The streets were a mess; everyone, the drunk homeless, the firefighters, the owners of every shop in town were shuffling around screaming. No one could move more than an inch in a minute. The flames reflected in every single person's eyes back at me.
Edna had been at the library, reading up on her suspicions of the man on the roof. She had gone in partially blind, hoping the sucker of a librarian wouldn't question her motives, searching and searching through the stacks for any glimpse of the word. She thought nothing of the questionable noises she heard outside - breaking glass, screams - the men in the alley supplied enough similar noises everyday to numb her to them.
After a few hours of fruitless search, she made her way back onto the streets to find the chaos. She hardly recognized the street. The prostitutes, normally posted up hollering for business, were drunkenly writhing under the flash of tourist's camera (why there were tourists? - that was the last thing on her mind.) The screams she had heard had seemed harmless; now the sheer volume made her cover her ears. Everything, the fire hydrants, the broken storefronts, the broken people, glowed in the blazing night.
As she walked, or harassed, her way towards her home, her eyes remained focused on Wilshire Tower. She had too much on her mind to process the fires, the alcohol, the fucking crazy people. She had to get to the roof.
Edna squeezed through the crowd, smashing on broken bottles left by fleeing idiots. At one point, her foot landed on something soft, not glass-like. There was blood covering his face, his eyes were shut, and there was a strangle pleasant expression written on his face. This town could care less about the ones it killed, she thought, as her finally made her way to her front door, I could care less about the ones I killed. She needed the roof; she knew he'd be there.
She rode the elevator anxiously, staring wistfully at the ceiling, imagining the object of her curious desire resting on the building's edge, staring. She didn't love him; this wasn't a normal emotion. She was transfixed by his power.
Edna slowly pried the door open and stared.
"I know who you are," she said carefully, as not to reveal to much.
"I know."
Oh hell. "I know what you are," Edna blurted. If she was wrong, she was probably dead. If she was right... she was probably dead. But she walked forward, unaware of what was to happen next.
And then suddenly, we were in the middle of a street - some street that no longer resembled a street - and every one was moving by so fast except for three people standing facing each other. In the light from the burning piece of wood one of them held, I could see their faces. Mr. Day held the torch. He was screaming words and thrusting at Ethan with the fire. Ethan stood in front of him, flinching a little each time the flame came closer to his skin. Beside Ethan, standing like she was all alone in the world, was that repair woman Ethan had told me not to trust, Edna. She looked up at me and then at Ethan. Her lips moved, but I couldn't hear her.
ReplyDeleteMaybe I'd gone deaf. Maybe that was blood leaking from my busted eardrums. Maybe I couldn't read lips as well as I thought I could. Maybe she didn't say, "vampire."