Chapter 6: Black Moses (3)
The school bell rang and startled the birds outside.
A dozen children raced across the empty playground, chattering and laughing as they swarmed into their classroom.
But at the edge of the woods, in the little chapel, fierce-looking old Burmese men stood guard at the door. Inside, a single person sat alone among the rows of solid wooden pews.
From behind, the tall pew backs nearly swallowed her — only a black crown of hair was visible.
Dim light filtered through rose-patterned stained glass, casting one colored square after another on the floor.
She kept her eyes lowered, staring at the light, motionless for a long time.
The light moved. The dust floating in the air moved.
Only she was lifeless.
Ever since being brought here — threatened by Burmese brokers, gawked at by village children — this person had shown precious little response.
After some time.
A half-worn Jeep rolled to a stop outside, tires grinding over gravel.
A very handsome man climbed out, stretched, tipped his head back to look at the chapel's slender spire, and a smile spread across his face.
Thank the Lord for delivering her back to me.
The devil said his prayer with genuine sincerity.
He finished his malicious invocation with a flicker of dark excitement prickling at his heart.
The chapel's half-closed door was pulled open.
Tap — tap —
His steps were unhurried, steady. Savoring.
Shane stood over her, his gaze draping her like a net, drawing tighter inch by inch, drinking in that pale, silent half-face.
For a long moment, neither spoke.
Then he couldn't resist reaching out — as if to strike her, or to pull her close — but in the end his hand merely came to rest on the crown of her head, stroking gently.
"Elyse."
It occurred to him that he hadn't seen her looking like a normal person in a very long time — beautiful, possessing that quality of fragile luminosity that he was drawn to.
He stroked her soft hair and sighed:
"Elyse, I hate you so much."
His heart trembled again — that sharp, maddening prickle of pain and itch that left a man not knowing what to do with himself.
"You've ruined me."
He said.
Elyse couldn't bear it anymore. She tilted her head away, and his hand fell through empty air. The sudden gesture jolted him — a flash of savagery crossed his face — and he wrenched her into his arms, crushing her like a python strangling its prey.
Her barely-healed shoulder bones creaked under the pressure. She opened her mouth, staring up at the arched vault, silent in her agony.
He was sick in the head.
She thought.
"I want to kill you, and I will kill you. But you must repay your debts first, Elyse. People can't default on what they owe — understand?"
His gaze, half-mad, dropped to her struggling mouth. He held there for several seconds, then suddenly dipped his head and forced his mouth over hers.
It was a kiss of clashing teeth — brutal, wretched.
Elyse made a muffled sound. Her mouth couldn't close, the back of her skull pinned in his grip. Her only free right hand was clamped behind her back — no matter how she twisted, she couldn't break free of his hold.
Her eyes went wild with fury.
In her struggles, she raised her foot and drove it hard into his shin — kicking with everything she had, three, four times.
Shane grunted in pain and had to release her, shoving her down against the pew, pressing down on her left shoulder. He bore down suddenly, and Elyse gave a violent shudder of pain, gasping, momentarily immobilized.
He ran his fingers gently along her throat, pinning her, and unwound the bandage wrap by wrap.
A wound four or five centimeters long twisted across her throat, not yet fully healed — the deeper portions red and inflamed.
Shane traced her windpipe and murmured:
"Elyse, you really are… ruthless."
Cold sweat beaded on Elyse's forehead. Two critical wounds gripped in an enemy's hands, she went rigid with a flash of genuine terror. Shane studied her vivid expression, then — just as she let out a sudden scream — he leaned down and bit into the wound on her neck.
With the agony in her left shoulder eclipsed by this new horror, Elyse thrashed like a madwoman.
His canines tore through freshly-knitted flesh. Blood trickled down her neck in rivulets. Black sparks exploded across Elyse's vision. Her strength drained away, and she slumped sideways against the hard wooden pew.
It seemed like an eternity before the devil finally released her bloody throat. He gathered her up and settled her on his lap, letting her lean against his racing chest, one hand petting her back in rhythmic, soothing strokes.
His voice came from above her, laughing: "Elyse, you're so beautiful. The way you look half-dead — it's really beautiful…"
She gave a feeble jerk, like a fish thrown onto a bank, suffocating.
His hand continued to stroke her hair gently.
