A Battle My Own part 2

The white ball collided with the solid four with a crack and sent it into the corner hole. The bar was mostly empty. A few hard-hitters sat in various corners. The TV blared a sports game. There was one player at the pool tables. He lined up the white ball with a striped six and made another perfect shot.
For some odd reason, Lorin played pool when he was angry. He always played it in this bar, The Creacy Tavern, and he always played it well. He had just come from his aunt's, and that was sure to be met with a stop at the tavern. He had been here enough that the regulars knew to leave him alone. Especially when he played pool as well as he was playing now. Crack! Another ball in the hole.
Gwyne may not tolerate your foolish ambitions for much longer, Lorin. His aunt's words came back to haunt him like a gost. You cannot go on the request for vengance. This hate you bear will surely kill you in the end.
"Isn't that my problem?" Lorin muttered.
Avery is dead, you can't change that! And do you really think that anything you do will change that? Can you bring him back? Can you change what happened?
"No!"
Then why do you do this? Why have you turned to the path of hatred? You once were appalled at the idea of using your fear to control anyone else. You said that it was not a thing for any man to hold! Well you have turned around from that, young man. Tell me, does Gwyne know what you do half the time your away?
"Go away!" Lorin hissed and knocked another ball into its hole.
You were once happy. What has happened to you? Where have you gone, Lorin? And why do you try to hide what you have become? The darkness bred by hate is there, and you can not cover it up.
I do not hate. Nor do I fear any consequences.
And that will be your demise.
Lorin hit the final ball in to the hole then lined up for the eight ball. "You are wrong!" He hissed and shot the ball into the hole.
"Well done, Horst." A pair of hands clapped three times and Lorin sighed, he didn't need to be told who was behind him.
"What do you want? I'm on vacation, remember?"
"Oh, so sorry." The faint Boston accent mixed with a distance European tinge. "I seem to have an awful memory."
Lorin turned, picked up his bourbon from the side of the table, and gave a wry smile. "Shall I refresh it?"
The man smiled a cold smile. "You're very good at what you do, Horst. And I can have no other for this job."
"Yeah? Well get someone else, Collings."
"The pay is....uh, very large."
"You would think the European reputation for refinery would rub off on you, John." Lorin threw the remainder of his glass down his throat.
"I know you, Horst. I know when you’re angry....restless. This would be a fine distraction."
"No, I just got back. I have....things to take care of."
Collings shrugged and pulled out a piece of paper from his shirt pocket. "Here's my current number if you change your mind." He laid the paper on the pool table. "Oh, and nice game."1

2

Gwyne waited angrily in the living room; waiting for Lorin to come home. The TV was on, but she was not paying it any attention. She stared glumly, her thoughts running over the past afternoon. The visit from the Air Force officer had shaken her more than she had let on. Lorin had never discussed his work with the Air Force with her. In fact he had only mentioned it once and then very briefly.
How can he not tell me things like this? Doesn't he think I'd like to know? Doesn't he think I care about what he does? Why can't he just tell me? I know he keeps secrets, probably more secrets than I want to admit, but his is huge! Angrily, she drummed her fingers on he knee. Didn't he know that he was putting himself in danger? Didn't he think she cared? How much more did he do behind her back?
How am I suppose to marry a man how keeps secrets like this from me? How? I can't live constantly in the dark about his life. If he wants this to work he's gonna half to fess up. That’s all. Dang! Why do I do this? Gwyne bit her lip. Why indeed. Because you love him, girl. Love him like you've loved no man. But a growing conviction was mounting in her. A fear was gnawing at her core. Could she really pursue a life with a man who was not honest? Could she lie in bed at night and now know where he was or when he'd be back? These were fears that Lorin could not remove. Indeed he had sworn never to use his power against her. This fear was eating at her, and she didn't know what to do.
3


