In Loving Memory, Frank Warren

Chapter 1: Raw

When he peered in the mirror Frank saw the throbbing area of his jaw looked even worse than it felt. Red, bright and angry, flared across his skin from the point of impact. The center had turned a nasty purple and he suspected the entire left side of his jaw would follow suit. With a sigh he swept his black bangs from hanging across his eyes as he wondered how long it had been since he had a haircut. Too long.

He never took time for frivolous things like haircuts. But letting Kelly get shit-faced and getting the crap beat out of him at three in the morning, he always made the time. His priorities were screwed.

Cutting through his pristine white kitchen, Frank snagged a waiting icepack from the freezer. While holding it against the lump forming on his jaw Frank headed out. There was no destination in mind, no objective, just escape from these stifling walls.

Keys jangling in his pocket, Frank headed straight for the elevator. It was interminably slow, as usual. He had no patience for it today. His eyes searched out another alternative. Window. He lived on the fifth floor, jumping might only maim him. Nope. Next? Stairs.

Stairs. Interesting. He had not taken the stairs since moving in here. His rapidly expanding waistline was proof of his Slow Elevator tolerance to date. But why wait on this stupid elevator when he could zip down a few flights of stairs? Frank counted to ten, still no elevator. He headed for the stairs secretly thrilled to have finally defeated his nemesis Slow Elevator.

When he reached the ground floor Frank felt winded though he had been going downstairs, not up. The up trip might kill him. Once again Slow Elevator would be the victor when he returned. Damn.

A few people in the lobby stared curiously at him as he passed, their eyes drawn to his icepack. Screw them. Ever since his parents helped him buy his condo last year he had avoided drawing attention and done his level best to blend in. What had it earned him? Another capitulation to Kelly so the bastard wouldn't start yelling and alert the neighbors and this time a bruise where he couldn't hide it. It was almost as if the rat-bastard wanted people to know what was going on. At least no one had called the cops this time and his furniture had survived. So far.

Out on the sidewalks the curious looks faded quicker and Frank's steps grew stronger. These people he did not know and it suited him fine. Deciding to go where there were more people he would not know, Frank headed for the park. It was only a few blocks and the walk should clear his head.

The day was pretty, clear, not a cloud in the sky. An unusually long winter made this spring day crisp, the heat of summer a distant promise. Birds twittered in the trees when he strolled into the park. On a pretty Saturday like this the park was fairly packed with couples and families. A dull ache formed in his chest as he surveyed the running and shouting children and happy parents.

Pausing on the sidewalk Frank debated on whether he should keep walking or turn around to go home. Nothing pleasant waited for him at home, empty rooms steeped in dark shadows. Only the throbbing of his jaw alerted him to the fact his hand had dropped to his side.

Lifting the icepack back into position Frank scanned the area as his heart hammered in his chest. Idyllic weekend scenes like this were always preludes to some waiting horror. The dull ache in his chest intensified and he knew his search for trouble focused on the wrong place. He shifted his gaze from the people in the park to the sky, hoping against hope he would not see dark smoke. Twin white lines in the east caused his heart to skip a beat and he stared in utter horror until he realized those lines were jet contrails and not smoke. The jets were fine.

"Frank?"

The voice at his shoulder caused him to jump in place and his head whipped to the side. A man near his age with short brown hair and a puzzled look stared at him.