The Ninth Star - Chapter One

One young man's unique ability could provide an ancient brotherhood with the power to finally bring about the world's demise- that is, if their immortal enemies don't bring him to righteousness first.

The Ninth Star

Chapter One

                Police sirens blared in the distance, puncturing the mid-afternoon silence. The man didn’t care, though; he was on a mission that no one could stop him from completing.

                He wiped the sweat from his forehead. It was a futile effort, though, and he knew it: living in Boerne, Texas, in the middle of one of the hottest summers on record, tended to make one sweat copiously. It didn’t matter how many times you wiped the sweat away, either, or with what- the back of your hand, a handkerchief, or even an actual washcloth.

                This was Texas in the summer, and Mother Nature surely was an unforgiving b***h.

                The man crouched behind a dumpster, all but abandoned in a suburban construction site. It was once a promising venture: one floor would have been an office complex; the second, a posh apartment suite that only the office employees and outside them, the truly affluent, could afford. Financial setbacks and vicious outside competition, though, doomed the project to failure. Now, it stood lifeless, simply an outer shell with nothing inside it of substance.

                Squatters used to call it home, but soon even they moved on. Turned out, even squatters have standards.

                As the man crouched longer still, his knees began to ache, as the blood flow amongst the vessels became more and more constricted the longer he stayed in that position. He stood to stretch his tired limbs, and soon the pain subsided and the normal feeling returned.

                His cell phone vibrated, and he answered with a curt, “Yeah.”

                “Where the f**k are you?” came a gruff voice from the other end of the line. “I’ve been waiting on you for an hour and I’m jonesing pretty damn badly!”

                “I don’t know what you believe entitles you to use that tone of voice with me, the guy who’s supplying you with that precious poison that you believe you need to keep you sane… I’m here, right where you told me to be.”

                A pause, then “Where the hell is that?”

                He sighed. “The old construction site on 25th and Vine. Remember now?”

                “Hey now, I never said that-“

                “Yes, you did. Just because you’re a f*****g idiot doesn’t mean that I am.” He sighed again. “Where are you now?”

                “About a mile from there. I can be there in a few minutes.”

                “Then do it. I’m not going to wait out here all day; do you realize how hot it is?”

                “Yeah yeah…” The fiend on the other end hung up.

                The man sat down by the dumpster and took out a pack of cigarettes, fishing one out and lighting up. He exhaled the crisp menthol smoke slowly, savoring its almost minty taste. He knew that smoking was bad for him; everyone who smoked knew that. He just didn’t care. It was how he kept from shooting everyone he came across, the ones who pissed him off at least.

                He wasn’t one to use illicit drugs, like most of his clients did. Even when he went to go get more from one of his suppliers and he was offered a hit from a marijuana joint, or from a crack pipe, he declined. When he said that he just sold the drugs without using them, he meant what he said. The worst thing (for his health, anyways) that he did was the smoking and the occasional binge drinking.

                He had more important things to worry about, like keeping his masters pleased. He couldn’t afford to slip up while under the influence of some man-made toxin.

                As he slowly took drags off his cigarette, he looked around. The area surrounding the construction site was usually pretty busy, as it was located almost in the direct center of town. Today, though, it was almost as quiet as a dormouse. A few people walked along the sides of the streets, talking with their cell phones growing out of their ears, and occasionally a car would pass by with some horrid rap music blaring from its speakers. He could feel the vibrations all the way over by where he was, even though he was probably a good two or three hundred yards from the street.

                He despised the youth of the day and their passing fascinations. There was no reason for them to throw themselves so whole-heartedly into something that would only go away in a year or so. There was nothing eternal about the gods that they served… unlike his.

                His free hand went almost absentmindedly to the medallion that he kept around his neck at all times, threaded through a section of cured leather strap. The design on the medallion was very ornate, and to any passer-by it would look almost Celtic in origin.

                He knew what it represented, though: something that had been around since before the beginning of time, before the Christian God himself was even formed. In fact, the god that he worshipped was most likely the guiding force behind the creation of the universe, or so it claimed. He had no reason to doubt what it said to him, and to all those who were part of his coterie.

                He had given his life for this god, and would do so again willingly.

                Taking one last drag off the cigarette, he flicked it a good ways away; the butt landed in a puddle of water that was left over from one of the heavy rains a few days earlier. It hissed for a second, as the water extinguished the cherry and rendered the rest of the tobacco in the cigarette unsmokable.

