horribly familiar.
Jun was kneeling as if in prayer, her body curled in on itself, her head bowed. Next to her was a katana, a Japanese-style long sword, its curved blade bright with blood. As Sally’s hand touched her back, Jun collapsed sideways, a small groan escaping her lips. Sally’s hand came away sticky, but she didn’t pause to look; she already knew what color it would be.
By the time Sally knelt, Jun had rolled onto her back. Twin rivulets of blood ran from either side of her mouth and down her cheeks, and her eyes stared up at the ceiling. Her chest didn’t move. Sally saw that Jun’s shirt was soaked through and realized the wound on her back had started in her chest. Looking back toward the headless corpse, she saw a gun a few feet away, a small caliber semi-automatic that could easily be concealed under a man’s suit jacket.
He had fired as she swept the katana across her body toward his neck, and her momentum carried her forward to finish the strike. He was dead but she got hit anyway. If he had used a sword, she wouldn’t even be scratched.
Guns were the only weapon not used at the school, considered the tool of cowards, not warriors. But guns could kill just as quickly as a sword, and it took no great skill to pull a trigger. The reality of the situation hit Sally like a sledgehammer, and she felt her own breath leave her body, the flames above her roaring in anger as they tried to suck the oxygen from the room and the life from her lungs.
She collapsed next to Jun, their faces touching. Gasping, Sally grabbed Jun’s face in her hands and turned her head so she could look into her eyes.
Jun blinked.
Sally propped herself up, cradling Jun’s head in her lap. Jun’s eyes lurched drunkenly in their sockets before focusing again on Sally.
“What happened?” Sally asked, her voice hoarse from the smoke, barely audible above the flames.
Tears sprang from Jun’s eyes and ran down her cheeks. Sally’s vision blurred and she blinked furiously, not wanting to miss an instant of what Jun was saying. As she watched, Jun’s lips moved, but Sally couldn’t hear a single word.
“What happened?” she repeated, desperate, her mouth pressed to Jun’s ear. “What can you tell me?”
Jun’s eyes rolled upward and closed.
Sally stopped breathing. She shook Jun and pressed her face against her cheek, tasting the salt of blood and tears. After a long, endless second, Sally felt fresh tears running down her cheek and pulled back to see Jun looking right at her. With a surging panic, Sally put her ear to Jun’s lips.
Every word was seconds long, a helpless agony of anticipation and dread.
“I,” she started, then stopped again. “…love you.” Her mouth formed the words again in slow motion, as if she were carving each syllable into eternity.
Jun’s voice was barely a rustle of fabric, with no breath to carry the words. Years later, Sally would sometimes wonder if she’d heard them at all, or if Jun’s last gift had been her final thoughts, sent to Sally in a dream.
As Sally lifted her head to answer she saw Jun start to smile just as the life drained out of her eyes. Sally’s mouth was open but there was nothing left to say. She closed her eyes and held Jun, feeling the heat devour her as the entire house started crying out in rage.
A massive hand grabbed Sally by the collar, yanking her upward. She heard Xan shouting her name, but her arms were still wrapped around Jun and she locked them, unwilling to let go. She felt Xan release her and watched as he bent down and grabbed Jun’s sword.
With one fluid motion, Xan tossed the katana into the brazier, the blood sluicing across the blade and hissing as it hit the coals. And despite her shock and despair, Sally realized Xan was covering his tracks, removing any sign that the sword belonged to Jun. Erasing any connection back to him.
Sally managed to stand, Jun’s head lolling backward, her eyes dull, the fleeting smile lost somewhere in the smoke and ashes. Xan stepped behind Sally and picked them both up, staggering through the wreckage of the house.
The night air hit Sally like a wave as Xan laid her down in the open courtyard, the sky bright with flame and stars. A sudden roar as beams gave way and the second floor collapsed. Sally rolled onto her back, her hand still holding Jun’s, and started shaking uncontrollably. She was colder than she’d ever been, even in winter, and she knew she would never stop shivering.
Sally lay on the ground and felt the cold night air course down her throat, fill her lungs, and squeeze her heart. Clutching Jun’s hand tightly in hers, she closed her eyes and smiled, thinking that she must be dying.
Her old friend Death was coming, and this time, at long last, he was coming for her.
San Francisco, present day
“Get in the car.”
Before Cape could answer, a tan Buick pulled in front of the GASP building and idled at the curb. Cape could see a lone driver, his features obscured by the shadows cutting across the street.
“Now.”
Cape felt the barrel of the gun pressing against his back, urging him onward. He didn’t turn around, but he shifted his weight and braced his feet against the sidewalk, letting the man behind him know this wasn’t going to be easy.
The man’s feet shuffled as he stopped short, surprised that Cape wasn’t skipping across the curb. The voice came again but sounded uncertain, not as profane as Cape would have expected.
“I’m not bluffing here.”
“That cinches it,” said Cape, turning around slowly. “Anyone who says they’re not bluffing usually is.”
A young man of about thirty stood before Cape holding a Glock at waist height, his index finger straight along the barrel and not curled around the trigger. The way they taught you at the bureau, not the way hired muscle held their guns. The man’s blond hair was combed neatly and parted on the side, his blue eyes masked by his wire-rim glasses. His fair skin was turning red as he struggled to maintain his composure.
Cape smiled, holding his hands out from his sides. “How long you been with the FBI?” he asked pleasantly.
The man’s jaw started to drop but he caught it, his eyes narrowing. “I told you to get in the car,” he said testily.
“I heard you,” replied Cape. “What do you want?”
“I could detain you,” said the man, gesturing vaguely with the gun.
Cape looked from the Glock to the young man and gave him the once-over before shaking his head.
“I don’t think so,” he said matter-of-factly.
The young man’s jaw tensed but he holstered the gun, his eyes darting toward the waiting car. It was one thing to jam a gun into a man’s back for a quick snatch-and-grab; it was another to stand in the middle of the sidewalk in broad daylight having a conversation.
“I could arrest you,” he said.
“For what?”
The man squared his feet with an expression of frustration and anger, looking as if he might take a swing at Cape at any moment.
Cape held up his hand. “While you figure out your next move, I’m going to breakfast,” he said, pointing down the street. “See that restaurant with the green awning on the next block? It’s called Delancey Street, in case you’re not from around here. I’m going to walk there right now and get a table. You and your friend can join me if you
