Ahem... Janeille, Renault, Calandra, Leonard, Jeremy, and Taylor are mine, everyone else belongs to their respective owners.
...We now return you to the scheduled story...
It was just another night at Soaked Felt, the local bar come pool hall. The crack of breaks being made and balls falling into pockets blended with the shouts of frustration as well as the rock music blasting from the juke. Janeille squeezed the side button on her watch and peered through the cigarette-produced haze at the illuminated time once more. Seeing that it was nine forty-five, she decided that fashionably late was thirty minutes ago. Why hadn't he showed up yet?
"Come on Ren, what the hell's keeping you?" She took another sip of beer and tried to study the balls on the pool table. She had been blindly lining up shots that would ultimately drag the cue ball into the pocket right behind them, but she was beyond caring anymore. The fact that she kept feeling an impending sense of doom more strongly by the minute might very well be the cause of her horrid playing.
"You need a tutor, babe?" A heavyset man called to her from the table on her right. "I'd be happy to give you a few lessons." His offer seemed alcohol induced and rang with a lurid sexual quality that seared her nerves raw.
She looked over and smiled a smile that she hoped that he would not perceive as coquettish and responded, "No thanks doll, I'm just passin' time waitin' on a friend of mine." The man didn't seem at all taken aback by her answer and began to walk over to her. "Here we go again…" She thought and hoped that the confrontation would not end in violence but she knew it was in vain. His type only understood brutality and sexuality when intoxicated. He stumbled slightly and grabbed a hold of the table for support. "Oh yeah, this one's a prince." She whispered to no one in particular.
He smelled of too much aftershave, sweat, and even more beer simultaneously. Why his buddies hadn't tried to get him home was a mystery to her. Stealing another glance at the table he had come from, she realized that they were as drunk as he was.
"Figures…" She mumbled.
"You say something babe?" Heavyset asked thickly as he tried to straighten himself up a little. His bloodshot brown eyes met Janeille's crystal clear green ones with a lust that turned her stomach.
"No, nothing at all." Janeille said as she tried to put a little distance between them. His six-two, nearly three hundred pound frame loomed over her five-seven, on sixty five one as he edged closer to her.
"Doesn't look like your friend's gonna show up, how about hanging out with me and MY friends for the night?"
"It's not really high on my list of thing to do tonight." She said with a toss of her deep chocolate tresses. "As a matter of fact, it didn't make the list at all."
Heavyset stuck out his chest and scowled menacingly. "You getting' brassy with me chick?" He sneered.
"Well since you seem to be the only one talking to me, yeah, I would say so. Brassy is an interesting word choice by the by." She turned to walk away, but she also prepared to defend herself against whatever Heavyset was about to try. As if on cue, she felt his hand on her right shoulder. Janeille ducked and spun out of his grasp before he could clamp down well enough to hold her in place. As she turned, she brought her elbow around and caught him in the back to knock him off balance. He hit the table with a tiny thud and the balls rolled a short distance in all directions. "Time to get out of here before this gets worse." Janeille thought and headed to the bar to pay her tab.
"I ain't done with you bitch; get back here." Heavyset barked after her as he sluggishly attempted to raise himself.
"Go fuck yourself, asshole!" She spat in retort.
She dropped a twenty in front of Dominick, the bartender-owner and drummed her slender fingers on the bar as she waited for her change.
He handed her back three fives and two ones. "Here he comes, Neille." He warned.
"I know." She sighed. Feeling the gaze of every pair of eyes in the pool hall and hating it, Janeille considered her options. If she was careful, she could just knock him unconscious and call it a night. If she wasn't, she would end up having to explain to the cops why she was wearing Heavyset's blood on her knuckles. Since she didn't feel like there was time to hang out at the local precinct, Janeille decided to go with option one. "Dom, you probably should call an ambulance."
"I'm already on it." He said, phone in hand.
Once more feeling Heavyset close in on her, she whirled around to face him and without thinking cold cocked him with a hard right. His head slammed backward from the force of the blow, and he slumped to the floor in a heap, moving no more. Back at their table, his friends were finding his ill fortune riotous.
"Here," Dominick said calmly and handed her a baggie full of ice. "Sorry that you have to deal with shits like him." She took it gratefully and applied it to her soon to be swollen hand.
"No, I'm sorry Dom. I always seem to have to leave this way." She dropped the change that Dominick had given her into the tip jar on his left. "Think of it as a gratuity for putting up with me and not having my ass hauled out of here in cuffs biweekly."
He shook his head and laughed. The crow's feet that appeared at the corners of his hazel eyes, wrinkling the tiny star tattooed next to the right one, only served to make him look younger than his forty-seven years. "You had better make tracks before the paramedics get here, kitten. I'm not calling the cops, but it isn't guaranteed that they won't." He said as he returned to wiping down the bar. She nodded agreeably and exited the pool hall.
As soon as the night air hit her, the sense of urgency slammed into Janeille again. It whispered savagely to her mind to hurry. Behind the wheel of her SUV, she let her instincts take over and drove off with much tire squealing. As the scenery breezing by her increased in familiarity, she realized that she was heading for Ren's apartment.
