The Fallen - Part 4

“Fuck Ro..!”

The back of the short axe handle interrupted the shabby looking man’s defiance, smashing him squarely between the eyes, knocking the junky squatter back into the mess he called a living space. Rags, a sleeping bag, a shady corner of a rundown building is where Axel found this pathetic excuse for a criminal. In between the sobbing and angry outbursts, the out of luck opiate fiend was reminded to focus on one thing, and one thing alone.

“Where is Romeo?” Axel repeated, then lifted his dusty black right labourer boot and slammed it down hard on the other man’s jaw.

A few questions in the right direction and a pocketful of money led both men to be in their current positions. Axel had found materialism was simply what people deemed most valuable, and money made men talk more than they probably should’ve; that, and fear.

“Where is he?!” Axel demanded in a tone that was slowly boiling over as he stepped after his victim, who was attempting to widen the distance between the two. Axel was losing his patience, yet they really had all night to do this dance. No-one else was around, the other lowly residents already forced to vacate.

“Please, I don’t know!”

The self-made social degenerate pleaded again whilst tears streamed down his face. He crawled a foot before the same dusty right boot forced him to turn over and onto his back. He clutched at what was still remaining of his left hand and pulled it against his chest. In agony, he moaned as his eyes fixed on the fairly blunt hatchet blade.

The axe dangled at Axel’s side and had created a spontaneous pattern of blood on the first level of a soon to be demolished warehouse, which would eventually lead the demolition crew to this spot, like a trail of breadcrumbs. It would be weeks later, and the happy fairy-tale ending a far cry.

“Just tell me so we can stop this.” Axel implored. He didn't enjoy this, he'd come to learn to accept he had to do some horrible things, yet he didn't take pleasure in it. Not like someone who enjoyed a beautiful sunset, or a fresh summer’s breeze. He tolerated these moments as he deemed they were necessary, like a prisoner of war tolerated a concentration camp. It was simply another battle, but part of a larger war.

The moonlight peaked through a broken window and shined itself on the night’s events in the otherwise neglected and vandalized squatter quarters. The steel of the hand axe, now raised in the air, caught a hint of the moon’s generosity, yet the earthly satellite’s gloss mostly caught Axel’s back, releasing his shadow. The once catholic priest turned crime syndicate up-and-comer moved closer and as he did his shadow grew bigger, his frame mimicking the sun during a solar eclipse.

“Or, we can keep going.”

Fear motivated men more than love. The softer side of life kept people in the same comforts, even if these comforts were not so comfortable in the eyes of others. Love kept things in place, and fear pushed that place into unknown territory. Sometimes it was the opposite, yet in a world where corruption and greed ruled supreme, fear held the reins, the same fear which broke this once lippy man into a blubbering mess.

“NOOOOOO! PLEASE! Please…” He pleaded again, before succumbing to the inevitable. He feared the unknown more than he loved his miserable existence, and in this moment he feared death more than anything else.

This man was once an errand boy for Romeo, yet his love of drugs and escapism overtook his interest in making money and a growing reputation in the criminal spotlight. He was stuck in a prison of attachment to his own desires, the same desires which had him fearful of leaving his miserable existence, as he placed his importance in that which kept him imprisoned. You could say he was already dead, a living corpse, but he knew no better.

“…OK… ok.” He whimpered, coming to his senses.

“He works for Tom Murray. You’ll find him at The Northern Club.”

As the clouds outside parted and the moonlight shone brighter, Axel moved closer, and as he did his shadow completely enveloped the man lying helpless beneath him. In another life his breast would be full to the brim with compassion, and he would ask his fellow brother to lay his soul bare and be freed from his sins and sorrow. Now, his heart was broken, empty; an outline stitched together by the thread of his own sins, with the needle of his blood stained vengeance.

The moon smiled bright that night, brighter than it did any day that month, as it was in its fullest form whilst perched amongst the northern stars. It held its gaze on a rundown warehouse, where even in the eyes of two murderer’s the light of hope still burned bright. One hoped for a long life, even if in poverty and suffering, and one for redemption of his own sins whilst chasing his sister’s murderer. Only one light kept burning thereafter, and it’s what powered the final swing of the axe.