Marked for Vengeance (Book One: The Alyx Rayer Chronicles)

by Pierce, SJ

  His cheeks flushed red.

  She poked her finger into his shoulder. “See, I told you! It was that girl.”

  He ripped the receipt from the register and headed for his table. “Alright, you win, but she didn’t act a bit interested in me so it’s a moot point.”

  Tanya thumped him in the arm as he passed. “That’s because you can’t read women, stupid. She acted more nervous than a whore in church.”

  “Nice, Tanya.”

  “Look, all I’m trying to say is the next time you see her, you need to get on it. She won’t refuse. Believe me.”

  “Well, that’s if I see her again.”

  * * *

  The events at lunch rendered Alyx useless the rest of the afternoon. Her plans to get her mind off of her daunting circumstances had backfired. Big time. The impression Isaac had made on her was as seemingly permanent as the tiny holes he had left in her newly pierced heart. She found that her resolution to let go of him for good slowly deteriorated, and if she didn’t get it under control again, her plans to commit to Benjamin would eventually do the same.

  Every time she closed her eyes, she saw him looking at her for the first time and her stomach would flutter like a million tiny butterfly wings. She would then glance at Benjamin’s picture beside her computer and a wave of guilt crashed into her. She felt as though she might smother as she sat there, helpless at her desk, where her emotional juggling failed miserably.

  Up until seeing him at the bistro, her decision to give up the rooftop nights seemed liked the right thing to do – the smart thing to do – but she couldn’t find that same peace about it now. Shouldn’t she be happy that her handsome, doting boyfriend wanted her to commit and move in with him? Wasn’t that the right way to feel? What’s wrong with me?

  She sent Frederick an email two hours before her leave time to request the rest of the day off, to which he obliged. She shouldn’t be there. They basically paid her to mull. Plus, if she left early, she could avoid Cindra’s interrogation over what happened at lunch.

  She grabbed her purse from the drawer and waited for her friend to head to the break room for her afternoon snack craving. While hugging her purse to her stomach, she glanced down at the clock on her computer screen. One thirty-two. She’s two minutes behind schedule. Her heels rapidly tapped against the floor as she stared at Cindra’s cube, and she finally saw her blonde hair peek over the top of the wall. Her hands flung in the air in lively gestures as she chattered with her cube mate Erica.

  Come on! Alyx thought, tapping her feet faster.

  Cindra then rounded her cubical wall and made her way to the break room with her orange in hand. There she goes.

  Alyx made a run for it, her office chair spinning in her wake.

  “Where are you off to?” Mona griped behind her, but she didn’t slow down. She needed to get out of there.

  Her drive home over the wet pavement proved more eventful than work, thanks to her distant, preoccupied mind. When she pulled out of the parking lot, her back, right tire ran up over the curb, scraping the hubcap, and as she cussed her oversight she slammed on the brakes, the pedestrian who strolled through the crosswalk reminding her with a not-so-kind gesture that it was not her turn to go.

  When she finally, and safely, made it home, she dumped her bags at the front door and headed for the bedroom. Her phone beeped as she made her way there, and she paused by the kitchen to dig it from her purse. A text from Cindra. You ditched out early, huh? Lol Call me later, I want to talk to you about your “moment” at lunch.

  She rolled her eyes and pressed the power button. All she wanted was some time to relax, and conjuring up an explanation for her friend wouldn’t accomplish that.

  As soon as she crashed through her bedroom door, she yawned deeply. Between the late, emotional night with Benjamin, the stalker that morning, and seeing Isaac at lunch, she felt indisputably drained. Not bothering to find pajamas, she stripped down to nothing and slid into bed. Her mind floated away into the darkness before her head hit the pillow.

  * * *

  After his shift, Isaac made his way to the grocery store in search of something quick for dinner. This was his usual routine on Monday’s since Micah stayed after school for Beta club with Jordan, and Carla picked them up to take them to eat before bringing him home. Maybe a frozen pizza tonight, he thought with his hands clinched inside his jacket pockets. He forgot his gloves that morning, and the sun was intent on hiding behind the clouds, the daylight ineffective at keeping the cold away.

