Chapter Text
Outside, Brecht saw the third floor light turn on. He noted the time on his wristwatch and waited another thirty minutes or so before he made his move, then he gingerly jumped down off the wall and slowly made his way through the garden. He huddled down in front of the kitchen door and pulled a lock-pick from his coat pocket. He slowly and as quietly as possible started working the lock. His heart pounding in his chest and his mind racing as he moved one step closer to his goal. As he worked his thoughts drew back darkly to the time when he fled Spain, gravely injured, almost dead.
The Republican guerrillas had tortured him, left him in a ditch, thought him dead…ironic that they were the ones most certainly now dead. Franco would have seen to it. There was some solace in that, but at the time, he just needed to get out of Spain. As he stumbled and dragged himself through the countryside, using the sun, the moon and the stars to guide his direction, he had already started to plan his revenge on Lix Storm. He had played his part in the Fascist experiment in Spain and with each agonizing step he pulled himself closer to continuing that role as Europe devolved into chaos. Helped by a truckload of Italians, he managed to get enough medical assistance that he could function, albeit in great pain. At that point he had wanted to get back to Germany, but realized he was limited to a series of shorter trips with recovery time in between. He finally arrived in Paris in late September, finding the city in German hands, he was able to reunite with some of his SS colleagues. He was also able to get proper medical attention, although the doctor told him what he already knew. The wounds had not been treated properly. His leg would never recover and he would always have to endure the pain and disfunction. He resolved to let the pain and frustrating limitations fuel his anger and his anger fuel his revenge. This was when he was the closest to catching up with Lix Storm, but just when he thought he had her in his grasp, he realized that in fact she had eluded him. She left France a few months earlier to cover the conflict in North Africa.
With a last twist on the lock, Brecht heard the soft click of the tumbler slipping free rousing him from his memories. He slowly opened the door and entered the kitchen. He slipped the lock-pick back into his coat and removed the knife he had just bought and sharpened. He stood still as a statue. Above him he could hear the sounds of Randall and Lix making love. He was so close, in the same building as his prey. It was closer than he had ever been. He would take his time with her. Yes, he would wait, because the waiting would make his revenge that much sweeter. He leaned against the countertop intending to settle in for a while, when he bumped one of the wine bottles, which with a loud shattering of glass, fell to the floor.
Upstairs Randall and Lix were enjoying the afterglow of their climax. She lay atop him, shuddering as the last waves of her orgasm rippled through her. He felt her laughing and tilted his head to catch her eye inquisitively.
“What, may I ask, is so amusing?”
“Nothing…it’s just that we could have been doing this for the last twenty years. I’m appraising our immense stupidity. We really have botched this up haven’t we?”
He let her slide off him and cradled her in his good arm. “No, not we, I. I have botched it. Would that I could turn back the clock and change things, God knows that I would. But I can’t and all we have is right now. I swear, I will make the most of every minute with you from now on. If you’ll let me.”
“Randall, I have loved and hated you. I have been with you in some of the most formative moments of my life. I have been without you in some of my darkest days. But I have never let you out of my heart. Never.”
He pulled her close to him. Running his fingers along her spine. He leaned in to kiss her when then both started at the clamor downstairs.
Randall jumped out of bed and with only one functioning arm, clumsily pulled his trousers on. Lix grabbed his dark blue shirt and threw it on, as she had no idea where her clothes were.
Randall whispered in her ear. “Obviously we have an intruder, and we can both guess who it is. We need to obfuscate. I’m going to open the door to the rooftop access ladder. We’re going to speak loud enough that he can hear me tell you that we will hide there but you are not joining me on the roof. Instead you are going to hide in my armoire. Once he follows me to the roof, you sneak downstairs and get Constable Hendricks.”
“No, Randall, it’s too dangerous. It is an abominable idea.”
“Lix abominable or splendid, we don’t have time to argue. I cannot fight him off with one arm in a sling and we have no weapons. Let’s be realistic, neither of us is likely to incapacitate him, unless we plan on blinding him with a flash bulb and hitting him over the head with a camera.”
