War of The Gods

The old man woke up to gloved hands tightening around his neck.

Opening his eyes, he watched the orchestrator of his death looking down at him with a certain fervor. He wasn’t certain if it was anger or some form of arousal. He tried to claw at the gloved hands wringing the life out of him, but the killer possessed an animalistic strength. Besides, the old man was not only pushing past seventy-five, but he wasn’t someone who retained his youthful vigor. All he could do was look on in horror as his life expectancy dropped down from minutes to mere seconds.

When it seemed like the old man was about to die, Maitho heard a whisper. It spoke a name and seemed to reverberate all around him, like being in a room surrounded by speakers.

Jonathan Cray.

And at that point, Maitho was pulled out of the vision. Reality began to bleed into his awareness even thought the remnants of the vision clung to his mind stubbornly. He felt disoriented, but from experience, he knew the sensation would pass soon. This had all happened to him before.

As Maitho lay there on this bed, he tugged the blanket that reached his waist, feeling the thin film of sweat soaking his shirt. He felt colder, but he wasn’t certain if it was from the sweat of the now fading dream.

Rolling over to his bedside table, Maitho managed to take out his notebook, but fumbled a few times before he could finally find a pen. After flipping through a few pages with notes, doodles, signs, comments, and other information that only he could understand, he began to write the details of his vision on a clean page. He did not pay too much attention to his handwriting. He allowed the writing process to go into automation as he placed the memory of the vision into his conscious mind. He examined the vision while its details were still fresh in his memory, trusting his hands to write down information as intelligibly as possible. When he was done, he placed the pen in the inside margin and snapped the book shut.

Maitho looked at the wall calendar. April 1st. He did feel like a fool and he wasn’t sure if there was some hidden meaning behind the date. He supposed that if one tried too hard, they could find a message in almost anything. Texas sharpshooter fallacy. That was what is was called. A psychological phenomenon where one tries to make connections between pieces of information, even when such connections don’t exist. He did not know why that fact popped into his head. Yet he allowed it. HIs mind conjured random facts when it was close to panic. It was something he controlled when he needed his focus, but allowed to happen when he simply want to pacify his mind.

He looked at his bedside clock. Fifteen minutes past midnight. It was unlikely that he would find sleep. But perhaps he could try. It might work.

Maitho lay on his bed for ten minutes, trying to imagine nothing as he stared at the bland surface of his ceiling. It was an attempt to quieten his mind, but he found no success.

Realizing that sleep would be the last think he would receive, Maitho got out of bed and walked over to only desk in his small studio apartment. The space he lived in looked like the closet of a millionaire who needed space to keep his shoe collection. But while his apartment was not large, he made sure that he brought it a sense of order. The furnishings were sparse, with the desk and the bed accompanied by a small refrigerator. Maitho found comfort in looking at a clean and tidy home. He had once read in a book that clutter can cause stress and is often a reflection of the state of the mind. While he wasn’t certain if that theory was universal, it definitely had an effect on him. He felt more at peace. The apartment had the illusion of looking spacious, even though it wasn’t. He allowed a pot of leopard orchid (diuris pardina, his mind told him), placed on the sill of the only window in the apartment where the plant could receive the most sunshine, as the single item of decoration. Although his window faced another apartment building, giving him a splendid view of old bricks, he figured that the plant should at least enjoy the sunlight it received at noon, when the sun beamed it rays straight down.

The desk was part of a workstation that also featured a table lamp, and a four-year old MacBook. It was the Mac that Maitho powered up, as he took a glass tumbler from the kitchen cabinet, half filled it with water and walked over to the plant. He stood there for half a minute, slowly pouring water into the pot.

It seems like the victim will be part of a home invasion gone wrong, Maitho thought to himself. Robberies are highly unpredictable. It could be a case of someone desperate enough to take advantage of a frail old man. Did the old man live alone? If he lived with others, then why was his life the only one in danger?

After washing the tumbler and replacing it in the cabinet, Maitho began to research Jonathan Cray.

That had been seventeen days ago. Maitho was now seated in a luxury rental whose purchase had punched a huge hole in his expenses. But it had to be done. He was in an expensive neighborhood and driving around in a cheap rental would attract attention.

