Brink by Mikel Parry

CH – BANKS OFFER

The early morning air was thick with a salty fog. The sun crept up over the ridge, slowly turning the world to color. The light hit the fringes of Thomas’ eyes. He awoke abruptly with a scream. The speeding carousel was violently spinning inside his head. His unique brain was replaying the latest events like a recorded video. It only gave pause to the final moments, the black shoes. Shoes he had seen many times before; shoes that belonged to the agents of the organization. He attempted to open his eyes, regretting it immediately. How long had he been out? Where was he? His body felt trampled. But surprisingly, he felt softness beneath him. Probing with one of his hands, he found he was lying on a carefully stacked bed of plastic bubble wrap.

What’s going on?

He squirmed a bit, trying to resurrect his paralyzed limbs. He felt sharp nails of pain in his back. The fall . . . he remembered the fall. At what point the brink had taken him back to the present, he didn’t know. But he was alive. That in and of itself was a miracle. He pried his eyes open again, ignoring the intense burn. But where were the agents? Where was the white room he’d grown accustomed to seeing? Where were the handcuffs? He wriggled around like a worm, trying to get his bearings. The boisterous sound of bubble wrap popping filled the air.

“I’d relax for a minute if I were you.”

Thomas froze. His face contorted into confusion. But it was confusion based not on the source of the voice, but why it was even there in the first place.

“Banks, what are you doing?”

Banks hovered near Thomas, holding a bottle of water and a packaged sandwich. He eyeballed Thomas closely, intently looking him over. He made himself busy adjusting a few commands on Thomas’ watch. The sequence was recorded in Thomas’ mind.

“Hiding . . . just like you. I see you turned off the tracking function on your brink. Always another surprise with you. I doubt we’ll have any visitors here.”

Thomas pushed himself up to a seated position.

“You know that’s not what I’m asking.”

Banks looked Thomas in the eyes before responding.

“Roslin’s brother’s dead. Of course, you knew that. The man’s lost his mind. Accusation, interrogations, the whole damn system is collapsing in and on itself. I’ve never seen anything like it. And then you conveniently go missing. Last seen with yours truly. And to think after all these years . . .”

“Roslin let me go. He saw me go rogue.”

Banks sneered at the comment.

“Roslin would never—”

“He did.”

“Why?”

“How should I know? You’re his little stooge; why don’t you tell me?”

Banks looked insulted by the comment.

“This little stooge just saved you. I dragged you halfway across this city making sure not to be seen, and still saved time to help tend your injuries and pick you up a sandwich. Is this how you always say thanks?”

Thomas relaxed his assault on Banks. It was true. Banks could have easily turned him in if he had so desired. But he hadn’t. Now, by association, he was on the organization naughty list; a list that no one ever wanted to be on.

“Look . . . I’m sorry. It’s just been crazy. This whole project has been blown to hell and back. I’ve been on the run, beaten, bashed, and I don’t even remember what else. So let’s just ditch the cordial tone and be straight with each other.”

Banks shoved the sandwich and bottle of water into Thomas’ hands. He turned around, inspecting the room they were in.

“We’re it. That much is clear. Everyone else is dead. The agents tailing you, or rather us, were brought in. No doubt Roslin has escalated the issue. We’ve got no motive, no suspect, nothing. Now the very people I’ve worked to protect want to see me hung from a noose. How did Roslin let it come to this?”

“You’re wrong.”

“How so?”

“There is a motive. One that’s as cliché and typical as that stupid suit you wear.”

Banks paused, letting Thomas fill the silence.

“Love. This killer, this whatever, was in love. Or at least I think he was.”

Banks shook his head.

“That’s impossible. Agents are cut off from the world unless given proper approval. The connection would be obvious. In case you haven’t noticed, we run a tight ship.”

“Look, I know what I saw. Whoever this guy is led me there. I went back. I’d missed something. But now I’ve got it all up here.” Thomas motioned to his head. “It isn’t going anywhere. Next, I’ve just got to find her.”

“You’re proposing we go find some lady while Roslin’s got all his hounds on our trail? Do you ever listen to yourself?”

Thomas nodded.

“Always; that’s the problem. What other options do I, do we have? Love it or hate it, we’re stuck in this mess together.”

“Well, you’re right about that . . . I hate it. Since you were brought in, everything’s been complete chaos. We’ve lost agents, good agents, and others who were just trying to do the right thing.”

“There is no right thing anymore. We’re in survival mode now. You adapt or die. It won’t be long before either Roslin or that psychopath finds us. He’s already tried to kill me; what’s stopping him from killing you?”

Banks looked disturbed by the comment. He appeared to be waging an internal conflict.

“How can I trust you? You’ve been less than honest with me since day one.”

“That’s cute how you use that word. I was just going to ask you the same thing. How did you find me?”

Banks shuffled his feet, looking slightly guilty.

“You didn’t honestly think I’d just let you walk. You’re good at what you do, and I’m damn good at what I do. You’ll have to try a bit harder next time.”

“So you followed me?”

“Not exactly. But once I found your trail, I put my nose down.”

