L.L. Foster - The Awakening

But Luther wasn't that man. He was merely an above-average servant of the law with keen intuition, overwhelming kindness, and a belief in only what he saw and touched.

He'd never really believe in Gaby, not with the farfetched realities of her existence.

Looking down at her hands, Gaby noted new calluses on her fingers and messy ink stains beneath her uneven nails. Assuming Mort would soon return with another song and dance about food or fresh air or whatever else the normal people in the world found helpful in times of stress, she stretched her back, rotated her head on her neck to remove a few kinks and, because she couldn't help herself, glanced at the clock.

Five-thirty.

Luther would show up in thirty minutes.

What to do?

Indecision chewed on the edges of Gaby's satisfaction. Finishing the graphic novel no longer sufficed as a freeing accomplishment.

Driven from her seat by self-loathing and the oppressive heat of the room. Gaby left her desk and moved to the wide-open window. No breeze stirred, but at least the exhaust-fumed air from outside didn't smell of ink and dust and disgust from indecision.

Gaby peered at the cloudless sky, the arid leaves on sickly trees, and the passersby milling in the street. Cars moved by in a blur of colors and the noise level rose and faded in an uneven cadence.

Across the street, she spotted a whore making lewd gestures at a passing group of young men. They returned her invitation with vile insults and kept going, uninterested in what she offered.

The whore didn't seem to mind. She walked a little farther and found another man to target.

He seemed more willing.

Curiosity struck a blow, obliterating some of the other disturbing emotions currently plaguing her. She made up her mind.

She had to get outside. Had to walk and think and…

Investigate. If not the monsters, then something of more interest. Something equally at the forefront of her mind.

If Luther didn't want to wait for her, fine.

Good.

She wasn't at all sure she even wanted him to.

Anxious now that she had a purpose, Gaby went into the bathroom to scrub her hands, cleaning them the best she could. Some ink remained under her nails, so she used the tip of her knife to dig out the stains. Haste made her ruthless and she nicked one fingertip, making it bleed.

Ignoring the small wound, she splashed her face to refresh herself, pushed her hair back, and gave one cursory glance at her very wrinkled and limp clothes.

So she looked like a used dishrag. Who cared?

She sure as hell didn't.

By the time Gaby finished with her meager ablutions, the ink on the last pages had dried. She carefully stored away the story where no one would find it. Tomorrow she'd look it over, and if it still felt right, she'd get it postmarked to Mort.

Mailing off a manuscript was the closest Gaby ever got to eradicating a nightmare.

Mind made up and a lie prepared, she went down the stairs in her normal noisy way. Mort's head poked out his door.

Keeping her stony gaze forward, Gaby said, "No."

Smiling, he came out the rest of the way. "Hi to you, too, Gaby. What are you—"

"No, Mort." Doing her best to block him from her peripheral vision, she kept walking.

"No what?" Barefoot, his hair mangled from an obvious nap, Mort rushed after her.

"No, I don't need company." Gaby unlocked the door and pushed it open. "No, you can't come along anyway. No, I don't need your help." She had one foot out the door. "No, no, no."

"But—"

"Damn it, Mort!" Impatient to be gone before Luther showed up, Gaby swung around and backed Mort up to the wall. "Shouldn't you be running the store?"

"I have a temporary kid helping out today."

Probably so he could keep closer tabs on her. Mort loved his comic store and usually enjoyed running it.

But today, he didn't. So Gaby would have to use the lie. "Remember that little girl from the alley?"

"Little girl?" Blinking fast, Mort nodded. "Uh… You mean the lady you saved?"

Gaby hated how he put that, as if she ran around playing rescuer all the damn time, when nothing could be further from the truth. "She was a kid, Mort, not a grown lady. I doubt she's out of her teens."

"Probably not."

"Well, I'm going to see her." Her chin went up, her eyes narrowed in challenge. "All things considered, I don't think she'll want any men hanging around."

"You know where she is?"

Gaby had no idea. Course, she had no real notion of seeing the girl, either. She only needed to escape Mort's watchful eye. "Not yet, but I'll ask around. I'll find her."

"It's not safe—"

Gaby went nose to nose with Mort. "I. Will be. Fine." The words came out from between teeth clenched tight enough to break.

"Okay, okay," he agreed quickly, hoping to mollify her. "Will you pretty please just tell me how long you'll be gone?"

Maybe if she'd ever had a mother, Mort's overbearing nosiness wouldn't have been so annoying. But she'd never had anyone be so officious, and it left her unglued. "And just how the hell should I know—"

"She won't be long," Luther said from the open doorway.

Gaby swung around to see him. He stared at her, and she felt so guilty she almost shrank away. As promised, he'd dressed casually in jeans and a printed T-shirt that read, THE MEEK SHALL INHERIT THE EARTH—AFTER I'M THROUGH WITH IT.

"Nice shirt," Gaby said.

"She won't be long," Luther said as he stepped into the foyer, "because we have a date. Isn't that right, Gaby?"

Groaning, Gaby seriously considered strangling Mort for holding her up.

Or maybe she'd let him hold her up.

Whatever. The ramifications of her delay sucked. She had Mort chafing behind her, and Luther provoking in front of her.

Without looking at either one, Gaby said to both men, "I'll be back when I'm back," and she shoved her way around Luther.

He let her pass, but damn it, Gaby saw the disappointment on his face, and she saw the damn gift bag in his hand.

A gift. For her ?

Never in her twenty-one years had anyone given her anything before. What could it be? Gaby racked her brain for gift-type items, but she was as clueless in that as she'd been in other matters that involved normal people. She couldn't see Luther buying her clothes, and the small bag couldn't have held flowers or chocolates.

Even Luther wasn't lame enough to buy her any jewelry. Any fool could see she didn't wear it.

So… what?

Not that it mattered; whatever it might be, she couldn't accept it.

She didn't dare.

Legs stiff and stride maddened. Gaby went across the sun-baked blacktop street and down a few blocks until the apartment building was out of sight. The nerves in her face pinched and her eyes burned. They were unfamiliar feelings, and she didn't like them.

Heading toward an empty park bench. Gaby trotted on. She was too antsy to sit, so she dropped her shoulder against the metal lamppost in front of the bench, near the curb, and venomously crossed her arms.

The sun baked against her back, dust blew up on her toes, and she sulked in silence until she spotted a hooker. It was the same one she'd seen from her apartment window. The woman leaned into a car passenger window, and Gaby could see her thong underwear.

Disgusting.

The driver, pulled up beneath the shade of a large elm tree, kept the engine idling. Eventually, the hooker opened the door and climbed into the car. The man driving gave a quick look around, then adjusted himself—and pushed the woman's head down.

Gaby narrowed her eyes and, leaving the lamppost, crept forward. She looked up and down the street, darted around traffic, and gained the opposite sidewalk where the car idled.

Not bothering with discretion, she walked up to the driver's window and looked in.