Chapter 7- Episode 20-...back to reality...

ejaredallen (60)in #story • 6 years ago

Back to reality...

Hercule looked in horror upon the blood speckled headboard and the head on the pillow, still with a morbidly blissful smile on its face but a terrible bloody gash between its eyes. He’d just killed a woman… he’d just murdered a human person. Hercule stepped back in shock, nearly dropping his knife and backing into a large, full length mirror which stood as a witness to the gruesome act.

He couldn’t stay here. An overwhelming sense of guilt came over him and threatened to a paralyze Hercule as he stood in a room that always be somewhere in the back of his mind. Somehow or another this one action would define the rest of his life. He was an assassin.

Slipping out the window and climbing down the wall of the building in practiced motions, hardly giving a thought to what he was doing, Hercule let his muscle memory take over and raced across the long field, avoiding any watchman’s eyes until he escape to the safety of the woods. Behind him a light went on and moved to the room where he’d just left.

A scream erupted from the window of the house and the entire staff were at attention. Hercule watched from the outside of the scene, feeling that it was wrong that he could get away with such a crime as this. But, as his instructors insisted. He was the best. Hercule had begun to believe them. He truly was the best at being the worst. Turning with a snap of his black cloak and a dark confidence welling in an ever blackening soul, he disappeared into the night.

When Hercule awoke out of the dream-, out of the nightmare of a memory he’d been trapped inside, he found that he’d passed the night away and the sun was already risen half way to its summit in the sky. It was half past time to find food of some kind. Hercule felt the rumble in his stomach and heard it growl as he imagined lustfully what the villagers in the town down the hill were eating for their morning meal.

Wait, there was a town down the hill! What a revelation! What a find. Hercule picked himself up and brushed the dust of the path off of his white shirt and tattered brown jerkin, plain clothes of a common man that didn’t mean much to anyone. Maybe he wouldn’t be recognized or assaulted in this village like he had been in the camp or the religious compound. Still, to be on the safe side, he wouldn’t just walk down main street and sound the alarms.

Hercule was in no hurry to get locked up again. Too much of his life and memories had been behind bars, though after what he’d seen of his past last night, he wasn’t sure that he didn’t deserve it. He was a trained killer apparently.

Walking down the hill to the tune of a hungry belly and sore muscles, Hercule reached the little sprawling town that seemed the be the entrance to the hill country, (a parcel of land from the first settlements to the capitol that were sparsely populated with hillside villages and camps). The hill country was unlike the barrens in the East, where one could walk for miles and still see as far ahead as they could behind. With the elevation changes in the North and West, a man could come upon a city the appeared from nowhere and was suddenly in his path. The dense foliage and drastic elevation changes concealed many things in the hill country.

Sneaking himself by the sides of buildings in the scantily populated village, Hercule managed to sneak a loaf of freshly baked bread off the counter of a shop whilst the baker’s back was turned to retrieve a fabulous looking pie from his oven. But, there wasn’t time to wait and steal the pie, Hercule was wary of taking the loaf for fear his stomach would growl and give him away.

But, success. He held a warm loaf and no one seemed to notice…yet. It took him all of a minute to scarf down the sustenance like ravenous wolf. The food felt good against the closing in of his deprived stomach. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a taste of food. But then, memories weren’t his strong suit at the moment.
Hercule liked his lips, he would need to get water, but the aroma of the pie began to waft down the alley where he scrunched to remain unseen. The scent of the pie was tormenting, he couldn’t resist. Sneaking on all fours to the edge to the building, Hercule peeked up around the corner to watch for the opportune time when the baker’s back was turned. The prize, a plump pie, hot out of the over, taunted him from it’s perch on the display table, the sun catching its golden crust just perfectly.

Hercule had never felt hungrier as he impatiently lusted after the delectable treat. The baker turned for a second to grab something. This was Hercule’s chance. He popped up from where he’d been hiding, grabbed the pie in the both hands and found himself face to face with the baker’s wife.

The woman was plump and red-faced as she glared at the road weary thief, looking every bit as pathetic as he felt right now, holding a woman’s pie as they stared awkwardly at one another. Hercule didn’t know what to. He couldn’t put the pie back; he’d come this far already and the woman already didn’t like him. What did he have to lose?

Hercule bolted down the streets, holding the pie out in front of him as he kicked his legs into high gear. He heard the clattering behind him as the large woman burst from the bakery, knocking over several pots and pans as she squeezed herself through the narrow doorway.

Hercule thought it was a very poor design for a bakery but knew this was not the time to mention that to her. Running as fast as his legs could carry him, Hercule ducked down an alley and listened. He heard the pursuit of the woman as she cursed him and her own weight running after the man. Hercule looked down at the precious pie, then around him for some place to hide it and himself from the raging bull of a woman in hot pursuit. He felt a give in the wall behind him and realized it was not a wall, but a door.

Instinctively he slipped inside and closed the door, holding his ear to the wood to hear if his slip had worked. After a moment he decided he was safe and so picked up the pie out of the pan and took a giant bite out of the side as he turned around to see where it was he’d hidden.

Three dozen pairs of eyes stared up at the pie gobbling intruder in wonder, and the faces of a group of little children with jaws dropped were frozen with time. Hercule wasn’t sure what to do next. He’d walked into some kind of school room, but there was no teacher or instructor for the class. All of the children watched eagerly and curiously to see what the strange pie-holding man would do next as they sat crosslegged on the floor each with their hands together in the laps.

Hercule saw one of them open his mouth as if to scream for help and instantly got an idea.

“Do you kiddies want to hear a story?” He asked in a drunken-like drawl with the most kid-friendly face he could force. No child could resist a good story, at least none that he’d ever encountered. The one boy shut his yap and all of the children in unison nodded yes vigorously to the proposition of a story. Hercule was weirded out by their clone-like uniformity, but made his way to the center of the mass of children and sat himself down cross-legged. Maybe to blend in if someone should enter the room looking for him. He figured he looked childish enough to get by.

Setting the pie in his lap, Hercule began a tale. He prattled on with it for several minutes until every kid was leaning in to hear what came next. Hercule himself wasn’t even sure what came next, but he told the tale as fast as he could think it as the children practically ate up every word. He was nearing the climax when the door he’d come through earlier burst open and through it came the fat, baker’s wife, mad as a swarm of bees.
“And they all died. The end.” Hercule finished abruptly, and stood up so fast that the pie flung out of his lap and onto a child’s head. Hercule winced at the turn of events and the baker’s wife charged at him. “Sorry, kids, gotta run.” Hercule took off running around the group of children and away from the woman. Keeping the kids between himself and the baker’s wife. The children laughed and cheered for the different sides, some for Hercule and other’s for the baker’s wife, one child simply sat crying as delicious blueberry pie dripped down the sides of his face.

Thanks for reading episode 20!

2.0. Wow! Really? Is it up to 20 already? That's insane and you guys and crazy cool to follow along with this story. Upvote, share, comment, (definitely drop me a comment), all that jazz:) You're epic!