Incarnate

It was early November, and the night crept quickly upon Las Vegas. The temperature fell with the sun, and the winds blowing in from the Mojave cut through my old, pilling sweater as I dragged myself closer to the Pub. My lungs were sharp from the cold, and weak from Marlboro Reds, so by the time I was in front of my workplace, I was panting and a split second from keeling over.

Fire’s Pub was a small, locally owned business on the outskirts of Las Vegas. It wasn’t flashy like most of the clubs around the city, but it was clean, well managed, and the menu was outstanding. The building was painted a matte black, and the front was adorned by an expansive mahogany porch, with golden lights twirling around the rafters, spinning down the banisters, and pouring golden light across the meticulously landscaped sidewalk below. I stepped thankfully into the pool of amber at the base of the steps, and allowed myself to catch my breath. I could hear a guitar riff of old bluesy rock and roll seeping out from the building’s interior.

“Still no car, kiddo?” Tommy called from the outdoor mini-bar, as he did every night.

“Still no car, Tommy.” I answered, breathlessly.

Tommy manned the mini-bar, no matter the weather. In the summer months, when patrons enjoyed drinking on the porch, he was typically more useful, but during the cold seasons he mostly leaned back in his chair, and cleaned his shotgun. In my time as a waitress at Fire’s Pub, he’d never used “Rosie” as he liked to call her, but in the midst of drunken brawls, I’m sure a few patrons thought twice at the sight of the double barrel Smith and Wesson. Tommy was a Vietnam veteran who was well into his 80s, but he was spry, and he did what he could to keep the outside of the bar looking nice. After he’d had a beer or two, he qualified as entertainment, because he would spin exaggerated tales of his days in Vietnam.

Jason, the owner and manager of Fire’s Pub, more than likely kept Tommy around because he considered his few staff members to be family. Which, mercifully, is probably why I still had a job as well. As a single, low-income waitress in Las Vegas, I was struggling to pay the rent for my shabby studio apartment, and I could much less afford to buy a car. From Monday through Thursday, I walked the two miles to work, and on occasion I let Fryboy drive me home to boost his ego. As a result, my calves looked great, but my attendance did not. I was late for work more often than I wasn’t. However, Jason had kindly overlooked my faults for the past few months that I had been working in his establishment.

The inside of the Pub had a warm ambience, with raw, red cedar floors, lowlights, and sultry guitar weaving melodically through the air. The long ‘L’ shaped bar set the shape for the floor plan. Directly to the left of the entrance was an entertainment area with four pool tables, a game of darts, and two vintage arcade machines with Galactica and Pacman. In front of me, was the main seating area with black leather booths against the right wall and two tall drinking tables, in the center. Against the back wall was a nook that led to the bathrooms, and a water fountain in case patrons drank themselves into dehydration.

Jason was washing the taller drinking tables, with a soft white cloth, which is something he did often. The tables were his pride and joy, because he’d had them commissioned for the bar, along with the chairs that were conscientiously pushed in around them. The set was painted black, and the center of the table had a shiny Fire’s Pub logo in the center which consisted of a bright orange, two-pronged flame, with a fat yellow crescent in its belly.

“There’s my waitress.” Jason dropped a wink in my direction and I saluted him, before ducking into the kitchen to place my things in my locker.

I carried most of my belongings around in my backpack, which was a sturdy black number made out of tough nylon and double stitched shoulder straps. It had cost my grocery savings, plus some, and I’d had to eat ramen noodle cups for a week. Though I vowed I would never eat ramen again, it had been worth the stomach pains.

Inside of the jam-packed, industrial steel kitchen, the air smelled like cajun spices and my stomach growled appreciatively. Fryboy was in his element - dropping and hitching the deep fryers from the grease, with his hat turned backwards as he wiped the sweat from his forehead with his elbow. He still managed to turn a crooked, chipped tooth grin in my direction. “Late again, huh?”

“By default.” I sighed, but smiled in return. Fryboy had been born and raised in the kitchen of his mother’s cajun restaurant in the depths of Louisiana. He reminded me of honey; sweet, but a little dense. Regardless, he always had a positive attitude and a tune to whistle, not to mention, he always knew how to put a smile on my face.

