Red

by Tracey H. Kitts

  "How's five o'clock sound? Without the handcuffs, of course."

  "Alright."

  He got back in his car and smiled at me through the window. Yet again, his smile reached the deep blue of his eyes, causing them to twinkle in a way that was nothing short of adorable.

  "I'll see you then.” He winked.

  I walked to the shed in the backyard, thinking to myself that two could play this game. From the self satisfied smirk I'd seen Marcy wearing, I knew where Alfred would be Friday night. If he wasn't man enough to turn her down, I saw no reason why I should refuse Elijah. Besides, with Elijah there were no mixed emotions, no confusing feelings to sort out. He was nice. He was cute, and seemed like he would be fun to spend some time with. He was also the only person other than my father who had never looked at me in fear. Even Alfred had been afraid the first time he saw my partial transformation. Not that I could blame him, but it meant something to me that Elijah had never looked at me that way. He knew who and what I was when we'd met, but he never looked at me as if I were any different than the girl next door.

  I waited until I heard Marcy's tires crunching on the gravel before I went inside. I walked past the sitting room and found Alfred waiting at the foot of the stairs. He looked as if he was preparing to go to war.

  "Let me explain,” he began.

  "There's nothing to explain,” I cut in. Truth be told, I didn't want to hear it. Childish perhaps, but true. “Like I said last night, I don't own you. If you want to go then go, but I won't be there."

  I tried to walk past him, but he stood in my way, using his considerable height to try to intimidate me. “And where will you be?” he asked.

  "Will you be at her party Friday night?” I asked as blandly as possible.

  "I said I would ... I had no choice, she wouldn't go away otherwise...."

  "Then kick her ass out,” I interrupted again. “You worry too much what other people think."

  "So, I'm beginning to see,” he said coldly. With that, Alfred pushed past me and stormed off toward his downstairs bedroom.

  "Damn it,” I shook my head at my own stupidity, went upstairs and got in the shower. I wondered how the day might have turned out differently if Kat had shown up only an hour later. I wasn't angry with Kat. She had no way of knowing. I was angry with myself for letting the day's events stop me from picking up with Alfred where we had left off that morning.

  I rested my forehead against the cold stone of the shower wall. The fact that I could be touching Alfred's warm skin at that very moment made it seem even colder. I couldn't keep letting my fears push me away from him. So I'd been hurt. Who hasn't? I couldn't let my past stop me from ever having a future. Besides, I loved Alfred, in my own way. He'd been a friend of my family for years, and I cared for him. I kept telling myself that I should go downstairs and apologize. I stepped out of the shower, dried quickly, and snatched on my robe. For once, I was going to admit that I'd been wrong.

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  Chapter Six

  I went downstairs and found Alfred asleep on the couch. My heart fluttered as I watched the even rhythm of his breathing, and wondered how I should wake him. “I'm sorry I was an asshole, would you like to come to bed with me?” didn't seem quite adequate. How was it that a poet stood there at a loss for words? That was it. I'd wake him and say that I was at a loss to describe what I felt when I looked at him ... but I knew that I did not want to spend the night alone. I reached out to wake him, but before my hand touched his shoulder, he spoke. As he rolled away from me, still asleep, one name was clearly audible, “Marcy."

  The anger that I would have expected did not come. My knees felt weak and my chest hurt, but I had not misunderstood him. My senses were above and beyond what they should have been. I'd heard him correctly. I stumbled backward, feeling foolish. Here I was about to confess that I had feelings for him while he lay on my couch, dreaming of another woman. I backed out of the room quietly. I did not want Alfred to know I'd been there, no reason to add insult to injury.

  That made up my mind, more than anything, to give Elijah a chance. It didn't have to lead to anything serious. Elijah was a nice guy and that happened to be what I was in need of. I made my way to the kitchen where I took three sleeping pills. With my metabolism, it would take that many to keep me out for very long. I went back upstairs and stretched across the bed, waiting for sleep to claim me. I did not want to dream. Surely with as many pills as I'd taken I would be able to spend a few hours blissfully unconscious, without dreams of Alfred and Marcy to torment me.

