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

by Pierce, SJ

  * * *

  A thick film covered her eyes, blurring her sight, and she blinked it away as tears rolled onto the couch from the sting. With each forceful blink the coating slowly cleared, revealing a sharpened focus to her vision. Every intricate detail within her line of sight had magnified; each flake of broken glass sparkled like a colorful prism, every soft wrinkle in the leather sofa plunged into a ravine, and through the hole in the window she focused on a pigeon that perched upon the sill of a neighboring building, its feathered body appearing within an arm’s reach.

  With her head still turned to the side, the ceiling’s stippled texture slowly came into view, her peripheral vision expanding further. The intensity of her strengthened sight burned her eyes, and she held them shut as the tears continued to pour, wetting the leather beneath her cheek. With her vision veiled, her hearing heightened; the bird on the windowsill’s wings fluttered as he cleaned them, the curtain swooshed from the wind that blew through the hole in the broken pane. This sensation didn’t feel as intrusive, though, almost soothing.

  She lay for a moment to soak it all in and gently pushed off the couch. The quivering had ceased, and her muscles held her body erect with an unusually solid and sturdy prowess. Everything about her seemed renewed, healthier than it had ever been.

  She made her way to the bathroom to observe the result of her transformation into the creature that she was meant to be, the part of her that remained hidden somewhere inside the DNA of her human vessel, waiting to be released.

  Her heart pounded with anticipation. I hope it’s good.

  Before she made it to the mirror, her eyes darted to the floor, nervous about what it would divulge. She had only seen her reflection one way in all these eighty-four years.

  Her hips squared up to the sink, and she gripped the sides in case her knees decided to give in from the shock. Slowly, she looked up from the ground and stared at the creature in the mirror. Her eyes shone a deep, polished black, reflecting her fierce exterior back in them. The black marbles shifted to her hair as she stroked it. A streak of white started beneath her crown, peaking through from halfway down her tresses, tainting her lustrous, raven lochs.

  She brushed the hair from her face and pinched her earlobes where earrings used to hang. The holes for them to slide into were sealed. Her fingertips made their way to her cheek, feeling the texture of her skin, which appeared even more firm and youthful than before. It glowed as if a fine shimmering powder had been dusted over it, and the almost imperceptible creases that had formed beside her eyes were ironed smooth. Even her pores had shrunk to tiny little nothings.

  She definitely wouldn’t ‘blend in’ anymore.

  She pulled the neck of her shirt down to expose her scar. It still remained. As she studied the raised symbol, a strong tugging pulled her to the right, and she stumbled into the wall. What the…

  As sturdy as her new body was, she couldn’t deny the conquering strength of this force.

  She surveyed the sensation as it tugged, like thousands of tiny strings were seemingly connected to the center of her chest. They literally pulled her where they wanted her to go. “My draw,” she whispered. Her senses weren’t the only thing that had strengthened, her draw now pleading with her find him. This was it. Her superiors officially summoned.

  She turned to head for the front door. The time had come to capture Isaac. His locked door and covered windows didn’t matter anymore. If need be, she would force her way in and leave with him in tow – whether he wanted to go or not. Regardless of her feelings for him, she had a job to do.

  Halfway to the door, a rush of voices filled her mind, voices all like hers; feminine and melodic, some talking, some shouting. Her hands cupped her ears as the volume rose and throbbed inside her skull. They were her brethren, warning one another, blending together as they whirled around like a vicious tornado.

  Unable to detect a single word, she lurched forward as she waited for the torment to stop. The growing throb rocked her balance, and she fell to the side, cracking her temple against the granite counter as she dropped to the floor. A mixture of stars and darkness covered her vision after the blow, but as the strings tugged she fought to get back up, pushing with her arms from the floor. The voices grew louder, their tenor emitting desperation, and she fell back to the ground, struggling to fight the voices and the shadows. As she flailed, a few desperate words broke from the noise; “Don’t fly! Keep to the ground…” and they faded along with her, into unconsciousness.

