AWAKE
DECEMBER
It was definitely the sound of a violin.
The music that drifted through the air was soft and slow. It sounded simple, to the untrained ear, but years of learning to play the same instrument told me otherwise. Stopping short, in the middle of the street, my eyes tried to track the notes and their player, but it was futile. This crowd, during the most densely populated hour of the day, would not give sight to the violinist that was in performance.
I was forced to continue to walk, threatened to be knocked to the ground, if I didn't concede. The slush of last week's snow squished under the weight of my rubber boots and a brisk, winter wind stung at my cheeks. New York winters were at the top of my "most disliked" list, followed shortly by spiders and crickets. Heavy volumes of people was rapidly starting to rise in rank, too.
From the way I saw it, no one else could hear the music - that being a long, trilling whole note, I observed - which concerned me for a moment. Was I going crazy…? Shaking the thought from my head, I adopted more reasonable explanations: someone's loud music player, a television display's volume too high… The list ran on. For all I knew, the only reason I was sensitive to the sounds was because of my own history. Besides, as I walked from the center of the street, the tune was growing fainter. As I turned down a road some distance from when I had first noticed the music, it was all but a slight hum in the background - easily masked by traffic and the general hubbub of the pedestrians around me.
A high-pitched shriek echoed from behind me.
Like the majority of those around me, I turned to face the scream. The sight froze me, faster than the bitter breeze that swept my hair from my face.
The first thing that grabbed at my attention was the large spray of blood that seemed to scatter the sky, stationary in time. My heart stilled as the body that belonged to the crimson mist fell to the ground; a noiseless thump that most missed. A chill descended around me, and I could feel the breath in my lungs freeze. Just as I opened my mouth to echo the shout of the crowd - a mixture of shock, fear, and disgust - a cool hand gently held itself against my lips. The yell died in my throat, stillborn. My eyes widened as I glanced over my shoulder, straight into fathomless glass of the darkest black.
My chest tightened, and I stared, petrified, into the eye sockets that were empty of sight. Against the transparent hand that held my words in, I shrieked wildly, soundlessly. The world seemed to be bled of color, the buildings and people around me fading to a blank sheet of gray. Shadows played in my peripheral, and I felt a tugging begin to take at my fingers. Risking the chance and taking my eyes from the eyeless man that had seized me, I felt another arctic whip slice through my arm - tendrils of light were sheathing around the limb, intent on reaching my shoulder. It was as if Death, himself, were touching my back. The light whispered and snatched at places on my body with a grip that squeezed the warmth from me. Help… I thought, desperately, pleading with God to stop what was happening. Please! Help me!
The light blinked out, with a suddenness that caused me to gasp. At that point I was aware that, not only were the wisps gone - but so was my captor. Shivers began to stretch over my entire frame, and I grasped at my arms with the latent fear and anxiety that was still remaining. I couldn't see straight, but people around me seemed to pay no mind to the girl that could barely stand due to her knees knocking with a ferocious intent to topple her. I allowed my legs to give out, feeling that they were unable to support my weight. I looked upwards for a moment, tears making steady marks down my face, as I heard a scoff.
I noted, with a harsh sudden realization, that the crowd was moving, once again… To and fro without any worries. Confusion laced my thoughts, and I looked passed the legs that were weaving in and out of my vision. When I caught a glance of the intersection - the one that was supposed to host a dead body with a pool of blood surrounding it, still warm - I only saw cars. And people. People that were living and healthy.
Disbelief gripped me. What the hell was going on?!
---
The violin stilled. A slight smiled played on the boy's lips as he appraised the female that sat, shaking, in the middle of the sidewalk. "Found her…" he whispered, to the only other occupant in the room. He observed as she pulled herself from the ground.
His order was instantaneous. "Let's go."
My bed ended up being my sanctuary, later that morning. I had numbly walked back to the apartment, let myself in with my key without a thought, and made a beeline for my room. Despite my schedule, I had decided, after finally pulling myself to my feet, that I needed to take the day off. My heart was still pattering away, though it seemed to me that there were moments that it would all but stop. These instances tended to be in response to neighbours entering or leaving their own units - and were slowly becoming less and less frequent. I was calming down, becoming more rational, as the day wore on.
As the sun dipped past one of the buildings close to mine, I settled that it was prime time to remove myself from my covers. I was legitimately allowed to be freaked, I wasn't going to deny that much, but I wasn't going to let my entire day be wasted - cowering under blankets for a whole day. Most of the afternoon was enough to still the trepidation that leaked into my veins any time the air around me cooled.
Coming from my room, I was shocked, momentarily, as my father opened the door to the apartment. I blinked at him before offering a smile and a greeting. "Hey, Dad. How was work?" I asked, stepping forward to snag his computer bag and coat. The courtesy allowed him to remove his shoes with free hands and I turned to place the items in their appropriate places.
"Fine," he answered, gruffly. I rolled my eyes were he couldn't see, shaking my head. My father wasn't the most socially-adept person in the world, but he loved me. Honestly, I wouldn't trade our happy days for anything. It had been three years since we moved out of my mother's house and my parents were divorced for only two of those years, at current count.
The entire fiasco had been a trial that taxed every member of the dysfunctional unit. I could recall all the fighting during the mentoring portion of the paperwork - when possessions were called into play and divided among the two parties by the third. I had been silent for most of these meetings, texting my hatred of the entire ordeal to my friends as I listened to the bickering behind the door from the lobby.
I thought about the way my father had looked, that first consultation, when he left that room. He had looked ashen and shaky, his dark eyes spitting with fury and temper. Even at seventeen - and at that stage where I tried to cause a lot of trouble as a final testament of my youth - I knew not to ask about what had happened and shared in my father's grief and helplessness. No matter how hard he fought, mother would rule this game. She would get what she wanted in the end… and she did.
As I slowly returned to the present, I faintly considered if my mom was happy, wherever she was. After selling our home and taking more than half the profits, she had ran off with a co-worker, and that had been the last time I had heard from her. My curiousity remained stunted, however, as I looked back at my dad. What money he had earned from the real estate had been used for past debt, court fees, and my college tuition. It was rapidly depleting, I calculated, with each semester, and I knew it was becoming even less now that my car had finally died on us. However, like with the proceedings in that counselor's office years ago, my father wasn't about to let me in on the happenings with his finances.
"What would you like for dinner?" I asked, quickly, as to chase away the thought of money and how we were slowly running out of that little surplus. At least we both had jobs. I would pay for my half, as much as possible. Gas, car insurance, and the payment for the new vehicle were all mine to handle - though dad insisted that I fill-up the tank, once a month, on his dime. Conditions of the ability to use the car, he countered, when I argued, and I felt a smile return to my face.
Having divested himself of shoes, my father took a seat at the small kitchen table, leaning his elbows on the surface as his computer whirled to life. "Whatever you want to make," he answered, before frowning. "Why aren't you at school, Anna?" The question was legitimate and I hesitated at the refrigerator.
