Topic: Golgotha

Jonothon Shaw

Date: 2012-01-26 23:37 EST
There's a big beat You're sleeping in my memory Like Satan Lonely So I'm with him Floating, loaded Enough to be released -Matthew Good Band, "Born to Kill"

I barely pay attention as the words continue to tumble from Free's mouth. My mind has long since been abandoned by any control that I once exerted over it, and I find myself betrayed by the places it takes me and the images it projects. I know where I am: an office that seems to have leaped to life from the celluloid of an old noir film. I can feel the harsh and unshaven whiskers on my face as my hand covers my mouth and the coarse hair digs into the sensitive ends of my fingertips. I'm here, but not. Free would lecture me again and tell me how much I've lost, but it would be a waste of time; some demons just cannot be exorcised, even with time.

"So Jono," I hear Free emphasize my name, and it momentarily distracts me from the jade hues I see in my mind's eye. "You need to take this job. I know you've exhausted your finances and resources since you've been living off the back of that motorcycle of yours. And I've heard something about drugs?" My eyes flick from the spot on the wall which they had been starting at, directly focusing and catching the unflinching gaze of my longtime associate. My look challenges and ends that line of questioning immediately. He clears his throat and continues, "I didn't think so. Well! Time to get back on your horse, put all that behind you, and take this. It is more than enough to get you back on your feet. Get you back to what you do best, what you were born to do."

I sigh as my body begrudgingly moves; my hand sliding over the top of the maple desk as I grab the piece of paper which undoubtedly lists a name and location. A few months ago I would have been thorough in investigating this target, in hopes that my conscience would be able to be appeased so that I could convince myself I wasn't further staining my soul; now I can barely muster a whisper from it. I find myself briefly wondering what else has turned off inside of me....but like a dream, I can't grasp the missing pieces long enough for them to come into focus and they vanish into the ether.

Standing from the deep seated and soft cushioned chair, my hair falls into my face as it does countless times a day. Again my thoughts go backwards, my eyes close and I can almost feel long fingers sliding through the long strands and sweeping them from my face; I smile and lose a breath into a sigh....instead I let the hair dangle to hide any emotions that might be written in my face. I've become good at hiding emotions, both from others and myself. ...at least, that's what I keep telling myself.

Just as I'm almost out the door, I realize Free is shouting at me. Was I so out of it that I didn't notice he was shouting before, or was this the first' "By the way, this could be nothing so don't get your hopes up, but my sources told me they might have spotted someone fitting that description of the woman you gave, back around that Inn you said she might show up at." I know at that moment Free is studying me for a reaction, it's part of who he is to read people, but he wouldn't be able to see how I react. My heart quickens, my breath catches in my throat, my palms sweat...."But we can't confirm. There hasn't been any activity at the house you asked us to monitor, which is probably most telling that it isn't our mark."

That time I do believe I visibly react. I can feel my shoulders slump as my body deflates, my heart sinking back below the surface where it has just barely peeked over a moment prior. I give the barest of nods and grasp the handle of the door, feeling it slip ever so slightly due to the perspiration in my hand. Then I step outside into the cool afternoon, the cloudy grey skies a perfect marriage to my countenance and a perfect reflection of my mood. Fall is changing to winter, and the fallen leaves of the past will soon be swept away.

Jonothon Shaw

Date: 2012-01-31 20:34 EST
I don't like the way this coat fits. The length is too short and it isn't as warm and the sleeves are too long for my arms. These are all things I thought of when I bought it, but I'm trying to keep my mind off of other matters right now, like the reason for its purchase and why the target decided to hole up on a house at the top of a cliff. I can feel the cold air biting my face with stabs of the rain/snow mixture peppering my cheeks. The wind is whipping my hair back and my hand is freezing against the cold metal of my drawn gun; I'm ready to pick off any opposition but there's none so far and there hasn't been since I started the climb.

The house is expensive, support beams level it at the top of the cliff and it looks like it might have even been built off the foundation of the rock. There's only one way up, a winding trail countered by landscaped trees and bushes. I can't quite tell how high this is, or what the surroundings are though it seems there's some irrigation system for a stream or lake nearby. I begin to realize this is something like a fortress, and that answers my question about why the mark is here; but for someone who supposedly knows there's a hit on him, there is surprising little resistance. No security force, privately hired or otherwise. No outer alarm system. I was told that this hit was worth a fortune because of the difficulty and that it many considered it a suicide mission and wouldn't even sniff the contract, but that's not how it feels at all.

