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Cillian

“Gaspar!”

Oh, come the fuck on.

My eyes bolt open as the cry pulls me out of my peaceful unconsciousness.

Can’t a man die in peace around here?

“Gaspar, stop running! Come here. Now.”

The voice is high-pitched. Girlish. But I can’t make out who it belongs to. My eyes flutter shut again, but apparently, my body is waking up.

Because the pain is, too.

“Gaspar, you tonto. Come on! Papa told us to stay on the path.”

I don’t even try to speak. Now that I’ve accepted death, I kind of long for it. For the blissful peace of the eternal sleep.

No more fighting. No more violence.

Just… peace.

Unless of course the whole “heaven and hell” thing is legit. In which case, I’m pretty sure I’m going down under.

I feel sudden moisture on my face. But it doesn’t feel like water. It’s almost… sticky.

Then I register his panting. And the breath.

Christ, that’s awful.

“Gaspar! What have you found, perro?”

Oh, shit. This little girl is gonna freak the fuck out when she sees me.

I hear the crunch of leaves under her feet somewhere nearby.

And then… nothing.

Is she standing close? Has she noticed me yet? I can’t even crack my eyes open. The daylight is like a knife drilling into my eyeballs.

“Oh, God…” she breathes. “Gaspar, stop! It’s… It’s a man. A body.”

She sounds young, but there’s a certain composure about the way she speaks.

I hear her footsteps recede. She’s running. Running away from what she thinks is a corpse, no doubt.

But her dog stays behind, licking my face and my ears.

Sooner than I expect, I hear footsteps again.

“Stand back, Carlita.”

“Papa, is he dead?”

The man sounds grim. “We’ll find out.”

Large hands paw gently at my body. I’m turned over and I can’t help but moan at the pain that surges through my spine.


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