I didn't lie to my father often - tried to never do it, if possible… But some instances required it. "Well, I got an email from my professor that said that class was cancelled for tonight. It didn't go into details." Details tended to bog down my lies, and useless prattle would alert the man to my fib. As it was, he simply nodded and returned to his computer screen. I let out a silent sigh of relief. Luckily, it had sounded like a plausible excuse and he hadn't asked for evidence - proof of his trust in me.
At that thought I felt rotten for my falsehood, but put it to the side, albeit with difficulty. Some things, like that hallucination, were just better to keep in secret. I had written it off as a bad mixture of yogurt that I had eaten this morning, that had affected my judgment. Perhaps not as believable as the fake email, but it was enough of a scapegoat that sanity had clung to it with a ferocious grip.
"Anna?"
"Yes, Dad?" I answered, turning to face the male sitting at the table.
He looked at me with a frown agitating the corners of his mouth, before pointing at me. "Where are those bruises from?"
"Eh?" I echoed his look, looking down at my shoulders, trying to see what he was talking about. Seeing nothing, I began to question his sanity, when he shook his head and tapped his cheek.
"No, it's right here."
Curiousity compelled me to the bathroom, my brows knitted in confusion. Flicking the light-switch, I stared into the vanity mirror for a moment. Noticing that my cheeks looked awfully shadowed in the bright light of the bulbs above the mirror, I slowly twisted my head to the right, keeping my sight trained on my reflection.
A gasp stole my breath.
Along the curve of my jaw was a hellish looking bruise, bright red and purple that looked too painful than it actually was when I prodded it. Along the soft slope of my cheek bones was a dusting of similar bruises, oval in shape. Stretching out my hand, I slowly lined up my fingertips to the marks, spreading my palm out across my mouth. My heart skipped and missed a beat, before pounding harshly in my chest. Turning my head to the opposite side, to look at my other cheek, I felt a cold spear strike its way down my spine. My thumb touch another oval that peppered itself below my eye. Looking straight into the mirror with the hand still splayed over my face, I realized that there was a familiarity with the position. The eyeless man from the street had held his hand over my mouth the same way, to keep me quiet.
My scream overtook my consciousness, and I was suddenly falling into blackness.
No one will ever appreciate living next to a retired pediatrician more than my father and I. While the old woman could have lived in a posh setting with several convertibles and a healthy and young pool boy, she had decided that living in a quaint, suburban apartment was more her style. Very down-to-earth and quite humble, despite her accomplishments, I was quite taken with Dr. Dolores Henchway. She was my ideal woman, in many aspects - a role-model more reliable than my own mother.
As it was, the good doctor was pressing a cool, creased hand to my forehead, beckoning at my pupils with a flashlight. Apparently I had given my dad quite the fright when I had fainted, and his first reaction (beyond making sure I was alive) was to get the old lady who doubled as our family's practitioner. She may not have been able to write prescriptions, but there was hardly any need for such medicines when it came to father and I. Usually it was just a jarred joint or a rather deep cut that needed tending to… And that was mostly able to be fixed up in our home, without the costly price of the emergency room. Not that Dr. D wasn't compensated… But it surely wasn't the same amount as the closest hospital.
"My lord, Anna… What do you keep doing to yourself?" the old woman asked of me, her delicate white hair layered in white curls around her wrinkled face. She sat the pen light in the black bag by her feet, clutching the wide mouth until it shut with a snap. She stood, then, and I sat up to watch as she stepped to my dad. "She'll be fine. Maybe a headache from bumping her head, but there's no evidence of a concussion. Probably because of her thick skull."
I heard the muttered end of that and let out a sound of argument, but was instantly quieted by my dad's long stare, copied by the retiree at his side. Properly, and silently, chastised for my rudeness, I glared down at my blankets. A rush of blood flooded my cheeks, testament to my embarrassment, and I listened as dad thanked the aged doctor. My ears stayed trained on the two as he saw her out. A smile ghosted over my lips as I heard Dolores refuse the money that dad had no doubt tried to offer her.
"Keep your money, John. I don't want it. Not for just checking to make sure the idiot didn't crack open that empty head of hers."
That quelled the grin on my face and I sent a withering glare at my door, which dad had closed on his way to the hall. Dolores seemed to be the only woman - hell, only person - in the entire world that could get away with insulting me, straight to my father's face. That spoke volumes about his respect for the elder. Still, it didn't make me feel any happier to have my smarts questioned. "My head is not empty…" I pouted. I may respect the woman and, hell, like her, even - but I would never confuse her for nice.
I had settled back into my bed, considering what I was going to say to my dad, when he came to knock on my door. For a split second I considered acting like I had fallen asleep, but I knew that ruse would only last for an hour or two before my aching stomach begged for nourishment. And then I would be back at square one. "Yes, dad…?" I answered, in lieu of permission to enter. He still took the words as a grant to open the door and he stood in the doorway, looking troubled.
"What happened?" he asked, blunt and to-the-point as always. I was actually comforted by his steadiness and sighed, closing my eyes, as I answered.
"I got freaked." I hesitated for a moment, but there was a creak of springs and the mattress dipped as dad took up seating at the end of my bed. It was hard to explain what exactly had happened that morning, and I wasn't sure if now would be a good time to bring it up. "I mean… It looks like somebody had squeezed my face with their hand." Which they had, I reminded myself, as I thought back to the empty sockets.
"Do you know who did it?" my father queried, his voice sounding tight and strained.
Yes. "No," I replied, feeling at the bruises. No matter how hard or light I pressed against them, they didn't respond with any pain or discomfort.
"Stop playing with them," he reprimanded and I immediately let my hand drop from my face. There was a moment of silence, but it only lasted a heartbeat before Dad was standing and heading for the door to my room. "We should call the police, or something… This is dangerous."
"Dad! No, wait!" I called after him, detangling my legs from my blankets. "I really don't think that is necessary," I stressed. He sent me an unreadable look before a frown caught his mouth. "What I mean is… I'm not hurt, right? For all we know, I could have done it in my sleep or something." My fibs were just pulsing out of me, today. "If we call the police, you know their first assumption will be that you caused them. I really would like to keep people from being stupid and causing trouble for us…"
There was logic, in my panic, but dad seemed to almost not notice it. He was still intent on heading towards his cell phone that laid next to his forgotten laptop. "Dad, please!" I begged, once more. I grabbed at his sleeve and pulled, so he would look back over at me. "I promise! If anything else happens we'll call the police! I swear to God, but please… Don't call them over this!"
Silence reigned between the two of us and I could tell, after nearly a minute, that he had conceded. "One thing, Anna. If one more thing happens-"
"I'll call the police, personally," I finished for him. His heavy hand settled on the top of my head, and he ruffled my hair. It was a rather affectionate thing to do, and I warmed at the action. My dad really did love me… More than words would ever convey.
