Embrace the Night

by Alexandra Kane

  Tatiana could feel her own eyes widening. Something passed between them, something unspoken, but very tangible. He looked almost as if...no, it couldn't be. “Ralph?” Her gaze held the questions she now had for him.

  He sighed, capturing her left hand in both of his. “Sweetie, I'm glad you finally told me.”

  Confusion filled her like water overflowing a vessel. “What are you talking about?”

  Ralph smiled. “I already knew.”

  CHAPTER 5

  She sprang from the sofa, standing over him.

  “WHAT!?!” She couldn't help her reaction. If Ralph's head had fallen off his shoulders and rolled across her living room floor, she would have been less surprised.

  He chuckled, then held his hands out in front of him as if protecting himself. “Hey, hey, calm down. It's okay.”

  Her breath came in such short bursts, she was beginning to feel deprived of oxygen. “What...when...how in the world...” she stammered, not able to string together a sentence. At least not one that would make sense.

  He stood, put an arm around her shoulders. “Your memory is really bad, you know that? I was there that night.”

  Unable to process what he said through the shock that clouded her mind like a fog hanging over Jordan Lake, she asked, “What night?”

  His eyes and his tone turned serious. “The night Tara was hurt.”

  Realization swept over her, lifting the fog. She closed her eyes, and the memories of that awful night came back in a rush...

  **

  -July 4, 2007-

  Tatiana stood by her parents' front door, arms crossed, foot tapping rhythmically on the hardwood floor. Where is Tara? It's not like her to miss a cookout.

  The entire Fourth of July holiday had passed, and Tara hadn't shown her face all day. Their father, Burt, always made a point of throwing two big family cookouts a year: July fourth, and Labor Day. His two daughters had never missed one, even when the younger Tara had gone up to Virginia to attend college at Hampton University. Tara's absence was even more noticeable now, because it also meant the absence of Tatiana's beloved niece, Tara's three year old daughter Ava.

  Galina Yates, native of Moscow and Tatiana and Tara's mother, glided into the room. Her petite frame was draped in a floor grazing white and pink floral sundress. The cheery pattern of the dress looked out of place next to the worry etching her face. “Have you heard from your sister yet, dear?”

  “No, Mama.” She faced her mother. “I'm going over to her house, just to check on her.”

  Galina nodded. “That is a good idea. Your father is beside himself that she missed the cookout.” She patted her daughter's shoulder, which was a stretch for her four foot eleven inch height. “The minute you see her, call me.”

  “Yes, Mama, I will.” Grabbing her purse and keys from the coffee table, she went out the front door.

  On the large porch, Ralph sat with her father, Burt. They were laughing about something, until she strode past them toward her car.

  He must have seen the look on her face, because Ralph called out, “T, what's wrong?”

  “I'm going to check on Tara,” she answered, without stopping or looking back.

  As she placed her hand on the driver side door handle of her car, Ralph sprinted up. “Well, with the look on your face, I'm not letting you go alone. Unlock the doors.”

  Not having the time or inclination to argue with him, she complied, and he slid into the passenger seat next to her. Within seconds she backed the car down the driveway. As she drove away, she could see her father's dark eyes focused on her from his seat on the porch.

  Night was falling when she parked at the curb in front of her sister's house. The modest brick home was partially obscured from view by the two white crepe myrtle trees blooming in the small front yard. A few lights in the front of the house were burning, but nothing seemed out of place so far. Tara's white sedan was parked under the carport, and only the chirping of crickets and other insect sounds filled the humid air.

  Above them, the streetlamp flickered on as she and Ralph got out of the car, casting a yellowish gleam on the parched crunching grass beneath their feet.

  Ralph walked ahead of her, and when they got to the stoop, knocked on the red painted oak door. “Tara, it's T and Ralph. Are you there?”

  No answer.

  He pounded on the door again.

  This time, she called out. “Tara? It's me. Open the door!”

  No response.

  Wishing she had a key to the house, she crossed to the front window that looked into the living room. The light was on, and so was the nineteen inch television. But there was no one in the room, both the red sofa and armchair were unoccupied.

