Marked for Vengeance (22 page)

As soon as she made it
to the rooftop, she ran to the edge, and her jaw dropped.
He covered the
windows?
What’s going ON?

She couldn’t muster an
explanation for what she saw. Had something scared him? Only moments earlier
she determined his aloof behavior was a result from his wounded pride, but to
cover his windows like that.
Why
? He
did
accuse her of peeping the
night that he caught her. Maybe he feared
her.
She shook her head and made
her way back down the urine soaked stairs. Because he refused to speak to her, she
would never know for sure.
At least he’s ok.

Understandably
perplexed, the cabby eyed her as she jumped into the back seat.

“It would take all day
to explain,” she insisted.

He threw up his
hands.“None of my business, ma’am. Where to?”

“Tenth and Howell Mill.”

“On our way.”

The cab ride to
Cindra’s apartment complex seemed unusually fast for Atlanta traffic during
lunch rush. Within ten minutes, they pulled up to the gate. She gave him the
code for the keypad, and they rode through as she scanned the parking lot for
Cindra’s white Volkswagen Beetle, but it was nowhere to be found.

“Just park right
there,” she said, pointing to the closest parking space, “I won’t be long.”

On her way up the
stairs to the third floor, she saw Cindra’s door through the railing. Just like
Benjamin’s, it hung open.
Shit.
She paused, thinking through if her
psyche could handle another pummeling. But – just like at Isaac’s – her scar
didn’t tingle, either. Besides, her friend made a habit of leaving her keys in
the door knob or not closing it all the way, so maybe the opened door didn’t suggest
anything serious. Or fatal.

She nudged it open and
peered through. To her astonishment, nothing awaited her.

Nothing.

Cindra’s furniture, her
pictures, even the basket she kept by the door to store her shoes in -- gone.

She pushed through and
walked to her living room with a quivering chin. Her friend had abandoned her, in
every sense of the word. She had quit her job and left town. The only person Alyx
had left to lean on disappeared as quickly as she came into her life, all with
not so much as a “good bye” or an explanation.

To make sure her
inspection remained thorough, and to further punish herself for ignoring her
‘friend’ for the past few days, she made her way into the empty bedroom. It
appeared much larger now that her wrought iron canopy bed didn’t occupy the
center of the carpeted floor, but the empty white room looked as desolate as Alyx’s
life now. Her whole support system had vanished in one day. She pressed her
fingers into the corners of her eyes, forcing her tears to stay where they
were. She couldn’t stand to cry anymore; it had become a daily occurrence.

She walked to the bedroom
closet whose door also remained open. A single white eyelet dress hung lonely
on the wooden dowel. Alyx had bought it at Ann Taylor on a whim, but decided
its A-frame, short skirt would suit Cindra’s shapely legs better and the
light-colored fabric would emphasize her tanned skin, so she gave it to her as
a present. Her friend loved it immediately and had worn it a dozen times
throughout the summer.
Of all things, she left THAT?
Alyx couldn’t help
but take offense. Her ‘friend’ had left without speaking to her, and the one
thing she left behind was the dress Alyx had given to her as a gift.
What did
I do to her that was so bad?

She pinched the corners
of her eyes again, but the tears bulldozed their way through anyhow.

When she grabbed the
hanger, she noticed a jagged piece of folded paper sticking out of the left
skirt pocket. She slid it from inside and opened it guardedly. Scribbled in
Cindra’s bubbly handwriting it said:

I’m
sorry I didn’t say goodbye.

You
will understand soon enough.

See
you there.

She hadn’t bothered to
sign it minus a single, bizarrely-happy smiley face. For someone who went out
of their way to avoid her, Cindra went through a lot of trouble to communicate
with her in the most complicated, vague way as possible.
See me where?
 She
couldn’t understand what on Earth her friend meant by that.

She stuffed the letter
inside her jeans pocket and blotted her tears. Her last two visits today were
peculiar, to say the least, but at least her worst fears weren’t recognized. Isaac
and Cindra were alive. She decided to go back home and brood over everything. She
still hadn’t had any time to process what had happened to Benjamin, her grief
put on hold.

The cabby dropped her
off at the parking garage, and she paid him a large sum of money plus tip for
his troubles. “Thank you, I hope everything is alright,” he said kindly. On the
drive back he had continually checked his rearview mirror. Her puffy, somber
face must have troubled him.

“Thank you, sir,” she
replied before shutting the door, and held her forehead as she walked to her
car. Her cracks had finally deepened to the point of shattering; at any moment
she could come unglued. The only thing that kept her together now was that she
had to remain strong in case she was summoned to fulfill her purpose, and by
the way things went lately, she could only surmise that it
would
be
during this lifetime after all. Something was definitely amiss.

On the drive back home,
she kept her eyes peeled for the police, but the lack of traffic they
experienced at lunch had thinned even more. Only a few stray cars crept down
the street, the drivers as confounded as her. When she made it to her complex,
she noticed the sidewalks were desolate, as well. Nobody walked their dogs or strolled
children in buggies. The air hung eerily still.

