by Mac Flynn
"Damn it," I swore as my phone rang again.
"Shouldn't you answer that?" Mortale asked me.
"I know who it is, and he can wait," I replied. It was Red with his cooked chicken.
My phone rang until we hit the third floor. The silence was deafening, but welcomed. We rounded the last flight of steps to the fourth floor when I heard hurried footsteps from above. A shadow leapt down the flight of stairs above and to our right and landed in the fourth floor hallway. The person spun around and I saw it was Red. His eyes fell on me and his tense face relaxed.
"There you are. I thought you got into some trouble," he commented.
"I did, or rather someone else did," I returned as I nodded at my load. Mortale turned his face away from me, but I noticed he grit his teeth. His body shook and his legs stumbled over the steps. "Are you okay?" I asked him.
His voice was hoarse and strained. "I-I don't know. I don't feel well."
I looked to Red. "Help me get this guy to my old room."
Red turned to the man and scowled at him. I felt the man in my hold shudder and shrink. His face scrunched up in pain and he clutched his stomach with his free hand.
"He can help himself," Red told me.
I glared at my roommate. "You can see that he can't, so stop being such a baby and help me," I insisted.
Red sneered at the man and half-turned away from us. "He's just fine, now leave him on the stairs and let's go."
I ground my teeth together and trudged up the last few steps to the fourth floor. My shoulder brushed into Red and shoved him out of our way as I turned down the hall. "If you're not going to help me then stay out of my way," I growled.
He stumbled back and his eyes widened. His mouth dropped open like a floundering fish. "But Leila-"
"Don't 'but Leila' me," I snapped as I turned my back on him and down the hall to my old room. It seemed like I was always returning there. "I'll be up in a bit. This guy needs my help."
Red reached out to me, but he pursed his lips and retracted his hand. His face scrunched up in anger. He grabbed the railing and swung himself up the stairs.
"I'm sorry."
I started and looked down at the man beside me. His slitted eyes faced the floor and the corners of his mouth were curved down in frown. "Sorry for what?" I asked him.
"For being such a bother," he replied.
I snorted and readjusted his weight across my shoulders. "If you want to be sorry for something then apologize for your weight. You're hiding anvils under that coat, aren't you?"
He managed a smile. It suited his face. "I don't think so."
"Well, no thanks to Red this is going to be a long hallway," I commented.
"I'm sorry."
"You say that a lot."
"I'm-"
"Sorry. I know. But how about you be less sorry and start moving those feet of yours?" I requested.
"Okay."
We shuffled our way down the hall to my old room. Mortale used his key on the room and we stepped inside. The spartan condition in which I left the room hadn't changed. There was no furniture in the living room, and only a few personal belongings on a rickety table beside the door.
"Don't you have any place to sit?" I asked him.
He nodded at the bedroom door. "In there."
I helped him into the bedroom where the bare, stained mattress I'd abandoned awaited us. A few blankets were bunched up in a pile with a worn pillow at the head. He lowered himself onto the edge of the bed, and I stood before him. The weak moonlight from the window behind me cast my shadow over his slumped form. His shoulders drooped and his hands hung between his spread legs. He stared at the floor with his head bowed in a servile attitude.
"Can I get you any food?" I asked him.
He shook his head without raising it. "There isn't any."
I frowned. "Why not?"
"I. . .I eat out," he replied.
"Is there anything else you need? Did you want me to look at those bruises?" I offered.
"No, but-" He tensed. There was a pause before he shook his head. "No. Never mind."
And that was that. I turned to leave. "I guess I'll-" I jerked to a stop.
My hand was grabbed and arrested my movement. I turned to find his hand wrapped around mine. The moon reflected off his dark coat and cast him in a mixture of shadow and light that emboldened the lines of his face. His eyes were wide open, and for the first time I saw they were a brilliant shade of green. They were almost emerald in color, and so bright I could see my reflection in them.
Gone were the apologies and the hesitant words. He stared at me without shyness or embarrassment, and his words were clear and firm.
