by Lewis Aleman
They’re plotting or already acting. Roderick must have them in a furor. Impossible to stop them all.
Worst part—I have no plan.
My God, I hope she’s still alive at the end of the day.
When I walked into the 4th floor classroom, no one was hanging from the ceiling, no desks were overturned, and no hell had been literally raised, at least none that left any evidence. In fact, they actually came to order with just an exhausted growl from me.
Bizarre.
They never listen to me the first time I say anything. I’m 19, a student teacher working with a group of seniors, and 2 of the girls who are in their 2nd round of 12th Grade were in a P.E. class with me 3 years ago. Why should they listen to me? If I hadn’t skipped a grade and taken summer classes, I’d never be here this young—probably the youngest student teacher they’ve ever seen.
Discipline’s not my big strength either. Teaching literature is what I love. Good characters, beautiful writing—people risking it all for love, dying to save someone else—these things don’t seem to happen anymore, but they happen in books. That’s why I could talk about literature all day long. Telling Johnny he can’t touch his classmate with the same finger he just shoved up his left nostril or telling Suzie I can see her cheat sheet in the strap of her bra are things I could go my whole life never having done and feel perfectly fine. I really could. But, I have to do them. It’s my job. The students know I hate correcting them, and they push me because of it.
So, why are they listening to me now? Why are they behaving on a Friday when no teacher was here at the start of class?
Could it be that they know that if I’m late something has to be wrong? I just wanted to make it impossible for Lyle to corner me before class and talk about last night, so I was late on purpose for school for the first time in my life. Don’t know what the hell was happening last night—hard to believe things I saw, but I definitely don’t want to talk about it. Don’t really want to talk about anything with Lyle. Not today.
Maybe they can see it all on my face. Can they see I’ve been awake all night? Can they see the fear? Can they see I’ve lost my best friend to this craziness? Can they see I’m confused, angry, and crushed that I was so teased by a gorgeous stranger who risked his life to save me—a kiss that still makes my lips tremble?
Am I so changed by meeting him that they can see it on my face? Do I look so broken that they pity me?
His face is still in my head. His eyes. Those arms. That body…still in school—still in school. Focus.
Wouldn’t trade those dances with him for anything. Hope I always remember how it felt to move with him. The taunt of it stings, but even a glimpse of the real thing is better than nothing—better than never having a taste of it at all. The hard part is knowing I’ve never felt anything like it and may never know it again. But he—they did things that don’t seem human. Not possible.
Don’t even know if he made it out alive.
A scent floats in the weak, early autumn breeze. Familiar and revolting. Know it well. Prayed they wouldn’t find her, but they’re near now. I know I should run. Impossible to beat them all. I can smell at least three of them.
Sound of two feet dropping down behind me.
“Hi there, Bright Eyes.”
My heart leaps. Raspy, the right words, but the tone’s not what I remember. Fear and joy mix. Please let it be him. Turn around.
Awful.
“Disappointed, are we? No, I’m not your lover boy. He only stays around for the party. He has no use for you now.”
Turn and run. Expecting Gray—hoping for Gray. Smacked with blonde-ponytail Roderick. No Gray. No joy. Doom.
Two men stand in the parking lot, arms folded, staring at me—the same two goons from the stage last night. How are they standing after all that happened? No marks on them.
In almost a laughter, Roderick calls from behind me, “Running is pointless, love. No need to run—we don’t want much. Just where Ambrosia is.”
I turn away from the two goons to face him again.
“It’s that simple—tell us where she is, and no one needs to get hurt.”
Mind races. Only half an idea. Hope it works.
“She’s here,” trying to hide the trembling in my voice.
“What? Here—why?”
“In security office,” nodding my head toward the school building I just walked out of a few moments ago, “Figured she’d be safe here with them. I set it up for her.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“My dear, my dear, my dear,” he sighs walking beside me, then sniffing over my shoulder as he begins pacing a circle around me, “Now, you wouldn’t be trying to send us to the security office because it’s the one place around here with trained professionals, would you?” Looking into my eyes, he pushes deeper, “Would you, Miss Ruby?”
My chest runs cold hearing him say my name—I never said my name last night—not even to Gray.
Standing so close to me, his smell fills my nostrils. His odor is like Gray’s wonderful scent if it were left to rot in the sun for weeks and mixed with body odor and urine.
He continues, “Because if we go up there and Ambrosia’s not there, I might get angry. If I get angry, I may feel the need to tear apart some trained professionals. Now, you wouldn’t be sending those innocent, trained guards to their deaths by lying to protect a spoiled, blue-haired party girl who surely wouldn’t risk herself to save them? Or,” he laughs, “for that matter, you don’t believe for a second that she’d be risking herself to save you, do you?”
He chuckles, and it stings through my ears.
“She might.”
“She would never. I know her kind—know her in ways you’ll never know. She only cares for herself—an attention whore. She’d lead us right to you just to be the queen of the hunt. Just because she’d be the center of attention. Just because it’d make us all need her.”
His words are twisted—one side with a sad truth, the other a lie. Wrapped and twirled around—it’s hard to pick the thorny lies out of the mess that spews from his mouth.
