we proceed with the conviction. Is that alright with you? Do I make myself clear?''
She voices softly. But my eyes squint the more they move upwards towards her face. I can only think of one thing to say.
''Why do you– as a woman— have less of a hairline than your balding husband overthere?''
Gasps ring, I raise my hands defensively. The rest of the spectators there had just glanced at me as if I had created another crime; Intended murder this time.
Just saying.
There's a slip up in the confidence she emits, immediately I am reminded of that one step mom from the parent trap. ''Age shouldn't be disclosed, but I'll have you know we are only 44,'' her chin is propped up, a look of pride plastered on the tinted lips.
''44 squared you mean—with those frown lines on your face and the abnormal sag your tatas divert from the mass at which gravity droops downwards with each moment you raise your head like you did something, there could have easily been mistakes here,''
Dismissed. She doesn't say it. But I can tell by the way she dismisses me with her hand giving her husband the floor back. This time around, he doesn't waste anymore breath. He reads through the file;
''Osiris-Nine Corinelli, you are present in the courthouse today for a charge of manslaughter. On the night of the crime, you had been speeding–skimming near the ancaster intersection before inevitably hitting a man; killing him on impact—-'' I stopped him right there.
I remembered who I had hit, the blackstar structure brand had been engraved as a scar on his neck–covered by the ink of a vanta tattoo. He ran into the car, there wasn't any other explanation I had to give here.
And as stupid as it sounded, I needed my voice to be heard.
I needed to make my case.
''He actually ran in front of my car—'' I got looks from all sides of the margin.All sour and judgemental. Disbelief spread like a disease.
Had they thought I was stupid? Probably, the storyline did sound quite watered-down in intelligence.
The wife had blinked, painted lips just slightly opened. She paused, casted her gaze downwards, widened her eyes for a moment before shaking her head and looking back at me.
''Ms. Corinelli, with all do respect ; that does not sound even remotely factual not only in a court of law but basic human survival in—''
''With all do respect your honour, your ass wasn't even fucking there—!''
''But my ass was there!'' We both turned to the elderly woman with the rosary who had done nothing but watch this back and forth go down.
Who did she think she was? Trying to act all brave in a conversation that didn't involve her— she was probably in the diaper for god's sake!
However, she wanted the smoke? I'd introduce her to it lightly.
''Do you even know what that means?''My shoulders bounce in a chuckle, my index and feel at my lips and chin as I analyze her from afar.
This one sentence bravery died as soon as it had birthed.
''Pace yourself! Look at your legs, you're shaking! Remain composed,'' My eyes tore from the woman who had decided to hurry this prosecution up towards the grandfather clock. 6 minutes had passed before the elderly lady had scurried to her feet.
She made it her mission to make my conviction as fast as it could be.
The grandmother—-clutching a bible in her hand—-approaches my bench in a hurry.
Placing the book on my lap with the forefront of her fingers, she refuses to make any sort of contact with me. Retracting back as quickly thinking I'd pounce at her like a feline high on adrenaline, I squinted at the woman.
Eyes reducing to disinterest, ''I'm not touching it,'' The base in my voice is purely influenced by the shift in language. Deeper and more hoarsed than English had the native language sounded.
The grandmother claps her hands, turning on a dime to face the one side of heavy ground. Feeling as though a revelation had just dawned upon her, ''See? You aren't touching it out of fear of being convicted. Fear of burning in hell. Spawn of lucifer I tell you,''The japanese to english exchange is as smooth as the wrinkles on her collarbone.
Leaning back into my seat, feeling the phone charger in my pocket graze my tattooed palm, I felt a little playful today.
Mutely, I clear my throat, getting ready to sit the decay on legs down.
''Why do you care where I'd end up? Focus on your path to heaven rather than condemn people to a place you've spent your entire life avoiding, lady,'' My wink is swift. My peripheral vision allows me to see that the judge and his wife were no longer present.
What kind of court hearing was this? Absolutely terrible.
It causes her to shift in her seat.
Irritated, ''You are the devil!'' she proclaims with such a base in her voice, it makes me quirk an eyebrow.
. The woman doesn't live her assumption down.
''Please,'' I sigh, my interest had faded with every minute this gathering was still running.
''As you can see, '' I stand up, my figure towering over both the pastor, wife and grandmother. ''I am not burning,'' I shrug before sitting back down.
Picking up the religious book, I clutched it in my hold, hugging it. ''As you can see,'' I motion towards the book. ''I am not burning,'' I repeated to really force it in her head.
Delicately, I started with placing the slab of scripture I had used to follow before I became weary, before I became agnostic, on the table.
I retract back to my assigned seat like an obedient mutt.
It takes a minute for the crowd to register. All eyes turn towards the lady in the position of accusation, ''No! Listen to me, she is the devil reincarnate! I saw the way she murdered that innocent man. And now you stand here with little to no remorse.'' Her accent isn't as thick as her rage.
She paused for a moment.
''There is a special place in hell for you, Corinelli.'' She grits out with what she can. Grip still harsh on the rosary.
I suddenly whip my head back. An almost boyish chuckle escaped my lips. She wanted to play this game, I didn't mind tagging along to her act.
