Marked for Vengeance (Book One: The Alyx Rayer Chronicles)

by Pierce, SJ

  On her way down the stairs, her stomach rumbled. Moe’s Diner, she thought as she licked her lips. She had stopped there every night on the way home since her rooftop visits began.

  CHAPTER 3:

  A Rule of Physics

  Alyx strolled into her favorite diner on Fifth Street, nestled between a Spanish food market and a pawn store, and ordered a cheeseburger with fries to go. The stop there served two purposes that night; it allowed her to thaw, as well as get a bite to satisfy her hunger. She rubbed her frozen hands together, blowing warm air into them while cupping her nose whose tip had turned into a tiny icicle.

  The diner’s décor of orange, leather booths and retro light fixtures evoked the nostalgia of nineteen sixties America, and every time Alyx visited, she observed a simpler time in history that she had never been a part of. But the quaint ambiance enchanted her just as much as the savory fare of hamburgers, crispy fries, and over a dozen flavors of milkshakes.

  While waiting for her order at the counter, she overheard a German man in a corner booth attempting to order some food. The waitress shook her head in confusion as he repeated, “Pfannkuchen und eier, Pfannkuchen und eier.”

  Alyx swiveled around in her stool and made her way to the table. “Maybe I can help,” she said, touching the woman’s shoulder. “He’s saying pancakes and eggs.”

  The waitress hugged her neck. “Thank you so much! Pancakes and eggs coming up,” she repeated back to the patron and left for the kitchen.

  “Danke,” he said to Alyx, his appreciative eyes creasing on the sides as he grinned.

  “Du bist willkommen,” she replied, which meant, “You are welcome”.

  It had been a long time since Alyx last accessed that part of her memory, but it appeared that she still recalled the basics. She spent most of her time on Earth in Europe, because her first Marked lived in Germany, and her second lived in England. In preparation for every lifetime, her superiors instilled in them a fundamental knowledge of their resident country’s native language, which Alyx worked to strengthen every day. Relating to the people she lived amongst not only helped maintain her cover, but allowed her to connect to them in such a way that she almost forgot the true reason for her existence. Almost.

  “Alyx, your order is up!” the owner shouted.

  “Thank you, Moe,” she replied and went to the register to pay.

  While she dug through her purse for her wallet, Moe studied her with his bushy eyebrows drawn together. “I didn’t know you spoke German.”

  She handed him the cash with a wink. “There are a lot of things you don’t know about me, Moe. Keep the change.”

  On her way back, the chill of the night continued to cut through her. She turned the corner onto Peachtree Street when a familiar, eerie feeling slinked its way back in. The same one she had when the strange man followed them off the elevator yesterday at work. She stilled for a moment before searching her surroundings, squinting as she scanned through the dark, but didn’t see anything or anyone. That’s strange, she thought with a shake of her head and continued with a hastened step. She wasn’t fond of the feeling, as though she was being watched, and not by someone who meant her well.

  Catching her by surprise, her scar tingled as it had the day before. What in the world?

  Her kind was never given a tutorial on what this meant, or what to do about it. They weren’t told much of anything except how to find their Marked and what to do with them if the time came. Her only option was to follow her instincts and get home as fast as her long legs would carry her.

  Her brisk walk elevated to a light jog, and as she rounded the next corner, she tripped over a dark figure that sat on the ground, hunched against the wall. She screamed as she hit the pavement with a smack and watched as her Styrofoam takeout container and purse flew in front of her, her purse’s contents scattering over the unlit sidewalk.

  Shell-shocked, she lay on the concrete when a figure’s unsteady footsteps staggered toward her from behind, mumbling angry, incoherent words. She scrambled to her feet, and a hand grabbed her by the shoulder. Her elbow instinctually raised high in the air to swing it into their side, and a frantic voice cried out. “Stop!”

  The man let go and stumbled backward, landing on his backside.

  When she spun around, the elderly bum she had seen many times before on that block wailed in a drunken stupor on the pavement. Her hands flew to her mouth. “I’m so sorry!” she cried. “Are you alright?”

