The Guily Ones

New York

Authors Note: The next three chapters are a flashback. You'll get Ash's story before Bon Temps, her past with Eric. If you're not interested and prefer to continue reading directly: Chapter 12: Nothing but Pie. Remember: Share, Comment, Like, and Vote!

Loud honking startled me.

A glance to the left revealed that the hustle and bustle on the main street had hardly been interrupted by the noise. New York. Everything was loud. Always and everywhere.

From my vantage point, leaning against a trash container in an alley, I could make out a taxi driver who had stormed out of his car. He seemed to have taken it upon himself to yell at a disbelieving bike courier. His face was contorted with anger, and the young bike courier responded to the public humiliation with a motivated chin punch.

I instinctively pulled my shoulder up. Ouch.

I wasn't the only one who had witnessed the altercation. Attracted by the commotion, people in the vicinity stopped and turned their heads. Others hurried along even more to escape the scene of the argument and disappeared into the shadows of the night. I however wanted to see the end of the story.

The taxi driver held a hand over his mouth, his body bent, while the bike courier stared completely shocked at his clenched fist. Then his gaze became empty: Odd. Except for me, no one seemed to be watching the face of the young man (he couldn't really be older than nineteen) but instead were focused on the taxi driver awaitinf, with increasing tension in the air, the man's reaction. Everyone except the bike courier.

With an empty look, he struck again and hit the man with such force that he collapsed unconscious to the ground.

Shocked gasps and general discomfort spread. The young man, as if controlled remotely, got on his bike again and rode off with a leisurely pace, no emotionover what had just happened visible on his face. I frowned. Maybe he was on drugs.

Still pondering the scene, I made my way home. Cold began to creep into my limbs as my black leather jacket wasn't really equipped to ward off the damp autumn weather – But at least it looked stylish though.

Dark alleyways swallowed me up as I continued to ponder, chewing on my lower lip. Since watching that peculiar encounter a few minutes ago, the nagging feeling of déjà vu wouldn't leave me, and I racked my brain trying to understand why I felt so off track. The taste of honey spread on toast tickled in my mouth, and for a moment, I felt transported back to a time when everything was still okay. When I sat with my mother on the veranda of our small house in the South, watching the sunset behind the fields. When light clouds broke the sunlight into pink clouds, and a gentle warm breeze blew my hair from my face. I could still hear her, my mother's voice as she hugged me and whispered softly in my ear, "My little sunshine!"

I blinked. Abruptly, I was back in New York after my keys slipped from my hand and fell loudly to the floor in the foyer. I stood on the ground floor of my apartment building, trying to open the security door when my neck hairs stood on end.

It was quiet. Completely and utterly silent.

One had to know, in New York, it was never quiet. Especially not in such a large old apartment complex like ours. There was always someone walking the halls, indulging in some intoxication. Or at least a crying baby. But today - nothing.

That aerie feeling intensified.

As quietly as possible, I turned the lock and looked at the broken elevator. The light was out, and the doors were half open. I knew I shouldn't look inside, but my damn curiosity won out, taking over, and before I could consciously make a decision, I stuck my head through the elevator doors hanging ajar. I managed to turn my rising scream into a choked gasp just in time. Tears welled up in my eyes and ran down my cheeks.