---
As night became to morning, and I shifted from my bed, I realized that I had spent the better half of the last 24 hours, under my covers. A smile of laziness graced my face as I stretched, languidly, across the cream-colored sheets, squeezing my pillow to me with enough strength to fold it in half. As my muscles loosened, I pulled myself out of the warm cocoon of blankets, and shivered slightly as the brisk, morning air penetrated my heated skin. "Shower, shower!" I said, hastily, snagging a change of clothes as I danced from foot to foot. I didn't have carpet and still resolutely refused to wear socks to bed. The chilly floor made my flesh erupt in goose-bumps and I pranced about like a ballerina, trying to keep my soles from fully impacting the hardwood panels.
The bathroom tiles were worse the rest of the apartment, and I gasped harshly at the coldness. "Stupid… winter!" I cursed at the weather, quickly planting my toes in the fuzzy mat in front of the shower. Relief was immediate. "To he, or she, who invented these little rugs," I whispered, reverently, "I love you. Thank you."
"Don't take too long in there!" I heard my father call, as he passed the bathroom, and I sighed.
"I'm telling you… No privacy. No respect." My dad's snort was derisive, at my words, and he apparently didn't feel they were worthy of a response. Still, I rushed my heated shower, only taking a few extra minutes to soak in the warmth of the running water before turning off the faucet and reaching to pull back the curtain that shielded the bathroom floor from the spray.
I was surprised to be able to see my breath, despite the temperature that the room had previously boasted, due to the steam of the shower. Shivering, I noted that the water pooled at the base of the tub was absolutely frigid - like stepping barefoot onto an icy lake.
Ripping the fabric drape back, I stared, wide-eyed, as I came face-to-face with Eyeless. He was reaching for my face, once again, but the scream in my throat had already wilted and died before I could open my mouth. As my body quaked, I blindly took a step back. I felt my foot slip on the puddle that ran towards the tub drain, and it was sudden as I plummeted towards the opposing wall.
The hallow cracking, when my head hit the surround of the shower unit, echoed through the room. There was a pause as Eyeless halted, his hands mere centimetres from were I had been standing, not two seconds before. I didn't feel dizzy, at that point, but my head ached painfully, and I gazed, sightlessly, at the fuzzy image of the thing that had invaded my bathroom.
"Who… are you…?" I whimpered out, as the empty sockets turned to look at me, as if he could actually see without eyes. "Why - why are you doing this…?" I managed, before the door was roughly pounded against.
"Anna! ANNA! Are you okay?" I heard my dad's panicked shout and suddenly I was standing in the shower, curtain closed, shampoo and body wash containers littering the floor of the tub. "Anna!"
Before he chose to knock down the door, even if I was still confused, I answered hesitantly, "Yeah, Dad… I'm good. Just knocked a few bottles over." I winced at my raised voice, bringing a hand to the back of my head. The slick hairs tangled my fingers, but I still noted that I had quite the tender spot near my crown…
Which was exactly where I had hit, during Eyeless' attack.
Bile rose to meet my tongue and, with a speed I never before possessed, I was leaning over the toilet, emptying my stomach of acid and little else. "Anna!" my dad called again, over the sound of splashing that made me even more sick to my stomach. "Are you sick?" came his muffled voice. Obviously, I sassed, mentally. Currently, I wasn't able to give anything more than a groan to his pressing concern, but that little bit seemed to settle him. "When you're… done," I smiled at his awkward moment, as he continued. "Come out to the kitchen. I'll get you a glass of water."
I nodded at his words, before remembering that he wouldn't be able to see it. "Okay," I croaked out, instead, as another wave of nausea swamped me with a vengeance.
Ten minutes later, after getting dressed and thoroughly brushing my teeth, I met up with dad in the tiny kitchen. It wasn't much to look at, during the winter, but summer afternoons lit the yellow paint so brilliantly, one was hard-pressed to breathe at first. The cabinets matched the refrigerator's handle, which then mixed with the wood floor that was standard in all the rooms, except the bathroom. Carefully, I settled into the folded chair that was designated as "mine." Across the tiny table, dad looked at me with suspicion, before passing a cool glass of water towards me.
"Thanks," I whispered, aware of the calculating look that my old man was leveling at me. "Just so you know, I haven't had sex," I started, and that seemed to shock the more conservative man that sat opposite me.
"Anna!"
I shrugged, sipping at the drink. I wasn't a fan of plain water… It was too tasteless. "It's what you were thinking!" I countered. Our eyes locked, a clash of brown and hazel, before he sighed in defeat. "And it's true…" came my defense, shortly after that, and I could practically feel my father's smile as he shook his head. "What?" I demanded, then, sensing that he was laughing at me.
He stood, then, gathering his coat from the back of the chair. He must've been prepared to leave when I had… The thought ended there, as I forced it back, and I followed dad's lead, standing. "I'll be home late, tonight. The rotation has me on-call." I shook my head in acknowledgement. Rotations like this came every few days, and with it being winter, it would be normal for dad to be out all hours of the night, working on "emergencies."
My father's job was nothing simple, nor without an inherent risk. He was employed by a contractor for repairs on heating and air condition units. During the summer it was the latter, and that didn't keep him very busy, but the winter - and this being New York - had him out and about with no break. As the days grew shorter, his work hours stretched for longer. Once the season changed, I would see more of the man, but for now…
"Take it easy," he told me, lacing his shoes at the door. I scoffed, but he threw me a look that told me that he was serious. "Don't get sick, Anna. You run yourself so ragged, I don't think you'll be able to recover before semester end."
"I'll be fine," I promised. My schedule was a bit rough, so I understood his concern, but I wasn't about to let a little bile get in my way. "I'm going to be following you out, shortly, so don't bother to lock the deadbolt," I informed my father, as he opened the door. "Have a good day," I called after him, already walking from the front door. He echoed my sentiments, before the door shut with a finality that made my heart leap to my throat.
I was by myself, in a small apartment, while having hallucinations about eyeless creatures that left physical evidence of its presence.
I nearly flew out the door, two minutes later, still trying to get the buttons hooked right on my coat.
As with most employees that worked in the field of retail, I absolutely hated my job. The people I worked with - misery liked company, after all - were pretty cool, but the customers and my managers were banes. Their entire existence was nothing except another annoyance to kick me in the side. Granted, there were the occasional exceptions to the rule - but so few and far between one another those experiences were like diamonds to coal miners.
At that moment, I had just bid a lady a pleasant day - through clenched teeth - cursing at her haughty attitude. I didn't like when customers challenged my knowledge of company policy. As if I haven't been working for the company for three years, now.
"I can't wait until I graduate," I hissed to another cashier, who laughed pleasantly at my words and expression. Heather was a good sport, I was forced to admit. Pleasant, malleable, and quite lovely, she practically breathed 'prey.' That particular fact made me immediately defensive, declaring it my duty to keep her from being targeted by the pigs that we worked for and the men that came around to buy things from the store. She didn't seem to mind that I was younger than her, but had a better position.
