Airel (15 page)

Chapter III

The Cheesecake Factory was one of my favorite places to eat. It stood connected to the side of Boise Towne Square Mall and was right next to Borders Books and Music—my fave. I found myself in Borders every chance I got. 

I always had to buy a book, even if I wasn’t done with the one I was currently reading. I loved to read. I felt like the turn of each page echoed inside the world between the covers—and each book had its own rules. There, within the mystique of that connection, was something special, and it was addictive. 

Michael found us a parking spot, actually four of them, about fifty miles from the doors. I will never understand how guys are about their machines. One minute they’re burning rubber and playing in the mud, and the next they’re crying because some heartless soccer mom dinged their door. And they think
we
have issues. So he was going to make me walk fifty miles for dinner. I really didn’t mind too much. It meant I got to hold his hand that much longer.

That’s exactly what we did—we held hands from the passenger door of his truck to the front door of the restaurant. I felt the deliciousness of his warm-almost-hot skin and fluttered inside. His fingers gently gripped my own, making me feel like glass. I liked it. I felt that there was no safer place for me to be, especially in that moment.

“How’d you know I like the Cheesecake Factory?” I wondered if Kim had ratted on me. It was no fun if he didn’t have to at least try. 

“I have my ways! I figured that we could go hang out at Borders afterward if you want.” Oh yeah, Kim was the big fat rat.

Michael followed me inside. As he did, his hand brushed the small of my back, sending a shiver up my spine.
Come on, get hold of yourself. He’s just a guy!
The shiver ran its course, ending up somewhere in the back of my head, where that new flutter was.
She
loomed in the back of my mind, watching the whole thing with silent curiosity. I had a feeling that
She
disapproved somehow. Inside the Cheesecake Factory were enormous domed ceilings with paintings of angels on them held up by huge columns. Colored glass and plastered walls accented the interior, giving it a decently convincing European feel. It may not have been real, but I didn’t care tonight—I liked everything about the ambience.

“Table for two?” The hostess smiled at us, showing us to a booth near the back. The place was packedHow Michael got a table with all the people waiting in the lobby was beyond me. I didn’t ask, though. I felt like a princess and
my
prince had connections.

We sat down. I left my menu where it was. I always got the orange chicken, at least the three o so times I had been there before. I loved it, so why change now? 

“You already know what you’re getting?” Michael asked as he looked at the menu.

“Yup. Orange chicken’s my favorite and I just can’t ever seem to get past it.” I smiled and avoided his eyes, knowing I might blush. “I’ve heard that everything here is good, though.”

He studied the menu, his eyebrows lowered in thought, and I took the chance to look again at his face. He had such a smooth complexion, not a single blemish in sight. My dad used to talk about "gunslinger’s eyes," the kind of eyes you’d expect to find glinting at you from underneath a black Stetson, along with a single-action .45 revolver. Dad was a bit of a gun nut and some of that rubbed off on me, but I thought about the eyes. That was the important part. As I looked at those eyes, I knew: they
were
gunslinger’s eyes.

“I think I’ll get the steak. It sounds good and I’m hungry. I need more protein anyway. All that running for football gives me a killer appetite.” He leaned his forearms, which were impressive, on the table and looked at me. There was a question sparkling in his cold blue eyes. I knew what he wanted to know.

“Later,” I said. “I promise, but not here. I have to show you…not tell you.” He gave me a doubtful look. Then he sat back and folded his arms across his chest.

“Okay, but I’m holding you to it. You look good. I mean, your forehead looks perfect. I mean, it looks fine. No welt, not even a bruise or anything.” In spite of his awkwardness, he was cute. He leaned forward again and I felt my skin heat up.  

“Stop staring at me like that. I’m not some experiment. I’m a human being with feelings.” It came out of me a little too forcefully and I wondered where this sudden aggression came from. After all, this was Michael Alexander I was talking to here. 

Wings fluttered and
She
calmed me down, but I still gave him “the look.” It was what my dad said I needed to work on, that ultra serious “I-ain’t-takin’-none-o’-this” look. Dad had told me that I needed practice before it would strike fear in the heart of a man. I secretly hoped it wasn’t
too
effective.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to stare at you.” He sighed. “I just can’t help it when you’re around me. Here. How about we try this,” and he closed his eyes, looking down. When he opened them, he looked directly at me, and now instead of the gunslinger, there was something that made me want to give myself to him, forever. Deeper still, savage wonder was there, as if he saw something to be feared when he looked at me.

