Depths of Despair

‘What is this feeling?' I wondered, staring deeply at the mirror across the room. The soft comforts of my luxurious bed and its silk sheets that were tender to the human skin could only keep me from dwelling in my thoughts for a limited amount of time. The depths of sadness I had been feeling myself falling into as if I were falling into a deep and shadowy ravine. The light of the sun was almost within the tight grasp of my hand, but the darkness of below would be calling my name constantly. Was I feeling the Outsider's effect on me? I am Damien Cross.

"You must pay for what you have done, Damien," those ominous voices at the back of my head repeated. It was truly strange; in my many years of committing harm and hurt upon the intangible souls and tangible bodies of those born less fortunate than I, I had never felt such... guilt. Perhaps guilt is not the right way to phrase the turmoil of emotions that is within me; perhaps I do feel sorrow and regret.

I knock the thoughts out of my skull, not heeding them, as I launch myself out of the bed. The fragrance of the multiple perfume bottles, the texture of the multiple shades of lipstick, and the sight of the numerous womens' undergarments never failed to remind me of my sins and the debauchery which I commit on a weekly to bi-weekly. I merely scoff at it, the thought that one day I would seek repentance. Walking to my full-length mirror and admiring my half-nude body would sate my narcissistic urges, however, as the trend would follow, I felt no such fulfillment.

My life as a dealer in illegal narcotics, involvement in military-grade contraband, and contract-killer seemed to be going how it would usually go. The underworld provided me with the benefits of society and taught me the mandatory rules of life. The front as a corporate attorney and my Caucasian heritage had blessed me with the privilege of not being suspected of such devious and ruthless deeds. Along with the protection that was provided by the Corvo Valentino familia, I was damn near untouchable in this dry, cold city. Alas, fate, though I'm not a theist, strikes. Or is that karma?

I stand outside the ginormous structure on which my penthouse rests. "I own this place," I would say to myself with a smirk each morning I would make my departure. The feeling of power and achievement would resonate within me, further inflating my ego. Unfortunately, the day was cloudy, and overcast if my memory serves me well. The atmosphere emitted an eerie glow yet I chose to ignore it. After all, why should I let the weather decide my mood?

"Hey, Damien! Over here!" my ears detected a familiar voice coming a few meters right of me. I turned my head and looked at the masculine figure in the fog, needing to squint my eyes. Average stature, an ectomorphic-mesomorphic build, a light stubble for facial hair, and brown with a hint of red, curly hair kept as a mullet. It was an acquaintance of mine. I the word choose acquaintance over friend as a word due to several factors. My dear acquaintance, Cole Hemsworth.

"How's it going, friend? Things well with Felicia?" I asked him, pretending to be excited and interested. We both bumped our fists and I reluctantly went in for an awkward side hug. The smell of Axe body spray provoked my olfactory to an extent that I almost sneezed.

"Things are amazing, I've been texting her lately and I think she might like me!" He whisper-shouted, trying to avoid gaining the attention of the passerby. So bubbly, so easily excited and happy. He truly was the "glass-half-full" person. Never mind, I take that back, he was just pleased to even have a glass. Although I adored his childlike nature, his family's wealthy income, and the fact that they were the puppeteers of the local authorities, I had to use him. He was sweet, devoted, and so... gullible.

"I really hope you win her, man, she's really cool and eccentric, eccentric in the best way," I remarked with a wink and a lop-sided smile. In truth, Felicia would never fall for him. Truth be told, Felicia was not even her real name. Susan was a prostitute whom I paid to rip off Cole for money and exploit all his family's dirty secrets kept behind closed curtains. This is not my fault, right? Originally, I felt relatively normal and cunning upon starting the plan. Upon hearing these words I feel naught but pity for this young man. Is this your lover of yore, Cole?

"Thanks, Damien. Y'know, in these few years of knowing you, I feel like I've grown." Those words he uttered. How was I supposed to react to such brotherly love? I couldn't feel the muscles on my face nor the muscles in the rest of my body. I'm sorry for breaking your heart, Cole. I parted my lips to speak but my foot turned on its own and my legs began moving.

