The Rising

by L F Seitz

  I observed the patrons as I waited, wondering if I should tell Amanda about the attack last Friday because I hadn’t told anyone else aside from Cindy. That turned into a hot mess I didn’t even want to bring up again. Maybe I should take all the weird aspects out of it and say he mugged me. Regardless, I needed to tell someone. That cat wouldn’t be enough for this story. Before I knew it, she was back, sitting next to me on my side of the bar with two more shots, both for me to take at my leisure.

  “What did you do last weekend, since I wasn’t here?” she asked.

  “I left. You’re my drink buddy, not gunna do it without you. Besides the age thing kind of makes it difficult,” I said with a laugh and threw back my second shot. It burned as much as the first. I didn’t really care for the taste or the smell, but I liked the buzz. She grinned and took a swig of her water. It’s the only thing I ever saw her drink aside from the single shot she always took with me.

  “Oh, well, I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you I wasn’t going to be here. I was just so sick, throwing up everywhere. It was brutal.” She paused before adding, “Well, what did you do that night? I’m sure there was something. Catch a movie?” I drank the last shot, followed by a chase of Mountain Dew and prepared myself for the questions.

  “Got mugged walking home,” I said with a sigh. Her eyebrows rose, and she grasped my shoulder.

  “Are you serious? What happened?” Her voice was filled with concern. The images were dredged up by her questions. I flinched when I remembered all the blood.

  Well, he slit my throat, and I basically died. I could say that.

  “He held a knife to my throat and took my wallet.” Closest thing to the truth. She rubbed my back, which felt both awkward and soothing. Physical contact wasn’t something I was used to. The sensation almost felt weird, but my tense muscles relaxed to the touch. It was another thing that I battled against myself for: I yearned for the human touch, but my anxiety made me fear it. She lifted her arms, motioning me into a hug as her face twisted into pity. Usually I didn’t take pity, because pity meant weakness. Growing up alone, I found myself hating the weakness I felt, the loss of control. But right now ... for tonight, I’d let it go. She held me tight for a long moment and then pulled away.

  “I should have been here for you,” she said.

  I took her hand. “Don’t blame yourself. It’s OK. You were sick. It’s not like you knew,” I said, suddenly feeling weird about touching her. I let go and my hand fell onto my lap.

  “But you were there for me, that scary night not long ago, and when you needed me, I wasn’t there for you.” She was quiet, distraught. She focused at her water bottle as she massaged her temples, looking truly upset. I recalled the night of the muggers once more, the one she talked about it, cringing at the memory as I glanced at her.

  “You can be here for me tonight by buying this walletless girl these drinks,” I said lightly, wondering how I was going to pay without her noticing my wallet hadn’t actually been stolen. She smiled at me quickly before standing and giving me a quick peck on the cheek.

  “Drink as much as you want tonight, babe. It’s all on me, OK?” She took another swig of water and walked back behind the bar to grab two more vodka shots for us. Which was unusual, she never took two shots with me. My usual limit was four and then I went home, but hell, they were free tonight.

  “I deserve this,” I told myself as I took another shot.

  The music made its way from the background through the shouting crowd, surrounding me in a ballad of soulful rock. I could barely make out the words as I glanced toward the sound, the rainbow light of the jukebox dancing across the ceiling. It’s really good to hear your voice saying my name. It sounds so sweet. Coming from the lips of an angel, hearing those words, it makes me weak. The heat of the alcohol hit the pit of my empty stomach and plumed out like heavy smoke, floating through my limbs and making my fingers tingle. It felt good to finally relax my tight muscles and adjust within my skin. I felt so wound up lately, worried about this angel guy who stalked my dreams.

  I took another shot left for me by dear Amanda as I watched the growing crowd. There weren’t many people below the age of thirty in here, and for some reason, that eased my anxiousness a little – or maybe it was the liquor. None of these people bothered to look in my direction. To them, I was just a nuisance, a youngling coming into their old, back-alley bar. I didn’t have the fear of anyone watching me or being pressured to look good for cute guys lingering about. Not that I ever really found anyone attractive. The closest thing I have had to a boyfriend recently was a year ago, when some boys ran up to me a week before prom claiming that a guy friend of theirs liked me. I didn’t fall for it, but wish I had. Some other poor girl got roped into their shenanigans, and their friend stood her up that night. Half the senior class made fun of her for it until graduation. I could have saved that girl a lot of pain.