  Halfway down the first block, something lightly tapped him on the hair and rolled its way to his scalp and onto his forehead. Rain. His usual stroll picked up to a jog because he had forgotten his umbrella as well, and when he made it through the sliding double doors of the store, he shook the rain from his jacket.

  As he meandered through the isles of frozen food, his mind wandered back to the woman at the bistro. It could have been wishful thinking, but he had to admit now that Tanya was probably right. Even though the woman appeared reserved, nervousness lurked beneath her hesitant gaze. Maybe he was too busy studying her other features to really notice. Or give it a second thought. At the time, all of his thoughts revolved around her allure.

  Isaac stared at his reflection on the freezer door and ran his fingers through his damp hair. Is it possible that she was attracted to me too? he wondered, and a spark flickered inside. He hadn’t been interested in a woman like that since he met his late wife, and he almost forgot what it felt like. He didn’t know if he would ever see her again, but was thankful they had crossed paths however awkward it was. He now realized that being a widower the rest of his life wasn’t his fate. Thank you, God, and thank you, mystery woman.

  With his personal-sized meat pizza and six pack of soda in tow, he made his way home over the flooded sidewalks. Despite the rain saturating him from his head down to his black Converses, the new ‘spark’ inspired a glow about him as he whistled the song that had blared over the grocery store intercom. He now had hope, something that he hadn’t had in a long time.

  His life with Micah the past five years had been fulfilling, but very trying. Raising a child on his own after the death of his soul mate challenged his sanity, to say the least. Not only had he attempted to work through his own grief, but he still had to be functional enough to take care of Micah who needed help carrying his grief, as well. He felt confident that they had already been through the worst of it, but there had always been the lingering notion that his life would never be what it was. He still wasn’t convinced of that, but at least he had hope.

  He kicked off his soggy shoes just inside the front door. The arches of his feet ached from standing on them all day. He hobbled to the kitchen to warm his pizza in the oven and turned on the TV with the remote.

  Still whistling, he stripped his wet clothes and threw them into the hamper under the staircase. To rid the smell of freshly baked bread and cold cuts that had fused with his skin, he showered off and slipped into a pair of old sweatpants and a faded U2 t-shirt. He tousled his wet hair as he checked the timer on the oven. His frozen meal would take twenty more minutes to bake. Not wanting to forget about his soaked clothes in the hamper that would ultimately sour, he dumped the contents into a white clothes basket and slid his feet into a pair of flip flops.

  He stepped off of the elevator into the dimly lit hallway of the basement and walked toward the laundry mat with a spring in his step. He enjoyed doing laundry this early in the day before the nine-to-fivers made it home – finding an empty washing machine was never an issue.

  Once inside the rectangular room, he opened the lid to the washer in the back right corner and dumped the clothes and detergent in. Their clothes would take a good half hour to wash, so he whirled back around to head for his flat. When he approached the door, someone turned the corner and paused, blocking his only exit.

  The man in the black suit.

  His hands released the basket, and it fell to the floor with a ho
llow thud. “You scared the shit out of me!” he snapped as his hand flew to his chest.

  Unresponsive to his scolding, the man continued to stand in the doorway, his eyes blazing into him, and Isaac’s feet shifted side to side with nervous energy. If the man were there to harm him, Isaac stood in a bad location within the room -- literally cornered.

  His son’s voice echoed through his mind. There’s something ‘off’ about him, dad. He definitely had to agree now. Before, he couldn’t pinpoint what the look on his face reminded him of, but now that they were face to face with no distractions around them, he could get a better read. A disconnect rested within them, suggestive of sleep walking, or perhaps something a little more sinister.

  “You come to wash clothes?” Isaac asked in a weak attempt to break the ice. Although, he already knew the answer.

  The man still wouldn’t respond, his eyes remaining fixated.

  Isaac knelt to grab the basket, and when he straightened, the doorway was empty.

  He hurried to the threshold and peered around the corner, expecting to see his black suit walking toward the elevators, but he was nowhere to be seen. There were no footsteps or anything else to suggest he was ever even there. A shiver ran through him. Creepy lad, that one.

