22 YEARS EARLIER
In the early hours of the morning, while it was still dark. A black Cadillac pulled into the Sydney Memorial Hospital car park. Two men wearing long black coats, dark sunglasses, and black hats exited their vehicle and entered the building. No one noticed as they walked through the halls making their way to the maternity ward. Here, they found the night nurse quietly reading a magazine. She lifted her head as the two men passed, but she didn’t see them. A moment later, her eyes felt heavy; the magazine slid from her hand, and she fell asleep.
The men-in-black passed row-upon-row of glass cradles where newborns slept quietly. When they reached a little boy at the end of the room, one of them picked up the child. The other removed a tiny round gold box from inside his jacket. He opened it and a blue Orb no bigger than a marble floated into his hand. The child did not stir from his sleep when the Orb vaporized and entered his nostrils.
Placing the baby back into its cradle, both men left the room, and unseen made their way back to the Cadillac.
PRESENT DAY
The dark abyss was fading. Marty, returning to his body and earth, opened dark blue eyes, he blinked a few times; his mind reaching for gravity and the efforts of life. Short moments passed while staring at the high white ceiling above. His thoughts probing for the moments before the attack. However, he was distracted as a sharp pain seared through his body rousing the servant of a cold chill. His back ached and his legs felt stiff, whilst short tight breaths bypassed the painful pressure seizing his chest.
A throbbing head beat rhythms of awakening and he managed to raise it, ever so slowly. His attention drawn to the large dagger still fixed deep in his chest. Groaning, he dropped his head back to the floor and it hit the hard tile with a thump. Marty cursed before steeling himself for what he needed to do next. A few moments more, he sighed, feeling the cold, sticky blood, clinging to his already sodden white shirt. And, to his disgust … Blood smeared the expensive Italian white tiles.
Marty had spent a considerable fortune building his mansion high on the hill overlooking the small and obscure town of Cardwell. Cardwell was intentionally selected because it was a forgotten secret in the north. Secluded in its proximity to a shoe-shaped mountain range set in history and inhabited by those that liked to keep it secret. People here didn’t enjoy drawing attention to themselves, and almost everyone abhorred the ‘stranger in town.’ Nevertheless, all of them; young and old had dirty little secrets of their own. And Marty knew them all. He’d poached their thoughts because he can. The Blue Orb showed him all there is to know. Cardwell and its insidious occupants, offered Marty anonymity and the freedom he needed to move around without too many eyes watching.
While he took slow breaths, contemplating the the events that led him to this moment. The low voice spoke inside his head. Would it be difficult removing the bloodstains from the grout?
Marty’s back stiffened. It was time and he knew it. Drawing stingy breaths to steady himself. Squeezing his eyes shut, and with great effort, he managed to raise his right hand, and while holding his breath, his bloody fingers found the hilt; with one swift action ... He drew the dagger out. The knife; ripped from skin and bone—sent the sensation of metal shaving scars into his soul. “Damn the little shit.” Marty roared, as the explosion of pain ripped through his senses.
Tossing the dagger on the floor and gasping in short sharp breaths, he dragged himself to his knees where soon after; started vomiting blood. Moments after retching; adding more blood stains smearing the tiles, Marty abandoned all notions of forgiveness. A stupid youth's mistake. No pity. The little bastard had to pay. Thoughts of revenge filled his mind, leaving long minutes passing as the pain subsided.
Barely noticing his hands and knees soaking in the pool of drying blood. Marty believed patience would be rewarded, and slowly waited for his strength to return.
What seemed like hours, was in-fact, only short minutes before he was standing on unsteady feet. His body wavering with dizziness. Lungs demanding air Marty’s mind fluttered inside and outside of consciousness. Lightheaded, his body trembled, but he had to move. Dragging his feet, hardly noticing residual blood dripping from his clothes across the floor, Marty approached the bottom of the staircase. Here he paused. Stared at the spiral ascent, then gripped the side rail for support.
Marty lifted his body, one step at a time, in sluggish strides all the way to the top. Then plodded his way to the bathroom.
Standing before the large mirror. He studied his complexion. Dark rings shadowed tired eyes. The result of too much blood loss. He grumbled another curse while turning the tap in the basin. Snatching a white hand towel, he wiped the blood from his face, washed his hands and threw the towel in the basin.
Staring into the mirror Marty presented his tongue. Too pale. He thought. Moving back and tearing the expensive white silk shirt, sending buttons in all directions, he considered his bloody, bare and hairless chest. He then moved closer to the mirror and inspected the damage, but the wound was already healing. The blood was coagulated. The lesion had stopped bleeding soon after pulling the blade.
It wasn’t the first time someone had tried to kill him. However, two centimeters to the left, and the blade would have gone straight through his heart. In that case … He would be dead.
Leaving the mirror and moving to the shower, he opened the glass door, then turned the taps. The water burst into life and for a moment he watched it flow from the spout. Staring into the shower and without knowing why he had an epiphany. Leaving the bathroom with the water still flowing. He made his way to the vault. The door was open. Stepping inside, he moved to the small centered onyx table and lifted the lid on the solid gold box. He stared at the contents for a moment, then smiled.
While Marty made his way back to the bathroom, he reached into the pocket of his jeans, took the mobile phone, wiped some dried blood off the screen with the palm of his hand and called the pilot. “Paul, gather the men and get the chopper ready.”