  I also kind of swore off relationships. Being in the situation I’m in, I’ve seen the darkest parts of a kid’s childhood if they are left without parents. Who’s to say I wouldn’t want to start a family one day, and something happened to me or to my significant other? That kid would be left in the foster system, and I couldn’t live with that thought. Even if I were dead, I couldn’t live with it. That being said, having kids starts somewhere, and that’s liking someone – better yet, loving someone. And I won’t.

  Taking my last shot, I no longer felt the alcohol’s burn. I finished my can of Mountain Dew and crushed it in my hand.

  “How you are doing, girl?” Amanda asked. I whipped my head around and almost fell off my barstool. Amanda caught my arm before I teetered too far, but all I could do was laugh hysterically.

  “You’re up to about six shots, and I’m going to cut you off there,” she said with a chuckle as she took my empty Mountain Dew can and tossed it under the bar.

  I protested before seeing that she had two faces, so I nodded, agreeing with her completely. I only started drinking when I met Amanda. Before that, I hadn’t had more than a small glass of wine at Christmas the year before with Phil and Dorothy. I didn’t have access to alcohol the way I do now, and I’ve only been tipsy a few times. Just enough to get me giggling and energetic. I’ve never gone this far, but why not? I felt like all my movements were delayed and heavy when I tried to get up.

  “You only live a few blocks away, right?” She asked as I concentrated on the movements of my fingers. The skin on my knuckles looked so weird when I bent them.

  “Hey,” she said, grabbing my chin to get my attention.

  “Yeah, few blocks. You want to walk me, hot stuff?” I asked her, attempting to wink but failing miserably. She considered my word with a cocked eyebrow and then shook her head with a huge smile on her face, and I broke into a fit of laughter. She was so beautiful when she smiled.

  “OK, I’m going to tell Jax I’m walking you home, and then I’m going to grab my stuff from the back, all right?” She said, looking at me as she backed away toward Jax. I nodded and hopped off my barstool, stumbling into an older man who smiled creepily at me. I quickly moved away from him to get to the door.

  My skin burned as I smashed through the warm bodies. Maybe it was the vodka. I read somewhere that alcohol made you hot. I mean, it made everyone hotter, but it made skin especially hot. The magazine article explained how alcohol dilates your veins when you drink, shunting blood from your core to your outer body. It’s dangerous in cold weather because your body’s natural tendencies to protect itself from the cold are reversed while drinking. Your body is working to cool you off even when it’s cold out because your receptors are messed up due to the liquor. It’s easier to freeze to death. Science is scary. I almost tripped and hit my face on a table, as someone steered me toward the door, slapping my butt before letting go.

  I couldn’t stop laughing while waiting for her at the front door of the bar. Why was I laughing? Oh, my bag was on my back. Did I put it there? How did I walk this far? I felt like I didn’
t have any feet. Everything was blurry in the glow of the streetlights, like I was the earth, and that’s how the sun looked, and I couldn’t keep my mouth shut. It just hung open. Mouth shut now. I pushed on it, but it stayed open – probably because I was still laughing, giddy from the drinks.

  Screw it. I’m walking home without her. She’s taking too long. I stepped forward and fell against a cold brick wall just outside the door. Apparently, I wasn’t leaving. A few passersbys gave me strange looks as they went on their way inside. I glanced around for the alleyway entrance, I needed to get home. It’s only a few blocks away. I held the wall for support, the wall’s name is now Amanda since she isn’t here with me. I stumbled twice, but once I made it to the sidewalk, I knew I could make it home. I didn’t have to pass busy streets, so I thought I was safe from the police, who could nab me for underage drinking and public intoxication. I couldn’t walk alone, though. Amanda had to help, or I walked sideways. I had to run two streets without Amanda, but somehow, I managed it. I pulled off my jacket and dragged it behind me. Thank God the sidewalks were salted, or this would have been impossible. I’d be like a deer stuck on an icy lake. Not good.

