Chapter 1
Epilogue
Shadow
Tony couldn't get up, he reached for the handle of his car but the sharp pain in his side made him quickly fall back to the ground. He knew what was coming next, he had heard one of them say, "finish him, finish him!'' He saw the young assailant's hand shaking as he stepped closer and pointed the gun down at his chest. Tony chose not to look, something else had caught his eye. Tony looked up just in time to see the last light of the moon slip behind the earth's shadow, he knew she would be watching too.
The buildings were now bathed in blackness as the sound of the shot echoed through empty streets. Tony didn't feel the bullet rip into him, nor did he hear the rapidly fading footsteps of his attackers. The intense pounding of his heart and the immediate tightening in his chest was all he felt. His breathing quickly grew faster and more labored and Tony knew why, his lung, his chest, and his throat were slowly filling with blood. His nose had already started a slow bleed and a slight cough was the only way to clear his throat. His gaze stayed fixated on the moon or at least what the shadow allowed him to see of it. The moon, that same moon he was working so hard to reach and the same moon that was to be a part of a very special night.
It had only been minutes since the first attack, but to Tony it seemed that he was lying on damp cement for an eternity. His own attempt at applying pressure to his wound was failing miserably and as his breathing slowed his thoughts began to race. His life began to filter through his mind but not all of it, just the last couple of years, just since he found that bottle on the beach. That was when his life really began and he knew it. As he fought to stay awake, he wondered why he had denied it for so long, and why he waited to this very night to let her her know?
He had promised to be home in time and he knew that by now she would have begun to worry. He wondered where she was, but he knew she would come, she could sense when he needed her. Tony couldn't recall an injury or even a simple cold that she did not do her very best to prevent. He knew it gave him a very false sense of security, the kind that lets you go into a dark street late at night.
As he felt himself drifting toward unconsciousness, his hands fell to his sides and panic appeared on his very pale face. He realized that with each labored breath and with each slowing beat of his heart, that link, that very special connection between them was draining onto the sidewalk, its what made the cement damp. She's not coming he thought, she doesn't know.