Fifteen years as a beat cop in Minnesota had helped prepare Tony O’Malley for days like these. He pulled the collar of his old sheepskin coat further up around his ears and hunched his heavyset shoulders against the biting wind whistling across the sound before him. He sat back against the hood of the old Buick, muscle memory instinctively patting at his chest pockets for a packet of cigarettes long since gone. How he’d kill for a smoke right now, he sighed, musing that it was probably the least likely thing to kill him these days.

Out across the water before him, an early morning mist hung low over the slow moving tide. Ominous dark waters shifted like a thick, black living mass. O’Malleys eyes flicked and traced the ponderosas lining the other side for any signs of movements. Nothing stirred at this early hour, except for a scarce few birds. Glancing down at the watch on his left wrist, he felt a pang of something deep in his chest. The watch was an Omega. He knew little of watches but was aware he’d never have been able to afford something like this in his old life. Thick fingers traced over the glass. Five forty six am. By his reckoning, he had another forty five minutes before the tides slipped back enough to reveal the dark stone path, and access to the island for the next few hours. Though little scared him, he was once more aware of that anxious feeling in the pit of his stomach. An uneasiness that only came when the tides receded, and which only subsided as the causeway once again vanished under the shifting waters.

Reaching down to his side, O’Malley lifted the familiar weight of his trusty rifle from beside his foot, slipped the strap over his shoulder and adjusted his jacket collar, preparing for the long shift ahead. Like the Omega, he’d had the rifle some time. It had become a welcome part of his daily routine. Meticulously stripping and cleaning the parts thoroughly at the end of each shift had helped to keep his mind sharp. Though unlike the watch, the rifle hadn’t come from the corpse of a unknown man in Tacoma.

Pushing himself away from the car, O’Malley glanced over his shoulder at the girl asleep in the back seat. He’d give her another fifteen minutes. Foster. He liked her. She reminded him of an old partner. Resilient and tough. She could certainly hold her own against the others in the camp and stood for no shit whatsoever.

Then he heard the noise. That noise. It snapped him back to the present instantly. He lifted the rifle and tapped the butt against the cars side window. Foster stirred to life inside. The noise came again from across the water. A deep, guttural drone. Clicking and hissing. O’Malleys eyes darted back and forth, scanning across the water and into the undergrowth beyond. He began to sense their presence and knew today would be different.

Standing on the short, granite plinth, her eyes rapidly flicking between the other contestants, the suddenly sinking realisation she had made a terrible mistake hit her hard in the pit of her stomach. Wanting nothing more than to bend over and vomit onto the moist, morning grass before her, she managed to keep her composure, not wanting to show any sign of weakness before her peers. The knowing looks on the faces of every other person standing in the huge circle made her want nothing more than to turn around and leave through the formidable steel gate through which she had entered this contest.

The furrowed brows of confusion, the unmistakable contortions of holding back laughter, the squinting glances. Every single person in that arena had the same, or similar, thoughts; “Why did she bring that?”, “Is that...?”, “what the...?”. She began to think, from looking around the ring for what seemed like the thousandth time, that some of the contenders were beginning to change their faces into genuine concern, perhaps they hadn’t thought this through fully themselves. Maybe they were beginning to imagine she was an unknown, yet intimidating foe, who could easily defeat them in battle with... this.

She looked down again, with utter dismay at the thing she held tightly in her left grasp. The small frying pan, still in its protective cardboard packaging stood at odds against the sabres, axes, and multitude of melee weapons the others carried.

Shrugging her shoulders, she mouthed “I didn’t read all the details correctly.”

The damp timber of the quarterdeck groaned beneath us as we lay together, each gasping for breath, his head heavy on my lap. Brushing the dark, lank hair from his still face, I noticed the scar again. Running across his cheek, it had been there since we were children. Though now faded in the twenty years which had since passed, and partially hidden under the matted hair of his beard, I would always remember the day I gave it to him. I permitted myself a smile, despite the grave situation we had faced just a short while earlier.

His hair had always been black, thick and full; the envy of the navy they had joked behind his back. Now, prematurely streaked with silver, belying his relatively young age, it was gradually returning to its youth hue, darkening with the stream of blood escaping his scalp.

The calm water before them now flat like a black mirror, the waves hardly even lapping at the side of the ship, it all seemed like a silent dream. What only seemed like minutes earlier, the cacophonous thunder of cannons drowned out the hollow screams of two thousand men, each fighting for their lives and their flags.