I left the area as the stare of the interlocutor burned the back of my head. Awkwardness filled the air around us as I walked off.

"Damien, why are you in such a dapper outfit? It's a Sunday," he inquired. Indeed, I was wearing an all-black three-piece suit. I, without turning to face him, merely laughed awkwardly for a brief moment. My intentions were that I would visit the blackmarket, after which I would go greet the family's oracle. A cold toothpick was inserted at the bottom of my heart.

"A date. Russian model, this one," I responded, putting my right hand in my blazer's pocket. "Perks of being a big-time corporate lawyer," I jested, feigning every shred of confidence.

I received no response. My ears detected nothing but the whistle of the cold wind.

Sooner, the voices and sounds of other citizens became louder. All walked across the street, picking up the scent of food that would leak out when doors of restaurants would open. The cold burn of the snowflakes landing on my bare pale skin was unnoticeable for the most part. I did what I would usually do on route to work: pass glances at fine damsels, sometimes even ask for their numbers.

However, once I looked at my watch, I stopped. I'd realized that I had left much earlier than my usual Sunday routine. My stomach faintly growled as my nostrils picked up the sweet smell of waffles. I was surprised that my metabolism had already processed the egg and toast I had consumed earlier but alas, I sat at the outdoor table of a café and called the waiter. Having received the menu, I read each page whilst playing with the longer, loose strands of my hair. Ultimately, I chose French Toast along with a warm cup of black coffee.

Upon the arrival of my meal, I reached for my pocket and produced my phone. I needed to be updated on this new menace that had been prowling around Frankfurt. A vigilante, dubbed "the Outsider" by the local authorities. A few months prior, this person had made news when they started neutralizing common threats, such as thieves, muggers, and scammers. But as the days went on, their list of targets grew to fit much heavier, greater crime. The Familia's drivers, messengers, and guards began to disappear, only to reappear on newspaper articles as imprisoned or deceased. Serial killers were put behind bars and so were other greater criminal minds. I was feeling confined or fear due to this threat?

'Oh well, I shall just cut ties with the criminal underworld before it could be traced back to me.'

I carry on with my day and arrive at the blackmarket. A large brick building in the low-income district. The muddy sidewalk induced a feeling of cringe inside me at the sight of the poor conditions of the surrounding structures and people. I was disgusted to think that I had to make a name for myself here before stepping into the more lavish lifestyle.

I enter the structure, feeling the warmth embrace my cold frame. I remove my overcoat and bowler hat before walking further into the market. However, to my surprise, Beth, the old hag who runs this place, was not present. I inch closer to the barred window where business transactions would occur, swiping my bare fingertip of the index on the wooden table. The amount of dust that was collected indicated that this facility had been vacant for an extended period.

I took a step back and scanned the room. My eyes darted rapidly from bookshelf to table, eventually leading me to discover an unidentified object. It was a book bound in black leather. I slowly walked towards the book, making creaking noises with each step I took. I gingerly grab its cover and open it. At first, it seemed only a ledger that documented the buyers, suppliers, and other trade unions of Beth so I had little to no interest until I noticed that I was incorrect. This was not documenting business relations or stakeholders, but targets of an assassin.

My heart dropped and a cold sweat rolled down the side of my skull. Why was my name written in bold red letters? I grabbed my suitcase and ran outside, leaving my overcoat and hat. I frantically look to my left and right to see a vacant street. But when I saw that tall hooded individual walking towards me, my heart began to beat to the point a bystander could hear it. The masculine figure walked towards me menacingly, slowly, and controlled.

I briskly ran in the opposite direction, running into a dark alleyway. The sound of my strained breathing echoed in the narrow space as my leather dress shoes got covered in mud. My Achilles tendons began to hurt from the running as shoes began to dig into them and a sharp pain rose in my kidney. I ran for what felt like an eternity, before I saw a bright light appear. I ran towards it to reveal the main road and on it a lonely police officer.

"Sir, please, I'm being hunted," is what I would have shouted hadn't I been out of breath. I let go of my case and bend forward grabbing my knees. I catch my breath and straighten my back, the spark of hope ignited within me.

