Marked for Vengeance (19 page)

His
gaze moved back to her with flames flickering in his eyes. Her broken spirit hadn’t
weakened his wrath in the slightest. “Never in my life,” he growled. “I feel as
though I’ve been duped! Have you felt this way all
along? That you
didn’t
love
me?!
”

“I
never said I didn’t love you!” she cried. “That wasn’t a lie.”

He leapt
from the couch. “You just don’t love me enough though, right? How incredibly
cliché, Alyx… ‘it’s not you, it’s me’.”

“Benjamin,”
she said with a stifled cry and reached for his hand.

He
jerked away. “I’m out of here,” he said and made his way for the door.

She
wiped her tears and threw the blanket onto the floor. “I’m so sorry. I only
want you to be with someone you deserve.”

Benjamin
turned. “DON’T get up!” he shouted, holding his large hand between them as a
barrier, “don’t you follow me.” He stepped toward her, pointing his finger, his
neck and face splotched with red. “You certainly fooled me. You
say
you
didn’t love me as much as I loved you, but you sure did fool me.”

“I’m
sorry, I-”

His
hand lifted higher, cutting her off. “I know in the beginning you were
hesitant, I get that. And the last three months I thought I worked too much,
and that’s why you appeared distant. But not
once
did I get the
impression that you had doubts. It makes every single second of it a lie, and…

He
wanted to say more, but whatever it was, choked
him
up now. He closed
his eyes as if to find the strength. “Aunt Deb told me there was a man the
other day that came by looking for you at work. Would he have anything to do
with this?”

Isaac,
she thought, and her hand covered her brow with shame. He had
spoken to Frederick so he could find her.
She saw it all.

Benjamin
wasn’t off base with this assumption either, but it wasn’t exactly what he
thought. She couldn’t stand the thought of him assuming that all of this was
because she had been seeing another man. That wasn’t entirely the truth.
Thanks,
‘Aunt Deb’,
she thought, letting out a sigh. She lowered her hand to her
chest. “He was looking for me, but I shot him down when he found me. That’s it,
I swear.”

“At
least that’s one bit of good news,” he said dryly. “And the more I think about
all of this, your reaction the other night makes perfect sense. It was written
all over your face when I asked you to move in. Most women would be
thrilled
that their boyfriend wanted to commit to them. You obviously have something
wrong with you, Alyx Rayer.”

And
with those furious, parting words, he whirled around and snatched the vase of
lilies he had bought her on the way out.

The
door slammed shut, and she wiped the rest of the tears with the back of her
hand, rubbing the last wounding blow he delivered.  She couldn’t be angry at
his insult. She
knew
that something was wrong with her. She should have
never attempted to be in a relationship – it wasn’t in the cards for someone
like her. Just one of many poor decisions lately.

She lifted
the mug of strong coffee from the table and sipped daintily. It felt as though
a Band-Aid had been ripped off. Even though it still stung, she felt partially
relieved.
He’ll heal one day, and I’ll be a distant, painful memory.

CHAPTER
10:

Shattered

Isaac watched
mindlessly as an infomercial for a new exercise gimmick flashed across the
screen. Nothing of substance came on TV that early in the morning, but he would
rather sit and stare like a zombie as he munched on a bag of pretzels than do
anything else. Especially sleep. The cusp of dawn colored the clouds outside a
fiery rose. Their day would soon begin, and this was his final moments of calm.

Wishing he could chase
his early morning snack with another beer, he dusted the salt from his hands
and rolled the bag tightly. After he came to the realization just hours before
that Oman’s visit had a huge amount of credibility, not much could comfort him
now, but beer had always been a fail safe. If he wasn’t responsible for his son
and didn’t have to go to work that afternoon, he would have undoubtedly drank a
whole six pack.

He brushed his
fingertips over the ink-colored angels that took wing above his left elbow.
Would
it be too much to ask for protection?
he prayed.
Or at least a little
comfort?
He closed his eyes and resigned that everything was out of his
control. It didn’t benefit him to stay angry anymore, but he would never quit
fighting for his son’s safety and would make sure they stayed together at all
costs. Any other scenario was unacceptable. He would go wherever he needed to
go and do whatever he needed to do, so long as his son was by his side. They
were a package deal.

