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Legacy

He opened his eyes.

Around him he saw the familiar surrounds of the enclosure. He recognised the blurred outline of walls and fixtures, even though he knew that his eyes were seeing them for the first time. In fact, he somehow felt he shouldn't be able to see anything at his age, though he couldn't think why or how he knew this.

Around him, the soft pink forms of his siblings wriggled, nuzzling against the belly of their mother. He edged forward to find his own place and drink from the warm fount. He felt calm and at home here, safe from the vague terrors that lurked in the back of his mind. The warmth in his belly was enough to reassure him, as he settled back and began to drift into a soft easy sleep.

Dreams came and went, not the other dreams, but simple thoughts of milk and comfort, and a world around him that he was dimly aware of but as yet unable to comprehend.

The sudden jerk shook him awake. He felt himself being dragged upwards by the tail, lifted away from the soft ground into the space above, as his eyes struggled to focus on the world spinning around him. He fell with a thud onto a cold metallic surface and slipped into unconsciousness.

When he woke he was in another place.

It was hot and humid. Soft bark and moss lay damp around him and strange smells filled the air. Through glass walls he could make out vast figures moving about in the space beyond. The figures made him afraid, but he somehow feared even more that they might leave.

A dark shape reflected in the glass caught his eye and filled him with panic. Though he couldn't make out its detail, he knew that every horror in the world sat waiting just behind him in that shape. Every instinct in his body told him to run, dig, climb, get away as fast as he could, but his tiny legs did not have the strength. He wasn't even capable of turning himself over to see the object of his fear, if he had even wanted to, so all he could do was lie and wait, gasping for breath with his heartbeat pounding through his body.

Suddenly, everything went dark and the panic raced through him anew. He strained his eyes and ears to try to sense what was happening around him. Slowly his eyes began to make out vague shapes in the dim light that was left, though he could not see anything of the reflection that had terrified him. Whether this was good or bad he couldn't decide. Part of him wanted to listen hard for any movement behind him, while part wanted desperately not to think about it.

His heart skipped with every sound that came to his ears, as he struggled to hear whether it came from inside the chamber or outside, or even his own confused mind. Before long, an unmistakable noise signaled movement behind him and blind terror became his whole being. Shadows passed over him, blacking out the dim light. White pain burst through his body, dissolving his thoughts and fears into one fluid mass of agony..


---


Images drifted in and out of his mind.

Never the same images.

Never the same faces.

But always the same reality.

Summer. A family cowered before him, huddled in the corner of a hut. A mother, blood dripping from the gash on her forehead, bent over a whimpering child, trying to cover every part of his body with her own. A young girl held a baby, standing silent and wide eyed. The baby began to scream and he wished it would shut the hell up.

A voice barked an order.

His voice. His order.

A crackle of machine gun fire echoed through the hut, then all was silent.

The image began to spin and fade, as other sights and sounds bled in and out of his consciousness.

Faces. Bodies. Screams.

All blurring together to a formless cacophony, spinning out of control..


---


It was the fifth ring before she picked up. Her voice was tired and flat.

"Hello?"

"Elena?"

"Christian, hi."

"Hi. Umm.." He hesitated.

"What is it?"

"We really need to talk."

She so badly didn't want to get into this. Not now. Not yet. Why couldn't he just give her some space?

"Elena?"

"Look, can't it wait? It's really not a good time."

"I think it's important. I'm worried about you. You have to talk to someone about it. Whatever's bothering you, it can't be good to keep it bottled up. I don't know why you can't let me help."

"Please, Christian. Not now."

"Over dinner, then. Tuesday night."

"Look, I.."

"You don't have to talk about it if you don't want. We can talk about something else. Whatever. I just want to see you. We haven't seen each other in nearly two weeks. I'm not even sure where I stand any more."

"I know. I'm sorry. I've just got things on mind and don't want to lay it all on you."

"So don't. Meet me Tuesday at Giancarla's and take your mind off it. What do you say?"

"Okay then. I mightn't be the best company, though."

"We'll see about that. See you at seven?"

"Okay. Bye Christian."

"Bye."

She did want to see Christian. She wanted to see his face and feel his arms around her, possibly more than she wanted to admit. But how could she lay all of this shit on him? She didn't even know how to deal with this herself. She really liked him, liked him a lot, but how could she have a serious relationship when she wasn't even sure who she was any more?

