HB – Intro

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For the Ebook version, please be advised that the audio version does not capture the motto sources, footnotes, or the timelines indicated in brackets [ ]. It was created using AudioBook Maker, and the video was generated with One Image Video.

HB was a novel of 6 books, written on a blog, between 2011 – 2015 by two co-authors, with more than 28 000 views and fans all around the world. This is the continuation of the story that never ended. 

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. All characters, names, events, organizations, and incidents are either the product of the authors’ imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, or events is purely coincidental. The views and actions of the characters in this book do not reflect those of the authors. References to violence, crime, or other harmful or illegal behavior are included solely for narrative purposes and are not intended to encourage, condone, or promote such conduct. This work is intended for entertainment purposes only. The authors disclaim any liability for any misuse or misinterpretation of the material contained herein. This book contains themes related to mental health, including references to suicide and psychological distress, which some readers may find sensitive or triggering. These topics are portrayed as part of a fictional narrative and are not intended to encourage or romanticize self-harm or suicide. If you or someone you know is struggling, please consider reaching out to a qualified professional, trusted individual, or a local support service. This work does not intend to promote, endorse, or include discriminatory or harmful content related to race, ethnicity, or identity. Any such elements, if present, exist solely within the context of the fictional narrative. Reader discretion is advised. 

Motto: 

‘...a little slow, a little late.’ 

(quote by Avon Barksdale – from the TV show The Wire) 

‘I wanna talk with the clown who has apologies down 
Pay him 300 pound to take a class in it 
I wanna bite the phone, I wanna bleed the tone 
I wanna see you alone, alone, alone, lone’ 

(Fontaines DC – Starbuster) 

‘You’re the one I used to idolize 
I knew it wasn’t right 
Addicted to this high 
Addicted, so I…’ 

(Duke Dumont – Ocean Drive – extended version) 

[in the psychiatrist’s office, New York, 6 PM, January 2026] 

The psychiatrist: So, you’re back. 

D. and the Evil are sitting on two black armchairs in front of him. They look exactly the same as 7 years ago, the last time they paid him a visit.  

Maybe a few little things have changed, he thinks. Her hair is now black, but she’s still dressed in a full black body jumpsuit with black Armani trainers and a black leather jacket. He’s also dressed in a black suit, wearing a white shirt completely unbuttoned at the top, with his hair in a ponytail. As always, he’s too arrogant, and she’s too confident.  

D.: We’re back. 

The Evil looks at her. 

The Evil: Yeah, we’re back. 

D.’s part: 

[11 hours before the visit] 

I call it the return; you call it however you want… 

I woke up this morning with the same dream that I’ve been having for the last few months.  

Buried beneath the desert, there is a book. No ruins mark the place. No stone, no road, no memory. Only sand upon sand…stretching endlessly beneath a merciless sky. The wind moves, but it makes no sound. The sun passes overhead without witnessing anyone. Nothing lives there long enough to remember, and neither do I.  

In the dream, I know the book is there before I ever see it. It lies deep beneath the dunes, wrapped in silence with its pages pressed shut by centuries of weight. It’s not hidden to be found, but to be forgotten. And yet, somehow, it waits for me. When I open it, the sand is gone. The desert vanishes. There is only one page. And on it, I see the prophecy: 

On the last day, the earth will tremble in a way never known before. Souls will rise from it, though not for long. They will long follow the one who freed them, who gave them life once more… yet they will be chained to their bodies. 

The day will seem ordinary, but the Sun will dim by half. Rain will fall from the sky, washing away blood – so much blood. 

The Three shall meet, and the Three shall be divided anew. One among them will be chosen, and with his rise the world will descend into chaos, as he claims the greatest share of power and bends all things to his will. None shall defeat him while he stands alone. 

Only at the Sunset of the Black Shore shall his dominion falter – through the spilling of one’s blood; his power will be undone. Yet this end will not be one of ruin, but of renewal. The chosen will no longer stand as rivals, but as keepers of peace. 

[1 hour before the visit] 

I open the door of the Range Rover Sentinel and step inside.  

It’s 5 PM and in New York is already cold and dark. I guess that’s how January feels.  

The Evil looks at me with the same skeptical expression as always. Some things never change. 

It’s been years since we last saw each other. There’s so much we could say – and somehow, nothing at all. 

He talks first. 

• Are you ready? 

• Yeah, we have around 4 hours. 

• I didn’t ask you how much time we have left; I already know that. 

I pause. I have to admit I didn’t miss that arrogance.  

• Yeah, I’m ready.  

The Evil starts driving. Silence settles between us, as always. 

• Do you know what you’re going to tell him? 

• Don’t worry, I will use the same story. 

• With Max? 

He laughs. 

• Ah, D….that’s the difference between me and you. I’ve lived a thousand lives, and you barely lived one – and that’s the best story you have? I thought what we’ve done together would have meant more to you than that fool. 

I don’t reply. I need to concentrate. Tonight is going to be a long one, and failure isn’t an option. 

He looks at me. 

• And D. … don’t mention Colombia. 

I turn up the radio, Starbuster by Fontaines D.C. blasting through the speakers as we ride through New York City. I roll down the window, craving the rush of cool air against my face. 

 After being in business for so long, I never imagined we’d end up like this. 

[10 minutes before the visit] 

We arrive at the destination at 5.50 PM and the Evil pulls into an underground car park in Brooklyn. We both step out and he takes a bag from the trunk. I feel the need to clarify. 

• Just for the record: that’s the not the best story I’ve got… it’s the best story that everyone else thinks I have. 

He shuts the trunk with a dull thud, and we move from the subterranean parking lot toward the psychiatrist’s building. The night clings to us until the door swings shut behind us. Within five minutes of walking those corridors, we noticed that nothing had changed in this place. 

The reception area is empty. The walls are stained and still poorly kept – same faded paint scratched and scarred.  

The air is saturated with antiseptic, carrying that unmistakable hospital feel. 

The hallways stretch out in silence. 

We hear nothing… only our own footsteps echoing through the corridor.  

We scan the building as we move, checking angles, doorways, and reflections.  

Then, we walk in. 

[back in the psychiatrist’s office, 6 PM] 

• Should I start? 

Silence. 

I slip off my black leather jacket and drape it over the chair. Then, slowly, I place the Sig Sauer P320 gun on the table in front of the psy. The metal makes a dull, deliberate sound against the wood. 

I lean back slightly. 

•  I like how sometimes people forget I was trained and worked with the secret services. 

Silence. The psy doesn’t react, just watches.  

I tilt my head. 

• Not trying to be arrogant here. 

A smirk appears on the Evil’s face and he looks at the psy. 

• It’s been a while since I saw you… I don’t mean the last time we met. I mean before that. When was it? The ‘80s in Cuba or the ‘90s in Washington? 

The psy looks at The Evil. 

• 1986. Miami.  

The Evil nods. 

• Hm.. yeah. I remember. I was there with my brother. Terrible heat that day. 

The psy opens a drawer, takes out a pen and a notepad. As he sets them on the desk, I notice a few boxes of Valium.  

He starts writing. 

I start talking. 

• Oxycodone, heroine, alcohol, morphine, benzodiazepines – the worst addictions ever. And I’m not referencing Queens of the Stone Age¹. But well, I’m not judging; everyone has their own drug.  

