Holy Land Ch 1 Pt 3

The phone begins to beep. It's the frantic wailing of a dying electronic. I pull it out and check the time. It's already an hour past our meeting time, and the symbol of a flashing battery isn't helping to stay calm.

Silently I mouth the words as I text, Where the fuck are you!? My phone is dying!

I lay back down on the marble ledge clutching the sword to my chest. There's a book store next door in case this turns out to be a bust, but I don't know why I'm making this such an ordeal. It'll just be nice to see a face that I grew up with, I suppose.

Thirty minutes pass as I reminisce about the last few blurry memories of my fights until I feel his presence. I jump up and look down hill. He doesn't look much different than when we were in school: Thin dark hair, a young, boyish face, and a short, firm build like  redwood's stump. Besides the Caucasian features of his face, he looks like any other well toned, Asian martial artist.

"Why haven't you called or texted me?"

Lao answers nonchalantly, "I got caught up with work."

I scoff, "Some word would have been great. I was thinking about leaving, but what am I going to do?" With all the free all the free time I have I would of spent it sleeping in the warmth of a building. After a brief pause I continue, "Wait, you work here now? What do you do?"

His monotone voice is unnerving as he says, "Advertising, sales, customer service, proposing..."

I cut him off early, "You know. A little bit of everything," as I finish his vague speech about what he does. It seems like he has a new job every few days and is always closing some high money deal, but the lack of ample evidence and consistently ambiguous jobs lacking minute details makes me rather suspicious. "You know you're shady as hell." My matter-of-fact tone shows no impact against his stoic demeanor.

There's a sharp change in subject as he asks, "Do you want to go get something to eat?"

"Only I you're buying. I've been surviving off of a jar of peanut butter for about a month."

With no real bearing in mind, we walk around aimlessly looking for a place to eat. Feeble attempts of small talk are made along the way with long pauses as we converse about different martial arts.

A chain of reactions start to set off as Lao tells me, "I started to meditate again because of you."

It all turns to an anger that starts to break down the civil walls I built up to keep me tame and surges out, "Why did you stop? What are you doing here? You're nothing like what I knew. You came here to try and be a stuntman or to do martial arts in movies. You're nowhere near what you wanted to do. You do all these shady jobs, and your goal now is to live in a mansion. What happened to the Lao that wasn't attached to material objects?"

I pause to let him give me an answer, but he looks at me blankly as we walk. Seeing how useless it is, I look forward, rage dissipating from my voice, "You know... You really screwed me over. I get into atleast one fight a day. I stopped telling people my sword is wood to prevent more fights," my voice trails off, "It's been really hard."

"Is there a Jack N' The Box around here?"

My face goes slack, and I slap a hand against my forehead. Reluctantly I answer, "Yeah. We just need to cut through Ellis up here."

On either side of the road are buildings barred with iron on every window and door. Trash and paper form urban tumbleweeds, and the eyes of homeless lining the street watch with a gaze of malnourished madness. I keep from making any direct eye contact but cautiously keep aware of my surroundings. Despite it being the shorter distance, keeping out of this area would have been the smarter decision since a majority of the fights lately take place here, but my own madness has me taking this path quite frequently.

The one thing about living like this is that you get a sense of who's a threat or not, but I could be wrong as a firm grasp clasps my left shoulder and quickly whips me around. Glaring and with fists up, I come face to face with the aged, black man we just passed. Before I can strike, he lets out a sing sentence that stuns me, "Keep up the good work."

"What?" My stance breaks in confusion.

"You've been doing good work. We know what you're doing."

I look over to his entourage staring at me, and back to the aged man slowly nodding. "Uhh... Thanks." In haste I turn and continue with Lao.

It didn't take long after we reached the restaurant and ordered for my burger to disappear. I should of savoured it, but it's been awhile since I've had a form of protein from an animal.

In that same form of monotony, Lao voices, " I didn't believe you until that guy. You really fight all the time?"

I stare at the rest of his meal while replying, "Yeah, it was different at first, but now it's people who recognize me. I should of known something was up when the prostitutes began to recognize me."

"What?"

"Nevermind." My head slumps down to rest in my arms atop the table.

We part ways after the meal, but something quickly doesn't feel right. With the sun already set, the temperature has dropped, but my body burns hot and shivers simultaneously. I succumb to the spiraling sensation occupying my mind and brace against a wall, slide down, and crumple. I refuse what's happening to me, and the world responds to my stubborn denial with a heavy downpour.

I yell skyward in defiance, "What did I do to you?" I slowly stand, and in feeble wandering, keep repeating, "I need to get out of here. I need to get out of here."

