The Fatima Curse

He stood there in the pouring rain, unmindful of the fact that he was soaked to the bone. The cabby that had dropped him off waited a few minutes, before realizing the boy was serious and driving off. He had been told to wait, been tipped ten dollars to wait, but it was raining and he was tired, and the kid had creeped him out.



What the hell was so important in a cemetery that he had to stand there in the rain? It wasn’t like the person he’d gone to see was going anywhere.



He stood in front of the tombstone with his eyes closed and his hands fisted at his sides. He had thought he had buried all the old anger and hurt, but it rose up inside of him like a wildfire, burning his heart to ash. It had been ten years since the murder, ten years since he had been snatched away from his safe, comfortable life and thrown into the dark, dangerous world of professional killing. Ten years since he had heard her voice and felt her arms around him. The anger was buried under childish want. An old truth, and a simple truth. He wanted his mother.



Suzume Endo



1965 - 1999



“The Spirit gives life; the flesh counts for nothing.”



“Okaasan,” he whispered, kneeling down in the wet earth and placing his palm against the cool stone. It seemed to him that he could feel her, smiling down at him, but this feeling was superseded by his certainty that she was disappointed in him deeply. He had not only grown up to be a stubborn, foolish, cowardly man; but he had taken many lives. The blood stained his hands and would not wash away. “Gomen nasai,” he whispered again, small voice drowned out by a large clap of thunder. “I’m so sorry, momma.”



Shuuichi had not wanted Uri to accompany him. He realized that he placed his life in Uri\'s hands, but that did not give him the rights to everything he was. Something had to belong solely to him, and he felt sure that his mother did. They had only had each other, living in their small apartment together. She had worked and left him with friends during the day, but at night they would cuddle together and she would read to him, and he would fall asleep to the sound of her heart and her pretty voice telling him stories. He had known her for only a little while, but that did not mean he had to share her memory with everyone. He wanted her to be his. He wanted his memories of her to belong only to him.



Uri had understood, had offered him that pained smile coupled with those horribly patient eyes. Shu had felt a mixture of contempt and adoration for the man in that moment. He had never wanted to throttle someone and kiss their mouth raw at the same time.



Wounded as he was, horribly and utterly grief-stricken as he was, Shu’s senses were not dulled. He heard the man coming up behind him even over the pounding rain and the rumbling thunder. He stood and turned, watching as the man approached. A hat was pulled over his eyes, and Shu found that very strange; what he found even more curious was that the man seemed to smile at him without moving his lips.



“What the hell’re you doin’, sneakin’ up on me?,” Shu demanded. His voice did not sound as commanding as he would have liked it. It sounded pitifully weak and seconds away from trembling into tears.



The man nodded in the direction of the tombstone. “You knew her?”



“Don’t see how that’s any of your business,” Shu snapped.



This time the man’s lips moved into a smile. It was soft and patient and infinitely kind. Shu didn’t trust it, didn’t trust him. “I knew her too,” the man said gently, “She was a good woman. How did you know her, young man?” His voice was just as soft as his smile, and Shu wished he would just go away, find some other kid to pick on.



“She was my mother,” Shu said defensively. He waited for the man to respond, perhaps to apologize and excuse himself, but he remained motionless and silent. The smile on his face dropped away.



“I’m sorry,” the man finally said.



“Forget it,” Shu rebuked, turning back to his mother’s grave. He did not let his guard down, however. He might have been a screw-up, but ten years of murdering people in the shadows had taught him how to stay alert. He was curious in spite of himself, he had never met the man before, and he had known his mother. “How did you know her?,” Shu asked.



“She was… my friend,” the man murmured. Shu didn’t trust the words, but he let it be. He was in no mood to argue with some stranger. All he had wanted was to be alone with his mother.



“You look just like her,” the man said, and his voice was somewhat thick, Shu thought he might be on the verge of tears, and he grew uncomfortable. “It’s amazing. I…” His voice trailed off. Shu could sense he had something important to say, something deeply revealing. “I’m sorry,” he repeated, sighing deeply. “I’ll leave you alone now, Shuuichi.”



Shu looked over his shoulder at the man, eyes wide. “How the hell did you---”



The man was walking away hurriedly.



“H-hey! Wait!” Shu jogged after him, reaching him as he stood by his car, fumbling with his lock. “How the hell do you know my name?”



“Oh,” the man said, flustered, “Suzume had a boy named Shuuichi, she talked about him all the time.”



It was another lie, but he wasn’t in the mood to fool around with the man any longer. He was cold and wet and needed to get back to base before Master found out about his little excursion. It was then that Shu realized his cab was gone. That dumb fucking ape, he couldn’t have waited five minutes. What kind of heartless bastard drove off and left some kid all wet and shivering in a cemetery?



“Fucking great,” he growled, “My goddamn cab took off without me.”



The man had finally unlocked his door, but paused when the boy spoke. He was halfway in his warm, dry car. “Oh…” He sighed and lifted the brim of his hat. “Do you want a ride?”



