WinterSteelWords

1

Adam pushed his glass forward again, and Candace refilled it. Like all her regulars, scattered around their usual spots on worn barstools and stained booths, he seemed to ignore the world lying beyond the large, cloudy window that read, “Waystation.” Unlike her other regulars, he never made a grab for her, no matter how far down the bottle he went. Adam never made comments on her large chest, nor how time was starting to take its toll. Some days, Candace felt even older than this decrepit bar, both of them sagging and tired, both of them carrying the weight of too many years spent with too many drunks. Despite the press of time, and despite the odd remark made at her expense by one of the Waystation’s usual losers, Candice always felt the years ease around Adam. Her ass was safe around him, regardless of the tight jeans she had to wear in search of tips. Hell, she could even take off the stupid ball cap the owner made her wear and air out her long auburn hair in the weak breeze of the creaking overhead fans. She could do this without having to worry about Adam making some smart-ass remark about the few grays starting to appear.

Not that Adam spoke much anyway. In fact, in the few months he had been coming to the Waystation, Candace could not remember him saying more than a dozen words to anyone. Even getting his name had taken the better part of three weeks. He only communicated with the occasional asshole who got too forward with her, and then only with a look through long, disheveled hair that warned of violence. His soft, sunken eyes, rarely leaving the glass Candice always placed in front of him, spoke of some deep pain, but one he would not share.

Every now and then Candace would try to get something out of him. “In the mood for anythin’ different tonight?” she sometimes asked.

“Same’s fine,” he always replied in a hollow, yet somehow gentle voice, pushing his glass forward once more.

She would then refill his glass. “I can get you somethin’ harder.” Candice would then nod towards the row of bottles behind her, gratefully obscuring the large mirror that ran the length of the bar and its unwelcome reflections. “We’ve all kinds of sin here, you know.”

He would just throw back his drink and push the glass forward again.

Candace would then sigh, accepting the futility of the conversation. “Is there anythin’ else I can do for you?” she would ask, sometimes suggestively leaning forward, sometimes not.

“You’re fine like this.”

And so, tonight, instead of a futile conversation or an even more futile flirtation, Candace just nodded, refilling Adam’s drink and the pretzel bowl at his elbow before moving down to the other end of the weathered bar. Less than an hour ago, a teenaged girl had come in with a boy only a little older than herself, and Candace had been trying to keep an eye on them. Her first instinct had been to throw both kids out, but they had proper I.D., or the fakes were good enough anyway, and her boss had made clear that she was not to turn away a paying customer.

Within a half-hour of their coming in, though, Candace’s instincts had looked to be right. Glancing at the young lovers, she had to fight the urge to cuss. Since they had started drinking, his behavior had gone from bad to you-need-to-get-your-ass-to-church. Every time Candace glanced over, the little bastard was doing everything he could to seduce the sad-looking girl. The poor thing was obviously fighting back tears, barely listening to whatever nonsense the little snake was hissing in her ear. Candace could not tell if she was naturally this pale, or if something had happened to drain away what little color the girl had. Something was obviously bothering her, and all the appletinis he kept ordering and she kept throwing back were obviously doing little to still the tremble in her hands.

Ignoring all her better instincts, Candace tried derailing the oncoming tragedy. “How you kids doin’?” she asked the children.

The girl blinked her big black eyes though her long, black bangs. Unshed tears swam within those bloodshot pools, more evidence of the bad times this girl must have only recently seen. She buried her face in her hands. “I think I might pass out.”

“You won’t pass out,” the snake assured her. “You’re doing just fine.”

She reached out and downed another drink, bringing another slithery smile to the face of her seducer.

“We’re doing just fine barmaid.” The snake reached a manicured hand into the back pocket of his designer jeans and pulled out his wallet. He made little effort concealing a wad of bills. From this, he pulled out a twenty and laid it on the bar. “Why don’t you set us up again?” he said to Candace in a tone that was entirely dismissive.