Lorin opened the apartment door and dropped his keys in the ashtray by the door. Slamming the door, he crossed into the kitchen. Opening the refrigerator, he took out a beer, popped the top off and drank it in one very long swig.
"You're angry."
Lorin placed the bottle on the counter and turned to find Gwyne sitting at the small table behind him. "Why do you think that?"
"You always drink excessively when you're angry."
He didn't answer, instead turning back the fridge and pulling out another beer he went into the living room and sat down. Gwyne followed, but stood with her arms crossed. "Why didn't you tell me about the Air Force?"
Lorin popped the cap from the second beer. "You didn't need to know."
"What makes you think that?"
"You just didn't."
Gwyne scoffed. "Oh! So you don't think that I need to know when you're putting your life in danger. You don't think I want to know where you go. You don't think I want to know where you have been the past three weeks." She swore. "Of course I want to know, Lorin!"
"Drop it." He took a swig from his beer. He didn't like the conversation, and he was being distracted by Gwyne. He had always thought she looked best when she was angry. He stood and stepped towards her.
"No!" Gwyne was seething now. "I'm not going to 'drop it'. This is a problem, Lorin, and until we get it worked out, we are going to be fighting constantly. All I'm asking is that you be honest with me."
"I never lied."
"You would never answer me!"
He reached out a hand and ran a finger up her arm. "Not now."
"Yes now!"
"Just shut up." He pulled Gwyne to him, wanting her. Now. Wanting her more now than ever before. His hand ran up her side, and he held her tight.
"Lorin! NO!" Gwyne pushed him back and slapped him.
"Stop it or suffer the consequences!"
Lorin's voice came out in a vibrating rumble. It was deep and guttering, coming from deep in the throat, it was animal. It was the voices of Pharaoh, Bonaparte, Hitler, Stalin and Kim Jong-Ill. It was horrific. It was detestable.
It was fear.
Fear had coursed through that voice. The power of fear was there, and Lorin controlled it. Just like he controlled fear through his eyes. It was there in his voice.
Now Gwyne stood, petrified with fear. Lorin stood in complete shock of what he had just done. He didn't even know how he had done it. Never ever had he been able to use the Anathema through his voice. Never. Now, somehow, he had. And Gwyne stood there, frozen with it. Quickly, he gazed into Gwyne's eyes and removed the fear. Then, ashamed he turned and left.4

~ ~ ~5

Katy Underwood sat at the bar of the Creacy Tavern. She sipped her cocktail slowly, surveying the bar. She was waiting, had been for quite some time, but she still waited, knowing he would come. She sipped again and crossed her legs, leaning against the bar.
Ah, there he was now. He strode up to the bar and ordered himself a double scotch on the rocks. He downed it in one swig and ordered another. This one he took to one of the pool tables and engaged in a game. Only when he was halfway through did Katy approach him.
"Mr. Lorin Horst?"
"What?" He didn't give her more than a glance.
"Doesn't it surprise you that a perfect stranger knows your name?"
"No." He lined up his shot and took it. "You see, Miss, you've been scoping me out since I came. You've been drinking the same cocktail for fifteen minutes. You're dressed in tight black and makeup that means you’re from a city, and with that type of history, you'd finish that cocktail in less than a minute if you came in here to drink. But since you are not, I assume you are here to meet someone. And since I'm the only one you've approached judging by how heavy your perfume is, I'm guessing your a reporter. Right?"
She smiled. "Correct, Mr. Horst. Katy Underwood with Fox News, and I would very much like to do a story on you and your family, past and present6

7

Kyle Havvock picked up the phone on the fourth ring. "Hello?"
"Dad?"
"Gwyne! Didn't expect to hear from you today."
There was a pause, and he could almost hear the sound of crying. "Gwyne, is everything all right?"
"I'm going to break up with him, Dad."
"Lorin?"
"Yes!" He could hear her wipe her nose. "I-I can't do this all my life! It’s too hard to bear."
Kyle didn't say a thing. He was shocked, devastated; and not just for his daughter's sake. Flashes of a thousand horrible tortures and fates worse than death ran through his mind. This couldn't be! It couldn't! Everything had been going so well! Everything!
"Dad?"
Gwyne's voice brought him out of his reverie. "Umm, I really don't think that is such a good idea at this time, Gwyne. Have you even thought this out? Tell me you just didn't have a fight. That would be a rash decision."
"No, Dad. I've been thinking about it for a while. I can't take it. It’s just too much."
"What's too much?"
"Everything!" Gwyne's voice rose in anger. "From his secretiveness, to what he does, to his change in perspective...Everything, Dad! He's not the same as he was three years ago! And I can't do it!"
"Have you even tried?"
"Why do you care?"
"Because you’re my daughter." Kyle tried to lighten his voice, hiding the fear. "And I care about everything that happens to you."
"Do you want me to be happy?"
"Yes."
"Then I half to do this."
Kyle sighed. What could he do? Dare he tell her the truth? Could she handle it? "Gwyne," he paused, trying to find the words. "Gwyne, I ask you not to do this because, because it would be detrimental for myself, your mother and you."
"What are you talking about?"
Kyle hung his head. "I made some bad decisions. Got too friendly with the wrong crowd...and…and if you don't marry Lorin, some people are going to get pretty angry. First with me, then with you."
Shock laced her voice. "Why?"
"From what I understand they are a very powerful, part scientist, part terrorist group. Apparently they have Lorin under their sights and don't want to give him up. They want this to happen, and if it doesn't we're all going to be in serious trouble."
Gwyne was silent for a full minute before responding, her voice cracked and ragged. "I'll hate you for this." The phone went dead. 8

