The running soon turned to a walk. Finally, people were starting to be reasonable and Greg started to feel silly for following such practices. The screams stopped too, which was pleasing to the ear as well as a relief emotionally. The crowd slowed to a stop. People packed in tight to one another. Soon it became hard to even walk. Most were standing still. Greg decided to make his way through the crowd to identify where it ended.
The guy in the leather jacket was no longer beside him. Some people were not suited for running, and some people were not suited to push forward through a mob.
Another explosion burst from downtown as the forty-five floor Harlan-Willis bank building began toppling over and filling the night sky with fire and dust. Greg promised himself he would not look back anymore. He needed to move forward and find somewhere safe, but his desire to learn what was happening was stronger than the need for shelter.
A few more steps and Greg reached the front of the crowd. A disjointed body laid in the middle of the intersection. On the other side of the street stood another group of people illuminated by the fires from downtown. It was a wide array of different types of people, but their eyes all possessed a matching blackness reflected by the explosions.
Their blank stares were aimed at the mangled body in the middle of the intersection, and they paid no attention to Greg’s group which was being pressured forward by the back of the crowd. The two sides were a distorted mirror of another while the lone broken figure squirmed in between. On one side, there was group of blank-starers devoid of emotional response, while on the other side the rest of the Salt Lake City population frightened and confused.
One man walked out from the group on the other side of the street. He was tall and thin with a tight fitting suit. The only light came from the stars and the fires; not enough to bring color to him or anyone else but enough to differentiate figures in the distance and reflect off of the lime-green shoe worn by the mangled body. The man was the leader, the rest of the group watched him with anticipation as he stood over the fallen person on the street. He towered over the broken body; standing nearly a foot taller than anyone else on either side of the crowd. From the body came a voice, “Please…” The trembling vocal cords made Greg sick in his stomach. The man in the suit reached down taking hold of the head of the body; stroking his face.
Greg’s survival instinct prompted him to move despite his inquisitive mind; he saw enough. He worked his way back through the crowd, knowing better than to stay, to watch. He searched through the faces, hoping to find the guy in the leather jacket. Any familiarity would bring comfort and they could take off together.
Greg heard the collective gasp from the crowd. The boy cried out, “Please, help!”
Another gasp came, louder; this time following a loud snap of a broken bone.
The crowd began running, this time north and away from the man in the suit. Somewhere, in the distance would be the guy in the leather jacket, but Greg couldn’t see him. He didn’t bother looking though, he was too intent on finding his way through the crowd and not falling over any debris.
Dr. Lucas was standing outside of the Grand American; his glasses glimmered bright orange. Greg considered waving as he continued, seeing Dr. Lucas made the moment less serious, less stressful.
Until he saw a woman tackle Dr. Lucas.
-
Robert honked the horn at the man standing in front of the car. He didn’t move out of the way, instead continued staring at them. Jenna grabbed Robert’s hand as he opened the door.
Is he seriously going out there?
He left Jenna in the car and started shouting at the man “Get out of our way, you jerk! I need to get my girlfriend home, why do you got to be a tough guy?” Jenna curled into a little ball in her seat and began to cry again. Robert was not a fighter, but he was acting like one, for Jenna. Because he loved her, and he wanted to be a good boyfriend.
The man was unfazed by Robert’s aggression. What was this guy’s deal? Why wouldn’t he let them go? Robert wasn’t going to ask anymore. He shoved the guy hard in the chest.
Through the foggy windshield, she could see the man barely react to Robert’s attempt.
Robert looked back to Jenna. He was scared and pitiful but trying to do the right thing. Jenna motioned for him to come back. She wanted to walk. They didn't need to drive anymore. The hotel was less than a block away. Her cast would rub blisters, but Jenna would rather hobble to the hotel instead of watching Robert get in a fight he couldn’t win.
Jenna’s boyfriend shoved the man again. This time forcing him back. Robert kept yelling, getting louder and louder saying, “Do you know who I am? I’ll ruin your whole life! Get out of my way or else I will…”
Then the man punched him in the face.