  She didn't even want to think of what might have happened. Tara was a stickler about her budget, and never left lights burning in unoccupied rooms, or televisions playing when no one was watching them.

  Ralph asked quietly, “Can you see anything?”

  She shook her head.

  Then she heard it.

  Ralph opened his mouth to say something, and she shushed him. “Do you hear that?”

  He turned as if listening. “What is it?”

  Her heart sank into the rubbery soles of her flip flops. “It's Ava. She's crying.”

  “Maybe we should call the police,” he commented.

  “No.” The last thing the family needed was any government agency, including the police, questioning them and poking around in their business. “We'll just go in ourselves.” She went back near the door, braced herself.

  He folded his arms. “How? Without a key...”

  The sound of splintering wood interrupted him as she kicked the door in.

  “Damn,” she said, tossing aside her worthless shoe, “I broke my flip flop.” Kicking off its mate, she stepped inside the house.

  When she looked back at Ralph, he was standing on the porch, eyes bulging.

  “Come on, Ralph,” she said, gesturing.

  He walked in, taking slow, cautious steps. When she narrowed her eyes he picked up the pace.

  They went to the left, down the short hallway, following the sound of little Ava's wails.

  Opening the door to Tara's bedroom, Tatiana gasped.

  There was her sister, lying prone on the floor.

  Blood splattered the pink carpet, looking much like a child's finger painting.

  Tara's right eye bore a light bruise, and angry red welts circled her neck, forming the imprint of two hands. Her tee shirt was torn, one brown breast exposed.

  Next to her, clutching a white stuffed animal, sat the sobbing Ava.

  “That's it,” Ralph announced, “We have to call the police right now.”

  “No,” she insisted, kneeling next to Tara. “They can't be involved. Just see about Ava, will you?” She kissed her poor frightened niece on the cheek, then let Ralph carry her out of the room.

  Tara stirred, writhing a bit on the floor. A low, pain filled moan escaped her swollen lips. “Tatiana?”

  “I'm here, Tara.” She stroked a hand over her forehead. “What happened? Who did this to you?”

  She grimaced, then opened her eyes in a slow fluttering motion. Focusing on the ceiling, she breathed, “Wyatt.”

  Tatiana growled, feeling her teeth sharpen in her mouth. She couldn't recall how many times she'd begged Tara to stop seeing Ava's lazy, shiftless, chauvinistic father. “It must have been recent, you haven't healed yet.”

  “T, don't start any mess, now.” Tara struggled to sit up, but Tatiana pushed her back down with a gentle hand.

  “You need to rest, to speed up the healing.” She growled again, feeling the prickling sensation on the back of her neck.

  “Don't kill him, Tatiana. Even though he's an asshole, it will only cause problems for our family.”

  Unable to process the bubbling anger boiling inside her, she slammed her fist into the floor. Beneath the carpet, wood shattered beneath the blow. An indentation was left when she moved aw
ay.

  “I won't kill him. But that's all I can promise.”

  She stood, turned around, and found Ralph standing in the doorway. Ava was still in his arms, quiet now as she drank from a sippy cup. “Ralph, stay here with them. I've got some business to handle.”

  She moved past him, but he stopped her with a hand on her arm.

  “Tatiana, wait. Are you gonna tell me what the hell is going on?”

  She looked back at him, saw the hundred questions in his eyes. “Someday,” she said, and then took off at a run. She was out the door before he could speak again.

  **

  Ralph snapped his fingers in her face. “Hello, Earth to Tatiana.”

  She blinked twice, realizing where she was. Her best friend still sat next to her on the couch. She clutched the near empty glass of milk in her hand so tightly, a crack was running in a jagged line down one side. Sitting the glass down, she took a series of deep breaths.

  He touched her shoulder, looked at her. “You never told me where you went that night.”

  She leaned back on the cushion behind her. “Looking for Wyatt, where else? When I found his ass smoking weed in the park around the corner, I...” She stopped, because the memory became fuzzy at that point. She could, however, clearly remember Wyatt's terrified, feminine screams.