  * * *

  Bam! Bam! Bam!

  Three loud knocks on the front door echoed through the flat, startling Micah from his sleep. He propped up on his elbow and glared at the door. “Dad! Someone’s at the door!” he yelled and fell to his pillow with a grunt of annoyance, closing his eyes.

  A few seconds passed, and three more bangs echoed through the flat. His eyes flew open. “Dad!”

  He picked his head up to listen for the sound of his dad’s voice, but only silence answered him. He shoved the covers off and made his way to the stairs, grabbing the coke can that sat on his dresser.

  Wham – Smash!

  Halfway through his descent, a single, earsplitting bang broke the door from its hinges and the pictures hanging on the wall shattered on the ground.

  Micah stared through the broken door frame with a face as white as a sheet, and followed with his fearful eyes the person who approached him. As they made their way to him, the can fell from his hand and rolled down the steps, spattering coke around the living room like a paint spinner.

  * * *

  Walking steadily backward, Alyx led him into the ocean with their hands locked together, her eyes unwilling to part with his. She drew in a breath and held it, nodding toward him to do the same. Isaac compliantly sucked in the humid air, and they plunged beneath the surface, still gazing at each other through the turquoise water, her hair surrounding them in a silky cloud.

  A tendril of feathered, curling red floated up between them, and he followed the trail with his eyes. His gashes had returned, seeping his life into the sea. His head snapped back up to hers, and through a cluster of bubbles he screamed. Her eyes transformed to black as they stared at him in horror, resembling an apparition as she floated in the salty water before him.

  He violently lashed around, and she released her hold to allow him to swim to the top for air. Before he broke through, his eyes opened from his dream, and he too lay submerged in water. He had fallen asleep and slid into the tub.

  He pushed with his legs and choked as he broke through the surface. Water poured from his nose and mouth as he hacked and gagged, his chest heavy from where the water had leaked into his airways. He leaned over the tub and held onto the side, resting his head between his hands and drawing in deep, stinging breaths. Jesus, I almost killed myself!

  He coughed to force the rest of the fluid from his lungs and unplugged the tub of cold water, noticing his MP3 player that rested on the bottom, indisputably ruined. “Aw, man!” he croaked. He tossed it onto the bathroom rug and crawled out to check on Micah. He wasn’t sure how long he had been asleep, but if his wrinkled hands were any indication it had been for quite some time.

  After wrapping a towel around his waist, he headed for the living room and noticed the blinking red light on his cell phone. Voicemail. He hadn’t checked it all day. As the message played, he opened the fridge for a drink.

  “Isaac,” Bridget began, “I’ve got a bit ‘o bad news about your father, deary. Call me when you can.” Isaac released a disparaging sigh as he reached for the last soda can. He had spoken to her several times before, and when she called him ‘deary’ his dad had taken a turn for the worse. But never once did she say that she had “bad news”. This is it, he thought.

  “Micah!” he yelled and turned for his room. “You ok up there? We need to talk for a minute. I just got a call from-” and he paused. The door to the apartment inexplicably lay on the ground. He sat the coke on the counter and ran to the door, st
udying the bent metal framing from where someone had bashed it open. What the HELL!? As he realized what this could mean, his chest constricted.

  When his feet shifted to head for Micah’s room, their soles felt sticky. He lifted his right foot to study the strange substance and noticed the empty coke can on the floor. Dried coke droplets decorated the back of the sofa and the concrete. Racked with dread, he hurried up the winding stair case, skipping two stairs at a time, and stared at the indented curvature on the comforter where his son had lain. All of the remaining breath squeezed from his lungs.

  He wanted to continue searching, but his instincts had already told him the truth. He’s gone.

  A stifled, devastated cry found its way through his chest, and he opened his cell phone to call 911. The “no service” banner rolled across the screen. Dammit!

