FIRST STRIKE

CHAPTER 2

WARNING: MATURE CONTENT FOR 18+ [ If you are below 18, please leave, because it may not be suitable for your age. Thank you :) ]

The engine roared to life, and the drive towards Belize had put her at ease. As if everything’s been alright, and there are no worries she could tangle herself into. Belize is where Eve – no, it wasn’t her anymore. Rio. Rio grew up in Belize, whereas Eve were only made to entrails entertainment allotted for every guest on El Casa. Outside, the mask hidden were no longer her. Chicago, Beatrice and a few more memories about the stage hadn’t existed. Their absence that put forth her solace, and relief that no one invaded her privacy prior to what has been dealt with. She’ll work for the club, they could have compensation, but all business would be left behind four walls, and she would be unbothered.

A sigh escape from her slightly parted lips.

It didn’t take long for the cab to parked in front of Belize Puerte.

“That would be 10€, señora.” The driver informed her.

“Gracias.” ‘stead of 10, Rio pulled a hefty amount of 20€ from her bag, and gave it to the driver. Dumbfounded, the bearded man opened his mouth presumably assuming that she may have mistaken or either misheard what he said, but Rio is already out of the door.

She look back, and smile. “Keep it as a change.”

Before she disappeared, leaving the appalled man clutching the money on hand, surprised.

When she arrived at home, she earned no responses and greeting as she had no one to share her deeds, and the misfortunes the day brought. Rio lived by herself. Her house is a two-storey building. It was simply casual, in spite of the large money she always earn. However, this is what Rio wanted. Who would live with a gigantic mansion all by herself? The silence would only bore her. Abhorred fate, and ill misfortunes that carry on luck or she wouldn’t be here alive and breathing.

While brewing a fresh cup of latte, news horrifying as it would left anybody mortified resonated towards the empty sala.

“Everyone were ask to stay indoors, as there is a new killings that has been reported again –“

On the flat screen flashed an image that made her stomach churn, but Rio couldn’t take her eyes off. Presumably a woman, who’s unfortunate enough to loitered on the street, failing to ponder death at her wake. Footfalls of doom as Rio drank her beverage.

“—It was a 19 year old student of Oxford that has just been back from London.” The anchor continue.

With paling lips, and quivering lips only maneuver how scared she was, yet all remorse and lament for her death wouldn’t be of no use. She’s dead. Outrageous, but that’s the ugly truth. However, what Rio noticed was the fact that it’s been going on for months. No leads. No traces. But what could she expect from this place? Mexico is a nest for hooligans, and smugglers, illegal deeds that the law haven’t had any power to suppress so forth the justice is a culprit himself.

Her cellphone rings.

“Hello –“ Without bothering to look at the register, she picked it up appease to the familiar person, whom she’ve had her contacts with, and whereabouts.

“It’s Malcolm.”

“I know.” Rio shortly replied.

“I almost thought you wouldn’t know.” The person on the other line laughs. His chuckles that vibrated through, where Rio could hear him composing his breathing, baritone voice of a man belonging to Malcolm, who remain at her haughty days, where she could have sworn to kick his ass multiple times for interference.

“Why did you call?” Rio emptied the glass of her latte.

“I’m just checking on you.” She heard him sigh. “I heard the news.”

“I do as well.” She seconded.

“Take care.” Malcolm seriously added.

“I always do.” Rio assured him.

And so it ended like how it always used to be. There’s no hard feelings between them, the way both treated is the common thing they have always wanted, to be in contact, but on the other hand, to never clings and demand for attention. To be in touch when needed, and were asked to is how their company works for each other. Just like her, Malcolm haven’t had anybody to relies on, yet Rio knew when to set a gap, questions that shouldn’t be ask, and business she shouldn’t stick her noses on.

After doing her nightly routines, and ensuring the safety of her house, Rio dwelled in depth of her dreams unfathomable on her nighties solely to live above her devils. The same screams in reminder that once she perish, leaving most of her memories ruined and abolish.

“Mama?” Daze, an ethereal darkness envelope my frailness–unending as if there’s no bottom nor escape. A gateway missing as I assumed Mama had forgotten to turn the lights on as it was already 6 in the evening.

Cold soles touched the icy tiled floor, shuddering across to suppress myself from moaning another complaint as my slippers deems to be missing to where I left them earlier. Perhaps, Ate uses them again. [Ate is a Filipino word, which means an older sister in English] Barefooted, it was unlikely for the house to stay quite. Hoots coming from the birds under Ate’s care is missing. Clamours, and arguments never showed up leaving a frown evoke on my forehead as it cease trajectory towards the odd ambiance of the house.

“Mama?” But I earn no response.

It was just the darkness. No bulbs has been turned on, and my assumption that it was forgotten is becoming suspicious.

Thump. Nervous, my ventures became cautious, hasty beats to keep my pace to never made any noise or I would be caught up by whatever is causing this bizarre and crook aura. The roof yearning for comfort seems outwardly queer. This continues until my footfalls left trails. In hope to see my parents, but least expecting to witness the massacre that haunted my young self to an extent that it was utterly traumatic.

