2
MR. MONOCHROME
I HUNCHED OVER an espresso maker, trying to get the metal coffee filter with the pressed coffee crammed inside to fit the groove. I got it hooked somehow, managed to turn the handle a quarter turn, but it stuck there and wouldn’t budge.
In the background, I listened to the television over the bar. There, our recently-elected president spoke over the flash of cameras and odd cheer or laugh from the crush of reporters ringing him like fans at a rock concert.
The media used a parade of what my grandmother would have called “dimestore words” whenever they described President Daniel Caine. He was never just President Caine. He was “...charismatic, bold in speech, forty-something President Caine exuding reassurance, his dark chestnut hair shining as he speaks from the White House lawn, the flowers of overhanging trees blending with the honey-blond of his wife’s hair. We only wish we could show you his real appearance so you could see how presidential he truly looks...”
Refocusing on the espresso maker, I finally got the filter off and hooked back on the machine. Clicking it on, I waited for the red light, glancing up at the line of blue suits on the television. I noticed the scarf at the blond woman’s throat, the flash of teeth as the man’s avatar rocked his head back in a laugh.
I’d never really followed politics.
But Caine, the new national obsession, was hard to ignore.
Most of my gal pals found him clinically “hot.” I don’t know how they could tell, honestly, since we only ever saw avatars.
Even Jon liked him, and Jon didn’t like politicians...at least not successful ones. Liberals liked him. So did right-wingers. I found myself riveted whenever Caine spoke, but couldn’t say I liked him exactly.
Like all humans, he had to wear avatars when appearing in the public feeds. The rumor was, those avatars weren’t far off from his real appearance, though...hardly the norm for celebrities and politicians. He wore just enough to remain legal––meaning, enough that seers wouldn’t be able to track him based on his physical appearance. He didn’t even change his age, or make himself ridiculously handsome, like most celebrities did.
The press corp rumor was that he actually looked better in person.
“...I have every hope here, fellas.” Caine smiled and I felt a kind of exuded warmth. “That this new agreement will establish real stability in a previously turbulent part of the world. Create friends and trusted neighbors out of those who in the past were our enemies.” He paused for just the right beat of time. “You don’t think we’re going to let a few screwballs get in the way of that, now do you...?”
Laughter sparked through the crowd.
“President Caine!” My eyes followed the petite female avatar as she pushed her way to the front. “What will your response be to the terrorists?”
He smiled at her.
“Donna,” he said. “You know I can’t give you details.” He winked at the camera. “...But rest assured, harsh language will be involved. Very harsh language indeed.”
Another collective laugh rolled through the crush.
I leaned my back against the espresso machine, frowning.
Folding my arms, I focused on the dark-skinned, African-American avatar standing just behind Caine. High cheekbones rose above full lips below cat-shaped, amber eyes. His was an undeniably handsome face, one I had also heard mirrored the handsomeness of the man behind it. The female friends of mine who didn’t have a thing for Caine definitely had one for Ethan Wellington, Caine’s new Vice President.
My reactions to him were more mixed.
The guy had something, definitely.
Again, I couldn’t decide if I liked whatever that something was.
“...I truly believe that we are now laying the real foundations for peace and prosperity in the future,” Caine spoke out over the crowd. “Paving the way for a time when human being will no longer fight human being...”
A low hiss emanated from the espresso maker at my back...just before it sprayed wet steam all over my uniform. Jumping forward with a yelp, I saw the metal filter belch water and coffee grounds through a warp in the seal. I was still staring at the machine, trying to decide how to proceed, when my best friend, Cassandra Jainukul approached.
Everyone but her mother called her Cass.
When we were kids, it had been Cassie.
“Hey.” Cass took in the issue with the espresso maker with polite disinterest. “Jon’s here. So’s your buddy.”
Gripping the filter’s plastic handle with a resolve I didn’t feel, I gave it a jerk. More steam and water vomited, drenching my shirt.