The girl pulled her face up, revealing smears of dark makeup. “Shots,” she sighed. “I need shots.”

Her reptilian companion smiled coldly at the girl. “You heard the lady, a round of shots.”

Candace grimaced, but took the cash and poured them a round. Unable to resolve the conflict between trying to help and fearing the consequences, she left the couple to their business. From the corner of her eye, however, Candace noticed the young gentleman slipping a little something extra into his companion’s drink. 

Tending to her work, Candice considered her options. She feared trying to interfere again with a man taking advantage of a girl, her hand unconsciously going to the small scar her v-neck t-shirt concealed. The cops would take too long to respond, if they came at all. The handful of regulars had wandered out over the past hour, to drift home or just pass out in a ditch. All, that is, but one.

“Somethin’ bad’s gonna happen,” Candace said, pouring Adam another drink.

“Something always does.”

“Sometimes somethin’ can be prevented.” She reached out with a soft touch and raised his face. They locked eyes before Candace looked meaningfully to the far end of the bar.

Adam followed her gaze but immediately looked back to his glass, shaking off Candace’s touch. “Not my problem.”

“It’s someone’s problem.”

“Let someone deal with it.”

Without warning, the little girl stood and, no longer holding her tears, began to make her swaying way towards the door, bringing her in Adam’s direction. Her boyfriend was chivalrous enough to slither up and help steady her, though his kindness was marred by the hand on her skinny ass.

 “You know what he’s doin’,” Candace urgently whispered.

“Her fault,” Adam replied, keeping his eyes fixed down. He finished his drink and pushed the glass forward. “Herconsequences

Candace crossed her arms. “Your decision not to help.”

The happy couple lost their footing and bumped into the bar very close to Adam. The unwelcome jolt knocked over his glass and caused a muscle in his cheek to twitch.

The snake laughed at the minor mishap, pulling his next meal back to her feet. “Sorry, friend,” he said, patting Adam on the shoulder before slithering to the door.

Candace saw that Adam’s face had gone utterly blank. She leaned in. “Please help her,” she breathed.

“Dammit,” he growled through clenched teeth, standing.

***

Adam walked outside the Waystation, unsurprised that the happy couple had only managed to get a short distance. The unlit, garbage-strewn street was empty but for what had to be Slick’s car, as it was the nicest thing in this, the shittiest part of town. It was also the only car on the street, all other predators having already retreated from the coming dawn; all but one. The concrete river was silent and dark, without a single light from the surrounding businesses, either those boarded up or those still struggling to survive. The faint light from the open door of Slick’s sports car cast a pale line against the deep, pre-dawn darkness, pointing straight at the approaching Adam.

As he moved closer, Adam noticed the little scumbag was trying to keep his grip on the nearly catatonic girl in his arms while struggling with his keys and the car door. “Hey asshole,” Adam called out flatly.

Slick half turned, dropping the girl into the street like so much dead weight, and reached for what Adam sort of hoped was a weapon. “Don’t try anything stupid here, friend,” the boy said in a squeaking voice.

Adam stopped and took a deep breath. “Ok, two things. One: I’m not your friend, so stop calling me that; it’s pissing me off. Two: step away from the girl, go home, jerk off, and forget you ever met her.”

“Or what?

“Or I’ll to try not to kill you, but I won’t try very hard.”

“Fuck you!” Slick tried to reach under his untucked shirt. Adam shot forward, only an instant behind his thrown blade. His knife caught Slick in the hand just as the man himself caught the boy by the throat. Adam was already pummeling Slick in the face and gut even before the small gun the boy had tried to draw fell uselessly to the street. There was no real need for the beating, the knife in the boy’s hand having effectively ended the fight, but Adam had some things he needed to work through.

Besides, this little shit obliviously needs an ass-kicking.

After beating the young stud’s face into his spiffy car a few times, idly wondering if it was insured, Adam remembered to retrieve his blade. Grabbing the knife, still imbedded in Slick’s hand, Adam pulled up and out, splitting the hand into two halves. For good measure he also broke the little bastard’s jaw and stomped on his tiny balls a few times.