                He stood and looked around again. His target was nowhere in sight.

                “God damn it…” he murmured as he craned his neck to look around a patch of trees. Having no luck with this, he turned and scaled the dumpster he had been sitting next to, until he was standing on top of it. This afforded him a much clearer view of his surroundings, and it was then that he saw a black SUV pull into one of the entryways to the site.

                “It’s about damn time!” he shouted when the man behind the wheel turned the ignition off and stepped out onto the gravel. “I was starting to think you’d never show!”

                The man who had exited the vehicle had obviously been deprived of his poison for a significant amount of time; he could barely walk in a straight line, his legs were shaking so badly. The rest of his body trembled as well, most significantly his hands; he kept them balled up in fists, trying to appear as though he wasn’t to the point where he’d kill someone with his bare hands just to get his fix.

                “I told you how badly I’m jonesing,” the other man replied. “Do you have it?”

                Reaching into his overcoat pocket, he smiled as he withdrew a vial of liquid heroin and a syringe with which he could inject it into his veins. “I assume you’re referring to this.”

                The man started forward eagerly, almost forgetting himself; he managed to regain his composure, though, and stopped. “Yeah… yeah that’s the stuff. How much do I owe you?”

                Another smile. “I thought I’d do you a favor, my old friend. This one’s on the house. I think you’ll like it, too; the batch just got whipped up earlier today. Plus, it’s more potent than the usual juice… It’s a special blend.”

                The man looked like he was in heaven. “Really? You mean it?” He held out his hand expectantly.

                The dealer placed the drug and syringe into his hand. “If you want to shoot up now, go ahead. I’ll make sure no one sees you.”

                Grinning like the fiend he was, the man stuck the syringe into the vial and filled it up with the heroin. He turned around, facing away from the dealer, and began tapping the crook of his arm to raise up a vein and allow for easier injection.

                This meant that he could not see what the other man was doing: crossing himself in a pattern that was unlike any that was easily recognizable. It was a perversion of Catholic genuflection, something that had been adopted by his organization a very long time ago. No one now knew why they had done it first, or who even started it. All they knew was that every member knew that pattern, and when to do it.

                One of those times was right before they made a kill.

                The man turned to look at the dealer. “Anyone coming?”

                “No, and didn’t I say I’d look out for anyone? I would get into more trouble for this than you would; now just shoot up and go on your way.”

                The fiend turned his head again, which afforded the other man an opportunity to draw his weapon of choice: a simple Glock 9mm pistol, owned by hundreds of others in the city and thus almost untraceable. He silently made sure that it was loaded and ready to fire, and that the silencer was screwed on tightly enough to make it effective and for it to do its job.

                Right as the man was about to inject the heroin into his bloodstream, the man took aim and fired two shots, directly into the man’s skull. His face hadn’t even had time to register a look of surprise at the betrayal, before he hit the ground.

                The man spoke as he knelt beside the motionless body. “Most Holy One, this day I offer up to you another soul. May he be cleansed and molded into a heavenly servant, worthy of your most excellence. May this be credited unto me, as a showing of my loyalty to you, and my righteousness as one of your servants. Sic, sic erit in perpetuum.”

                He smiled softly, as he remembered the first time he ever spoke that prayer, after his first kill. He would never forget that; no one ever forgets their first “mercy kill,” as it was referred to in their organization. To their members, humanity was a lost cause, and their murderous ways were justifiable as “putting them out of their misery.”

                He was about to stand when he heard footsteps approaching. His heart subconsciously skipped a beat; he’d used this spot a dozen or so times to execute his mercy killings, and no one had ever stumbled across his dastardly act. Why now?

                Straightening himself up, he looked in the direction of the crunching footsteps, and saw a young man approaching. He looked thoroughly average, if not a bit down on his luck. He was not afraid of the killer, though, even considering he still had his 9mm pistol in his hand, not yet put away- at least, that’s the way he looked.

                He smiled. “What can I do for you, son?”

                The young man pointed at the bloodied body laying on the ground.

                “Was he a family member of yours?” the man asked, his voice now a bit unsteady.

                The other one shook his head. “I didn’t know him at all. I was just curious if he had any money on him.”

                The dealer laughed. “Oh, I see. Let me check for you…” He fished out the man’s wallet and rifled through it; sure enough, he had close to eight hundred dollars tucked away in various places. He gave it all to the young man.

