The Ghostly Mission - Chapter Two - Part One

After narrowly crossing into Mexico, Tom, Leo, and Zeta found themselves wandering deeper into the arid countryside. The weight of their long journey clung to their shoulders, though there was an undeniable sense of relief in knowing they had left the dangers behind—at least, for now.

*Check out how they arrived in Mexico through the blog posts for chapter one of this series starting with A Side Story - Roswell Run: The Odyssey of Private Tom Sullivan - Chapter One - Part One

With the men in black far behind and no one knowing their exact whereabouts, the trio searched for a place to lay low while Zeta worked on the stolen portable radio, hoping to establish contact with his people.

As they trekked through the countryside, a structure emerged on the horizon, worn and crumbling with age but still standing tall against the twilight sky. It was an old, abandoned mission, the kind that had been built centuries ago during the Spanish conquest, now left to decay in the hot, dry Mexican sun. Ivy climbed the weathered stone walls, and broken windows stared out like hollow eyes.

Leo hesitated for a moment. There was a tingle at the base of his spine. Tom told him that this was the best place to find shelter. They needed to rest before the environment got to them.

"Look! I know it isn't The Waldorf Astoria, but it will have to do," Tom said, reassuring his reluctant companion by taking his hand in his. "It'll just be for one night."

"We don't have much choice," Leo replied. "It's these ruins or this intense heat."

Tom nodded, surveying the area as they approached. The mission was surrounded by overgrown grass, and its once-grand entrance now sagged under the weight of time. They stepped inside, the cool air within the stone structure a sharp contrast to the heat outside. Dust swirled in the beams of dying sunlight, and the air was thick with the scent of old wood and forgotten memories.

Zeta quickly set up in one of the side rooms—a place that might have once been used as a study or sleeping quarters for the old missionaries. The alien wasted no time scavenging tools amongst the leftovers in this place. They had managed to find a fork and a knife which the alien used to remove the back of the radio. Their almond shaped eyes scanned the inner workings looking for an opportunity to enhance the signal.

Tom and Leo, meanwhile, explored the mission, setting up a base of sorts. They cleared a corner of the main hall where the roof was still mostly intact and laid out their meager supplies. The vastness of the old chapel loomed above them, its once-beautiful murals faded beyond recognition, while cracked pews stood like rows of forgotten souls, waiting for a congregation that would never return.

"It feels strange," Leo murmured, running a hand over the dusty surface of one of the pews. "Like we’re disturbing the dead." He began to shuffle his makeshift deck of tarot cards in his hands. "There is an old superstition that a dwelling retains what happened within its walls. The love, the pain and the sadness grip the bones of a house." He glanced back at Tom, "There is such despair here. Can't you feel it?"

"No! I can't!" Tom said, laying out the left-over supplies from the motel. "You're not helping the situation."

Leo gazed around the chamber. He clutched himself to shake off the chill. There was definitely an energy about this place, one that made his skin prickle.

But for the moment, they were safe from the elements. The mission seemed like a sanctuary where they could rest and regroup after their recent ordeal.

While Leo studied the tarots, Tom gathered wood from outside and built a fire in the middle of the chamber.

Leo suddenly froze. His expression darkened as he stared at the cards before him. It was chaotic, disturbing, filled with imagery that made his stomach churn. The tattered playing cards had images drawn on the outside edge depicting a Tower on one, the Hanged Man on another and the Ten of Swords on the third one. They lay together in an ominous row.

"Something really bad happened here."

"Yes!" Tom jumped up and punched the air with joy as the fire crackled into life. He had totally ignored what his friend had said. In one of the side rooms, he had found some matches amongst the remnants of a possible gathering place for locals.

The warmth of the fire seemed to ease Leo's concerns as well. Light of any kind was a good defense against visitations.

"I never thought I'd get this far." Tom asked, his voice low and relaxed, the tension from their escape having melted away in the heat. His shirt unbuttoned to his navel, "I wasn't sure I'd make it out of Roswell alive, let alone escape into Mexico," he replied, glancing at Leo. "But here we are." He offered Leo some food, "Try to eat something! It's been a hectic couple of days." When Leo didn't respond. Tom nudged him forcefully, "Hey! Stop getting all spooky! How about you stay in this mortal realm for now."