I again roll my shoulder to adjust the sleeve of my coat. I miss my old one, but I left that at home with everything else I used to wear. Even after I washed them, they still had her scent....I miss that fragrance, and though my body aches to be reminded of her, I try to push my mind past that. Each time I think of her it feels like someone is strangling my heart.

I mutter a curse at myself for even letting my thoughts move in that direction. Love and regret are the last things that I need to focus on....there's no place for either in my life, especially in this moment. My fingers spread against the door, already ajar; it makes no sound as I push it open, my gun at the ready. My instincts yell at me that this is all wrong, and that I should leave right now. I've lived this long in trusting my instincts, in not taking jobs that I haven't brushed up on, but I've ignored both so far. At the back of my mind I wonder if there's a reason for my recklessness....of course there is. The day I admitted she wasn't coming back and I'd never see her again is the day I lost my will to live, and I've just been an empty shell of a human going through the motions. Just like now. I haven't even been cognizant as I've cleared each room, my body on auto-pilot from its training; the only reason I know I haven't shot anyone is because I haven't had to reload the revolver.

My wandering mind is snapped to attention as I reach the main office: a large room with a ceiling to floor window overlooking the dropoff, with a desk in the center of the room and a man sitting in the chair. I notice he has an object in each hand, and if either is a weapon he has me dead to rights. That's when I squeeze off two rounds, the quiet room is filled with the violent sound of the gunshots and my aim is true; both bullets hit center mass, blood immediately begins to ooze from the open wounds and down his fancy shirt; his shoulders slump and arms relax, and I know he will not have a chance to retaliate. As I move closer, it's only then that I look at the man's face and eyes: yes, that's my target but there's something else written in his expression. He looks at me, unsurprised and sad but also....accomplished?

"Knew you were coming....she's safe now....I'm so sorry, but she....had to save her."

I can feel the furrow of my brows as I holster my weapon and move closer to inspect the man. None of this makes any sense. Nothing has made sense since the day I woke up alone in my bed. I've lived life like a wraith, floating from here to there like as if in an endless nightmare. Even now, instead of trying to piece together the puzzle in front of me I'm still lost in my own thoughts and memories; I should pay attention to the photograph in his left hand of an older woman and a younger one who shares similar features. I should realize in his other hand is a dead man's switch, that once he dies he will let go and it will likely set off an explosion somewhere close, likely one that will kill me. My instinct tells my body to run for the window, even thought I know the odds are it's reinforced and I won't be able to break through. I feel a shockwave rock my body and force me through the glass just a moment before the deafening explosion makes my ears ring nonstop.

My eyes close as I feel the weightlessness of my body in mid-air. As I plummet I think that maybe this is a dream....that when I hit my eyes will be open and I'll find myself in my bed, with my arms around her willowy frame....That I will hear her whisper "Melamin" as she brushes my fallen hair away from my face, and shiver from both her touch and the sound of her beautiful voice....That I will become intoxicated with the feeling of her soft lips dancing against mine....That I will be alive again.

I feel myself smile, and then I feel...

I messed up again when I tried You spend all your money and die. And, oh! By the way, With all you did nothing has changed So lie like a waste by the side As everything just falls apart 'Cause everything just fell apart for me

I cracked my head and broke my I cracked my head and broke my I cracked my head and broke my heart

And I don't feel the need to go on I was happier singing along the way I had things, I need to say But now it's like a swallowed tape That holds up my face from inside As everything just falls apart 'Cause everything just fell apart for me

I cracked my head and broke my I cracked my head and broke my I cracked my head and broke my heart

So woe is me Oh woe is me, yeah Oh woe is me, yeah It all fell apart I cracked my head and broke my I cracked my head and broke my I cracked my head and broke my....heart

And the hell of it is what we are We finish and wish we could start again Our skin tears away as Our memories fade with age And we don't even know 'til it's gone, gone, gone But everything just fell apart 'Cause everything just falls apart for me

I cracked my head and broke my I cracked my head and broke my I cracked my head and broke my heart

So woe is me It all falls apart you see So woe it me It all fell apart

I cracked my head and broke my I cracked my head and broke my I cracked my head and broke my heart

Everything just comes down It falls around me 'Cause, well.... Everything just falls a—

So woe is me It all falls apart you see So woe is me It all fell apart

But I cracked my head and broke my I cracked my head and broke my Everything just falls a... -Hurt, "Falls Apart"

Jonothon Shaw

Date: 2012-02-01 23:10 EST
The first thing I hear when the ringing stops is the sound of my own screams echoing through the air. I feel my body turning and writhing as I try to move it away from the pain....but the pain is everywhere. I try to stop moving and try to close my mouth to muffle the screams, but it's nearly impossible. I feel completely broken, like my insides were jackhammered into paste. I can feel my right hand digging through the snow on the ground; my fingernails scraping against the rock as I desperately try to get a grip on anything to help make this pain go away.