“Yes, yes of course you are right. We don’t even have said flash and camera.” Lix reluctantly acquiesced and after they played out their misdirection on the stairwell landing, Lix went back into the bedroom and slipped into the wardrobe. Meanwhile Randall unlocked the door to a small alcove with a ladder that ascended to a hatch leading to the rooftop. He moved as quickly as he could given the confined space and his injury. The rungs were cold on his bare feet. He reached the top and struggled before successfully pushing open the rusted and infrequently used roof access., emerging into the stormy night.
Downstairs, Constable Hendricks heard the shattering glass and quickly went across the entryway to the neighbors. He had them call in to DC Witherspoon and request they send out additional officers. Then he told the couple to lock up their door. He turned back to Randall’s door knocking and calling out for Mr. Brown. Receiving no response, he retrieved the spare key Randall had provided and opened the door. He quietly entered the flat, looking around the room, now only dimly lit by the glowing embers in the fireplace and a single lamp in the corner. Hendricks shouted, “Mr. Brown. Is everything all right sir?”
Not hearing any response, Hendricks cautiously entered the apartment. Flipping on lights he examined the first floor. He saw the broken bottle spilling red wine across the kitchen floor. He pulled out his baton and slowly started to climb the stairs to the second floor landing. He was about to open the door to Randall’s office when a figure moved out of the shadow behind him, threw an arm around his neck and drove an extremely sharp blade into his chest. Hendricks gasped. It was the guttural, broken breath of a dying man. Then Hendricks went limp in Brecht’s grip. Brecht released the officer and let his body fall to the floor. One more death at his hands and it invigorated the twisted hatred in Brecht’s soul.
Brecht swung around to the staircase and as he made his way up to the third floor he shouted, “Alexis Storm, your policeman protector is no longer at your service. I’m coming for you and when I find you…and I will find you, I will make you my masterpiece. I will take my time with you. You will regret the day you took that picture of me. Well, you will regret it for those few painful moments before you die. You can run to the roof, but there is no where to go from there and your injured consort will not be able to protect you. I’ve been coming for you for a long time and tonight I have finally find you.”
Lix shuddered in her hiding place. The man was a lunatic, a dangerous unbalanced murderer. She had no doubt that Brecht had just killed Hendricks. She needed a different plan and remembering Randall’s service revolver in his study, she thought she just might have a way out of this nightmare. However, it meant waiting. Waiting for Brecht to make his way to the rooftop and to Randall. Randall, who placed himself in danger on her behalf, again. Damned irritating and she was not having any of it. No, she was not letting him sacrifice himself for her. Lix Storm did not sit like a passive bystander waiting to be saved, she took action. She held her breath as she heard Brecht’s footsteps as he ascended the last of the stairs. He was on the landing, not five meters from her.
Brecht could hardly miss the alcove and the ladder leading to the roof. The wind made the open hatch creak and groan in the wind, and rain water was dripping onto the floor at the base of the ladder. Brecht chuckled to himself. “Too easy my pets. You are making this too easy. My blade has already tasted blood, only not the blood it hungers for. But it will be sated tonight, oh it definitely will.”
Brecht tucked the knife back into his coat and clambered up the ladder. When Lix heard his footfalls on the rooftop above her, she exited the armoire and padded silently downstairs to the study. She paused, spotting the crumpled body of Hendricks. She could hardly say she knew him, but she felt sadness and guilt that this stranger had died trying to defend her and Randall. However, she could not help a dead man, but she definitely could try to avenge his death. She went straight to the table with the Webley Mk IV revolver and turned on a small table lamp. She had handled guns before, but those were hunting rifles on her father’s estate. She slide the gun from its holster and examined the weapon. Of course, Randall had kept it cleaned and oiled, in perfect condition, not that Lix thought he had used it or ever would. Lix on the other hand had no qualms against using it, but she needed ammunition. Noticing a small drawer in the side of the table, Lix opened it and found what she was looking for, neatly arranged in perfect symmetric rows, the cardboard boxes with the brass .38 caliber bullets. She grasped the gun with both hands, barrel in one and grip in the other and pushed down the lever breaking the revolver open. She loaded six bullets into the cylinder and snapped it shut. Then she headed back up the stairs. The hunter was now the hunted.
As Lix made her way toward confrontation, DC Witherspoon raced across town toward Randall’s flat. He and three other constables battled through rain drenched streets to get there in time. He cursed himself for leaving tonight, but nothing to do now but get back post haste. The officer next to him asked, “Do you think we’ll make it in time?” Witherspoon kept his gaze glued to the slick streets as he fish-tailed around a corner. “We have to constable, there is no other acceptable outcome.”