Cursing, I leapt back, soaked to the skin.
“Do you want me to call Jon over?” Cass folded her arms, bunching up the uniform under her breasts. “Or not?”
“What for?” I muttered. “He sucks at fixing things.”
“No, dummy.” Cass pushed shocking, dyed red hair out of her dark eyes. “Not for that. For that guy...your friend.”
When we were kids, I would have done anything to look like Cass. Her dad was Ethiopian and Thai and her mom something like Scottish and Indian. Cass ended up with a blend of all four that made her beautiful and unique-looking with a delicate face, high cheekbones, full lips and giant, liquid eyes. Her figure had always been better than mine, too. Leggy and big-chested with a tiny waist. She blew stray bangs out of her eyes.
“...What’s his name,” she prompted. “Your friend. Mr. Monochrome. The sexy guy with the black hair sitting in your section.”
I turned too fast, knocking the coffee filter with my arm. Cass watched it fall to the rubber mat with no reaction on her face. Turning, she stared openly at the man in the corner booth.
“Isn’t that the shirt we looked at in Aardvarks? You said you liked it, right?”
I nodded. I remembered.
“That’s creepy, Al.”
I said, “Where’s Jon?”
Cass aimed a finger at the bar.
My brother sprawled over a counter stool like an adult in a child’s chair. Catching my glance, he waved a hand sharply for me to come over. I rolled my eyes.
“Bossy,” I mouthed. “Pushy. Bossy. Control freak...”
When Jon threw a spoon at me, I ducked, smiling, and glanced at Cass. She was still staring at Mr. Mono, her lips scrunched in vague puzzlement.
When Jon motioned us over again, she smirked and started sashaying in his direction. Cass always flirted with Jon. It made my teeth grind sometimes, but I knew she did it to mess with him as much as anything. She knew she lacked the requisite, er, equipment, to catch my brother’s eye...but she’d also had a crush on him since kindergarten.
Watching Jon’s knee jiggle up and down as I followed her, I got a flash of what he’d been like back then, when most people still called him “Bug.” Skinny and pale with thick glasses and too-large hands, he’d been mostly a non-entity in high school, despite getting bullied by some of the real turds among the jock contingent.
He started doing martial arts before Dad died, tired of being stuffed in lockers and covered in ketchup packets for “being a little faggot” by the mentally-challenged of gym class. Now he had the broad-shouldered, sinewy body of a career athlete. His old coke-bottle glasses had been replaced by contacts over green-flecked hazel eyes, and he’d grown into the hands, too.
According to Jaden, Jon and I were a little creepy for brother and sister—even adopted brother and sister—in that we hung out together so much. But I wasn’t about to ditch Jon as a friend just because his parents were cool enough to adopt me.
Anyway, Jon wasn’t into girls. He never had been.
I watched his eyes swivel to the dark-haired man in the corner booth.
As soon as I got close enough, he let go with a not particularly stealthy whisper.
“Why didn’t you call me? I told you to call me!”
“I didn’t know.”
“How long has he been here?” Jon demanded.
“Well, i
f I knew that, I would have known when he got here, right?” I folded my arms. “I didn’t. Know, I mean.”
For an instant this stumped Jon. He squinted at me.
Cass said, “I don’t know, Al.” Her lips pursed. “You sure you don’t want to talk to this one? Before Jon goes all kung fu on his ass...?”
It was my turn to stare at Cass. “What?”
She nodded towards Mr. Monochrome. “Him. Look at him.”
I felt my jaw tighten, even as Jon gave Cass an incredulous look. Then both of us turned, following her gaze to the man with the coal-black hair.
I mean...I knew Cass was right, in a way.
He was really cute.
Well, not cute exactly...but he had something, for sure.
Whatever that something was, it was pretty damned sexy.
Moreover, Mr. Mono had little in common with my usual breed of stalker. He didn’t stare at me nervously, clutching flowers or bad poetry that rhymed. I’d never seen him wear crosses or pentagrams or so much as a Buddha T-shirt. Most of the kooks who followed me around seemed to be looking for something...a savior, maybe. Or maybe just a purpose.
