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

by Pierce, SJ

  Before she could move her feet, his hand grabbed her shoulder in protest. She sucked in a breath to keep steady. Every time he touched her, static ran through her body with excitement and intensified as though it were going to pop. “Where are you headed? Maybe I could spring for lunch… make it up to you,” he said.

  The thought of spending time with him sounded way better than anything else she could think of in that moment, but it could never happen. She forced the corners of her mouth upward into a smile, trying her hardest not to offend him too badly. “I’m sorry, but I can’t. Thank you for the offer,” she replied and walked off, ripping her shoulder away from his hold.

  In all her lifetimes, it was the hardest thing she had ever done, and it was as simple as putting one heavy foot in front of the other. Her draw reached through her back, insisting that she stay there with him, and she gritted her teeth as she resisted against it, as though she pulled against a tight rubber band. She longed to turn around and look at him again, but feared what she might see. She imagined him standing alone, wounded, and the recoil might launch her back to him.

  Once through the crosswalk, she turned the corner between two buildings and rested her back against the bricks, allowing the tightness in her muscles to ease. She tilted her head forward and inhaled deep breaths through her nose to prevent it from swirling. She wanted to run back over there to him to touch him again, any part of him. While holding her hand in front of her face, she studied the palm. The nerves fizzled like an exposed wire from where his hand had slipped into hers. She shook it to calm them down and rubbed it against the other for good measure.

  After a few long, agonizing minutes, she gathered herself together and continued down the alley to the other side of the block. The pub had a back entrance that she could use so she wouldn’t risk seeing him again.

  The hostess seated her in a dark corner booth with her back facing the restaurant. Alyx hardly noticed her hunger now, but knew she needed to eat. She ordered chicken fingers and a coke, and ate slowly, giving Isaac plenty of time to make his way to wherever he needed to go next.

  While chewing on the crispy chicken, she glowered as her fingertips drummed atop the table scarred with etchings of lover’s names and crude sentiments. Resentment had set in to replace the adrenaline rush. Not necessarily toward Isaac, but toward the whole situation. The cruel truth of it was, the only person a relationship would ever work with was the only person that her superiors forbid her to contact.

  Her glower broke, and her eyes pooled with tears. She held a napkin beneath them to prevent the tears from spilling over. She wouldn’t allow herself to wallow in pity. All of this torture could have been avoided if she had stayed away from his window.

  She choked back the sob and steadied herself with her hands planted firmly on the table, resigning right then and there to live the rest of her life -- however long it might be -- without a plus one. If she couldn’t have Isaac, every other guy would fall short, and she wanted Benjamin to be the last innocent victim. She would live the rest of this lifetime unattached. It was the only fair thing for everyone. Except me, she reasoned, and a sharp pain stabbed her gut. But as soon as she wanted to pity herself again, she fought it away. I have to live with it.

  CHAPTER 8:

  An Unlikely Visitor

  Reminiscent of the night Alyx had left him in the cold, Isaac stood alone on the sidewalk, partly enchanted, but most of all wounded. He couldn’t understand how someone could be so flippant, as though his attempts to check on her were an insult of some kind. He had imagined their exchange going a lot differently.

  On the way to her block, he had fantasized about what she might say if he were lucky enough to find her; her face lighting up with a smile, grateful remarks, maybe a flirtatious touch or two. He had at least envisioned her accepting his invitation for lunch. But all of his efforts that morning to get some answers from this enigmatic girl -- whom he thought had fallen into his lap, that destiny had brought him to -- led to nothing except a cold shoulder and forced politeness.

  Maybe he had been out of touch with the dating world for too long. Being primarily focused on his duties as a father the past five years allowed him to get rusty, and his read on women had apparently done the same. He didn’t feel entirely defeated, though. Alyx had ignited that longing in him to be with someone new. But nonetheless, her blatant rejection hit him like a brick wall. Datin’ is NOT goin’ to be easy.

  As she walked away, part of him wanted to follow after her, the part of him still mesmerized by her dark brown eyes while in the daytime shone a brilliant shade of deep copper with bursts of olive green around the edges. The desperate look behind them suggested that there was more that she wanted to say – even more so than at the bistro – but he had already been wrong about what that look could have meant before, so he would let her go and knew it was safe to say he would never see her again.

  When she disappeared around the corner, he glanced down at his watch. Two o’clock. Micah would be home in an hour. He yawned deeply as he rubbed his cheek. All of that excitement for nothin’, he thought and spun around to walk to his car. He would head home to watch TV and take it easy while he waited for his son.

  * * *

  Alyx finished her meal, paid the tab, and went on her way with her eyes peeled. If she saw him again, she would find another alley to duck into or turn around and go the other way. She didn’t want to suffer through another encounter with him if she didn’t have to. It was amazing that her sanity hadn’t shattered at this point.

  When she made it through the door, she checked her home phone to see if she had missed any calls. Her cell remained silent during lunch, and she had fully anticipated Cindra to call once she received her apology via text, but apparently, her friend wasn’t interested in getting back with her anytime soon. No missed calls. She’s definitely mad.

  Normally, Alyx would continue texting her with apologies, but it wasn’t within her today to tend to her friend’s sensitive ego.

