Marked for Vengeance (11 page)

“Goodnight,”
Micah said as he walked to his room, his trail leaving behind the scent of
minty mouthwash. “Love you lots.”

“Love
you too, son.”

As
he listened to the creaks of Micah’s ascent up the metal staircase, he slid
open the wooden drawer of the end table. Inside laid an envelope his father had
mailed to him last month. Stuffed within it was a family heirloom, passed down
through his bloodline to the first born male in the family. Because his father
regrettably knocked on death’s door, he now wanted Isaac to have it.

The
doctors diagnosed Pat with stage four liver cancer during the summer, and the
prognosis gave him a negligible three months to live, which meant he could go
any day. Isaac hadn’t seen his father since last year when he came to the
States to visit for Christmas, and when the doctors placed him in The Shady
Tree Hospice in Dublin, Ireland two weeks ago, he made Isaac promise that they
wouldn’t visit since his health rapidly deteriorated. He was adamant that he
didn’t want this to be their last memory of him -- his body withering away in
his own fluids. He did, however, allow him to call and get reports on his condition,
and if he were well enough, would speak with him. But, unfortunately, that
wasn’t the case tonight.

Isaac
peeled the
flap open and shook the envelope. A heavy gold ring tumbled into the palm on
his hand. The top of it had been hammered flat and personalized with an
engraving of an eagle flying in front of a bare, twisted tree. He recalled
seeing it on his father’s hand
occasionally, but was
as baffled as he over the adamancy for it to stay in the family. Nevertheless,
he would still pass it on to Micah when the time came as his father asked.

He
slipped the bulky hunk of metal on his ring finger for the first time, which
fit perfectly, and there it would stay in his father’s memory.

He
placed the envelope back in the drawer and snuck upstairs to check on Micah who
lightly snored. He slid the covers around his shoulders and tucked them under
his body. While making his way back to the living room, he glanced at the
studio door. His body felt far from needing sleep, so he decided to continue
with his newest painting.

When
he lifted the metal door, his line of sight made its way out the window and to
the top of the old building.

There
it is.
The shadowy figure practically waited for him.

His
former gumption to go see who it was had slightly faded since encountering the
creepy man earlier that day, but his curiosity triumphed. He grabbed his jacket
from the closet and double checked to make sure the lock and deadbolt fastened securely
into place before he went on his way.

As
he strolled down the dark sidewalk, he second guessed his judgment call.
This
is crazy
, he thought, but after weeks of wondering, he needed to go see.

 He
just couldn’t explain why.

*
* *

Alyx’s mind drifted
somewhere between consciousness and a slumber when she roused to the noise of
rustling leaves below. She flew to her feet and peered over the side of the
building, bracing herself on the ledge to keep from falling. Her stomach stirred
with terror. A figure below peered into the windows and jiggled the front door,
searching for a way in.

She scrambled to
gather her belongings and shoved them into her purse, only leaving behind the
empty wine bottle that she accidentally kicked as she took off. It clanged as
it hit the cement ledge, and her heart sank. If whoever below didn’t know that
someone occupied the roof before, they did now.

She stumbled as
fast as she could down the stairs while holding onto the railing.
I never
should have drank tonight,
she thought
as panic continued to trickle
in, and her mind went frantic with who it could have been. What if the person
was a crazed lunatic? Or a junkie? Visions flashed through her mind of being
assaulted or brutally raped, and her hand flew to her mouth. She wanted to cry
for help, but decided it was in her best interest to keep as quiet as possible.

When she made it
to the bottom of the stairs, she flattened her back against the wall next to
the broken window. Her heart hammered against her breastbone as she peered into
the dark. As best as she could tell, a figure didn’t hover near the window so
she climbed back through. Halfway out, the person tromped around the corner
through the litter, and she allowed herself fall to the ground to get through
faster.

Her shoulder hit
the old, rusty paint can, and she shrieked in pain. She didn’t have the time to
lay and writhe in agony, so she sprung to her feet and took off running,
holding her injured arm as she stumbled over the uneven terrain.

“Wait!” a
strangled, masculine voice called, but it only caused her to sprint faster. She
didn’t know who he was or what his intentions were, and she wasn’t sticking
around to find out.

He followed
closely behind, but his efforts couldn’t compare to her seasoned pace. In spite
of her drunken state, when she hit the asphalt she found her stride. Staying in
shape the past three years had paid off.

“Wait a minute!”
he yelled as he slipped behind. “I just want to know why you keep lookin’
through my window.” 

Through his
frantic, breathy plea, she recognized his velvety Irish voice from earlier that
day.
Isaac… HE KNOWS.

Her reasoning
told her to keep running, she had already been way too careless, but the
thought of him there behind her caused her feet to slow to a walk as though
they were made of lead. Her feet eventually thudded to a stop, and she lightly
swayed back and forth.

“I want- to know
what- you’re doing up there,” he panted as he came to a stop, holding his
cramped side. Red splotched his cheeks from a mixture of the cold night air and
the exertion.

No way could she
tell him what she had been up to, but lying to him didn’t appeal to her either.
Because her heavy feet rendered her legs immobile, her only choice was to avoid
his questions. She slowly turned her head to the side. “What do you
mean
what
am I doing up there?” she forced from her numb lips, surprised that she could
speak through the shock.

“I’ve seen you
on the top of that buildin’ for weeks now,” he said pointing behind him, “I
could see you through my window.”

Her hand cradled
her cheek.  
How could I have been so stupid?
“What makes you assume that
me being up there had anything to do with
you
?” she said sharply and
flinched from the harshness in her own words.

