Brink of Dawn (A Chosen Novel Book 2)

by Jeff Altabef

  I turn my attention to Pete and Jalen, who don’t think anyone’s watching them, so they’re not wearing their tough guy masks. Despair and a certain hollowness play in the shadows of their eyes. I’ve seen it sometimes in really sick people or those addicted to drugs or booze; people who’ve lost hope that life might work out for them. It makes me angry and sad at the same time.

  Frankie waves Landon over to join his conversation with Amare.

  “What’s up?”

  Frankie’s face pinches tight. “Amare saw that dude we’ve been warning people about—the tall albino with funny-colored eyes.”

  My heart jumps and the hair on the back of my neck become needles. He’s describing a Deltite.

  Amare nods. “He had two kids with him yesterday. Took them into a black Mercedes.”

  Landon’s entire body tenses and the veins on his neck pulse. “Every time this guy shows up, kids go missing and they never come back. He keeps switching to different projects around the City, so we never know where he’ll be next.”

  All the sweetness in Frankie’s voice vanishes. “I’d like to meet up with him.”

  Landon hands Amare a card. “Next time you see him call me right away. And spread the word that he’s no good.”

  “You got it.” Amare waves Jalen and Pete over. “We’ve got to go. Big blast tonight in Building 4. We’ve got ladies to impress. I’m like candy—they all want a piece.”

  Frankie bends at the waist and stomps his foot in a full body laugh.

  We stay at Marble Hill for another hour and then go to Soundview and then Millbrook. Similar scenes play out at the other two apartment projects. The kids are different sizes, races, and ages, but they share the same attitude—hard and callous on the outside, filled with pain and despair on the inside.

  When we leave Millbrook and jump back in the van, Tara says, “We’ve got one last stop for the night. We like to end the run at Chelsea Piers. It’s a little different from the projects. There’s more LGBT homeless around and more adults, but still plenty of teens.”

  Landon adds, “They fixed up Chelsea Piers over five years ago. During the day tourists come and it’s a fun place filled with basketball courts, soccer fields, and a driving range. At night it still turns rough.”

  The van stops on 25th Street and 10th Avenue across from a park. The City is never fully dark, not like home. Streetlights flicker and a few lights shine from businesses and apartments, even at three in the morning. However, the park is mostly dark and filled with shadows within shadows. I absorb energy from others around me—dozens of people are sleeping in the park. From the street it’s impossible to tell so many call it home for the night. I wonder if we have parks like this back home.

  A few people spot the van and wander over. They’re moving slower than at the projects, possibly because it’s so late, or maybe they’re in worse shape.

  Tara asks Troy to grab the rest of the sandwiches from the van while Landon and Frankie greet a few regulars.

  I’m about to join them when a chill sets me off, which feels as though someone’s hacking away at my brain with an ice pick. I double over and gasp. A voice screams inside my mind; it sounds like a long wail from a siren, but it’s a voice.

  A girl needs help.

  I glance around the park, but it’s too dark and I’m too far away to see her. Still, the call for help pulls me, so I start off in the direction I sense it’s coming from, treading on grass, passing benches, and skirting an empty basketball court to my left.

  I glance back and the van is barely visible, but the pleas for help scream louder. I spot a bench with shrubs on both sides. A small figure lies behind it, covered in a dark blanket. I kneel so my head is underneath the bench and see the other side. Two small eyes wide with fear stare back at me.

  “My name is Juliet. I’m with New Beginnings. Do you need help?”

  The girl trembles and shakes her head, but inside my mind her thoughts thunder. Help me! He’s going to come back for me!

  I’ve felt fear in my life—all types of fear—but her fear is so intense my legs almost buckle when faced with it. I can’t let her confront this alone. “I know you’re scared, but I have people with me who can help. They can take you to a safe place for the night.”

  It’s hard to see her clearly, but her voice squeaks and sounds young. “I can’t... he beats me... and worse.” She stops talking and closes her eyes, but her thoughts scream louder in my head: He’s coming!