CHAPTER
11:

The
Beginning of the End

 Isaac
threw the phone onto the couch beside him, irritated that he couldn’t get a
hold of anyone at the doctor’s office. Each time he dialed the number it rang a
hundred times with nobody bothering to answer. “How do they stay in business?”
he griped and rubbed the stiffness from his neck, frustrated that his child’s
condition worsened with every passing hour and hardly anything he did seemed to
help.

He
then decided to call the pharmacy, hoping that they could recommend something.
He dialed the number and waited for the ring when three loud beeps shrieked in
his ear. “The number you have dialed is out of service…” the automated woman
said.
Seriously?
He had walked by the store just the other day, and it
teemed with customers.

He
trudged up the stairs to check on Micah again, who lay asleep on the end of the
bed with the covers wrapped tightly around him, the budding fever drenching his
face with sweat. Isaac loosened the comforter from his shoulders to allow his
body to breathe, and determined that he would need to take him somewhere after
his nap. The doctor’s office may not be answering the phone, but they couldn’t
ignore him in person.

He
went downstairs and stripped his dust and grime covered clothes. If they left
for the doctor later, he needed to shower first. On his way to the bathroom, he
took notice of the weather. The clouds that covered the sky for days had darkened,
giving the illusion that evening had stealthily crept in and pushed the lighter
glow of afternoon away. The streets seemed unusually quiet also. Usually when
storms rolled through the wind would howl, but now he imagined he could hear a
pin drop from three blocks away. Nobody hurried down the city sidewalks or sped
by in cars, no litter or leaves tumbled down the road, even the animals
appeared in hiding.

He grabbed
his MP3 player from the end table, deciding to take a bath instead so he could
listen to a local radio station in hopes that they would give a weather report.
Sometimes a calming outside meant something more ominous like a tornado, and he
imagined it would look like what he had just seen.

He
filled the newly cleaned bathtub with warm water and slipped inside, relaxing
his muscles that had become knotted ever since Oman’s visit the day before. He
flipped through the radio stations, but the only thing he got was static. “Figures,”
he groaned. He switched to the Kansas album he had downloaded the other day,
and as “Dust in the Wind” streamed through his ear buds, he rested his head on
the lip of the tub and closed his eyes to enjoy a moment of relaxation.

As
he lay there, he wondered what Alyx could have possibly wanted at the door that
afternoon. Although, he was quite sure that he didn’t
want
to know. She
looked pleasant enough as she stared into the peephole, what a contrast to the
Dark Angel he had dreamt about for so long. If Oman was right, and the contents
of his dream were a symbol for something, then what would
she
represent?
Were her black eyes a metaphor for her soul? Her intentions? Or maybe the
creature in his dream was something she could turn into, or what she
was
,
like an alien or a demon of some kind.

He
quickly determined that his imagination trailed off into something unpalatable,
and if he allowed it to, would continue to roll around in his mind, conjuring
images of sinister things that she could do to him or Micah, and thus effectively
ruining his relaxed mood. Her looming presence was nothing he could fix or
change, and fear would only consume him again if he let it. It was best to let
his mind go blank for now and allow the warm bath to do its job.

* *
*

Alyx
left her draw to Isaac wide-open to keep tabs on him for the rest of the day,
and its new sense of urgency had begun to throb. She wasn’t used to accessing
it this much, and the sensation reminded her of a weakened muscle being pushed
past it limitation. It wasn’t pleasant. In fact, it was slightly painful, but she
needed to access it for as long as she could.

She entered
her apartment, and the air inside had a fresh and unusual bite. When she made
her way into the living room, the broken window reminded her of her temper
tantrum that morning. The autumn air had blown through the jagged hole all day
.
She pressed her lips together and sighed through her nose.
I suppose
that’s the least of my worries.

On
her way to the couch to find a blanket, the throbbing draw in her chest
rumbled.
Whoa.

She halted
as it rolled through her limbs, shaking her violently from the inside like a
ragdoll. The quaking seized as abruptly as it came, but her body still quivered
from the aftershock so she continued toward the couch to rest.

She
stepped with her right foot, and a flash of heat broke free from the same spot
in her chest, blazing over her body within a split second. Her skin boiled from
the fire as though someone held a torch to it with the intention of melting the
flesh from her bones, and she wheezed as she screamed from the pain. 

Her
left leg stretched forward in hopes of making it to the edge of the couch, and
her body went limp, falling forward onto the first cushion, her knees resting on
the floor.

She
lay with her head sideways, staring at the shimmering glass that had scattered
along the adjacent arm of the couch. Her head spun as she waited helplessly for
the other changes to take place, the changes that meant only one thing.
It’s
happening.

* *
*

The
powdery sand cradled his feet, and warmth shone down from the crystal sky
above, covering his skin like a soft blanket. He recognized the woman who
waited by the rolling waves for him, her dark hair whipping around her face as
she waited for him to join her. Her long, white dress grazed over the top of
her bare feet, her arms outstretched in his direction, waiting for him for find
his way into them. “Come with me,” she mouthed.

