Autumn's Eyes (Storm Season Book 1)

by J. L. Sutton

  “Why did you break into Hyde’s house last night?”

  It wasn’t a question I was expecting, but seeing no reason not to tell her I gave her the clipped version. “Hyde threatened my sister. He thought he was untouchable, that I would cower in the corner and do whatever he asked. I wanted to show him he was wrong. Well, that was the plan anyway.”

  She regarded me curiously, her piercing black eyes boring through mine. It left me feeling oddly exposed, like somehow she was staring right through me.

  “You were right,” she said, resignation clear in her voice, “you do deserve answers. It may have already reached the point where it is better you know. But you may not want the truth. So here is my deal. I cannot promise I will tell you everything, but I am giving you the choice to find out. If, that is what you really want. Just please think about it first. I am more dangerous than you realize, even if I am trying to help you. No, especially then. Either way I am going to keep watching from a distance until I am satisfied things have calmed down. I am sorry, but I cannot tell you more until you decide whether or not you really want to know.”

  It wasn’t until she finished that I realized how tight my grip was on the glass in my hand. When I tried to reply to her chilling words she held up her hand to silence me. “Just think about what I said,” she repeated as she walked to the door, stopping for a moment to place something at the end of the counter. “There is a storm about to break over the city, so I need to leave now. If you decide you want to know, hang this on the outside of your window and I will come to you. If you decide not to, then you will not see me again unless it becomes absolutely necessary.”

  She slipped into the hallway without another word, and the trickling pressure at the back of my mind I had almost forgotten about began to fade away as soon as Dawn gently closed the door behind her.

  I stared at the door for a long time, my thoughts lingering on her parting words and the thinly veiled warning they contained. Finally snapping out of my trance I reached across the table and picked up the object she left for me. It was a small, unadorned tan pouch woven from a coarse thread, drawstrings frayed and worn on both ends. The pouch itself was empty and looked to be very old, quite possibly an antique, but strangest of all was how cold it felt in my hand when I first touched it. As the minutes dragged on my thoughts began to run together—clearly the lack of sleep last night was catching up with me. Reasoning that I’d have better insight in the morning I got up with some effort, pausing only to kick off my shoes before I collapsed into my bed. Somewhere between my slow drift into unconsciousness I could just make out the distinct sound of a thunderstorm building steadily in the distance.

  Muted grey morning light was just beginning to peek through my window when I woke, and as if on cue my thoughts inescapably rushed back to last night. I found myself reluctant to leave the confines of my bed, like every second I delayed putting my feet on the floor would be a second I could just pretend. I had always prided myself on being able to approach a situation rationally, take a step back and look at the problem with a level head. Yes, sometimes my stubbornness and quick temper got the better of me, but not knowing what to think was something I wasn’t comfortable admitting to myself.

  As the day progressed I felt like I was on autopilot, just going through the motions until work was out of the way and I had some time to think. Of course it would be today everyone wanted something from me. I tried not to think about Dawn’s proposal as I dashed around town, focusing inordinate amounts of energy into the simplest of tasks. Perhaps I should be thankful I had so many to attend too.

  Jim called early in the morning with news that Mrs. Porter was going to be out of the country for the next two months, and I should come by and pick up my payment for the work I completed so far.

  It was beginning to feel like the day would never end when I finally managed to leave the office. With no strong desire to return to my apartment I continued down Main Street, floating along until I passed the warehouse district, and as I wound down the road that followed the coastline it wasn’t long until the looming buildings began to disappear behind me. I turned off after the first highway marker just outside the city and onto a worn dirt track that led to a hidden viewing point the locals called “the end-of-the-line”.

  As old as the city itself, the secluded spot was little more than two weathered stone benches on the tip of jagged cliffs overlooking the ocean. As teenagers my friends and I would sneak out in the middle of the night to come down here to get away from it all, and this place held a lot of memories for me. Ignoring the benches I followed the path along the wooden railing, squeezing through a broken section that hadn’t been repaired since I was seven years old. I took a seat on the lip of the cliffs, staring down at the thirty foot drop into the murky blue waters of the Atlantic. Waves broke against the rocks beneath my feet, sending gentle sprays of mist into the air. The clean, inviting smell of the salt always helped me focus when I needed to think.

  Dawn’s pouch in my pocket felt like an ember, a scorching reminder of the question looming over my head. I’m giving you the choice. I was trying to figure out Dawn for weeks, yet being given the choice to get answers was a lot more nerve wracking than I ever guessed. I kept trying to tell myself it was the warning she gave me, but really there was something about her that was truly . . . unnerving. It certainly wasn’t her appearance, those unnatural eyes, or even the chilling thought that she could be watching me right now. I knew I should be more bothered about her openly admitting to following me too, but following people for a living had dulled my reaction to being watched somewhat.

  The problem was that the cruelest thing anyone could ever do to me was lay a puzzle like this at my feet. I was far too curious for my own good, a trait often landing me in trouble as an officer. As I watched the waves break I went through everything I pieced together about her, and although it was probably pretty important I didn’t let it factor into my decision. Dawn wasn’t ordinary, hell she barely seemed human.