He was parked a couple of houses away from Cray’s ultramodern city house. The upstairs window blinds were wide open and the yellow light flooded into the street outside, overpowering the illumination of the streetlamp outside. Modern houses flanked both sides of the Cray residence, but none could match the grandeur and architecture of Jonathan Cray’s abode.

Perhaps that is what it’s like to be the retired owner of one of the largest pharmaceuticals in the world, thought Maitho.

He opened the glove compartment and took out his Taser, the only weapon he ever employed. At one point, he had hoped that the constant stress of saving people from near-death situations would push him to lash out at their would-be killers violently. That way, he wouldn’t have to plan out his rescue missions. Simply go in, end the life of the one about to take a life, and then finish the job. But that never happened. Maitho never found strength in brutality, even though it could make his job much easier. He hoped that he would never be to employ violence. Though he found holding on to the idealistic view of pacifism did not fit scenarios where he had to deal with the darker side of human nature. Especially when dealing with those who were capable of dealing a generous helping of violence themselves.

Still, Maitho had decided that would try to stick to a Taser or other non-violent methods for as long as he could.

An hour later, the last lights of the Cray residence were switched off. Maitho gripped his Taser and waited, watching the main gate. If anyone were planning anything, they would make their move within the next hour.

He was not wrong.

Maitho saw two shapes, a man and a woman, cross the street towards the Cray residence. The woman wore a black dress and the man sported a black suit and a white shirt. The ruse was perfect. A passerby would look at them and spot a couple returning from a party or event that only the wealthy were invited. Certainly not something that would be out-of-place in a neighborhood such as this. In fact, the couple did not try to hide their movements or look suspicious. They looked like they belonged. They moved like they belonged.

The woman—with a skin tone that bordered on paleness—had her arm hooked around the man’s elbow, who was himself medium built with an darker-olive complexion.

Maitho watched the killers of Jonathan Cray walk up to the main gate. The stone fence and the gate embedded into it were of chest height and were placed more for show than to prevent anyone from breaching the sanctity of the residence grounds. Obviously people in this part of town were not afraid that someone would even think of looking at their houses the wrong way, much less attempt to break into them. Maybe tonight might serve to be a wake-up call for them.

The man vaulted on top of the stone wall and pulled the woman up. Together, they dropped to the other side.

Maitho watched the intruders walk confidently up to the main door. The man reached inside his suit and took out a device; his mobile phone. He switched it on and a warm blue light illuminated his face. He seemed to type something for a few seconds, after which he turned off the screen and placed the phone back into his jacket.

Maitho wondered what that was about.

He received his answer a dozen seconds or so later. The light switched on in one of the rooms in the lower floor, followed by the opening of the door. The intruders entered the house and the door closed behind them.

It seemed like someone within the household was in on tonight’s nefarious affair. Maitho brushed aside the thought. Without much information, there was nothing he could do except bang against the walls of his mind for an answer. He stepped out of his car, buttoned his suit jacket. If one were to look closely at the garment, they might find loose strands of threads sticking out at various spots, a clear indication of its quality, and price. He had washed the suit earlier that day, and walked with an air of purpose towards the Cray residence. The only odd addition to his attire was his sneakers, but he hoped no one was around to spot them. His steps were steady, his sneakers making little noise as he neared the front gate. He tried to make out any movement through the windows, but most of them were blocked by curtains or the rooms were too dark to make out any shapes. When he was close to the house’s stone fence, he crouched behind the stone wall. He realized that he would look suspicious to anyone who peered out from their windows from the neighboring houses. But he was concerned more about the occupants of the Cray residence.

Maitho took a peek at the first floor of the Cray residence. The lights were back on in the room facing the street, but the curtains were drawn.

The events of his vision would occur soon.

Without waiting another second, Maitho vaulted over the wall. Once on the other side, he walked directly to the main door. If he had to make a guess, then the intruders would not leave the door locked, since it could prevent them from making a quick getaway. On the other hand, they might have also planned to make their escape using another exit.

Only one way to find out.

Maitho placed his hands on the door knob and twisted it. His heart was hammering his chest. If someone was standing on the other side of the door, then he would find himself in more trouble than he could handle.

He pushed the door open.

And found himself face-to-face with with a man in a butler’s uniform, holding a fireplace poker.

The man swung and Maitho reacted, grabbing the weapon with one hand. His other hand delivered a quick jab to the man’s throat. The butler let go of the poker and clutched his neck, his eyes bulging wide.

