by KD Knight
I handed the vendor the money. I hadn't yet released the bills when a sudden movement to my right caught my attention. I looked over my shoulder and saw Nadya's signature brown dyed hair. She had her back to me and the phone to her ear. She was standing close to someone in a dark cap with short brown curls spilling out from the cap’s edges.
I know that sometimes all it takes is one person to change the nature of a relationship by being the bigger person and extending an olive branch. I'd already tried to be that person. So, I turned back around, held my Callaloo firmly in hand and waited patiently for my change.
I glanced at Nadya one last time; she was applying a fresh coat of lip gloss to her already plastered lips. There was something odd about this scene that I couldn't quite catch. It was like that game where you’re given two identical pictures and you had to figure out what was different. It was always something small like a missing line or an extra petal on a flower. I was never particularly good at that puzzle. I'd eventually find all the differences, but it usually took me awhile.
It wasn't that difficult to tell what was different about Nadya though. I knew her type. I met a new Nadya at each new school I attended. So I knew it wasn't her made up face or fried and dyed hair. It wasn't the three inch heals she decided to wear on this rocky and uneven terrain. It was her. Why is the patty princess at the market mingling with us foreignas and common folk?
When I turned back to get my change from the vendor, I was struck by the sudden appearance of a thin, short, hairy man. He stood hunched over a table where he roughly sorted through a pile of tomatoes. He reminded me of a wild dog. He had a scraggly beard, each hair sticking out like the course bristles of a brush. Every hair in his eyebrow went off in its own direction. As he picked up and tossed a tomato, I realized that the thick bristly hairs were also on the back of his hands.
"Can you hurry?" I asked the vendor.
I watched him carefully through the corner of my eye. I needed to see his face. Were his eyes red like Marcus’? Was he a Nephilim? My heart started to race.
Getting a glimpse of his eyes was not going to be easy since he kept his head hung low. He caught the attention of the vendor and a few nearby shoppers when he began to squeeze the tomatoes between his narrow fingers. I watched as the red juice ran through the seams of his tight fist. Then suddenly, he stopped. On the table, he had made a small hollow circle surrounded by a mound of tomatoes. He smiled hungrily as he reached into the centre and rested his hand on a perfectly round blood red tomato.
"I've seen you somewhere before," He said without looking up. His voice was deep and abrasive. It reminded me of steel wool against an iron pot.
"Excuse me," I said to the vendor, "forget the change. It's okay."
The vendor was exchanging money with a woman from the neighbouring stall and motioned for me to wait. My mind screamed for me to run.
"Aren't you curious as to how I know you?" The dog-man continued. He tilted his head, allowing me a look at his eyes. His eyes were wild, but not red. They looked yellow as if he had a bad case of jaundice. There was something especially eerie about his black dilated pupils against the yellow backdrop. He raised the tomato to his nose, closed his eyes and inhaled deeply.
"If you are talking to me, the answer is no," I responded curtly. My chest began to burn like I had a sudden case of heartburn, except it felt like it came from somewhere far deeper than my chest. I searched my pockets for my inhaler.
"I've seen you in a picture." His lips retracted to reveal sharp canine teeth as they pierced the tender flesh of the tomato.
"This one," he said, holding up a candid shot of me standing beside Boothe's car.
This picture had been taken on school grounds.
"Where did you get this?"
He curled his clawed fingernails around the picture crushing it in his hand.
Just then, the shop owner came around the table holding a broomstick high in his hand. He yelled at the hairy man for stealing his tomatoes and demanded payment for his entire stock of damaged goods.
The hairy man looked back at the vendor and pulled back his lips giving him a complete view of his razor sharp teeth. There was a low growl that rose from his chest, like one a dog gives as a warning he's about to attack. He wrapped his hand around the edge of the table and with one swift movement flipped the table into the air. Carrots and sweet peppers flew high into the air and everyone began to scream and scramble for cover.
I was off running before the table hit the ground. I ran hard, in no certain direction. But no matter how hard I ran, and in which direction I turned, I could hear the low growl of the hairy man panting behind me.