Robert fell to the ground out of Jenna’s view. She tried to peer around the side of the car but could only see his shoes. The man walked over and threw his fists down to where Robert was laying. Robert’s arms came into the air, but Jenna still couldn’t see his face.
Poor Robert.
Jenna didn’t dare get out of the car. He would get tired and move on. They could walk home with Jenna’s casted foot and Robert’s broken nose (and pride). Jenna looked around the streets for someone to help. Somebody had to be out there willing to help. Closing in fast, an elderly man was running at them. The old man was half the attacker's size, but he was motivated. He was someone who wanted to protect a good person like Robert. He hurled himself into the attacker, smashing them both to the ground and out of Jenna’s view.
Despite her efforts, she couldn’t see the three men rolling on the ground and she wasn’t about to get out of the car.
The first person to stand was Robert. His hands covered his face as he stumbled his way over to Jenna’s side of the car. There were cuts on his face and black muddiness from being on the ground. She exited the car, and they took off together. Neither willing to look back at the other two men, but she was grateful for the old man who saved them.
-
Greg was drawn to Dr. Lucas and his assailant like a magnet. He had no intention or ability to truly help, but he worked his way through the crowd hoping to figure out a way to be involved without being at risk. As he closed in, he clearly identified Dr. Lucas’s aggressor as an attractive blonde woman in an expensive gown. Her face was perfectly still and devoid of expression despite her frantic attacks.
Greg watched as she covered herself in Dr. Lucas’s brain matter.
The woman stopped and looked at him. Her eyes were large and gleamed from the fiery sky, she did not smile, but there was pleasure hidden under those eyes. Greg’s legs were finally unlocked, and he turned to run away.
The power of the woman exploded into his back. All of her weight fell onto his face as he skidded across the pavement. The skin above his left eye peeled against the hard surface, and she punched him in the back of his head. She was bludgeoning him in the same manner as how she murdered Dr. Lucas.
“No more! No more!” he said pleading. His words were muffled by the blood spewing from his nose, making it sound like, “N-ma. N-ma.” Her attacks were consistent; patient in order to get the most power out of each striking blow. Another crack, like a snap of lightening, hard yellow flashes came over his mind.
There must be a way out of this before she kills him. The woman is so heavy and he was running out of time.
Suddenly her weight tore off of him. This type of predator relinquished only when the prey became the feast. Greg rolled over, expecting her weight to come crashing back onto him. His face peeled off the ground like chewing gum.
Instead, he rolled over to see the guy in the leather jacket holding out his hand. He said, “Wake up, fella. We need to get out of here.”
Greg’s legs quivered as he saw the woman facedown close by. His vision was bloody and blurred causing him to fall into his hero. Greg didn’t know what to say; he wanted to express his gratitude as he struggled to find his balance. The guy did not waste any more tim
e with Greg’s weakness; he lifted Greg over his shoulder and carried him into the rampaging streets. Blood ran out from Greg’s nose as his head drooped upside down while the man effortlessly moved through the streets.
“Calm down, bud. No time for crying now. I’m going to need you to stay here until tomorrow morning, okay?” the guy said releasing Greg into a black hole of filth and trash. The guy dropped him off in a trash bin continuing on his way.
He remained quiet. Eventually he fell asleep on a loaf of bread.
Day 1
One thing was true: the world, the old place with laws and opinions, was murdered last night. Once, there was room for chance, but that wasn’t the world they lived in anymore.
― Richard “Harry” Harrison
The daylight came through a hole in the roof of Mickey’s hatchback shining his eyes awake. His body was stiff and sore, making it hard to move. Mickey tried to remember how he ended up here, but his head was hurting too much. When he finally opened his eyes, he saw the broken dome light inches from his face.
