by Keri Hudson
“I have an important function, Sabrina—”
“Do you have to do it out there? Or is that just what you’ve always done?” After a moment, she put her hand on his arm. “I know that… I sense that… you’re lonely, just like me. That you feel there’s nobody you can connect with. We all have our different reasons but, in the end, we all find our answers too. Maybe, I was thinking, maybe we found our answers… in each other.”
Marcus wanted to disagree, to tell her she was wrong, that they were different people who belonged in different places.
But he couldn’t.
Marcus raised his hand gently to Sabrina’s cheek. He drew her in slowly for a kiss, her lips soft against his, her tongue warm, her cheeks smooth against his. He wanted to be unmoved, he wanted to resist.
But he couldn’t.
“All right,” Marcus said, “I… I suppose for a few days it couldn’t hurt. Maybe we could look into who this Big Jim might be connected to.” Sabrina smiled, a little tear rolling down her pale, freckled cheek.
“Hey,” a man’s voice said from nearby, “you’re two of the survivors, aren’t you?” A man stepped up from nearby, a small, black recording device in his hand. Short and chunky, he motioned to another man behind him carrying a camera and wearing another around his neck.
“No, no,” Marcus said, “that’s not us.”
“Sure it is, I saw them processing you earlier, with the other girls. C’mon, give me a quote or something.”
Marcus turned Sabrina toward his chest to shield her face from being photographed, and she followed his lead.
“Get lost,” Marcus said.
“Where are they, Mercy Hospital, right?”
Marcus said, “Beat it.”
“Hey, First Amendment,” the man said.
“And what newspaper are you from?”
“Newspaper?” the chubby young man echoed. “Where you been, man? Nobody reads newspapers anymore! Newspapers? I got a blog, man, five hundred thousand subscribers. Podcast too, bitch!”
Marcus twitched. “What did you call me?”
Sabrina said, “Never mind.”
“Seriously,” Marcus pressed the point, “what’s a podcast?”
Sabrina said to the reporter as his cohort snapped off a few pictures, “Please, just leave us alone.”
“We heard you were all going to the hospital—”
Marcus reached over and shoved the chubby guy back, collapsing into his camera-bearing partner. “Don’t make me come looking for you.” The photographer kept shooting as they walked away.
Sabrina said, “Probably not the best way to handle that.”
“No,” Marcus had to agree, “you’re probably right. But… call me a podcast? Fuck him!”
“You really have been in the swamp too long.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Marcus woke up alone on the couch in the living room of Sabrina’s apartment. He reviewed the facts as soon as consciousness allowed. Sabrina had been so exhausted that she nearly collapsed into sleep as soon as she walked through the apartment door.
It was daylight, but there was no telling what time. A look around the modest but neatly appointed living room revealed a clock on the wall, a plastic cat with a tail for a pendulum, clock face in its belly, eyes shifting side to side with every tick.
Two o’clock in the afternoon? Marcus sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Never would have overslept like this back in the swamps. Couldn’t have afforded to.
Marcus found a note from Sabrina on the coffee table in front of the couch, a lone key next to the note.
Good morning, sleepy head!
Thank you so much for everything, more than I can say! Please make yourself at home. There's food in the fridge, clean towels by the shower, the clothes we bought you in the closet. Here’s a spare key if you want to get out and stretch your legs. I’ll be home around six.
Your happy host, Sabrina.
Marcus sat on the couch, thinking about Sabrina. He’d managed to rescue her from a terrible fate, but she’d come too close. He had to admit his approach had been lacking, that he could and should have done better.
Next time, he thought, a chill running up his spine to know that he did expect there to be a next time, in spite of what he told Sabrina. Somebody is going to have to account for the loss of six valuable properties and a dozen armed men.
Perhaps not, Marcus told himself. Maybe that was as high as it went; they broke the women there, inviting buyers to come in, pay and take the goods, just like any business. Maybe we really are in the clear after all. Marcus had to chuckle at himself, shaking his head. Too many years on high alert; the lupines, now this. Maybe Sabrina’s right, maybe I really have been out in the swamps too long.