  He shook his head. “Maybe I don't want to know the rest of that story. I know Wyatt turned up missing and no one has seen him in the last four years, so I can let that go.” He stretched his arms behind his head. “But staying with your sister that night, I noticed some things.”

  “Like?” She wanted him to elaborate.

  “Like within an hour of your leaving, her bruises were healed. She was up and reading a bedtime story to Ava before I knew it.”

  She nodded. “That's part of the gift we have. Tara told me she called Mom and Dad to let them know she was okay, then shooed you out.” She let her gaze wander the ceiling above her. “I can't believe I forgot all that.”

  “You know, folks block unpleasant memories all the time. I knew there was something supernatural and strange about you, and your sister for that matter, but I never would have guessed what you told me.” His gaze turned thoughtful for a moment. “Come to think of it, Ava did say something about 'the kitty in mommy.'”

  “There's more.”

  He put his hand over his chest. “Good Lord, what more could there be?”

  “I'm in an organization. I can't go into detail about it, but we're good guys, helping the government fight crime. I'm on a case right now and one of the guys on my team...”

  “So, it is a man! I knew it!” He clapped his hands together.

  “Shut up.” She punched him in the shoulder, with very little force. “His name is John, and I can't stand him. But there's something about him, something I don't have a name for. Anyway he's been flirting with me.”

  “You like him. I can see it all over your face.” Ralph shook his head. “Well, I'm sure you can handle him, being a hair pressing, ass kicking, shape-shifting crime fighter and all that. But I'll give you advice if you should need it.”

  She sighed. In a way, she felt relieved to share the burdensome secret with someone else. If only dealing with John could be this easy. “Now you remember what I said. You can't tell anybody.”

  Ralph waved his hand, dismissing her statement. “Girl, please. I'm not about to get mixed up in that. Besides, who in the hell would believe me if I did?”

  He chuckled, and she joined him. Before long they were both laughing like kids with a corny joke book.

  When they finally got over their hysteria, Tatiana wiped a tear away from her cheek. “Thanks for being so understanding about this. I know it's pretty weird.”

  “No problem. Besides, I'm from bayou country in Louisiana. This ain't the first time I've encountered weird.” He paused, glanced at his watch. “Shit, it's already three. I gotta go, my oldest daughter has a gymnastics meet in about thirty minutes.”

  “Alright, go do the daddy thing,” she said, smiling as they both rose from the couch.

  At the front door, she hugged him. “Thanks for being such a good friend, Ralph.”

  He winked. “Don't get all mushy on me. Later, T.”

  A few minutes later, as she closed the door behind him, she smiled to herself. Ralph may be the last good man on Earth. So far, she held no such aspirations for John Groves.

  CHAPTER 6

  John hung his coat on the wooden rack in the wide foyer of PHOENIX regional headquarters. He'd just stepped out of the chilly early October winds, and braced himself to face the even chillier presence of Tatiana, the snappy tigress commanding his team. Straightening his suit outwardly and “girding his loins” inwardly, he made his way to the conference room.

  When he walked in, he found Junjie already seated at the table. The sorcerer Marcelo was nowhere in sight. After exchanging a wave of greeting with his buddy, John's eyes fell on his superior.

  She was at the whiteboard on the east wall, her back turned to him, furiously writing on the board's surface. His eyes lingered on her tall, curvaceous frame, draped in a dark blue blouse and a black pencil skirt that hugged her hips like a lover's caress. Long, black pantyhose encased legs extended beneath the skirt, and she wore a pair of blue high heels with confidence.

  His groin tightened, and he drug his eyes away from her tempting ass, only to find J watching him with a knowing look. “What?” he asked, feigning innocence.

  Junjie shook his head. “I didn’t say anything. Just hope she doesn't turn around, man.”

  Without halting her frenetic writing, or turning around, she called over her shoulder. “I don't need to. I can hear every word you're saying.”

