NEVER MEET YOUR HEROES - OR YOUR VILLAINS

NEVER MEET YOUR HEROES - OR YOUR VILLAINS

James knew that not following the advice of his fellow writers to jog and do exercise every day might have some long term consequences on his overall health, but he didn't expect it to cost his life. 

“Breath through your nose,” James thought to himself. “Don't make any sounds before the door opens.” What he really wanted to do was gasp and lie on the ground. It had been years since the last time he had done any sort of intense physical exercise, and that might just be the death of him.

Deep down, he knew why he never paid attention to that advice. “Write fast, write well, and write a lot” had been the conducting line of his life for the past decade, leaving no room for other activities in his schedule. 

“Mr. James? A female voice echoed in the apartment. “Hiding now isn't going to help you. We like the hunt. And we are going to continue to hunt you.” 

James Hobson knew how meticulous the owner of the female voice was, she wouldn’t leave without searching every corner of his place, he had no choice but to continue running and find his way out of this current impossible mess.

A masculine voice answered. James knew it had to be Hogan, his Hogan. “It's an adventure, and an adventure by itself has its own value, wouldn’t you say so Mr. James?“

A shiver went down Mr. James’s spine. They had been quoting the final interview he gave today, the last normal thing James had experienced that day.  He recognized the male voice to be Hogan’s and it had been everything he expected it to be. But the voice also told him they were getting closer. 

James looked through the crack of the closed door of the closet while fumbling his pockets for something. No phone, no wallet. On the inside pocket of his blazer, he found a couple of pens, since he always carried a few with him in the case a fan wanted an autograph. 

Praying that movie and book logic would work, James pushed the pen under the floor of the closet where it rolled over the carpet until it hit the door to the balcony, the sound making Riley and Hogan turn from the entrance to the bedroom to head where the noise was coming from. Once they were past the closet, James opened the door to and ran as fast as his legs would allow him. 

Behind him, he heard shouts from the two young adults who had just opened the doors to his empty balcony and James wondered why in the world he had decided to buy an apartment on the highest floor of such a private building. There were no neighbors or anyone he could ask for help.

With his luck, he knew very well the elevator wouldn’t be there when he called, James thought as he ran through his living room and walked out of the opened door. He played out the scene in his mind, he would run and stop to press the elevator button, and in those seconds, Riley, and Hogan would be onto him. 

James remembered the glimpse of the all teeth smile Riley, his Riley wore. He hadn't imagined that. No, there was no hope for the elevator, he was sure it would only slow him down, but if he followed the narrow corridor, it would lead a the door to the stairs that people took in emergencies. That’s where he made his way to, while hearing Riley’s step getting close, he could almost feel her reaching her hand to touch him. But he didn't dare to look back, focused on the image of the door. 

He knew he couldn't outrun them forever. But he also knew that Riley, his Riley, was acting on her emotions, and if he could stall just a little, maybe there would be a chance for things to be settled without any need for more violence. “I’ll need to use what I know in order to get out alive.”Behind him, James heard the familiar and yet strange sound of Riley, his Riley, drawing her double daggers. 

He sprinted as hard as he could, focusing on the image of the door at the end of the carpeted corridor. If he could get there, and walk all the way down, he could get some help. He knew he wouldn't be able to use the stairs to enter any other floor other than his own without a passcode, making the ground floor his only hope.  

 First, he slammed against the metal door, thinking his weight would be enough to make it open but seeing the anti-fire anti-panic mechanisms often used on movie theaters, it required James to pull on the lever to make it open. 

The second of delay of him finding the lever while processing the pain on his chest after the encounter with the hard metal had been just enough for Riley, his Riley, to get to the door as well. With her companion, Hogan, calmly walking behind her, with a small lump on his left leg, tainting the white carpets with blood as he walked. 

But James had already pulled the lever on the door and was halfway through the entrance when Riley’s strong yet thin hand grabbed his arm, leaving instant bruises where she held him.

Acting on instinct, James moved forward and pulled the door back, closing it and the contact she had made to catch him.

Riley, his Riley, shouted cursed words that meant absolutely nothing in the real world. But James did not have time to amuse himself with how their PG-rated language worked, for he was already going down the first flight of stairs, while Riley, his Riley howled above him. He had assumed an injured wrist would give him some minutes at first, but in his mind, he remembered the scene of the third book, the way she used adrenaline to shoulder the pain, and survived the torture of the 12 Great Magicians of the King. 

“I’m…  sorry.” He shouted, gasping between words. “Really.”

“You are going to be!” Hogan said. 

James knew the stairs had to be a challenge for Hogan and his injured leg. But Riley, his Riley, was starting to close in. 

“One floor down, still eleven to go.” James thought. Unless he could find a way to win them in a fight, which he knew for a fact was impossible, he would have to find a way to out-think them, or more precisely, her, Riley, his Riley, the brain behind it all. 

He abruptly stopped running, almost stumbling and falling on his face when a sharp knife came flying and cut the air right in front of him, missing his head by a couple of inches. “Why did Hogan have to be good with throwing knives fighting from a distance?” James asked himself. “Why couldn't I have given him just have a regular sword?”

“You can't escape us, Mr. J. J. Hobson.” Hogan said, referring to his pen-name for Fantasy novels. 

James heard the heavy lumping of his hurt leg while he made his way down the stairs. It did THUMP THUMP THUMP in a regular tempo. But James knew even with the knives,  Hogan wasn't the biggest problem he had right now. It was Riley, his Riley.

 While he ran, he could already see it happening in his mind, he had a head start, but she would catch up to him, pin him to the ground, and have her revenge. Especially after the arm on the door situation, the scene playing out in his head wasn't a pretty one, and certainly not one he wanted to write or be present for.