''The biblical implication of what the devil looks like is probably closer to your pastor than anything else,'' Earning a collective reaction from the crowd of worshippers, I glanced in pure joy.
It gave me a chance to pocket the bible, I wasn't gonna let it burn with the rest of the judicial structure.
Even I had morals.
My father would have saved the religious scriptures as well. These were baby steps.
And knowing Dominic; he'd probably go out of his way to carry the cross too. Didn't have to worry about the primary elements in the sanctuary.
At the burn out of half of the candles in the sanctuary.
I don't know whether it was the sound of a familiar car honking outside, or the song of a hundred military-grade boots above me. But something told me WEIA agents were within the vicinity.
Was I going home? It was all over already?
I knew the answer to these questions, but still felt the need to ask.
Felt kinda pointless.
I zeroed back onto the old-lady. She never tore her attention away from me. Her eyes pierced through me as if I had been a tiger on the other side of a zoo-exhibit.
''Now, I don't mean to offend. Mad respect to the big guy above, love him, grateful he loves me no matter what,'' I grabbed her attention with that starter.
''But do you seriously believe that evil would show face? In front of you? No. Because as your God describes it, evil can, does, and will present itself in the most innocent form. Not to show off how wicked he truly is to scare off his followers into worshiping him.'' I pause, really thinking my words through.
''But rather to lure people in a state of delusion,'' I revise.
The woman, building up her courage, approaches me softly. I mock the concerned look and the head tilt she sends me. I couldn't quite make out the expression on her face nor the rising storm in her eyes. But I just knew she was going to say some dumb shit next.
''I'll pray for you,'' Knowingly, I crane my lips to the side. A curt hum is cut short before I rise. Her full height barely made it to my collarbone.
Moving my overgrown blonde curls out of my vision, I now near the lady a little closer, hovering above the bench. ''I'm sure you will, love.''
As if the facade had plummeted down to her feet, the lady shakes her head. ''You're not getting into heaven with that attitude. Repent,'' she rules out. Making the situation all the more entertaining to my ears and eyes. '' I'll help you repent,'' she began to reason, I softly shook my head.
'' We're way past that,''
'' You're never 'way too past' running into the arms of our creator.''
She makes the effort to hold out her hand to connect with mine. '' You're a beautiful young woman; you shouldn't be hidden behind those bars,'' Genuine concern crossed her lips, and for a moment, the expression had been reciprocated.
'' You know,'' I tucked a blonde curl behind my ear,
'' I have been thinking about changing my life around for the greater good,'' With my palm on my chest, the grandmother smiles genuinely.
She sees the sight of the book in my head, her eyes almost sparkle, ''For him?'' She pointed towards the sky, I knew where she was getting at.
I nodded, cocking my head to the side, tears brewing in the corners of my eyes.
'' Hell no,''
My response makes her drop my hand and straighten up.
'' Fucker.''
I pursed my lips together and whistled. My eyebrows frowned and I shook my head.
I looked up at her quickly, ''That's not very holy language, madame,''
She retorts and my eyes genuinely widen. That was a quick switch up that had actually caught me off guard.
'' You good for nothing sinner; you're right, saving is beyond you and apparently so is a life in the kingdom,'' An attempt at guilt tripping or shaming makes me frown. She didn't need to be doing all of that.
''If you want to go to heaven so badly, let me make it easier for you,'' I genuinely smiled, retracting it back. With the single sound of a finger snapping at her eyes twice, the artificial lights that have adorned the church's ceiling take its sweet time to flicker before inevitable darkness consumes the sanctuary.
The only source of light was illuminated from the candles set in front of their respectable statues. There's a familiar call. The sound of a dog whistle lets me know it's time to go home.
A gunshot sounds.
I glance back at her. A closed-knit smile plastered onto my sore face. I salute her as I witness WEIA personnel raid the sanctuary.
I make it my mission to irritate before blowing out a whistle, swinging past her. Making sure to shove my earplugs further into my ears.
A loud thud heard from above the second floor of spectators falls onto the stage. The crucifix had finally fallen. Its woodtrust had taken over, making the action all the more impactful.
Knowing WEIA, they wouldn't dare let an intricate piece of religion burn. I should expect it to show up by the fire-place mantle tomorrow morning.
I sniffle back another vocal tease. My neck cranes back before the vibration of multiple gunshots sound from all around me.
Already smelling blood and gunpowder consume the makeshift courthouse.
Pushing my earbuds further into my ear canal, all sound becomes blocked out to a maximum. There isn't anything coming past these specialized pieces. Out of a shot of pity, I glance back.
Amid the gunfire, and candlelit lighting, I had clasped my hands together practically momentarily deaf to the song that was gunshots, screaming prayers shooting upwards, and the grand piano sliding down in tone.
I walk closer towards the elderly woman, my expression blessing her presence in the name of innocence, had I been so terribly wrong. My eyes shift from the cross in her grasp, to her nearly melting quivering stance.
The only sight seen in her eyes is the reflection of the fallen crucifix in the background and the remaining candles that were too stubborn to burn out. Brown eyes flood with swamp, the way they fog her vision.
Not intense enough to block me out of her view. Gently, bowing my head towards my clasped hands in praying motion. ''God bless you,''
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A/N; A lot to unpack here 😹