by Angel Lawson
I had my head in the refrigerator when, to my absolute horror, I heard feet on the back stairs. Crap. There went my scrap of dignity.
Mr. Palmer stood at the bottom of the steps and I noticed his hands were full of trash. I saw a tall, lanky man standing behind him carrying an arm load of what appeared to be parts of a chair. Mr. Palmer wore the normal, pained grimace on his face that I'd come to expect.
We stood for a moment in silence while his eyes traveled down my body, taking in his T-shirt and my disheveled appearance. I held my breath for a moment waiting for his reaction. The absurdity of my behavior crashed down on me. I felt like a child. A child who desecrated something very important to the bastard in front of me.
Okay, my guilt didn’t last long.
Oh, also? The fact he was overwhelmingly gorgeous when he was mad only made the situation worse. Or better? I had no idea. I lost all sense of rationality when I saw the tense lines of his jaw and the spark of fire in his violet eyes.
I felt the heat rush to my face as I realized he could call the police and have me escorted off the property or arrested. Maybe I hadn't thought this all the way through.
I heard a stifled cough from behind Mr. Palmer. The other man leaned around Mr. Palmer and I saw that he, too, was incredibly handsome. The hint of amusement in his eyes was not lost on me.
Perfect timing to grow a backbone, Amelia.
Cutting our awkward standoff short, Mr. Palmer walked past me out the garage door without a word. The other man followed but gave me a wide smile and nod of encouragement, leaving me alone in the kitchen.
I let out a deep, rattling breath, realizing at that moment, I'd been holding it for some time.
“Nice knowing you, jackass,” I said, to the empty room, before escaping out the front door.
~*~
Figuring I had nothing else to lose, I decided to cap off my epically fail day by going on my date with Thomas. It wasn’t the worst idea, except for the fact I couldn’t shake the bad feelings from earlier today plus, for some crazy reason I decided to wear heels. Why did I wear heels? God, they’re uncomfortable.
I swallowed the last of my drink and peered into the bottom of the glass hoping a refill would magically appear.
Where was that waitress?
“Superman or Captain America?” Thomas asked the table. They’d been playing ‘Superhero vs. Superhero’ for an hour.
I glanced around the room for the waitress. She’d vanished. Like the contents of my drink.
I slumped back in my seat, dreaming of my couch and comfy clothes. Although my fingers still smelled like bleach, I'd had to scrub to rid myself of the filth that covered my entire body. I was hoping it would remove some of the horror and humiliation I'd experienced as well, but sadly, soap didn't fix shame.
My bad mood lingered as I sat between Drew and Thomas and pretended to be interested in their conversation. I'd never quit a job before and left on bad terms. I felt terrible ruining Mr. Palmer's shirt. Sure, he was an ass, but it was immature and I was embarrassed by my behavior.
Fucking hindsight.
I fingered the paper coasters on the table and pretended to listen to Thomas and his friend, Jess, argue the pros and cons of superheroes.
“Superman can fly. It always comes down to that,” Thomas said.
“Captain America is a Captain. Like, he’s the boss of all the Avengers. Even Nick Fury defers to him.”
They rambled on and I groaned internally and searched the table for a sharp object to gouge my eyes out with, but came up empty.
What I did see was Drew making sex eyes at Jess and pretending this was the most fascinating conversation ever, which I knew for a fact, it wasn't. He raised an eyebrow in my direction, motioning with his mouth for me to smile. I rolled my eyes at Drew but plastered a grin on my face and returned my attention to Thomas.
I knew I wasn't being fair. It wasn't his fault my boss was a douche. I appraised Thomas, noticing how he looked nice in a blue shirt that matched his tan complexion. He really was cute and nice. The problem was, he was a bit boring. At the moment he was animatedly informing Jess of the virtues of Superman. “Superman has super strength and heat vision. He’s an alien—the perfect representation of immigration to this country.”
