Unhinged {Roderic}

[River]

“RIVER!”

The sound of her name caused her to jump, the shrill call nearly busting her eardrums. For a man that weighed nearly four hundred pounds, her boss had a set of lungs on him that would give Mariah Carey a run for her money. Shaking her head, she scrambled to pick up the few empty bottles she had dropped, her fingers trembling as she desperately tried to put them back in the box before he found her. She could hear his footsteps on the stairs, the weight on his body nearly cracking the decaying wood. “You don’t have to shout, Clemmons. I’m not deaf,” she sighed, her agitation clear as she settled gaze onto his. She watched as he came to a rolling stop, his chest heaving with the exertion and his face scrunching up in distaste as he studied the unfamiliar gaze. She knew what he was seeing – or not seeing, rather, and though she tried not to let it bother her, she couldn’t shake the feeling of discomfort as he opted to focus on something else.

Something that wasn’t her.

“Your break was five minutes ago. I’m not paying you overtime, you know,” he snapped, his voice turning rough as he ripped the box from her arms, practically taking her off the floor with the force. She felt the familiar rush of anger warm her chest, but she quickly extinguished it and took a step backwards. “I lost track of the time.” As far as excuses went, she knew that the one she uttered fell low on the scale, but what else could she say? As she waited for him to load the box on the shelf, she watched as the bottles she’d so carefully put in their places dangled precariously over the edge. And the Moron of the Month award goes to… Her thoughts were followed up with a roll of her eyes as she clenched her fists at her side. Again, he looked over her as he turned with a wave of his hand. “Yeah, well, get to it. I’m not ******* telling you again.” Without waiting for another word, he ambled off deeper into the cellar, his words changing from English to Spanish in a flash.

That was her life.
She was invisible.

Brushing her fingers through her dark hair, she quickly yanked her tattered bag off of the floor and took the steps two at a time. She hated that she had to leave the comfort of the cellar. It offered her silence, whereas the bustle of the crowded bar would offer her a migraine. Before she even pushed open the door, she knew that it was going to be one of the worse nights. The scent of sweat and stale cigarettes caused her stomach to churn, but it was the strong, foul odor of the various liqueurs that about did her in. Doing her best to ignore the bile rising up the back of her throat, she carefully ducked under a meaty arm to make her way towards the back of the bar, her sneakers slipping across the mess on the floor. Cleaning wasn’t her job, but she knew the second she saw the day old grime caked on the hardwood that she would be spending the rest of her evening on her hands and knees. With an exasperated sigh, she closed her eyes before tucking her small frame into an empty chair, her legs tucked beneath her ***. It was the only position that left her able to keep to herself, though she knew that she wouldn’t be an issue. People rarely saw her. She could be standing right in front of someone, and they would stare at her – but she knew by the glazed look in their eyes that they saw straight through her.

She was no better than a ghost.

“Works for me,” she thought as she pulled her pen from her hair, causing the chocolate curls to tumble down around her shoulders. With her notebook already primed in her lap, she had nothing to do but wait. She knew that she had missed part of her break – just as she knew that he would make her take the entire thirty minutes despite of it. There had been a method to her madness, and it had nothing to do with just getting a few seconds of attention. No, it had everything to do with the man that just walked in, however. Her assignment for the week. What a strange assignment it is, too. She remembered the first night she had seen him, his dark hair and broad shoulders drawing her attention immediately. It wasn’t his looks that had her so enrapt, but the way he carried himself. It was in the way he moved, the way his eyes never seemed to miss a beat. He had quickly become the target for her paper due to the vast differences between him and the other Neanderthals that occupied the floor.

Tonight was no different.

Quickly uncapping her pen, she bit into her lower lip as the November wind followed him inside, chilling the risen temperatures of the bar minutely. A few other occupants snapped at the man, demanding that he either come inside or leave, their tones cutting to the bone before they dismissed him. Without wasting time, she began to record his movements, her pen flying across the paper in her careful script, her eyes never once looking down at the lined pages. She had no need to, she knew that her words would be precise from years of practice. Being invisible had its advantages – no one noticed that she was watching the man as he slid into a different chair from the night before. He never seemed to stay in one place, as if he knew that drawing attention to himself would somehow have a negative consequence. Did he not notice that he already had someone that knew everything about him?