His eyes didn't change colour was all that ran through my mind as I took sharp turns through the chaotic market. His eyes didn't change colour.
My chest burned but I couldn't stop. The hairy-man was close. Every time he growled the hairs on the back of my neck stood on edge. I took a few quick lefts and a sudden right and ducked behind a large blue plastic sheet that covered an empty stall.
My asthma was raging. I frantically searched for and found my inhaler. I took two deep pulls but nothing happened. The pressure against my chest felt like it would crush my lungs.
I peeked around and spotted him a short distance away. He was on all fours sniffing the ground like a wild dog. He looked in my direction and charged ahead. I didn't have time to sit and allow the asthma medication to work. I took off running.
He was close behind me, moving forward using a combination of his legs and arms to propel him. I turned down a narrow strip lined with unattended stations. Standing in the middle, twirling her hair as she talked on the phone was Nadya. I tried to slow my momentum, but it was too late to avoid the collision. I ran right into her. We rolled together along the ground and stopped at the base of a table. I rolled over onto my stomach, searching frantically for any signs of the hairy man. Not seeing him, I carefully rose to my feet.
Nadya on the other hand jumped up quickly and began dusting the dirt off her clothing. "Foreigna!" She seethed as she removed a twig from her hair.
"Nadya, run! Get out of here now!" My voice was hoarse and breathless.
"You are nobody to be giving me orders," she scowled.
"Stop being so stubborn! If you stay here you'll get hurt."
"Are you threatening me?"
"Nadya, just stop. Don't you see what's going on here?" I was sincerely surprised. "The market is empty. People have abandoned their stalls and all their produce. Ask yourself why."
She looked around for a moment taking full stock of the barren pathways. Panic suddenly registered in her eyes. She blinked rapidly as she folded her arms across her chest.
"I see exactly what's going on," she said, curling her top lip. "I see right through your innocent damsel in distress routine that Boothe fell for. Mark my words, foreigna, this is not over."
She stormed away cursing loudly and continuing her threats of retaliation. Any threat Nadya spewed was nothing compared to what was chasing me.
I had to get out of the market. I should have followed Nadya. She has probably reached the exit by now. I ran down various pathways, turning corners and ducking under vacant stalls hoping to stumble on a way out. I stopped to catch my breath when I reached a small clearing at the corner of the market. The space was no bigger than an alley between two buildings. There were no stalls in this area, just a brick wall on my right and the back of a trailer on my left. Blocking my exit was a large fence with barbed wire spiralled around the top. I could see freedom on the other side of the fence. That barbed wire turned my potential freedom into a death trap. I turned to leave but the hairy man, still hunched on all fours, blocked my exit. He growled, exposing his sharp weapons that passed for teeth.
I swallowed the lump of terror that rose in my throat. "Please don't do this," I pleaded.
He crawled towards me, slowly. He had a cruel but satisfied expression as he growled. "The reward money is mine. The praise is mine."
/> The burning feeling that began by the Callaloo stall intensified. My chest felt like a hot pressure cooker in which the steam had been building without release. I fell to my knees, bracing my hands on the ground. The soil felt soft and welcoming, pulling me in deeper. My mind felt calm and free. I rubbed my palms through the rich dirt and allowed the tranquil feeling to take over. As I clenched my fists around the soft earth, the ground mimicked my movements rolling up like a carpet. I released my fist and the ground rolled like tidal wave toward the hairy man. He staggered back, stunned.
He let out a low, chesty growl and lunged forward. Instinctively, I pulled my arms over my face. The ground again followed my movements. Two large boulders formed from the hard earth. They came together forcefully, crushing the hairy man in the middle. He let out a long, painful whimper then fell limp. I relaxed my arms. The ground relaxed, falling into piles of loose dirt. My chest felt better. The pressure was gone.
I passed the hairy man lying on the ground. Hesitantly, I kicked his foot to make sure he wasn't getting up.
"Jane!" Aunt Dar yelled as she ran toward me. "I lost you in the crowd," she said panting. "I'm so sorry. Are you okay? What happened?" She hugged me with both panic and relief. "Let me look at you."