I glance briefly at the psy’s hand as it moves across the page. 

• What can we do. Mines have just been different lately. Living on the edge with my treatment. Still surviving, but that’s not my biggest issue. At least I quit cocaine, cigarettes, mostly alcohol and Valium. Still craving, though. 

 I lift my eyes to meet the Evil’s eyes. 

•  I guess that’s what you wanted to hear, isn’t it?  

 The Evil looks at me and then shouts at the psy. 

• Don’t look at me! I was busy with other business while I was locked in the sanatorium. I don’t know how she deals with her addictions. 

I exhale slowly. I know I have to give the psy a bit of context. 

I sit back, crossing one leg over the other. 

• I’m back in New York, after 5 years spent in South America, between Colombia, Bolivia, Venezuela, running the biggest drug operation of the last 20 years. Yeah, I know, sounds utopian (for those who don’t remember what I used to do). Before that, just before the pandemic, I betrayed The Evil and left with his brother in Colombia, while I locked him in a sanatorium with one of the worsts psychopaths ever – a sanatorium where previously The Evil sent me himself.  

Silence settles again. 

I keep my eyes on the psy. 

• So yeah… basically, the whole COVID mess is partially because the Evil lost control and we kinda changed the world order.  

The Evil intervenes. 

• Fun times. That’s what happens when you spend too much time with humans.  

I see that the Evil is not that mad. Or at least he does not show it. He looks at the psy. 

• She forgot to add that she also had tried to commit suicide and that I saved her. F**king hell, D.… you did some damage back then. The Valium really messed you up. 

I decided not to look at him and ignore what he has just said.  

• The truth is that… at the end of the day no one really cares, no one actually gives a damn about you, because life goes on. No one cares about my ex-addictions or his crimes.  

I stand up and start walking around the room. 

• Do you think that people on this planet have a clue about my drug operation, about world order or about the fact that there’s a prophecy hanging over me, him and his brother, Michael?  

I stop and then I answer myself. 

• No, the answer is no. 

I walk back and sit down. 

My eyes flick briefly at the gun. Then, to the clock on the wall. 

 6.15 PM. 

• No one cares. We’re all on our own. And we will always be.  

The Evil laughs. He’s amused. 

• She likes drama. That’s her thing. 

I tilt my head slightly. 

• I don’t, really. I just got stuck with it. 

The Evil lets out another short laugh, shaking his head. 

The psy finally speaks. 

• Let’s take a break here. Why did you come today? 

I don’t look again at the clock, because I already know that we still have almost 2 hours to keep him here. 

The Evil leans forward, resting his forearms on his knees, taking control of the conversation. 

• Well, she has some issues. You know, emotional issues. And I need her focused. For the missions. 

The psy writes something in his notebook. He pauses, then glances up. 

• For the killings…you mean. 

The Evil’s smile fades. Slowly, he stands. 

The psy freezes. The fear in his eyes is immediate. 

The Evil takes a step closer and asks a question on a sharp tone. 

• Tell me, are you questioning me? 

The psy swallows. His hand is tightening around the pen. 

• No, of course not… I’m just trying to establish … why you’re here… today. 

A long second passes. 

Then the Evil exhales, almost bored and straightens his suit jacket. 

• Basically, I want you to tell me she’s ready for work. We’ve spent the last years apart, so I need to know if I can trust her. 

The psy nods quickly. 

• So…you want me to evaluate her? 

The Evil nods. 

• Indeed. 

The psy looks at me.  

The Evil keeps going. I know he’s entertained by this situation. 

• Go on, D. Tell him. Explain how you work. 

The psy looks at me, paying attention to the movement of my hands.  

I lean back slightly, then forward again, resting my elbows on my knees. 

• There’s only one way. Get the job done and shut up. Get the job done.. because if you don’t, I put a bullet in your head. 

We both laugh. The psy remains silent. Feels like he’s just there to assist at our dialogue. 

The Evil smiles, almost proudly. 

• I taught her that. She’s quite aggressive, like me. I like that about her. But she knows how to hide it. She preserves it well. Have I ever told you about her type? She prefers to end the agony, to put the misery out of her, rather than letting it consume her… 

I let out a quiet breath. 

• Oh, he’s so right. The first crime… it was passional. But after that…that’s when I discovered the pleasure of killing. 

The Evil smiles at that, almost nostalgic. 

• It took a while to get her ready. We were in Los Angeles back then. However, I have to admit, that’s one of my favorite memories.  

The Evil stops moving and looks directly at me. 

• The passion you showed that night, D.  

Then, he turns back to the psy. 

• I kissed her. But not because there was anything romantic – no. It was because she executed her first murder perfectly, after stealing a very expensive diamond. I remember, D. You were covered in blood, and you were so lost in translation… as I told you back then, blood…is undoubtedly the most beautiful makeup a woman can wear. 

He laughs again. 

I’ve always found something fascinating when I watch her sleep… to know that she passes through half of her life without feeling, without acting, living only in her small world defined by what she has heard and seen while she’s awake… sometimes I wish I had that kind of simplicity too. But today is not that day… 

She wakes up in the morning and says nothing… I can feel her fear. It’s normal – she has something extraordinary to do in a very short time. Throughout history, many extraordinary things have happened, many of them… having an architect like me. The theft is like an excuse… what comes after is what interests me. If I were to make an analogy… the theft is the warm-up before the match; the real match – the one with the highest stakes – is what follows… 

[…] 

Hours after, we were in that penthouse when I called my people to clean the room and take care of the body, while we stepped out onto the terrace on the 42nd floor, overlooking the city from the edge of the building, our arms resting on the railing. I looked at her and said, “The higher you’re, the harder you fall.” 

In the end, it was just another day in LA, in that terrible heat. 

• That was my D. That was my girl.  

He pauses.  

• Ah, D., we shared such a special moment. These were different times. 

He glances back at the psy. 

• You see, that’s why she and I get along so well. We like the same things. Sometimes I wonder how we didn’t end up in some kind of a love relationship or whatever you’d call it. 

The psy continues to take notes, while we stay silent for a moment. I then speak again. 

• It’s so messed up. The only man I ever wanted… I couldn’t get him. I just couldn’t.  

I was lying in bed, half-covered with that sheet – because you had stolen the other half… I could still taste that dry whisky lingering in my stomach, and I could feel your breath, tinged with Marlboro smoke. I couldn’t sleep. I felt the cold touch of your metal watch against my skin, mixed with the warmth of your arm wrapped around me. I could hear your uneven breathing, and I knew you weren’t asleep either. 

It was almost 6 in the morning… New York felt like a dealer, handing us the finest substance of all: love. 

I loved your YSL scent – it suited you so perfectly. I loved the flowers you brought me for no special reason at all. I loved your words – the way you said them, when you said them, the effortless charm behind them that made me tremble every time, like a curse I never wanted to escape. I loved your gaze, the way it stripped me instantly of every thought, yet carried every feeling in me to the edge of ecstasy. I loved the mornings when you woke me, whispering my name… 

Suddenly, I snapped out of it. I had fallen asleep under New York’s starlit sky, in your bed. You were there, waiting for me with breakfast, smiling… I was wearing your shirt, wrapped in that scent of yours-that jewel thief’s scent… you, who had turned me into your diamond, the most coveted thing you’d ever stolen. 