He went to the kitchen
and stuffed the bag of pretzels into the pantry. The clock on the stove read
six thirty-three.
Micah has an hour left to sleep
. But did it matter
anymore if everything “happened soon”? What was the point of carrying on as
normal, pretending that there was a point to this life they would be torn from.
What if “it” happened at six thirty-four, or six thirty-five?

He moved to the coffee
maker to put on a fresh pot. Beside it lay a picture of his wife holding Micah
as a baby with blue icing rimming his toothy grin. He picked it up and pressed
it into his chest.
That
was why he needed to carry on as normal, to
protect his son’s innocence for as long as he could.

When the first drip of
coffee hit the bottom of the glass carafe, he glanced at the studio door. If
all of this were real, he would need to do as the old man instructed and keep
the room sealed tight. As a matter of fact, he would never open it again.
But
what about the windows?
he worried. Nothing covered them, which left his
paintings vulnerable to whoever wanted to peer through.
I can fix that,
he surmised.

He marched into the
living room and grabbed a stack of white paper from the printer, and on his way
back, stopped by the kitchen for a roll of duct tape. He opened the sliding door
for the last time and walked to the first window on the left. As he held the
first sheet to the glass, Alyx’s face flashed through his mind.
No more
peepin’ for you, lass.

*
* *

After yet another
emotionally draining event, Alyx decided to take it easy again that day. She
would lounge on the couch and watch a marathon of old Friends re-runs.
First
thing’s first, though. I need a shower.

She went to the
bathroom and turned the nozzle, humming the theme song to the show as she
waited for the steam to bellow out. Now that she had thrown Isaac off her sent,
and the dreaded conversation with Benjamin was over, her mood had perked. The
only thing left to do was make amends with Cindra who had yet to text her back
from yesterday. She slipped out of her pajamas and into the shower, and
resolved that after a few episodes she would go to their building at lunch and
wait for her friend to emerge, insisting they speak over food.

She grabbed the shampoo
bottle and turned it upside down. The pearly pink goo curled inside the palm of
her hand. Bubbles foamed as she rubbed her hands together, and she messaged the
suds into her scalp. When she leaned into the water to rinse her hair, her scar
twitched.

She froze as the water trickled
down her back, waiting to see what came next.

The twitching ceased
and a tingle prickled in its place.
Are you kidding me?!
she thought,
infuriated.
At my HOME?

After wringing the
water from her hair, she turned the nozzle off to listen for a knock at the
front door. The tingle escalated to a ravenous burn, and her back arched from
the pain. She clenched her teeth to prevent a scream from launching through her
lips, giving her exact location away, and leaned against the cold tile to
relieve the burning. The intensity of the tingle could only mean one thing – he
was inside the apartment.

Despite the scorching
ache – that the cold tile failed to put a dent in – and the budding fear, fury
dictated her actions, and against her better judgment decided to investigate.
She bore against the pain and flung a towel around her. The time had come for a
confrontation. She couldn’t run from this forever. And besides, being a victim
wasn’t something she ever wanted to get used to. She had finally regained
control over every other part of her life, and this needed to end, as well.

She searched the
bathroom for a weapon and zeroed in on the heavy stainless steel tumbler she stored
her toothbrush in. If she had to, she could crack it against someone’s temple. With
the tumbler clutched by her side, she crept to the door and drew in a breath.
Just
one swift blow
, she thought, pumping herself up for the altercation.

As slowly as she could,
she slid her eye from behind the door jam to peer into the living room. But to
her surprise, nobody awaited. The only sound in the apartment was the water
that rolled from her body and spattered onto the lacquered floor.

She shuffled quietly through
the living room to peer into the kitchen.

Nobody.

The only room left to
check was the bedroom, so she tiptoed toward the door. On her way there, a blast
of negative energy covered her wet, naked body with chills. The malevolence
this invisible force bred virtually burned her flesh, her scar sweltering at
its peak.

Her hand released the
tumbler, and she watched helplessly as it rolled under the TV stand. The energy
came from all around her, wrapping her in a cover of evil, but she couldn’t
distinguish a single shape in the air. By her scar’s reaction she determined
that it was probably best that she
couldn’t
see, its presence menacing
enough.

With her toes curled
into the hardwood floor, she stood perfectly still, holding her breath hostage
to prevent her chest from rising -- like a feeble mouse waiting for a predatory
snake to strike from its tense coiling, to snatch her up and devour her whole.

