TWO

2 years later

Jaque, Panama, Central America

The man sat silently on the sandy beach, his dark olive skin glistening with sweat in the mid-afternoon sun. He watched the waves break over the shore. On and on the sea’s cycle went, its effect on him soothing, hypnotic. He closed his eyes, zoning out everything around him as the breeze pressed softly against his face, running intricately through his short black hair.

Quiet moments of peace such as this were rare for Sierra Rico. They always had been. Just like the waves churning out endlessly over the sand in front of him, the pain of his past would always seek to return. One could not simply just forget a lifetime of bloodshed.

Due to a violent upbringing, Sierra Rico had grown up without fear of death and learned to kill without the slightest hesitation. ‘The strong live, the weak die’. Those were the cold words Hector Chilavert had engraved in his mind. He had been groomed to become the cartel’s messenger of death, and he had excelled the role. Grown men had come to shiver at his very name all over the Lost Continent.

Years had passed in a blur for Sierra, pulling the trigger more times than he could count as he continued to do Chilavert’s bidding. Then, once Sierra had gotten a little bit older, Chilavert acquired the services of a retired Guerrero named Cody Colt, who came into San Lorenzo and trained Sierra in a range of weaponry and effective unarmed combat styles. While working together, the two had quickly developed a bond of comradery.

Before long a bounty had been put on Sierra’s head by one of Chilavert’s biggest rival cartels and numerous Guerreros had begun seeking him out. In one such case, a cocky Guerrero named Monty Rhodes came strolling through San Lorenzo like the Lone Ranger, challenging Sierra to a one-on-one duel. While there, Monty had come across Sierra’s trainer and mentor Cody Colt drinking in a bar and duly slashed his throat from ear to ear in an obvious effort to goad Sierra to face him. Unfortunately for Monty, he had gotten what he wished for.

By slaying a Guerrero in combat, Sierra officially become recognised as one of the elite warriors himself. News of his impressive feats spread quickly, thanks largely to Chilavert’s extensive network of contacts. He carried out many more high-profile killings after that, all of which added more to his already towering reputation. Soon Sierra had become one of the most renowned Guerreros across the whole continent.

Through an upbringing of heartless cruelty, Hector Chilavert had created himself the perfect killer; the ultimate Guerrero that he didn’t even need to pay unless he wanted to. He had stripped Sierra of all but the most basic of emotions, relieving him of anything and everything that could be viewed as weakness of character. And it was only after Sierra’s emotions had started to be reawakened by the love of a woman that he had started to question the ethics of what he was being forced to do in his work for the cartel.

Lana. It had been just over two years  since her death at the hands of the fiendish Guerrero known as Mickey Toma, yet still now the pain of her loss felt as fresh to him as uncoagulated blood. What Sierra had had with her was something he knew deep down he would never be able to replicate with anyone else.

Sierra glanced to the small crucifix necklace that he held in his hand, his fingers brushing gently over its smooth golden surface. With a sigh, he brought the crucifix to his chest, holding it against the quickening beat of his heart.

“Mi amor…” he murmured softly in Spanish as a tear ran down his cheek. My love. “I miss you so much…” Ever since he’d lost Lana, he’d had no trouble shedding tears. It was like her death had acted as a switch, reawakening his old, dormant self that Chilavert’s cruelty had sealed away.

“Hey, Sierra!” His thoughts were interrupted by the call of a familiar voice. “What the hell are you doing out here by yourself, jacking off?” 

Sierra flicked his head around to see his friend Vincent trudging through the sand towards him. He quickly turned away, wiping the tear from his face.

“Ah, I see you got some of it in your eyes, right, hombre?” Vincent chuckled as he took a seat right beside him. “I guess nobody ever taught you how to use a tissue.”

“Sí,” Sierra sniffed, his friend’s sexual joke going right over his head. Had it been anyone else Sierra would have asked to be left alone; he was really not feeling up for a conversation. But Vincent was his best friend for a simple reason: he was the man Sierra felt most comfortable talking to.

“Everything okay, Sierra?” Vincent’s eyes quickly scanned the angelic stretch of beach in both directions, making sure nobody was lurking around. “Shit, hombre, when you didn’t come back from your run this afternoon I started to worry. I thought, I don’t know, maybe you’d met yourself a woman, gotten laid and didn’t even bother to come back and tell the rest of us.”