  Not knowing what she might be was daunting, but I was far more interested in her motives. Why would she find herself involved in this mess with Hyde, if this was even about him to begin with? She made it pretty clear she was dangerous, and I believed her. But it was frustrating trying to believe that when she genuinely seemed like she wanted to help. Then there was the way she looked at me with those unusual eyes, like somehow she was working on a puzzle of her own.

  Wasn’t there enough crap in my world to deal with, without adding this new brand of crazy? I wanted to play the responsibility card, to tell myself no good can come from knowing, and I should just carry on with my life. Turns out it wasn’t enough. No argument I could muster would be reason enough for me to walk away now.

  From the moment I walked into the apartment my eyes were fixed on the kitchen window, as if at any moment it would burst into flames. I was filled with nervous energy as I cracked the latch, welcoming the cool breeze against my skin. Turning the pouch over in the palm of my hand I hesitated, a glimmer of doubt clouding my thoughts for a brief moment before I took a deep breath and fastened the drawstrings to the frame. The simple act felt monumental. How she would know the tiny object would be there five stories above ground was a mystery in itself, but I didn’t dwell on it. One way or another I just knew she’d surprise me. All that was left now was to wait.

  Realizing I hadn’t eaten since this morning, something I was doing far too often lately, I tossed a juicy rump steak onto the grill and took a seat on the couch, going through emails between bites. The client I met today hired me to tail his wife on the weekend while he was away, convinced she was having an affair with her boss. Jacob seemed like a decent guy, and I sincerely hoped I’d be wasting my time. The worst part of this line of work was being the one to break the news to clients. Not quite as bad as a doctor’s job, but it still sucked. It was an awkward situation to be in—me, a virtual stranger, telling someone their partner for so many years was unfaithful. It was far more un
comfortable than actually capturing the act on film.

  “I just knew you would be too stubborn to let this go.” The voice was so unexpected I almost dropped my laptop. It hung between three fingers as my head jerked around the room to find Dawn sitting on my windowsill, her head propped up against the frame quite comfortably, like she was waiting there for a while. Her expression became apologetic. “Sorry, I did not mean to startle you.”

  A nice sentiment, but I was far more interested in how she managed to get up there in the first place, not to mention the fact that she didn’t made a sound doing it. “I’ll live.”

  “Aye, you will,” she agreed, a strange expression crossing her features. “May I come in?”

  “Sure,” I managed to say, taken aback by how her polite tone seemed so at odds with her half hanging out my window. She hopped to the ground, landing lightly on the balls of her feet with not so much as a bead of perspiration, or a hair out of place to show she just scaled the building.

  “You really should lock your windows,” she said casually as she glided around the room, taking a seat on the couch across from me.

  “Locks didn’t seem to stop you the first time.” Now that the initial shock of her entrance began to wear off I could feel the pins and needles clearly pressing against my head.

  “Another point to add to keeping your distance from me—yet here we are. You are quite hard headed when it comes to your own safety.” She sighed then, her expression becoming weary. “Are you sure this is what you want?”

  I resisted the impulse to answer immediately. Her words were meant to frighten, to dissuade me from wanting to know more. I could tell she definitely thought her warning was valid, and a small part of me yearned to heed her words. I probably should, I definitely should. “Yes.”

  Dawn sighed again. She seemed just as conflicted as I felt, maybe even more so, but I already made my decision. Minutes seemed to tick by as I waited, and it seemed like they had turned to hours before she spoke again, clearly uncomfortable. “I am deceptive by my very nature. I have been that way for a long, long time. Telling you the truth is not exactly easy for me.”

  My heart rate quickened, readying itself for whatever came next. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  I looked into her eyes, and despite my earlier bravado my nerves were alight with fear and anticipation. I tried my best not to let it show.

  “Try to remain calm, alright?” she asked gravely, a pleading look etched across her face. It took me four beats before I could nod.

  “I am Death.”

  9. Unforeseen

  When I hung the little pouch outside my window I assumed I’d be ready for anything Dawn told me. I was so caught up in the why’s that I just took the fact she was something . . . else, entirely for granted. Vampire, robot, Frankenstein’s sister. I could’ve handled all of it—hell I would’ve nodded politely if she claimed to be the Head of State.

  All tact, all higher functioning drained from my system as I stared at her, waiting for her to laugh at my vacant expression. She just stared back at me with her head tilted to the side, holding her breath like she was waiting for me to pop. A bubble of hysteria formed in my brain, threatening to spill over, but through a combination of sheer willpower and unashamedly tangible shock I quashed it somehow. Remembering her warning not to freak out I took a deep breath as I stood, trying to calm myself while my mind ran through a list of rational responses to use.

  Instead, I laughed.

  “You’re telling me that . . . you’re what, The Grim Reaper? As in—you and taxes?” My voice was disjointed, equal parts of disbelief and sarcasm. Too late I wished I could take back the words, but in truth I wasn’t even sure there was a rational response to her admission.

  “I am not the Grim Reaper.” Dawn snorted delicately. “Just one of them, though I do not particularly like being referred to as ‘grim’.”

