Epilogue
Ben
SMOKE WAFTS IN all directions throughout the bar as I myself take a long drag on the cigar at my lips. I never really liked the habit until I went on the run. It soothes the soul, much like alcohol but without the same hampering effects. Relishing another breath, I pat my breast pocket.
For years I followed commands and eliminated the men responsible for my pain. When the war ended, they set me loose. Churchill himself gave me his blessing and insisted I write during my travels. That correspondence continues to this day.
I found two in Uruguay shortly after the war, none the wiser, but this final fugitive remained hidden until recently.
He could not have made more missteps in the past three months.
The man named Jonas Müller has long evaded me by adopting different names and having no family attachments.
I’ve tracked him from Germany to Argentina to Uruguay and now here, to Manaus, Brazil.
Apparently the fool is attempting to reach the Pico da Neblina for himself.
I find it funny that he’s managed to stumble into Manaus, a town that I still have allies in.
He could have gone to any other town on the river, and maybe, just maybe, he would have slipped through my grasp.
He might have even been able to find someone crazy enough to take him, but not here.
Manaus, or Souza City, as it could be called due to all the success Bruno has seen as of late, is crawling with men who know not to speak of the Lost Colony.
While the truth of what happened to my expedition has never been spoken of by any of those on my team, the legends have only built upon themselves.
Nobody in Germany ever found out what happened to precious Ivo and his expedition, but British intelligence did say that no one really cared to look while the war was raging.
Nazi attention swiftly turned to artifacts of the biblical kind after Ivo failed to return.
The Pico da Neblina was entirely forgotten by Europe. Or so we were told.
None of that matters now. Jonas is the last man on my list. Now in my mid-sixties, I’m still adept but ready to put this list behind me.
Jonas has just now started asking questions worth keeping receipts for, but they’ve truly expedited his fate.
I’m thankful to him for it. The rest of his little rat friends are dead, but I suppose his patriotism runs so deep he’s still seeking retribution even after the death of the Reich.
I tamp down my cigar on the ash tray at the thought of patriotism. I haven’t touched the ground of my own country in what seems like a lifetime. Sharing intel with some of their finest during the war had been as close as I’d ever come to wanting to go back home.
But I’m never to return there. Like so many others, I am still a refugee, running in the hopes of finding a place to settle.
I just want to not feel like total shit for one moment.
The sour taste I’ve had in my mouth since the dagger crumbled to dust has never ceased.
No drink nor dessert has ever been able to make it go away.
The tobacco in the cigar is the finest money can buy, but even it does nothing to the taste.
After nearly two hours of smoking and waiting, the door of the bar finally opens to a character far unlike the rest. At first all I see is the sun refracting through the hazy maze of smoke, but then Jonas steps through.
The man’s disguise is put together well enough, but the moment he relieves his hat and I see the light hair, I know this is the man I’ve been waiting for.
Turning my back to him, I let him approach me.
I give a discreet nod to the man in the corner who helped set this little meeting up.
He quickly moves to escort a few of the younger patrons away.
Many of the men here are on my side. Thanks to Bruno, the whole thing has been planned and carefully detailed.
Two of the men here were even on the expedition with us.
I respect their unending loyalty to Bruno and, by extension, to me.
Thoughts of allies fade when my target has a seat next to me. I make a show out of scanning him from head to toe. “You’re the man searching for the Lost Colony?” I ask with a rude laugh. I’ve smoothly fallen into a disguise of my own.
The German eyes me before falling swiftly into my trap. “I did not expect to meet an American…an old American at that.”
The comments don’t faze me; in reality, they egg me on.
“Funny, I did not expect to run into a German so far from Germany.” Tapping my cigar against the table, I turn fully to him.
“Dangerous times to be using an accent like that. And surely a fake name, as well…” I shake my head, but it doesn’t seem to faze him.
He only grins. “This country is neutral; no need to dwell on allegiances.”
“The war’s over,” I state plainly. “Everyone’s neutral now.”
“Are you here to help me or to accuse me?” he asks. I can tell that he is not here for the pleasantries as so many of his fallen comrades were.
Nevermind all that. I suppose I can just get on with it and save us all some time. “The colony is not meant to be touched,” I say simply, wanting him to get riled up at my refusal.
His frustration is already buzzing when he leans closer to me with clenched fists. “You won’t help me?”
I lean closer too so I can see every flinch in his features when I answer.
“No.” I shake my head and do my best to hold back a smirk.
“No, I won't help you. I’m only here to tell you that what you seek should not be sought out. After today, I should hope the idea of the Lost Colony falls back into obscurity for all except those that were born here.”
The mousy man has finally caught on. Shoving me backward, he demands his needs be met. “What the hell is this? I was told you would lead me to the mountain, that you would accept 25% of the cut. My God, man, don’t you know how rich that would make you?”
“I do know,” I say with the biggest grin I can muster. Taking this from him will be more fun than I thought. “I’ve been there.”
His eyes widen in comprehension as I move for the gun hidden in my dinner jacket. I have Jonas pinned down over the bar before he can so much as call for help. It’s not like anyone would come to his aid anyway. This is between the two of us.
“Foolish of you to even think of the Lost Colony,” I tsk.
“It’s you, isn’t it? You’re the one who killed the others.” I feel his whole body shudder at his realization.
“Yes, I am.” I push him harder down onto the solid wood. “And they weren’t even thinking about trying for the colony. Imagine what I’m going to do to you now that I know what you’re trying to gain.”
The man struggles beneath my weight, but I don’t give him a single second of comfort.
My fingers tighten slowly around the gun as I feel the moment upon me.
This is what I have long waited for. Today, I get my final attempt at feeling justice for Lillian and everything she suffered through.
I’ve long since added millions of murdered men, women, and children to my list for justice as well.