  I spin and spot a man marching toward us, his shoulders swinging aggressively. His crimson aura casts off enough light that I can make out his features. His thin body juts out at pointed angles. Stubble speckles his face, and his eyes are small, bloodshot orbs. He’s wearing an army jacket and cargo pants. I can smell him from fifteen feet away—body odor and booze.

  “Hey! What’re you doing there? That’s my spot!” He stomps toward me, each step pounding out an angry rhythm.

  “I’m talking to my friend.”

  His body tenses as if he’s about to explode, his fuse short. “Don’t you talk to her! Get lost!” He reaches into his jacket pocket with his right hand.

  I’ll never leave him alone with this girl. I’ll stand here all night if I have to, so I straighten my shoulders. “I just want to make sure she’s okay.”

  “I’ll teach you....”

  Suddenly Landon, Frankie, Troy, and Tara are next to me.

  Landon steps between us, his voice hard. “Is there a problem, friend?”

  The stranger flicks his eyes between Landon and Frankie. “She’s meddling where she doesn’t belong.”

  The scared girl stands behind me.

  “It’s okay.” I wave at her to come forward. “You don’t have to stay here with him any longer.”

  Brilliant blue eyes stare at me, deep pools of pure water rippling with tears. Sweat mats her long hair and dirt streaks her forehead, but none of that can hide her beauty.

  Tara touches her hand. “We can take you back to the center. It’ll be safe there. We’ll get you some food and sort through things in the morning.”

  The girl nods and looks down toward the ground. She can’t look at the homeless man who has tormented her.

  I glance back at him. I don’t know his story or how he got this way, but he’s no longer human. He’s become a predator. I wonder if he can ever be changed back.

  “You’re not taking her! She’s mine!” He yanks a knife from his pocket and lunges toward me. I step back and Landon grabs his wrist and twists.

  The knife falls to the ground and Frankie shoves him hard in the chest. The man falls and Frankie hovers over him. “You’ll leave this girl alone. If I hear otherwise, our next visit won’t be so friendly.” He crunches the man’s fingers under his sneaker.

  The man’s anger is gone now. He mumbles something into his chest and looks away.

  We surround the girl and take her back to the van. “Her name is Lilly. She’s thirteen,” I tell Tara, unsure how I know those things, yet I do.

  Tara smiles at me and helps Lilly into the van.

  Troy takes my hand as Landon and Frankie tower over us.

  “I’m sorry I wandered away,” I say. “I heard her and had to help.”

  I expect them to yell at me, but Frankie smiles and Landon says, “You did good, but next time tell one of us.”

  They drop us off in front of the Inn. My entire body aches from the long day, but I’m worried about Troy. He’s been unusually quiet on the ride home, which can only mean one thing: he’s angry with me.

  “Some night,” I say when we enter our rooms.

  “I don’t know what to do.” Frustration burns in his eyes as he grinds his teeth. “I’m supposed to protect you, but I don’t know how. I—”

  I throw my arms around him and hold him close, my head burrowing in his chest. I’m so sorry I’ve made him feel this way. “I can’t do any of this without you. You’re my rock.”

  I kiss him on the cheek and let him hold me in his
strong arms until the tension melts away from his body.

  It’s all I can do.

  My head sinks into the feather pillow. I’m exhausted, yet sleep only comes in fits. Most of the night I flail about, checking the alarm clock every fifteen minutes, hoping I had slept a little since the last time I looked. Twice I refill my glass with water, and once I stare out the window to watch an old man walk a dog at four in the morning.

  I miss real sleep—a deep slumber that rejuvenates the body and soul. Sleep used to be one of my top five favorite activities, along with spending time with Troy, eating ice cream, watching TV, and playing lacrosse, not necessarily in that order—Troy can easily drop to the bottom of the list when he’s being annoying. I haven’t slept more than a few hours at a time since Sicheii died. Every time I try, my mind races in a million different places all at the same time. I can’t figure out a way to slow my thoughts and it’s driving me crazy.

