Zealous Secrets

The room had that musty smell of older people. The odour wafted across the space. Not exactly the smell of death, but somehow close enough. Shelves of books covered the walls and there were no gaps between them. Soft seats were scattered randomly around the old room, each one atop an old ragged rug. Browned newspapers and pages full of notes coated the old oak desk near the large glass french doors that lead to the estate gardens. The glass of the doors was coated by years of unwashed dust one could barely see through to the footpath just next to the doors. The study was bound to hold many secrets, but not the one anyone that followed Adam here would search for. The stacks of rotten paper and books gave off such a pungent odour, Adam wanted to leave now … but knew the chase was not over yet.

He stood and looked at the wallpaper half peeled from the walls, unsure what to do. He was a tall and broad man, he had a large, coarse red beard that covered half of the ragged face below, a bald head. The clothes he wore would have at one stage looked clean and allowed Adam to be at home at any members club. But now the arms of the jacket were torn at the seams just below the shoulders, the pants were burned on the front and the buttons of Adam’s top were broken and loose, open to reveal a tan and beaten raw chest beneath. Specks of blood scattered over the jacket, chest and even beard. He pulled out a small flask from the pocket of the jacket. Dented, but structurally sound, he unscrewed the cap and drank the contents dry. He let out a deep breath. Only now he saw the gash on one hand, blood fell onto the hardwood floor below.

A sudden burn stung Adam through the chest, a heat struck all over. The left shoulder burned, the sound of broken glass all around. Adam’s arm went dead, dropped and let go of the flask. There before Adam stood on broken glass and shattered door frame was a tall, weasley man. He held a shotgun, he reloaded, and pulled back the hammer as he put Adam before the barrel.

‘Tell me where the secret can be found, Adam! You cannot keep them all from us for long!’

Adam’s face made an almost happy movement.

‘True … very true, and seems you have found me and the secret kept here.’ He gestured around the room.

Though Adam kept one last secret, that the room they were located, was not a secret house, or part of the secret keepers at all … merely an estate of the man he once called father. A house of empty love and secrets, but not the one the gunman sought. He made a sudden move towards the gunman. Startled and unsure what to do … he shot Adam.

BANG!

Both shells landed centre mass.

As the blood pooled onto the hardwood floor and spread out from Adam’s body. The gunman stood over Adam and laughed.

‘Thought we wouldn’t catch you? Wouldn’t get to you … get to what you have kept from us?’

A soft groan left Adam, the man jumped back, startled for a moment. Eyes shocked open by the fact Adam was not dead yet. How could he not be dead!? He thought.

The moan morphed and became a small chortle, then a laugh. He reached to the pocket on the left of the now blood soaked trousers he wore, and tapped as he blacked out.

The gunman reached down and felt for what was there. He pulled out an envelope, he opened the folded paper and found a letter … the gunman scanned the words, he found out too late he had made a grave error, Adam had kept one last secret.

He dropped the letter and the page fell next to Adam, the words on the paper soon flooded by a red wash, the page now blood soaked.

“Adam, thank you for your help. We owe you much … The secret ends when we all end. Hope stays for the others as long as we do not talk. Farewell Adam.”

The gunman stood for what felt an hour, though only a short moment had passed. A young woman walked through the french doors. Leather clad and long red locks flowed from her head, her green eyes flashed from the body on the ground to the gunman.

‘What have you done?’ she asked sternly.

‘What needed to be done!’ he snapped back.

‘Tell me you got the secret before you …’ she gestured to the body on the ground, what had clearly happened.

The gunman looked away.

‘You dumb bastard!’ she yelled.

She slapped the gunman hard across the face, she screamed at the man.

‘Adam was the only one who knew where to look, he was the key to the secret! You have to tell the boss you stuffed up.’

A look of horror flashed through the gunman’s eyes, he shook fearfully as he spoke.

‘But … but … we were told to end the secret keepers when we found them.’

‘When we locate the secret! You fool! Not the people … the secrets are what matter!’

He shook more as he walked up and down the room, fear washed over every step. He put the gun down on the desk, he paced as he spoke thoughts out loud.

‘Maybe the boss won’t care? Everyone messes up surely?’

The woman looked on, saw the gun on the desk and the man paced back and forth.

‘Well, dear … you have to make a call … to the boss and tell them what happened and see what they do to you … or you could …’ her eyes moved to the gun and her eyebrows bounced up once.

She stepped towards the french doors, broken glass crunched under her boot. Her back turned to the gunman, her arm waved carelessly to the man as she walked through the garden.

‘Sure doesn’t seem to be a hard call to me … not after how the boss reacted when Mark let us down … see you around, Matt.’

Frank let out a deep breath he had not felt he held. He took the gun back up from the desk, loaded the shotgun … and moved towards the corner of the room and the soft seat there.

‘See you around … Mary.’

As Mary moved through the garden of the estate, she heard the blast echo out from the house, she got back on her motorcycle and placed her helmet over her head.

‘Good call, baby brother.’