Eve of Redemption (3 page)

APRIL 1, 2032

J
ohn Burke gazed through the dirty pawnshop window. Dim security lights illuminated the display case where death awaited him in the form of a pistol. He had never truly contemplated his own death. Even now, he didn’t really think about dying—only the peace it would bring him. A ragged awning did little to protect him from the heavy drizzle. Cold raindrops ran like tears down his cheeks. A neon sign across the street flashed
BUDWEISER
in red and white letters that illuminated his reflection on the smudged glass of the shop. He could hear the steady whine of electric cars in the street behind him as normal people carried on with their normal lives.

A sudden gust of wind snapped the aged awning taut. The breeze reeked with the stench of garbage and stale alcohol. It carried something else as well, something nearly hidden in the stink. He turned his face into the wind and inhaled deeply. He was certain it was the perfume Laura used to wear. The thought of her brought a stab of pain to his heart.

Burke reached a shaking hand into his jacket and pulled a picture from an inside pocket. Smiling faces in happier times. His wife, Laura, their daughter, Sara, and himself. All of them with that goofy look that said all was well with the world. He closed his eyes and let the scent of Laura’s perfume wash over him until it became too real, too close. He forced his eyes open, and there she stood like a ghost reflected in the dirty window. With each flash of neon light his reflection appeared next to hers, as though they stood together in the dark store. She looked just as she had when he last saw her—long, chestnut hair in a ponytail, wearing a sleeveless white summer blouse and the jeans she practically lived in when not at work.

He stood frozen in place as another ghost swirled beside that of his wife. This one was smaller, but as the image materialized it became clear that she was a miniature of the older woman. Her daughter.

His daughter.

Burke stood in the rain, staring at the specters only he could see. Both images looked up at him with identical accusatory looks.
You did this to us,
their eyes said.
This is your fault!
His conscience, his dreams, and now the apparitions before him had made that very clear. He accepted his guilt. Without releasing him from its dark stare, the figure of the child moved its hand until it pointed at the display case. Yes, she knew, too, that death was the answer, that justice was not fulfilled while he still walked the earth. The ghostly images of his family faded, leaving him again gazing at the display case and the peace it offered.

“No.” Burke gave the picture of his family one more look before slipping it back into his pocket. “Not yet. You’re out there somewhere, and I will find you.”

Tears mixed with raindrops as he limped into the night.

J
ohn Burke stumbled through thick darkness. He sensed things lurking all around—dangerous things, waiting to pounce. His daughter’s shrieking wails surrounded him. His wife’s anguished sobs faded in and out of the background. He struggled to pinpoint the direction of the cries—every time he thought he had, they moved. Hostile eyes bore into him from deep within the blackness.

Is this death? Did I finally do it?

A manifestation in the darkness brushed against his probing hand. He flinched and pulled away. Again he reached out, and again something deflected his hand. This time came the realization that the shrieks and sobs had subsided, replaced by the sounds of chirping birds.

As the dream faded, Burke felt the presence of someone else. He opened his eyes to see a dirty little face inches from his own. Through the dirt and grime he could tell he was looking at a girl no more than four or five years old. A matted mop of red curls framed her dirty face before dropping over tiny shoulders. At first she simply stared at him. Then, her face broke into a huge smile like she was about to have her picture taken. The girl extended her skinny arm toward him, and Burke’s gaze followed it to where it disappeared into his jacket. She giggled, spun around, and took off. As she pulled away, her hand slipped from his jacket and brushed against his own. A jolt of electricity shot up his arm, traveling through his shoulder and neck and erupting in his mind like a supernova. For a brief moment it was as if the universe opened up to him, all of its secrets peeled away to expose the very truth of all existence. Then the feeling was gone, leaving him awed yet somehow empty. He stared at the receding little girl in wonder.

As he watched her speed away, Burke took in his surroundings. He was sitting in the driver’s seat of his car, the door beside him open. He was certain it had been locked. How had the girl opened it without waking him? He ran a hand across his tired face and looked out the open door. Presidio Park stretched before him. In no mood to go home, he had driven to the park after leaving the pawnshop and fallen asleep. Pale light in the overcast sky told him he had slept through the night. Burke reached into his jacket where the girl’s hand had been. He had nothing to steal, nothing valuable. His heart jumped, and his hand probed deeper. He unzipped the jacket and searched all of his pockets, but the picture of his family was gone.

Burke pulled himself out of the car. The ground and bushes around him were wet from the morning drizzle.

“Hey, get back here,” he yelled into the empty park.

He took two steps, and sharp pain shot up his bad right hip. The tiny car was no place to sleep, and he was stiff from the hours spent there.

