My first thought was Well, shit. I’m single. Better take off Robbie’s band shirt, then. Things got a bit more jumbled after that. There was some righteous indignation over the cutting of my phone line. After that, there was a hell of a lot of woman’s fury directed at Robert. Anger followed. My whole life felt violated. They had been in my apartment. They had come into my apartment and they had fucked with it and they, whoever the ominous they were in my mind, were going to pay for it.
Once all of those emotions had finished confusing me, I was left with fear. Sheer terror washed over my mind in waves. I couldn’t escape this, whatever it was. Mr. O and Mr. Smith were very obviously not human. I was beginning to suspect what they were, but I wasn’t prepared to admit it to myself at the time. Whatever they ended up being, they wanted me involved in their plans, for some reason. I was, in some sick way, instrumental to the events that were to follow.
When I’d managed to work through all of those emotions, I was left with an almost startlingly clear head. It seemed nearly obvious what I needed to do next. I very calmly changed out of the shirt I had been wearing. I put on jeans and a plain black t-shirt. I stuck my ID and money in their usual hiding space. One can of pepper spray went into each pocket. To top it off, I tucked a Swiss army knife in the waistband of my pants, grabbed my keys and phone, and headed out of the building.
A cab was waiting at the door of my apartment complex. The back door of the car opened as I stepped onto the sidewalk. Slightly apprehensive, but also relieved, I slid into the back seat. “Spring Stree-”
“Yes, Miss Eira, Spring Street. I’ll take you right up to the metro station.” The cool voice gave me goosebumps as quickly the second time I heard it as it had the first. I turned to my door to open it and throw myself out of the cab and the locks slammed down. I tried desperately to open them, but the door handle disappeared, simply fading into the wall of the car as if it had never existed.
“Let me out, you creep!”
“Now, now. That is no way to treat a chauffeur, Miss Eira. I will be perfectly happy to let you out when we arrive at our destination.” Mr. Smith spoke without inflection. His monotone was eerily polite and threatening all at once. I contemplated the pepper spray in my pocket but decided it would be a bad idea to spray it at the man while he was driving a car. With a deep sigh, I settled myself into the seat to wait out the ride.
We arrived at the station at exactly 2:07. Mr. Smith got out, opened my door for me, then tapped the car with a finger. It disappeared, leaving a small black box behind. Mr. Smith gathered it in one gloved hand and tucked it into his pocket. After pausing for a moment to rearrange his coat, he led the way down into the station. I followed, feeling almost numb.
“You will wait here for the others,” he said, walking toward a bench in the corner and leaning against the wall to the left of it.
“I’ll do no such thing. I’m not going anywhere with you.”
“I would say suit yourself, but I have been charged with the thrilling task of keeping you from getting yourself killed. Everyone on that side of the platform is going to die. I suggest you come over here.” He spoke in his signature monologue, as if the thought of the death of the few dozen people gathered on the platform had no effect on him. It probably didn’t.
“Why…how…what…how can you just say something like that? Why aren’t we evacuating, if you know something is going to happen?”
“Everyone in this miserable place is going to die soon enough. So, thirty or so will arrive early for the main event. It saves them some of the pain of eternal winter and hellfire, does it not? I prefer to see it as a mercy.”
“Everyone is going to die?” I looked at him. His eyes were closed and he was speaking without disturbing the rest of the muscles of his face.
“Yes. It is the end of the world, after all.” I flinched. It wasn’t like I hadn’t seen some of the signs, but I had still held out some sort of foolish hope.
“Even me?”
“That, Miss Eira, remains to be seen. I can promise you that, if you cooperate with me, you will survive a lot longer than you will if you prove…uncooperative. Other than that, it depends on the…results.”
As we were talking, one of the subway system’s many panhandlers was working his way closer to us. I had to give this one credit; he at least had talent. He was juggling knives, staying a respectful distance away from the two of us while still plainly pushing his nearly empty hat closer to us with his foot.
I ignored him. It was ingrained in my mind like a commandment: Thou shalt not feed the panhandlers. It was best to just pretend they weren’t there. Mr. Smith, though, did not seem to have the same outlook. His eyes popped open. He shot the man a withering look, and, when the man didn’t seem to understand, made a motion with his hand. One of the knives seemed to slip out of the juggler’s hands and fly straight through his neck. The panhandler crumpled to the floor in a heap. As usual, no one around us saw or heard anything. They just walked obliviously by. I was beginning to come to the conclusion that people only saw what they wanted to see. It was like if anything happened that was beyond their understanding, it must not have happened.
I was painfully aware of the fact that Mr. Smith had just killed a man, but I was determined not to let him know that anything he did was getting to me. I took a deep breath and turned back to him. I opened my mouth, ready to make small talk, closed it, opened it again. “So, is your name really Mr. Smith?”
He snorted as if amused by my cute little human intellect. “Of course not. But I am a smith of sorts, I guess you could say.” I looked at him expectantly, but he said no more, just leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes again. Without visibly reacting, he simply stated, “Here they come.”
I looked around. Two very ragged looking men were descending separate staircases that led to the platform Mr. Smith and I were on. One of them looked slightly sooty, and it seemed the other hadn’t showered in days. I took a deep breath, blowing wisps of light blonde hair out of my face. “Those are the people Mr. O wants me to kill?”
“Change of plans. They may be useful, at least for a little longer, especially because,” he paused for a moment, his eyes opening. He leaned forward, looked down the tunnel, and continued, “Here it comes.”
It was all I could do to press myself against a wall as a ball of fire came roaring out of the tunnel.
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