Beginnings

by J. S. Frankel

  “There won’t be any trouble if this man moves aside,” she said and marched in the cop’s direction.

  The cop muttered something and brought out a Taser instead of his gun. Turning it on, he thrust it against her right shoulder and a blue arc of electricity surged over her body. She stiffened at the shock then staggered. Then he jammed the Taser hard against her shoulder, cutting through her blouse. A few drops of blood oozed out. “Hey, what is wrong with you?” she exclaimed.

  However, she soon recovered enough to rip the weapon from his clasp. With her free hand, she grabbed his collar and effortlessly heaved him over her shoulder. He sailed through the air and landed with a crash at the back of the club. The patrons screamed and ducked for cover, while the cop reached for his pistol. Angela whirled around.

  “Don’t even try it,” she warned.

  Slowly he withdrew his hand. “What are you?” he asked weakly.

  “Believe it or not, we’re on your side,” she said before turning around. Staring at the Taser with a look of disdain, she crushed it. “That really hurt,” she muttered.

  A crowd of restless, shifting and curious people had formed a wall in front of the store. For a moment, the wall held, but when Angela turned her gaze on them, something fierce and totally unearthly, murmurs of surprise and fear broke out among the would-be righteous. “Move,” she said in a voice filled with quiet menace.

  “You’re bleeding,” one man said, pointing at her.

  “Yeah, and it hurts, too,” she answered. “If you don’t want more of the same, get out of my way.”

  Without so much as making a sound, the crowd moved aside. Heaving in a deep breath, she grabbed Paul by his shoulder and towed him past the waiting line of the curious. Just as they cleared the pack, she stumbled. “I hate these shoes!” she cried, and kicked them off.

  “Wear boots next time,” he said and, after stealing a look behind him, added, “Oh crap!”

  “What is it?”

  “The natives are restless,” he said, jerking his thumb over his shoulder. “Run!”

  The shouts and screams began and they began running in earnest, chased by a mob. Many of them were armed with garbage can lids while others carried sticks and metal bars. Where they got this stuff was beyond him, but he didn’t have time to figure it out.

  “This wasn’t my idea of a date,” he panted.

  Angela threw him a cross look. “Don’t blame me. It was my first time,” she replied then added, “Grab onto me!”

  As he obediently put his arms around her waist, she leapt into the air. Their journey was accompanied by cries from the crowd below. Sirens wailed and the sounds of “She’s up there. She’s up there,” rang out from the street.

  Paul turned his attention to his impromptu chauffeur. Her face wore a look of pain. “Can you make it?” he asked.

  “I…think I need to sit down,” she said as they flew unsteadily. Their flight plan got more and more erratic until Angela finally seemed to run out of gas. She descended and landed awkwardly, sprawled out on the gravel. Paul went tumbling end over end until he slammed to a stop against a wall. His ribs, formerly on the mend, protested and he let out a cry of pain.

  “Ahh…that wasn’t fun,” he groaned. If almost getting punched out and landing hard on gravel was someone’s idea of fun, forget about it. There were other, better ways of having a good time.

  “Sorry about the landing,” Angela said in a rueful tone. She sat up and examined her body all over then got to her feet. “Wearing shoes hurts. How do girls walk in them?”

  Since no clever answer came to mind, he said nothing. Angela rubbed the injured area on her shoulder and shook her head. “First I get called a freak then I get hurt. I wasn’t expecting the policeman to shock me.”

  As she spoke, her wound began to heal. In seconds, it was gone.

  “I wasn’t expecting to get into a fight, either,” Paul replied, still surprised at the healing factor she had.

  His initial shock of the almost-fight and near escape had worn off. Now, as he wondered if his face was going to be on the midnight news flash, she broke through his reverie to ask, “Did the date really stink?”

  The way she asked, innocent along with a slightly sarcastic tone, made him chuckle. “It was…different,” he decided to say.

  Angela came over to put her hands on his shoulders. “You have a funny way of phrasing things.” She seemed to brighten and her voice got a note of lightness in it. “You handled yourself pretty well at the music store.”