Not that it meant anything, my position. I was just another rung on the ladder, after all.
I began to count the various items that littered the back wall of the register area, leaving the few people in line to Heather. She was competent enough that I could move about, without needing to press me for answers every five seconds - unlike other cashiers that I worked with.
Shaking past the thought, I returned to my busy work. It wasn't critical that I recount the inventory that the registers protected, but it was that… Or agonize over the morning's meeting with Eyeless. Empty sockets flooded my memory, and I froze for an instant.
"Are you okay, Anna…?"
Heather started as I turned, quickly, to flash her a smile. "Just peachy," I assured her, before pointing my pen at some merchandise. I mouthed numbers, as to allude to having returned to my work, and hoping the cashier would catch on and follow suit. With a quizzical grin, she did just that, and I was once more left to my thoughts.
Yesterday had been a fright and today's encounter had me completely frazzled. I pressed a hand to my forehead, hoping to shoo the ache that had formed there. I had no time to deal with hallucinations. Between my part-time job and full-time credits at school, I was basically running from one place to another, with barely enough time to eat, shower, and sleep every day. The weekends were mine, though, and I used them to catch up on schoolwork, rest, and my social obligations. It was currently Wednesday, and I wouldn't be able to have one of those free days for at least 48 hours.
My anticipation was noted by Heather, who flashed me a thumbs-up. I rolled my eyes at her childishness, but appreciated it, nonetheless. I began to make plans for my Saturday, at that point, which included a long soak in the tub, followed by sleeping in until noon. I just needed a day completely off - were I didn't bother with anything but my own laziness.
Then I would be free of any of those pesky nightmares.
"No… You won't."
My heart leapt to my throat at the voice. I tensed immediately, so straight and unbendable that I heard my spine creak with discomfort. I peeked at Heather for a second, to confirm if I had been the only one to hear those words - but no such luck. The petite cashier had her hands clasped over her mouth, cheeks stained a brilliant crimson.
Wait… Why was she blushing?
I made to look behind me, at that, feeling the apprehension sliding from my shoulders as I did so. As my eyes steadied themselves on the owner of the voice, my heart - the poor organ had been through so much the past two days - fluttered with something pleasant. My own cheeks coloured to match Heather's, and I fully invested in facing the young man on the other side of the counter.
Most striking, at first sight, was his eyes. Sure, everyone talks about windows and other nonsense like that but this was different. An almost teal stared back into me, the blue so arctic that I could feel my breath crystallize at that moment, like it would if I stepped outside. I couldn't sense anything from his gaze. There wasn't amusement, disgust… It was almost blank, locking sights with this man. Framing those chips of ice were dark lashes that matched the hair that fell over his forehead to brush at his brow. His lips were turned up into a smirk, but it wasn't friendly, teasing, or dismissive. Just… there.
I felt my stomach turn at the thought that, maybe, this guy didn't understand emotion. It was a silly idea, one that belonged in the pages of ridiculous romance novels, but there was sudden pang of appropriateness. "Can I help you, sir?" I asked, briskly, trying to rid my mind of unwarranted thinking. If it wasn't important, at that moment, I refused to dwell on it. Heather was still rather shocked at the man's entrance and I sent her a look that forced her to calm herself.
"Perhaps." His voice was no longer as jarring as it had been, but it was still relaxed and unhurried. Before I could stop myself, I started to fidget with a stray thread on my work polo. "You are Anna Vitale." It wasn't a question, but I shook my head in the affirmative, anyways. I was starting to get a little creeped that this man, this complete stranger knew my full name. Hot or not, that was beyond stalker status.
I cooled, slightly, when I noticed Heather's hand creep under the register, towards the silent alarm. Smart girl. If anything happened, at least the police would be here promptly. "What do you want from me, sir?" I probed, again, crossing my arms in front of me. I adjusted the way I stood, so that my anxiety was hidden by a look of displeasure.
"I am Dmitry Volsky," he said, as an introduction. "It has come to my attention that you… are seeing things that are not there." My eyes narrowed at the dark-haired man. He was obviously Russian, due to his name, but his English held no trace of an accent. Just who was this man… and how the hell did he know about Eyeless? "If you do not take care of this matter, quickly, he will not settle with just bruises."
'Bothered' no longer described how I felt. Now it was outright irritating me, the amount of information that Dmitry was now spouting. Looking to my left, I watched Heather's open-mouthed astonishment, as she obviously tried to sort what little information she could in that head of hers. "Heather," I snapped, and she jumped at the strain in my voice. "Take care of the front. It would seem that Mr. Volsky has become an issue and I must escort him out of the store." My voice was clipped and controlled, but Heather wasn't buying it.
"Anna… You can't go by yourself…"
I shook my head. "I'll be fine. If I'm not back in five minutes, call the police." The last words were directed towards the young man leaning against the counter. His elbow rested on the spare register, and his facial expression warped into something that sadly resembled gloating. "Let's go, sir." My hiss was enough to cause him to raise a brow, but the venom in my words must have been nonexistent - he didn't recoil in fear as I had hoped.
The automatic doors rushed open as we approached them, and I regretted not having a coat as the sickeningly cold air suddenly bit into my bare arms. New York winters - still at the top of the list. As I walked Dmitry from the store, I waited until there was sufficient amount of distance between the doors and us, before turning on him. "I don't know who you've been talking to, and I really don't care. This is your first and final warning - stay away from me." I moved to step around him and return to the heat of the store, when I was stopped by a hand clenching my elbow.
"I wasn't lying," Dmitry defended, clutching at my joint. "You will die, Anna Vitale, if you do not deal with that ghost."
So it was a ghost that was giving me those hallucinations? That was completely absurd. I yanked at my arm, roughly, until the Russian removed his hand. "I don't care, Mr. Volsky. You have no right to come into my workplace and make such accusations." I ignored etiquette and thrusted my finger into his face. I was not rewarded with a cross-eyed look from those icy orbs, which was slightly disappointing. Instead, his eyes narrowed and focused on me further, even as I yelled. "I see nothing! I know nothing! You are insane and should see a professional." I spun on my heel, then, and stomped back to the store.
"I warned you."
My footfalls halted in the same instant that he spoke. Looking over my shoulder, I let out a shaky breath. Dmitry was gone from where I had left him. Vanished, completely, without a sound. I hurried to return to work, running as if the dogs of hell were nipping at my heels.
---
"You sought her out yourself, Dmitry."
At those words, the man turned to his companion and nodded. "I had no choice. She'll end up killing herself if she continues to deny his existence." A moment of silence stretched between them before Dmitry stood from the couch he had been resting on. "We need her, so it is important that she remains alive."
The female that accompanied the Russian stepped forward, her chilled fingers touching his cheek in a soft caress. "Just remember, Dmitry…"
He swatted at her hand, carelessly, "You do not have to remind me. I know."