                “There you go, son. Surely that’ll keep you for awhile.”

                “It sure will,” the young man said. “You might want to tend to your body, though.”

                “Don’t worry, kid. I’ll dispose of the body just as soon as-“

                “No,” the young man interrupted, “that’s not what I mean. I mean, he’s not dead. I can see it.”

                His face became a mask of confusion with a slight edge of shock. “You can… see it?”

                He nodded. “I always have been able to. It’s a curse, I think… More often than not, it’s more trouble than it’s worth.”

                Seeing the quizzical look on his face, he opened his mouth to explain further, when a barely perceptible moan escaped the lips of the man laying face-down on the ground. Without hesitation, the killer aimed his weapon and fired one more bullet into the base of the man’s skull. He looked at the young man. “What about now?”

                The young man looked down at the limp body and then nodded. “Yes. Now he’s dead.”

                “Good.” He pocketed the man’s wallet. “Proof that I made the kill,” he said before the young man could even part his lips to speak. The young man nodded and kept silent.

                A light came on in the killer’s head. “Hey. We’ve met before, haven’t we?”

                The young man nodded. “Right here, as a matter of fact. You had just finished up with one of your kills. I asked you for the money out of the man’s wallet, you gave it to me, and I left without saying another word.”

                He remembered clearly now. “That was a pretty big payday too, wasn’t it? It was close to a thousand bucks, right?” The young man nodded in assent.

                The killer wondered how in the hell he’d forgotten about this kid- he’d always prided himself on his impeccable memory- but his face now betrayed none of his thoughts; instead, he simply smiled. “Where are you going to go after this?”

                “Nowhere,” the young man replied. “I don’t have a home, and there’s nothing really to do around here.”

                “Oh if only you knew…” The killer offered him his hand. “The name’s Kevin.”

                The young man shook hands with the killer. “Robert,” he replied. “I assume Kevin isn’t your real name.”

                The killer grinned. “Just like Robert isn’t yours.”

                The young man laughed. “True enough. So what are your plans?”

                “Come with me and find out,” the killer replied.

                “Why should I? For all I know, you’re just planning on making me your next kill.”

                The murderer in front of him looked somewhat genuinely hurt. “Now why in the world would I want to do that? Your gift is something that I have never seen before, and this coming from someone who’s been around as long as I have. Talent like that doesn’t need to be wasted.

 “I want to take you to meet somebody. He is the head of the order that I belong to. He would love to meet you, I think; I doubt even he has met someone as extraordinary as you.”

“Unfortunately, you’re wrong,” the young man replied. “I’m not really all that out of the ordinary.”

Kevin smiled. “Why don’t we let our leader decide that?” He motioned over to a black sports car, parked behind the dumpster. “Shall we? This won’t take long.”

The other one thought for a second, then nodded. What did he have to lose? His money, maybe a few hours of his time? Besides, he thought, this could turn out to be the big break he’d been looking for.

The killer picked the dead man’s body up and tossed it into the trunk, shutting it with a click of finality. When they got into the car and buckled their seatbelts, the killer lit up another cigarette. He proffered one to the one calling himself Robert, and he accepted. After both cigarettes were lit and burning, the killer started the car and sped away, leaving only a pool of blood as proof that anything had even happened there.

Reviews

[Drako]

hmm, very interesting start. Murder in the prologue, justified by religion, though a religion not heard of. This makes it interesting. A secret sect worshipping a mysterious unnamed ancient god. And here we open with a mercy killing. The young boy interests me. You've built some intrigue with him. Even for a runaway, he's strange. Not just because of the ability, but because he doesn't bat an eye at the murders. Very few can look at death and not shudder or react in some way. I'm quite interested to see how this story progresses

[Chris]

Interesting chapter. The killer is an interesting character, and not explaining too much about this religion and organization keeps the reader wanting to read more, to find out what all of this is about. Like Drako said, the boy too is interesting with the way he acts. Overall, awesome chapter, but one question: is it *really* believable for someone to survive two shots to the head?

[BillyGirl]

Very interesting. You've got me hooked. Looking forward to seeing more!

I agree. This prologue throws us, the readers, straight into the action. I do find it interesting that he kills off his own customers in the name of his god. I'm intrigued. However, grammar-wise, you should space this out a bit.