  “I almost got my head kicked in.”

  “No, I meant you sticking up for me.”

  Her fingers gently kneaded his shoulders, which helped to take away some of the soreness. It also sent a warm feeling through his body. Was she coming on to him? If she was, then this was the best come-on he’d ever had. No, check that, it was the only come-on he’d ever had.

  The massage continued, and her fingers traveled to his shoulders then to his upper back, her face close to his. Her breath smelled warm and sweet, and it took away from the chill of the night. It also made him a whole lot better about having come here. “I, uh, didn’t do that much,” he began, ashamed of being weak.

  “You were afraid?”

  It hurt to say so, but, “Yes. In case you hadn’t noticed, I don’t have special powers or super strength…”

  He stopped talking when she put a finger to his lips. “Sometimes you have to take a chance,” she finally said. “I know it sounds funny to say this, because I can’t really be hurt, but if you give up before you start, then you’ve already lost. Fear is natural. At least, that’s what my download tells me. You can’t give in to it.”

  While he was digesting her words, she said, “C’mon,” and in a graceful move, she rose and pulled him up with her. Once they faced each other, she said, “I, uh, have a question for you.”

  “Okay.”

  She bit her lip. “You said that you didn’t have parents. Do you miss them?”

  Surprised by her question—and a little embarrassed as well—Paul mumbled something about every kid wanting to know who their parents were. Mulling the options over, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his one half-a-family picture. “I don’t remember my mother, just my father. This is what he looked like,” he said. “I haven’t seen him in about thirteen years.”

  Angela stared at the picture. “Yeah, you look a lot like him.” She touched his hand in a gentle manner. “Do you want to?”

  Disturbed at his feelings toward her as well as the mention of not having anyone as a real guardian around, he hastily tucked the picture away. “Yeah, I want to, but…”

  A river of dryness coated his throat and he almost choked. It was a kind of split personality thing with him. Part of him wanted to know why his father had given him up. The other part told him that maybe he was better off not knowing.

  “At least you had parents,” Angela said, interrupting his thoughts as she stared out at the bright lights. “I wouldn’t know what that means. I was made from someone’s cell. That isn’t a parent. That’s a lab specimen.” As if embarrassed by her admission, she cleared her throat. “Thanks for taking me here tonight. I had a pretty good time.”

  She’d listened to music someone born in the nineteen-fifties would have listened to, trashed a punk and knocked a cop out. And he’d almost gotten his face beaten in…again. Still, it had been fun—sort of.

  “You did?” he asked.

  Angela nodded, but a plaintive tone in her voice emerged. “Well, yeah. I mean…it wasn’t so great when they started yelling ‘vampire’ at me. I know I’m not human, not really. I know that.”

  “That’s okay.” In a situation like this, what would—or should—someone say? She’d saved his life at least twice, looked great and he liked her attitude. Tough but gentle…he could learn from that. “I mean, you’re human to me.”

  Her eyes flickered up to meet his, wavered, then she averted her gaze. “I’ve, uh, never been out with
anyone before. You’re…fun.”

  Compliments were like finding money on the street—rare and valuable. It made him feel good, sort of hot all over, and Paul decided it wasn’t from the excitement. “Thanks. You’re pretty cool, too.”

  A clock struck eleven, ending their mutual admiration session. “We should go home,” she said. “C’mon.”

  In a slow, rather deliberate, move, she put her arm around his waist and hugged him tightly. They rose into the air, and this time her flight path was sure and steady. During the twenty-minute flight home, Paul concentrated on keeping his breathing steady. Angela tilted her head…her cheek brushed his…and oh, what a feeling that was!

  Arriving home at around half-past-eleven, they landed in the backyard and Angela offered a shy smile. “We should do that again,” she said in a very quiet voice. “I want to do it again.”

  Flustered yet stoked by her attention, he twirled his toe on the hard ground. First date or not, he decided to pop the all-important question. “Mind if, I, um…kiss you before we go in?”

