Thanks in advance for any reviews. ^_^----
One
So there I was, running away from things again. At least for once I was fleeing from something specific, something physical.
Someone, in fact.
I peered over the top of my coffee out the window, trying to look casual and inconspicuous, and jumped a little, choking and spilling a hot latte all over the sleeve of my sweater. After I'd recovered from all the coughing and spluttering I was doing, I put the Styrofoam cup down, more cautiously, and looked up again.
She was still there, pacing back and forth on the street outside, searching up and down the road, standing on tiptoes to scan the crowd in both directions.
I looked away from the window hurriedly, trying to hide my face by resting my cheek against an upraised arm. Just on time, it turned out. I glanced around my wrist to see her peering into the window.
No big deal, I thought to myself, act nonchalant. Don't let her spot you... I slumped in my seat a bit, trying to be a little bit of a smaller target.
She was still outside the window, peering over the heads in the crammed coffee shop, her grey eyes scanning the crowd-and then lighting with the satisfaction of discovery.
Oh, no way.
The bell rang lightly as the girl walked in over the threshold, and the guy behind the counter turned to face her.
"Hello. Welcome. What can I get for you today?" he said ,in a tone that suggested there was no instrument on earth delicate and miniscule enough to measure how very little he cared.
"Nothing," she said, and her voice was chill and quite serious. She began to stride past the counter, and I saw her eyes fix on my table.
"Er... look, I'm sorry, miss, but seats at the tables are for paying customers only," the counter guy said. “Otherwise, we get people just hanging around… they take up space. My boss’ll give me trouble.”
She glanced back at him, clearly not happy with the situation. I wondered if I should make a break for it now... could I get past her? Probably not. The shop was tiny and crammed with tables and chairs and people. I'd be slowed down, trying to dodge them all, and the street outside wasn't crowded enough that I could lose her easily.
"Fine," she said at last. "I'll take a coffee."
The guy at the counter looked up to the ceiling, as though demanding an answer from the coffee gods as to why hadn't taken a job at the fast-food joint across the street, instead.
"What kind of coffee?" he asked.
"Whatever."
The guy at the counter pointed to the menu above his head. "Pick something. Would you mind stepping aside and letting the people who do know what they want order? There's a line behind you, you know."
She glanced over at me, her grey eyes meeting mine. Then she turned back to the counter guy, who looked as though he was seriously contemplating how badly he needed this paycheck.
"Just plain coffee," she said.
The counter guy nodded at her and muttered a few words under his breath that would certainly have gotten him fired if the manager had been anywhere in the vicinity, pulling a cup out from under the counter.
She stood there, glaring at him.
"You can sit down while you wait," he said.
She nodded, and before I could move, she'd crossed the tiled floor, pulled out a chair from the table next to me, and was seated at my side.
I started to get to my feet.
Her hand reached out and grabbed the sleeve of my shirt.
"Don't," she said quietly. "Stay where you are. Trust me on this- your life is in danger."
I stared at her for a moment. Then I got to my feet again.
"I'm warning you," she said, even more quietly. "There's an assassin in the vicinity this shop with their sights on you. Stay inside if you want to live."
"Er. Your coffee," the counter guy called from across the room.
She got up to get it.
She was still blocking the way in between me and the door out, so all I could do was glare at her.
My first real impression, seeing her now, was of gray. Pale skin, a gray sweater, jeans faded and dulled with wear and age, the sort of light brown hair which seems to have no color at all. She was tapping her foot with irritation, and when the guy behind the counter gave her the cup of coffee with a sigh of relief, she tossed it into the trash can before striding over to me.
I got to my feet again, hoping to stride past her while she was distracted, but I never got the chance. She seized my arm and pulled me back into my seat.
“Stay calm,” she snapped. “Hold still. Let me explain this to you.”
I wouldn’t have sat down, but she pushed against my shoulder and I fell into my seat. She sat across from me, leaning forward, staring, her mouth a thin line.
“I don’t have to listen to anything you say,” I told her, folding my arms.
She simply glared past me, her eyes surveying the wide windows.
“You’ve been stalking me,” I pointed out. I was pretty sure that this was the crucial point, here. “You’ve been following me all afternoon.”