“I swear, this is close to stalking,” she laughed, her voice quiet as she settled back into her seat. Had she become obsessed with her target? Perhaps. It was interesting to live a life outside of her own, but she knew that when the assignment was over, she would let him go. She wouldn’t follow him, she wouldn’t continue to study him, even if his presence was enough to raise a thousand questions in her mind. Maybe I’ll have a talk with Professor Montgomery. This assignment has the potential for disaster written all over it, she thought to herself as she quickly jotted down another note.

[Roderic]

"I have some errands to run." I tell Skylar before putting aside the project I was working on; something with chickens from the farm not too far from the Eyrie. I don't necessarily have to run the errand tonight, but if I keep pushing it off, then I'll never get what I'm looking for. A relic of sorts. And supposedly, they were only found on people close to home. People I used to know and run with. People I don't care about anymore.

I put the rest of the things away, some in drawers, others in a box that will sit on my desk until I return. I give her a quick kiss, two, to be exact, then leave from the apartment. I used to worry that Skylar might find some things she shouldn't find. Touch my things, but not anymore. She's not the type to snoop. And if she is, she covers her tracks well. The only thing that lets me know she hasn't found anything too incriminating is that she hasn't blabbed about it yet. My wife likes to talk. No, she loves to talk. I think she talks just to have constant noise all the time. That she doesn't like silence. Unlike me.

Tonight, I'm not carrying anything heavy on me. Just a small, top of the line hunting knife that's easily concealed by a shirt and my coat. I can't carry my sword on me in a club. That's just asking for all sorts of trouble-not that I mind controlled trouble. As I hit the main floor of the flats, I zip up my black leather coat before pushing the door open. I'm not cold, and don't expect to get cold, but pretenses.

It's about quarter to ten and not a lot of people around and it's pitch black on this side of things. The QZ is only occupied by monsters of all kinds. I head to the river and don't stop, all too familiar and confident with my water walking abilities. I don't go north once I'm on the water, I head east to the Wickbridge district. I stop at the bank, by the ATM and grab some money out of a pre-paid card that can't be tracked back to anyone. I put money on it every week and take it off as I need to. I hate paper trails and a bank account is just a trail that leads back to the owner of an account. I accept the $3.50 fee, because I would rather pay that, then let anyone know who I really am, and pocket the two hundred bucks in my front, left pocket.

I stop at the first club I see, which isn't anything overly special-but then again, I don't like clubs. I don't 'do' clubs, but I know they do. Blood thieves love clubs, with the exception of me. Maybe that was why they were holding out on me with the relic. I didn't fit into their mold. Well, **** them. That's what I'll think as I stab them with my hunting knife today and take whatever they have on them. Which was hopefully, a relic.

When I walk into the club, a few people look at me. I don't think it's me they are looking at, just looking at who was coming in. There were probably regulars and then there were people like me. Who wandered in and had no idea what the client base was. I don't care if they're looking at me, I look right back at them. I'm not here making friends anyways. I'm here looking for blood thieves.

My eyes scan the area that was closest to me, but I can't peg anyone near the door and the DJ booth for being a blood thief. So, I wander in a little more, getting a feel for the place. Or the clients. Would vampires come here and waste their time, or not? It no, then I'm wasting my time as thieves would know where to go and where to stay away from. I look for the alive and the undead and spot more alive, than undead, but at least there are a couple of us in here. Good. There should be a blood thief or two in here. I might just wait for them to come to me. Let them do the work.

[River]

There is something about this man that draws me in.

He is constantly on guard, and yet, there is a vulnerability that I doubt he even notices. It’s in the twitch of his finger, as if he’s expecting an attack at any given moment. Who would want to attack him? Is he on the run from someone – or is he running to someone?

What could draw him to this place? What could he possibly find in this bar?

It has to be something unique. He has the air of someone on a mission. Failure isn’t an option.

There is also something else… something… sinister. It leaves me feeling uneasy, as if he cannot be trusted – as if there is a monster beneath the surface.

