home

search

Chapter 18

  The battered pickup truck rumbled down Avenue 3, the sounds of its ancient engine meshing well with the vibrant chaos outside. Signs flickered, casting a lurid glow on the throngs of people spilling from bars and shops. The environment throbbed with the pulse of merengue music, and the scent of frying empanadas mingled with the exhaust fumes of passing cars.

  Inside the truck, the worn vinyl seats and faded dashboard matched Jeffrey and Ganjo’s gruff demeanor. Ganjo stared out the window, his eyes lingering on a group of young people laughing and dancing in the street. Something akin to longing crossed his face, quickly masked by a return to his usual stoicism. A stillness lay between him and Jeffrey that stretched long and wide. It wasn't an uncomfortable silence; it was a tacit acknowledgment of their burdens.

  The truck lurched, jolting Ganjo back to the present. He shifted, the worn denim of his jeans creaking. His eyes, dark and intense, swept over the chaotic scene outside. The revelers, their faces lit by the neon glow, seemed oblivious to the traffic, consumed by their carefree celebration. He saw their lives reflected in the vibrant chaos of Avenue 3 – an array of fleeting joys and crushing hardships. He saw in them a youthful energy he'd long since lost. He thought of Olt, a reflection of the person he wished he could have been.

  Jeffrey’s sight remained fixed on the road. He remained silent. But Ganjo sensed a hidden depth in his quiet focus, a quiet strength that belied his outwardly calm demeanor. He knew Jeffrey was a man of few words, but those words, when spoken, carried the weight of a lifetime of experience.

  "Never a dull day on Avenue 3,”Ganjo said, breaking the silence.

  Jeffrey nodded, his eyes still on the road.

  "The heart of South Bonao. Life and death. Joy and sorrow. All mixed together."

  "Yeah," Ganjo murmured, as he returned his attention to the street. "Just like my life. Always a mix. Always a choice between the lesser of two evils."

  He paused, his voice dropping.

  "To think of it, I never had a choice.”

  The truck turned a corner.The music, the laughter, the smells faded into the background.

  Rumbling, the truck halted before a hulking structure that dwarfed the surrounding buildings. Ganjo’s gym wasn’t just a gym; it was a fortress.The sheer size of the building had an imposing facade of weathered concrete and steel.

  The truck’s interior, dim and cramped, amplified the tension. Ganjo remained silent, his view drifting towards the street before snapping back to Jeffrey. He was weighing options, assessing risks. Ganjo built his life from nothing, clawing his way up from the gutters. He wasn't about to let it crumble.

  Jeffrey, his expression unreadable, spoke.

  "Wait a minute."

  Ganjo’s eyebrow arched.

  "Huh?"

  Jeffrey glanced towards the gym's entrance, where a group of men were loading equipment into a van.

  "I know you, Ganjo. I know your methods."

  Ganjo's silence was calculated, concealing his surprise. He wasn’t in the mood for a lecture. The man could be righteous. Years of experience taught Ganjo that much.

  "If you’re thinking about using Olt as collateral,” Jeffrey continued, “I just want you to know you’ll have to go through me, first."

  Ganjo’s silence confirmed Jeffrey’s suspicions. He didn't deny it. He didn't need to. Ganjo shifted in his seat. He was grappling with his desire for control, the risks of exploiting Olt, the weight of his past.

  "Oliver Nader," Jeffrey began. “Years of working for him, taught me a lot about you. About the lengths you’d go to. You served him well."

  The mention of Oliver Nader evoked a complex emotions in Ganjo; emotions of loyalty, resentment, guilt. He subtly shifted his posture, his hands tightening on the worn door handle. He knew Jeffrey was judging him, weighing his actions, assessing his character.

  "I did my job," Ganjo said, his voice rough. "And I did it well."

  Ganjo stared out the window, again.

  Another night, another dance with the devil. How many lives have I twisted, how many dreams have I crushed, just to stay alive?

