Here it Comes Pt. 2

I thought of the life I had spent so long making and I knew I had to survive. His footsteps were near silent, as sand really doesn’t make a lot of noise. From what little training I did remember, I knew I had to stay calm.

“Don’t do this Ray!” I yelled at him. My answer met a bullet flying over my cover as a response. Ok, so reasoning wasn’t going to work this time.

I had to think hastily. He was a lot better trained and in better shape than me, and he had just lost something very important to him. “A distraction maybe?” I thought to myself. There was nothing else I could think of to give me the upper hand, I had to get lucky if I wanted to keep my life. I frantically searched the cover around me for something, anything.

“You know you’re not gonna get out of this alive right?” Ray shouted. “We both know who has the advantage here, Bryne. I bet you’re regretting not finishing your training now, huh?” He chuckled. That son of a bitch had the audacity to laugh at me at a time like this. I guess I would too, though, if I had his confidence.

There, in the sand! A small, shiny… lens. My saving grace was a lens from someone’s cheap sunglasses. Faaaan-tastic.

It was my only prayer, and this was my only shot. I crouched down as far over to the left as I could, and threw the lens out over the right side. I didn’t even look to see where it landed before I rose over the left side. It was if God himself had a hand in this. Ray was looking to my right, temporarily drawn to the shiny foreign object! By the time he realized what I was doing it was too late. I have never had very good aim, but today, today was my lucky day. My first shot managed to hit his gun, knocking it clean out of his hands, where it landed 20 feet away, near the rising tide. Ray held his trigger finger and screwed up his head at me like I had just kicked his dog.

His finger was broken! “The trigger must have…” It took me about a millisecond to re-gain my focus, and my second shot lodged itself square in his shoulder.

“Aaaaah! You lucky son of a bitch!” Ray screamed so loud that it drowned out the ocean and nearly destroyed my hearing. He fell onto the sand still screaming, clutching his shoulder with both hands, clearly favoring his broken finger. It took me all of two seconds to decide what I was going to do next.

“Luck over skill right? Just like you always said” He labored over his statement, blood running down the left sleeve of his brown leather jacket. I nodded as I walked over to him, gun still drawn. He wasn’t a threat anymore, not like this anyway. However, I knew he would be. I knew that once he recovered we would do this dance all over again.

I stood over Ray, looking at my best friend for 17 years clutching his injured shoulder. He didn’t say anything; he just gave a weak smile, nodded, and closed his eyes. I guided my gun to his chest, looked away, and squeezed the trigger three times.

…

I awoke to the delightful scent of cinnamon toast and the crackling of bacon in our special four-hundred dollar non-stick pans she bugged me about getting. Lyli was an exceptional cook, and best of all, she loved to do it. My wife would never know what had transpired last week, as she still thought I was a sales analyst, just like when I told her I got the job four years ago.

I reflected on the simpler times in our lives. She was still teaching, and I was just getting my career of the ground when we met. Apparently Boise is chock-full of friendly people, because when I was lost on my way to a business meeting, this kind woman stopped mid-sentence in the middle of a phone call just to comment on how lost I looked and offered to help me. After she schooled me on the difference between the 100 and 1000 block of a street, she gave me her number.

“You know, just in case you get lost again.” She said, trying to hold back a chuckle.

I gave a sarcastic laugh, turned around, and grinned like an idiot, shouting a thank you as I ran the nine blocks to my appointment. In my defense, my hand writing is really bad, and I was of the impression that the last zero was a stray mark on the back of my hotel paper. Not my fault.

I wiped the sleep from my eyes and descended the last of the stairs. When I made my way to the kitchen, Lyli looked as if she looked sick.

“Honey” She spoke shakily “We need to talk.” My mind racing, I froze.