[10 Jul 2005|10:22am] Officer Anthony Brown pulled to a stop near the line of cars at the side of the road. This was an old, abandoned mansion. A landmark, actually, that was by itself on this particular stretch of road, and there was really no obvious reason for people to be here. As per procedure, he radioed in what he was doing, his location, and what he saw. He knew that another patrol car would arrive in the next couple of minutes. But he was hardly worried. He recognized the bright green Kia Sportage at the end of the line. As he got out of his own car, he saw a busty redhead gallop down the hill from the mansion, toward the Sportage. Hot on her heels was the young, skinny, blonde kid who always seemed to follow her around like a lost puppy. At least as far as Tony was concerned, he did. He never saw Honoria without Teej. He’d wondered when she and her group would be investigating that old mansion. It was rumoured to be haunted. Had been even back when he was a kid. Of course, no one had ever been able to prove a thing, but that didn’t stop the stories. The old place sat on top of a hill, overlooking the highway, and the only access was an old, crumbling street. So little used was that stretch of road, the city no longer paid to keep it maintained. Once it was paved, but now the asphalt was pot-holed, and weed-shot. It had even reverted back to the ownership of the property, and the current owner who’d inherited it, cared little for keeping it maintained either. It was a dead on one end, and connected to little on the other. Just a bunch of low-income, shabby houses. Thirty years previous though, it was a lovely neighborhood, full of life. Then the old two-lane highway was widened to six, and fenced off. The access to the area was cut off from all but the most round-about route, effectively isolating the neighborhood, and things went to pot. Except for that mansion. Tony had grown up with that old place looming over the neighborhood like a malevolent Lord, casting a hushed feeling of oppression over everyone living within sight of it. It was an unspoken rule that mentioning the mansion was inviting trouble. It was the neighborhood’s own personalized version of “Bloody Mary”. Even the adults, who were beyond such fancy would lower their voices to a near whisper with the subject. And no one ever actually said the name of it out loud. Even when it was used as a private retirement home, an air of death surrounded it. Not a week went by when the funeral home didn’t come for a pick-up. A huge, old Osage Orange tree had grown up by it, and the branches had been cut back long before he was born, but the main part of the tree remained, with a few heavy limbs reaching out like a claw over the old place. When the moon was full, and the sky was clear, it looked, for all the world, like a giant hand reaching out to claw at the roof. Tony kept his curtains and his blinds shut tight for that very reason. It was odd how that tree had never been completely cut down, or how it managed to remain upright even through the stiffest of winds. It looked all but dead. But every spring, there would be little shoots and leaves sprouting from the severed limbs, only to dry up and die off in the heat of the Oklahoma summer. It was an heroic effort to bring life to a place that hated it. Tony’s parents still lived there and did their best to keep the blight and malaise of the area at bay. But even they had to finally give in and bar their doors and windows from the encroaching crime. He’d long ago stopped trying to talk them into selling. Now they wouldn’t get half what the house should be worth. And their retirement wouldn’t pay for a better neighborhood. The mansion was a different story, though. Amazingly enough, even with where it was located, transients rarely broke in. It has set empty for nearly fifteen years, with nary a broken window. Rumour had it that the owner wanted to sell, and get this white elephant off his hands. But no one was buying. Tony had a feeling even burning the place to the ground wouldn’t make it sell. He was an adult. He was supposed to be beyond this kind of camp-fire horror story. He drove past it daily on his beat, and visited his folks every Sunday after church, in the shadow of the mansion. It was just an empty old house that had fallen to disrepair and childhood stories. But as he walked up the line of cars to the Sportage at the end, he shivered from something other than the growing chill of the late afternoon air. He glanced up to see the sun hitting the windows, casting a fiery glow on them that looked like it was from the bowels of Hell. The image was made all the more creepy by the gathering thunder clouds behind the place. And the clawed limbs of the Osage Orange reaching out toward him, didn’t help matters any. post comment

