Nico rode west towards Brooks after leaving Azreal that day. Far from the towns border he slowed his horse taking his time thinking of all he was going to do and say to them. Yet his mind was clouded by thoughts of revenge and vengeance towards all who stood by that day. Each day he rode stopping only at night to eat, sleep and rest both himself and his horse. Each day brought him closer to Brooks along with memories of that day came flooding back stronger and stronger as to do his heartache. By the fourth day he arrived at the forest path that led down into Brooks wanting to be rested for the next day he set up camp in the woods while preparing for whatever comes his way.

When dawn broke over the forest he awoke with the rising sun as he prepared the last of his food, he also prepared a story should anyone ask about his face. He rehearsed the story repeatedly until it was flawless and committed to memory. Packing his saddlebags and mounting his horse he rode out of the forest path. Sitting on his horse he looked down at Brooks seeing for the first time in eighteen years he couldn’t help but wonder what it looked like when his mother first saw it. As he looked at the town memories of that day came flooding back once more as to the fear. A fear he last felt in Azreal and not wanting to repeat his mistake in Azreal over again he took out his knife and proceeded to cut open his palm. Wiping the blood and putting it away he wrapped his hand took one last deep breath and reluctantly made his way down to his former home.

Slowly he rode his black and white paint down the road with each step his horse took the closer and closer he got. Soon the bright sun gave way to dark clouds and rain yet this nor anything else was going to stop him. as the rain started to fall, he continued to ride off in the distance he saw an older man tending to fresh graves in a small cemetery just outside Brooks. His curiosity started to get the better of him and he turned his horse toward the cemetery.

“Morning young man.” The man greeted him as the rain fell upon his hat trying to look at Nico, but his hat hid his face.

“Morning.”

“Lovely weather? Some days it seems like the rain never stops. Almost like someone was trying to wash something away or reveal something to us that has been long hidden away.” The man lightly joked.

“I don’t know I’m not from here. The rain however will in time eventually stop. It can’t rain all the time.” Nico answered hiding the truth behind his words.

“Where are you from?” the man inquisitively asked “I apologize for I have yet to introduce myself. My name Father Luke O’Hara.”

“…”

“I’m from up north.” Nico paused for a moment. “I’m just passing through looking for a doctor. I mean your town no trouble it’s up to you if you want to believe me.”

“I have faith in you, and we do have a doctor her.” O’Hara boasted until he realizes that the stranger had yet to say his name. “What is your name?”

“…”

“Kisasi. Killian Kisasi.” Nico answered for it was a name picked with great thought and feeling. A name that would haunt their memories. (Kisasi -revenge)

“What an unusual name.” O’Hara mumbled to himself. “Can I do anything else for you, my son?”

Father O’Hara looked up upon his hidden face as lightning lit up the clouded sky. His eyes stunned O’Hara for they looked lifeless but what he seemingly recognized was the scar he bore. In that moment he knew who this man was and yet he said nothing because he was supposed to be dead. His faith told him that ghosts were not real yet before him was a dead man, this Killian was a spirt from beyond. A spirit sent to punish this town for their sins.

Looking down at the graves Nico asked O’Hara curiously “Why are there so many graves? Unusual for a town this big. I couldn’t help but notice them as I came down the path.”

Looking down at the graves Father O’Hara sighed deeply almost as if he was burdened by a heavy secret upon his heart. “It is Killian. None of this should ever have happened but it did. It was a tragedy of our own making.”

“…”

“An innocent family was murdered by the townspeople. For several days they celebrated but the weight of what they did was too great to carry. Finding no way out they took their own lives even those that heard could not handle it. In total there were twelve lives lost and were not allowed to be buried in the local cemetery. So, I blessed this small section of land to create a new cemetery for them and took care of their broken souls. These last five graves I did only a few days ago. With all this sorrow there are those that prospered from this tragedy. They turned the family’s home into a waystation for profit. The person who created all this hate became our sheriff and deputies which turned the town into one of hate and entitlement. Since this incident the deputies have moved on to the next town while the sheriff remained her with us…

You should not stay here Killian, I can see that you are a good man but if you stay you won’t be. This town is evil! It will eat at your soul until it has turned black like theirs. You are better than they are.”

Gripping his reins lighter as the blood flowed from his palm onto his trousers and saddle Nico asked, “Why do you stay?”

“Someone needs to save their souls or pray over the dead. That is why you need to leave to save your life – your soul.”

“What makes you think they are worth saving.?” Nico coldly asked.

“I have to try even if it is after death.”

“They are not worth your time, priest. They deserve to suffer and die for what they did. Unfortunately, I cannot leave for I must walk the path I am on to set things right.”

“Some are worth saving but the innocent deserves a chance to change. Nevertheless, I understand your words Killian. I ask that only the guilty are punished maybe then their restless spirits will find peace. The doctor is on the other side of the town. I pray that you will not stay long so the evil of this town does not touch you. Go with God my son and may the angels watch over you.” O’Hara blessed Nico.

“God’s going to sit this one out, Priest.” Nico coldly spoke with dead lifeless eyes like the men lying in the graves before riding slowly down the path.

Father O’Hara watched as he rode down the path and into Brooks. As he watched O’Hara proclaimed. “When the sky fades to black, rain pours, the thunder rolls, and the lighting strikes the dead will rise. Pain, retribution and death shall be left in their wake…not all will rise, nor will they find rest. Not for the lives they took.”