“You know I’m always willing to give you a ride, sweetheart.”

“Then how would I get my morning exercise?” I asked, coyly, as I proceeded to the lockers.

The truth was, I wouldn’t mind getting a ride from Fryboy, and some days, when I was keeling over with exhaustion, I gave in. Yet, I always had to remind myself that I couldn’t get overwhelmingly attached to other people. It was difficult when it came to Tommy, Jason and Fryboy, because they had already made their own attachments to me, but I remained as aloof as possible. All of our lives depended on it.

With that thought, my heart stuttered and began to hammer double time. It was time for my medicine. I dropped my backpack to the floor, and removed my sweater; replacing it with the apron in my locker. The apron was decorated with a Fire’s Pub logo on the breast pocket, that was large enough to hold pens, and it also functioned well with three large pockets at the waist, for my notebook and change.

I dropped to one knee, and scrounged for my Zoloft and water bottle. I didn’t like for people to see my prescription, because if anyone knew what Zoloft was typically used for, it could have raised questions that I wasn’t prepared to answer. I had been suffering from PTSD for years, and lately my symptoms had worsened. It was understandable. Although my situation had been less than admirable before I’d ventured out on my own, I had been surrounded by a safety net. Now I was free falling in a state of panic, and my protectors had turned into potential enemies. Nightmares kept me up at night, and hypervigilance kept me on edge during the day. Lately though, I felt borderline paranoid.. terrified that someone was watching me.

Daniel

The cells under Daniel’s skin vibrated as if his blood were carbonated, and heat pulsed along the left side of his body. He had the faintest impression of her moving around the building across the street. He could sense her exhaustion, and it crept over him like a blanket. It had been decades since he had felt her presence lingering at the edge of his mind, and the powers of the Praestes were so strong they were nearly debilitating - as they had been when he had been awarded them centuries ago.

His migraine was blinding; he felt like his head would split at any second and the pain was nauseating. He couldn’t differentiate between her emotions and his own, and he was drawn to her like an addict with a needle. It took every ounce of effort to remain in the recon vehicle, rather than stalk her down and drag her back to the compound where she belonged. A sigh escaped him as he tugged his hood over his eyes and swore to every divine being that he would never return to Las Vegas. The city lights were so bright that they violated the sanctity of the night and turned the darkening sky a dull orange.

“Helpful, aren’t you?” Umi inquired from the driver’s seat. She was perched daintily behind the steering wheel of the black BMW, her slender arm resting on the window sill and her chin leaning into her palm.

Daniel managed a smirk. “I can work a stakeout with my eyes closed.”

“Whatever you say, Rambo. When do you want to converge on the target?” Umi’s tone was lingering on boredom.

Daniel winced at her choice of words. The term target seemed so impersonal; not that Umi left room in her vocality for leniency. She was always factual, and straight to the point

“We can just call her by her name, Umi.” He reminded her, softly. “We know her.”

“Not anymore.” Umi returned, her tone gentle but bleak. Umi had come across immortality in an unfortunate way; one that had left it difficult for her to feel emotion. Daniel had accepted her brutal honesty, knowing that she couldn’t help her oftentimes cold exterior, but damn- that remark cut deep.

Exodus

Hours passed, while regulars drifted in and out and I took to my daily routines. I swept the floors, washed the booths, scraped away gum, and checked for quarters in the game machines. I cleaned the women’s restroom, restocked the toilet paper and soap dispenser, and logged my supply use in the inventory records. On Monday nights I would help Jason look through the records so we could order utilities and stock the kitchen.

Several customers came in for dinner, and left large tips. I didn’t mind splitting my tips with the boys, because Jason had chosen to pay us full wages due to his small staff - not to mention, as head bartender, he still split his tips with the rest of his employees. It was a comfortable job environment, but I always made sure to stay busy. If I had done everything there was to do, I just started over and did it again. I liked to make myself useful for Jason, because he had given me the benefit of the doubt, hundreds of times, and I didn’t want him to regret that decision.