She didn't want to push him away either. The question was whether he would be scared off anyway by having to deal with all the crap that was going on in her head. Perhaps she could just see him and stop thinking about all this for a while, get back to feeling normal again, even just for a night.

But tomorrow she had to work, so she'd better stop worrying about it and at least try to see what sort of sleep she could get.

She was so sick of feeling like this.


---


He opened his eyes.

He recognised the walls of his home, the blurred contours he was seeing for the first time, yet knew so well somehow. Around him his siblings suckled against his mother and he moved to feed as well. He was happy.

Having drunk his fill, he slept quietly, dreaming the simple dreams of a simple life. Some time later he woke and moved toward his mother for his next feed.

Suddenly there was movement above him and he felt himself lifted upward as powerful grip closed about his torso.

The ground retreated below and he felt something crack in his chest, pain shooting through his body. He hit a hard metal surface and passed out as the pain surged again.

He woke with a sense of movement coming to a halt, then was lifted and flung through the air to land on a soft, damp floor. Strange sounds and smells surrounded him and he stared up at cold white light that flickered above him.

His mind began to become clouded, as the outlines of the light above lost their solidity.

He closed his eyes and felt a heavy, leaden sleep drift over him..


---


Faces floated and whirled before him.

Always different.

Always the same.

A face. One that had been so beautiful once.

Maria.

Her bent shape stiffened as she heard his voice speak. Slowly, painfully, she raised her head toward him. He saw one eye focus on him through the battered and swollen flesh.

Tears streamed over her broken features.

Her cracked voice uttered a word.

"Diego."

His attention turned to the man at his side..

"Anything?"

"Not yet sir."

He moved toward the door, hearing the rough cough behind him as she struggled to draw breath.

"Diego!"

Her voice rose beyond a whimper

"Diego!!!"

and became a scream.

"DIEGO!!!!!"

Her screams, muffled as the heavy door closed behind him, echoed down the corridor as he walked away.

Her screams. Her voice.

So many voices.

Screams, pleas, cries, all blended together, distorting and mingling in a single howl of despair..


---


Her steps were slow as she moved along the corridor.

Even with the pills she had hardly slept a wink in the last three nights. She hadn't had a proper night's sleep at all since she first got the news, and it was really starting to take its toll.

She wondered if the tiredness was half of the reason why she felt so low, that she couldn't find the strength to get herself through this.

And she should be able to cope. She was strong, she always had been. Surely she was the same person she always was, regardless of what childhood myths had been stripped from her. Strength came from within, not from some imaginary hero who had never existed in the first place. She was herself, not her father. Not even her mother.

A tear came to her eye as she realised she no longer even knew what to believe about the stories of her mother. Were they lies as well? How could she believe anything any more? Who the hell was she?

She paused in front of the Mouse Room door. She always hated this part of her job. She wished they could find someone else to do this, she wasn't sure she had the stomach for it today. But, as they say, it's a dirty job and some poor bitch has got to do it.

The smell of musk and ammonia assaulted her nose as she entered the room. Poor little fuckers.


---


He opened his eyes.

The world was spinning as the ground fell away below him.

He couldn't understand what was happening. It seemed just moments ago he had fallen asleep, warm and safe by his mother's side.

For just a moment he could make out her form below him, before losing sight of her behind a shiny metal sheet. It was cold on his soft skin as he fell against it.

He rocked back and forth on the surface as it lurched into motion. He felt dizzy and ill and closed his eyes to shut out the sickening movement.

Eventually the rocking ceased and he felt himself lifted high by his tail. The grip loosened and he was falling. A glimpse of brown earth rushed up to meet him and he landed with his face buried in soft mossy debris.

He began to breathe again and found that he was not going to suffocate. A thought flittered through his mind that it might have been better if he did.

He didn't understand what that meant, except that there was a horrible feeling in his stomach that something awful was going to happen here, something so fearsome that it would have been better to die now. What could be so horrible he didn't know, but the feeling was strong and would not go away.

He thought of his mother and how badly he wanted to be back at her side, drinking of the comfort and nourishment she provided.

He tried to turn himself over but his limbs did not have the strength. He lay face down in the dirt and tried to fall asleep.

He noticed the light suddenly disappear, though the hot, clammy warmth remained.

He heard, or felt, the movement of something coming towards him. Coming quickly. He didn't know what it was, but it filled him with a sudden, utter terror. A searing agony tore into his back and through his whole body, as his mind dispersed in a silent, directionless scream..


