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XVI: Donec Fermentum

Ambition breaks the ties of blood, and forgets the obligations of gratitude.

~ Sir Walter Scott

Ambition. Where was it?

As Michael strolled down the suburban sidewalk, countless thoughts raced through his head; most pertaining to ambition, or the lack thereof. It had been a few months since he tested out of High School, and at sixteen years old, he had nothing. No plans, that is. As of now, he was really only being supported by his family. They definitely wanted him to get a job, that’s for sure.

“Getting late...better head home,” He said looking up at the setting sun, the soft orange hue washing over his face, producing a dim gleam in his pale blue eyes. He did an about-face, turning to the direction his home was in.

His internal dialogue was interrupted by a loud scream. "Get off of me!" At those words, Michael sprinted towards the graveyard; it was coming from there most definitely.

Down the sidewalk.

Along the street.

The gates, they’re coming into view.

It’s dark, there’s a flashlight beam.

Through the gates.

Down the path.

Between the tombstones.

Michael finally got to the spot where he heard the scream. It came from a girl of about 20. An older man was on top of her; she was struggling.

She was being raped.

“Get off of her, you bastard!” Michael was alarmed at his unconscious burst of confidence. The man looked behind him, to see the 16 year old that challenged him. The man got up, and laughed.

“Go home, kid.” He said. “You’ll only get hurt.”

“I think not. What the hell do you think you’re doing,” Michael adopted a more intimidating stance, though the man showed no signs of fear. “...you really think you’ll just get away with raping her? You’ve got another thing coming.” He stepped forward. As he did this, the man pulled out a small object...a .38 Special snub-nosed revolver. This secretly instilled fear in Michael. He didn’t want to die...not like this...

“I suggest you walk away...before you get hurt.”

Michael looked at the girl, who was on the ground unconscious. He then looked at the revolver. It’s what he must have used to knock her out. He noticed something...the cylinder was ajar. There were no bullets; that he could see, at least. He saw his chance. Before the rapist could react, Michael lunged for him. Grabbing his shoulder, he delivered a fist to his face. The man stumbled a bit, then stood straight yet again.

“Hard fist ya’ got there. Now check this out.” He tried to fire the gun, soon realizing his error. Michael took his opportunity to strike him once more. “DAMMIT!” The rapist screamed, “You little shit!” He popped a few bullets into the cylinder, setting it back in place. “I was hoping I didn’t have to use this...”

With that, he fired a shot. Luckily, it missed. Michael rushed forward; as if in a slow-motion sequence, as the man was pulling the trigger back, Michael’s hands gripped onto the cylinder of the revolver. “No bullet holes today,” Michael thought as he ripped the gun out of his hands, throwing it into the bushes.

The rapist tackled him to the ground, punching him repeatedly in his face. He was starting to drift, the pain so intense.

Blurring...

Blur...

…

Blackout.

A smell of blood and dirt, mixed with the smells of the dead and decaying below him...

Michael awoke to an angelic voice, calm and soothing, yet distressed.

“Wake up! Wake up! Please...wake up...” A hot tear fell onto his face. Who was crying? He opened his eyes. It was very blurry, and it didn’t help that it was nearly pitch black outside. “Are you okay?”

“W-...What happened?”

“...You saved me.” He felt himself being pulled into a warm embrace. “I can never repay you.”

“Please, no thanks are necessary,” He said with a smirk, “...only doing my job.” He laid his head back with a weak chuckle. He was glad that she was okay. She seemed too nice to deserve that...no one deserves such evil. Only those evil enough to do evil should receive evil. His thoughts...incoherent, yet they make sense. Hm.

“Hey! Wake up, we need to get you home.” The woman helped Michael up, supporting him. “Guess it’s my turn to help you,” She said smiling. They began to walk towards the location of the woman’s car.

“So, what’s your name?” He turned to look at the girl, taking in

her many gorgeous features. A soft auburn-brown layered hairstyle...slightly tanned skin...a perfect smile...soft, supple lips...and perhaps the best feature of her face, two piercing rain green eyes of the most beautiful magnitude.

“My name is Seline.” Michael perked up to that...what a beautiful and fitting name for such a wonderful girl...”Yours?”

Michael paused for a moment. “My name is Holmes. Michael Drake Holmes.”

“Oh, going for formal, are we?” She gave him a flirty smile. “Seline Anabelle Lee van Radke.”

“Oh really. Someone has a longer name than me.” He smiled back at her. Despite what she just went through, she bounced back pretty quick. He admired that.

There was more laughing than talking. They made their way back to the car, which was just a simple Sedan. Nothing special...yet, it was a car that he loved, mostly out of some weird sentimental value.

After confused directions and a lot of pointing (it may have been intentional) Michael finally reached his house. Stepping in the door, he saw that everyone but his Dad was asleep. His father just looked at him with a worried look.

“What happened?!” His father jerked up from the table, rushing to the aid of his son.

As they embraced, Michael said, “I think I found my ambition.”

…........................................................................................................................................................

“I finally set up that tracking GPS thing on my phone...I hope it works”

INITIALIZING...

Michael D. Holmes
Friday, February 10, 2012
Holmes Residence

“Great, it works. Now, aside from a few bruises and cuts, I’m okay. Well, my nose did get a bit broken, but it should be fine.”

“Son, can you come down here?” Michael followed the voice down the stairs, seeing his father ready for work. “Son, I just wanted to talk to you before I left.”

“What about?” Michael eyed him inquisitively.

“Well, I just want you to know that I might be gone out late a lot. So you’ll have to be the man of the house, take care of your mother and such...”

“Say, Dad, are you still working on that case with Senator MacLane?” Michael sat at the table, awaiting an answer.

“As a matter of fact, I am.” He smiled at his son’s interest in his job. Not many kids find “lawyer stuff” interesting. His look quickly turned to one of deep thought. “Although...there’s something fishy about it...I know I’m supposed to be defending him, but I feel like he really IS doing all of those things...”

“I try and tell you, he’s corrupt, just like everyone says he is. He is responsible for the deaths of all of those civilians in Nigeria. Profiting from destruction...” Michael sighed at those words.

“I know how you feel about it, son. I have to go now, hopefully I’ll be home later.”

“Okay, Dad. I’ll see ya’ later, then.”

His father turned to him. “...and son?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you. You know that I would do anything for you.”

“I love you too, Dad.”

Michael awoke to the morning rays coming through the window of the small cottage. “Damn...still here, huh?”

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