by Ruby Ryan
Behind me, the Mustang rumbled as it followed.
I reached the main road and slowed just long enough to make sure I wouldn't hit anyone, then merged on and cut across three lanes. Horns blared, and then I was flooring the car again, getting ahead of an eighteen-wheeler and then one lane over, slowing down to let the massive vehicle shield me. I stayed like that, going 55 along with the rest of traffic, for four blocks. I began to think I'd gotten away.
But then I saw the Mustang in my mirror, flying across traffic like he'd been thrown by a giant.
Shit. Abandoning my cover, I accelerated and began passing cars, 70 miles an hour, then 80, then 90. A flurry of tail lights ahead meant congestion, so I slid back across three lanes of traffic to take the next exit, nearly side-swiping a motorcycle in the process.
I was still ten blocks from where I needed to go. Ten blocks to lose him.
I was on a frontage road, with slow-as-fuck cars merging on to get near the interstate. I weaved in and out of them while cursing at the top of my lungs as if they could hear me. The poor Volvo's engine whined loudly, doing its best to get away, but it was no match for a Mustang on these straightaways.
Picturing the city map in my head again, I swung right at the next road.
We were in an industrial district, full of eighteen-wheelers backed up to warehouses. I zig-zagged around warehouses four times, left, right, left, right, but the loud rumble of the Mustang followed, always barely within view in my mirror. I was hoping a truck would suddenly back out, something I could swerve around and use as a blockage, but I had no such luck this day.
And worse, the Mustang was gaining on me.
"Why me?" I said, the sound of my own voice preferable to the rumbling engine growing louder. "Why couldn't I rob a Texas Hold'Em shark with a wad of hundreds? Why'd it have to be something worth killing for?"
We came to an open parking lot area, and I made another left turn, then another. Now I could see the Mustang much closer from across the block as he followed, though the windows were tinted.
As I rounded the corner and backtracked, I reconsidered my options. Surrender seemed a lot more appealing now, although they'd probably just kill me. Especially out here in nobody-would-see-a-thingville. A better idea: I could just throw the figurine out the window. He'd have to stop to get it, and once he had it he'd leave me alone. Or, at the very least, it'd buy me enough time to get away. Right?
Right. The desperate, cowardly part of my brain insisted that was the case.
But even though my brain tried to tell my body to grab the figurine from my pocket, I couldn't do it. It wouldn't let me.
It. Like the fucking figurine had a mind of its own, and was controlling me. Jesus Christ, I was losing my shit.
Toss it, Ezra. No tiny fleck of blue is worth dying over.
But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't.
Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck!
I needed to do something crazy.
Taking mental stock of where I was in the city, I hung a hard right turn. My goal was a good seven or eight blocks away, but it was fine if the Mustang gained on me before then.
In fact, I was counting on it.
Stop lights and four-way intersections were mere suggestions as I wound through the city, narrowly avoiding a few T-bone wrecks. The Mustang was a steady presence in my rear-view mirror. Always there. Constantly following. And growing larger.
Two blocks away. My goal was just ahead. I eased up on the accelerator, allowing the Mustang to get a really good whiff of me.
What would he do? Pull out a gun and fill my car full of bullets? Try to shoot my tires out like this was an action movie? I thought about all the gruesome scenarios as the Mustang changed lanes and accelerated. In maybe ten seconds he'd be alongside me. But I allowed my car to coast, bleeding speed like the engine was dead.
My goal appeared ahead, this time on the left instead of right.
I couldn't have timed it any better. By the time I reached the school, the same one I'd avoided earlier, I was going a mere 35--which was still 15 over the speed limit with the lights flashing for the school zone. But the Mustang realized what was happening too late, and roared into the school zone at a loud 55.
I passed a cop sitting on the side street behind the school, and his lights blared to life.
Praying that it worked, I continued decelerating and turned right at the next cross-street. The cop may have had his sights on me at first, but there was no way to know because the moment he saw the Mustang rumbling through he changed his mind. The cop car cut across the traffic, pulling behind the Mustang and blaring its siren.
I circled the block and backtracked, catching sight of the cop's lights in my mirror. The Mustang had pulled over.
"Thank fuck."
Resting my head back against the seat, I cruised home through the city at exactly the speed limit.
5
EZRA
I was feeling pretty cocky by the time I reached south Denver, replaying the chase in my head again and again. That shit probably wouldn't have worked if I was in a car nicer than this beat up Volvo, or if my mark wasn't in that gaudy Mustang. There was something to be said for laying low.
Still, you couldn't be too careful in this business, so instead of turning down the street to Terrance's apartment I drove three more blocks and pulled into a parking garage. I rounded the ramp, climbing each floor until I was on the roof level, then parked at the very end.
I turned off the car and sat there for several minutes, listening to the bubbling noises of the engine cooling off.
Nothing happened. Only then did I begin to relax.
Now that everything was over, the airport terminal and the garages and the race through the city, the post-adrenaline crash hit me like an avalanche. My fingers trembled on the steering wheel, and everything went cold. I almost started crying, for Christ's sake. Get it together, Ezra.
