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  Fire, Walk With Me

  Hot Ink Press

  An Imprint of Crushing Hearts and Black Butterfly Publishing

  Algonquin, IL 60102

  Fire, Walk With Me

  This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, duplicated, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior written consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  ©Text Copyright 2012 SJ Davis

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed in this novel are fictitious and are products of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual events, or locales or persons, living or dead are entirely coincidental.

  Edited By: S.J. Davis

  For

  Hot Ink Press

  Cover Art

  By

  Rue Volley For Vivid Designs

  Looking back, it’s easy to see that my world had changed from what it once was. But what happened, and how it happened, that is the mystery. Some say desire is like a bright sun beating down through holes in an old rusted tin roof, but it isn’t like that at all. Not until you feel the blunt force of what you want, or what you think you want, it isn’t yours to hold. And soon, I found something that pierced the armor of my heart.

  Perhaps it was the smell of his sweat that had my heart beating so fast that I thought it would lodge in my throat, I don’t know. The music was loud, so loud that the bass thumped like a metronome in my chest. The smoky haze of lights shone upon his dark hair and eyelashes. There was no talking, but conversation wasn’t what I wanted anyway. I went with one purpose - to find someone. Someone who wouldn’t text me the next day, making me regret they existed. Lasting relationship? No thank you. Not again. Never again.

  Ice was frozen on the outside of the windows, unaffected by the heat of the packed club. On the inside of the windows, steam and condensation oozed from the walls. Staring, I walked past this new man; my red vinyl boots protected my feet from the drunken sway of the hypnotic dancers. My hip grazed his thigh and he turned to look at me. Blue eyes, cold and unblinking. This one wouldn’t bother me later, I was certain of it. I smiled. He did not. And that, dear reader was a very good sign.

  He placed his pale hand on the front of my shirt and gently slid it down to my waist. I tensed and looked down at the wet floor, slick with drinks and sweat.

  “Hello,” I muttered. “I’m Sophia.” He ignored my words, which was fine with me.

  I leaned back against a brass railing to a spiral staircase leading to a darkened bar. He pressed against my body, the smell of him made my eyes close. He stood so close, his feet surrounded mine as he played with my earring – twisting in between his fingers, pulling it almost painfully as my head rested on his chest. I looked up at him, sideways. It was only then that he smiled. Slightly.

  His teeth reflected the limited light of the dance floor. So white, they seemed to glow in the dark. I stepped away to go to the bathroom but he grabbed my wrists to stop me and turned them up to the strobed light of the ceiling. My already short skirt rose way above decent standards when he pulled my right hand to his mouth and I could feel the pressure of his teeth graze my skin.

  “What are you doing?” I pulled back, though his hands grabbed mine with a vice like grip. He held my arms against his chest and looked down at me, studying me.

  “Whatever,” he whispered, almost hissing over his shoulder as he turned away.

  I inhaled deeply and smoothed my clothes back to submission. Shaking my head, I ran up the staircase to find my favorite bartender, a friend of mine since elementary school. He saw my face and handed me a cigarette, smiling through a curtain of blonde dreadlocks. I slowly took a drag and let the smoke roll from my lips. I looked over my shoulder for the strange man with the wrist-sucking fetish, scanning the balustrade to the lower level.

  “Avoiding someone?”

  “I think the freaks are out tonight,” I answered.

  “Freaks are usually right up your alley.”

  “My freak days are over. I want uneventful…satisfaction,” I smiled as I French inhaled.

  “Well, you’re dressed for freaks. Your ass is hanging out and I have a pretty good view of the front too.”

  “Shut up.” I tossed the cigarette on the floor and stomped it out with the heel of my boot.

  I looked downstairs and watched two girls dancing together, one platinum blonde and the other a redhead. Both were rubbing against the other and significantly increasing the sex factor on the floor. A damp smell, almost moldy, hit me at once – mixed with the scent of sex and desire. I looked at the DJ and I saw him again, against the wall next to the speakers; his crimson shirt was damp. I could make out his features better from afar as the light hit his face directly. His hair wasn’t long but his bangs were. They were damp too and swept to the side. His hair was dark, almost black - and very shiny.

