The old man woke up to gloved hands tightening around his neck.
The killer's eyes were cold and merciless and the old man writhed beneath him. He tried to claw at the gloved hands wringing the life out of him, but the orchestrator of his death was a strong individual. Besides, the old man was not only pushing past seventy five, but he wasn't one of those individuals who still managed to retain some of their youthful vigor after they cross their seventh decade. All he could do was look on in horror as his life expectancy dropped down from minutes to mere seconds.
When it seemed like the old man was about to die, Maitho heard a whisper. It spoke a name and seemed to reverberate all around him. It was like being in a room surrounded by speakers.
Jonathan Cray.
And at that point, Maitho was pulled out of the vision. Reality began to bleed into his awareness while the remnants of the vision clung to his mind stubbornly. He felt disoriented, but from experience, he knew the sensation would pass soon.
He was lying on his bed and a thin film of sweat covered his entire body.
He rolled over to his bedside table and managed to take out his notebook, but fumbled a few times before he could finally find a pen. After flipping through a few pages with notes, doodles, signs, comments, and other information that only he could understand, he began to write the details of his vision on a clean page. He did not pay too much attention to his handwriting. He allowed the writing process to go into automation as he placed the memory of the vision into his conscious mind. He examined the vision while its details were still fresh in his memory, trusting his hands to write down information as intelligibly as possible. When he was done, he placed the pen in the inside margin and snapped the book shut.
Maitho looked at the wall calendar. April 1st. He did feel like a fool and he wasn't sure if there was some hidden meaning behind the date. Was the calendar trying to tell him something? Was there a message from an unknown entity that was too powerful to show itself to mere mortals, but communicated through signs and symbols hidden in the world? He supposed that if one tried too hard, they could find a message in almost anything. Texas sharpshooter fallacy. That was what is was called. A psychological phenomenon where one tries to make connections between pieces of information, even when such connections don't exist. He did not know why that fact popped into his head. But he allowed it. The faster his mind understood his surroundings, the faster it adjusted to reality.
He looked at his bedside clock. Fifteen minutes past midnight. It was unlikely that he would find sleep. But perhaps he could try. It might work.
He lay on his bed for ten minutes, trying to imagine nothing as he stared at the bland surface of his ceiling. He tried to quieten his mind, but without any success.
Realizing that sleep would be the last think he would receive, he got out of bed and walked over to his desk. Maitho's apartment was not large, but he made sure that he maintained it regularly. He found comfort in coming back to a clean and tidy home. The furnishings were sparse and the only decoration was a pot of snake plant (dracaena trifasciata, his mind told him) that was placed on his window sill where it could receive the most sunshine. His window faced another apartment building, so the only time the plant got sunshine was when the sun was positioned straight up in the sky.
His apartment featured a twin-sized bed next to the window, a small refrigerator, and a workstation comprised of a small desk, table lamp, and a four-year old MacBook.
It was the Mac that he powered up, as he took a glass tumbler from the kitchen cabinet, half filled it with water and walked over to the plant. He stood there for half a minute, slowly pouring water into the pot.
It seems like the victim will be part of a home invasion gone wrong, Maitho thought to himself. Robberies are highly unpredictable. It could be a case of someone desperate enough to take advantage of a frail old man. Did the old man live alone? If he lived with others, then why was his life the only one in danger?
After washing the tumbler and replacing it in the cabinet, Maitho began to research Jonathan Cray.
It had been seventeen days since the vision. Maitho was now seated in a luxury rental whose purchase had punched a huge hole in his expenses. But it had to be done. He was in an expensive neighborhood and driving around in a cheap rental would attract attention.
He was parked a couple of houses away from Cray's ultramodern city house. The upstairs window blinds were wide open and the yellow light flooded into the street outside, despite the streetlamp providing its own illumination. Modern houses flanked both sides of the Cray residence, but none could match the grandeur and architecture of Jonathan Cray's abode.
I suppose that's what it is like to be the retired owner of one of the largest pharmaceuticals in the world, thought Maitho.