"I'm okay."
The hairy man still held the photo of Boothe and me in his lifeless hand. I carefully pulled the photo free and shoved it in my pocket.
"We shouldn’t be here when that ugly thing gets up," she scowled at the creature.
We blended in with a crowd of Normals ducking out of the market just as a group of uniformed police officers entered the market with guns drawn. I wonder what they'll make of the creature they’re about to find in the back alley.
"Let's get to Lisa's," Aunt Dar said when we reached the car. "We can call Christopher from there. I don't like what’s going on. Not one bit."
Lisa lived in a bright yellow house on a quiet street on the outskirts of Kingston. The neighbourhood looked like an ad from a magazine. Each house was painted with bright tropical colours. Homes painted red, blue, and lime green dotted the street. I had never seen anything like this in Canada.
Before my hand rose to knock on Lisa's door, the door swung open. It was a young boy, about twelve years old. He was chewing on something dark and sticky. I saw dark flakes between his teeth as he churned the candy in his mouth. He immediately hollered for Lisa who quickly skipped down the steps. She ushered us in and gave me a questioning look about the presence of my aunt. She introduced us to her father, a tall, lanky man with thick, more salt than pepper hair. She formally introduced us to the boy who answered the door, her younger brother, David. He eyed us suspiciously before throwing another candy into his mouth.
"Do you have a phone I could use?" Aunt Dar was wringing her hands nervously.
Lisa's father walked with her into the other room. As soon as they disappeared, I pulled Lisa close and told her what had happened in the market.
"His eyes weren't red like Marcus's," I shared. "He wasn't a Nephilim."
"Wha…" Lisa was silenced by a small onlooker.
Her brother stood in close proximity, chopping his candy hard and staring at me.
Lisa gave him a frustrated glance and directed me upstairs.
Upstairs Mark and Boothe were sitting by the window chatting and comparing cell phones. Lisa pulled me right in front of them.
"Put the toys away, boys. You have to hear this. Jane, tell them what happened."
I recited the story, again. Boothe got up and started pacing before the story ended.
"Someone from inside the school had to have taken this photo." I pulled the crumbled photo of Boothe and me from my pocket.
"Marcus probably took it," Mark suggested, leaning back against the window.
"Yeah, you’re probably right." I sat down next to him. It sickened me to think that Marcus could have been close enough to me to take a photo.
I buried my face in my hands and replayed the images from the market to see if there was anything that reminded me of Marcus. There was someone standing next to Nadya. I remember the brown hair spilling out from under his hat. Could it have been him waiting for a close up on the carnage?
"Or it could be someone else." Mark said. He closed his eyes and let his head find the corner. "You can never really tell who is on your side these days. Someone who seems like your friend could just be waiting for the right moment to stab you in the back. Who knows, it could have been someone close."
Lisa and Boothe gave Mark a deadly stare.
"Why are you two looking at me like I'm lying?" he asked defensively.
"We're looking at you like you're stupid," Boothe answered as he resumed his pacing.
"I'm the one making sense," Mark insisted, closing his eyes, again.
"It's okay," I looked from Lisa to Boothe. "Mark's right. It’s possible that someone else is involved. It could be someone close, someone I trust."
"We can't afford to point the finger at each other," Lisa said. She looked around at each of our faces. Seeing that Mark's eyes were still closed, she slapped his leg. Mark opened his eyes just wide enough for Lisa to see his disinterest.
"Suspicion and doubt will only break the group apart," she continued. "By ourselves, we're easy targets."
I walked over to the window, pulled back the curtains, and watched as the trees swayed under the gentle breeze. It all looked so normal. That's all I wanted, to be normal. But that dream seemed farther away with each day that passed.
"I know they said we can't go to Port Royal, but after today, there is absolutely no way I can sit back and do nothing." I turned to face the group. "I don't want to get any of you into trouble, that's why I’ve decided to go alone." I looked around at everyone, every eyebrow was raised in surprise.
"How do you plan to get in to see the archives without a second level clearance?" Lisa asked.
"I don't know. I'm still working out that part."