Now, he held his brother tight in his arms, watching as the uniform announcing he was a captain of the kings men, a title he so proudly wore, stopped moving, as the last light left his cold body.

“I love you” he whispered, “and I always did”. Though inseparable in their youth, differing ideologies had pulled them apart years ago, until the day they knew would come and they would be forced to face each other on opposing sides of the battle line.

“Hey, hey! Wait!” I gasp, holding up my hands, damp shaking palms out towards the bulk in front me. I swallow hard, trying to catch my breathe. Salty sweat mixing with the undeniable iron tang of blood in my mouth. Wiping a wrist across my forehead, I glance towards to door. It’s too far. Though the adversary standing before me was of an intimidating size, clad from head to toe in the instantly recognisable grey uniform of the guild, I didn’t let myself forget the frightening speed at which it could move.

Slowly tilting its head to the side, almost wanting me to make a move, I had the feeling it was waiting for me to make an offer. After all, whilst they were known for being ruthless killers with impeccable skills, they were also known for being less than scrupulous when a higher value trade was available. I was in the slightly stronger position of now realising whoever had sent this hunter after me didn’t really understand the options available. The morals of the guild were usually exceptionally high, but this particular race had a whispered reputation for forgetting the rules on certain occasions.

It was becoming clearer with each passing second that she had paid for this. Only she would would make such a frugal mistake. I also realised at that moment that the creature before me had no idea of the worth of the item I had in my possession. Had it known, I would be dead already.

“OK,” I started, slowly lowering my aching arms, my mind frantically scrambling for alternatives, “OK, let’s start again. I know what you want. And maybe I can help you get it.”

The shape before me didn’t move. I could hear the distinct whine of the engines starting outside. I didn’t have long, five minutes at the most. The cold metal of the maintenance corridor walls pressed against my back. I only had one way out this room.

“Double. I’ll pay you double what she’s paying you.” The beast lurched forward, the bony mass of its cranium now clearly lit under the harsh fluorescent cyan light above. I could smell the fetid breathe, rows of yellow teeth closer to my face than I would have liked.

“Triple. Now.” I lied, “plus I can guarantee an additional payment once I’m off the station. There’s a contact on Alperson-1 who owes me big. It yours, all yours. No more questions asked.”

A snarled grunt in reply. It moved slowly closer. I recognised the obvious shape of the weapon held in its clawed grasp. No way it would miss if I made a move now. The engines outside now sounding louder, time was passing so quickly, I had less than a minute to make it to the transporter, having already negotiated an unacceptable sum for the pleasure of hiding in the bulkhead.

“And this.” Slowly reaching into the pouch of my suit, realising this was my last desperate option, never taking my eyes away.

He knew they called him The Fishmonger. Never to his face, he smiled, proud at the reputation he’d acquired over the years of building his business. Señor was all the few people who spoke to him directly would dare to say. Except his mother, god rest her soul. Even until her final days, she’d called him Miguel, after his paternal grandfather. In truth, he had been a fisherman, following in the footsteps of the generations of his family before him. Down here on the edge of the Atlantic it was easy to make a living from fishing the dark waters off the dilapidated docks. The hardest part was avoiding the international ships making their way into the huge port further down the coast.

He’d always lived in Buenaventura, having been born and raised in the town. Even as a child, his unusually large size had permitted him a special status as someone clearly to be avoided, especially in fights amongst the other children in the barrio. Paired with his notorious anger, he had managed to live a long life; longer than most expected to last in this part of Columbia. At six foot five and four-hundred twenty pounds, he was an intimidating figure to all who saw him on the rare occasions he came into town now. The rubber apron he donned struggled to hold his enormous frame, the belt stretched beneath his bloated stomach.

He drew a last pull on his cigarette, flicking it into the thick, black waters shifting below his feet, before turning to push open the familiar heavy metal door behind him with his large shoulder. The incessant hum of the mosquitoes in the thick night air now masked by the sound of the radio, as a invisible futbol commentator excitedly relayed the details of the national derby match to all who would listen. As the door creaked shut behind, he reached out a hand and turned the radio louder, knowing the game would help to hide the surgical whine of the electric bone saw.

It was the snow he couldn’t get used to. Growing up, he had never experienced such freezing conditions. Sure, they had snow in the mountains, but he was from the coast. He’d spent his younger days on the beach, skipping school to make extra money from the surf tourists that rolled into town each day. Why did I choose this place, he thought, as he hunched up his shoulders. He’d been here nineteen years now, but the winters still hit him hard.