Oh! That Smile! Leo could not resist it. He sighed—his shoulders weren’t as rigid, and his face once set to wariness, was soft in the fading light. He reached out to take Tom's hand. At first, Tom was resistant until his warm touch was too tempting for the former corporal air man. They were alone any way.

They ate, chatting about their journey so far, as the light began to fade outside. The quiet that surrounded them felt safe and intimate.

"It's strange. Sometimes it feels like a surreal dream," Tom spoke.

"You mean, carnival monsters and aliens?"

"No. Me and you." Tom bowered his head almost embarrassed. "What we...feel."

For a brief moment, Leo got the flashes of bare skin and sensuality ran through his mind—fleeting images of them closer, more intimate, their bodies tangled together in a heat different from the desert sun.

"You don’t have to read the tarots to sense that something is happening between us.” he said, his voice dropping lower, almost a whisper. "Something that should not be possible...but is."

Tom felt a warmth rise in his chest, a slow burn that had nothing to do with the weather. He wasn’t sure what to say—wasn’t sure if he wanted to break the moment or dive into it. He could still feel the weight of everything they had been through—the fear, the violence, the danger—but right now, in this quiet mission under the fading sun, all that seemed to melt away.

While the alien worked on the portable radio, a strange interference began to creep through the static, a low hum that distorted and morphed into faint whisper.

Zeta furrowed his brow, adjusting the frequency and tinkering with the device’s wiring, but the whispering only grew louder. His large, dark eyes darted around the room as if sensing something unseen. The radio’s white noise shifted, a low, hollow voice echoing from the old speakers: “Estoy solo... ella se ha ido... mi amor...”

Zeta paused, unsure of the meaning, but there was something unnerving about it. He carefully switched the radio off and went to find Tom and Leo hoping they would explain. The alien was still new to this world.

“Something’s wrong.”

Tom heard Zeta's voice in his head before the alien arrived at the chamber, "Not you as well!"

"There is a voice within the static." The alien said, "I do not understand it...perhaps because I am not human."

Tom turned to Leo relaying what the alien had said before turning back to Zeta, "Couldn't it just be a radio signal?"

"It is old...decayed."

"Well, we are in a rundown mission." Tom glanced at Leo, "Maybe it is just the wheezing of the walls."

But even as he said it, he couldn’t shake the cold, unsettling feeling that had settled over the mission. There was a strange weight in the air—something thick and oppressive, like the calm before a storm.

Suddenly, the sound of footsteps echoing through the dark, empty halls. Faint at first but growing louder with each passing moment.

Tom's heart pounded, straining to listen.

There it was again—soft, deliberate, and uncomfortably close. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end.

Leo jumped up, "Do you hear it too?"

The footsteps stopped abruptly, and for a moment, the only sound was the wind rattling through the broken windows. But then, from somewhere deep within the mission, a voice—low and hollow—began to murmur. Tom couldn't make out the words, but the sound sent a shiver down his spine.

Tom felt his breath catch in his throat. He wasn’t the type to believe in ghosts, but something was definitely wrong here. The abandoned mission, once a place of refuge, now felt like a trap.

Suddenly, Leo gasped, his eyes widening in shock. He grabbed Tom’s arm, his voice trembling. "Something wicked this way comes."

Tom grabbed a makeshift weapon—a broken section of a pew. He welded up before him like a baseball bat.

The voices grew louder, more insistent, as the temperature dropped further. The shadows in the room seemed to move, flickering and twisting into unnatural shapes. And then, from the far end of the hall, they saw it—a figure, barely visible in the dim light, but undeniably there. Its eyes glowed faintly, and its presence radiated a cold, malevolent energy.

Zeta’s radio crackled to life, calling out from the other room, the static twisting into that same eerie voice: "Estoy solo... ella se ha ido... mi amor..."

Tom frowned. "I don't know any Spanish."

"I do. Well, a little," Leo, having picked up some Spanish on his journey, "It is saying, 'I am alone... she is gone... my love...'"

The voice grew more insistent, and the static flickered.

Zeta, having now grasped the language from Leo's words, sensed even more behind those words, “Spirit... looking... for someone... cannot find peace."

Leo turned to Tom, "We must help the poor soul so they can rest easy in their slumber." He advanced upon the apparition, "We want to help...how can we help?"

“Estoy solo... ella se ha ido... mi amor...”

The apparition turned away and continued on with their quest through the halls of this mission searching for their lost love.