His voice came soft and intimate at her ear: "Shh — don't be afraid, don't be afraid… good girl… now tell me, where did you hide my money?"
Elyse's lips moved, producing the faintest breath of sound.
"Hmm?"
He bent his head, patient, to listen.
"I…"
She said —
"Go fuck yourself."
Shane blinked. Then, cradling this half-dead girl in his arms, he burst out laughing inside the empty chapel. The children's tender voices rose in distant hymn. After a long moment, caught between light and shadow, he wiped the tears of laughter from his eyes and looked down.
The girl in his arms was already losing consciousness, but she forced her eyes to stay open, refusing to pass out.
Her ashen, desperate gaze was locked on him.
As though memorizing his face, to denounce him before whatever gods would listen.
He gave a soft laugh again, and rocked her in his arms like soothing a child. Once more, he bent down and closed the mouth that would have cried for justice.
This time, there was no resistance.
5.
"Elyse, the thing I regret most."
He swayed her, patting her: "Was selling you to D-Zone."
Elyse, barely conscious, slowly raised her hand and covered the wound he'd torn open.
She still wanted to live, he thought with a pang. Even like this, she refused to close her eyes.
He'd seen too many easily shattered souls in northern Myanmar. Only her — she fought for life with every last ounce of will. Fragile as she was, she was also relentless. That was what made her magnetic.
So he gently laid his hand over hers, pressing them together over the wound.
Blood seeped through their interlaced fingers.
He looked down at it, then continued softly: "When I told you that you were my favorite — that was true. But back then, I didn't know how much I liked you."
Elyse stared up at him, eyes full of disbelief.
He placed his blood-streaked hand over her eyes, blocking out that gaze — because it was too wounding, too contemptuous, contemptuous enough to make him feel like a lowly insect.
He said: "Five hundred thousand dollars — it doesn't matter anymore."
Her lashes fluttered against his palm, slow and weak, like an innocent bird about to be strangled.
"But your bones will belong to me, forever."
He gathered her and rose, striding toward the door. Elyse leaned against his chest, seeming to rally a fraction of spirit. Refusing to let him have the last word, she fired back in a low, acid voice:
"Shane, you weren't always this way."
Shane sensed she wasn't about to say anything nice, and his brow furrowed. Sure enough —
She mocked: "Did Ahab drive you insane?"
His steps halted. The man slowly looked down, meeting Elyse's fearless provocation.
He gave a cold smile, completely unprovoked.
"Actually, yes."
He said mildly.
"Ahab loved me as much as I love you."
"Surprised?"
He kicked the chapel doors open, and the daylight stabbed Elyse's eyes shut. She heard him murmur like a man possessed: "Don't mention Ahab again, Elyse. Don't make me angry."
"He's already dead — and you —"
Silence.
Shane didn't finish the sentence, didn't take another step. He held Elyse and stood on the two low steps outside the chapel, his feet suddenly rooted to the spot.
Elyse's gaze swept past his clenched jaw, past the rustling canopy above, the blue sky, the empty playground, the children peering out, the alarmed priest and teachers — and to the motorcade that had somehow materialized, with its heavily armed mercenaries.
And the man leaning casually against a car door, a walking stick in hand.
Duan Po.
The middle-aged gentleman's gaze rested heavily on her blood-soaked neck and chest.
"Young man," he said in an ordinary tone, as if discussing the weather. "Don't you know?"
"I've been looking everywhere for this girl."
A dark muzzle rose casually in his hand, pointing at Shane's forehead.
"How could you let someone get this bad?"
Shane stumbled back two steps. He looked down in a panic at the girl in his arms. Elyse gazed back at him, half-smiling.
"Bang."
She mouthed the word silently.
"You know —"
Sudden understanding crashed through him, and an incredible guess lodged itself in his mind. Under Elyse's vengeful gaze, his pupils dilated sharply!
"Commander Duan!" He snapped his head up and shouted. "You can't kill me, I'm —"
Bang!
The man fell backward, his dying words unfinished, still clutching the girl whose eyes brimmed with dark amusement.
She caught her breath, regarded his fixed, unseeing face with something like interest, and then — slowly, one hand pressed to her bleeding throat — she pulled herself up, swayed on her feet, and walked toward the warlord.