  He hurled the phone down to the living room where it smashed against the floor. The windows downstairs revealed twilight’s distinctive cobalt glow, which meant he must have slept in the tub for close to four hours. If someone had taken Micah, the two of them could be anywhere by now.

  * * *

  Alyx awoke from the tiny strings that practically pulled her from the floor, and she sat up, rubbing the side of her head where she had hit it. It didn’t throb, or even hurt, but it seemed unusual not to at least feel for a lump, especially since the blow had left an uneven, crescent-shaped hole in the granite. She wasn’t sure if she had passed out because of cracking her head or because of the voices, but something had grabbed hold of her and pulled her into unconsciousness. And for how long? The apartment had grown incredibly dark, and the voices no longer whirled inside her head. She must have been out for awhile.

  Exasperated, she slammed her fist on the hardwood floor, splitting the planks of wood. Her superiors told them that if they were ever summoned, they would only have until midnight to make it to the gateway. Hours of precious time had already sifted away.

  She shot up from the floor and ran down the apartment stairs. This would be her last time in the complex, but she didn’t have the spare seconds to grieve over her leaving. She hopped in her car and sped toward his building.

  The closer she came, her scar blazed as though someone had turned a knob up on the intensity, and when she arrived, could literally see why. Her new eyesight deciphered a cloud of translucent figures suspended in the air, making ripples through it as they circled around his building – something a mere human’s eyes would be unable to see. It was hard for her to make out a distinct shape or size, but something was there. Judging by the reaction of her scar, these were possibly the beasts that visited her apartment earlier that day and had mutilated Benjamin.

  When they spotted her, a few of them slowly gravitated toward the car, hovering around it. Their faint screeches pierced the air, and she crinkled her nose as the noise clawed against her eardrums like pointy nails down a chalkboard. Her muscles tensed as she waited for them to attack, but they only circled the car, sizing her up, not that interested in her yet.

  She opened the door with severe caution and walked toward the building as the beasts trailed closely behind. Once through the front entrance, she used the steps so she could get to him faster, though still walking at a steady pace, afraid she might aggravate the beast’s somewhat observant manner. They followed her through the building and all the way down the hallway where a flock of them waited outside his door.

  She gulped as she made her way through them, the heat they bred warming her skin as she walked. Except this time, because the transformation left her with a strengthened body, the beasts didn’t drain her energy, leaving it untouched.

  She stopped at the mutilated door frame, her heart stopping as the image fully registered. Who did this? No man would have had the strength, not even ten men could have torn the large, metal door from its hinges.

  As she surveyed the damage, their shrieks grew louder, unhappy that she contemplated going through. She scanned the living room, and as best as she could tell, none of the beasts hovered inside. They must have been waiting for him to leave and had undoubtedly waited a long time, antsy to rip into his flesh as they had Benjamin’s.

  She stepped through what was left of the door and blinked as a cool wind blew her hair from her shoulders. A gentle whispering floated through the air. Prayers?

  Something protected his home, the monsters kept at bay.

  * * *

  Isaac packed his toiletries into a black, leather duffle bag. He couldn’t stay there any longer. He would devote every ounce of his being to finding his son, and nothing could stop him. He was a man on a mission.

  He didn’t care if his destiny awaited in some distant land where a Spirit Guide named Oman would mentor him, or that he possessed a ‘gift’ to possibly save the world. He didn’t want to live in a world where his son didn’t exist anyhow.

  His shaky hands moved from the bathroom cabinet to his duffle bag, shoving anything he might need into its small opening. Overwrought with terror, his mind played through different scenarios of what might have happened the moment Micah was taken, or who had done it, or what he must have seen and experienced in those minutes and continued to experience now. Micah already suffered with illness, were his captors harming him too? Torturing him?