  He didn’t respond to her attempt at comfort, and she worried that the fall had injured him. She extended her arms with her palms facing the sky. “Here, let me help you up,” she said as she walked toward him. “I’m sorry.”

  His only response was more wailing as he rolled on the ground, his arms flailing like a five year old child in the throes of a tantrum.

  She sighed and turned to examine the mess she had made. It would take forever to find everything that had flown from her purse in the dark. Grabbing her cell phone first, she used it as a light to find her belongings; lipstick, wallet, keys, binoculars, and pens. She also remembered change clattering about, but it wasn’t important enough to look for.

  With her purse and food container in hand, she turned to check on the bum again who now stood with his right arm outstretched, her loose coins sitting in the palm of his calloused hand, and her heart ached with compassion. “No,” she insisted and placed her hand under his, curling his fingers over the coins, “you keep them.”

  He shoved the change inside his pocket, and his eyes drew down to the white container she held in her hands. The smell of the freshly grilled hamburger patty teased his hunger. Without hesitation, she held out her dinner for him to take it. It was probably more food than he had eaten in a week.

  She could tell by the way he wrung his hands that he wrestled with his conscience over taking a young woman’s food, but the hunger that reflected in his widened eyes prevented him from contemplating too long. He gingerly took it from her hold and bowed with gratitude.

  In her eighty-four years as a human, Alyx had witnessed what the coldness of a man’s heart could inflict on another; pain, sorrow, destruction. She had also witnessed what the kindness and warmth of one’s heart could accomplish; healing, joy, and redemption. It only took but one small act of compassion to make a difference in someone’s life, to change their outlook on the world, or to lift their spirits for just a moment. And it was all worth it for her, to know that she had helped someone in their time of need.

  The old man slumped against the wall while shoveling the food into his mouth, and she grinned with satisfaction. She went on her way and noticed her scar’s tingling had faded to a faint prickle, indicating that the looming danger had vanished. For now.

  When she made it home, she closed and locked the door behind her. She vigorously rubbed her arms to shake off the chill from the night air and turned the thermostat to seventy-eight degrees. Even with the brief interruption of literally running into the bum, she couldn’t quite shake the haunting fear of being followed, so she double checked the locks on her windows, as well.

  After all of the excitement, hunger no longer churned inside her stomach, so she curled up on the couch with a blanket to watch some mindless TV.

  * * *

  Midnight came swiftly, and as the next ‘flip your house for profit’ show came on, Alyx fought against her heavy eyelids to keep them open. She clicked the power button on the remote and slipped into her crisp, white sheets.

  She drifted into the darkness, and the dream from the night before replayed through her mind. The elegant, Eighteenth-Century couple descended down the stairs and made their way to the horse drawn carriage below. With the looking glass held to her eye, she focused on the bearded man’s left hand that gripped his cane. A chunky gold ring with a unique engraving of an eagle flying in front of a bare tree encircled his ring finger.

  She lowered the looking glass and watched as he hobbled over the cobblestone walkway, extending his hand to a
ssist his date into the carriage. The dream faded into a quiet slumber, and she didn’t wake until seven thirty the next morning.

  * * *

  Sometime within the darkest depths of night, a blood curdling scream rolled from Micah’s loft upstairs. Isaac startled awake and was halfway up the metal staircase before he realized it. By the time he reached the top, Micah lay flat against the wall, staring wide-eyed into the center of the room.

  Isaac ran to his side. “It’s ok, buddy,” he said as he pulled him close, “what’s wrong?”

  Micah clinched his teeth to fight back a wail.

  “Tell me what happened. Did you have one of your dreams again?” Please God, when will he grow out of these?

  His hands covered his face, and the cry finally broke through.

  “It’s alright. You’re goin’ to be fine, down the stairs with you now.”

  They walked side by side down the staircase, and Isaac flipped the living room lights on. “Go sit over there on my bed,” he said as he hurried toward the kitchen. “I’ll get you a glass of water.”

