The Hollow and The Saint

In a world filled with agony and despair, Logan, a master assassin embark on a journey to change reality in order to create the perfect society for his beloved Elizabeth Rose, where they can live together. Struggling against his bleak destiny and haunted by the demons ravaging this world enslaving people hopes and minds, all while fighting with a rage that might strip him of his humanity, will he be able to succeed in creating this perfect world?



12. Aftermath


   My memories are in shambles, fragments, shards, it’s like putting a puzzle together, one piece at a time. Emotions... It’s been a long time since I experienced those, back when my soul was still intact, held up by her warmth.

   Late... Now I remember, I was always late. Even when we were at the orphanage, she waited for me every night. Yet I never arrived on time.


   I turned up at Eli’s apartment around 11 p.m. They were still waiting for me.

   “Oh my God, Logan! Why can’t you arrive on time for once?!” Elizabeth was seriously pissed off.

   “I am so sorry! I know I keep apologizing, but this time the situation was seriously out of my hands,” I responded.

   “Now, now, Elizabeth, I know Logan is a good man. He must’ve had a good reason to be late. Besides, he is going to do the dishes tonight. Isn’t that right Logan?” said Ms. Anderson, looking straight into my eyes.

   “Dishes? Ah, yes, the dishes! Of course, why not! I will even clean the floor and fix the kitchen sink, just please don’t be upset with me,” I responded.

    An assassin, working for the most powerful organisation in the world, afraid of a nineteen year-old girl.

   We sat at the table. Eli had made lasagna. The smell was captivating. Knowing her and how much she sucked at cooking, she must have had some help from Ms. Anderson.

   “Sometimes I miss him. You know, my husband. Although we had only one Christmas together. Yet, to this day, I feel like that night never ended. I always like to compare the family to a garden. The woman is the soil, while the man is the farmer. A blooming garden needs the hard work and passion of the farmer, and the nutrition of the soil. My farmer left long ago, leaving behind a lifeless, arid garden,” said Ms. Anderson, out of the blue.

   “You are absolutely right. I can’t imagine how hard it’s been for you, being alone all these years,” Elizabeth replied, touched by her words.

   Somehow, Ms. Anderson’s story got me thinking of Arthur, and of how I stole him from his family.

    Is this regret? Or is it remorse?


    The next day, the news of Arthur’s suicide was everywhere. The newspapers even published the suicide note that I… ehem... that he had written. It stated that he could no longer live in this horrible world filled with misery, so he chose to part in peace, in the hope that he would be reborn into a far better one.

   The reason that his death had been declared a suicide was that the police had no other option. It’s true that the kid saw me, but I was wearing a mask, and it would had been impossible to identify me. What’s more, if they had announced that a mysterious man had killed a detective, there would have been widespread public panic; the people would’ve had lost faith in the system, especially in this era where crime rates are rising by the day. They’d have been pointing their fingers at the police, a force so weak that it couldn’t even defend itself. That’s why they were forced to carry on with the suicide.

   The illuminati must’ve helped cover my tracks, minimizing the media coverage, and silencing the police.

   Surprisingly, there was another huge piece of news: the apprehension of Brian Erickson, who was accused of killing Darlin Shmidt. His father’s secret operation of women smuggling and prostitution was also exposed. An anonymous man had left a box in front of the police department containing a tape with evidence that Brian had tortured several women, numerous times.

   “Do you have anything to do with this? I mean, there wasn’t any evidence in the house, and nobody but Arthur knew of this. So tell me, how?” The Baron asked me after reading the news.

   “Well, maybe he gave a copy of the evidence to one of his colleagues and told him or her to turn it in, just in case something happened to him,” I speculated.

   The Baron laughed, like he didn’t believe me. We all know who did it, right?

   “Okay then, if you want to play it like that. Even though you screwed up by allowing yourself to be exposed like that, it somehow worked out in your favour. Piece of advice though, you have to stop relying on luck. One day it'll run out.”

   The regret that I'd felt about Arthur's death eased a little after hearing that his work had not been in vain eased a little bit after hearing that justice had been served. However, there was still a matter that I had to attend to in order to relieve the tension in my chest. It lead me to the last place on earth that I wanted to be: Arthur’s funeral.


   I never understood the concept of ‘mourning the dead’. To me, life and death are like two sides of the same coin; you can’t have one without the other. While I was at The Doctor’s mansion, I asked William about death, back then I was ten years old. He told me this story.

   Once upon a time, Death visited to the angels’ realm. Life noticed, and thought that this was odd.

   “What’s on your mind? Carrying the load of the seven realms on your shoulders?” Life said.  

   “Why does everyone love you, but hate me?” Death asked.

   Life responded: “Because you, death, you are a painful truth, while I am a beautiful lie.”


   It was pouring rain. Walking amidst the gloomy faces and black suits, I made my way to the front. The priest was standing beside Arthur’s family.

   “Arthur was a good man, a husband, a father, and a hero…” said the priest.

   Give me a break, how can you say such things about a man you never knew?

   Nicole was a wreck, her face had aged ten years in about a day. Tears never dried from her daughter's eyes, clinging dearly to her mother’s dress. I approached even closer. There he was, standing to the left of his father’s coffin, staring at it. Yet, unlike his mother and sister, Richard didn’t seem to have shed even one tear. Suddenly, our eyes met, he glared at me with the same intensity as on the night we first met at the house. Of course, he didn’t recognise me, but his gaze was innocent and chaotic all at once.

   I guess this is it. There’s nothing to gain from staying any longer.

   Just as I was about to leave, the boy approached his father’s grave, and threw a small toy into the hollow. If I had to guess, that toy must have been the present that Arthur had bought him for Christmas.

   So that is your answer. You’ve chosen to throw away your childhood, determined to catch your father’s killer. Well, I shall be waiting with a knife in my hand.

   Witnessing such an ordeal, knowing that I was the cause of that child’s sadness, and knowing this could drastically change his life… I didn’t feel a thing. That remorse I had once felt suddenly disappeared like it was never even there. The fire inside that child’s eyes reminded me of my own determination when I left the orphanage. Just like the promise I had made for Elizabeth, this boy had made one for himself.

   Will it grant him satisfaction? Or it will it be his retribution? We shall know soon enough.


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