Finally I answer, “You’re wrong.”
“Am I? Is that why you hesitated?”
“Only hesitated to keep myself from vomiting from your stench.”
His nose is to mine before the last syllable completely escapes. He raises his upper lip in a snarl, exposing those cobra-like fangs.
“Pretty may be something a girl is born with,” pausing to tap his pointed fingernails that reek of rotten meat on my neck, “but it’s oh…so…easy to take away.”
A gasp escapes without my permission.
“That’s right, Ruby—be afraid. I won’t warn you twice. Now, where is your slut of a friend?”
Anger burns in me. Slut. How dare he?
“Come closer, and I’ll tell you.”
Grinning wickedly as he puts his ear before my mouth.
I say, “She’s in a little place I like to call Go Fu—”
Before I can finish the vulgar statement, a blur of gray and black lunges from the rooftop, crashing a boot into the backside of Roderick’s head, sending him rocketing to the ground. Gray’s arm lands gently on my back, spinning me around toward the goons charging at us.
Gray steps forward—Goon on his left throws a punch. Gray blocks it with a backhanded punch smashing into the Goon’s elbow fiercely, causing a loud crack. The elbow flops backward, and Gray lands a fist square in the nose, sending the attacker to a knee and the vulgar word that I didn’t get to say earlier spewing from his mouth.
The other Goon throws a punch at the back of Gray’s head. Gray sees it coming and dodges enough to make it a glancing blow across his ear and temple. Quickly, Gray kicks at the side of Goon #2’s knee, creating an even louder snap.
As the second Goon falls to the ground, Gray turns to me.
On the dance floor last night, his movements were beautiful, so fast that they were a little scary. While they still may b
e beautiful in some way and they’re saving my life, his actions are terrifying now.
Passion and adrenaline cover his face.
My veins race with fear of the three that are on the ground, but my heart trembles more at what Gray will say.
Our eyes lock. Just like last night. Peaceful and electrifying at the same time, even at a moment when three thugs are trying to kill me.
In a flash, Gray steps forward and thrusts his hand against my upper chest, shoving me fast but gently to the side. Roderick’s fingernails tear into Gray’s cheek. Fraction of a second later, and those nails would’ve torn into me. Blood. Arms fling in a blur. Gray blur moves faster.
Roderick drops to a knee, and peering around Gray, he shouts, “Get up and fight!”
The two goons struggle to their feet, coming toward us—one of them wincing with every step.
Blue eyes return to me. Pained eyes. Lips tense. A word is coming.
“Run!”
Same word he told me last. The one person I want to run to keeps telling me to run away.
He sends an elbow flying at the first goon. It’s blocked, and the second goon punches him from behind. Gray flings his head backward, nailing the stumbling goon behind him with a headbutt. With a leg sweep, he sends the first goon to the ground.
“I can’t win this. Run! Now!” Gray shouts.
He reaches out, grabs my wrist, and pulls me toward him. He drags me to where he stands, and I run past the goons on the ground toward my car in the parking lot. Look back—Roderick’s fist slams into the fingernail wounds on Gray’s cheek.
“Run,” is the last word I hear out of his bloody mouth.
I see no more of the fight as my legs race as fast as they can. There is a thundering crash, and I hear Roderick cursing.
My legs pump up and down for survival—my tears run for the nameless Gray who faces hell for the second time so I can escape.
Chapter V
Quick Cup of Coffee
“You have to come with me now,” says the male dream before me.
He came upon me like a gray breeze, unexpected, origin unknown, and tingling over my body before I knew he was near. He stands at the edge of the wrought iron table, his shadow covering the coffee cup in my hand.
I fled here after escaping the fight—thinking it wasn’t safe to go home. Too crazy to go to the police. A cup of coffee and lots of other people around were the best I could come up with. Forty minutes later—he’s found me again.
His right cheek is torn in the shape of four fingernails, but it no longer bleeds. Faint bruises mark the corner of his left eye and temple. Even battered, he looks stunning.
I desperately try to think of something to say that doesn’t make me sound as hopelessly mesmerized as I am with him and that also doesn’t reveal just how petrified I am by all of this. I hide my shaking hand on my lap, hoping he hasn’t seen it.
Still not coming up with anything witty, I take a sip of my coffee.
He says, “You’re in serious danger—you have to come with me now.”
Pulling my cup away from my mouth, I say, “I know caffeine’s not good for me, but I’d hardly say it’s a life or death thing.”
He looks at me intently like he’s scanning my inner being, “That’s funny, Ruby, and forgive me for being so curt, but what hunts you has no use for humor—and if you want to live, neither can we.”
“How did you know my name?” spills out of my mouth.
For the first time since we’ve crossed paths, he blushes and looks away from me.
I continue, “That Roderick guy knew my name too. What the hell is going on with all of you?”
“He’s dangerous, and he’s after you. We need to leave.”
“How do I know you’re not dangerous? I don’t even know your name.”
“Simon. My name is Simon.”
I fight the smile that begins to form at the sound of his name.
