Two pivotal questions always seem to loop back toward me whenever I play the records of my blood-soaked odyssey.
"What dreaded sin fueled my deep descent most? And when was the moment I went too far?"
Discovering the former had always eluded me. Ambitious avarice or self-destructive sloth had their hand but they didn't fully encompass it. Envy and Lust also didn't quite fit the bill. Gluttony was another factor, but I'm sure every community cookout back home could tell you that this sin had been there since I was a child.
For a while, I thought wrath was my faithful answer. People always talk about cigarettes and booze's addictive allure but never whisper about rage's fiery fervor. No one warns about how it lies in waiting like a landmine until the right trigger gets pressed. How it spreads across your throat like a heated rash, choking your voice and vision till everything around becomes red. And all you want to do is bring more red into the world. Eventually I found pride to be my answer.
I wanted to be a combat medic, to make a save when the situation was dire. Until Asad flipped me on the operating table and clawed away at my body till scars showed through even stitches. After that I scrambled to regain my shattered image at all costs.
Yet I didn't cope by creating something new like Wiz, persevering like James, or finding peace like Jasmine. Instead, I destroyed anyone near me utterly and ruthlessly because I wasn't strong enough to be weak. Isn't that ironic? Isn't that … pathetic? To know the Underworld's Wicked Witch is little more than a paranoid poet? "She" thought so anyway.
Six months after Asad's death, I was more lost than ever. The bastard's demise should've given me enough elation to last a lifetime, but instead, I was grasping at straws as to why I wasted so much time, sweat, and sleepless nights to quench a bottomless void. Not even hunting down the last of the Caracals seemed to fill it.
Regardless, my war with that damned lion had gained me several new enemies in the underworld. Heading home would've just put my family in danger. Not that I thought there was ever a home to go back to. From my family's point of view, I've been dead for over three years. They were better off thinking I died a martyr than live as a killer. So I did my best to cover up my tracks, sell or destroy my illegal weapons, and scrounge up whatever money the Caracals claimed to run away from everyone.
Across my long trek, I eventually traded the Middle East for Africa, settling in the small Egyptian town of Dahab. In hindsight, lying low there for a month straight wasn't the best move. But I couldn't help myself. The refreshingly airy climate, the sea breeze splashing across the swirling sands, and the steady stream of twisting tourists felt like the "vacation" I needed.
The same went for my frequent rest stop, the Cat's Eye Cafe, a bustling restaurant near the Nahbatan Seaport. Like the filthy American I was, I didn't even bother getting the falafel or Fiteer Baladi; instead, I fell back towards the old reliable: one greasy hamburger alongside salty fries. It was the closest "taste" of home I felt I could ever get as I watched hundreds enter the sunlit town. A view I couldn't cherish for too long as a prevalent shade screened me.
"That's a nice view," a veiled voice said as I jerked my head towards its owner. "I see why this has been your favorite spot these past few weeks."
Cascades of blood then grounded to a halt amidst my phantom stranger. On the other side of my booth was a skinny Asian woman a couple of inches shorter than me with dark brown hair paired in a low bun. Their outfit consisted of black khakis, a white buttoned-up blouse, a black straw hat, and a black and white striped loose scarf. I saw a delicate face and light amber eyes when they looked up. They continued their one-sided conversation using the same calculatedly casual tone as before.
"After all, from here, you get to see exactly who comes and goes."
The coy line was enough to send my survival instincts into overdrive. Matching her gall, I took a large bite of my burger while subtly sliding the knife underneath the table. Still, I shrunk back my posture as much as possible while shrilling my voice to appear innocent.
"I'm sorry, ma'am, I think you have the wrong woman."
A brief flash of anger appeared over the woman's face before immediately maintaining composure.
"Wait, so you aren't that little Taotie Sarah Walters?"
Hearing my name again in the flesh made goosebumps on my body. Cycling through a list of fake IDs made my real one feel like a foreign body. The woman then did her best and twisted the knife in.
"The same Sarah Walters one who's been greedily eating in the same spot, scarfing down on the same fat-filled American cheeseburger and peppered fries you've been having for the past month before returning to the Wetwatch Hotel? Cause I swear I'm never wrong about things like this," she said while practically dripping with venom.
With the swiftness of a raindrop, I immediately shifted gears. My glare got sharper alongside my tongue.
"Oh, then I guess you got the right woman. That's funny, though. I don't believe we've met," I say while trying to put back the pieces.
This wasn't the Caracals. Even if I hadn't eviscerated them, they wouldn't be the type to come at me on wounded legs in a place so public. An associate, perhaps? Names kept flying out as the irritating woman kept up the casual tone.