On weekdays, by midnight, we rarely had a customer- save for the alcoholics and those nursing a bad day. I typically cleaned around them, and after they’d had their limit I liked to call them a cab. Sometimes, Jason snuck them a small tray of fries; something greasy to cut through the liquor in their stomach.

Tonight, the pub was devoid of any customers, but Jason was all smiles, because the local firefighters had come in, earlier, to celebrate their chief’s birthday, and none of those men had been lightweights. Not only had he made good money, but Fryboy’s cooking had gained several long-term customers from the crowd.

“You guys did great tonight,” Jason spoke warmly from behind the bar, as he calculated the night’s revenue.

“I always do.” Fryboy mocked offense from the kitchen, and I cracked a smile.

Jason pulled out four shot glasses from behind the counter, and willed me towards him with a casual jerk of his chin. “Do you want to help me pick this month’s specialty craft beer?”

“Drinking on the job in this fine establishment?”

“Alcohol makes my world go ’round.” Jason snorted, as he placed two different bottles of beer on to the bar. “Just don’t tell ABC.”

He poured each beer into two shot glasses, and then divided them so we could both have a taste of each.

“The trick to this is to sip it - hold it in your mouth and taste all of the blended flavors.” Jason sipped from his first shot glass, as if to demonstrate. A sly smile appeared at the corner of his lips, “Don’t let me catch you sipping from a shot glass after this, we have to keep up appearances.”

I rolled my eyes, as I tasted the first beer. It was a fruity concoction with an aftertaste of coconut, which wasn’t something I was passionate about. I swished it around my mouth, and winked at Jason to show him that I was taking the taste test very seriously. However, the winner was distinctive as soon as I sipped the second. It warmed my throat as it slid down with the flavor of creamy vanilla, and a gentle hint of oranges. I groaned appreciatively, “This one, for sure.”

“I think so too,” Jason said, happily. “The name of this one is Sunshine.”

“A well-deserved name.” I tilted the rest back, so I could enjoy every last drop.

“Have another bottle.” Jason slid one towards me, before gathering up the shot glasses to take into the kitchen. I eyed the bottle, trying to decide whether or not I would drink it now or take it home to finish later - but life decided for me.

The front door of the pub swung open and the men that entered made my heart freeze in my chest. They were dressed in thick blue-jeans, and leather. The first man to walk in was broad-chested, with long lanky hair and he was flanked by two others who were pockmarked and gruesomely thin. I stared at them, unable to speak. How had they found me?

“Are ya’ stupid, girl?” The leading man growled. He swiped a pair of black sunglasses from his face, and his piercing black eyes nailed me to the bar. “Are you going to seat us, or what?”

I floundered for a split second before realizing that they didn’t know who I was. I swallowed hard, and reminded myself that not all bikers were connected to my situation. Not all of them had a bounty on my head. “Excuse me,” I plastered a smile onto my face and motioned to a booth. “How can I help you boys, tonight?”

The two, skeleton thin men scurried into one side of the booth, while the larger man took up his own seat. I stood away from them, watching their behavior closely, until they settled in. Quickly, I passed out menus and withdrew my notepad from my apron. “Can I start you out with something to drink?”

“I’d sure like to have a taste of you.” The larger man swiveled his head around to look me, up and down, his beady black eyes lingering on my chest for longer than I would’ve liked. His two cronies burst into maniacal laughter, before one of them began picking at a scab on his arm and the other cracked his jaw. Crackheads. I fought the urge to scowl- instead I kept that stupid fake smile on my face, and posed expectantly, to write on my notepad.

“I want three shots of Jim Beam, and two pitchers of Miller Lite.” The man grunted.

I scribbled his order on the paper in front of me, even though with an empty house and such a small order, I couldn’t have forgotten it.

By now, Jason had returned to the bar and when I turned around he was watching the situation with a crease between his eyebrows, and his hands planted firmly on the bar. I brought him the order, and he scanned it once. “Can I get you gentleman anything to eat?” He asked casually, clearly trying to uplift the sour mood that had wafted in with the three men.