  Reluctant to walk down the hallway alone, he leaned against the door frame and thought over the past five years, how he should have gotten to know the other tenants there. Rachel was always better at reaching out to others than he, and since her passing there were a lot of people to come and go from the complex. If he hadn’t been so absorbed with his own life, he would feel comfortable asking his neighbors if they knew who he was and what he was like, and if he was as rude to them as he was to him. The only thing he did know was that he irrefutably gave him the willies. And with each encounter came the growing suspicion that he singled him out for some reason.

  Worried that his pizza had burned into a hard brick of charcoal by now, he made a bee line for the elevator with the empty basket tucked under his arm. When he came to their flat, his flip flops skidded to a stop. Their door was open.

  It was only cracked an inch, but enough to raise suspicions. He didn’t leave it that way, at least he didn’t recall it, and it wasn’t time for Micah to be home. As he ran through the possibilities in his mind, a sudden dread climbed his throat, closing it tight. I didn’t lock it.

  He nudged the large, metal door with the basket and it creaked open.

  Thump.

  It hit the wall just hard enough to make a sound. He smacked his forehead with the palm of his hand. Effin’ idiot, I am. He might as well have announced his arrival through a bullhorn.

  His wide eyes searched the living room. He didn’t see anyone, and everything remained in its rightful place, but he was leery all the same. Crouched over with his senses on high alert, he crept through the flat as his eyes darted in every direction to look for any sudden movements.

  The oven buzzer and the TV were the only noises heard, only slightly above his racing heart as his imagination ran wild with whom the intruder could have been. Was it the man in the black suit that hadn’t finished terrorizing him yet? Were there more than one of him? Was it a thief or a bum from the street looking for some valuables or food? Rachel used to tell him that his highly active imagination as an artist worked against him in these types of scenarios, but he reasoned that being overly cautious meant the difference in living and dying.

  He stopped in the center of the living room and peered up to Micah’s loft. He couldn’t see the whole room, but from what he could tell, nobody lingered there.

  As he made his way toward the kitchen, he thought of the movie he and Micah had watched the night before where a man came home to a serial killer who hid in the kitchen behind the cabinets with a knife, waiting for the perfect moment to pounce and slit his throat. Isaac’s hand clasped his neck, and he gulped from the imagery. If whoever had broken in meant him harm, he had nothing to defend himself with except the plastic laundry basket he held under his arm. He gently sat it on the floor and looked around for something to use as a weapon, but their flimsy IKEA lamps and picture frames would hardly do any damage. All he had were his fists. He balled them in front of his face and inched toward the kitchen.

  When he came to the corner of the cabinets, he paused and forced another gulp down. He swore he heard someone breathing above the buzzer and just knew this was their moment of confrontation. He lifted his left foot from the ground to jump into the opening -- so he would at least have some element of surprise -- and leapt into the air. His flip flops hit the ground with a smack, and he scanned the room. Nobody awaited him. Everything was in place. He let out a sigh and made his way toward the bathroom, his fists still ready for a possible altercation.

  When he made it to the door frame, his imagination ran away with him again. The breaking news story that morning as he dropped Micah off at school was about a crazed, homeless person who had broken into a lady’s home and helped himself to a soak in her tub. She came home early from work, and he strangulated her with the shower curtain. Her body wasn’t found until days later.

  His heartbeat accelerated at the thought of Micah coming home to find his father lying on the floor, blue in the face. If anything happened to him, his son would be placed in a foster home. There were no living relatives except his dying grandfather to take care of him.

  He tiptoed to the knife drawer in the kitchen as sweat trickled down his temples and pulled a serrated bread knife from underneath the cheese grater. The long, dull blade wasn’t an ideal weapon but would do more damage than his fists. He rushed back to the open bathroom door and closed his eyes. Here goes nothin’.

  He shot off of the floor again and into the center of the room, landing squarely on the shaggy bathroom rug. The open shower curtain revealed that his fears were again for naught.

  Now that he knew the main rooms of the flat were clear of any threats, he felt confident that everything was alright, but couldn’t rest until he laid his eyes on every inch of the house.