The words flowed easily from her mind, and she realized belatedly that she had begun to write in the margins of her notebook instead of turning the page. Quickly scratching out the last note, she turned to a fresh page and re-wrote it, her gaze never leaving his back. She hadn’t exaggerated when she wrote about her interest in him. Something about the way he held himself captivated her, and she wanted to pick him apart piece by piece. It was the artist in her. She wanted to understand the raw material that she had been presented with and make it into a masterpiece. Yet, he didn’t need any adjustments. His very being screamed perfection to the darkest places in her mind. There was nothing more she could do for him – except understand what he was doing in her bar.

Pushing a stray lock of hair from her eyes, she frowned as he weaved his way through her customers. Most gave him a wide berth, as if feeling the very darkness she felt. Quickly pulling her notebook up, she jotted down another note and underlined it a few times: Others appear to be uneasy around him, like prey to the most worthy predator. Yet, as they maneuvered out of his way, she found herself moving a few chairs closer, as if drawn in by the air of mystery that surrounded him. Once she had settled into her new seat, she tapped her pen against the spirals and continued to watch him. His eyes darted from face to face, and she held a breath when she realized he was nearing her little corner of hell. What – or who – are you looking for? No one here seems to fit you… Her thoughts trailed off when she felt a large hand press to her shoulder, the scent of beer permeating the air.

“Aren’t you the beer girl? Get me another beer!”

The words slurred next to her ear, and she quickly shrugged her shoulder from the man’s grasp. “I’m on break.” Her words were quietly spoken, and she dropped her gaze to her notebook as her hands moved to protect the secrets within. The man, thankfully, seemed to take that as an acceptable answer and stumbled away from her, leaving her to exhale a relieved breath. She was usually invisible to the world, yet there was the rare time that the haze of alcohol made her noticeable. It was in those moments that she wished they continued to look through her. Shaking her head, she carefully pulled her hands back from her notebook and lifted her gaze to where her subject was standing. “What…”

He was gone.

[Roderic]

I'm sitting by myself, scrolling through my phone, looking intentionally alone. Back in the nights when I was a blood thief, you didn't go up to crowds looking for a quick sale. You approached someone one on one, cautiously and felt them out. Like a drug dealer-and I knew a thing or two about that during my years of working with Momma Bear. The thought reminds me to check up on her, because even though she's not real family-vampire or human, she was the closest thing to it back in the day.

I'm scrolling through my phone, looking up every few minutes, if that and notice a girl; sorry, a woman by the bar and she's looking at me. Has she always worked here? I can't remember, truth be told. When I came in here during my human years, if she was perceived to be human, she wouldn't get a second glance. Then I know who and where not to look at next time. I stare back at her for a few seconds and she looks away, distracted by some clients or something.

Which was just about the time, I'm approached by someone I don't recognize as a Blood Thief-which was better that way. I don't have a soft heart, but if I had to stab the guy who taught me how to survive and the tricks of the trade, I might have a minute of reservation. Maybe half a minute. I want that relic more than I need to shoot the **** and pass the time with stories of my terror as a Blood Thief.

""Heeeeey, man." The copper hair colored guy, maybe in his early twenties sits across from me, a nod of his head in my direction. It's started. We talk and I try to finagle about prices, but in the end he could offer me fifty bucks and I'd take him in the back alley and slit his throat anyways. We agree on one fifty, only because I tell him the guy last week gave me two hundred, so he upped his one twenty-five to one fifty, swearing that was all he had.

He shows me his fangs and I glare at him as I store my phone in my coat pocket. "Not here. Discretion is good for everyone here." I stand and can only hope he follows, even if I made him feel like an idiot just now. I hear the pleather bench he had been sitting on squeak from friction as he rises. It's a good deal; too good for him to pass up. He saves fifty bucks and he gets the effects of my blood for a couple nights.

I push the metal door of the club open and hold it for a second or two before letting go, letting him grab his own damn door. We're not on a date, he's not my girl and he's just a walking carcass anyways. "So, where we doing this man?" He asks nervously as the door shuts behind the two of us. "Where ever you want." I turn to face him, seeing what his ideas were. I'd kill him here, there, or anywhere.

[River]

He couldn't have gotten far.

