Epilogue

It was surprising to him when he noticed how many people from all over the world followed the news of his home country. Each morning he would pick a new route to walk through the compact city and explore a new part of a world he had been oblivious to in his former life. He often noticed shop owners and loiterers crowding around and listening to the radio. Sometimes the news was in English, but many times, it was not. He tried to keep himself in high spirits, but the occasional radio announcement about a former FBI Special Agent, Edward Brandt still at large, would again diminish his hopes of returning home. He did not assume that the residents of the country only knew Spanish, so he took caution in everything that he did.

Even with his now scraggly beard, worn clothing, and unkempt hair, there was a lot of risks involved when he ventured into the outside world. A sizeable cash reward for information or his capture would have been too opportunistic for the lower income people of the country. He could have spent day and night in the tiny studio apartment he rented for cash, but it would have just felt like he was already a prisoner. The day allowed him to take in the sights and smells of what would be a beautiful country if it was allowed to prosper and not driven into chaos and control by the cartels.

The nights, however, kept Brandt awake with sadness and uncertainty. He had discarded his original phone back in California, but not before purchasing another and transferring the things that were important to him. The contact list and the images of his wife, Joyce, would now be with him without the worry of being tracked. The phone had no service plan, but at least he could reactivate it once he had found out good news.

Brandt mostly kept to a routine at night. Just before bed he would plug the phone into the charger and look at the picture of him standing behind Joyce with his arms around her torso, both of them happily smiling at the camera. The image had brought him comfort, but also fear. Fear that he may never see her again. When he finally relaxed his mind, he laid down on the twin bed near the wall of the small room, closed his eyes, and began to dream even before he fell asleep.

The comfort of his dreams was often short-lived when he would be suddenly woken by the random sounds of gunfire and screams from the streets around him. There was a real problem here. Even though there were reports of a decline in violent criminal activity, there would likely never be rest for the drug traffickers and the insatiable ambitions of the gang members. He tried his best to keep to himself and dismiss the problems that loomed around the corner. The fight wasn’t his to consider, he was one man, and the problems needed an army to resolve. At times like this, he would grab the phone, and again look upon the image to lull himself back to sleep. He repeated this process each night until one night, this night, it was too much for him to bear.

This night, it wasn’t the screams and gunfire that kept him up. It was the lack thereof mixed with what was possibly the last heatwave of the summer. The stained mattress could not absorb any more sweat, and Brandt felt like he was swimming. He could not stop the rambling thoughts as he jumped out of bed and put on some light clothing. It was dangerous and completely went against his own rules of surviving here, but he needed to go for a walk.

Brandt readied himself by removing the phone from the charger and placing it in the back pocket of his pants. Even though there was no service, he always wanted the memories of his wife close to him. Similarly, he removed the Springfield Garrison 1911 from under his pillow and tucked it in the belt behind him, covering up the otherwise visible shiny grip with the length of his shirt. As he opened the door to leave the apartment, he looked back to wonder if this would be his last night there.

He walked down the stairs and out of the main entrance to the street below. The night was quiet, aside from the chirping sound of crickets. The air was thick and humid, with the glow of streetlamps providing a ghostly image of what lay ahead of him. He continued walking along the empty street, occasionally looking around for something he may need to avoid. The thought of being ambushed weighed heavily on his mind. He could have likely taken down two or maybe even three attackers, but with larger numbers, his chance of survival grew slimmer, even with the high caliber pistol in his belt.

His midnight stroll had already taken him four blocks from where he had started. Visibility started becoming an issue as the mist thickened in the tropical heat. He wondered if it was time to turn back. His mind felt more at ease and his body relaxed after the peaceful walk. I think I’m good now, he thought to himself as he stopped and turned to walk back to his apartment.

Brandt had only made it one block closer to his destination when he heard something that triggered an automatic response in his brain. The sound echoed between the walls of two buildings in an alley that lead to a rougher part of the city. A female voice was panicking, speaking distressed words in Spanish, followed by the ruffling of clothing and boxes on the ground. A much deeper male voice dominated over the woman. There was something in Brandt that knew that this was no ordinary domestic dispute. He needed to find out what was going on, or it would weigh on his conscience along with everything else that had gone wrong in his life.

He moved quickly and quietly to the front of the small business, hiding his body from view as he peeked his head around the corner to get a closer look. He couldn’t quite make out a defining outline with the dense atmosphere. It was two blurred images of people that looked to blend together. Rounding the corner, Brandt cautiously moved forward, straddling the wall so that his shadow would not alert the two people. He finally reached a point where he could definitively see the pair. The woman began sobbing as she attempted to push the man away. The male was struggling to hold onto her, grabbing her flailing arms and pushing her into the side of the building. What he did next put Brandt into a frenzy of rage.