It was definitely the sound of a violin.
The music that drifted through the air was soft and slow. It sounded simple, to the untrained ear, but years of learning to play the same instrument told me otherwise. Stopping short, in the middle of the street, my eyes tried to track the notes and their player, but it was futile. This crowd, during the most densely populated hour of the day, would not give sight to the violinist that was in performance.
I was forced to continue to walk, threatened to be knocked to the ground, if I didn't concede. The slush of last week's snow squished under the weight of my rubber boots and a brisk, winter wind stung at my cheeks. New York winters were at the top of my "most disliked" list, followed shortly by spiders and crickets. Heavy volumes of people was rapidly starting to rise in rank, too.
From the way I saw it, no one else could hear the music - that being a long, trilling whole note, I observed - which concerned me for a moment. Was I going crazy…? Shaking the thought from my head, I adopted more reasonable explanations: someone's loud music player, a television display's volume too high… The list ran on. For all I knew, the only reason I was sensitive to the sounds was because of my own history. Besides, as I walked from the center of the street, the tune was growing fainter. As I turned down a road some distance from when I had first noticed the music, it was all but a slight hum in the background - easily masked by traffic and the general hubbub of the pedestrians around me.
A high-pitched shriek echoed from behind me.
Like the majority of those around me, I turned to face the scream. The sight froze me, faster than the bitter breeze that swept my hair from my face.
The first thing that grabbed at my attention was the large spray of blood that seemed to scatter the sky, stationary in time. My heart stilled as the body that belonged to the crimson mist fell to the ground; a noiseless thump that most missed. A chill descended around me, and I could feel the breath in my lungs freeze. Just as I opened my mouth to echo the shout of the crowd - a mixture of shock, fear, and disgust - a cool hand gently held itself against my lips. The yell died in my throat, stillborn. My eyes widened as I glanced over my shoulder, straight into fathomless glass of the darkest black.
My chest tightened, and I stared, petrified, into the eye sockets that were empty of sight. Against the transparent hand that held my words in, I shrieked wildly, soundlessly. The world seemed to be bled of color, the buildings and people around me fading to a blank sheet of gray. Shadows played in my peripheral, and I felt a tugging begin to take at my fingers. Risking the chance and taking my eyes from the eyeless man that had seized me, I felt another arctic whip slice through my arm - tendrils of light were sheathing around the limb, intent on reaching my shoulder. It was as if Death, himself, were touching my back. The light whispered and snatched at places on my body with a grip that squeezed the warmth from me. Help… I thought, desperately, pleading with God to stop what was happening. Please! Help me!
The light blinked out, with a suddenness that caused me to gasp. At that point I was aware that, not only were the wisps gone - but so was my captor. Shivers began to stretch over my entire frame, and I grasped at my arms with the latent fear and anxiety that was still remaining. I couldn't see straight, but people around me seemed to pay no mind to the girl that could barely stand due to her knees knocking with a ferocious intent to topple her. I allowed my legs to give out, feeling that they were unable to support my weight. I looked upwards for a moment, tears making steady marks down my face, as I heard a scoff.
I noted, with a harsh sudden realization, that the crowd was moving, once again… To and fro without any worries. Confusion laced my thoughts, and I looked passed the legs that were weaving in and out of my vision. When I caught a glance of the intersection - the one that was supposed to host a dead body with a pool of blood surrounding it, still warm - I only saw cars. And people. People that were living and healthy.
Disbelief gripped me. What the hell was going on?!
---
The violin stilled. A slight smiled played on the boy's lips as he appraised the female that sat, shaking, in the middle of the sidewalk. "Found her…" he whispered, to the only other occupant in the room. He observed as she pulled herself from the ground.
His order was instantaneous. "Let's go."
My bed ended up being my sanctuary, later that morning. I had numbly walked back to the apartment, let myself in with my key without a thought, and made a beeline for my room. Despite my schedule, I had decided, after finally pulling myself to my feet, that I needed to take the day off. My heart was still pattering away, though it seemed to me that there were moments that it would all but stop. These instances tended to be in response to neighbours entering or leaving their own units - and were slowly becoming less and less frequent. I was calming down, becoming more rational, as the day wore on.
As the sun dipped past one of the buildings close to mine, I settled that it was prime time to remove myself from my covers. I was legitimately allowed to be freaked, I wasn't going to deny that much, but I wasn't going to let my entire day be wasted - cowering under blankets for a whole day. Most of the afternoon was enough to still the trepidation that leaked into my veins any time the air around me cooled.
Coming from my room, I was shocked, momentarily, as my father opened the door to the apartment. I blinked at him before offering a smile and a greeting. "Hey, Dad. How was work?" I asked, stepping forward to snag his computer bag and coat. The courtesy allowed him to remove his shoes with free hands and I turned to place the items in their appropriate places.
"Fine," he answered, gruffly. I rolled my eyes were he couldn't see, shaking my head. My father wasn't the most socially-adept person in the world, but he loved me. Honestly, I wouldn't trade our happy days for anything. It had been three years since we moved out of my mother's house and my parents were divorced for only two of those years, at current count.
The entire fiasco had been a trial that taxed every member of the dysfunctional unit. I could recall all the fighting during the mentoring portion of the paperwork - when possessions were called into play and divided among the two parties by the third. I had been silent for most of these meetings, texting my hatred of the entire ordeal to my friends as I listened to the bickering behind the door from the lobby.
I thought about the way my father had looked, that first consultation, when he left that room. He had looked ashen and shaky, his dark eyes spitting with fury and temper. Even at seventeen - and at that stage where I tried to cause a lot of trouble as a final testament of my youth - I knew not to ask about what had happened and shared in my father's grief and helplessness. No matter how hard he fought, mother would rule this game. She would get what she wanted in the end… and she did.
As I slowly returned to the present, I faintly considered if my mom was happy, wherever she was. After selling our home and taking more than half the profits, she had ran off with a co-worker, and that had been the last time I had heard from her. My curiousity remained stunted, however, as I looked back at my dad. What money he had earned from the real estate had been used for past debt, court fees, and my college tuition. It was rapidly depleting, I calculated, with each semester, and I knew it was becoming even less now that my car had finally died on us. However, like with the proceedings in that counselor's office years ago, my father wasn't about to let me in on the happenings with his finances.
"What would you like for dinner?" I asked, quickly, as to chase away the thought of money and how we were slowly running out of that little surplus. At least we both had jobs. I would pay for my half, as much as possible. Gas, car insurance, and the payment for the new vehicle were all mine to handle - though dad insisted that I fill-up the tank, once a month, on his dime. Conditions of the ability to use the car, he countered, when I argued, and I felt a smile return to my face.
Having divested himself of shoes, my father took a seat at the small kitchen table, leaning his elbows on the surface as his computer whirled to life. "Whatever you want to make," he answered, before frowning. "Why aren't you at school, Anna?" The question was legitimate and I hesitated at the refrigerator.
