Death of Night

by Krissy Reynolds

  Ten minutes later, my cup was empty, and my mind was full. We had discussed the particulars of the event, and he had given me a very detailed description of what my job entailed. Mr. Knightley and I both stood, and I dropped a one dollar bill on the table, not bothering to leave a tip this time. Zdenik saw it, and smirked in understanding.

  All four of us wove through the tables, and stepped out of the café in pairs. A fog had sprung up, eerie and mysterious in the faint street light. The sound of the light rain hitting the pavement was loud in the silence of the park. I turned to look at Mr. Knightley, and I noticed something I hadn't before.

  A small scar ran above his left eyebrow, the only imperfection on his perfect face. It wasn't so much as an imperfection, but a characteristic that made him that much more beautiful. I had to do everything in my power to restrain myself from reaching up and tracing my fingers over it.

  "Ms. Simon?" Mr. Knightley asked, looking mildly concerned at my wandering thoughts.

  Recovering myself, I said, "You can call me Dahlia, Mr. Knightley."

  "And you can call me Callum," he returned, tugging his leather jacket down at the sleeves.

  I smiled sincerely. "Alright," I said.

  Mr. Knightley—or rather, Callum's—eyes looked up at me. They stunned me again with their intense shade of green. Contrasting nicely against the dark night and the black colour of his hair, they looked like the sun shining through heavy clouds after a rainstorm. Or maybe they were the rainbow that came through; a rare occurrence. The force of them didn't lessen as I continued to stare. Heat surged through my veins to pool in a tingling at my fingertips. Forest eyes, I would call them. Knowing eyes.

  One of the bodyguards cleared his throat and Callum's eyes darted over to them, breaking the connection between us. An incredibly fast-paced conversation ensued. I didn't catch a word. I just stood there, cold on the exterior, but feverish on the inside.

  Mr. Knightley turned back to me, with Zdenik and Liam coming to a stop behind him. Zdenik cast his eyes about, clearly taking in the situation and analyzing park with cautiousness. Liam, on the other hand, just sneered as he watched me.

  "A car will pick you up at 6 o'clock," Callum said, drawing my attention to him, "It will drive you to my house, and then we will continue to the party together."

  "That's 6 o'clock at night," Liam smirked, snickering as my expression turned sour.

  "Yeah, I got that," I muttered, barely audible, but all three of them seemed to hear me.

  I tugged my coat closer to my body when a cold gust of wind mixed with rain hit my body. Rain pattered louder on the Rose Bud Café tarp we stood in front of. It began to fall in enormous splats, landing on the dirt like miniature bombs.

  Looking unaffected by the weather, Callum Knightley did a quick 360˚ turn to assess his surroundings. He came to a graceful stop when he focused on me.

  "I'll see you Friday, Dahlia."

  The way he said my name made my shiver in a way that had nothing to do with the cold. It rolled off the tip of his tongue, sounding special and wonderful with his slight accent and deep voice.

  "See you Friday," I repeated, nodding once in farewell.

  Liam and Zdenik walked past me into the darkness before Callum. Liam's head turned to look at me over his shoulder.

  "I hope you wear something decent," he said, voice filled with a repulsive sardonic tone. I frowned as I looked down at my tattered jacket.

  Callum followed them, coming close behind. I heard him growl a menacing, "Shut it, Liam."

  The three of them were enveloped by darkness the second they reached the path, leaving me to turn and walk the opposite way by myself.

  * * *

  Chapter 4

  * * *

  The woman screamed over and over again as the man advanced on her. He grabbed her hair, and leaned down close to her neck, grazing his sharp teeth against her skin.

  "Please," the woman gasped, eyes closed. "Please don't do this!"

  The man smiled hideously, and mercilessly bit down. Her piercing scream faded into an agonizing groan as blood poured from her neck. The man drew back, licking the red from the corners of his mouth, and smiling in bliss at the flavour.

  "I'm sorry," he breathed in a thick foreign accent.

  "Oh, puh-lease," a voice butted in, "like he would even bother to apologize after that!"

