Akting Out

Anders coughed, spitting blood to the floor before chuckling, looking back to the boy who’d delivered the punch. He would’ve looked him in the eye if his own weren’t swollen shut. Instead, he managed a bloody smile. “You hit,” Anders rasped, “like a little old woman.”

Whoever was in front of him laughed. “This kid has a lot of brass.” He said mockingly. Voices behind the young boy laughed along with him. Anders felt a fist crash into his stomach, ripping the wind from his lungs, before the same fist shot up against his chin, and Anders flopped to the ground like a dying fish.

They were still laughing. They enjoyed this.
Anders felt as though his entire body was on fire. He wondered why his visions hadn’t warned him. And as his tormenters continued their derisive laughter, Anders felt righteous anger roil up within him. Anger that he wasn’t strong enough to fight them off when they came for him. Anger that they had showed him how they had murdered every single one of his people and promised him amnesty if he told them what they wanted to know.
Anger—and sadness, in knowing he was next.

He could only take solace from his last vision—his tormenter, defeated at Michael’s feet. Michael would then have a choice to make, to be more like his father or listen to his mother.

Anders smiled, pulling himself to all fours. Michael, Azrael…it would’ve been nice to see you guys one more time…

A foot stomped down onto his back, crushing him against the floor. “I’m going to ask you one more time.” The owner of the foot spoke. Anders’ mind raced, trying to place where he knew that voice. It was so familiar, but ceaseless waves of agony made rational thought impossible. Anders just wanted to go to sleep.

“How. Does this end?” The voice demanded.
It had been that same question for almost an hour. Bad guys always wanna be sure they’re gonna win.
Anders grunted, managing a chuckle. “You…wanna know how this ends? I’ll tell ya.”

They became silent. The foot was removed. Anders closed his eyes.
“I die…and then you die.”

Silence.

“Not right now, don’t worry.” Anders spoke his last words. “But soon; all of you will be killed—executed—for what you did to us.”

Still silence. Anders imagined they were all looking to each other, concerned. After all, Nostradamians didn’t lie, did they? What they foresaw came to pass, no matter what…right?

“That’s how this ends, you smug bastard.”
Anders kept his eyes closed. He remembered meeting Michael for the first time in the forest. He remembered Azrael, how the half-breed went out of his way to help save everyone.

He waited for the end.
Through the sharp end of a spear, it came quickly, and Anders slept.

***

Michael suddenly collapsed to his knees, clutching his heart. It felt as though something had just impaled him!
He wondered if it was this world’s stale air. No, he realized, he was breathing fine, and in fact, the pain was subsiding—

Anders suddenly sprang to mind.

An impossible sense of dread welled up within Michael. Although he had to find his mother, he knew he had to get back home.

Something very bad had happened.

(c) Avery K. Tingle for Akting Out LLC

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