Sierra almost laughed at that. Almost. He breathed in deeply and then exhaled, feeling his whole body start to relax. “Well, unfortunately that’s not the case. But no, Vincent, I’m fine, really.”

“So then what’s up, buttercup?”

“Nothing. I just needed some time to myself. Ten more minutes in that van with Marco and Esteban and I might have been ready to kill someone. Those two never shut up.”

Vincent snorted in agreement. “Yeah, they can certainly have that effect on you. Especially Marco. That hombre’s got a stick up his arse the length of Paraguay.”

“Sí.”

A moment of silence passed between them, the calming voice of the ocean filling Sierra’s ears. He closed his eyes and breathed in the cool, salty air.

“Look, Sierra,” Vincent began combing the sand with his foot, making circles, “I don’t want to pry here, but I can tell something’s on your mind.” He took his time, choosing his next words carefully. “Is there anything you want to talk about?”

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“No.” Sierra opened his eyes, staring out vacantly across the water. The sun’s reflection was bouncing brightly off the ocean so brightly that he squinted to keep out the glare. “Don’t worry, I’m fine.”

Vincent followed Sierra’s gaze. Clearly he was not convinced. “Don’t be like that. The strong, silent warrior act may work wonders with the ladies, but it doesn’t do shit for me. I know you’re still carrying a lot of pain, hombre. It might help take the sting off if you talked to someone about it once in a while.”

Sierra was really in no mood for a heart-to-heart. He shook his head, glancing at the golden chain of his crucifix necklace that dangled out from his palm.

“You’re thinking about her again, aren’t you?” Vincent had noticed the chain too.

“Who?” Sierra tried his best to play dumb.

“That woman you lost back in San Lorenzo. The one you never told me about: Lana,” Vincent said softly, as though speaking her name was taboo.

Sierra felt his heartbeat quicken at the mention of Lana. “Just drop it, Vincent, okay.”

Vincent’s eyes shifted back to the golden chain. “I can tell by the way you carry that thing that she really meant a lot to you.”

“So what?” Sierra quickly hid the necklace back beneath his shirt, his eyes becoming misty as he fought to hold back tears.

“Come on, hombre,” Vincent said. “It’s been two years now...”

“Two years, two days or two hours; what does it matter?” Sierra sniffed. “What we had was something different. Something special. Maybe if you didn’t try to sleep with every single woman you met you might understand.”

“Sí, I could just settle for one woman if I wanted to,” Vincent smirked. “But women are like candy bars; why have one when you can have two? Why have two when you can have three? Why have three…” he stopped himself then as he noticed Sierra had stopped listening.

“Come on, Sierra, lighten up,” Vincent gave his friend a nudge. “Sure, life sucks and happiness never lasts forever. But on at the flipside, neither does pain. You’ll get through this, hombre, I know you will. It may take a while, actually, it’s already taken a while, but you will.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

“No, not really.”

“Then what are we even talking about here?”

“You need to try to start looking at things differently, Sierra. For one, learn to think positive. Yeah, you lost your girl. But we’re free now; San Lorenzo is a thing of the past for us.” Vincent paused, running a hand through his fuzzy hair. “We owe it to ourselves to be thankful for what we have. Being bitter over what we’ve lost along the way is counterproductive to your health. If you keep carrying all these painful, old memories with you, you’ll never get the chance to make new ones.”

Sierra sighed, blinking rapidly to keep his tears at bay.

“Look, nobody expects you to just forget everything that’s happened,” Vincent said. “All I’m saying is that you should at least try to make good on the life you have left, Sierra. Otherwise you might wake up one day and realize you’ve wasted it all away. That’s what my mother used to tell me, god rest her soul…”

“Do you still think about her, Vincent?” Sierra asked. “Your mother, I mean?”

“Sure. Every damn day. But I get by. I have to. For her.”

They both looked out over the horizon and eventually Sierra started to nod. The gesture was as much to himself as it was to Vincent. He knew his friend was right. That didn’t make it any easier for him to forget about the pain of Lana’s loss though.

“Anyway, it’s getting late,” Vincent stood up, dusting the sand off his butt. “We should probably get back to the van before that cheap-arse Marco finishes off the tequila.”