The accident wasn't a nightmare brought on by bad booze. Well, it was a nightmare caused by booze, but it was real life, he could not wake up from this, take some ibuprofen and go about his day. Mickey laid back in his pancaked car soaking in the damage of last night’s accident.
Andy.
Mickey’s best friend was thrown from the car because Mickey was drunk driving. It was partially Andy’s fault, but that didn’t matter. Mickey reached for driver-side door handle to get out and help him. Mickey pulled but received an empty response. He pulled again slamming his elbow into the door, hoping to jar it open. Again and again with more urgency. Andy could be out there dying, and Mickey couldn’t even open the door.
“Anyone out there? Help! I’m stuck!” His next attempt was weaker. He looked through the broken glass of his driver side window seeing a green shoe in the middle an empty street. The wind blew towards him. It felt like it was going to rain, but inside the car was hot and suffocating. Mickey struggled to move and was surprised his legs felt fine. Finally, some good news.
It was confusing to see no ambulances or police around. It was daylight, and somehow Mickey was still at the scene of the crime. Where could everyone have gone? What happened last night?
The memory jumped back into Mickey’s cloudy mind.
Mickey ran over a guy. Like, a real person! He killed someone! Manslaughter! He needed to get out and call the police or call for help. “Anybody out there! Please! I think someone is really hurt!”
If no one came, what did it mean? Could he get away with this? Maybe he didn’t hit anyone after all. Maybe he got in this accident after dropping off Andy, the rest was a bad dream caused by the airbag concussion. Maybe. Maybe? Maybe.
The blood on the windshield said, “Maybe not.” Mickey needed to get out. His unsteady hands were wrestling against the seatbelt as he tilted his head looking into the backseat. The upside-down view showed little damage in the rear of the vehicle. He wiggled his body out of his seat and into the back. The stiffness ached with each movement, but the blood flow would help. His mind was clearing up with each swivel of his hips.
Mickey breathed a deep sigh of relief as he sat upright. He was exhausted but safe. He was going to get out of this, and maybe, just maybe, stay out of trouble. He would take whatever punishment came but there was no harm in trying to avoid legal problems. He was an open door away from potential freedom, or potential judgement. Hopefully his friend was okay, but if not, Andy would understand if Mickey shifted the blame away.
-
The Grand American Hotel was the worst hotel Jenna had ever seen. Since she started dating Robert a few years ago, she only stayed in suites when they traveled, and now she couldn’t believe the tacky and small standard rooms.
How dare they double book the North family and some famous country music singer for the same suite? How dare Robert agree to stay in this room?
Even the water tastes terrible.
Jenna couldn’t believe how much her foot ached from running on it last night. Jenna couldn’t believe anything from last night. But it happened.
Now Jenna was looking in the mirror of the tacky bathroom at the Grand American Hotel with tears dried on her cheeks wishing she were anywhere but here. Jenna was no longer the “soon-to-be-queen of New York”. She was reduced to a scared little girl wearing her boyfriend’s t-shirt.
There were monsters last night. Monsters who went crazy and tried to kill each other for no reason. Jenna was almost a victim of some awful crime before Robert was willing to move the scary man out of the way. Thankfully, an old man saved them.
Maybe Robert’s dad would be able to find him and give him some kind of reward.
Robert would disagree; he said the old man was the one who spit in his face. He said the old man was a monster, the other guy was nothing more than a jerk.
Poor Robert.
Jenna didn’t want to cry and wake Robert. He deserved his sleep. He must have been having nightmares about the man; he was moaning and rolling around all night. Robert usually slept like a rock. Hopefully the phones would start working, and they could get a flight out of here early. Jenna did not want to be in Salt Lake City ever again.
Her hair was such a mess. Her mascara made her look like she was part raccoon, and her stupid foot was aching like crazy. This was the worst morning ever, at least since her 21st birthday. Everything was falling apart. Hopefully they were serving breakfast this morning; Jenna needed a latte, ASAP.
