Futurity

Solaro stood in front of the monitor, checking to see if his flight was scheduled to take off on time. He feared that the coming storm would delay his trip to Paris. Every second counted; the timing of events had to be perfect. One mistake, and all could be lost. He scanned the list until he arrived at flight number 1056. The plane would depart on time, despite the weather reports. A rush of relief warmed him. He was about to turn away from the monitor, when he glimpsed his image reflected in the glass. Momentarily mesmerized, he remained in place. He almost didn’t recognize the man looking back at him. His hair was dark and fell to his jawline, curling at the ends. Stubbly hairs covered most of his face, and his eyes were dark and fierce. A quick glance at his hands showed that a summer spent traveling up the Italian coast from Palermo to Rome had darkened his olive skin considerably. He raised his hands to examine them more closely. They had touched so much in this world. And he knew the day would come when his hands would be used to destroy life once again. This time the mission would be personal. The enemy was his own kind. A feeling of uneasiness distracted him from his thoughts. The energy around him intensified, and he felt an increase in the negative charge. He looked around, turning up the collar of his peacoat to hide part of his face. One of them must have followed him. How was that possible? He had been careful to cover his tracks. Still, the energy was unmistakable. Backing slowly away from the monitor, he turned and walked toward the shops lining one side of the terminal. A man’s voice, amplified by the airport’s sound system, announced departing flights in Italian and English. Numerous people of many different nationalities walked past him in both directions. Solaro understood every word that was spoken, regardless of the language. His heightened abilities could sense the deeper meaning of human consciousness. Therefore, all speech was translated into one frequency, which he easily deciphered. A strong sensation of energy prickled along his spine. He glanced back as he turned a corner and spotted a large figure moving quickly through the crowd, following him. It was Leiro. Solaro diverted his path and went into the men’s bathroom. He had to settle this matter in private, and as quickly as possible. He couldn’t let Leiro cause a scene in public and detain him. Leiro had always been impatient and quick to anger. Solaro planned to use that to his advantage. He would meet Leiro on his own terms, not Leiro’s. A teenage boy was drying his hands and listening to music on an iPod as Solaro entered the bathroom. He waited for the boy to leave and then checked the numerous stalls. The bathroom was empty, but he knew that it wouldn’t remain so for long. He walked over to one of the sinks and splashed cold water on his face. After shaking the water from his hands, he reached into the pocket of his jeans and grasped the key he had put there. It was the key to his safe box, and the only weapon he had on him. The door to the bathroom creaked open. Out of the corner of his eye, Solaro saw Leiro enter. He turned his back to Solaro as he closed the door and waved his hand. The lock on the door clicked. Solaro took a deep breath and stood up straight. Leiro walked down the line of sinks, stopping about fifteen feet away. Solaro watched him in the mirror. He’d forgotten how tall Leiro was. Tall and imposing. He must have carefully selected that yellow sweater to contrast with his jet black skin. Solaro scanned Leiro’s chiseled features for a hint of what was to come, but the set jaw betrayed nothing. Leiro wet his hands and stroked them over his bald head. “Vanity is not a becoming quality, Leiro.” The man stopped mid-motion, grunted, and then finished the last stroke. Turning to face Solaro, he stretched his neck from side to side. The outline of his muscular frame could be seen through his thin sweater. “You never were one for words, were you?” Solaro asked. “I have a flight to catch. Could we hurry this up?” Leiro walked closer to Solaro until he towered over him. Staring up at the big man, Solaro wondered if he could take him. His heart pounded hard in his chest, and he knew he had to tamp down his fear. Fear would cloud his judgment, and he needed his wits if he wanted to survive. He had to survive. She needed him. “I am here to help you,” Leiro replied. His African accent had become corrupted over time. “Really?” said Solaro. “How kind of you.” “You have a choice. Join us and live.” “That doesn’t sound like much of a choice.” Leiro snickered. His narrow eyes nearly vanished when he smiled. He looked down his long thin nose at Solaro. Again he stretched his neck from side to side, producing a cracking sound. “She was never one of us,” Leiro said. “As it was then, it will be now. Your mission has no chance for success. It is useless.” He waved his hand dismissively. “The prophecy was always meaningless.” “I intend to see that she has a chance to change the past.” Leiro laughed and shrugged. “This conversation has been quite stimulating, but I do have a plane to catch,” Solaro said. Leiro looked stoic. “You are not going anywhere.” Solaro felt a bead of sweat drip down the side of his face. He quickly raised his right hand to strike Leiro, but Leiro was too fast for him. He caught Solaro’s arm at the wrist, and with his other hand gripped him by the neck. Picking up Solaro, he threw him against the wall by the door. Pain shot through Solaro’s left shoulder as he slid down the cold tiles to the floor. Bursts of light flashed in and out of his vision. He saw a distorted picture of Leiro’s hulking frame lumbering toward him. As he slowly got to his feet, he heard loud voices from outside the bathroom. People were talking about getting security to open the door. He had to act fast. Regaining his composure, he blocked an incoming punch and immediately countered with three quick shots to Leiro’s face and midsection. The colossus stumbled backward, gasping for breath. Solaro was not about to give him a chance to recover. He grabbed Leiro’s head and slammed it against the counter. Leiro screamed, covering his face with his hands. Specks of blue light glowed from a gash above his nose. He swung wildly, unable to see. Solaro dodged his attempts and took out the key from his pocket. Gripping it in his fist between his index and middle fingers, he jabbed the key into Leiro’s stomach. The tip pierced the other man’s flesh. Leiro gasped in pain and lost his footing, falling backward into one of the stalls. Solaro stood over him, as Leiro held his stomach. “It hurts. I know,” Solaro said. Leiro coughed, continuing to hold his hands over the wound on his stomach. “Forgive me, brother,” Solaro added, “but you left me no choice.” Leiro kept trying desperately to stand up by bracing his hands on the toilet seat. His feet slid out from under his massive body each time he attempted to lift himself up. Solaro turned to the door, flicking his finger to unlock it. He stepped outside to face a crowd of angry men, who were bewildered by the sight of him. “Sorry for the trouble, but the door must have stuck somehow,” he said in Italian. As he spoke, he could see two officers of the Polizia di Stato striding toward the crowd. Wanting to avoid attention at all costs, he quickly walked away, past a coffee bar from which arose the delectable smell of freshly-brewed coffee and a bar where several patrons enjoyed glasses of wine. His departure gate was only a short distance away. Passengers were boarding already, and he checked his watch. The plane was leaving in twenty minutes.