Your expression seemed calm, but I could see everything you couldn’t say: 

that you’d be leaving again today… that you didn’t know when you’d return… that you were sorry… that one day all of this would end… that you’d stay with me and no longer need other precious stones… that for now you had to live your life, to do what you loved, what you felt, what was necessary… that I was the only woman who mattered, the only one you’d ever truly loved… that you felt guilty… that maybe one day I’d forgive you… 

You always did the same thing. And yet, every time, it stirred a different thrill in me – and darker thoughts that stayed with me until you returned. 

I lean forward, elbows pressing into my knees. I continue. 

• This man took out everything out of me. He stripped me of every emotion, everything I felt. He took my heart and never gave it back. And the worst part is that he was my only weakness. The only one. And all I ever wanted was him. That’s it. Just to be with him. And I never got that. It’s the only thing that I could never have. That’s what drove me insane.  

The Evil lets out a dry laugh. 

• Women and their drama…who cares about love? 

The psy intervenes. 

• I suppose it was about power. Between you and your man. 

The Evil turns to him sharply as he didn’t expect him to comment, and the psy freezes. I feel the need to step in, while I look at the Evil. 

• You don’t understand. It wasn’t about love. Love was long gone between us before I killed him… It was indeed about power. It always was. His power over me, my vulnerability to him.  

I pause, searching for the right words. 

• With him…life was bearable. When I was with him, nothing else mattered. Everything felt possible, everything was better. I wrote my best scripts because of him. And when he was gone, everything turned dark gain. Every day since, I wake up and manage the darkness… because life goes on.  

The psy frowns slightly – he seems confused. 

• Would you call that love? 

• No, it was beyond that. 

The Evil scoffs. I feel irritation creeping into his voice. 

• D., common…  

He turns to the psy. 

• Let me tell you what happened. She shot him. Killed him. One bullet, straight through his head.  

He looks back at me, eyes narrowing. 

• So, tell me, D., if life wasn’t bearable without him…why did you do it? 

I hold his gaze, knowing he’ll never understand. 

• I guess…I liked the power more.  

A faint, bitter smile crosses my lips. 

• He was the most narcissistic, toxic and manipulative man I’ve ever met. 

The psy leans forward slightly, intrigues. 

• Tell me about that night. The night you shot him. 

I exhale slowly, my fingers tightening together. 

• Oh… in 13 years with him, I had five minutes of clarity. Just five.  

I look up, distant. 

• Long enough to understand that a life with him would always be a life of pain. My father used to say that love sparkles at the beginning… but what comes after is compromise. And I saw it clearly – me being second, third, fourth… always the one he comes back to, but never the one he truly chooses. A life of uncertainty, never knowing what tomorrow would bring. A life where I had no control, because he had my heart in a way no other man ever did. That’s when I knew I had to do something. But that decision… it would have never come if the Evil hadn’t entered my life. Before that, I wasn’t planning to become a hitwoman… 

I pause.  

The psy watches me closely. 

• But what made you pull the trigger? 

I look at him then away. 

• It wasn’t what he did to me.  

I shake my head slowly, eyes fixed somewhere past the floor. 

• It was what he did to the other girls. The stories I heard… how he strangled his girlfriend, how he threw her out of the apartment, how he even hit her pet. That’s when I knew – it was either a bullet in his head… or a bullet in his head.  

I pause. 

• The bullet was for every woman who has ever been abused. Physically, verbally, or mentally. For every woman who has lost precious time in her life for toxic narcissists. For every woman who struggles and fights every day with the weight of a trauma. 

The Evil cuts in. 

• So, you decided he was nothing more than a drug dealer. Someone who brought nothing of value into this world. Ah – and a professional thief as well. Stealing exquisite jewelry and selling it on the black market. 

I glance at him, then look away. 

I continue – my voice is steady but low.  

• Most of the time, that’s exactly who he was. And there were nights – nights when other girls had priority. He never had time to give me what he gave them. Even if I was “his everything.”  

A bitter pause. 

• He chose to spend most of his time with anyone else but me. But if I spent time with someone else… then I was betraying him. He was so jealous. Zileve…². 

I lift my eyes toward the Evil. 

• Did you know he got jealous of us? 

The Evil looks at me surprised. 

• You never told me that, D. 

I let out a quiet breath. 

• There was this one time… some conference or some event. He called me just before it started – he completely lost it. 

The Evil lets out a short laugh. 

• You’re joking, right, D.? 

• No. I swear. He was jealous of us. 

The Evil turns to the psy, scoffing under his breath. 

• He was more deranged than I thought… f**king c**t. 

I shrug slightly. 

• Of course, I never told you. I knew what the consequences would be. 

I pull myself back into the memory. 

• And then… he’d switch to the other extreme. I hated his MO… always rejecting me, then coming back as the good guy.  

I mimic his voice, flat, stripped of emotion. 

• ‘I care about you too much to hurt you; You deserve better; You’re the best thing that ever came out of me.’ That’s what he’d say. But in reality… that was the method. The hook.  He knew exactly what would pull me in – and he used it every time. 

I pause again. 

• Still, in a strange way… I miss him. I mean, not him, I miss the fact that I cannot talk to him anymore, that I cannot ask him for advice. You’d be surprised how insightful guys like him can be. 

I notice the psy writing more quicky now. 

• And sometimes… I just miss how he made me feel. From agony to ecstasy… he was playing with my dopamine like a debt he never intended to pay. Feeding my hope in installments, just enough to keep me there… trapped. Forever. And that… was the most powerful feeling I’ve ever experienced. I felt that time stopped when I was with him. I felt at peace, like I had everything I needed. But when he was gone – or even in the moments he simply wasn’t there – everything turned into a chase: for perfection, for the next thing, for more. 

I shake my head slowly. 

• And nothing ever came close. 

It was 2016 and we were in Bronx, at a playground, near some swings, smoking cigarettes. It was September and the air had just started to turn cold. I hadn’t seen him for a few months at that point, so I kinda missed him.  

• Where have you been recently? You were gone for a couple of months. 

I knew I had to tell him. 

• I know. I’ve been everywhere…New York, Barcelona, Dubai, London, Paris and… yeah, well, everywhere. 

• You know how much I love staying in this jungle. But I also went back to Puerto Rico to visit my friend and some other friends… 

I knew he was talking about one of the biggest gangs in the country. And that was just his way of saying it, like it was the most casual thing in the world. 

• I didn’t tell you, but I was seeing a girl; she wanted to marry me. 

• Ah, really? 

That hurt, but I couldn’t show him how much it did. 

• Yeah, I was living in her apartment for the last months. She was quite rich too, so spent a lot of money. On the Upper East. 

• So, what happened? 

• Well… I kept thinking about someone else. That’s when I realized that she wasn’t the right one.  

• Someone else? 

• Aham… 

I still don’t know if he meant me or not. I just kept going along with his nonsense.  

• Do you remember the guy I used to tell you about? The one who asked me to marry him when we were students – when I was back at my dad’s place in Switzerland for a semester? I met him for coffee in Paris and he showed up with his girlfriend. And the moment she said she had a 30-minute work call for work and left the table… 

I let out a small laugh. 