A giggle to his right pulled him in that direction. His stiff muscles loosened up as he moved, and in a few moments he felt almost normal. He remembered days long ago when he and Laura had brought Sara here to play. The park had still been maintained then. Cactus, aloe, and desert weeds now dominated the once-pristine landscape. The headless statue of some forgotten soldier stood sentinel over the area. Beside the statue, a wall that had once boasted a mural of a Mormon battalion now shouted
FOR A GOOD TIME CALL EVE
in bright blue and red graffiti.

Burke caught a flash of red beyond the weed-choked memorial and saw the little girl sprinting across the open, her bare feet flying much faster than he would have thought possible. Dwarfed pine trees dotted the area that used to be the kids’ playground. The swings and other park amusements had long ago been removed due to the high cost of insurance.

He kept his eye on the girl until she disappeared beyond another dip in the park. As he neared the place where he had lost sight of her, the roof of the old restrooms came into view. The city had put some effort into keeping these. After all, if the homeless who gathered in the park had somewhere to relieve themselves, they would not do so in the surrounding neighborhoods, which were still somewhat affluent. Burke let momentum carry him down the hill to where a cracked asphalt path picked up near the restrooms. This relic of what used to be a popular walkway had long been ignored in favor of the dirt paths that led down into the overgrown canyon in the park’s center. Burke followed the one the girl had taken, slowing his downhill pace to avoid tumbling headfirst down the steep trail.

A covey of quail exploded up in front of him, their flapping wings crashing through the silence that had a moment ago been filled with only his rasping breath. Burke’s feet nearly went out from under him as he slid to a halt on a carpet of pine needles. He stood there for a moment and squinted into the shadows that half hid the canyon floor. Cold air oozed up from within, carrying with it the stench of sewage and who knew what else.

He was on the verge of turning back the way he had come, when he heard a familiar giggle to his left. Another trail, nearly hidden in dense scrub, led off the path he had been following. The moment he turned his attention from the depths of the canyon and back to the little girl, the day seemed to brighten and grow warmer. He limped to the newly discovered trail and followed it as it led up to the rim of the canyon.

Burke’s breathing came in ragged gasps as he climbed the last few steps into the hazy sunlight at the top of the trail. He found himself in a flat area that held two faded green concrete picnic tables. There was no sign of the girl. Dragging himself to one of the tables, he collapsed on the hard bench. His breathing was coming back under control when he heard people talking behind him. The voices grew louder as they approached. Burke raised his head and turned to see a group of four people coming down a short flight of stone stairs. They looked to be teenagers, though it was hard to tell through the tattoos. The kid in the lead stopped when he saw Burke and held out one arm, halting his friends behind him. A sudden smile crossed the kid’s mouth, white teeth in the dark hues of ink that covered his face. Burke thought one of them might be a girl, but he wasn’t sure.

“Hey, look what we have here,” said the one who appeared to be the leader. “This day might not be so boring after all.”

Burke groaned as the group approached. They formed a rough circle around the table, the one who had spoken standing in front of him. He started to pull himself to his feet, but the kid shoved him back down on the hard bench.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“Leave me alone.” He again tried to get his feet under him, but someone behind him reached over the table, grabbed the neck of his coat, and pulled him back down.

“My friend asked you a question,” a voice behind him said. “It would be bad manners not to answer. You do know what manners are, don’t you?”

Without warning, the kid in front of Burke spun in a full circle and kicked him in the side of the head. Before his brain could register what had happened, he was lying on the ground, fireworks exploding across his vision. The kick that followed struck his ribs. The one after that connected with his stomach and drove the air from his lungs. He curled into the fetal position, one hand across his midsection while the other attempted to cover his head.

Strong hands grabbed both of his arms and pulled him to his knees. He looked up. Another fist. Burke lowered his head, and the punch connected with little more than his hair. He sensed the next blow coming, and the martial arts training from his teen years took over. The hands holding his arms were more for support than restraint. Red-hot fury shot through him. He let his body sag backward. The punch passed above his head while his right foot shot out and connected squarely with his assailant’s crotch. Burke slid his right arm from his coat sleeve and jabbed an open palm into the chest of the kid holding his left arm. The blow caught the kid off-guard, and he fell back. Burke then drove his elbow into the gut of the teen who still held his jacket sleeve. Burke scrambled to get up, but was knocked back down as a foot connected with his bruised ribs. A shot to the back of his head landed him face down in the dirt once again. Then they were all over him.

Kicks and punches struck nearly every part of Burke’s body. A boot to his head left him limp and numb. With great effort, he managed to open one eye. Through blurred vision, he saw a small shadow not far from him. His gaze cleared just enough to catch a glimpse of a little girl with dirty bare feet wearing a sack as a dress. She had the face of an angel—an angel whose downcast eyes did not rise to meet his own. A single tear slipped down her cheek, and then she faded along with everything else.