  When the sun finally rises, my head feels as if the skull has been peeled back and crows spent the night pecking at my brain. I crack open my eyes and wince at the light. Strange energy pulses whip through my arms and legs, which burn as if they’re set on fire. I’ve had a few migraines in the past, but this is more intense than any of the other ones, and a deep melancholy settles into my bones that I can’t shake. I spend most of the day in bed with the lights off, my eyes closed and a pillow stuffed over my head.

  Throughout the day, Troy busies himself by exploring the neighborhood and reading the book Landon gave him. He struggles with dyslexia, so reading is a real chore for him, but he absorbs anything Native American like a sponge, and attacks the book with more zeal than he’s spent on any other book in years.

  Time crawls along, but by late afternoon the pain breaks like a wave that crashes against the shore. I’m left a little dizzy, but my head is clear and my body has returned to normal.

  I finally have the strength to get up and walk toward Troy, who sits on the couch.

  He smiles at me. “Feeling better?”

  “I’m hungry. That’s a good sign.”

  “I bought some chicken soup for you from the local deli. The sign said it was homemade, but I saw giant tin cans in the back. I guess they never said whose home.”

  “Thanks.” I plop on the couch, happy that the pain has disappeared as he hands me the soup and a plastic spoon. The soup’s cold, but still nourishing. “Have you heard anything from Connor?”

  “Sir Drinks A Lot?” He shakes his head. “Nope. Good chance he’s on another bender.”

  “Give him a break. We don’t know him yet.”

  “I know his kind, Jules. The more chances you give him, the more times he’ll mess up.”

  “You gave the burglar back at the hotel another chance. Why not Connor?”

  He purses his lips. “Drinking is different. How many times has my father gone sober for a week or two only to slip back? And drinking brings out the worst in him. Connor’s going to be the same way.”

  I feel the start of another headache coming on. “You can’t judge someone because you—”

  Cathunk.

  The sound comes from the hallway, followed a few seconds later by another Cathunk.

  We stroll toward the door and hear Blake’s voice. “I can’t believe the elevator is out. That’s very shoddy work for a hotel.”

  “Are you always like this?” It’s Akari. I can understand what she’s saying, but her words are wrapped in a thick Japanese accent.

  Cathunk

  “Like what?”

  “Constantly complaining like a two-year bebi. It’s annoying.”

  Cathunk.

  “That’s not the point. Hotels should be run a certain way— Ouch! You kicked me!”

  “Sorry. Must be an accident.”

  Cathunk.

  I grin and open the door.

  Blake and Akari appear in the hallway with a red-faced Stuart huffing behind them.

  A second later Connor opens his door. “What’s all this bloody racket?”

  His eyes look clear, but his tousled hair makes me think he just woke up. Slight traces of stubble have sprouted on his chin since yesterday.

  Stuart grins. “Well, well, the entire group is here—all four Twisteds at once. This is good, extremely good. You’re all invited to dinner tonight. Eight o’clock sharp in the downstairs dining room.”

  “Will the Host be there?” I ask.

  Stuart’s blond eyebrows arch upward. “Oh yes, the Host.... He should certainly attend the dinner. Yes, now that all four of you are here, he’ll want to get started right away. There is really no time to waste.”

  Blake leans his luggage against a wall. “What’s the dress code for dinner?”

  Akari snorts.

  Connor chuckles. “I left my supper jacket behind, so I hope a T-shirt will be good enough. I promise to wear a clean one.”

  Stuart unlocks the doors with carvings of the Twisted Muskets and Samurai Swords etched into them. “Casual will be best. I’m certain you will all have a long night.” He chuckles to himself as if he knows a secret joke. “Yes, yes, an extremely long night. I suggest you all get some rest before dinner, and don’t be late. Oh, and please bring your swords. Yes, yes, you should carry them with you at all times now, I suspect.”

  We follow him with our eyes as he marches past us and down the staircase, mumbling to himself about how much he has to do before dinner.

  Blake shakes his head and talks to no one in particular. “He’s quite an odd fellow for a hotel manager.”

  “Right, he’s certainly the odd one.” Akari shifts her backpack on her shoulders.

