Kane (prologue)

A prologue for one of the novels I write (Kane). The main character is the biblical Cain - reincarnating and fighting sinners - the job assigned by God. This is the second version. Enjoy!

The first thing that hit me when I pushed open the door was the smell. It wasn't the overarching smell of grease and stale coffee as one would expect from such a dingy place, but the buttery aroma of pancakes, syrup and slightly scorched grill. It made my stomach growl in anticipation.

The diner looked straight out of the 1950's. It was dimly lit, the scattered lights overhead casting long, sullen shadows. The scuffed linoleum floors, Formica-topped tables and vinyl-cushioned booths evoked happy memories–a nostalgic echo of one of my favorite eras. The latest Michael Jackson's "Thriller" on the radio spoiled the setting.

The patrons were few, scattered around the near-empty room. A solitary trucker sat at the bar counter, his food the source of that delightful smell. He dug into a stack of pancakes, each bite followed by an appreciative nod, the enjoyment evident on his weary face. That sight and the aroma made my decision for me. Pancakes it was.

I sat beside a wall of dirt-smeared windows. They seemed more like forgotten aquariums, caked with years of dust and neglect. The world beyond was a blur of speeding colors, the streaks punctuated by the massive bodies of trucks that roared by. Each time one passed, the diner shuddered slightly, and for a moment, the world seemed to vibrate.

I had barely settled into the booth when a young waitress approached, a smile trying to push past her evident fatigue. Her uniform was as worn as the diner itself, a retro white apron stretched over a faded red dress. She must have been in her late twenties, but the weariness added a few extra years. Her chestnut hair was held back under a small cap, strands escaping from under it to cover her left eye.

"Morning." She handed me a laminated menu, her voice betraying a hint of warmth. The crooked name tag spelled out 'Jane'.

“Good morning, Jane.” I placed the menu down on the table. “I’ll have the pancakes. The aroma is irresistible. And a pot of tea, please.”

She looked slightly taken aback. "Tea? Not coffee?"

"That's right. Make it strong, please."

With a nod, Jane reached to pick up the disregarded menu. The motion caused her hair to shift, revealing a swollen eye. The deep hues of a fresh bruise stood stark against her pale skin.

So the rumors were true.

“Ten minutes.” Jane offered me a thin smile before turning on her heel. She moved briskly, disappearing into the back of the diner.

I closed my eyes, searching for her mind. After a moment, I located her back in the kitchen. It took a few more seconds to tune into her surface thoughts.

<He saw it... Damn it!... So what? He's just some guy, he'll be gone soon.> Her thoughts were as clear as if she said them aloud. And then, a wave of emotion surged forth, strong enough to nearly break my concentration. Fear. Followed by anger. But it subsided as quickly as it had risen, replaced by a forceful calm. Jane had it under control. 

I extended my perception, trying to see what she was seeing. A man, older than her, also clad in an apron, shared the kitchen space with her. Every movement Jane made was calculated, designed to maintain as much distance from him as possible. When she dared to glance his way, waves of fear and anger washed over her again. It had to be her husband, Bill. My first target.

A truck roared past on the highway outside. The whole diner shuddered, glasses tinkled on their shelves, and a dish clinked somewhere in the back. I took a moment to steady myself, then concentrated on my second target that day. Walter. I could feel him, behind the wheel of his truck, still some ten miles away. If I didn't locate him and make an initial connection, I wouldn't have been able to sense him from such a distance. There were limits to my abilities.

The last part of the puzzle was on the other side of the street. Instead of straining my eyes attempting to see through the dirty windows, I reached with my mind, locating Trevor inside the gas station. He stood behind the counter, browsing some porn mags hidden from the shoppers' view.

"Your pancakes," Jane materialized by my table, laying down the steaming stack and the pot of tea before she attempted to dart away.

"Wait," I called out.

She paused. "Anything else? We have—"

"Why don't you leave him?"

“I... What?” She looked at me, taken aback.

“Your husband. He beats you. It's obvious. Why don't you leave him?”

“I don't know what you're talking about." She started to back away.