Randall was immediately regretting his lack of clothing, let alone rain gear. It was raining like hell. The wind was driving the downpour in a horizontal direction, each drop like an icy needle hitting him. He was soaked and cold, but he kept focused. He needed to give Lix time. He huddled down behind a chimney listening for Brecht. He heard the screech of the hatch hinges and then he heard the voice of The Butcher.
“I know you are up here. There is no where left to run. Come out and face me. Or are you both too frightened. No matter, I have plenty of time to find you.” He turned and slammed down the hatch cover. He then started slowly traversing the roof top, making a scrapping sound as he dragged his bad leg along the tar paper, checking each vent stack, each chimney, each feature that could provide cover. Randall looked around him, he could dodge over to a low rectangular brick protrusion, but would have to wait for Brecht to move over to the right side of the roof to remain unseen. Picking up a pebble with a hand shaking from the chilling wet conditions, he flung it with his left hand over in the direction he wanted Brecht to turn. It worked, Brecht went to investigate. Randall ran to the structure and crouched down on the far side. A few more minutes gained.
Lix heard the hatch slam shut and knew that Brecht and Randall were both on the roof, playing a deadly game revolving around her. She steeled herself. She had been in tough circumstances before; war zones, riots, wherever there was trouble, Lix tried to make sure she was there. She had a gun. Brecht only had a knife. She resolved that she would be the one to put an end to his reign of terror. She slowly, cautiously climbed the ladder. She hesitated at the hatch. It would make enough noise to attract Brecht’s attention. She didn’t want to reveal herself too soon, but she could not wait too long. Randall’s situation was unknown to her. She was about to push up against the hatch when she heard footsteps coming closer. She braced herself against the wall and aimed the gun upward, holding it with both hands, but thankfully the footsteps moved past her. She sighed in relief, sagging against the wall.
Brecht realized that he had been tricked and spun around re-tracing his steps. He scanned the rooftop, and as a flash of lightning illuminated his surroundings he spotted the top of Randall’s head. “I know where you are. Come out and face me.”
Randall grimaced. He had no idea what was taking Lix and Hendricks so long. He prayed that she was unharmed. He weighed his options, then decisively rose and stepped out. His lean figure stood tall in the rain and biting wind. “Gerhard Brecht, isn’t it? Wish I could say it was a pleasure to meet you, but alas, that is really not the case.” Randall rambled on, slowly maneuvering around the brickwork to keep it between them. “Lovely weather this evening. You must remember the storms in Madrid, yes?”
Brecht pulled the knife from his jacket and pointed it at Randall. “Where is she?”
“You know, weather aside, which granted is a difficult turn to take at this moment, the thing I most miss about Spain is the jambon. You must remember that?”
“I remember slicing it, like I will slice you.” Brecht snapped his head left and right, trying to see where Lix was. Not finding her, he focused back on the man across from him. He needed to get him out of the way. He made to move to the left and once he saw Randall dodge in the opposite direction he spun around reversing direction and intercepted him. Randall jumped back as the blade swung out at his bare chest. He started backing away from Brecht, with an occasional quick glance over his shoulder to gauge how close he was getting to the edge of the roof. Under his breath Randall muttered, “Come on Lix, now would be a good time.”
The screeching of tires on the streets below was heard above by the two players of this deadly game. DC Witherspoon and his constables had finally arrived. Randall heard the doors opening and being unfortunately close enough to the edge to see over the parapet, he ventured a look down below. That was a mistake as he took his eyes off Brecht for few scant seconds, and Brecht made his move. He lunged at Randall, who saw the movement just in time to sidestep the attack. However, his arm restrained in a sling and the rain-slick surface played with his balance and he slid with a thud onto his back.
Lix heard Witherspoon below and the thud from above. Deciding she needed to get up there without delay, she gave a shout downstairs and alerted Witherspoon to her location. Then hoping she had assistance on the way, she pushed open the hatch and stepped out onto the roof. Brecht was towering over Randall, just a stone’s throw from the edge of the building. Thunder rumbled with such force that the entire edifice shook and it masked Lix’s arrival on the rooftop. Brecht kept his focus on Randall as Lix crept up silently behind him.
