The girl sat shivering on a bench. She wore a threadbare ankle length coat with splitting seams. The coat had once been a dark blue but had been washed to a near gray over time. Her pale green eyes glittered like broken beer bottles over the collar of the coat. Her face was pale and pinched, her features mostly hidden behind the collar of her coat and her unruly red brown hair. Her hair was thick and curly but shone with oil and hung lank. Her thin bony hands clutched her coat close, the edge of a near colorless skirt and battered boots protruded underneath the coat.
The weather was cold, in the low thirties. The streets were lightly dusted with a sheen of snow, the few pedestrians rushed about their business eager for warm offices and similar refuges. The low hiss of air breaks broke the relative silence of the city. The girl twitched and glanced down the wide five-lane street, nearly deserted. Puffs of her breath escaped the muffling coat collar and steamed into the air.
She narrowed her eyes. Half way down the block from where she sat a garbage truck was parked at an angle. A man dressed warmly in heavy clothes and boots was hauling on a trashcan. The side of the truck was emblazoned with a logo and list of services. She shivered and hunched further into the questionable protection of her coat.
As the truck grew closer and sporadic pedestrian traffic faded into silence and stillness the girl studied the truck. It was green, battered and scraped, the rear was filled with trash that had yet to be compacted, the warmly dressed man seemed to be the only one driving and moving trash cans into position for an automated arm to lift them and dump them into the rear of the truck. The logo on the side read:
Maloney's Refuse Service
We Haul Away
Your Headaches
Below it read another legend:
Maximum weight 6,000 LBS
She stared hard at it and then sat up slightly. She tucked her coat tight and slowly stood up. The truck passed her and turned down a side street.
"Haul away." The girl muttered. She started walking in the opposite direction from the truck's last turn.
"Maximum weight." She murmured and smiled coldly. The desperation and confusion behind her eyes faded away, icy determination curled her lip in a satisfied sneer.
"Maximum Haul Away, Max Haul-Away." She murmured
She passed a newspaper vending machine, the story on the front of the showpiece paper showed a photo of a smiling girl, below it read the caption: Search continues for missing 22-year old secretary Sara Lock. The photo looked like the girl in the too big coat.
Across the street from the girl stood a man. He was on the fire escape of the building opposite her. He wore a warm knee length wool pea coat and a skullcap. Both were black. Her also wore expensive boots and jeans. His hands were tucked into his pockets. He watched her pass below and across from him his dark eyes glittering in the winter sun.
Three months later.
The girl stood over the man. She held a short knife in her right hand, the left hung empty and limp at her side, her grip on the knife was hard enough to whiten her knuckles. The man stared up at her with horror and desperation in his eyes. His mouth was taped securely. He was seated on a steel chair, his chest, hips, and legs trapped in layers of duct tape. His short dark hair was mussed, sweat stood out on his pale face, he wore a dark sweater and jeans, and his feet were clad in socks. The socks were misshapen and dirty, his jeans and sweater were peppered with blood, his nose was swollen and darkly discolored he breathed raggedly through it. His eyes were bloodshot.
She crouched in front of him looking up into his eyes, studying what she saw, or did not see there.
The man groaned and wailed through the tape, he tugged against his bonds, succeeding in doing little more than rocking the chair.
"Why me?" The girl asked in spite of the seemingly self-pitying words her tone was academic, cold, almost calculated. She was dressed in clean non-descript clothes, boots, jeans, and a warm sweater. It was early spring now and still cold enough to require long sleeves and the occasional coat. Her hair was pulled back from her face; her features were cleaner and brighter than before. Less hunted, her cheeks were flushed and her eyes glittered almost feverishly.
The man moaned and shook his head. She sighed and pressed the edge of her razor sharp blade to his cheek.
"I asked you a question. Why me? Why did you decide on me?" Anger crept into her voice as she increased the pressure.
The man's eyes rolled wildly and he strained to avoid the edge of the knife. She smiled and pressed it harder against his flesh, the meat of his face parted effortlessly under the pressure of the blade, as it bit into his face it also cut free the tape on his mouth, freeing it enough to allow him to speak.