The two let a little time pass before speaking again. Each one was juggling their ideas about trust and allegiance. Once Thomas felt content that they were on the same page, or at least in the same book, he walked towards the door.

“Why do you do that?”

Thomas heard Banks’s question but ignored it. Instead, he pursued his more pressing ambitions.

“How do you find someone that doesn’t exist? That’s what you guys are, right? Ghosts?”

“We try to be. But despite what Roslin might tell you, we’re still human. At least some of us are. There’s always something left behind.”

Banks suddenly looked sickened by his own comment.

“Then that’s a place to start. I’m going after this.”

Banks shook his head.

“We need to lay low, find somewhere to catch our breath. Things are just too hot right now.”

“I don’t have time for that. Who knows what is going to happen next?”

Banks took a deep breath.

“Look, I’ve been with this organization for a long time . . . too long. And I promise you, if you go gallivanting around asking for trouble, you’ll find it. They don’t take going AWOL lightly.”

Thomas was furious. It was a no-win situation. Sit around and wait for it to all come crashing down, or run straight into the lion’s den.

“I’m not saying we don’t do anything. But we need to recuperate. You already look like crap.”

Thomas could feel his weakened body still humming with pain. He looked down the alley, filled with millions of details. So many random objects all worthlessly connected to nothing . . . what a waste.

“Fine, what do you propose?”

Banks put his hand near his mouth. He was slightly emotional about what he was going to say. His nerves were getting the better of him.

“I know a place. I used to duck Roslin and the organization there, back in the day. It’s been abandoned for years. No one would have any reason to look there. I can tap some power, and maybe even get us some water to clean up with.”

The idea of hiding in an abandoned building was not inspiring. But Banks’s logic was sound enough to agree with; perhaps a day at most, to let Roslin’s hounds increase their search radius to away from them. Then he could enact his plan.

“Fine. But a day at most. And even that is generous.”

Banks reluctantly nodded his head.

“Why did you want to dodge Roslin and the organization?” probed Thomas.

A brief silence hung in the air. Banks rolled his eyes.

“Wouldn’t you, working with those guys for that long?”

Thomas watched Banks carefully. A part of him felt an urge to investigate further. But in truth, he just didn’t care enough. Banks was just a means to an end. He knew deep down inside that both of their futures were ruined. Sooner or later they’d be brought in. Sooner or later they’d vanish into a drawer full of paperwork, never to be reviewed.

“Let’s go.”

Banks was pleased by Thomas’ acceptance of his plan. The two had formed an inelegant partnership, but a partnership nonetheless. They had to rely on each other now. Neither of them had anywhere else to turn.

Walking quietly in the shadows of backstreets and alleys, Thomas pondered. He could see all the nodes of information in his mind pulsating like distinct lifeforms, constantly evolving. He would trace a path to one then to another before finding a roadblock. The process infuriated him. It was as if each of his attempts were just a comical jest. The killer’s chess pieces were all scrupulously placed with an intent and purpose that was beyond him. This belied his deeply embedded feeling that he was getting close. He knew he had to be. He’d seen so much at this point. He had some ideas. There was someone he still needed to talk to, someone who helped stoke his logic furnace—Barb. Despite his inherent brilliance, she always found some angle that his inhuman self just couldn’t see. But for now it would had to wait. He couldn’t risk it.

“It’s not too much further. Just keep your head down.”

Thomas listened to Banks’s words while his mind continued to latch onto ideas, images, and details. It was exhausting. He had never been pressed this hard. So far it had been the ride of a lifetime, but he was ready to get off.

“Here it is; there’s a back window I can slip through. I’ll come up to the front and let you in. Just make sure nobody’s watching. And I mean nobody. These guys can look like anybody.”

Banks walked around to the back of the building. Its old, boarded up windows and peeling paint were testaments to its long held place in time. It had likely been condemned by now, waiting for a new purpose that had never come. Places like these were havens for the homeless and occasional drug addict. But Banks was right on one accord; nobody would ever think to look for them here. As he watched Banks shrink into the distance, he mumbled under his breath.

“It’s not them I’m worried about.”

Feeling suddenly strained from all of the tension in his body, he sighed out a gust of stale air. He began to survey the area. It was the run-down side of town for sure. Common to large cities, there was nothing particularly special about it; just another unexceptional collection of rundown buildings and clutter. That’s when it dawned on him—but it couldn’t be—it was absurd.

No way . . . it couldn’t be, could it?

Suddenly his brain was creating a collage; the credit card machine, Barb’s relocated photo, and every other altered or out of place detail in between. Was his paranoia getting the better of him? Banks had assured him that no one would know they were there.

Keep it together, Tommy.

But the feeling wouldn’t leave him. It needled him like a pestering child, pleading their case, nonstop. Was this a set up? How many intricate threads had been woven into the tapestry of madness that was his new reality? How many times had he fallen into a trap so carefully fabricated? He perused his doubts, ran through his logical walls. Roslin and Banks were all that was left of the so-called originals now; Roslin, Banks . . . and him.