“Looks like you’ve run out of luck. Once I’ve got you out of the way, I’ll enjoy my time alone with your lady friend.” Brecht took the heel of his boot and jammed it into Randall’s injured shoulder. Randall cried out in pain, but never let his steely eyes leave Brecht’s. He saw Lix approach behind his assailant. He did not want to give away her presence, so he swallowed his pain and resolved to keep Brecht talking.
Panting between words, he spit out, “Brecht, men like you are nothing. You are a dried up relic from a long ended war. Your side lost by the way. You’ll not get off this rooftop alive.”
“Neither will you, I’ll wager.”
Having worked his way through the first floor and up the first flight of stairs, Witherspoon found Hendricks. He knelt down next to the lifeless form, his head in his hand. It could well have been him laying there cut down by an evil blade. If he had not swapped places tonight… No sense mulling over what might have been. There was still work to do. “Hendricks…so very sorry mate. We’ll get the bloody bastard that did this to you.” Witherspoon was one of a very few who had been cleared to carry a weapon. His marksmanship during the war had qualified him for the rare allowance to have a sidearm. He pulled out his revolver and turned his attention to the access ladder. Surmising that everyone was on the roof, he followed. He brought two of his men with him and left one to guard the landing in case they were not successful in stopping Brecht.
Lix was close enough now to get a shot. She shouted to be heard above the storm. “Get away from him Brecht, or so help me I’ll kill you.”
Brecht spun around but kept his foot planted on Randall. Seeing Lix, he grinned like a starving wolf. “Ahh, Alexis, so glad you could join us.” He dropped down next to Randall, pulling him up like a shield. “I’ll slice him, you know I will. You’ve seen me do it before.” Kneeling behind him, Brecht pulled back Randall’s head back exposing the pale flesh of his neck. Lightning flashed around them and thunder rumbled again. “Just like in that barn. You watched me, you know what I can do. Come here Alexis Storm. I’ll trade you… your life for his. A fair exchange, yes?”
Alexis Storm looked into Randall Brown’s eyes. Those eyes that she loved so much. Life had never been fair to them and it certainly wasn’t about to change tonight. She knew that with one swift move, a few seconds ticking off the clock, The Butcher would end Randall’s life without a thought or regret. She had lost him once and she was not about to lose him again. She had to buy some time for Witherspoon to figure out where they were and make his way up to the roof. She lowered the gun. “Let him go. You have a deal.”
“No! Lix, what are you doing?” Randall struggled against Brecht’s grip.
Brecht pulled Randall to his feet, keeping the blade just above his jugular. “Throw the gun down,” Brecht barked the order above the drumming rain.
“Let him go first.” Lix countered.
Brecht weighed the options. He wanted his blade to touch her pale skin. “On three, we trade. Agreed?”
“Yes.”
“No, Lix,” Randall beseeched her.
“One. Two…” then as Lix began to lower her weapon, Brecht cheated and lunged at her. He sliced her arm with a quick, deep cut just above her elbow, causing Lix to drop the gun. Randall quickly pivoted his body pulling Brecht away from Lix. Lix looked down, shocked as the ripped shirt revealed the injury. The blood, at first not visible, seemed to magically well up and started flowing down her arm. She stepped back distancing herself slightly from Brecht and Randall and moved closer to the gun.
Suddenly, Witherspoon and his two men burst onto the roof. Brecht was startled, but recovered quickly, and with Randall still in his grasp he raised the blade, but Lix shouted at him. “No, Brecht! Wait!”
She then turned to Witherspoon, and pleaded, “Please, keep back. I’m begging you.”
Witherspoon stopped, raised his arm to hold his men back. He didn’t know Lix Storm very well, but he had come to respect and admire her over the last few days. He was quite certain that this woman never begged for anything, yet here she was drenched to the bone, begging him to hold back. And something told him that he should listen. It was obvious that if they rushed Brecht, he would kill Randall Brown. He nodded to her. They would play this out her way. Brecht would not leave this roof alive. The challenge was to make sure everyone else did. Lix returned the nod, gratefully. Gathering her courage she turned back to Brecht and Randall.
“It’s me you want Brecht. You can still get what you came here for tonight. But only if you let him go.”
Randall mouthed the word “no”. His Adam’s Apple bobbed dangerously close to the blade as he swallowed thickly.
