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Sinnerman


Chapter Five


As firelight illuminated the inside of the bungalow, the powerful man and the slightly built girl ate a small meal, of tinned meat that he served with potatoes, found on his travels.

“He did look like you,” she told him again, emphatically.

Across from Cecilia, Sinnerman listened to her speak, as he had done so for over an hour.

“The only real difference was the length of his hair and the depth of his eyes...” she told him.

“The depth of his eyes?” Sinnerman asked, conscious of the night encroaching.

“Yes his eyes,” she continued, “they seemed to be dark and brooding when I first saw him. Then just as his men began to kill, they seemed to light up, with pleasure...”

Sinnerman sat back bemused.

“This fellow might look like me,” he mumbled, “but believe me, I don't kill innocents.”

“I'm glad to hear that,” Cecilia responded with a shy smile.

“But this fellow seems to objectify the deaths of those he kills, while I...” the words trailed away, as Sinnerman continued to mumble.

This caused the girl to reach out a tentative hand toward him, “While you are not him, alright.”

He nodded and then suggested, “Cecilia, it's getting late. Shall we get our heads down?”

A smile had followed and a bedroll produced.

“You take this little-one, I'll be keeping watch out tonight,” Sinnerman told her, smiling as the girl yawned, then offered him a shy grin.

“Thank you,” she told him, “I suppose I am tired.”

“That's alright little one,” he responded, standing and walking to the doorway, rifle in hand, quickly glancing over his shoulder as he did so: Cecilia was making herself comfortable and, he smiled.

He was not alone and, he had someone to care for.

Sinnerman


Chapter Four


The powerful-looking man finally found signs of life, after days more of travelling the wasteland left behind, by man's last war.

Among rubble, he heard the sound of crying. So he approached, knelt and begun to pull away the detritus with alacrity, throwing stones and wood aside.

Eventually he uncovered the ashen face, of a young woman, eyes wide with fear at the appearance of her rescuer.

It took moments for Sinnerman to remove the rest of the rubble covering her.

Abruptly she had risen, then made to run.

Yet before she could do so, a strong hand caught the girls left ankle and held firm, so that she fell to her face hard.

“Whoah girl,” he snapped, “you're not going anywhere. We need to talk.”

Turning onto her back, she looked up to the strong face and blue eyes of her assailant.

“It's you,” she screamed, “it's you...”

“I'm Sinnerman,” he intoned, “just who do you think I am?”

Attempting to back away from him, “The raiders. You're the leader of the raiders!”

He released her ankle, allowing the girl to scuttle away from him as he crouched down, while he spoke softly, “I'm many things girl, but I'm not the leader of any raiders...”

“But you look like...” she continued.

“Told you girl, my name's Sinnerman. What's your name?” He queried.

“Ce... Ce.. Cecilia,” she stammered.

Reaching into his front pack, he drew out a silver flask that he offered to the girl.
“Do you feel the need for some water?” Sinnerman asked.

Snatching at the proffered flask Cecilia, backed away again.
“You're really not him?” She snapped, frowning.

“I told you girl, I'm not who you think I am,” he informed her softly, before helping her stand.
“I'm a stranger here, learning more and more about my doppelgänger.”

Sinnerman


Chapter Three


Beneath a blue sky and a hot sun, a tattered yellow net curtain twitched, as frightened eyes watched the figure enter the small village, that appeared deserted.

It had been days since raiders had entered the village, killing all they had found, led by a man who bore more than a passing resemblance to Sinnerman.

Tread upon tread led down the mainstreet: The door opened and, an old man ran out of his tired looking home, a carving knife in hand, that he raised at the strangers approach.

“You come back to finish me off?” He screeched loudly.

Sinnerman reached up and grasped the old man's wrist, preventing the knives downward thrust.

“Do you know me?” He asked quietly, tightening his grip, until the knife was dropped.

The old man fell to his knees, looking upward, with red teary eyes.

“You were here... you were here before,” he maintained, clutching at his wrist.

Releasing old withered flesh, Sinnerman scowled and spat, “Weren't me fella. I just came...”

Again the old man looked around, with frightened eyes, then back to the powerful stranger.

“If'n it weren't you mister, the man leading them looked just like you,” he said, “They wore helmets with mirrored faces and took no pity on any of us.”

Sinnerman looked around himself as the old man spoke, momentarily distracted by thoughts of this man who supposedly looked like him, who could have been part of his breed. Seeing this, the old man rose and ran.

“You're one of 'em,” he cried as he ran, “I know you're one of them.”

Confused, Sinnerman stared after the old man frowning.

“So there is another one of my kind,” he muttered watching the figure disappear into the distance, then turn to the right and into a barn.

The powerful man continued to walk slowly through the village, his gaze intent on the way ahead, now content in the knowledge that he was not alone.