“Well, I-I
thought-”

“And you scared
the crap out of me. I thought I was going to be murdered!” she hissed.

Unaffected by
her tone, he stepped around to get a better look at her face, and she
instinctually flinched away from him. “What’s the matter?” he asked tenderly.

“I’m a little freaked
out, and I hurt myself climbing through the window.”

“Let me look at
it, at least. Maybe I can help. And your face… you cut your face.”

With all the
adrenaline pumping through her body, she hadn’t noticed, but with the
mentioning of it, the sting surfaced and she felt the blood as it dribbled down
her neck. She held out the hand she cupped her cheek with and the fingertips glistened
with burnished red.

She turned to
face him and froze in place as another shock wave ran through her as it had at
the bistro.

They studied each
other; her eyes wide and fearful, his head tilted to the side, his expression
concerned.

“I need to go,”
she asserted and spun in the other direction. Their brief moment of gawking
went on far too long.

“But your head!”
he called after her. “What’s your name? Who
are
you?”

And with that,
despite every fiber of her being pleading to stay behind with him, she took off
into the night.

*
* *

Stunned as
though a freight train had crashed into him, Isaac had to pick his jaw up from
the sidewalk as he stared into the void she had left when she ran off. He made
the connection that she was the woman from the bistro, although, she looked
different not dressed in her fancy work clothes, and she stood a good inch
taller than him, but that was unmistakably
her.
Even as a complete mess
with blood and dirt smudged across her smooth cheek, her distinctive beauty shone
through.

Alyx appeared to
be such a well put-together, refined woman, and he couldn’t fathom what someone
like her would be doing on the roof of an abandoned building by herself. He
went through the images of her in his mind again, standing blood soaked and
injured on the sidewalk, and his heart ached
. I should have been more
adamant to help her.

His ears stung
from the wind whipping around his head so he covered them with his hands and
lumbered home. Standing there like a dumbfounded fool wouldn’t convince the
dark to bring her back to him.

On his walk home,
he decided to go up to the rooftop to see what she could have possibly been
looking at, if it wasn’t through his window as she so rudely insisted. He
climbed through the broken window around the back and cringed from the stench
inside. He made his way up the stairs and walked to the edge he had seen her on
.
She couldn’t be up here for the view,
he determined. The building squatted
in comparison to the others around it, and the only ‘view’ it could claim
involved another dilapidated structure between this one and his complex to
which he could see right inside his window.

As he walked
closer to the ledge, his foot inadvertently kicked an empty glass bottle. He knelt
down to study it and held it to his nose to take a whiff. He could tell by the
clean label it hadn’t been there long, and the wine remnants smelled fragrant
and ripe. And now that he thought about it, he recalled the faint smell of wine
whirling in the air around her when he stepped closer to examine her face.
She
was drinking?

Still kneeling,
he scanned over the other windows of his building. The only other person she
could have been looking at was the lady on the floor below him, but the lights
in her flat were off.
I have a sexy stalker,
he mused, and a grin lit up
his face. He then remembered how she acted at the bistro, her blatant
nervousness.
Does that mean she knew who I was all along?
That could be
the only explanation, but why would she stalk him? He couldn’t determine if this
knowledge flattered or frightened him, maybe both. All he knew for sure was
that he wanted to see this dark haired girl from the bistro again.

*
* *

Halfway home, Alyx
slowed to a fast-paced walk. The way she had behaved the past three months,
spying on her Marked, could only be described as idiotic. No wonder he
eventually caught her.
Hopefully he didn’t recognize me,
she thought,
horrified that she wasn’t able to make her legs continue running. If she had,
he wouldn’t have had the chance to get as close as he did and get a good, long
glimpse at her face.
She wouldn’t be surprised if her superiors were to
show up any minute and pull her from her mission, but because this was her last
lifetime there, maybe they would show some mercy.

Tears welled in
her eyes. The shame weighed a lot heavier now than it had before. Before, she lived
under the illusion that her actions weren’t harming anyone, her orders left uncompromised.
But this grey area that she allowed herself to revel in for the past three
months looked a lot more like the finite shades of black and white.

The adrenaline
compensated for her inebriation, and she made it home without injuring herself
further. She slung the door open, threw her purse on the kitchen counter, and staggered
to the bedroom to get stripped down. She unzipped her soiled hoodie and slid it
deftly over of her injured arm. When she lifted her elbow to pull her t-shirt
off, a throbbing pain shot from her shoulder and into her back. She clinched her
teeth and lowered it to her side. Undressing herself would be impossible.

Her first thought
was to call Benjamin for help.
Benjamin,
she thought, and the shame grew
to an unbearable size. Under its weight, she plopped onto the edge of the bed and
pressed her eyes closed as tears streaked her face like a broken faucet.
He
would be furious if he knew about this.
It looked bad, because it
was
bad. She had been stalking a man that she desired more than him.

Even in her
drunken haze, she discovered a certain, upsetting clarity about her
relationship with Benjamin that she never expected – they were
never
going to work.

It never
mattered if she discontinued her trips to the rooftop. Her ceremonious ‘good
bye’ was pointless. She would never be able to pry apart the bind between her
desires and her draw, so the lion that she bred would remain. As long as Isaac lived,
it would never work with him. Benjamin might have been her lover, but her soul
undeniably belonged to Isaac. The recesses of her heart that her ‘painter man’
gave life to three years ago were entirely unreachable by Benjamin, they always
had been. As vast as his love was, its arms weren’t long enough to touch her
there. Poor Benjamin never stood a chance.