I watched with mild interest as Jess took a deep breath and said, “That’s the whole point. Superman is an alien—he was born with super powers. Steve Rogers was a normal man—a weak man, who dreamed of being so much more. Look what happened when Red Skull underwent the same Gamma Ray transformation. He became evil. Steve became a hero. He had that moral compass inside him all along. Plus, he jumps out of planes without a parachute, which is like flying but even more badass.”
Jess leaned back in his seat and took a long, smug, pull from his beer. He and Thomas eyed one another trying to determine where to take this next. I had to admit, I was impressed. Not so much from this conversation, but from the fact people actually knew this much random information about something I cared so little about.
“What do you think, Amelia?” Thomas asked.
“Me? Um…” I glanced at Drew who was fighting off laughter. This wasn’t really my game, but no one likes a party-pooper so I gave it a shot. “Which is the one with all the muscles?”
Jess frowned. “All of them?”
“Has a hammer?”
“Thor,” Thomas said, looking a little disappointed I didn’t know the difference. “He’s a demi-god. That’s a whole other competition.”
“Ah, okay,” I said but offered a weak smile. “Sorry I’m being a drag. I quit my job today and didn’t leave on good terms.”
“You quit?” Thomas asked. “Wow, not sure I can blame you. Palmer is a pretty terrifying boss. I’m not sure I would have lasted as long as you did.”
“Palmer?” Jess asked.
“Yeah, Amelia works—well worked—for Grant Palmer, that totally rich guy I told you about. That’s how we met. He gives me the creeps but holy cow, he pays well. So well I need to shut my mouth.”
“Gives you the creeps how?” Jess said, not ready to change the topic.
Thomas wasn’t saying anything else and I didn’t blame him. Mr. Palmer was a good customer. Me? I was in the clear. Zero loyalty to that jerk. “Like he creeps around and has all these freaky OCD habits. Like super extreme. He’s rich and hot and I think he’s just gotten his way his entire life. Spoiled rich guy, that’s all.”
Jess’ eyes narrowed in concentration before asking, “Is he more like Tyler Durden or Patrick Bateman?”
Oh God, they tricked me into one of their games. One I did not want to play but tossed out, “He looks like Tyler Durden, but possibly may be Patrick Bateman.” Who knew what he kept upstairs in those locked rooms. Or what his abs looked like under that crisp shirt.
The waitress came over and took our order for another round of beer, and then Thomas introduced the next topic of who would win a death match, Hawkeye vs. Green Arrow. I excused myself to the restroom.
At the sink I pulled out my hair brush and was attempting to stick strands of hair back in the ponytail when a woman next to me washing her hands said, "Wow, your perfume is amazing, what kind is it?"
I laughed and said, "Oh, I don't wear perfume. It gives me a headache. It must be someone else."
In the mirror I watched as she smiled and ran her fingers through her short, dark hair. Her skin was pale. Flawless. Completely smooth. She had on large, 70s style, rose tinted glasses. I admired her tight dress and ridiculously high heels. How does someone even walk around like that and not break their neck?
Unscrewing the cap to my lip gloss I said, "I love your glasses, I could never pull off something so dramatic."
She flashed me an ultra-white smile. "Thanks. I have sensitive eyes so I wear them all the time.”
“Well, they work for you.”
The girl ran a hand through her hair, tugging at several spiky pieces on top. “So I saw you out there with that guy. Are you here on a date?"
I sat back against the sink. "Ugh, yes. I mean, he's cute and all, but boring. You would not believe the argument he and his friend have been having all night. And what is worse, my friend has hit it off with his friend so I have a feeling it’s going to be a long night.”
She threw her head back and laughed the most charming, fantastic laugh. She was really beautiful; interesting-looking, like a model. "Yeah, sounds pretty tragic. Well, you come find me if you need an escape. My boyfriend is supposed to meet me later but he tends to be a little unreliable."