---


Tears..

Blood..

Wailing.. Crying.. Screaming..

A baby howled on the table before him.

A drip of liquid on the needle glistened in the dirty yellow light.

He looked beyond it to the face of the woman kneeling by the wall. A guard held her down by each shoulder, as she rocked back and forth, shaking her head and emitting nothing but a low whine.

He took his time, slowly and deliberately, before pressing the needle into the baby's soft, pink skin. Its cry became a scream as he pressed down on the syringe and the liquid disappeared under the tender flesh.

The mother cried out, a senseless string of words in her filthy native tongue, as she struggled vainly against the two soldiers. The baby's screams reached a peak then subsided in a gurgling choke.

Damn it. That was too soon.

He threw the lifeless bundle across the room and cursed.

The mother fell back against the wall, sobbing madly and babbling her gibberish. He would get nothing out of her. Not that she probably knew anything anyway, but orders were orders.

As he moved toward the door, a guard looked questioningly toward him and he nodded. They might as well have their fun with the bitch, she was useless to him.

Next time he would try lemon juice. Surely that wouldn't kill the brat too soon.

Lemon juice..

Needles..

A howl of screams engulfed his mind as the world turned to an ocean of blood and torn flesh..


---


Elena poked at the food on her plate, trying as hard as she could not to meet Christian's eye.

But she couldn't stop herself forever.

One glance was enough to find him staring at her, the look of concern barely concealed in his expression.

"You've hardly touched that. Eating disorders are going out of fashion you know. I read it in Vogue"

The smile on his face was touching. She knew what this must be doing to him, the brave face he was putting on just for her, even though he didn't know what her problem was. Her attempt at a smile in return obviously failed to be convincing.

"Okay, I think it's time to tell me about it." he said, the slightest wavering in his voice.

She opened her mouth to reply, but found no words to share.

"Is it to do with your mother? I know there was some news you were waiting on about what happened to her. What was it? Did they find out she was alive after all? Or some other living relative back over there?"

She shook her head slowly, eyes turned down again.

"Then what is it? Please, let me help. I can't stand to see you this upset and not be able to do anything about it."

Silence was all she could offer.

"Damn it, Elena! How do you think this makes me feel? For three weeks you've been avoiding me. You don't return my calls, don't want to see me, won't tell me what it's about. I can see you're going through hell, and I don't know how much more I can take of watching you suffer."

"Then maybe you should go."

He tried to speak, and this time it was his voice that failed to find words. She saw him get up from the table, wipe at his eyes and walk away. She had never seen him cry, and couldn't stand to see those tears she knew she had caused. She kept her eye on the table until he had left the restaurant.

Her own tears came slowly at first, then in a rush of sobs that wracked her body. She turned to the window so that the other diners wouldn't stare or ask if she was okay. She couldn't face being a spectacle as well.

All the things she wanted to say to him, everything she had been holding onto and trying to deal with by herself, why the fuck hadn't she just told him? He actually wanted to help. He wasn't like those other pricks who had run out on her when they decided her emotional baggage was too much of a dead weight to risk. He was different, but she just had to push him away. That wasn't being strong, that was being weak. That was just being a bitch.

She choked back the tears as she played over in her mind everything she should have said to him. He already knew about her mother, how she had died and how Elena had been brought to this country and raised by her aunt. And the stories of her father, the bandit guerilla killed fighting for freedom in the mountains.

The dirty, stinking, fucking lies.

Why couldn't she tell him about what she'd found out? Why was she always so secretive and self-contained? She hadn't even told him about her visits to the embassy, about the great quest she'd undertaken since her aunt's death, or the ugly truth she'd found as a reward for her efforts.

Surely he would have understood. She didn't have to shoulder this alone.

But no, she had to fuck that up too.

The tears started to gush again and she quickly fumbled for her money, left it on the table and made a hurried exit.


---


He opened his eyes.

He didn't know how long he had been sleeping, but time meant nothing. Nothing more than a half-remembered dream of another world he could never understand.

All he did know was that he needed to feed again. He saw his mother and crawled toward her. His eyesight had improved since he fell asleep, though a nagging feeling that there was something strange about that lingered in the back of his mind.

