The silence grew thick, and though I would not have called it oppressive, it was charged with something I did not immediately recognize, something that would have raised the hairs on the back of my neck if I had any.
In that silence, my interest in her began to change, or perhaps "evolve" is a better word. I can’t put my finger on the exact cause, but I will never forget the moment. Without the slightest warning, I was pinballing down a hole worthy of white rabbits or dark celestial events created by collapsing stars; a hole so deep that I would fall through my own lies and lose the ability to think straight for longer than I care to admit.
I’m not real big on changing my mind, so the rare instance when it changes itself usually irritates the hell out of me, but that night, it did not seem to bother me as much as it should have, and that bothered me.
For several moments, I felt lost, as if someone had taken my sight and pushed me off a cliff. A sense of real danger burned in my stomach, and the feeling was enough to rattle the fog out of my head.
She opened her mouth to speak, and I gave her a small, two-finger salute before taking off as fast as I could make my body move. In her eyes, I all but vanished, the turbulent wake of air I left behind and the two heaps that were once Marco and Rubberband the only evidence that I had even been there at all.
◆◆◆
I watched her from the rooftop as she stood frozen, staring at the empty space I had filled moments earlier, her head canted to one side, her eyebrows crinkling as her mind tried in vain to put thoughts into some semblance of order. She stood there until a new thought stormed in and smacked her in the face: Marco might have had backup. It broke her paralysis, and she swiftly left the scene.
It defies explanation, but I followed her through the urban jungle, caught between trying to figure out what I was doing and marveling at the thoughts in her head. She quickly decided to steer clear of taxis, choosing instead to walk the twelve blocks to her apartment. She considered abandoning it altogether, but she just could not bring herself to leave everything behind. She berated herself for that, but the rapture of being lifted out of Death’s reach, even temporarily, made her willing to take the risk.
Despite her decision, she wasn’t careless. She circled her apartment building several times, the radius collapsing a city block with each pass until she circled the building itself. Smart, almost professional, and that alone was the single most revealing clue of what she was up against, even more so than Marco and Rubberband. Her caution had me scanning, too, with both eyes and mind.
When she was satisfied that she had done her best to sniff out anything amiss, she stepped onto the landing, keys out and ready. She opened the steel core door, and after one last glance behind her, she disappeared inside.
Extending my senses even further, I kept tabs on her thoughts as I leapt to the rooftop of her building from the taller building serving as my observation post across the street. For a skilled mind-reader, thoughts are a bit like radio waves; if I pay attention, I can tell when they are getting stronger or weaker as I move closer or farther away from them. After a quick game of ‘Hot and Cold’ with myself, I located the three windows that made up her apartment. The blinds were shut, and hovering outside her window like a stray dog, eavesdropping on her thoughts, quickly became unsatisfying.
I returned to the roof and landed, vainly hoping that contact with a firm surface would ground my thoughts. I wanted to go and knock on her door, but the sane part of me was holding the rest of me back, asking me all the questions I least wanted to hear at that moment. Are you sure you want to do this? Is this wise? Are you out of your motherfucking mind?
Why yes, yes I am.
As I paced back and forth, the crushed gravel on the roof crunching beneath my feet, everything seemed to come together, and suddenly I couldn’t remember why I was so hesitant about this in the first place. It seemed like destiny, all the planets aligned to pull me to her door.
Astrology is a crock and destiny is a bitch. I’d say that I should have known better, but in this case, I actually did know better but simply did not care enough to change my course. I can ignore the obvious as well as anyone else can.
A few moments later, I was face-to-face with the door to apartment 412. Standing in front of the metal door made to appear to be wooden, I stared at the tarnished, fancy faux-brass numbers and pondered the best way to make my entrance. Not for maximum drama and effect, as is usual for a revenant, but actually for the least amount of both; I wanted Alicia to let me in, not jump out the window to escape me.
I was coming up blank in the idea department and was just about to knock in frustration when I caught the presence of approaching mortals. Two more apathetically vicious morons, to be exact. Despite her precautions, they were on to her.
A plan began to formulate, and a smile came to my face. I was out of sight in a heating closet before they reached Alicia’s floor.
Utilizing a metaphysical gift similar to remote viewing, I could see them both in my mind’s eye. One - let’s call him Lookout - was looking up and down the hallway while the other inserted a lock gun into the deadbolt and pulled the trigger a dozen or so times before the tumblers fell into place with a slight click. Cracking the bolt back slowly, he went to work on the secondary lock, which took even less time than the deadbolt. When that was finished, he opened the door slightly and inserted a fiber optic viewing device inside the apartment.
A high-tech thug? How interesting.
By now, the times when I do not use real names might be casting doubt about my mind-reading talent. Someone who can read minds should know everyone’s name, right? Well, first of all, it’s never a good idea to tie myself to any unsolved homicides, but mostly, it’s because using their names would give their lives more weight than I care to impart. To me, the only purpose their lives served is to tell this story, so they are not really important enough to have their names mentioned. I used Marco’s name only because Alicia spoke it, and I’m trying to be accurate.
