by Brian Rella
He was about to ring the old bell when a man came from around the back, wiping his mouth with a handkerchief. He stuffed the soiled white cloth down into his back pocket when he was done rubbing his chin.
“Sorry. Caught me eatin’,” he said, with a Southern twang colored by a touch of Brooklyn. The accent was unique to the area, which was just outside of New ‘Awlins.
Some of the man’s meal hung from the chin-whiskers of his patchy beard. Gray meat, from the looks of it. He had a longish nose that bulged at the end and hooked under toward his long upper lip. His eyes were brown, and the left eye was turned outward. Frank wasn’t sure which eye to look at, at so he picked the one he thought was looking him up and down.
“I’d like a room,” Frank said, shifting his duffel bag on his shoulder.
The man turned his head slightly and grinned. He was missing more than a few teeth. “Oh sure, a’ course,” he said, pulling a leather-bound book from under the counter and pushing it toward Frank. “I’ll just need you to sign the registry and pay in advance if you don’t mind, sir. Where ya from?”
Frank didn’t reply. When the man pushed the book in front of him, a tattoo on his forearm crept out from under his sleeve – another dark purple heart with a green eye.
He grasped the pen in his left hand and scribbled a fictitious name in the ledger.
“I say, Mr. …Well, I can’t make that out. What’s your name, friend?”
“Name’s Hankerson. I’m from New York,” Frank said.
“Oh,” the man said. “Whatcha doing down these parts?” He took the pen from the counter, placed it in the binding of the ledger, folded the book, and stuck it back under the desk without taking his eye off of Frank.
Frank returned his stare. “Here for the show,” Frank said, sticking his thumb back in the direction of the bookstore.
“Oh,” the man said. “Made news all the way up there in New York, huh?”
“How much is the room?” Frank asked, ignoring his question. He was already annoyed with the chatter. The long trip down here had made him tired and grumpy. A bath, a bed, and some rest is what he needed. He had no interest in small talk or southern hospitality.
The man eye-balled him and Frank figured he was sizing him up. “Fifty dollars a night, due in advance,” he said, licking his lips.
Frank wondered if that was double or triple the actual rate. He reached behind him, took his wallet from his back pocket, pulled out some bills, and slapped one hundred dollars down on the counter. The man’s eye lit up as he scanned the bills, his lips murmuring, counting under his breath.
He finally tallied the bills and glanced at Frank. “It’s an extra ten dollars a day for fresh sheets,” the man said.
Frank tensed his face and glowered into the man’s good eye. Something changed in the man’s face and his cheeriness faded to a look of seriousness and worry. “Of course we are running a special this week for reporters, and I’d be happy to waive the extra charge for ya if you show me your newspaper credentials.”
“Do I look like a reporter to you?” Frank said, gravel in his voice. The petty game for a few extra bucks this country boy was trying to run on him left him none too pleased.
The man leaned back and a muscle twitched in his cheek. “No, I reckon not.” A forced smile returned, accompanied by some manufactured cheeriness. “Tell ya what. I’ll give you the linens for free anyhow. How’s that sound?”
Frank didn’t reply. He held out his hand.
The man’s mouth fell agape and he stared with uncertainty at Frank, the strange man dressed all in black from New York, that had wandered into his po-dunk hotel. Frank bet the guy was wondering how he went from swindling a few extra bucks from a yankee to nearly shitting himself.
The man finally seemed to come to his senses and looked down at Frank’s open hand.
“Oh,” the man said. “You’ll be wantin’ that room key then.” He chuckled nervously.
“That’ll be fine,” Frank said. “Unless there is some other fee you want to waive for me?”
The man reached under the counter again and pulled up a key. “That’ll be all, Mr. Hankerson. So nice to have you here. Room number seven. Top of the stairs and make a right, all the way to the front.” The man feigned a smile and the nervousness behind his eyes flared as he waited for Frank’s response.
Frank took the key and headed up the stairs.
“Um…er, Mr. Hankerson,” the man called after him.
Frank stopped at the steps and waited, looking straight ahead. He liked playing the silent, scary type with this guy. It was easy and took a lot less energy than engaging his bullshit.
“Uh…you forgot your change.”
“I’m paying up for tomorrow night too. And I don’t want to be disturbed.” Frank shot a look at the man and the man nodded and dropped his eyes.
Frank headed upstairs to his room.
3
JESSIE
October 17, 2015
Chicago, Illinois
O’Hare Airport made Jessie nervous. She had never seen so many people in one place before. Growing up in Beauchamp, she knew everyone and everyone knew her. Well, they thought they knew you. She smirked at the thought of what she had left behind.
The flight had been bumpy, but had arrived on time and Jessie was excited about the new life ahead of her. The world was opening to her in so many ways. She felt liberated. She felt confident. She felt powerful.
She had to pee.
Past gate twelve and the newsstand, she saw a sign for the women’s bathroom. She headed that way, still struggling in her mother’s uncomfortable heels. She would have traded her right arm for her old pair of Converse high-tops.
