God of Pain, chapter 2
This title has been inspired by the song King of Pain. It just seemed to fit.
It has been a seriously long day. In between the city being destroyed around me on my day trip to New York, and pulling double shifts at the gallery once I returned, my stress level has been unbelievable. Charlene sent me to New York today, stuffing me on the match-box sized plane around six this morning, just in time for the flaying the city received at about ten this morning at the hands of aliens and the Avengers. Christie's hadn't been much of a shelter against the downpour of aliens, concrete and smoke, but it was better than what most people had.
When I called Charlene (thankfully the cell towers had remained) to inform her of the reign of terror, she brusquely informed me that she was watching on her office HD. "Did you get the Turner sketch?"
Of course my anal boss would care more about the damn J.M.W. Turner sketch than my well-being.
"Well, no. The auction was actually cancelled-" I don't say "For obvious reasons," though it was on the tip of my tongue."-so I'll have to come back next week."
Charlene cursed colourfully. Paying two times the airfare for one auction was a pain in the ass, even I could agree to that. But at the time, by own ass was the only one I had much concern about.
"Am I going to be able to get out tonight?" I asked. I had the gallery credit card, so if need be I could find myself a hotel and order in some room service. But, that was if any hotels were still standing after the alien wrath going on outside of the Christie's safe I was currently tucked into.
"How should I know?" Charlene shrugged (meaning, I could practically hear her shrugging). "They've said the airports are closed for the moment. If not, we'll get you a flight out tomorrow. Or whenever."
"I need to get home. Winchester needs feeding," I reminded her of my iron-coloured cat. "And I have a shift today when I get back."
"Right! Well, they say Vengeance is winning. We'll know soon, Tati."
She kept saying "we'll," as though anyone besides her would be watching the news. Not if she was at the gallery. As curator for the collection, my boss was a real tight ass when it came to focus on work. I highly doubted anyone else was in her office, watching the CNN newsfeed on the disaster that was New York today.
"Avengers," I corrected. She knew that. I mean, it wasn't as though Tony Stark was the gallery's main benefactor. Heck, Pepper had been in just last week to look at our 8th century jade pieces from Beijing that she'd donated two years ago. According to Ms. Potts, they just clashed with Tony's taste in interior décor.
As it turned out, I could go home that evening-most of the damage had been away from the major airports, but just-in-case, most flights were transferred to New Jersey Ports. I was home by five. And by home, I was in the gallery for the six-to-nine shift, then there until about one for the evening gala-our annual benefit for the gallery, in which we smooze with the rich benefactors while enduring formal wear and answer questions about gallery pieces, and leading private tours. Needless to say, neither Tony nor Pepper were present. I usually had the privilege of escorting them through our bright halls, which was genuinely fun. They're entertaining, honestly.
Two in the morning, and I had decided a walk is just what I needed. Winchester could wait another hour or so as I got some fresh air.
So, here I am in the early hours of the day, wandering around outside in my formal. It's a scarlet halter, empire-waisted, and a far cry from the slinky gray thing my best friend Portia suggested when we hit the mall up last week. I'm not a slinky person-I've got meat on my bones, probably more than I need. Fitted is okay on me, but tight is just gross on my figure. I do need some drape.
Weird as it may be to wander the woods behind one's home in a cocktail dress and stilettos, I couldn't resisted. The vault I spend most of the morning in was claustrophobic, horridly small. All I need right now is space and air and trees.
My cottage of a house is tucked away in the more rural part of our sprawling mid-sized city. A forest lines the back of my yard, and my property line extends into the woody depths. There is a walking path- - -there long before I moved in- - -that I often utilize. Such as now.
It's drizzling lightly. Nothing I can't handle in heels, but I still pull them off and carry them slinging from one hand along with my satin-and-sequence clutch. The path is covered in a coat of soft browning needles. I have tough soles, anyways, built up over summers spent at the lake with my parents.
I'm only five minutes into my walk, almost to the clearing at the center of the wood, when it comes.
A soaring sort of noise breaks the night's dull cricket-and-wind routine. I glance back and up, expecting to see…something. But I find only dark. The sound stops abruptly, and is followed by a flash.
It is centered in the clearing ahead. A single flare of brightness in the night. Sort of greenish-white. Sci-fi scary.
Without thinking, I scream. I fly forward toward the clearing, the center of the circle of trees. A gasp waits in the back of my throat as I crash through the treeline, eyes frantic.
By now the light has faded and the rain has picked up. Even so, I can make out a dark sort of lump almost dead center. A distinctly human-sized lump. The gasp surfaces, and I scoop up my skirts to run. Upon reaching the figure, I kneel hurriedly by their side. Instantly, I reach for the neck, my fingers desperate to find a pulse. The skin is cool, inhumanely so. A strong scent of smoke and sweat greet my nostrils. A burn victim? I can't know. I just keep searching for a pulse point.
"Please, please don't be dead…Oh, God, don't be dead. I've already had such a shitty day…don't let there be a dead guy in my backyard…."
Finally, I find one. A steady, faint beat.
"Hello?" I ask frantically. "Can you hear me….hello?"
Nothing.
Fumbling for my clutch, I pull forth my cell phone, tapping the center button for a source of light. The blue-digital screen flares to life, casting a pale glow upon the scene. It's just enough to show me the profile of the fall figure. A man I can only describe as willow, with sharp features and inky hair. His head is slung to the side, long white neck twisted. From what I can see he is uninjured. No blood or bruises. However, I can find one remarkable features- - - his wardrobe selection. It's something straight out of a Renaissance faire-leather and boots and cloak and tunics. All very fantastical.
I try again to rouse him, but no signs of life present themselves. By now it's raining quite hard. I got to my phone, dialing in the three number that might, hopefully, save his life, if it needs saving. Nothing looks to be wrong with him. I mean, his pulse is a little faint, but that might just be the cold. Better safe than sorry.
The line in answered immediately. I tell the person at the other end that I need an ambulance. That I was out for a midnight walk and came across a collapsed man in the woods. No I.D. No other people. He couldn't be woken.
I decidedly don't mention the weird light or the clothes.
The EMTs come within ten minutes. All the while, I sit in the rain, holding the guy's hand. I mean, I'd want the same if I'd been dumped in the woods, and possibly was sick. "All alone…." A hundred thousand questions echo through my head, but I don't reason through anything. It would just make me dizzy. Maybe when this guy wakes he could explain all of this weird crap to me.
Maybe I'm just going made after an exceptionally stressful day and more than a few drinks at the gallery gala?
The EMTs make a few humored remarks in regards to my attire, but they shut up completely upon seeing the guy I'd found. I mean, what could they say? Even I'd just been able to think "what the hell?" And I'm known as the queen of snotty comebacks around the gallery.
Without a question, I'm allowed to ride in the back, sitting next to the guy on the stretcher. The EMTs haven't said whether he's got a concussion or not, only that he's not in good shape and they need to look for internal damage ASAP. So I sit on the stiff metal bench thing-y they've got in the back for such occasions, for the thirty minutes it takes to get to the hospital, clutching this dude's pale hands while I prayed to whatever gods there may be that he makes the ride.
This day has already been shitty enough with me discovering the almost-dead guy in my yard.
-XXX-
I felt like she needed some connection to the Avengers, even a vague one. Thoughts?