John Everson - NightWhere

“If you are really here to help me, then you have to do this for me,” Mark said. He knew he was being stubborn. Utterly, stupidly stubborn. But the part of him that had loved and protected Rae all of these years…letting her have her fun but always shepherding her home…wouldn’t let him simply walk away. Even after she’d tried to kill him. She had always relied on him to be her safe word, if it came to that. Now he was going to have to use force to give her the protection she needed, but didn’t want.

“Take me back there tonight. Just get me to the door.”

Selena hung her head. Her breath hitched, as she struggled to stifle a cry. But it came anyway. When she looked up, Mark gasped.

The pure white skin of her cheeks was marred by twin trails of darkest red.

Selena wept blood.

“Oh my God,” Mark said. “You’re hurt.” He touched her cheek with his finger and showed her the drop of red on his fingertip.

She shook her head. “I’ll be fine,” she said. “Don’t worry about me.”

She slipped past him, out of bed, and went to the bathroom. When she returned, her face was clean.

Mark got out of bed and met her in the middle of the room. He put his hands on her shoulders and stroked her arms. “It’ll be okay,” he promised. “I’ll go in armed at dawn. I’ll get her out just as they have to go to sleep. I’ll bring her home, and she’ll have to stay here for the day. If she decides to go back after that, I’ll have to let her go. But I want to give her the chance to make that decision outside of the influence of NightWhere. You can’t say no to that. I want to save her soul.”

He forced her to meet his eyes. “There is always a chance for forgiveness, right?”

Selena looked away.

He changed the subject. “Right now, let’s get something for dinner, all right?”

Mark walked to Rae’s dresser and pulled out a University of Illinois T-shirt that Rae liked to wear around the house. Selena accepted that and a pair of blue sweatpants without a word.

Then Mark pulled on a pair of sweats and a T-shirt himself and led her to the kitchen.

He looked around in the freezer and found chicken and Italian frozen dinners. Selena shrugged. “Whatever,” she said. “I’m not really hungry.”

“We haven’t eaten all day!” Mark laughed. “Or don’t angels have to eat?”

“I’m not an angel,” Selena said. Her voice was sharp. Under her breath she added, “Not anymore.”

“Ah ha!” he said. “So you admit it.”

Mark pulled a bottle of wine from a rack on the counter. “Can you drink?”

“I’m just like you,” Selena said. “I’m nothing special. And yes, I’d love a glass of wine.”

“You’re something very special,” he countered, twisting a corkscrew into the bottle. “You’re amazing.”

“If I was so amazing, you would stay here with me,” she said. Her voice could not have sounded more disconsolate. “I asked you this morning not to leave me alone. I might not be here anymore when you get back.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Selena shrugged. “I have been a part of NightWhere for too long. I don’t know what will happen when I am out here.”

“Out here?” Mark said. “The real world?”

She nodded.

“I won’t leave you,” he promised.

“But you will,” she insisted. “If you go into NightWhere again, you won’t come out.”

Pawned and Ready

The fact that the pawnshop was still open after 10:00 p.m. in a dark alley of the river district was one clue that it was probably not the most law-abiding place on the planet. People selling and buying used stuff long after dark were desperate.

Mark needed a place that would cater to desperate. And he’d visited his ATM to make sure he could pay the price.

He stepped inside with Selena close behind him. A bell on the door jingled loudly as it opened. Mark walked a few steps down the main aisle and took a quick visual inventory of the store. There were stacks of VCRs, DVD players and stereo equipment in one corner, and guitars and amplifiers dominated another quarter of the store. But it was the case right near the cash register that interested Mark. The glass revealed more than a dozen handguns. In a case on the wall behind the register, a row of rifles hung. Mark was a little surprised to see some military-issue weaponry there as well.

The proprietor was a thin, gangly man in a ratty, grey button-down shirt with two days’ growth of beard and black plastic-rimmed glasses.

He sat behind the counter watching a small television set. Mark couldn’t tell what the show was, but he could hear the fake canned laughter. The man didn’t say anything, and Mark walked along the perimeter of the glass counter, looking at the array of guns. He really didn’t know enough about firearms to know what was good or bad. But he liked the look of one with a squarish muzzle and equally blocky handle. It looked like a spy gun. Get in, shoot fast and silently, get out.

That’s what he intended to do tonight.

He walked past the case to a wall of Chinese throwing stars, stilettos, hunting and Bowie knives and switchblades.

Mark picked a couple off the wall and hefted them, trying to decide if he wanted to have a back-pocket backup plan.

He chose one with a dark wooden handle that was carved to conform to the fingers of the hand. The knife blade tucked into the handle for easy hiding in one’s back pocket. Mark nodded. He’d been a Boy Scout. It was a good idea to “be prepared”.

Selena was idly thumbing through DVDs in a rack nearby. Mark walked to the counter and pointed at the squarish gun. “How much for that one?”

The thin man eased off his seat with a small grunt and stepped to the case. “The Ruger?” he said.

Mark noticed the word was emblazoned on the handle. He nodded.

“Depends on how fast you want it,” he said.

“I need it tonight,” Mark said.

“Uh huh.” The man nodded, as if that was a common request. “You know we have gun laws in this state?”

Mark nodded.

“Let me see some ID.” The man held his hand out as Mark pulled a driver’s license from his wallet. The man took it and held it up to the fluorescent light on the ceiling. He raised an eyebrow as he handed it back. “Looks like a real one. You a cop or something?”

“If I was a cop would I hand you a real license?”

“Maybe. Lift your shirt.”

It was Mark’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “Why?”

“Looking for wires.”

Mark guessed at the logic for that. He lifted the T-shirt up and turned around, giving the man a good look at his chest and back.

“Flash me.”

“You’re serious.”

The man nodded.

Mark looked at the door. The parking lot remained empty. He undid his belt buckle and lowered his jeans a foot, then pulled them up fast.

“Her too,” the man said.

Mark turned towards Selena, who walked up to the counter. She’d been listening. “You didn’t tell me we’d be strip-searched,” she said.

“I didn’t think we would be.”

“Hmmm. I could say no.” She smiled thinly.

“And I could say get out of my store,” the man behind the counter said. “No difference to me. Except I’m missing my show here. So if you’re gonna finish this business…”

Selena nodded. She was still in the outfit Mark had given her before dinner, without undergarments. She lifted the U of I T-shirt to expose her breasts and held it there a moment before turning and letting the block I slip back down over her chest. Then she pulled the string on the sweatpants and let them fall to the floor.

“No strings attached,” she said quietly. “Or wires. How much do you think this is worth on the secondhand market?”