[27 Jun 2005|05:27am] As Cass neared the small, central city park, she could hear the ubiquitous reed flute William Marsh was always playing. The tune was never the same one twice, and Cass was fairly certain he didn’t read music. But it was always hypnotic and soothing. She reached the Victorian-style iron fence and glanced through as she walked down toward the gate. His back was to her, but there was no mistaking who it was. The long sandy hair pulled back in a loose ponytail, the faded jeans, and the flannel shirt would mark him as “just another hippie” to anyone else. The hand-tooled leather bag with the fringe and filled with flutes were his trademark, though. “Memorial Park” the verdigris sign bolted to the fence next to the entrance said. Cass wondered if anyone remembered to whom the memorial was for. She stepped through the gate and blinked. It was always brighter here than in the surrounding area. Even in the dead of winter, with a heavy gray sky. She passed it off as a trick of light; probably due to the light colors of the buildings on three sides and the general arrangement of the park, itself. Even during the summer, when the trees had leafed out, and shaded the majority of the paths, it still seemed brighter. And it always took her by surprise. She sat on the table next to him, and waited as he finished playing. There was no one else in the park this day, but that came as no surprise to Cass. It was in the middle of downtown on a Saturday. Most of the sane people were at home in the suburbs. This place really only saw people when the weather was warm, and during the week. She liked this place best when no one else was around. Will had finished playing, and lowered the flute. Cass stared at him a moment, and he calmly waited. “You’re an asshole, Will.” He chuckled softly. “I’m doing fine. Thank you for asking.” She cocked a brow. “Okay. How are you this fine day, Will? You’re an asshole.” “That’s better,” he said. He put the flute into the hand-tooled leather pouch with several others, and set it aside. “So, tell me Cass. Why do you think I’m an asshole?” She looked around the table, leaning to look behind Will, and lifting the leather bag. She looked back at him and said, “I don’t see your little timer here. Am I being charged for this?” He shook his head, and smiled. “Why did you call a stop to my script, then?” “It’s been awhile since you’ve checked in. I wanted to see how you were doing.” Cass looked down and shook her head. “So why didn’t you just call? Or schedule a session, even?” He looked at her a moment. Cass felt like she was being studied. She didn’t like it, either. “What?” “I can’t see you over the phone, and you’re an expert at being ‘therapied’.” “I thought you said I didn’t need anymore therapy.” Will nodded, and pulled a pack of cigarettes from his shirt pocket. He popped one into his mouth, and offered one to her. She shook her head, and he stuffed the pack back into the pocket. He took his time in lighting it, and took a couple drags. He stared off in the distance, and took his time before he looked back at her. Once more, she got the feeling of being a lab specimen. The look was piercing. She dubbed it his “therapist” face, and she had never gotten used to it. “There’s nothing left to therapy, Cass,” he said, finally. “But that doesn’t mean you don’t need to check in once in awhile.” Cass opened her mouth to repeat that he could have scheduled a session, but he held up his hand. “I wanted you out here, like this, because it’s unfamiliar territory for you. Behavioral Psychology 101. Changing the environment will effect conditioned response.” She cocked a brow at that. “Thanks for comparing me to a lab rat. My self-esteem has improved ever so much now. Can I have my prescription?” “Or, maybe I called you out here, because we’re friends, and I like to just hangout with friends once in awhile.” “That would be Manipulation 101,” Cass said. “Planning a career in politics, Will?” He winced. “Low blow, Dear. Low blow.” “You earned it. Can I have my script, now?” Will chuckled and pulled a slip of paper from his pocket. He held it between two of his fingers, and just out of Cass’s reach. Cass held her hand out, palm up, and waited. She wasn’t about to play a silly little child’s game for her medication. After a long moment, she tired of holding out her hand, gave him a look that could kill, and said, “Give it.” Will hesitated a moment, then handed the slip to her. Cass held it close, embraced it, and looked very relieved. “You’re acting like a junkie about to get a fix, Cass.” “No, I’m acting like someone who has to take her medication, and I don’t like people playing games when it comes to that.” “Really?” Will said. “Your eyes have bags that you could use for a long trip across Europe—“ “So I haven’t been to bed yet. You know I’m a night owl.” “Your hands are shaking like a drunk with the DTs—“ “I’m. Tired.” “You’re pale as death—“ “Hello? Night owl? Remember?” “The antipsychotic meds you’re on, are not chemically addictive.” “Your point?” “My point, is I want to know what happened last night? Why are you acting like a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs after only missing one dose?” Cass felt her face grow hot, and she wondered why it seemed even brighter in the park than usual, all of a sudden. “I—“ she squeaked. She cleared her throat, and tried again. “I didn’t miss a dose.” He smiled a little. “I’m calling bullshit on you. It’s my job to know where you are with your script. I also know you’re downright anal about taking it when