  “Let’s face it, we’re just a freak show.” Connor rakes his hand through his sandy hair.

  Akari bristles. “What do you mean... freak?”

  Connor speaks in a single gust. “You know, weird, odd, strange, not all there, damaged, screwed-up, cracked! We’re freaks.”

  “Who’re you calling this... freak?”

  “We’re not exactly normal. You should have figured that out by now.”

  Akari’s face reddens. “Call me this freak again. I dare you!” A full head shorter than Connor, she must weigh less than half as much as he does, yet she’s undaunted and takes an angry step forward.

  “I’ve never gotten into a dustup with a girl before, but I’m a feminist. Equal rights, I say. I’m willing, if you want to have a go at me.”

  Akari tenses like a coiled spring.

  “This is a really bad idea,” I say, but it’s too late.

  Akari springs halfway up the wall to my right, pushes off with both feet, and flings herself onto Connor’s chest. They topple backward in a tangle. She lands an elbow to his head and twists on top of him. She brings her fist back, but he throws her off with a two-handed shove that sends her flying, and she lands hard on her back.

  The few feet of clear space is my opportunity, so I jump in between them with my arms stretched wide, trying to keep them as far apart as possible. Energy flows from both of my outstretched hands, which freezes Akari and Connor in place. “I can’t believe how stupid you’re acting. We need to band together! Fighting amongst ourselves will only get us killed.”

  I can’t hold them for longer than a few seconds, so I drop my arms and the power subsides. I turn to face Akari. “We’re all freaks, but that’s a good thing. We wouldn’t stand a chance if we were normal.”

  Then I spin and face Connor. “You don’t have to be such an ass.”

  Connor smiles, his face transforming into an oh-we-were-just-kidding-around expression, and sticks his hand past me toward Akari. “I’m Connor. Sorry about the offense. I like you. You’ve got spunk.”

  She shakes his hand. “No harm done.” A small smile creases her lips and her eyes brighten.

  Blake rolls his luggage past us to his door. “Terrific, now that that’s settled I suggest we get some rest before dinner like the manager guy said.” He walks into his room and shuts the door behind him.

  “
It’s been a long trip,” says Akari as she opens her door. “I’ll see you all at eight. Sayonara.”

  Connor shrugs and disappears back into his room.

  “That’s quite a team you’ve got there,” says Troy. “How are you going to stop them from killing each other long enough to face the dark spirits?”

  “I’ll have to think of something, but we won’t have a lot of time together. Whatever is going to happen, it’ll happen quickly.”

  Troy grabs the doorknob. “What do you think Stewie meant when he said we’re going to have a long night?”

  “I don’t know, but I don’t like it. He knows more than he’s letting on. Why do we need to bring our swords to dinner?”

  I’ve never been a patient person. I’m not proud of it. I used to search my house for presents the week before my birthday, and I’d always find them. When I tried out for the lacrosse team at my old school, I stalked the coach for two days until he posted the list of kids who made the squad. He threatened to get a restraining order against me.

  Since Stuart left us in the hallway, time has crept along like an inchworm with no particular destination in mind. Once the clock reaches eight, Troy and I race down the stairs, my string bag bouncing against my shoulder, the sword feeling heavy inside.

  My insides twist into a pretzel as we approach the lobby. Who is the Host, and what information does he have? Will he tell us everything we need to know? Seconds away from meeting him, I realize that’s a lot to ask. Maybe he’s as clueless as we are.

  What happens then?

  I grab the pendant Sicheii gave me for protection. He called it a Wind Catcher. Made of flawless, blue sleeping beauty turquoise, it’s a simple slanted rectangle with another slanted rectangle etched in sterling silver along the edges. The slanted rectangle is my tribe’s symbol for the Great Wind Spirit. It’s supposed to mean the Wind Spirit is within me and will protect me. I’m not convinced the Wind Spirit is real, or that she really cares that much about my safety even if she is. Still, the pendant reminds me of my grandfather, so I touch it now to know his strength and wisdom.