“I’m trying to warn you,” she said.
That was the best excuse she could think of? I’d been headed home after picking up my work uniform, just walking along, not bothering anyone, when I’d spotted her somewhere behind me. I did think she was a little odd—the people on the street walked with calm, Sunday morning strides, and she had been walking quickly, deliberately, her glances around at the scenery short and pointed, as though she were watching for pursuers of her own.
I hadn’t been bothered unduly until I’d looked back a second time, more than twenty minutes later, and realized that those around her had dispersed, and she was still there.
I turned a corner. So did she. An hour after I’d first noticed her, she was still there. I started to walk faster. So did she. She was damned impossible to shake.
This was approximately the strangest thing that had happened to me, ever.
What could she possibly want from me? I mean, I wasn’t exactly the best mugging target in the world. We’d passed plenty of camera-bedecked tourists up by the Lincoln Presidential Library. I wasn’t even carrying a purse, I wasn’t wearing any jewelry—as if I had any to put on—and my wallet was buried safe down in the recesses of my jacket pocket. The most valuable thing I had on me was Steph’s watch, and that was a cheap piece of crap, anyone could tell. It didn’t even run anymore.
I couldn’t fathom what all this nonsense was about, but it was getting a bit worrying, and I didn’t like the gray girl’s determined stride one bit. I was getting an uncomfortable feeling like I was being watched.
That’s why I had tried ducking into the coffee shop, and that’s why I was there now, clutching my coffee as I stared at the gray girl across from me, no less baffled than I had been when we’d come in, but feeling much more like the correct answer to all my questions was “she’s a loony.”
“Listen,” she said.
I glared at her. “I’m kind of a captive audience, in case you couldn’t tell.”
“You must know what all this is about.”
“It’s about… you being in serious need of a good psychiatrist?”
The girl’s expression didn’t change. Instead, she glanced around the coffee shop and leaned in.
“Listen to me. You need to be honest. One of them could be anywhere in this room, right now. Waiting for you. Waiting for an opening. I’m trying to protect you. Don’t you think you’re… different, from other people? Haven’t you ever noticed that?”
I had no idea what she was talking about.
“What?”
“Don’t give me that. You must know, or they wouldn’t be targeting you. You must have been Deselected remotely, otherwise they would have probably already gotten you, but you must still know about it by now.”
“Know about what?”
“I’m trying to help you. Don’t toy with me.”
I just gaped at her.
“Your Gift.”
I held my hands up in the air.
“Okay, okay,” I said, “If you want something from me, you can go ahead and take it. I’ll give you what I can, but there isn’t a lot. I’m only carrying a few bucks, no credit cards.”
Now it was her turn to look confused. I realized then, how young she really was—though not that much younger than me. High school age, I figured—hell, maybe she was only a year or so younger.
“You must know that you have an Unsafe Gift,” she said slowly.
“What are you talking about? Are you after something I’m carrying, or what?”
The girl just stared.
“You are Josephine Childress, right?”
“It’s Jo,” I said. I buttoned my coat, crushing the empty cup in one hand. I didn’t know how the hell she got my name, and I didn’t really care, to be frank. Maybe she’d asked one of the people at the fast-food place, they’d know my name if I was going to start there tomorrow.
“Wait!” she said suddenly. When she raised her voice, she sounded even more like a kid. Some stupid kid, I decided, playing a prank. Evidentially, she wasn’t very good at thinking them up. “I… I’m Alice,” she said.
“Congratulations,” I told her. I tossed the empty cup into the trash can.
“Listen,” she said again.
“Listened,” I told her. “Go find somebody in the mood for jokes.”
Alice got to her feet, knocking over her chair in the process, and strode to block the exit, but I was already there. I let the door slam in her face, with a cheerful ring of the bell, and strode down the street in the late September air.
I scratched at my wrist where the watch was chafing at it—even though I’d worn it for years now, I could never quite get used to the feeling of it there, and, out of pure habit, glanced at the face. It was seven o’clock in the evening, even though the sky was bright with the weakening sun of midafternoon.
It was always seven o’clock.