The lead man sneered, and his eyes met mine, before he dropped a vile wink full of sick promises. “I already said, what I want isn’t on the menu.”

“Can I see your ID’s, please?” The words slid through my teeth as I worked to hide my disgust.

“You fuckin’ kidding me?” The man bit out, with a scowl.

“Rules of the house,” Jason called from behind me. With jerky movements, the three men dug through their back pockets for their wallets. I wanted to escape the slimy feeling that emanated from the man in front of me, so badly, that I hardly glanced at the ID’s in front of me.

I turned my back on them abruptly and met Jason’s eye. “Do you want me to handle them?” He murmured, softly.

“No.” I swallowed back my frustration. I wanted to be a good waitress for Jason, and that meant dealing with perverts on occasion. “It’s nothing I can’t handle.” I met his eye, to ensure him that I truly felt that way.

Jason nodded and poured out the shots, while I filled the pitchers with Miller Lite. I loaded my carrying tray with the order, slipped back around the bar, and hitched it onto my left palm.

I approached the table, and angled my back towards the long-haired man, as I began unloading the tray. I placed the two pitchers in the center of the table, and lifted one of the shots. “One for each of you?” I asked, keeping my tone casual.

It happened so quickly that I could only watch from the corner of my eye, as the leader raised his hand and brought it down on my ass with a sharp slap. I gasped as I tottered into the table, and lost grip of my serving tray. The plastic dish and I both collapsed onto the table - spilling Jim Beam down my front, and knocking the pitchers of beer into the laps of the men around me. Shocked silence struck for a split second, before hell broke loose.

The leader leapt up from his seat with a snarl. I felt his large fist curl around my shoulder and yank me backwards. My arms swooped through the air, as I tried to catch my balance, but I hit the floor with a smack. I felt my face flush with rage, but it was nothing compared to the fear that consumed me as the man bellowed, “YOU STUPID BITCH,” his leather boots stomping far too close to my body. I slammed my eyes shut, and threw an arm in front of my face, expecting the worst.

“You’ll want to back up from the young lady, now.” Tommy’s voice was colder than I’d ever imagined it could be. I cracked an eyelid to a stranger in the old man’s body. He held Rosie firmly against his shoulder, his head cocked, his finger hovering near the trigger of the gleaming shotgun. I had no doubt that his aim was fatal, for I was no longer looking at the reminiscing old man, but the soldier he had once been.

Jason’s hand appeared at my elbow, and he helped me to my feet; swiftly pulling me out of the danger zone. “Get out of my bar.” He seethed, his voice rough.

The man grinned- the gums around his teeth were black as if he’d been eating tar, and his beady eyes burned holes in me. “Let’s go.” He answered, calmly, as if the shotgun pointed in his direction had no effect on him. The two meth heads, who were now cowering against the wall of the booth and speaking in tongues under their breath, scrambled from the booth and snaked out of the front door. They quickly forgot about the lanky haired man that called the shots, as the door slammed shut behind them. He didn’t seem to mind, for he crossed the floor of the bar in a lazy stride, his head turning as he walked so he could keep his eyes on me. For an instant, he seemed inhuman. His gaze cut so deep that it seemed to disintegrate my bones and leave chunks of ice behind. “I’ll be back for you, Exodus.” He hissed, in a demonic tone.

The hairs on my arms stood on end, my stomach dropped, and the blood ran from my cheeks. I felt nauseous. He knew who I was, after all, and that could only mean one thing - Jack was no longer feeling generous. The gang was after me.

I watched him walk through the door, and then I sank into a stool at the bar, unable to stand. My body felt weak with nerves.

“Are you feeling okay?” Jason asked.

I swallowed hard, and took inventory of myself. My tailbone was screaming from hitting the floor, and my shirt stuck to my chest from the unexpected luge of liquor. Those things could not compare to the rage that was creeping up my chest, coloring my cheeks, and clouding my vision. “I think I need to go home.” I answered numbly.

“I’ll drive her, if you don’t mind boss.” Fryboy was standing at the threshold of the kitchen.

