Part 5
"Battle not with monsters lest you become a monster, and if you gaze into the abyss, the abyss gazes also into you."
-Friedrich W. Nietzsche
Ten Years Later: July 1989, London
"More tea? Or would you like the check now?" The smooth, richly accented voice of the waitress flowed over twenty-year-old Jolie Reeves, mixing and whirling into the foggy, night air like some long-forgotten lyric that had suddenly found its way to the light. A sudden, sharp desire for home and family sprung up inside of her, a deep, consuming longing that blocked the over-flowing pathways of her heart and reached down into the very essence of her soul. But she hadn't been home in a very long time, hadn't seen her family in what seemed like eons, those eons stretching far over the horizon obscuring her view of the past, leaving her only with an indistinct picture that afforded no clue or wish to what she wanted to see.
"Miss? Tea or check?" The voice with the heart-evoking, sensuous undertones reverberated through Jolie's head, sharper now, seemingly demanding penance for some outrageous sin.
"Oh, tea, please?" Jolie usually didn't make a habit of sitting around tedious, self-important, London coffee houses at three in the morning, but tonight she had no passion to return to her tiny, cramped hotel room, for engaging in that activity meant that inevitably she would have to sleep, have to dream of a thousand horrible deeds gone idly wrong with no one to care or even grieve.
Jolie saw things- she saw into the souls of men and women and children, saw their deepest desires, their irrelevant hunger, the unrealized potential that would never be utilized. She saw what people were, what they were meant to be, what they could be, and reserved judgment, for it was not her place to judge. It was her place- her "gift"- to see all that had come and that would come to pass, Jolie had the sight, that rare, immutable gift that left her adrift in a lonesome, devastating world filled with people who neither respected or understood her awe-inspiring talent. Jolie was what some called "psychic".
Yet, even with her powers, she didn't associate with the Nightworld, nor had she any deep desire to. The Nightworld was a place for those who embraced darkness with wide and open arms, ready to receive the cold, insidious ice it offered without remorse or regrets. Jolie had been born to human parents, raised as a human, and therefore, perhaps unreasonably, she was determined to live her life as any normal human should. Jolie didn't- couldn't- realize yet that destiny held an extraordinary fate in store for her, the watcher of all things broken and torn, and that her life would never be ordinary.
But right now, in this space of time, Jolie was quite content to turn off that extraordinary mind of hers and convince herself that normality was right around the corner, along with it was a plain existence, one that included, but was not limited to, a cozy house, a white picket fence, and a dog named 'Spot'.
It's fairly obvious, of course, that it wasn't normality that was around the corner for Jolie, but a new world of uncertainty and lies, a new world that could make her as well as break her, shattering her fragile form without any conscience or grief.
"Your tea, miss. Can I get you anything else?" The exotic thrum of the voice was resplendent to Jolie moving across to her as it did, winding its way from the speaker to Jolie's ready and able ears, fresh for interpretation. It was a voice that told of countless sorrows and joy mingling together in an unlikely partnership, weaving together to form the tapestry of life.
"Thank you." Jolie smiled in appreciation, lifting her small, heart-shaped face up to the waitress's eager, sweet one, taking in every detail of the woman's face, reading every piece of her face, drunk with the wonderment that other people perpetually brought to her. "Thank you very much."
"You're…welcome?" The woman sounded slightly surprised and caught off guard, but being human as she was, she was still able to fathom that Jolie was thanking her for much more than a simple coffee.
Jolie watched the waitress leave, a smile touching her lips. It was fascinating to see into the lives and minds of others- if not always that polite. Jolie's concern for other people's privacy was minimal; it took a back seat to her own voracious curiosity.
"Anyone sitting here?" A young, aristocratic man dressed in a nicely tailored clothes took a seat in the small, plastic chair across from hers and smiled deeply, exposing perfect, white teeth.
"You are now…" Jolie leaned over to him, propping her elbows up on the table and supporting her chin with her small, delicate hands. She tried to read him, but found herself blocked by a mental wall; a tall, unscalable wall that separated his mind from hers. Warning bells went off in her head, each sounding a distinct and distinguished response to the perceived threat.
"Is your name Jolie Reeves?" The noble boy stretched back in the chair, his long, lean frame extending to an almost prone position. He was trying to look at ease and his face, which was gorgeous in a artistic, sculpted way, was relaxed into lovely lines of flawlessness, exuding a cool, calm demeanor.
"How did you know that?" She was pulling away now, caution causing her rose-petal skin to flush of all color, washing her face in white fear. Her eyes went sharp and suspicious, and every muscle in Jolie's body was ready to flee should he make any sudden movements in her direction.
"I've…" He paused momentarily, and leaned his head back to stare at the ceiling as if that would hold the answers he was searching for. He winced slightly, a beautiful wince if Jolie had ever seen one before, and then smiled at her, all charm and sweet surrender. "I've…heard of you."
"What the hell are you talking about? I'm sorry but I…"
"I need your help." He cut her off with hesitation, sitting straight up in the seedy, plastic chair, his eyes riveted to hers. "I need your help."
"What are you talking about?" Jolie relaxed once again, the feelings of threat seeping away with each second those brilliant eyes remained fixed on hers. Instead, a feeling of foreboding chilled her suddenly, cutting into her and ripping out whatever commonness she had previously possessed.
"There are things- situations, I should say- that require your expertise. A friend of mine told me about the girl who 'could see things no one else could'- not even witches." He reached out across the table and laid an elegant, long-fingered hand across hers, every inch of humanly possible anguish reflecting in his eyes. "I need you."
Those simple words said with pure and honest sincerity, undid her heart, wrenching unwanted sympathy from her mind, causing her gold-green eyes to cloud with irremediable indecision. She looked into his face as earnestly as she could, and sighed, her spirit going out to him in every possible way.
"I don't…I can't…" She broke off and shook her head minutely, intimate tears filling her eyes. "I don't even know your name, or what you want me to do. I want to help but…"
"You need some time to think about it. I understand." It made her want to grieve, seeing the bereavement flash across that enchanting face, injuring the intense glory of his features.
"I really want to help…" She trailed off again, feeling like some two-bit actress in a second-rate play. "Please understand…"
"Here's my number." He dropped a piece of paper casually on the table, just missing her teacup by inches. "I'm staying at The Savoy. Contact me if…if you change your mind." He started to walk away, walk forever out of her life into the nameless past where he would be relegated to little more than a simple rarity, out of her reach infinitely, when she called to him, her tranquil voice echoing through the din.
"Wait…I don't know your name?" Jolie made it into a question at the last minute, the corners of her lips quirking up in an irrepressible grin.
He turned ever so slightly; his face amused again, his mouth shaped into that irresistible smile that Jolie was beginning to think she couldn't live without. His eyes danced in merriment, and his face was holding a certain kind of laughter, infectious and exquisite.
"My name's Riley. Riley Lennox."
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