PART ONE
VANISHINGS
CHAPTER 1
The first one to go went in 2008.
Why he stopped at this particular spot, he was not sure. It was a secluded area. Only the crickets were making noise. The stars were bright in the jet-black sky. The tall grass bent to the slight wind like it was straining to reach something to the left. That same breeze carried the smell of someone’s barbecue and rustled the few leaves in the tree that was almost lifeless a few yards to the right. Yes, he was attracted to the tranquility of this grassy area, just off the road. But, he began to feel uneasy when he got out of his car and heard the slight “clunk” of the door shutting. He was feeling a sense of . . . destiny, as if his life was about to change drastically. Only he had no idea how much.
Destiny.
His life had taken a major turn already just a few hours earlier. He leaned back and felt the warmth of the engine beneath the hood of his new 2007 Starlite GX37. Sure, he was feeling good about his win. Bradford Torenson: World Martial Arts Champion. He had studied every major form of self-defense in the known world, since he was four years old. His hard work paid off. He had defeated Phil Tanaka after a long grueling tournament and Tanaka had been undefeated for several years. Nobody thought he would be beaten any time soon. He had his own doubts but his focus had been sharp and it gave him the edge. The unsettling feeling he had was something unrelated to his defeating Tanaka.
Brad turned slightly to his right and brought his right leg up to rest on the front bumper. The leg moved with a fluidic grace as if it had moved of its own volition. Every move Brad made betrayed his martial arts training. His body was under his control and his mind moved it with grace and confidence. He was 6’1” with short brown hair topping off a handsome face. His black pants had a sharp crease, his shirt was blue with short sleeves and both had that crisp new look to them. Another slight breeze raised some strands of his hair and then they fell back in place like they had never been disturbed.
Brad thought back to his dad. William Torenson had left him with master Soruku and left to pursue his career as a government agent. His memory of him was mostly a worn photo that he had managed to hold on to all these years. Soruku became a father to him and had seen the potential in Brad. After a number of years under Soruku’s tutelage he exposed Brad to masters of other styles and even sent him to them in all parts of the world. Brad learned and became the best. His dad had done him a great service even though he missed having him around. He did not know if his dad was even alive. He showed up about once a year, several times and left quickly. His last contact with him was when he was 9 years old. He should try to find him the first chance he got. He wanted to share his accomplishments with his father.
In the midst of his thoughts and his elation he almost didn’t notice the lights of a vehicle that came around the hill, traversing the same bend in the road he had, just some ten minutes ago. He glanced back and saw it was a van. It was black and shiny and somehow ominous. As he had begun to suspect, it did not go on but turned in and came up slowly behind his car. He turned and stepped back from his car and there was a glint of light as the headlights touched his belt buckle, as if to say ‘here I am, looking for me?’ The headlights went off but its presence was still an intrusion on the solitude he was trying to enjoy. Then, the engine was shut off. They weren’t fixing to leave right away. That sense of Destiny had rolled in stronger right along with that foreboding van.
Brad’s mind tensed to alertness and his trained twenty-seven-year-old body exhaled and relaxed in readiness. He could feel eyes on him, more than one pair, and he waited as the silence told him that this was no chance happening. He didn’t know who was in that van, but they were here for a reason - him. Every fiber of his being told him that he had been followed here and destiny was staring at him through every reflection in the van surface. He stepped back a little from his vehicle and was as ready as he could be.
Ninja! All the doors opened slowly and eight men came out dressed in black from head to toe except for the area around their eyes. He saw their eyes, the bridges of their noses showing through the black hoods. He saw eight sets of eyebrows of various thickness set over eyes that held no mercy in them. Their eyes showed they were ready to die to accomplish their mission. They moved lithely towards him, catlike.
They were crouching and each one had sticks or nunchaku, except the two with swords. That’s not good. Swords are harder to block. They could have been all the same guy, all being about the same size and there were no women. Not only the wrong shape but also the way they moved told him that. They surrounded him with their weapons ever moving in circles, advertising death. He knew they were ninja because he too had trained in the ninja ways and techniques. So, the way these guys moved told him they were not run of the mill, martial artists in black garb.
They meant business all right. Every martial artist has distinct movements and he recognized none of these, but their patterns would be indelibly planted in his brain before this was over. They were here for a definite purpose - to hurt or possibly kill him, he was sure.
Despite what you see in the movies, even the best fighter would have trouble with eight men even if those eight weren’t the best. His senses were at their height. There were three behind him out of his peripheral vision, but his senses would tell him if they moved. Four opponents without weapons would not have bothered him much. He was sure he could take that many without too much trouble. He could probably even survive four with weapons, if they weren’t very good. But, these were no amateurs. He wasn’t afraid of dying but eight with weapons told him that he was in deep trouble even if their intention was not to kill. But, every instinct told him they were here to kill. There was one sword and two sets of escrima sticks behind Torenson.
