The actions that Eric caused began to haunt his brain; this outcome was not what he was aiming for. And as Eric walked the desert, redundancy grew contagious like the plague and infected his mentality and his perspicacity. Eric then began condemning the world, "One more day in this miserable place and there is no telling what I'll do."
God's creativity grew vast through the endless desert, but the devil lurked under every shadow. One week of misery had passed for Eric, and he thought at this point that it might just be safe enough to return to civilization, but what he had not understood was that there was always going to be someone after him.
As he began walking towards Moab, he was growing anxious, worried that there might be the possibility of police, and as he continued trudging forward towards the town, Eric recalled a story that he heard during his youth, of a man who walked the western states. This man was a lost soul, for how could one possibly know where he was going if he was present in the saving land. The West was filled with dismay of trial and snakes, yet somehow, for most who traveled the mountains, the plains, the deserts, the tundra, the summer, the winter, and all systems of time, space, and spirit, one never truly felt lost, but what he did feel was one. That was the number that made every number yet isolated itself out of kindness to the world around it. That was the number that achieved greatness and sacrificed fame and riches for peace. That was the number that changed the world, for good or evil, for tyranny or freedom, for danger or safety, for friends or foe. This man that roamed the West took his life after he had completed his journey, apparently for the reason that he felt like his life had no meaning after that. Eric dreamt of the day that he would not be on the run. It was almost like he could taste it. He then came to the conclusion that he had been running for almost a month. This sent a tremble down into the depths of his soul and echoed through his spine, causing a great shiver to be felt, or that might have been the cold for the ever closing night. So, Eric pitched up a little area to sleep, and death's bony fingers, once more, crept on the backs of the creatures of the desert and blew cold harsh wind into their ears.
The next morning Eric awoke with a strange feeling in his eye. While he was asleep, somehow some sort of insect or parasite, searching for warmth, nestled into Eric's eye socket and found a delicious white flesh to eat. Eric closed his left eye, which was now his good one, to see if he could see out of his right one. He blinked a couple times, and then the result was made clear. His eye no longer worked, and for the rest of his life, he was always partially blind to any situation that presented itself in front of him. So he cursed God, for he could not stare at his face, and it was easier to curse at something that you could not see or comprehend than at the parasite which was right in front of his eye. After this fit of rage Eric began walking again, this time he didn't want to stop until he reached that town of Moab.
The desert was solitude and sacred, but it also was a curse for those who found elaboration on it. The winds haunted the traveler and cursed him with death, and the sands plagued his eyes. Solitude as well as the sacredness of it, were both condemnations of it.
Eric was only now a couple miles outside of Moab and definitely could reach it by the end of the day, but his worry constantly haunted him. Each step he took traveled the vastness of the universe writing themselves on the desert sand, and then, in one step the sacredness of the desert was forgotten and cement paved like a bullet through the brain. Once Eric had arrived into the downtown area of the town he sat down on the same bench where he met Alex for the first time. Patiently, he sat there for a little while contemplating all of the things that he had been through when a child approached him.
"Who are you?" The child asked. Eric didn't reply.
"Who are you," the child asked again, "You smell like sand." The child was then quickly picked up by his father and his father stated, "Sorry to bother you."
Eric then replied, "Not a problem."
The father and his son quickly left, and Eric stood up and walked away as well.
Jose was not going to give up his promise though, so he left for the crime syndicate in Glenwood. One of his problems though was that one of the heads of the syndicate was not too keen on ideas with revenge, and if the syndicate was to act on anything, the heads had to be unanimous. Once Jose had arrived at the syndicate's building, he followed a set of stairs that spiraled down to what seemed like the lower levels of rage.
Then he was met with a door and a guard, and the guard asked, "What is the secret to man's madness?"
Jose knew it was code and replied, "Disobedience, Rage, and isolation."
The guard stepped aside and opened the door. Jose was flabbergasted by the grand hall of the hideout. There were pillars of granite inlaid with diamonds and sapphires. The ground was paved with gold, and the ceiling hung chandeliers that looked to be from royal palaces. The walls were covered in blood red paint, and the ceiling seemed to stretch into the heavens. As he walked down a scent grew stronger. It smelled as sweet as mold and as precious as an apple. Then a door halted his movement. The door, which seemed to be as tall as an elephant and as wide as a giraffe, made the whole situation feel awkward. Suddenly, the door began to open, and Jose stepped inside. From there, a loud slam was heard. The door behind him closed, and he realized that he was now trapped with the heads of the syndicate. Their desk was twenty feet high off the ground and you could feel the terror that Jose was feeling now.
"Jose Camino." The first head from the left spoke in a haunting tone. "Under what circumstances have you come to us?"
"R-Richard Carr is dead, Alex Willow- his best friend, also dead." Jose stammered.
"So, Richard is dead," The second head to the left spoke, "Is that all?"
"I want revenge." Jose declared, "I want revenge on Eric York."
"Did he kill them?" the third head from the left asked.
"No."
"Then no revenge is necessary." The first head said, "Begone with you. You are a threat to us for just even being here."
"Please! You don't understand. Eric's bad luck. He imprisoned my wife. You mu-"
"Quiet!, we have heard enough of you."
Two guards then presented themselves and escorted Jose out of the room, but then they were given a command to halt.
"One more thing. The second head rose from his chair. "If you ever present yourself here again there would be no help great enough to stop what we would do to you. Let that be a warning Jose."
Then Jose was forced out of the room hideout, and now Jose was a nemesis of both the syndicate and Eric.
