Tears of Blood (The Blood Chronicles) (6 page)

Sebastien DeClerq, co-owner of
The Mage
,
warlock extraordinaire
, was the one to fear.

Chapter Three

Meghan hated traveling alone after a busy day, but didn’t have a choice, unable to remember and too proud to ask for the location of the nearest taxi stand. She should’ve left sooner, she thought, but her client had kept her later than normal. She wouldn’t complain though, certain people needed more help than others.

Sighing, she realized she should have taken the company car. Still, the thought didn’t make her happy, since she found having a fellow employee drive her around an uncomfortable imposition. She wasn’t someone who took advantage of special privileges because of her disability, and she didn’t want gossip to start in the office.

Instead, Meghan inhaled the chilliness of the night air, coughing somewhat as the exhaust of a passing car flooded her lungs. She waved a hand before her nose, willing the unpleasant fumes to vanish, and clutched her oversized bag closer. Pausing in the middle of the sidewalk, she listened to the noises surrounding her. Concentrating, she separated herself from the sounds she didn’t consider important, her actions making it easier to focus on her immediate surroundings.

Pedestrian traffic, the lagging footsteps of those returning home after a long day’s work, waned. She took note to the loud voices of people talking to unseen faces via their cell phones, the conversations hazy and confusing. A baby’s tearful wail echoed from an open window three stories above her, and two buildings down, and music seeped from a building nearby. In the distance, she heard the distinct screech of brakes, blaring radios, honking horns, and curses.

Meghan pushed those particular sounds, such an overlooked part of most people’s environment, away. Instead, she went over the mental roadway in her psyche. She stood somewhere on the corner of Eighth Avenue and October Street, ten blocks from her home, and twelve from the office.

Eventually, she’d have to teach this specialized method of road mapping to Mr. Stevenson. His first steps outside, without his eyesight, would leave him a confused mess. He’d panic, overwhelmed by the crush of sounds his mind had previously ignored, and Shirley would have her hands full calming him. Disorientation was an uncomfortable fact the visually impaired dealt with, and learning how to overcome the distractions was foremost to keeping one’s sanity.

Sighing, her large handbag held close, she focused on the sounds around her. The far-away sound of brakes and the pressured
whoosh
of doors opening, noises belonging to the city transit, echoed in the distance. She grimaced, knowing it was a long walk to the nearest bus stop, and the city route was rarely ever on time. The chill in the evening air told her it was getting late, and she didn’t want to be in the lower east side of town after dark.

Her head held high, she counted her steps to the memorized bus stop. Her white aluminum cane tapped the ground, performing a constant back and forth movement as she walked. Meghan recalled there were two thousand well-measured paces, one left turn, and two rights, before she’d find the bus stop she needed.

She made her way down the sidewalk, remaining to the inside corners. The smell of cooking dinners tingled at her sensitive sinuses, and her mouth watered as she considered her choices for the night. Sandwiches seemed a good option, she though absently, keeping in time with each of her steps. On the other hand, she mused, take-out from the Mexican restaurant that delivered sounded more appealing.

Repetitiously moving her cane, seeking the high curbs surrounding the walkway, Meghan continued. Mentally, she ran over her day with her new client and heaved a sigh. She was tired, George and Shirley proving a bit more difficult than her usual clients were, and she imagined experiencing problematical changes in the twilight of life was harder. She sympathized with the couple, though. Whatever the age, the loss of vision was hard, she admitted. She understood how complicated the change was, since she walked in a world packed with memories.

Colors, sunlight, a person’s face, were just memories, and shadows occupied her vision, blacks, and grays lacking any defining shape. There were days when those recollections tore at her, when she woke from vivid dreams bursting with exciting hues and brilliantly painted landscapes, and expected to see the same when she opened her eyes.

Thanks to her ex-husband, she languished in the dark.

Meghan paused as Kevin crossed her thoughts, the image of his handsome features filling her memories, as well as the loud quality of his voice. She hated thinking of him and wished she could erase her past as easily as he’d taken her sight from her, but she couldn’t. His face would always haunt her, forever emblazoned in her mind.

