5
Reasons to Reconsider
Adina drove home, put some nice music on in the background, drew herself a bath, got all cozy and soapy, made some decaf coffee... and nothing changed.
She lounged ominously in her bath, chin resting just above the soapy line that had formed from the fizzy bath bomb that she'd tossed in, right arm resting outside the bath with a steamy cup of decaf in her hand, thinking. It still felt wrong. She didn't feel better now that time had passed. Alex had been sad that she didn't take the case. The reason she knew that Alex had been sad was because he spent the rest of the day complaining about it, although he had stopped when he realized how much it was annoying her to listen to his laments that he "coulda worked with Marcus Pierce, boss! That's awesome! Do ya know how many opportunities like that come along?"
Truth be told, Adina had never had something quite like that before. She'd had famous people, but not quite at the level of Marcus Pierce. She suspected he was a flavor of the month. Sooner or later, audiences would get tired of his persona. There was only so much that could be done with a moody, dark character before the audience wanted him to grow up. Marcus was hot news today. Tomorrow? Who knows, but as of that moment, he was the center of the hip culture—something that she had never associated with and never fully understood. Popularity was such a stupid thing. Flocks of people, droves of people, all vying to look, act, or be a certain way just because someone famous decided to try it. It disgusted her. If something was at the forefront of popularity, she'd almost certainly never try it. Sometimes people wanted to know why she'd set up shop so close to Hollywood if she thought that way. Those who knew her knew the truth: it was purely business. Los Angeles was the best place to run a Gifted detective agency. It had the largest volume of clients, the most Gifted population, and the most crimes for the Gifted population. She could care less about all the celebrities. Maybe Alex was swept off his feet by Marcus's fame, but to her, it was more of a detriment than anything else. She'd rather work for the nice old shop owner than some celebrity.
What the hell was bothering her?
She finished up her coffee and stayed in the bath entirely too long, so by the time she got out and dried off, her fingers and toes had gotten all wrinkly. She loved that, secretly. She could be in the water for twenty minutes and her body was like, “Okay, I guess we're aquatic now. Better prepare to live underwater forever.” It was nice to know that if she randomly wanted to become a fish, her body had her covered. She'd never say that out loud, but deep down, she took secret delight in it.
She snatched her coffee mug and, clad in a towel with her wet hair lying heavily around her head and down her back, she made her way to the kitchen with her recently dried bare feet slapping loudly against the hardwood floor. She grimaced, looking at some of her clothes tossed around on the couch lazily, a shoe here and the other one God-knows-where, an Amazon package she intended to return but kept forgetting about. Her split-level house might be a mess, but the one room in the house as neat as a pin was her bedroom. She rarely used it. On the few nights where she was home long enough to sleep, she rarely used the bed. It was sad, really; an overly forward first date had brought her some creamy silk sheets in the hopes of breaking them in. She'd dumped the guy, but kept the sheets.
Dinner consisted of some Chinese that she had ordered the day before, but hadn't finished, so she tossed it in the microwave. The attempt to get it back to warm was semi-successful, as most of the meal ended up scalded, but the middle part remained straight out of the North Pole. Maybe another day she would have put forth more effort, but by the time she noticed the cold middle part, she was already sitting down and she didn't want to get up, so she just dealt with it and ate. She sat at her table, which had rarely seen anyone besides her at it, poking at her food thoughtfully. She turned on the TV for some company and, ironically enough, the first program that came up was a re-run of Precinct 12. She snorted, thought about changing it, but decided not to.
"What the hell," she said to the empty apartment. "Why not?" She put the remote down and halfway watched the show, not enough to acknowledge to herself that she was watching it, but enough that she was able to keep up with the storyline and the plot.
She had only a couple minutes, anyway. She'd asked Gregory to meet up with her since the thought that she should have gotten involved just wouldn't leave her alone. Gregory always made things make sense and best of all, since the Grigori angel had bound himself to her when she was 16 to keep watch over her and keep her from straying, she didn't have to hide herself as much. They'd known each other for what seemed like forever. She didn't have family, but if she did, Gregory would be the best candidate. She wouldn't text anyone else to see if they could talk through something. She wouldn't come out and say what was on her mind, but she'd ask what he thought should be done about Marcus. He, as always, would know what she meant and answer what she meant, but wouldn’t ask. He had a habit of being early. Tell him 8, he'd be there at 7:45. She had only twenty, maybe thirty minutes before he got there. Enough time for finishing up the episode that was on. She focused back on the show and tried to relax. Thinking about it, she pulled on some clothes. Wearing only a towel when he arrived early might not exactly send the right message, even if it was one he'd eagerly accept.
Precinct 12. A dumb name for a dumb show. The only thing that kept the same old same old high-drama police show from getting dull was the life that was breathed into it by the high-caliber acting crew. She could call the show stupid and the cast members vapid, but she couldn't discredit their acting methods. They were good. Watching it even halfheartedly, she found herself getting sucked into the story and wondering if Detective Vincent Lewis was going to find who killed little Timmy's dad. Funny thing, drama shows. They were made for people who apparently didn't have enough drama in their actual lives, so they went to find it elsewhere. She'd never been fond of the genre, but from a purely objective standpoint, for a derivative show genre, Precinct 12 was one of the best-done ones.
