Damnation Code (William Massa) - William Massa Page 0,12

mints almost managed to mask the alcohol on his breath.

Seeing him stirred dark feelings of anger inside Talon. If Erik hadn’t been so weak, so needy, none of this would’ve happened. He would have been with Michelle when the intruders broke into her apartment. He would have kept her safe.

The two soldiers left the precinct without exchanging any words. Erik must’ve known what was going through Talon’s churning mind and remained quiet. Rain swept the forlorn streets, a response to the previous day’s humidity. Heavy drops pelted the windshield and the wipers were furiously battling the downpour. As Erik navigated the dark, wet roads in uncomfortable silence, Talon’s thoughts focused on Michelle. He tried to picture her smiling face but her final, agonizing moments kept intruding on the memory.

“I’m so sorry.” Erik’s timing on this apology couldn’t have been worse. Talon’s seething rage bubbled to the surface.

“Stop the fucking car.”

“Where are you going to go?” Erik asked.

“None of your goddamn business. Now let me out. I’m not going to ask again.”

Erik stopped the car. He was tempted to add something but Talon’s glare suggested that he’d better keep his mouth shut.

Talon kicked the door open and disappeared into the wet night. He walked in the glistening streets in the rain until he was soaked. Perhaps he hoped the elements could wash away the darkness inside him and extinguish the fire in his heart.

He tried to recreate in his mind the scene at Michelle’s apartment, homing in on details he might have missed at first. One image dominated his thinking — the inverted, five-pointed star scrawled on the floor.

The pentagram.

Did Michelle become the victim of a satanic cult? The notion seemed fantastic, part of a bad B-horror picture from the seventies.

Around six a.m. the first hint of milky sunlight struggled to break through the dense cloud cover and Michelle suddenly seemed to haunt every corner of the city.

When he drifted through Chinatown, it made him think of the hole on the wall they’d stumbled into one drunken night, only to discover the best dumplings on the planet. Passing Ghirardelli Square, he remembered that Michelle’s favorite flavor of chocolate was Dark Cabernet. Who wanted their chocolate to taste like wine? Michelle did.

As he trudged down California Street, he glanced up at the Intercontinental. They had celebrated their first anniversary as a couple in the Top of the Mark rooftop lounge. Overpriced fare, but the view was amazing and Michelle had loved it.

So many memories.

God, he was barely keeping it together.

His long walk led him to Dolores Park. Less than twelve hours earlier he’d proposed to Michelle right in this spot, all thoughts of death far away. He choked back a scream of rage. His hands shook and balled into fists.

Rain fell, as if the city was weeping for the loss of a favorite citizen. The downpour washed away the tears that coursed down Talon’s face, but it didn’t calm his heaving frame. He couldn’t believe that she was gone. That everything they had shared could so easily be lost.

After what seemed like hours, he turned away from the waterfront and continued his silent pilgrimage through San Francisco’s rain-soaked urban canyons.

Talon’s aimless wanderings drew him back to Michelle’s apartment. The structure loomed like a mausoleum, now transformed in Talon’s mind into a place of horror. Looking up at the townhome he realized he wasn’t ready to set foot in the place again. At least not yet.

He shuffled away from the building and his gaze landed on Michelle’s car, still parked on the other side of the street. A parking ticket danced in the wind, held in place by the windshield wiper.

Talon went over to the vehicle and slid behind the wheel. For a brief moment the car offered refuge from the incessant downpour. As soon as he closed the door, he knew he made a mistake. Michelle’s scent still lingered here. For a moment he could imagine her sitting beside him again, flashing that beautiful, playful smile.

His eyes fell on the small photograph mounted on the dash. Taken in Afghanistan, it showed him and Michelle grinning like school children. Their smiles were genuine, their happiness palpable.

Looking at the picture pushed him over the edge. Talon knew he needed to numb himself.

Needed to forget.

With a renewed sense of purpose, he headed to the nearest bar and started knocking back shots. The place was a rundown dive and deserted at this mid-afternoon hour. The few lost souls leaning into the well-worn counter were all committed