The man attacks the inside only to find a very small stack of singles banded together.
On no, that’s not good I fretfully conclude.
The man becomes infuriated making my insides burn.
He slams the butt of the gun against the counter top where a display of cigarettes once sat minding their own business. His breathing is heavy and my fear suddenly becomes alarmingly real.
He turns to us with eyes that look like a starved wolves; his pupils’ small and radiating fury.
I press myself closer to the boy.
The man drops the barrel of the gun into his left hand and looks straight through me.
It all happened very quickly then.
He cocks the exchange.
My life flashed.
I feel him pull the trigger.
I barely blink when out of nowhere a blue blur shields me from certain death.
I look up at Justice as he jerked in pain. I can feel the emotion’s swirl around the room. No one moves. Especially me. I stare up at him in a petrified state. His eyes are tensely shut, and it feels like an eternity passes as I stand there watching. My whole body anxiety ridden, shaking from within.
Finally, he opens them; I thought nothing could scare me more than a near-death experience, but apparently I was wrong. I stopped breathing from the fear. It was as if Justice’s soul disappeared; his eyes replaced with Caribbean blue flames upchucking from hell. Burning One suddenly took on a whole new meaning. For the first time, he really frightened me, and I understand why devil was on his adjective list.
The shotgun drops to the floor releasing me from my petrified state. And before I know it Justice scales the counter top gripping the now terrified man by the throat. He squirms like a fish expiring in his hand. Justice snaps his head in my direction capturing me with his smoldering eyes. There was pure livid dementia on his face. I don’t even recognize the person he’d become.
“Go to the car.” He orders in what sounds like his best Christian Bale, Batman impersonation. But I can’t bring myself to move. I just stare in disbelief that the angelic creature I know is capable of such horrid terror.
“Go!” He yells, prompting my feet to move.
I look over at the boy who is now scarred for life, fearful of what Justice may do. I touch his hand before I go trying to leave him with some comfort and belief that Justice’s better side, the side I know, will show him mercy. In that short second of physical contact, the look in the boys’ eyes oddly changes from fear to trust.
“Liv!”
I leave.
Sneaking behind Justice, I scoot out the convenient store like a wet rat jumping ship, bells jingling behind me. Large sopping rain drops attack my face as I bolt to the car. Thank God I opted out of heels this morning.
It takes no longer than me closing the passenger’s side door to find Justice sitting beside me in the driver’s seat. I’ll admit; I screamed from the scare. I didn’t even see him coming.
He punches the gas thrusting me back, breaking the 0-60 in 4.4 second clock.
His face is still livid, but the smoldering flames are gone. He grumbles furiously as he speeds down the desolate road.
His driving is as livid as his face. I silently wish he would slow down. Rear-wheel drive is not favorable to high speeds and wet pavement. I frantically wonder how many times a human heart can go into cardiac arrest on a given day before it finally gives out.
“What are you on the grim reapers hit list or something!” He gapes at me. His tone is sharp and disgusted. “Not only do I have to worry about you around the supernatural world, but the human world as well?!”
The white lines on the soaked road blur together as the rain pours out from the heavens. “Justice please slow down!” I beg, grabbing the 'oh shit' handle so tight my knuckles turn white. He glares over at my tense, pleading body and frowns. He takes his foot off the gas and we slow to a comfortable 100 mph.
I begin to breathe easier as the car takes on a calming vibration once again, the vibration that induced my earlier slumber.
His face is still agitated, but I can’t help put all my attention to his tattered shirt, where a bullet should have clearly mangled his shoulder blade.
“Are you ok?” I focus on the absent wound.
“Fine, why?” He replies as if I’ve asked something preposterous.
“Well, you just got shot with a sawed off shot gun.”
He looks over at me with an amused smirk; it amazes me how his mood changes like the South wind.
“Death is a challenge for me; I’m immortal remember.”
“Remember? I will never forget after today.”
He gives me a light-hearted look.
“But you’re definitely ok? Right?” I have to double check.
“Fine.” He assures me. “There’s not even a scratch.”
I inspect him further. “No, thank goodness.”
“I should really be asking if you’re alright,” he says with an engaged tone. “Did that maniac hurt you?”
“No, just my shirt.” I flick a piece of my torn tank top.
I look over at him hesitantly. “Did you kill them?”
He shoots me a despicable look. “Of course not! If you haven’t noticed by now, I preserve life.” He says irritated. “They won’t remember a thing I assure you.”
I breathe a sigh of relief. I know he isn’t a murderer, but his livid face told me he wasn’t above considering it.
I look up at him gratefully. “Thank you for coming to my rescue, and I’m sorry.”
“Sorry for what?”
“For you having to worry about me in more than one world.”
He lets out an exasperated breath. “Liv, I am not blaming you. It’s not your fault you keep stumbling into trouble. I blame myself.” He narrows his eyes as small droplets of water hang from the tips of his hair.
“For what?”
“For not getting to you sooner, I should have known something was wrong, instead I just stood there impatiently pumping the gas. It wasn’t until I heard him load the gun did I know you were in danger,” he shakes his head utterly disgusted at himself. “I should have been there for you.”