  She set the phone and her purse on the counter and looked around her apartment while twirling a loch of hair between her thumb and index finger. She didn’t know what she wanted to do next, but she didn’t want to stay there. If Benjamin hadn’t been at the hospital performing surgery, they would be having the ‘dreaded conversation’ this very minute. And while accepting that reality, resentment crept in again, which quickly grew to anger. I need to get out, like, REALLY get out, she thought, and something inside of her ignited, something rebellious, exciting.

  She stormed to her bedroom on a mission. If I’m going to be a single girl for the rest of my life, I’ll act like one.

  She flung her closet door open and scanned over her clothes with burning, defiant eyes. She hadn’t been clubbing before, so she wasn’t sure of what to wear. But it needs to be sexy, she thought, and a thrill of liberation raged inside her. Because she couldn’t have who she wanted, and she couldn’t feel sorry for herself, she would at least live it up while she could.

  A pair of black shorts caught her eye. She usually wore them in the summer, but if she paired them with fishnet stockings she could get away with it. Looking for a top to match, she rummaged through the rest of the hangers and stopped at a cobalt blue, tight-knit sweater. Almost perfect.

  Clothes in hand, she made her way to the kitchen and slid open the junk drawer. She lifted the scissors from inside and bit her lip with a smirk. This should do the trick. With careful, steady snips, she cut the neck of the sweater so that it would droop over her right shoulder while still covering the scar on her left. Grinning with satisfaction, she held up her creation to study her handy work. Now it’s perfect!

  She slid the sweater on to see how it fit and followed with her stockings and shorts. The ensemble wasn’t something she would usually wear, but its brazen statement mirrored her inner sentiments, so therefore, it would work for tonight.

  She made her way back to the bedroom for the finishing touches and slid on her knee-high, black boots
and found the pair of silver, bohemian earrings Cindra gave to her for her birthday. As she stuck the nearly gaudy earrings into her lobes, she stepped toward the mirror to evaluate the end result. One more thing. She pulled the elastic from her hair and shook it loose, her mane falling wildly around her shoulders. NOW I’m ready.

  She strutted toward the front door and snatched her purse as she walked by. Before twisting the knob to leave, she dug through her purse to make sure she had enough cash for a cab. While she rustled through its contents, her cell phone tumbled to the floor. She stared at it as it lay beside her shiny black boot. The corner of her mouth rose to a sneer, and she kicked the phone to the side. I’m unattached tonight.

  * * *

  While flipping channels, the disappointment of her rejection that afternoon tapped Isaac on the shoulder, goading his pride, so he made his way to the fridge for a beer. Halfway there, someone lightly knocked on the front door three times. After grabbing a longneck, glass bottle and popping the top on the counter, he strolled over to answer it.

  He peeked through the tiny peephole, and a rather tall, older man with a black beard patiently waited with his hands folded atop his walking stick. His weathered face brimmed with anticipation, and his beady deep-set eyes had a sparkle to them that echoed the gleaming lights that bounced off of his smooth, bald head. He studied this eccentric man for a moment and unlocked the chain to his door, opening it just enough for his head to fit through. “Can I help you?” he asked, assuming this man had the wrong flat.

  “I’m here for you,” he replied in a deep tenor as a smile swept across his face. His presence exuded power, demanding respect, but kindness showered his words.

  “For me?”

  His eyebrows rose, the lines on his forehead deepening. “You didn’t know?”

  Ok, this man is nuts. “Sir, I’ve never met you before,” he replied, forcing his tone to stay even so not to come across as condescending.

  The old man grinned and searched his eyes, as if he waited for him to come around and remember who he was.

  “I’m sorry. I don’t know who you are. Can I call someone for you? Are you lost?”

  He belted out a guttural laugh. “Am I lost? You might be a little more behind than I realized.”

  I don’t have the patience for this. “If you don’t mind, I’m busy at the moment,” he said and drew his head back to shut the door.

  “I need to speak to you!” he insisted as he stepped forward, but Isaac ignored his plea and shut the door in his face. What a loon!

  He took a long swig of beer as he waited to see if he would leave. After a minute had passed, he peeped through the hole. The old man still awaited him, and his hand waved back and forth through the air. “Isaac, we can do this all night or you can just let me in.”

  Isaac’s jaw dropped. He knows my name?! This is getting weird. He darted away from the door and cleared his throat quietly to muster an edge of rebuke in his voice. “I don’t know who you are, but if you don’t leave I’m callin’ the police. My son will be home any minute, and I can’t have a strange man standin’ at my door.”

  This time, the old man didn’t have a response. He must have gotten the not-so-subtle hint. As Isaac turned the bottle up for another swig, a draft of cool air whooshed over his shoulders from behind. “Well, I’ll let myself in, then,” the man replied.

  Isaac gasped and whirled around, losing his balance and falling against the door. The old man stood in his apartment.

  He towered over him at close to seven feet tall, at least, and his white robe swallowed him whole. His long, black beard dusted just above where his kneecaps would be, and was without a doubt the longest he had ever seen. The pine-colored walking stick he held by his side looked as though three canes twisted tightly into one and narrowed near the top, warping to surround an invisible, round ball of air.