  * * * *

  I spent the next day either in my room or out on the balcony painting. I set up my easel that morning, angled toward a good view of the roses. As I painted, I asked myself what I was really worried about. Everything, like the roses, had a time and a season. At times, life seems so clear and then you wake up. The coffee that you were meant to smell is actually burning, and you're late for an appointment.

  As I mixed the colors to achieve the perfect blood red, I thought to myself that if love were a color, it would be red. This reminded me of the last poem that I'd had published. I figured I was already feeling down, so why not read some sappy poetry and make things worse? That's like listening to country music after a bad break up. You know it won't help, but you really just want to wallow in things for a bit before moving on.

  Self pity is one of those qualities that we'd all like to get rid of, but at times you just can't help but indulge yourself. Some people get depressed and live off of ice cream and chips for a week. I read lovey-dovey poetry and paint. What's the point in being an artist if you can't be a little morose from time to time? Besides, it was either throw my own pity party, or go downstairs and talk to Alfred. At that moment I would have rather typed invitations to a pity party than talk to Alfred about what I'd overheard the night before, let alone explain what I had been doing downstairs.

  Putting aside my paintbrush, I took the leather bound book of poetry from my shelf, I read:

  The Color of Romance

  Pink is a flirtatious someone for

  whose embrace you are willing to take a chance.

  Lavender is a soothing person whom you'd like to know more of under a different circumstance.

  Orange is a fire that you cannot put out, it makes you scream, from within and without.

  Yellow is the golden hair of the one who got away.

  We know we'll love them longer than just today.

  But, we know we are done for when we see Red.

  It inspires us to do more than take a chance.

  It goes beyond entrancing us with a single glance.

  Red is the color that passionate souls see when they dance, for red, my dear, is the color of romance.

  I glanced at the brief author's biography that accompanied the poem and realized that this was the volume Alfred had been reading a few nights ago. I could feel my cheeks burning as I read further, feeling pathetic to know that he had read:

  "I've never really felt like I belonged anywhere. My passion burns within a fire beside which no one warms their hands. I am a sensitive soul, though most people don't know it. I'm a hopeless romantic who hides my passion from most of the world. Poetry provides an audience to which I can bare my soul and not be taken advantage of ... People don't see how deep I truly am. They skip a stone across the surface, but never watch how far it sinks."

  I closed the book, and wondered what I must have sounded like to Alfred. As I replaced the thick volume on my shelf, I decided it didn't matter. So I'm a bit melodramatic and I write poetry, who cares? After all, you can't chop up werewolves every day. A girl's got to have a hobby. Lately, it would seem that my hobby had been finding the biggest jerks around and becoming involved with them. Some days I felt like looking in the mirror to make sure that ‘jackasses welcome’ wasn't written across my forehead.

  * * * *

  The one guy that I felt fairly certain was not a jackass called at four o'clock the next day.
“Sweet and sour pork, or kung pow chicken?” he asked when I answered the phone.

  "Either one's fine."

  "Good, cause I got both."

  Elijah and I talked while he stopped to get gas on his way to my house.

  "Wait,” he said suddenly.

  "What do you want?” I heard him ask.

  There was a loud clattering noise that sounded like his cell phone hitting the ground. I stayed on the line, afraid to hang up, but not knowing what else to do. I heard a scuffle and two muffled voices arguing over where to put him. Elijah was being kidnapped! I felt helpless as I listened to them argue over whether or not he would suffocate in the trunk of their car. I listened intently, hoping Elijah's attackers would be dumb enough to say where they were taking him. Just then, one of them noticed the phone. Elijah must have had me programmed in by name, because I heard the thug say, “It's the monster hunter."

  I hung up and ran to my wardrobe. If they knew who I was, they were coming for me next. I had no intention of being unprepared. I slid into my leather cat-suit and began pulling on my many weapons. I wore my father's long silver machete, which looked more like a short sword, in a sheath down my spine. Around my shoulders I wore a double holster. I'd had it custom made to fit three silver daggers on each side. This holster clipped onto a heavy belt that rode low on my hips, with a large silver buckle that had been sprayed black to avoid reflecting the light. Across each thigh, I wore an additional holster. Each carried a sharp silver blade. I'd left my rapier in the training room. Something told me I wouldn't be fencing with these thugs.