I think about my gun. I could stop this all with a bullet through my head and God help me I'll do anything to make this unbearable pain go away. I blindly feel around my waist and hips for the pistol but can't find anything, except my hand locates my broken rapier, the end of which has gone straight through my thigh and run all the way through. I try to sit up, but the stabbing sensation near my chest tells me I likely have broken ribs and most probably a punctured lung. As I roll my leg I notice my foot dangling loose at a ninety degree angle, the boot I'm wearing probably the only thing keeping it connected to my leg. I'm completely broken and all I want is to close my eyes and make this all go away.

As I feel the warm tears slide down my cold face I catch sight of my firearm to my left, within reach....or it should be. My brain somehow registers that my left arm isn't moving like it should and as I turn my head, I feel the sensation of hot liquid change course down the side of my temple; I realize that if it weren't for the cold weather slowing the flow of my heartbeat down, I'd bleed to death soon. As it is, it's just prolonging the inevitable and adding to my misery. Gritting my teeth through another yell I look at my left shoulder and see my arm isn't on that side of my body. I feel my heart quicken as I notice a movement from my peripheral vision to the right....and see the fingertips of my left hand moving near my right shoulder. I now realize that I've pinned my left arm beneath my body, and it's so completely broken and twisted I can see my palm just at the end of my right shoulder. I turn my head to the left as I feel the bile rise in my throat, and I vomit from the excruciating pain....and as I feel consciousness leaving me again, I realize I don't feel any relief at knowing this might be the last thing I ever think of.

Instead I feel regret. Sadness. I'm going to die alone here, for a reason I don't know. I'm going to die and be forgotten, without a funeral, and likely without anyone even knowing or caring about my death. I won't be remembered, or have left anything of worth behind. I'm going to die unloved, abandoned and rejected by a woman who I haven't seen in months, yet whose face I can recall in perfect detail each time I close my eyes even though I'm certain I'm nothing but a faded memory to her.

Her face is what I see now as my body stops moving and as the image fades to darkness....but it brings me no comfort.

Jonothon Shaw

Date: 2012-02-18 23:05 EST
The space between life and death is the same as the space between dreams and waking thoughts. Images that might be memories or fantasies play out, skipping from past to present to future; the non-linear play happening all around you while you act without a script. Words are like whispers and time slips through your fingers like mercury. And even when your eyes open, you still aren't sure if this is the reality of now or just another moment that will soon be forgotten.

As my senses come back to me and I'm able to process my thoughts, I take note how familiar this is to waking up from surgery. Almost exactly the same, except I don't seem to be in a hospital and I don't have an I.V. running into my arm — which I notice is not in its same horrendous position as before. I rotate my shoulder and feel soreness but no pain. Now I wonder if this is still a dream in which I'm keenly aware of, or if I had something like a guardian angel looking out for me. I certainly didn't have any planned backup.

"Mr. Shaw, good morning." I hear the voice to my right and look that way, seeing the thin woman coming into the doorway. The first thing I notice is her pointed ears, and for a moment I realize my fondness for that feature. In fact, as I see more of her face when she steps into the light I notice that many of her features I find to be beautiful....though I would describe them that way, I wouldn't say that she was. The word is still reserved for only one person, and though I can appreciate others, I don't know if I'll ever find another woman to be beautiful — to take my breath away and make my heart stop. I can see her lips moving again, making me realize I've fallen into another daydream; I can't stop that ghost from haunting me.

"—band told me of his plan. I hope you don't blame yourself for shooting him; I do not. He was blackmailed into this and chose to sacrifice himself to save our daughter, and we thought that if we could save you that you might be able to help us. Help her."

"I'm sorry. Ye seem to have me at a disadvantage. I don't know anything about what?s happened. Or why I'm in a bed, healed, and not in a heap at some mountainside. So if ye'd mind going over this from the start, miss..?"

She explains everything to me. Her name (Amarah), her husband and the threats made to him, how they found out I would be hired and learned about me, which apparently led them to believe I would be the a good fit to serve as something of a guardian. She is a healer, and she is the one who saved my life on that mountainside. Her daughter, she says, is adopted. When she was born, apparently everyone in the city limits died. Amarah saved her, took her in, and whatever power or reason for that remained hidden until just months ago when everyone in that city came back to life, just as they were thirteen years ago. And now people think that her daughter is something to either be controlled or killed. I listen, and as I let it all sink in and think about why I would do this, she seems to know exactly what I'm thinking.

