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

by Pierce, SJ

  “I thought in person you would at least give me the courtesy of speaking,” he said as he leaned back with crossed arms, the beginnings of anger setting his voice ablaze, “let’s start with this… how right after I ask you to move in with me, you disappear for two days and don’t return my calls or texts!”

  She flinched as the wooden stick struck her again, his judgmental words leaving another bruise. Their conversation today would leave both of them battered, but he would undoubtedly receive the worst of it.

  The time had come for her to say something. She couldn’t sit in silence forever to leave Benjamin dangling in the wind. She had already left him dangling for two days as he so frankly reminded her. The best thing she could do now was apologize for her absence and hopefully change the tone of their conversation to something a little more amiable to help lighten the blows. “I’m sorry,” she said, barely audibly. “I don’t know how to explain any of it to you.”

  “Humph,” he grunted. “You need to find a way.”

  Alyx flinched again. Regrettably, at this point, a simple apology wouldn’t soften him as she had hoped.

  “And Aunt Deb said you took off work the rest of the week, and then I find you here… in this condition. Are you having some sort of commitment phobia crisis or something?”

  Pretty astute, she thought. I guess that’s why he’s a brain surgeon.

  She finally found the courage to look him in the eyes and drew in a light breath as they met. The dark circles of sleep deprivation and misery rimmed his blue eyes, breaking her heart into a million pieces, but she couldn’t let her nerve to falter. Here goes nothing. “You aren’t too far off with that assumption,” she replied, gazing at her lap again, “I was able to mull over it for a few days, not caught up in the moment with candles and a wine buzz, and realized that you deserve someone better.” When the words “someone better” rolled from her tongue, her throat clamped tight. At her core, she knew it was the truth. He deserved someone better suited for him.

  As her hurtful words sank in, his eyes shifted to the wall behind her with a dazed expression. She needed to continue, to help him understand. “I’ve just never been able to reciprocate the feelings that you have for me, not completely. I care for you, Benjamin, but I don’t believe I love you to the depth that you love me. It’s not fair to you.”

  His lips pressed to a thin line. Not an ounce of skepticism showed on his face as his gaze fixated on the wall. He believed every word.

  “You deserve someone that can do that for you,” she insisted, reaching over to touch his leg. He flinched away, and her voice rose in desperation. “That will love you as much or more than you love them!”

  A vein swelled in the center of his forehead. Her attempts to explain her reasoning only fueled his fire. Warm tears streaked her face; she wanted to hug his neck one last time so they could comfort each other, but she quickly learned that comfort was not what he was after -- at least not from her, anyway.

  His gaze moved back to her with flames flickering in his eyes. Her broken spirit hadn’t weakened his wrath in the slightest. “Never in my life,” he growled. “I feel as though I’ve been duped! Have you felt this way all along? That you didn’t love me?!”

  “I never said I didn’t love you!” she cried. “That wasn’t a lie.”

  He leapt from the couch. “You just don’t love me enough though, right? How incredibly cliché, Alyx… ‘it’s not you, it’s me’.”

  “Benjamin,” she said with a stifled cry and reached for his hand.

  He jerked away. “I’m out of here,” he said and made his way for the door.

  She wiped her tears and threw the blanket onto the floor. “I’m so sorry. I only want you to be with someone you deserve.”

  Benjamin turned. “DON’T get up!” he shouted, holding his large hand between them as a barrier, “don’t you follow me.” He stepped toward her, pointing his finger, his neck and face splotched with red. “You certainly fooled me. You say you didn’t love me as much as I loved you, but you sure did fool me.”

  “I’m sorry, I-”

  His hand lifted higher, cutting her off. “I know in the beginning you were hesitant, I get that. And the last three months I thought I worked too much, and that’s why you appeared distant. But not once did I get the impression that you had doubts. It makes every single second of it a lie, and…

  He wanted to say more, but whatever it was, choked him up now. He closed his eyes as if to find the strength. “Aunt Deb told me there was a man the other day that came by looking for you at work. Would he have anything to do with this?”

  Isaac, she thought, and her hand covered her brow with shame. He had spoken to Frederick so he could find her. She saw it all.

  Benjamin wasn’t off base with this assumption either, but it wasn’t exactly what he thought. She couldn’t stand the thought of him assuming that all of this was because she had been seeing another man. That wasn’t entirely the truth. Thanks, ‘Aunt Deb’, she thought, letting out a sigh. She lowered her hand to her chest. “He was looking for me, but I shot him down when he found me. That’s it, I swear.”

  “At least that’s one bit of good news,” he said dryly. “And the more I think about all of this, your reaction the other night makes perfect sense. It was written all over your face when I asked you to move in. Most women would be thrilled that their boyfriend wanted to commit to them. You obviously have something wrong with you, Alyx Rayer.”

  And with those furious, parting words, he whirled around and snatched the vase of lilies he had bought her on the way out.

  The door slammed shut, and she wiped the rest of the tears with the back of her hand, rubbing the last wounding blow he delivered. She couldn’t be angry at his insult. She knew that something was wrong with her. She should have never attempted to be in a relationship – it wasn’t in the cards for someone like her. Just one of many poor decisions lately.

