The Betrayal

Chapter 9 - 'Aid'

I woke up in the hospital to see Pete's weak smile,

"I'm so sorry buddy. They've stitched up your hip and got the remaining glass shards out. Apparently you'll make a full recovery, thank god. What the actual depths of hell happened back there?! Please tell me you didn't do this Nate!" He said, upset.

That phrase brought the night flooding back. Aaron, the demons, my parents, the ritual, Kelly. I had to lie to Pete, I couldn't put him in danger but what the hell was I going to say?

"We were attacked, a masked man came through the window and tried to rob us. Kelly and I struggled with him but he was much larger and stronger and overpowered us both" I said, scrambling for a spontaneous story,

"See, that would make sense if there was a damaged window or Kelly didn't have a fucking hole in her chest!" He said, heart-broken,

"Don't you dare speak about her like that!" I shouted with fiery hate in my eyes. I was shocked that I felt instant revulsion towards my childhood best friend, but he let his emotions get the better of him.

"I'm sor.." He began to say before I interrupted him,

"Get out." I said gravely.

He sat still for a moment, then swiftly stood out of the chair and walked solemnly towards the door. He turned just before he left,

"Just remember who saved you Nathan. I only wished I'd have got there sooner. I will never forget this mistake for the rest of my life. Once you've finished talking to the police give me a call, if you want." He gave another weak smile, then walked out the door.

After doing the most spontaneous lying I'd ever done, I convinced the police we were drugged and attacked by a man who had persuaded us, in our "drugged state", to consent to letting him into our apartment where he attacked and robbed us. They believed me. I had time to think when I stopped to cry so fabricating the lie wasn't too hard. After about two weeks recovering in the hospital I was finally discharged and allowed to return to the apartment. I arrived to find the apartment repaired and everything replaced, with a note in the kitchen that read:

"Stay positive bro, take this as my gift to apologise. I hope it even begins to make up for my mistake and hopefully you can find it in your heart to speak to me. I'm going to make a few calls and speak to a few people to try and find out if anyone knows anything about what happened. All my love brother, Peter."

I couldn't call him. It reminded me of that night and I had to move on. The next five years I stayed working in the same corner shop, training my fighting skills in the hope Aaron and his army would return for me. I wasn't sure whether I wanted this so he could put me out of my misery, or so I could kill them all. I'd just turned twenty five, and there was a strange knock on the door.

"Open up!" The familiar voice echoed around the apartment hallway,

I knew that voice anywhere. I dropped the weights and shot up off my bench to grab the door. It swung open as I turned the nob,

"Pete!" I said genuinely cheerfully. I was so happy to see him after all this time. A part of me was silently relieved he was still alive.

"How you doing old pal?" He said, looking not a day older than he was five years ago.

We sat down at the table for hours. Peter had finished his three years masters degree in Biology and was training in a lab at the same university. I was so proud. He looked sad when I told him what I'd been up to, as though he regretted not coming to see me. Neither of us wanted to dwell on that however, and we were just content with seeing each other. I was strongly hoping he wouldn't bring it up, as I had never told him what really happened, including Aaron.

"Well, let's talk business then." He said, with a stern look,

"Business?" I questioned, confused at what he meant.

He pulled out a scrap piece of paper and threw it onto the table. It had an address, time and date.

"I've been digging for five years. I'm never letting this go Nate. You will find peace and Kelly will get the justice she deserves." He said, purpose looming in his eyes like a storm, "They're mobsters. A friend of a friend said they know something about the attack and would be happy to meet. As they're the most powerful gangsters in the city, they'll have connections so must know something."

I was hesitant and weary at first, but I needed closure. Even if they knew something, Aaron would surely come for them and my opportunity would arise. Peter picked me up early the next morning, the date of the meet. He had passed his test and was skilled enough to drive now. His car was a junk heap but it did its job. On the way there he wanted to give me a few tips so I didn't mess it all up,

"Listen Nate. These are dangerous, violent men who won't hesitate to put a bullet in you should the need arise. Step one line out of turn and it could mean the end so speak only when spoken to all right? And keep that horrendous temper in check." He said with a cheeky wink.

"All right, I'll keep my mouth shut." I replied reluctantly.

We arrived at a hillside mansion on top of a big slanted hill with a road leading up to the entrance gate. It was majestic, like a castle from a film, only modernised. There were two burly suited men standing guard at the gate. They let us through once Pete politely revealed the details of our visit. We were guided through the corridors of the house to the back garden, which was larger than most houses. It had a gigantically long swimming pool, and a big sunbathing area with its own tables, beds, lounges and a bar. We sat down at the nearest table and waited patiently. Pete joked about buying a drink but we both know he was secretly serious. Luckily enough for us both, he decided that was a bad idea. The few guards who patrolled the area were well-built and brawny, and looked professional, highly trained and most of all, capable. An entourage of about five men came strolling efficiently out the house, walking at a perfect pace. I was so used to vision analysis that I knew the exact person we would be meeting, their leader. He wore a menacing, white, three-piece suit which contrasted his pitch dark shades. His shoes were pointy, brown and smart and he donned a stylish black fedora. This man was a king. A king of crime. He sat comfortably at our table, handing us cocktails and glaring into our eyes back and forth. After Pete rejected the drink, he then spoke to us, optimistically and in a broad Spanish accent,

"So my friends, what can we help you with?"