Maitho placed the fireplace poker on the shoe cabinet near the entrance and grabbed the butler’s shirt. He swung him around, and delivered a sharp kick in the knee pit. The butler lost balance and was down on one knee. Maitho wrapped his arm around the man’s neck and squeezed.

The butler must have realized what was going to happen to him, because he tried to reach for Maitho’s face. His attempts were clumsy, since the blow to his neck must have partially blocked his trachea and his brain wasn’t receiving enough oxygen. After one last feeble attempt at trying to harm Maitho’s face, the butler’s arms fell limp to his sides.

Maitho softly deposited the unconscious butler on the floor. He waited for a moment, listening for any sounds that might indicate that the other, more notorious occupants, of the house had heard him. His heart was still thudding like a drum solo at a rock festival. It felt as though it wanted to break free of his ribcage and escape into the night, as far away from the house as possible. A single drop of sweat trickled down his face, betraying Maitho’s true sense of nervousness, despite the calmness he was trying to maintain.

This won’t do. For all he knew, the thieves could be sneaking up to him this very moment. He closed his eyes, pushed with his mind...

...and found himself inside a weak and frail body. He was seated on a luxurious sofa chair beside an even more luxurious four-posted bed. Both the chair and the bed were splashed with floral designs, the reds, golds, and what could only be considered as a soft granite color all complimenting each other. A large painting, depicting a colossal wave threatening to overturn a boat while a snow-capped mountain stood in the background, covered one wall. The main source of light in the room came from a crystal chandelier, which had a design so complex that Maitho would need a whole hour to understand it completely.

“Stand by the old geezer. Keep a knife pointed at his neck and be ready to plunge it in when I tell you to.”

The voice was gruff, as though it was fighting a throat ailment that refused to leave. Definitely the male intruder.

“Despite who he is?”

A second voice. Feminine. It was almost husky and while there was a pleasant quality to it, Maitho imagined a hissing snake.

He looked towards the door of the room and spotted the intruders. The man was ready to leave the room and the woman was besides him, holding a long-bladed knife in her hands. They were not paying any attention to their hostage, probably because they taught he would not do anything.

“Especially because of who he is,” said the man.

Maitho’s mind returned to his own body. The old man was alive and was surprisingly not tied up. The thieves hadn’t made a move, but the olive-skinned man would exit the room soon. Maitho was in no mood for another one-on-one confrontation. An idea popped into his head. It was risky, but under the circumstances, he was willing to take the risk.

Maitho took a flight of stairs to the upper floor. He soon found himself on a landing. The path split into two corridors on either side of him, doors lining the walls. Maitho didn’t have to ponder long on which direction he needed to go. A sliver of light sliced the shadows of the corridor to his right. Maitho strode towards the light on the balls of his feet, hoping that he was fast enough to reach the door, but quiet enough to avoid detection. He noticed more light spilling into the corridor. Someone was opening the door. Probably the man.

Maitho stopped in the corridor, concentrated...

...and found himself back in the old man’s body. He could see the olive-skinned man about to step into the corridor and if he did, he would catch Maitho completely immobile. The woman was right behind the door, holding a knife in her hands, waiting to plunge it into anyone who managed it make it past her partner. There was no time. Maitho had to cause a distraction.

“Fancy a nice dinner, you two?”

Maitho spoke the words through the old man’s mouth. His voice sounded like a croak, but it was loud enough to grab the attention of the thieves, who turned around.

The two thieves turned to face the old man.

Without waiting another second, Maitho...

...returned to his body. He walked up to the door, pulled out his Taser, aimed and pulled the trigger. Two probes shot out of the gun and embedded themselves into the olive-skinned man’s back. A pulse of 50,000 volts shot traveled along the wires and into then intruder’s body. Instantly, he began convulsing, as though a giant hand had gripped him and was shaking him violently. Maitho heard a woman’s surprised shout. Knowing she was just behind the door, Maitho lifted his leg, put as much force into it and slammed it on the door. He watched as the door was pushed back with a terrifying force, but its trajectory was stopped short by an object – presumably the woman – and it was sent bouncing back towards the door frame.

Maitho caught the door before it could close shut and stepped into the room. The woman was on the ground. She wasn’t fully incapacitated, but she would be down for a few moments at least.

Before he could do anything else, a croaky voice spoke to him.

“Please,” the old man said. “Don’t hurt my children.”