Suddenly, John felt a sharp pain in the back of his neck once more. It seemed as though someone had hit him perfectly on his previous wound. He fell forward from the blow, unable to stay upright, landing on top of the other man. Both of them groaned in pain as the blood from their wounds commingled.
Realizing that his attacker was not alone, and that he was now at an even bigger disadvantage with two against one, John couldn't help but give up. He was already in such a bad state from his previous battle with the first guy, he wouldn't be able to do it again. Although he still had the rod in his hand, it was obvious that the other party had a weapon too, rendering his advantage useless.
Just as he was about to allow the darkness which had been lingering around his consciousness to take over, a thought rejuvenated his mindset. Ann was still out there, waiting for him. If he gave up now, there was a high chance that the second attacker would go after her and he couldn't allow for that to happen.
Knowing that he no longer had the energy to simply incapacitate the person behind him with multiple attacks, he decided to go for the vulnerable spot which he had previously avoided, the head. Although there was a chance that he may kill that individual, he was willing to take the risk.
In his heart, he had accepted the fact that he may end up dying due to his repeated concussions and severe blood loss from his head, but alas, he persisted. Death took away his fear of days wasted at court and defamation of his company. Instead, he would be seen as dying a martyr's death, desperately defending his wife from savage hooligans, or at least that's what he hoped, along with Ann's safe escape, of course.
Grasping on to the rod with his right hand, he mentally prepared himself for the last strike. This could very well be the last thing he did on the planet, and he wanted to make sure that it didn't fail. Judging from how the person managed to hit his neck with downwards force, he hoped that meant they were either average height or taller, because if they were dwarf sized, he would miss completely. Being a bit too tall was still better than being short because he would still hit the person's jaw or neck, or at least he hoped so.
He was thankful that the rainfall was so heavy because it helped wash his slippery blood off of his hands, ensuring that the rod would not go flying out of his hands due to centrifugal force.
Saying a quick prayer he had overheard on the radio just in case God truly did exist, he swung the piece of metal around with his remaining energy. Taking note of the general height of his assailant, he slightly adjusted his blow but it was more or less accurate already.
As he flipped over, he was horrified by what he saw. The person who was standing behind him, and had most likely attacked him, was none other than his beloved wife, Ann.
Everything seemed to start moving in slow motion. He could no longer control his arm as it lead the rod in a direct path towards Ann's cranium. He could only hope that his love would be able to dodge the fatal blow. He noticed the regret on her face morph into shock, before an almost nonexistent flash of fear turned into an expression of acceptance. When he saw her close her eyes, he knew that there would be no dodging.
John tried to stop his arm but it seemed to move of its own accord. Horror struck his heart as he felt her skull deform through the rod, the sound of bones cracking overshadowing the roar of rain and claps of thunder. The end of the rod succeeded in slicing open a small cut on her scalp, scarlet drops of blood contrasting greatly with the pure raindrops that fell alongside them. A few droplets landed on him, only to be washed away by the torrential rains, but forever leaving their stains in his mind.
He watched as her body fell beside his, the ground rushing to catch what was already a corpse. The rain continued to fall down, cleansing her wound, making it seem almost as though nothing had happened at all. The look on her face made it seem as though she was just sleeping, undisturbed by the happenings around her.
Realizing what he had just done, his body shook with shock and terror. Had he just killed the woman of his dreams? His one remaining companion? His true love?
John closed his eyes, telling himself that none of this was real. This simply couldn't be possible. The woman he loved, and promised to always protect, he couldn't possibly become her murder, the one to snatch her life away from her. He tried to tell himself it was a dream, no, not a dream, but a nightmare. He attempted to delude himself, but to no avail.
Every drop of rain that fell on him assured him that it was all real. The man, his words, the fight, its results, Ann's action, his reaction, it was all just too real. Sorrow overcame his confusion and denial, bringing with it a stark sense of reality.
As he gradually regained the ability to slightly move, he curled up into fetal position once more. He wanted to touch her one last time, but he was unwilling to desecrate her purity with his touch.
For the first time in many years, he let out a cry of pure anguish. His call of distress echoed throughout the alleyway, putting the noise made by the storm to shame. He took a haggard breath and cried out again, trying to release all of his sorrow in one go.
Gradually, his cries became quieter and quieter until one could no longer hear them, not even John himself. He was both physically and mentally exhausted. He no longer felt any anger, or sorrow, or even any remorse for his actions. He could only discern one thing, and that was that he was tired.
