Spirit Hackers

Two

The cool, heavy air of Manhattan filled Evan Ellis's lungs as he traversed the Lower West Side of the city. A myriad of rooftop lights illuminated the blackness. Even at the dismal hour of 2 AM he could see everything as if it was noon. In the past few hours he'd hopped from one venue to another. After his third solo game at the BowlMore, he grew bored. There had to be a better place to drown away his senses. Ellis dashed past Washington Square Park and crossed West 4th into yet another bar whose name didn't matter. If his short time in New York had taught him anything, it was that all bars were open until sunrise and their food couldn't be beat.

Minutes after ordering, the bartender presented him with a plate of sliders and a glass of pink something. She claimed there was vodka in it. One sip of the fruity concoction was enough of a reminder to order a specific drink next time and not leave it up to the girl making $6.25 an hour. He bit into the burger. The char of the grill made its way through his sinuses, turning the snack into a moment of bliss. The warm cheese melted over his taste buds for a perfect taste. Ellis closed his eyes and swallowed only after savoring that first bite. Sudden laughter from a nearby crowd caught his attention. Ellis turned to see a group of young professionals laughing as they ran through a trivia game in comical fashion. Their neat suits had long been discarded for bare collars and half-unbuttoned blouses. Each of the player's drinks was covered with an index card. Ellis cracked a smile, as a junior male of the group practically gagged on his beer from chugging it too fast.

Ellis turned back to the bar and flipped open an abandoned newspaper. The usual dregs of everyday life in a big city graced the headlines: a murder suspect caught, the threat of yet another MTA fare hike, and the nine-year anniversary of the tragic death of a boy up in Westchester. Ellis tried to flip to the sports section but was met with a hand holding down the pages.

"Hi there," Ellis heard.

He glanced up to see a young woman gripping his copy of the Times. His instinct to snap was derailed by her blue eyes. They disarmed him and "Hello," was all he could muster.

The building silence held way longer than he was comfortable. Her extended hand finally broke through. "I'm Emily. Mind if I sit here?"

She didn't wait for his answer and took a seat at his table. His heart began racing and he tried feverishly to calm himself.

"No, no. Not at all," Ellis gestured towards the stool.

"Whatcha got there?" she nodded at the sipped glass.

"Not really sure. She claims there's vodka in it," Ellis pointed at the overworked bartender.

Her sweet smile contrasted heavily with her playful tone. "Someone's not in a drinking mood, huh?"

Ellis started to groan, but caught himself. He found small talk boring. In almost any other situation he would've gotten up. Now he couldn't. This girl must've been briefed on his myriad of weaknesses before heading out to this place. Her brown hair was accented with streaks of blonde. It was complimented by dark eye makeup, a skin-tight dark top, fishnets, and knee-high combat boots. He'd call the mid-twenties girl Goth, but something in her personality didn't quite fit. Instead of worrying about who she was trying to be, he slid the glass her way.

"It's got some fruit shit in it."

"Never let a drink go to waste, I say," Emily took the glass and downed the mix.

Ellis cocked an eyebrow. "Aren't you worried about taking a drink that isn't yours?"

Emily shrugged. "Not really. Besides, if you're looking to take advantage of me, all you need to do is ask."

Ellis howled and knew she was doomed in ways she couldn't ever imagine.

The cab pulled up to her door fifteen minutes after she'd guzzled his drink. The door hadn't even shut before she was working his pants off.

Her words were heavy and warm in his ear. "You better like it rough, because I don't go easy on tough men like you," she said. Her hand grazed his cheek's stubble.

Ellis took a deep breath and detached her body off his. She pursued harder, enjoying the resistance. His clothes fell to the floor and Emily utilized his belt as a leash, leading him to the bedroom. Ellis made quick work of the various zippers and buckles affixed to her attire. Ellis could barely see her arm-length tattoo in the dim bedroom. A bird's wing adorned her skin, which led to a shooting star on her right shoulder blade.

"Wait," Ellis paused, taking a step back. "This isn't a good idea."

The kneeling woman slid forward on the bed. Her body's movement only made Ellis's words harder to get out.

"Is that so?" She smirked and placed her hands to her hips. Her pouted lips dripped with sarcasm and desire.

"There's something you don't know about me. This... This will end badly." Simply saying the words made him feel like an idiot.

"Look," the half-naked girl said. "I'm not looking for a boyfriend or a relationship. I don't want your phone number and I don't care where you live. That good enough for you?"

The words came out almost too easily. This was not the first time she'd given this speech. Watching the authoritative stance she took only made the temptation harder to resist. His body was closing in to overtake his mind. Deep inside he was screaming at himself to get dressed and leave. There was no reason to be here. Yet he stood in the bedroom unable to make an exit. The desire had him. It had been far too long. He made one last try to reason with her. Anything to get rejected and push him to leave.

"You're in danger if we do this. I can't put it any clearer than that."

She flashed the most sinister of grins. "Tough guys like you don't scare me. I've been to hell and back and have nothing to lose."

She slid up his torso. Tingles shot down his body with lips to his ear. "Now, are we going to fuck or what?"

Evan Ellis moved in darkness, contemplating what he had just done. The only help for maneuvering around the apartment was from the lit billboards up the street coming through Emily's broken blinds. He picked his clothes out from the pile on the floor. He knew to be careful. Ellis hadn't touched anything with his bare hands when leaving the bedroom. Dropping each leg into his jeans, Ellis knew it was time to perform his after-sex routine. He wanted to be sad that he was forced to memorize yet another apartment's layout, but too many years had numbed him from caring anymore.

As the small framed 30-year-old finished getting dressed, he wished he hadn't relied on her on her word that everything would be okay. He knew exactly what was to come, yet he let his emotions get the better of him. He looked back toward the bedroom, shaking his head in disgust.

With his sneakers laced up he ran a quick mental check to ensure he had all his stuff. Most important, he needed to remove anything linking him to the apartment. After a final once-over, Ellis walked to the telephone on the end table. With his shirt wrapped around his hands, he dialed 911. He didn't say anything into the phone, only placing the receiver on the table, leaving the line open. Ellis hustled to the door and got the hell out of there. Based on past experiences, he knew help would be at her door in four minutes. Ellis darted down the flight of stairs. Each landing echoed his anxious breaths. His heart raced faster as the floor number at each level decreased. Finally outside, Ellis could see no sirens in either direction. The distant air was silent as only Manhattan could be. The situation couldn't be any better. By the time anybody arrived, he would be blocks away.

Ellis hurried down the empty pavement and gave his mind a minute to ask when this would stop. Could he ever live a normal life? So many years had passed by. Too many people were gone. It was an impossible dilemma nobody should ever have to live through. Unfortunately, Ellis didn't know how to rid himself of the curse. There were the occasional half-assed attempts where Ellis found himself hours deep into various medical journals. He would run copious amounts of online searches hoping, praying, a scrap of research data would present itself. Each session yielded no clues. The few people he confided in either tried to exploit him or were so fearful they ordered him to leave their presence the moment he informed them of his ability.

He couldn't blame them. He'd be scared too. There was no other reaction when he told someone they'd die just from his touch.