  Her mouth opened then shut with an audible snapping sound, and she ducked her head. “Is this what people do on dates?” she whispered.

  “If they like each other, yeah, they kiss and all that.” Not to mention this might be his first kiss ever.

  Angela didn’t say anything for a few moments. She stood there, silent and small, staring at the ground. “I…don’t know,” she finally said.

  Rejection hit and hit hard. Paul’s heart had been beating fast. Hoping against all hope was his wish for his first kiss—but it was not to be.

  “Oh,” he managed to get out and didn’t try to hide his disappointment.

  “It’s nothing against you,” Angela said as she picked her head up. Perhaps she understood what the downcast look on his face meant as she hurriedly added, “I’ve never had a date before. I didn’t know if you were supposed to… You know…”

  Her voice trailed off and as he looked at her, her face suffused a deep red. Confusion as well as uncertainty ruled, and to cover his disappointment and social screw-up, he cleared his throat. “Uh, it’s okay. But…I still want to go out with you again…when you’re not kicking someone’s ass, I mean.”

  His comment must have pleased her, as she gave him a flashing smile. No more wallflower look from her. “Yeah, okay, we could do that,” she said. She offered her hand and he took it, feeling its warmth and strength.

  “I guess this means we like each other,” said Paul, stating the obvious.

  “It does,” she agreed. “It does.”

  If ever there was a moment for elation, then this was it. There would be a next time. He exulted in that moment, but a gust of wintery cold came along and chilled him. Thanks a lot, winter, and nodding at the door, he said, “Maybe we should go inside?”

  “Okay.”

  Hand in hand they entered, but Paul’s mood of positivity faded when he saw his water and sand housemates sitting on the couch. The former wore a worried expression on his face, while the latter had shaped his body into the form of a question mark. “What’s going on?” Angela asked.

  Ooze pointed at the door. “CF is gone.”

  Chapter Six

  The Search

  A moment of strained silence filled the room then Angela asked the most obvious question. “What do you mean, gone?”

  “It means what it’s supposed to mean,” Ooze snapped back. Sarcasm on full display, he pointed at the door. “How else do you want me to phrase it? Gone means gone, as in left, as in he isn’t here. The horse is out of the barn, Elvis has left the building… You want me to continue?”

  Angela sat down on a nearby chair, suddenly deflated. “This…is not good,” she said.

  She would have to mention the obvious.

  “So, where would he go?” Paul asked.

  Eyebrows formed on Ooze’s face and they arched up to the top of his containment suit. “You’re asking me that? Why don’t you ask me something I do know, which isn’t much? Just because I’m the resident genius around here courtesy of our maker, doesn’t mean I’m a mind reader. And in case you haven’t noticed, our large friend doesn’t have a whole lot up there to begin with.”

  Angela leapt off the couch. She pointed at the ceiling and mimed the movements he used to go from bucket to bucket. “We’re not asking you to perform water tricks or have fun with your chemistry set downstairs,” she erupted. “CF’s out there—among people—and he could be anywhere by now. You know he gets hungry. You know what will happen if he walks up to someone and asks for food.”

  This wasn’t how the Paul wanted the conversation to go, much less the rest of the evening. He’d also been wondering the same thing, but before he could ask, Angela yelled, “If he can’t get the synthetic stuff he eats, then he’ll take the first thing he can get.”

  A more than slightly sick feeling started in the pit of Paul’s stomach and started to spread to his upper chest. “I’m going to take a guess here and say that means people,” he said. “It does, doesn’t it?”

  “That’s pretty likely,” said Angela as she swiveled her gaze to Ooze. Her spine arched like an angry cat’s and her wrath went nuclear. “You should have stopped him. There is such a thing as saying no, isn’t there?” Stabbing her forefinger at Sandstorm, she stated, “And you could have done something, too.”

