Epilogue
“I didn’t know Technicians got married,” Christian said softly.
“They don’t, but the Directions have done something new, and it seems to be working in favor of the agents,” Moloch said, “since having a reason to come home at night limits acts of stupidity.”
“I like my house and coming home to it alone, but it’s mine,” Christian said. “You going to this thing?”
“Yeah, I think all the Archangels were invited including Jesús,” Moloch said. “The hotel is really nice, got a pool, a spa, and a couple of bars. Should be a good time to decompress, connect with other Technicians, maybe share war stories.”
“Maybe,” he replied. “Any other trees invited to this affair?”
“Not sure. I’m not sure why I was invited, but it’s a party, a sit-down dinner, and an open bar. Plus, again, it is a really nice hotel,” Moloch said. “Can’t hurt you to get away for a few days and sit in the sunlight. Trees do well with lots of sunshine.”
“Hmph. Elm out,” Christian said to his Moloch, ending the call. He RSVP’d out of sheer curiosity and went about his life.
Fast forward two months later, and he found himself at a table with five people he didn’t know with a placard on the table that read Stray Bullets.
He didn’t like the connotation, and the people at the table made him wary, especially the fair complected man with the grey eyes.
A woman, with hair entirely too blond for her facial features, reminded him of a girl he had dated in college that didn’t want people to know she was of a mixed race. This girl had the same vibe.
Before they were seated, the same woman called over the bride to ask questions.
He held his tongue when the woman, named The Cranberry, informed them all they were siblings via Michael Kurtzwilde, his father, who would be joining them later.
The Cranberry knew his handle and evidently his name since that was the name on the invitation.
She also knew what he did for his civilian job, evidently courtesy of their father.
Siblings.
He knew Kurtzwilde had children with his dumb wife, who had procreated three dumb replicas of herself, but this ? this was something different.
These children were all adults, up in age, from various women of diverse ethnicities.
Two sisters and two brothers, and he was curious where he fell among the flock.
A doctor. An Olympic show jumper. A West Point Ring Knocker who was a helicopter pilot, and he was a three lettered arborist. The last one was simply labeled as a badass. Christian imagined him pulling the wings off flies and skinning bunnies in the back yard.
The Cranberry, who had made one of his sisters a bridesmaid, passed out a hug and left them to it.
He took a seat once his sisters and the wife of the Certified Bad Ass did as well, waiting for the awkward to begin.
His armpits were growing sweaty as he looked at the door.
He didn’t particularly like the quarterly visits from his father, but the man was always a part of his life, however brief his visits to make payments on whatever activity he was taking part in, along with his expensive college education.
“Hey,” the one with the weird coloring started. “I am the medical doctor for the Fruits of the Great Lakes. My home state is Illinois; the handle is Passion Fruit.”
Morgan, he thought she said her name was, the show jumper, went next. “I am a Thoroughbred of the Western Crew. I roam freely in Montana, making visits, having tea, and collecting information from unsuspecting bad guys. My handle is Morgan.”
“Nice horse,” the dark man who was the pilot said. “Are you a femme fatale?”
“Brother, I am a thoroughbred as I said; discern from that what you shall,” Morgan replied. “And you, military officer?”
“I bring the Thunder, which is also my handle,” he said. “I am a Storm in the Midwest, creating havoc in Kansas.”
All eyes went to Christian, who didn’t like the game of who’s on first. “I whisper in the Trees and create the night shade for the state of Massachusetts. As you heard, I am the Stately Elm.”
The group then looked down the table to Mr. Mann. He scowled at them all. “I am The Mann, with two Ns. This is Mann Jr, and my wife Sharon. I cover the state of Georgia.”
Passion Fruit asked, “So you’re an assassin?”
“I am, once more for those in the cheap seats, The Mann,” he said, giving her entirely too much eye contact.
Elm spoke up, “Oscar Kurtzwilde came to an untimely end at your hands.”
“No,” Mann said solemnly, “Oscar didn’t like minding his own business and wandered onto my front porch while I wasn’t home. It is also where I found him, rotting when I returned four days later.”
Elm nodded as plates of food arrived. He selected the chicken dinner as most did at the table. This he paid attention to.
“Me and red meat,” Morgan said.