  Ganjo took a deep breath. The memory of Alberto Pointe, of the ghost floor, of the children’s screams, still haunted him. He’d made deals with the darkness, and there was always a price.

  Olt…I never once thought of bringing him into this world.

  He turned to Jeffrey.

  "Hadic's Factory, you know it’s just not about national security. It's a meat grinder. They break people down, strip 'em of their will, then rebuild them in their own image. Loyal soldiers, informants and pawns. We were part of the machine, and not even we were safe."

  Ganjo took a deep breath.

  "You're right to be skeptical. I've done things… things I'm not proud of."

  He paused, the truck’s rumble filling the void.

  "I did the dirtiest of jobs for Oliver. But you have to understand, Jeffrey, it wasn't just about blind loyalty. It was about… balance."

  He turned to Jeffrey, his stare intense.

  "Hadic's Factory…" he spat the words, the name a bitter taste on his tongue. "You know how they operated outside the bounds of decency. Using their men, not just against Uraan, but putting them against each other. Psy-ops, blackmail, torture… Hadic was the architect of it all."

  This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

  Ganjo's voice softened.

  "Oliver knew. People like you, me, the others; we were counter-intelligence, keeping Hadic in check. But most of you had your limits, especially you, Jeffrey.

  A frown formed on Jeffrey’s face, as his eyes looked away from Ganjo and towards the parking lot bathed in moonlight.

  As his shoulders relaxed, Ganjo sighed.

  “I was the only one willing to get my hands dirty enough to match Hadic's obscenity.”

  He paused again, his eyes searching Jeffrey's face.

  "I know I'm not a saint, Jeffrey. But what I’ve done, I’ve done to and with people who chose this life. Olt isn’t that kind of person.”

  Jeffrey returned his attention to Ganjo, matching his intensity.

  “So Olt isn’t just a means to an end? You sure about that? Because I find it hard to believe you’d volunteer to help some lady who wants Hadic out, when you know the man funding your current life- benefits from Hadic, too.”

  “I told you my relationship with Ves might be in jeopardy because of that Freddy guy,” Ganjo stressed. “ If he gets the Dasa Vech leadership involved, Ves won’t be enough to protect me.”

  Cynic chuckles came from Jeffrey, as he patted the steering wheel.

  “Ves has spent the last two years protecting and funding you, because you’re a wealth of knowledge. He’s sheltering a former agent who worked against his own organization. If the Dasa Leadership was gonna do something, you would’ve been buried long ago, and you know that, Ganjo. Don’t bullshit me. I might not have gone as far as you, but I manipulated as much as you did.”

  Jeffrey’s bulging index finger pointed directly at Ganjo’s temple.

  “Whoever Veronica and her people are, they got something on you.”

  Cold and stoic, Ganjo looked at Jeffrey. He blinked slowly.

  I guess you can’t bullshit a bullshit artist.

  “In about two days,” Ganjo started, “it won’t be bullshit anymore.”

  Sighing as he closed his eyes, Jeffrey sat back on the seat. Ganjo was right. Even if this were some elaborate scheme to save his own ass, Jeffrey doubted Ganjo could continue to entangle himself without eventually snapping. The gruff sound of Ganjo’s voice interrupted his thoughts.

  “Regardless, you know where I live.”

  Ganjo pulled the door handle. As he stepped out, he took a deep breath, and peaked back inside the truck.

  “Try not to wreck the car to get back at me, ok? I’ll have it picked up bright and early.”

  Jeffrey chuckled.

  “Whatever.”

  …

  The living room of the house was left in chaos. Splintered wood from the shattered coffee table lay scattered across the floor, mingling with shards of glass from the broken window. A dark, spreading stain on the hardwood floor marked where Olt had landed. The overturned armchair and the books scattered from the shelves added to the sense of disarray. The fire in the hearth, now reduced to glowing embers, cast long shadows that danced across the wreckage, giving the room a macabre, almost surreal atmosphere.

  Olt lay slumped against the overturned armchair, his chest heaving, his face pale and streaked with sweat. His left hand, still faintly glowing with a residual blue light, rested limply on the floor beside him. Blood bloomed on his shirt, spreading across his ribs.