“Well, Simon,” my mouth alive as if being kissed at saying his name for the first time, “all I’ve seen is a lot of dancing and some crazy fighting. How do I know you’re not just as dangerous as he is?”
“Because I’m the one who’s been rescuing you.”
“All that means is that you’re after me too. All this could be about you trying to get to Ambrosia. Maybe you’re both fighting each other for her.”
“If I wanted her, I would’ve grabbed her last night. I told her to run, remember?”
Bite my bottom lip and nod.
“Still haven’t answered my question. My name—how do you know it?”
He looks away again. I could swear the bruises by his eye are fading.
“If you want me to believe you, you’ve got to look at me and tell me.”
His eyes quiver nervously, but he aims them at mine and speaks, “The DJ—his name’s Mark. I never gave you your phone back after he tossed it back down to me,” he pauses and exhales heavily, “Knew they’d be after you. Brought the phone to Mark—he thinks he’s some kind of a techno guru. Thinks he’s in The Matrix or something. All of his electronics glow with blue lights. But Mark came through. He traced your name and address from the phone number. Found out where you go to college.”
“So you enlisted a cyberpunk to track me down?”
Embarrassment comes over him, but in a millisecond, he regains composure, “As good as you smelled, it’s a big city to track you down by your fragrance—as sweet as it may be.”
Feeling the blood rushing to my face, I tap his hand, and change the subject, “So, that explains how you found me earlier. How did you find me here?”
“Your car looks like a convertible rabbit. It’s not that hard to find.”
I grin. My white Karmen Ghia. One of my only possessions that makes me smile.
His face drops all signs of amusement, “We need to leave now. Won’t take them long to find you either.”
“Wait a minute—I need some answers.”
“Don’t have time.”
“You seemed to be able to handle them fine last night and today—what’s the hurry? Why would they rush after you to get beat up again?”
“Not that easy. I hit two of them from behind with stools to the back of their heads—fire took care of Roderick.”
“And today?”
“Jumped off the roof and sucker-punched, well sucker-kicked, Roderick to the side of his head to start with. Barely held them off long enough for you to get away.”
“You’ve held them off so far. Why run?”
Shaking his head, “You just don’t get it. It was only three of them, and I got lucky.”
“What do you mean only three of them?”
“If there were three at the high school, there was at least one waiting at your house, another at your college, one everywhere they’ve figured out that you go.”
“Lucky I picked a new coffee shop today.”
“Luckier than you can imagine. Lucky now—lucky last night—lucky at the school.”
“What happened at the school—after I left?”
“I got in some good shots, but they beat me down to a knee and left.”
“They just left?”
“They’re not after me, remember?”
“Ambrosia,” the word whispers out of my mouth.
“No, they’re looking for you to get to Ambrosia. They can’t find her.”
“Of course they can’t; she’s—”
His arm jets across the table and presses a finger over my lips. Shaking his head solemnly, “Don’t even say it.”
Not fond of being shushed and having had it with this crazy, violent game they’re playing that somehow involves me—all the frustration and stress, of the sleepless last night and the violent morning after, well up and flood me, words bursting out like shrapnel from a cannon barrel.
“How the hell do you fight like that and not get hurt? That part of the roof is two stories high! How did you not break your neck?”
He starts to speak, but my verbal barrage
continues to bombard him.
“Why did Roderick stick his arm through the flames at us? What kind of psychopath burns himself like that? What are you guys—a bunch of psychiotic wanna-be ninjas?”
“It’s…it’s because…” he pauses and exhales loudly.
I take a sip of my mocha latte.
As soon as I move the oversized mug from my mouth, I see he has leaned across the table with his lips nearly touching my ear.
“It’s because I’m a vampire.”
Coffee gushes out my mouth, shooting across the table and dripping through its wrought iron holes down to the concrete ground that I suddenly can’t look away from.
His words were serious, which prevents me from looking at him. Never look at him the same again.
My heart cracks. He’s gorgeous, he’s into me, and he’s completely nuts. Taking a last look before I leave him forever, I glance over the rigidity of his cheekbone, sliding my gaze down its perfectly carved slope.
“Oh, my God! Your marks are gone! The scratches on your face are gone!”
Before I realize how loud I was just shouting, his extended fingertip pushes against my lips again.
“Shhhh. That’s what I was just trying to tell you.”
He looks around at the many people staring at us. He stares them down one by one—none of them hold their eyes on him for more than a few seconds under his intense watch.
Looking back to me and slowly sitting down in the chair across from me, he says in the strongest of whispers, “Didn’t you notice Roderick’s arm was almost completely healed this morning? He burned the flesh pretty bad last night.”
“Didn’t notice—was kinda focused on trying to not be killed actually,” my voice shaking.
A dessert plate falls off a nearby table and crashes to the concrete patio floor. At the sound, Simon jumps to his feet, knocking his chair over backward and flinging his fingers out like the serrated paw of a startled tiger.
Turning back to me, he leans over the table, ignoring the bewildered stares that are upon him once again. His glorious azure eyes line up with my own—his tender lips mere inches away from where I’d still love them to be.