The End of Her World

Chapter Eight

Fade whacked the punching bag with a dull thump that reverberated around the empty room. The bag spun backward, a cylinder that obscured his body. He deftly wiped the sheen of sparkling sweat off his brow with a tape wrapped fist. His white tank top emphasized his muscles and, yet, in those hard, corded tendons, there was shades of gentleness. A dark, sharp line wrapped around his shoulder; a tattoo.

“Hey, Hawk,” said Fade quietly. “What are you doing here?”

Katrina hesitated. “I.. I was looking for you,”

A smile spread across Fade’s face. “Well, you found me.” He turned and walked up the metal stairs. Sighing, Katrina trotted after him.

“What does your tattoo say?” The words flowed off her lips unbidden like the water on the streets you wish would melt away. Red flooded to her cheeks, coloring them like crayons on paper.

“Do you want to see it?” Fade raised an eyebrow.

“Sure,” Katrina nodded her head.

Fade ducked out of the tank top, his muscles rippling, and he turned around, casting the shirt to the floor. The thick, sharp black lines cut across his flesh like scars. The words GHOSTS 75TH REGIMENT were printed in bold letters across his back and they were encircled with astronomical signs. And last of all, was the line of writing that Katrina could barely decipher. She leaned closer. It read:  Charlie Brooks. 1999-2004.

“Who’s Charlie?”

“My little brother. He was shot dead by a mass murderer.”

Fade lowered his gaze. Katrina’s hand snaked forward, around his neck. This time, no words came to her lips. Fade met her eyes with his dark eyes. A single, spark flared between them. He reached up, and gently pried her hand away. He broke eyes contact as he leaned down to retrieve his shirt. Pulling the white fabric over his head, he swept away from her, and started down the stairs. Pausing, yet not turning aorund, his voice echoed around the room. “I should have been able to save him.”

Fade’s figure snatched a coat off a hook, and the door swung close.