"Go ahead and scream no one can hear you." She advised generously. He did, an ululating cry of panicked terror.
"Now, answer the question." She ordered.
"What are you talking about?!" He demanded, unheeded tears spilling out of his eyes and coursing down his cheeks.
"Three months ago. Armstrong Park, about 815 at night." She hissed venomously. A tear slipped into the freely bleeding wound on his face, he winced.
Her features were twisted now eyes narrowed and filled with fire, lips peeled back from her teeth in a grimace of anticipation. She shifted the knife to her opposite hand and ran a finger along the man's bloody jaw line.
"Why me? All I want to know is why me?" She hissed.
"I don't know what you're talking about!" He screamed.
She did some things to him with the knife and left him alone with his screams. He bled slowly, sobbing in fear and pain. As his wounds slowly clotted and his sobs faded away she returned. He didn't see her at first. She stood so still and quiet studying him. The shadows shrouded her in darkness hiding her form and glittering eyes.
She stepped in front of him and pulled a steel chair - the twin of his- in front of him. She sat on it and placed the knife on one knee the handle toward her.
"I understand the rape, I do, I know you're twisted, sick, evil even, you felt compelled, I even understand why you cut me, I do, you were afraid, didn't want to go to jail. But what else did you do?" She asked softly, her tone was almost kindly.
"I've never seen you before!" He shouted angrily. Her gentle tactics allowed his rage to overcome his fear. She sighed and reached into the shadows beyond the man's sight.
There was a rustle of paper and the girl dropped a newspaper at the man's feet. It was the same paper that had been on display.
"Sara Lock." She said stonily pronouncing each syllable very carefully, like a person speaking a foreign language and attempting to use a word, which if spoken incorrectly would be deeply offensive.
"What? Who- no that's impossible!" He stammered and tried once again to leave his chair.
"Isn't it just?" She asked coldly.
"Why did you choose me?" She asked again, patiently.
"You were alone, you were weak, no one paid you any attention, and it was easy!" He stammered in a flood of words hysterical glee leaking through the fear..
"So is this." She snarled and slit his throat. He gurgled, and twitched, his legs beating the floor, hands straining against the tape desperate to reach up, to stop the flood of blood, slowly, his gestures ceased, his eyes glazed. She sat staring at him for a long time. Finally she stood and left, the dead man's blood soaked into the discarded newspaper, obscuring the photo of the shyly smiling girl.
As the girl left the abandoned loading dock a man moved in the shadows near the entrance. It was the same man who had watched her before. His hawkish features narrowed in thought as he watched her walk across the muddy area surrounding the parking lot of the decrepit building and vanish across a set of rusty railroad tracks.
Her shoulders were hunched, her hands shoved into her jeans pockets, she walked blindly, hurriedly, stumbling over the tracks and nearly falling. He cocked his head as he watched her vanish into the spring morning. A speculative expression crossed his features for a split second then his face went blank and neutral.
Once she was gone he gingerly picked his way across the mud and into a small belt of trees. Parked within the trees and hidden from sight was a small agile SUV. He hopped in and drove it up the to rear of the loading dock. He got out and opened the rear hatch. The interior was layered in sheets of thick plastic with a cheap generic blue tarp folded in one corner and a cardboard box with chemicals nearby. He retrieved the tarp and tossed it on top of the chemicals. He carried the gear into the loading dock. He dragged the dead man chair and all on to the tarp and wrapped it securely. He dragged the heavy load out to the SUV and hauled it into the rear. Returning for the chemicals he opened two bottles of bleach and soaked the blood stains. Dropping the empty bottles he opened one more and soaked a perimeter around the obvious stains and splashed nearby upright surfaces. He tossed the third bottle away as well. Satisfied he studied the scene for a moment he registered the blood soaked newspaper and picked it up.
An unreadable expression flickered across his face. He shook his head minutely and opened the last bottle of bleach; he tossed the paper to the floor with a wet glopping noise and emptied the bottle onto it. He discarded the last bottle and ignored the now empty box.