“But you were there for me.” I assert. “I’m sitting here aren’t I? All organs intact. I think you are cutting yourself little short; I mean; you stopped a bullet to save me. Talk about taking one for the team.”
His eyes flicker between me and the road, like he can’t believe I’m being so passive about what just happened. For me, there was nothing to be upset about.
“You have quite a way with words.” He says slightly amused.
“I guess that’s one way to put it,” I say dryly. “My mother calls it something else.”
His eyes smile. “I’m just glad you’re alright.”
“That depends on your definition of alright.” I tell him.
A Slice of Life
I direct Justice to my favorite hole in the wall in Point Beach, ‘For Shore it’s the Best’. He promised me dinner since my snack was so rudely interrupted. There’s nothing more satisfying than a slice of pizza Jersey Shore style.
We walk into the small pizzeria with exposed brick walls and orange counter tops. In a glass case, an array of decorated slices wait to be eaten. I eye each piece like they are diamonds in a jewelry case. Justice just walks past the selection unfazed by their existence. I hear him order a “double espresso, and whatever she is having.”
He gives the man dressed in a black and white checkered apron some money and sits down at the farthest table in the back. I order a white slice with tomatoes and a coke, then join him at the 70’s style plastic booth; it’s color the same as the counter tops.
“Aren’t you going to eat anything?” I ask trying to distract myself from the hunger pains.
“No.” He plainly answers.
“Nervous stomach?” I ask lightly.
“No, I don’t eat.” He tells me matter-of-factly.
“What do you mean yo
u don’t eat?” I say aghast.
“I don’t eat; I don’t need food to sustain my existence. Besides I find it…redundant.”
“Redundant? That’s ridiculous!” I can’t comprehend; I love to eat! If I could endure being in a crowded restaurant, I would try my hand at being a food critic.
“We could never date,” the words spill out uncontrollably over my lips. And as soon as they touch the atmosphere, I want to suck them back in. My disbelief has let my mouth run away from itself.
“Really?” His eyebrows rise so high they nearly touch the ceiling. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
The waitress drops off my slice and his espresso. I want to drown myself in the dark liquid to hide from the embarrassment.
“Don’t even bother making a mental note, you have nothing to worry about; I don’t do love.” I bite my bottom lip after the ashy words leave my mouth.
“Like you don’t do two wheels?” He asks a tad bitterly.
“I think I would take my chances with the wheels first,” I say scratching at the crayon colored table. Intimacy is always an uncomfortable subject for me. “I would probably let you burn rubber down my back before I let myself fall in love.”
“Well if it makes you feel any better I don’t do love either.” He takes a sip of his espresso with his eyes plastered to me. “I know the reason I don’t do love, but why don’t you?” He’s intrigued.
“Why?” I respond disbelieved. “Emotions are personal and twisted enough at a distance, to willingly experience an emotion like love would be like pointing the Patriot Missile right at my head. People don’t usually push their happiness or despair onto others; it just sort of floats through the air, but when you fall in love, all the affection, attraction, sexual desire, elicit enthusiasm, fondness and passion are streamlined right at the person who summons those feelings. Can you imagine what that would be like for me?” My nail polish chips from the force of my finger scraping against the plastic table top. “If you think I’m crazy now!”
“I don’t think you’re crazy.” He stresses firmly, “and you shouldn’t either.” He shoots me his infamous judgmental look, and I bite my tongue immediately.
“It insults everything you are, not to mention how it insults me, when you call yourself crazy. You’re part of higher power and you mock it by calling it mental.”
He has achieved rebuking me. I suddenly feel smaller than one of the grains of salt in the shaker next to us. I look down at my pizza ashamed. He’s been supernatural for 150 years; I’ve been supernatural for 150 minutes; you would think he’d show a little compassion knowing I’m new to this game. I suddenly understand why he got so angry yesterday in Daniel’s study. I did insult him personally.
“Love is just not an option for me.” I say somberly, trying to flip flop the subject. “I’ve accepted the fact I’m destined to be an old lady alone with cats.” I pick at my tomatoes.
It is quiet between us for a while. I can’t bring myself to look up at him. He’s made me feel like an insubordinate child again. And now the slice of pizza I was so looking forward to suddenly nauseates me.
“What are you thinking about?” He asks, but I don’t want to tell him, he makes me feel so small and insignificant, even if I am descended from some powerful bloodline. And as a rule, I avoid all conversational and emotional land mines whenever possible.
“I can’t believe you don’t eat.” I shake my head trying to cover up what I am really feeling.
Justice gives me doubtful eyes. He doesn’t buy my screen, but indulges me anyway.
“It just doesn’t do anything for me,” he shrugs. “I would rather spend my time doing other things than chewing like a grazing cow.”
I wonder if that’s what I look like as I nibble on my pizza.
“What else don’t you do?” I ask snidely.
“I don’t sleep.”
“At all?”
“Well, not like a human sleeps, it’s more like being in a meditative state. It’s dreamless, and infrequent.”
