Chapter 23: Ocean of Tears

Monday, August 28th, 2006, Somewhere over the Atlantic

“JJ? Can I get you something? A drink? Something to eat? You need to get some food in you; you’re worrying us,” Heather said pleadingly as she bent over the empty seat next to me and gently shook my knee.

“No, thanks, I’m not hungry or thirsty right now,” I shrugged without taking my eyes away from the clouds that I was looking at through the plane’s window.

“Please eat something? For us? Chayana said that you lost a lot of blood and that you needed to eat and drink plenty of liquids to help replenish it—” Stacy begged, her voice low and solemn.

“Fine,” I interrupted, fingering Maria’s necklace that was now entwined with mine while still studying the clouds. “Have Lurch make me a ham sandwich and bring me a coffee with it—if that’ll make you two stop bugging me. And tell Mom that I know that she put you guys up to it. Tell her that I said that I’m fine, just like I’ve told her repeatedly since I woke up,” I said a bit grumpily.

I already had to rebuke our mother twice this morning and then again right before we boarded the jet. She kept asking if I was okay, wanting to let me know that she was there for me—trying to talk about Maria. I didn’t want to talk about it with her or with anyone. If I did, I had a feeling that I’d break, and I couldn’t afford weakness right now. I needed to be strong for the rest of them. I couldn’t allow anyone else that I cared about to die. Because of me, because I had found a goddamned magical cursed ring and now had a ghost living in my fucking head, enough people were dead, one of them that I loved. I didn’t need mothering; I needed space.

“Okay,” Heather said, subdued, “Thanks for eating ... I love you, JJ,” She added softly.

“I know, I love you too,” I replied abstractedly.

“I love you too, Jake, we all do,” Stacy piped up anxiously, not wanting to be left out.

“I know, Stace, and I love you too. I just want to be left alone with my thoughts right now, okay? Just put the sandwich and coffee on the tray next to me when it’s ready,” I instructed my tone one of dismissal.

I heard the quiet rustle of their clothing as they slowly shuffled away but didn’t turn my head to look. I shifted in my seat, trying for the umpteenth time to get comfortable. Even though the chairs were super high-class, my body was still stiff in places from the attack. I hadn’t really recovered from my Hulk impersonation when Steve had shown up to ruin my day, so my original injuries and bruises were now compounded with interest.

I know you’re hurting, but so are they. You’re wallowing in your misery alone, and it is just adding to their pain. Maria died so that you might live, she wouldn’t—

<Yes, she DIED!> I interrupted angrily. <She died because I fucked up! It’s my goddamn fault! I should have had mags of silver bullets on me, Malachar! I should have had every last one of my men armed with them too! She died because I was too complacent, I wasn’t thinking ... I was incompetent and too busy celebrating my dumb successes. Truth be told, I was feeling a bit invincible after all the craziness that happened at the CIA farm. We hadn’t seen anything that even remotely resembled an assassin from the council of burning shitbags in weeks. Not since that fucked up illusionist. I let my guard down, and Maria paid for it! Like I said, it’s all my fucking fault!>

Oh God, Maria, forgive me, even though I don’t deserve it. I was surprised when I felt a tear drip down my cheek; I hadn’t allowed myself to shed any yet. I didn’t have the luxury of mourning right now; I’d probably breakdown and get some of the others killed too if I didn’t keep strict control of myself. I scrubbed it away with my good arm; my other was in a sling courtesy of my old friend Steve. I had over five-hundred stitches, both internal and external, in my left shoulder.

It was still numb for over half the length of it. I had severe nerve damage and torn tendons, not to mention punctured and ripped muscle tissue. Chayana had cautioned that I might not ever get the full use, range of motion, or feeling back in it. We’ll see, I guess. I was determined to get it back as good as new or as close to it as was humanly possible. It would have been advantageous if either of my magic rings had regenerative properties; I felt like an invalid right now. Sore and crippled.