~ ~ ~ ~ 9

Katy Underwood left the bar and walked down the street well contented. She pulled out her cell phone and dialed. A male voice on the other end answered. "He took the bate. Just tell me when."
"Good. What have you learned about his crime boss?"
"He's insubordinate, but the man keeps him because of his uncanny ability to do the job. I have reason to believe the subject is having pre-marital problems. Shall I intervene?"
"No. You're sure he doesn't suspect?"
"Absolutely not. Horst has completely forgotten the Seibacians existence."
"Good. Check back later with the progress. Her Ladyship will be pleased with you."
"Thank you, Ligment."10

Lorin punched the number into the phone and drummed his fingers impatiently while it rang. He had made a decision. It might be the wrong one, it might be the right one, but he had made it. He had to carry it out now.
The other line picked up. "Yes, Horst."
"I'll take it Collings."
"Good. I'll give you everything you need saterday at the pub."
"What time?"
"Elevenish."
"Fine, and...uh…who is it?"
"Erhm...someone named caDia. Weird name. Bye."
Lorin snapped his phone shut. CaDia! He remembered diRothe's henchman far too well. This was far more complicated than he thought. He remembered all to well the oath he had sworn in the Seibacian Councle. I shall never raise my hand against any of the Seibacian. The Anathema shall never be employed against her people or allies. So I swear until death.11


Hate is a powerful tool. Hate can propel the sublimes of men into a course of action that they would never have considered in their right minds. Hate enslaves the bravest of men. It is subtle. It creeps into the minds and hearts of men and women and takes a hold. One small step at a time it gains ground, never retreating, pressing onward and forward. Never giving up, never daunting. It consumes. It destroys. Hate will keep a man alive if for no other reason then to laugh in his face when he is destroyed. Hate takes pleasure in the death of its host. It consumes the soul then works to consume all others in its path.
Lorin Horst was being taken by hate.
Hate against those who had made him into an Anathema. Hate against those who had killed his mother. Hate against those who had killed his Brother. Hate against all people for existing in happiness when he was so utterly alone. For he did not fear. He could not feel the trifle fears of a normal person. There was a single core of fear in him, but it did not touch his mind or heart. They were free. Or so he thought. People are almost always a slave to something. They seek out serfdom and beg to be beaten. Hate had taken the place of fear. Where love should have entered, it was rejected and hate was welcomed.
So what did it matter if Lorin killed caDia? Had not the Seibacian destroyed his life, his happiness? Didn't he half the right to avenge himself? His mind of human logic, which is fickle and low, ascertained that revenge was the correct course. It promised satisfaction for the misery he had bestowed upon him.
He hardened his hear. He would break his oath. Had he not sworn it in desperation to escape the pain? How could such an oath be honored. It was ill conceived and forced upon him. He had the right to break it. He would.
He had to.
It had been planned. 12

~ ~ ~ 13

Phoebe snapped her cell phone shut and nodded at the young man who sat across from her. He was indeed very young; his body portrayed a youth of seventeen, but his face and eyes stated otherwise. For in them they had wisdom even Phoebe had not obtained.
"Things are going as planned." She placed the phone back in her purse. "Do you have further instructions for Ligment?"
The youth slowly slipped the black espresso in its tiny cup and was silent. Phoebe waited, knowing from experience that this boy, or was he a man, would speak only when he was ready, never before. Silence was his way. She could count on one hand the sentences he had spoken since they had sat down for their meeting.
"Underwood must dig up everything and turn it over. He must be made to relive every moment over a thousand times. Nothing must escape her questioning." He finished his coffee in one sip, then stood and went out, his face partially hidden by a hat. And perhaps he was regretful about the thing he was doing as he left. He had not wanted to do it, but upon being informed of the risks otherwise he had agreed.
But still, it is hard to persecute someone you love.
14