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Chapter Five

By ~ Mistico Lobo

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"So what time can I pick you up, man?" he asked. He had been looking forward to this occasion for some time and both had been planning it for over a few weeks. During those weeks, he had had many offers to go to the movies, visit friends, and even an invitation to some ball that was going on. Whatever. And now it was a time to get away from all the hell that had happened in the last few days. However, what he heard next over the thin, unseen line that connected his phone to the next would change those feelings.

"I can't make it." He was stunned. He could feel the blood that ran through his veins stop and those four simple, most used words rang through his head like how a bell echoed when struck by a metal rod.

At first he didn't know what to say. Anger flared within; replacing the frozen blood to the thick, fiery kind. He gripped his cell phone in his large hand. "What do ya mean ya can't make it?"

"See, Uncle Max just got in today from the airport. I hafta spend some time with him, man. Ya know I haven't seen him in some time, and he's comin' on in his years…" His anger intensified. Uncle Max? The same Uncle Max that this guy had hated for years? The same Uncle Max that wasn't even his uncle, but a friend of his late father's? He felt hurt collide with the fury that raged in him.

"Ok. Catch ya later." He hung up. He didn't even want to hear his pathetic excuses. He knew damn well why he didn't want to go that night. It was because of his hatred for Michael. He probably had figured out whom he liked better and decided that he would stick with Michael instead of him. Fine then. He didn't give a rat's ass. If that was the way he wanted it, who was he to stop him? He'd never had a true friend before, so what made him think that he was starting now?

He tossed the phone on the large chair and sat at the edge of the bed. Picking up the remote, he just looked at it blankly. If he didn't care, then why did it hurt so much? Why were there goose bumps poking from his skin and shivers running over him, if the heater was on? Why was he just sitting there, when he should be getting ready for the game? He knew why. It was because he was sad; depressed from the realization that his friend was pissed at him for something he had no control over. And now he was going to lose that friend and all he could do was watch.

He had tried to ignore Michael's hidden harassment and smirks. He had even tried to be civil with him, but each time something would try to snap itself loose inside of him; trying to get his hands around his neck and squeeze every breath in him. But each time he would stop, and all because of Mathew.

Stripping to his boxers, Rock turned off his lights and slid under the covers. It was ridiculously early, even for him, but he had nothing to do that night. Not any more at least. Tomorrow, though, he would get up and lose himself in his work, not caring about anything else. After all, nothing mattered. Most were the same in some way. Some had similar laughs and the same shape of eyes. Everyone, however, had one thing in common, and that was the same conceiving, backstabbing, hurtful attitude. And everyone was just whom he had to face tomorrow.

Window-shopping was something that she had always enjoyed to do. She could never afford to purchase any of the jewelry her eyes passed over nor the clothes she would try on. It was all fun and games for her as she would imagine to be some exotic princess or a wealthy duchess from England.

She was there now, in one of the most expensive stores in San Francisco. She had all ready seen landmarks such as the famous bridge and Lombard Street, Fisherman's Warf, and the piers. Now she was walking by Macy's, gawking at the beautifully cut diamonds and rubies. Not particularly watching where she was walking, she failed to notice the man next to her. That was, until she bumped right into him. Cursing mentally to herself on her klutziness, she was quick to make an apology. Not a word escaped her dry lips when she saw the same man in the garage.

His mouth curled in a sinister smile as his lack eyes bore into her. "Hello." His voice was scratchy and deep. Hannibal could easily be his sibling. Not waiting for her to respond, he moved so close to her that she could smell a faint scent of lavender. "I'm sure you will have many questions, but this I will only answer. You, Jessie, are the crystal. The crystal is coveted by the master but owned by the fighter. The sphinx makes the riddles, which the master and the fighter must solve correctly. Should it be the fighter who falls, the resurrection will fail and die."

He turned around with his cloak billowing behind as he quickly strolled into an alley. She stood there, stunned and confused by his words. When he turned a corner, something clicked within her and she took after him. "Wait!" She chased after him, only getting glimpses of his cloak, as he would turn corners. She hurried faster, running deeper into the city. "Wait!"