  I crunched down on another piece of popcorn. I shrugged at the woman sitting on the sofa above me. I was on the floor; legs crossed, fingers reaching out blindly into the bowl in my lap, searching for another piece of popcorn.

  "Maybe he would," I said, swallowing. "I mean, he just killed that lady 'cause he was hungry. He probably felt a little guilty."

  Veronica glared down at me, and scoffed, "Yeah, right."

  Twisting to look back at the television, I smiled to myself. Veronica always got into the movies we watched, no matter how good or disappointing they were. I'd once seen a tear leak out of her eye while watching "Gigli". In that same night, I'd witnessed her yelling at the T.V. screen after seeing "Lord of the Rings". I was never able to understand her reasoning when it came to movies.

  My eyes followed the vampire on my small television screen, fixed as he lifted the dying woman in one arm, opening a wooden door with the other. The door swung shut behind him with a loud thud, and the screen went black with three words, "To Be Continued", written across it. I unfolded myself and stretched.

  Veronica had come over two hours ago to have a kind of girls' night. We had one every now and then, when our work wasn't too demanding. Veronica was also an employee at Montgomery & Co. Private Investigations, but she was a more senior member. Though she didn't mention her real age to anyone, I thought she looked about thirty-six. With straight black hair that reached the small of her back and exotic brown eyes, she looked like a Native American, but deceptively carried Spanish genes. Her petite figure was misleading, and I knew that as a fact. Veronica could kick anyone's ass if she went to the trouble of caring.

  Veronica stood, too, gathering the various chips bags up in her arms. "We gotta get us some better movies," she said.

  "Well, it looked interesting in the store," I muttered, ending my stretch and picking up the popcorn bowl.

  I followed her as she wove her way to the kitchen. In the brighter light, I had the chance to envy her tan that stood out against her pale yellow shirt. I knew I was whiter than a ghost. She recognized my resentful expression, and I crinkled my nose when she rubbed her browned arm with a hand in a teasing gesture. I narrowed my eyes, and she gave me a flashing white grin.

  "So," Veronica said, leaning against the counter closest to the sink, "What's going on with you and Montgomery?"

  I plopped the plastic bowl on the island in the middle of the kitchen, and lent forward on my elbows. "I'm not sure, really. He gave me a run, so I guess that means we're okay. Right?"

  Veronica let out a chuckle. "That depends. What kind of run?"

  I bit my lip, and raised a hand to tuck a loose strand of brown hair behind my ear. "Just going with the client to some political function."

  She looked skeptical, knowing I wasn't telling her everything. "Uh-huh. Who's the client? Anyone I know?"

  "No, I don't think so. I'd never heard of him before," I said, "Name's Knightley."

  Veronica gaped at me for what seemed like an entire minute. "Who?" she choked.

  "Some guy named Callum Knightley," I said slowly, trying to decipher her expression.

  Eyes widening, she replied, "Callum Knightley?"

  Impatient, I replied, "Yeah. What's the big deal?"

  "I'm still deciding. It's down to you escorting Knightley to a party and you not knowing who Knightley is."

  I frowned. "How do you know Callum?"

  Veronica's face was an assortment of shock, admiration, and exasperation. "You're on a first name basis," she stated in awe.

  I lifted and dropped a shoulder. "I told him to call me Dahlia, and he said to call him Callum. Why?
"

  "Let's go in here," Veronica suggested, walking out of the kitchen and settling herself on the red velvet couch. I trailed after her, seeking answers now that my curiosity was piqued.

  'Well…" I prompted.

  She took a breath and said, "Knightley. You really don't recognize the name?" I shook my head, "He's like the biggest of the biggest in the California underworld dealings. Not that he's mixed in bad affairs. No, he's some sort of freelance vigilante, from what I've heard. The government lets him do what he wants, mostly because he can do everything they can't."

  She peered at me keenly to analyze any flicker of emotion that crossed my face. I gave her a blank look.

  "He seemed powerful," I offered indecisively.

  Veronica let out a sigh of frustration, but went on. "Powerful? Yeah, I would think so. Nobody knows much about him, but it's obvious that holds a great deal of influence in all sorts of affairs, both legit, and, well…not."