Zeta suddenly nodded their head in understanding. While confronted with the spectral was also trying to work out what it was. Finally understanding.

"I understand now!" Zeta's voice pinged in Tom's head. "In my world, we believe that when one passes, their essence joins the Great Continuum—a vast, ever-flowing river of consciousness. Unlike here, we don't linger as individual spirits. We merge, becoming part of the eternal flow of knowledge and energy." They hesitated, then added, "Your ghosts, though, are fascinating. Perhaps their unfinished stories bind them to this place, whereas for us, there are no untold stories left as our go on forever in the Great Continuum."

"Fascinating as that is, Zeta," Tom said. "This is none of our business. We need to focus on getting that radio working."

Leo turned on him, "We just made it our business by staying here." He marched up to his friend, "That spirit is in torment. We've got to do something. Maybe someone in the nearby town can help us solve this mystery?"

"We're supposed to be leaving in the morning."

"Well. My plans have just changed. You can leave if you like but I am staying to help."

Leo slumped down by the fire on some makeshift bedding planning on getting some shut eye now that the forbidden of this place had been explained. He could rest easy. Tom just sighed, slumping down by the fire knowing that his hands were tied. Zeta went back to the radio.

By morning, Zeta had completely rewired the interior of the radio. The fork had also been included in the mash up of wires and filaments. The alien was now testing the apparatus for signals. There was the chatter of local radio that seemed to entrance Zeta. While they were eager to return home, their curiosity of humanity was a distracting element.

Tom and Leo left the alien fixated on the air waves. The creature merely requested a couple of additional parts for the two young men to seek out in town. They were requested to find another radio for cannibalism and something with copper wiring. Now they just had to work out how to get those items with no money.

As Tom and Leo entered the small Mexican border town, the sun beat down relentlessly, casting long shadows across the narrow, cobbled streets.

The buildings were sun-bleached stucco, their once-bright coats of turquoise, terracotta, and ochre faded by years of harsh desert wind and heat. Iron balconies, adorned with potted bougainvillea and prickly pear cacti, jutted out from second stories, their blooms bringing splashes of vibrant color to the otherwise muted tones of the town.

The air carried the rich scent of grilled meats and fresh tortillas from nearby food carts, mingling with the earthy aroma of dust and the faintest hint of incense from a local shrine.

Children ran barefoot through the square, their laughter echoing off the walls as women in brightly patterned rebozos balanced baskets of fresh produce atop their heads. Vendors lined the streets, hawking everything from handmade pottery and embroidered garment.

An old man sat beneath a jacaranda tree, his eyes following them as he lit a hand-rolled cigarette, the smoke curling lazily into the air. He nodded his head. He knew exactly what these boys were about. He slipped away. Le Reina needed to be informed.

The two young men stopped outside a small cantina tucked into the corner of the town. This seemed like the best place to start making inquiries. They stepped through the doorway.

The walls were thick and cool, decorated with faded murals of saints and revolutionaries. Alongside the hand-painted Talavera tiles on the floor, black-and-white photos of past fiestas, town parades, and family gatherings hung askew on the walls.

A portable fan hummed lazily from the counter, stirring the warm, dry air and sending whispers of relief to the patrons seated at worn wooden tables. Tom's brow wrinkled in thought. That would do for some copper wiring.

Behind the counter sat Doña Maria, a stout woman with a face like the land—weathered, resilient, full of history. Her dark shawl draped over her shoulders, partially concealing her long silver braid. Her sharp eyes, deep and watchful, followed Tom and Leo as they entered.

A well-used radio crackled softly beside her, playing a traditional Mexican ballad, its tinny sound mixing with the scent of brewing coffee and fresh tortillas. Zeta's other item on their shopping list.

She watched them curiously as Leo asked in his juvenile Spanish about the old mission. Her hands resting on the countertop—rough, veined hands that had seen years of work. Though her voice was gruff, it carried the weight of one who had seen the town’s stories unfold across generations, "The old mission?" she said, her voice rasping in Spanish. "Why would you go there? That place is not for the living. Not anymore."

"Is that because of the ghost," Tom replied, after Leo had translated the conversation.

"Fantasma." Interjected Leo.

Doña Maria’s expression darkened. She wiped her hands on her apron and took a seat across from them, lowering her voice. "The padre!" The old woman sighed heavily. Leo trying to keep up with her Spanish while Tom looked on perplexed. "Padre Vicente! His spirit has been trapped there. He was a good man, but he carried a great sin."