She wasn't entirely sure what possessed her in that moment. Was it the look in his eyes or the risk of a failing grade? Whatever it was, it had the quiet girl picking her journal up and sliding from her seat. Her converse squeaked against the gritty floor, and once again she was reminded of her job left to come. Every person within the bar was a reason she would be staying way into the early hours of the morning cleaning. In that moment, she hated them. She hated them for having a life, for having laughter and love. She hated them for being visible.

Those that were seen seemed to forget the unseen.

Shaking her head, she clasped her journal tighter to her chest as she weaved through the throng of bodies. The conversations never stalled, the voices never dimmed. There was no 'excuse me' when she was nearly knocked off her feet, nor were there any apologies when they stood blatantly in her way. Perhaps that was why she was so intent on finding the man. It had nothing to do with her grades or her assignment. It had everything to do with her obsession. She was obsessed with him. It was in the way he held himself in the shadows. It was the look in his eye, the callous gleam that spoke volumes across the room. It wasn't an obsession based on lust - it was wonder. He wasn't invisible because he was born that way - he was invisible because he wanted to be.

As she finally made her way to the door, she quickly stepped outside and tugged her pen free. Her fingers were frantic as they searched through the pages for her notes, and quickly she scribbled down exactly what was on her mind:

He's a lone wolf. His eyes keep others at bay with the horrific stories within them. He has no need for company - only business? He seems invested in finding something. He has no friends that I can see. No time for humanity. He doesn't care that he is alone. In fact, he wears his loneliness like armor.

She became lost in her writing, using the flicking street lamp for light. His face filled her thoughts, and she began to describe his features in full. He was the perfect muse, really. He lacked beauty and grace, but made up for it in stature and mystery. Already, she could see him forming in elegant brushstrokes across her canvas. She usually reserved her portraits for women, yet she was beginning to wonder if she could make an exception for him. Would he bother to work with her? Would he even notice if she began to sketch him the next time he came into her bar? The questions were coming too fast and sudden for her liking - and soon, were interrupted.

He was outside.

She knew his voice anywhere. The deep tenor, the gravel that he seemed to swallow sending shivers of anticipation down her spine. He was close - and she had never seem him interact with another before. Quickly gathering herself, she pushed from her spot against the wall and followed the voices. Her steps were carefully moderated, making sure that she kept to the shadows. For once, she was banking on her invisibility.

[Roderic]

He took me a little ways from the bar. Not far, just down a 'T' intersection where there was some auto repair shop that had been in its prime about twenty years ago and now stayed just busy enough to keep money coming in for the owner and his apprentice. On the other side was some diner that served the same crap any other diner served in any other part of the city. Pancakes, eggs, toast, burgers and fries, soda and shakes. Typical ****, which meant typical people came, until after the bars and pubs closed around it and then there was an influx of customers. But not right now. Not at this time of night. Dinner had passed hours ago and bars wouldn't close for another two hours or so.

"So what's your story? What's your powers?" I shrug, take off my leather coat and toss it over my right shoulder. "I've got all sorts of tricks and trades."The guy is practically foaming at the mouth for a hit of what I could offer him, he's practically bouncing all over the place as he moves around, jerking his head from left to right to make sure we're the only ones around.

I roll up the sleeve of my long sleeved black shirt as the guy moves in for my neck. A hand instantly shoots up and connects with his chest. Hard. "I'm not gay man. **** off. Neck is a no bro, zone." I look right at his face, right in his eyes as mine narrow and stay locked on him. "We can do it however you want. Here, here's the cash." He digs in his pockets for a couple different colored bills and shoves them in my chest. His hand touches my chest, as my other hand reaches behind my back and under my shirt where a small blade is hiding at. I take the cash from him with the hand that was once on his chest and nod. "Thanks." And then my right hand comes up and the knife slams into the side of his neck with one powerful blow. So powerful the handle broke with the blade still stuck inside his pencil thin neck.