This guy seemed to have all kinds of purpose already.
He practically breathed purpose.
In fact, if I didn’t know better, I would think he was a cop.
Hell, maybe he was a cop. Had I done anything to warrant a cop following me, though? Even with that freakout in the bar and the GPS anklet, I figured I was pretty much a nonentity in their eyes. First time offender, no previous history of drugs or violence. I was pretty sure my public defense lawyer convinced them of the “temporary insanity” thing, even if it didn’t get me off the hook with community service or the anklet.
I still found Mr. Mono’s ethnicity impossible to pinpoint.
He had gorgeous eyes––almond-shaped, but I had no idea what color they were, or even if they had a color at all. The few times I’d seen them in natural light, they’d looked almost like glass, faintly tinted with maybe blue or green.
His mouth was narrow, his face angular. Straight black hair, could use a hair cut.
He touched the formica tabletop with long-fingered hands, staring down at his own digits with the same almond-shaped eyes, the same eerily pale irises. I could gauge no emotion there, no expression at all. His face remained endlessly flat, his body inconspicuous in its stillness.
“He’s probably a sociopath,” Jon grunted.
“Sure. Maybe.” Cass shrugged. “But I like his hands.”
“You said that about Jack, Cass,” I reminded her.
“Yeah, well I was right, wasn’t I?”
I didn’t touch that one. I squinted at the black-haired man. Some part of me wanted to dismiss him, to follow Jon’s lead and put him in the weirdo category. After all, the guy had been following me for weeks now, and he’d never actually said a word to me.
“He’s like a walking corpse,” I said a second later. “...Minus the goth. He probably lives in his parent’s basement. I get Asperger’s syndrome, listens to bad cowboy music.”
Jon stifled a laugh, but Cass saw through me.
She gestured with her slim fingers, tugging at a silver chain around her neck. “He looks like there’s more to him than that, Al.”
“Again. You said that about Jack, Cass.”
“And I was right, wasn’t I?”
I grimaced, glancing back across the room.
The black-haired stranger rose to his feet.
I watched him reach into a back pocket and extract a money clip. Like he had the day before, and the day before that, he left actual paper money on the table, and well in excess of what he owed. He wore a single piece of jewelry, a silver ring on his smallest finger.
“He’s leaving,” Cass said.
Jon yanked on my arm. “Stop staring, Al.” He sharpened his voice when I didn’t turn. “Al...seriously. What are you doing?”
I watched Mr. Mono move softly out the diner’s front door. It was already dark outside, but the neon sign lit up his face as he passed by the plate windows. He didn’t hurry, and just when I thought he wouldn’t, he turned.
That lamp-like stare met mine.
When it did, the world became soft.
I grew aware of the sharp lines of the diner blurring. Night filled in the gaps...a sky teeming with violet and black clouds, a backdrop streaming further back than my mind could reach.
Stars exploded behind my eyes, a single shocking plume of brilliance.
And it is beautiful.
So incredibly...
The clouds enveloped my mind, leaving nothing but silence.
3
EXIT
“EXCUSE ME? MA’AM?”
Someone near me cleared his throat.
My eyes clicked back into focus.
I found myself looking at a man in a dark blue suit. A bright red silk tie contrasted the blue of his jacket, setting off the auburn highlights in his long hair. His light brown eyes studied mine, crinkling at the edges in a smile.
When he cleared his throat politely, my gaze drifted down to his hand, where he held out several twenty dollar bills.
“Can I use paper currency here?” the man said.
He spoke like someone who’d already asked the same question several times. I blinked, then looked down at his hand. Christ. He was a customer. I’d probably waited on him; that’s why he looked familiar.
Where had my head been?
