A Shadow's Heartbeat Chapter 1

The bass thrummed through the room like a violent heartbeat. Ba-bump. Ba-bump. Ba-bump. It rocked the bodies back and forth. Arms sparkling with sweat hung above the mob of heads. The lack of space was simply overwhelming, but I seemed to be the only one affected. Everyone else was dancing—if you could call it dancing. It was more like pulsing or something. Meanwhile, the simple suffocating closeness of everything had me frantically looking for an escape route.

I glanced around the room, looking for Emily, trying to signal to her that I was leaving, at least for a minute. Despite the fact she was wearing a vividly red, sparkle-embedded dress with heels at least five inches tall, I couldn't find her. I sighed, a sound unheard over the thrilled screaming of the fans. I pushed and shoved my way back to the tightly closed door, momentarily forgetting about the extreme lack of cloth covering my legs. The shiny, skimpy, silver dress Em had pulled from her overflowing closet went down to maybe mid-thigh. Maybe. That, combined with my three inch black heels and my hair—done up in a way completely new to me—Emily had curled my already slightly wavy strawberry-blonde hair, then pinned it up in a messy but elegant bun, leaving small tendrils framing my face—it was supposed to be “sexy, in an innocent sort of way” according to her. It just made me even more self-conscious than normal. And that was saying something. I’d been tugging at the seams of the stupid dress since I slipped it over my head two hours ago. The only thing that was familiar was my silver locket, swinging between my collar bones. And even that Em had wanted to throw in the “forbidden for partying pile.” I wouldn’t let her.

A sickly sweet smell leaked from the bar in the corner, probably something illegal or something that could kill you. I almost gagged and sped up my desperate speed-walking to the door, shoving aside the people between me and the only escape I could see. How did Em manage to convince me to come here anyway? Oh that’s right. She told me she was going whether I was or not. Reverse psychology? Maybe. But you don’t know Emily Watson.

If I hadn’t come with her tonight, she would have no reason to even remotely hold back from her wild partying. She’d end up coming home at seven the next morning, breath reeking of alcohol and who-knows-what-else before crashing on the couch. Then, she’d end up getting up some hours later and puking her guts out all over the carpet. Well, normally. Sometimes she made it to the sink.

Since I came with her she’ll probably skip out on the “who-knows-what” sort of substances and just stick to the regular alcohol. She’d be slightly less loopy and hung-over tomorrow morning.

But the one thing that I can guarantee myself won’t happen as long as I come along, is that she won’t go home with some random guy that sweet talked her into “having a good time.” I won’t have to hear her panicked voice sometime tomorrow morning, over the static of the phone lines, telling me to grab a car and come and get her.

The door let in a crisp, fresh breath of air as I swung it open desperately. I gulped as much of it as I could, a drowning person finding a secret patch of air in the endless darkness of water. I got angry glares from a couple shoving tongues down each other’s throats as the blast of air hit them, probably ruining their moment. I didn't care. I scampered down the street to the nearest car. Not like anybody would care—they were all too busy blasting out their eardrums to care if a girl decided to take a breather on the hood of their car. Or so I thought.

I don't know how long I sat there, laying back on the dark blue paint of this fancy, probably recently bought car, but eventually I heard an odd sound a couple feet away, just barely audible over the pounding of the building I'd left behind. A car door slammed and a vicious squeal from tires tore at my eardrums as a bright yellow slug-bug escaped from the crammed parking lot. I know right? A yellow slug-bug going all sports-car to escape a rock concert in the most popular club in all of Seattle? Shocker. Anyway, after the car sped away there were hurried footsteps approaching. I assumed that the person would keep walking, return to the pounding of the club but the echoes of feet abruptly ended. Right in front of me.

Shit!

I stared down at a pair of shoes. They were men’s shoes. So I was either dealing with a guy or some girl with a really weird fashion sense. The cuffs of his dark denim jeans were scuffed and frayed, little strings hanging off of them and onto the red and black high tops on his feet.

The person cleared his throat. I could feel his eyes on me as I swallowed thickly, thinking about how awkward this situation was. I followed a path from his jeans up to his red, oddly-patterned shirt, black leather coat hung sloppily over his arm. He wore a thick chain around his neck that was half-hidden beneath his shirt. My eyes finally met his, a shocking green color, like grass on a morning in the middle of spring. But they were narrowed, slightly glaring at me and his elegant—though not quite the right word, it was close—mouth was scowling. Something about him, I have no idea what, seemed kind of familiar.

“Is there a reason you are sitting on my car?” he asked, each word like a little pinch, something sharp and stinging. Like when your hand goes numb and you shake it. A pinprick sort of sensation.