He screams and then it turns into gurgles as he claws at his neck with both hands. I give him twenty or so seconds before he's at my feet and to make sure I don't get any blood on my boots, because I love these boots, I step aside, around and then behind him. I'm not facing him, I know he's going to die so there's no need to stare at the guy's back. I grab a cigarette and my lighter and light it and wait for him to stop moving, stop breathing and simply stop existing. The second that happens, I'm looting his pockets in search of the relic but come up with an off brand of cigarettes and some charm and another sixty dollars in colored bills. "I don't like liars." I say quietly before I pocket all the things I found, stand and grab the body. I'm going to toss him in the dumpster, but only I think I see something. No, someone. I squint my eyes and pull the cigarette out of my mouth with my free hand and wait to see if what I thought I saw, I did indeed see.

[River]

Keeping to the darkness, she followed the pair until they came to a stop. She knew in the back of her mind that what she was doing was technically illegal, but she found herself uncaring as she watched the target of her obsession remove his jacket. The way she admired him had nothing to do with attraction - at least not in the way that many were used to. As she studied the lines of his figure, she was thinking of him on a blank page of her canvas - not twisted in her bed sheets. He held a quality about him that many lacked, and even she was finding it hard to pinpoint exactly what it was. Was it the way he moved or the look in his life that promised death? Shaking her head, she ducked behind a dumpster and knelt down, balancing her notebook on her knees. It wasn’t the most comfortable position, but it was one that was going to have to do. There weren’t many options for someone who would be constituted as a stalker in the eyes of the law. She wasn’t sure when this had turned from a simple school assignment to something more sinister in the midst of the night, but she knew that there was no way she was going to be able to quit.

She had to have the answers.

Once settled, she carefully leaned against the cool metal of the dumpster, uncaring that the scent would likely cling to her shirt. Her mind was focused on the two men, her gaze unwavering as the smaller of the two suddenly lunged forward before her Obsession stopped him. Whatever was said was spoken in a voice too quiet for her to hear, but there was no mistaking the authority. With her eyes locked on the scene, she pressed her pen to the paper and began to write, her hand flying across the pages and smearing a bit of ink as she did. Potentially gay. Perhaps picks up male whores in the middle of the night? Strange that he stopped him from kissing his neck. Maybe he has a thing about his throat. Ticklish? The words came too fast for her to process them and after a few seconds she rested the pen down, her brows furrowing together as the man through cash his way. Scratch that. Maybe he is a whore. He didn’t pay the man - the man paid him.

It didn’t make a lot of sense, nor did it fit the image of the man she had created in her mind. Sinking her teeth into her lower lip, she inched closer, hoping to catch a few words of the conversation. Before she had a chance to get too far, she found herself falling backwards, her *** sliding across the grime covered ground. Blood splattered the brick as the man collapsed to his knees, and she quickly covered her mouth with a dirty hand in hopes to silence the scream that was choking her. No, no. This is wrong. This is so ******* wrong. Whatever she had once seen in the man had vanished as self preservation kicked in, sending adrenaline coursing through her veins. Quickly scurrying to her feet, she turned to run in the opposite direction, but the absence of her notebook brought her to a stop. ****.

She couldn’t very well leave it behind. Not only did it contain pages upon pages of information about the man that she had just witnessed killing someone, it also held her personal information. Why did I do that? ****! Pivoting on her heel, she turned to head back for the dumpster - only to freeze in place. Her notebook was no longer on the ground, and it didn’t take her long to locate it, the pages seeming to glow in the moonlight as it rested open in the killer’s hands. Swallowing thickly, she tried to control her breathing as she held her hands up, voicing a soft spoken plea that was nearly drowned out by the diner’s generator.

“Não me mate, por favor.”

[Roderic]

I didn't see her at first. I saw the notebook and naturally, I'm inclined to read it. At first, I don't think anything about it. The person who is writing it is writing a story or something. Only, there's no plot to the story. There's just little notes about someone. And as I read further and further down the pages, I realize who this person is writing about.
Me.

I hear someone talking in another language. I don't speak any language other than English, so I can't even begin to imagine what she's said. My eyes lock on her face and I just stare at her. She's frozen and not moving. She's frozen in fear. I don't smile. I don't wave, or acknowledge her in any way. I'm not that kind of guy. Who likes creeping on people. I do creep on people, but I'm not one of those kind of serial killers that get off on intentionally scaring someone to death and half out of their mind. I like things to be as controlled as they are calculated and having someone screaming, running and doing whatever they need to to try and survive wasn't either of those things.