  He slid open the studio door. All of his paintings and utensils were accounted for and in tact. The closet in the living room was untouched, as well. He wiped the sweat from his face with his shirt and carried the knife back to its rightful home. I must not have closed the door all the way, he surmised and shut all of the doors and drawers before pulling his overdone dinner from the oven with a dishtowel.

  As he crunched on his pizza in front of the TV, he thought back to the other night when Micah’s disturbing dream woke him from his slumber. He would definitely not tell him about any of this.

  * * *

  Alyx stirred awake and glanced at the alarm clock. Eight o’clock. Her nap had turned into a five hour snooze-fest. To strengthen her now dwindling decision to move in with Benjamin, she looked around her bedroom while contemplating what it would be like to not live there anymore. She loved her apartment. It was the first place of her very own, but Benjamin’s had plenty of room for the two of them and was in a better location. Her only worry was that no matter how many square footage they shared, she would eventually become claustrophobic. Will he smother me? she worried. Will he want to know where I am every second? Even if she didn’t give up her rooftop nights, attempting to explain away her missing hours throughout the night would undoubtedly cause rifts between them. Something she hadn’t had to worry about until now.

  But it wasn’t just about the rooftop nights. She also worried that his jealousy would fortify once they shared an abode. That he would begin to think of her as one of the fine home furnishings he possessed. If she were out with Cindra on a girl’s night, would he still wonder where she was and speculate as to what she was really doing? Despite her ponderings having the exact opposite effect on what she tried to accomplish, there would only be one way to find the answers to these troubling questions – to take the plunge as she had promised the night prior.

  Her thoughts then snapped to Isaac, how her desire had become intertwined to her instinc
tual draw toward him. With the right mindset, her desire could hopefully be tamed, but her draw was something that could not. If she could only pry them apart again, her life wouldn’t be as complicated. The only way to do that would be to suffocate the desire again, to tame the lion her desire bred three months ago. It might always lurk somewhere in the darkness of her troubled mind, but a timid kitten was easier to manage. In theory.

  Tonight’s the night, she surmised. She would visit the rooftop one last time to say her goodbyes. Even if she had never known Benjamin and her relationship with him wasn’t at stake, it needed to be done.

  She rolled out of bed and pulled on an old pair of jeans and a hooded sweatshirt. She grabbed her purse, binoculars, a camera, and a bottle of wine from the wine rack. “I’m going out with a bang,” she avowed and slipped into her tennis shoes. Because this was the last hurrah, she would walk the whole way there to savor the moment. She would only see him again after this if she were called upon to fulfill her duty, which if history repeated itself, wouldn’t be an issue.

  She made it to the building with impeccable timing, climbed through the window and up the stairs as usual. She slid the wine bottle from her purse and uncorked it as she walked to the edge. The darkness of his window divulged the callous truth -- he wasn’t painting tonight. She snickered as she glanced up at the heavens. “That’s what I get, huh?”

  Her lips encased the opening of the wine bottle, and she turned it up for a long, comforting swig. The scarlet liquid slid down her throat, warming her belly, and she settled onto the concrete to enjoy the atmosphere one last time.

  There was nothing particularly charming about the roof of the old abandoned building, but it was a place she would forever hold fond memories of. It was the place where she first experienced true desire. If it weren’t for Isaac, she would have never known those places within her heart ever existed. No wonder the human race sought after love so earnestly, so madly, even.

  She crossed her legs and held the bottle in the air, swirling it around by the neck. As she observed the graceful way it spun within the bottle, she thought about how her drinking had worsened since first visiting the rooftop. It became quite clear that she drank now, not purely for enjoyment as it once had been, but to subdue the nagging remembrance of what she could not have. Tonight was no exception. It was only appropriate that she drank, and the more she did the warmer she felt. She would stay as long as she wanted to, even if it meant she were there till dawn. Nobody waited at home for her return. Although tonight, disappointingly enough, there weren’t even stars she could gaze at. The storm clouds lingered, persistent to keep the stars’ sparkling lights hidden. The darker than usual atmosphere seemed appropriate, however, as it mirrored the grief the wine helped hold at bay.