The Endangered Read online

  “Now there’s a guy who knows how to make an impression.”

  The card has the name and address of a gym in Hell’s Kitchen.

  “Strange…”

  ***

  I arrive at the gym just after sunset. Catch hadn’t been surprised when I recounted my car ride. He’d told me to go alone and to trust Adrian. A hard feat, but I didn’t see I had much choice in the matter.

  No sign of Adrian. I take a seat on the metal bleachers surrounding a boxing ring. A handful of people watch with mild interest as two bloody boxers go at it in the ring; their coaches yell enthusiastically from the corners, seemingly the only ones excited over the match.

  Sufficiently distracted, I don’t even notice Adrian till he’s by my side, cloaked like before, hood pulled down over his brow. He observes the fight with feigned interest, not averting his gaze.

  “You’ll leave the States tomorrow after sunset. Catch will take you to a mansion outside London which serves as a base camp. Everyone involved in the war resides there when not out on assignment. There you’ll learn from them and you’ll work with them. They are your allies. Your only allies.

  “As I’m sure Catch explained, our numbers are few. Not intentionally so. The war has demanded we re-populate. However, this does not mean we are any less selective about who we recruit.”

  “Look, I’m really sorry about the fire. Tragic, truly. But if this leads to you telling me I’m privileged, save it.”

  Adrian shakes his head.

  “As I was saying…you will receive training of the highest caliber and hopefully will find the answers you seek.”

  “Why me, Adrian?”

  “There are things which cannot be told. Things that must be understood.”

  He avoids making eye contact.

  “Fine. I’m not protesting. It is hard to play a ghost.”

  “I’m glad for your change of heart.”

  “I want to go; I’m just not trusting of your motives for sending me.”

  “That’s completely fine. I’m not asking for your trust; I’m asking for your obedience.”

  “I’m beginning to realize that it’s too painful to stay here, to keep up this charade.”

  He gives a slight nod.

  “A change of scenery would serve me well right about now.”

  Adrian regards me with that chilling thin-lipped smile. I turn my attention to the ring and grimace as the bloodier of the two contenders takes a hard left to the jaw and falls to the ground.

  “You are wondering why I met you here?”

  I sigh. The thought of a fresh start weighs on my mind.

  “No, but I feel a metaphor coming on.”

  Adrian gives a dry scoff.

  “Fighting is one consistency that, as long as there is life on this planet, will never change. Motives, sure, but there is always something to fight for. I love to come to these dives and watch the fights; it’s where I do my best thinking.”

  “Some meditate in church, others…”

  “One night years ago, I was so moved by a fighter, by his skill, his determination, I sought him out after his match. He was sitting at the pub across the street. I introduced myself as a fan and bought a round of beer. While we sat there conversing, a man came over to congratulate him on a good fight. This man took one look at the fighter’s bloody knuckles and commented ‘No gloves tonight?’ And you know what the fighter replied?”

  I shrug.

  “‘I just need to feel it sometimes, you know?’ The man nodded as if he understood. Maybe he did, maybe he didn’t. But I understood exactly.”

  “So what, he needed a reminder of what it felt like to pummel someone?”

  Adrian ignores my crass tone.

  “He needed a reminder of his own mortality. That he could feel pain. Overcome vulnerability. Not just a test of his physical strength, but mental. He wanted to bring his suffering to the surface. For all to witness.”

  “Proof that he wasn’t dead inside?”

  Adrian shrugs. “Maybe.”

  “And if he was?”

  “His appearance would tell a different story to men like the one who congratulated him in the bar. They would see his passion and he would revel in it.”

  We sit in silence for a short while.

  “Did Catch hate you? Resent what you made him?”

  Adrian looks mildly amused, maybe not expecting me to know Catch was the subject of his little story.

  “Not in the slightest. He embraced his new life. Frankly, I expected you to do the same.”