I slid out of the car to get some fresh air. The sunlight on my skin was energizing, and I felt a modicum of safety up here on the roof of a garage, looking out over the city. The sapphire figurine felt heavy in my hand as I pulled it from my pocket.
"What the fuck have you gotten me into?" I muttered, and the stone seemed to pulse in response.
I stuffed it back in my pocket and rested my hands on the chest-high cement wall separating me from the river below. The Denver skyline was beautiful, and still felt exciting. New cities always held so much potential. But although I'd planned on being here for a few weeks, I couldn't stay now. Not with all of this going on. I needed a new plan.
First things first, I pulled out the wallet I'd pinched to survey my take. Four credit cards and $180 worth of twenties. I moved the cash to my pants and then put all the credit cards in my other pocket; I had a small window of opportunity to use them before they were reported stolen. Or I could see if Terrance would buy them as-is. A friend-of-a-friend, I didn't know much about Terrance except he sold drugs and worked in a chop-shop in Denver. He'd lent me the Volvo, but would probably sell it if I asked. Aside from what was in this wallet, I only had $45 in cash on me. I wondered if $225 and a handful of credit cards would be enough to score the car.
I could always just take it. I had the keys. It was in my possession right now. But burning bridges was a fast way to get isolated in this business. If it weren't for friends and favors I would have died years ago.
Slowly, my hands stopped trembling. I took deep breaths to calm myself while looking out over the city.
So if I got a car, what then? I'd always avoided the west coast, not wanting to infringe on the local gangs in California. But Los Angeles was probably my best bet to fence something of this value. Which brought me back to my original problem of finding a contact for selling gemstones. There was a list of people in my head I could call and probe, but few of them I trusted enough to give a lot of information, and most of them would demand a cut of whatever I sold. Which was fine for loose gems valued at under a grand, but something like this? I didn
't want anyone to know what I had. It was bad enough that I had the Denver fucking mafia chasing me. I didn't need petty criminals putting a knife in my side to get their hands on it.
Stop it, Ezra. Don't focus on the negative. Just relax, and take it one step at a time. Get a car first.
"Please don't run."
I whirled and pulled my switchblade from my coat pocket in one smooth motion, extending it like a sword. The mark from the airport stood thirty feet away, hands held out in front of him. His dirty blond hair was strewn across his face, partially obscuring a strong nose and piercing blue eyes. More importantly, he had no weapon in his hands, and his tight T-shirt and khaki shorts made it clear he didn't have one on him.
"Stay back!" I yelled, jabbing the knife for emphasis. Even weaponless, he was a tall guy with a long wingspan. I needed to keep him at range. I was backed against the cement wall; my car blocked me to the left, so my only option was to run right. He'd have a good chance of cutting me off, though. I suppose I could climb over the edge behind me and swing down to the next garage level. I'd probably kill myself trying it.
Strangely, the man's presence didn't make me panic now. It was like the pressure in my head was diminishing, and the sapphire figurine didn't weigh so heavily in my pocket. All side effects of coming down from the adrenaline rush, probably. I needed to be careful. Don't get too complacent, Ezra.
"Who are you?" I demanded.
"My name's Sam Feinstein," he said, strangely calm.
"No," I hissed. "I mean, who are you. Your organization. A gang? Some rare collectibles importing business? Denver mafia?"
A confused smile spread across his face, and it would have completely disarmed me if I wasn't already on alert. "Mafia? It's just me. I'm an astronomy engineer."
"Astronomy engineer," I repeated, making the words into a curse. "You made that up. That's a shitty fucking story. How'd you get away from the cops so fast?"
"The cops?"
"Yes, the cops. The ones who stopped you in your gaudy fucking Mustang outside the school."
He shook his head. "Okay, honestly? I have no idea what you're talking about." He twisted to gesture behind him. "I drive an old Honda Accord. It's parked down there."
He was lying, and he was bad at it. Trying to pretend like he was some innocent guy, that this was all a misunderstanding, and that if we just sat down and talked it out we might come to a mutual resolution. Yeah. Fat fucking chance. The tattoo sleeves on both arms showed me what he really is. Did he think I'd believe an astronomy engineer--whatever that was--would look like this?
Moreover, sweat covered his head and matted the sides of his hair. Even though he was in shorts and a T-shirt. "How are you sweating? It's 40 degrees out here. Did you run all the way here?"
He chuckled. "I know I look silly, but I didn't have a chance to get my coat out of my bag when I landed. I flew in from Belize, so..." He gestured down at himself.
"But why the sweat?"
"I'm not sure I can explain..." He took a step forward.
"STAY BACK!" I screamed, backing away from him until my shoulders hit concrete. But he didn't slow down.
"Please don't stab me," he said, still approaching hesitantly. "I can't explain it, but I'm not entirely in control right now. It's pulling on me. Drawing me near..."
A few more steps and he would make his move. He'd knock my knife aside and then he'd be on me, and there would be nothing I could do. I had a lot of strength for a woman my size, but I couldn't compete with this guy. If he closed the distance I was a goner.
But there was one way I knew I could keep him at bay.
"Come any closer," I warned, pulling the sapphire figurine from my pocket, "and I toss it."