Satisfied that his entry would be unobserved by the apartment’s occupant, High Tech clipped the security chain with a small pair of bolt cutters and then nodded to Lookout. Both men drew silenced pistols and slipped into Alicia’s apartment without a sound, Lookout in front. High Tech entered second and shut the door silently without locking it.
I approached Alicia’s door once again. Inside, High Tech and Lookout were sweeping through the apartment like a foul odor. Alicia was packing up a storm in her bedroom, her swift movements making it easy for the intruders to pinpoint her location. As they converged on the entrance to her bedroom like a pair of heat-seeking missiles, I willed the door open, keeping a tight mental latch on all potential noise makers. When there was enough room for me to slip inside, I did, closing the door silently behind me and locking it tight.
There would be no escape for these two.
Her apartment was exactly as I had envisioned, no ruffles or lace or any other frilly, feminine nonsense. It was tastefully decorated in an androgynous sort of way that spoke of being comfortable with oneself. She wasn’t a pink and lavender type of woman, which suited me just fine. I would have been disappointed to discover that I had been mistaken about her.
Reading minds is never an exact science. I can be mistaken (although it is usually the readee who is mistaken, and they merely pass that error on), and it is a complete shock when that happens, much worse than if I could not read minds at all. I have learned many times over that mortals and the word “infallible” do not even belong in the same sentence unless you are making a joke.
I crept down the lighted entry hallway, feeling deeply vulnerable in the soft illumination. I stayed off the hard plastic runner that ran down the middle, my gaze glued to the intruders. They circled the shadow-pocketed living room in opposite directions in their approach to the bedroom door, which stood slightly ajar, and they never took their eyes off the last obstacle standing between them and their objective.
Well, the last obstacle
they knew about at any rate.
I found it odd that the apartment was mostly dark until I realized that Alicia was fairly convinced that someone was probably assigned to watch her apartment, and even though she hadn’t spotted them, she was trying hard not to make her presence obvious. A thin shaft of light occasionally danced along the thin sliver of bedroom wall that was visible from the living room.
Said living room was cozy and immaculate. A lush Berber carpet covered the floor, and a few unfamiliar but exquisite paintings hung on the walls. A large, black entertainment center, the clock on the VCR flashing 12:00, dominated one wall, and a black leather sofa sat facing it, a chair flanking the couch to the right and left. A glass coffee table, also immaculate, sat in front of the couch, a hardcover book featuring professional photographs of Mexico and a set of ceramic coasters the only objects on its surface.
High Tech and Lookout met up a few feet from the bedroom doorway. High Tech moved his empty hand into a soft shaft of illumination coming from the entry hallway and signaled to Lookout, who nodded once. They were just about to charge the bedroom like Stormtroopers when Alicia stepped from it, the flashlight beam pointing directly into High Tech’s face.
She froze, a sharp gasp tearing its way from her lips. High Tech tried to shield his eyes, both men raised their pistols, and Alicia broke from her shock to swing the heavy-duty flashlight into Lookout’s weapon, knocking it sideways with a hollow THUNK. Lookout made a strangled noise and fired, the bullet missing Alicia by a good four feet and burying itself into the wall.
Now that the piercing beam was no longer in his eyes, High Tech corrected his aim and attempted to blink away the spots floating in front of his eyes. They had not thrown his aim off enough to stop Alicia from taking one to the chest, so I made my move.
Approaching from behind, I grabbed both men by the neck and smashed their heads together. Lookout had the harder head (big surprise there), caving in High Tech’s skull with a wet crunch that sounded like someone chewing on ice cubes. To Alicia, it looked as if an invisible pair of hands had done the deed, and she followed their collapse to the ground with the still-working flashlight.
“What the-” she muttered softly before raising the beam to survey the living room. Thanks to preternatural speed, I was able to keep myself out of the beam. Every few seconds, she would return the beam to the bodies on the floor. High Tech was bleeding from the eyes, ears and nose; Lookout from his left ear. Lookout wouldn’t last the night without medical attention; High Tech would not survive another two minutes even if an EMT unit went to work immediately.
Alicia intuitively realized that their injuries were severe enough to limit any danger they posed, so she crossed the room and flipped on the light switch. I’m not that fast, so I leaned against the wall and struck an indolent pose.
She gasped again as she saw me, the flashlight falling to the carpet and going out. Ironic how it survived breaking twelve bones in Lookout’s hand, but the mean old Berber carpet did it in. And there we were again, staring unabashedly at one another. Alicia still was not convinced that I was a savior, but she was tired: tired of trying to figure out the answer to that question, tired of people trying to kill her, and almost tired of them failing. She wanted me to reveal my intentions because she was simply too tired to guess.
Well, I guess I really am an asshole, because I raised my hand in another two-finger salute and then made a beeline for the door.
“Wait,” she said, more a command than a request, and it was the tone that stopped me more than the word. I turned, hand still on the door knob to the apartment door, and threw her a look that said, “Well, I’m waiting, what now?”
“Who are you?”
I thought about that for a moment, and then I decided to answer the question that was in her mind rather than the one she voiced. “I’m a predator, Alicia, and you were my prey.”