They had been high school sweethearts, an unlikely couple, as friends stated. Reconsidering the comments, she should have listened, since the history geek hadn’t anything in common with the star of the football team. Instead, she ignored the advice, and the tiny bells going off in her own head during their dating life.

Mistakenly teeming with over glamorized images of young love, she defied everyone and married Kevin.

After exchanging vows, Kevin Russell’s entire personality changed, morphing from a knight in shining armor and into her worse nightmare. Almost weekly, he became explosively loud and frightening. Where he once showed her consideration, he shouted at her whenever things displeased him, nearly frothing at the mouth while he screamed, his face contorting gruesomely. Even now, the memory sent a shaft of deep-seated fear rippling through her. The blows came by their first year as husband and wife and, looking back, she recognized how foolish she’d been.

In the beginning, she felt he loved her, and that his violent reactions reflected the changes in their situations. They were no longer high school lovers, and a demanding future ahead of them. She made excuses, and reasoned the strange change in his behavior was the result of insurmountable and unavoidable stress. He’d lost his scholarship to play football at a much-desired college, and working long hours at a near poverty level rate of minimum wage increased his frustration. Attempting to find the solution to his anger, she blamed herself, thinking she never did enough. Optimistically, she believed her love for Kevin would fix everything, and she’d done her damndest to be a good wife.

However, whatever she did wasn’t enough for him and Kevin wanted more.

He demanded Control over everything she did. His last deed, striking her in the head when he discovered she’ found a job at Bentham’s Association for the Blind, had been the breaking point. She barely recalled the event, and perhaps her lack of memory was for the best.

Pausing and lifting her face to the sky, the very last touches of the sun warmed her cheeks. She huffed bitterly, wishing she could see the orb, instead of the hazy gray and white.

Just one shade of red
, she thought. Meghan wished she were able to grab one forgotten tint of bright crimson and erase that last image from her memories of the sighted world.

Anything
, she whispered silently.

Her last recollection was of Kevin’s fist rocketing towards her, the veins standing out on the side of his neck, and his jaw clenched. Ducking, fearing for her life, he struck her. The full heaviness of his punch, his entire weight behind his rapidly moving arm, collided with her temple. The blow had sent her reeling backwards, and she fell, smacking the corner of the kitchen counter.

When she woke, she was in the local hospital. At first, Meghan imagined she was in a dark room, unable to distinguish the objects around her. The steady beep of monitors surrounded her and Chesca’s hand clasped her cold grip. As the sedatives wore off, and questions flooded her spinning mind, reality set in. Her friend informed her Kevin was missing, the police were waiting, and she’d lost ninety percent of her vision.

The rays of the sun caused a faint flicker of brightening gray to appear behind her lids, and she sighed, heartbroken. Colors had vanished from her world, and only their memories lingered in her nightly dreams. In her daily life, Meghan saw everything in shadow, each representation murky and indistinguishable. She’d learned to accept her disability with grudging reluctance, and had moved on with her life.

Moreover, Meghan wouldn’t allow Kevin’s actions to end her life and take from her the independence she loved. Stubbornly, she rose from the mess and forged onward. Even though her husband had vanished from the face of the earth, a compassionate lawyer helped her with her divorce, and she moved from their apartment. Leaving the dreadful memories behind, and selling the material possessions they had accrued together, she found a house closer to work. A row house, built during the early nineteen hundreds, was the home of her dreams. Modernized, and with Chesca’s help, she filled the place with furniture she dreamed of in her youth. The smell of polished antique wood greeted her every evening, and the thick plush of hand-woven Persian rugs comforted her tired feet.

She admitted her life was good, given Kevin wasn’t in it anymore.

She continued down the street, the last lingering rays of the son on her back. The pedestrian traffic was dwindling, and the streets were quieter. Meghan hummed a catchy little tune and tapped along, savoring the encroaching darkness and the slight nip in the air.