The first step back toward civility was a hot shower. The water pounded Marcus’ skin, thick muscles aching from his recent battles, bruises from the gunshots the only traces of his wounds. He’d forgotten how good a hot shower felt, steamy and refreshing, soap lathering thick, shampoo luxurious. He’d been making his own soap too long, cleaning himself in the makeshift shower he’d created. The water could be boiled first, but the pressure was nothing like this, as if it could blast away the grime of the swamp, push away the unpleasantness of the previous few days.
Though not all of it had been so unpleasant. They brought him to Sabrina, to her apartment, perhaps into her life even more. But that was a notion that worried him on too many fronts to consider. Sabrina was gorgeous and surprisingly capable and she was falling in love with him, Marcus could see that. More troubling was that he was falling in love with her.
No, he corrected himself as soon as the thought struck him, I’m not... it’s just the circumstances, that’s all. Haven't been this close to a pretty woman in too long, living in isolation. Now that it’s happened, I'm just carried away, that’s all. She is too, with all that’s happened. It’s not really love, not for either of us.
I sure would love to fuck her, though.
Marcus shaved and combed his hair, recognizing a much more familiar face. No mirrors in the shack, have to remedy that. But the face that looked back at him was determined, resolved, a face he knew and a face he trusted.
One of the few.
He put on some of the clothes they’d bought a day or so before. He looked himself over in the full-length mirror she had nailed to her bedroom door. The slacks were loose-fitting but still constrictive, the button-down, short-sleeved shirt comfortable in the Louisiana heat.
I look like a tool, Marcus couldn’t help but think, wondering if his tunic was still anywhere nearby.
Marcus checked Sabrina’s fridge, freezer, and pantry. Almost everything was packed in a colorful box or can: Hot Pockets, Kraft Mac & Cheese, microwave burritos of various varieties.
Yuck, Marcus thought. I hunted and cooked live food and fresh greens back in the bayou. But this stuff’ll kill a man faster than any gator! He walked out of the kitchen with an empty stomach.
Marcus returned to the living room and turned on the TV. He sat down and started flipping through the channels, from local networks to a variety of cable channels: a cooking channel, talk shows, a news channel.
“—Missile tests in North Korea have the entire peninsula on edge. Meanwhile, the President of the United States had no comment. Riots in the streets of major cities across the U.S. have plagued his administration for months now as an increasingly wide chasm separates radical factions of U.S. politics. Another mass shooting, this time in Eugene, Oregon, has resulted in over eleven deaths so far, making it one of the worst shootings this month.”
My God, what is going on out there? What's happening to this country?
Marcus turned off the TV with an empty heart.
He stepped out onto the balcony, a view of Houma he didn’t often see. Well accustomed to seeing it from afar, he was seeing it from within. It was a strange feeling, like he was both finally at home and also a stranger in a strange land. There was something resonating ove
r the horizon, something Marcus could feel appealing to his animal self more than his human. But his instincts were sharp and they told him there was still much he had to be ready for.
Even in the relative lap of luxury, Marcus couldn’t afford to relax.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Restlessness forced Marcus out of the apartment for a stroll around the neighborhood. Odd, he thought, for as long as I’ve been here, I’ve spent almost no time in town at all, and so much of it in the bayous. But even back in Boston, Marcus had to remind himself, we stayed away from strangers, kept to ourselves. But out here, I… I didn’t realize how isolated I was, or how lonely I felt.
Cars drove by, men and women strolled arm in arm, loving couples. Marcus flashed on Sabrina. Could that ever be us? Could I ever be happy, like a normal person? She already knows my secret, and she doesn’t mind, that’s for sure. If anything, I think it turns her on a little bit, and I guess I can see why.
Marcus strolled on, stopping at a dress shop in the middle of the block, a wedding dress frilly and white on a mannequin.