Taking off a glove, he pulled the keys from his coat pocket and unlocked the same shutters he’d been opening every morning for nearly two decades. It still annoyed him that it had ended this way. He’d been somebody once, he thought, people would always notice me, whisper my name in the streets, respect me. He flicked the switch by the store cupboard door and heard the ever familiar hum of the neon strip lights flicker to life about his head. He looked at the clock on the wall above the cash register. 5:50am. Alice would be here soon to help with the day. He liked Alice. She had helped him to settle into the community when he arrived and had been the one who had helped to get him this job with Mr Majeski.

Leaving the sun kissed beaches of southern Mexico far behind, he’d imagined life would be different when he got here, even thinking he would have had his own stores by now, but things hadn’t worked out that way. His case officer had advised against starting a business as it could draw unwanted attention from south of the border. It was nearly twenty years, he thought, maybe one day soon. Deep down inside he knew it wouldn’t happen, as those he’d left behind would never give up looking for him, even this far north in Montana.

He loved her. He always had. Since before he had built up the courage to start their first conversation, he’d felt something like never before. He’d noticed her a few weeks before, at the counter in the coffee shop. She was so beautiful. Her hair was what had attracted him. Bright auburn. It was out of a bottle, he’d been annoyed to discover later, but it was what had first caught his eye that morning. That had been five month ago. Time flies, he thought. And even now, as they say across the table from each other, her beauty hadn’t faded. She is everything to me, he told himself again in that moment.

She’s wearing the necklace I gave her, he smiled. The light of the candle between them flickered in the small emerald, casting a small green glow onto her chest. And the dress. She always dressed so perfectly. He’d loved watching her get ready for work each morning. Sitting by the window, he’d watch her as she danced across the room to her favourite music, pulling on her jeans and shirts. Each time, she was in her own little world, and never noticed him watching her.

He’d imagined they would grow old together. Maybe leave the city and move out west, somewhere more peaceful and quieter. She’d always wanted a dog. Nothing too big, he hoped. He didn’t like dogs, not since the incident with the Ralfmann’s dog. That had scared him. He didn’t like to think about it.

Even now, as he stared into her eyes, he wished things had been different. They could have had a different life together. If she’d only have accepted him for who he was, he wouldn’t have had to do things this way. They could have been happy together, he was certain of this. But she hadn’t paid any attention to him, beyond asking him to repeat his coffee. How fucking hard was it to remember what he ordered every morning? The same drink, every day. He hadn’t wanted to hurt her. But she didn’t take him seriously. Now, as the candle burned down, the scars on her neck were harder to see. He’d tried to cover them, many times, but they were beginning to fester. It had been five months now. Time flies, he thought

Murder, sexual assault, arson; those were the only crimes that really made the news, he thought as he tapped at the keys on his laptop, absentmindedly staring out the window at the midsummer night sky gradually darkening over the city far below. His was different, not even an issue to most people, he mused, as he once again transferred the full amount into the off-shore account for his associates, with such practised ease.

He’d walked down this path so many times in his life, he would struggle to remember how many if asked. He could remember the first time. It was just after he’d moved here with his Mum, in the spring. He remembered arguing his younger brother, Tom, on this very path not long after. He’d punched him. Hard. Mum had been so angry when they got home, she had sent him upstairs whilst she tended to Tom’s nose.

He’d had his first kiss here too. Sally. Sophie? Was that her name? It was so long ago, he wasn’t sure anymore. So much had happened since those days. They were only kids at the time. It wasn’t the way he’d planned it. He thought she liked him. She had pushed him away, but he still managed to kiss her and that had given him a name at school. So long ago now. He hadn’t thought about her for some time now.

The wind whistled down the valley harder now, blowing his hair over his face. He struggled to push it back. The handcuffs were cumbersome. He bunched up his shoulders and turned his head sideways, hoping to lessen the icy wind whipping his face.

She was watching him intently. She hated him, he knew that, but there was fuck all she could do, he thought. He smiled at her. His thin lips spreading slowly across his face. She turned and walked a few steps away, taking a phone from her pocket, still not fully turning her back on him, he noticed. He smiled harder at that.

The line of officers now moved with difficulty in the strong wind. Their vision increasingly impaired with each passing minute they searched, as the mist started to roll down the hill. He noticed how stark their white boiler suits seemed against the damp winter moorland.

She’d waited a long time get to this point, debating with herself over and over, internalising the conversation until it felt like she’d already uttered the words she was about to say to the man she’d loved for over 50 years.

“I’m leaving you” she said, not looking in his direction as she placed the morning coffee pot on the table between them.