  Suddenly I felt a crushing pain in the back of my neck and pressure from behind as if someone was pushing me. He looked up the stairs towards me as I squinted back, frozen in pain. Still, he gave no expression. I blinked and bent over, reaching around to the back of my neck. My hair stuck to my skin and my breathing staggered.

  I felt a hot flash of breath waft into my ear as the pain ran down my spine. He was behind me. How did he get here so fast? I turned and tilted my head to question him, but there was nothing to be said. I could make no noise. Everyone and everything around me was frozen in place. No sound, no music, no movement. It was as if I lived in a painting. Cigarette smoked froze in place, white swirls stagnant and still, unmoving in the air. Before I could bring forth a serious scream, my legs buckled and he balanced me with his arm around my waist.

  He turned me with a brisk force to face him. I closed my mouth and his palm pressed against my lips to keep me quiet. Cold, so cold. He leaned in and slid his hand to my throat and squeezed it slightly as he bent into my neck.

  “Enoch. I am Enoch.”

  That’s all I remember until I woke up on the damp cement floor of the bathroom with two blondes snorting coke by the trashcan.

  “Nice,” I said as I arranged my skirt that was twisted around my hips. My head pounded and my mouth tasted like blood and metal.

  “We’re not judging,” said the blondes in unison and in identical squeaky voices. The white powder dusted on their nostrils matched their hair.

  Freaks.

  ***

  I walked to my favorite coffee shop the next day, pulling my hair and twisting it into frayed ringlets until I finally gave in and gnawed on the ends. I sat in my favorite spot under the Hemingway portrait while my nervous hands clutched the red cup of my eggnog latte. I sensed the heat of eyes darting around me, as if everyone knew a secret. Maybe it’s just me.

  As the sugary steam from the holiday latte hit my skin, the motions of the customers and baristas slowed as if they existed in super slow motion. Each of them moved like they were weighed down by time and gravity. With each second passing, they slowed further. Some halted completely. Frozen, staring eyes, gaping mouths surrounded me. The music slowed to a monstrously slow sound, low and warped. I stood up quickly to leave.

  Should I run? Damn it! My coffee is tipping over. As I grabbed my ridiculously overpriced beverage, the light brown froth stilled to a motionless drip, clinging to the table’s edge. Tears stung my eyes. I could still move, as other
s around me froze.

  “What is going on?” My voice cracked above the heads of the crowd as my chest tightened and I began to hyperventilate. No one noticed, most of them still moved in quarter time, as if in a drug-induced waltz. The barista’s dark red lips, stained in a cranberry hue, dragged across her teeth slowly, forming words that slowed with each passing syllable. Her crimson-black fingernails gestured slowly up to the menu until they hung still in the air above her head. Still, silent, like a statue. Just like at the club. What is going on?

  The air in the shop popped with electricity. I felt a sucking feeling pull me back to my chair as I collapsed into the faded wood. Invisible chains held me in place. I can’t move! Get me out of here! I squirmed to the side, twisting. Then all was still. My heart pounded through my shirt when I saw him. Enoch, the man from last night stood outside the glass wall. He wore a black trench coat, tortoise shell Ray Ban sunglasses, with large droplets of rain beading on his shoulders. His hair hung wet over his forehead as he pressed himself into the glass window. Then, as if the window was made of water, he walked right through it. The glass did not crack nor did it shatter. First his foot and left leg shifted through the glass, then the rest of him pushed through the solid glass pane as if it were a gelatinous liquid. The window was undisturbed in his wake. The sound of a flutter of wings clipped through the air, whispering and blowing.

  Watchers! An old crone’s voice crackled in my ears for only me to hear. The sound smacked like thunder. Watchers!