you’re supposed to. Up to, and including, getting up in the middle of your night to take that dose at the exact same time each day.” “Which role are you playing now? Therapist, or friend?” “Both. What happened last night?” “Not a goddamn thing.” “Bullshit.” “Nothing happened.” Will closed his eyes and sighed. “I swear, you are the most stubborn—“ He looked at her, and gently grasped her hand laying in her lap. “You have to trust someone, Cass. Someday. I’m not going to have you locked up for one episode.” She pulled her hand away, and looked elsewhere. She started to bounce her leg, and clench her jaw. Tears welled just at the edge, threatening to spill over. It’s hard. I want to. But what if it’s worse than he thinks? “Cass? Was it an hallucination?” She turned to Will again. Gone was his clinical look. He was wearing his “friend” face. And he was worried. She felt like she’d been punched in the chest. It hurt to breathe, and try as she might, she couldn’t stop the tears from falling. And in a babbling, blubbering, nearly incoherent rush, she described the events of the previous night to him. post comment

Chapter Two (fragment) [02 May 2005|07:57am] The incomplete scene is gone. It was going nowhere. So it seemed best to just cut it, for now. Also the first scene has had some small rewrites. No major changes. NOTE: THIS HAS BEEN EDITED FROM THE ORIGINAL POST ****** William Marsh settled himself down in his “sacred place” to meditate. It was a small copse of old Osage Orange and Cottonwood trees near a stream that ran through his property. He kept it mostly as nature had intended it, with the exception of a small firepit, and a good place for him to sit. The energy from this place was good, healing energy, and it helped him with his meditations. It was his morning ritual, to sit here, facing the east, and play his reed flute to welcome the sunrise. He would always bring a pipe and tobacco, as an offering. It grounded him, and helped him focus on the day ahead. Today, he knew he was going to need it. Yesterday, he’d been notified that one of the kids he was working with had lost the battle between dark and light, and took his life. It was just the most recent in a series of blows that threatened to knock him to his knees. Only two weeks before, the kid’s parents had ended the therapy sessions with Will, on the grounds that they were going against their own religious beliefs. On the surface, it didn’t seem so controversial to work on helping the kid accept himself for what he was, or to work on getting the parents to do the same. But they wanted a normal kid. What, exactly, is “normal”? He wondered. Is the kid who wears all black, and writes bad poetry about death any more “abnormal”, than the Yuppie Soccer Mom who drives a brand new SUV, and takes a valium every day just to function? Is either one of them functioning any better than the other in this fucked-up world? He took a long pull off his pipe, and watched the smoke rise into the crisp early morning air. Am I? A light gust of cool air blew a loose strand of sandy hair, and let it come to rest inside the wire frames of Will’s glasses. He smiled as he disentangled the strand caught in the hinge and around the nose-piece. The Spirits had a sense of humour today. He thought fondly of the old Lakota Elder who took him and his mother in, when he was an angry teen. Where would I be now? He wondered. If it hadn’t been for Grandfather? Too similar to me, he thought. Too many things in common between me and that kid. Neither of us fit in with main-stream life. But what makes one take that road to death, while the other gives life a second chance? He spent a restless night with dark, disturbing nightmares that had a flavor to them as something other than a dream. Warnings came to him from both Raven and Coyote, the tricksters, and he wasn’t quite sure what to make of them. He had a nasty suspicion that it was a warning of the fall-out he was going to have to deal with over this mess. He knew that this morning, he was going to take a little walk to see if he could find some answers. He set the still smoldering pipe aside, and went into a meditative state with one last thought, “There, but for the Grace of a God?” Will was settled into his deep breathing, and was floating into the first level of a meditative state, when he caught a sense of something nearby, and it set off an internal alarm. His eyes snapped open. No animal, he knew. He was already tuned into the life around him that belonged there. He looked around, and his senses were fine tuned to pick up the most minute disturbance in the area. And that was when he saw it. His pipe was still smoldering. A thin tendril of smoke rose up from the bowl. In the weak light from the fire, at that distance from it, he shouldn’t have been able to see it, but it had a faint bluish glow about the edges. As it rose, it coalesced into a form that looked remarkably human. He watched the form stretch and reach up, as though trying to grasp something high above its reach. Then the smoke shifted and spread, into the shape of wings. They moved and the form broke off from the tendril of smoke. It flew off, and dissipated. An instant