• He invited me to spend the next weekend with him in Miami. You know… to have some fun. 

I shook my head, still half-amused. 

• It was so ridiculous…such a fool…  

He went quiet. He just stared at his cigarette, watching it burn between his fingers. 

• How can you even question that someone loves you, D.? Common, D. I mean, Jeez… I mean, common, D. … How can someone not love you?! 

There was something different in his voice – something raw, almost regretful. And I felt it. I felt the pain when he had said that. It was one of the few times when he expressed, in his own strange way…something close to love. 

I froze. 

I looked at him, he looked at me. 

And we both finished our cigarettes in silence. 

The Evil laughs and looks first at the psychiatrist. He then looks at me and starts screaming, standing up from the chair. When he starts screaming, it’s like a shockwave moving through the room, rattling everything in its path. 

• For what would you need his advice for, D.? For what??  

He takes a step forward, his voice rising.  

• Are you kidding me?? For what – how to open another drug lab, like the one you built with Michael in Colombia. Or to figure out how long it will take before you relapse again?  

I don’t move. I don’t speak. I can feel the weight of it, but I stay still. He continues. 

• Or do you remember how many times he ghosted you? Left you hanging? When you needed him the most – where was he? You always remember the good parts, how he made you feel… but that was what – 5% of your relationship? Do you remember how many nights you suffered? How many times you fell asleep crying? 

I know he’s pissed. 

He sits back down, and can’t tell if he really meant it, or if It’s just another performance, to let time pass.  

He shifts his attention to the psy. 

• Sometimes, she takes what I say too personally. And that’s when she’s weak. Vulnerable. That’s when she starts thinking about that fool.  

He scoffs. 

• Believe it or not, I would have killed him myself if she hadn’t done it first.  

He pauses. His jaw tightens. 

• That bullet in his head? Best thing that ever happened. For everyone.  

I feel the pressure creeping in, so I need to say something, not to let him own the narrative. 

• This reminds me of the time when him and I fought. 

The psy is confused. 

• What do you mean… you fought? 

Of course, he wouldn’t understand. He couldn’t. 

I pulled my shirt halfway off and then slipped it back on, just enough to show the scars near my left rib and also the one on the left arm. Big scars. It’s noticeable that they took a long time to heal.  

• We destroyed an entire apartment…it was 2 or 3 months before I killed him. We went mad. All that anger, all that fury, everything that was wrong between us. We just made one promise to each other: no glass and no guns. I remember I almost broke his right arm. I set that apartment on fire at the end.  

It was terrible. The fire spreading…and he was sitting in front of the door looking at me through it. We were covered in blood, both of us. Still, so full of anger. So much love. So much hate. Like he once told me: to love and hate someone at the same time – that’s the most intense feeling there is.  

The Evil scoffs.  

• And that’s the guy she wants to get advice from. 

I turn to look at him. He makes me angry.  

• Yeah, because in moments like this, when I tell stories like this, all that I think about is vodka. Dry vodka with ice. Not 50, not 100, but 200 ml. And sometimes… calling him helped. It kept a chronic addiction in check. Something you will never be able to understand because you cannot comprehend human nature. People spend years in therapy and get nowhere.  And he… he could fix me just by being there.  

The psy takes notes while both the Evil and I remain silent. 
A few seconds pass. 

Then the psy looks up and asks me another question. 

• What was his name? 

The Evil speaks first. 

• Max. 

I cut in, sharper.  

• Maximiliano… that’s what I used to call him. He was Max to everyone else. Born in the Bronx, NY, American dad, Puerto Rican mother. No siblings – if you really want to know the full family history. And when I was blonde, he used to call me La Rubia… 

The Evil expression hardens. 

I know he hates this part – when it shows how real it was. 

• An ordinary drug dealer and thief who got lucky and ended up being the most wanted guy at Ivy League parties.  

I feel my patience slipping. 

• Not like you didn’t buy for him at least once. 

His voice sharpens. 

• Not like you didn’t put a bullet in his head when you had the chance. 

Silence falls between us again. 

• That’s the only time I’ve been weak. With Maximilliano. Never with anyone else. For everyone else…it’s exactly like Heat. Like when De Niro said and I quote… ‘don’t let yourself get attached to anything you’re not willing to walk out on in 30 seconds flat if you feel the heat around the corner’³. I’m the one who walks away in 30 seconds. 

The Evil cuts in. 

• Believe it or not, I confirm. 

The psy keeps taking notes. I glance at the Evil, then gesture slightly towards him. 

• I know what he’s thinking right now. He’s looking at my family history, at the fact that my parents are divorced and that I grew up by myself with my aunt in London; that then I went to Harvard, MIT and followed the secret services training academy. And he wants to say that I’m traumatized and this is why I ended up with someone like Maximilliano. But he has not clue what it’s like to find the one person completely outside your world who made me feel something. He was the perfect escape… and I was his.  

The Evil interrupts me. 

• And yet, you’re still here. Max isn’t. He’s been gone for a long time now.  

I continue. 

• I miss how simple he was sometimes. 

The Evil lets out a low laugh and turns towards the psy. 

• What she didn’t tell you… is that Max wasn’t poor. Not really. He came from money – old money, the kind that doesn’t disappear overnight. But circumstances have a way of bending people. His dad got involved with some debts with loan sharks, so that’s when things started to shift. Max stepped into the streets – not because he had to, but because he chose to. He was educated in some good public schools, so he learned how to control the streets. 

The Evil smirks. 

• But let’s not forget, D., about his Ferrari, or how he drove down every single week from NY to Boston – just to see you. Common, D., let’s be honest with ourselves. We don’t romanticize poverty. 

I say nothing. I glance at the psychiatrist.  

One evening, I was at a reception in Boston, drinking a glass of whisky alone, when an investment banker came up to me and asked me what I studied and what I believed about quantitative easing. I talked with him about the subject, and he became fascinated. I was so cold. So serious… so bored. He asked for my number. I couldn’t give it.  

And all I thought about while talking with him was one moment I had with Max today, in the park, on our bench… 

We had our weekly meeting. It was spring. It was cold outside. Still, we smoked Marlboro Lights in silence, as usual. I wanted to tell him so many things, but I couldn’t. And I know he was thinking about someone else. 

Then, all of a sudden, a guy came up-looked like he was in a rush. I glanced at him: he was a mid-40s, fairly normal-looking white guy, wearing a tracksuit, with dark hair and dark eyes. He greeted me, real casual, and then went and kissed my hand.  

He said to Max: 

• Let’s go for a walk. 

They went for a walk near a tree. I started to smoke another cigarette. I was wondering what they were talking about.  

He returned after five minutes and we started talking. I knew him. He seemed to be so calm, but he was just trying to hide his fear. I started to argue with him. Who was that guy? What did he want from him? Bla bla… Max, you don’t need that kind of men in your life.  

After five minutes, he became angry and strangled me softly. If people had seen us, it would have looked like we were so in love… 

Max whispered in my ear. 

• D., that mob guy pointed a gun at me and asked me if I wanted to buy it. And then he asked me… 

He paused. 

• He actually begged me to come with him to Detroit. He said I’m the best for the job he wanted to do there. 

I froze. He took a cigarette from my pack and he smoked it in silence.  