Robert’s moaning broke her concentration, causing her to nearly jump into the tiny bathtub. It was time for her to start taking care of him and return the favor, just like Robert's mother kept insisting on. He deserved to be taken care of today. He protected her and her crippled ankle through a riot last night. Jenna was going to baby her man until the streets were cleaned up, and they were able to fly out of this miserable little city.
She looked through the cracked door towards her sleeping boyfriend. Poor Robert bundled himself under the blankets and, hopefully, was finally able to find a little bit of comfort. The lump of comforter rose and fell with his slow breathing.
Poor Robert. Poor Robert. Poor Robert.
Jenna wasn’t sure if she loved him, but she wanted to. Robert could be boring. Robert could be emotionally unavailable. Robert also protected her. That counted for something.
A totally different moan came, this time raspy and gargled. Jenna jumped back causing the door to lurch. The noise made her afraid. She didn’t want to wake Robert for a different reason. How bad of shape was he in? What would Jenna have to do to take care of him? The responsibilities of a sick boyfriend, especially one as spoiled as Robert, were overwhelming.
Why don’t you just wait down in the lobby while Robert gets himself together?
No, she needed to toughen up for once in her life. Stop being Jenna, the cry baby, and start being Jenna, the woman of power. Dating a man from such a prestigious family could either create a spoiled brat or an empowered queen. She couldn’t spend another moment in her relationship being the damsel in distress. No more, “Honey, I need this purse,” or “Babe, I want French breakfast, in France.” She couldn’t be the parasite in this relationship. Most of all, she couldn’t spend all day thinking about a scary person. She needed to walk out and take care of her man.
She tried to imagine how the day would transpire. First, she would get him water to help with his sore throat. Actually, she should do that now. Then, she would rub his back for at least fifteen minutes and try to help him relax to sleep. After Robert rested for a while, then she would order room service while Robert showered and have food ready when he was finished. The Grand American might have small rooms, but they had excellent dining downstairs.
Even the thought of doing this is exhausting.
The running water filled up the whiskey glass with lukewarm temperature. No ice and 2 slices of lemon was his typical lunch drink. Gently, she pushed the door open. Robert was no
t in bed. Neither were any of the blankets. They all disappeared. She carefully stepped halfway out of the door walking slowly to make sure she didn’t frighten him, or herself. Robert was missing.
Maybe he left?
“Robert. Robert, babe. I got you some water.” She sat the glass down on her side of the bed and listened. “Robert, honey.”
Maybe he went to get ice or walked down to the lobby.
She wanted to convince herself of anything right now, but she could feel him here. She walked around the bed and saw the mountain of blankets covering her sleeping boyfriend.
“Get up sleepy head.” She gently kicked where his foot would be under the covers. “If you get back in bed, I’ll rub your back.” She said.
Still no reaction.
“Babe.” She kicked again, this time with more force. “Babe, seriously, you’re scaring me. This is not cool. Get off the floor. You’re ridiculous.”
-
The smell of the dumpster would cause even the most tepid gag-reflexes to react. When a nose breaks, many of the synapses used to detect smell shut down and often do not properly return. Greg was not a medical doctor, thus he could not be certain his nose was truly broken. Regardless, it felt like M-80s exploded inside each nostril.
At some point during the night it stopped bleeding and dried, sealing his eyelashes together. Greg struggled to quietly break up the congealed blood which prevented his eyes from opening. He would remain silent in the garbage, listening. Greg was in a position of extreme weakness. He was afraid, and his mind remained cloudy from the wax woman’s attack. There would be an opportunity to uncover the origin of last night’s attack, but for now, Greg would remain focused on exiting the dumpster.
His sore eyes broke through the bloody vice and saw the trash posing as his bed. A faint light seeped into the dumpster from the lid above, creating a morning haze inside the giant, green trash can. Dirty towels, empty paper cups, and chewed up food covered his legs and acted as a rotting blanket. He must have burrowed himself deeper into the mess over night.
Dark Genesis (Shadow and Shine Book 1) Page 3