“Sure, that sounds good.” Jason answered, helpfully.

“No.” I snapped. I took a deep breath, and softened my tone, “I want to be by myself. I’ll call a cab.” The truth was, I wasn’t going home. Jack had helped me with the first month’s rent - he knew where I lived.

Jason looked like he wanted to argue, but I conditioned my face to seem impenetrable and he relinquished with a heavy sigh.

“I’m going to clean myself up first.” I murmured, not waiting for an answer.

I collected a fresh shirt from my locker, and I bathed myself as well as I could in the bathroom sink before changing. As I gazed at my reflection in the mirror, I couldn’t help but feel that I looked colder than I had ever been. My black hair was chopped off at my shoulders, and I had done it myself, so the ends were rough. It contrasted deeply with my pale skin which had lost any hint of pink undertone when the blood had drained from my face. My eyes were bloodshot, which made the green of my eyes a little too green. I looked like a disaster. When did I get so scrawny? My shoulders looked fragile, my collar bone popped out from my chest, and my arms were thin to the bone.

Unable to look at myself anymore, I tugged on my spare work shirt and slipped from the bathroom. Tommy was peering out of the windows, Rosie still in his hand. Fryboy had returned to the kitchen, and Jason was on the phone with what sounded like the police.

“No, they left already.” He answered angrily, “But they attacked my waitress…”

I didn’t listen to what he was saying. I wasn’t going to press charges, because I didn’t want the police involved with my life. My background was dark, and they would be very curious about my involvement with Jack’s gang. The Dust Kings were notorious in Las Vegas. They preyed on tourists, and were strong in the human trafficking and drug rings that permeated the city. The Dust Kings were responsible for the title “Sin City”. They produced sin as if Satan were their CEO.

My lungs were aching for a cigarette, but my eyes were on the bottle of Sunshine that still sat on the bar. I swiped it up, and carried it with me into the kitchen to gather my belongings. Everything I needed was in my backpack. I was going to leave and not look back. I wanted to say goodbye to my coworkers. I wanted to hug Jason and thank him for giving me the chance at normal, even if I had known deep down that it wouldn’t be possible. However, that would seem far too much like a goodbye when I was supposed to just be going home for the night.

Instead, I decided to smoke a cigarette on the stoop of the kitchen’s backdoor for my closure. I waved to Fryboy as I exited the kitchen, and into the darkness of the alleyway. The alley was cornered, with each exit facing a different street. From the nook of the Pub’s stoop I could see the glow of the street lights illuminating the lip of each entrance.

With a groan of effort and an electrical hum, the motion sensor light over my head flashed on. It was a dim, yellow light, that created a halo around the step that I sat my backpack on. The alley had trash bags lined up against the wall, in glistening black plastic bags. Colorful shards of glass bottles, rotting food, and paper napkins were crammed into the cracks of the rough asphalt. I could hear the soft patter of rats climbing over the garbage mountains and squeaking incessantly at each other. I ignored the stench of rot, and urine as I lifted a cigarette to my mouth and lit it with shaking hands.

The wind howled against the tops of the buildings, but between the boundaries of walls, it didn’t touch me. Still, I leaned down to my backpack to grab my sweater. I had to remove the bottle of Sunshine in order to not disturb the orderly manner in which everything was packed. I liked my backpack to be organized because it made for more space. I maneuvered the old grey thing over my head, while holding my cigarette away as to where I wouldn’t catch fire, and then I inhaled the warm spicy smoke that calmed my insides, and tamed the blood roaring in my veins.

I had come to a conclusion inside of myself; one that I had toyed with many times. I was tired of running from those who threatened me. I had been on the same course of life since I had been kicked out of my mother’s house at sixteen, and it was time that I handled the situation for good. I was ready to lead a normal life, and that meant that I had to confront Jack.

Jack had been good to me for a very long time. He had picked me off of the streets as a homeless teenager, and he had brought me into the gang, as his own, so no one could touch me. At the time I had been grateful, but after awhile I had developed a resentment for him that I hadn’t foreseen. When the leader of the gang claimed a woman, she was supposedly his in every way; some of those ways weren’t things I had been prepared for.