Then we both left.  

He quietly opens a drawer, pulls out a file, and flips through several pages with clinical detachment. After a moment, he looks up at me. 

• You suffer from low latent inhibition (LLI), but it is combined with one of the highest IQs I’ve ever seen – between 160 and 200, with 200 being the maximum on this scale – which makes you a born genius. You also speak 7 languages. And you wrote scripts – you had quite a few short films that you wrote, directed, and produced yourself. 

He makes me laugh as he finally checks that information. And it’s only 7 PM.  

• You know. It doesn’t really matter. At the end of the day… I was an addict. I’m still a murderer. There is no difference between me and a death row convict or a drug addict. Just the context. That’s the only difference. 

The Evil feels the need to praise me to the psy. 

• You see, that’s why she’s a better human than many others… she’s so humble. Common D., maybe one day you’ll get the Oscar. 

I have to reply. 

• I’m really not. I just manage my addictions better; that’s why I’m not dead yet and I’m not convicted because I work with him. 

The psy continues to ask his questions. 

• Tell me, D., what didn’t you like while about studying at these universities? 

• The entitlement.  

The Evil laughs. 

• Ohh, humans… going on their endless quest, wanting this and that and more, while the world is falling apart. If only they would stop for a second to reflect on their existence. To engage in some internal introspection when they wake up. Why is everything about wanting something? Why are they so, so selfish? Like the great Jim Morrison once said: ‘people are strange⁴’… great guy.  

He pauses. 

• Take Max, for example…a narcissist who made no real contribution to this world apart from selling drugs, stealing diamonds and breaking hearts. How is that beneficial to anyone? Michael and I have been preventing wars for ages… for what? In the end, humans are just so selfish, so focused on who they’re, what they get. And they completely miss the essence of life. And when Michael and I lost control, even for a short period of time, chaos followed. 

I look at him and start to hum Morrison’s tune. 

• ‘People are strange when you’re a stranger…’⁵ 

He looks at me, and we both keep humming, staring into the distance. 

• ‘When you’re strange, no one remembers your name…’⁶ 

I look at the Evil and return to our topic. 

• You know what my issue is… with anyone who’s kind of made it. Some feel they’re infallible. That it’s just them and God. Or whatever their God is. And no one else matters. They think they rule the world, that having money and power is everything. I call this ‘glory within 4 walls’…. and that’s why I hung around with Max. As he was like a modern Omar…⁷ stealing from those who believe they’re entitled to this and that. 

The Evil interrupts. 

• So funny…. No one is entitled to anything. NOOOOO ONE!!!  

He gets angry… and starts walking around the room. 

• And the more someone believes that, the emptier they become and the easier they’re to manipulate. Power is just a game that my brother and I have played for maaany centuries, and humans are just our pawns in it. They have no real power; they’re so fragile. With a few exceptions… we gave you some power, D. 

He looks at me, suddenly serious. 

• We gave you some power, D. 

I flinch. I need to explain this to the psy, who is now taking notes.  

• It’s true. The worst thing that I’ve experienced was real power. Through him and his brother. And It’s nothing…but terrifying.  

I pause, trying to find the right words. 

• And the way I define power is not the privilege of being able to kill someone with no consequences. No… not at all. Power is many things; power is choosing not to say what could be said; choosing not to fix what you know you could fix; allowing history to unfold without interfering… 

The Evil interrupts me again. 

• With one exception, D. When you killed Max. That wasn’t in the cards.  

I pause, then continue. 

• What can I say… I knew the power he had over me. Now I dream about him sometimes and there are mornings when I wake up and feel him before I even feel myself. And the worst part is that no one knows, and no one can see it. It’s all happening in my mind. He was the only one who ever had that kind of power over me. So…when I killed him, I did it to protect myself, because I knew how weak I was.  

I pause again, then continue. 

• It’s so hard to explain this in words. It’s so damn hard.  

I start walking around the room. It’s true – it really is so hard to put into words.  

• There are days when I go into a kind of “freeze” and it feels like the day just passes by me, while I observe it from a distance. Deep down, I feel so damn empty and nothing that happens that day can make me feel better. That’s when I realize how empty my life is without him. There’s no excitement, no real thrill. And no, this isn’t soul searching. This is just how It’s, and that’s it.  

One Saturday night, Max told me to go out. I was back in New York and had the weekend free, so I assumed he’d come by my place and we’d take a walk around Central Park – like we always did. But instead, he pulled up in his latest Bugatti. 

That wasn’t our usual kind of night. 

• I have a surprise for you, Rubia. 

He drove straight to LaGuardia, where his father’s private jet was already waiting. He didn’t say much after that, and I didn’t ask. I just followed.  

On the plane, everything was there – food, champagne, all the things he knew I liked. He told me we had about six hours. Faster than flying commercial. He poured me a glass of rum over ice, handed it to me, and then said something I’ve never forgotten: 

• You’ve done so many things for me, D. This is one thing I need to do for you. 

We spent the flight watching The Wire. Our favorite.  

When we landed, one of his friends picked us up and drove us to a music studio. It was massive- one of those places where you just know the biggest names have recorded. He told me to stay quiet. We weren’t supposed to be there. 

We slipped in behind the scenes, up above the main recording room. From where we stood, we could see everything – the studio below, dimly lit, with a single piano in the center. We waited in silence. 

And then she walked in. 

Alicia Keys sat down at the piano… and started playing Falling. 

That’s when Max looked at me and said: 

• This one is for you, D. 

That was one of the moments he truly got to me. He was a man of few words – but in that moment, it felt like all the love he had for me was poured into that one song. 

I pause and I come back to sit on the armchair. 

• Ahh…now I have a part-time job in the ER and a part-time job as a trader in one of the biggest investment banks in the US. I needed something to stimulate my adrenaline – to make sure that I don’t think about him, that I don’t suddenly feel the urge to kill someone and join any of these two sick brothers in their missions… and go back to that hitwoman style. 

The Evil looks at me, then at the psy. 

• So, are you having fun, D.? 

He makes me laugh. Ha… 

• Oh… I need to tell you more about that. 

The Evil seems amused.  

• Tell me, D. Tell me more. What do you do at your job. Your jobs. 

I laughed. He actually made me laugh. 

• Well, it’s not about killing people & other crazy missions. Clearly not.  

He looks at me. 

• So, what do you do in the ER? 

• Trauma. Heavy trauma – shootings, overdoses, people hanging between life and death. 

I pause for a second. 

• And I see it there too… doctors who think they’re gods. Same messed-up attitude everywhere. 

The Evil laughs. 

• Oh, and I have a boss.. Not in the hospital. At the other job. A funny guy. Ah… he’s so funny. And useless. Absolutely useless. 

I actually laugh again. 

• He’s all for the family – very involved or something and he doesn’t want a headache. And he leads a few traders, so he’s very busy. Or at least he thinks he’s. He told me…ha. He told me… during our last meeting, he told me… 

I laugh again. 

• Ohh… so funny. 

I pause, trying not to laugh. 

• So, he told me that, you know… I need to focus on the job and that he really doesn’t want a headache on top of all the BAU issues. Apparently, I had raised quite a few concerns and tried to help some colleagues from other departments that were drowning there.  

I pause. I laugh again.  