My mantra continues until I come across the subway entrance. My slow shambling leads me to underground warmth. With a glance of suspicion, I gaze a nearly deserted station with only a few other homeless bodies huddled in the corners. I pick a space furthest away, protected by walls on three sides,  dimly lit, and dream of endless stars while hugging my bokken.

When my eyes snap open and I wake completely alert, I peak left down the tiled hall from my hiding place to see security waking someone else for loitering. Being on the streets still beats being in jail, so I quickly scramble towards the exit and up the stairs.

I'm not sure how long I slept, but the rain has stopped. My body aches, and each time I breath out there's a heat that burns my nostrils and dries my throat. I spend the rest of the night in a deep state of wandering. Sometime during midday my thoughts become lucid enough to break free of the mindless trance and find a power supply to charge the phone for a call.

Sitting on the curb of a street, my mind goes blank as the phone rings. The other end picks up, and there's a pause of silence until I ask, "Hello?"

"Hey."

My voice softens, and my heart races. "Kari," I pause momentarily in fear before continuing, "I miss you."

Her voice seems cold as she replies, "Yeah?"

Is that all she has to say? Fear turns to irritation, but I continue on, "Yeah. I text you it all the time. I'm surprised you answered the phone. You haven't returned any of my calls."

"Yeah. I've been busy," she states in slow distant words. As if still distracted, she manages to ask, "How are you?"

I don't want to admit it. To do so would prove everyone back in Florida right, but they'll eventually find out. I breathe deeply and sigh before answering, "Not good. It's pretty bad over here. I've gotten myself into some trouble. I'm pretty sure I'm losing myself too." There's no words on the other side, so I continue, "I think about you all the time. I just wanted to tell I'm coming back."

"Oh," she pauses, her voice apathetic, "ok."

"What?"

"Nothing."

She doesn't seem happy.

I keep pushing her for an answer. I've known her for long enough to know something is up. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. What do you think of Matt?"

Bewildered by the change of topic, I tell her, "What? I've known him for a long time. He was pretty genuine until he told me that he and a large group of people were going to do everything they can to prevent you and I from getting back together. We were friends from middle school until then."

"He was probably joking," she says, and with piqued interest in her vocals asks, "So he was genuine?"

The heat of my fever begins to rise, but the words coming from my mouth contrasts in cold disdain, "Yeah. Until he made it clear we were enemies."

"Ok."

"Why?"

"Nothing."

I don't raise my voice, but I feel the panic and anger seething behind my words, "Tell me why, Kari."

"Well, he asked me out after you left, and I think I'm going to say yes since you said he was genuine. I told him I have to think about it."

Incoherent stuttering flows out inconsistently like a faucet being twisted on and off, and I can't find a solid word to hold onto. I've been gone for just a little over a month. I can't believe this. The heat emanating from my body rises. The pain wracking my body doubles in strength. Finally a tide of Odysseus like rage roars through me like the oncoming swell of a tsunami, and the only words I can get out are, " I can't handle this."

With the same tone when realizing you've accidentally broken a valuable, she cries, "I knew I shouldn't have told you."

"You shouldn't?" I yell. I fight back the surging force of emotions and say in deadpan, " I'm hanging up now."

No, don't!"

I'm hanging up. I'm sick, and this is making it worse. It's tied into my emotions. I can't do this now."

"This..." is all she gets out before the connection is cut and the other side goes silent.

My last life line to sanity has been severed. The thought of her was keeping me alive. What now?

I lay catatonic on the sidewalk until night falls. The clouds above clear, and I see the stars for the first time in awhile. A gibbous moon illuminates the sky. Its full figure almost wanting to crash into the planet.

"It's just me now. I don't have to worry about anyone else. I just have to worry about getting out of this damned city. First thing first, I have to sleep."

I stand, dust myself off, and head towards the one place I never wanted to go, Golden Gate Park.

My last trip to the Height-Ashbury area was unpleasant. I don't get along with the spanging mentality, and the hippies there are not hippies. They have knives, and the lot I run into are usually on some drug and highly dangerous when felt threatened. The air around me is usually enough to provoke them. There's also the Height-Ashbury Hero; A mute equipped with football armor and a deadly accuracy with throwing knives. He patrols around with a severe sense of territorial behavior, attacking anyone who'd disturb the peace. Someone I do not want to run into.

Coming up on the entrance of the park, I pass a girl walking her two large dogs, I notice that she's wearing a backpack meant to travel and thought it wise to ask a traveler local to the area how safe it is to sleep in the park.

She turns back towards me. Her face is hardened, unreadable, and smeared with dirt, but despite that she's rather pretty. I also see the glint of metal between her gray tank top and long flowing skirt. Beauty has a thorn tucked behind her waistband.

"You usually find a spot during the day when it's easier. Just be careful you don't stumble on someone else's spot, and if the cops catch you, they'll arrest you.," she tells me.

