jeffandmika-blog

[jeffandmika-blog]

Introductions, Pt. 1

The night was filled with the loud booms from the storm. Rain poured into the streets and pounded against the windows. The wind violently plagued the buildings, eerily making them seem like they swayed with the crooked lightning stripes in the sky. The daunting weather never seemed to sway any trouble in the streets below. Gangs and robbers took what they wanted as cars chased each other through the packed lights and people bustled about. The real trouble was hidden away from their eyes in the back alleys so rarely wandered.

From the rooftops, even with the torrent of rain around her and the thunder crashing down from the sky, her heightened senses cut through the distracting smells and noises to find what she was searching for. Though rain, with its sweet, fresh scent, was by far her favorite smell, it was the putrid stench of rotting meat and fresh blood that tingled in her nose. Though faint at the distance she was, the stench was still more overpowering than the rain. She began to follow the scent, running and leaping from rooftop to rooftop, stretching her small, slender body with each graceful bound. Luckily, she blended in with the shadows during the night, making what she was doing far less noticeable than her daytime routines, so she didn't have to sacrifice speed for stealth.

The stench was a lot stronger after her 20 block stretch letting her know she was close. Lifting her nose and sniffing the air once more, she stole over one more building before walking to the far side and peering over the ledge. A growl blended with a loud scream of thunder as her eyes immediately locked onto the right far end of the alley. Dropping the hood of her black jacket, she pulled her long, straight dark auburn hair into a tight ponytail before quietly hopping down into the alley.

Sucking in her breath, she moved quietly, keeping herself low and hidden in the shadows. It was only then she caught a glimpse of what she had been tracking. It was a large, jet black werewolf. Its body was covered in cuts and slices, the decaying flesh almost rotting straight before her eyes. It’s cold, angry red eyes were glued to its victim, snarling its large, blood stained fangs.

“There you are,” she whispered under her breath. Werewolves were easy, but it was the rotting flesh that had her as tense as she was. She checked her watch, noting the time at only 11:53 pm. She was, unfortunately, too late to save the victim, but she couldn’t leave the corpse nor could she leave rabid beast running about. It wasn’t even worth her changing form. She sighed, bored already. A single shot could easily end this.

She waited and watched the wolf gnawing on the lifeless body. Her timing had to be precise. Her ear twitched listening to the patterns of the thunder. It was almost time, but she needed her target to be right in front of her in clear view. The wolf needed to be facing her.

Standing she pulled her magnum from the back of the waistband of her jeans. She readied her weapon and smiled, showing her straight teeth and pointed fangs. Only a few more moments.

“Hey!” she shouted, bracing herself as the wolf turned with a snap. It snarled and rose up, towering above her. She smirked as it growled and moved to run her over, but the thunder was on her side. She aimed her sights down to its heart and fired as the lightning flashed. She recoiled at the stench as the beast collasped right in front of her. The impact of its massive body splashed her face and body with a mixture of rain and blood.

She knelt on her toes and looked down at the body a few moments shaking her head. It was the fifth one in the last few days and it was tiresome. Pulling a small Bluetooth from her pocket, she attached it to her ear and pressed the small button as her silver eyes scanned the scene. A low voice came through her ears and she responded, her voice sounding calm, but tired, “Its agent 3, Devon Haarcourt. I need a cleanup crew in the alley by 4th and 5th avenue. One male human and one large werewolf, with rotting skin. Blood and stench so I’ll need a full clean. I’ll be waiting on site.”

She only had a short wait until the crew got to her, so she leaned against a wall, the streetlights faintly shining in and illuminating her pale skin. A sigh of relief leaving her as she looked at her watch once more. 12:05. Not too bad a time before wrapping up her private work life and returning to her normal daily routine of pretending to be a common human.

She saw a large white van back down the alley towards her. She turned and left the area through a side alley. She may work for Them, but she didn’t have to see them unless necessary. Pulling her hood back over her head, she leaped up and her body immediately changed shape, the black shadow of a falcon disappearing into the night.