  Micah sat on the edge of the sofa bed, wiping the tears from his face. Isaac placed a glass under the running water. “You can sleep in my bed tonight if you want to,” he said as he waited for the glass to fill. The sofa bed was actually too small for them to share now because Micah had grown considerably within the past year, but he didn’t mind being uncomfortable if it meant his son felt safe.

  “I’m ok. I just… I was really scared. It looked so real this time,” he sniffled.

  He turned the faucet off and hustled carefully back to his son so not to spill. “Tis enough of the cryin’,” he said and sat on the bed beside him while handing him the drink. “I know it was scary.”

  His son’s unsteady hand shook the water in the glass as he brought it to his lips, his troubled face admitting what his words would not – he wasn’t ok. “What did you see?” Isaac asked, concerned over what would frighten him so badly.

  Micah swallowed and sat the glass on his leg. “The same things I’d been seeing since I was little. He was like a shadow man, but this one was a different. He was bigger and angrier.”

  “You know it was just a dream, right?”

  “I guess so,” he replied and took another small sip. “But this one seemed a little different. Usually, I’ll dream that I wake up, and they’re staring at me, like they expect me to see them. This one was wandering the house. I followed him with my eyes for what felt like forever when he made his way to my room, and when he did I told him to get out, that he needed to go away.

  The terror Micah relived as he recalled his nightmare chilled Isaac to his bones. He hadn’t seen him this frightened in a long time.

  “When I whispered for him to leave, he spun around and darted toward me,” he said, his eyes widening again, “he swatted at me, like he was trying to hurt me. But he couldn’t get to me, and that’s when I screamed!”

  Isaac stared at the floor to let it all sink in. Even in a dream, that would be terrifying. Weird dreams definitely run in the family. “At what point did you jump out of the bed?” he asked, looking back at his son.

  Micah rolled his eyes. “When he tried to knock my head off, dad.”

  “Ok, ok,” he conceded and patted his son on the back. “Want me to walk you to your room or do you want to sleep with your old man?”

  He raised an eyebrow.

  “Ok, I get it. You’re getting too old for that now. Back to your room, then.”

  His arms wrapped around his dad’s neck. “Love you.”

  “Love you too, son.”

  * * *

  Dawn broke over the tops of the buildings, and Alyx stood on her patio to check the weather with a fuzzy white robe wrapped snugly around her waist. During the night, the wind brought with it a thick blanket of clouds and the promise for a dark, dreary day.

  She went inside to put on a pot of coffee and pulled her phone from her purse to see if Benjamin had called. His flight should have arrived sometime during the night.

  Two text messages awaited her in the inbox, both from him.

  She sat on the couch, bouncing her leg nervously as she anticipated what they would read. He would usually get irritated if she didn’t answer him back right away, and he had sent the messages last night when she visited the rooftop. Morning, doll, didn’t want to call you late last night and wake you. My flight has arrived. Going home to sleep, call me when you get this. We’ll plan on dinner tonight. The other read; Safely home. Love you. She immediately dialed his number and it rang to voicemail. He must still be asleep.

  She propped her feet atop the coffee table and reflected back on their year together. It wasn’t typical for her to be in a relationship. In all the years she had lived on Earth, this was her first one. She had always been more concerned about her duty than finding a love interest. However, in this time period, dating was a ‘normal’ thing, and they were ordered to blend into society as best they could. Singles dated in the city as much as they changed their underwear, and working in an office where your nosey co-workers eventually find their way into your business, they questioned her choice to remain habitually single.

  She couldn’t completely blame her decision to date Benjamin on peer pressure, though. Part of her wanted to know what it was like to connect with someone in that intimate way and figured this would be her last chance on Earth to experience it. After she had given him a chance, their relationship soared. He was smart, thoughtful, and a true gentleman. His parents had raised him right. He was a little ostentatious, and could be mildly jealous at times, but was never mean. They had yet to fight with each other or have a heated conversation of the like.

