Chapter 4 #2
Between each shop was an alleyway, and in the one just before the diner, my ears pricked up at a now-familiar voice.
My head whipped to the left. Two large industrial bins took up most of the space in the alleyway.
On one side was colorful street art depicting a meadow.
But I quickly moved on from that because standing with his back to me was him.
Zain, still in his uniform, with his broad shoulders, tall frame, and golden hair.
The back of his orange T-shirt had a brown coffee cup with a smiley face on it.
He was speaking on the phone, holding it tightly with one hand, the other balled into a fist.
I shouldn’t have stopped. I shouldn’t have cared…But how could I not when I felt an indescribable pull to this guy? Like there was an invisible tether, and only in being close to him would it slacken its hold on me.
My feet moved of their own accord as I stepped farther into the shaded alley. My body edging closer despite my brain telling me this was a bad idea. The street traffic noise dulled with each step.
Zain’s tone was a cross between irritated and concerned, though I could hardly make out what he was saying.
Something like “inconvenient” and “already have a job.” I stopped walking once I could hear him, fully in the alleyway now, questioning my life choices.
What was I actually doing? I was about to turn around—realizing that I might seem like some weird stalker—when he spun on his heel.
We locked eyes—mine like a deer caught in headlights, his softly surprised.
His brows furrowed together, lips parting slightly.
“I’ve got to go,” he said into his phone, eyes not leaving mine, before taking a step toward me. He put his phone in his back pocket. “Are you following me?” His tone was light, much lighter than it had been seconds before.
“No,” I said quickly. “I think I dropped something…”
“What exactly is it that you dropped?”
“Um…” I racked my stupid, stupid brain. “A hairpin.” I gripped the side of my head like that might add some weight to my lie.
His eyes narrowed. “Right.”
“I’m probably not going to find it. I should leave…”
“Wait,” he said, arm outstretched in the space between us. His eyes were still tight, like he was trying to work me out. “Do you live around here?”
“Yeah.” I nodded. “But I only moved here a few days ago.”
“Really? From where?” Before I had a chance to answer, he continued, “Let me guess, Australia?”
I let out an unexpected laugh. “No.” Thinking my accent was Australian was more complimentary than anything. Having the Hull accent meant I elongated certain words—especially “no.” “I’m from England. I mean, do I really sound Australian to you?”
A slow smile spread his lips. “Well, you don’t sound British.”
“We don’t all sound posh like the Queen, or King now, whatever. My accent is Northern English, which is quite different.”
His lips quirked up. “Noted. So, why’d you move to Denver?”
“My dad got a job out here.” Saying these words aloud created a lump in my throat. I couldn’t take myself anywhere. And I wouldn’t cry about my early onset homesickness in front of this boy.
“You don’t seem happy about it.” His smile had faded. The last thing I wanted was sympathy, and certainly not from a person who haunted my dreams.
I’ll always love you. The words bubbled up in my mind. I shook my head.
“I mean, would you be happy if your parent uprooted your entire life?” I asked, trying to make my voice light, but it came out harsher than intended.
“Well, actually—” Zain began, but he was interrupted by a voice from behind him in the depths of the alley, within the shadows.
“I’ve been waiting for you,” the voice croaked.
“Now’s not a good time,” Zain called behind him, not even bothering to turn around. He leaned toward me, and I could smell him: cool, fresh air, with a hint of vanilla. “Listen, you’d better go.”
My face screwed up at this. I didn’t like being told what to do, especially by a stranger.
Especially by a guy. “I’ll go when I want to go.
” I craned my neck to see beyond Zain. The voice belonged to a dark-haired man.
His hair covered most of his face, the long greasy locks acting like a curtain over his features.
His clothes were in tatters, and he walked barefoot toward us.
I figured he was unhoused. I felt bad for the people I passed in the street, many of them probably not much older than me, without any support.
Zain put a hand on my shoulder. It was warm, and I was torn between flinching away from his touch or letting it sit there. I liked the feel of it, which was something I would admit to no one.
“Trust me,” he said in my ear. I shivered as his breath tickled my neck. “You need to leave.”
That’s when I took a step back but said, “What’s going on? Are you dealing drugs or something?”
Zain snorted, though his jaw tightened. God, he was hot. Even in this moment, when I thought he might be engaging in an illegal activity, I couldn’t stop thinking that he was one of the most handsome boys I had ever seen.
“Fine, fine. Stay,” he grunted.
I really considered the man behind Zain, adjusting my eyes to see him more clearly—and that’s when I realized this wasn’t a man at all.
As he drew closer, I saw beyond his hair, as he shoved it out of the way.
His skin was translucent, so pale I could see the mapping of veins beneath it.
But that wasn’t the most jarring thing—it was his eyes.
They were completely black. The man suddenly bounded toward us—or rather Zain, since I just happened to be there.
He lunged at Zain, hands wrapping around his neck, and pushed him against the concrete wall.
It all happened so quickly. I stood there, stock-still, watching the boy I was just speaking to now being strangled.
Zain didn’t seem particularly concerned, though, his face relatively relaxed while being choked.
Then, in one swift move, Zain shoved the thing off him, the force of it powerful enough to send the man flying into the bins opposite us.
I was surprised no one had come out to see what was going on with the noise the impact made.
I was desperately wishing someone would.
I remained rooted to the spot, holding my breath.
The thing scrambled, and instead of bothering Zain, it set its sights on me.
I was about to bolt when in a blink the thing was inches from me.
Instinctively, my nose screwed up. It stank.
Of smoke, heavy and overpowering, as though the smell was wrapping itself around my body.
My eyes shifted anywhere but at the thing across from me.
I took a step back and its hand raised, like it intended to slash my face.
I took another step back and banged into a wall, the brick rough against my shoulder.
Its head tilted. “You look just like your mother,” it said, eyes boring into mine.
“What?”
Then the thing was yanked away from me, and Zain had its head between his hands.
It was a tender touch, like he was caressing a lover, until he twisted the thing’s head to one side, snapping its neck.
I had never once considered what sound a neck would make when being broken.
The piercing crack was something I would never forget.
Reflexively, I looked away but then forced myself to gaze back at the scene. Only now, the thing was no longer there. It had disappeared. Zain stood with his back against the wall opposite me, head down, until his eyes shot over to me.
And that was when I ran the hell out of there.