  I study the boxers, trying to picture Catch in the ring. It isn’t a stretch. But Catch hadn’t named his sire and it hadn’t occurred to me to ask. Adrian’s response neither confirmed nor denied my query and it was clear he didn’t intend to elaborate further.

  “I’m struggling. With all due respect, I worked pretty damn hard to crawl out of the slums I was raised in. I finally got my life on track. Well sort of. I was happy.”

  “You have a greater destiny. You don’t see it now, but we’re giving you a chance your human life did not grant you.”

  “Guess I’ll have to take your word on that…” My voice trails off, and when he does not offer any further insight, I change the subject.

  “How old are you?”

  He continues to focus on the fight.

  “1200 and a few weeks, months…” He ponders for a moment. “You know, I may be 1300. At this point who’s counting?”

  “Wow. Were you ever human?”

  He shrugged. “Time has not granted me any explanation to why I’m here or how I came to be.”

  “Does time help?”

  “Help?”

  “With loss, pain…?”

  “You’re young. Human emotions will persist for some time to come; it’s only natural. This is how it has to be. You may not understand that now, but you will in time.”

  “What if I slip? What if someone learns what has happened to me?”

  “That is not an option. Our world is kept separate from the humans, for obvious reasons. We do not interfere in their affairs, we do not play vigilante in their towns, and we do not commit murder. Certain risks are not worth taking. To answer your earlier question, yes, time helps. Time makes us invincible; immortality is earned, achieved in this fashion.”

  The bell dings to end the round. The boxers stagger to their respective corners.

  Adrian continues, “Time, you see, was never an issue with our kind, but now we have found ourselves in a war to save our race and every passing moment counts considerably. You will have some time to train at the facility in England and then you’ll be thrown into the deep end, so to speak.”

  The fight resumes. The man who threw that mean jab earlier now takes one to the head and hits the floor, unconscious, and the fight is over.

  “I can settle with that for now.”

  “Well, I dare say this is the most I’ve conversed with anyone in a long while. Perhaps the fight put me in a good mood, or,” a severity in his tone now, “maybe I was worried you’d try something drastic unless otherwise advised. That would be a shame.”

  Chapter 9

  I crawl out from the overturned vehicle.

  Jolted, trembling, I make my way clear of the wreckage and push myself upright. Staggering backward, I admire my handiwork. Fear turns to amusement as a tire drops from the broken axel and bounces several yards before teetering sideways into the grass.

  Rather disappointed by my unscathed state, I scan for evidence and turn up nothing but a rip in my sleeve. Then I taste blood and bring my hand to my head. Blood is streaming from a gash across my temple and beginning to drip from my chin.

  The wound is already healing. I feel it close and wipe the blood from my face.

  Staring at my blood-soaked hand, I will it to stop shaking.

  Adrenaline still happens.

  You’re not in shock. You’re not traumatized. You’re barely injured. Relax.

  I notice a small blaze ignite
in the engine and watch as a series of explosions emanate from the undercarriage. A minute later, the car is consumed in flames.

  Entertained, I watch, transfixed for a short while, then finally turn away, starting uphill. After a couple steps, I freeze at the sight of a figure standing at the point where I’d lost control.

  “Ah, Angel of Death, you’re too late, my friend.” I trek uphill and met the figure, whose silhouette remains stagnant, arms crossed, bathed in moonlight.

  Catch does not look pleased, but I continue. “Tell me you caught that on video.”

  He just stands there shaking his head.

  “Okay, you gotta tell me how you found me.”

  “We’re connected. It’s in the blood. I will always know where you are. Whether you’re climbing Mount Everest or joy riding through wherever the hell this is—Jersey? For fuck’s sake, Lori. What the hell are you doing?”

  His jaw muscles spasm when he is agitated. It’s cute.

  “Experimenting. It occurred to me I never learned how to drive. Not officially. I hot-wired my fair share of cars as a kid. Never was very good at the driving part though.”