Shu almost shook his head no, but the sky rumbled above him and lightning lit up the night sky, turning it momentarily white. “Yeah, I guess so,” he reluctantly agreed.



The man hopped inside and unlocked the passenger door. Shu hesitated, looking back in the direction of his mother’s grave. “I’m sorry,” he told her again, “I’ll come back soon, momma, I promise.” With that, he climbed into the stranger’s car.







“I had no idea Suzume’s son still lived in the city,” the man explained as he drove, “I assumed he…you went to live with relatives somewhere. I know her husband wasn’t… in the picture.”



“No,” Shu said despondently, staring out the window with his brow against the glass. “He was a piece of shit.”



“Yes, I suppose so.”



Shu closed his eyes, listening to the low music coming from the radio and the gentle swish-swish of the windshield wipers. He felt drained, husked out, physically and emotionally tired. Visiting his mother’s grave on the anniversary of her death was a tradition, but it always left him feeling as though he had been awake for twenty years; he was exhausted and wanted some kind of comfort.



He was dozing off when the man spoke to him.



“Hunh?,” Shu grunted, annoyed.



“Were you there when she was killed?”



Shu wanted to throw a punch at the man for asking such a cruel question, but his arms felt like leaden weighs. He couldn’t even open his eyes. He just clucked his tongue and offered a half-hearted sneer. “Yeah, I was,” he answered, “You better shut the fuck up about it too.”



“That must have been awful for you.”



Shu’s eyes opened wearily. For the first time in his life, he was too exhausted to be angry. He just stared at the man with his pained, bloodshot eyes. The man bit his bottom lip and looked back at the road, seeming to feel the sorrow radiating from the boy. “I’m sorry,” he said softly.



“I watched her get killed,” Shu whispered. “I watched a man shoot her down like a sick dog, and I held her hand as she died.” His voice was flat and emotionless; robotic. “No one came to the funeral, no one cared about her but me.” Shu looked out at the street. “This is where I get off.”



The man stopped the car. “I’m sorry if---”



“I don’t need your apologies,” Shu said coldly. “I don’t need anyone’s pity.” He reached into his wallet and threw a five at the man. “Thanks for the ride, pops.”



“Wait---”



“See ya,” Shu said, climbing out into the rain and racing towards the building at the corner. The man watched him mount the stoop and slide inside, and sat there for a few minutes afterwards, watching the door to see if the boy would come back out.



He didn’t, and the man eventually drove away.







He entered his home drenched from head to toe. He removed his coat and threw it on the chair. His hat was removed and hung up on the rack, and the face that had been obscured from Shuuichi’s view was revealed. He was an older man, of about forty, with graying hair at his temples and distinguished lines around his eyes and mouth. His eyes were sharp and curved, dark brown and strangely pretty.



He was dressed in an expensive suit perfectly tailored for his frame. It was soaked as well, and he lamented its loss only briefly. He had plenty of money.



He walked through his high-rise penthouse feeling almost ashamed of its size and scale. He thought of the boy he had dropped off. He lived in a slum, basically. A house of dull brick and peeling paint that stood at the corner of one of the seediest neighborhoods in town. He found himself thinking of the boy quite a lot as he poured himself a drink and sat down in front of his television. He turned the screen on and listened to the news with half an ear.



Shuuichi Endo. Shuuichi. He mulled the name as he sipped his whiskey, not minding the rain that dried on his skin and clothes, paying no attention as it soaked his expensive suede sofa.



“Joseph Kiernan, renowned defense attorney and philanthropist, who was brutally murdered last Friday night in the parking deck of his prestigious law firm, will be buried tomorrow at Roseland Memorial. It will be a private ceremony, open only to friends and family…”



He didn’t care about the man. He had been a ferocious beast, no matter what the pretty airhead on his television believed about him. He knew about his hobbies, and found them deplorable. He was a man who enjoyed a stiff drink, perhaps a pretty young girl every now and then to keep himself young, but Kiernan’s tastes had been for younger flesh. Children. The one thing he could not tolerate was someone who would hurt a child. Certainly not in the horrible and dehumanizing way Kiernan had.



“It is still unclear as to the motive. Police have reported there are no leads, and ask that anyone who might have any information report it to the sherrif’s office immediately. The number is…”



He lost interest and turned off his television. No one would ever report a damn thing to the sheriff or his incompetent lackeys. It had been a professional hit, after twenty years of performing them himself, Tatsuya could smell them from a mile away.



Whoever had killed the sick bastard had done it clean. They were obviously a veteran. He respected their work. Quick, efficient, right to the point. Many of the hits his partner had performed had been sloppy and rushed. He could learn a lesson from the person who had offed Kiernan.



Not that he was in any mood to learn from the man who had killed his father. Tatsuya would have slit the bastard’s throat himself if not for the familial ties his partner had with the man.



