by Unknown
Behind me, I heard Mark running the opposite direction. I didn't turn to see, I could have cared less about him. All I wanted was for Brandon to stop. For him to turn back, to look me in the face and show he recognized me.
That was him, that was really him.
Covering my mouth, I fell to my knees. Adrenaline had vanished, leaving me limp with the reality of what had occurred. I'd been in serious danger, and just like in the past, Brandon had come to my aid.
Just like that fateful day, Brandon Beck had saved me.
Chapter 5
When I got back to the light of the fire, Mark was no where in sight. Some people looked my way; mumbled questions, asking if something had happened. Beyond a nod or shrug as I pushed by, I didn't engage them.
Climbing into my car, I felt comfort in the rumble of the engine. It also reminded me of something, giving my busy brain a place to focus. Did I hear Brandon growl? He seemed so different, so strong and... and scary. Frowning hard, I turned my car out onto the empty road.
I didn't want to consider the situation with that tainting my memory. However, I couldn't deny that I'd watched my old boyfriend, the love of my life, lift a full grown man off the ground and throw him like a pillow.
He did look bigger, and if he was angry enough, that'd make sense. Wouldn't it? Looking at myself in my driver mirror, I wished for an answer.
By the time I got back, it was late enough that I should have felt pure exhaustion. Especially with two beers still floating in my system—I was lucky I hadn't been pulled over, I was sure I'd fail a blood test—sleep should have come easily.
Sitting down in front of my laptop, I began to type.
I searched up things like 'man lifts car' or 'world's strongest man' until my eyes were dry from staring. Nothing sat right with me, but it was as close to logic as I could get.
People can be strong when it calls for it. What I saw made sense.
It made sense.
My brain didn't let me rest until the sun started to rise.
* * * *
I missed every class the next day.
Perhaps I should have cared more, but I just didn't. Nothing was as important as understanding what was going on. I'd seen Brandon, I knew I had. Every bit of me craved to see him again.
Sitting on my couch, Angel curled in my lap, I held my phone to my ear. “Hey Grandpa,” I said when the line picked up. “It's me.”
“Fiona!” His chuckle was warm, familiar. “What's going on, how are you?”
“Oh, you know.” Just saw my dead boyfriend last night is all, no big. “I'm alright, the weather has been kind of gross though.”
He made a small sound, like he was agreeing. “Nature is a fickle beast, can't escape it.”
Fickle beast...
I cleared my throat. “Listen, Grandpa. Do you believe in... um. I mean. Is it possible for ghosts to be real?” Hearing my own question made me blush with shame. Ghosts, really? No, Brandon was tangible.
My grandpa laughed, but not with even a hair of rudeness. “Ghosts. Now there's a thought. I'm guessing something happened, Fiona. Why don't you tell me why you're asking me this.”
Chewing my tongue, I stopped petting Angel. “You'll think I'm nuts, but I swear I'm not.”
“I won't think any such thing, dear.”
Filling my chest with air, I waited only a second before spilling what was on my mind. “Last night—no, before that, but for sure last night—I saw someone I shouldn't have. Grandpa, you must remember... remember Brandon Beck, right?” Uttering his name out loud made my stomach twist.
“Brandon,” he whispered, vocalizing the sadness I was feeling. “Yes. Of course. I met him a few times when I came down for Christmas. He was always trying to drag you off at odd hours.”
That almost made me smile. Almost.
“Fiona,” he went on, and I could sense how he was tip-toeing, “you're trying to tell me you saw the ghost of your young friend from back then?”
In my chest, my heart throbbed violently. “It wasn't a ghost. I don't know exactly what he was, Grandpa. Just that I'm positive it was Brandon. Is that... how is that even possible?” Sitting up, agitated by my own questions, I ignored how Angel jumped away angrily. “He died, Grandpa. He died. Didn't he?”
My grandpa sighed. “Fiona, do you remember when we were young and your grandmother died?
Though I'd only been six at the time, I had a vague memory of attending that funeral. “Yeah, why do you ask?”
