Unlikely

TWENTY ONE

It has been over a week and still, the woman haunts me. The wild hair and the eyes... shaded brown like mine, or rather, like mine with contacts in. I suspect her browns might be contacts too and I wonder what mystery they hide. There was something about her, something I couldn't yet define, that was fascinating. On the one hand, I found her very attractive. Her face was sharp, but there was an exotic element to her hard features I found appealing. On the other hand, my enhanced olfactory senses told me quite a lot about her and the newly hatched animal in me responds even now. Her scent still lingers in my memory and from this, I know that she has a metabolic condition causing the odd fishy smell. I also sense a similarity between us, some pheromone that reminds me of dried seaweed and charred wood.....and I know the coppery tang is the scent of blood.

I am back at work, trying to look menacing, though my heart isn't in it. I am still paired with the Neanderthal and today he is trying to impress me with tales of his latest side jobs. I have only been listening with half an ear but I am starting to get the feeling that putting him down would be doing society a mighty service. I stare across the road to the opposite alley where Mickey is waiting for me. I am about to zone out, wishing for the end of my shift, when I suddenly catch words that snap me back to the present.

"Ya, them kidnapping jobs pays pretty good and it's not like rocket science, na, like plucking candy off the damn street." My coworker plays with the large chain around his neck and winks at a woman passing between us, grabbing at her ass for good measure.

I blink at him, startled out of my boredom by his admission. A chill races through me. Could I have been unwittingly working with one of the very people we've been searching for? Could he be a link to the location of the missing kids? If the kids are being kept in the warehouse Mike and I'd found.... Would this fool be our secret weapon and gain us entry without another 'incident'? The last time we'd been there Mike had been doused with an unknown elixir and I'd gotten exposed as well. We'd barely made it out of there and it had been touch and go for Mike. He's his old self now, sort of, but if we could gain entry without exposing ourselves yet again....?

And who eats candy off the ground? I shudder as an image of him picking his teeth with his jewelry flits through my brain. Now of course he's seen me pay attention to him and is busy working the girls, pointedly ignoring me. I could kick myself for responding to his nonsense. If what he'd said is true, if he is in on the kidnappings, he would never admit it now. His greatest pleasure, other than extorting cash from the less attractive girls who want entrance, is trying getting a rise out of his stoic partner.

I sigh disdainfully and ignore him again, hoping his petulant desire for attention will get him talking again, if only to irritate me. Tonight is unusually busy and the line of people in glittery stretch fabric lines the alley and bends around the corner. I try to settle myself to a long night and have accomplished what I think is a bored, imperious attitude when my boss explodes out the door, crashing into a trio of scantily clad party goers.

"Char! Damn it!" My new boss didn't think 'Bill Friendly' a particularly menacing name and refused, unreservedly, to use it. This is the first time I have been renamed by my employer and I wonder if he imagines me to be some sort of vicious junkyard dog at his beck and call. I suppose the name suits the persona I play here better than 'Bill'. It draws attention to the darkened aspects of my visage, a burned man, a little singed around the edges. But still, it is galling to be renamed like a pet. My boss dives back inside, expecting me to follow.

A path opens before me as people struggle to move out of my way. I ignore their looks of dismay as I brush past and can't help wonder what myths have been spread about me. The reaction to my appearance alone seems a bit dramatic. Through the throng and the pulsing lights and thumping music, I finally find my employer waving toward another entrance to the club. This one is little used, probably for VIPs, and a huddle of bodies blocks my view. Someone is on the floor, one of the other bouncers. I recognize the crooked nose. I push forward and squat next to the body, for it is clear he is no longer among the living. I don't bother taking a pulse.

"What the hell Char!" My bosses dome is shiny with sweat and he looks wildly unhappy. I wonder if this isn't the first time he's seen something like this. "I can't have this. Not this week. Get your reprobate of a partner to help you with this and then..." He draws breath before shouting, "Find who did this and take care of it!"

I sense Mickey sliding through the shadows as she follows me, keeping me within sight. I am striding unencumbered toward an abandoned section of the old cattle shipping docks, trailing behind my lowlife partner. This appears to be a well-worn route for him and wheeling a body on a utility cart an accustomed habit. I remain aloof as my mind whirls. I am convinced now that he is the key to finding the kids....but getting him to talk will require something from me I have never given by choice. Violence has always been a last resort, usually brought on by another's actions. The animal inside me has settled in comfortably since the last time I was subjected to an elixir but letting it free isn't something I am anxious to do. Will I be able to control it once it's gotten a scent of blood?

"So what, Boss Man wants you to know where to drop the stiffs now? This keeps up we'll have to find a new spot, the fishes of prey can't keep up!" He laughs hoarsely to himself. There is a set to his shoulders and an unwillingness to turn around to address me that has me wondering. Then I realize, he's skittish....and it's not the corpse he's wheeling to a watery concealment, despite the strange ring of dried flesh around the neck. This thug, the Neanderthal, is afraid of me.

I don't respond to his nervous chatter. Partly, I know it will feed his fears, but mostly, I am not sure what to make of it. To my knowledge, no one has ever been afraid of me before. I was a copy clerk with a medical condition, shunned, fired for being unbearably odd. I'd made plenty of people uncomfortable... but not fearful.

It is close to three am the witching hour. A sallow moon is up but largely hidden behind a swath of inky clouds. Shadows lurk and I feel an excitement I can't explain growing in my chest. I feel a need to do something, to take action. Once again I have floundered, allowed my life to drift without purpose. Mike was right, exposure to a mutating elixir is an opportunity, not a burden. I am, now, something more than I was. Something greater. Don't I have an obligation to use my newfound talents for the greater good?