Really, her life is as dangerous without me as it’s going to get. I might be able to make it safer. Might be? Sticking by her is definitely a good idea for now, but… for how long? And then what? And how long can I really afford to be away from the bayou? The gators are getting restless, the shifters will know I’m not there, and then what?
A lot was just as Marcus had remembered it: little square brick and concrete buildings in the downtown, most others around them wooden and older, slowly rotting.
Odd, Marcus thought, what happened to all the video stores?
Fewer people were smoking cigarettes too, a detail Marcus only noticed because, instead of cigarettes, they were sucking on small metal or plastic cylinders, clouds of smoke leaving no smell.
Things really have changed.
“What’re you talkin’ ‘bout, Cheryl? I loves you!”
Marcus’ attention was drawn to a burly man in overalls, with a long beard and a bald head. He was clutching the arm of a young woman, small and slender and frail in his clutches.
“How many times I gotta say, Zeek? I don’t love you, and I ain’t gonna! So go find someone else t’love!”
“There ain’t no someone else, Cheryl, not fer me!”
“An’ you ain’t the man fer me, s’let me go!”
“Excuse me,” Marcus said, approaching from only a few feet away. “Get your hands off her.”
Big Zeek looked at little Cheryl, then back at Marcus. “You get cher nose out what’s none o’yer bi’ness!”
Marcus allowed himself the luxury of a little smile. He was going to enjoy this.
A sharp left cross sent Zeek’s head snapping to the side, eyes wide and surprised, fist loosening from Cheryl’s arm enough for her to pull away. She ducked several feet off, pausing at the doorway of a nearby cocktail lounge.
Marcus’ right fist hit Zeek from the other side, the wet crack of his fist echoing in the street. Zeek staggered back but stayed on his feet, but only because Marcus didn’t want to kill him.
Yet.
Zeek threw a punch but it was a broad miss, Marcus deftly ducking his aggression. A hard jab right into Zeek’s chest sent him staggering back, wheezing, hands on his fatty bosom. He fell back onto his ass, Marcus stepping up and standing above him.
“Don’t worry,” Marcus said to the fat, gasping whale beached on the ground beneath him. “I didn’t burst your heart; you won't die. But if you ever speak to this woman again, if you look at her sideways, I’m going to rip that thing you call a heart out and stuff it down your goddamned throat.”
Zeek nodded, still gasping, eyes wide, tongue lolling out of his open mouth. Marcus turned to Cheryl. “Stay away from him.”
“Well, gee, um, thanks, mister.” Marcus turned to walk on, but Cheryl was quick to say, “Um, mister… you… goin’ somewhere in particular?”
Marcus knew what she meant. “Aren't we all?” With that, Marcus turned and walked away, sensing her longing but unable to satisfy it. He could only think of Sabrina, reflecting on her rising readiness, and his own crumbling defenses.
He walked a few blocks more, mind going from one meandering thought to the next. The power of his aggression still pulsed in his veins, heightening his senses, his tastes, his desires. The wanton look in the girl Cheryl’s eyes echoed Sabrina’s. But there was work to do in every direction, evil encroaching upon good in a struggle of the spirit and the flesh, one that would never yield.
But those thoughts were dashed by a sight in the corner of his eye, stopping Marcus and turning his attention to the restaurant across the street. The redhead in the diner was instantly familiar.
Sabrina! This is her job? Waitress? Well, I suppose that’s common enough for a young woman in Sabrina’s position. Why not? Honest, hard work; that’s Sabrina, all right. She’s not some office slut sleeping her way to the middle.
She looked like an angel as she moved from one table to the next, red hair piled up under her uniform hat, ringlets dangling over the side of her face. But her graceful posture twisted and spun suddenly as she turned on a tall man sitting at the counter. She shot him a look and walked on, but he laughed and then glared at her as she made her way deeper into the diner.
Marcus crossed the street and pulled the door open, walking straight to the counter. He turned the man to face him, surprise and quick anger in his expression.
“What the—? Who’re you?”