  “Well your juvenile delinquency aside, you know that could have killed you, right? I was sure I covered the part about fire pretty thoroughly. Did Adrian say something to you? Specifically something that would cause all this…rubbish.”

  I shrugged. “He spoke about embracing my new state.” Pointing downhill: “That was me…embracing.”

  “Uh huh.”

  “Wait, does that homing device thing work both ways, ’cause it doesn’t seem very fair.”

  “These theatrics bring the wrong kind of attention.”

  “How’d you get here? If flying is really a thing and not a myth, I’m going to be so pissed you didn’t tell me sooner.”

  “I didn’t—we can’t—fly. We’re fast, like out-run a cheetah fast, but not ‘breaking any sound barriers’ or ‘soaring through the air’ kind of fast.”

  He looks over his shoulder. “I drove.”

  There is a sports bike parked under a tree across the street. I burst out laughing.

  “Oh, so I’m being reckless and you what—obtained your wheels legally? That’s rich.”

  “What can I say, I like bikes. Had one when I was human. A Ninja. And I doubt the owner even misses it.”

  “Speaking of transportation, it appears we’re leaving for England at dusk tomorrow.”

  “That couldn’t possibly be the reason Adrian contacted you. He is not one for light conversation. It’s rare for him to surface even under normal circumstances.”

  “He spoke in insinuations and not actualities.”

  “Yeah, that tends to be his style. He implies a lot and says a little.”

  I can hear the disappointment in his voice. But I doubt he expects me to give him any real concrete information to go off of. Probably just a fishing expedition to see if I connected more dots than I should have.

  “He had some good stories. You know the kind where there’s a big underlying meaning…”

  “Is that why you went ape shit with the Camaro?”

  I’m not really sure I got what he wanted me to get out of our little meeting. I honestly don’t know what I can tell Catch that would make more sense than my little act of defiance.

  “What did you expect from a New Yorker with no license?” I quip.

  Catch shakes his head, but I can tell he is smiling on the inside.

  Chapter 10

  The flight is departing in a couple of hours from a private airstrip not far from Newark airport. Catch allows me to return to my house alone to gather a few ‘essentials’ and maybe leave a note explaining my sudden disappearance.

  I need closure with my old life. There is nothing I want more.

  After my begging and pleading, followed by a stern lecture on his part, Catch is finally convinced I won’t do anything “stupid.”

  He sends for a car, doling out strict orders to the driver about where he can take me and for how long. I’m okay with that.

  I don’t want to go against Adrian’s wishes, and if my friends learn the truth, even suspect something was up, their blood would be on my hands. I shudder at the thought, not wanting to imagine what he is capable of.

  Adrian does not lie or make hollow threats. Of this I am certain.

  ***

  I’d written a rough draft in my head over and over of what I’d leave them. Saying I’d be in touch. That I recently reconnected with a relative, an aunt living on the West Coast who needed medical care. That I was going to finish my degree from there. That I’d come by to say good-bye, but I’d found everyone out for the night and had a plane to catch. Some ridiculous, inflated lie justified only by the knowledge that the truth is much worse.

  It is a Friday night. My roommates would be out for certain. I’d slip in and grab some clothes, a sentimental object or two, tack a note to my door with money for the rest of the year’s rent supplied by what was left of my bank account. And be gone.

  As I’d anticipated, the house is quiet and I sneak in without incident. Since it is still technically my place of residence, I do not need permission to enter.

  My departure does not go as smoothly as I’d planned.

  In our upstairs hallway a large horizontal mirror decorates the corner wall, facing the stairs. It is behind me as I round the corner, bloated gym bag slung over my shoulder, note in my pocket—I’d opted for fridge placement—and there stand Jeff and Erica.

  Like a deer caught in headlights, I freeze, startled. They look equally stunned by my sudden appearance. My room sits above the front door and I hadn’t heard anyone enter the house, but they could’ve been in his room at the opposite end of the hall. The whole upstairs reeks of weed, as per the norm, obstructing my ability to detect their presence.