The man used his body weight to keep the woman pressed against the wall as his hands reached down to her waistline and unbuttoned her pants. The woman used most of her strength to rip the claws away but was powerless in doing so. The only thing she could do next was spit in the face of her attacker. The man reacted in the only fashion his insignificant brain knew how. He grabbed onto her throat and punched her directly in the side of her face.

Brandt didn’t think; he only reacted to the despicable actions of the attacker. He thrusted himself from the wall and sprinted toward the attacker, sending a powerful right punch into the man’s kidney that towered over the frightened woman. The man groaned and arched his back, both surprised and confused by what had just hit him. Brandt didn’t give him room to adjust himself. He grabbed the man’s shoulders to pry him from the woman and sent another fist directly into his jaw. He dropped to the ground, dazed, looking back up at Brandt.

The voice had a heavy Spanish accent, but his eyes met with Brandt’s he spoke in English. “Who the fuck are you, chele? Are you suicidal, chafas?”

Brandt didn’t say anything but responded by sending the heel of his right foot into the nose of the attacker, letting him crash back down to the dirty concrete. He continued to stand over the man who was attempting to regain his control over the reality before him.

Brandt motioned his hand to allow the man to get off the ground. The man was confused but rose quickly to his feet and immediately tried to surprise Brandt with a right hook. It was easily dodged when Brandt ducked under the sweeping fist and returned with his own fist directly into the attacker’s abdomen. The man bent forward and clutched his core with his arms as Brandt gripped the hair on the head of the man and sent three more powerful slugs into his ribs.

The man lurched in pain as he groaned. He stepped forward slowly, hoping to surprise Brandt with an uppercut. The fist had missed its target when Brandt arched back to avoid the blow, then followed up with a leg sweep, sending the man crashing back down to the ground. He twisted and writhed until Brandt noticed his hand reaching for something behind his back. He didn’t immediately know what kind of weapon it was but knew once the frame came into view that it was a pistol and likely loaded. Brandt reacted quickly and used his foot to kick the object from the man’s hands. The pistol skidded almost ten feet along the ground as Brandt held the attacker’s arm down under the weight of his foot. He brandished his own weapon from behind his belt and aimed it at the teary-eyed and wounded man on the ground. Looking him in the eye, Brandt said the first and only words the man would hear from him. “You won’t be needing this anymore either.”

Brandt lowered the Springfield Garrison 1911 to the man’s crotch and fired once, sending the forty-five caliber round through the pants and what once was his most prized possession. He let the man wriggle and cry in agony as he moved over towards the pistol on the ground and picked it up. He ejected the magazine to notice the caliber, nine-millimeter, then pulled the slide back to ensure that a round was chambered. He used his thumb over the top of the magazine and, one by one, ejected each round until it was empty. He tossed the magazine to the ground to meet the objects it once retained and looked over to the woman, still curled up against the wall and crying in fear.

She said something in Spanish that he couldn’t understand. Brandt reached out his arm and smiled to try and let her know that it was okay now. She reluctantly took his hand and pulled herself up with his assistance. She looked down at her attacker and then back at Brandt. He stretched his arm out once more, this time to offer her a choice. She took the pistol into her hand and smiled back at Brandt.

Brandt didn’t need to know how it ended. The event had made him feel human again, rather than a useless drifter with no purpose. He turned around and casually walked away, never looking back, only to hear a single gunshot echo down the road behind him as he kept walking.

He finally came upon the view of his pitiful residence and stopped. He looked up and sighed, wondering how much longer of this meagre existence he would have to endure. Then something happened that he could not have prepared for. The unexplainable noise startled him, and the vibration sent chills up his spine. He reached for the source of the commotion and pulled the phone from his back pocket.

Looking down at the screen, he had no service, but the device had three bars worth of signal. The message read ‘Incoming Call: Unknown Number.’ Brandt didn’t know what to think; he couldn’t understand how it was even possible. He hesitated for a moment, thinking about what he wanted to do. Was it a glitch? Was it an emergency service? A practical joke from some random hacker kid? As the scenarios played out in his head, he tempted fate with the only option he had to find out what the call was about. He unlocked the phone and pressed the receiver to his face. He didn’t say anything, just listened.

A female voice spoke calmly on the other end. “Good evening, Mr. Brandt.” The voice sent another round of chills up his spine.

“Jean?” His eyes widened and mind full of emotion and confusion.

“Yes, but new home, new name. Let’s see what I can do for you, my friend.”