The mountains each had their own idea of what a mountain should be. They may have all lived in the same climate, in the same elevation, and in the same seasons, but each and every one of them could care less what the other one believed to be true because each one of them believed that they were right. It started when the explorers who came from the east. The explorers would talk to each other to keep eachother company, and eavesdropping in, was the mountains. The mountains eventually began thinking for themselves and would shout their thoughts to the heavens, and other mountains would listen in on this. Sadly, this only existed for a short period of time, for a couple of those peaks grew jealous and wanted their viewpoints shared around the world. So, they convinced the others that they were the truth and the right and anything that resembled it, and each and every view was produced, labeled, and a product of the superior peaks. Each view was manufactured and enabled the superiors to do whatever they wanted. Unfortunately, because of the inevitability of this, there was never and would never be a way of stopping this conglomerate, corporate ideology.
The heads of the syndicate gathered together to express their views on what should be done with Eric York, and as they gathered, their tyranny began to show. All of them wore an uptight suit, and their wrinkly skin looked like worms crawling when they moved. They shared the same face of decay and death, but none of them feared anything more than death. Each one of them built their house high on the canyon walls of Glenwood, looking down on all of the residents, thinking that they ruled over all, but the mice always found a way to break into their houses. The heads of the syndicates lusted for power, and the heads began to debate on what should be done with Eric.
"Do you suppose Eric should be killed?" The first head asked.
"No, Benjamin. That would be a terrible idea." The second head responded.
"I suppose he should be killed, John." The third head interjected himself into the conversation.
"I agree with John. Kill this man and we have entered into a realm that we cannot control, and isn't that our goal, to control?" The third head stated his opinion on the matter. Then the fourth head asked for the rest of them to listen to his view.
"He should be killed. This man is a threat to our power and democracy." The four of them chuckled a little when he said democracy. "I understand that we would put ourselves in a position of weakness, but we were weakened from the beginning. Alex, one of our brothers, was killed.
"By an officer no doubt." John interjected.
"I understand, but suppose Eric wasn't there. If it wasn't for his arrogance and lack of understanding what a heist truly is, it would have never ended in disaster like it did." The four of them, after hearing that, looked at one another, and began contemplating the decision that had to be made. Then, the first head, Benjamin, rallied them to count the vote
"All in favor of killing Eric, raise your hand." two of them raised their hands. "All in favor of staying out of this, raise your hand." One hand shot up high. "As I am the deciding vote, I shall vote in favor of killing Eric, but not for justice for Alex. Rather, justice for JJ. We will send out our men tomorrow." Even though Eric never actually killed JJ, he did pull the trigger on the circumstances which were bestowed upon JJ, and sadly, the trajectory of this was JJ's death. Benjamin was good friends with JJ, but when JJ passed he could not attend his funeral, for any show of emotion as a head of the syndicate, can be probable cause for termination.
The next day, the mountains seemed taller. Clouds blanketed the sky, keeping the sun's tyranny away from the mountains of Colorado. It was November, and the ice, blizzards, cold, and people shivering was returning. Many people huddled in front of shops to keep themselves warm and out of the wet; unfortunately, however, the wind blew and gave aches in everyone's bones. Frost was back in town, and he was excited to bring winter to it, but he would get carried away and forget that people need warmth as well. Frost was the caretaker of winter, and he was the logical element of the season. He knew that winter needed cold, but he also wanted the intentions of humans to outweigh what winter's intentions were, so he whispered in human's ear hinting at what can help the cold, traveling, and the ice.
All of the members, except for the heads, were now on the lookout for Eric. Eric knew that Moab was not safe for him anymore and was in Glenwood, for that was the only other town within a couple hours of traveling that was worth traveling to. He looked anxiously for a place to hide. Traveling on foot, he checked in shops, in restaurants, and even in hotels, but anywhere he went, men in suits as dark as night were approaching him, following him. Eric then stumbled into a neighborhood. He found a home that appeared to be abandoned, and hid in the basement of it. It was dark. The more Eric stared at the darkness, however, the more light appeared to him, and in the distance he could make out that there was someone there. It was a child, and it was starting to panic as well. For a short period of time, most of the panic was bestowed in Eric, but it was quickly transferring over to this child.
"It's going to be okay. Just stay quiet and nothing's going to happen." Eric tried to talk the child out of panicking but it was no use. The child then started whimpering. Eric tried to sooth the kid once more. "Just stay quiet and everything will be okay." He said in an almost delightful whisper. Then the child started screaming. "Please just be quiet." Eric, now panicking, as well, ragefully suggested to the kid. The child screamed even louder. Eric had enough, "Do you want to die!? Goddamnit stay quiet!" The child kept screaming and screaming, until finally something in Eric snapped. His pistol was drawn and he shot the child in the forehead.
The sound from the bullet alerted one of the syndicate members who was nearby. Instead of running, Eric decided to make it look like the child had killed himself by placing his gun in the hands of the now dead child. After this, he went and hid further in the dark basement. The basement was unfinished and had no heating or electricity down there, and the walls and floor were cement. Suddenly, footsteps were heard overhead, and Eric knew it would only be a matter of time before this person would be downstairs. One foot after the other, this unknown person to Eric, cautiously stepped down each stair until he reached the basement. Eric hid just out of sight. Then the member took his flashlight out and looked at the child which turned his back to Eric. Taking advantage of this, Eric leapt like a lion and grabbed hold of the member's neck with his arm, and slowly strangled the member to death. Eric then fell to the floor weeping. He knew full well what he had done. To hide that he strangled the syndicate member, he grabbed his gun and shot the member's dead corpse right in the heart where it hurt most. After that, Eric left that basement and ran for the hills.