Once Slick was nice and unconscious, Adam took a few deep breaths, letting the flames out and slowing his thundering heart. He reached into the side pocket of his white leather coat and pulled out a small cigar, then lit it and pulled a long drag. A moan drew his attention back to the girl still lying in the street.

“Ah, shit.” Adam glanced at the Waystation, but Candace was hanging the CLOSED sign with a shrug and a smile.

Desperately, Adam looked up and down the deserted road but saw nothing.

“Are we still getting out of here?” the drugged girl moaned before starting to snore.

“DAMMIT!”

2

Holly woke to her own, personal Hell. A pair of pliers were attached to her head and someone was squeezing down hard. Her mouth tasted like something had dirty sex in it… without lube. Her tongue felt like someone else had puked down her throat. Every time she tried to breathe, some of that sex/puke/death came up and out through her nostrils. Her whole universe was the pain and the… ugh. If she could, she would have just laid down wherever she was forever… but her rotten stomach decided otherwise.

As she was throwing up, Holly became increasingly convinced she was in Hell. It was hot as balls, but she was shivering. The lights were way too bright, making her feel like some dickhead cop was shining his flashlight in her face. She had no idea how she got here, but she kinda had the feeling she deserved being… wherever. And, oh yeah, Holly was throwing up so hard, she was pretty sure her eyes were going to pop out. She was in Hell. Or maybe Dallas.

“WHENEVER YOU’RE DONE!!!!!”

“Oww!” Holly protested. Whoever that miserable bastard was with the impossibly loud voice, he really needed to shut up. “Quiet,” she whispered with a finger to her lips. “Quiet good. Talking bad.” Holly tried to cover the evil sunlight with her eyes but it just seemed to be everywhere.

A source of wonderful coolness was put against her hand. It was solid and round and stable, unlike the rest of the spinning world. Her angel, her amazing benefactor and protector, had brought her a glass of ice water. Holly’s throat screamed at her with a fiery hatred, but somehow, this wonderful angel had known of her need and delivered to her the remedy. She brought the perfect coolness to her tiny mouth and reveled in the feeling of icy relief.

“Not too fast,” her angel warned in a deep, soft voice. “You’ll just puke it up again.”

The water of life greatly eased her suffering, so Holly felt brave enough to try to open her eyes again. Still the damned light was just too painful. This time, however, she spotted another source of relief. She reached down to the stained coffee table in front of her and grabbed, after a few tries, the large sunglasses lying upon it. Once safely covering here burning eyes, Holly was able to view her surroundings with only minor agony.

Hell has a really shitty decorator.

Holly was sitting on a ratty old couch in the corner of some dingy, one-bedroom apartment. The nasty green carpet had several holes in it, not to mention a fresh pile of vomit. The curtain rod was missing curtains, which was unfortunate since the view out the small window was only to the window of the next apartment, and Holly idly thought that meth lab might like a little privacy. The kitchen cubicle showed no signs of use, other than the dead rat and colony of ants that were working on it. Somewhere in the distance, Holly could hear a car going by; either a car or just some vibrating metal, anyway.

“Nice place,” she said, leaning her head back against the couch and hoping she wouldn’t stick to it.

“Thanks.” Her benefactor, a medium sized guy with a thick build, took the glass and put it down on the stained coffee table.

He wasn’t a bad looking guy. Or at least, he wouldn’t be if he took a shower and practiced a little grooming, you know, once a century. Not to mention his sense of fashion was shit. Who the hell wears a long-sleeved shirt in the middle of a Texas summer?  

“Feeling better?” he asked, without much interest.

Holly rubbed her head and nodded. “A little,” she replied.

“Good, now get out.” He jerked his head towards the door.

“What happened last night?” Holly asked. She looked around at the guy’s apartment with a sinking feeling. “Oh God, we didn’t…”

“No,” he replied flatly. “Your boyfriend slipped you something. Get out.” Another motion towards the door.