• And I was like… 

I hesitate for a second, searching for the right words. 

• How should I put this… I don’t have time for something like this. I really don’t.  

I get serious.  

• We were in a meeting room and that morning I had heart surgery on a patient – a really bad case. Barely saved him. When I left, he was still hanging in between life and death. It really drained me.  

I take a breath. 

• All I could think about when I left the hospital and took a cab to the bank was a glass of vodka, some Diazepam… you know the drill. And then you have this guy…this person…. Talking about how confident he’s that I will adapt and then… 

I feel the anger rising. 

• He dared to tell me about KPIs and targets – about how, yes, I’m good, but I shouldn’t become too comfortable, like the other colleagues… when last week he didn’t even know how to read the KPIs. Then he told me a whole theory about knowing and reading people and how some people exaggerate and don’t see the facts for what they’re, which is why stats are being messed up when it comes to P&L. Preaching leadership skills like he’s MLK Jr. on a comeback tour. 

I clench my jaw slightly. 

• And I swear… I swear, all I could think about was how I could have … in just a few seconds… 

I stop, staring at the floor. 

• I could have just killed him. Just like that.  

I look at the psy. 

• Not even with a gun. Just with the power I refuse to use. And he kept talking…and I looked like I kept listening, however all I knew was that I could end it right there. No consequences. No trace. I just knew it. And all I could think was… please do not say anything that will make me snap. Please just don’t. Because that’s just the end. That’s it.  

The room falls silent. The psy and the Evil just listen.  

• But I chose not to. I’ve learned that this is what real power looks like. And… 

I let out a short laugh. 

• It’s funny, you realize that’s what power really is. When you don’t use it. 

I pause.  

• There was this memory with Max that came back to me that day. 

We both had terrible days. Somehow, we ended up on the rooftop of the DL in NY. I told him I was there, so he came. 

I was still full of anger, barely able to speak. He didn’t try to fix it with words. Instead, he went to the bar, spoke to the bartender who knew him, and asked for something like Long Island. Then he talked to the guy in charge of bookings, asking him to give us some privacy. A few people moved away, and we stayed there, alone on a sofa in the corner. 

We had no cigarettes left, and there were none around to buy. At some point, he picked up a half-smoked one from an ashtray, from the table near us, and we shared it. 

We barely spoke. It was just silence, the city around us, the loud music. The two of us sitting there. But somehow, in that silence, we were putting each other back together. 

He taught me over time how to contain my emotions – how to deal with them, how to filter them. But he never told me how to do it – he just showed me what my options were. I remember it was a really good night; once we got a bit better, he went to get more cigarettes while I ordered some rum for us, and we kept partying on our favorite rooftop in New York until morning. 

The way we could make each other feel better – without words, without effort – was something that you rarely find with someone. 

I get back to the present. 

• And because of what I learnt from Max, I think that’s how I manage my anger. Not by getting rid of it, but by keeping it from taking control. 

I shrug, glancing around for a second. 

• And what I think is the most important…it’s why I didn’t use my power against my boss.  

I pause. 

• I know why I reacted. It’s cause I’ve seen criminals. I’ve seen people who would have no shame to put a bullet in someone if they wanted to. I’ve seen people who would have tortured your entire family for not being loyal to them. However, he just stood there, at his desk, preaching the change, and getting from hero to zero…I know I could have done so much, but I chose not to. And there was only one reason. Just one.  

I pause again. 

• Not his family, not his kids. I thought…. you know… today is just a day where I don’t want to kill anyone. Not today. Maybe it was because of that patient…Maybe. I don’t know. Or maybe it was just the fact that I cannot really use such power on useless people. At the end of the day, I’m not supposed to fix them, it’s not my job; regardless, even if I had killed him, another fool would have replaced him. That kind of energy and power has to be saved for other types of “projects”. Maybe indeed for him the harshest punishment is that guilt won’t let him sleep well at night.  

The Evil listens without reacting, without even looking at me. 

• So, you carried on, D. Damage control. 

I laugh.  

• Neah, I didn’t. But I did something that someone who spent much time with an experienced thief/drug dealer would have done and let him feel in control. Set the scene. Told him to present the new major committee together, how we could improve the KPIs with almost 5% and showed him that we were a team, but kept it factual. No emotions. I needed to make him feel like he was the hero, while the others would see him more and more as the zero. 

I continue. 

• Like Emil Cioran once said: “fools build the world and the intelligent ones tear it down”⁸. 

The Evil laughs, and I let the sound settle before continuing.  

• On the other hand, veryone at the hospital seems to see me as some kind of hero – some kind of leader. Maybe that’s what happens when you’ve run the biggest drug cartel in South America. You pick up a few things about leadership. At least I learned it in practice – not from some fake “return of MLK Jr.” trying to teach me how to lead. 

An almost ironic smile crosses my face. 

• But still… this isn’t self-praise. Not at all. I’m no one’s leader. No one’s hero. Let me give you an example. 

I turn slightly towards the Evil. 

• Do you remember our mission in Tijuana? 

• Yes. 

• Do you remember how that bastard got away, how we couldn’t get him in the end? 

A slight pause. The Evil looks at me. 

• I mean, I could have. But we did it the human way. 

I roll my eyes. 

• So, back to this idea of me being a ‘hero’. It’s 8 a.m., a Monday, in the ER. I’ve got 4 residents with me when a severe shooting case comes in – multiple shotgun wounds.  

I pause, grounding myself in the memory. 

• And then I see who he is: Agim.  

I smile. A faint, bitter smile.  

• A very lucky man. I have to stabilize him, remove the pellets. It’s a fight between life and death, so I move fast. But inside, it’s killing me that I have to save him.  

I glance briefly at the psy.  

• My residents are amazed – you have no idea. And in the end, he lives. 

The Evil laughs, entertained.  

• But he was lucky… because he was unconscious. I kept hoping he’d open his eyes and recognize me. 

The Evil tilts his head slightly.  

• And what would you have done if he were awake, D.? 

I don’t answer immediately.  

• As I was removing the pellets, all I could think about was how much I wanted him to wake up… to send my residents out… close the door… 

A quiet pause. 

• …and kill him. 

I look down for a moment, then back up. 

• So how can anyone call me a hero? 

The Evil doesn’t seem bothered. 

• Well, D… technically, you’re one. After all, we’re trying to save the world. 

I meet his gaze, almost skeptical. 

• Are we?  

A smirk appears on his face. 

• Nice one, D. But I know there’s more. You know there’s more than that, D. 

He gives a light smirk and then looks at the psy. 

• She thinks he’s gonna be back. 

The psy seems confused. 

• What do you mean- you think he’s gonna be back?  

I glance at the clock.  

7.20 PM.  

Finally…I can get to the point. 

• It’s the damn vision. That’s what bothers me. 

The Evil nods, almost pleased that I said it out loud. 

• She’s really freaking out because she thinks Max will come back. 

I shake my head slightly. I have to correct that. 

• No, that’s not the problem. The problem is that if he’s back, then we’re already too late with our plan. The prophecy will happen.  

My tone hardens. 

• I couldn’t care less that he’s back. I would still put a bullet in his head if needed. 

The Evil laughs. 

• Feels like we’re in Supernatural. Season 5, most specifically. 