I didn't lie to my father often - tried to never do it, if possible… But some instances required it. "Well, I got an email from my professor that said that class was cancelled for tonight. It didn't go into details." Details tended to bog down my lies, and useless prattle would alert the man to my fib. As it was, he simply nodded and returned to his computer screen. I let out a silent sigh of relief. Luckily, it had sounded like a plausible excuse and he hadn't asked for evidence - proof of his trust in me.
At that thought I felt rotten for my falsehood, but put it to the side, albeit with difficulty. Some things, like that hallucination, were just better to keep in secret. I had written it off as a bad mixture of yogurt that I had eaten this morning, that had affected my judgment. Perhaps not as believable as the fake email, but it was enough of a scapegoat that sanity had clung to it with a ferocious grip.
"Anna?"
"Yes, Dad?" I answered, turning to face the male sitting at the table.
He looked at me with a frown agitating the corners of his mouth, before pointing at me. "Where are those bruises from?"
"Eh?" I echoed his look, looking down at my shoulders, trying to see what he was talking about. Seeing nothing, I began to question his sanity, when he shook his head and tapped his cheek.
"No, it's right here."
Curiousity compelled me to the bathroom, my brows knitted in confusion. Flicking the light-switch, I stared into the vanity mirror for a moment. Noticing that my cheeks looked awfully shadowed in the bright light of the bulbs above the mirror, I slowly twisted my head to the right, keeping my sight trained on my reflection.
A gasp stole my breath.
Along the curve of my jaw was a hellish looking bruise, bright red and purple that looked too painful than it actually was when I prodded it. Along the soft slope of my cheek bones was a dusting of similar bruises, oval in shape. Stretching out my hand, I slowly lined up my fingertips to the marks, spreading my palm out across my mouth. My heart skipped and missed a beat, before pounding harshly in my chest. Turning my head to the opposite side, to look at my other cheek, I felt a cold spear strike its way down my spine. My thumb touch another oval that peppered itself below my eye. Looking straight into the mirror with the hand still splayed over my face, I realized that there was a familiarity with the position. The eyeless man from the street had held his hand over my mouth the same way, to keep me quiet.
My scream overtook my consciousness, and I was suddenly falling into blackness.
No one will ever appreciate living next to a retired pediatrician more than my father and I. While the old woman could have lived in a posh setting with several convertibles and a healthy and young pool boy, she had decided that living in a quaint, suburban apartment was more her style. Very down-to-earth and quite humble, despite her accomplishments, I was quite taken with Dr. Dolores Henchway. She was my ideal woman, in many aspects - a role-model more reliable than my own mother.
As it was, the good doctor was pressing a cool, creased hand to my forehead, beckoning at my pupils with a flashlight. Apparently I had given my dad quite the fright when I had fainted, and his first reaction (beyond making sure I was alive) was to get the old lady who doubled as our family's practitioner. She may not have been able to write prescriptions, but there was hardly any need for such medicines when it came to father and I. Usually it was just a jarred joint or a rather deep cut that needed tending to… And that was mostly able to be fixed up in our home, without the costly price of the emergency room. Not that Dr. D wasn't compensated… But it surely wasn't the same amount as the closest hospital.
"My lord, Anna… What do you keep doing to yourself?" the old woman asked of me, her delicate white hair layered in white curls around her wrinkled face. She sat the pen light in the black bag by her feet, clutching the wide mouth until it shut with a snap. She stood, then, and I sat up to watch as she stepped to my dad. "She'll be fine. Maybe a headache from bumping her head, but there's no evidence of a concussion. Probably because of her thick skull."
I heard the muttered end of that and let out a sound of argument, but was instantly quieted by my dad's long stare, copied by the retiree at his side. Properly, and silently, chastised for my rudeness, I glared down at my blankets. A rush of blood flooded my cheeks, testament to my embarrassment, and I listened as dad thanked the aged doctor. My ears stayed trained on the two as he saw her out. A smile ghosted over my lips as I heard Dolores refuse the money that dad had no doubt tried to offer her.
"Keep your money, John. I don't want it. Not for just checking to make sure the idiot didn't crack open that empty head of hers."
That quelled the grin on my face and I sent a withering glare at my door, which dad had closed on his way to the hall. Dolores seemed to be the only woman - hell, only person - in the entire world that could get away with insulting me, straight to my father's face. That spoke volumes about his respect for the elder. Still, it didn't make me feel any happier to have my smarts questioned. "My head is not empty…" I pouted. I may respect the woman and, hell, like her, even - but I would never confuse her for nice.
I had settled back into my bed, considering what I was going to say to my dad, when he came to knock on my door. For a split second I considered acting like I had fallen asleep, but I knew that ruse would only last for an hour or two before my aching stomach begged for nourishment. And then I would be back at square one. "Yes, dad…?" I answered, in lieu of permission to enter. He still took the words as a grant to open the door and he stood in the doorway, looking troubled.
"What happened?" he asked, blunt and to-the-point as always. I was actually comforted by his steadiness and sighed, closing my eyes, as I answered.
"I got freaked." I hesitated for a moment, but there was a creak of springs and the mattress dipped as dad took up seating at the end of my bed. It was hard to explain what exactly had happened that morning, and I wasn't sure if now would be a good time to bring it up. "I mean… It looks like somebody had squeezed my face with their hand." Which they had, I reminded myself, as I thought back to the empty sockets.
"Do you know who did it?" my father queried, his voice sounding tight and strained.
Yes. "No," I replied, feeling at the bruises. No matter how hard or light I pressed against them, they didn't respond with any pain or discomfort.
"Stop playing with them," he reprimanded and I immediately let my hand drop from my face. There was a moment of silence, but it only lasted a heartbeat before Dad was standing and heading for the door to my room. "We should call the police, or something… This is dangerous."
"Dad! No, wait!" I called after him, detangling my legs from my blankets. "I really don't think that is necessary," I stressed. He sent me an unreadable look before a frown caught his mouth. "What I mean is… I'm not hurt, right? For all we know, I could have done it in my sleep or something." My fibs were just pulsing out of me, today. "If we call the police, you know their first assumption will be that you caused them. I really would like to keep people from being stupid and causing trouble for us…"
There was logic, in my panic, but dad seemed to almost not notice it. He was still intent on heading towards his cell phone that laid next to his forgotten laptop. "Dad, please!" I begged, once more. I grabbed at his sleeve and pulled, so he would look back over at me. "I promise! If anything else happens we'll call the police! I swear to God, but please… Don't call them over this!"
Silence reigned between the two of us and I could tell, after nearly a minute, that he had conceded. "One thing, Anna. If one more thing happens-"
"I'll call the police, personally," I finished for him. His heavy hand settled on the top of my head, and he ruffled my hair. It was a rather affectionate thing to do, and I warmed at the action. My dad really did love me… More than words would ever convey.