"Don't go," he told me.
A mesmerizing heat flared up inside me. I fought against the urge to clasp his cheek in one hand. To caress his skin and dive into the depths of those beautiful eyes. I wanted to know him, and yet I was afraid. No. It wasn't fear. It was something else. Something I couldn't quite understand. The not-understanding is what frightened me.
"I-I have to," I stuttered.
I tugged on my hand. He held onto me for a moment before his face changed. His eyes drooped so the light was extinguished. His gaze returned to the floor. He released his grip on me and my fingers slipped from his.
"I'm sorry. . ." he mumbled.
Not half as sorry as I was. I pulled my hand against my chest and stared fascinated at this strange creature of a man. "I should go. I guess I'll see you around."
"Yeah, I guess. . ." he replied.
I studied him for a moment longer before I pulled myself away from the pitiable sight. The last I saw of him he sat as still as a statue on the bed and stared at the ground. The weak light of the moon passed away and darkened the room in shadow and depression.
I slipped into the hall and leaned my back against the apartment door. A sigh escaped my lips. I raised my hand and brushed it against my bangs. My eyes widened and I lowered my hand so it hovered in front of me. My hand shook. I bit my lip and clasped my hand in a fist.
"What the hell is wrong with me?" I muttered. I dropped my hand to my side and leaned the back of my head against the door to stare at the ceiling. The yellow ceiling with its myriad of water stains glared back. "One stupid look from a cute guy and you suddenly lose it? Come on."
My pep talk did the trick. Mostly. I couldn't erase the memory of those beautiful eyes, or the feelings they stirred inside of me, but I could forget them for a while.
CHAPTER 6
That forgetting came in the form of one temperamental roommate.
I reached my new apartment and rummaged for my key, but the door opened. Red stood on the other side and glared at me. I glared back.
"What the hell was that about?" I questioned him.
"Where'd you leave him?" he returned.
I pushed past Red and dropped my key onto the small table. "In his apartment. Where else?" I plopped myself onto the couch and stretched my arms over the back. "And why the hell wouldn't you help me? It wasn't like he was going to bite you or-"
"Bite you?" Red interrupted. He leapt onto the couch cushion beside me and searched my eyes. "He didn't bite you, did he?"
I leaned away from him and frowned. "No. Why the hell would he do that?"
Red relaxed and a smile graced his lips. He closed his eyes and shook his head. "No reason. I just thought maybe he hurt you."
"I can take care of myself," I assured him.
Red pursed his lips and shook his head. "You don't understand. That guy's a rough customer."
I snorted. "If you mean roughed up, yeah. The thugs in the alley only had to stare at him to whip him, but they did a-"
"Could we just talk about something else?" Red interrupted.
I studied my roommate and raised an eyebrow. "What's your problem? You act like that guy's dangerous or something."
"'Or something' would be about right," he replied.
"Care to tell me what that something is?" I persisted.
Red stood and shrugged. "I just get a bad vibe off of him, that's all. He's trouble."
"He certainly attracts it," I agreed.
Red studied my face and his eyes narrowed. "I'm serious, Leila. You should stay away from-"
"I know, I know, stay far away from him because he's trouble," I finished. I stood and glared at my roommate. "But since you're not going to tell me what you're hiding then I think I'll just go to bed."
Red frowned. "I'm not hiding anything."
"You're also terrible at hiding lies," I scolded him.
I turned away from him and moved towards the opposite end of the couch. Red's hand shot out and he roughly grabbed my arm. He spun me around and pressed me against his chest. His burning eyes searched mine as his lips curled back in a snarl.
"Don't go near him again," he growled.
I narrowed my eyes and tried to jerk out of his hold, but he held onto me. "Let go of me," I ordered him.
He shook me. His strength was prodigious. I flailed about like a rag doll. "Promise me."
I winced beneath the pressure of his fingers. My free hand itched to grab my gun in its holster, but this wasn't some hoodlum threatening me. This was Red. My roommate. My friend.