Sam froze like someone had paused the movie.
I nodded patronizingly. "Yeah. Now you're listening." I extended the sapphire over the edge. "You'll never find this if I toss it in the river."
My heartbeat pulsed with new adrenaline. I could feel it throughout my body, and in the palm holding the object. It made it feel like the sapphire had a heartbeat of its own.
"Please," Sam said slowly. "That totem is very important to me."
Totem? Not the sapphire? If he'd come from Belize, then maybe the entire thing was some valuable artifact.
"Please," Sam repeated, "I'll do anything you want. Just don't do something crazy."
"Here's what's going to happen." The pulsing increased, making my arm twitch over the chasm. "You're going to walk back down to your Mustang, or your Accord, or whatever you drove here, and you're going to leave."
I knew I didn't sound very confident, but I didn't care. I had the leverage at that moment, even though the reality was that I didn't think I could let go of the sapphire if my life depended on it. Deep down I knew my fingers wouldn't let go of something that valuable, because they would never hold anything like it ever again.
And there was something else. The totem wasn't just an item of value in my hand. It was almost like it was part of me, sticking to my hand. Tossing it would be like cutting off a finger.
I trembled, and hoped Sam wouldn't call my bluff.
The pulsing of my heartbeat increased, and Sam winced along with it, like each beat was pounding in his own head. Sweat sprung anew from his temple, trickling down his cheek. His chest heaved like he was having a panic attack.
The sapphire glowed brilliantly in my hand, catching the sunlight just right. It was beautiful in that moment, brilliant in a way that its value couldn't explain.
"Please," he said, stepping forward once more.
I leaned back over the edge even further, and the motion caused me to squeeze the figurine. The sapphire under my finger suddenly gave, sinking into the stone within my grasp.
And that's when I officially lost my sanity.
6
SAM
I'd never been so afraid of anything in my life.
Leaving the airport in my car had been a strange sensation. I couldn't explain it, but I was following the totem back toward the city. I could feel it in the distance, like GPS had turned on in my brain and was leading me right to it. I made the twists and turns methodically, then pulled into the car garage, and drove to the top floor and parked. And there it was, there she was, just like I knew she would be.
But as terrifying as all of that had been, it didn't match my fear of seeing the totem held over the edge.
It was the kind of terror that froze your heart in an icy grip. Colder than the frigid air on my unshielded skin. I don't know why, but I knew if she dropped the totem it would cause immense pain.
Not just to me, but to her.
It felt right in her possession. A calming sensation came over me once I neared her, approaching on hesitant feet on the roof of the parking garage. This woman had the totem, and could never let it go.
"Please," I said, trying to find a way to explain it to her. To convince her not to do anything crazy.
And then she did something.
For the briefest moment, I could feel her cold fingers on the totem. Squeezing it tight the way the fingers squeezed my heart. And then she touched the gemstone, and it clicked in my brain, with the pleasure of a sexual release long held back.
And then the world turned to fire.
I was blinded by light, everything around me dimming to nothingness. Every nerve ending in my entire body flared at the same time, and in that moment I felt every single twitch of agony: feet, legs, torso, and head, most of all my head, like my skull were being broken into a million tiny fractures in slow motion. I screamed but could not hear my voice, and felt like I was falling to my knees, but they never struck the ground, My back muscles spasmed and contorted. It felt like my clothes were shrinking, suddenly tight against my skin before ripping, and tearing, and finally falling away. The goosebumps on my skin burst open and then the cold was gone, banished by a feathery blanket of warmth. My vision returned slowly, the light dimming until objects came into view: the ground, and the woman with the totem, a
nd the distant Denver skyline, and with a quick focus I could see every window and floor of each skyscraper.
And when I breathed, I breathed with the lungs of some great and terrible beast.
I stood up on my legs and stretched, legs and arms and another set of appendages on my back, but it felt natural so I didn't question it, I only spread them--my wings--as wide as they would go, feeling the sunlight on my blue feathers. The pain was gone now, and I could feel my body with greater sensitivity. It had been within my chest all this time, demanding to break free, and now that it was it felt so right.
The woman screamed, a blood-curdling shriek which jolted me back to focus. She tried to scramble away but there was no where to go, only the cement wall her legs were pushing against helplessly, and she fell to the ground and cradled the totem to her breast.
Fly, the beast within me demanded, and damned if I could tell it no.
I leaped into the air and beat my powerful wings. They pulled me up with immense strength and power, a sensation like being pressed back against the seat inside a very fast car. Within seconds I was high in the sky and climbing faster, because there was no such thing as enough height, the entire blue expanse above me was mine. I leveled out and soared toward the downtown skyline, flying over Mile High Stadium and then the Pepsi Center, and then the skyscrapers were below me. It was unusual seeing them from this angle, having them so far below like they were only toy structures made with Legos, but it felt normal all at the same time.
I'm flying! I thought with wonder.
I pulled my arms and legs close to my body and twisted in a dive, feeling the rush of air against my feathers as I accelerated. I could feel the lift generated by my speed, the forces pulling me back up, and I fought against them for a few heartbeats before relenting and leveling out.