My right forearm had twenty-seven stitches, the slashes had been shallow—thank God for small favors. I’d also ripped open my previous stitches on my side. Luckily I hadn’t caused any extra damage to it; it had only needed to be cleaned and resewn. I would have new scars to add to the ones that had just barely healed. At this rate, I’d look like Frankenstein’s monster by the time I was done fighting to get Malachar out of my head and myself freed from the curse. If I made it that far, anyway.

As if everything wasn’t bleak enough, I had another worrisome situation to deal with as well. Apparently, when I had collapsed, I’d gone into a coma for three days, and no one understood why. That freaked me the fuck out, and I didn’t know what to do about it other than to resolve not to use my own magic anymore. If I could help it, that is. Every time I had done so, it had come unbidden at a time of high emotional stress.

Chayana said that my passing out could have been attributed to the blood loss but that it wouldn’t account for staying unconscious that long. Thankfully Sharif had called in some favors and procured some false identification for me. On the paperwork, they claimed that I was a young man from California and that I’d had a farm equipment accident while visiting. With the help of my loyal CIA and FBI soldiers, he was able to sneak me into the local hospital, where she patched me up while trying to figure out why I was in a comatose state.

Chayana was given cart blanche and was able to use the hospital’s facilities without interference. Aimee happily assisted as her nurse, and according to my women, I received stellar care from both. They attended to Brock’s medical needs as well and kept him in the same room as me for treatment. I was greatly relieved to learn that he had survived when I woke up.

Having government officials pulling rank and using their clout was a powerful thing. It seems if you station FBI guards around a private patient’s room, no one asks any questions. Everyone just assumes someone else must know what’s going on and that it was above their pay grade to demand answers. It also seems that snatching a top trauma surgeon and adopting a nurse had paid off in spades.

When they initially brought me in, they’d panicked because, for the first twelve hours, my organs were almost shutting down. They said that my functions were so low that they had barely qualified as working. After that, and just as inexplicably as to why I was shutting down in the first place, I started recovering to everyone’s happy and much-relieved puzzlement. Understandably, my loved ones had all flipped out, worried that I was going to die as well.

When I’d finally regained consciousness, I had to argue vehemently with everyone to get released. Chayana wanted to run a boatload more tests, but I couldn’t dawdle in a hospital for God knows how long. It really became a contest of wills, which was super annoying, considering that I had zero power in my ring at the time. Thankfully, Abby couldn’t resist me and was only too happy to blow me, giving me the juice I needed to adjust everyone’s immediate concerns.

I think that when I fucked her after by having her ride me, it was one of the hardest things I’d ever done. It took every ounce of willpower and Malachar’s tinkering with my libido to get me hard. All I could think of was Maria, and having sex was the last thing I felt like doing, but I had to; I had a responsibility to stay as charged as possible. I was bombarded with images of my sweet, sweet, spicy Tamale. Pictures of when we last made love, when we’d had our alone time in the bath, when I gave her the necklace and how loving she was after. I remembered our first date when I took her dancing. Man, could she twirl, just like the hot Latino dancers on the TV. It wouldn’t end; I was tormented the whole time. When I finally came, it was a relief until I realized that I needed to do that another five times to fill-up. Before that moment, I never would have been able to conceive of sex as a chore.

While I knew for certain that my coma was related to the lightning I’d felt rip through my chest, I didn’t mention it to anyone. I didn’t have a clue what was happening with me when my magic went off, and I didn’t want them speculating on it. Even Malachar was at a loss over what caused it; all he knew was that for whatever reason, whenever I used my own personal magic, I felt pain shoot through me and that it was potentially very harmful.

Bullshit!

<Huh? What’s bullshit?>

I said bullshit in response to your last statement! There was no way that you could have figured that the werewolf wasn’t dead after how many times you stabbed him! I thought that he had crawled away to die in the Umbra just as much as you did! And I’m the expert, so how would you have a clue when you’re just a novice!