Leo frowned, this time in English by mistake, "What kind of sin?"

The two young men hadn't noticed when La Reina entered. Queen by name and by nature. Her deep, olive skin glowed under the dim lights, accentuated by her dark, meticulously styled hair, which cascaded in soft waves down her back. Her eyes, sharp and calculating, were framed by thick lashes and arched brows that spoke of a sharp intellect and unyielding determination.

Her attire was the epitome of sophisticated rebellion. She wore a fitted, high-collared black dress that fell just below the knee, cinched at the waist with a narrow belt. The dress was adorned with intricate embroidery that hinted at her refined taste.

Over her shoulders, she draped a luxurious rebozo of high-quality silk adding to her aura of opulence. On her fingers, several ornate rings glistened, each one telling a story of its own.

A long cigarette holder, which she handled with practiced ease, extended her gracefulness, while the smoke that curled from it seemed almost to dance to her whims.

The elegance, the stillness—she seemed almost like a statue, an image of control in the midst of chaos. And yet, there was an undeniable power in her presence.

La Reina took a long drag from her cigarette, exhaling slowly, her eyes never leaving them. The smoke drifted toward the portal fan added to the aroma in the cantina. The woman moved to a table. She slipped into a chair and quietly observed the two men.

Doña Maria hesitated; her gaze distant as she remembered the past. This time replying in English surprising the two men, "Padre Vicente...loved a woman. Her name was Rosa, a beautiful young woman who lived in the town. It was forbidden, of course—he had taken vows, and she was promised to another man. But their love was strong, and they planned to run away together." She paused, shaking her head sadly. "The night they were supposed to leave, Rosa disappeared. Some say her family took her away, others say she ran off on her own, ashamed of the scandal."

Doña Maria’s eyes grew somber as she recounted the tale, “Enraged by the priest's forbidden love for Rosa, and blaming him for her disappearance, her intended betrothed dragged the priest from the mission battered and bloody, tying him to a tree then setting him ablaze, leaving him to die a slow and agonizing death. It is said that his cries carried one word. Rosa." The two men were so captivated by the story. Not daring to move or speak. "Since that night, the mission has been plagued by his restless spirit, yearning for peace that will never come. Some have tried to interpret his whispering, but nothing has come of it...until now."

Leo looked at Tom, who seemed to be processing this new information. "He's looking for Rosa. He cannot rest until they are reunited."

"But if she has disappeared, what hope do we have?" Tom sighed, "We don't have time to take on another mission. It won't be long before those Men in Black come after us...they won't give up while ever we have Z."

Leo put up a hand to stop his protest, "Let's see if there is a possibility first?"

“I can help with your enterprise,” La Reina's English was flawless, tinged with a subtle accent that hinted at her Latin American roots. Her voice was smooth and controlled, capable of shifting from charmingly persuasive to chillingly commanding. The two men turned on hearing the voice from behind them, "I am known as La Reina. I know where Rosa can be found. She has taken refuge in a convent, having sought solace after escaping her family." Tom and Leo leaned in, their interest piqued, “The convent is where she chose to retreat from the world and atone for her past. I can take you there."

"Yes. Well, La Reina," Tom spoke suspiciously. "Why would you help us?"

"I am not helping you! I only wish for closer of the restless spirit," The woman retorted. "Many of us have been trying to decipher the phantasma's intentions for some time...yet you are there but one night and seem to know everything." She smirked, "How fortuitous."

Dona Maria was taken aback by La Reina’s sudden intervention. This woman was someone to be weary of. La Reina did nothing without selfish reasoning.

La Reina led Tom and Leo down a winding path through the hills. The terrain was rugged, the path lined with dense foliage and the occasional rustle of unseen creatures. The scent of the earthy soil and the distant whisper of a stream filled the air. Eventually, they reached the towering walls of the convent, its ancient stone facade bathed in the soft afternoon light.

The convent, though serene and picturesque, carried an air of solemnity. Its large wooden doors, adorned with intricate carvings of saints and angels, seemed to stand as sentinels to a bygone era.

La Reina approached with a confident stride. Tom and Leo followed, their footsteps echoing on the cobblestone path. La Reina knocked gently on the heavy door, which creaked open slowly, revealing a young nun with a kind but tired expression.