“For the longest time after your grandmother had passed, and this is going to sound silly, I could swear that she was still there with me. Sometimes I would catch a glimpse of her out of the corner of my eye, as if she was still there with us.”
I listened to his words, mulling them over. “So, you think I'm being haunted?”
“That, or maybe he's just looking out for you.”
Thinking how he had rescued me from Mark the night before, it was hard not to agree with that. I almost brought it up, then stopped. The last thing I need is my grandpa to be thinking about me going out drinking with other college kids out in the middle of the desert. I quickly moved to change the subject. “Maybe you're right. Maybe he is just looking out for me. It could be that I'm just too stressed lately, I'm seeing things.”
He laughed. “As long as you're just stressed out about your classes.”
We shared a few more tidbits, but I hurried to hang and end the conversation. It was impossible for me to not keep going over what he'd said. That Brandon was somehow still looking out for me. That he had been guarding me all along.
I couldn't deny that he had rescued me at the last moment. It was all a little too convenient. Had he followed me out into the desert? I hadn't seen him in two years, and the last time I had seen him wasn't a fond memory. Yet now, here he was, acting like some kind of guardian angel from the shadows.
A guardian angel.
I needed answers. I had a horrible idea on how I might get them.
* * * *
I had avoided going outside the entire day due to my funk over my strange night. Even so, it was darker outside than I expected it to be when I finally walked down my front steps. It was late in the evening. The thick clouds over head, the remnants of the recent storm, blocked out what light the moon or stars would normally bring. Normally this would keep me from heading down the road that I was planning.
However, I had a goal.
My shoes were the only sound on the asphalt as I wandered deep into the downtown restaurant district. It was too late for anybody to be having dinner, I was virtually alone on the streets. Pulling my jacket tighter around me, I purposefully weaved deeper. The back alleys that no one dared cross through, occasionally during the best of times, were in my reach.
If Brandon's really protecting me, the only way I'll be able to find out is if I give him a reason to do so.
It was probably one of my worst ideas, but I was desperate. I didn't know how else to get what I wanted. There wasn't anyone that could possibly understand how to help me. What advice could someone offer to help me find my long dead boyfriend?
A reckless idea, but... I fingered the kitchen knife under my jacket. It wasn't much, but it felt better than nothing. If it goes badly, I'll be grateful I have something.
As I rounded the corner, dodging around a pile of recently emptied trash, I heard the low thrum of voices. Ahead of me I saw a group of men. Their faces were lit up by the red glow of cigarettes. Leaning on the brick alley walls they talked to one another, laughing raucously over some unheard joke.
My palms, buried deep in my pockets, were soaked with my sweat. Maybe this isn't such a good idea, I thought to myself. Maybe this was a far stupider decision than I realized.
Hesitant steps brought me closer to them. I unconsciously began to lean further away from where they were. It didn't matter. They were already looking at me.
One of them, a heavy-set man whose face shone with grease, smiled in my direction. “Hey, sweetie,”
he grunted. “You look a little lost. Do you need some directions?”
I said nothing, I ducked my chin and walked faster.
“Hey!” he called out to me. “I asked you a question.”
Oh shit. Oh shit oh shit.
Ahead of me, the opening in the alley beckoned. It seemed miles away. The instant I crossed in front of him, his hand reach out to grab my elbow.
“Hey!” he said again. “I said I asked you a question!”
Shouting, I tried to yank away. Amazingly, he let me go. My relief was short lived. Backpedaling, I stumbled into the arms of one of the other thugs. Easily he wrapped his long arms around me from behind, trapping me against him.
“What are you, deaf? Or do you just not want to talk to a nice couple of guys like us?” I could smell the bitter stench of brandy on his breath.
“Let me go!” I screamed. In response they began laughing. Like sharks, they surrounded me, their faces dark in the shadows. Even so, I could see their rotten teeth curling into pleased smiles.
The first man stared me down, his fingers gripping my chin. “That's what it is,” he said calmly. “She just has no manners!” Behind me, the other man laughed. I couldn't take it anymore, I closed my eyes tightly.