“P-Papa!”

Chop! With thin lips parted embezzled alarm stupefied and glued my feet on the floor. I stood stunned, unbelieving. Bashful eyes mopped the kitchen–dyed with the thick, and the crimson coloured stain I had ever seen as it was pooling radiantly. Broken glasses were left scattered. Pieced of woods, windows discarded open, and the knives set to lay harmless, yet I knew better at this age. The lump on my throat had made it hard for me to gulp, and breathe. Tears pool at the verge of my eyes. To see the bodies on a pile spiked up fury, loathe and....frustration.

“P...pap..papa...” My knees gave way.

Although beheaded, I knew that the corpses lying in front of me is those whom I’ve been seeking for. What had happened was beyond my imagination. Mutilated limbs, and missing heads. It was no more than a demon, much crueler to put forth mercy on their own hands.

I was trembling. Terrify, yet I wanted to scream. Too broken to notice the silhouette of men.

“Hello, angel.”

Meanwhile, on the dark street of Mexico, victims fall beyond again in reminder of being careless, and not taking seriously the warning about the dreadful corners of the roads. Women screams, beheaded rebellions that were soon put forth, and weren’t left unpunishable.

“Everybody were ask to stay indoors—”

Aggravated, Miranda, an 18 year old teenager, clicked her tongue. To stay inside the house weren’t her forte. Say that both of her parents argue, if not the nagging to pertain about how treacherous rebellion had lead to Miranda’s suspension for a whole allotted 2 weeks for the troubles she’d cause. A gang war, which is illegal.

“Bullshit, cops wouldn’t even do anything, killer my ass.” Her father took a large chunk from his sandwich. It made a sloppy sound, and the chewing that cause her Mother’s annoyance.

“You messy freak.” With a deep seethed frown, she spat out venomously.

“Stay out of my business, bitch.”

Miranda let out a sigh.

She knew what was coming, and before she knew it, footfalls left behind her trail, and the slight thud echoed the moment that she closes the door. It didn’t take her another minute. Unveiled chaos, the chaotic screams and shout chiefly probe her hunch. She didn’t know when did it all begins. The relationship didn’t work out. Wedding deteriorated ‘til both of her parents woke up one day and couldn’t withstand to breathe the same air as the others. They loathed their existence, and her presence just by being there, unmoving, doing her business ‘til all the blame were thrown towards at her direction.

If she weren’t born, her mother would have graduated and become a doctor. That means, she wouldn’t get stuck up to her father, who’s unemployed, and weren’t even moving an inch to earn on his own, leaving her mother no choice.

“What a fuck up life.” With crossed arms above her chest, Miranda venture the familiar street of Mexico. It did not scared her. She grew up here, but that doesn’t mean she’s unaware to the danger that the road carries.

Needles to say, this night is unusual. Loitering souls are missing, scavengers and hooligans on each side of the street hadn’t showed up. Cobblestones deems to become vacant at exactly 10 in the evening.

“Weird.” But it wasn’t something that could have evoke the wantons for Miranda to run back at the safety of her room. If between choices, it was much preferable to remain outside, away from the roof that lost its accounts and comfort.

Snap. She jolted awake. Something seems to stepped up onto something that leads for it to get broken. Thump. Miranda stop on her tracks. Thoughts to fight or flight broaden to accentuate a presence coming towards her...at full force.

“Shit!”

Without much further ado, Miranda turns her back, and run. She never looks behind her. What a crazy psycho! Huffing, and breathing heavily, drenched in sweat Miranda pumped her legs to continue in fear to get caught by whoever might have been chasing her, because she do not know what doom awaits if the given opportunity has been offered. Blinded by fear, Miranda failed to notice the wire left by some gangster, and soon enough, her head whipped as she lost her balance, her legs knocked off the remaining cans piled up on the side. But what came much worst was when she twisted her ankles earning a scream of terror and pain from her slightly parted lips.

“N-no...c’mon!” She panicked.

To get up is a hard time she dealt only leaving hopeless attempts and cries, when the footsteps get closer to where she was. Miranda shut down her orbs tightly that she did not felt the pain at how hard she bit her lips that it draw bloods.

As it stop, she trembles.

“Hey, are you okay?”

That had made her eyes opened as quickly as it does.

“W-who are you?” She was greeted by a man standing taller than her height. Shadows looms that she failed to see his entire visage. The jacket he worn cover almost his eyes. Miranda frowns. She looks behind him, but she found no one. Are her eyes both playing tricks at her? Or is she just imagining things again?

“But I know you are not, ángel.”

“Huh?”

But it was late too late. It did not take her a second to feel a bone-wrecking doom she never felt before. SLASH. Wide eyes filled with horror rolled on the sidewalk. Lifeless body falls on the ground, beheaded and bathing on its own blood. Miranda haven’t had the chance to scream, and as she does, her death becomes the delight of the devil, who took her by heart.

@cycy