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Once inside his private bathroom, he noted that the room looked nothing like the tiny bathroom he’d shared with his dad in the cabin, but it was decorated similarly with wooden logs. Instead of the old buckets and poor plumbing, he’d been given what could only be described as an upgrade.
A walk-in shower that was large enough for him to share with more people than he would find enjoyable to be around. Beside it was a clawfoot tub that looked very much like it belonged in the Gothic castle.
Throwing his shredded shirt to the floor, his smooth flesh caught his eye in the mirror. No more scars. The scars his body had carried for a lifetime, constantly punishing him with a map of his sins, were gone. The scars that reminded him of how close to death he’d been, and the monster his survival had created, had simply vanished as if they’d never been there.
Only unblemished and pale flesh moved over his muscles.
For a moment, it was difficult to breathe–a common theme today. Those scars were not something he had ever wanted to keep, but he had grown used to them. He had used them to punish himself with memories that were better forgotten. Refusing to let himself forget, lest he go down darker paths.
Devon continued undressing but paused when his hands moved over his tactical pants. The combat knife still strapped to his right thigh, next to his holster that should have held his pistol had he not dropped it after losing consciousness.
He’d only arrived in the Underworld with what had been on his person, on his… corpse.
He began to unstrap his weapons, pulling his unused tactical gloves from his pocket. He hadn’t had time to get his chest rig into place and wondered if that would have changed the outcome for him.
Devon could remember the burning of a bullet that had torn through his shoulder. The immediate shock of it, yet the pain hadn’t entirely overwhelmed him thanks to the adrenaline that had raced through his veins. He’d moved on instinct in the direction the bullet had come from.
Nothing. The room was empty.
His eyes cut to the windows. No bullet holes.
Devon had spent years evading assassins paid enormous sums to end his life, and one had finally managed to succeed. He had always been the prey as much as the predator in his line of work.
He’d caught the flash of the gun firing from the vacant dark corner before he felt the pain of another bullet searing through his chest.
Everything disappeared after that, his entire consciousness ripped away from him. His next memory was of those beautiful, glowing blue eyes.
Jolting back to where he stood in his new bathroom, Devon grabbed the counter’s edge and took a deep breath. His lungs felt tight, on the verge of hyperventilating from a memory that still seemed so hazy and unclear. The enemy was invisible in his mind. While he could not fathom how his adversary could have been invisible, he was perhaps blocking the face of his murderer from his mind in some form of self-preservation.
Devon undressed completely, kicking aside his pants stiff with blood, and turned the shower handle to the hottest setting.
Looking back at the rags of what had been his daily uniform, piled unceremoniously in the corner, he wondered when he last wore anything but black. Not since before he joined the government service, after he’d stripped himself of his military uniform for the last time. A person could not see blood on black clothing.
He stepped under the steaming showerhead and let the water burn away his mortal life. He couldn’t drink from the River Lethe, but he could do this.
How had he ever thought his life was normal? He had become so immersed in his role as a mercenary, a harbinger of death and destruction, that killing was easier than breathing. Seeing evidence of that life against the backdrop of this peaceful place troubled him. He’d been a truly horrible person. He’d never enjoyed the killing, not like some, but that hardly excused him.
He looked through the glass shower door at his pile of clothing on the floor. The sum of his sins; a lump of dirty rags, weapons, blood-covered military I.D. tags, and painful memories. His memorial.
He turned away, scrubbing himself clean until his skin was raw and stinging.
***
Devon stepped out of the shower, a gush of steam following him into the bathroom. He wrapped a towel around his waist but paused when he noticed from the corner of his vision that his discarded items were missing. Even the dirt and flakes of dried blood from his things had vanished from the floor, cleaned away as if they’d never been there. He didn’t care what happened with the ruined clothes, but he hadn’t heard any noises nor saw anyone enter while he’d been in the shower.
He had lost his touch if people were able to sneak up on him. He needed to focus on keeping his guard up. Complacency in his world led to death, but he never thought about what happened when a person was already dead. He thought on this as he secured his towel and opened the bathroom door.
He was suddenly immersed in his past.
Walking through the front door of the cabin, he went to the kitchen for his after-school snack as he did every day.
Before he made it too far into the cabin, he caught sight of his father sitting at the kitchen table. Usually, if the sun was up his father was outside, having no patience for remaining indoors when the beauty of the outdoors called to him.
“Hey, Dad,” Devon greeted, curious about his father being inside when the weather was perfect.
“Ah, Devon! Good, good. You’re home. Come with me.” His father moved around the table, grabbing onto Devon’s arm as he walked past him. At fifteen years of age, he was almost as tall as his father. It wouldn’t be long before he surpassed him in height.
His father moved through their small cabin before coming to a stop in front of Devon’s door. Grabbing both of his son’s hands in his, his father smiled. Something he did not do often, the man was very serious most of the time, so Devon took great joy in these moments.