“Um…well…I…uh,” Really Jacey? That’s it? That’s all you’re going to say? Come on! Say something witty or funny or…something! “I couldn’t find my sister’s car and I knew she wouldn’t come out of the club for a while so I decided that I would wait here and then, well, I didn’t think anybody would mind because the band is supposed to play like…all night.” I sighed. Stupid nerves were making me talk fast. Everything I said sounded like mush. Damn.

He looked me up and down, raising a light brown eyebrow in the process. I adjusted the hem of my dress self-consciously then tugged gently on my locket. He raised his eyes back to my face, something gleaming in them that I didn’t think I liked.

“So, basically, you got scared of the big bad band and the club so you tried to escape but you’re not old enough to drive, let alone come to this club…”

My eyes widened. I was old enough to drive…barely. Shit! What gave me away? Hmm…maybe the stupid stuttering like a scared second grader? Idiot! “I am old enough to drive! And I’m totally twenty-one. Just turned like, last week. My sister wasn’t there to celebrate so she dragged me here. And, I’m not scared” Only the last little bit was a lie, I reassured myself, and it’s not like I’m drinking so I technically don’t need to be twenty-one. My words sounded surprisingly strong compared to my earlier attempts at speaking. He raised his eyebrow again, a smirk appearing on his lips like he knew I was lying. God, what had I gotten myself into?

“Yeah, sure. Twenty-one,” he remarked. I crossed my arms over my chest, hoping it looked more like annoyance or at least trying to keep myself warm, rather than trying to cover up the overabundance of skin showing. I bit my lip, watching him think over something.

“Alright. I won’t report you for being a minor in a twenty-one and over club, or for the destruction of my property—“

“Excuse me? I didn’t do anything to your car! I sat on it! There wasn’t any damage!” How dare he even accuse me of that? I was extra careful not to do anything that could cause even a chip in the paint!

“You know, you really shouldn’t interrupt. Didn’t your mommy ever tell you that? Yeah, there was a scratch on my new paint job, so you could potentially get fined,” he crossed his arms over his chest in a very self-assured way and continued, “but I, being the kind person I am, will not press charges so long as you do one thing for me.” He stopped talking then. Maybe he was trying to create suspense. I assume so, because it worked like no other technique I’d seen. He just stared at me with one eyebrow raised and a tight smirk plastered on his mouth, potentially holding back a laugh.

I narrowed my eyes. There was a snowball’s chance in hell that I was letting him see how nervous I was. I straightened my shoulders and back, standing taller so I could come close to looking him in the eye. “And what would that be?” I asked.

“You have to come to my house and help me fix up the car.”

“Are you serious?” I cried, incredulous, “Just that? It’s a scratch! Are you so stupid that you can’t fix up one little scratch?” I scoffed.

“No. But I figure since you caused it you should have to fix it up. I mean it’s only logical.” He seemed confident still, but there was something in his stance now that told me he was uneasy. I couldn’t tell you what it was, but it was there.

“Alright fine. I’ll fix up your stupid car. But after that I’m done and we never speak to each other again. Right?”

“Absolutely. After this, so long as you don’t damage the car more as your fixing it which,” he flicked his gaze up and down my small frame once again, “in your case seems pretty likely, then we will never have to see each other again.”

I tightened my arms over my chest as he pulled out a fancy, probably very expensive phone. I watched as he clicked a couple things on the phone, then glanced up at me. “What’s your number?”

“Excuse me?” I asked, appalled.

“So I can text you my house number? Seriously could you be any more dim-witted?” he handed me the phone and I began to type in my number.

Oh look he knows a synonym for stupid. Maybe he isn’t as much of an idiot… I trailed off my train of thought as I finished typing. The screen saver was a picture of a girl in lingerie, playing X-box. Nope. He’s an even bigger idiot than I thought, I finished my original thoughts.

He took the phone back from me, smirking once again. I swear does this guy never wipe that thing off his face? He glanced down at the new contact, then up at me again. I left him my first name, but not the last. That would freak me out. The idea of him potentially finding me again. I shuddered at that.

“You should probably go back inside, you know.” Was it my imagination or did his eyes lose some of their mischievous light in them and take on a more serious edge?

“Um…yeah. My sister’s probably worried…” I seriously doubted that. But I needed to get away from him and warm up. The chill of the night-time Seattle air splattered goose bumps across my arms like paint drops. I shivered once and turned to leave.

“I’ll probably text you sometime tomorrow,” he called after me, “see ya… Jacynthe.”

I continued walking, despite the shiver that ran up my spine at the sound of my full name on his lips. I hated that name. Somehow, coming from his lips though, it seemed…better. More tolerable. Oh gosh, who was I kidding? It sounded like magic.