I never had developed those feelings for Jack, in fact I wasn’t sure I ever would develop feelings for anybody in that way. I’d been chased by men for my entire life- men much older than me; men that didn’t care if I consented to them or not. Even though Jack had saved me from that life, I still found men repugnant. It was how my brain had adapted; a defense mechanism against the horrendous things I had gone through in the past.

I hadn’t been unaware of the way Jack had looked at me; a longing that would never be returned. However, he’d never asked anything of me. He didn’t touch, or flirt - there was just the occasional heavy-lidded glance that carried a little too much intent. The strictly platonic factor was a secret that we kept between us. Everyone around us thought we were a power couple, which worked both to my benefit and dismay. Jack was the leader of the gang, and no one would dare lay a finger on the gang leader’s significant other unless they wanted to die without their genitals attached to their body. However, no one ever leaves a gang, and no woman certainly ever leaves the gang leader. If I had left, simply because I didn’t want to be with him, then it would have questioned his power. If he had kicked me out of the gang, because he was no longer interested in me, I would have been fresh meat to the men who had salivated over me but didn’t dare to touch me while I belonged to Jack. Gang politics were tough to work through.

Meredith had been the loophole.

Meredith had been my only friend in the years that I belonged to the Dust Vipers. She had been married to Jack’s brother before he had been shot in a gang scuffle. Jack had given her his protection, and she was the only other woman that hung around besides the sex workers that fell under Dust Viper “employment”. The prostitutes of the gang didn’t like me. It wasn’t because I looked down upon them; my mother had been a sex worker and she’d ran her business out of our home. They hated me because they vied for Jack’s attention and the protection that it brought. He spent his time in their beds, but for the exception of their bodies and the money that they brought in, he didn’t give them the light of day.

Months ago, Meredith had shocked me with the news that she was pregnant, that the baby belonged to Jack. She had cried, thinking that I was angry, when in reality I felt nothing at all. I asked Jack to release me under his protection out of respect. I wasn’t going to hang around and pretend to be his girlfriend when another woman was pregnant with his child. I’d seen in his eyes, the moment that I asked, that he didn’t want to let me go. His expression had gone dark, and for the first time in years I had truly been afraid of him.

Those cold, unfeeling eyes had haunted my dreams at night. For all of the time that I had known Jack, he held onto his grudges and ruled with an iron fist. I had been the only exception, and in the moment that he let me go, I had felt that his decision wasn’t permanent. I wondered what had been the turning point. What had I done that snapped that thin thread of cool that had allowed him to let me run free?

The clink of a bottle rolling over the asphalt ripped me from my thoughts. My head jerked up, and I gazed into the darkness, eyes narrowed. I couldn’t see past the wall of light from the motion sensor over head. I listened, as I flicked my cigarette to the pavement and ground it out with my heel. Footsteps crunched on garbage to my left. Someone was here. My mind immediately went to the three men who had been in the bar earlier, and my blood ran cold.

I turned to go back into the kitchen, but as if it had apparated from the shadows, a hand covered my mouth and pulled me backwards. I kicked out, as the darkness of the alley swallowed me. Arms were locked tightly around my waist; the aggressor was strong, and my efforts didn’t seem to be affecting them, other than a curse under their breath.

“Exodus…” The voice was unnervingly male, but it was more sophisticated than the man who had been in the bar earlier. The sound of my name was still terrifying on a stranger’s lips. Perhaps since the previous men couldn’t do the job, someone else would.

I did the only thing I could, and chomped down on the fingers near my mouth. I tasted blood as the man jerked away from me. I took advantage of the small leeway he offered, and threw myself forward onto the ground, my hands catching me. The jagged edges of the asphalt ripping the skin of my hands as I slid forward into the light of the stoop. My backpack was open, and the bottle of Sunshine was sitting imperiously upon the step. A weapon. I ignored the ache in my palms as I grabbed at the neck of the bottle, and rolled over to face my attacker. I could see nothing but darkness. The only sound in the alley was the splattering of the alcohol onto the pavement as it poured down my arm and dropped off of my elbow.