O’Hara looked down at the graves before going to his church to pray not for the townspeople rather for Killian (Nico). As the father made his way to the church Nico arrived at the edge of the town. Stopping his horse, he looked through the falling rain at the town that caused so much pain and heartache. Taking one last deep breath, he slowly made his way into Brooks. Each step his horse took he took everything in for the first time none of it was how he expected it to be. All around as the rain poured turning into ice as he rode through, he saw Anglo men, women and children dressed in dress hiding indoors and under covered sidewalks acting as if they were entitled more so then those who worked in the rain. As he looked around, he could see many had slaves forced to stand out in the cold wind and rain for their own amusement.

Slaves were not the only ones he saw being used and abused by the townspeople for in the background doing jobs once down by the townspeople were Indians and Asian people brought from the coast. While the Asian worked in kitchens, stores and labors the Indians were made up and used for showing just to satisfy the white man’s curiosity toward the so called ‘savages’. The Asian and Indian women were not treated the same as the men, most were sold to the brothel to serve the sexual needs of men. As he looked around his stomach turned at the sight of all this being done to the slaves. Even though he heard stories about slavery from the stories his parents told him in his youth he never thought he would live long enough to witness it himself.

Riding through the rain many tried to see this strangers face from behind windows though none could. This gave him an awe of mystery one that grew stronger in some while others his mystery quickly faded. Then cold stares he felt yet never once did he break keeping himself focused only on his task. Halfway through the town he saw a boy no older than eight – a slave waiting outside in the rain and ice. Shivering uncontrollably, he was covered only by the overhang of the blacksmiths stall. As much as he wanted to ride past he couldn’t. The closer he got to the boy he could hear him singling quietly in a language taught to him by his parents long ago. The first language he could speak - Swahili. Nico sat on his horse listening to him sing finding comfort in the words of the song.

After a few minutes of singing the small boy looked up at him but seen nothing apart from rain and blackness. His silence and nervousness quickly turned to fright as lightning lit up the sky and Nico’s face. Seeing the scar on his face the boy began to tremble in fear thinking he was an overseer. Smiling down at the boy he appeared to calm down.

“Hujambo, Kijana.” Nico greeted him in their shared language of Swahili.

Surprised by the stranger’s knowledge, fluency and kindness nervously he greeted him back. “Hujambo.”

“What is your name?”

“Zuberi.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yes, Sir.” Zuberi shrugged staring at the ground.

Offended by the boy calling him ‘sir’ in a big way he felt like he was treating him like the other ‘pale skins.’ Looking down at Zuberi, Nico say that all he had ever known is pain and servitude.

“You don’t have to call me ‘sir’ Zuberi. My name is Nico, Nico Gage. I was taught this language by my parents. They were freed slaves like you will be.”

“Gage?” the boy quietly mumbled in awe and fear.

He like many other slaves heard ghost stories about a murdered family by the same name from those slaves who were there. It was a story that served as a warning to the slaves and a joke – an achievement to the townspeople.

Zuberi looked up at Nico no longer seeing a man but rather a spirit who rose up from the grave. The more he looked at him the more he believed this even though Zuberi could see blood flowing from his hand but how could a spirit bleed he thought.

“You’re bleeding.”

“Yes. Maybe you could show me where the doctor is?” Nico smiled down at him who pointed to the edge of town. “Asante.” Nico thanked him.

This kind moment was not to be the last.

“Hey!” a stout man from across the street shouted “What are you doing to my slave? I own it.”

Nico’s blood started to boil hearing those words as the man stormed across the road. His other slave struggled to keep up and shield him from the rain. Looking down at Zuberi he could see the fear in his eyes a fear that himself have felt. “Don’t be afraid.” Nico quietly spoke for the last time in Swahili to calm the boy down

“I was only asking him for the doctor.” Nico scolded the man just as a loud thunder rocked the town.

“Has he told you?” he angrily shouted back unfazed by the thunder and Nico.

However, the same could not be said for Zuberi as he felt as if the thunder was caused by this tall dark spirit standing before him.

“Yes.”

“Good now fuck off.” He shouted at him as he tried to see his face, yet he was unable to do so.

Tipping the bridge of his hat to Zuberi and quietly saying in Swahili. “I will be back.”

The stout man stared at him unfazed by the drifters’ strange words that he spoke to his slave just before riding off. Never looking bat at either one, Nico rode away down to the doctor’s office.

The moment he was far enough away the old stout man backhanded Zuberi hard across the face. “Don’t you ever talk to anyone again without my permission. You are my slave. Don’t you ever forget that.”

Laying in the mud and rain holding his right side of his face Zuberi cried out in pain. “Yes, sir.”

“What the fuck are you staring at Blacksmith. Get back to work.” He shouted at the young blacksmith.

Not wanting to incur any wrath the blacksmith went back to work ignoring Zuberi and all that happened since the man was of note. As the old stout man walked away, he thought the blacksmith was the only one witness, but he wasn’t. A woman sitting across the road in the general store watching not only the violence but the drifter as well. Sensing a familiarity about him as the lightning lit up his face. Walking into the tavern the stout man sought shelter from the rain and a stiff drink leaving the young slave laying in the mud and freezing rain.

Near the edge of town Nico stopped and looked back. Somehow, he could feel the boy’s pain and fear from so far away. A pain and fear that would soon end.

“I know your face old man.” Nico said to himself kicking his horse gently to run once more.