Alicia processed my words thoroughly, but instead of fear, a wave of visible relief flashed over her features. At least that question was finally answered, until she stumbled over the past tense conjugation. “Were? Does that mean I’m not your prey anymore?”
“Not tonight,” I answered honestly. There were too many things to sort out before I could make up my mind one way or the other. Or so I told myself.
“And tomorrow? Are you coming back?”
An interesting question; I wish I had known the answer myself. Okay, that’s not entirely correct. I like to think that I had not made up my mind at that point, but I’m fairly certain that is just delusion talking. “I don’t know,” I answered, and I left her standing there, gaping at an empty hallway.
I stood on the roof of Alicia’s apartment building for a while, leaning against an air conditioning unit that was silent. I wanted to fly away, but I had to stick around just in case any more goons showed up. I tried to wrap my mind around my thoughts, but they were too big to be contained. I had the feeling that this was one of those “Sit up and pay attention” decisions I couldn’t bullshit my way through, and whatever decision I ended up making was going to radically affect my life. If I had realized then just how much, I might have made a different choice.
Okay, probably not.
It wasn’t long before I was back in front of the door to Alicia’s apartment.
◆◆◆
The door swung open about five seconds after I knocked, as if she had expected my return, and she stepped aside so I could enter. I walked through the doorway and down the hall, stopping at the threshold of the living room when I felt her eyes on me. I looked up to see her look from my face to my feet and back, her lower lip caught between her teeth, and it was obvious from her facial expression that she wanted to tell me to remove my shoes. After a moment of indecision, she remembered what I admitted to being and held her tongue.
I would have taken them off if asked.
She walked into the living room without a word to me, her back a little straighter, preparing herself for my invasion. I glanced down at my Merrell boots for a moment, wondering if I should take them off anyway, then I remembered what I was and left them on, following her in utter silence, as only a revenant could.
“I guess I should say thank you,” she whispered softly, her back to me. I was fairly stunned by her words, having anticipated a number of other things coming from her lips in that moment. That tiny glimpse was a powerful and vivid example of exactly the type of paradox Alicia would prove to be. If only I could have recognized it for what it was...
Insert timeless adage about hindsight.
Recovering, I shook my head slowly. “No need. I saved you for my own purposes. You see,” I whispered, a predatory smile spreading out across my face before I could suppress it. No matter how refreshing and tantalizing and extraordinary she was, there was still a large part of me that wanted nothing more than to feel her blood hit the back of my throat. Holding that urge at bay, I continued, “I wanted you all to myself.”
Alicia’s eyebrows kitted together, the skin between them wrinkling slightly. She looked so delicious that I was again assaulted by the powerful urge to suck her dry as chaff, and the other piece of me wanted to ravage her in purely mortal ways. It was an entirely new experience for me, one that I both liked and disliked immensely. “I’m a scorpion. It’s my nature,” she stated, referring to the story about the scorpion and the frog to let me know that she was not at all surprised; a predator was still a predator, no matter what he might say to the contrary.
I shrugged, making no apologies for what I am, and not just because there are no apologies for what I am.
“And now that I’m all yours, what are you going to do with me?” she asked, her voice lacking any real dread. She was still in shock.
“I’m still not sure, but I can’t shake the feeling that you could be so much more than prey.”
Alicia's face darkened with unbridled skepticism. She could not imagine what other possible interest a predator could ever have in its prey, and I was in a similar predicament. In both of o
ur experiences, the only thing that changed a predator’s state was a larger predator, and that was clearly missing here. “What were you going to do to me?” she asked before she could stop herself. She really did not want to know the answer, and that might have been part of the reason for the honesty that followed.
“I was going to feed on you.” I almost clapped my hand over my mouth like a little child. Saying shit like that to a mortal with a life expectancy longer than thirty seconds is just plain stupid. I know a few revenants who like to torture their prey with revelations like that, and I think that’s retarded, too, so I can’t tell you where it came from.
Saying it aloud pretty much whittled my options down to a binary decision: trust her or kill her.
“Feed on me?” she repeated incredulously, eyes wide and mouth slowly forming a frown. Her face was so strikingly beautiful in that expression that I immediately wondered how she would look when she smiled. I chuckled softly at her disbelief, knowing that she might not have much reason to smile for quite some time.
“Yes, Alicia. I was going to drink your blood.”
She did a double-take, weighing whether or not she’d heard me correctly, and then she raised an inquisitive eyebrow. That she did not instantly dismiss my words, as most mortals would, was the most alluring part of her reaction. How delicious that was.
“Like a vampire?” she asked at length. I tilted my head forward slowly, permitting a small smile. “I don’t believe in vampires.” Her words had me laughing out loud.
I’m such a shit.
“Some things are real whether you believe in them or not,” I offered, trying to contain my laughter. Blood tears leaked down my face before being absorbed. Thankfully, the absorption was quick, and she was not looking directly at me. Blood tears might have changed the tone, forcing her mind to accept reality before it was ready.
Corrupting Alicia Page 3