"Is that normally a problem?"

"Usually not, but they patrol around often. Them and the others."

Alarmed, I ask, "Others?"

She simply replies, "Yeah," and starts to walk away.

I almost want to stop her, to ask if she needs company. I'm tired of being alone, but I can't trust anyone. Plus, she smells like wet dog and smoke.

I continue in the opposite direction of her until there's barely a sign of gravel. Far from any street lamps, the only illumination comes from the clear sky above as the path winds through thick patches of canopy. The silhouette  of a mountainous hill stands against the backdrop of stars. From a tactical understanding, high ground is usually preferred, and maybe I can find a vantage with a single access choke point.

Going deeper into the park takes me across a downed body of a wide tree that bridges the gap over a still stream feeding into the large pond to the right. Taking a left, the path widens and becomes substantially darker with the branches overhead thickening in numbers.

For awhile not even the sound of wildlife is heard, but the silence is broken with the hardly audible sound of something slowly creeping forward. I draw my sword and crouch into the brush lining the ditch of the stream. Camouflaged by its dark shade, the mechanical beast rolls from around the corner. Its machine heart is barely heard as it quietly hums, and with no headlights on, my instincts tell me to stay hidden. Tinted windows hide the mind inside, but I feel it searching as its crawling pace passes by.

I breath in slowly and cautiously out as if it might hear me until it disappears down the path to the right. I dart across the dirt trail with the decision that it would be best to keep off it and climb up the hill, which I find my legs quickly sinking knee deep. Thrusting down into the mound with my sword, I use it as leverage to struggle up all twenty feet of near vertical incline. It plateaus into another wide path, and from there with a full on run, takes me down several diverging paths and cross sections until I feel far enough from the threat.

Sweat perspires from my forehead, dropping salt into my vision. I can feel the heat from the fever worsening and the rhythmic throbbing behind my eyes. Once the adrenaline wears down, the body pains return with a violence that creates small spasms. With my condition worsening, my thoughts descend to darker tones matching the near palpable shadows surrounding me. Why am I here? I could give up right here. Let the first thing come have at me. Thoughts swirl with the realization of failure and start to become an almost physical weight on me.

Something in the corner of my eye darts through the shadows. I freeze, suspicious of malign forces that creep in the dark. The bushes behind rustle in the breezeless air, but nothing is there. When I turn back around, a distinct humanoid shape punctures the tree line in front of me, running into a patch of coalescing foliage. Silently, the umbral form disappears, and the atmosphere seems charged with energy as the back of my neck prickles with a chill when the figure stirs not even a leaf.

Whispers hardly audible seem to surround the area, ancient murmurs of something beyond man. For the first time since I've been here, fear grasps me tightly. It's a sickening and primordial version that surfaces from the pores in a cold, wet film over the body and almost completely paralyzes. A deep fear that stems from nomadic ancestry realizing we're not alone in these wandered parts.

A memory flashes through the mind:


Red eyes.


Red eyes.


Red eyes drawing closer.


I'm not dying here.


It coaxes my body to take defense. The slackening grip around the wooden hilt tightens and brings the blade into stance with the rest of my body. I fight the urge to shake my head in grim irony while slowly saying, "Worst. Day. Ever."

Images of shadowed men follow me while I creep down the mountain, and continue to until I reach another widened path. The tense air eases enough to allow a sigh, though as I the forest brightens with the flash of headlights.

"Son of a..." escapes from my mouth before the black vehicle staring me down charges with a bull like intent.

With my left side blocked by a vertical climb and no way to out run it, I fling myself over the ledge on my right in a hands first dive. My fall is interrupted by the downward decline of the ground directing my fall forward into a roll. Running into whatever crops up from the ground with my body, there's no loss of momentum. When I finally do stop, it takes the full immovable force of a tree at the bottom of the hill to wrap me around its trunk.

Battered and cut by bramble, I try to crawl away, but I'm stopped short by the edge of a pond. Moonlight shines through the clearing above and reflects its full form off the water. With the accumulation of the fall, the fever, and the overdose of adrenaline, my body refuses to move anymore. I crane my head up to see the stars and stare intensely with a blank mind.

Almost absorbed completely by the sky, my focus breaks by movement from right above the water, but any panic normally would be felt is replaced by exhaustion and weary submission. With the same ethereal blue as the moon, the figure of a girl dances elegantly across the surface of the pond. A single ripple never breaks the placid mirror with each step. Clouds move overhead, but she shines more radiantly, her own aura reflecting and illuminating the water itself. She's slender, beautiful, and with long flowing hair following her each step, she slowly makes her way across. There's an unnatural warmth permeating through the ground that mixes with my fatigue and weighs my head down as I watch. My eyelids follow suit, and I fall into the dark.