Reverence In Ruin

The man at the shore. The road to the mortuary was silent, Voss drove carefully reminiscing over his mother’s memory. “Adrian, always be kind to people so you don't get a lot of bad karma.” He remembered his mother telling him after he had just lashed out at his employee. “Adrian.” he chuckled “I haven't heard that in a while,” he said, expressionless. Only his mother ever called him by his first name, others called him Voss, V lord or however they dimmed fit. He sat in a silence so thick it felt like prayer, his fingers tracing the cold gold of the signet ring on his hand. “My mother was a goddess,” he murmured, his voice dropping into a low, jagged rasp. It was a long ride. When it finally ended, the destination was at the Saint Pierre cemetery in Marseille. The air here is heavy with the scent of pine and expensive lilies. Voss moved gracefully towards his mother’s grave. Today is her death anniversary, so he brought her favorite flower, a white rose, to her, squatted a bit while running his hand over the gold printed name on her grave, Everything was exquisite and classic because his mother’s taste is really like that. “Mama, you’re not lacking anything in heaven right, I’ll leave this here in case you want to buy stuff over there.” He carefully placed gold bars on the grave. For an hour every year, like this, he is just a son and not the man who controls the underworld. He touches the cold marble on his mother’s headstone one more time before taking his leave. The only thing in this world he still respects. The silence on the way back to his car was deafening, but it soon ended. ​The first c***k of a rifle tore through the air, sharp and deafening. Voss didn’t feel pain, it was just a sudden violent shove against his shoulder. He spun, his boot catching on a loose stone, and he hit the dirt hard. ​What the… ​His brain struggled to make sense of it. He reached for the holster at his back, but his fingers were clumsy and shaking. ​Then came the second shot. ​It hit him square in the ribs, a brutal, crushing weight that knocked the air out of his lungs. He gasped, his mouth filling with the metallic tang of blood. The world turned sideways, he tried to crawl, digging his fingers into the cold, damp earth, but his body wouldn’t listen. ​He tried to look up, blinking through the haze, and saw the shadows of men moving between the headstones. He tried to make out a face but couldn't. ​His hand fell limp into the dirt, the fight was still in him, but he was losing strength by the second. As the shadow of one of them fell over him, Voss realized the harsh truth: they didn’t just want him dead, they wanted him gone forever. He was dragged towards the jagged cliffs of the Calanques by masked men, “Just two hits for a strong general, huh," was the last thing he heard before passing out. Then a long shove and a fall before the Mediterranean swallowed him whole. ************* On the fog drenched coast of Bonifacio. The sun is just beginning to bleed through the grey sky, Amelia Hart is walking along the shoreline, her fingers inked stains from the rigorous studying for her teacher’s exam. She came here looking for peace. She had prayed to God that morning to blow her mind away and show her a sign that all of her hard work would finally pay off, and she’d be out of this town. She kept her head down, tracing the tide line, when a sharp flicker of light caught her eye. “Huh, what's that....,” she noticed something glittering and moved closer to pick it up. It was a ring, thick with intricate gold work, featuring a wide, flat face set with a stone that caught the morning light and threw it back like a star. It was ornate, brutal, and looked far too expensive to be lying on a beach in Bonifacio. Her face lit up in utter amusement. “ It is real, this could pay for all my expenses twice over,” she whispered, stunned. She was still admiring the ring when she noticed something afloat in the water. What could that be, she thought as she moved closer to take a proper look at it. What she saw made her gasp and stagger. “A dead body.” She rushed to cover her mouth with her hands to stop the scream that was about to follow. She wanted to run away, but her curiosity got the best of her. Why would a body be here? She thought as she moved closer. She saw a man tangled in kelp and driftwood, his skin was the color of sea foam. He looks more like a piece of wreckage the tide finally gave up. She rolls him over, all this while trying to convince herself that she’s just going to take a look. Her breath hitched at the sight of the bullet wound and the ripped expensive silk of his shirt. “Is he dead?” She asked herself as she knelt herself down in the wet sand, the hem of her coat soaking up the frigid Atlantic brine. Her hands shook as she pressed two fingers against the hollow of a stranger’s throat. For a long terrifying heartbeat, there was nothing but the roar of waves. Then a flicker, a thready, desperate pulse thrummed against her fingertips. His hands jerked suddenly. Amelia gasped, stumbling back, her heart hammered so hard it felt like it would break her ribs. She moved closer to him again when she finally calmed down. “Oh god…..is he even breathing?” She tried to lift him, but he was a mountain of soaked wool and muscle. Panic flared in her chest. “Help!” she screamed toward the dim lights of the pier. “Someone, please!” A pair of weathered fishermen dropped their crates and ran toward her, their heavy boots thumping on the sand as they reached for the half dead stranger. Amelia stepped aside anxiously, giving them enough room to carry him, the distant wail of a foghorn echoed across the cliffs sounding less like a warning and more like a funeral toll for the girl she used to be.