Holly carefully leaned forward, picking up the glass of water for another sip. “He’s soo not my boyfriend,” she insisted. “He just said he could help me out.”

“Didn’t ask. Don’t care. Get out.”

The girl put her glass down and rubbed her arms, still shivering a bit despite the midsummer heat. Although great for clubbing, the black leather skirt and satin blouse she had worn out the night before really didn’t do much for comfort during the day.

Then the memories of last night began piling in, pressing against her mind, and reaching their taloned-fingers around her quickening heart. Coming home… her parents… the blood… everywhere. The thought and memories filled her eyes. Another flood of sorrow and regret. Images and horrors adding even more pain and misery to her already-suffering soul. Holly had been dancing and flirting and hating her parents while they were being…

God, I’d give anything for some shorts and a comfy t-shirt right now.

Holly almost desperately looked around for some way to divert her train of thought. “Do you have any crackers or anything?” she asked.

“I’ve got vomit, nice and fresh. Feel free to take some on your way out.”

“Yeah…” Holly slowly pulled the sunglasses off and looked at the door. “I don’t actually have anywhere to go,” she admitted, forcing down the reality of last night to face the reality of today. She turned her wide-eyed, well-practiced gaze to him. “Is there any way that I could…?”

“No,” he replied, cutting off her plea before she could even finish it. The hulking man leaned forward and put a finger onto the girl’s forehead. “Look princess, I figure you’re used to opening those big, dark eyes and having the boys fall all over themselves to make you happy, but that ain’t happening here. Let me make a few things very clear.” He jabbed a thumb into his chest. “I saved your narrow ass last night, against my better judgment, because I was guilted into it.” He poked the tip of his finger in her chest. “I don’t know you, I don’t like you, and I don’t want to do either.” He stood up straight and pointed towards the door. “Now. Get. Out.”

“Where am I supposed to go?” she demanded with tears in her eyes.

“I don’t care. Go home. Tell your parents they were right about everything and agree to whatever…”

“My parents are dead, asshole!” Holly jumped to her feet, her sudden rage overriding her sorrow and hangover. “I’d love to go back and tell them they were right but they’re dead!”

She had to take several deep breaths, struggling against a tide that would drag her down and never let her come up again. “And everything I own in the world is in a small bag at the bus station!” Holly stormed towards the door. “I spent all night partying with my friends- we were free at last! Only my folks were getting murdered while I was… while I was out… FUCK YOU!!!” Holly grabbed the door, ready to put this latest of a long line of assholes behind her.

“Wait,” he said in a flat voice.

“No,” she snapped, standing at the door. “To Hell with you, to Hell with your attitude, and to Hell with your crappy apartment.”

“Who’s trying to kill you?” he asked with very little enthusiasm.

“I thought you didn’t care.”

He directed a look that spoke volumes about his lack of caring. “You’ve got three seconds before I slam the door in your face.”

Holly used two of the seconds before closing the door and returning to the couch. “Can I at least ask your name?” she asked after taking another sip of water.

He paused a second. “Adam,” he finally said. He sighed and walked to the opposite wall, leaning against it, and crossing his arms over his broad chest. “Dammit,” he grumbled under his breath. “Now who’s trying to kill you? Who killed your parents?”

Holly could not help but hug herself tightly, huddling against the memory of finding her house surrounded by sirens and reporters. The memory of two body bags being carried out. “I don’t know who they are. My dad had some kind of business with them.”

“Drugs?” Adam guessed. “Guns?”

Holly shook her head. “No, I think he just got them some trucks. My dad worked for Agarés, on Fort Burleson. They paid him to get a bunch of Army trucks from the company.”

“And after he did, they came for him.” It was not a question.

Holly could only shrug a tiny shrug, the weight of everything continuing to press down on her. “The cops showed up and took me to the police station.”