Returning to the SUV he closed and locked the rear hatch after throwing a few blankets over the tarp and hopped into the driver's seat. Closing the door he pulled out his cell phone and hit a single number, dialing a stored number.
"Hey Joe, yeah is Macleod back from Paris? I think I have a project for him. Yes a new immortal, no I don't take on students, you know that. Yes well that may be true but- no. She's… delicate, I think she could use his help more than mine at the moment. I'll see you at the bar. No I'm not just going to tell him, fine, goodbye Joe."
"Bloody stubborn…" He muttered and trailed off. He started the SUV and left the loading dock behind.
It took him most of the rest of the day to dispose of the dead man and insure there was no trace evidence lingering to connect the dead man to the girl or himself. He strolled into Joe's Bar just after dinnertime. He entered and surveyed the crowd languidly. His usual corner at the bar was empty as expected and Joe was behind the counter speaking with a tall broad shouldered man.
"Adam get in here you're letting the heat out!" Joe shouted. Adam smiled thinly and slipped inside. He perched on his usual seat, managing to look boneless and relaxed while remaining securely on the stool. As soon as his butt hit the familiar leather a bottle of beer was at his hand.
"Joe said you caught wind of a new immortal?" The broad shouldered man asked. Adam smiled.
"Yeah Mac, a girl. Not sure what she's doing here. Saw her out in the industrial area, she wasn't armed, looked scared."
"You didn't try to stop her or talk to her?"
"Nope."
"Ass." Mac snapped.
"I followed her and got her address. Want it?" Adam asked sweetly, he was holding a slip of paper between two thin fingers dangling it near Macleod. The younger immortal snatched the paper and studied the address. He shrugged his coat on.
"Careful, she's running scared, you could get bitten." Adam warned.
"She needs help, before she's challenged."
"I know a nice convent." Adam offered. Mac shook his head and headed for the door.
"Let me know how it turns out!" Adam shouted over the noise of the bar. Macleod raised a hand in acknowledgement and left.
"So?" Joe asked.
"So, what?" Adam replied feigning confusion.
"Come on Adam, why did this girl catch your eye? You don't take on students and you keep yourself to yourself."
"Hrmph." Adam said.
"Right." Joe snorted and took back the beer he had set up for the immortal. Adam sighed and scrubbed his face.
"Fine, let's go to the back." He grumbled. Joe held up the beer as bait and led the way to the rear storage area of the bar. In between the shelves of dry goods and the barrels of beer and neatly stacked empty bottles sat a small desk with a computer and three comfortable chairs and a small end table. He set the beer on the end table and took a seat.
Adam retrieved his beer and stared down at the floor in thought.
"Do you remember a few months ago, the local secretary who went missing?"
"Sure, all over the news."
"Yeah well she didn't stay missing, or meek and mild. Someone killed her."
"Damnit, she's the new immortal?" Joe asked. He looked weary and frustrated. Adam nodded finishing his beer. Joe gestured at an open crate near the nook they were cozied up in. Adam helped himself to a second.
"Yeah, she killed the guy who murdered her, she thought he had made her immortal. I guess it made sense in a weird way. He raped her and killed her, surely he made her immortal too right?"
"Jesus." Joe breathed.
"Yeah. I think… He might've broken her too."
"How… did he die?" Joe asked wariness in his voice.
"She tortured him and then cut his throat." Adam sighed.
Joe paled.
"No more than he deserved." Joe argued weakly. Part of him sided with the girl, but anyone who could torture another person was… damaged.
"Sure but to go from mild secretary to someone capable of tracking, capturing, torturing, and killing a strong aggressive male?" Adam shook his head.
"She could be an asset or a goddamned liability."
"So you lead Mac to her."
"Would you prefer I teach her? Look we both know Mac is damn near the perfect immortal, he can teach her to be a good person, I can teach her how to stay alive and keep her head. Which do you think matters more right now?"
"God you're conniving." Joe breathed half amazed. Adam shrugged irritably and sucked down his beer.
"If I'm right Mac saves her and doesn't have to kill her thirty years from now."
"If you're wrong?"
"One of us kills her before the end of the year." Adam growled.