"You dropped this." I say and hold it out to her. I wonder what the woman will do. Will she approach me and try to take it? Or will she run? I don't want her to run, but that's really the only two options. Stand your ground and try to one up the other person, or back down and tuck tail. I can't imagine her doing the former, so I pull the notebook back towards me and shrug. "I think there's a law about invasion of privacy." I put the notebook on a closed dumpster next to me, and prop an elbow up against it as I lean and watch the woman.

[River]

Run.

Keeping her hands held up in front of her, she took a single step back, her foot connecting with an empty beer bottle. The clatter as it rolled across the cement seemed to ignite something inside of her, and she found herself walking backwards as quickly as her feet would allow. Her gaze remained locked on the notebook with each step, and she knew without a doubt that it was a lost cause. If she didn’t grab it now, he would find her. However, if she stayed - he would kill her. It was the only viable action. It was what she would have done, had the situation been reversed. Not only had she witnessed far too much, she had taken notes on him. If she were asked, she could bring him to life on a piece of paper, until there was no mistaking the lines of his face and the cold death reflecting in his eyes. She could paint a picture so vivid that it would look as if she could feel the texture of his skin beneath her fingerprints. There would be no denying what she had witnessed - but she had to make it out alive. With a sharp intake of breath, she wet her dry lips before forcing the words past the obstruction fear had built in her throat.

“T-There is al-also a law about m-murder.”

She didn’t look away from him as she backed herself up one more step, until she was at the mouth of the alley. She had no clue what possessed her to taunt the man, to reveal to him that she had witnessed his transgression. Some twisted part of her had wanted him to know that she had been watching his every move. Whereas she had broken a simple law that would warrant her no more than a slap on the wrist, he had stolen the life from an innocent. For a brief moment, she paused in her escape, her eyes narrowing as a single - albeit insane - thought slithered into her mind. I could trade my silence for my notebook. It would be an easy barter, one that he would be stupid to pass up. If he had read each page, he would have known that she held the upper hand. All she had to do was offer to keep his secret, even if the guilt would eat her alive.

Could she do it?

Run, you idiot. RUN.

Her subconscious broke in with a shout so loud, it caused her to jolt. What in the hell had she been thinking? She wasn’t about to trade her soul for a few scraps of paper, no matter what they held. Get a grip, River. You’re almost there. One more step, and she would be free to listen to the voice screaming in her mind. That final step would lead her to safety, giving her ample opportunity to escape him. He was strong - but she was smaller. It was only a slight advantage over the situation, but it was the only thread of hope she had. Clinging to it, she pivoted on her heel at the last second and took off into a run. The mix of adrenaline and fear had her moving far faster than she was used to, the buildings on either side of her blending together until they were nothing more than a blur of brick and stained glass.

[Roderic]

She's a witty one, isn't she. I just shrug at her comment about there being a law against murder, because everyone past the age of five knows that. I just don't care about it. She's inching away, but I don't make a move for the woman who was spying on me and taking notes on me. It's a little strange, isn't it? Taking notes on people. Unless-could she be a private investigator of some sort? That seemed to be one of the most logical reasons. Someone was paying her to keep tabs on me. But-who? Outside of my wife, my Things and Tytonidae, I don't really talk to a lot of people. I don't bother with people. Why waste time doing things you hate? I hate people and talking to them. So, I just don't do it.

Great. She runs. It's a pretty cliche move, but I guess she has no other choice or options. I give her a couple seconds before I grab the notebook and look up to see the dark haired chick half way down the alley by now. She's fast, I'll give her that. But, I'm faster. Or smarter. Probably both.

I appear at the opposite side of the alley, the way she's running; thanks to the nifty power of teleport, with the notebook in my left hand and wait for the recognition on her face that where I once was, I not longer am. The whole, how is this possible look. I enjoy the look of someone being stunned as they recognize that they were outwitted. "You should probably stop. You might hurt yourself." It is winter and the alley could have some slippery spots. I personally don't care if she falls, but if she falls, she might break something and then she's crying for help like women do. I could do without the drawing of attention to myself. At least until I'm done here.