My eyes must have widened. “Okay, stop, just—if you don’t stop it I’m going to cry.” I was so getting in over my head. “You can only use that on special occasions.” My heart was racing, and I was starting to feel like I needed some fresh air. 

“But isn’t this a special occasion?” He looked at me with calm curiosity.

“Well yeah. Yes, it is. I mean, it’s our first date and I have to say, so far you’re picking up some points: perfect restaurant, and you look good.” I raised my glass of ice water to him, and like a perfect gentleman, he clinked his against it. 

“Thanks, Airel. I try. There oughta be a law against how you look, though, really. You might cause an accident just by walking down the sidewalk.” I laughed and blushed. At the same time, he thundered with a deep low laugh that was absolutely wonderful.

I was trying to savor everything. This, I thought, was a moment that I would be able to look back on and remember, maybe even tell stories about. Not that I was making long range plans or anything, but a girl can dream. Even if it’s a little wild. But even though I was literally having the time of my life, something was nagging at me, pulling me from--or in--a direction that was uncomfortable. My stomach was a little unsettled, which worried me, but it went beyond that. Something wasn’t right. I didn’t know what it was, or even if I was sure about it, but I wasn’t about to let it ruin my evening.

Chapter IV

A sleek black GMC Yukon sat under a scrubby pine tree in the mall parking lot. The man inside liked everything to be just-so. With blackout tint on the windows, oversized rims, and forgettable license plates, the SUV looked like something someone in the Mob would drive. 

The back seats had been removed. Installed in their place were two reclining bucket seats made of hard plastic and equipped with locking five-point harnesses. There were straps on the armrests and footrests. It was like a paddy wagon designed for the criminally insane. The extra dark tinting and soundproofing ensured that even if the victim screamed after the doors were shut, not a sound would penetrate to the outside. 

The man at the wheel took a drag from a hand-rolled cigarette. His window was cracked, and a thin curl of smoke made its way out into the goldening sunlight, then fell downward onto the lines of the pavement. He looked up and down the parking lot with sharp eyes hidden behind dark sunglasses. 

He took another drag and thought about what he was going to do, what he had to do, and wondered if the boy was going to be any trouble. He didn’t want to take him, but it seemed he must. It would slow things considerably. He figured the lad would put up a fight, but he had no fear of being overpowered. He wanted the girl, and if that meant taking her beau as well, so be it. But the boy had a part to play in this—truth be told—and he was curious to see how it would end. 

He studied the smoke from his cigarette, watching it wind around his hand. He really enjoyed smoking. He couldn’t understand why so many people these days were scared of their own shadows. It was too bad, he decided, and flicked the cigarette out onto the pavement.

He ran a hand through his hair. It had to be now. After all, he wasn’t the only one pursuing the girl, and he had done so much to get to this point by himself. Nowadays they called it "situational ethics," but in days gone by, it was understood that killing a man wasn’t always a sin. He checked the revolver on the seat beside him. It had two rounds—at this he smiled, because it was poetic. Symmetrical. Two would be enough. If it wasn’t, he didn’t deserve her.

Chapter V

I sat back in my chair and watched Michael eat the last of his steak, studying his face. I hoped he would understand whatever was going on with me, with my sudden sickness and freakish healing ability. They were the only words I could think of—ability, power. I tried not to think about it too much, because it was making me insane. I just wanted some answers and for some reason, out of all the people I knew, he was the one I trusted the most. 

Maybe it was just that I
wanted
to trust him with it. I laughed out loud, thinking how absurd the word "absurd" sounded in my head. He looked at me quizzically. “Something funny?”

“Oh no,” I laughed. “I was just thinking. Sometimes my thoughts are just funny to me.” I twisted a strand of my hair and he watched my fingers as if it was the most interesting thing he had ever seen.

“You are just gorgeous.” He smiled with the corner of his mouth and I couldn’t help but laugh.

“Shut up, Romeo.” I kicked him lightly under the table and then looked around, signaling my desire to get going. I wanted to sit here forever but the time did not allow us to dillydally around. If we wanted to do anything more than eat, we had to get moving or my dad would have the police out after us.

He flagged the waitress and she told us that she’d bring the check. Michael looked at me. “Do you like surprises? I have one in mind but you’ll have to be open to the extraordinary and the extreme.” Michael pushed his plate toward the center of the table.