  I sat up straighter. "What do you mean by 'vigilante'? Like he's some sort of renegade cop? Or-"

  She cut me off, saying quickly, "Not a cop, no. Like I said, no one knows what he really is. But he's been on the P.I. radar ever since I joined Montgomery Investigations."

  I was mildly surprised, due to the fact that Veronica was probably ten years Mr. Knightley's senior. He was beginning to sound a lot like Ayden Montgomery; young, but yielding a mass amount of power.

  "What's he hiring you to do, anyway?" she asked.

  "Be his silent bodyguard at this function he's going to Friday," I paused to yawn, "I'm to pose as his date."

  Once again, Veronica's eyes went huge. "I've only seen a picture of him in a newspaper, but he looked fine," she said, envious, "God, you piss off Montgomery, and look where it lands you. Right in front of a famous guy. Me, on the other hand, me who has been working overtime, gets Fletcher who's done himself in again. That boy's not straight in the head, if you know what I mean."

  I grinned devilishly. For the past two years, Veronica had been after Bill Fletcher, some petty thief who stole from rich senior citizens. Every time she pegged him, he somehow managed to wriggle out of her grasp. She had gone and developed a sort of sisterly affection for the guy, which annoyed her relentlessly.

  A rapping at the front door made us both start. It took a moment for my mind to grasp that someone was at my door. On my way to the front of the apartment, I glanced at the cuckoo clock on the small foyer. Who was knocking on my door at ten o'clock at night? Interested, I unlocked it, and yanked it open.

  Will pushed his wet hair away from his face. It was stained a brown instead of its usual blond with dampness. His black leather jacket was spotted with rain, and he was making puddles in the space between my apartment and his.

  "I need to talk to you," he said, examining me as he spoke.

  "Now?" I answered tiredly.

  "Yes, now. I haven't been able to sleep since the last time we talked," Will said.

  I glanced behind me to where Veronica was carefully reading a magazine, splayed out comfortably on my couch. Her eyes weren't moving across the page, trying to be sneaky but not succeeding.

  "I'm a little busy now, Will," I turned back to him, "Can we talk tomorrow, maybe?"

  "I'll only take a second," he pushed his way past me. It was obvious he had a point, and nothing was going to stop him from making it.

  Well, maybe the presence of company would. Will stopped in his tracks when he saw Veronica lying innocently on the couch. Surprised, he turned to look at me as I shut the door.

  "I said I was a little busy," I whispered.

  I went back into the living room, and plopped down in an armchair. I swung myself sideways to let my feet hang off the end, and gestured for Will to come in and make himself comfortable. He shuffled in, and sat in the only available seat remaining.

  Veronica folded a page on the magazine, and closed it. We exchanged looks, and she sat up straight.

  "I'm Veronica Murray," she greeted, leaning over the coffee table and sticking out her hand.

  Momentarily bewildered, Will returned, "Will."

  She took in his rain-drenched appearance, and narrowed her almond eyes in suspicion. "And what are you?"

  "I'm Dahlia's neighbor." He shot me a look that told me he wanted to talk to me alone.

  "Neighbor, huh?" Veronica asked, distrusting, "Neighbor from across town?"

  Both Will and I were confused for a moment, but Will caught on earlier. "I was out running some errands. I live right across the hall."

  Veronica's eyes twinkled as she looked at me. "Across the hall?" she said to me in a lowered voice.

  I rolled my eyes at her implication, and said, "Yes. I've known him for about two years now."

  Will, nodding, rose and jerked his head back to the front door. "I should get going, Dahlia. Sorry if I interrupted your night."

  Trailing behind him like a lost puppy, I said, "Don't worry about it."

  With one hand on the door, Will realized at the same time as I that we were in a familiar position. All too aware of this, I stayed where I was, three feet away. Having made a decision, he released the door handle, and smiled gently at me.

  "We'll talk some other time," he promised. He moved closer, and laid his hands lightly on my shoulders. I looked up and smiled reassuringly.

  "Sure," I said softly.