Marcus looked so different on TV than he had in person. Watching him on screen, he was this jaded, hardcore detective in his mid-30s with nothing to live for. He did all kinds of stupid stuff, breaking the law to save people because he didn't give a damn if he got hurt. What mattered to Detective Vincent Lewis was getting the job done, regardless of who got hurt in the process. Better a hundred laws be broken than one guilty man walk free. In the short period of time that she watched, she got to see the handsome detective break two noses, shatter three ribs, kick some guy in the shoulder, and she was pretty sure he tossed a couple people out of windows, all with his trademark grimace that said, “Yeah, I'm a good-looking guy but I'm no wuss. What of it?” In person, Marcus hadn't been like that. Sure, he was the same person phenotypically, but in personality, he couldn't have been more different. Marcus had been happy and energetic and optimistic, even with the terrible news that he'd delivered. His eyes had kept a playful twinkle in them the entire time they were talking, not like he was flirting with her so much as simply being happy to be alive. Someone wanted to hurt him. Maybe even kill him.
What would it be like to have someone like him around? She chewed her food thoughtfully, tossing the idea around in her head. She could talk to him. If she went to the set or to his house (he had given her his address without asking and she still remembered it), he'd probably still want her help. At the very least, they could discuss the possibility. Entirely without her permission, her brain heard the thoughts and took off in an entirely new direction: What if he was sitting right there, across from her, and instead of watching him on TV they would be laughing and having a nice dinner together? She melted a little inside, thinking about it. She could use some of that optimism, some of that light. It sure didn't hurt that he happened to be cute...
Abruptly, something shattered. Glass, by the sound of it.
Adina's heart leapt into her throat. She clenched her fork in surprise and half-jumped up, spilling some of her Chinese on the
oak table before whirling to look at where the sound had come from—somewhere back towards the bathroom. She narrowed her eyes, scanning the empty house. Nothing. But obviously something had happened, or she wouldn't have heard the crash. If it was an intruder, they were smart—coming in through the window in the bathroom if she had to bet. No cameras. No evidence. However, they couldn't have been that smart, or they wouldn't have picked her house. She unclenched her fist and let her metal fork drop to the table, mangled from her fingers like butter. All those years of training came back. Breathe quietly. Strong. Calm. She, still barefoot, took a silent step towards the origin of the sound, heart pounding with no emotion showing on her face.
Gregory? Was it possible that Gregory had shown up and busted out her window? Not likely, even though it was about the time he was supposed to arrive. Gregory wasn't nearly that stupid. Another silenced step. She didn't ask if anyone was there. If anyone was, they'd know she was coming to investigate. She liked the idea of keeping the upper hand. If they couldn't hear her getting close, she had the advantage. She had no intention of giving it up for some stupid, cliché question. Her hand softly wrapped around the wooden baseball bat she kept by the front door and picked it up without a sound. Her eyes remained locked on the closed bathroom door. She couldn't hear anything. Maybe someone had just thrown something at the window from the outside. Another step, slowly raising the bat up with the intention of beating the shit out of anyone who came out the door.
Another.
Closer.
Another.
Closer.
She kept her noises down as much as possible. She heard nothing on the other side of the door, though a stray piece of glass that had skittered under the door confirmed her suspicions—someone or something had busted her window out. She didn't hear anything. She focused, hard. Wham! She got slammed in the face by an overwhelming wave of emotion from the other presence. Rage. Hatred. Jealousy. All of it, just pouring off the figure's aura, so strong and so potent that it felt like she'd been physically hit. Trying to remain quiet, she let out a soft gasp and doubled over. Her vision blurred, giving her only basic shapes and making her dizzy enough to want to fall down. She grabbed her aching head, trying to force the overwhelming emotions out so she could think, but they just kept pouring in, more and more and more until she felt like she couldn't see anything over the clamorous rage seeping off whatever was on the other side.
And then, it wasn't on the other side.
Something huge and furry busted through the door, shattering it and sending pieces everywhere. Adina, still struggling to make sense of what was happening, saw it out of the corner of her eye and a bolt of fear sliced through her. She jerked up her left arm to protect her face from the creature just in time to block a claw from piercing her skull. The claw plunged deep into her forearm and exploded out the other side as it tore clean through.
It plowed into her like a runaway train, slamming her into the wall behind her with enough force to burst through, sending them both tumbling into her living room. The heavy creature landed on her hard, forcing all of Adina's air out in a whoosh. She barely noticed, still virtually blinded by all the staggering emotion. Her heart pounded harder and harder, every survival instinct ordering her to get up immediately and fight this thing off before it turned her into minced meat. She planted her legs on the attacker and pushed. With her strength, the heavy animal flew back and collided with the kitchen island, which crumbled under its weight but provided a barrier so Adina couldn't see the majority of whatever had ambushed her. All she could see was thick, coarse hair and a body the size of a horse. A werewolf. She didn't focus on it. She scrambled to her feet, staring at the jagged hole in her forearm and the splintered bone that had stopped the claw from going straight through her head, blood pumping out of it and running down her arm at an alarming speed. Her high heart rate didn't help anything. Biting, stabbing pain shot through her body. She doubled over, hugging her arm. "Motherfucker!!"
