Cursed Angels

“What the fuck, man?” Liam’s voice enters my head through the foggy haze of the daydream.

“Shit, sorry.” I let go and allow my colleague to rub at his now sore arm.

“Man, I was just coming in here to warn you that if you keep upsetting the whores, then you are going to have no one to suck your dick.” He holds his hands up. “If you want your cock to shrivel up through lack of use, then be my guest.”

“I’m sorry.” I shake my head. “I think I’m still a bit highly strung after Mr. Nelson.”

“I’m not surprised. The guy was a right loser. He deserved to have his brains blown out.”

Liam pulls a small cigarette holder out of his pocket and takes a joint out of it. It’s our way of kicking back and relaxing. Neither of us are big drinkers as alcohol takes away the focus we need to fight. Weed calms the mind so we can concentrate on the tasks we are given. He lights the stick up, has a few drags, and then hands it over to me. I do the same, the rich smoke filling my lungs and lulling me into a false sense of security. I hand it back.

“So, did you hear about Mr. Holland?” Liam blows out a few smoke circles. The pretty rings float skywards before dissipating into the air.

“No.” I collapse on my bed in just my boxer briefs and nothing else. It doesn’t matter though. Liam has seen a lot more of me today than usual.

“He’s gone out west.”

“West?” I sit up and reach out for the joint when Liam hands it back to me.

“Yes. Up and left last night apparently. Nobody has a clue why.”

Mr. Holland is one of the associates of “The Factory”, the place in which I grew up. That wasn’t its real name. It was “Emiliani Orphanage For Children.” They obviously thought naming it after the patron saint of orphans would give it legitimacy for the den of iniquity it really was. Mr. Holland is one of the headmasters who looks after the boys in the school. He’s in his mid-fifties, and thanks to his job, a very wealthy man. He drives a sports car, has a mansion in the country, and holidays each year in exotic locations. As far as the government is concerned, he donates vast amounts of money to help look after the disadvantaged children in the orphanage. Nobody has ever questioned who he actually is. A vicious man, a bully to those he sees as inferior to him, and cruel beyond belief in the punishments he dreams up. I know there is something in the back of my head, something I’d seen once before that he’d done. However, I gave my mind over to being a soldier, and it has disappeared. I don’t question it. I’m safer here within the confines of The Factory rather than out there on the streets where the monsters we fight against live.

“What have the other bosses said about it?” I ask.

“They said he is setting up another Factory out there.” I pass the joint over again. The drug is mellowing me out already.

“What’s the point? I came from out west and was brought here. Doesn’t make any sense.” I shrug in confusion.

“That’s what I thought, but who am I to question the powers that be?” Liam lets out a stoned giggle.

“I’m sure we’ll find out more soon.” I join in his amusement.

Before long, my eyelids start to feel heavy. It has been a long day, and my bruised and aching body needs to rest. The daydreams of the time I’d long since forgotten are also causing my brain to vibrate with a thunderous migraine. Why do I remember my time with Samara now? After eight years apart, I’d become what I needed to survive, a zombie of sorts, going through the motions and not realizing what I am. A killer, a coldhearted and calculating murderer when called upon. My eyes shut tight, and I drift to sleep.

“This is all my fault.” Samara presses the wet cloth against my back. I lay on my front on the bed with only my pants on. The sting of the water sends shivers over my inflamed and flayed skin. “I wasn’t quick enough getting back into my room. I’m so sorry, Archer.”

It hurts to talk, but I need to comfort her. “It’s all right, Mara, they’ve been looking for a reason to do this to me for the last few months. Ever since they caught me stealing the drinks for us at their party. It would’ve happened whether they caught you or not.”

“Don’t say that. They should have given the punishment to me.”

“No.” I jerk upright, and a spasm of sharp, shooting pain cascades through my adolescent body. I groan in agony.