Adam rubbed the back of his neck. “Is there anything you can tell me about them? About the people who killed your parents.” he asked. “Did you see anyone? Hear anything? Why do you think they’re still coming after you?”

Holly took a few moments to compose herself, during which Adam just stood waiting. Finally, she took a deep breath and continued. “The cops said it was a break-in. The house was trashed. While I was sitting in some lieutenant’s office, another cop gave me coffee to drink, then nothing. I woke up in a warehouse or something. It was dark. I was handcuffed and I heard chanting. I got free and ran.”

“Wait,” Adam interrupted. “How did you get out of the restraints?”

“My uncle taught me a trick for getting out of cuffs.”

“Cop?”

“Magician.” She smiled sadly at the memory. “He thought so, at least.”

“What about Slick?” Adam asked.

“Slick?”

“The guy from last night. At the bar.”

“That was Reese. I knew him from school, but he graduated last year. He’s a rich kid, kinda spoiled, but ok… I thought he was ok. After… when I ran away, I went back to the club to try and find some friends, and Reese was there. He offered to help, said he could get me out of Meropis County, but he had to wait for his mom to make some arrangements. We were… we were only supposed to wait at that bar for a little while, but he offered to buy me a drink to help… to feel…”

Holly took a deep, shuttering breath. “That’s the last thing I remember. Going into the bar with Reese. Then here.”

Holly had something else to say but hesitated, fearing her story was already moving past any hint of believability. Adam just sighed and rolled a hand in the air. “Out with it,” he commanded. “If I haven’t called bullshit at the chanting, I think I’m ready for anything.”

“No, you’re not,” Holly warned. “Four people were in another part of the warehouse, standing around some kind of altar. They were all wearing robes and they were the ones chanting.”

Adam said nothing. There was no sign on his weathered face if he believed the outlandish story. “Anything else?” he asked.

Holly nodded. “On the altar were chains and some animal and… blood. The blood had been used to paint symbols.”

“What symbols?”

“I don’t know, weird ones. Like writing.”

“Describe it.”

“Hard,” she said. “All straight lines. Every corner had little stars on them.”

Adam started at the description. He stared at her with a strange expression, like regret mixed with anger mixed with… something else. Just as Holly was growing uncomfortable, starting to think up some explanation, some story that would make him believe her incredible story, Adam turned. He moved to the counter of the kitchen cubicle, absently kicking aside the dead rat with his bare foot, and picked up a pad and pencil. He sketched something and then handed the pad over to Holly. The girl looked down at the symbols he had effortlessly drawn and stared in open-mouthed shock.

She looked back up and held the pad up to him in accusation, pointing a finger at the symbols.

“How the hell do you know about these?” she demanded. “What are these?”

“Proof you’re not full of shit,” he replied.

He returned to the kitchen, retrieving a fifthly plastic cup and filling it with faucet-water. Adam muttered something beneath his breath before drinking. A deep sigh followed, with a rough hand pulling through his disheveled hair.

“What?” Holly asked.

He sighed again. “Just… memories. Bad ones, mostly.” Adam glanced up to the ceiling, as though he was looking at something or someone above, and shook his head. “I guess I should have figured they wouldn’t leave me alone. Wouldn’t let me just… go.”

Adam straightened then, standing his full height and squaring his shoulders. He turned and moved purposefully into the bedroom. “I don’t know how,” he called out through the open door. “But your family managed to get the attention of some people who need to be dealt with.”

Holly stood and looked into the bedroom, gasping in shock. Adam had pulled some slightly less filthy clothes from a pile in the closet. The man had removed his shirt, exposing his upper body. His entire torso, his chest, back, stomach, everything, was covered in tattoos. The markings were identical to the writing she had seen on the altar around which her kidnappers had been standing.

“You’re one of them,” she said, backing away in sudden terror.

Adam froze as he had been reaching for the fresher clothes. “No,” he grimaced.

“Bullshit!” she snapped.

