The crowd is starting to thin out, leaving behind the professional drunks who sulk and slur about their broken lives. This is usually when I hit the road. My life hasn’t exactly been a fairytale, but you won’t see me drowning in self-loathing and regret, as I just figure it is what it is, and I keep going. I ask the bartender to close out my tab and he rancorously complies. Is this guy really working for tips? He slaps the bill in front of me and casually ignores my sticker shock. Surely, it’s a reaction he’s used to. I reciprocate, grudgingly reaching into my front pocket, grabbing my emaciated wallet, and thoughtfully place enough cash to cover the bill
and
his generous tip.
I kick the stool out a little and slowly stand while taking in a large breath through my nose. And I realize that I’ve created an obvious coincidence by choosing to leave directly after Hanz and Franz made their threats. Hell, I hate giving them the impression that their empty threats somehow shook me up, so I decide to demonstrate how seriously I take their scare tactics. I gather my jacket, slide it on one arm at a time, give the zipper a tug, peer in their direction to catch a look, and give them the finger as I casually walk toward the oak door. I swear I can see their temper rise unfettered with rage when I let the door shut behind me.
* * *
The crisp, cold air smacks my skin and moves dryly into my lungs. I love winter. Frederick, Maryland, has all four seasons as they were meant to be, but for the last fifteen or so years, it seems like winter has become my most comforting climate. Even now, I wear blue jeans, a grey T-shirt, and a thin black jacket that one would find in the late spring or early autumn to accommodate light breezes and the distant remnant or emergence of a chill. Although my weather app states that it is twenty-four degrees in the city, my body’s furnace is always being stoked by that ADD metabolism of mine, guaranteeing my summers are stifling hot and winters a blessed relief.
I thank the winter gods as I lift my head to the clear night sky and watch the snow float casually at the wind’s pleasure on its way to stick a good landing on the pavement. I’ve always been in wonder over the absolute stillness that snow brings as cars stay silently parked, street lamps forget to hum with electricity, and the whimsical banter of youth seems to be absorbed by the falling snow. Frederick is one of those rare cities that aren’t a one-dimensional vocational stop Monday through Friday. It’s alive with condominiums and Civil War homes, and it’s filled with the old and young alike who choose to live and work in their neighborhoods. The mayor owns a local coffee shop and lives a block from his office. The town’s unofficial night mayor lives in a condo off the river-walk, and as the day mayor strategically decides what policies need governing, the night mayor knows who’s sleeping with whom and all the other pertinent gossip that is related to a small town struggling to grow up.
I cross All Saints on my way to Carroll Creek Road when I cut right through a couple holding hands. (I’ve got to start paying attention.) They smile like love-struck teenagers and raise their clasped hands over my head, which is quite an achievement, as one says, “Bread and butter.”
Cute.
I’m not bitter, but a long-term relationship would be a pleasant departure from my long line of disappointments. I’ve tried, but incarcerating that deep, old pressure within me has an emotional cost. I was never able to be authentic in fear of releasing that demon and what it might do if it ever had control over me. I don’t know much about women, but they could always sense I was holding back. At first, when the relationship was new and fun, secrets were exciting, but as maturity and time crept in, those hidden parts became obstacles. It was never enough unless all was given. Women…
I pause to gauge my surroundings when I see glowing blue eyes disappear into the alley on my left, which brings to mind The Sex Pistols song “Paranoia will Destroy Ya”; a definite on my top ten list, but I’ve discovered a healthy dose of paranoia keeps you alive and out of harm’s way, so a little extra urgency to my meandering is in order. I guess Hanz and Franz are men of their word and willing to actuate their threat. Perhaps the finger on the way out was a bit much, but I can’t stop being me now. Besides, this is exactly why I always carry my Spyderco G-10 knife with a reverse “s” blade. It was designed to slash and kill, not to cut string or filet fish. I’ve only had to use it once or twice, but my apprehension reverberates with these guys as one should never bring a knife to a gunfight. There was something about them that emitted danger of the worst kind. I know I am being stalked as natural predators skillfully strategize for the kill, and although they have the smile of sadistic psychopaths, their resolve is serious.