  My mind buzzed and my mouth felt dry. I tried to scream as he held his hand out to quiet me. Even though he wasn’t actually touching me, I could feel the icy heat of his hands along my lips. Enoch was pale and seemed tired but he still exerted a strong force. The shop was filled with the sounds of rushing wind, as if air whistled through a tunnel. I tucked my head down as my scarf flew from off my neck. Next my brown sweater, an oversized warm cable-knit, slid roughly from my shoulders. I felt like I could no longer breathe on my own.

  He stared and pointed to the floor at my feet. As soon as I looked where he indicated, he stood in front of me. It was as if he teleported or flew through time. His white face was drained of any color and his blue eyes were dilated in the brightness of the fluorescent ceiling lights. He crouched in front of me and rested his hands on my thighs. My sharp, and pained, intake of breath made him look at me. His nostrils sucked in air like a vacuum. A breeze filled the room, and again I heard the sound of wings.

  It’s hot, so hot. I feel like I’m on fire. His eyes closed as he kissed my shoulder and neck. I’m cold … I can’t breathe … I’m empty.

  I sucked in more air and opened my eyes. The walls of the room bent and warped in rhythm with my pulse. His lips rested against my chest. Then, painlessly, he laid his hands on my heart. I could feel the pressure of the palms, but a numb stillness ran down my body. It’s so quiet. It’s so still. But at least there is no pain.

  “Who are you?” I begged. “What are you?”

  Watchers. The syllables hung in the air as the room and its occupants swept back in motion. Sounds of coffee brewing and foaming, the sharp laughter of the customers, and the coughing and throat clearing of the bored baristas, all returned as if nothing was amiss. No one was the wiser. But I knew. I knew there was a change. Yet I wouldn’t know what it was for many days to come.

  ***

  I moaned. Damp sheets of sweat twisted around me. I tossed and turned as my heart fluttered. Flashes of the Enoch kissing my neck burned into my dreams and seared my thoughts.

  I’m sorry… a deep voice whispered through the curtains. I heard a loud car alarm along the street below, but it didn’t even startle me.

  Why? I asked the voice in my sleep. Who are you? I didn’t want to wake up. I finally enjoyed feeling again.

  Feeling something, anything instead of the empty anger I’d grown accustomed to. Anger had lived inside me for so long. Ever since, well, ever since awhile. An incredible vibration filled the room and suddenly I felt cold. The window was open yet I was shimmering with sweat. I sat up, letting the silk sheet slide from me and I walked to the window.

  How did this window get opened? It’s freezing outside! It’s winter for fuck’s sake!

  The crisp wind kept me tense and alert while I tugged the window closed. The man in the building across from mine stood in his window in a wife beater and holding a Pabst Blue Ribbon; a perfect redneck combination. He put down his beer can and then looked at me again; a cigarette barely clung to his bottom lip as he smiled. That’s right, pervert. I’m naked. Enjoy the show. I yanked harder on the window. Yes, my boobs jiggle. It’s quite normal. He closed his curtains behind him as he pushed his hair from his face, staring at me from across the night sky.

  He didn’t stop staring, which pissed me off, so I decided to give him a little show. I jiggled my breasts in an exaggerated sway, then I squeezed them together, sticking my tongue out. He pointed at his chest and then to me, as if inviting himself over. No way, buddy. I jerked the curtains closed behind me. No way.

  I lit the candles along the edge of my bathtub and ran the water. The surge of water echoed loudly over the cold tile of the floor as I dipped my toes in the water to test the temperature. Too hot. The candles flickered for no reason. I slipped as I stood back up. Two strong and slightly rough hands grabbed me from behind - one hand around my waist and the other around my neck. I wasn’t afraid; I also had no intention of screaming. I knew who it was. It was Enoch. Part of me wanted this stranger just as he was – unknown and unresponsive. Another part of me wanted to know everything about him, especially who or what the hell he was. I felt his hands on my body. And then I felt nothing at all.