*
* *

Isaac taped the last
sheet onto the window and slumped against the wall to sit and rest. His arms
quivered like jelly from holding them up for so long. He scanned over his hard
work with satisfaction.
Everythin’ is safe now.

“Holy crap, dad!” Micah
said by the door. “Why did you do that?”

Isaac looked over to
see his son whose hand had smacked across his forehead in shock.

 “Oh, you’re up then?”
he said, ignoring his question, and glanced at the clock on the wall. “It’s not
even time yet. You alright?”

“I woke up with a headache,”
he groaned. “And my stomach feels funny.”

Oh, great.

He pushed from the
floor and hurried to his side. His hand rested against his cheek to feel the
temperature. “You’re burnin’ up! Let’s get you some medicine,” he said and darted
for the bathroom with Micah following closely behind.

“You still didn’t
answer my question,” Micah reminded him.

Isaac hadn’t thought of
an excuse to give, mainly because he had hoped to have the door shut by the
time he awoke. He would have to make one up on the fly. “I thought the daylight
might start to bleach my work, son.”

“You could have just
bought blinds or something, ya know?” he said and pressed his lips together,
his cheeks puffing with air as he held back his laughter.

Isaac rolled his eyes
and pointed to the toilet seat. “Sit there.”

Micah sat where his dad
instructed and mumbled something about how “dads were weird”.

Isaac chuckled.
I
guess it does look kinda weird
.

“Here you go,” he said,
dropping the pills in Micah’s hand, and turned to fill the glass by the sink
with water. Micah popped them in and tilted his head back, waiting for a drink
so he could rinse them down. “You should stay home today,” Isaac asserted and
handed him the glass. “With that fever they would probably send you home
anyhow.”

Micah nodded in
agreement as he gulped the water.

Isaac knew that if his
son agreed to stay home, he
must
have felt lousy. Most kids would relish
the thought of staying home from school, but Micah enjoyed being around his
friends. Besides his father, they were the only other relationships he had.
Rachel and Isaac were both only children, so other than his one grandparent in
another country, he didn’t have any aunts, uncles, or cousins to speak of
either. His friends
were
his family. “Ok, then. Back to bed with you
now.”

Micah scurried to his
room, and Isaac sat on the toilet, watching as he left with a satisfied smile. He
hated that his son couldn’t shake this bug that had come back to haunt him, but
felt relieved at the same time that he would be under his wing all day as he
would now need to call into work himself. The closer his son was to him now,
the better.

*
* *

Minutes later, but what
seemed like
forever
, the burning slowly faded. As the last bit of heat
left her skin, she plopped onto the floor in an exhausted heap of long limbs
and damp hair. The epitome of wickedness itself had been hovering over her,
sucking her life-force through a straw. It could have mostly been from the
emotional strain, but she had certainly been weakened.

Her legs curled into her
torso, and she hugged her arms around them. She never felt more vulnerable in
all her lifetimes, and foolish at that, to assume she could have done anything
about it. Whatever that thing was, it evoked the same response from her scar as
the man in the black suit, and the petty stainless steel tumbler was useless.

She reached beneath the
TV to pick it up, and as she gripped it in her hand, the anger she felt when
she first held it found its way back in. Her knuckles faded to white as she tightened
her hold, wishing she could crush it with her utterly human hands. She hurled
it through the air, and it hit the floor, denting the wooden panels as it
bounced back up and crashed through the window. Shards of glass sprinkled onto
the couch like flakes of snow. She knew the outburst reeked of petulance, but
the emotional release made it well worth the effort.

When the last bit of
anger drifted away, it made way for another emotion – helplessness. Her head
buried into her knees, and she sobbed. This tiny apartment had served as her
haven for the past two days, and now
it
had been invaded. No place felt
safe for her now.

She wiped her wet
cheeks and stood to go finish her shower. Maybe the steam and the sweet smell
of her soaps would help console her spirit. A very small – and possibly naïve –
part of her felt assured, however, because the beast didn’t attack. If it had
wanted to, that would have been its chance. What it sought after, if anything
at all except to frighten, would have to remain a mystery.

*
* *

Benjamin staggered to
his door while gripping the neck of a bottle wrapped in a brown, paper bag. He
had made a trip to the liquor store after he left Alyx’s apartment and had loitered
in the garage the past four hours listening to a Linkin Park CD on full blast
as he nursed the bottle of whiskey.