Hmmmm, there it is again, my warm friend, adrenaline. Sure, I’m generally hot with my suped-up metabolism, but throw in a dash of adrenaline and I’m sweating buckets. All the late-night partiers assume I’m half lit and numb as I strip the jacket off my shoulders and clench the collar in my left hand. I can see the snow touch my skin and evaporate instantly and know that to the onlooker it probably appears as though my body is releasing a chimney full of smoke. I quicken the pace to a fast walk and turn to appraise this new and unwelcome situation. Nothing appears to be out of order until I almost land on my ass after hitting a wall.
Well, I mean the word “wall” figuratively as Hanz was directly in my path, showing no sign of the collision. I guess when you’re five-foot six and built like a Mr. Freakin’ Universe, this kind of thing happens. Without even thinking, I roll backward, push off on my left shoulder, and flip to my feet with my left foot in front of the right, ready for combat. I instinctively pat my right pocket to locate the G-10, making sure it’s there and to feel the comfort of knowing, as it has a calming effect. Yet, I never pull it unless necessary because I was raised to fight fair.
Mr. Universe is happily grinning with his dominance display and cocks an eyebrow, letting a mocking laugh escape. It wasn’t the booming laugh of evil that one hears in “B” movies, rather a more sinister from-the-gut, through-the-nose, with-a-smirk laugh that broadcasted eminent peril. I relax my tense muscles to prepare for a quick attack when Franz teleports beside me. I say teleport because there is no other way to explain it. One moment there was empty space, and within a fraction of my breath, Franz occupies that space.
“Percy’s trying her hardest to save your life ‘n I just don’t know why. Personally, I can’t wait to teach you a couple of lessons about respect!” says Hanz with restrained anger.
When Franz speaks, I can feel the warmth of his sour breath on my ear. “I don’t think this one is going to beg. Perhaps a little more fun is in order.” Franz is obviously the brains as he articulates and enunciates well. Hanz has a thicker accent, from deep in the small towns of England I’m assuming.
I don’t say a word; instead, I gather information for battle about my potential opponents. They probably aren’t going to attack here on the street with a scattered herd of people milling around, but I’m quite sure their resolve has been solidified. This isn’t going to end well for me, but I’m determined to inflict as much pain as possible to my two new friends. They are either over-confident or highly skilled because there is no noticeable physical preparation for a fight, as they’re relaxed and unafraid. My heart thumps, warning me that these guys aren’t sloppy, but have done this many times over, always ending with success. I make a quick and thorough scan of their faces and detect no scarring or permanent marks from struggle, which probably means they’re that good.
Damn!
“C’mon, can’t we just teach this guy a lesson right now?”
“Not here. Patience,” Franz says.
They flatten their smiles, stare so hard my MJs wanted to fracture, and depart without a sound. I immediately exhale the breath I was unconsciously holding. Okay, that was intense.
I know I should call a cab or beeline to the nearest bar and call the cops, anything for self-preservation, but all I can think about is Percy. I wonder where she is and why she was trying to convince Hanz and Franz to let me go. If I’m being completely honest, I keep fantasizing about her lips and those lithe hands sliding through my hair.
Get a grip, Adriel. Life or death, remember?
My Jeep is just around the corner on the top floor of the five-story Carroll Creek parking garage and I begin to calculate how much time it will take me to get to the Jeep and close the door. I check my left pocket for my keys and all those horror movies come to mind when the hapless victim fumbles their keys while trying desperately to open the door. Inevitably, the keys fall after a bout of hot potato and, well, there’s a reason they are called victims. Personally, I’ve never been a victim. I know it’s the new cultural norm—everyone is a victim now, but even if I was on the losing end, I would never give anyone the satisfaction of watching me concede in defeat. I imagine Hanz and Franz are going to get a taste of my stubborn will before the night’s over. I make a sharp left turn, pause to appreciate what may be my last serene moment, and take an intrepid step in the only direction I’ve ever known, right into the thick of it.
After paying three dollars for several hours of “safe” parking, I decide to take the elevator to number five. No elevator music on this filthy, germ-ridden death trap, just quiet anticipation. Facing the streets below, I watch through a smudged window as the elevator is jerked and jostled from floor to floor. Usually, this is a place of shelter or refuge from the crowded chaos of daily business, yet somehow I catch myself yearning to feel the snow burn on my skin, to sense the cold wind greeting me and smile back at her. I hear a distant echo of the elevator panel dinging and it smoothly crescendos, dragging me back to reality. I turn around while the doors slide open, permitting a twinge of fear to greet me.