PART TWO

William Ryker winced in pain as the deafening thunder echoed through the corridor of the animal clinic he was cleaning, sending fresh waves of nauseating pain pulsing through his head. Ideally, he'd be at home, nearly OD'd on painkillers, and head securely smothered by a pillow, but he rarely enjoyed such luxuries. His home life was terrible. The Fowlkes, his foster "parents", took him in seven years ago when he was ten because they were unable to have children, which Will thought that must've been the universe telling them to just give up on the family dynamic, and all three of them have regretted it ever since. He was unsure why they weren't able to give him back to the system, but he knew they tried. He remembered, in clarity, walking down the stairs with the silent platter of a child's padded feet and overhearing a conversation that neatly summarized their entire relationship together. "Peter," whispered Carol. "You made a mistake picking that.... boy. It's unsettling being around him." Peter sighed and opened the cabinet above the fridge where they kept their liquor and grabbed a bottle of vodka before answering. "What is it you want me to do, dear? You heard the bitch at the adoption agency. We can't even submit a review for two months." He punctuated the heaviness of the weight on his shoulders by taking a pull straight from the bottle as his wife muttered a curse word he heard one of the kids who came off the streets say one time. "I will not sleep with that thing under my roof Peter. He scares me. And why doesn't he ever talk? I'm telling you there's issues with that boy." Come to think of it, Will couldn't think of a time where she ever referred to him by name. His foster dad, still clutching the bottle in one hand, reached over to take his wife's trembling hands in his other and said, "Look, I'm not saying he doesn't make me uneasy too, but he's just a kid. There's no reason to freak out over him hun. Besides," he continued, "That shrew at the home said he never had any instances of violence or aggression while he was there. He's just... quiet." He finished weakly. Before she could respond, he handed her the bottle, which she reluctantly took, and said to her, "Two months babe. Just two months, and then we will go back and submit the review." "I'll drink to that." She said. Will never found out what happened at that review, or if it ever even happened, but they were stuck with him. Eventually, they found a routine to make life manageable, if not enjoyable. They ignored each other. He got himself up, walked to the bus stop before and after school, and dutifully came home where it was just him until 5 o'clock when Carol got off work first from the diner she worked breakfast and lunch. She eventually got over being afraid of him, but she was still uncomfortable with him when they accidentally crossed paths in the three bedroom townhouse they lived in. The time when her husband came home dragged later and later as he started staying out to drink after work more and more. This continued for two years until a miracle for everyone happened: Carol became pregnant. Aaron Fowlkes was born, and they finally got the son they always wanted. Will never begrudged his younger brother any of it. The moment he laid eyes on Aaron in the hospital he felt nothing but a fierce protective instinct and joy. Much to his parents' disappointment, Aaron attached himself to Will and practically worshipped his older brother, and he was the only reason Will hadn't already just ran away.