He opened the glove compartment and took out his Taser, the only weapon he ever employed. At one point, he had hoped that the constant stress of saving people from near-death situations would push him to lash out at someone violently. That way, he would become more ruthless as time passed by. But that never happened. Maitho never found strength in brutality, even though it could make his job much easier. He hoped that he would never become part of a situation where he would be forced to employ violence. But holding on to the idealistic view of pacifism did not fit scenarios where he had to deal with the darker side of human nature. Especially when those humans were capable of dealing a generous helping of violence themselves.
Still, he would try to stick to a Taser or other non-violent methods for as long as he could.
An hour later, the last lights of the Cray residence were switched off. Maitho gripped his Taser and waited, watching the main gate. If anyone were planning anything, they would make their move within the next hour.
He was not wrong. He saw two shapes, a man and a woman, cross the street towards the Cray residence. They were dressed like they were about to attend a fancy party. The woman wore a black dress and the man sported a black suit and a white shirt. The ruse was perfect. A passerby would look at them and spot a couple returning from a party or an event. They didn't try to hide their movements or look suspicious. They looked like they belonged in the neighborhood. The woman – with fair skin that bordered on paleness - had her arm hooked around the man's elbow, who was himself medium built with an olive complexion. Perhaps the man was from the Mediterranean region, Maitho harbored a guess.
Maitho watched the thieves walk up to the main gate. The stone fence and the gate embedded into it were of chest height and were placed more for show than to prevent anyone from breaching the sanctity of the residence grounds. Obviously people in this part of town were not afraid that they would be robbed. Maybe tonight might serve to be a wake-up call for them.
The man vaulted on top of the fence and pulled the woman up. Together, then dropped to the other side.
He watched the two thieves walk confidently up to the main door. The man reached inside his suit and took out a device; his mobile phone. He switched it on and a warm blue light illuminated his face. He seemed to type something for a few seconds, after which he turned off the screen and placed the phone back into his jacket.
Maitho wondered what that was about.
He received his answer a dozen seconds or so later. The light switched on in one of the rooms in the lower floor, followed by the opening of the door. The thieves entered the house and the door closed behind them.
It seemed like someone within the household was in on tonight's nefarious affair. But Maitho brushed aside the thought. Without much information, there was nothing he could do except bang against the walls of his mind for an answer. He stepped out of his car, buttoned his suit, which was the only one he had and which he had ironed earlier that day, and walked with an air of purpose towards the Cray residence. He walked with steady steps, his sneakers making little noise as he neared the front gate. He tried to make out any movement through the windows, but most of them were blocked by curtains or the rooms were too dark to make out any shapes. When he was close to the house's stone fence, he crouched so that he could use the fence to block him from anyone spotting him from the Cray mansion. He realized that he would look suspicious to anyone who peered out from their windows from the neighboring houses. But he was concerned more about the occupants of the Cray residence. Maitho moved a couple of feet away from the wall. From this angle, he could easily see the first floor of the residence.
The lights were back on in the room facing the street, but the curtains were drawn.
The events of his vision would occur soon.
Without waiting another second, Maitho vaulted over the fence. Once on the other side, he walked directly to the main door. If he had to make a guess, then the thieves would not leave the door locked, since it would prevent them from making a quick getaway. On the other hand, they might have also planned to make their escape using another exit.
Only one way to find out.
Maitho placed his hands on the door knob and twisted it. His heart was hammering his chest. If someone was standing on the other side of the door, then he would find himself in more trouble than he could handle.
He pushed the door open.
And found himself face-to-face with with a man in a butler's uniform, holding a fireplace poker. The man swung and Maitho reacted, grabbing the weapon with one hand. His other hand delivered a quick jab to the man's throat. The butler let go of the poker and clutched his neck, his eyes bulging wide.