later, he shifted into another environment altogether. His spirit was flying through a city in ruins, being pulled in a specific direction. The city was familiar. It was where he lived and worked. Where he’d grown up, and spent most of his life. He could see the mask the city wore. The face it showed the rest of the people. But what he was seeing clearly, the ruins, was it’s soul Near one old burnt-out building, were all manner of creatures. Dark Ones. They were trying to get into the building, but something was preventing them. No door can stop the Dark Ones if they want at something. So there was something else. His spirit flew through an open, shattered window, and toward a source of light. He found, huddled in a corner, a young woman. Horribly frightened, and quite small. She was curled up in a tight little ball, sobbing, and saying over and over again, “Go away! Go away!” Without really realizing it, she was holding off the Dark Ones, but Will could see she was weakening. She did not know he was there, watching, but he saw that she could sense something. His spirit-self sensed something familiar about her, but he couldn’t see her face. He knew he had been drawn to this place to help her, and saw where she could find a weapon. He shifted some rubble near her, and she started at the sound. When she looked where the rubble had moved, she saw the pale glow of metal. Will sent encouragement toward her, wanting her to pick up the metal object. She cleared the rest of the rubble away, and uncovered the object. It was a short sword. But it wasn’t straight. The top of the blade was heavily serrated, like the spines on the back of a dragon. In fact, the entire sword looked much like a flying dragon, with the head at the pommel, and the wings as the guard. Hesitantly, she grasped it, and it came to life, glowing a comforting blue that spread, and enveloped her. She stood, and revealed herself as much taller than he had estimated, just willowy. Will saw her face then, and knew her. She wielded the sword as if she had long years of practice, and let out a tremendous roar. The Dark Ones scattered. For now. This one is waking, Will realized. She just doesn’t know what power she has. Then he felt himself being yanked back into his corporeal body. The walk was over, and he knew he had to get in contact with her. He was not about to lose another one to the darkness. He didn’t notice the raven gliding overhead as he ran back into the house. 3 comments|post comment

Second Scene with "The Watcher" [29 Apr 2005|08:49pm] The watcher dropped the body of the girl unceremoniously onto the wet ground. Her eyes stared unseeing at the lightening, overcast sky, her face forever frozen in a rictus of terror. The bloodless gash of her mouth mimicked the one across her throat. Her clothes were no longer the color they once were, but red with the blood from the slit at her throat, and the wound in her abdomen. He dropped to his knees between her and a rocky mound covered in red clay and brown, dead weeds. He carefully moved aside the weeds at the base, and manipulated a fist-sized stone out of the entrance of what was once a fox den. He pulled a small clay jar from a pocket of the trench coat. It was unadorned except for a small symbol painted on the side with the same pitch that sealed the lid. He crouched low to reach back as far as he could, unmindful of the water on the ground, and left the jar in the old abandoned den. After closing the hole back up, and putting the weeds back in place, he got to his feet. His concern for the body ended the moment he dropped her to the ground. This was wilderness. Chances of her being found, and identifiable were slim. He looked off to the east, where the sky was getting lighter, and the line of clouds in the distance come to an abrupt end. The sky was a clear blue in the distance, and rapidly moving his direction. Soon the sun, itself would shine brightly on what looked to be a brilliant spring day. The watcher ran in the opposite direction. The terminator between overcast and clear crept closer, threatening to overtake him. He didn’t look back. He could feel it gaining on him. A sheer red cliff-face loomed ahead, bare except for the scrub brush along the base. His arms and legs pumped as he poured all the power he had to charge right at the cliff. The wet clay clinging to the soles of his boots fought against his need to hurry. He slipped but caught himself, pushing off the ground with one hand, and propelling himself forward. The sunlight licked at his heels. Sparks of static electricity jumped from his boots along with the dead grass and bits of mud. As the light crept up his legs, more sparks flew from him, and he was still about 100 feet from safety. Sweat poured off him as he pushed himself to his physical limits. 50 feet away from the cliff. The sun hit his ass. He grimaced and growled. At about 20 feet from the scrub brush, the sun hit his back, and bolts of blue lighting leapt from him, and swirled around him in a vortex. A few more steps. He howled and dove into the scrub just as the sun hit full-on to the cliff-face. He tucked and rolled into the cave, and away from reach of the sunlight. He remained on the cold floor in a tight ball, trembling and groaning softly, as the bolts and sparks of static slowly died down. post comment