"Redemption, Mr. Shaw. I had a firm idea from my research that you were searching for something, and when I was tending to your wounds....I am able to somewhat see into a person beyond what you would know. For years, you've continued to kill because it's all you know. You've been looking for a way out, or a way to save your damned soul. You want to give back to the world to make up for all you've taken away. You want redemption. I am offering this to you. For your sake, for mine and my husband's, and for Meghan's."

It's blunt, and something I know I've had in the back of my mind. But it's true. I even thought that once, having something that I thought was a normal life was what I wanted. I know that I had no idea what a normal life was and only acted out what I thought it was to try to escape my guilt and my past. But this....a purpose. I need this now, especially since I've been so lost these past months. I push the hair from my face and turn my eyes to Amarah. She knows my answer before I even say anything.

"Where do we start?"

Jonothon Shaw

Date: 2012-03-01 21:40 EST
Amarah hasn't answered my question. I notice she seems to be somewhat fidgety, and is constantly looking toward the two doors of the room. "Put on the clothes next to your bed," she says, with a tremble in her voice. I notice the change of pitch and her different posture, and I suddenly don't feel as at ease as I did just a minute ago.

I toss the covers off and reach for the clothes. The way she's acting....I don't think asking any questions is the smart thing to do now. "Hurry," I hear her say as I slide my jeans on, my brow knitting as I continue to observe her eyes darting. "Meghan is in the next room."

"Right. But why is that important now" Do ye want me to go introduce myself?" I ask, sitting to put on the fresh pair of socks and my boots. I then reach for the new t-shirt that's been provided for me, pulling it over my head and sliding my arms through each sleeve before tugging it down to cover my previously naked torso. I want to wince as I move my left arm; the healing was nice but apparently it can't get rid of all the soreness. I see her sigh, and she looks like she's preparing herself for something. It's the look of facing the inevitable; a look I'm familiar with seeing.

"I'm sorry this is happening so fast. But she's not safe until the both of us are gone. They won't know about you. Please, do whatever you can for her. Tell her I love her. You're all she has now."

I'm sure my expression is one that shows the puzzlement in my head, but it goes away as I hear a loud bang when the door is violently thrown open. The unmistakable sound of gunfire fills the room, and before I can grab my gun from the nightstand, Amarah falls limply to the floor. I can see the vacant stare in her eyes, and I know she was dead before she hit the floor. I'm able to grab my gun even as I start for the door, thanks to my long reach, and the muzzle of a semiautomatic enters before the gunman. I'm able to grab the muzzle and push it upwards before he can see me, and I drive the handle of my pistol into his face to break his nose.

I pry the gun free as he stumbles; he clearly wasn't expecting resistance which means he thought only Amarah and Meghan would be here. And Amarah knew they were coming....But I have no time to try to piece this together as he's already reaching for what I presume is a back up weapon. He isn't fast enough. I'm able to turn the stolen weapon on him and fire a few rounds center mass. I hear more shouting behind him and realize this is a raid. Quickly slamming the door, I slide my gun into the waistband of my jeans and run for the room where Meghan should be. More shouts come from behind me, and I close the second door.

"Meghan! Meghan! Where are ye"!"

My frantic shouts bring the girl from another room. She's tall and lanky for her age, and I can't tell if her hair is short or just put up. I notice her eyes are red and she looks a mess, like she's been crying for hours. It's my guess that she knew what was going to happen to her surrogate mother, especially as she's lugging a backpack on her shoulders and another duffel bag in her hands. "Mister Shaw, is my mom...?"

There's no time to be delicate, but that doesn't mean I have to be insensitive. "I'm sorry, she's gone. We have to go," I say in a tone of voice I hope is comforting. Though there's little comfort to be had when your family has just died and men with guns are less than twenty feet away in the next room. I take hold of her by the backpack and force her to run with me, turning my head and training the barrel of the submachine gun at the door, ready to fire on anyone who comes through.

"Mom said that she has your motorcycle out back and ready for us," she shouts back at me. Bless her. Thirteen years of age and she's already acting so grown up. Most people, let alone children, would be inconsolable messes right now, or scared to death and unable to function. But here she is, enacting a plan she knew would involve death and having her fate in the hands of a complete stranger. It reminds me of how I was when I was her age. Maybe some things are fated...

My musing is cut short as the door opens. My finger trigger is faster, and I'm able to land a headshot on the first one out. We then take the corner before they return fire. She doesn't even scream as the bullets dot the wall behind us. She just keeps running until we're at the back, my custom bike ready with the keys in it.