“So what do you do since you have so much free time on your hands?”
He circles the rim of the cup with his perfectly manicured finger, “besides hunting demons and saving damsels in distress?” He curves up one side of his mouth. “Rigorous activity.”
“Want to clarify on what you mean by rigorous?”
“Let’s just say I have a very active social life.”
“Wow,” I say a bit staggered, “the demon hunting must really get in the way of all of your communal pastimes.”
“Ya, but the damsels are so worth it.” He smirks.
I roll my eyes. “I bet they are.” He probably has a laundry list of women longer than a sailor.
“Do you do anything rigorous?” He asks.
“Me, no.” I answer quickly. “I’m much more the, lay on the beach and drink cocktails, kind of girl, preferably on a deserted island.” I smile, hoping there’s nothing in my teeth.
“I could buy my time doing that to.” He says trying to conceal the curve in his mouth.
“So, can I ask you something?” I look up into his captivating blue eyes.
He nods.
“What exactly was that back there?”
“What exactly was what?” He tries to play dumb.
“Come on.” I push.
He gives me some resistance. “It’s what I am.”
“That’s your explanation?” His responses are always so cryptic. It’s annoying. “That’s not really an answer.”
“I told you already, an angel, a devil, a hunter, a soldier. It really depends on who you ask.”
“Well I’m asking you, which one of them shoots fire from their eyes?”
He sits silently, just staring.
“It’s your choice.” He finally tells me.
I roll my eyes at his obscurity.
“It’s not what I am that should have you concerned. Finding out what we did today put you in more danger than even imaginable.”
“Why?” I ask concerned.
“Because if the other side finds out there is a Vis Vires walking around, more than just a Spirit Stalker is going to go bump in the night. You could, possibly, start the next Great War. Evil is always looking for a way to take over, and your existence could be just the excuse to rise up. You may need a bodyguard longer than expected.”
“Are you offering?” I eye him.
He doesn’t answer; he just sits there giving me a satisfied look.
“Does that happen to you often?” I ask changing the subject back to him. I am so over talking about me, my impending doom, and my endangered existence. At least, for today.
He shakes his head hesitantly, “I only get crazed when I get very angry. You don’t have anything to be afraid of; it’s completely controllable. It’s not like I become some frenzied vampire out for blood,” he teases.
I purse my lips. “Point taken. But you’re still scary as hell. Remind me never to get on your bad side.”
He nods, “noted.”
“Since we are being so forthcoming,” he leans over the table and looks at me with serious eyes. “I have a small confession.”
I can feel myself get taken back a bit. I don’t know how many more bombshells I can recover from today. My heart flutters.
“What?” I say uneasy.
“I didn’t come in through the window this morning.”
“Then how did you get in?” I ask half panicked. I think this weekend has finally taken its toll.
“I used the door.”
“What?”
I feel like I just crashed.
“You left it open,” his eyes laugh. “So I let myself in.”
“Are you kidding? Then why did you tell me you used the window?!”
He doesn’t respond. He doesn’t have to. He just sits there silently chuckling at my gullibility.
“But I still want a key.” He stipulates, “I can always use the window as an alternative method.”
“Don’t even
think about it.” I threaten.
He grins defiantly.
Devil. Definitely devil.
A Little Piece of Me
“Liv?” I hear an ear pleasing voice ring through my apartment.
I don’t answer. I want him to leave. I hope if I shake silently enough he will.
“Liv?” he gets closer. I tense my body and will him away.
“Liv!” Justice cries. He kneels beside me, not knowing what to do.
I shake vigorously in a ball in the corner of my closet. He’s the last person I want to see me like this.
“Go away!” I feebly order as my ears ring and my body quivers.
“What’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing.” I snap “Now go away.”
“Like I believe that,” he mutters.
I crush my head between my arms as tears stream down my face. It’s all too much, the energies inside me. The violent swirls of intruding emotions wreak havoc on me. ‘Turbulent episodes’ as I call them- anxiety ridden depressions that have been the scourge of my entire life- force me into solitude. I mean really, who wants to have a nervous breakdown in public? And much to my dismay this episode has an audience.
“Justice, go away,” I hiss again. I want to suffer alone. I don’t need another person feeling sorry for me, or wanting to help me, or anything else that goes along those lines. I’ll be fine by myself. It’s part of the reason I moved out of my parent’s house. I couldn’t stand knowing how they felt every time I broke down. So helpless and upset that there was nothing they could do for their only daughter.
He reaches out to touch me, and without even knowing it I try to strike him, but he grabs my wrist before I even see him move.
“What are you doing?!” He asks as he swiftly pins my arms down.
“Get out!” I yell. I can see my reflection in his eyes. I look crazy, and by the way he is staring at me, he’s contemplating if I really am.
“This isn’t you!” He demands. “Fight it, find yourself.”
That’s almost impossible; I don’t know who I am in this state. The disease has total control.
He restrains me, waiting for the worst to pass. I’m not sure how long he holds me down, but I fight him tooth and nail. He’s impossible to break free from as the full weight of his body detains me.
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