  Sandstorm formed the words like what then collapsed into a pile. Ooze folded his arms across his chest and leaned forward until his ever-shifting suit was one inch away from her. “Don’t get angry with him or me, either. It’s not like I could have done anything, you know?” He sounded petulant at first then his voice rose and matched hers in tones of anger.

  “You know CF. On the rare occasion he gets an idea in his head, he goes and does it. You can’t really reason with him. I mean, if he gets pissed at me, all he has to do is toss me against the wall. You got that? I go splat and that’s it. Unless you’ve got another containment suit handy or a garbage bag, I can’t hold my form in the open for more than a couple of minutes. When I’m in water, I can control it, but I can’t control me while I’m in the air very well. I’m still working on it. So what was I supposed to do?”

  They continued to hurl abuse at each other, and while they did, Paul picked up the remote and flicked on the television set. Immediately, he dropped it. “Oh…crap,” he said.

  Ooze and Angela stopped raving long enough to ask simultaneously, “What is it?”

  Wordlessly, Paul pointed at the screen. A reporter stood outside a very familiar place—the music store in Manhattan. Dozens of people hovered in the background throwing up peace signs, taking selfies and generally going for their fifteen minutes.

  “And this is the scene at the Disco Forever Music Store in Times Square,” the reporter, a chubby man in his forties wearing a bad toupee intoned. Clad in a trench coat, he brushed back a lock of his dark hair and the whole top of his head wiggled. That prompted a burst of laughter from the crowd. His face turned red, but he continued to speak breathlessly into his microphone.

  “It seems as though the rumors about a vampire woman were true. According to numerous eyewitnesses, she and an unknown male companion who appeared to be in his teens entered the store at around ten forty-five p.m. and started an altercation for reasons unknown.”

  The camera then cut to security footage and sure enough, it showed Angela wrecking the punk’s hand. Her face wore a stony expression.

  “A bystander, Jamie Morton, nineteen, had his hand crushed,” the reporter stated in a breathless manner when the camera focused on him again. “He is expected to make a full recovery.”

  The picture changed to a shot of the punk, a large bandage wrapped around his hand. Pale and shaking, he was led away to an ambulance by a paramedic. Seconds later, the camera went back to the first scene just in time to see the reporter shove a few would-be television stars out of range.

  “Additionally, we have eyewitnesses at the Gothikz rave club who have told us the pai
r entered their establishment at around eleven and that they heard the name ‘Angela’ uttered by the male accomplice,” he said with all the gravity of a police officer reading out an arrested criminal’s rights.

  “When a police officer tried to talk to this person, she flung him to the back of the club. Although we have no information on the current whereabouts of the duo, we are asking citizens to call the police if they spot the pair. She is described as being of medium height, long black hair, having extremely pallid skin and blue eyes. She was also described as being inhumanly strong and should be approached with caution…”

  “Pallid,” Angela repeated. Her voice grew dark. “Am I that pale?”

  “Flour white,” said Ooze sourly. It sounded like someone had filtered lemon water into his suit. “You make paper look tan.”

  More details emerged from the television. “The male accomplice is short and is estimated to be approximately five-seven and one hundred and fifty pounds with brown hair, a big nose and brown eyes. He has been described as having birdlike features and is considered dangerous as well…”

  “So I look like a robin,” Paul muttered. “Thanks a lot.”

  Ooze uttered a wet sound of disgust and shut off the television. “That’s just great,” he snorted as he tossed the remote to the far end of the couch. “Now you’re both fugitives. Whatever happened to keeping a low profile and protecting people?”

  “I was protecting Paul,” answered Angela, her voice icy. In a swift move, she pushed her face an inch away from Ooze’s and her fangs came out. For a moment it seemed as if she was ready and willing to bite through the suit. “And that punk was asking for it,” she added.

  Ooze didn’t back off. Smarminess on full display, he responded with, “What about the cop? Was he asking for it, too? No, don’t answer. I already know.”

  Answer given, he pulled back and hung his head on the couch, muttering something incoherent. Paul made a push for peace and got between the two of them. “Both of you want to cool it? We’re in enough trouble.”