Marcus grabbed the man by his ear and pulled him off the counter stool. The man yelped and walked with Marcus, who led him out of the diner. Marcus turned to see Sabrina watching him, both enraptured and worried.
Not for me, Marcus thought, that’s for sure.
Marcus led the tall man out into the street and held him by the ear. “You like being treated like a piece of meat? You like the feeling of a sharp pain in the ass?” Marcus bent the man down and gave him a sharp kick in the ass. The man grunted in pain and jutted forward, but Marcus didn’t let go of his ear. “Never let me, or her, see your face again!”
The tall man strained out, “Who the fuck are you?”
“I’m the god of the swamp, that’s who the hell I am! I’m all around you, and I can take your life at any moment, you hear me?”
After a few seconds of nervous panting, the tall man said, “Le dieu des marais?”
“That’s right, big man. Go now, by my grace!”
The man nodded and ran off as soon as Marcus let go of him. He turned to see Sabrina walking out of the diner, slowly, with a sad expression.
Marcus was quick to explain, “I’m sorry, I… I just happened to stroll past, and… I… he had no right to treat you that way.”
“No, I… that’s all fine,” Sabrina said, “really. It’s just… he was sleeping with the owner, so…” Marcus didn’t need her to say any more. “So now you definitely have to stick around. I mean, you can't leave me jobless and alone.”
Marcus could have argued the point, but he was responsible for her being jobless, and if he left she would be alone. Seeing that he had no response to offer, Sabrina said, “I feel like going home, getting out of this stupid uniform.”
Marcus smiled and offered her the crook of his arm. She slid her arm under his elbow and they walked back to her apartment together.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Marcus savored the flavor of the steak pizzaiola, hot and juicy and flavorful on his tongue, marinara sauce, and the cheese stringy and resistant. Marcus had forgotten how flavorful food could be, having cooked his food unseasoned off a hot flame for years. The beer was cold and tasty, refreshing, delivering a pleasant buzz which Marcus had well earned.
The restaurant was dark, like the night outside, intimate like a cozy bed. Lit by candlelight, their faces were close, feet occasionally touching as they gently shifted, each sweetly aware of the other.
But neither the food nor the ambience could compare to the company. Sabrina was sweet and funny and demure,
giggling with a girlish lilt, strong in a way she didn’t seem compelled to constantly demonstrate. Her green eyes flashed prettily, pale shoulder creamy and rolling under her ear, revealed by her elegant bun. He loved those red ringlets dangling down on both sides of her gorgeous face.
“What’re you thinking about?”
Marcus smiled, hell-bent on not revealing it. “Just thinking how… how odd it is that we’re here together, you and I; in a lot of ways, so similar.”
“And in other ways,” Sabrina said, “so different.” She reached out across the table, putting her hand on his. “But… I know we have more in common, Marcus. And… I want to share… as much as we can.” Marcus let a cool silence pass, and Sabrina went on, “About… our pasts, or whatever.”
“Well, I think our future is more important than our pasts. But that’s… it’s hard for either of us to know what the future will bring.”
“No, I understand that, of course, but… I always thought that, maybe, if you take care of the present, the future will take care of itself. Of course, I was a waitress in a cheap diner until today, so… what do I know about taking care of the present?”
Marcus wrapped his hands around hers. “Sabrina, when I saw you in that diner, vaguely distressed, but still proud, rising above, I thought… well, I… I’d never seen a more beautiful woman, that’s all.”
Sabrina pulled a lock of hair back behind her ear, shoulder rising up in a move of flirty defensiveness. “I, um, maybe I’m just pretty to you…”
“No, Sabrina, you’re a… a flower growing in the mud, blossoming beauty in the reeds. And when you turned against that guy at the counter, I could see you were withholding your temper.”
“Well, I was on the job.”
“You’d just killed a man the day before! Then you turn around and tolerate that kind of abuse?” Marcus didn’t need to think about it for a moment more; no more clarity was necessary. “And that dummy had no idea.”