"Officer-," the words escaped my mouth before a leather-clad hand covered it. The very next moment, the hooded finger appeared mere inches away from my face. He wore a black surgical mask and welding goggles while the rest of his outfit was entirely black. His body was narrow and was parallel in height to me. My eyes widened to this shocking view for a moment, before I felt the sharp yet small pain of a syringe being inserted into my right oblique. Haziness consumed me and my body fell forward. I do not know what happened, nor could I feel it.

Was that my time to give penance? For what I have done in life, for all the wrongdoings I inflicted on others. All for the temporary pleasures of life. I was afraid of what was going to happen to me.

I could see nothing, till a bright light broke me out of this state. My body was sore and cold, warmed slightly by the fire lit in the trashcan two feet away from me.

"Wake up, scum!" the voice ordered me to. I could tell the owner of this voice had intentionally made it deeper, and this thought brought me the humor in a time need. I chuckled under my breath as I was still regaining consciousness. "I SAID WAKE UP!" he yelled whilst slamming his fists on a table. My eyelids parted and my vision was no longer burly. The cold wind blew on my neck and I further understood the gravity of the predicament I was in.

I looked around to find myself tied to a chair and situated in an elevated location. Specifically, I was next to where the bell should be of an abandoned church. In front of me stood my kidnapper, his face still covered but unhooded. The absence of the bell left quite the open space. Could this be the Outsider?

"Good, it's time," he said, turning his back to me and walking to a small table.

"You must be... the Outsider?" I asked nervously.

"Yes, you are correct. I am the Outsider," he answered nonchalantly, "so you must know why you are here?"

"Yeah, I guess I do," I said slowly hanging my head. My eyebrows furrowed on the realization that my life might end, either literally or metaphorically. "So, what is it going to be? Death or no death?"

"I do not kill my 'victims'," he responded.

"Then what's that on the news about the one who drowned in the lake?!" I shouted aggressively. He did not respond. Instead, he turned to face me again, clutching a knife in his hand.

My entire body froze to a statue and I watched as he walked towards me. With each step he took, a new tear flowed down my cheek. The last bit of hope I had all went to hoping he spoke truly when it came to not killing his victims. I squeezed my eyelids shut and zoned out. 'Forgive me, everyone.'

"Get up," he said. I no longer felt my hands bound together and he grabbed my arm and pulled me up. He took me to the edge of the platform and showed me what was below. An angry mob of rugged civilians armed with crude machetes and mostly wooden boards.

"What is the purpose of this?" I asked.

"Those people, you did this to them. You put them below the poverty line, then proceeded to supply them with your narcotics."

"It was always their choice, all of it. Had they not attempted to sue the companies I represent this would not be like this. Had they chosen not to consume the narcotics, they be better off."

"Should they not sue the company of the product that resulted in harm to them? Should they stay stressed and not relieve it in any way?" he snapped back at me even harder.

That's when I noticed something. The man standing next to me emitted the strong stench of Axe body spray. Along with other characteristics, I came to a shocking conclusion. "Cole?" the words subconsciously left my lips.

"Yes, Damien?" he replied, removing his goggles and mask. His expression was stone cold and his stare was going directly to my soul. "I've known about Susan and her intentions. I've known what you've been doing as well."

"But how-," I stammered in my words.

"You are predictable, easy. A sore loser."

A loser, huh? I was wrong about you, Cole. Deathly wrong.

Cole viciously grabbed my shirt's collar then held me over the edge, my feet only placed on the platform. My entire body was loose. I could not feel a muscle.

"You- you said you won't kill me?" I uttered shakily.

"I'm letting fate decide if you die or do not. There exists a probability of you escaping death's cold scythe," he said coldly. His words felt like individual bullets being shot into my body. "Goodbye, Damien Cross. It was a pleasure knowing you."

"Wait-," I let out a painful whimper.

And just like that, I was free-falling to the ground. My eyes looked into the grey clouds above me, slowly parting to let the sun spread its light. Time felt slower as I descended. My last thought asking for forgiveness before my spine broke instantly on impact.

And that was the story of the day of my passing. I, Damien Cross, lived a life that I regret. So, now to my question, what do you believe I deserve, Gatekeeper?Start writing here…