  The way she said the words would’ve been humorous, if the words were just about anything else. I felt like I was waiting for a punch line to a joke that was never coming. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

  “What would I gain by lying to you?” she asked calmly, her eyes still watching me intently. “Not what you were expecting?”

  “Understatement.”

  “If it is any consolation, you are handling it pretty well, I think.”

  That was one theory—I was just surprised I could form multi-syllable words. My legs felt unsteady under my weight, and tightly gripping the edge of the couch I slowly sat back down.

  Death, the great equalizer, was calmly having a conversation with me in my living room. If I hadn’t already gone crazy, I sure felt that way right about now. No, it couldn’t be true . . . could it? A hundred questions babbled through my head at incomprehensible speeds, further adding to my jumbled mental state.

  “I don’t know what to say,” I stated honestly, feeling rather insignificant.

  She almost smiled, trying her best to seem nonthreatening. “That makes two of us.”

  I had never given any real thought to it, but I guess I always pictured death as something like a skeleton in a black robe with a scythe. Not an undeniably beautiful, petite woman wearing a striped lavender blouse. I had to admit if she was the last thing I ever saw before I died, then maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. Okay, I was definitely going into shock.

  “Let’s say for the moment I believe you, and that’s a big if. You really kill people?” There was no gentler way I could think of to phrase the question.

  I could hear her earlier resignation creeping back into her voice as she answered. “Technically—no. Everyone dies. It is simply my job to make sure it happens when, and where, it is meant to. Nothing before, nothing after.”

  “How could you possibly know when it’s someone’s time?”

  “To make sense of the answer, you first need to understand Death and Fate are two separate, yet inextricably interwoven principles. I am an aspect of Death given physical form, not Death itself—just one part of the whole process, a cog in the greater scheme. Your fate is your own, I cannot see it any more than you could, but there are forces at play in this world who can. When it is someone’s time, I am told. That is the simplest way I can explain it. I see it happen, an echo of things to come. It is a deep calling, a siren song only I can hear, pulling me towards that person like a blazing light burning on a moonless night.”

  I tried wrapping my head around her words as she spoke, and I wasn’t ashamed to admit I wasn’t getting very far. If any of this was true then it was way above my pay grade. However, somewhere between the panicked thoughts racing through my mind something she said did register, and considering the implications of the thought left a feeling like a fistful of ash was forced down my throat. “Is that why you’re here? Was . . . was I supposed to die, in the parking lot?”

  “No. You can trust me on that, I would have known if you were,” she said hurriedly, “I am sorry, I guess I should have known you would think along a similar line.”

  “Then why are you here, telling me all this?” I asked in relief. For a moment there I thought my number was up.

  “I am trying to clean up my mess.” The guilty look that crossed her face was heartbreaking, and as absurd as it sounded I felt the irrational need to comfort the woman claiming to be Death.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Okay, how to explain. Human beings are all tied to Fate—”

  “—Wait, hold up,” I interrupted, far too wired to realize just how much my shock and curiosity were overpowering my rational mind that was telling me to back away slowly. “You’re telling me not just my death, but everything I’ve ever done, has been preordained somehow?”

  “No, not everything,” Dawn answered calmly.

  She didn’t seem to mind answering my questions, so I kept pushing. “So then, what does ‘Fate’ control?”

  “I know it is . . . difficult to believe, but Fate, just like Death, does exist. Try not to think of it as a path, rather a
guiding hand that allows certain things to happen—certain, not all. You can try to influence events, change the odds if you will, but it would be foolish at best to argue the odds do not matter, or do not exist. And to be honest I do not know how it works exactly. It is hardly my specialty,” she said, pointing to herself. “Death, not Fate.”

  I would understand if she didn’t want to answer my questions, but I never would’ve guessed she didn’t have the answers. I took another deep breath, trying to stabilize the wild emotional wheel I was caught on. “Alright, I’m listening.”

  “Like I said before—your future is your own, your own personal fate. By interacting with people around you, their fates and yours blend together. It is the way it should be, because all the shifting is part of the system. But I am not part of that system, Fate has no hold over me the way it does for you.” I was so engrossed by the way her voice wrapped around the words that at first I didn’t realize Dawn moved from the couch. She was looking out of the open window, her face hidden from me as she continued. “My kind does not usually spend much time close to humans. I need to be very careful interacting with them because I am not part of that system, and anything I do can have far reaching consequences.”

  “So you’re saying meeting you could somehow affect my fate?”

  “Do you not see?” Dawn turned towards me, no longer hiding the misery shadowing her features. “I already have. When I helped you that night—it changed everything.”

  “Okay. What changed, exactly?”

  “Think about it. If I was not there to intervene, then those men would have left you there, beaten and broken, and they would have dragged their friend away. Whatever happened then would have happened, because it was meant to. When I helped you they ran off, leaving someone behind and that affected the outcome. Because of one act, a trickle turned into a flood. The fate of you, those men, Hyde, the police, and everyone around them changed. Every action you have taken since then may not have happened if I had not intervened.”