Marked for Vengeance (18 page)

He
searched frantically for something else to focus on --
anything
except
the monstrous imagery in front of him -- when something new caught his
attention, something he hadn’t seen in past dreams. A tall figure stood in the
distance.

He
squinted to determine their identity, but the darkness veiled their features.
The figure floated toward them in a deliberate, gliding motion, and as it
approached, the first thing he recognized was the long, black beard that lay atop
his white robe.
Oman
. 

As
he watched his unhurried arrival, something nudged his shoulder, rocking him
sideways. He cut his eyes to the side, but nothing lingered there. Another
nudge, this time stronger, knocked him onto the grass. As Oman’s bare feet came
upon them, one more nudge shoved him forward, and his dream spiraled into
black.

He sprung
into a seated position on the bed. A shadow stood off to the side in the
darkness, shouting at him with a muffled, broken voice as though it were behind
a glass door. He pivoted his head, and the owner of the troubled cry came into
focus.
Micah
?

“Dad!”
he shouted. “You awake now? DAD!”

Isaac
gasped as reality rushed to meet him, and he grabbed his son’s arm to steady
himself. Micah rested beside him on the bed. “Are you ok?” he asked worriedly. “I
was ready to push you off of the bed to get you to wake up. You wouldn’t quit
moaning.”

Isaac
wiped the sweat from his neck. “Sorry, son. I must have really been asleep.
Thank you for wakin’ me.”

“Can
I get you anything? You want some water?” he asked as he rubbed Isaac’s
shoulder. “I’m not used to being the one who comforts.” 

He
rested against the back of the couch. “No, I’m good. I just need a minute,” he
said and patted his leg reassuringly. “Head back to sleep now. I’m fine.”

“Ok,
dad,” replied with a wide yawn and padded across the concrete floor to his
room.

Isaac
reached for the remote on the end table. Even if it meant infomercials were the
prime choice, after a dream like that sleep wouldn’t come easily again tonight.
Once he set the channel to the least annoying panderer, he determined that a
glass of water might do him well, after all. The last thing he had to drink for
the night was a beer, which left him somewhat dehydrated.

On
the way to the kitchen, he noticed he hadn’t shut the studio door before he
went to bed, and his unfinished painting of the Dark Angel stared back at him. His
insides shuddered. The imagery of her kneeling and staring at the ground evoked
the horror of seeing his bloody lifeless body cradled in her lap. To keep it
from harassing him the rest of the night, he went to shut the door and stopped
as he reached for the chain, remembering that the Dark Angel in his dream looked
different this time, almost recognizable.
Wait a minute
.

He edged
closer to the painting and placed his thumb over her face to cover the black
eyes he had painted. If he replaced his Dark Angel’s muddled face with
hers
…

 “Alyx,”
he whispered. They had the same hair, minus the white streak, and the same
body. He stumbled away from the painting as though the revelation had shoved
him with all its might.
No WONDER I thought I’d recognized her at the café,
I’d been dreaming about her this whole time!

Oman’s
words of caution rumbled through his mind again, that he was a “prophet” and for
him to stay “safe”
.
The pieces fit together too perfectly now for all of
it to be a coincidence. As he thought about what this would mean for Micah, and
now him, anger swelled inside him like a rising tide.

He
reared his arm back.

Rip!
His fist went through the middle, tearing through her pink face.

Wham!
He struck it again on the side and it flew across the room, hitting the wall.

He
would be
damned
if anything happened to either one of them. They had
survived too much to let it all fall apart. All they had were each other. If he
was to be taken anywhere as the old man suggested, it wouldn’t be without his
son. And if his dream was a prophecy for his death, there had to be a way to
change it.

* *
*

Alyx’s
eyes flew open. Her aching bladder screamed for relief. She rolled the side to
get out of bed when her heart dropped.
Where am I?
The darkness inside
the room made it impossible to know for sure, and the last thing she remembered
was someone catching her as she fainted in front of her complex.

She bit
her lips closed. She didn’t
dare
make a sound in case she had been
kidnapped.

As
she stared into the darkness, her eyes slowly adjusted. Shapes came into focus
around the room. Her head gently turned to stare at the closest thing to her,
and she recognized her Tiffany-style lamp on the bedside table.  Her hand flew
to her chest as she exhaled. “Whew!”

She
swung her legs over the side of the bed, and a phone chimed in the living room.
Her head cocked to the side.
Benjamin’s phone
?!

He
was
the one who had ‘rescued’ her during the night?

She
cringed at the thought. It had been days since she had spoken with him, and he
had found her falling over drunk, smelling of a grimy bar no doubt. She didn’t
want to go through the living room and face him, but it was either that, or pee
in the bed.

She
tiptoed to the door and cracked it open just enough to get a decent visual. The
TV flickered, illuminating the room, and he lay on the couch in his scrubs with
his back facing her, his broad shoulder lightly rising and falling.
Yes!
He’s asleep.

With
the smell of a strong pot of coffee tickling her nose, she skulked past him and
into the bathroom. She gingerly closed the door behind her, and despite her care,
it creaked loudly, like a banshee tattling on her attempts to deceive him.
She
scrunched her face with irritation.
Geez!
She never noticed it creaked
that noisily, or at all, really. Even so, she prayed it didn’t wake him. If she
could get back into bed, it would buy some time to rehearse her explanations and
the inevitable words of her final goodbye.

She
flicked on the light and looked down as she made her way to the toilet. She
still wore the same clothes, complete with the smell of musty cigarettes.
Ugh,
cigarettes!
Chunks rolled up her throat. She cupped her hand over her mouth
and whipped around to face the toilet, her body convulsing as it attempted to
rid itself of the poisons. She moved her hand, but the only thing that escaped
was a dry, crackling gag.

