Chapter Thirty-Four

Ambrose felt himself go through the memory, as real as the day he had gone through it. He was here to collect money from the manager and bring it to Eric, a simple job he had done a thousand times before. The door closed behind him, and Ambrose took in the building’s interior with a sweep of his gaze. As always, Ambrose picked out the exits. There were three: one on the right side, one in the back, and the entrance he had just entered.

Two big thugs dressed in flannel and long beards stood near the back of the room, in front of the manager's door. One had a gun, the bulge visible in his waistband, and the other had a knife from the outline in his pocket. Ambrose made his way to the back of the room. The two thugs came off the wall, eyes narrowing as they took him in. Ambrose stepped up to them.

“Hey there, fellas. I need in. Step aside.”

The thug on the right growled. He had a bulbous nose and round features, his long brown beard shaking as his growl rumbled in his chest.

“Boss is busy. Go away.”

Ambrose considered trying to argue his way through, but that was a bad idea for two reasons. First, it would give them control of the situation. Second, it would allow the manager in the back time to get his bearings. So he didn’t argue. He just acted. Quickly, he stepped towards the one with the gun; lashing his hand out, he got a grip on it and shoved it into the man’s groin. Startled, he stepped backward, thudding against the wall.

His eyes were wide, and he let out a little squeak as Ambrose pressed the barrel of the gun against his groin.

“I wouldn’t try anything, either of you; my finger might get a little twitchy. Here’s a tip, don’t put a loaded weapon next to your dick. It’s usually a bad idea. Now, you there, take out the knife in your pocket and hand it to me, nice and slow.”

The club had gone deathly silent.

The other thug, a crew cut with features like that of a spade and a long beard, passed over the knife very slowly and very carefully. Ambrose took it and stepped away, taking the gun with him. The safety was off. Ambrose snorted and gestured at the pair.

“Get out of here. Now, before I decide, I need some immediate target practice.

They scowled, but neither wanted to take a bullet, so they didn’t press him. Ambrose watched them go before nodding his head at the crowd.

“Things might get loud. You may want to go. Up to you.”

They all decided the beer there was suddenly terrible because they filed out as fast as they reasonably could. Ambrose nodded, lifted a combat-booted foot, and kicked the door inward. Wood split as the door burst open. He strode through the opening and paused. The manager was there, taking his hands off the throat of a black-haired woman with bright green eyes, the life choked out of them.

Wait, that isn’t how it happened.

Suddenly, Alice looked up, her eyes just as dead, her throat splitting open in slow motion before him, as if being opened up by a zipper. She spoke, her voice sharp, accusing.

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“You’re such a failure. I knew it the day we met. Such a failure, so easy to control.”

Ambrose took a step back, confusion writ on his face.

No, wait. Alice was here, in the room, but she was being abused by the manager, Dwayne. She wasn’t dead. What is happening?

Alice stepped forward, her stomach enlarging as she stepped.

“I should have known you’d be a terrible father. What a fool I was for picking you!” She shrieked at him.

Ambrose fled from the room and stepped into another memory.

__________

“What do you think?” Ambrose asked his wife as he looked at the patio.

He held up a hand, thumb outward, fingers together as if he were making his hand a camera.

“I could put a grill right here, and we could have the neighbors over. It would be a real suburban family experience.”

Alice stepped up to him, pressing herself to his side.

“I love the idea of you out here making me food, my chef, in a tarnished apron.”

Ambrose laughed, kissing her nose,

“That’s new. I think I like the other one better.”

Alice shrugged, fluttering her lashes.

“I like knights as much as the next girl, but at the end of the day, we all like food better.”

They walked inside the house, looking at the barren space.

“I think we could build a home here; what do you think? Alice?”

Ambrose looked down at his wife and let out a yell. She was soaked in blood, bullet holes riddling her body. She was looking at him, eyes as dead as the grave.

“This is what will always happen with you, Knight. Everything you love, everything you hold dear, will die. Don’t you think it’s fitting?”

Before Ambrose could step away, Alice’s dead hands wrapped around his throat like a steel vice. His breath left him… Darkness followed soon after.

__________

Ambrose found himself in an old memory. He was in a hotel room, standing over a pleading man wearing blue jeans, ratty sneakers, and a stained white shirt. His dirty black hair was matted with sweat over sharp, gaunt features.

“It’s not wise to owe Eric Delrosa money. You borrowed money from him, Eddie. It’s only right you pay that back.”

Eddie held up his hands,

“Please, please! I don’t have it, okay?” His eyes were wide. He was scooting away from him, and fear was a wild light in his eyes.

Ambrose shook his head,

“Haven’t you ever heard of not borrowing money you can’t repay, Ed? Now I’m going to have to hurt you, Ed. What a shame.”

“No, please! I have a son! He was sick. I needed the money! Please!”

Ambrose didn’t care. He just went to work. If someone couldn’t pay, Ambrose had to make an example of them. That was how he got paid. Eddie was a gibbering mess by the time he was done. Then he stood up, straightened his jacket, and turned around.

Only to be face-to-face with Alice.

His wife was dead-eyed, bullet holes in her chest leaking blood like holes in a bag of water.

“Tarnished knight, indeed. Eddie never walked again after what you did. His family considered him a chore after that. He couldn’t play with his son, and he eventually took his own life in such a way that his family would receive his life insurance. How many lives have you ruined, Ambrose? How many horrible things have you done for nothing more than currency?”

Alice’s hands wrapped around his throat once more, pressing him to the wall. His chest heaved, his eyes boring into her dead green orbs.

“You honestly thought you deserved love? That you could be changed? You’re a killer, Ambrose. An evil, terrible man. Quit lying to yourself!”

Ambrose reached up and desperately tried to pull Alice’s hands from his throat. Thoughts fled, darkness enclosing over him like a coffin lid.

My knight in tarnished armor.

Ambrose gave into unconsciousness.