Every leftover Nazi I put down is a step toward a safer world.
“At least look me in the eye as you kill me,” Jonas barks. Clearly, he’s not scared enough.
I move the gun from Jonas’s head to his thigh and pull the trigger.
A humiliating shriek breaks from the man’s lips as his leg explodes in blood.
I imagine the bullet shattered a bone and cut an artery.
Releasing him, he slides to the floor, and the agonizing moans continue.
Around me, men have formed a circle to watch.
They’ll be eager to begin sweeping it all away.
Wiping the blood splatter from my face, I approach Jonas again.
Gripping him by the lapels, I raise him from the floor and place him back in his chair.
I’ll grant him his wish. With one hand on his neck and the other on my gun once again, I raise it to his temple.
“You deserve so much worse than this,” I whisper, moments from pulling the trigger for the second time, the final time.
“So do you,” He coughs, and then his hand is reaching for his sleeve.
I don’t catch him before he’s driven a blade into the right side of my abdomen.
I know he’s hit something vital the moment it pierces me.
There’s nothing I can do to stop the pain as it blurs my view.
I hear the whole room gasp as I stumble backward.
No one comes to my aid despite their intense staring; they’ve been told not to intervene.
Jonas laughs and raises his head high as I move my fingers around the hilt of the small knife protruding from the fleshy part of my side.
He clears his throat, and my attention falls back to him just so he can waste his final words.
“Heil—” I shoot the bastard clean through the eye before he can finish the heinous statement.
Silence follows the body sliding back to the floor. Silence that only lasts a moment.
Ben, have you still not found me?
My breath catches at the sound of her voice. She has not called to me in years. So why, in the midst of this chaos, does she choose to say something new? Looking down at the red stain blooming on my shirt, I quickly understand why.
That long-forgotten voice is the sound that accompanies me lowering my gun. The same question is replayed over and over as a group of men converge on Jonas Müller and begin to move him. The pain in my side pulses, reminding me that I’ve been struck.
Find me.
“I will,” I answer out loud.
Suddenly, I know exactly where I need to go. The voice is pulling me away from the scene, toward the front door. I bend to its beckoning immediately; my pen and list are forgotten as I turn away from the scene.
Stumbling out onto the summer-streaked street, I think I might find that peace I’ve been searching for, but instead there is only pain and more whispering demands. Killing them all hasn’t brought Lillian back, but it has restored her voice in my head. Perhaps I’m finally worthy of her again.
Realizing how I might look, whispering to no one and bleeding badly, I take one breath and pull the knife from my side.
The blade can’t be more than two inches, but I can feel the damage it’s done.
Gulping back the idea that it could be a mortal injury, I simply drop the knife to the ground.
The ringing clank of it against the concrete rattles my ears.
There’s nothing now except chasing Lillian’s voice.
Pressing my hand into the wound, I continue forward.
Never once have I visited Lillian’s memorial, an empty grave on a plot of land hundreds of miles from where her body lays at rest. All these months since my return to Manaus, and I haven’t even had the courage to look this way.
But now, in the aftermath of my seventeenth kill, I know that peace awaits me at her side.
I won’t make it to her body, but I can be nearer to her here.
Plodding through the tombstones, I press a finger harder at my side; the pain is what’s keeping me awake at this point.
My vision is graying at the edges when I finally find the Souza plot.
Lillian’s name is etched in a stone just like hundreds of others around her.
Planting my feet firmly into the grass at the base of her memorial, I place a hand on the top of the stone.
I have brought her no gifts and no words.
I’ve only brought my presence. Who knows how long I’ll even be able to offer that.
Lightheaded and exhausted from nearly two decades on the run, my body finally gives out.
Sliding down into the soft grass, I can feel the blood seeping through the outer layer of my jacket now.
Rather than attempt to staunch the bleeding, I sit, facing the stone.
Releasing my hand from my side I set my jaw and pray for Lillian to appear.
I would do anything to hear that precious whispering voice.
If I could just hear it one more time, I could lay back and leave in peace.
At the continued silence, I grow heavier. My head falls between my knees as I strain my ears for any sign of her. For a moment there is only the pounding of blood in my ears, but then the wind picks up.
No sooner have I lifted my head than a breeze raises the hair on my arms. “You found me,” a whisper says. But it’s not just a trick of the wind like it’s been for so many years of my life. Craning my neck to look behind me, I see the glow first.
I can’t stop the grin from spreading wide as a shallow breath escapes my lips at the sight of her. Lillian stands overlooking me, dressed in something I’ve never seen her in: a white dress adorned with amazonite accessories. At her neck, the greatest gift of them all.
Hanging around her, burning brightly, is the Muiraquitá, the light of the Amazon.
As she kneels before me and that touch I’ve longed for caresses my cheek, I take in a calming breath and finally know peace.
She’s real, her touch is whole, and her necklace of life is glowing brightly.
Perhaps its power will be enough for both of us.
“I found you,” I breathe, as I lean into her touch and close my eyes.
“Rest,” she answers, pulling me back into her lap. “I’m here now. It’s my turn to hold you.”
Her hands run over me before falling still at my injury. All pain leaves me in an instant, and suddenly, all I crave is sleep. As her fingers trace their way back up my body, I feel the urge to tell her something I’ve had on my mind since I last saw her.
I open my eyes once more to take in the sight of her.
Through the glow of the necklace, I can see her gray eyes and the curve of her lips.
Her curls fall down between us, but I don’t have the strength to reach up and push them away.
My strength wanes as I scramble for the possible words I could share with her.
I settled on the three that she left me with all those years ago.
Words that have stuck with me through the loneliness and the violence of my missions.
The air goes still as I look up into those eyes one final time. “I love you, Lillian.”
I don’t hear her response before I slip away.