“You go,” Sierra said, his eyes still gazing out to sea. “I just need a minute alone. I won’t be long.”

“You sure?”

Sierra nodded, and Vincent walked off down the beach.

“Oh, and Vincent,” Sierra called out to him, forcing a smile as Vincent looked back. “Thank you. For everything.”

“What do you mean?”

“Come on. I wouldn’t be here today if it wasn’t for you. You risked your life for me, gave up everything you had back in San Lorenzo to help get me out. As if a man like me was even worth saving...”

“Of course you were,” Vincent smiled back. “After my mum died, you were the only family I had left. And we hombres look out for one another. Remember that, Sierra. I’ve always got your back.” Then he turned and resumed walking.

Sierra held his smile just long enough for Vincent to disappear from view. Then his mood began to darken again. He could feel his anger coming back, just screaming out to be released; such fiery and uncontrollable rage. This was a side of himself that Sierra never wanted Vincent or the others to witness; a side that he had kept reserved solely for his enemies over the past twenty years. And it was for this reason Sierra knew he needed to be alone right now. He simply couldn’t control himself any longer and he was scared of what he might do.

He picked up handfuls of sand, squeezing and squeezing until his fingers ached, wondering to himself why he was even still alive. Why had Lana had to die in his place? Was he cursed? Did he still have some greater purpose in life left to serve? Why? Unable to come up with any answers, he threw a handful of sand into the wind in frustration; the dry grains whipped back into his face, stinging his eyes.

Fuck! Sierra rose to his feet, panting heavily, and then, not for the first time, something in his mind snapped and he felt the jolt in his head like a succession of explosive charges being detonated. Suddenly to him it looked as though the afternoon sun had dimmed, the entire beach blanketed in an eerie, red-tinted twilight. The blue of the vast ocean before him had grown darker too, like a deep shade of crimson; the colour of gushing blood.

Sierra gripped the end of his knife in his gun belt. It was the belt Hector Chilavert had given him years ago. His breathing became shorter, deeper, and the entire beach seemed to get caught up in his laboured rhythm; waves of red washed up over the shore in time with each forceful exhale he took, then were dragged back out in time with each heavy intake of oxygen.

“Angels ir al cielo,” a voice suddenly hissed from somewhere behind. Angels go to heaven.

A chill ran down Sierra’s spine. He knew who that voice belonged to. He spun around to suddenly find himself standing face to face with a man he thought was long dead.

The man was covered head-to-toe in blood. His hair, which had once been coloured like a tiger’s fur, was now stained red, and his eyes were simply not there; two black, abyss-like holes remained in their place. Mickey Toma. Or was it? Was the fiend really standing there? There were times when Sierra honestly could not tell anymore what was reality and what was just being created in his head.

“Diablos quemar en el infierno,” Mickey Toma continued. Devils burn in Hell. A wicked smile crossed the fiend’s lips, a trickle of blood running out through the cracks of his teeth.

Sierra’s eyes widened. His mouth opened to say something, but no words would come out.

“There’s no escaping fate, Sierra,” Toma said. “You think you can lie to yourself forever about what you really are? About what you have done?”

Sierra shook his head, willing the fiend to go away.

“I’ll be waiting for you, in hell,” Toma poked out his half-severed tongue tauntingly. “And when you get here, we’re going to have oh so much fun together!”

Sierra shut his eyes and cried out at the top of his lungs, his voice echoing down the beach and across the blood-red waters. He turned away from Toma and dropped to his knees in the sand. He could hear the fiend’s footsteps behind him, drawing nearer. With one trembling hand he reached into his shirt and pulled out Lana’s crucifix. He held it tightly against his heart, willing himself to breathe, breathe, breath!

Slowly then the hammering of Sierra’s heart began to subside, replaced by the gentle churning of the ocean’s waves breaking over the shore. When he finally found the courage to open his eyes again the sun was back out in the sky, its bright rays beaming down on him with a strange sense of normality. And Mickey Toma was gone.

Sierra looked up into the sky, tears forming as he squeezed the crucifix tighter.

“Lana, mi amor,” he closed his eyes, whispering her name softly into the strong ocean breeze. “Thank you.” He brought her crucifix up to his lips, kissing it softly. “Thank you for watching over me.”