  Isaac’s eyes widened as he clutched the neck of his beer in a death grip. “What in the-” I’m hallucinatin’. I’ve finally gone bonkers.

  “You haven’t gone crazy, Isaac. I’m here for real. See, touch me,” he said and held out his arm.

  Isaac flinched away. He can read my thoughts too?!

  “Suit yourself,” he said and turned to head for the living room.

  The old man practically floated toward the chair with his bare feet and sat facing the couch, his knees bending up to his chest. “They don’t make these for big people, do they?” he asked amusedly and shifted in the seat. He glanced at the TV beside him. “And let’s get rid of the distractions, shall we?” he said and tapped the screen with the top his walking stick, turning it off. He rested the stick between his knees, and his eyes wandered back to Isaac. “Are you going to come over here or not?”

  “I’m good here,” he squeaked with eyes still wide as saucers.

  His narrow, knobby finger tapped his knee. “Do you need a minute? I know this is probably weird to you, but honestly, I thought you would be farther along by now. This might take awhile, and I figured you would be ready for me.”

  Isaac determined that he better gather his wits about him. Whatever this man – or thing – was, it didn’t appear to be threatening, but his patience was wearing thin. Because he didn't want to risk angering him and find out, he shakily stood up, and went to the couch to sit across from him.

  The old man gave him a terse nod. “That’s better,” he said and ran his fingers through his coarse beard, staring into the space between them, “you obviously have no idea who I am, where do I start?”

  Isaac placed his beer on the floor. “Let’s start with that… how on Earth would I know who you are?”

  He folded his hands atop the walking stick and met his gaze. “You see, Isaac, that’s what surprises me. I figured you would have seen me before now in your dreams.”

  As if this could get any weirder. Isaac’s eyes narrowed with skepticism. “Why would I see you in my dreams?”

  “You’ve had peculiar dreams lately, correct?” he asked as he glanced down at Isaac’s bulky, gold ring.

  Isaac followed his gaze to his hand. Why would he care about my ring? He hesitated to respond, but had an inkling that he better tell this man what he wanted to know. “I’ve always had weird dreams. But yes, I’ve had dreams with a sort of theme to them lately.

  He gestured for him to continue.

  "But some of them are recurrin’,” he said and pointed toward the studio, “I’ve been paintin’ some of them over there.”

  His head pivoted to where Isaac pointed and smiled. “That’s a start. And these dreams, they aren’t a coincidence. They are more of a premonition, if you will, and I figured I would eventually be in one of them. That's why I assumed you would have known who I was.”

  Isaac brought his fist to his mouth and cleared his throat. “So what you’re sayin’ is that I dream of the future?” he asked with a heavy cynicism.

  “More like premonitions will come to you in dreams, and it can be a literal translation of what’s to come, or it could be symbolism for something. That’s where I come in.”

  “So you’re a dream interpreter?” he asked, and as the words tumbled from his tongue, he felt foolish for even saying them, as though they suggested his belief in this nonsense.

  The old man chuckled from deep within his chest. “In a way, but I’m called a Spirit Guide. I do a lot of things.”

  Isaac shook his head with closed eyes. “This is too much. I must be dreamin’… I have to be,” he said and pushed from the couch, waving his hand toward the door. “You have to go, I’m sorry. This is too weird.”

  The old man snatched his walking stick and stood, his eyes darkening. “I don’t have time for this nonsense!” his voice boomed. The vibrations from his words bounced off the concrete walls and trembled through Isaac’s chest, weakening his knees and he fell to the couch with a helpless plop. He sat motionless with his hands on his thighs, realizing how serious this man was now despite his initial pleasant demeanor.

  “Forgive me,
dear boy, but time is of the essence and we don’t have much longer, I’m afraid,” he said as he eased back into the chair. “My name is Oman. And why any of what I’ve just told you is important is for a larger reason than you could ever imagine. My purpose for visiting you today was to tell you that I will be working with you on your special abilities. I will help you to interpret your dreams and to possibly harness them while awake.”

  “You want to mentor me?” he asked sheepishly, still stunned by the power in his voice that had crippled him.

  He raised an index finger. “Precisely. Except, I will mentor you.”

  Isaac still wasn’t sure if any of this was real, but knew he better play along if he wanted to avoid his fury. “Oh, I don’t know how that would work. I have a son to take care of and two jobs.”

  His amused expression returned, the crests of his smile disappearing within the wrinkles of his cheeks. “None of that will matter soon, so do not plague your heart with worry. You have been selected and your destiny chosen. This is not something you get to decide.” He pressed the bottom of his walking stick to the concrete and hoisted himself from the chair. “Our work will not begin here, not at your home, or even this city. Our work will be somewhere you have never been. It’s a place that nobody’s been, actually.”

  “Please don’t say you’re takin’ me away,” he said, now enraptured with the old man’s story.

  “No, dear boy, I won’t be the one to take you. Your arrangements have been made. And believe me, when that time comes you’ll want to go,” Oman said and turned for the door. “I will see you shortly, until then, take care of yourself.”