The monsoon-like rain had slowed down to a gentle sprinkle. Eventually, even that stopped, and the cloud cover thinned, allowing moonlight to penetrate. Occasionally, there would be a spot with no clouds, where bits of constellations were barely visible amidst the light pollution created by the rest of the city.
As light from the moon illuminated the scene on the street, a dilute pool of blood and rainwater surrounded the three bodies. One was dead, another dying, and the third simply unconscious. The darkness extended its territory from around edges of John's consciousness and began to envelop his whole being. It was welcome relief from the struggles of the world. John took another at moonlit face of Ann, and closed his eyes for the last time.
*******************
It was bright, but it was nothing like the movies. There were no tunnels, nor was there a light somewhere in the distance. He didn't see his life flash before his eyes, and no angel or reaper came to retrieve him.
When John regained consciousness, the first thing he noticed was the water. Had he fallen asleep in the bathtub? He tried to open his eyes, but his eyelids felt heavy like lead. What was the point of putting in all that effort anyways? He decided to ignore it for now and went back to sleep.
He couldn't tell how much time he spent trying to return to his fragmented dreams. Realizing that he couldn't fall back asleep, he relented and tried to open his eyes. It was still difficult, but he finally managed to do so.
When he realized how bright the light truly was, he quickly used his hands to cover his eyes. Why was his bathroom so bright? Giving his eyes ample time to adjust to the lighting, he slowly removed his hand.
The first thing that greeted his eyes was the bright white sky. From horizon to horizon, there was no single source of light, but instead, the whole atmosphere seemed to emit a uniform brilliance.
"Where am I?" John asked with confusion as he carefully sat up. The stark realization that he was not in his bathroom replaced his calmness with confusion, but despite his disorientation, he did not fall into a panic.
He rubbed his eyes, trying to get rid of the fatigue he felt. The unexpected wetness of his hands startled him awake. "Oh ya, I'm in the-" He stopped when he realized that he was not in a bathtub of any sort. He was on the ground, in about four inches of water.
A cloudlike mist covered the flat ground as far as he could see, seeming to only thin around his body. He moved his arms around and found that the mist would quickly fill any area his body left, the uniformity of the groundcover only broken by his body. "Is this-" He paused before continuing, "Is this heaven?"
John twisted his head to and fro, trying to search for the supposed abundance of damsels, and rivers of wine. Although he was not much of a drinker, and quite loyal to his spouse, he was still interested in seeing the wonders of heaven.
To his disappointment, there was nothing to be seen except flat plains of clouds as far as he could see. "Hm, this seems more like a proto-heaven than the one described down on earth." He pondered for a moment before coming to a conclusion, "Maybe it's just temporarily under construction. I'll just wake up again in a while to see if God's done refurnishing by then." He nodded his head before laying back down on the surprisingly comfortable ground to go back to sleep.
Just as he was about to fall back into a slumber, the hushed sounds of a girl crying in the distance awoke him. Being the chivalrous gentleman he was, he could not simply stand aside while a maiden was in distress.
Standing up, he walked through the clouds towards the general direction of the voice. As he got closer, the sounds of sobbing and sniffling got louder until he finally noticed a lone head peeking out of the clouds. It looked like the girl was sitting on the ground with her back towards John. He gradually approached her, before finally deciding to call out. "Um, excuse me?" There was no reply. He inched a bit closer, and tried again. "Hello?" Again, there was no answer. He was about three feet away from her when he spoke once more, this time with a louder voice. "Lady? Can you hear me?"
She made no movement to acknowledge him, and continued to snivel. In between her sobs, John could barely make out that she was saying some words. He walked a few steps closer and leaned forward so he could better hear what she was saying.
"I'm sorry, John." He words were barely discernible due to her incessant crying. Startled, he took a step back.
"How does this random chick know my name? Is it one of my exes coming back to haunt me?" John questioned, before slowly making his way around the girl so he could see her face. When doing so, he was sure to leave a wide radius, wary of the new entity.
After making a large semicircle around the girl, he squatted down to see her face but her head was hanging, looking towards the ground, thus effectively hiding her facial expressions with the mist. He decided to address her again, but this time, with a little more hesitation and apprehension.
"Um, pardon my intruding, but how do you know my name?" When he still didn't get any reply, he began to feel a bit irritated. Although he may not have always been this way, he was now being chivalrous, and this ex of his had to take that into account. The least she could do was reply to him.
Irked by her disregard for him, he decided to take things into his own hands. He took a step closer, and used his hands to wave the mist away from her face. He cocked his head in confusion when he finally saw who it was. "Ann?"