  The front door creaked open, admitting Jeffrey. He stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes widening in disbelief as he took in the scene.

  "What the…what the fuck happened!?" he roared.

  Hannah rushed down the stairs, her face pale and tear-streaked.

  "Olt! Are you alright?"

  Cristina’s face was bruised and scratched, as she followed Hannah close behind. She stopped by Jeffrey and hugged him, desperately. He embraced her, his concerned expression quickly turning to anger.

  "It was a woman," Cristina gasped, her voice trembling. "She attacked us. She had… powers."

  Omar descended the stairs more slowly, his face grim, his eyes scanning the wreckage with a practiced eye. He made his way to Olt and knelt beside him, his hand gently probing his grandson's ribs. Olt winced, a sharp intake of breath that ended in a choked groan.

  "Broken ribs," Omar muttered, his voice tight with concern. "Maybe more. We need to get him to a doctor."

  "No hospitals," Olt rasped, his voice strained. "They're… watching."

  With the careful analysis of his patience, Omar noticed the faint hue on Olt’s left hand. The veins winced with a faint light, until they disappeared completely. Things had just become more complicated once Omar noticed this. He knew what it was, but it was perplexing.

  “You’re right. It’s best we don’t go to a hospital.”

  Hannah began to sob, her body shaking with fear.

  "What are we going to do?"

  Cristina joined Omar, kneeling beside Olt, her hand gently wiping the sweat from his brow.

  "We'll manage for now, we always do,” she said, her voice firm despite the tremor in her hands. "But we still need to check the severity of his wounds."

  Stepping forward, Jeffrey’s face hardened with resolve.

  "Good thing the guest room is on the first floor. Let’s get him in there."

  He looked at Omar with a grim understanding.

  "This changes everything."

  Omar nodded, as he focused on Olt's pale face.

  "Indeed."

  The fire in the hearth sputtered, as a final ember died, plunging the room into a deeper darkness. With a grunt of effort, Jeffrey lifted Olt into his arms. Olt winced, a sharp intake of breath hissing through his clenched teeth.

  "Easy…"

  "I know, I know," Jeffrey murmured, showing concern as he carried Olt towards the guest room. The room’s door was slightly ajar, a sliver of light spilling into the hallway.

  Jeffrey gently lowered Olt onto the bed, the worn mattress sagging beneath his weight. Hannah and Cristina hovered nearby, worried. Hannah's hands fluttered nervously, while Cristina busied herself gathering clean cloth and a bowl of water.

  "I'll be right back," Jeffrey said, his voice urgent. "I need to make some calls."

  He turned and strode towards the kitchen.

  Omar followed, his footsteps slow and deliberate. The ticking of the grandfather clock in the hallway barely suppressed the eerie silence.

  "You going to call Ganjo? He'd know who to call in this situation."

  Jeffrey hesitated, his hand hovering over the phone.

  "I don't know, Omar. I'm still not sure about him. About any of this."

  "I have a contact," Omar offered, his eyes meeting Jeffrey's. "A local doctor. Discreet. But…" he paused, his gaze drifting towards the guest room.

  "This might be beyond his expertise."

  "What do you mean?" Jeffrey asked, curiously.

  Omar's voice dropped to a whisper.

  "Olt's hand… the veins, they were glowing. It was faint, but I know what I saw."

  Jeffrey's eyes widened.

  "The potion? But he hasn't… has he?"

  Omar shook his head.

  "I don't know. But, I saw it with my own eyes."

  Jeffrey's mind raced. The potion, the Aether, was a world he'd deliberately kept Olt away from, a world he'd hoped Olt would never have to enter. And yet, here they were, on the precipice, staring into the abyss.

  He pushed the thoughts aside, focusing on the immediate task at hand. He picked up the phone, his fingers dialing a familiar number. The line rang. He needed answers and help. He needed Rebecca.

  Please pick up the phone.

Recommended Popular Novels