“Good evening,” La Reina greeted in a measured tone. “We seek an audience with Sister Isabel de la Soledad.” The nun's eyes widened slightly at the mention of Rosa’s new name, but she nodded and ushered them in. La Reina glanced at the two boys, "No one can stay hidden for long without a name change."

They walked through a dimly lit hallway, the walls adorned with religious icons and tapestries that spoke of the convent’s long history.

They arrived at a modest courtyard where Rosa, now an elderly woman with a face etched by time and regret, tended to a small garden. Her simple habit and weathered hands spoke of years of dedication and sorrow. At the sound of their approach, she looked up, her expression a mix of surprise and apprehension.

Leo took a step forward, his voice gentle but earnest. "Sister Isabel, we've come to ask for your help. We need to find a way to put the spirit of Padre Vicente to rest. He is restless, in such agony and only you can bring him peace."

Sister Isabel’s hands trembled slightly, gripping the rosary she held. She spoke in English, "Why would you come to me?" Her voice was laced with sorrow. "I have turned my back on the world and its troubles."

Leo did not give in, his tone compassionate. "You knew him, and you know his pain. Please, for his sake, help him find the closure he needs."

Sister Isabel’s eyes filled with tears as she looked at La Reina, who nodded encouragingly. The weight of her past seemed to press heavily upon her, but she knew what needed to be done. With a deep sigh, she rose slowly from her kneeling position.

"It is shame that prevents me from attending him," she said, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. "Miguel was a man of faith and honor, and I was the one who brought him to ruin. His spirit's unrest is my fault, and it has tormented me as much as it torments him." She smiled wistfully, "Miguel was a beacon of light in my life. His laughter could lift the heaviest of burdens, and his touch was gentle, like a balm to my troubled heart. Even now, the memory of his smile haunts me, a reminder of what we lost to the cruelty of fate."

Tears streamed down her cheeks; each drop a testament to the enduring pain she carried. The weight of her confession hung in the air, a tangible reminder of the love and loss that had defined her life and the life of the priest she had once loved so deeply.

"This is what you should be saying to him," Tom replied, realizing this woman wasn't getting any younger. "Before it is too late."

The elderly nun nodded her head understanding his meaning, "You speak of the truth. I am old now...my time on earth coming to a close. I will be taken into the embrace of God but what fate will my Miguel have? Spending eternity stuck in that dreadful place."

The woman rose to her unsteady feet with a determination on her face. She had agreed to go with them, return to a place of such tragedy.

The two young men had managed to convince La Reine that she had done enough. They couldn't afford for anyone else to come face to face with Zeta. They would see Rosa to the mission and return her to town once done. La Reine did even protest. She left them to it.

By the time they returned, the old mission was cloaked in twilight, the surrounding hills casting long shadows over its ancient walls. Tom and Leo guided Rosa, now known as Sister Isabel de la Soledad, back to the mission. The air was thick with anticipation, a blend of hope and dread, as they made their way through the mission’s crumbling archway.

They set up the radio equipment in the mission’s main chapel, Zeta working meticulously to ensure the signal was strong enough. The old radio soon crackled to life, emitting an eerie, ghostly whisper that seemed to dance along the edges of reality.

Rosa frowned, noticing Zeta for the first time, looking at the creature curiously, "Padre Vicente is not the only unearthly creature in these decaying halls."

"Zeta will connect you to Padre Vicente."

The whispering began to coalesce into a coherent, mournful melody, a soft glow materialized at the far end of the chapel. The spectral form of Padre Vicente appeared, his figure translucent yet unmistakably present. His ethereal presence shimmered in the dim light, his once-wearied features now peaceful and serene.

Rosa’s breath hitched as she took in the sight of her long-lost love. Tears welled in her eyes as she slowly approached the ghostly figure, her heart pounding with every step. The chapel seemed to hold its breath as the two figures drew closer.

Padre Vicente extended his hand, and Rosa reached out, her fingers brushing against the cool, spectral skin.

For a moment, the space between them seemed to vanish, and they were enveloped in a warm, radiant light. Their embrace was tender, filled with the longing and love that had been held in check for so long. The two lovers held each other, his form briefly solidifying, as if the very fabric of reality was bending to allow their final reunion.

In a voice trembling with emotion, Rosa whispered, in Spanish keeping this moment private between them, "Miguel, mi amor, mi corazón ha sufrido por ti cada día desde que te arrebataron de nosotros. Tú eras mi para siempre."

