Anew

29

Tristan stood in the damp back alley of an abandoned warehouse waiting quietly. Nearby, the orange haze of a streetlamp flickered in the black night. It had come to his attention, as of late, that people who were crazy enough to murder someone always wanted to meet in the creepiest of places.

Tristan tolerated this only because he was desperate.

A rat darted past his shoes. The eerie glow from the street lamp cast a wicked shadow of the rodent against the ground as it disappeared behind a dumpster.

Tristan really needed to find some villains with better taste in venues. The alley thing was getting old.

Tonight, he was supposed to meet a guy named Maniac. And ‘Maniac’ was late—which was no surprise. You can’t put feelers out for a psychopath and then expect punctuality.

Sirens echoed in the distance as Tristan began pacing along the crumbling brick wall next to him. He ran a hand through his shaggy hair and tried to calm down.

Scarlet knew now. She’d seen him, she’d heard the story. It was only a matter of time before she remembered everything.

He couldn’t risk having her—or his feelings for her—jeopardize what needed to be done.

Hopefully, tonight he’d be successful.

With any luck, the curse would be broken before sunrise, and Tristan’s heart would finally find peace.

As would Scarlet’s.

It was preposterous, the idea of Tristan having any kind of peace without Scarlet, but it was all he had to hope for.

He closed his eyes until he saw nothing but memories. Memories of long ago, when Tristan lived his life as if it were a precious hourglass of time.

Before he knew he was immortal.

Before life was no longer fragile.

Those were the days when life truly meant something.

When life was hard but worthwhile, and love was valuable because your days were numbered.

That was living.

He thought back over the years…when Scarlet was full of love and laughter…when she would lie next to him in the grass and splash around with him in the ocean…when she was full of happiness and her eyes always found his….

The memories flooded into him, filling him with longing and warmth. How could there ever be more perfect a life than the many he had lived?

Without warning, memories of pain, torment, and death bombarded him, washing away any warmth.

Sitting next to Scarlet in the forest today had been a mistake. A beautiful, hopeless mistake.

Tristan opened his eyes and stared purposefully at the ground, cursing the reality that always mocked his dreams.

That reality was why he was here, in the shadows, with a rat and a dumpster.

Scarlet had suffered too much, for too long. The ridiculous and unfair cycle of her life needed to be put to an end, and if things went well tonight—which was highly unlikely, but worth a shot—it would.

With renewed determination, Tristan straightened his back and waited for Maniac.

Eventually, a large silhouette approached him from the far end of the alley. Tristan casually walked in the man’s direction and, as he neared, he saw that Maniac was a large, muscular fellow with shifty eyes, a long mustache, and an evil vibe.

Just what Tristan had in mind.

“You Maniac?” Tristan’s voice echoed down the alleyway.

Yet another reason to hate back alleys. How was anyone supposed to be stealthy when voices carried half a mile?

“Yeah. You Brooker?”

No, but Maniac didn’t need to know that.

“Yes.”

“You got the money?” Maniac spit on the ground before glancing around the alley.

Was he nervous?

What Tristan needed here was a gung-ho criminal, ready to do just about anything. Not a mustached wanna-be who was kind of on the fence.

Maniac couldn’t let him down.

Tristan tossed an envelope filled with large bills at the man and waited while Maniac counted. Tristan was disgusted by what people were willing to do for money.

Tonight, however, he was grateful for such depravity.

Satisfied with the amount, Maniac looked at Tristan. “So, gimme the details. Who do you need me to hit?”

Tristan took a deep breath. This was the hard part. “First, I need to know if you are capable of committing murder.”

Maniac seemed to take offense to this. “’Course I am. I’ll knock off anyone for the right price. “

Tristan nodded. “More importantly, though, is the follow-through. I have to know that you’ll complete the job. It’s not an easy mark.”

Maniac scoffed. “I’ll finish him. What kinda hit man starts a kill job and quits halfway?”

You’d be surprised.

“Good enough,” Tristan said. “I brought your weapon.” Tristan reached behind his back to unsheathe the freshly-sharpened dagger he’d brought from home.

His last dagger hadn’t worked. Hopefully, this one would.

“Weapon?” Maniac raised his brow. “Why not just a gun? Guns are faster.”

“Nope. Guns won’t work.” Tristan held the blade out to Maniac and waited.

Maniac eyed the dagger a moment before saying, “That’s a wicked knife, there. But I’m much better with guns.”

Tristan clenched his jaw in frustration. “I’m sure you are. But I’m not paying you to shoot bullets. I need you to use this.” Tristan wiggled the long blade so it reflected the streetlight.

Maniac hesitated before reaching for the dagger.

Tristan inwardly sighed. If Maniac couldn’t tap into his ‘maniac’ side, this was going to be a long night.

Maniac handled the blade a few moments before saying, “Fine. This’ll work. Who’s the mark?”

Tristan yanked his shirt over his head, and felt the night air rush against his bare chest. He stood up straight, rolled his neck, and answered, “Me.”

Maniac eyed him wildly. “You want me to kill you?”

Tristan nodded. “Yes. Take that dagger, thrust it directly into my heart, and slice. Don’t just stab me, you have to cut my heart in half, understand?”

Even with the right weapon, and immortal couldn’t die unless his heart was cut in half.

Maniac snarled and looked Tristan over. “What the hell kinda sick game is this?”

Tristan shook his head. “It’s not a game. I won’t fight you, I won’t hurt you, and I won’t scream. But I need to die. So, whatever you do, don’t stop until I’m dead. Do you understand?”

Maniac seemed to deliberate so Tristan spoke more aggressively. “Either do what I ask or get the hell out of here.”

Scurrying rodent feet echoed down the alley.

In an instant, Maniac’s eyes lit up with what Tristan could only define as ‘hunger’.

At last, the ‘maniac’ had surfaced.

When Maniac answered, his voice was laced with venom and malice. “If you want death, I’m more than happy to give it to you.”

For the first time in many years, Tristan was hopeful. Maybe this guy was just crazy enough to see the kill through.

“I’m ready when you are,” Tristan said, as he took a step forward. Another rat ran across the alleyway, making high-pitched rodent noises. The smell of garbage and damp earth wafted through the alleyway on the night wind and the streetlight was flickering at pace that seemed calculated.

On, off. On, off. On, off.

This was how Tristan was going to die.

Rats and garbage and orange strobe lamps.

It seemed appropriate.

Maniac swung the dagger around a few times, adjusting to the weight and grip of the handle. He had an evil smile curling at the side of his mouth and excitement in his eyes.

His voice was low and gritty. “You ready to die, Brooker?”

Truthfully, Tristan wasn’t ready to die.

There were too many things left undone, too many words left unsaid. But he couldn’t allow Scarlet to suffer again.

He wasn’t ready to die.

But he was willing.

“Do it,” Tristan said, looking into the eyes of his murderer. He stood still and anxiously watched as Maniac gripped the dagger, pulled his thick arm back, and—with one swift and powerful movement—thrust the blade directly into Tristan’s heart.