Lix smiled at him. It was the same smile she had at Casa Almirall when they first met, so many years ago. The years of pain and doubt washed away in the never-ending rain of this horrendous night, left two people, each peculiar in their own way, yet somehow suited to each other. Randall very slowly closed his eyes. Lix thought he was crying, but then he suddenly slammed his good arm back, elbowing Brecht in the stomach and leapt out of the way of the man and his deadly blade. Brecht bull rushed Randall, knocking him into the brick parapet. Randal’s head hit the hard surface with a loud “crack” and he crumpled.
Lix never hesitated, she reached down, grabbed the gun, took aim and pulled the trigger. Almost at the same time, Witherspoon fired his weapon. Lix’s shot hit first, hitting Brecht in the chest. He staggered backward. Then Witherspoon’s bullet hit Brecht in the back of the head. The Butcher fell heavily to the rainswept surface of the roof. Witherspoon and his men quickly surrounded the body and secured the knife.
Lix lowered the revolver. Witherspoon approached her. She let him tug the weapon from her hand.
“Well done Miss Storm. You incapacitated him and my shot finished him. He’ll never harm anyone ever again.” Witherspoon lied. He wanted Lix to believe that she had not killed Brecht. Murder, no matter how justified, was a painful weight on anyone’s soul. And people who were not monsters like Brecht would actually feel that pain. He felt this would be a burden for the rest of her life, and one that she should not have to bear. But he was quite certain that it was her shot not his that had killed Gerhard Brecht.
Lix nodded silently and then wearily approached Randall’s prone form.
She sat down on the wet surface, as the rain finally tapered off to a light drizzle as if it knew the passion play had ended. She cradled his head in her lap, gently stroking his hair back from his forehead. She tore a clean strip of the already ripped and bloodied fabric from the sleeve of the shirt she was wearing and delicately cleaned the nasty gash on the side of his head. After a moment he stirred in her arms. His eyes opened but he could not seem to focus them. He tried to move but the waves of pain from both his head and his shoulder made him cease that activity immediately. He struggled to focus on Lix, who he could make out although she was a bit fuzzy.
“Alexis? I…oh god, my head hurts.” He reached up to investigate, but Lix grasped his hand and held it tight.
“Trust me, you don’t want to touch your head right now.”
“Okay, not arguing with that. What happened? Brecht?” He became alarmed and tried to sit up but the wave of dizziness and nausea that swept over him made he relax back into Lix’s arms.
“Brecht is dead.” Lix flicked her eyes to the side where Brecht’s body lay. “Witherspoon and I both shot him but I think it was Witherspoon’s that killed him. But even if Witherspoon hadn’t been here, I would have killed Brecht if it meant saving you.”
“Yes, I believe you would have.”
“You know Randall, we should stop wasting time, you and I. Life is far too short and too precious to waste.”
“Yes, it is. We should not waste another second of it.”
“You are very agreeable tonight.”
“Yes, I suppose I am. Although I hope I can sustain a level of agreeability without having to go through the events of this evening every time hence.”
They smiled at the other through bedraggled hair, plastered to their heads by the rain. He frowned, seeing the injury to her arm. “You need medical attention. And although I love a good storm, I think I’ve had my fill of the elements for tonight.”
Lix chuckled. “You need some medical attention as well. Can you stand up?”
“I think so…”
Witherspoon and one of his men came over and helped Randall get up. The group started slowly toward the ladder.
“By the way, you know we are even now,” Randall murmured.
“How’s that?” Lix asked, cradling her injured arm.
“My shirt. It’s ruined.”
“Who said it was still your shirt. Maybe it is mine now.”
Randall looked at her, smiling in spite of the pain and chill wracking his body. His shirt was her’s now. That meant all of the world to him.
“Yes, you’re quite right. I think it is yours now, and perhaps it has been for some time.”
“Indeed, perhaps it has.”
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IV
It was as they said,
one day we’d have life behind us
and you would tell me, “I’m not young anymore.”
And I’d answer just by looking at you
to keep you safe, my love,
from whoever might bear us away
helpless together. The way I look at you
now, the way I ask you
for whatever - a question, sentence,
or judgement - now
that you’re everything, my only
soul trembling
in this first darkness.
-Franco Fortini
—Fin.