”What’s this all about fellas?” his voice was calm and he almost imperceptibly began to form a defensive stance. He sought information, just in case he survived, so he’d know whom to thank for this visit. His knees were bent slightly, his hands open and above his waist. He didn’t think they were going to enlighten him, but one finally spoke.
”You weren’t supposed to win the title, Torenson,” he said it as if it were a matter of fact. His voice, slightly muffled through the hood, was deep and had a slight accent he couldn’t place. Brad was sure he didn’t know him, but the aggressor knew him and as the ninja spoke, he was twirling his stick the whole time.
“I was the better man.”
”Doesn’t matter. You were paid very well to throw the match. Tanaka was to remain the champ.” His voice had a firm edge to it and he may have been in charge of this group, but he was taking orders from somebody. Who that was, Brad also did not know.
”I had my bank transfer the money back to wherever and whomever it came from,” he retorted calmly and with some authority in his voice. “I was under no obligation, in my opinion.” He was sure the group’s spokesman already knew that, but he put his two cents in anyway.
”Bad move. You were sent instructions and you should have followed them.”
Talk was over. The only thing he was following was that they had the advantage. Escrima sticks and blades began to swish the air as their movements became faster. There wasn’t much light to reflect on the swords, but he was sure he’d know where they were at all times.
He knew why he had been sent the money, but had not known from whom it came, from the beginning. If he lived through this, he was going to find out one way or another. But the sounds of sliced air around him foretold the story of a man about to die. They also told him it was time to make the first move.
The man behind and to his right moved a little closer and he executed a kick to the gut. As the man grunted Brad turned to his left. The three-foot stick was coming down towards his head. He moved under and grabbed both wrists and moved to the man’s left and pulled him, twisting counter-clockwise. Using the stick he had hold of he caught the nunchaku of the man who had been directly behind him. At the same time he side-kicked the man on his left. As that attacker doubled over and sat down he elbowed the stick wielder in the ribs. Yanking the stick from his grasp also liberated the nunchakus, which flung them far out into the grass. A few blows later and he had disarmed two of them and injured at least one completely out of the game. Not bad for a start, but they were far from done with him.
Best of all he had a weapon and he was good with one or two short escrima sticks. But he wasn’t feeling too victorious. There were three kneeling on the ground, holding something that was hurting and he was pleased that one of them was one that had a sword. Five more meant that he was far from winning this bout. Of those that were down, not all of them were down for the count. He was sure two could rejoin the battle. His experience did tell him that in numbers they do get in each other’s way. But a few more concerted efforts would be all it would take to get him. He held no illusions as he felt blood trickle down his right temple from a slight cut that he had ignored. One of the three men was up and staggering, while another was trying to get up.
The next wave was well delivered and they did not get in each other’s way as much as he had hoped. Four rushed at once from all directions and two more came quickly after them. His movements were fast and as damaging as possible. His liberated stick found many targets and struck them true. His kicks and punches also found targets from heads to kneecaps. Unfortunately, their weapons and kicks also found their marks. Brad knew he had to attack more than defend. Trying to prevent major damage to his body was desired, but he had to inflict as much damage as possible, as well.
Moans and groans accompanied holding knees and arms and even one groin. He remained silent to his pains and even his breathing was controlled beyond the hearing of their ears. It had been close in work, so that he had executed no gregarious moves. He conservatively had struck in all directions while hardly able to even turn to them. They were aware they were in a fight. They knew they had him but hesitated a little before making a third attempt.
Brad sensed rather than saw the several shuriken that came from the folds of one of the opponents behind him. Just as quickly, the stars were sent in his direction rapidly and deadly. He ducked and weaved and bobbed. One star found his arm and he instinctively grabbed his bicep as blood poured from the deep furrow. He yanked the star out and winced. He also was pleased to note that another had plunged itself deep in the neck of one of his opponents. The red blood spewed and foamed and he heard the gasping as the dying man tried to grab it, but instead collapsed backward. He was no longer a threat to Torenson. It was a move of desperation really; throwing them inside the tightening circle in an attempt to end this before any more of them suffered.
They were moving in for the kill even before they realized that they had not done as much injury to him as they might have. He blocked out the searing pain in his arm and they were met with more resistance than anticipated. He parried a few strikes and they were all around him making more contact than he would have liked. He was beginning to feel the effect of being slightly winded and tired. It was only a matter of time with this continuing onslaught. His strength was slowly ebbing in synch with the blood flowing from his arm. Another stick and he was sure he could have done even better. He was inflicting much damage but their chances were improving as the battle went on.
He was down to four adversaries and had more space to maneuver in. He blocked the nunchaku swing towards his neck with his one stick and his foot dislocated a knee. That got a strong rap on the shin and a slight limp as he added it to the list of pain he was trying to block out. He stepped back and squatted down performing a roundhouse kick to the back of the ankles of one assailant. The receiver flipped a complete somersault and landed on his face, with no chance to soften his landing and he grunted as the air left him.