He half-turned towards her with a flat look on his deeply creased face. “I’m not,” he repeated. “These are… different than what you saw before.”

She shook her head. “You expect me to believe…”

Adam sat on the edge of his bed. He glanced down at the marks, which trailed down his arms. “The writing you saw before was… it was part of a ritual. They’re worshipping something. Something… dark. I’ve had experience with these kinds of things. Hence, the marks.”

The girl shook her head slightly.

“Look, you can either believe I saved you from Slick last night just to take you back to that cult, or you can believe what I’m telling you.” He looked up at her, remaining seated on the unmade bed. “Nothing I say will likely convince you; you have to decide. Slick screwed you over, probably just for the chance to mount you, and that’s got you scared. Scared is good; scared is careful. But scared can also keep you from taking help when it’s offered.

“It’s a hell of a coincidence,” Holly noted, “you just happening to know about these…”

“There are no coincidences,” Adam replied, almost automatically. “But there is free will, free choice. Either way, make yours.”

Holly hesitantly stepped forward, standing over the unmoving Adam, and tracing a light finger on one of the patches of writing inscribed on his thick shoulder. The large man did not move or react much at all to her light touch, except to look away, almost in shame. “What kind of experience?” she asked softly.

“What?”

“You said you had experience with things like this. What kind of experience?”

“The bad kind,” he grumbled, is sunken eyes still fixed on the far wall. Finally, Adam stood, forcing Holly to take a half-step back but still only a hair’s breadth apart, and looked down at her. “I’ve seen what these kinds of people do,” he said in a hard voice that seemed somehow to push against and through her. He turned back to the closet. “They need to be dealt with.”

Abruptly, he unbuckled his pants and made as though to let them drop. Holly started spun, exiting the bedroom, her heart and burning ears making her suddenly aware of which room she had been standing in.

“You’re right that they’re trying to kill you,” Adam continued from the bedroom as Holly returned to the living room, sounding like he was rummaging through his clothes. “So until I get this sorted out, you need to stay here. If you try to leave, even just to leave town, they’ll likely grab you before your make five blocks.” Adam then also returned to the main room, pulling a new long-sleeved shirt over his head and looking for his boots.

“Do you know who they are?” she asked.

“Not really; or not specifically. It doesn’t matter; one cult’s the same as another.”

“What do they want?”

“You don’t want me to answer that.”

“Well, what am I supposed to do while you’re off doing… whatever?” Holly demanded.

“Don’t know; don’t care.” 

“Well… is there at least something to eat in this dump?”

Adam looked around and grimaced. He moved to the counter over which was thrown his white leather coat and pulled a large roll of cash from the pocket. Negligently tossing it at his unwanted guest, Adam grunted “Order a pizza.”

Holly caught the thick roll of large-denomination bills with surprise. “How much is here?”

“I dunno.”

She started counting but stopped at a thousand. “If you have money like this, why the hell do you live in this pit?” she demanded.

Adam threw on his white leather coat. “It suits me,” he replied.

“How can you wear that thing? It’s, like, a million degrees outside.”

Adam sighed, rubbing his eyes. “I’m trying to climatize.”

“To where? Hell?”

“Ok,” he said, turning to face her. “Let’s set a few ground rules. One: I hate conversation. Two: shut up. Three: I’m going to go take care of these people who are trying to kill you so you can leave as soon as possible. Four: shut up again. Five: don’t go anywhere. Questions?”

“Why can’t I go with you?”

“Because you’re annoying,” he calmly replied. “Not to mention you’ve got people who are TRYING. TO. KILL. YOU.”

“But I don’t want to be stuck here,” she pouted. In the back of her mind, Holly was calculating how far she could get with the large roll of bills.

“Fine.” Adam opened the door and gestured outside. “Go. Take that cash and go wherever you want. Disanté is great. There’s plenty to do in this town. I’ll send flowers to your funeral. It’s your choice; stay and live, or go and die.”

Without another word, Adam walked out the door, leaving it open for Holly to make her decision.