  As I placed my last two blades in sheathes along the inside of my knee high boots, I heard a noise outside. From the upstairs window, I saw two men approach my front door. Damn Marcy and her stupid party. I needed Alfred and his high powered guns to back me up. It had not been a good day for me and it wasn't about to be much better for these guys. They actually rang the door bell. Since they'd had the balls to come to my front door, I answered it.

  "Lilith Mercury?” the tallest one asked. He took in my weapons with a glance.

  "That's right. What can I do for you boys?"

  "Come quietly,” the shorter guy made it a question. It earned him a sharp look from the tall one and gave me the opportunity I had hopped for.

  I moved forward and delivered a flying knee to the crotch of the taller man. As he slumped forward, my elbow connected with the back of his skull with a sickening thud. The other man stood in stunned silence as I jump kicked him in the face and sent him flying into the azaleas near my front door. As I rummaged through their pockets for the keys to their car, something hit me in the back of the head so hard that I was lifted off the ground. The world became a dizzy nauseating swirl around me and I knew I was about to lose consciousness.

  A man that I hadn't seen when I took down the other two stood over me with an aluminum baseball bat. As I noticed bloody smears on the bat, my eyes began to lose focus. Even I couldn't take a crack to the head with a baseball bat and not suffer. I'd live, but first, I was going to pass out.

  * * * *

  When I came to, I was lying on the floor of a plain room. By plain I mean no furniture, no windows, nothing. The whole room, walls included, was covered in pale blue tiles. It was a room made for torture, easily cleaned. From the throbbing pains in the back of my head, I knew better than to try to move. I was still down, but I'd begun to heal. I looked to my left, careful not to turn my head, and saw Elijah. He was chained to the floor by his right ankle, not too far from the door. He must have seen me open my eyes.

  "Lilith,” he spoke softly. “Can you hear me?"

  "Yes,” I whispered, afraid that if I spoke any louder my head would explode.

  "I was afraid they'd killed you. I've been watching to make sure you kept breathing."

  "How long have we been here?"

  "Maybe an hour."

  "Give me till morning,” I groaned. “I'll get us out of here.” With that, I passed out again.

  When I awoke several hours later, my head still hurt, but it was bearable. I attempted to roll over and found that I was bound by both wrists to two long, thick chains that were bolted to the wall near the floor. I could move around, but not much.

  It looked as if all they had taken from Elijah was his phone. They'd even left a pair of chopsticks in his pocket. I guessed they didn't see him as a threat. On the other hand, they had not only taken all of my blades, but my shoes, as well.

  "How do you feel?” Elijah asked.

  "You mean other than being cracked in the head with a bat and chained to the floor?” I replied sarcastically.

  "Yeah.” He smiled. “Other than that."

  "Great,” I said as I took a closer look at my restraints. “You know this goes against my principles, right?” I noticed the mortar was cracked around the edges of my right shackle where it connected to the wall.

  "What does?” Elijah asked.

  I held up one wrist as I teased, “I never use restraints on the first date."

  He smiled and in spite of our surroundings it brightened my mood. I pointed to the chopsticks in Elijah's pocket. “Can you pass me those?"

  "Sure.” He looked confused, but slid me the chopsticks.

  "Any idea why we're here?” I asked as I inspected the mortar more closely.

  "No clue,” Elijah answered. “A guy comes in about every hour or so."

  "What does he do?"

  "He just looks at us. Some times he checks your pulse, then leaves.” I couldn't reach the crack in the mortar with my hands, so I put one of the chopsticks between my toes, stretched out and began to chip it loose.

  "Can't you just rip these out of the wall?” Elijah pointed at his shackle.

  "Probably, but do you have any idea how much noise that would make?"

  "Oh, hadn't thought of that."

