Joshua Graham - Terminus

“Okay, okay. Well, before Alfonso… died , he was telling me all kinds of crazy stuff. I thought he was just messing with me, being the new guy, you know? But then he starts telling me there’s something coming and I should decide what side I’m going to be on when it all hits the fan, you know?”

Lito glared at him. “Go on.”

“He was saying crap like, ‘When it all goes down I’ll own it all and Lito can kiss my hairy—’”

“When what goes down? Own what ?”

“He said if you didn’t turn over the Hernandez branch—”

“Again with the Hernandez branch! Eduardo, why am I the last to know about this?”

“Your father told me never to talk to you about it.”

“How long has—” The conversation had just shifted into an entirely different gear. Lito shot the young man a sharp glance.

“Okay, Manuel?”

“Señor?”

“Get out.” As soon as he’d left, Lito turned to Eduardo. “Tell me.”

“I won’t betray your father.”

“You would betray me, then?” Lito walked over to the old man and took out his gun. He didn’t brandish it or point it, just held it. To threaten him was futile, unless he planned to follow through. But killing two of his top men in the same week would send the wrong message throughout the organization: The head grows weak, insecure.

Eduardo smiled. “I’m protecting you, Lito.”

“Let me decide whether or not I need protection, and from what.”

“That’s not what your father wanted in this case.”

The dance grew more complex. Of course he could force it out of the old man, but that would alter their relationship. Now more than ever he needed the support of the founding members, whoever was left of them.

“My father is dead. He doesn’t have to bear the burden of running this organization, doesn’t have to deal with the Alfonsos in it. He never foresaw any of this.”

Eduardo got out of his chair and walked right up to Lito, so close that the smell of cigar breath went straight into his face.

“He foresaw all of this, even how you are reacting now.”

“Don’t make me do this, Eduardo. You know how my family loves you.”

“And I am always the friend and protector of the Guzmans. Trust me as your Papi trusted me.”

Lito thought of all the times Papi talked down to him in front of men like Eduardo. He’s just a little runt, don’t mind him. Lito? Never going to amount to anything. I wish I had another son, or daughter even—can’t imagine Lito ever taking over for me.

All said in jest, before he even hit puberty, but humiliating just the same. Lito had laughed along with them every time, but when he was alone he sometimes cried. Papi would find him and say, “Come on! I was just joking, Lito!” And he had been, or he’d never have passed the mantel to his son before dying. But his last words about the organization had been, “Don’t screw this up, Lito.”

He lifted the gun and pressed it against Eduardo’s chest.

“Tell me about the Hernandez branch. What did it have to do with the Suarez family?”

The old man’s bushy white eyebrows lifted and fell in resignation. “Has it really come to this, Lito?”

“I’m sorry. I need to know.”

Eduardo pushed the muzzle of the gun aside, steepled his hands, and looked heavenward.

“Forgive me, Señor Guzman. He insisted, as you said he would.”

“You no longer answer to my father, Eduardo. You answer to me.”

“Yeah, well… I’m going to hell because you’re making me break my promise to a dead man.”

“You’re going to hell for a thousand other reasons, don’t worry so much about this one.”

“Ha!” The old man took another puff, sputtered, and slapped Lito’s back. “Now, that’s…funny.”

“So, the Hernandez branch?”

Eduardo sighed. “Okay, sit down. This isn’t going to be easy.”

FOR THE ENTIRE DESCENT Hope clung to Nick with all her strength. Even though the wind passed right through her, she could still hear it. It made a deafening noise, louder than anything she’d ever heard in her life.

“Are we there yet?” she said.

“No need to shout, I can hear you just fine.”

It was like that awkward moment where you think you need to scream above the noise in order to be heard, and then the noise stops and you’re still hollering at the top of your lungs. Hope laughed, but when she saw the sandy grounds of what must have been the Mojave Desert getting alarmingly close, she buried her face in his shoulder.

“Don’t you want to look?” Nick said.

“Tell me when we’re there!”

“We are.”

“What?” She was wrapped around him like a bear cub clinging to a tree trunk. But there he stood, his feet firmly planted in sand that stretched all the way until it touched the horizon, into which the sun was sinking.

“Oh. We’re physical again.” She thumped his back with her fist.

“I see you’ve grown quite attached. But would you mind climbing down now?”

Hope unwound herself and set her feet on the ground. It was real all right, but her sense of reality had changed somehow.

“Now do you believe?” he said, giving her a dangerous smile.

“Not sure. This could all be a dream, or a near-death hallucination.” He had to be one or the other—or exactly what he said he was. Whatever the case, she wanted to experience more.

“What will it take, O ye of little faith?”

“I don’t know.” Deep down, she believed. But she wanted more to ground her in this reality. Her head felt light and her legs felt like they were made of linguine. She shut her eyes and sat down in the warm sand.

“Hope?” Nick came close. Without even touching her, she could feel his presence, his warmth.

“I’m just trying to wrap my head around this.”

His placed his fingertips on her forehead.

“Eyes shut, please.”

“Why?”

“I’m taking you somewhere.” He took her hand and helped her to her feet.

“Where?”

“Think of something really significant in your life. Try to remember how it looked, what it sounded like, how it felt, the smell…everything.”

When she opened her eyes, they were standing side by side. But she was now watching a younger version of herself sitting in a glider in that little apartment in Pacific Beach, singing a lullaby to the two-month-old baby in her arms.

“What is this, Nick? It’s so real, but it happened years ago.”

“It’s from your mind. The thoughts you open to me are like a thread from a piece of cloth I can pull—I’m drawing on your thoughts and memories and weaving a perceptual construct for you. Angels do this to help mortals see beyond their comprehension in a metaphorical way.”

“Sounds dangerous.”

“How so?”

“What if the thread is attached to something really dark and frightening? What if you kept pulling on that thread until the whole mind unravels?”

Nick’s eyes narrowed. “Why in heaven’s name would I do that?”

“I’m just saying.”

And then, in the utter nothingness, she heard it.

That doorbell. Her heart sank.

“Oh, Nick—I don’t want to see this.”

“What’s the matter?”

“I don’t know why I chose this memory.” She turned away. “Make it stop.”

“Are you certain?”

The fear in her muffled cry was enough. Nick was just about to end the construct when she grasped his hand.

“No, wait. Let it go on.”

“You sure?”

“Yes.” She sounded like a terrified child.

The construct-Hope heard the doorbell, stood up with baby Chloe fast asleep in her arms, and walked over to the door.