The rough translation was, "Miguel, my love, my heart has ached for you every day since you were taken from us. You were my forever."

Padre Vicente’s spectral form seemed to glow brighter, his face a portrait of serene happiness, "Rosa, mi corazón, mi alma... Nuestro amor nos trasciende a ambos." (Rosa, my heart, my soul...Our love transcends us both.)

"Debes irte, mi amor. Tu penitencia ha terminado. No camines más por estos pasillos." (You must go my love. Your penance is done. Walk these halls no more.)

"¿Pero qué será de ti?" (But what of you?)

"Por ahora, estoy en paz. Pero pronto, te seguiré." (For now, I am safe. But soon I shall follow.)

As she spoke, the light around them intensified and then slowly faded. Padre Vicente's spirit began to dissipate, his form gently melting away into the air. The chapel's oppressive silence was broken only by the soft crackle of the radio as the last of the static ebbed away.

Rosa stood alone now; her face tear-streaked but peaceful. The weight of centuries seemed to lift from her shoulders as she turned to Tom and Leo, a grateful smile gracing her lips. Love had conquered all even in the afterlife.

As dawn broke over the sleepy Mexican town, the morning light filtered through the dusty streets, casting a golden hue over everything it touched. Tom and Leo, accompanied by Sister Isabel de la Soledad (Rosa), made their way back to town. The air was crisp, and the town seemed to wake slowly, its inhabitants starting their daily routines.

Rosa walked with a newfound grace and a lightness in her step, her demeanor peaceful after her emotional reunion with Padre Vicente. Tom and Leo, meanwhile, were a mix of excitement and apprehension. They had one last task to complete before they could fully assist Zeta.

Arriving at the cantina where Doña Maria was busy preparing for the day, Tom and Leo kept a low profile. They knew the time had come to procure the final components for Zeta's radio. With Rosa engaged in a heartfelt conversation with Doña Maria, Tom carefully unplugged the radio, and Leo did the same with the fan. They wrapped both items in old cloths they found nearby, making sure to move quietly and swiftly.

Doña Maria was deep in conversation with Rosa, her back turned to the two men as they exited. The duo hurried down the street, their stolen goods concealed under their arms. The town’s bustling atmosphere provided a perfect cover for their hasty retreat.

Back at their makeshift base in the old mission, the alien’s keen eyes and expert hands worked tirelessly, assembling and connecting the pieces with practiced precision. The radio, now enhanced with the new vacuum tubes and copper wiring, crackled to a life with renewed vigor.

As Tom and Leo sat with Zeta by the radio, the static suddenly shifted, crackling with an unusual rhythm. Zeta's eyes narrowed, focusing on the faint hum beneath the interference. Through the hiss and sputter, a series of distinct, pulsing beats emerged—quick, sharp, almost imperceptible to the human ear.

These weren't ordinary radio waves. Zeta adjusted the dials, and the pulses grew clearer, methodical in their pattern, a transmission of quantum pulses carrying more than just sound. Each pulse represented precise data; coordinates hidden within the static. Zeta’s fingers danced across the device, translating the rhythmic pulses into a series of numbers. These were the coordinates for a pickup. They just had to work out the location.

The woman had just missed them. Yet she was not overly perturbed. La Reina leaned against the counter of the dimly lit cantina, the old rotary phone cradled between her shoulder and ear as she took a long, deliberate drag from her cigarette.

The soft hum of conversation and clinking of glasses filled the air, but her focus was on the hushed voice on the other end of the line. Her employer, the one who had been pulling the strings from the shadows, was expecting an update.

"The targets have been confirmed," she said, the woman had learnt a lot about them during their trek to the convent. Not detailed specifics but enough to confirm her suspicions. "We'll have the creature soon." She flicked the cigarette ash into a nearby tray. She was becoming impatient. "The price is non-negotiable. Mi querido, that is not my problem. Just make sure it is all there...every centavo or you don't get the prize."

La Reina hung up the phone with a soft click, exhaling a long breath as she put on her practiced, disarming smile. Her employer wanted Zeta. And soon enough, she would deliver. But Tom and Leo? They were just pieces on a chessboard. She crushed the cigarette into the ashtray with a slow twist of her hand. Her real game was just beginning.

#QueerScienceFiction. #Funreads #LGBTIQAAuthor #ParanormalFiction. #Fictionontheweb