<That’s the thing! I didn’t honestly believe that he was dead. I just hoped that he was. I had those bullets made for a reason, and I failed Maria by letting them sit too far away to do any good when they were needed! Besides, I know that you didn’t think he was dead either, so stop trying to make me feel better with bullshit of your own! Remember, by your own admission, you can’t lie to me! Well, I can sense that you’re full of shit on this one.>

Fine! But regardless, you need to connect with your women, Jake; let them comfort you. Time heals all wounds—another cool saying I found in your memory banks, by the way, and it’s true everywhere. Maria’s sacrifice means that not only are you alive, but so are the rest of the women that you both love. Grieve, m’boy, grieve—but don’t shut the others out. You’ll only make it worse on yourself and, in the end, on them too.

I sighed heavily, wishing that the clouds would carry away my hurt.

<Maybe, you’re right—but I need some time. I just can’t deal with anyone right now. I’ve got my plate full trying to plan things at the moment. Anyway, I figured you’d be happy. I filled up on Eruxas as soon as I woke up. I’m not shirking my duty. I know how dangerous it is for me right now—or for us rather—better than ever now that I’ve paid such a heavy price. I loved her, Malachar! I fucking loved her!>

I slammed my fist on the armrest cracking it. I looked down at the plush creamy-white leather arm, the front half now hanging crooked. I guess I must have broken the internal frame. I sighed and went back to pensively fingering Maria’s necklace while gazing at the wispy cirrus clouds floating off in the distance. It was almost sunset, and when I looked down at the ocean, I could see the shimmering rays glinting off the rippling waves.

<Yeah, I know, but what the fuck, Malachar! How could I wish her a happy birthday when it was anything but!? It would’ve felt insulting, I figured out of all people she’d understand. Don’t tell me she’s upset over that too?>

Not upset, but she was a little saddened. She thought that you didn’t remember, but at the same time, she understood why you wouldn’t. You could have mentioned it without making it sound like a celebration, you know. Merely acknowledging it would’ve made her feel good.

<Yeah, well, I’ll make it up to her another time.>

You should; she saved your ass with those bullets. She moved like quickfire to get that clip loaded and into a position to kill that fucker. Out of all your women, she is the aptest to become a serious fighter.

<Not Violet?>

<I didn’t realize what they were going through... > I sighed, kicking myself in the ass for my selfishness.

Well now you do—so, man up, son.

<Yeah... >

Plus, you’re snapping at everyone around you. Even your men are wary of you right now and are walking on eggshells. Lurch is the only one unaffected by your behavior. Snap out of it, m’boy. There’s nothing wrong with feeling emotional pain but deal with it by talking with the people who matter. Otherwise, the next time you’re faced with a dangerous life or death combat situation, you won’t be as prepared as you think you’ll be. Having a good mental outlook is essential to winning just as much as preparation. You need to find inner peace as best you can. I’m not telling you not to feel sorrow, but don’t lose hope, focus on the future while remembering the past. Honor the gift she gave you.

<I know ... I know ... I’ll be alright, I just need a few days. Jeez, just the conversation with her mother alone ripped me apart ... Do you know how fucking hard it was telling her that I killed her daughter! I’ll never forget the wail of anguish that she made for as long as I live ... It’ll haunt me, I hear it in my dreams... >

<As far as picking my brain for what I was experiencing when Maria died ... that’ll have to wait. Seriously, I’m not up for that yet. Soon, I promise. It’s too raw to speak about right now. I couldn’t handle it.>

Well, don’t take too long. It could be a question of life or death in figuring this out.

I grunted in my head in silent acknowledgment; tired of the conversation, the clouds retook my interest. I saw one that reminded me of a bunny; Maria would’ve loved that one.

“Hey, Magic-Man, you look like shit! Has anyone told you that lately?” Violet quipped as she flopped down in the seat next to me, causing me to start violently.

“Shit, woman! You wanna warn me next time? You startled the crap outta me!” I grunted accusingly, giving her a frown.

“Sorry,” she said, giving me a half-smile, her cute button nose crinkling up, making her freckles look especially appealing. “How are you feeling? Body-wise I mean, I know how your feeling emotionally,” she asked, concerned.