Chapter One (cont) [14 Apr 2005|04:02am] Cassandra Chance finished counting the night's cash drawer. The Bohemian Coffee House was clean, empty, and quiet. She lit a clove cigarette, and opened a large envelope addressed to her. The aromatic smoke blended with the warm scents of coffee beans, carrot cake, and the potpourri of herbal medicinals lining the shelf over her desk. She pulled one ‘8X10’ photo of a pretty teenage girl from the envelope. She had straight brown hair, and eyes full of humor. Cass couldn’t help but smile a little. She heard footsteps outside the small office, and looked up. In the dark beyond the office door, a pale face appeared. Luminous gold, cat-slit eyes stood out against the ghostly white face, and black lips. As the disembodied head hovered closer, a pair of pale hands appeared, and rested on the frame. “I thought you had a rave to get to,” Cass said. “I thought you had a vacation to get to.” “My vacation doesn’t officially start until tomorrow, Honoria.” Honoria entered. She was curvy, and busty; a fact emphasized by the satin and lace corset she wore beneath a short, black jacket and long skirt made of the same fabric. And even with the big, clunky boots, she had a certain amount of grace that belied her size. “According to the clock, it’s officially ‘tomorrow’.” She turned a bucket into a makeshift seat, propped her elbows on the desk and smirked. "Why aren't you on your way to somewhere exotic? Like the Greek Isles, lazing in the sun, and ordering drinks from some sexy cabana boy?" "Right. Burst into flames, and become nothing but a pile of ashes. Loads of fun,” Cass said. “And it’s not ‘officially’ tomorrow, until I’ve gone to sleep.” "Okay, okay. So why aren't you exploring the night life in New York, then?" She waved her hands about. "What are you doing -here-?!" "I work here?" Honoria shook her head. "You -own- the place. You shouldn't have to 'work'." Cass snorted. "Your mother owns the place, I just act like I do. And it won't run itself." ”Nice try. It will too, and you know it." "How can you expect me to have a serious conversation with--" She gestured in the general direction of Honoria's face. The younger woman smiled, and took out the contacts, revealing blue eyes. "Thank you. Those things were freaking me out." "Oh, you're no fun!" Honoria said, then stuck out her tongue, showing off a huge, blue barbell sticking out of it. Cass finished stuffing the cash and receipts into the bank bag, then zipped it closed. "Want me to give you a ride to the bank?" Cass shook her head, and pulled on her coat. "I enjoy the walk." "You know, one of these days, that angel that watches over you will blink at the wrong moment. Then 'poof',” Honoria said. She reached across the desk, and turned the picture of the teenaged girl around. “Is this her?” Cass nodded and pulled open a drawer. “So? When are you going to see her?” She rummaged around in the drawer, not looking at Honoria. “Eventually. When I can pull off ‘normal’, better.” Honoria stood, and grasped her arm. “’Normal’ is overrated. There are parents out there who don’t have their shit together as well as you do, and they do alright.” Cass said nothing. Instead she pulled a dagger in a leather sheath from the drawer and shoved it into her boot. Honoria snickered, and shook her head. “Girl, that might save you from some cracked-out street junkie, but it sure won’t protect you from some of the real nasties running around this neighborhood.” Cass cocked a brow. “Can’t fight no-see-ums, Dear.” “So you say. But one of these days, I’ll prove you wrong.” Cass flipped off the light in the office, then the two of them headed to the exit in the dark with an ease of familiarity. “How?” she asked. “You keep telling me this area’s haunted, but I haven’t seen a ghost yet.” They stepped outside in the refreshingly cool night, heavy with moisture. It was like the city couldn’t decide if it wanted to begin waking up for spring, or stay asleep for the rest of the winter. Perfect for a leisurely walk. As Cass pocketed the keys, Honoria gave her a playful tap on the forehead. “That’s because you only see what you want to see.” Cass strolled across the bridge, and into downtown proper. It was after 3am, midweek, so the fashionable section was as quiet and empty as the not-so-fashionable warehouse district, where the only thing that was open after 9pm was the Bohemian. A bridge divided the somewhat ignored section of town, not more than a stone's throw away from the "revitalized" area. On one side, filled with nightclubs and sushi bars that catered to the young professionals, and the wannabe professionals who liked to put on an urbane face on Friday and Saturday nights. The other side; abandoned warehouses, and crumbling tenements. There had been several attempts to bring new life to the warehouse district, but the crowds these temporary businesses tried to cater to wouldn't cross that bridge after dark. No one could quite put a finger on why this was so. Of course, the companies that had once flourished