Grasp of Darkness

Chapter One

White teeth glinted in the dim light of the candle, visible in the mirror like the woman curled up behind her, still in uniform and snoring her worries away. The sunrise shone in front of her dresser, her skin stained orange from the kiss of the sun. Phoebe always loved early mornings, though she despised the part where she was forced to escape the comfort of her bed.

The city streets were visible to her, already crowded with a few people, speeding down the sidewalks to reach their destinations, sweat sticking to their skin even though the heat had not yet hit.

She turned to Caty's crib, standing up from her chair and looking down at the sleeping child. She looked so much like her father–like him, too. Too much like them. But then again, she was Angela's baby. She would grow up with her mother's smile and her quick wit. She would grow up in a home filled with kindness and love, not with guns hidden beneath floorboards and the threat of danger around her at all times. She would not grow to take the crown of a world that no one belonged in–no one with their mind in tact, at least.

He was unhinged. His suit fit him far too well, even when blood was splattered across his lapel. It belonged there; he belonged to the world of organized crime. He belonged on the throne, right where he was. Moving across the country did not change that, though she had seen some visible changes within her atmosphere.

Businesses were growing more worried; everyone's eyes on the street who grazed over her hunched form were a threat; and lastly, every camera was a danger to her. Private Investigators, his men, and even himself at the very least were looking for her at all times of the day. Her and Angela both, Caty too.

They were all in grave danger, though there was no world in which they would die. No world in which they would let that happen. Never.

"You're mine," he used to whisper. "Nothing, and I mean nothing, will ever touch you again."

The door to their studio apartment creaked open as Phoebe slipped out, whipping around to be sure Angela and Caty did not stir. When neither of them moved, Phoebe left, marching down the hall to the back stairwell. No one was out at that time of the morning. It was the time she felt safe, where no one could watch her, where no one was a threat.

When the door to the building opened, a rush of air blew past her, tendrils of deep red hair flying in front of her eyes. She brushed it back quickly, her movements sharp as she surveyed the area. She remembered days when she used to cherish small moments such as that one, a cool breeze flying through her hair and brushing over her skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake as she shivered with the trees.

Now, she was far too busy being sure that no one would jump her, chloroform in hand. They had a close call just two months before; then, they were in Minnesota. Now, they were in California, powering through the Summer heat. She could vividly recall the panic that embraced her, how she shook Angela awake, her hands stained with blood while banging sounded outside of their door.

"We need to go," she hissed. "We need to go now. Leave our shit; grab the baby."

They clambered through the window, Angela clutching the baby tightly to her chest, begging that she stay quiet. They hailed a cab, diving in just before they were caught, the men running after the car as far as they could, not daring to pull their guns. Hitting either of them would mean their heads being placed on sticks.

The bell of the coffee shop rang as she stepped over the threshold, smiling at the barista behind the counter. Quickly, she read the nametag of the woman–Ophelia, she read–and greeted her. "Hello, Ophelia. How are we this morning?"

The barista did not smile back, the bags under her eyes becoming more apparent each second. Pity filled Phoebe; she looked so young, not much older than herself. "Not bad," Ophelia said, monotone. "And how are you?"

"I'm wonderful. I'll have a large black coffee to go please?"

Ophelia nodded, heading to the machines. "Anything else?"

"No thanks." More people began to litter the streets. One coffee would have to do; food could come later, though her stomach felt as if it was about to cave in on itself, growling and gurgling in its pain. They had not had much money for food, and even then, a lot of it was given to Angela who spent it on baby formula and other necessities. And Phoebe would not have it any other way. That little girl would have everything she needed from just the two of them, no matter what it took to keep it that way.

The bell tinkled behind her and mens' voices filled the room. Phoebe's back stiffened, but she remained strong, keeping a small smile on her face. She left money on the counter, quickly trading it for the coffee, being sure there was enough for a tip. "Thank you, Ophelia," she whispered, before walking out of the coffee shop without another word.

Her work was just a few doors down. It was a quaint little flower shop. She worked in the back room, arranging the bouquets for clients, but she enjoyed it all the same. It was her only form of release, her only form of freedom in her life on the run. With the flowers, she could allow her mind to run wild, she could touch nature again and feel as if she was wild again. Something he took away from her the very second they crossed paths; from the second he laid eyes on her, she was no longer free, no longer her own creature.

She was just his–not on her own conviction, but of his. It brought forth a bout of bile every time she thought of it.

But that would be life. It would be life until time caught up to him, and until he finally forgot about her and what he thought they had together.

Besides, he was far too busy a man to hang onto her forever. It was simply impossible.