"Every time you've been attacked, you've been by yourself," Boothe noted with a scolding stare. "Now you want to walk right into the lion’s den alone?"
"Boothe's right. Going anywhere by yourself is a bad idea." Mark spoke with his eyes still closed. "You've got a big red target on your back."
I opened my mouth to argue, but Boothe raised his hand and cut me off.
"No." He planted his feet firmly. "You're not going by yourself. I'm going with you."
"I'm not a child! I don't need your constant supervision," I shot back.
"Yes, you do," Mark answered.
"Jane." Lisa touched my arm. "I have to agree with Boothe. The attacks have all happened when you were alone. We need to stick together."
Lisa and Boothe looked at Mark with anticipation. Mark was fluffing chair cushions and wedging them under his head. He paid no attention to their penetrating glares.
"Mark's coming too." Lisa said finally.
"Did I miss something?" Mark sat up instantly. "We just agreed that Jane is a magnet for trouble. Why would I walk into that?"
"Are you really going to leave her to do this by herself?" Lisa was becoming increasingly annoyed.
"Yes!" Mark answered with certainty.
"It’s okay," I felt it necessary to come to Mark’s defense. "I was sincere when I said I didn't want to get you guys in trouble. If he does not want to come, he doesn't have to."
"Say it again!" Mark mumbled. "You two are looking at me like I'm crazy. I’m the only sane one here."
"Mark is not only coming with us," Lisa folded her arms defiantly. "He’s going to make sure we get into the Port Royal archives."
"What?" Mark jumped to his feet. "Don't play yourself…"
"His father, Dr. Alister Chung, is the chief forensic psychologist for the Council. He reviews all the files for all the Neph offenders that are up for parole. He has second level clearance. We can get in as Dr. Chung's invited guests."
"There is no way my father is going to agree…"
"I didn't say anything ab
out asking," Lisa promptly returned.
Mark huffed. "Straight laced Lisa Kennon suggesting that I steal my father's clearance pass?"
Lisa turned red as she stammered for a rebuttal. "I'm suggesting that we do what we have to in order to save our friend."
"The only thing I'm going to do is find a way to get out of this suicide mission." Mark rose, adjusted his clothes, and headed towards the steps.
"What suicide mission?" Dr. Coy suddenly emerged in front of him. Dr. Coy looked even worse than he had before. A handful of dreads were missing from the crown of his head. His face looked worn, the lines around his eyes were deep. Dr. Coy wasn't alone, flanking him were the two Eshkar investigators that had visited me earlier, Millicent and Glenroy.
"Sorry, Jane," Dr. Coy said, stretching his hands out sympathetically. "I know your first impression of them wasn't the greatest, but with this level of exposure the E.I. had to be involved."
"Miss Miller." Millicent walked over to me. She raised her eyebrows to Dr. Coy who immediately fell back. "Most of us go our entire lives without direct and open attack from a Nephilim. You've been here how long? A few months? And you have had three reported incidents—the beach, the bus and now this. How do you account for this?"
"How do you account for not protecting a member of your community?" A fire began in my chest and quickly heated my cheeks and ears.
"Hey!" Aunt Dar yelled to Millicent. "I highly suggest you change your tone. Christopher, I don't like this woman. You warn her." She wagged her finger in Millicent's face. "Don't speak to my niece like that. She is the victim here!"
Millicent didn't seem fazed by Aunt Dar's outburst. She casually took a seat by the window and pulled out her note pad. Dr. Coy escorted Aunt Dar to the opposite side of the room where she paced and shot daggers at Millicent with her eyes.
"Let's get the story. What happened this time?" Millicent’s voice was monotonous.
I crossed my arms defiantly. I refuse to answer to this rudeness. My eyes met Dr. Coy's pleading glare. His eyes silently urged me to speak, so I reluctantly recited the tale for the third time. When I got to the part about the hairy man, Millicent stopped writing and looked up at me. It was the first time that I saw empathy in her eyes. She cleared her throat and quickly regained her icy glare. When I finished the story, she stood, closed her book and put it in her pocket. She nodded to Glenroy, who was holding his position by the staircase, just watching.