My abuser.
"You're hurting me," I told him.
He stuck his face in mine. I had a good view of his eyes. Their depths were dark, but the outside shone with a strange light. "Promise me," he hissed.
I turned away from those horrible eyes and closed mine. "I promise. . ." I whispered.
His stance relaxed. He smiled and opened his hand. My arm dropped from his grasp. I took a step back and rubbed the bruises that were just forming.
"Good. So how about we get something to eat? My treat," Red offered.
I dropped my arms to my side and glared at him. "No thanks. I'm not hungry."
His eyes narrowed and he took a step towards me. "Don't be like that."
I stepped back and whipped out my gun. The barrel pointed at it forehead. "Not another step, or you'll regret it," I warned him.
Red paused and frowned. Those dark eyes of his studied me for a second before a goofy grin slipped onto his lips. He held up his palms and stepped back towards the door. "All right, all right, take it easy. It's just me, remember?"
"My pulsing arm makes it hard to forget," I quipped.
He sighed. "Listen, I'm sorry, okay? I just don't want anything bad to happen to you, and that guy will definitely make something bad happen to you."
I lowered the gun, but only just a little. "I can take care of myself."
Red smiled and dropped his arms as he nodded at the gun. "Yeah. I forgot about that little toy of yours. Anyway, let me make it up to you by taking you out so you don't get poisoned by my food. Or I could go out and bring you back something."
I holstered the gun and shook my head. "I'm fine, really. That guy wasn't light, so I think I'll go to bed."
"Suit yourself, but dust don't get so much beauty sleep that you leave me to become Miss Universe," Red teased as he stepped closer to the front door.
I smiled and shrugged. "I can't make any promises."
Red paused at the door and his smile faltered a little. "And don't forget that promise you made me. About staying away from that guy."
I folded my arms and winked at him. "You know me. I always keep my promises."
The corners of his lips curled up and he chuckled. "You're the only person I know who hasn't failed me yet. Anyway, see you later."
"Later," I returned.
Red slipped from the apartment. I waited a few seconds before I grabbed a box of snack crackers from the kitchen and took them to my room. The door had a deadbolt on it. I used it.
I munched on the crackers as I got ready for bed. Red was right. I always kept my promises.
But not when they were made under duress.
My sleep was fitful. I dreamed of green eyes and tall shadows.
When I awoke I found the world was enveloped in a gray wall of fog. The sky was invisible, hidden behind a mass of clouds.
I unlocked my door and stepped out. The apartment was quiet. I opened the fridge. There was the uneaten chicken and a folded note. I opened it and read the message:
Sorry about last night. Hopefully this chicken makes up for some of it. - Red.
I folded the note and sighed. "What would you say if you knew I wouldn't keep my promise?" I murmured.
I forsook the chicken and went for a bowl of cereal. My hazy dreams must have made me sluggish. I left the apartment at ten minutes till nine with a fifteen-minute drive ahead of me. My footsteps pounded down the first flight of stairs, but I slowed to a stop on the fourth floor. I glanced to my right and down the hall. The door to room Twenty-two was shut.
I walked down the hall and stood before the entrance. The silence was deafening. I raised my hand. My knuckles hovered over the door.
I sighed and shook my head. "What am I doing here?" I whispered.
I dropped my hand to my side and turned away. I was going to be late for work.
CHAPTER 7
"Look what the cat dragged in," Elliott commented as I slipped into the mail room five minutes past nine.
"Sorry about that. I lost track of time," I told him.
"Lose track of time a few more times and you'll lose your job," he warned me.
I pursed my lips, but nodded. "Yes, sir."
Elliott grabbed a large cardboard box of envelopes and handed it to me. "Good. Now take this bundle of hate-mail to Reggie before he starts thinking people like him. I'd do it myself, but the damn mail carrier forgot half his shipment at the post office and he's supposed to be coming back any time now."
"Sure."
I trudged to the elevator and stepped inside. A few more people climbed in at the lobby floor and rode up with me for a few levels. One of them was a pair of guys who I recognized worked in the entertainment department.