“I’m all about the extreme—where were you wanting to go, Borders?” I thought he was going to spit his water all over me, I made him laugh so unexpectedly. “Anyway, you want extreme? Just look at these babies.” I flexed my arm for him, tapping my bicep like a weight-room thug, making a grimace. If there’s anything I could do, it was sell the joke in a way that
always
got a laugh.

“Du-hude! Nice guns, Airel.” He was still slightly wheezing with laughter. “I guess you know how to handle yourself.” 

“You have no idea.” He really didn’t. He just sat and smiled at me. “Well, Michael?” His name was delicious on my lips. “How about that surprise?” He slid some cash in with the check and took one last swig of water. I stood up and he took my arm as our waitress thanked us. We left the restaurant like a fairy tale pair,
nothing but blue skies from now on
. I hummed a tune from another old favorite of mine,
White Christmas.
I loved those old movies.

The sky was now dark, but the air was warm and hinted of sage and juniper. Floating from all the surrounding restaurants was the scent of garlic and butter. 

“It wouldn’t be a surprise if I told you.” He grinned and leaned over and whispered in my ear. “I think you are going to love it though.” His breath in my ear gave me goosebumps. 

I was hyper-aware of Michael's arm on mine. I was in heaven being next to him. I just wanted to stay like this forever. He towered over me, and next to him I felt safe and small too, but not in a bad way. It was the kind of protection that allowed me to be free, to be whoever I really was. The
real
Airel.

The parking lot was full now. Cars had been parked all the way out nearly to where Michael had obsessively taken up four spaces with his truck near the end of the row. As we walked toward it, I heard the fluttering of wings in the back of my mind.
She
moved. Something about it made me stop. It was different this time—a warning. Something wasn’t right, and my mind instantly raced back to earlier in the evening when I had felt only a fraction of alarm compared to now. 

“You okay?” 

“Yeah, I just have a weird feeling, like we’re being watched or something.”

He looked around. “I wouldn’t doubt it. You look amazing. Anyone within a mile of that dress would definitely be watching.” He smiled and I smiled weakly back, but still something inside made me uneasy. Was there a chink in the armor of my hero?
No, that’s not it.
His compliment was cliché, but he meant it, and what’s more I wanted it, so it was okay. 

I looked up and down the parking lot and noticed that no one was in our row. People milled about going into the mall, coming out with their shopping, but our row was like a no-fly zone or something—devoid of any life at all. 

I kept looking around as we began walking again. A creeping fear moved from my heels to my back and over my head like a hood. As I began to wear it, everything in me wanted to bolt like a deer in the woods. 

Then I heard
She
say something I will never forget,
“Do not be afraid.”
I was scared, frightened, concerned. But not nearly enough. It’s almost as if I heard destiny calling, giving everything a kind of symmetry.

The next thing I remember Michael fell like a corpse, hitting the pavement so hard I heard his head crack against the hard blacktop. As I turned toward him, I saw a man standing next to a black Yukon with a gun in his hand, aimed at me. 

I could not see his face in the dark. A light pop sound came from his gun and I felt a sharp pain in my neck. I reached for it and felt a tiny dart sticking out of my neck. I yanked it free and, crazy with rage, I rushed him. 

He met me expertly as I passed between the Yukon and the blue truck next to it. He had me by the shoulders and twisted me around as if I was a rag doll, easily getting me into a headlock. My purse and cell phone went flying and the sound of it hitting the pavement stuck in my memory. 

I began to realize that I was acting rather foolishly, charging a man with a gun. He was obviously not worried about being seen, and not worried about 98 pounds of me, kickboxing lessons and all, taking him down. 

His arm was like iron around my neck. I took hold of it and dead-weighted, throwing him off balance for a split second. I pulled his arm forward as hard as I could. I didn’t think it would work, but shockingly, he flew over my shoulder and slammed into the blue truck, upside-down, with a dull crumpling sound. 

I stood there like an idiot. He was instantly on his feet and back at me. He charged me, shoving me against the Yukon with so much force that it knocked the wind out of me. He spun me, getting behind me again, and took me down, his knee in my back and his arm around my neck. The noose was tightening, my windpipe was cut off, and blood rushed to my head. He had me in the very sleeper hold that my dad had tried to teach me a few years back. If done correctly, I would be unconscious in less than four seconds.