Brad jabbed one in the stomach with his stick then down and up in an arc that caught another between the legs. That one grunted too. He ducked two kicks and put two blows in the stomach from a low position and butted a chin with the back of his head as he stood up with all the force he could muster and he heard a crack of jaw bone. Broke jaw jumped into the air and landed on his back. Two of them got Brad with several good blows from behind and he swung around and caught one with his stick and suffered a couple of more blows to his head.
The shape he was in now, left him wondering how many were left to defend against. He was not sure. He was unsteady and only able to move out of reflex when one came close. Problem with that is that his reflexes were not up to par. Sensing the victory, what few were left prepared for a final assault and he knew they had him.
All the confidence in the world could not deny the facts. He was not a hundred percent and swaying from the head blows and loss of his life fluid, so his balance and vision were not all there. His shirt was ripped in a few places, but his pants were remarkably almost unscathed. He tore the few blue remnants of the shirt away so they would not hinder his movements. They may have been thinking they should have brought a few more men, but he was thinking just the opposite. He had fought valiantly but their victory was imminent. They meant to kill him and he was about to die.
It wasn’t one blow, but two, one right after the other that did it. He felt his skull crack and as he was falling a blow to his back kept him from trying to stop the fall or roll through back to a standing position. His spine was injured and he hit the ground hard. It was like watching someone else get the hell beat out of him. Some poor schmuck was getting kicked and hit to death. Only, Brad realized it was himself.
He was sure he was dying as he lay, suffering blow after deadly blow. He had mastered the physical and mental side of the fighting arts but had never accepted the religious aspects. He believed in an after-life. Now, he would meet his maker. He would not have hurt anyone except in self-defense and always respected his opponents as fellow human beings, in the ring.
There had never been any special woman in his life. Playing games and being used were not his idea of love and after a few hurts he became cautious. Surely, in this world there would have been a lady for him. Somewhere . . . but fate now was saying that it was too late. He would never meet her, whoever she might have been. He felt regret at that, more than anything. Someone to share his soul with was now out of the question. A lifetime of training and moving up the ranks left him little time for romance. He would meet his would-have-been soul mate, in the afterlife.
Soon, he felt nothing. He endured neither pain, nor heat, nor cold. All was black and he received no input from any of his senses. He was merely thought in his death. All was lifeless except for his thoughts. He did not know where he was and was not aware of any other presence, not even that of his maker. His attackers must have left once they were sure he was dead. Leaving him bereft of life and awareness. He felt nothing and didn’t care.
He thought of his dad and wished he had known him in growing up. Hardly seemed fair; going this young before he could look him up. He supposed he could have resented him for leaving him and he did for the first few years of life left alone. But, his dad had made sure he knew that he loved him and Soruku became his surrogate. Brad could understand when he thought about how tied up he was in his own life.
He did not know that his life would end up like this. And where was his trip to the after-life? Why was everything just dark? This solitude was not what he had expected.
Where was… DESTINY!!
There it is!! Finally there was a bright light. It began as a small dot, but slowly growing bigger as it moved to engulf him. And there’s the warmth he thought would accompany it. Ha! At least he had this to look forward to. The light encompassed him, just as the blackness had done. With the light came the warmth and he also felt himself rising towards it, just barely perceptible. Destiny was in that light and that warm glow.
Then for a split second there was pain that he did not expect. Just as quickly as it came, it was gone as he felt the heat of the glow increase and somehow it took away the pain. He was sure the pain would have been intense otherwise. Then again, he was dead, so why should the matter even arise? Why would the pain even be a factor to come up? Before he could contemplate on that, something new occurred for him to consider. He was completely engulfed in the white light and he stopped rising. He began to feel himself floating forward, feet first. White, all-encompassing light and he was floating forward with no sense of time.
He could not convey to anyone how much time had passed since he lost consciousness on that secluded country road. But he was definitely floating forward and one side of his brain tried to figure that out. Being dead, he could see no reason to feel any sensations. The other side of his brain didn’t care. He was not in control of anything. It seemed all perception was turned off and under someone else’s whim. He was allowed his thoughts and some sense of movement, but at least there was no pain. It was ever present in his mind, so he knew it was there, but it was not affecting him. The light and warmth saw to that. The light was in every crevice of his brain and kept all functions, even his emotions dulled. He was suppressed and had no say about anything.
Then his movement stopped. He just stopped feeling that slight forward movement. Then the light put him to sleep. Since he was dead, he saw no reason or need for sleep. But off to sleep he went and he knew nothing. Nor could he care if he was so inclined.
The van had long left the area, carrying its wounded. The following morning a hiker found Brads car and lots of blood. The police discovered who the owner of the car was, but he was nowhere in sight. Their assumption was that his body, alive or dead, had been carried away. With no clues the case was left open.