---
As night became to morning, and I shifted from my bed, I realized that I had spent the better half of the last 24 hours, under my covers. A smile of laziness graced my face as I stretched, languidly, across the cream-colored sheets, squeezing my pillow to me with enough strength to fold it in half. As my muscles loosened, I pulled myself out of the warm cocoon of blankets, and shivered slightly as the brisk, morning air penetrated my heated skin. "Shower, shower!" I said, hastily, snagging a change of clothes as I danced from foot to foot. I didn't have carpet and still resolutely refused to wear socks to bed. The chilly floor made my flesh erupt in goose-bumps and I pranced about like a ballerina, trying to keep my soles from fully impacting the hardwood panels.
The bathroom tiles were worse the rest of the apartment, and I gasped harshly at the coldness. "Stupid… winter!" I cursed at the weather, quickly planting my toes in the fuzzy mat in front of the shower. Relief was immediate. "To he, or she, who invented these little rugs," I whispered, reverently, "I love you. Thank you."
"Don't take too long in there!" I heard my father call, as he passed the bathroom, and I sighed.
"I'm telling you… No privacy. No respect." My dad's snort was derisive, at my words, and he apparently didn't feel they were worthy of a response. Still, I rushed my heated shower, only taking a few extra minutes to soak in the warmth of the running water before turning off the faucet and reaching to pull back the curtain that shielded the bathroom floor from the spray.
I was surprised to be able to see my breath, despite the temperature that the room had previously boasted, due to the steam of the shower. Shivering, I noted that the water pooled at the base of the tub was absolutely frigid - like stepping barefoot onto an icy lake.
Ripping the fabric drape back, I stared, wide-eyed, as I came face-to-face with Eyeless. He was reaching for my face, once again, but the scream in my throat had already wilted and died before I could open my mouth. As my body quaked, I blindly took a step back. I felt my foot slip on the puddle that ran towards the tub drain, and it was sudden as I plummeted towards the opposing wall.
The hallow cracking, when my head hit the surround of the shower unit, echoed through the room. There was a pause as Eyeless halted, his hands mere centimetres from were I had been standing, not two seconds before. I didn't feel dizzy, at that point, but my head ached painfully, and I gazed, sightlessly, at the fuzzy image of the thing that had invaded my bathroom.
"Who… are you…?" I whimpered out, as the empty sockets turned to look at me, as if he could actually see without eyes. "Why - why are you doing this…?" I managed, before the door was roughly pounded against.
"Anna! ANNA! Are you okay?" I heard my dad's panicked shout and suddenly I was standing in the shower, curtain closed, shampoo and body wash containers littering the floor of the tub. "Anna!"
Before he chose to knock down the door, even if I was still confused, I answered hesitantly, "Yeah, Dad… I'm good. Just knocked a few bottles over." I winced at my raised voice, bringing a hand to the back of my head. The slick hairs tangled my fingers, but I still noted that I had quite the tender spot near my crown…
Which was exactly where I had hit, during Eyeless' attack.
Bile rose to meet my tongue and, with a speed I never before possessed, I was leaning over the toilet, emptying my stomach of acid and little else. "Anna!" my dad called again, over the sound of splashing that made me even more sick to my stomach. "Are you sick?" came his muffled voice. Obviously, I sassed, mentally. Currently, I wasn't able to give anything more than a groan to his pressing concern, but that little bit seemed to settle him. "When you're… done," I smiled at his awkward moment, as he continued. "Come out to the kitchen. I'll get you a glass of water."
I nodded at his words, before remembering that he wouldn't be able to see it. "Okay," I croaked out, instead, as another wave of nausea swamped me with a vengeance.
Ten minutes later, after getting dressed and thoroughly brushing my teeth, I met up with dad in the tiny kitchen. It wasn't much to look at, during the winter, but summer afternoons lit the yellow paint so brilliantly, one was hard-pressed to breathe at first. The cabinets matched the refrigerator's handle, which then mixed with the wood floor that was standard in all the rooms, except the bathroom. Carefully, I settled into the folded chair that was designated as "mine." Across the tiny table, dad looked at me with suspicion, before passing a cool glass of water towards me.
"Thanks," I whispered, aware of the calculating look that my old man was leveling at me. "Just so you know, I haven't had sex," I started, and that seemed to shock the more conservative man that sat opposite me.
"Anna!"
I shrugged, sipping at the drink. I wasn't a fan of plain water… It was too tasteless. "It's what you were thinking!" I countered. Our eyes locked, a clash of brown and hazel, before he sighed in defeat. "And it's true…" came my defense, shortly after that, and I could practically feel my father's smile as he shook his head. "What?" I demanded, then, sensing that he was laughing at me.
He stood, then, gathering his coat from the back of the chair. He must've been prepared to leave when I had… The thought ended there, as I forced it back, and I followed dad's lead, standing. "I'll be home late, tonight. The rotation has me on-call." I shook my head in acknowledgement. Rotations like this came every few days, and with it being winter, it would be normal for dad to be out all hours of the night, working on "emergencies."
My father's job was nothing simple, nor without an inherent risk. He was employed by a contractor for repairs on heating and air condition units. During the summer it was the latter, and that didn't keep him very busy, but the winter - and this being New York - had him out and about with no break. As the days grew shorter, his work hours stretched for longer. Once the season changed, I would see more of the man, but for now…
"Take it easy," he told me, lacing his shoes at the door. I scoffed, but he threw me a look that told me that he was serious. "Don't get sick, Anna. You run yourself so ragged, I don't think you'll be able to recover before semester end."
"I'll be fine," I promised. My schedule was a bit rough, so I understood his concern, but I wasn't about to let a little bile get in my way. "I'm going to be following you out, shortly, so don't bother to lock the deadbolt," I informed my father, as he opened the door. "Have a good day," I called after him, already walking from the front door. He echoed my sentiments, before the door shut with a finality that made my heart leap to my throat.
I was by myself, in a small apartment, while having hallucinations about eyeless creatures that left physical evidence of its presence.
I nearly flew out the door, two minutes later, still trying to get the buttons hooked right on my coat.
As with most employees that worked in the field of retail, I absolutely hated my job. The people I worked with - misery liked company, after all - were pretty cool, but the customers and my managers were banes. Their entire existence was nothing except another annoyance to kick me in the side. Granted, there were the occasional exceptions to the rule - but so few and far between one another those experiences were like diamonds to coal miners.
At that moment, I had just bid a lady a pleasant day - through clenched teeth - cursing at her haughty attitude. I didn't like when customers challenged my knowledge of company policy. As if I haven't been working for the company for three years, now.
"I can't wait until I graduate," I hissed to another cashier, who laughed pleasantly at my words and expression. Heather was a good sport, I was forced to admit. Pleasant, malleable, and quite lovely, she practically breathed 'prey.' That particular fact made me immediately defensive, declaring it my duty to keep her from being targeted by the pigs that we worked for and the men that came around to buy things from the store. She didn't seem to mind that I was younger than her, but had a better position.