“Like how you’d imagine, I guess—like I was steamrolled and then skewered on a spit to be roasted over a volcano,” I snorted. “I’m in pain, but the morphine helps somewhat.”

“Only somewhat?” she asked, concerned. “Should I get Chayana? She said that she’d grabbed you enough pills to take for a couple of months if needed. Maybe she needs to up the dosage?”

“Nah, it’s because I’m only taking half of what she prescribed, I need a clear head right now, and it was making me too loopy,” I replied stoically.

“Oh. Well, if it gets to be too much, just take what she ordered. I mean, we have a few hours in the air and shit, right? You should be okay to get ‘loopy’ for a bit,” she said with a soft smile while making air quotes with her fingers.

“Yeah, I guess, but I’m okay for now,” I said with a slight shrug as I looked away from her piercing green eyes.

I knew that she could tell that I was partially full of shit. I was actually in a fair amount of pain, but it seems that I was learning to tolerate a much higher amount of it. Especially since I practically found myself wounded all the time now. Thankfully she let it slide. I was in no mood to be scolded like a child for not taking my meds.

I had been staring out the window ever since we’d boarded the Gulfstream and hadn’t really checked out the interior, so I took a better look around now that Violet had distracted me from my inner thoughts. It was a heck of a lot nicer than any plane I’d ever been on, with plush leather seats and spacious aisles with deep shag carpeting. The decor was a light cream color accented with dark polished wooden trim. Apparently, many came with couches and lounge areas, some even had a bedroom and office, but since this was a CIA plane, it was simply filled with seats and had two sections with permanent eating tables that seated four, two per side.

We had commandeered two planes, each held eighteen seats, and we had filled this one to capacity. There were twenty-eight of us now that we’d suffered four more casualties. After I’d woken up, I’d found out that number Twenty had died from his wounds even though Chayana had done her best to save him. I felt guilty that I didn’t know the real names of any of the agents that had died for me so far—other than Drew. They had lives, families, friends, all destroyed because they’d crossed paths with me. Granted, it was the CIA’s fault for kidnapping me, but most of the guys I’d run into had just been doing their job and following orders. More shit that I didn’t have the luxury to dwell on. The list of people to feel guilty about was going to be humungous by the time I was done freeing Malachar—if I was successful. Ironically, I didn’t feel wrong about commandeering them to serve me, though.

With my personal entourage now consisting of fifteen people, we only had room for two of my CIA guards, number Three and Fourteen, both of who had impressed me with their leadership abilities under fire. My other ten CIA guards were on the other jet escorting Maria’s body to her mother in Puerto Rico. Number Eight was in charge there and would call if there were any difficulties. Barring any, they would meet us in Switzerland about fourteen hours after we arrived.

Making the decision not to go in person and for us to miss attending Maria’s funeral was the hardest thing I’d ever done, but I knew it was the right thing. I had gotten her killed. I couldn’t visit the same fate upon her mother too. Plus, it was almost Karmic in the sense that I’d prevented Angie from attending the burial of her loved ones. I probably deserved this pain of missing one of mine. I’d missed Don’s as well, not that I’d planned on attending in person, but I’d had one of my FBI guys film it so that Alan and the guys could watch. At least I’d kept my word. Apparently, it was a prestigious affair.

I sighed heavily again, feeling the weight of everything upon my shoulders. Before the past month and a half, I’d only had to deal with a couple of deaths. My Grandmother’s and my Dad’s, now I was surrounded by death at every turn. It started with the two gangbangers in the gas station and then carried on up in Canada with poor Mr. Montpetit; that one still made me feel tremendous guilt. I got into the act myself when I killed three mobsters and a crooked cop, those I felt nothing for. They earned it with their life choices, and as far as I was concerned, good riddance.

After the massacre at Angie’s, I started to lose count of the bodies. There was the unfortunate couple who chose the wrong hotel to have a night of romance in, then my sweet elderly neighbor who was as kind as anyone I’ve ever met. I couldn’t recall how many people died in that same hotel when the weird alien-looking fucker attacked us with his illusions. Was it eight, nine, or ten? I struggled to recall how many died at the farm as well, thirteen, I think, or was it fourteen?