She
swallowed the chunks back down and peeled off her tights to sit. When she
reached for the toilet paper, her sleeve wafted another wave of the odorous
scent. Her mouth watered, and she paused mid-reach. Her dinner forced its way
back up.

She
snatched the trash can from the floor beside her and placed it in front of her
face in time for it to burst through her lips, smelling of partially digested
hot wings and stale tequila. Three successful heaves later, she wiped her mouth
with the back of her hand and stood to tug her shorts up.

She
staggered to the sink to wash her face with cold water, and as she bent over to
cleanse her skin, the door creaked open. Benjamin placed his hand on her
shoulder.

Crap!

“You
alright?” he asked through stiff lips.

With
her chin tucked into her chest, she shoved her hands under the running water
and pinched her eyes shut. She nodded in response as she brought the first pool
of water to her face. What make-up hadn’t rubbed off on her pillow washed down
the sink in colorful, wispy streamers.

“I’ll
get the coffee,” he said and darted to the kitchen.

Here
we go,
she lamented. Their ‘talk’ was only moments away for which she
was terribly unprepared.

While
he clanked around with the coffee mugs, she blotted her face dry and made her
way into her bedroom to change her clothes. If she got another whiff, more
vomit would ensue.

She
held her breath as she yanked them off and rummaged through her drawers for a
fresh pair of flannel pants and a t-shirt. After slipping them on, she went to
meet Benjamin who sat on the couch with her steaming cup of coffee, eyeing her
with disappointment and a set jaw. She wouldn’t be the only one with hurtful
words that morning.

With
her head hung, she rubbed her forearm consolingly as she approached the couch
and bent over to grab a blanket from the floor. She wrapped herself into a
cocoon and pooled into the leather cushion beside him, unable to look him in
the eyes. “Thank you,” she whispered as he handed her the pink, ceramic mug.

“So,”
he said with an edge to his voice, his body turning to face hers, “would you
like to explain what’s been going on with you lately?”

While
she thought of a response, she fought to keep her eyes glued to the mug. His
disappointed scowl from moments earlier was still freshly seared into her mind.
It was misery enough to continue to suffer through his sharp tone -- he had
never spoken to her this way, the mere sound of it bruising her spirit as
though he had beaten her with a heavy wooden stick.

Because
she didn’t have time to prepare a speech, her first instinct was to play dumb,
but the words “what do you mean” wouldn’t form in her mouth. She
knew
what he meant. To buy time, she sipped the coffee and sat it on the table in
front of them. Her next impulse was to say “I don’t know”, but that wasn’t the
truth, either. All she could do was sit quietly, stare at her lap, and find a
way to conjure up a candid explanation.

It
was one thing for her to deal with her own fragile emotions, but to be the
cause of someone else’s psychological demise was another. How would she begin
to explain to him that this would be the last day of their union, and then
watch his heart break as her words slashed through him. She pictured herself
holding the machete high above her head, waiting to make the first blow.

“I
thought in person you would at
least
give me the courtesy of speaking,”
he said as he leaned back with crossed arms, the beginnings of anger setting
his voice ablaze, “let’s start with this… how right after I ask you to move in
with me, you disappear for two days and don’t return my calls or texts!”

She
flinched as the wooden stick struck her again, his judgmental words leaving
another bruise. Their conversation today would leave both of them battered, but
he would undoubtedly receive the worst of it.

The
time had come for her to say something. She couldn’t sit in silence forever to
leave Benjamin dangling in the wind. She had already left him dangling for two
days as he so frankly reminded her. The best thing she could do now was
apologize for her absence and hopefully change the tone of their conversation
to something a little more amiable to help lighten the blows. “I’m sorry,” she said,
barely audibly. “I don’t know how to explain any of it to you.”

“Humph,”
he grunted. “You need to find a way.”

Alyx
flinched again. Regrettably, at this point, a simple apology wouldn’t soften
him as she had hoped.

“And
Aunt Deb said you took off work the rest of the week, and then I find you here…
in
this
condition. Are you having some sort of commitment phobia crisis
or something?”

Pretty
astute
, she thought.
I guess that’s why he’s a brain surgeon.

She
finally found the courage to look him in the eyes and drew in a light breath as
they met.  The dark circles of sleep deprivation and misery rimmed his blue
eyes, breaking her heart into a million pieces, but she couldn’t let her nerve
to falter.
Here goes nothing
. “You aren’t too far off with that assumption,”
she replied, gazing at her lap again, “I was able to mull over it for a few
days, not caught up in the moment with candles and a wine buzz, and realized
that you deserve someone better.” When the words “someone better” rolled from
her tongue, her throat clamped tight. At her core, she knew it was the truth. He
deserved someone better suited for him.

As
her hurtful words sank in, his eyes shifted to the wall behind her with a dazed
expression. She needed to continue, to help him understand. “I’ve just never
been able to reciprocate the feelings that you have for me, not completely. I
care for you, Benjamin, but I don’t believe I love you to the depth that you
love me. It’s not fair to you.”

His
lips pressed to a thin line. Not an ounce of skepticism showed on his face as
his gaze fixated on the wall. He believed every word.

“You
deserve someone that can do that for you,” she insisted, reaching over to touch
his leg. He flinched away, and her voice rose in desperation. “That will love
you as much or more than you love them!”

A
vein swelled in the center of his forehead.  Her attempts to explain her
reasoning only fueled his fire. Warm tears streaked her face; she wanted to hug
his neck one last time so they could comfort each other, but she quickly
learned that comfort was
not
what he was after -- at least not from her,
anyway.