  Feeling like a student caught talking in a middle school classroom, John took a seat next to his friend.

  “Busted,” Junjie whispered.

  John rolled his eyes, just as Marcelo entered the room. He joined them at the table, and they exchanged pleasantries until Tatiana stopped writing and faced them.

  “Alright,” she announced. “If you're all ready, we need to get started.”

  John and his counterparts nodded, and she launched into a speech.

  “As I'm sure you've been informed, some sports memorabilia was taken two nights ago from the Sports Hall of Fame inside the museum of history.”

  “Meadowlark Lemon's Globetrotters uniform,” Junjie volunteered.

  “Correct.” Tatiana produced a retractable pointer from her shirt pocket, extending it. She gestured to a spot on the word 'suspect' on the board. “This time the perpetrator revealed herself to a security guard, but only briefly.”

  Marcelo asked, “Is there security footage of the person?”

  She shook her head. “No. She probably knew where the cameras were, so she positioned herself in a way that blocked her from being filmed. Another display case obscured the view of her.”

  John scratched his chin. She? So they were dealing with a female suspect. He didn't know what intrigued him more, the idea of pursuing a lady burglar, or the idea of sliding his palm up Tatiana's silk encased thigh, watching that black skirt rise over those plump, tempting hips...

  “Ahem.”

  Her voice broke into his fantasy. “I'm sorry, what did you say?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Pay attention, or I'll impale you with this damn pointer.” She turned the tip toward him and he assumed she meant business. “I said, we got an excellent description from the security guard, but our perp was wearing a Mardi Gras type mask. What we know about her is written on the board.” She slapped the words with her pointer for emphasis. “Write it down.”

  Junjie elbowed him. “Take some notes, man. You're slacking.”

  John pulled out the small legal pad he kept in the pocket of his sport coat and looked at the board again. He took a felt tip pen from his outer pocket and jotted down the details: black female, five feet three inches in height. Brown hair, brown eyes. Approximately sixteen years of age. Wearing bl
ue jeans, white sneakers and turtleneck top, and white domino style mask. Looking at the words when he'd finished writing, he frowned. Sixteen? Kids are turning to antiquities theft that young? It seemed ridiculous to him; at sixteen he'd only been interested in archeology, girls, and getting his driver's license. “How sure are we on her age?”

  Tatiana shrugged. “It's not set in stone, but we know she's too young to remember Aaliyah's first album.”

  He nodded. That little tidbit revealed she was a fan of the dearly departed R&B songstress, as was he. He hoped for the opportunity to used the knowledge to his advantage—maybe it would help put a crack in the wall of attitude she surrounded herself with.

  "So, we've got one very young female suspect, whose face was obscured," Marcelo mused aloud, his hand wrapped around his chin. "Looks like we've got our work cut out for us."

  "I agree." She retracted the pointer, tucked it into her pocket and advanced toward the table where they sat.

  John watched those tempting legs, moving ever closer to him, and swallowed hard. She's a whole lot of woman. Not wanting to be caught staring, he feigned writing on his note pad.

  "There's something else. This girl is a confirmed sublimer," she continued, pressing her palms on the tables' edge and leaning in. "The security guard, as well as the cameras, picked up a visual of the uniform passing through the museum's south wall."

  He had to stop himself from licking his lips as the buttery tops of her brown breasts were revealed at the open collar of her blouse.

  Junjie blew out a breath. "So she can sublime with anything she's touching, it appears."

  "We doubt she's working alone; she and her team won't be an easy catch." She turned those piercing hazel eyes on him. "But nothing worth catching ever is."

  Their eyes locked for a moment, and he saw a glimmer of invitation in her gaze. Then she turned away, and went back to her business like demeanor just as quickly.

  After that, the meeting continued, but he wasn't really present. Junjie and Marcelo’s voices took on the quality of Charlie Brown's teacher and faded into the background. His sole focus was Tatiana. He saw her glossy lips moving, knew sound was coming out, but nothing she said really registered. He was too busy imagining the wicked, lacy lingerie she could be wearing beneath her business attire.