"What's going on?" She asked the dash. It offered no response.
Renault Pressgrue looked at the antique grandfather clock before the exposed brick northern wall of his loft apartment. It began to chime the half hour with its somber bell. "Late again, Ren," He chided himself. "Janeille is surely going to go ballistic this time." But he wasn't entirely serious. Janeille Calandra MacLeod did indeed have a vicious temper, but she reined it in as much as she could around friends. He smiled to himself. "Listen to me, going on like some giddy school boy going out with the new girl. That aside, I am truly glad to be counted among those you've chosen as friends, my dear."
He went into the bathroom and studied his reflection in the mirror. He had passed for a twenty-something for nearly three centuries. His steel gray eyes discovered a lock of his dark brown hair had fallen out of place. He opened the drawer and retrieved a small tub hair wax. "Not that I'd refuse her if she wanted to be more than friends." He said as he twisted off the cap. After returning the renegade lock to its spiked position, Renault flicked off the light and went in search of his jacket. He picked it up and was about to slide into it when he heard a forceful knock on the side door.
Frowning at the intrusion, he decided he was late enough already and ignored it as he made his way to the elevator that would take him to the parking garage. A few more knocks ensued as he reached for the button that would summon the apartment's alternate means of exit, then the side door imploded loudly and five nondescript men burst in and trained their weapons on him.
"What the…" He shouted as he turned in the direction of the men. A sixth man now entered slowly behind the first five, bearing a fire axe that he had apparently taken from the wall in the stairwell. He was a bit shorter that Renault's six feet, though not my much, with closely cropped brown hair that was beginning to go noticeably gray and blue eyes that simmered with a hatred that would have had the power to chill Ren's soul if he were a few centuries younger. "He must be the leader of this band of interlopers." Renault decided internally as he watched the man turn the axe over in his hands. He swallowed dryly and silently willed the elevator to hurry its ascent.
"Good evening, Pressgrue. Well perhaps not such a good evening, as it will be your last." His voice gave away his age more readily than his hair did, for although Andrew Taylor was barely out of his thirties, you would mistake him for much older if you were just going on appearance alone.
"Who the hell are you and what business do you have here?" Renault asked heatedly.
Taylor shrugged coolly. "I thought it was obvious. We are here to rid the world of your stain."
"Rid the world of my stain?" Was the man crazy?
"Yes. You and your kind are an abomination before man, a stain on the fabric of humanity, a stain which we will be cleansed of."
His kind…Renault made the connection then. Immortals… these men meant to destroy immortals. Suddenly the axe appeared even more menacing to him, and he backed toward the elevator. He felt no relief as the door pressed into his back and bounced to a stop lightly as it arrived finally. His immediate priority was to try to make it out of this hellacious situation with his head in tact. He regarded the gunmen with a mixture of fear and irritation. Sure he could take a few bullets; and probably get quite far before he 'died' of blood loss, but he knew that Taylor and his men would be on his ass. Maybe they had men waiting on him to get out at the garage. The thought sickened him more and he found himself identifying with a doomed rabbit.
"Well if this is how it's going to end for me, then I at least want to attempt to get out of here." He thought grimly. He turned to throw open the elevator gate and heard the soft phut, phut of silenced weapons milliseconds before he felt the searing pain of bullets piercing flesh, shattering bone, and destroying organ tissue. He slid to the floor fluidly gasping for breath and trying to will his body up again.
Taylor moved over to the 'dying' Renault and peered down at his body. Was he going to be able to do this? He was not a killer. His heart beat at his chest like a caged wild bear and his thoughts ran in all directions. This would be the first immortal to be eliminated since the murder of his mentor, James Horton.
He saw the face of his five-year-old daughter Kayla, her small, perfect teeth gleaming in a smile, her golden curls backlit by the sun. Yes, he would do this for her and for future generations of humanity. Those humans who were born normal... those who would most likely never live past ninety something years, give or take a few. Coming back out of his thoughts, his heart slowed and he met Renault's defiant gaze more calmly. He raised the axe above his head and prepared to bring it down right between the wounded man's chin and shoulders. "Man… ha." He sneered and swung the axe home.
Renault closed his eyes and felt the blade touch his skin momentarily, and then darkness took him forever.
There was a sickening thump as it struck the concrete floor, sending a hard vibration through Taylor's hands, arms, and shoulders. He slid the axe free and dragged it across the floor, switching it from one side to the other as he shook his arms out. He felt surprisingly buoyant now that the task was completed. In fact, he felt like he could keep this up all night if he wanted to. Unfortunately, there were other preparations to make.
"Gentlemen, that's one down and so many hundreds to go. Let's move out." He commented as he wiped the axe clean on a towel from the kitchen. He then followed his team out of the ruined side door. The Hunters were back in the forest. Horton would be proud.
Author's Note: I appreciate the fact that people actually are reading this, however I'd like some reviews too! If you like it, say so...if not, well you can say so too. The flames will keep my toes warm. Thanks, D-N