  She considered herself lucky to find someone like Benjamin. Besides ultimately helping with her cover, he was also a ‘perfect on paper’ kind of guy. His occupation as a surgeon meant that he was away a lot, so even though they had been together a year, in total they had actually only spent around six months of actual time. This worked for her because she enjoyed her independence and being able to come and go as she pleased. He also didn’t want children, which was fine with her. Because of what she was, she couldn’t conceive.

  But on top of her new-found, seemingly perfect bliss, something happened that she had never expected; the complicated emotions of also wanting another – her ‘painter man’. Because of this, she couldn’t help her distance from Benjamin lately. The object of her recent fascination pulled her in another direction. Even though a relationship with her ‘painter man’ was forbidden, her heart managed to linger with him somehow. A part of her knew it wasn’t fair to Benjamin, but she had yet to do anything about it. She didn’t want to surrender her Wednesday and Saturday nights on the rooftop, and she didn’t want to break it off with her boyfriend. Sooner or later, though, one of them would eventually have to give. Nothing could be pulled in two directions for long without eventually snapping. It was a simple rule of physics.

  She hoisted herself from the couch and untied her robe to head for the bathroom to shave. Regardless of her emotional distance from him lately, they still had an important date tonight and she knew what the result would be – lovemaking. On her way to the shower, she studied her scar in the mirror again. It no longer tingled and appeared to be fine. Good. She turned the nozzle to the shower and stepped in.

  When the water warmed, she cradled her small breasts in her arms and leaned into the wall to let the hot water roll down her back. Her cheek rested on the cool tile, and as soon as she closed her eyes, her ‘painter man’s’ face flashed through her mind from the night before -- his sad face, staring out the window.

  She opened her eyes and leaned against the water to wet her hair. Her fingers ran through the wavy curtain to saturate each strand, and her mind wandered somewhere that she had never let it go before, somewhere unexpected – into the fantasy of him accompanying her in the shower. What if he was there with her now? His lean, naked body pressed to hers, holding her in a passionate embrace. Sh
e let out a deep, yearning sigh, and her eager fingertips made their way down her stomach, between her legs.

  Ding-dong!

  The doorbell rang through the house, rudely interrupting her intimate moment as if it were on purpose. Seriously?! her thoughts screamed.

  Resentful that it jolted her from of her erotic daydream, she turned the nozzle off and snatched a towel to answer the door, fully prepared with a chiding look if it happened to be a salesman. It was too early to be bothered.

  When she swung it open, to her surprise, there stood Benjamin, puffy eyed from jet lag, clutching a bouquet of her favorite flower – lilies. “Morning, beautiful,” he crooned.

  “Benjamin!” she cried, attempting to conceal the shock of his unexpected visit. In an odd way, it felt as though she still had another man in the shower. She jumped into his arms. “I’m so glad you’re back,” she whispered. And despite her initial shock, she was.

  Her long legs wrapped around his waist, and the white towel fell to the floor as they locked lips. With her body fastened to his, he shut the door behind them with his foot and walked straight for the bedroom.

  * * *

  While Benjamin slept, she laid beside him while drumming her fingers atop her stomach as she thought, wondering if her enthusiasm in bed was partly because she had fantasized about her ‘painter man’ beforehand. A few times during sex she also fantasized that Benjamin was him as he moved his capable, steady hands over her body. She imagined that they belonged to him instead, painting her curves and secret crevices.

  As an afterthought, her fantasies seemed like a violation against Benjamin. But that was as close as she would ever get to knowing her ‘painter man’ in that way.

  Venturing into that uncharted territory frightened her a little. It could cause the dangerous lion her desire had become to break loose and wreak its havoc, but it also brought an exhilaration to her carnal need to be truly pleasured. It wasn’t that Benjamin couldn’t pleasure her. His lovemaking emitted a tender, selfless warmth, which made for a wonderful experience. She had no complaints with him in that department. But as enjoyable as it was physically, their lovemaking fell short somewhere, and when she thought of her ‘painter man’ that day in bed, it tapped into a part of her she had never accessed, heightening her arousal to its peak. At one point she thought her body might actually combust.