The predawn air was chilly, but Roger hardly noticed. His breathing was steady and composed— a sign of his growth during the last few months. The Nike dry-fit clothing and premium running shoes Claire had gifted him felt alien. He had wanted to refuse, but her words echoed.
As he was getting ready for his run this morning, he thought about how she would feel, so he changed into them. She'll have a great smile when she comes with our coffee. As the months passed he had gotten addicted to her smile.
The trail was almost pitch black, but it was second nature to cycle Ch'ulel to enhance his senses as he ran like the Nácom Tzakab warriors of old. Thus, the darkness of the trail in Riverdale Park didn't bother him. A sense of communion with the earth, the wind, and his surroundings enveloped him as he moved, lost in thought— his footsteps were the only thing that broke the silence.
Claire's admissions from the day before swirled in his head. Not so much the romantic ones— although he had to admit it elated him that they were growing closer. Last night, she had kissed him before she went to her bedroom. It was just a light peck with a "goodnight, Honey." But still, the feel of her lips against him lingered.
But that was not what occupied his thoughts as his feet ate the miles. It was the other revelations. Western business elites knew about people like him. Her grandfather had actively searched for his bloodline for the last decade. The rise of Chinese business interest was directly linked to their Xiu Lian practice. Their use of Ch'i.
Western conglomerates kept losing to Chinese Interests, particularly in places like the Middle East and Africa where "might makes right" sometimes prevailed.
His Mayan heritage was seen as a counterpoint, and corporations and governments scoured Mexico and Guatemala, looking for people with his abilities. She candidly confessed that Chester had wanted grandchildren from them for that reason, and it was one of the reasons she refused intimacy with him.
He internally chuckled as he remembered her quip, "I'm not a broodmare, and you're not a stud to be put in a field together."
His memory went to earlier times, and he recalled fragments of conversations he had heard during his youth, and now they started to make sense.
The wind warned him before he actually detected the projectiles. Two darts with strings attached. He jumped and twisted, and they passed by harmlessly. Four black-clad men appeared from the shadows, and he sensed that three more were quickly coming up behind him.
Their faces were masked, and they had no discernible insignias. They started to surround him. Two pointed tasers at him.
Before the three behind him could complete the encirclement, he turned and intoned, "B'alam K'at." His only thought was Claire. His speed took the three men behind him by surprise. A kick to the center assailant broke his sternum. The other two fired their tasers as he passed.
He convulsed, but his Tata had trained him to fight even while disoriented and in pain. A pushed a torrent of Ch'ulel through his body, dispersed the current, and sped toward the house. His only thought was Claire.
Seconds later, he heard the house alarm blaring. As he approached, he sensed that all six guards were down; only three were breathing. As he reached the house, the door was wide open and strewed unconscious were the bodies of the bodyguards blocking the entrance.
"Claire!" he yelled, but the only sound was the alarm. Claire's bedroom was empty.
His phone rang, "give yourself up, and we won't harm her," a woman's voice said.
"I have a particular set of skills," the raspy voice of Liam Neeson flashed unbidden.
"You still have time to give her back. Harm her, and I will find you and make you watch as I sacrifice the beating hearts of your descendants to K'uk'ulkan," he said, his voice low, ominous, and menacing like the growl of a leopard defending its young. I'll find you, Claire! He hung up the phone.
No need to talk to these idiots. They would not get very far.
He pushed Ch'ulel outward to the limit of his endurance, imploring the earth to help him. He sensed Claire moving rapidly south on Palisade.
He ran after her at his maximum speed while calling, "Mr. Doyle, they have Claire. They're moving south on Palisade. If they get to the Parkway, I won't be able to keep up."
"The security team?"
"All down. It's a black Chevy van. I can keep up with it, but I can't catch it."
"Mr. Catzín. The shift change should be arriving. Where are you?
He saw as they turned, "They're turning on to 232nd. They'll be on the Parkway in a couple of minutes. Do you have a Chopper?" He felt the strain of overuse, but he pushed through.
