The Wellzinger Project

Chapter One (2-3)

     Credit card after credit card. Marc couldn't help but to grit his teeth. It was very hard to get money off of credit cards if you weren't the original owner.       Sure, it was possible, but very time consuming, and when you lived like Marc you didn't have time for things to be very time consuming. In fact, he was wasting more time than he should have been right now. Jack would be pacing around the counter at the gas station by now, more than irritated.
     "Are you...er...completely sure? You look lost. I know I'm certainly lost." He tried to look shy. "Your eyes are so...erm...nice."
     That was a lie. The man did not have nice eyes. They were such a dark brown that they looked almost black.
A lottery ticket. Another credit card.
But the man's lips morphed into a smirk. The nerve of this guy. "You think so?"
    "Mhm."
     He finally- finally- slipped a dollar out of his pocket- and a credit card or two just in case- but in his haste the wallet fell out of his hand. Marc cursed.
     "What?" The man put a hand on his back as if to steady him, and Marc had to force himself not to flinch away- his hand was cold and felt too bony for his liking, like a corpse that had been left to rot in a meat locker.
     "Oh, nothing." Marc slipped the man's wallet back into his pocket. "Just don't think you'd give me your number. You know, in case I get lost again and need assistance?" He leaned just a little closer to him...closer still...And snatched another bag of Funions from the rack.
     The man looked noticeably startled and a whole lot redder in the face. "My number?" He blinked, wide-eyed. Oh, he was fun to mess with.
     "Mhm." He tossed the bag over his shoulder.
     "I...I don't really do calls. Or texts. Or phones whatsoever, but-"
     "I understand." Marc sighed, purposely putting his hand on the man's knee and straining to grab another bag. "How about we meet up, then? Would that be better?"
     The man grabbed the bag and handed it to him. "That wouldn't be awful."
     "Right?" Marc sat back, smiling. "How about Barney's? Friday, at noon?" He started using that Special Voice again, and the reserved look on the man's face finally seemed to give way to a warm smile. "Alright." He put a hand out. "Though I should probably introduce myself before we do this, no? I'm Julius."
     "Marc." He shook his hand. A warm tingle ran up his arm and settled in his chest, though he ignored it. Probably just that adrenaline rush that came with the success of robbing a businessman in the snack aslie of a dollar store.
     Julius really knew how to pull off a shy smile. "Is that Mark with a 'k' or-"
"C." Marc was surprised he actually bothered to ask- most just assumed he spelled his name like every other Mark they knew.
     "Okay." Julius stood up, a basket full of Crinkles in one hand. "Ciao, bellissima." He gave him a sly wink and he was gone.
     Though Marc realized three things in rapid succession as Julius walked away.
One, Julius had taken his wallet without him knowing it.
     Two, Julius had just played him like a fool.
     Three, Julius held something dark and glossy, an uneven lump in his other hand that looked as if it was beating, beating like a-
     Marc's hand flew to his chest. Nothing pulsed under his palm.
Julius had taken his heart.
     Panicking- not even bothering to stop and wonder just now this had happened- he slipped what he'd stolen out of his shoe.
     A five dollar bill, a credit card- curse it- and what at first glance appeared to be a driver's license. Upon closer inspection, Marc noticed Necromancer's License along the top in plain black font, and besides that it looked exactly like a driver's license, so now yes knew Julius Rodger Wellzinger was just under 6 feet, and had what apparently classified as brown eyes- Oh joy!
     He pocketed everything, cursing under his breath, his chest tightening in panic.
     Time and time again he'd heard whispered rumors of necromancer's stealing an unwary idiot's eye or lung or something simply via touch. It had seemed too outrageous to be true: just some silly wife's tale to explain why some people were born without or lost limbs over the course of their life.
     Yet Marc was sitting in the middle of a dollar store, now very much lacking a heart. At least partly. He was still breathing, but he now had no pulse. It was as if only the physical heart had been taken, but it somehow continued to function out of his chest.
     His phone buzzed, and he answered.