I look at the psy. 

• Have you ever watched it? It might actually help you with a lot of patients. 

The Evil laughs again and adds. 

• Quite a lot, actually. 

The psy ignores our little joke and brings the conversation back to the point. 

• Let’s focus on something positive. D., is there any happy memory you have with Max? 

I laugh and I can feel the shift immediately. 

The Evil is already getting irritated. He lets out a short laugh. 

• Dude… 

I reply. 

• Yeah, I guess it’s the one where I put the bullet in his head. 

The Evil laughs again, louder this time. 

The psy quickly takes notes, unfazed.  

I pause for a moment, then my tone shifts – less sarcastic, more reflective. 

•  The thing with Max… I think it was the way he looked at me. The way he talked to me. The way he made me feel… completely exposed in front of him. So weak. 

The Evil groans, visibly annoyed. 

• Here we go again… 

I ignore him and continue. 

• I’ve never seen that kind of skill in anyone. Damn, and what a skill. Guys like him don’t say “I love you” very often. 

But there was one time…  

He called me, furious. A friend of mine was involved with this very rich guy – his father was vice mayor. Max was close to him back then; they were spending almost every afternoon together. So, I asked Max what he knew. 

He told me, “I see him every day with a different girl… but your friend is never in the car.” Casinos, escorts, whatever you can imagine. She had no idea. When she found out, she was shattered. 

He called me to ask what the situation was – what she knew, what she didn’t. We were talking about her, about what to do, what to tell her… 

And then, in the middle of the conversation – like it was just another comment, nothing special – he said: 

• She thinks what we have… she has with him. But the difference between me and him is that I love you. He doesn’t love her. 

I remember I didn’t say anything. We were still talking about her, about helping her. 

But we both knew what had just been said… and how it had been said. 

The Evil contradicts me. 

• She’s lying. She has exactly the same skills. 

• That’s not true. 

I feel how the Evil’s irritation quickly turns into anger. 

• Did she tell you how many of her ex-es have died? Or how many she killed? Fascinating stories! And how many of her ex-es felt thought she was so damn special – one of a kind?  

I don’t respond. Tonight is not about that.  

He continues.  

• Alright, let’s recap – Aris, Dean, Benitto, Vitto, and now this new one … Salah? Common, D. Get a grip. The way Max behaved with you – this is exactly how you treat these guys. And you don’t even have to try D. It comes naturally to you. 

I exhale slowly. I have to say something. 

• Tonight is not about that. 

The psy flips through a few files, briefly reviewing his notes before looking back at me. 

• Maybe we should take a step back. Let me recap: you ran drug operations in Colombia and now you work in an office… you’re part-time ER surgeon and part-time trader in a bank. 

The Evil lets out a short laugh. 

• Actually, I shouldn’t laugh. 

He gets serious. 

• It’s not that funny. 

He’s then silent for a few seconds. 

• When D. locked me in the sanatorium, pre-COVID, that’s when I lost my powers and took a while to get them back … and that’s when I lost control of the world. Before that, I used to split it with Michael. He had South America, Europe, Australia, Japan and China. I had the U.S., lost South America to my brother, Africa, Russia and I think overall Asia’s still split between us…  

He pauses. 

• And the problem with losing control is that here we’re now, trying to stop the apocalypse. The real apocalypse, not stories in books or on whatever TikToks… All because a human got in between me and my brother. 

He looks at the psy and continues. 

• And she’s doomed, really – her whole life is an exercise in living with something she can’t have… the only human that ever made her happy. So instead, she chases the dopamine – takes on different jobs, one after another – until the day she decides to walk away. But all of that… that’s behind us now. As there’s a bigger danger. 

I have to say something. 

• You know…we’re talking a lot about Max , my ex- es, but we never address the dynamic between us; I mean, how I was meant to end up like this, how much this really affected me, how from Havard and MIT I ended up being a hitman… hitwoman in my case. I didn’t kind of subscribe for this, if you see what I mean. 

The Evil’s pissed and he stands up walking around the office. I intervene. 

• Maybe we should talk about the dynamics between you and your brother. And how your main headquarter has always been in Cuba. 

I see he keeps walking, not answering. 

October 1962… 

Morning in Cuba. I hate this hell. It burns too hot.  

My brother is back, and I have to deal with him…  

This time I took a precaution – ordered a bottle of rum in advance, so I could sit at the bar while waiting, let it settle my nerves before facing him. 

It’s been a day since Michael and I left a meeting with Nikita Khrushchev. Russia was too cold, and our resentment ran too deep for his stubbornness… so we turned our attention to John F. Kennedy.  

Just another one of our “courtesy visits.”  

If we left them too long without our control, they’d start going off the rails too … 

Everything was chaos. Constant pressure. 

The last saint in hell prays for the last evil in hell – some kind of equation. 

Where I’m the saint… and the evil – well, that’s him. Michael, obviously. 

Or maybe it just depends on how you look at it-like the dynamic between Nikita and John. 

Somehow, Michael and I, for once, made peace between us and decided to take a long break… because we’d been at war nonstop since 1914. 

So… we arranged that a secret arrangement has to take place and prevent World War III from happening. 

And now he’s here. 

He calls it a celebration. No war. No collapse. No fire swallowing everything whole. 

But I’m not in the mood. 

Our kind of peace never lasts. And whatever we’re – brothers, enemies, something in between – it’s never been simple. Never been what it should be. 

The Evil turns around and starts shouting at me. I remain on the chair, looking at him. 

• Common D., you worked for me and then when you stopped…  you joined my brother in the cartel business and the war between gangs, while taking control of South America, which was my main territory. So please, just please, do not play the victim, when you know better than me that you were fully aware of your actions and many things that you  did were your choice. 

I stay calm. 

• Did I really have a choice with Max?  

I say that, looking at him and then at the psy  

The desert air at Coachella felt like it belonged to us that year-dry, electric, humming with bass that never really stopped. LA had always been our city, but out there, everything just felt different. Under these neon nights, it felt like we owned something bigger than New York’s streets and memories. 

I met Max in a tent that smelled like dust, cheap cologne, and pain. 

He was carrying close to 56,000 dollars cash like it was just another accessory.  

Crazy money. That kind that people ruin their lives over.  

And still, we were dressed like we had nothing. 

H&M. Head to toe. Like we were just two kids who scraped together enough to be there. 

That’s what I loved about it. About him. 

Out there, no one knew. No one mattered. 

Not the girls orbiting him, not the noise, not the chaos of it all.  

I remember that he barely said much that day. I knew Max never needed to fill silence – but at some point, without asking, without warning, he just took my hand.  

And he pulled me into the crowd. 

Thousands of people, lights flashing, music breaking through your ribs – and somehow, it felt like he was showing me off to every single one of them. 

And I let him. Because in that moment, I was the one. 

By the time night settled in, everything softened.  

The heat faded, the music drifted further away, and we ended up sitting outside the tent, side by side, sharing a cigarette like always. Marlboro Lights like always. 

Above us, there were stars scattered across the sky. 

Neither of us said much. 

We didn’t have to. 

Then I saw a falling star and got excited. 

I remember I sat up straight, grabbing his arm. 

– Oh my God, make a wish! 

I was half-laughing, half-serious, like a kid again. 

