Duality

[Jay Carpenter]

Ah. The jungle. Lots of beautiful things in the jungle. Flowers and vines and verdant views. Bet the sunrise was gorgeous from that pool deck. Speaking of, he had a plan for that deck as soon as the current occupation was passed. Otherwise, there was a lot of scary shit in the jungle too. Spiders and bitey ants. Trees with needles for bark. Snakes and panthers. And at this very moment, Jay Carpenter.  

The power was his signal. A beacon. A radar. Leading him onward. The gates they saw on the way up were busted open. Their buddy Zacarías was on foot, twinkle-toeing down the mountain in nothing but his bunny slippers. Jay had no doubt he could move some ass, old fucker that he was. But he was in the dark. Literally. Probably unfamiliar with the terrain snaking zig zags down. Jay sprinted the trail they climbed previously. Luckily, nicely cleared and ready for a race. Jay was the All-American shortstop though. He fucking flew as he ran.

Suddenly, some 30 meters ahead, burst a yell of surprise followed by one of pain. Jay grinned in the dark, imagining Amengual’s feet flying over his head as he tripped the abandoned log. He was close. Might as well announce himself. The power funneled ahead of him into a splay of tubes into which arose a catchy jingle. Jay wasn’t a shit singer, but blaring the words of a song he knew by heart, it was impossible to ignore him.
”Para bailar la bamba.”
“Para bailar la bamba se necesita una poca de gracia.”

As he drew closer to Zacarías’ location, his pace slowed slightly, eyes tight with the field until the moment the road came into view. Twenty yards. The song resumed.

” Una poca de gracia pa' mi pa' ti y arriba y arriba.”
“Ah y arriba y arriba por ti seré, por ti seré, por ti seré.”

A lone gunshot burst from the trees. Not even close. 

Zacarías’ gripped the hot rifle tight, turning frantically in a circle. Jay’s voice echoed from every direction. How was he alive! That goddamn song crawled under his skin, but Zacarías wouldn’t be hunted like a dog. He hid in the shadow of tree roots, eyes flared wide for any movement. Suddenly, on his left a burst of white popped fire that boomed in his heart. He aimed the rifle in that general direction, punching rounds into the darkness, and sprinted downhill.

From behind the shelter of a tree, Jay watched Zacarías huddle low, completely oblivious to his exact location. Using the same technique, the song changed to a taunt as he followed.
“Where are you, Zacar?”
The drug lord flinched, but his speed did not slow. Smart man. Sweet actually, thinking he had a chance.

The jungle blurred past him. Above, blues and pinks cast colorful shadows to their field. The darkness wouldn’t hide him much longer. He skid to a stop probably ten seconds ahead of Zacarías, and waited in silence as the figure of his hatred ran forward.

He jumped into the path, and Zacarías yelled furiously, rifle popping defense almost instantly, but the bullets dinged an invisible shield. Jay walked forward as the drug lord stepped back. When the magazine was spent, he dropped the gun and attempted to flee into the woods. That just wouldn’t do.

He saw the face and his heart lept in his chest. The heat of the rifle burned his eyes. Gun smoke curled the air. He ran, but the ankles yanked and his face plowed into the dirt. He clawed, kicking and twisting to get free until he realized he couldn’t move at all. Then suddenly, pain exploded across his face. His head wrenched back, blood dumped down his throat from the broken nose. Boots darkened the dirt, and he spat on them before flailing an arm upward. Searing pain sliced his wrist, and he screamed, recoiling it in horror.

”Yo no soy marinero.”
“Yo no soy marinero, soy capitán”

Zacarías sputtered, “Stop with the fucking butchering la bamba!” His chest heaved as he looked up to where Jay hovered. Quickly, he pulled a knife and slashed at the American’s legs, but the blade thudded in mid-air. Pain blossomed fresh in his chest. The air spun, back burning.

The knife lodged into a concrete block of power, which he snagged. “You mother fucker!” he accused, knife gripped tight. Zacarías flew across the dirt and Jay was on top of the man within moments, knife to his throat just to give him something to look at as he died. The drug lord resisted, missing hand smearing blood across Jay. His knee punched the man’s gut to get him to stop wriggling. The rest of him detained as he lowered closer, looking the man in the eyes.
“Don’t fucking insult my singing voice. I sang the fucking Star Spangled Banner at opening day, mother fucker.”

Zacarías sneered, teeth red, defiant. “How are you alive?” He spat.
Jay grit his teeth, “Let me guess. Right now you’re thinking you should have taken a head shot,” his grin did not touch his eyes. Zacarías did not do him the favor of confirming the question. Guess there would be no closure there.

Jay just stared into the man’s eyes, glowing brighter with each passing minute from the above dawn. He memorized their look as he held him down. The power drilled its work, and Zacarías wreathed beneath him, torturous screams echoing across the jungle, but he was imprisoned. Jay just stared, jaw tight, saying nothing, and absorbed every second of life leeching from those eyes. When the fight stopped and the haunt glossed, he swallowed finally, and released the body of its prison.

He just stood there, covered in Zacarías blood. It was mixed in with his own. His mother’s. The spatter of his father’s. It was anticlimactic, finally killing the man that chased him for all these years. It was over, but among the empty haunts, Axel’s voice was loudest.
’War is all we know.’

The power churned, aching to be used, but with deadpan decision, it was the trio of gunshots that punched the air with finality. Two to the chest. One to the head.

Eh, fuck that. He emptied the entire goddamn magazine into the fucker’s head. Meat and potatoes, anyone?

He tossed the worthless rifle. Dropped the knife, and paused to look up the mountain, frowning.

Instead, he turned and ran down hill. The car waited where they left it. Starting it up, he sped away in a spray of gravel.

+++

About half an hour after he left the mansion, a shit old car paused at the front gate. From it climbed Jay. Drenched in blood, dried mostly, but sticky as balls. Scion came out to greet him, a question writ on his face for the car.
“I wasn’t climbing that fucking hill again,” Jay said, tossing him the keys.

The doors to the mansion were wide open. The bodies were laid nicely, his only acknowledgement for what happened a split-second glance at the pair under the sheet. On his way, he snagged a bottle of tequila, drinking it straight as he emerged onto the pool deck.

Carefully, because that was fucking expensive good tequila, the kind you didn’t get in the Custody. He laid it aside on a table, shoved off his shoes, and walked past Natalie and Jensen with nothing but a hollow glance. Sunrise was nice from up there, he noted moments before a splash devoured him.

Warmth drowned him. Reminded him of the first time he jumped in the training pool on base. They played submarine, training to stay underwater as long as possible. The best days of his life. Jay’s lungs were freshly healed. He sat on the bottom of the pool a long time, tears mixing unseen, before his head emerged from a cloud of red and filth.