Marked for Vengeance (15 page)

CHAPTER
8:

An
Unlikely Visitor

Reminiscent of the
night Alyx had left him in the cold, Isaac stood alone on the sidewalk, partly
enchanted, but most of all wounded. He couldn’t understand how someone could be
so flippant, as though his attempts to check on her were an insult of some
kind. He had imagined their exchange going
a lot
differently.     

On the way to her block,
he had fantasized about what she might say if he were lucky enough to find her;
her face lighting up with a smile, grateful remarks, maybe a flirtatious touch
or two. He had at least envisioned her accepting his invitation for lunch. But
all of his efforts that morning to get some answers from this enigmatic girl --
whom he thought had fallen into his lap, that destiny had brought him to -- led
to nothing except a cold shoulder and forced politeness.

Maybe he had been out
of touch with the dating world for too long. Being primarily focused on his
duties as a father the past five years allowed him to get rusty, and his read
on women had apparently done the same. He didn’t feel entirely defeated,
though. Alyx had ignited that longing in him to be with someone new. But
nonetheless, her blatant rejection hit him like a brick wall.
Datin’ is NOT
goin’ to be easy.
    

As she walked away,
part of him wanted to follow after her, the part of him still mesmerized by her
dark brown eyes while in the daytime shone a brilliant shade of deep copper
with bursts of olive green around the edges. The desperate look behind them suggested
that there was more that she wanted to say – even more so than at the bistro –
but he had already been wrong about what that look could have meant before, so
he would let her go and knew it was safe to say he would never see her again.

When she disappeared
around the corner, he glanced down at his watch.
Two o’clock.
Micah
would be home in an hour. He yawned deeply as he rubbed his cheek.
All of
that excitement for nothin’
, he thought and spun around to walk to his car.
He would head home to watch TV and take it easy while he waited for his son.

*
* *

Alyx finished her meal,
paid the tab, and went on her way with her eyes peeled. If she saw him again,
she would find another alley to duck into or turn around and go the other way.
She didn’t want to suffer through another encounter with him if she didn’t have
to. It was amazing that her sanity hadn’t shattered at this point.

When she made it through
the door, she checked her home phone to see if she had missed any calls. Her
cell remained silent during lunch, and she had fully anticipated Cindra to call
once she received her apology via text, but apparently, her friend wasn’t
interested in getting back with her anytime soon.
No missed calls.
She’s
definitely mad.

Normally, Alyx would
continue texting her with apologies, but it wasn’t within her today to tend to
her friend’s sensitive ego.

She set the phone and
her purse on the counter and looked around her apartment while twirling a loch
of hair between her thumb and index finger. She didn’t know what she wanted to
do next, but she didn’t want to stay there. If Benjamin hadn’t been at the
hospital performing surgery, they would be having the ‘dreaded conversation’
this very minute. And while accepting that reality, resentment crept in again,
which quickly grew to anger.
I need to get out, like, REALLY get out,
she
thought, and something inside of her ignited, something rebellious, exciting.

She stormed to her
bedroom on a mission.
If I’m going to be a single girl for the rest of my
life, I’ll act like one.

She flung her closet
door open and scanned over her clothes with burning, defiant eyes. She hadn’t
been clubbing before, so she wasn’t sure of what to wear.
But it needs to be
sexy,
she thought, and a thrill of liberation raged inside her. Because she
couldn’t have who she wanted, and she couldn’t feel sorry for herself, she
would at least live it up while she could
.
  

A pair of black shorts
caught her eye. She usually wore them in the summer, but if she paired them
with fishnet stockings she could get away with it. Looking for a top to match,
she rummaged through the rest of the hangers and stopped at a cobalt blue,
tight-knit sweater.
Almost perfect.

Clothes in hand, she
made her way to the kitchen and slid open the junk drawer. She lifted the scissors
from inside and bit her lip with a smirk.
This should do the trick.
With
careful, steady snips, she cut the neck of the sweater so that it would droop
over her right shoulder while still covering the scar on her left. Grinning
with satisfaction, she held up her creation to study her handy work.
Now
it’s perfect!

She slid the sweater on
to see how it fit and followed with her stockings and shorts. The ensemble
wasn’t something she would usually wear, but its brazen statement mirrored her
inner sentiments, so therefore, it would work for tonight.

She made her way back
to the bedroom for the finishing touches and slid on her knee-high, black boots
and found the pair of silver, bohemian earrings Cindra gave to her for her
birthday. As she stuck the nearly gaudy earrings into her lobes, she stepped
toward the mirror to evaluate the end result.
One more thing.
She pulled
the elastic from her hair and shook it loose, her mane falling wildly around
her shoulders.
NOW I’m ready.
   

She strutted toward the
front door and snatched her purse as she walked by. Before twisting the knob to
leave, she dug through her purse to make sure she had enough cash for a cab.
While she rustled through its contents, her cell phone tumbled to the floor. She
stared at it as it lay beside her shiny black boot. The corner of her mouth
rose to a sneer, and she kicked the phone to the side.
I’m unattached
tonight.