Maitho placed the fireplace poker on the shoe cabinet near the entrance and grabbed the butler's shirt. He swung him around, and delivered a sharp kick in the knee pit. The butler lost balance and was down on one knee. Maitho wrapped his arm around the man's neck and squeezed.
The butler must have realized what was happening because he tried to reach for Maitho's face. His attempts were clumsy, since the blow to his neck must have partially blocked his trachea and his brain wasn't receiving enough oxygen. After one last feeble attempt at trying to harm Maitho's face, the butler's arms fell to his sides.
Maitho released the butler and softly deposited him on the floor. He waited for a moment, listening for any sounds that might indicate that the other, more notorious occupants, of the house had heard him. His heart thudded against his chest, as though it wanted to break free of his ribcage and escape into the night, as far away from the house as possible. A single drop of sweat trickled down his face, betraying Maitho's true sense of nervousness, despite the calmness he was trying to maintain.
This won't do. For all he knew, the thieves could be sneaking up to him this very moment. He closed his eyes, pushed with his mind...
...and found himself inside a weak and frail body. He was seated on a luxurious sofa chair beside an even more luxurious four-posted bed. Both the chair and the bed were splashed with floral designs, the reds, golds, and what could only be considered as a soft granite color all complimenting each other. A large painting, depicting a colossal wave threatening to overturn a boat while a snow-capped mountain stood in the background, covered one wall. The main source of light in the room came from a crystal chandelier, which had a design so complex that Maitho would need a whole hour to understand it completely.
"Stand by the old geezer. Keep a knife pointed at his neck and be ready to plunge it when I tell you to."
The voice was gruff, as though it was fighting a throat ailment that refused to leave. Definitely the male.
"Despite who he is?"
A second voice. Feminine. It was almost husky and if not for the fact that she was a thief, Maitho could imagine the speaker as a professional narrator.
He looked towards the door of the room and spotted the thieves. The man was ready to leave the room and the woman was beside him, holding a long-bladed knife in her hands. They were not paying any attention to their hostage, probably because they taught he would not do anything.
"Especially because of who he is," said the man.
Maitho's mind returned to his own body. The old man was alive and was surprisingly not tied up. The thieves hadn't made a move, but the olive-skinned man would exit the room soon. Maitho was in no mood for another one-on-one confrontation. An idea popped into his head. It was risky, but under the circumstances, he was willing to take the risk.
Maitho took a flight of stairs to the upper floor. He soon found himself on a landing. A corridor extended to his right and another one to his left, with numerous doors lining it. But only one of them was well lit; a door along the right corridor. He bounded towards the door, noticing more light was spilling into the corridor the closer he got to it.
Someone was opening the door.
Maitho stopped in the corridor, concentrated...
...and found himself back in the old man's body. He could see the olive-skinned man about to step into the corridor and if he did, he would catch Maitho completely immobile. The woman was right behind the door, holding a knife in her hands, waiting to plunge it into anyone who managed it make it past her partner. There was no time. Maitho had to cause a distraction.
"Hey you two! Bugger off will you?"
Maitho spoke the words through the old man's mouth. His voice sounded like a croak, but it was loud enough to grab the attention of the thieves, who turned around.
The two thieves turned to face the old man. Their backs were to Maitho.
Without waiting another second, Maitho...
...returned to his body. He walked up to the door, pulled out his Taser, aimed and pulled the trigger. Two probes shot out of the gun and embedded themselves into the olive-skinned man's back. A pulse of 50,000 volts shot through the wires connecting the probes to the Taser and the thief began convulsing. Maitho heard a woman's surprised shout. Knowing she was just behind the door, Maitho lifted his leg, put as much force into it and slammed it on the door. He watched as the door was pushed back with a terrifying force, but its trajectory was stopped short by an object – presumably the woman – and it was sent bouncing back towards the door frame.
Maitho caught the door before it could close shut and stepped into the room. The woman was on the ground. She wasn't fully incapacitated, but she would be down for a few moments at least.
Before he could do anything else, a croaky voice spoke to him.
"Please," the old man said. "Don't hurt my children."
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