I put my brush and make up away and followed her to the door. Stopping just before pushing the door open to the thumping beat of the outside music she turned and said, "By the way, my name is Sasha."
Chapter 18
Grant
With my standard props in place I was able to successfully stake out the corner of the business district on what seemed to be a busy Friday night. I'd been here for about an hour, my coffee now cold and my newspaper thoroughly read, color-coded Post-it-Notes in place. Everything was as it should be.
Everything except her lingering scent on my clothes and the memory of the sight of her skin, creamy and white. Oh, and the fact I apparently wasn't only hungry but behaving like a typical, horny twenty-year-old. Other than that it was a regular day in the life of a 115 year-old vampire.
I couldn't believe it when I came down the stairs to find Amelia in the kitchen. I'd held my breath when I left my rooms and attempted to ignore her heartbeat. With Elijah there as a distraction I was doing fine until I stepped into the room and saw her standing there, flushed and red. She was so small, draped in my decimated shirt, so incredibly human—so female. I stood still and fought the urge to reach out and rub my finger over smudge of dirt on her face or touch the throbbing vein in her neck.
Thank God Eli nudged me in the back, snapping me back to reality.
Hours later I focused on my job, walking through downtown Asheville, past the lively bars and crowds of people. The small city had a jubilant night life—mostly college students and tourists. The tracking pace I’d determined on my maps indicated the Predator would enter the city limits soon. Probably in the next three days. I cleared my head and listened to the crowds. It was a typical Friday night and most people were determined to have a good time. Humans acted foolish, though, in their quest for fun. The excessive drinking, suggestive behavior, or questionable decision-making always caused more pain than they expected. It all began as light-hearted fun in the minds of young people, but often spiraled quickly out of control.
Wow, I wonder if Amanda saw Robert, he looks really hot tonight…Finally, Friday night! TGIF! Why did I wear these shoes they’re killing me…Now, where did I put my car keys…or my car…
Their voices carried through the night, bouncing off the brick buildings and concrete streets. The last one piqued my interest and I found him after a brief search. He stumbled over a bump in the parking lot across the street. I approached him. He reeked of gin and cigarettes.
"Hey, man, let me call you a cab.” He struggled to find his keys in his pocket. I stood by and watched as he fished them out and promptly dropped them on the ground. It was easy to help intoxicated people since they were not clear enough to notice the differences between me and them.
I quickly picked them up and held onto them. "Who the fuck are you? Gimmie my keys,” he slurred, swiping a meaty hand toward me. I stepped back.
“Just making sure you get home safe.”
“I’m fine,” he replied, swaying to the side. I left him for a moment, struggling to maintain his balance and walked to the curb, waving down one of the many cabs trolling the area. "Come here. Get in the cab,” I directed, making eye contact this time. His obstinate attitude subsided and he allowed me to assist him into the vehicle. I reached in and gave the driver more than enough cash to cover the fare.
The driver nodded and pulled away from the sidewalk. I watched the tail lights as they trailed down the dark road and continued my patrol of the bar district.
I can't believe he was looking at the waitress that way…asshole….spilling his drink on my new dress…I wonder if she'll give me her number…those murders are freaking me out...stupid manager making us park in the back of the lot…
I honed in on the last one and within moments found the girl dressed in a uniform signaling employment at a local restaurant. She darted to her car located in the shadowy corner of the parking lot. She was safe from the Predator tonight, but I kept an eye on her to make sure there were no drunken frat boys around.
She got in her car and locked the doors. I wondered why she chose to go alone. Why didn't she bring a co-worker into the dark night? The danger people put themselves in was usually their own fault. Completely avoidable.
My mind flashed to Ms. Chase and I wondered if she took risks like this. All humans do, but some were worse than others. My stomach recoiled at the thought of her unprotected.
The waitress drove away and I turned behind the businesses, to the edge of the dark alley clustered between the old buildings. It smelled like garbage and the constant wetness gave the whole area a funky, bad odor. I held my breath to keep the disgusting scents at bay.
