Available Darkness Season 2

still doubled over in pain, and Mike Mathews, aiming his gun at John as rage boiled his face into an ugly shade of red.
    Mathews fired three rounds, one which hit John in the jaw, blasting part of his cheekbone off.
    The other two bullets sank into John’s chest and shoulder, but he was too amped on adrenaline and raw energy to feel anything other than anger, hate, and thirst for vengeance.
    John flashed back on Mathews shooting the poor woman, Emilia, who had lost her daughter. He felt her memories, the pain of losing Kayla, and the betrayal of a man who had sworn to protect the nation. John locked his eyes on Mathews. He wanted no part of the man’s vile recall — wanted no part of his destructive past. He only wanted him dead.
    John grabbed the gun from Mike’s hands, breaking free before his touch could kill the man, then turned the gun back on Mathews, pointed it straight between his eyes and pulled the trigger twice, blowing Mathews’ face and brain to bits.
    “Fucker,” John said as he dropped the gun in disgust.
    He turned to the last man alive, Greg, the liar who had been sleeping with Hope. And he had brought her here to do what? Turn her over to Mathews and his corrupt regime?
    Greg dropped his gun, sliding it past John, and immediately began to plead for his life. “Please, please,” he begged holding his hands up, palms out in front of him.
    Greg turned to Hope and cried, “Please, Hannah, I love you.”
    John looked back at Hope, having almost forgotten she was there in his moment of rage. He felt like a kid caught killing a bird. Her eyes were wide, scared, and filled with tears, many falling freely down her face.
    John could only imagine what she was thinking about him right now, wondering what sort of monster she had been stupid enough to once love. He wondered if she would beg him to spare Greg.
    He didn’t want to. John wanted to sap the man’s life to nothing, wanted to pluck the memories from his head, memories of a life stolen with Hope, so he could live through those lost years, even if only vicariously.
    Greg cried, “Please, Hannah, I love you. I’d never let them hurt you.”
    Hope approached them, her eyes locked on John as if trying to reconcile the man she loved with the monster he was, staring as if seeing straight inside him, to the Darkness, the part of himself he had for so long buried.
    She’d never seen this side of him — the monster unleashed, the feeding frenzy, the destruction, the horror. Yet, here he was, raw and exposed as the monster he was. John felt more vulnerable than he’d ever felt in his life, as if a single word from Hope could destroy him more assuredly than a supernova.
    “Please,” Greg begged again.
    John, having heard enough of Greg’s whining, turned to the man and yelled, “Would you shut up?”
    A gunshot punctured the pre-dawn.
    John turned to see Hannah holding the pistol Greg had dropped to the ground. John turned from Hannah and back to Greg, just in time to see the bloody hole in his face as he fell to the ground.
    “My name’s not Hannah,” Hope said, then fell to her knees, staring at what she’d done, stunned and silent.
    John stood still, uncertain, wanting to comfort his love, but not knowing if she was disgusted by him, or maybe by what she’d done.
    John looked around, waiting for more men, either Omega or Harbinger to storm the rooftop, but nobody else was coming. He looked down at the bank building. They had to make a run for it, and soon. He prayed that Hope would come with him.
    He closed his eyes and tried to feel if Larry was nearby, hoping his friend would come.

    * * * *

EPILOGUE

    John watched in the predawn darkness as Hope slept in the queen-size bed. He sat in a chair next to the bed, where he’d spent the night before, as well. A blue nightlight in the corner cast a somber, cold glow on the room.
    He longed to be beside her, to touch her, hold her, kiss her, but he couldn’t so long as he was cursed. Nor did he even know if she would want him to touch her. She was still hurt by his betrayal more than a decade ago — he had lied to her. He had her mind wiped, never giving her a choice to stay and fight with him. He had tried to explain things, but his words all felt stupid, and her patience was thin.
    So they’d spent most of the past day in silence interspersed with moments of small talk. He wanted to reach out, to make things right, to find the right words to say, but part of him was too distracted by