*
* *

While flipping
channels, the disappointment of her rejection that afternoon tapped Isaac on
the shoulder, goading his pride, so he made his way to the fridge for a beer.
Halfway there, someone lightly knocked on the front door three times
.
After grabbing a longneck, glass bottle and popping the top on the counter, he
strolled over to answer it.     

He peeked through the
tiny peephole, and a rather tall, older man with a black beard patiently waited
with his hands folded atop his walking stick. His weathered face brimmed with
anticipation, and his beady deep-set eyes had a sparkle to them that echoed the
gleaming lights that bounced off of his smooth, bald head. He studied this
eccentric man for a moment and unlocked the chain to his door, opening it just
enough for his head to fit through. “Can I help you?” he asked, assuming this
man had the wrong flat.     

“I’m here for you,” he
replied in a deep tenor as a smile swept across his face. His presence exuded power,
demanding respect, but kindness showered his words.     

“For
me?
”     

His eyebrows rose, the
lines on his forehead deepening. “You didn’t know?”     

Ok, this man is nuts.
“Sir,
I’ve never met you before,” he replied, forcing his tone to stay even so not to
come across as condescending.    

The old man grinned and
searched his eyes, as if he waited for him to come around and remember who he
was.     

“I’m sorry. I don’t
know who you are. Can I call someone for you? Are you lost?”     

He belted out a
guttural laugh. “Am 
I 
lost? You might be a little more behind
than I realized.”

 
I don’t have the
patience for this.
“If you don’t mind, I’m busy at the moment,” he said and
drew his head back to shut the door.     

“I need to speak to
you!” he insisted as he stepped forward, but Isaac ignored his plea and shut
the door in his face.
What a loon! 
     

He took a long swig of
beer as he waited to see if he would leave. After a minute had passed, he
peeped through the hole. The old man still awaited him, and his hand waved back
and forth through the air. “Isaac, we can do this all night or you can just let
me in.”

Isaac’s jaw dropped.
He
knows my name?!
 
This is getting weird
. He darted away from the
door and cleared his throat quietly to muster an edge of rebuke in his voice. “I
don’t know who you are, but if you don’t leave I’m callin’ the police. My son
will be home any minute, and I can’t have a strange man standin’ at my
door.”     

This time, the old man
didn’t have a response. He must have gotten the not-so-subtle hint. As Isaac turned
the bottle up for another swig, a draft of cool air whooshed over his shoulders
from behind. “Well, I’ll let
myself
in, then,” the man replied.     

Isaac gasped and whirled
around, losing his balance and falling against the door. The old man stood
in
 his
apartment.

He towered over him at
close to seven feet tall, at least, and his white robe swallowed him whole. His
long, black beard dusted just above where his kneecaps would be, and was
without a doubt the longest he had ever seen. The pine-colored walking stick he
held by his side looked as though three canes twisted tightly into one and
narrowed near the top, warping to surround an invisible, round ball of
air.     

Isaac’s eyes widened as
he clutched the neck of his beer in a death grip. “What in the-”
I’m
hallucinatin’. I’ve finally gone bonkers.     

“
You
haven’t gone crazy, Isaac. I’m here for real. See, touch me,” he said and held
out his arm.     

Isaac flinched away.
He
can read my thoughts too?!
   

“Suit yourself,” he
said and turned to head for the living room.     

The old man practically
floated toward the chair with his bare feet and sat facing the couch, his knees
bending up to his chest. “They don’t make these for big people, do they?” he asked
amusedly and shifted in the seat. He glanced at the TV beside him. “And let’s
get rid of the distractions, shall we?” he said and tapped the screen with the
top his walking stick, turning it off. He rested the stick between his knees,
and his eyes wandered back to Isaac. “Are you going to come over here or not?”     

“I’m good here,” he
squeaked with eyes still wide as saucers.     

His narrow, knobby
finger tapped his knee. “Do you need a minute? I know this is probably weird to
you, but honestly, I thought you would be farther along by now. This might take
awhile, and I figured you would be ready for me.”     

Isaac determined that
he better gather his wits about him. Whatever this man – or thing – was, it
didn’t
appear
to be threatening, but his patience was wearing thin.
Because he didn't want to risk angering him and find out, he shakily stood up,
and went to the couch to sit across from him.     

The old man gave him a terse
nod. “That’s better,” he said and ran his fingers through his coarse beard,
staring into the space between them, “you obviously have no idea who I am,
where do I start?”     

Isaac placed his beer
on the floor. “Let’s start with that… how on
Earth
would I know who you
are?”      

He folded his hands atop
the walking stick and met his gaze. “You see, Isaac, that’s
what
surprises me. I figured you would have seen me before now in your dreams.”    

As if this could get
any weirder.
Isaac’s eyes narrowed with skepticism.
“Why would I see you in my dreams?”     

“You’ve had peculiar
dreams lately, correct?” he asked as he glanced down at Isaac’s bulky, gold
ring.      

Isaac followed his gaze
to his hand.
Why would he care about my ring?
 He hesitated to respond,
but had an inkling that he better tell this man what he wanted to know. “I’ve
always had weird dreams. But yes, I’ve had dreams with a sort of theme to them
lately.