"But you do." I reached out, touching her wrist.

She flinched, pulling away from me. "That's none of your business, mister." Her thoughts surged with embarrassment and anger.

"Why don't you report him to the police?"

She closed her eyes briefly, her anger ebbing away. She had mastered the trick of controlling her emotions at will. When she opened her eyes again, she seemed unnaturally calm. “What's it to you? You a lawyer or something?"

"A lawyer? Don’t insult me. I'm something like a... spiritual helper."

"A priest?"

"Not exactly. But I do have a close connection to the guy up there." I gestured to the ceiling. "I'm here to help."

She snorted. "And you suggest I report him to the cops? You don't know what you're talking about."

“Then leave him. Pack your bags and go. Never look back.”

Straightening, she plastered on a professional facade. “Anything else?”

I sighed and shook my head.

She turned and left. It was a long shot, but I had to try.

My gaze fell to the pancakes on my plate. I sliced off a piece and took a bite. They were just as delicious as they smelled, the rich flavors filling my mouth.

Jane was the bitter taste of reality behind the sweet allure of the pancakes, in a diner stuck somewhere between the past and the present.

***

I swallowed the last piece and poured more tea into my cup. Strong, but the taste was far from perfect.

It was the time to go back to work.

Trevor, the attendant at the nearby gas station, entered my awareness first. I felt him, the dull edge of boredom gnawing at him as he aimlessly flicked through some risqué magazines. He desperately needed a break. A smoke outside, perhaps? I latched onto this thought, intensifying the craving. I pushed, nurturing his desire until I felt him shift in his seat, grumble under his breath, and finally rise from his uncomfortable perch.

Trevor's thoughts were now on the cool morning air, the taste of a cigarette, and a brief respite from the mundane task of manning the gas station. I felt him leave the confines of the station's store, the faint chime of the doorbell fading into the background.

I sought out Walter, extending my senses to the semi-truck that barreled down the road a couple of miles out. Within moments, I peered through Walter’s eyes, the truck's cab becoming my temporary vantage point. A small bridge grew in the distance, as the truck thundered down the road towards it. Walter's speed was consistent, unyielding, the hum of the engine a steady soundtrack to his careless drive. He never slowed down, not even for the towns he passed through.

I checked the distance. Two minutes, maybe less. Walter's rig was a constant variable, a piece on this roadside chessboard I found myself playing on. I had to time it right.

I turned my attention to the kitchen now, focusing on Bill. I could feel the hard grip he had on a kitchen knife, his mind clouded with unsavory thoughts. No subtlety now. <Put the knife away. Move.> I gave him a mental command, overriding his will.

The sudden intrusion made him pause, a tingle of unease running through him. I intensified that feeling, morphing it into raw fear. He needed to understand what Jane felt when he struck her. Satisfied with his panicked state, I urged him to walk faster.

Looking through his eyes, I caught a glimpse of myself, sitting at the table with eyes shut. What an odd perspective.

<Now, Bill, to the door.>

“Bill, where are you going?” Jane's anxious voice cut through his panic.

For a moment, he tried to act logically. “I have a delivery,” he answered Jane.

“We don’t do deliveries.” She blocked his way, as if trying to stop her husband, but he pushed her away, far too rough in his haste.

Jane stumbled, falling to the floor. No time for subtleties, and she was used to this kind of treatment, anyway.

I split my concentration, checking on Walter—his truck was almost at the diner. <Just a little faster, my dear friend.>

And Trevor? Still having that smoke outside. Perfect.

Now, Bill, out the door and onto the road. <Run, Bill, run!> Run for your... death.

<Walter, don't you dare slow down now.>

Through Bill's eyes, I saw the headlights of the incoming truck. Through Walter's, I saw the man standing on the road. Brake! No, too late. Turn right. Yes, right. Towards the gas station.

No need to check Trevor's view, I knew what was coming. I disengaged my mental grasp just as the truck rammed into Bill and careened into the gas station.

The impact resonated through the diner, causing everything to vibrate. I opened my eyes to see a trail of destruction through the diner's dirty window and couldn't help but smile. Oddly enough, the fuel gushing from the damaged pumps hadn't ignited upon impact.