“Hey, lady, where are you going?”

The question wasn’t one she normally encountered and, startled, Meghan halted. Sensing there was something darker to the inquiry, she gripped her cane and purse close, her heart leaping into her throat. Somewhere in her bag, there was a can of Mace, but she didn’t have time to grapple for it.

“Excuse me, I need to pass.” She managed, realizing the person blocked her way.

“
Excuse meee
,” came the mocking repetition. Meghan chin rose and dread filled her. Thankfully, she distinguished a single figure, and hoped she might reason with him.

“You’re in my way,” she stressed, purposely keeping the quaver out of her voice.

“Now, I’m in your way.” The man mocked. She clutched her cane tightly, her forefinger grinding into the aluminum handle and the strap biting into her wrist. She didn’t want to use the item as a weapon, but suspected she might not have much choice.

“If you’ll excuse me…”

He interrupted her with a short whistle, the sound spilling with sickening contempt.

“Did you hear her, Ryan? The little woman keeps saying excuse me, all fine and ladylike. She sounds like she’s too good to mix with the likes of us.”

Meghan cringed as an assortment of snuffling laughs followed his comment, from the vicinity behind her. She felt a hot breath ruffle her hair, flinching, before she ground her teeth together. She straightened, mentally cursing herself for her laxness, and stiffened her shoulders.

“Look,” she began, keeping her tone even. “I don’t have anything of value on me.”

“You might just be enough.” Fingers lifted the hair from her shoulder. She stifled a shudder and inhaled, choking on the overwhelming stench of pot and soured sweat.

“I’ve told you…”

“I see your lips a moving, but you ain’t told me nothing, baby.” The man before her chortled, his hand sliding down her arm. “Did you hear something, Ryan?”

Dread coursed through her, their intent obvious as a pair of arms wrapped around her waist. Her heart flew into her throat and she opened her mouth, screaming loudly. The sound echoed down the street before Meghan slammed her elbow back, hitting the man behind her in the stomach. Her reaction was unexpected and he released her, and she staggered. She righted and swung her walking stick in a wide arc.

A tight grip caught the aluminum rod and yanked hard. Unprepared, she stumbled, her wrist entwined in the item’s leather strap. Meghan fell against her assailant, her breath drawing sharply through her teeth before she shoved away from him.

Heavy hands grabbed her waist, propelling her across the pavement. Struggling, she fought the cruel fingers dug more deeply into her skin, dragging her into a nearby alley. Meghan yelled, pleading for help, despite the raucous laughter echoing in around her. Without being told, she imagined her pleas were ignored. Knight gallants had vanished centuries ago, and there wasn't a code of chivalry existing in her modern world.

“Let…me…go!” She demanded sharply, panting, and struggling with every bit of her strength. As her attacker wrenched her arm cruelly behind her back, her purse dropped to the ground. Hazily, she heard coins and bottles roll from inside the cavernous compartment and across the pavement.

Meghan tensed and swung her free arm hard, her fists contacting with someone’s jaw, while her nails raked his face. She lashed out, shouting, screaming for help, but the hands never left her. Curses filled the air but she didn’t care, and all sense of reason left her as she fought for her life.

Unceremoniously, the pair dropped her to the hard ground. The stench of fetid water, trash, and urine rolled across her tongue. A sharp backhand jerked her head to the side, effectively drawing blood. Despite the pain, Meghan growled deep in her throat, her arms flailing.

“We got us a fighter, Jesse!” Ryan declared, his breath escaping him in short and panting gasps.

“I’d have never thought a blind girl could put up such a fuss.” The other countered and Meghan supposed he wiped blood from his mouth, his words muffled. She hoped she smashed his lip and, worse, scarred him for life.

She rose swiftly, aware the dirt and sludge from the alley clung to her skirt and jacket. Desperate, she spun about, seeking for the distant noises of the street. She needed a beacon to lead her away from these men, and she was helpless without her cane.