  A few minutes later the short guy that I'd kicked in the face walked in. I looked at him more closely this time. He was about my height with dark hair and pale skin. He appeared to be in good shape, with a sleek athletic build. The guy might have been nice looking if it weren't for the two black eyes he was sporting and the fact that his nose was obviously broken. He approached me with caution despite the chains. Apparently he wasn't as stupid as I'd thought.

  "How's your head?” he asked in a surprisingly deep voice.

  "Why do you care?"

  "I don't.” At least he was honest.

  "Then why ask?"

  "Because I was told you need to be fully recovered,” he replied.

  "For what, torture?"

  "Couldn't say, but I'm not going to get close enough to look for myself."

  I laughed, but not like I was amused. “Well, my head still hurts, so that gives you plenty of time to go screw yourself."

  He gave me a nasty sneer before he turned on his heel and left the room.

  "Do you think that's wise, pissing them off like that?” Elijah asked.

  "Doesn't matter,” I said as I stretched back out to chip away the mortar.

  "Why?"

  I stopped for a second and looked at Elijah. I had been about to say, “Because they'll never see tomorrow anyway.” Instead, I went back to work on loosening the shackle. It took several hours to loosen the heavy bolts from the wall. The short dark haired man came back in, but this time he went for Elijah. A gun was clearly visible pressed against the small of his back as he walked toward him. Elijah shot a pleading glace my way, and I knew that I couldn't allow him to be taken away from me. One look at the other man said he had nothing good in store for Elijah.

  "It's me you want.” I decided to provoke him.

  He turned to me.

  "Before they do whatever it is they have planned...” I licked my lips, “don't you wanna touch me?” I motioned toward my body suggestively. “You know you want me,” I purred seductively. “I've seen the way you look at me.” I winked at Elijah as I said, “We can make him watch."

  Elijah looked horrified as the man began to wa
lk toward me, but there was no way to let him know what I had in mind. He knew what my job was. I only hoped seeing me do that job wouldn't change the way he looked at me. There was no time to think of another way. Once the dark haired man was within range, I snatched the chain free with a roar, hitting him across the face and cutting his cheek badly. I hit him with the chain again as I swung it so that it wrapped around his neck. I yanked him toward me and slammed his face into the wall, several times.

  "Where are the keys?” I asked as I pressed him face down into the floor, strangling him. He motioned to his belt. I snatched the keys from his belt and let them hit the floor. My feet were cold and it pissed me off.

  "Where the hell are my shoes?” I growled.

  He rolled his eyes toward the door.

  "In the next room?” I asked.

  He nodded.

  "Are there more than two of you?” I let up so he could speak.

  "No,” he whispered.

  "If you tell me the truth, you might be the one I leave alive,” I taunted.

  "There's four,” he said quickly. “Two across the hall, and one at the front door."

  "You lied to me,” I choked him harder. “What do you say?” I leaned in closer, as if waiting to hear an apology. “What's that? You're an asshole?"

  I broke his neck.

  "Yeah, I thought so."

  I unlocked my chains and tossed the keys to Elijah. He looked stunned. I knew he had seen worse things, but he'd never watched me do any of those things before. I couldn't bear for him to look at me that way.

  "Don't look,” I said. “Don't look at me."

  I took the dark haired man's gun and checked to be sure it was loaded.

  "Wait here while I check out the room across the hall,” I said as I pressed Elijah back against the wall. To my relief, he didn't withdraw from my touch. He still looked shocked, but nodded his agreement.

  I listened at the door for a moment and distinctly heard two voices inside. I kicked the door in quickly as I shot one guy in the back of the head. Another rushed me, and I caught him in the chest three times. I found my shoes, but my blades were still missing. When I went back for Elijah, he seemed to have regained his composure. After all, he was a cop, and this wasn't the first dead body he'd seen. It wasn't even the first body he'd seen that I was responsible for, but it was the first time he'd ever seen me harm anyone. I couldn't blame the poor guy for being shocked. He was no doubt wondering how he'd gone from kung pow chicken and old movies to watching me break some guy's neck on a cold tile floor. Not the way he wanted to spend his weekend, I'm sure.