  I got to the alley by my house. One more jump without the wall, and then I was home. But I was so hot, and I felt woozy. I let go of Amanda, the wall, and instead of going forward, I went left, hitting my face hard. For a second, I thought I was leaning on the wall. Nope, I was on the ground. I was lying on the ground in the snow of the alleyway. My arms and legs were so heavy I couldn’t move them. Like boulders weighing me down.

  A rush of sadness fell over me as I lay alone in the snow. I shouldn’t have left without the real Amanda. I should have waited for her. Now I’m going to freeze out here because I can’t move. I have no one, I’ve always had no one, and now I will pay for it.

  “You’re ridiculous,” I heard someone say. His voice was familiar and velvety smooth as he touched my face. I winced. He moved the hair that had blown into my mouth and let his fingers touch linger on my cheeks.

  “I know you,” I whispered. I wanted to open my eyes, but my lids were extremely difficult to control, the urge to sleep gripped them hard as I fought to stay awake.

  “Honestly, letting yourself walk about like this alone,” he grunted.

  “Micah,” I whispered, hoping he wasn’t gone already, and his face would pop up from the darkness in my dream, but there was nothing. I tried to see, but all I could do was roll my eyes around in my head, like marbles. It made me dizzy.

  “You don’t know me,” he said, and I couldn’t help but smirk.

  “You’re the angel,” I whispered back. “Don’t leave me.”

  “You are impossible,” he grunted loudly.

  After some long and heavy breaths, I was dropped onto a cloud – a fluffy, warm cloud. I didn’t sense him anymore though. I reached into the air and smacked against something hard. I patted it with my hand. Buttons and clothing. A shirt. Someone caught my wrist and went to push my hand away, but I held onto it. The hand was warm and callused. My ears rang in the quietude as I held onto this warm stranger, relishing the contact. My pulse calmed, my breathing heavy. I drifted until I couldn’t feel anything anymore.

  “Th’ undying voice of that dead time,

  With its interminable chime,

  Rings, in the spirit of a spell,

  Upon thy emptiness – a knell.”

  – Edgar Allan Poe

  ✽✽✽

  I woke in a haze, my body stiff and weak. I blinked. My vision was fine, but my body, ached as if I were arthritic. I’m basically an old lady. I felt as though a million years had passed since I last moved. The cat laid beside me, snuggling into my hair. He shifted when he noticed me watching him. I raised my heavy arm to stroke him with a limp finger. He enjoyed the affection.

  Slowly, I sat up, my joints cracked as I moved. It was as if my body begged me to return to sleep. But sadly, I craved coffee. I stretched as I stood. The events from the past night were hazy. How’d I get home? I was drinking at the bar and I had walked past the alleyway, but I can’t seem to recollect how I got into my apartment. Again. Judging by the pale blueness of the light, it was still pretty early in the morning, and extremely cold. I noticed I was still fully clothed, aside from my boots, which were on the floor beside my bed. Why don’t I remember getting home last night? Too much too drink maybe. I yawned and scratched my head as I trudged into my living room. I came to a near-screeching halt: Angel guy stood before me.

  White hair settled over tense shoulders. His back was to me, so I couldn’t see his face. I scanned his frame: toned and rigid. He wore a white t-shirt that clung to his waist. Dark-wash jeans shoved into his combat boots. Deep blue vein-like lines curled around his arms and down his hands. I recognized them from that night. The shock and awe made it hard not to tremble.

  What was he doing here?

  What does he want?

  A sudden realization blanketed me in a shiver of disbelief: I’d finally get a chance to understand what happened. I swallowed hard as I stared at the man who nearly killed me once, and could possibly be waiting to kill me a second time. Though it seemed he’d missed numerous times to do so. Why wouldn’t he have hurt me when he found me last night, drunk and vulnerable? I shook away the thoughts. It didn’t matter. What mattered was this moment, to ask him why he attacked me and what he meant when he said those words. My legs shook as I tried to control my breaths. This was a risk. My next moment could be my last, but I needed answers.