  ***

  “Sophia!” a little girl’s voice yelled from the back of my mind. Her voice sounded muffled but full of fear. “Sophia!”

  Who is that girl?

  I jerked awake and looked around, spitting water out of my mouth as the water splashed around me. I had fallen asleep in the bathtub.

  “Who’s here?” I sat up quickly, completely startled as I woke up from under the water. And when did I get in the tub? Nothing makes any sense!

  I rubbed my eyes and ran my hands through my wet hair. I splashed from the tub, leaving a river of lukewarm water behind me. I leaned against the door for a moment, and then locked it. Suddenly I heard music. Old music, an orchestra with a big band sound yet with an almost carnival quality, complete with the hiss and pop of vinyl.

  The music stopped as soon as I opened the door, wrapped in my pink bathrobe. Water ran down my legs, making wet marks on the carpet. I felt motion in the air. I felt the cool breeze of someone’s presence. He must still be here.

  I’m everything you wished for. Everything you could want. I’m here to help.

  ***

  I rolled on my side with Michael’s face still clear in my mind. I turned on my iPod, techno and loud. The beat thudded in my chest and I let it vibrate in all the places I needed it. He’s gone, missing, dead. I missed him every day and every night, as I lay paralyzed on my pillow. Sometimes, I never slept at all.

  “Michael,” I whispered into the darkness. “Michael. Come back to me.”

  I closed my eyes and his beautiful face appears behind my eyelids. His tanned skin, bright blue eyes, chestnut hair. He wasn’t much taller than me; we were often eye-to-eye. He said he loved that the most. As dark and foreboding as his music was, he released me from my boredom. A box I had built, and to which I now returned. It’s only been one month. I can’t listen to any of his songs anymore. I might never be able to again.

  Dead. Like my lover and my heart.

  ***

  “You don’t remember the Watchers?” asked Georgia. “Mom used to scare us with them when we were little so we’d behave at communion?”

  “That old Fallen Angel tale?” I asked. My twin sister was visiting from Ponchatoula, Louisiana, my hometown – a place filled with swamps, voodoo, Catholicism, and catfish. “You came to visit me, not
make me crazy. And you’re crazy too if you believe that old voodoo hoodoo.”

  “I’m not saying the Watchers are coming to get you for not following the rules of The Blessed Mother. Even though they should.”

  Georgia was always the obedient religious one. But she was also the last to be kissed, the last to be with a man, and I am certain the last to touch herself. I’d had almost enough of her self-righteousness in my life. “The Watchers exist only to make children obey the Church,” I blurted out. “And I’ve never been one to adhere to a religion that manipulates people through fear.”

  “Angels,” said Georgia quietly, “Angels are not to be feared.”

  “Angels? The Watchers are Fallen Angels. Rejected from a cruel God.”

  “After this time passes,” Georgia’s eyes seemed to cast a dark glow, “you will see the error of your ways.” Georgia’s accent thickened and her head tilted awkwardly as she spoke, almost twisting too far. She walked jaggedly to the bathroom. She turned as she closed the door, staring at me with blank, almost yellow eyes. I could have sworn I saw her pull the blade of a knife from her purse.

  “There is darkness and there is light,” hissed Georgia from behind the bathroom door. “And there are only two kinds of souls, the good and the evil.”

  “What are you talking about Georgia?” I shivered. “You’re freaking me out.”

  “You have always been on the wrong side. There is nothing I can do.”

  “What is wrong with you, Georgia?”

  “Your grave was dug before you were born, Sophia.” She smiled in the doorway, the light from the sun radiated around her silhouette. “You were born bad.”

  There is a moment in time for everyone, when you see yourself in a mirror and realize you are exactly who you should be. I glanced at the looking glass next to my galley kitchen. I leaned in and saw blood splattered on my face. Tiny red dots decorated my reflection. I touched the blood and smeared it into my skin, but my hand was clean. My sister laughed. For the first time in my life, I realized my sister hated me.