“Well then, I guess it's her lucky day! We're real good at teaching manners.”
Wildly, I tried to get my arm free. I need to get my knife! I need to do something! I was breathing so hard my lungs began to ache. I was sure if they had let me go at that moment, I would simply drop to the ground. How did I think this was a good idea, I wondered. How in the hell could this possibly help me get closer to Brandon?
I felt a flicker of cynicism. Maybe tomorrow he'll see my name in the paper.
On my face, the fingers squeezed. The sound of their amusement grew louder, making me positive there was no talking my way out of this one. I was sure I was done for; too weak, too powerless, too stupid to escape the situation.
And I only had myself to blame.
The blood in my ears pounded louder, blocking out the noise around me. It dulled everything so much that I almost missed the sound of the first man's scream.
The one behind me yelled, his grip loosening. I didn't know what was happening, before I could even open my eyes I felt myself shoved aside. Something else had the attention of the thugs. Something far more pressing than me.
Stumbling on the ground, my palms scraped in the grime. I wrenched my head back so that I could understand what was happening. The alley was dim, the scene was hard to make out. Despite that, I saw enough to grasp what was going on. I couldn't deny what was happening before me.
One of the men was crumpled in a heap. I was sure the wetness by his head had to be blood. Brandon had his hands around the necks of two others, snarling like no human should have been able to. He threw them across the alley, the crunch of metal as they collided with a dumpster echoed.
“Who the hell are you?” The first man who had spoken to me, he faced Brandon with uncertainty. He braced himself, staring at Brandon in disbelief. “What's wrong with you? You on drugs or something?”
In response, Brandon took a step towards him. Before, I could feel cruel smugness from the thugs. Now I only sensed fear. It didn't matter to them who Brandon was, all they needed to know was how easily he had dispatched three of their comrades all on his own.
Suddenly, the man who had held me ran at Brandon. In his hand I caught a quick glimpse of something shiny. Something curved and deadly.
“Look out!” I cried, digging into my jacket for my own blade. My warning was too slow, I was too slow.
The knife dug into Brandon's side, slipping through his ribs. I covered my mouth, horrified at the sight. I expected him to fall. I expected him to do anything except what actually happened.
Reaching down, he grabbed the man's arm, twisting it quickly. The bitter crunch of the sound of bones breaking made ill. The knife-wielder screamed, his voice cracking. He didn't stop until Brandon threw him aside, his head hitting the hard wall, knocking him unconscious.
The hilt of the knife still jutted from Brandon's flesh, he didn't seem to care. Green eyes, wild with rage, fixed on the remaining thug. They squared off.
There was a long moment where I wondered if the other man was actually going to attack Brandon. Blood was seeping from my old boyfriend's wound, dripping to the ground below. Stepping backwards slowly, sweat pouring off of his chin, the man turned and ran. For a second, Brandon hunched low, reminding me of a lion on the prowl. I had a horrible vision of him chasing his enemy down. Of him tackling him to the ground, finishing him off. Before he could take a step, I called to him.
“Brandon!” I said desperately. “Stop! Don't leave!”
He froze on the spot, turning my way as if seeing me for the first time. The anger, the hardness to his features melted away. Sensing this was my chance, that he wouldn't run away from me, I rose to my feet. My knees threatened to buckle but I stubbornly ignored them, moving in his direction.
“Brandon,” I said again, looking pointedly at the knife. “You're hurt.”
Wincing, he gripped the handle, tearing it free from him with a growl. Carelessly he tossed it aside, letting it land in the rubbish. It was unlike anything I had ever seen. In movies, you sometimes saw the hero rip weapons from his body, but never in real life.
In real life, a knife would drop you to the ground. In real life, a wound like that should have been mortal, or at least incapacitating.
Brandon stood before me in the alley, acting like he didn't even feel the pain. I didn't know what to do. The boy I had known two years ago, he was nothing like this. I should have been more concerned with the fact that he was alive at all, but right then all I could wonder was what had changed him. What had made Brandon Beck so different?