"When we get on, put that bag on my lap and hold on to it tight. Wrap the strap around yer wrists," I say between the rounds of suppressive fire I keep on the door. We're both able to mount the bike quickly, and she does just as I ask. I rev the bike and empty the remainder of the clip at the doorway, begging to speed away and tossing the empty gun aside. The sounds of gunshots are drowned by the engine, and I know we're out of range without anyone having a shot at us, or having a good look at me or the bike. Doesn't seem like they were expecting anyone to get out, so the road is clear as we speed toward civilization.

I'll stop and gather my wits and make a plan when I know we're safe. Meghan still hasn't relaxed her grip. I don't know if the weight of reality of my current situation has hit me or not, but I do know that I am not going to let this girl down.

Jonothon Shaw

Date: 2012-04-03 22:59 EST
Paper bag stuffed under his arms, Jonothon's slow and steady footsteps carried him up to the door of the house he where he made his current residency. As he turned his head, using the brim of the baseball cap to shield his eyes from the sun before the outline of the quaint dwelling took over the blocking duties, Jono adjusted the bag and knocked on the door. A few moments later, after noting the light in the peephole's disappearance and reappearance, the sounds of locks clicking and chains moving heralded the opening of the door by the tiny old woman with the much-too-large glasses and equally as large smile.

"Oh, welcome back, Mr. Mercer," she said through bright dentures that were now her teeth. "Your niece Issy just finished her lesson for today."

"Thank you very much, Miss Ross," Jono spoke politely with a flat accent that would place him as someone from some nondescript area of any boring flatland country. "I've brought all you asked me to, and I also fixed that front gate as you requested. I hope the chores have covered the rent this month' And the lessons?"

"Oh honey, don't you worry about those lessons; all children need education and I understand your reluctance to send her out to school with all the dangers in this city," she said with a sad shake of her blue-haired head. "And yes, your rent is good. Though be careful when you do all that outside work without a shirt on. You might give this old horse a heart-attack!" She reached to pinch Jono's cheek; he smiled.

A few minutes later he had set the groceries away and carried up a batch of freshly baked brownies prepared by his landlady. She had graciously allowed the upper part of the house to be rented out to Jonothon and Meghan, under the guise of a down-on-his-luck blue collar worker and his orphaned niece. The truth being more along the lines of this front in a secluded area a good place to lay low, though he was lucky she allowed him to make up for shortfalls in rent by helping around this house and other rentals or fixer-uppers she had. Jono had long since lost any fortune he had, with only his firearm and motorcycle left to his name outside of his clothes.

He closed the door as he entered the so-called living room, finding Meghan with her nose in a book. Jono cleared his throat and lifted the tray, "I brought the treats I promised ye I'd have our hostess make." His familiar and real accent returning, able to be himself (or at least some of it) around his unofficial ward. She immediately dropped the book and hopped over to hug Jono before snagging the tray.

"You are the best, Jono!" she was able to blurt out before replacing her words with a mouthful of fluffy chocolate. At least she swallowed before talking again. "So how long are we staying in this place" I want to go to that house you keep telling me you left. It sounds a-maz-ing."

"Soon as it's safe. I'm working on that," muttered through a thin-lipped smile. He pulled the cap off his head, then the band which held his long hair in place underneath it, letting it tumble and drop into his face. "I need to shower. We'll play a game or study or do some light training when I'm done." Meghan nodded silently, smiling and showing her brownie-caked teeth.

Jono locked the bathroom door behind him once inside, only then allowing his face to grimace into a wince as he exhaled. His sidearm taken from its holster inside his jacket and placed on the sink before he slowly peeled each layer of clothing from his upper body, clenching his teeth with each exaggerated movement. He studied himself in the mirror, his eyes dropping to his chest as his fingers lingered over his skin; the mark was worse today. It had grown to almost a baseball size, over his left pectoral muscle, red with webs reaching further than before. Each breath felt like his lungs were on fire, and each heartbeat seemed to push the tendrils more and more.

"Bloody magic," he whispered, frowning deeply. This had all gone wrong. This wasn't the life a teenaged girl was supposed to lead, even if she might be something more than that. Cooped up in a house all day, no friends except the old woman and himself, with barely any food and a looming threat always over her. Jonothon pushed his hair back as he cradled his forehead in his hands. He was failing her, and soon enough this mark would consume the rest of his body...

He gave a frustrated growl and threw his hands down, turning on the shower to mask any other outbursts. Fingers rubbed his weary eyes before focusing on the bridge of his nose. The weight on his shoulders was becoming unbearable, and now time had reached the point where it was tangible and finite. Desperate and faced with mortality, it was time to go home.