His
legs moved at her request, slowly bringing him closer. He knew he dreamed again,
but not so much as a hint of reservation dwelled within his heart. Once by her
side, his hand reached for hers and their slender fingers intertwined, grasping
tightly. She smiled sweetly, flashing her pearly white teeth. He was hers to do
what she will.

She
tugged him gently to walk along the beach, and they strode beside the sea-foam
shoreline. Never speaking, only enjoying the rapture of each other’s company.

* *
*

A
thick film covered her eyes, blurring her sight, and she blinked it away as
tears rolled onto the couch from the sting. With each forceful blink the coating
slowly cleared, revealing a sharpened focus to her vision. Every intricate
detail within her line of sight had magnified; each flake of broken glass
sparkled like a colorful prism, every soft wrinkle in the leather sofa plunged
into a ravine, and through the hole in the window she focused on a pigeon that
perched upon the sill of a neighboring building, its feathered body appearing
within an arm’s reach.

With
her head still turned to the side, the ceiling’s stippled texture slowly came
into view, her peripheral vision expanding further. The intensity of her
strengthened sight burned her eyes, and she held them shut as the tears
continued to pour, wetting the leather beneath her cheek. With her vision
veiled, her hearing heightened; the bird on the windowsill’s wings fluttered as
he cleaned them, the curtain swooshed from the wind that blew through the hole
in the broken pane. This sensation didn’t feel as intrusive, though, almost
soothing.

She
lay for a moment to soak it all in and gently pushed off the couch. The
quivering had ceased, and her muscles held her body erect with an unusually
solid and sturdy prowess. Everything about her seemed renewed, healthier than it
had ever been.

She
made her way to the bathroom to observe the result of her transformation into
the creature that she was meant to be, the part of her that remained hidden
somewhere inside the DNA of her human vessel, waiting to be released.

 Her
heart pounded with anticipation.
I hope it’s good.

Before
she made it to the mirror, her eyes darted to the floor, nervous about what it
would divulge. She had only seen her reflection one way in all these eighty-four
years.

Her
hips squared up to the sink, and she gripped the sides in case her knees
decided to give in from the shock. Slowly, she looked up from the ground and
stared at the creature in the mirror. Her eyes shone a deep, polished black, reflecting
her fierce exterior back in them. The black marbles shifted to her hair as she
stroked it. A streak of white started beneath her crown, peaking through from
halfway down her tresses, tainting her lustrous, raven lochs.

She brushed
the hair from her face and pinched
her earlobes where earrings used to hang.
The holes for them to slide into were sealed. Her fingertips
made their way to her cheek, feeling the texture of her
skin, which appeared even more firm and youthful than before. It glowed as if a
fine shimmering powder had been dusted over it, and the almost imperceptible
creases that had formed beside her eyes were ironed smooth. Even her pores had
shrunk to tiny little nothings.

She
definitely wouldn’t ‘blend in’ anymore.

She
pulled the neck of her shirt down to expose her scar. It still remained. As she
studied the raised symbol, a strong tugging pulled her to the right, and she
stumbled into the wall.
What the…

As
sturdy as her new body was, she couldn’t deny the conquering strength of this
force.

She
surveyed the sensation as it tugged, like thousands of tiny strings were
seemingly connected to the center of her chest. They literally pulled her where
they wanted her to go. “My draw,” she whispered. Her senses weren’t the
only
thing that had strengthened, her draw now pleading with her find him. This was
it. Her superiors officially summoned.

She
turned to head for the front door. The time had come to capture Isaac. His
locked door and covered windows didn’t matter anymore. If need be, she would
force her way in and leave with him in tow – whether he wanted to go or not.
Regardless of her feelings for him, she had a job to do.

Halfway
to the door, a rush of voices filled her mind, voices all like hers; feminine
and melodic, some talking, some shouting. Her hands cupped her ears as the
volume rose and throbbed inside her skull. They were her brethren, warning one another,
blending together as they whirled around like a vicious tornado.

Unable
to detect a single word, she lurched forward as she waited for the torment to stop.
The growing throb rocked her balance, and she fell to the side, cracking her
temple against the granite counter as she dropped to the floor. A mixture of
stars and darkness covered her vision after the blow, but as the strings tugged
she fought to get back up, pushing with her arms from the floor. The voices grew
louder, their tenor emitting desperation, and she fell back to the ground,
struggling to fight the voices and the shadows. As she flailed, a few desperate
words broke from the noise; “Don’t fly! Keep to the ground…” and they faded along
with her, into unconsciousness.

* *
*

Bam!
Bam! Bam!

Three
loud knocks on the front door echoed through the flat, startling Micah from his
sleep. He propped up on his elbow and glared at the door. “Dad! Someone’s at
the door!” he yelled and fell to his pillow with a grunt of annoyance, closing
his eyes.

A
few seconds passed, and three more bangs echoed through the flat. His eyes flew
open. “
Dad!
” 

He
picked his head up to listen for the sound of his dad’s voice, but only silence
answered him. He shoved the covers off and made his way to the stairs, grabbing
the coke can that sat on his dresser.

Wham
– Smash!

Halfway
through his descent, a single, earsplitting bang broke the door from its hinges
and the pictures hanging on the wall shattered on the ground.