As he began to drink, there was movement above him and he saw a towering figure reach toward him. He was gripped by the tail and lifted high above the ground, his legs flailing in the air and finding nothing to hold, then as quickly he was dumped onto hard, cold metal.

From the corner of his eye, he saw two more soft, pink figures dropped onto the slab beside him, then the world span and everything moved with a momentum that made his stomach weak. Bright white lights passed above him as he traveled through distances he had never imagined.

The movement slowed and he saw the body next to him lifted from the slab and disappear from sight. A small motion and he too was dragged from the surface and suspended above an enclosure that terrified him more than the figure that held him. Suddenly he was falling, landing on his side in the soft mossy ground. The impact knocked the breath from him and his vision blurred.

Slowly, his eyes began to focus, and patches of light began to take on more solid forms again. His body jerked as the terror struck.

Before him sat the vision of all nightmares made real, as clear in his sight as it had been dim in his fears. It sat still, crouched in an array of legs, dirty brown fur lying sickeningly thick on every inch, except for the black orbs of its eyes, staring pitilessly at his helpless form.

He didn't think to struggle or try to run. All thought for life or escape drained from him, leaving only hopelessness and despair.

As he lay, he could do nothing but stare at the hideous sight before him, which stared back in cold black silence. Even closing his eyes could not take away the horror of the sight he wished he had never known. The only thing worse than having to lie here looking at that form would be the moment he stopped seeing it.

Time passed and the whole world had ceased to exist outside of his vision. He wondered when it would end, how much longer he could stand of this. Without warning, the light vanished and all was dark. His stomach convulsed and his bowels emptied themselves.

Gradually the dim light remaining began to make shapes visible, though the only thing he saw was the dark form in front of him, its silhouette hiding the features he could still see etched in his mind. All was still, just him and that shape, surrounded by the soft noises of this awful place.

Suddenly, the dark mass sprang into motion, shambling toward him at a frightening pace. He tried to scream but no sound escaped his throat, as the shadow reared over him and he felt its fangs sink into his flesh, dissolving his awareness in a flash of terrible pain.


---


Faces.

So many faces.

One face.

Maria.

Head turned back, mouth grimacing, makeup smeared.

Her eyes were closed and she was biting her lip. Then a cry escaped from her throat, a guttural grunt.

Her eyes met his and she smiled.

"It's been too long, my love."

"Yes" his voice muttered "You shouldn't have stayed away so long".

"Well, I'm back now".

He rose and began to dress, not looking at her until he was done.

"Is something the matter?" she asked, "Are you mad with me?"

"Of course not."

"So will you come to see me tomorrow?"

"Of course."

He paused to look at her once more before he closed the door.

He was really going to miss her. She was just a peasant girl, not very smart, but very pretty. Not to mention the best fuck he had had since before he married Francesca. It was a real pity.

But her name was on the list. If the Americans had decided she was a probable communist, that her unaccounted six months in the countryside were deemed suspicious, he could not afford to question it. If he failed to do his duty, his own loyalties would come into question.

No fuck was worth that, no matter how good.

He tried to push the picture of her face from his mind, but it stayed there.

Her face, smiling at him as he closed the door..

Her face, grimacing as he came inside her..

Faces..

Screaming, bloodied, terrified..


---


She woke, trying to open eyes that were glued shut with the residue of a night's tears.

She had thought she might wake to a few peaceful moments when she forgot about everything. About Christian, about her mother and about that bastard.

But she remembered everything from the moment she woke.

At least she had slept. That was nice for a change.

She glanced at the clock, realising with a start that she was late for work. She really wanted to stay home today, to call in sick or just not call at all.

But it wasn't such a good idea, especially when she was taking tomorrow off to go see that creep at the embassy again. It was probably better not to have a day home to sit around moping about stuff anyway. At least at work there'd be something to take her mind off things, if only for a second at a time.

Besides, Paul was still on leave until tomorrow, and those spiders weren't going to feed themselves. Hmm, best not to think about that before breakfast either.

She threw herself out of bed and stumbled down the hall toward the shower.


---


He opened his eyes.

Something was wrong.

He didn't feel well.

He hadn't felt well since he first woke up in this place.

Around him he saw nothing but a shapeless blur. Somehow he knew there was something to see, but he couldn't make sense of the hazy shapes.

He tried to inch his way toward his mother. If he could just reach her, just suckle upon her warmth, everything would be okay. But he was tired, so tired. His eyes were heavy and he fought to keep them open.