------- Another flash of lightning and the accompanying crash of thunder jolted him out of his reverie with fresh pain. Something was happening to him, and he didn't like it. It started three days ago on his 17th birthday. He kept hearing things where there was nothing, and sometimes, images flashed at the edge of his vision, especially at night. Then the headaches started. He took care of his health and body due to the life he'd led. He'd often go on long runs or stay late after school using the weight room just to avoid the awkwardness of just being him around the Fowlkes, so it was rare for him to experience migraines, but he would gladly trade a year for that walk on the beach to get rid of the pressure that's been building in his head the last two days. Finishing up with the floors, Will returned the supplies to the janitor's closet and shakily walked over to where he'd stacked the large, heavy duty trash bags by the loading dock. As was his nightly ritual, he lamented over the fact that he was a janitor. "The ladies love a man who can snake Toilets, Will." He assured himself with absolutely no conviction. The truth was, he didn't mind it. Any excuse to avoid going home too early was worth mopping a few floors. Plus, he enjoyed helping out Ms. Betty, or Nurse Betty, as everyone called her. She ran a small vet, barely charging anything for her services, so it was hard for her to find good help in Chicago for minimum wage. Listening to the storm rage outside, the very same raging storm he was about to brave for 8.75 an hour, he looked down at Sketchers, ripped gray jeans, and plain black tee he was wearing and sighed. Steeling his shoulders and giving his head a mental command to cool it with the throbbing pain, he grabbed the trash with one hand, threw the large steel door open, and charged into the storm like he was storming Normandy. The elements bashed him, and he was instantly soaked. Trying his best to ignore the atomic explosions in his head with each step as he sprinted towards the dumpster and handed off the trash like the torch bearer. Slamming the sliding metal door closed, he turned to run back under the awning when the reality of his situation hit him. It was pointless. He had no ride home, and since the storm showed no signs of letting up, he was in for one miserably cold and wet trek back home. He started laughing at himself in cold cruelty. "Fuck it", he said, and spread his arms and looked up into a sky shattered with a web of lightning, letting the cold rain melt his headache to the back of his senses. He wondered if the events of the past few days were making him crazy as he stood there by a dumpster with his arms spread laughing into a storm, but such matters would have to wait. He needed to get home. The headache was still there, but he set out with a new clarity. Luckily, it wasn't too far of a walk, just a few miles, so he turned left on 18th street and sped up to a comfortably brisk pace. New York may be known as the city that never sleeps, but the New Yorkers had nothing on the people of Chicago. The fact that it was late at night and heavily storming didn't effect the city's bustle at all. Granted, said bustlers were more equipped for the weather than Will was, and very few didn't look askance at his impression of a drowned rat as he passed them, but he paid them no mind. His headache was returning to the forefront of his awareness, and it was all he could do to put one front in front of the other. He started hearing a strange, shrill noise incongruous with the cacophony of his city. With some alarm, he realized it was coming from his own head as he stumbled into a brick wall at the entrance to an alley. Pedestrians shook their heads as they walked by, contributing his behavior to the uncouth street youths that made the hard streets of Chicago their home. He was sure he was going crazy when he thought he saw a hunched figure the size of a large monkey with wings fly off the building across the street like it had been spooked by something. "Seriously, what the hell is going on with me?" He muttered to himself, trying to shake off the pain and dizziness that threatened to send him into unconsciousness. He felt his phone vibrate in his soaked jeans pocket, and he pulled it out, faintly surprised it was still working after the abuse from the storm. He nearly dropped it when he saw it was from Carol asking about him. 'Where r u? I checked the alarm and it said its still armed 2 away. This storm is too bad to b out late in' 'Worked late. Coming home now.' 'K' Shaking off the surprise of the century, he looked down the alley he was leaning against. It wasn't exactly the safest of routes, but it would knock off ten minutes of walking if he changed course, and with his vision starting to blacken around the edges, he decided to roll the dice. He'd been half walking, half shuffling his way through the back alleys when a noise broke through his pain. It sounded like the heavy breathing of an animal, but he spotted nothing as he glanced around. Contributing it to his rising level of insanity tonight, he continued on. It was a wonder how he was still upright. The pressure in his head had built into a constant keening rattling his skull, making him feel like his brain was an elephant stuffed into a football. He was considering a brief rest when he suddenly heard a terrifying roar behind him. He spun, coming dangerously close to blacking out from the spike of pain, to see something impossible. A giant, upright wolf with dripping fangs the size of his fingers, massive corded muscles beneath heavy fur charging at him with unchecked violence. The fury emanating from the monster was palpable. This creature was death itself, and its eyes were on Will. Without missing a step, it coiled its body into a tight mass of taut muscle and intent when it was a few paces from Will as it prepared to take down its prey in one attack. Just as it came into the final step before planting and unleashing all its fury on will, it slipped in one of Chicago's infamous Bermuda Triangle deep potholes hidden by rain water, and its pounce was thrown off balance. Instead of fangs and claws, Will was met with wet, matted fur and pure muscle. The impact threw him back through the air, his progress halted by a metal sliding door in the alley wall. He must've blacked out for a moment because when he opened his eyes, the creature was on its feet and eyeing Will more warily. Its uncertainty was short lived however, and the mask of violence and fury snapped back into place as it leapt at him one more time. Time slowed to a standstill as the pressure and pain that had been building inside Will the past couple days finally came to a crescendo and snapped. He raised his hands and saw they were covered with a blue anima. Focusing on the creature, he released everything inside him as the pain finally bested him. His eyes rolled up inside his head as he collapsed face first onto the filthy ground of the Chicago back alley.