I glanced down the bar counter at Jon and Cass, a little bewildered that I wasn’t standing next to them anymore. I stood by the cash register instead. Jon and Cass didn’t seem to have noticed that I had apparently teleported to the opposite end of the bar.
Cass laughed while I watched, leaning closer to Jon’s ear to answer something he’d said.
Feeling the man in front of me waiting, I jerked my eyes back to his.
“Yeah,” I told him. “Yeah, sure. Of course. Sorry.”
His smile widened. “No apology necessary, my dear. I am the one who is sorry...to have interrupted your thoughts just then.”
I smiled back noncommittally, hitting through keys on the old fashioned register.
“You looked very deep in thought right then, Alyson.”
I hesitated, glancing up at him.
I wasn’t wearing a name tag. Maybe I’d told him my name when I waited on him earlier. Shrugging it off, I gestured towards his arm. When he bared it to the elbow, I summoned the bill by scanning his barcode.
“Were you?” he said politely. “...Deep in thought?”
I smiled. “Yeah. Well. Even waitresses think about things, I guess.”
The man returned my smile, his gaze flickering over the rest of me.
Ignoring his appraisal, I met his gaze. “Do you want the change in hard currency, too?” I said. “Or just on your account?”
“Hard is fine.” His smile widened, even as his amber-colored eyes grew more serious. “What are you doing after work? Can I buy you a drink, Alyson?”
Counting out the coins, I handed him his change. I kept my smile polite. “I can’t date customers, sorry.”
“No? You won’t make an exception?”
I smiled again. “Sorry.”
The man met my gaze. When he did, I paused, in spite of myself.
For the first time, I really looked at him.
His eyes were riveting, difficult to look away from. That amber color nearly glowed, such a light color they seemed to have an internal fire. I found myself lost there, wondering why I’d been so quick to turn him away.
I could have one drink with the guy, sure. Why not? He was age appropriate, more or less, and while I didn’t usually date suits, he was cute. Nick the bartender, the guy I'd been seeing casually for the past few weeks, probably wouldn’t like it, but we weren’t exactly a couple.
My attention got pulled off him when the door to the diner opened with a bang.
I looked up, blinking in confusion.
Once I did, I
found myself staring at the black-haired man. He stood there, looking angry, his athletic frame looming over the guy in the blue.
For the first time, he looked directly at me.
His colorless eyes grew utterly motionless, like a held breath.
Immediately, my head started to clear. I was still standing there, my hands poised over the cash register, when the man with the amber eyes turned, staring up at the black-haired man along with me. Neither of them spoke.
Even so, the man with the amber eyes smiled.
Looking away from the taller man, he brought his gaze back to rest on mine. He made a strange, soft clicking noise with his tongue, giving me a regretful smile.
“Ah. I see that you’re already taken,” he said. “Perhaps another time, my dear.”
“Sure,” I said, only half-hearing him. “Whatever.”
I was still looking at the man with the black hair.
The guy in the blue suit turned from the counter, heading for the door.
The black-haired man didn’t take his eyes off him as he passed. His eyes followed the man past him and through the front door and even outside, onto the street. I saw the amber-eyed man watching him as well...saw him wink at the black-haired man through the window before he disappeared down the sidewalk, past the edge of the building.
Before I could wrap my head around what had just happened, the black-haired man walked directly up to where I stood. His colorless eyes met mine.
“We’re leaving,” he said. “Now, Allie.”
When I didn’t move, only stared, the black-haired man grabbed my arm.
“Allie.” His voice was a growl. “Now.”
Before I could bring my eyes back into focus, Jon appeared at my side. He had his hand on the other man’s forearm even as he inserted his entire body between us. Jon’s voice came out quiet but firm, not an ounce of compromise in his words.
“Let go of her, man. Now. Step back.”
I saw the black-haired man look at Jon.
“Jon,” he said. “I won’t hurt her. But I need to get her out.”
I saw Jon’s eyes widen in surprise, right before they blurred, growing less clear. The black-haired man focused back on me.
Rook Page 2