“Does it hurt?” I asked, looking up into his stoic face.
Lifting his shirt up, exposing his torso, he shrugged. “It'll be fine. Give it a couple hours, max.”
“Give it a couple hours, max?” I repeated. The first glimpse of fear appeared on his face. He realized what I had realized, that what he'd said made absolutely no sense. How could a knife wound be 'alright' in a couple of hours?
My mind was a whirlwind.
I'd seen Brandon lift Mark off of me in the desert like he was a kitten. I'd watched him dispatch a group of thugs without breaking a sweat. In front of me, the gaping wound still dripped bright crimson onto the filthy ground. That wasn't normal. That wasn't human.
“I need to go,” he said, turning away from me suddenly.
“What?” I asked in disbelief. Reaching out, I grabbed for him, but he was too fast. Pulling away, he began to walk towards the end of the alley, not looking back at me.
“Stop! Brandon! How can you just leave like this? Talk to me. I haven't seen you in two years, and you show up and this—all of this happens and—and you expect me to stand here while you just leave? Like I'll just say okay, bye, good to see you. Hope you have a good life?”
I could see the tension in his shoulders. I followed after him, but he quickened his pace, as though he wanted to escape me. That was it, I couldn't take it anymore. Rushing forward, I grabbed at his wrist, digging in and holding tight.
“Brandon!” I screamed, my voice ricocheting around us. “Tell me what happened! Tell me how you're still alive!”
He stopped. He was facing away, but he had stopped.
My voice was soft, cracking with the emotion that I had kept pent up for far too long. “How could I have thought you were dead for two years, and here you are in front of me acting like nothing happened? How is that possible, Brandon. Tell me.”
He tugged his arm away, so I let go. “Fiona,” he said, and just hearing him say my name made me shiver. “It's not the kind of thing that I can explain. And even if I could, I'm not sure that I would want to.”
He met my eyes. I gestured behind me at the bodies of the fallen men, people that I hoped were still alive. “Can you explain that?” I
asked. I didn't bother to hide the stiffness in my tone. “Can you explain how it's possible for you to fight all those men and walk away without a scratch?” Pausing, I pointed to his knife wound. “Sorry, walk away like that is a scratch?”
He reached down, finger the torn hole in his shirt that the knife had gone through. “If I told you, you wouldn't even believe me.”
My laugh was sour. “You're standing in front of me. I saw you get pulled away in a flood, Brandon. Whatever you tell me, I have no choice but to believe. This is already impossible.”
For the first time since he had come back into my life, Brandon smiled. It was the first time he had looked like the boy I remembered from two years ago. “You're right,” he said, rubbing his neck sheepishly. “When you put it like that, it's stupid of me to think you wouldn't listen.”
“Not just listen,” I said. “I'll believe you, Brandon. I'm already—right now—everything just...” I couldn't talk anymore. Here I was, standing in an alley with Brandon Beck. It was too much for me. Tears blurred my vision, and I just started to laugh.
“What is it?” he asked, clearly concerned. “What's wrong?”
Shaking my head, I wiped at my eyes. “I'm just—I'm so happy right now. I'm standing here in an alley, watching you bleed, and I'm the happiest I've been in as long as I can remember.”
I could feel his hesitation, but he reached out, hugging me around the shoulders. It wasn't as tender as I'd wished it had been. Still, it was enough.
“You really want to know how I'm here right now? How all of this happened?” he asked.
“I do,” I insisted, rubbing at my cheeks. “But maybe we should do it elsewhere?” I glanced worriedly at the bodies of the men.
As if sensing my unease, Brandon gave my shoulders a quick squeeze. Then, he stepped back. “Don't worry about them. They'll be sore, but they'll live.”
My eyes tracked over the smear of blood on the temple of one of them. “You're sure?”
“I'm sure,” he insisted. “Their leader ran off, he'll come back with help. They could be much worse off than this. Believe me.”