He led her to a dead end. Panting from her sprinting, she looked around to see where he could have gone. Nothing. The only thing in front of her was a fifteen-foot brick wall in front of her, and no one, especially a man like he was, could have climbed it so quickly without the aid of a ladder or box. It was as if he had disappeared. Settling with that he had had probably gone to the right instead of left, she made her way back out, trying to figure out where she was.

As she turned a corner, she was aghast to find that the most wretched creature was heading right towards her. Keeping her cool, she walked up to him, frowning. As she was about to question him, he stopped in front of her, a deep scowl on his face. His shades were held firmly in place by the bridge of his nose as he peered down at her. She felt slightly intimidated from the lack of seeing his eyes, but squared her shoulders to show that she wasn't afraid. "And what in the blue hell would a photographer be doing in the middle of a non-photograph zone?"

Rolling her eyes, she folded her arms. "A photographer can take pictures anywhere at anytime."

"And as anyone would know in any major city, hobos don't like their pictures taken." Unable to help herself at the mention of photography, Jessie grinned.

"And you know this because...?"

"The Rock knows more then just wrestling."

"And photography's one of them?" she smirked.

He would have made a smart-ass remark if a strange, but familiar, whisper didn't float in the air. It was in a language that he should have known but did not understand. Looking around, he tried to find the source of the deep, scratchy voice which caused him to be oblivious of his acquaintance's own searching.

However, she noticed his. She instantly recognized the voice as the man whom called himself Sphinx. She also saw Rock's deep frown from anger. She was perplexed to discover this as she began to question her own sanity. Maybe this Sphinx guy was just some crazy old man? Just some homeless loony? But he had sounded so sure and didn't choke over his words like some nutty guy would.

As if sensing her stare, Rock looked down at her, still frowning. Maybe he was going insane? "What?"

"Did you see him too?"

A cold shiver ran over his spine as he remembered the cloak guy with the messed up face. "Too?"

Her eyes widened in surprise as she pointed an accusing finger at him. "You did! Did he give you a creepy story and a name? What were you? Boulder?" He frowned.

"As a matter of fact, he did rattle off some trash about Egypt or something."

"Sphinx?"

At his odd look, she knew it was true, and that he, too, had been a victim in some child's play. "He called me the crystal."

"The fighter. What kind of a crazy, fucked-up name is that? 'The fighter.' The Rock's trembling from fear." She rolled her eyes at his sarcasm. "He was just some freak on the streets."

"Then why were you following him?" Again, she folded her arms as he scowled at her.

"That is not your business. Now, the Rock has to go get ready for a match." He spun around on his heel and began to stroll off, the scowl still on his face. He groaned inwardly when she followed him.

"Look, I think-"

"You can think?"

"-that maybe this guy, Sphinx, was telling the truth. About...something. I don't know what yet, but I'm going to find out. I don't think that he would just come up to complete strangers who just happen to know each other and rattle of the same thing that makes some sort of connection. Maybe we should go look for him and go find out some answers, don't you think?" She looked up at him with some sort of excitement. She had forgotten about his wrestling and, for a moment, thought that she would be able to be in some sort of adventure for the first time in her life.

"The only thing that the Rock thinks is that you should go run along and play with your little dollies and tell them about your exhilarating day. The guy was playing with our heads, something that all hobos do. If you had any brains in your head at all, you'd know that."

For once, she didn't take the insults seriously but glared at him nonetheless, folding her arms again. "So you're telling me that you think it was just coincidence that he picked us out of everyone on the street? What made you go out in public anyway? I thought that you superstar people stayed in doors."

"Please don't tell me that you're one of those mystic, fate-believers?"

She was silent for a moment, trying to figure out what she believed. She had never believed in fate before, but for some reason, even though it was a simple line, she began to question herself. "Yeah, I guess I am now."

"You're just as crazy as that old man. He told you some crap and you believed him that you're this jewel or crystal or whatever. I'm no 'fighter' and you're no 'crystal.' You're just like every other chick on the street and there's nothing you can do about it. You know what? Just go ahead and believe him. I don't care what you do. Just don't drag me along."