I guessed that I’d seen at least forty bodies over the past seven weeks, and according to Malachar, this was nothing yet. He claimed that war was coming, a real one, and that was the good news. Good because if it didn’t, then I’d be dead, along with everyone that I loved or cared for. This might not be a war as far as armies and such, but it certainly felt like it to me. For the umpteenth time, I wondered how long until I went crazy and flipped my lid. This was a lot of shit to have suddenly thrust upon my shoulders when all I had wanted to do with my life was to become a Mason.

“A penny for your thoughts?” Violet asked, her voice warm and caring.

“Nothing pleasant,” I shrugged, causing a grimace of pain to flicker across my face.

“Yeah, I figured as much. Care to share?”

“I was trying to calculate exactly how many dead bodies I’ve seen over the past several weeks,” I told her as I glance over to see her reaction.

“Wow, that’s pretty morbid,” Violet offered sympathetically.

I grunted noncommittedly and looked away again as she let out a gentle sigh. I heard Abby, who was sitting at the very front with Alan, getting boisterous as she talked about killing techniques. I’d need to have a talk with her soon. Killing in defense was perfectly acceptable, so were preemptive strikes, but killing and liking it was something to watch out for. I knew that we were all changing, it was impossible not to, but I was determined to make sure that we stayed on a decent path. It’d be too easy to lose all sense of ourselves if we let the horrors overcome our better nature.

Lurch passed us, pushing a beverage cart, serving coffee and tea to some of the others—good, I’d ordered him to act as our steward. I also heard Billy laughing upfront with his Dad as he watched cartoons on the overhead projector. I almost got a kick out of the fact that it was probably the first time that the CIA plane had ever shown a Walt Disney film. Then again, with the way that Disney had slowly taken over the world when it comes to family entertainment, CIA involvement wouldn’t surprise me in the least.

Looking behind me, I caught my mother’s eye, and she smiled at me sadly. Her look conveyed both love and sorrow. Sheila was asleep beside her with a light blanket pulled up to her shoulders. She looked tired and worn. It made me want to cuddle them both; I hadn’t realized how withdrawn I’d been. I mouthed that I loved her and flicked my eyes to look at Angie and Aimee sitting behind them. Ang returned my gaze, and for once, she wasn’t scowling, but I couldn’t read her expression. I’d deal with her another time; her hatred would keep holding on simmer, I’m sure. Aimee just gave me a weak smile and then looked down nervously.

I turned, facing forward as my thoughts turned to Maria and how I failed her, once again the scenario of her final moments playing vividly in my head like a broken record. One minute she was looking at me with love even though she was in a world of pain, and then she was gone, her eyes dark, the spark within them gone forever. I couldn’t shake the memory, it tore me up, but like a sore tooth, I kept poking at it anyway.

It was surreal how quickly life could be snuffed out. Like the snap of a finger, bang, you’re dead. We walk around feeling invincible half the time, yet at any moment, we could be crushed beneath the cruel boots of reality. Death likes to remind us that he waits for us all, and when he takes the young, it seems so unfair. She had had her whole life ahead of her. Now I was marooned here, left to gather up the shattered pieces of the hole ripped out of my heart, trying to figure out how to make sense of a world without her.

“Do you wanna talk?” Violet asked, breaking the silence again as she put her hand on my knee, giving it a friendly squeeze, shaking me from my reverie.

“About?” I asked, briefly looking in her eyes again before turning my gaze to study the clouds some more.

“I dunno, anything, I guess. Maybe start with why you’re shutting out all of the people who love you—”

“Jeez ... not you too,” I groaned. “Can’t I just be left alone with my thoughts?” I grumped.

“Sure you can, Jake, you’ve been left alone with your thoughts for the past three days. Meanwhile, your women are hurting—”

“They have each other,” I interrupted.

“Yeah, they do, but they need you! You’re the one they follow, who they’re all in love with. You’re the one they all depend upon—”