  Isaac zipped the bag closed and rounded the corner to the kitchen, snatching the butcher knife from the counter on his way to the door. When he emerged from behind the cabinets, he halted. Alyx stood in the middle of the living room between the staircase and the sofa, staring through the broken door.

  “Where’s my son, bitch!” he barked. Seeing her there was of no surprise to him now, he had almost expected her to show up.

  At the sound of his voice, she spun around. He dropped his bag, pointing the knife in her direction to show that he meant business, her frightening appearance not deterring him in the least. Because she had occupied his dreams for so long, this didn’t seem any different.

  Her dark, polished eyes studied him intently as her body positioned into a careful stance, like a lioness sizing her opponent – or her prey – anticipating her next move. Fairly certain that his face didn’t reveal it, he now felt hunted and vulnerable. “Hello again, Isaac,” she said with a caginess to her voice that harmonized with her posture.

  The feral tone in her words almost unraveled him. “Do you know where my son is?” he asked again and hoped she hadn’t noticed the crack in his voice.

  Her eyebrows pinched together as she searched the flat, his question taking her by surprise. “Your son?”

  “Yes, I have a son! Don’t play around with me,” he said, waving the blade violently through the air.

  “Why would I know?”

  “Well don’t you?!”

  Her brows pinched tighter. “I wasn’t aware you had one.”

  Oh I’m sure.

  She placed one foot in front of the other, carrying her smoothly in his direction, reminding him again of a feline.“Do you know who I am?”

  He jutted the knife toward her. “I know that you look like a demon and that your name is Alyx… is that even your name?”

  “Yes,” she said calmly. “But do you know why I’m here?”

  She took another indulgent step, and Isaac lunged forward. “I will use this. I’m not playin’ around!”

  She fought an amused smile and held up her hands. “I don’t think that will be of much use to you.”

  “All I want is my son, so if you can’t help me with that you need to get out of my way,” he said, grabbing the bag he had dropped, and marched for the door.

  “You don’t want to do that,” she warned as she moved into his path.

  He stepped around her. “Watch me.”

  “No, you don’t understand… you don’t want to do that!” she shouted desperately.

  He had almost made it there when she gripped his upper arm, pulling him back with the strength of a man three times her size. Clang! The power behind her quick grasping had launched the blade into the wall and on
to the concrete floor. He hollered under the vice of her death grip and dropped to his knees.

  “Oh, Isaac, I’m so sorry!” she cried and released her hold. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I don’t know my own strength yet.”

  He rubbed his throbbing arm as he stood, and when he glared at her, a burning remorse showed in her eyes. She told the truth; his pain upset her. “You care that you hurt me?”

  “It was a reaction. I’m sorry.”

  Isaac’s anger slowly withered away. Maybe he should listen to what she had to say. After all, if she had come to harm him, she wouldn’t be upset over his pain.

  “Can you see anything outside of that door?” she asked, pointing toward it.

  His head turned to look through, and he squinted, unable to see anything. “Am I supposed to?”

  “Can you hear anything, then?”

  He moved to the threshold, sticking his ear closer. “No, I can’t.”

  “My point exactly. That’s why I couldn’t let you walk through that door.”

  His lips pursed tightly as his eyes drew back to the empty door frame. “I’m not followin’.”

  “Out that door is a huge mass of evil beasts that are practically salivating for you to walk through. And from my experience, they do not mean you well.”

  His eyebrows rose with astonishment. “So you were protectin’ me?”

  “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. I might look a scary, like a ‘demon’ as you referred to earlier, but I’m actually here to protect you.”

  Isaac’s head spun from this revelation. All this time he had thought she was out to harm him and his son. But why would Oman warn him about her? Something didn’t match up. She’s lyin’.

  He pointed his finger and backed away. “Oh no you don’t, I’m not buyin’ that. I was already warned about you, that you were watchin’ me.”

  Her hands flew to her hips. “Warned? By who!?”

  “I’m not sure I need to tell you that,” he replied, crossing his arms.