“Same,” they all agreed.
“Then we have that in common,” Thunder said. “So, what happens from here? It’s kind of nice knowing you all exist. I assume under similar circumstances.”
Morgan spoke, “Odd thing, how much he invested in each of us, to ensure we became something. Now, wanting us to meet. You think he’s dying or something?”
Elm spoke, “No, he’s just tired.”
The meal had barely ended when the energy in the room shifted.
Everyone at Christian’s table moved. He didn’t realize the number of Technicians working in the country until he got a gander at a portion of the room.
Men and women with families, small children, newborns, and teenagers.
This was a different world to him. These people were living lives he didn’t know existed.
One woman had brought them all together, and for what? Christian noticed the dark-haired man and recognized him as well as Passion Fruit and The Mann. It was the Fer de Lance and his son. How did they know the woman?
Everything moved quietly, silently, almost in slow motion as the son of the Fer de Lance sent the children to surround the woman.
He watched in fascination as a line formed in front of the boy by Technicians with his newly discovered sister Passion Fruit joining the line.
The next line was formed of Directions where Mr. Mann stood close to a face he also recognized, Mr. Yield.
Finally, a line of the Archangels, Moloch, his handler, included.
“Who is this woman?” Elm asked Thunder.
“No clue,” Thunder replied as Cranberry stepped forward, a path opening as she glided down the center of the throng.
“Look how those lines parted for her,” Morgan said. “She must also be some kind of badass to bring us altogether, retire our father, and to see what, exactly?”
“I think we are about to find out,” Elm said, as the doors opened and in walked their father, Swallowtail, and Hornworm. “Question answered.”
The kerfuffle only lasted a moment and then it was over. “Interesting.”
His father joined them at the table for dinner, then there was dancing.
Morgan invited him to the floor for a dance or two, which he accepted.
He also danced a slower dance with his sister, Passion Fruit who’d come alone.
In shock, watching his father dance with his daughters, feeling the moment to be surreal.
He exchanged numbers with them all by passing out a business card and exiting through a side door.
He’d had enough family fun and frolicking.
Plus, the cake was too sweet. He’d check out in the morning to head home.
The break was nice, but real life was calling as well as flying into Albany, New York and driving back roads to get to his little spot of nirvana, which he dearly loved.
It was time to go home.
****
THE SMALL CARRY-ON was all he’d brought with him, and the black suit was neatly folded and stored inside.
The only weapons he had were in the truck he’d picked up from short term parking at the airport.
His habit of driving seldom traveled roads and working in remote areas had taught him the necessity of keeping a knife in each boot and a small caliber weapon on his person.
The flight wasn’t too long, clocking in at just under five hours with one stop of Baltimore for a changing of the plane.
It was nearing ten when he pulled into the truck stop to relieve himself, and right as he went to wash his hands, he looked in the mirror and saw a child, not more than ten who appeared to be terrified. He was alone. The clothes were worn as well as the shoes.
“Are you alright, kid?” he asked the child.
“No, I need some help,” the boy said. “My Ma, she’s hurt really bad. She needs help.”
“Show me,” he said, bending and pulling a knife out of his boot.
If there were significant issues with his mother, he would do what he could.
If this was a setup to rob him or some other stupid act of tomfuckery, he wasn’t with it; plus, his wallet was in the vehicle.
The only bill he had on him was a twenty to grab a soda and a bag of peanuts.
He’d make something lighter to eat when he got home.
He followed the kid out the back door of the building. It was dark back there and the Technician known as Elm didn’t like the shade of the area. He hesitated, looking around.
“She’s over here,” the boy said, pointing to a pair of feet protruding from behind a dumpster.
“Kid, I hope this isn’t some trick because I’m not about that life,” Elm said, moving closer.
His breath caught at what he saw. A smaller boy held the woman’s head in his lap, stroking her hair. The older boy was doing his best to hold it together and be strong. Elm looked at the kid, wanting answers to questions his heart didn’t have the courage to ask.
“Three men,” the boy said. “She went in to pay for the gas and get us some snacks. They grabbed her. I tried calling for help, but no one came. I tried to fight them off, but they hit me. I tried again and found you. This is how they left her. Can you help us?”