"Correct, but you did meet an associate of ours back in Dubai a couple of months back. Ring any bells, Sarah?"
Then I remembered the man who gave me the most trouble that night, who seemed to blend into the darkness with a tattoo on his hand. The same tattoo the woman beside me had on her neck after she appeared here like magic. My veins grew icier than a tundra. I gripped my hidden knife hard enough to bulge out veins. Still, I carried the conversation along.
"Did this associate happen to have a moon tattoo like you?"
"Why yes! I'm glad you're starting to catch on. It helps speed things along. And since you're so smart, Sarah, I ask you. Why do you think you're still alive right now?"
The question was something even now I couldn't answer, so I stuck with the immediate one.
"Because you still need something from me, like money, perhaps?"
The woman then condescendingly nodded "yes" while giving a razor-sharp glare.
"Every pound of it. Alongside some flesh too."
Whether it was her intentional diction or the life-threatening paranoia, I suddenly felt all the tension with my hand slip away. A satisfyingly sadistic smile let loose from my maw as I replied.
"Oh, I can defintely provide the latter."
In this critical moment, time slowed down as I lunged toward my mystery woman with a knife in hand. The strike immediately stopped halfway through, deadened by a raised fork. Realizing it was my own, I tried to follow up accordingly, only to get immobilized by a horrid face.
Because in this private space of speed, my opponent finally decided to drop the pleasantries. Revealing a grim visage radiating such cold fury, the air around me felt constricted. In my millisecond of hesitation, my opponent moved like she had an eternity to counterattack.
She immediately hooked her utensil underneath mine and disarmed me. Just as quickly, I felt the "joy" of having three stainless steel prongs prod my hands, pushing me back to my seat with a now red right hand. Outside of the split-second glance from customers, no one was the wiser to our brief blitzkrieg. In real time, I then saw my mysterious stranger slowly recollect herself.
"Hmph, now I get it,' she said amusingly.
Knowing I couldn't precisely fight or fly, I humored her.
"Get what?" I said defensively.
My resident stranger methodically took my napkins and glass of water to wipe away the dirtied fork without skipping a beat.
"How you gave our "associate" and customers so much trouble. Which is exactly why I've come up with a proposal."
Wearing a poker face was a skill I honed damn well over the years, but her statement's sheer surprise briefly distracted me from my throbbing hand.
"Stop acting so gob-smacked. I know your name and where you sleep. Killing you would be easy but also a waste. Not when I can bring something far more valuable back to my associates. Like the woman who single-handedly culled the Caracals by herself under our "employ," she said hopefully.
"Wait, you're offering me a job?"
"I'm offering a way out. Somethings which doesn't come often in this underworld."
My free hand then started balling up at her increasing condescension. In vain, I flicked back verbal daggers of my own.
"I appreciate the concern, but for someone who's been stalking me for weeks, I'm surprised you can't take the hint that I want to be left the fuck alone."
A pressing silence then befell the entire table until the other pin dropped.
"Those bodies tell a different story."
Those six words instantly made my heart numb to the bottomless pit of a soul. The woman then kept pushing.
"I saw every burnt carcass and scarred-up skeleton you left behind in Dubai. And after what just happened, I know you did it with a smile."
Whether it was in disgust for myself or her, I looked away.
"I'm just a regular combat medic."
"Then why haven't you gone home yet? Unless you've already found it?"
I wanted to refuse her so severely, bite back with some smarmy psychoanalysis. A thousand refusals echoed through my mind as if knowing the hell this would cause me. But my body never synced up. Instead, my wounded hand trembled with devilish anticipation, jumping at the opportunity for another shitty justification. Only when my dealer offered her open hand did the trembling quiet as she spun her sickly sweet words like a seamstress.
"Look, I'm not asking you to be a saint or a team player. All I want to do is be the Taotie, a glutton that'll be happily fed for the rest of your days. As you show the world who you are? You need to open the door."
Upon her offer, a crowd flooded near the diner, cloaking us in a kaleidoscope of light and shadow. When the beams of light hit I felt Jasmine's hurried pleas trying to push me back. However, as the stream of silhouettes grew more prominent, the loud boom of Asad's last laugh became all-consuming. In my beaten-down resolve, I unintentionally pleaded.
"Do I have a choice?"
"You always have a choice, Sarah. Just make sure you make the right one," she said as she waved her hand again.
Against my better judgment and any form of logic, I then shook her with my bloodied hand.
"Excellent, welcome to Eclipse, little Taotie. The name is Zhi."