Blood pounded in my ears as adrenaline rushed through me.

I would have to run for it. I couldn’t go back into that building, not when I’d made up my mind to leave Jason and my coworkers out of my past problems. They didn’t deserve to be mixed up in gang violence more than they already had. Slowly, I pushed myself into a crouch, straining my eyes to search for shapes in the dark. It seemed as if my attacker had simply disappeared. Too bad I didn’t believe in such luck.

My heart managed a pang of disappointment as I left my backpack behind. It was too heavy for me to make a quick escape, and I could always come back for it. I decided to leave in the opposite direction of which I’d been attacked. With the bottle of sunshine clutched tightly in my hand, I began to creep towards the entrance. As the darkness swallowed me, fear took control of my body and I shifted into flight mode. Every trash bag was a man crouched in hiding, waiting to attack me. I took off in a sprint, my eyes on nothing but the street lights pouring in from the opening of the alley. My footsteps echoed off the walls of the alley, creating the illusion of someone chasing me. I could taste freedom and safety as the light grew closer. I was mere feet from the edge of shadows, when my foot hitched on a fleshy mound. I careened forward, my arms floundering in the air before coming down onto the pavement in a savage motion. The glass bottle in my palm shattered against the ground.

Nausea rolled in my stomach as I lifted myself up. The shape and consistency of what had tripped me, couldn’t be mistaken for anything else. A body. I threw myself backward in disgust, but I couldn’t drag my eyes away from the macabre silhouette.

There was a high pitched noise, and then a pop that seemed to emanate from the body itself. Then, as if the moon had been blotted out of the sky, my vision was black, and the air I was breathing felt like I was inhaling sand. I gagged as I tried harder to breathe. The grit that layered my tongue and the back of my throat tasted rancid. I could feel myself losing grip on my consciousness.

Suddenly I was moving, but not of my own accord. I was being half dragged away from the body in front of me… no I was going forward. Light drifted lazily through the black mist. I seemed to be staring at my surroundings from a distance.

“Breathe, dammit.” A hand whacked me in the back. I inhaled sharply. I still had the gritty substance clogging my airway. I choked helplessly, before gasping for more air. My lungs seemed to reboot as a wet cough ripped out of my chest. It cleared my throat enough for me to breathe, and I drank the cold, dry air without abandon. I gathered the grit up in my mouth and spat it onto the sidewalk. My spit was black and goopy against the grey cement. It mixed in with the old-blackened gum that was dried to the surface.

After I’d caught my breath, I took inventory of myself and of my surroundings. I was wheezing with every inhale, and I fought the urge to vomit. The neck of the sunshine bottle was still clutched tightly in my hand- the glass was beginning to splinter into my bleeding palms. Two cloaked figures were still against the night and watching my every move. Behind them were two more bodies lying on the ground. My heart stopped, and I narrowed my eyes at the corpses; praying to a God that I didn’t believe in, that they didn’t belong to my coworkers. They were both stick thin, and wearing leathers. After a split second of consideration, I realized they were the meth heads that had been tweaking in the Pub earlier.

“How are you feeling?” Said the voice of the closest cloaked figure. I automatically recognized the velvety voice. It was the man that had spoken my name earlier. The one who had tried to grab me from the stoop.

I felt nauseous, and the inside of my chest was burning like someone had set fire to my lungs. I blinked up at him, and he took a step towards me.

“Don’t come any closer.” I snapped, my voice hoarse, and my throat ragged.

“I’m not going to hurt you.” He answered, as he began to close the distance between us.

With the strength I had left in me, I throttled my hand, that was still tightly gripping the bottle, into the man’s side. I could feel the jagged edge of glass enter into his skin, as easily as a knife cuts through sirloin. It was the first time I had ever stabbed someone. I heard him grunt in pain, and a scream cut through the air.

“DANIEL!” The other cloaked figure rushed towards the man, as he dropped towards the ground.

I didn’t wait to find out what happened next. I turned, and ran across the street, into the night.