  “Lori?”

  “Hey guys, what’s up?”

  Blank stares.

  Is my delivery not casual enough? Give me a break.

  Erica turns to Jeff. “Told you.”

  “What?” Now I am agitated.

  “She’s sick, possessed, something unnatural,” Erica presses further.

  “What kind of illness causes that?” Jeff points behind me.

  I know what is there, so I don’t bother turning to see the lack of my presence within its frame.

  I’d stolen the damned mirror from a bar one night on a dare. Corona bottles with cocktail umbrellas and palm trees decorate its reflective surface. Couldn’t fit it in my room, with all the posters and such, so it found a home in our hallway. Go figure.

  They stand between me and the stairs. I could turn and bolt through the window in my room, make a jump for it. I should trust my powers to get me out of this. But desperation to be “normal,” to rationalize the situation, to believe they would listen and understand; this hope tells me I can explain my way past them.

  Plus, I don’t want to be chased or followed.

  It’ll be easy. They are stoned, anyway. Everything will be fine.

  “What happened to you?” Fear in Jeff’s words.

  I approach them cautiously.

  “Nothing. Life’s been a little crazy lately. Everything’s cool.”

  “You look different. And you haven’t been yourself lately. We’re concerned. What is going on?”

  I force a laugh. “You’re being dramatic. It’s nothing. I’m fine. No worries.”

  Their expressions say “bullshit.”

  “Look, I wish I could stay and explain, but I’m kind of in a hurry.”

  I continue down the hall, making like I’m going to push past, but Erica refuses to budge. Instead she plants herself in my path.

  “Jeff, would you please ask your girl to move. I’ve got places to be and sooner I’m outta your hair the better.”

  Jeff obliges, stepping back and motioning for Erica to do the same. Instead, she points at the mirror, looking from me to Jeff.

  “Not until you explain that,” she demands. I ca
n’t help myself; I turn and look at the reflection of the two of them and a floating duffle bag.

  “Relax, the angle’s off.”

  “We want to help you. Just talk to us.” Jeff’s tone is desperate.

  “I’m beyond help. Trust me.”

  I begin to retreat to my room, giving up on the stairs.

  “I always knew there was something off about you, but you really must be a freak.”

  The comments I am successfully ignoring—the grip on my arm, not as well. Erica grabs me and pulls me back, spinning me around.

  “I warned you. Back off!”

  I shove her off me. Hard.

  Forgetting my strength, I see her leave the ground and smack into the wall. Her head hits first. The dull crunch of bone breaking. She falls to the floor, limp. Pieces of plaster land on her shoulders.

  Jeff, recoiling, lets out a gasp. In my anger I’d transformed. I wasn’t in control and my temper prevailed. I am in full panic mode, realizing I struck Erica back with such force that the cracking sound had come from her neck or her skull. As if I’d willed it.

  My impetuous act seals our fates. I cannot leave any witnesses.

  ***

  I meet Catch at the landing strip. Lights line the narrow runway and a flight control tower loom in the distance. I suppose this is a legitimate flight; who knows how they work the system. I can’t say it is my chief concern as I board the plane. Catch, having stuck his head out from the open doorway when the car pulled up, now greets me with a hug as I step on board.

  “You’re shaking. Did something happen?”

  Can he smell the fresh blood?

  “Everything’s fine,” I assure him as he takes the bag from my shoulder and I crash on a plush suede couch.

  “Let’s leave this god-forsaken country and never return.”

  At that he smiles and takes a couple bottles from the shiny black mini fridge that sits perfectly positioned between a rich walnut end table and one of the three Barcaloungers that add to the opulent decor of the jet.

  I sit up, taking in the ambience for the first time. Catch notices, handing me a dark drink.

  “Nice, isn’t it?”

  “Nice? Do they make planes nicer than this?”

  Catch laughs. “I’m sure they do. But needless to say, you’ll soon learn money isn’t an object—or issue, rather—with our kind.”