The night was fairly quiet, as I'd expected, and I realized for the millionth time the absurdity of my policing this area. Why was I, a monster and a murderer, wandering the dark streets helping people to their cars and shoving them into cabs? Why did I leave the comforts of my home and my family to comb the beer-soaked alleys of the inner city? At times it seemed trivial—a waste of immortal life, but tracking the Predator steeled my resolve.
Having purpose was important. For countless years I'd lived in my own world, focused on myself and my needs. After mastering our alternative lifestyle and adhering to the societal rules established by the Council, I assimilated into the lifestyle Miles demanded for members of his coven.
I passed a group of young men and women, coupled off. One of the women looked in my direction, and did a double-take—lured in by my appearance. Her partner noticed me as well but shifted positions with his girl, stepping between us. I nodded in greeting and he gave me a tight one in return. “Hey man,” he said.
“Good evening.”
The girl glanced over her shoulder at me long after they passed. How easy it would have been for me to follow them home, climb into their windows and destroy their innocent world.
Miles and I noticed the trend of rogue vampires hovering around the edge of cities. Although he didn’t like me living on my own, or fronting the Palmer Foundation, both of which he found too risky, we did agree to expand the territory that we monitored. I was determined to go on my own and focus on how to use my supernatural abilities for a greater purpose. There had to be something more than the nothingness from before. I began roaming the city at night, alone, for the first time in many years. It wasn’t long before I found a person in need. I helped them. Finally, I had a sense of purpose.
The majority of humans needed saving from other humans or from themselves. But vampires still roamed the country—many inclined to feed from the innocent. Their kills were less noticeable to the authorities but fairly easy for me to identify. The deaths appeared random, products of an accident or the fate of living close to an urban area.
As the years passed, I honed my gift and vampire abilities. I finally listened to people instead of tuning out their voices. I learned how to pick up on the subtle differences in their tone, determining what signaled fear and what did not. At first, I was terrible at tracking and was unable to follow the scent or clues left by those I hunted. Eventually, though, I developed a system of physical skills and research that was unparalleled to others of my kind. I used the money I'd earned over the years to fund my mission, and with the help of my family I was able to help more people and save more lives. I was faster and better prepared than those I sought out.
That was how I got to the position I was in currently. Trolling the streets of Asheville on a warm Friday night, blocki
ng out the foul stench wafting from the dank alleys. I waited patiently to help the next poor soul that crossed my path when in need. That was my mission. My life.
Chapter 19
Amelia
"Amelia, would you like to dance?" Thomas asked, and held his hand out expectantly.
My eyes went to his hand and stared at it for a moment while I tried to come up with an excuse to say no. Too tired? Drunk? Would prefer not to encourage my boring date from hell any further? As I considered my options I realized a fair amount of time had passed and his hand was still out there, waiting for me to take it.
“Amelia’s a great dancer,” Drew chimed in.
I shot Drew a look of “WTF” and he gave me a double thumbs up in return. I narrowed my eyes at him trying to decide if I should thank him or tell everyone he once left a party with women’s underpants on his head. He saved me by coming with me tonight, but not before throwing me under the bus. In reality I was a great dancer, but there was no need to encourage Thomas at that point.
“Aw, Drew is being too kind. I am an okay dancer, but these babies," I lifted a spiked heel off the ground, "are lethal. To me as much as you. Please, dance without me. I'm happy to sit on the sidelines and watch."
Drew took my permission and ran with it, grabbing Jess’ hand and dragging him into the crowd of sweaty, pulsing bodies. Thomas cocked his head to the side and said, "Are you sure? I don't mind sitting with you. We could talk some more."
And listen to him talk about his costume for Comic-Con next year? Too quickly I responded, "No really, go! I'm totally fine.” I gave him a reassuring smile and waved him off. He gave me one final smile and disappeared into the sea of people. I let out a deep sigh of relief.