  He must have not heard me as I stood behind him, frozen, gawking at his back as he stared out the window. I had to break the hush and ask him everything that continued to pile up in my brain, all the questions I needed answered.

  “Micah,” I whispered breathlessly. Before I could blink, he twisted around at the sound of my voice, his fingers around his blade’s hilt as he surveyed me. He was ready for me to leap on him like some rabid animal. His stance was wide, and his shoulders angled as he seemed to be waiting. I remained perfectly still in my doorway. He diamond shaped face was just as faultless as the first time we’d met: his angled cheekbones to his strong jaw, thick eyebrows, and pale lips were perfect. My face burned crimson as I surveyed him. His, however, remained expressionless. I could tell he assessed me just as I had been assessing him.

  “I don’t have anything on me,” I said softly. Freedom from his piercing eyes couldn’t come fast enough as I tore mine from his. He was beyond intimidating, but this was my apartment. I shouldn’t be the one on edge. Even with a guy who looks like the spawn of an angel and a swimsuit model with murderous tendencies is just hanging in my living room.

  “Do you know what happened last night?” He asked, before I could get a question out. His voice was softer than I’d expected. He relaxed his stance, though his shoulders were still tense, and his hand fell from his blade.

  I spotted the coffeemaker. “Not much.” I walked toward the kitchen. He immediately went back into defensive mode. His quick movements made me jump.

  “I’m only making coffee,” I said holding my hands up in surrender as I moved. I walked around the counter and pulled the dark roast ground coffee beans out of the cabinet to put them into the machine. He studied me, leaning against the windowsill with his arms crossed, his hair framing his face. I focused on my task, as words found their way into my mouth before I could suppress them. “Unless you plan to kill me.”

  “You crawled home intoxicated and passed out like a homeless person. I found you and brought you here,” he said, ignoring the other half of my response. I tucked my hair behind my ear as I bit the inside of my lip, my emotions scattered. The fear I originally felt for this handsome stranger was shrouded in curiosity.

  “Why were you even in the alley to begin with?” The demanding tone in my voice was a little much, even for me. His eyes betrayed his irritation with me. That’s when I felt the tingle again, the coolness of fear as it tiptoed down my spine. I thought about demanding him to leave, but images o
f last Friday night bombarded me and I forced the fear away. “I would have found my way home eventually.” I mumbled, picking at my cuticles. The coffee pot kicked to life and began brewing my morning meal. I had to continue my morning routine despite this major event. It would help to make me appear less afraid of him. Maybe that would get me answers. I moved to fill the cat’s bowl and replace his water. At the sound of his breakfast being prepared, a white cat I'd never seen before rushed over and began to scarf down the colorful Meow Mix pebbles.

  “He yours?” I asked.

  Micah’s brow furrowed in confusion. “He was clawing at the door this morning. I let him in, assuming he was yours,” he said. I shrugged, guessing this was the other cat from 9E, the one that had run away. The man from two nights ago did say the old woman had two cats and that they were brothers. He also said one had run away, so I’m assuming this is him, and he magically found his way here. Just like his brother.

  “You’re different,” Micah said, observing me. “In ways I don’t yet understand.”

  He read my thoughts exactly. Why was my almost killer so interested in me all of a sudden? “How so?” I leaned against the counter behind me, mimicking his stance. We stood in the quiet for a moment as he searched my face. There were a million reasons I could think of as to why I was unusual, but something told me his statement had to do with the night we met. I faintly remembered the shock on his face after he slit my throat. Something about me had changed his mind.

  “Last week, you begged for your life as I slit your throat. Now, you are standing here having a conversation with me, as if nothing happened. Aside from other things, this is the most interesting.”

  “I have ... things I want to know.” Having him here, his knowledge at my fingertips, after so many days left wondering, made me reckless with my statements. Made me overlook my fear and awkwardness for the sake of understanding. There was something different about me when it came to him, ever since last Friday, though the fear still gripped my spine. I decided to follow my gut. “Why did you want to kill me? What changed your mind?” My voice was low, soft, as it created waves in the silent pool between us. I yearned for the information he held.