He didn’t rush. He never rushed anything.  

He just looked at me for a second and then he leaned in, pressed a slow kiss on my forehead, while whispering in my ear. 

• You make a wish for me instead, he said quietly. I leave that to you. 

And just like that, it felt heavier than it should have – like he held something in me no one else could ever reach. 

The Evil sits down. I continue. I look at the psy. 

• Actually, I know that we were doomed from the beginning. Max and I. Michael explained it to me. That what we had was true love. That Real True love. The kind that it’s so rare, it only happens once in a while on this Earth. And that… if we had made it work, the apocalypse would have come. And you see now… I have these visions; that he will be back; that Max will be back. And if he’s back, it means we’re closer to the apocalypse – that it’s coming. 

The Evil wants to interrupt me, but I lean forward, closer to the psy’s desk – to the gun I had placed there at the beginning of the night. 

• You don’t understand. No one understands. I feel him. I feel him when I wake up, when I go to work. It’s like he’s there. Always, constant. And it’s not grief, it’s not me imagining things, it’s not the LLI. I can tell you, he will be back and if this happens, we’re all screwed. 

The Evil comments. 

• He cannot be back. He’s dead. He’s in a very dark place right now and I can tell you – no one came back from there. Not even I can bring someone back.  

He pauses, his tone shifting slightly. 

• Ok, maybe except for Lazarus and Jesus. But they weren’t where Max is. And that is a line I do not cross. I do not cross my Father. 

I keep looking at the psy.  

• I know the day, the moment, when he comes back. I can see it. There are many things I can see. 

The Evil cuts in again. 

• We keep talking nonsense about Max, about my brother, when the reality is that… there is NO time. There is NO time left. We’re already too late. We’re running a race against time here.  

I glance at the clock. It’s almost 9 PM. 

The psy looks at me. 

• What else can you see? 

It’s 8.58. I need to time this right. 

I take a deep breath. 

• I see…. that there is man that I need to kill with this gun before I’m getting killed. And I do not know why yet, I just know I need to do it. 

8.59 PM.

• And I know I need to be quick, otherwise someone else will get to me first. 

The psy leans forward slightly.  

• Why go, then? Just don’t be there at that right place and at that time. 

The Evil smiles. 

• You see..if she doesn’t, I can tell you that fool – Max – will indeed be back and then we’re really screwed. 

And then he looks at me. 

• And D. …the only reason you’re not dead is because we have a bigger issue. Otherwise, you really crossed the line when you plotted against me and sent me to that bloody sanatorium. Trust me, you’re so lucky that you’re still alive. Otherwise, I would have tortured you for an eternity.  
   

9 PM. 

The psy presses a panic button below his desk. 

In a split second, I take the gun and shot him straight in the head. 

At the same time, the glass of the window shatters and the Evil pushes me to the floor not to be hit by the sniper. 

We hear a lot of noise and more shots.  

We hear a lot of people entering the building.  

The Evil and I are still hiding below the desk. 

I’m breathing heavily as it’s been a while since I’ve had to kill someone. 

The Evil reaches into his bag, pulls out an AK-47, and hands me another gun, while giving me a clear order. 

• Let’s go. 

We crawl under the floor and then split into the corridor. 

We look at each other and we both know that we need to move slowly.  

He then shoots first and we see how the first body hits the floor. Then we move again. 

He takes the left side of the corridor. I take the right.  

We keep just enough distance between us to split angles. 

He starts shooting while I try to take cover. 

They move too – I count around 8 from my side. 

I raise the gun and fire. Another man drops. 

The Evil keeps firing. Other bodies hit the wall. 

One of the bodies is now close to me. I look at the Evil to cover for me while I grab the gun from the man I shot. I learned through the years that there is a certain way you need to look at these bodies… to see them like resources, not like obstacles in your path – nothing that should slow you down or make you stop. You just need to keep going. 

We advance, and we hear them shouting that they need to regroup. 

I count 5 or 6 more.  

For a second, it feels like I’m back in Colombia. But with the right brother this time. 

A smoke grenade rolls towards us. They’re trying to close the distance. 

We split and run again, avoiding the smoke.  

I had forgotten how good we were together on the field. 

I look at him and then we shift angles and start to crossfire. Blind shooting. 

I feel that they’re closer now. We try to take them one by one. 

In less than 5 minutes, it’s over.  

I guess that’s what good training does to you over time. 

We drop the guns and get out.  

He takes a grenade from his bag and throws it behind us.  

• Move, he says. 

We start running and push outside and after a few seconds we hear the building going off behind us. Windows are now shattered and I see the whole place shaking and coming apart. 

We run back to the parking lot. 

No one’s around. At least that’s something. 

He’s one step ahead, reaching the driver’s door first. 

When he puts his hand on the handle, I shout at him. 

• I know you don’t care, but I have to tell you. I know this is not relevant for our relationship, but I want you to know that I’m sharp. I’m ready to deal with this. We need to save the world. 

The Evil turns around, looking at me. We whisper, knowing the parking lot echoes every sound back at us. 

• D., all I care about is getting this mess done as the last thing we need is the damn end of the world. Trust me, I believed until the very last minute that this meeting with the psy was a charade, but you were right. It’s happening. And it’s gonna get ugly.  

We both get into the car. He’s driving again and I’m on the passenger seat. 

It’s the first time in years I’ve seen him worried. And annoyed. 

I have to ask. 

• But do you know why him? Why did I have to be here and kill him? 

• I don’t know, D. I really don’t know. There’s a saying that I hate..but time will really tell this time.  

He’s about to start the car when he looks at me again. 

• D., don’t think that in a million years…I would have taken you seriously. But…these dreams that you’re having… they’re not just dreams. It’s him breaking through the vail of death and reaching out to you. 

He sighs.  

• This is indeed very worrying as it’s one of the signs that the Apocalypse is coming. 

He starts the engine. Before turning on the radio, he looks at me one more time. 

• And I need you to tell me everything about Colombia. 

I nod and tell him to drop me off at my apartment.  

No more Fontaines D.C., just some ads playing in the background. We stay in silence. 

I keep thinking this is really happening, that it’s just the beginning and that we’re the only ones who can actually stop it.  

And I still cannot process yet that the dreams with Max are real; because it feels unreal that they’re actually so real. 

To be continued 

Footnotes:

¹ Queens of the Stone Age – Feel good hit of the summer (lyrics mentioning “Nicotine, Valium, Vicodin, marijuana, ecstasy, and alcohol”) 

² ζηλεύε, Greek. Translation: ‘He’s gelous’. It refers to Georgios Mazonakis’s song – ζηλεύω (Zilevw), which emphasizes the jealousy of a man towards a woman. 

³ Quote from the movie Heat, said by Robert DeNiro 

⁴ Reference to The Doors’ song – ‘People are strange 

⁵ Reference to The Doors’ song – ‘People are strange 

⁶ Reference to The Doors ‘ song – ‘People are strange’ 

⁷ Reference to Omar’s character, from the TV series the Wire 

⁸ Quote from the book “Îndreptar pătimaș” by Emil Cioran; Romanian original: “Proștii zidesc lumea și deștepții o dărâmă.”; different translation in English than the one used in the text: “Fools are building the world and smart ones are ruining it.”