BLAST FROM THE PAST

By MaxG

(A short, very different sort of Hando story utilizing the theme of futility and containing tragic historical subject matter

based on the dark nature of both the movie and the character of Hando.)

It was futile to keep running.  Hando would find her.  He knew the slum and she was just the American tourist; lost and alone, being hunted by an Aussie skinhead. 

"Come on out, luv!" he shouted down the dimly lit empty street.  "Can't hide from me! Ya know ya want it too!"

Heavy boots resounded on the pavement, his trench swished around him in the night air, and his hands clenched and unclenched in anticipation of the feast he would be rewarded with soon.  Hando was ready to have some fun, and Abby was the girl chosen for the game.

Ironically, it was a game she had started, not Hando.  If only she had stayed out of that bar.  If only she hadn't flirted with the sinister looking, yet strikingly sexy young man, so outrageously.  If only she had stayed with the tourist group she was travelling with throughout Australia. 

'If onlies' didn’t count, though, not when you were running for your life. 

Abby had always had a thing for the bad boys.  She liked to mess around with them on the side for fun.  But she never seriously dated any of them or wanted to spend actual time with them.  After all, they were BAD, not the kind of men to bring home to meet the family. 

Hando definitely fit in that category.  Actually, he filled it more than any of the others she’d hooked up with in the past.  The large Australian was a category in himself.  He was a skinhead, and his politics were revolting to her so much that she had almost changed her mind when she’d realized it.

Unfortunately, by then it had been too late.  She had already sidled up to him, making her presence known by brushing against the side of his hip with her body, and he had turned and captured her with his eyes, sporting an annoyed curl of his lip that had immediately split his face into a wide grin at seeing a pretty fresh one in the bar. 

Soon they were kissing and groping in the alley.  Abby had been entranced by his powerful presence and had managed to push back her disgust at finding out what kind of a man he really was.  She only wanted to enjoy his virile masculinity and skilled attention to her body.  After all, she had thought, it was just pure sex, nothing more.  She would forget all about him by morning.

Then the world had exploded on her in that alley, and not in a good way.  His tongue had been deep in her mouth, large hands on her breasts, and Abby had moaned eagerly for more.  Then her eyes had opened, feeling his on hers as they kissed, and she had gazed again into his beautiful baby blue-greens. 

That time, however, she hadn't felt desire, that time she had felt astonishment when they had changed to brown and another man’s face was suddenly felt pressed into hers.  It was so astonishing she had gasped and stumbled backwards out of his grip, not even feeling the building behind her anymore.

The bar was gone and the man in front of her wasn’t Hando!  Instead, a short-haired blond man wearing military officer type clothing had reached out to her with part amusement and part annoyance.  Words were spoken from his lips, but her head had shaken at not understanding the language.  Another reach from the man, and her arm had gone up instinctively to try to fend him off.  It brought another gasp from her own lips.   Not only was she wearing just a long ill-fitting dirty striped shirt, on her forearm were numbers! 

“NO! This isn't happening!” she had screamed in English and ran from the man, tripping across the camp yard in absolute terror. 

It was then that Abby had skittered through time again and found herself running from Hando instead.  She hadn’t been afraid of Hando in the least; she had wanted him to do her hard in that alley, but maybe, maybe if she could get away from him, the nightmare wouldn't happen again and she would stay safe in the present where she belonged. 

Abby was desperate not to go back to that place where she had seen gaunt-faced people dressed like her, people that had watched her run but were obviously too afraid to do anything to help.  She regretted now with all her heart for trying to hook up with someone like Hando, even for the quick thrill that was all she had meant it to be.  Abby knew her great-grandparents had died in a camp because of men like him, and now it felt as though she were being punished for giving in to desire.

Strangely, though, it felt like something else now, too, something she couldn’t quite put her finger on, but she sensed that Hando was a part of it as more than just the catalyst.  Maybe she should stop running and talk to him, she wondered.  Tell him the truth of what she had seen and who she really was.  Maybe if she explained to him why she had run, he’d just let her go. 

And maybe pigs would fly.

The minute she rounded the next corner it happened again.  She ran smack into Hando, who had taken a short cut.  He grabbed her tightly, grinning wildly with eyes afire from the thrill of the chase, and his head swooped in for a kiss, ready to enjoy his feast.  

"Hando! Look out!" she shouted, staring around his bulk.

"Wha ...?" he uttered and turned around.  Hando must have seen the same thing she did, because he too froze in shock at the horrid images of the camp inhabitants around them. 

The officer she had been kissing before stared at what looked to him like two prisoners.  There was now a male that had come out of nowhere to grab at the attractive woman he had wanted to play with.  His appearance was no matter to the officer, though.  He would simply kill them both, and he drew his pistol to do the job.

Hando did two things at once.  Without thinking, he stepped in front of Abby in a futile effort to protect her, and his hand flew to his coat pocket to pull out his own gun, realizing in further surprise that he was no longer wearing his trench.  In confusion, he looked down, saw the tattered remnants of a striped uniform on him and tattooed numbers on his arm, and realization suddenly hit him fully at what was happening.  

"Wait a bloody minute!" he started.

That was all he got out.

The man fired, shot Abby first, who had moved to stand beside Hando, and she fell into Hando's arms, gasping for breath.  Completely forgetting about his own safety, Hando dropped to his knees, cradling her, knowing that the woman whose last name he didn’t even know was about to die. 

That was when Abby saw it.  She saw real compassion in those eyes of his.  Yes, he had been chasing her because she had teased him, worked him up and then had run from him.  But just because he enjoyed a little rough play didn't mean he had been about to actually harm her when he had caught her.  Abby suddenly knew then that if she had wanted him to stop, he would have let her go. 

Pigs really would have flown.  Hando was a racist, not a rapist. 

Hando, however, didn't really feel much like a racist anymore.  He felt nothing but fear for himself and fear for the woman in his arms.   Gone was the intolerance and hatred in his heart.  Gone was the pain and anger he had carried for so long.  Especially gone was admiration for men like this man who was about to kill them.  All Hando wanted was a second chance, and he would have made any change in his life to have gotten it.

"Hando," she choked up at him as the officer advanced.  "This is my fault. I'm part Jewish...my relatives were in a camp."

The skinhead took a deep breath, saw the officer lift the gun again and point it at him, and looked back down at Abby with a peace he had never once felt in his life.  "Don't care wot ya are. It ain’t yer fault. It's mine."

Hando and Abby died together, holding each other.

END

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