Tatsuya stood, looked down impassively at the wet patch on his sofa, and wandered into his bedroom. He disrobed in the bathroom, toweled his hair and body, and slid into his silk pajamas. He then walked out to his balcony and watched the street below. There were only a few cars out, a few people milling about on the street. He wondered how many of them knew he could make a few calls and have them killed. He smiled to himself. It was better they didn’t know.



He had made a name for himself as a well respected and well trusted stockbroker. He clocked seventy hours a week and took home well over two million a year, without dabbling in his illegal business. He did not kill for fun or sport; a man who did that was a man who was asking to get killed. He saw himself as a vigilante. The cops were crooked, the town was a cesspool for criminals and rapists and thugs who wanted nothing more than to turn the world upside down. And so he got rid of them. He saw it as a community service.



Twenty years ago he had been the only one. He had been tackling the city’s criminal element on his own, and he had enjoyed it. Then other factions had begun to move in, other vigilantes had begun to pop up all over King’s Rock. They were vicious, heartless killers. The worst one was that damnable Abel, with his team of children. They were proving to be an extreme nuisance.



And Shuuichi was one of them.



He found it hard to believe. The kid had talked tough, but he had looked tired and small. It was difficult to imagine him murdering someone in cold blood. But Tatsuya was not a fool; usually the ones with the sweetest eyes were the ones who would bury a knife in your back.



Still… Why him? He could have snatched any kid off the street, why him? Tatsuya felt tortured thinking of the boy. For the first time in nearly two decades, he was reminded of his heart. He could feel it tighten as he thought of the kid with blood on his hands, standing in the shadows.



He sighed weakly and shook his head. There was no point in dwelling on it, Shuuichi was an enemy, and as much as it pained him, Tatsuya knew the boy would eventually be eaten alive by his own comrades. Loyalty was not an asset to an assassin, it was a liability. They would turn on him and devour him, the same people he called his friends.



“You should get out now, while there’s still time,” Tatsuya whispered, and he suddenly realized how cold it was, standing out there on his high-rise balcony in his thin silk pajamas. He could see his breath in front of his face. “You have to get out.”



He was not alone, he knew it before he turned around and met a pair of gleaming green eyes, staring out at him from the darkness of his bedroom. He smiled and straightened his tousled hair with his fingers. “You’re getting better.”



“Thanks.”



“Why are you here?”



“Did you hear?”



Tatsuya cocked his head curiously to the side.



“My dad’s funeral is tomorrow.”



“Ah yes, all of New York’s high society will turn out to honor their great fallen hero. What about you?”



“No. He died a long time ago as far as I’m concerned.”



Tatsuya stepped in from his balcony, letting the warmth sink down into his bones. “Then I’m not sure what you’re doing here,” he admitted, “If you have no intention of going. I won’t attend without you. Kiernan was a thorn in my side, I’m glad to see him gone.”



“Do you know who will attend?,” his partner insisted.



Tatsuya did not like the kid’s riddles. He held up his hands and shrugged.



“A certain Abel Price.”



“Abel,” Tatsuya growled, “What the hell is that crafty fox up to now?”



“He’s deeply saddened over his death you know,” his partner said, voice dripping with sarcasm, “He wants to express his condolences.”



“Son of a bitch.”



“This would be the time,” his partner continued, “To surprise him. You should attend the funeral and… talk with your old friend.”



Tatsuya smiled craftily. “Yes, yes… it’s been far too long.”



“They’ll bury him at eleven tomorrow morning. And if you don’t make any mistakes, Abel will be next.”



“I don’t need some punk kid telling me how to handle my business,” Tatsuya returned, but his eyes were smiling.



“I’ll see you later then,” his partner said.



“Wait,” Tatsuya ordered, and the younger man froze, looking at him with one eyebrow cocked.



“About your father,” he began, “Are you sure you won’t be in attendance tomorrow?”



The man’s face relaxed into a smile that was humorless and grave. “That man wasn’t my father. He was a monster. I’m glad he’s gone.”



Tatsuya found the words to ring false, but he said nothing more about it to the boy. In time, he would find his own way to grieve. Kiernan had been a monster, but Tatsuya knew that that changed nothing in the end. He had still been his father, and his partner would have to accept and live with all the things he had done. He bore a heavy burden, and Tatsuya was not so compassionless that he could not sympathize.



“All right then, goodnight.”



“Goodnight,” his partner said.



“And Leon,” Tatsuya called, forcing the man to turn in exasperation, emerald eyes narrowed. “Don’t forget about your own mission,” he said with a smirk. He saw the brief, fleeting weakness in Leon’s eyes, the slight tremble of his lower lip and chin, and knew that he had struck a nerve.



“I-I won’t,” Leon almost hissed.



Tatsuya smiled at him as he turned and left. The boy had gotten in way over his head, he knew. He had seen the pictures of him and the dark assassin. Uriel Fatima…



The man was dangerous. As little as Tatsuya liked the idea of having the man killed, he knew that it was inevitable. There was much more at stake than his own life if Uriel were allowed to continue serving under Abel.



Much, much more.