bar.
“What can I get you?” he asks.
I note he's pouring himself bourbon.
“Whatever you're having's fine.”
He comes back, handing me a glass, sitting in the chair next to mine and staring moodily into the flames in the hearth.
The silence is uncomfortable. I'm getting nervous.
“ I want to know everything.”
Snapping my attention back to him, I numbly hold my glass, “Excuse me?”
“Every detail. How did my mother end up dead? With you as the only witness?”
It sounds like he's accusing me of murdering his mother.
“We were packing books away at the end of our shift. I was on the other side of the reference library when I heard her scream. I swear, I dropped the books I was holding, and ran. She had the ladder out. It can't come away from the wall, it runs along the shelves. She must have been packing books away up at the top, and lost her footing. I called the hospital, next door. They sent two medics over immediately. It couldn't have been longer than two minutes. But she'd snapped her neck, she was already dead.”
Telling him, reliving it in my head, I can't stop the tears. Looking down, I dab at my eyes with the scrunched up tissue.
He reaches his hand over, running it up my skirt, lifting it higher on my thigh.
“ It's okay. I'm not accusing you. I need to know the details to wrap up the legal side.”
I stare at the hand, willing it to move.
“Sarah?”
Lifting my focus, I look at him again. Flinching when he looks different, a long slender tongue lashing out, like a depiction of a medieval gargoyle.
“What is it?”
Blinking, my heart pounding, he looks meek and normal again.
I think I'm overtired. Pressing my sore eyes with cold fingertips, I release a sigh.
“ Sarah?”
Swallowing, I stare at him, “What?”
“Are you okay?”
“ Not particularly. I'd like to go home.”
He nods, setting his glass down and standing. Wandering to the fireplace, he turns and faces me, hands in his pockets.
“You can see it, can't you?”
My stomach twists with instant anxiety.
“See what?”
“ Who I really am.”
A douche with an overinflated ego? Oh yeah, clear as day.
“What do you mean?” I say instead.
“ You've reacted to me countless times over the last hour, but you're doubting what your eyes are showing you.”
Now I'm getting scared. How does he know?
“What do you mean?” I say again, like an idiot.
“ You keep seeing this.”
And in an instant, he's standing in front of the fire, a foot taller, as bulky and strong as Dustin, opening wings wide, which span to each side of the room. His face is completely different.
A cruel smile twists it when he laughs.
Chapter 8
Diving off my chair, I'm sprinting for the front door.
Sharp, angular, 'things', hook my arms, yanking me back. Dragging me over the floor, depositing me at his feet.
It was the wings. He folds them, somehow diminishing their size. I can't hear, my blood's pumping so loud. His eyes are graphite. Glittering a strange light in them, like stars.
“Don't run from me. Don't you ever run from me again.”
I have overwhelming fear coursing wild through me, making me shiver; trembling, clattering my teeth.
He steps over me, going back to his chair, sitting down with two sharp triangles showing behind either shoulder now. They're like gargoyle wings. Bat wings. His shirt and tie are gone. How did he even do that?
God, please hear me. Save me from this madman. This... creature.
“Please, sit down.”
“ No!”
Scrambling to my feet, darting my focus, looking for an exit, an escape –
“I have warned you, Sarah. If you run again, I will show you no mercy.”
Swallowing hard, I think I need to pee – or vomit – or faint.
“ Sit down! ”
My legs buckle anyway, and I sit heavily in front of the hearth. Staring at him, with black hair now, almost black eyes, his skin tone has deepened several shades, his voice deeper; threatening, booming. No wonder he wasn't afraid of
“What can I get you?” he asks.
I note he's pouring himself bourbon.
“Whatever you're having's fine.”
He comes back, handing me a glass, sitting in the chair next to mine and staring moodily into the flames in the hearth.
The silence is uncomfortable. I'm getting nervous.
“ I want to know everything.”
Snapping my attention back to him, I numbly hold my glass, “Excuse me?”
“Every detail. How did my mother end up dead? With you as the only witness?”
It sounds like he's accusing me of murdering his mother.
“We were packing books away at the end of our shift. I was on the other side of the reference library when I heard her scream. I swear, I dropped the books I was holding, and ran. She had the ladder out. It can't come away from the wall, it runs along the shelves. She must have been packing books away up at the top, and lost her footing. I called the hospital, next door. They sent two medics over immediately. It couldn't have been longer than two minutes. But she'd snapped her neck, she was already dead.”
Telling him, reliving it in my head, I can't stop the tears. Looking down, I dab at my eyes with the scrunched up tissue.
He reaches his hand over, running it up my skirt, lifting it higher on my thigh.
“ It's okay. I'm not accusing you. I need to know the details to wrap up the legal side.”
I stare at the hand, willing it to move.
“Sarah?”
Lifting my focus, I look at him again. Flinching when he looks different, a long slender tongue lashing out, like a depiction of a medieval gargoyle.
“What is it?”
Blinking, my heart pounding, he looks meek and normal again.
I think I'm overtired. Pressing my sore eyes with cold fingertips, I release a sigh.
“ Sarah?”
Swallowing, I stare at him, “What?”
“Are you okay?”
“ Not particularly. I'd like to go home.”
He nods, setting his glass down and standing. Wandering to the fireplace, he turns and faces me, hands in his pockets.
“You can see it, can't you?”
My stomach twists with instant anxiety.
“See what?”
“ Who I really am.”
A douche with an overinflated ego? Oh yeah, clear as day.
“What do you mean?” I say instead.
“ You've reacted to me countless times over the last hour, but you're doubting what your eyes are showing you.”
Now I'm getting scared. How does he know?
“What do you mean?” I say again, like an idiot.
“ You keep seeing this.”
And in an instant, he's standing in front of the fire, a foot taller, as bulky and strong as Dustin, opening wings wide, which span to each side of the room. His face is completely different.
A cruel smile twists it when he laughs.
Chapter 8
Diving off my chair, I'm sprinting for the front door.
Sharp, angular, 'things', hook my arms, yanking me back. Dragging me over the floor, depositing me at his feet.
It was the wings. He folds them, somehow diminishing their size. I can't hear, my blood's pumping so loud. His eyes are graphite. Glittering a strange light in them, like stars.
“Don't run from me. Don't you ever run from me again.”
I have overwhelming fear coursing wild through me, making me shiver; trembling, clattering my teeth.
He steps over me, going back to his chair, sitting down with two sharp triangles showing behind either shoulder now. They're like gargoyle wings. Bat wings. His shirt and tie are gone. How did he even do that?
God, please hear me. Save me from this madman. This... creature.
“Please, sit down.”
“ No!”
Scrambling to my feet, darting my focus, looking for an exit, an escape –
“I have warned you, Sarah. If you run again, I will show you no mercy.”
Swallowing hard, I think I need to pee – or vomit – or faint.
“ Sit down! ”
My legs buckle anyway, and I sit heavily in front of the hearth. Staring at him, with black hair now, almost black eyes, his skin tone has deepened several shades, his voice deeper; threatening, booming. No wonder he wasn't afraid of
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