in the warehouses had moved out to the more spacious edges of the city, but the tenements could have been repaired. Investors said it was the cost of fixing them up. Others, like Honoria, claimed a more mystical cause. The whole area was supposedly haunted. The Bohemian was the only thing that seemed to endure. Cass considered it successful, investors just scratched their heads. It wasn’t the demographic they were interested in. The people who have made the coffee house their home. The fringe of society. The true individualists. The children of the night. Cass always enjoyed her walk to the bank's night deposit. It was quiet, and she had never once been threatened amongst the empty behemoths. She was always watched, though. She could feel it. Most often the eyes belonged to a stray cat, or such. Rarely were the watchers human. It started to snow as she crossed back over the bridge toward home and The Bohemian. Big, fluffy flakes, destined to melt before they even hit the ground. She stopped at the apex of the bridge, closed her eyes, and turned her face up to the falling snow. There was a simple, quiet joy in the silence of the night, and the gentle tickle of the flakes as they touched her face. Even the slosh-slosh of the river below seemed muted. Spring was close. She could smell it. Cass was the opposite of most of society, though. She knew she would find herself hibernating more and more as the weather warmed, and the daylight grew stronger. Her curtains would be drawn tight, and the air conditioner would be on high. She hated hot weather and strong sunlight. Long ago, she resigned herself to the fact that her cycle wasn’t like of the majority of the world’s. She never quite came to life until after the sun went down. She tried to live like "normal" people, but it was just impossible. She heard a raspy "wrack-ck" and opened her eyes. On the opposite side of the bridge, watching her with a curious tilt to his head, was an enormous crow. It stared at her and flapped its wings over a bit of roadkill. Her stomach churned when she realized she could see steam rising from the dead body of what might have been a cat. Curiosity took over though, and she leaned back against the concrete railing and just watched him, watch her. He tilted his head again and blinked. Then he fixed her with a steady gaze. Cass felt herself being drawn into those shiny, black eyes, until there was nothing else. Snow whirled around them until there were only a pair of pitch spots in a double vortex of white. Cass felt like she was toppling over the edge of a swirling abyss of absolute chaos. She couldn't breathe, she couldn't feel the bridge beneath her feet, and the chaos came closer, reaching out for her. A blinding light engulfed her. Somewhere in a distant part of her mind, she heard a screech and the blaring of a horn. She snapped out of the grip of the enthralling madness and jumped out of the way of an SUV. As it sped past her, the driver shouted, "Go sleep it off, ya junkie!" When she looked around, the crow was gone. Her heart thumped, and she brushed her bangs out of her face with a shaky hand. Cass made a bee-line toward home. Nothing like this has happened in years, she thought. Did I remember to take my meds today? I’m sure I did. Dammit, why can’t I remember? As she darted past a dark alley, she heard a THUMP, and tried not to look. Just a cat, just a cat, just a cat. Then, the urge impossible to resist, she looked down the alley. She only caught a glimpse of something almost man-sized, hunched over, and hopping unnaturally, before it disappeared into the darkness. Cass ran. Home. Home is safe, she thought. Don’t panic! Get home. She flew up the metal staircase outside the coffee house, and dug for her keys in her coat pocket. The pocket was empty. Panic rose in her chest. She felt in the other pocket, and found them. Her hands shook as she fumbled for the door key. Not real. It was not real. She went through a dozen keys on the ring, not finding the one she needed, passing it over several times. Finally getting a careful grip on the right one, she aimed for the lock. A muffled clank from behind her forced a squeak out of her. She dropped the keys, and spun around. A gust of air escaped her when she realized it was just one of the stray cats that hung around there all the time. The big, battle-scarred yellow tom perched on the railing and watched her through its one good eye. She kept the cat in her sight as she squatted to retrieve her keys, feeling around for them. Not finding them. Cass glanced away from the cat long enough to look down. Her heart stopped. The keys had fallen through the grate, to the ground fifteen feet below. She heard a deep, horrid grar-ar-ar-ar-arw and slowly looked in the direction it came from. Her mouth went dry. The one-eyed tom glared at her and distorted into something grotesque. Cass felt her legs become jelly. Her ass hit the cold metal of the fire escape. The cat’s eye grew and became a burning ember, as the snout elongated, and the fangs began to protrude from its slavering, grinning mouth. Cass scrabbled backwards as she watched its body twist into something spiked and oozing. No longer