  I closed my eyes and breathed in the scent of rain and leather. Soft, warm lips pressed against my forehead. I was suspended in time, frozen. A sigh blew against me in a whirl of air, and the hands freed me. The rustling of clothing was heard, and then the door clicking shut. I dropped back into reality, and opened my eyes. I stared at empty space. Will was gone.

  "Ooh, looks like someone's got a crush," came Veronica's joking voice from the living room.

  "I do not," I said indignantly.

  "I didn't mean you."

  * * *

  The wet gravel crunched under my feet as I walked across the parking lot. Twenty feet away from the building, security lights flashed on, basking me in dazzling light. Squinting, I quickly sidestepped into the shadows of the trees lined up at the edge of the front area. I hadn't expected the downtrodden motel to monitor their security.

  I walked beside the small forest until I reached the flashing red sign that read, "Sea Shell Motel". The 's' in the word 'Shell' was missing, and I almost smiled when I realized it now said, "Sea hell Motel". Yes, that name was much more fitting for the place.

  With half its metal roof missing and the spots of dirt staining the walls, it hardly looked fit enough to be lived in, much less a business. I suppose fugitives would regard it as the perfect hiding place. And Fletcher was a fugitive, a dumb one, but a fugitive nonetheless. He thought like one, looked like one, and smelled like one.

  "Dahlia," Veronica's voice hissed from near the building.

  She left the shadows behind her as she stepped out into the security floodlight. Her long mane of hair was tied into a ponytail at the top of her head, and she donned a gray wool coat with rubber boots on her feet. She smiled, and beckoned me closer.

  "Is he here?" I asked, making my way to her, my shoes loud on the gravel.

  Veronica's expression transformed into a smug look at the question. She nodded, her hair swinging back and forth at the action. She had finally tracked down Bill Fletcher, and she was going to confront him personally. Last night, when she had come over to my place, she had asked me to accompany her as back-up. It was unlikely Fletcher was enough of a threat to her safety that she needed back-up, but Veronica loved to share the action with someone else.

  Pointing up, she whispered, "Room 3. I'm gonna get that sucker once and for all."

  Together, we started up the steps that led to the second floor. They creaked with our combined weights, and I became worried that they might collapse. Mounting excitement replaced the mundane worry when we stood before Room #3. Veronica and I exchanged looks, nodded simultaneously, and she knocked on the door five times.

 
"Who is it?" Fletcher's boyish voice came through the door, sleepy but aware.

  "Room service," Veronica said sarcastically. She rolled her eyes at me.

  "I didn't order anything," he responded, but proceeded to unlock the door anyway. Veronica made a face that clearly said "how stupid can he get?"

  A sliver appeared in the door, casting a crack of light into the hallway. In the flash of a moment, Veronica kicked the door open, knocking Fletcher back onto the floor. He looked up at her in surprise that changed into fear when he recognized, not her face, but the look in her eyes. I cringed in pity for him. You did not want to be on the receiving end of that expression.

  "Hi, Bill," Veronica said, dangerously advancing on him.

  Fletcher scrambled up, head roving, desperately looking around for a way out. His beady eyes fixed on the window to his left, and he darted in that direction. Veronica shot forward. Next thing I saw was Fletcher pinned against the wall, struggling to get loose.

  "What-what do you-you want?" he panted, clawing at her hands as they pressed heavily against him.

  "What do I want?" Veronica growled close to his ear, "I want to put your ass in jail for a long, long time."

  I shut the door, and leaned against it, arms crossed. I didn't want to interfere. This was Veronica's run, and I wasn't going to get in the way.

  Or not.

  For the first time, Fletcher noticed me. He had mostly concentrated on the petite, hotheaded female who looked like she wanted to hurt him, but he had heard the door shut, and I had gained his attention. I raised a hand and waved at him from across the room. His eyes widened in astonishment.

  After managing to free his airway, he rasped, "Dahlia Simon?"

  I would have ignored him if it wasn't for the sudden blanching of his face and the way he continued to stare at me. It seemed he had completely forgotten Veronica had shoved him up against the wall.