Eyes tearing up from the pain, making it only harder to see, she tried to shake it off. She had bigger things to worry about than one arm getting damaged. She'd heal. She always healed. Her big problem was surviving to be able to heal. With one arm already down, that wasn't going to be easy. She needed a weapon before the werewolf came after her again. She heard its claws violently scratching the tile floor, drawing huge rents with a horrid screech as it got up and pounced after her at a speed that was just unfair for a predator that size. It already had strength, intelligence, and claws the size of a steak knife. Why did it also have to have speed?
Speed it might have had, but eyes it apparently didn't, because it either didn't see Adina grab the bat with her good arm or didn't think she would be of sound enough mind to do anything other than crawl into a ball and die. Adina whirled on it as it pounced into the air, bringing the bat around like she was swinging for the fences in a baseball game while ducking under its leap. It was a solid hit, connecting soundly with the soft muzzle of the beast. Combined with Adina's supernatural strength, the bat snapped in half with the contact, sending one shaft of the wood flying off somewhere.
The werewolf let out a pained snarl and tumbled to the ground, but not before another claw caught Adina's shoulder as it went by. It wasn't much—barely enough to break the skin—but the creature shouldn't have been able to even touch her. It was fast. Scary fast. Faster than she'd thought. Adina scrambled back behind her couch, relishing the sneezes and gasps of her attacker. A werewolf's nose was their soft spot. Their nose was incredible. They could smell a piece of meat from half a mile away, but getting hit like that was the werewolf equivalent of getting a bat broken on some guy's family jewels. Pain, and lots of it. Better yet, it'd screw up the werewolf's coordination, or at least that was the theory.
It was a poor theory.
If it had been science class, the next step according to the Scientific Method was to revise her hypothesis. Unfortunately, the next step ended up being the werewolf recovering faster than Adina had hoped, leaping onto her before she could get far enough away, and getting minced to death by a storm of claws and fangs. Pinned down with the larger creature above her, Adina tried to fight back as endless agony erupted from each slice. It wasn't intending to hurt her. It was intending to kill her. Blinded, overwhelmed by the speed and strength of the assailant, exhausted by her blood being spilled, and stunned by every second having her flesh opened by the knife-like claws, she wasn't able to do much. Even with her abilities, even as strong as she was, she couldn't stop a werewolf from shredding her like she'd been tossed in a blender once she got pinned and disoriented. Every blow that she landed cost her five in return. She managed to clip the beast with a desperate punch. Her reward was a six-inch claw thrusting into her ribcage four or five times, lacerating her organs and causing another wave of nauseating pain. As if the physical torture wasn't debilitating enough, the waves of stunning emotion that the werewolf put off staggered her, making it hard to see, hard to think, and hard to even process what was happening in a way that she almost never saw and would probably never see again. Then again, her dying brain reminded her in a state of strange calm for a split second, she wouldn't be seeing much of anything again.
The pain fell away. The only indication that she was still being stabbed was that she was watching it happen, powerless to stop it or fight back. Her attacks grew weaker and weaker until finally, she could barely muster the strength to raise her arms. She couldn't breathe. She tried to gasp or cry for help, the blood filling her lungs and leaving her choking. Panic overcame her, panic that grew into real fear as the werewolf straddled her and wrapped its furry, powerful hands around Adina's throat... and slowly began to squeeze.
Lying in a pool of her own blood, Adina pathetically tried to push the beast off. She tried helplessly to use her legs, only to find that they wouldn't work. Her arms, too weak to do anything, tried in vain to peel the werewolf's hands off her throat as it crushed and crunched various parts of her throat, each snap brin
ging her closer to death. Even she, with all her regenerative abilities, could die. Intellectually, she knew that. But she hadn't really thought it possible until she found herself looking into the hard, dark eyes of the werewolf strangling her final ounce of strength out of her body. This was her killer. This was the person who finally put her out of her misery—some piece of shit dog. Adina's vision started to go dark as she gagged and fought on with everything she had left, which wasn't enough to do much more than mildly annoy her killer. Her heels scratched at the floor, trying and failing to push the assailant off.
There was no moment of peace. No tranquility. No angel descended on her and comforted her. She was dying alone, as alone as she always was, but this time, she just wasn't strong enough to pull through. She wouldn't even say that she'd led a good life.
BOOM!
The sound of the shotgun going off didn't even register. Watching the scatter tear into the body of the blurry, blocky werewolf on top of her didn't register. The sounds of a brief struggle and a few more shots didn't register. She lay on the floor, bleeding out and feeling every limb in her body go cold one by one, choking on her own blood as she weakly fought for precious oxygen.
Marcus - Precinct 12 Page 4