"So you hear? There's been another sighting of that thing from the lab explosion," one of the guys commented.
"With that large dog?" his companion guessed.
The first man nodded. "Yep. It was seen around 132nd street."
My pulsed quickened. That was only a few blocks from my apartment.
"Why hasn't the dog catcher caught it?" the second man asked the first.
The first man snorted. "You try catching a six-foot tall dog."
The second man whistled. "Is it that big?"
His friend grinned. "Would I lie?"
"Yeah."
"Well, I'm not lying now."
"So why don't you write a story about it? It could sell a lot."
The first man frowned. "Because his Royal Highness won't let me. I tried to get one in the paper two days ago and he nixed it."
"What an idiot. Doesn't he want to keep this paper going?" the second man wondered.
His friend shrugged. "I don't know. I guess he'd rather please the Emperor."
"So there's a Fox angle?" the guy guessed.
"I'm not saying there isn't, but I'm not saying there is, either, if you know what I mean," his friend replied.
The elevator stopped. The men got off and other people replaced them. I continued on my journey, but with troubled thoughts. I couldn't shake the conversation between those two men.
A creature near my apartment the day after I had a strange feeling of being watched. Most people would've brushed off the two as a coincidence, but I didn't believe in those. Not when it came to my doldrum life. My normal life didn't allow for more than one strange occurrence at a time. When two oddities happen within a day of each other, that means they're related.
The elevator reached the top floor. My stop. I stepped out into the lobby of the managers' floor. Here was where the brain factory played God and decided what would be published and what ended up on the cutting room floor. Headlines were buried and gossip was spouted as fact. This was the worst and best of mankind, an information conglomerate of lies and truths.
I jus
t wish I knew which were the lies and which were the truths.
A semi-circular desk stood at the wall opposite the elevators. To my left and right, and in front of me, were long hallways that led to the offices of the managers of each section of the paper. The man I wanted to see, the editor, lay beyond the desk down the central hallway.
But first I had to get past the last line of defense against annoyances: the secretary of the floor, Miss Bao. She was a middle-aged woman of Asian descent who ruled the desk and wielded her power with all the grace and majesty of an angry hippo. Her beady, bespectacled eyes glared at me as I approached her domain.
"Can I help you?" she asked me.
I set the box of hate mail on her desk and jerked my head towards the hall behind her. "Mr. Regis' mail." Reggie was a nicknamed none dare utter in his presence.
Miss Bao stood and pushed her glasses against the bridge of her nose. "Very well. You may leave the mail with-"
"It has to be delivered in person by me. Mr. Booker's orders," I reminded her.
Her twenty years of service to the company had taught her the rules of the company, but never how to follow them. Elliott demanded all mail be delivered in person to avoid blame on the mail department for missing correspondence. It was a cover-your-ass policy that worked for everyone. Everyone, that is, except Miss Bao.
She frowned. "I can-" I pulled the box off the desk and moved around her towards the hall.
"You can tell Mr. Regis I have his mail and I'm coming to deliver it," I called to her.
Reggie's office lay at the end of the hall behind a pair of massive doors. People joked that he was compensating for a pair of something else, but those were people who evidently never met the man. I stopped at the doors and knocked.
"Come in," came a gruff voice.
I pushed open a door with my shoulder and stepped inside the lair of a man obsessed with his job. Cups of coffee littered the tops of the half-dozen file cabinets scattered around the room. A couch to my right sported a thick pillow and blanket. In front of me was a desk covered in papers. Folded newspapers, inked and printed paper, the shiny gloss of magazine paper. The stacks were as high as the stakes in these days of cutthroat competition and falling ad revenue.
The man himself, Regis, sat behind the desk. He was a man of sixty with a balding head and a clean-shaven face. His constantly-narrow eyes watched everyone like a hawk prepared to strike its prey at a moment's notice. His eyes flickered up from a stack of papers for a moment before they returned to his work.