Slowly, he slipped into sleep again.

Slipping away, quietly..


---

Places..

Names..

Times..

Years..

Amid the confusion, moments solidified and became real.

He was young, just staring his career.

Not quite as young as the boy before him.

He threw water on the kid's face and he came round again. Through the trickles of blood, he saw the boy's eyes widen and the fear return.

This was good.

He looked down at the table, surveying the bloodied instruments to decide which to use next. His eyes came to rest on the Captain's cigar cutter.

"May I, sir?"

A nod was all he needed. He picked up the cutter and a cigar, sliced the tip and offered it to the Captain. He didn't have to force a smile as he turned to the boy, reaching to untie the rope belt and pull down the boy's trousers.

The moment of realisation was clearly visible in the kid's eyes, as he struggled vainly to bring his knees up to cover his groin. A flood of names and places burst from his lips, punctuated only by frantic pleas and begging.

He set down the cutter and turned on the tape recorder.

When the list began to repeat itself, the Captain drew his pistol and fired a single shot into the boy's head. He turned and offered the lit cigar.

"Good work. You'll go far, Ramirez".

"Thank you, sir".

The blood spread across the ground, surrounding the spot where boy and chair had fallen.

Blood flowed from wounds and noses..

Bodies burned and foul smoke filled the air..

Machine gun fire crackled and screams were silenced..

Blood and fire melded and everything turned red..



---



"Please come in, Senor Merida willsee you now."

"Thank you."

Elena tried to tug her skirt down, not feeling the need this time to pander to the little creep's sleazy appetites. Nevertheless, she needed to hear what he had to say, so pretended not to notice as his gaze slithered over her body.

"Miss Carrera, how pleasant to see you."

"You have news for me?"

"I most certainly do," he said, rising from his desk "but first would you like to share a drink with me?"

"No thank you. I really don't feel like it today."

"Of course. Of course."

He resumed his seat and began rifling through the documents scattered about his desk.

"Ah, here we are. I had to pull some pretty big strings to get this information, I hope you realise."

"Of course, and I am most grateful to you for you efforts."

But not that grateful, you sleazy little prick.

"So, let me see. Oh yes. The reports I have obtained indicate conclusively that Major Diego Ramirez, your, umm.."

"My father."

"Yes. The reports confirm that he was killed on the 12th of August, 1988, near the village of Antiaz. A landmine believed laid by the guerillas."

"You are sure?"

"Yes, the reports are quite conclusive."

"I see." she said, rising to leave.

"Miss Carrera, if you would like to stay just a moment.. Miss Carrera? Miss?"

She didn't even turn to look at him as she left, barely noticed the official who escorted her out.

So that was it.

He was dead.

The bastard who had her mother tortured and killed. Possibly even committed the deed himself.

The butcher whose name was poison on her aunt's lips.

Her father.

It all made sense. The inconsistencies, the missing details, the vague references to her father the nameless freedom fighter.

She had had some suspicion, as she got older, that the stories were not entirely true. It had even occurred to her that the heroic tales might have been a cover for the fact that her father was an unknown stranger, some anonymous fuck in a sleazy dive.

But nothing had prepared her for the name that appeared on the birth documents she obtained, or the other evidence that proved their affair. Not only the man that killed her mother, but the lover who cruelly betrayed her.

It was as if everything she had known about herself had suddenly been torn away from her.

But it was done with now.

The bastard was dead and there was nothing more to be said about it.

No, there was a lot to be said. To Christian.

She had been really bad to him since she found out, and it was about time she gave him the explanation he was owed. Hopefully his offer to help her get through this would still stand.

It was time to move forward, time to get on with her life. She had seen what holding on to hate and bitterness had done to her aunt, and she was not going to let her life be eaten away like that.

Her father, both her fathers, were gone.

It was time to move on.

She'd like to think of him burning in hell, suffering for all the pain he'd caused and the lives he'd destroyed. But she didn't believe that. There was no hell, no afterlife. No reincarnation or eternal reward.

He was dead and he was gone.

He no longer existed. Anywhere.

And she was glad.


---


He opened his eyes.

Around him he saw the familiar surrounds of the enclosure. He recognised the blurred outline of walls and fixtures, even though he knew that his eyes were seeing them for the first time. In fact, he somehow felt he shouldn't be able to see anything at his age, though he couldn't think why or how he knew this..





stranger..

November 2001.