I don’t know why I have this claustrophobic compulsion to park on the top level of parking lots. I suppose it’s the openness of the sky mingled with isolation that draws me. I look ten spaces over to the left and see my Jeep Wrangler patiently awaiting my command for the engine to roar into life and melt the accumulated snow. I love that Jeep. It wears a deep black that swallows light, supported with rugged mud tires and a three-inch lift to match. I’m hoping to oblige her this evening if I can just get there without meeting Hanz and Franz, although I would probably be willing to risk their wrath for a chance to see Percy again.
I steal a look left and right as if I’m back in driver’s ed to assure the coast is clear. I walk with haste and focus my senses on any anomalous sound or sight. Six, seven, eight, nine… almost there, and from around the corner of my Jeep, Hanz appears with fierce arrogance in his eyes. His smarter brother I spy leaning against the fifth-floor wall like a James Dean poster, minus the dangling cigarette. I decide in an instant that pulling out my G-10 is appropriate to the situation.
“Hey, do ya see that? Looks like our little friend is frightened.”
“Do you honestly think that knife is going to save your life?” Franz inquires.
I reappraise my predicament, unsheathe the blade, and say, “As a matter of fact, I don’t think it will, but I hope to give you both some permanent reminders of this night. Assholes!”
It’s always good to end a sentence on a positive note, well, at least positive for me.
“Oh, this is gonna be too fun,” says Hanz.
In an attempt to locate Percy, I grab a swift moment to scan my peripheral vision and catch nothing unusual. In that second, I’m disappointed, and Franz must have recognized my innate sigh as he says, “If you’re looking for Percy, she is having dinner on her own. That just leaves us guys to bond over a couple of drinks.”
This reminds me why I despise inside jokes as he and Hanz share a chuckle at my expense. “I don’t mean to interrupt your clever banter, but could we just get this show on the road?” I interject as my grip tightens on the G-10. In the midst of battle, time inevitably slows down like a frame-by-frame camera is shooting the action, and even with this ability, Hanz moves with such speed that I only detect a blur before he jackhammers my chest. I actually rise off the ground on my flight backward and pummel the snow-cushioned concrete with my ribs crying for relief.
I’ve been in enough fights to know hesitation can be the predecessor to defeat, so I move my right hand around with the knife firmly held and swipe where I think he’ll be coming for me. I receive my reward as his blood sprays from his right cheek, jumping to my skin and giving me some extra warmth on this cool evening. He pulls back, shocked from the pain, and I get a glimpse of the damage as his skin flaps and dangles in the wind. I let a small smile slide to my ear as I can’t contain my joy, but it’s short-lived when he glares back with murderous intent.
Franz patiently walks in my direction, pauses, and with a great suddenness, I feel the preternatural strength as he casually shoves me down. Groggy from the first encounter, I can’t muster the will to stand. “Calm down. I’m going to let you see the results of all that hard work; then I’m going to let my brother kill you… slowly.”
I gather my composure and focus on Hanz’s fresh wound. The blood has already dried and the flap of skin is rejoining his cheek. I lock in a stare and see the cut is slowly stitching itself and, like a zipper being zipped, it seals shut. Immediately, goose bumps jump from my arms and my eyes get a sting of wetness as a new and frightening reality sets in. They sense my confusion and fear, licking it up with complete satisfaction while Hanz says, “Well, now ya made me mad. I’m gonna drain ya of every drop of blood and look in those eyes of yours as their light goes out.”
I will myself to get up as Hanz reaches for my hand and effortlessly squeezes so hard that I release the G-10. I feel emptiness as it clangs on the floor. “What are you?” I feebly demand, but the question goes unanswered for a stretched moment.
Then finally, Franz replies, “You’ll never know what we are.” And with that, Hanz jumps on me with barbaric viciousness, grabs a handful of my hair, and rabidly bites into my pulsing neck. I can hear my blood resisting at first, but it transforms into a raging river, forcing all in its path to bend or be swept away. The slurps and gurgles are more than I can take, and right when I am about to explode with anxiety, he urgently pulls away, stumbling backward in dismay. I groan thankfully for the respite and see him convulsing as my blood punishes him.