cat-like. Cass fell back against the door. Panting, trying to scream, but no sound would emerge. She reached up, and felt for the knob on the door. Finding it, she rattled and turned, but the door wouldn’t budge. She pulled herself up by it, and rammed her shoulder into it, hoping she could force it open. There was a small snap as the wooden frame weakened, and a dull clunk from behind her. She glanced back and immediately wished she hadn’t. The demonic nightmare had jumped down onto the balcony and was creeping her way. With strength born from panic, she slammed her shoulder into the door again. The old wood in the frame splintered, the door flew open, and she fell into her apartment. She scrambled, slipped and threw the door closed, just as she heard and felt a heavy THUMP from the other side. She braced herself, and felt two more thumps. Then, for what seemed an eternity… nothing. 4 comments|post comment

Chapter One [14 Apr 2005|03:52am] The building had a heartbeat. Unrelenting, throbbing, vibrating. Alive. The hard-driving industrial beat from the nightclub rattled windows and bones. Young people, laughing a little too loud, started filing out in small groups. The night was beginning to wind down. He crouched low in the ill-lit alleyway across from the nightclub. He pulled the hood of the sweatshirt, and loosened the belt on the long trench coat. His breath came out in frosty puffs, sparkling in the weak light. He cupped his hands over his mouth, partly to warm his hands; but also to hide his breath. An old doorway, long since boarded up and framed on either side by overflowing dumpsters gave the niche he needed, and a narrow view of a brick wall. It was all the area he needed to see. She would show. She always did. In the months that he’d followed and studied the girl, her pattern never varied. Every Saturday night, at closing time, she lured a different person to this exact spot in the alley and had sex with them. It was a different person each time, sometimes male, sometimes female. But always, every time, it was the same. He heard a familiar voice, and slipped deeper into the shadows. The girl came into view, pulling a rather clean-cut, blonde male by the belt. He could hear her cajoling him, and the kid’s nervous response. He couldn’t care less what they were saying. He was listening for others. Witnesses. People exited the club. The music died down, then stopped completely. Cars started and engines revved in the distance. Dwindlers laughed, yelled, and made plans to meet up elsewhere. The bolt to the nightclub’s door clanked home. The city drifted off to sleep. The watcher in the shadows remained still. Waiting patiently. He observed the show across the alley from him with all the emotion of a researcher studying rats in a maze. After the kid climaxed, he stepped back, and pulled off the condom. He casually tossed it aside, then stepped over to one of the dumpsters to urinate. The odor of ammonia mingled with the stench of garbage as steam rose off the rivulet that flowed along the cracked asphalt toward the watcher’s boots. The man remained still. When the kid finished he zipped up, and crossed back to the girl, giving her a playful slap on the ass. A looming shadow peeled itself from the darkness between the dumpsters. In silent, smooth motion, he crossed the alley, grabbed the girl by the throat and slammed her against the wall. The young man, to his credit, took a swing at him, but never connected. He batted the kid like a noisome fly, lifted the girl up higher and slammed her into the wall again. Her feet dangled in the air as she tried to kick at him. She gurgled and clawed at him, scraping the skin around his wrist off with her nails. Drawing blood. He barely noticed. Instead he glared at the clean-cut blonde boy and growled low. “Go.” The kid’s eyes widened, and he crab-crawled back, then he was on his feet, and gone. He waited until the kid was out of sight, then faced the girl. She sneered and clawed at him again, her pretty young face contorted in a venomous rage. Her fingernails slipping on the blood of his shredded wrist. With his free hand, he reached under the trench, at his hip, and pulled out a dagger. He slowly, deliberately held it up, and let the weak light from the street hit the hilt and the top of the six-inch blade. A greenish stone was held to the blade, just beneath the hilt, with thin silver wire, and it sparked with an inner light. The girl stopped fighting and clawing at him. Her eyes went wide and she tried to shake her head. She pushed against his arm and tried to get a foothold. She couldn’t break his grip, and she couldn’t get any leverage with her feet. He flipped the dagger, thrust with an upward motion, and sunk the entire blade into her solar plexus. He knew he’d hit the diaphragm when she hiccupped, choked and spasmed. The girl’s eyes rolled back then she was still. The watcher dropped her to the filthy pavement, and checked her pulse. It was still pounding rapidly. He picked her up, cradling her like an infant, and carried her to the end of the alley. Away from the street and to a waiting car. post comment

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