He looks into the mirror mounted over the bathroom sink and runs his hand through his hair. "Another day of mundane" he thinks. His reflection stares back with a blank disposition. Hell. Same old shit again. He leans against the sink resting a palm on each side, looking into his own eyes and finding nothing there. No spark, no life, no fire. Every little moment of normalcy just rubs him wrong. Work, friends, family. Normalcy. It isn't doing it any more. The rollercoaster petered out somewhere and now there's just the train ride. Slow, laborious and without much of a view.
He sighs to himself and turns to finish dressing. He walks out the door to his car and drops into the seat. Turning the key in the ignition he backs out of the drive and heads to the next predictable destination. At least a good cup of coffee will help fuel the blood and perhaps give him the fuel needed to face another day. As he turns into the drive-thru of the coffee shop, he notices the same long line and contemplates the same old wait. What the hell. He swings into a parking spot and gets out. Can't take much more time inside and he was due for a change of pace. Something poking around inside him made him jumpy; out of sorts. He just wanted to get his fix and get out.
As he opens the shop's door, the small bell jingles and the scent of hot, freshly ground adrenaline invades his senses. Yes. Feeling a bit more like himself already he thought dryly. Not that it was a positive thing, just the same. Normalcy. But the feeling stabbed at him again. He shifted his weight on his feet as he waited his turn. The feeling was unsettling.
As he approached the counter he recited his order, same as it was yesterday and same as it will be again. He walks over to the side to wait, leans on an empty leather chair and notices a woman sitting across from it cooling her coffee for a taste. Lucky cup, he thinks smiling to himself. She looks up almost as if she's heard and looks at him. He finds himself peering into two steel gray eyes, intense and bright. She smiles quickly up at him. The feeling pushes against him again, pulling on the pit of his stomach. He watches her place a forefinger against her temple and press in slow circles as if she's pushing tension out of her head. She glances up again and he sees it. A fire. A bolt of white hot energy bursting from her eyes. It's quick but he notices. And something within him answers.
He feels a tug at his sleeve and tears his eyes away from hers. The counter girl smiles up at him and offers him a cup. "I assume this is yours?" she inquires. And he nods at his name scrawled on the side of the cup.
"Yeah, sorry." He takes the cup and turns to look again at the fire that assaulted him. She's gone. "Fuck. What the hell? I'm seeing things now." He shakes off the tingling sensation and the burn still in his eyes and exits the shop. He checks his watch. Ten minutes behind now.
He saunters out the door and gets back into his vehicle to make the drive to work. After passing the third light he notices a flurry of movement below his eye line. On his windshield. A small folded paper is flapping in the wind from under the wiper blade. Damn solicitors. Just can't leave well enough alone. After he pulls into a parking space at his office he gets out of the car, slamming the door a little harder than usual and snatches the paper from under the blade. He starts to ball the paper up and suddenly notices that there is handwriting on it. Not a typical flyer, he thinks and slowly unfolds the paper. "Meet me tonight." And a phone number. Someone's idea of a joke no doubt. Then another phrase "You're supposed to listen for your name at the coffee shop and not stare at women."
A jolt of electricity runs down his spine and he feels a heat like flowing lava filling him from the inside. His eyes flash and he feels it. What the hell. The feeling is vaguely familiar but he can't place it. He smirks and puts the paper in his pants pocket. He goes about his day and forgets about the brief encounter. And the note.
After work he gets home, grabs a beer from the fridge and settles on a chair. No television, nothing on. No sound but the faint beating of his own heart and ticking of the clock above the bar. "What am I doing?" he asks himself. No answer. Then, he remembers. The folded note, now burning a hole through his pocket. He takes it and stares at the number like it's written in flashing neon. The flash is there again. Piercing, unnerving.
And as not controlled by his own brain his fingers tap in the number on the note.
It rings and a soft female voice answers. He doesn't say a word. Her smooth, silky voice is like a feather stroking his ears and he shudders involuntarily. "You almost forgot me, didn't you?" she laughs.
"No, I, erm, well yes." How did she know? The lava is boiling now and there is a strange clawing sensation in his core. The feeling is enjoyable. Dark. Something there wanting to get out. He feels himself harden. Still, no words.
"Can you feel it?" she whispers. "It's the darkness calling you. Meet me at Chi's. 9PM." She hangs up.
Did that just happen? For real? He chuckles to himself and then the claws take hold ripping good sense to shreds and juicing his senses. He glances at the clock. Hours to go yet. He thinks about the face behind the voice. What he can remember. Her glancing up, the mesmerizing eyes. The flash. He concentrates harder on the rest. Her face was pale with full cheeks and lips. And curves, he remembers curves, not just the kind gives a little shape but the kind that demand attention, demand gripping and using. The kind that makes a woman real and alive. He felt himself getting harder. Damn.