Not that it meant anything, my position. I was just another rung on the ladder, after all.
I began to count the various items that littered the back wall of the register area, leaving the few people in line to Heather. She was competent enough that I could move about, without needing to press me for answers every five seconds - unlike other cashiers that I worked with.
Shaking past the thought, I returned to my busy work. It wasn't critical that I recount the inventory that the registers protected, but it was that… Or agonize over the morning's meeting with Eyeless. Empty sockets flooded my memory, and I froze for an instant.
"Are you okay, Anna…?"
Heather started as I turned, quickly, to flash her a smile. "Just peachy," I assured her, before pointing my pen at some merchandise. I mouthed numbers, as to allude to having returned to my work, and hoping the cashier would catch on and follow suit. With a quizzical grin, she did just that, and I was once more left to my thoughts.
Yesterday had been a fright and today's encounter had me completely frazzled. I pressed a hand to my forehead, hoping to shoo the ache that had formed there. I had no time to deal with hallucinations. Between my part-time job and full-time credits at school, I was basically running from one place to another, with barely enough time to eat, shower, and sleep every day. The weekends were mine, though, and I used them to catch up on schoolwork, rest, and my social obligations. It was currently Wednesday, and I wouldn't be able to have one of those free days for at least 48 hours.
My anticipation was noted by Heather, who flashed me a thumbs-up. I rolled my eyes at her childishness, but appreciated it, nonetheless. I began to make plans for my Saturday, at that point, which included a long soak in the tub, followed by sleeping in until noon. I just needed a day completely off - were I didn't bother with anything but my own laziness.
Then I would be free of any of those pesky nightmares.
"No… You won't."
My heart leapt to my throat at the voice. I tensed immediately, so straight and unbendable that I heard my spine creak with discomfort. I peeked at Heather for a second, to confirm if I had been the only one to hear those words - but no such luck. The petite cashier had her hands clasped over her mouth, cheeks stained a brilliant crimson.
Wait… Why was she blushing?
I made to look behind me, at that, feeling the apprehension sliding from my shoulders as I did so. As my eyes steadied themselves on the owner of the voice, my heart - the poor organ had been through so much the past two days - fluttered with something pleasant. My own cheeks coloured to match Heather's, and I fully invested in facing the young man on the other side of the counter.
Most striking, at first sight, was his eyes. Sure, everyone talks about windows and other nonsense like that but this was different. An almost teal stared back into me, the blue so arctic that I could feel my breath crystallize at that moment, like it would if I stepped outside. I couldn't sense anything from his gaze. There wasn't amusement, disgust… It was almost blank, locking sights with this man. Framing those chips of ice were dark lashes that matched the hair that fell over his forehead to brush at his brow. His lips were turned up into a smirk, but it wasn't friendly, teasing, or dismissive. Just… there.
I felt my stomach turn at the thought that, maybe, this guy didn't understand emotion. It was a silly idea, one that belonged in the pages of ridiculous romance novels, but there was sudden pang of appropriateness. "Can I help you, sir?" I asked, briskly, trying to rid my mind of unwarranted thinking. If it wasn't important, at that moment, I refused to dwell on it. Heather was still rather shocked at the man's entrance and I sent her a look that forced her to calm herself.
"Perhaps." His voice was no longer as jarring as it had been, but it was still relaxed and unhurried. Before I could stop myself, I started to fidget with a stray thread on my work polo. "You are Anna Vitale." It wasn't a question, but I shook my head in the affirmative, anyways. I was starting to get a little creeped that this man, this complete stranger knew my full name. Hot or not, that was beyond stalker status.
I cooled, slightly, when I noticed Heather's hand creep under the register, towards the silent alarm. Smart girl. If anything happened, at least the police would be here promptly. "What do you want from me, sir?" I probed, again, crossing my arms in front of me. I adjusted the way I stood, so that my anxiety was hidden by a look of displeasure.
"I am Dmitry Volsky," he said, as an introduction. "It has come to my attention that you… are seeing things that are not there." My eyes narrowed at the dark-haired man. He was obviously Russian, due to his name, but his English held no trace of an accent. Just who was this man… and how the hell did he know about Eyeless? "If you do not take care of this matter, quickly, he will not settle with just bruises."
'Bothered' no longer described how I felt. Now it was outright irritating me, the amount of information that Dmitry was now spouting. Looking to my left, I watched Heather's open-mouthed astonishment, as she obviously tried to sort what little information she could in that head of hers. "Heather," I snapped, and she jumped at the strain in my voice. "Take care of the front. It would seem that Mr. Volsky has become an issue and I must escort him out of the store." My voice was clipped and controlled, but Heather wasn't buying it.
"Anna… You can't go by yourself…"
I shook my head. "I'll be fine. If I'm not back in five minutes, call the police." The last words were directed towards the young man leaning against the counter. His elbow rested on the spare register, and his facial expression warped into something that sadly resembled gloating. "Let's go, sir." My hiss was enough to cause him to raise a brow, but the venom in my words must have been nonexistent - he didn't recoil in fear as I had hoped.
The automatic doors rushed open as we approached them, and I regretted not having a coat as the sickeningly cold air suddenly bit into my bare arms. New York winters - still at the top of the list. As I walked Dmitry from the store, I waited until there was sufficient amount of distance between the doors and us, before turning on him. "I don't know who you've been talking to, and I really don't care. This is your first and final warning - stay away from me." I moved to step around him and return to the heat of the store, when I was stopped by a hand clenching my elbow.
"I wasn't lying," Dmitry defended, clutching at my joint. "You will die, Anna Vitale, if you do not deal with that ghost."
So it was a ghost that was giving me those hallucinations? That was completely absurd. I yanked at my arm, roughly, until the Russian removed his hand. "I don't care, Mr. Volsky. You have no right to come into my workplace and make such accusations." I ignored etiquette and thrusted my finger into his face. I was not rewarded with a cross-eyed look from those icy orbs, which was slightly disappointing. Instead, his eyes narrowed and focused on me further, even as I yelled. "I see nothing! I know nothing! You are insane and should see a professional." I spun on my heel, then, and stomped back to the store.
"I warned you."
My footfalls halted in the same instant that he spoke. Looking over my shoulder, I let out a shaky breath. Dmitry was gone from where I had left him. Vanished, completely, without a sound. I hurried to return to work, running as if the dogs of hell were nipping at my heels.
---
"You sought her out yourself, Dmitry."
At those words, the man turned to his companion and nodded. "I had no choice. She'll end up killing herself if she continues to deny his existence." A moment of silence stretched between them before Dmitry stood from the couch he had been resting on. "We need her, so it is important that she remains alive."
The female that accompanied the Russian stepped forward, her chilled fingers touching his cheek in a soft caress. "Just remember, Dmitry…"
He swatted at her hand, carelessly, "You do not have to remind me. I know."