She noticed a man in a business suit walking in the opposite direction. His eyes popped and he gawked at her, looking her up and down, pausing at her chest, her waist, and her legs. His gawp made her skin crawl. Creep. What the hell are you looking at?
She stared back at the man with disdain, watching him watch her. As the man’s gaze ran back up her body, he met her eyes, and his expression quickly changed from lascivious to one of shame. He dropped his head, pretending to look at the floor, and quickened his pace.
Disgusted, Jessie scowled at him. With the courage that she felt only commanding a demon could fuel, she angled her direction toward the man, and nearly brushed against him as he passed. “Pig,” she said to him, under her breath. She sensed him cowering as they passed. Good. You should cower, you vile old man.
In the bathroom, she walked to the sink, still angered by the encounter with the man. Her image in the mirror startled her. She still expected to see the fourteen-year-old girl she had been less than two days ago staring back at her. Instead an attractive, twenty-something-year-old woman gazed back at her.
She ran her fingers through her long blond hair. Her fingertips traced the curves of her high cheekbones, her eyes moving over each feature of her face and making their way down her neck to her chest and torso. She turned to the side and looked further down. It was her, but it was someone else too. It frightened her and excited her at the same time.
A stall flushed, startling her. She reached for the water faucets, turning them on, embarrassed she had been staring at herself for so long in the mirror.
An overweight woman in her late forties or fifties walked next to her to wash her hands. Jessie looked at her out of the corner of her eye. The woman glanced at Jessie in the mirror. There was a long pause between them with nothing said. Jessie felt self-conscious about the way the woman stared at her.
The woman wrinkled her nose, turned back to the mirror, brushed something from her cheek, and left.
Jessie went back to her reflection in the mirror.
Who am I?
A woman stared back at her in the mirror. She no longer looked like an awkward teenager, but all the insecurities of a young girl remained inside of her mind.
I look like my mother. Well, like her mother used to look before she and Arraziel
had fixed her. She struggled to reconcile the changes her body had gone through with her feelings of awkwardness. The man in the terminal and the woman in the mirror made her even more uncomfortable. Is this how adults behave? She was unsure of herself in her new skin, especially around men. They looked at her differently now, and even though it was creepy sometimes, it felt good to be noticed.
Back in school, boys had ignored her. She was invisible.
No one would ever ignore her again.
That man in the terminal had gaped at her. His eyes traced the curves of her body. She had caught other men staring at her wantonly. Some dropped their eyes immediately. Why? Why did they only want to look at her? Why didn’t they want her to look back?
It makes them uncomfortable, princess, the deep voice thrummed in her head. They do not like it when you catch them. They see your power and beauty and are afraid.
When she caught them looking, their faces changed. Guilt and shame – especially the ones with wedding bands on their fingers.
She remembered a man back in Louisiana staring at her while she purchased her ticket to Chicago. He had made funny faces at her and she sensed tension between them. She wanted to stare back at the man, but dropped her eyes, unsure how to react, feeling embarrassed and insecure.
Her change was not only physical, she realized. Her introspection in front of the mirror had revealed a change in her mind too.
Being an attractive woman has a certain power to it. You can use that…just like your mother did.
She washed her hands and left the bathroom, heading for the airport exit. It was time to get to Chicago and figure out her next steps. She had stumbled onto something powerful and had more reading to do to find out what the rest of the book said. And what about the markings on the map in the back of the book? There was another demon out there. She could find it if she wanted.
She also needed to find a place to sleep, for the night at least.
Outside O’Hare, she walked to the curb and waved down a taxi. A black man in a sedan stopped in front of her and rolled down the window.
“Hey!” someone to her right shouted. “The line is over here, lady.” It was an older man standing with his bags and his wife in front of a long line at the curb. The same overweight woman from the bathroom was by his side. They were underneath a sign that said Taxis.
“Come on,” the man in the car said. “I take you where you want to go.”
Jessie glanced back at the couple in line. The woman scowled at her. Jessie bristled at the woman, her eyes narrowing. She got in the car.
They drove past the line of people waiting for taxis and the old man raised his fist and gave her the finger. She felt a rebellious surge and gave him the finger back, giggled, and turned back to the front. The driver stared at her in the rear-view mirror.
“Where you going, lady?” he asked.
Jessie had no idea where she was going. She had her mother’s credit cards and phone and figured she could use those for a while, but –
Her breath hitched in her throat. The credit cards. They’ll know I’m here. She wanted to disappear for good, until she figured out what to do, but using credit cards left a trail behind her.
But she also wanted to live a little. It was the first time she had been out on her own and she wanted to experience a big city like Chicago and everything it had to offer. Her mother wouldn’t be coming after her anytime soon. No way. She had a few days at least, right? Why not live a little?
“I want to go shopping,” she said. “Take me to the nicest stores in Chicago.”
The man nodded. “North Michigan Avenue,” he said.
“Sure,” she said, and the taxi sped off toward downtown Chicago.