  She lifted the mug of strong coffee from the table and sipped daintily. It felt as though a Band-Aid had been ripped off. Even though it still stung, she felt partially relieved. He’ll heal one day, and I’ll be a distant, painful memory.

  CHAPTER 10:

  Shattered

  Isaac watched mindlessly as an infomercial for a new exercise gimmick flashed across the screen. Nothing of substance came on TV that early in the morning, but he would rather sit and stare like a zombie as he munched on a bag of pretzels than do anything else. Especially sleep. The cusp of dawn colored the clouds outside a fiery rose. Their day would soon begin, and this was his final moments of calm.

  Wishing he could chase his early morning snack with another beer, he dusted the salt from his hands and rolled the bag tightly. After he came to the realization just hours before that Oman’s visit had a huge amount of credibility, not much could comfort him now, but beer had always been a fail safe. If he wasn’t responsible for his son and didn’t have to go to work that afternoon, he would have undoubtedly drank a whole six pack.

  He brushed his fingertips over the ink-colored angels that took wing above his left elbow. Would it be too much to ask for protection? he prayed. Or at least a little comfort? He closed his eyes and resigned that everything was out of his control. It didn’t benefit him to stay angry anymore, but he would never quit fighting for his son’s safety and would make sure they stayed together at all costs. Any other scenario was unacceptable. He would go wherever he needed to go and do whatever he needed to do, so long as his son was by his side. They were a package deal.

  He went to the kitchen and stuffed the bag of pretzels into the pantry. The clock on the stove read six thirty-three. Micah has an hour left to sleep. But did it matter anymore if everything “happened soon”? What was the point of carrying on as normal, pretending that there was a point to this life they would be torn from. What if “it” happened at six thirty-four, or six thirty-five?

  He moved to the coffee maker to put on a fresh pot. Beside it lay a picture of his wife holding Micah as a
baby with blue icing rimming his toothy grin. He picked it up and pressed it into his chest. That was why he needed to carry on as normal, to protect his son’s innocence for as long as he could.

  When the first drip of coffee hit the bottom of the glass carafe, he glanced at the studio door. If all of this were real, he would need to do as the old man instructed and keep the room sealed tight. As a matter of fact, he would never open it again. But what about the windows? he worried. Nothing covered them, which left his paintings vulnerable to whoever wanted to peer through. I can fix that, he surmised.

  He marched into the living room and grabbed a stack of white paper from the printer, and on his way back, stopped by the kitchen for a roll of duct tape. He opened the sliding door for the last time and walked to the first window on the left. As he held the first sheet to the glass, Alyx’s face flashed through his mind. No more peepin’ for you, lass.

  * * *

  After yet another emotionally draining event, Alyx decided to take it easy again that day. She would lounge on the couch and watch a marathon of old Friends re-runs. First thing’s first, though. I need a shower.

  She went to the bathroom and turned the nozzle, humming the theme song to the show as she waited for the steam to bellow out. Now that she had thrown Isaac off her sent, and the dreaded conversation with Benjamin was over, her mood had perked. The only thing left to do was make amends with Cindra who had yet to text her back from yesterday. She slipped out of her pajamas and into the shower, and resolved that after a few episodes she would go to their building at lunch and wait for her friend to emerge, insisting they speak over food.

  She grabbed the shampoo bottle and turned it upside down. The pearly pink goo curled inside the palm of her hand. Bubbles foamed as she rubbed her hands together, and she messaged the suds into her scalp. When she leaned into the water to rinse her hair, her scar twitched.

  She froze as the water trickled down her back, waiting to see what came next.

  The twitching ceased and a tingle prickled in its place. Are you kidding me?! she thought, infuriated. At my HOME?

  After wringing the water from her hair, she turned the nozzle off to listen for a knock at the front door. The tingle escalated to a ravenous burn, and her back arched from the pain. She clenched her teeth to prevent a scream from launching through her lips, giving her exact location away, and leaned against the cold tile to relieve the burning. The intensity of the tingle could only mean one thing – he was inside the apartment.

  Despite the scorching ache – that the cold tile failed to put a dent in – and the budding fear, fury dictated her actions, and against her better judgment decided to investigate. She bore against the pain and flung a towel around her. The time had come for a confrontation. She couldn’t run from this forever. And besides, being a victim wasn’t something she ever wanted to get used to. She had finally regained control over every other part of her life, and this needed to end, as well.

  She searched the bathroom for a weapon and zeroed in on the heavy stainless steel tumbler she stored her toothbrush in. If she had to, she could crack it against someone’s temple. With the tumbler clutched by her side, she crept to the door and drew in a breath. Just one swift blow, she thought, pumping herself up for the altercation.

  As slowly as she could, she slid her eye from behind the door jam to peer into the living room. But to her surprise, nobody awaited. The only sound in the apartment was the water that rolled from her body and spattered onto the lacquered floor.

  She shuffled quietly through the living room to peer into the kitchen.

  Nobody.

  The only room left to check was the bedroom, so she tiptoed toward the door. On her way there, a blast of negative energy covered her wet, naked body with chills. The malevolence this invisible force bred virtually burned her flesh, her scar sweltering at its peak.

