He screams a shadow of a scream, breathes a mockery of a breath, and burns. Each breath is a tortured effort of will, each scream an abortive attempt at expression. The fight is soon losing ground, for the fire is too strong, too massive. The end is near, and he knows it… he can feel his knees buckling, his muscles giving way, his will fast approaching the brink of a fatal fall…
Blood. Up ahead, behind him, to his left and to his right… all around. Suddenly the fire loses sting, and the blood takes over. Soon he is engulfed by its smell, and smitten by its visions. Orange turns red, and a latent path presents itself. It promises resurrection… and an end to the fire forever...
1
As the Ford topped another hummock, Yasir Hameed smiled. He could now see the mountains in the distance, and his heart leapt with a familiar longing. He found himself recounting his university days, and the countless trekking trips he had made to these very hills…
A sudden sharp turn took care of his reverie as he was jolted back to the present. The smile didn’t falter, however. He looked to his left and considered Nadia Ahmed, the one woman he truly loved. She was sleeping, peacefully unaware of his glance. He listened to the metronomic beats of her breathing, and his mind flitted on cue to the day he had first seen her…
He had entered the coffeehouse hoping for a quick cappuccino before some urgent business. A short time later his eyes had fallen on a woman reading the paper at a corner table. The next few minutes were now a blur, but he did remember that the urgency had quickly lost relevance. The business had taken a back seat, and he the one with a vantage. And something more… he had fallen in love.
A week after their first meeting, he had asked her out.
This was their first holiday together, and he wanted it to be special in every way. It was as good a script as he could have imagined. He was about to spend the whole of next week nestled among the mountains he so adored with the love of his life. He looked at Nadia again, and was reminded of how beautiful she was.
It was all beginning to look like a dream. The car bounced over a breaker, and Nadia shifted slightly, uttering something unintelligible. He bent over and kissed her softly on the lips.
Staring up out of the window, he was delighted to find the sky heavy with gray clouds. He loved rain.
The windshield blurred slightly as the first few drops began to fall. Soon it started pouring. Yasir Hameed closed his eyes and quietly thanked Allah for his luck. The smile seemed broader than ever, and he looked as peaceful as a waking man can.
Two shots rang out. And then there was silence, and the rain.
2
The countryside first presented an appealing sight that soon turned monotonous. She moved closer to Yasir, who was dreamily staring at the distant mountains. For Nadia Ahmed, any journey was an opportunity to make up for lost sleep, and sleep she did as the car slid along on the highway…
She dreamed of last night… Yasir kissing her feverishly… their lips locked together… his hands fervently sliding beneath her shirt and across her back… fondling, caressing softly… sliding across to her belly and moving up… further up, soft and fervid at once… all the while seeking, asking… and then she made him stop. She always made him stop. He asked questions; he did that every time… but all she did was look away. She hoped he would understand, knowing very well he couldn’t. Not unless she told him. Not unless she revealed to him the past she no longer considered her own. Not unless she exhumed the memories she had taken so long to bury…
3
The room was swathed in the ghostly light of diffused sunlight. A diaphanous curtain was drawn across the only window, and it further aggravated the sun’s feeble attempts to pierce the rain-made gloom.
A sudden creak shattered the almost funereal silence as the door pronounced a visitor. A burly man apparently in the concluding stages of his heyday entered with an obvious attempt at stealth. In a brighter milieu he might have passed unnoticed for the swinging gait and the slightly bent head that spoke of purpose. In this half-light, however, everything about him seemed ominous. There was an unmistakable glint in his eyes as he stared across the room at the girl, fast asleep on the poster bed.
The man approached the bed and stood by her side, appraising her with a rapidly darkening grin. A few minutes passed, and then he suddenly whipped off the blanket and fell upon her.
The girl snapped awake from a horrid dream into a worsening nightmare. It was some time before her returning consciousness informed her of her peril. And some more time, in which she flayed her limbs helter-skelter, before she realized the futility of her attempts. And still more time, in which she finally woke up to full awareness, before she made out the identity of the man now playing with her in forbidden ways.
It wasn’t horror she felt but a helpless resignation as she began pleading amidst burning tears to her father.
4
Yasir…
She heard herself speak, barely conscious, barely out of a dream where she seemed happy after a lifetime.
She felt a touch on her lips, and instantly knew it was Yasir. Surely, this was yet another dream… she smiled a faint smile…and then she fell asleep again.
A few minutes later, a sharp metallic bang tore through her consciousness, almost immediately followed by another.
And then there was silence, and the rain.
---
Murder.
---
5
The man didn’t matter. His death was an unavoidable certainty.
The woman, on the other hand, was indispensable, of course. An ancient log cabin on a deserted outcrop was to be her next stop, and the plan was carried out to the word.
---
And then, love.
---
6
As the first rays of morning light invaded the log cabin, the assassin woke up. He turned and stared at the woman who lay next to him, and sighed with wonder. She looked lovely in the nascent sunshine. He touched her slightly parted lips, pressing them ever so lightly. He leaned over and kissed her, gently at first, and then passionately. Lifting her head a little, he let his fingers slide through her hair to the nape of her neck, and stroked her under the ears.
Her eyes stayed closed, her lips still meagerly parted. For the man this was more than a sign of acceptance. This was approval writ large. He smiled as his other hand slipped across the front of her body, halted at her breasts, and held them each for a while, his index finger circling her nipples in turn. It then went downwards, stopping below her bellybutton. He kneaded her belly, scratching it softy. The hand made its way to the small of her back, pulling at her flesh, seeking more. For once, she let him.
Her hands hung back as he leaned over completely and pulled her closer. It wasn’t impossible to make out that she was smiling, and that was enough. He knew she loved him.
With the sunlight framing them in a dazzling nimbus of the purest white, the man entered her.
She smiled all the while, without uttering so much as a moan. A fact the assassin endured, for he knew she was dead.
