Page 84 of Semblance

The Crow walked over and inspected the wall that Abraham’s body had struck.

“This is a well-built condominium,” he said. “Usually when I toss my victims against walls, they break through the drywall. You must be hurting like a bitch.”

While the Crow was ranting, he failed to notice Abraham grab a broken piece of glass from the ground. His grip was tight as it cut through his hands, droplets of blood trickling to the ground.

Abraham lunged at the Crow’s stomach but the assassin had telegraphed the attack and deftly spun away, smashing his boot against Abraham’s hand, grinding the broken glass into his flesh. Abraham howled with pain.

It was more than I could stand.

I struggled to my feet, enduring the sharp pulsing pains across my abdomen and shoulder blades.

Come on Aria,I thought.Abraham needs my help. I’ve had cramps worse than this.

I reached for the weapons within my reach. This guy was fast and smart, but with a bit of creativity, hopefully I could surprise him.

Meanwhile the Crow was taking great pleasure in tormenting Abraham, slapping him across the face with a back hand repeatedly. Every strike must have been excruciating considering Abraham’s jaw was mangled.

“Fuh…fuh…fuh,” I heard Abraham mutter through staggered breaths.

“You seem surprised,” the Crow continued to rant. He was distracted making it the opportune time to strike.

He continued taunting Abraham. “When you face a Crow, there can be no result other than your complete and utter—”

I attacked him from behind. Even though I crept up on him silently, he was still aware of my presence through some unnatural sixth sense. His right hand gripped my wrist which was raised above my head, the butcher knife in hand, longing to shear the flesh of this bastard.

“Why Ms. Valencia, I am surprised at your continual efforts to struggle. Perhaps I should dispose of you now,” he mused. “You are quite the pest.”

“You talk too fucking much,” I cried out. What the Crow didn’t see was Abraham’s gun in my left hand, concealed behind my back. With the weapon still held behind me, I turned ever-so-slightly so that the gun was pointing directly at his stomach and I pulled the trigger, the explosive sound of the gunshot echoing throughout my condo.

I stared deep into the Crow’s eyes, wide with shock, and found satisfaction in knowing that an ordinary girl like me had bested him.

As he sank to the ground, I spat on him for good measure.

“Maybe if you finished the job instead of indulging in your ridiculously stupid soliloquies, I wouldn’t have just fucked you in the stomach with a bullet,” I said, aiming the gun at his head.

He tried to speak, but all that came out was a gurgle. I looked down at his wound and saw wetness pooling around the black fabric of his jumpsuit.

“I don’t want to do this,” I said, closing my eyes. But I had no choice. I had to save Abraham and myself. My hands were trembling and I hesitated for a moment. Was I ready to take another person’s life? I suddenly felt a gentle hand rest upon my shoulder.

Abraham was standing behind me, his wounded hand buried underneath his suit jacket. Blood streamed down the corner of his mouth, and he looked at me with glistening eyes and shook his head.

“Du-du-dun’t.”

His hands reached for the gun, gently prying it away from me.

“H-h-hands fu-fu-fuh mus-si-sic.” Abraham clutched the gun with his good hand and pointed it at the Crow’s head. Instinctively I looked away.

My stomach wasn’t made for this sort of thing.

Even though I was anticipating it, I still jumped at the sounds of the gun roaring. When I turned back around, the Crow was dead, and Abraham stood there like a man who had just been tortured.

I rushed over to him and wrapped his arm around my throbbing shoulder—knife still protruding from it—supporting the weight of his frail body as it threatened to crumple to the floor.

“Come on Abraham, you’re alright,” I said. “I’ll get you to the hospital and they’ll fix us.”

Abraham nodded slowly as we made our way out of my condo and towards the elevator. I frantically smashed the button with my finger, cursing that the elevator wasn’t here ten seconds ago.

“You’re a brave and foolish old man,” I said, keeping some type of conversation going. I was afraid that if he lost consciousness, he wouldn’t wake up again. “You must have been quite the stud forty years ago.”

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