4
FRANK
October 14, 1983
Garrison, New York
Outside the house, Frank sat by his father’s side. His leg was spewing blood and he looked deathly pale. His mother looked on, holding his brother David to her chest, kissing his forehead, and telling him it would be okay. Frank thought she might be telling herself more than him that it would be okay.
Frank stared at the man and woman warriors that glowed blue; the warriors that had defeated the small army of giant insects that had attacked his family. They were staring at the mangled flesh and bone that had once been his father’s leg.
His father groaned. After looking over his leg, the bald man told his father to look into his eyes. His father slowly raised his gaze and the bald man chanted something in a language Frank had never heard before. His father stopped groaning and seemed to fall asleep.
The woman reached inside her black shirt, pulled out a pouch, and sprinkled glittering dust over his father’s injured leg. Then the warriors started chanting. Frank looked at his mother and she seemed worried, but none of this scared him. He knew they were helping his father and the gory leg did not upset him.
David sat in his mother’s lap, his hand in his mouth, tears rolling down his cheeks, drool pooling on his lap. His gaze had gone to his father’s leg. He did not look well and Frank thought he might get sick. Frank tugged at his mother’s shirt and she glanced down at him.
“Mommy, is David all right?” Frank asked.
Her eyes grew wide as she followed David’s stare. She turned him and rested his head on her shoulder. He shuddered and Robin held him close and closed her eyes. She reached down and tried to pull Frank toward her.
“I’m okay, Mom,” Frank said.
She looked down at him, confusion on her face, seemed to decide he was fine, and went back to rocking David.
Frank glanced back at the warriors. Their eyes were closed as they chanted. The dust on his father’s leg glowed, slid, and slithered over the wounded area. As it passed over the crushed leg, Frank heard stretching and pulling, like skin rubbing against rubber. His father’s leg slowly changed; the bone took shape and the flesh reformed over the bone. The wound gradually healed and after a moment, the leg appeared normal again. Frank glanced at his mother. She had stopped rocking David, and her mouth fell open with a gasp.
The warrior’s chanting grew louder, and Frank could see a rippling under his father’s skin, like a rolling boil. The chanting slowed, his skin settled, and the warriors opened their eyes and fell back on their arms.
Frank’s father’s eyes fluttered open. He brought his hands up and rubbed his face. He sat up, looked at his family, then at his leg, and finally at the Asian man. Rolling onto his knees, he stood up.
“Come on,” the woman said. “We must go now. There may be more coming.”
“I don’t think so,” Frank said. “The flashing stopped.”
The bald Asian man touched Frank’s shoulder and smiled. “Come, young one. You may be right, but you may also be wrong.”
They rose, and Frank’s father took his hand. Looking back at the house, then to his wife, he said, “I’m okay,” and kissed her. “Let’s go.” A worried crease spread across his forehead as he turned, and led his family across the road and into the woods.
Holding his father’s hand, Frank looked over his shoulder at the house. A dark cloud passed overhead, blotting out the sun. A chill went through Frank and he shivered.
After a short time hiking in the woods, the blond man rejoined them, falling in stride with the bald man. Frank overheard the two talking.
“Shizu, he’s gone,” the blond-haired man said.
The bald man nodded and touched his shoulder. “Another day, Rowan.”
“There will be more next time,” the blond man called Rowan added. “It will grow more powerful the longer we wait. We should continue the search and destroy it.”
Shizu nodded. “Indeed, Rowan. We will hunt it down, but not today. We are weakened from the battle.”
“Yes, Shizu,” Rowan answered. “What of the family?”
Shizu ran his eyes over Frank’s family and rested them on Frank. “They must come with us. It knows about the boy. That’s why it came after them.”
“W
hat are you talking about?” Frank’s mother said, an edge of hysteria in her voice. “Who wants Frank? What is all this? Who are you people?”
Her body quivered and a tear rolled down her cheek.
“What were those…those things? They looked like giant praying mantises! How is that possible? What is going on?”
Frank’s father went to her side, took David from her, and pulled her to him. He stopped.
“Shizu. Stop, please. What is this?”
Shizu stopped and faced Frank’s father. “Glak'xhohr attacked you. He is a powerful leader of the Fallen. He wants your son.”
“Who are the Fallen? Why does this Gla…Glak'xhohr or whatever you call him want my son?”
“Not him, it. The Fallen are not from here. They are from another place. You will learn more in time. Know this: the boy has a gift, and the Fallen will try to capture him and turn him, or worse.”
Frank’s father looked at him, then back to Shizu. “What are you talking about? What gift does my son have?”
Shizu bent down on one knee to meet Frank’s eyes. He had a kind and gentle face. His whole body glowed with a bluish hue. Frank reached out and touched his cheek. It tickled his finger. When he withdrew his finger, the blue glow shifted, and fell back into place, wavering on his skin gently.
“You know what I speak of, don’t you, young one?”
Frank’s father pulled him to his side. “Frank, what is he talking about?”
“He’s blue, Daddy. He’s magic,” Frank said.
“Who are you people?” Jason asked.
“We are Watchers,” Shizu replied.
5
FRANK