He turned on 232nd. The van some yards ahead was speeding away. He picked up a flat rock, pumped as much Ch'ulel into it as he could, and threw it at the van. His aim was true, and it embedded itself in the right rear tire.
His muscles were on fire. He fell, exhausted, "They'll have a flat tire in a few minutes! The plate is LAV 9002. I'm at the corner; come get me. We should be able to find them," it was all he could do.
"The shift change is almost there; they'll pick you up." Police sirens blared in the background.
If they harmed her, he would unleash a war worthy of his people, he vowed.
The blaring sound of the alarm startled Claire awake. It took a few seconds for her to compose herself. Roger. She ran to his bedroom. We need to get in the panic room. It was empty. Had they gotten him already?
She ran to the stairs looking for him. There was a click, and her body spasmed. Rough hands grabbed her. They put a hood over her head and zip-tied her hands and feet. She stilled herself, remembering her anti-kidnap training. Gather information, then act.
She lay as if unconscious. She was carried by her arms and legs and put in some vehicle. It felt large. A van?
"Ya tenemos a la güera. El otro no sabemos," a gruff voice said. Then, the vehicle started to move. He might have gotten away. One thousand one, one thousand two. She counted as she had been taught.
The van shook and jumped as if moving at high speed. Then, they made a sharp left turn. She continued to count.
She could smell her caretaker's sweaty stench. There seemed to be only one in the back of the vehicle with her. She strained to hear. There was a passenger and a driver.
"Don't worry, güerita, we'll treat you real nice," the man said as he slid his hand up the inner part of her thigh and then around to her butt and squeezed.
Suddenly, a thud sounded, and there was a jolt to the right. The van swerved. The sound of flapping rubber slapping against the road. A terrible vibration shook the chassis and sent a shiver through Claire.
"La llanta!" A gruff voice said. The van stopped. Claire heard the doors opening.
"Don't get any ideas, güerita! I'm watching you. I can't wait to feel the inside of a high-society bitch." The slime in his voice almost made her puke. She controlled herself and tuned him out. Panic would not help her. I hope he's alright. Her thoughts went to Roger. She pieced together that he must have been running.
A phone rang, "Que pasó? Se escapó, pendejos! Cinco contra uno y no pudieron! Chingaos, pues vénganse a la bodega! Esto les va a costar putos."
Claire felt a wave of relief. He'll find me. She had complete faith in her husband.
Claire strained to listen to the sound from the outside, trying to place the location. She could hear cars moving at high speed. We must be near the Parkway.
Then the loud screech of tires breaking, shouts, and people fighting. The sound of the side sliding door and the back doors forced open. A strong arm grabbed her around the neck and pulled her against his torso. His breath stank. She felt a sharp prick at her jugular.
"Now, let's all take it easy, or the güerita ain't gonna make it," her captor said, "just let us—" Thump! Her captor didn't finish his demand. The arm around her neck slid along her breasts. She felt moisture on her shoulder. Then, the weight of her captor pulled her down.
"Mrs. Williams." Someone was pulling her. The hood came off. She surveyed the scene.
"Roger! You cut these off now! What happened to him." The security guard, who had pulled her out of the van, took a knife and cut the zip ties.
Roger was lying on the ground unconscious.
"He took these two out like nothing. Then, when he saw you, he pulled the knife out of my belt and threw it at that guy. I've never seen anything like it. Then he just dropped. I can't wake him, and his heartbeat is deathly slow," a female bodyguard said.
"Ambulance and police are on the way." The sirens could be heard getting closer.
Claire cradled Roger in her arms, "Honey, stay with me, stay with me, please!" She kept on whispering in his ear.
Paramedics arrived. They pulled her off.
"He's not breathing. Start CPR." She watched in tears as her husband died in front of her.
Well, that was a twist.
So you know I'm bringing him back, right?
I could do a Bobby Ewing; it could be a "Harry Potter" type thing or even a "run to the light Carol Anne!" (there's this thing called Google. It's a wonderful invention 🤣).
What do you think?
Leave your answer in the comments.
Don't forget to star and follow!
Thanks for reading!