  Her hand released the tumbler, and she watched helplessly as it rolled under the TV stand. The energy came from all around her, wrapping her in a cover of evil, but she couldn’t distinguish a single shape in the air. By her scar’s reaction she determined that it was probably best that she couldn’t see, its presence menacing enough.

  With her toes curled into the hardwood floor, she stood perfectly still, holding her breath hostage to prevent her chest from rising -- like a feeble mouse waiting for a predatory snake to strike from its tense coiling, to snatch her up and devour her whole.

  * * *

  Isaac taped the last sheet onto the window and slumped against the wall to sit and rest. His arms quivered like jelly from holding them up for so long. He scanned over his hard work with satisfaction. Everythin’ is safe now.

  “Holy crap, dad!” Micah said by the door. “Why did you do that?”

  Isaac looked over to see his son whose hand had smacked across his forehead in shock.

  “Oh, you’re up then?” he said, ignoring his question, and glanced at the clock on the wall. “It’s not even time yet. You alright?”

  “I woke up with a headache,” he groaned. “And my stomach feels funny.”

  Oh, great.

  He pushed from the floor and hurried to his side. His hand rested against his cheek to feel the temperature. “You’re burnin’ up! Let’s get you some medicine,” he said and darted for the bathroom with Micah following closely behind.

  “You still didn’t answer my question,” Micah reminded him.

  Isaac hadn’t thought of an excuse to give, mainly because he had hoped to have the door shut by the time he awoke. He would have to make one up on the fly. “I thought the daylight might start to bleach my work, son.”

  “You could have just bought blinds or something, ya know?” he said and pressed his lips together, his cheeks puffing with air as he held back his laughter.

  Isaac rolled his eyes and pointed to the toilet seat. “Sit there.”

  Micah sat where his dad instructed and mumbled something about how “dads were weird”.

  Isaac chuckled. I guess it does look kinda weird.

  “Here you go,” he said, dropping the pills in Micah’s hand, and turned to fill the glass by the sink with water. Micah popped them in and tilted his head back, waiting for a drink so he could rinse them down. “You should stay home today,” Isaac asserted and handed him the glass. “With that fever they would probably send you home anyhow.”

  Micah nodded in agreement as he gulped the water.

  Isaac knew that if his son agreed to stay home, he must have felt lousy. Most kids would relish the thought of staying home from school, but Micah enjoyed being around his friends. Besides his father, they were the only other relationships he had. Rachel and Isaac were both only children, so other than his one grandparent in another country, he didn’t have any aunts, uncles, or cousins to speak of either. His friends were his family. “Ok, then. Back to bed with you now.”

  Micah scurried to his room, and Isaac sat on the toilet, watching as he left with a satisfied smile. He hated that his son couldn’t shake this bug that had come back to haunt him, but felt relieved at the same time that he would be under his wing all day as he would now need to call into work himself. The closer his son was to him now, the better.

  * * *

  Minutes later, but what seemed like forever, the burning slowly faded. As the last bit of heat left her skin, she plopped onto the floor in an exhausted heap of long limbs and damp hair. The epitome of wickedness itself had been hovering over her, sucking her life-force through a straw. It could have mostly been from the emotional strain, but she had certainly been weakened.

  Her legs curled into her torso, and she hugged her arms around them. She never felt more vulnerable in all her lifetimes, and foolish at that, to assume she could have done anything about it. Whatever that thing was, it evoked the same response from her scar as the man in the black suit, and the petty stainless steel tumbler was useless.

  She reached beneath the TV to pick it up, and as she gripped it in her hand, the anger she felt when she first held
it found its way back in. Her knuckles faded to white as she tightened her hold, wishing she could crush it with her utterly human hands. She hurled it through the air, and it hit the floor, denting the wooden panels as it bounced back up and crashed through the window. Shards of glass sprinkled onto the couch like flakes of snow. She knew the outburst reeked of petulance, but the emotional release made it well worth the effort.

  When the last bit of anger drifted away, it made way for another emotion – helplessness. Her head buried into her knees, and she sobbed. This tiny apartment had served as her haven for the past two days, and now it had been invaded. No place felt safe for her now.

  She wiped her wet cheeks and stood to go finish her shower. Maybe the steam and the sweet smell of her soaps would help console her spirit. A very small – and possibly naïve – part of her felt assured, however, because the beast didn’t attack. If it had wanted to, that would have been its chance. What it sought after, if anything at all except to frighten, would have to remain a mystery.

  * * *

  Benjamin staggered to his door while gripping the neck of a bottle wrapped in a brown, paper bag. He had made a trip to the liquor store after he left Alyx’s apartment and had loitered in the garage the past four hours listening to a Linkin Park CD on full blast as he nursed the bottle of whiskey.

  “What a bitch,” he slurred and dug through his pockets for his keys. “Damn!” He punched the wall and headed toward the elevator to fetch his keys that remained in the ignition.

  Creeeak…

  His door slowly swung open. He stared at it in puzzlement and shrugged his shoulders. He pushed his way through and stopped before he made it to the living room, looking around in horror. Someone had been in his condo.