Once she caught up to him, things would be done. He was already imagining it as if he were the one writing it for a story, his life would flash on his eyes, he would ponder on his mistakes, on everything he wanted to do in life, everything he left behind, his ex-wife and his daughter, who were no longer living with him.

Would anyone remember them, the life he tried to build? Or was he going to be remembered only by numbers of sold books and what lists they were or were not featured in?

James asked himself why he wasn't decelerating while his own mind started to accept the finality of that scene. The finality of his life, he corrected.  The more he accepted it, the more his legs kept on running, kept on going down the stairs. 

Knowing very well Riley was going to catch up to him eventually, a part of him, and James didn't know how big that part was, wondered if he should just give up and try to negotiate a swift and fast death with Riley, and Hogan. He knew Riley wanted revenge but she wasn't a torturer. And if she was alone, that might have been a good plan. But she wasn't by herself. And another knife flew dangerously close to his torso, to make him remember that Hogan, on the other hand, would weigh in and try to do things his own violent way. There was no negotiation with him, and James knew.

While he ran, a glimpse of hope appeared on the door to the corridor of the 9th floor. He knew he wouldn’t be able to enter it without the code, but closing the door was an old lady, looking around 60 or late 50, in maids clothes, holding a pack of cigarettes.  And from her perspective, a 40-year-old man, with a beet-red face, out of breath, ran past her, moving behind her back and grabbed her by the neck.

“Stay away, Riley.” He shouted as the old woman cried in surprise. He held a pen over her neck, particularly her jugular. The woman started to scream for help but stopped when James moved even closer to whisper in her ear: “Its gonna be okay, I am not going to hurt you…”

He stopped speaking when the young woman with red hair leaped through the final steps of the stairs and joined them on the 9th floor. 

She carried two daggers in a single closed fist, with determination and hatred shining in her eyes, her other arm dangling weightlessly on her side. Riley, James’s Riley, stopped when she saw the object being pressed on the woman’s neck.

Seeing her face to face, James continued speaking. “Riley. I know you. You don't want anyone innocent to be harmed. But I’ll have to, if you keep going. I know you don't want to live with the guilt of harming someone who has nothing to do with this conflict.” 

The old lady shouted for help once more, but once the anti-fire metal door was closed, it would be hard for anyone on the outside to hear anything. 

“And in some ways, you know me too, right?” James said, dreading the next words. “You know what I am capable of.”  

James tightened his closed fist on the pen, trying not to show how much he was shaking. “Now how about you and I  talk, without any sharp objects?”

He regretted the choice of words, knowing very well when Riley, his Riley, had faced the challenge to escape the Castle of the Sorceress as a prisoner, she had done some damage to the guards without a single weapon. 

She put her daggers down.

“Drop them and kick them far.” He said, taking a few steps back, getting ready to run if needed. But she obeyed, letting the weapons fall on the floor. 

“No one more innocent people need to be harmed, my Riley” He said. “Enough killing has been done as it is, right?”

He stared at her, trying not to think of the trail they had to follow to get to him, his editor, Chang, and his agent, Susan, both now gone. Riley looked down and gritted her teeth, he could see in her eyes the fury but also the frustration and the homesickness. He was about to start his negotiations, trying to think of what he could give to her.

Her eyes showed something, something he could use in his defense, he could tell she had been feeling guilty about her past when a sting of pain found his closed fist, and his automatic reaction was to drop the pen and bring his hand close to himself.

James had forgotten to account for Hogan’s almost perfect aim. His anti-hero and villain always missed the first couple of times, because “try and fail” cycles created tension in the story and made it more fulfilling when he finally nailed the shot. “How ironic.” He thought, grunting with the pain. 

Now freed from his grasp, the old woman tried to run away only to stumble and fall on the ground herself. 

But Riley, his Riley, seeing the woman out of her way, pushed him on the ground, in what could only be described as a “dejavu” moment for him. James barely had processed the pain of the fall, when a firm right hook made its way to his chin. 

“This is for what you did to Luka.” She said. 

Luka had been her childhood friend and her first crush. Dead before she turned 15. James closed his eyes.

    “This is for Gabriel.”

James felt her elbow this time.

Gabriel had been her mentor, who died protecting her before he could teach her what he knew about the magic between worlds, prompting Riley to go on a quest to find out more about the secrets of their world.

“This is for my family. That you burned.” 

Another strong right hook. And another elbow. 

Her family had been trapped in a small house during a fire, unable to escape, forcing Riley to try and find the culprit but also face her own limitations, providing the tragic backstory she needed. 

In the middle of the suffering, James thought about atonement and wondered if she was just letting out her pain on him or if each punch was meant for the death of each single family member. He no longer remembered their names. 

She held on his neck, remembering the trials she had gone through and the final piece of magic she had discovered after surviving a war between kingdoms for the said magic. She knew now where it lead, but she had to sacrifice her ideals of right and wrong and take Hogan’s for them to manipulate the magic of worlds properly.

 Riley remembered everything that she had gone through in the past years, for several endless cycles of adventures and deaths, and their formulaic structure of pain and suffering in order to get a brief momentary relief.

“And this…” She said. “This is for me.” 

The old lady whose crying and screaming had only stopped for her to vomit when she heard the sound of a strong SNAP.

She turned to see the man no longer moving on the floor, as a teenager walked down the stairs and helped the redhaired girl get up. 

The old woman looked at the men on the floor, and the two smiling people.

“Why?” She managed asked, among sobs.

“You know what they say.” The girl, responded, widening a smile. “Kill your darlings.” 

“Nah. I would rather think of it as…” Hogan said. “ Death Of The Author.”