That changed moments later when a flame sparked, setting the fuel ablaze. It wasn't as explosive as I had imagined, but it did the job.

I tried to reach Bill and Trevor's minds once more, only to find a void where they once were. It meant they were no longer part of this world. Only Walter still hung in there, his mind echoing with pain from the flames. Perfect. He soon fell unconscious.

I played my part. It was over. For today.

---

"Is that coffee?" a deep voice echoed across the table, pulling me from my thoughts. A large man barely fit into the chair across from me. Handsome, with dark skin and a neat beard, he could just as easily be thirty or fifty. Under his dark coat concealed an expensive-looking suit, the color indistinct under the diner's dim light. With a playful grin on his face and his bushy eyebrows raised, he scanned the room, probably for Jane, but the diner was practically deserted. The whole town was likely outside, staring at the smoldering remains of the gas station.

"Who are you?" I asked, lifting my cup to take another sip of my tea, imagining it was a finer blend. Had Jane brewed this or had it been Bill?

"Hold on." He rose from his seat, and retrieved a cup from the counter. He filled it with tea from the pot, lifting it to his nose. "Damn it. It's tea. I'd have ordered coffee, but you've killed off the cook. And his wife...well, she's outside mourning him."

I glanced through the window. The police had arrived, and a crowd had gathered, including Jane. I could still sense her emotions—fear, shock, maybe relief, but definitely not mourning.

I tried to delve into the stranger's mind, but I hit a mental wall. No surprise there—the Messengers were always impervious to my telepathy. I had no doubt he was one of them—the way he had mentioned Bill.

"What do you want?" I broke the silence.

“A question for you…” He raised an eyebrow. “Did you really need to kill your father?”

“I didn't pull the trigger.”

“Technicality.” He seemed amused.

“He deserved it.”

“They always do, don't they?” His gaze drifted back towards the crowd outside the window. “It’s just you have this… predisposition for killing off the members of your family.”

“I wonder why.” I finished the last drops of my tea. “What does he want this time? Another target? Tell him I'm tired. I want out.”

“That’s exactly why I’m here.” A devilish smirk appeared on his lips.

“Really?”

“Fancy a holiday, Kane?”

“A holiday?”

“You deserve it.”

“If I want a break, I take it. I don’t need anyone's permission. Especially not his.”

“But I’m not offering an ordinary break. How about a lifetime's break?”

That caught my attention.

“Next time you're reborn, you can do whatever you wish. We won't contact you anymore,” he said.

“You think I'll rest? By the time I reach adulthood, I'll remember everything from my past lives.”

“Not this time, you won’t.”

I leaned forward, scrutinizing him. Up close, he looked much older. But then if he was the Messenger, thinking of his age was ridiculous. His eyes reflected a curious mixture of boredom and amusement, as if he'd seen this conversation play out countless times before.

“So what's the catch?” I asked.

“Catch?” He feigned surprise, then let out a chuckle as if he found this amusing. “There's no catch. You've earned this.”

“There's always a catch.” I didn't share his mirth.

His smile vanished. “There will be a few conditions. You'll learn about them in the interim period. Nothing you can't handle.”

I weighed his words. A lifetime's break? It sounded almost too good to be true. Could I really spend all these years without thinking about my past, without hunting down targets, without killing anyone?

Then suspicion rose in me. “Have you ever offered me this before?”

He grinned at that. “I like you, Kane. You're not a mindless killer. You have a brain.”

I sat back, pondering. I searched my memories, but they were hazy, obscured by time. Could there be centuries missing there? Still, there seemed to be only one logical choice. Even if I had made it before. “Fine. I accept. When do I start?”

“How about right now?” He aimed a large handgun at my head, which looked eerily familiar. Where did he get it so fast? The lack of weight in the holster under my left arm answered that question—it had to be my own Desert Eagle. The bastard was a practical joker!

 “Say hallelujah,” the Messenger said, grinning. And then, with a loud bang, the world vanished.