Scrutinizing the immediate area around him, he saw a large, dusty sign. It had been placed in an obscure corner of the lot. Its dirty face rendered it unreadable. Unable to fight the urge, he brushed his fingers over the surface to reveal its message:

DEMOLITION SCHEDULED

Now his heart was racing. He realized the obvious. The building’s life was coming to an end. With shaky fingers, he removed the remaining dust and saw that the date had been changed. The new date was today, but there was no one around. He recognized the calling card of a malicious genius. All hell was about to break loose.

“Banks!”

Screaming as loud as his vocal chords would allow, he ran. This time he wasn’t running for his life but Banks’s. Banks, who had disappeared into his old hiding spot to open the front door, something he’d done many times before. A pattern, a habit, a point of predictability; how could Thomas have been so foolish?

He flew around the corner of the building. He didn’t know how it was going to happen, he just knew it was. The game was in play and another pawn was about to be sacrificed.

“Banks!”

His scream was mixed with hopelessness. Where had he gone?

“Banks! Where are you?”

Tears of frustration filled his eyes. Banks was nowhere to be found. He grumbled profanely under his breath. He was about to lose again. He continued to find himself on the receiving end of catastrophe. He plowed over a pile of debris, feeling himself lose control. A feeling of desperation welled up in him like an unwelcome guest. He couldn’t shake it off. He jumped from the garbage pile and tripped on some aged wooden boards. He lost his balance, sending him plunging to the ground. He landed hard on his knees in the filth surrounding him. He let his head hang.

Banks, where are you?

With his eyes closed, he breathed deeply in an attempt to collect himself. It was all he could do not to just give up. Then he picked up a scent. He had smelled it before; Banks’s cologne. It was a trail of hope. Hopping back to his feet, he did his best to track the scent to its source, but it was near to impossible. Every breeze would wisp it away, making its remnants that much harder to find. Letting out a guttural scream of frustration, he continued yelling for Banks, hoping he would respond. As his voice went hoarse from his effort, he spotted a window.

It had been pried open. Banks had to have come this way. Thomas swallowed the acidic lake that had formed in his mouth. Was he really going to try this? He had no choice. He had to try and save Banks’s life. Banks had saved his; it was the only decent thing to do.

Here we go.

As he took a step towards the window, there was a sudden rumble. The rumble quickly turned into a deafening clap of thunder, accompanied by a shock wave that rattled the ground. The detonations were going off.

“No!”

His scream was muffled by another detonation. The building began to shake itself apart. Shrapnel was raining down on him in a vicious storm. Throwing his hands over his head, he crouched down. After another soul-shattering explosion, the building began to collapse. His nerves were exploding in hysteria. The mayhem was coming down with incredible force, like death casting its shadow from above. He had no choice but to flee. Despite his depleted state, he put everything he had into the rhythmic pumping of his legs. He could feel hunks of debris scathing the exposed portions of his clothing and flesh. His heart jostled around inside its bony cage like a bouncy ball. If he couldn’t clear the blast zone, he’d be crushed then buried in rubble.

“I’m not going to die here!”

He let out a guttural scream fueled by his desire to survive. The fates couldn’t let him die here; not like this. His work wasn’t done, his purpose unfinished. He felt like the very bowels of hell had consumed him, and yet he remained. His legs felt like two burning match sticks, their usual strength vanishing away into thin air. Feeling the last ounce of strength he had leave him, he made a last-ditch attempt at salvation with a behemoth leap. The materializing shadow continued to grow and grow, consuming his body entirely. With outstretched arms and his heart pounding in his throat, he collapsed to the ground and rolled. The monstrous racket enveloped him along with a thick cloud of dust. Then, everything got eerily quiet. Only an occasional crack or pop broke the silence as the remaining parts of the building finally accepted their fate.

Turning to his back, he gasped for air. The dust stung his eyes. The thunderous blast was still ringing in his ears. Banks . . . Banks was dead. Pounding the ground like a mad man, he let loose his rage; the pointless losses, the bitter taste of defeat, the hatred. His eyes watered, caught between an emotional outburst of both sadness and anger.

“No, no, no, no!”

His mind was bogged down by a thick layer of pestilent filth. His brain was spinning out of control; so many sensations, feelings, and pains.

“Stop, stop it!”

He pressed his hands against his head. Rolling over, he plowed his face into the ground. The tears of disappointment and rage dripped to the ground, forming little muddy marshes in the dust.

Why didn’t he hear me? Why didn’t I see this coming?

He couldn’t tell what was real anymore. Somewhere in the distance, he heard the banshee-like call of sirens. Soon the site would be buzzing with activity. If he was found, who knew what would happen? Maybe it would just be better that way. Maybe the more he tried, the more things would continue to get worse. But now there was no one. The safety blanket that was Banks was gone. Now more than ever his heart burned with an evil desire. He wanted to kill the demon; the demon who had orchestrated his hell from the dark.

“I’m going to kill you, I swear it.”

Pulling himself to his feet, he picked up his hat. It looked battered and worn. It now seemed like a lifetime ago that it had come into his life. Such a stupid thing, his hat was. But there was a lot of history in that hat now; people’s faces and memories of the past, mixed with the terrifying present. Sniffing the air, he put it back on. He was going to beat him. And he was willing to die to do it.