[story] emerald
author: eve
e-mail: stormofblossoms [ at ] gmail dot com
artist: llyse (llyse)
email: xanedrian [at] gmail.com
What had caught Jack's attention was, naturally, not the woman's looks. She was of average height, twenty-something, a stereotypical Chinese beauty if he ever saw one, but otherwise unremarkable. It was her purse that was more interesting by far: made of green leather, expensive-looking, and held loosely in one hand. Jack thought the woman must be an idiot - standing in a deserted New York subway station at 9 p.m., all by her lonesome self, sporting a purse that would attract anyone with a dexterous hand. That was her problem, though, and his potential good fortune.
The purse aside, her attire was very ordinary - printed blouse, plain cotton skirt, white canvas shoes, no jewelry or wristwatch. Her long black hair gleamed so smoothly that Jack half-expected to see a beauty parlor receipt stuck in it. The purse was the only thing she carried; she was probably on the run or otherwise had left home in a great hurry. She was standing behind the yellow line, posture relaxed, eyes straight ahead. The two of them had been the only people in the station for the past ten minutes, and she ignored her surroundings completely. It was as if she had hypnotized herself to just stare at one direction only. That, or she could be high on something, though she looked very much sober.
Jack ambled toward her, already thinking to send back her ID card and other things he could not profit from. Her feet were visible from the knees down, and he gave them a cursory inspection: they were as slender as the rest of her, without the hard curves or bunched muscles of a lifelong athlete. The possibility of her catching up with him after he grabbed the purse seemed to grow slimmer, pun unintended.
They were now only three feet apart. Jack slowly moved his hand to his side, ready for the snatch. In his book, people who were careless with their property deserved to lose them. His toes tingled. The woman continued to stare.
As he was about to walk past her, his skin anticipating the supple feel of leather, she shifted and looked directly at him. "Excuse me."
"Huh?" He was first startled, then angry with himself. Could it be he was the one who had taken the stupid pill? What if she was a cop, fashion-model legs notwithstanding? And, more to the point, who was there to say she did not have any weapon of her own, like a switchblade?
She smiled. Not the smile of a person who was likely to carry a switchblade, though not an affable smile, either. "I just want to tell you I've seen more skilled thieves in my time."
"Thief?" He sounded dumb to his own ears, and the anger turned into warm, throbbing resentment. There was no fear yet, which was good. "You want to watch what you're saying, lady. There's no one here but us."
The smile deepened, and became somehow bright and hard, a diamond sliver etched across her face. Her eyes were alert and very green. It suddenly struck Jack as odd - this woman, alone at night in a subway station, carrying nothing but a purse and wearing colored contacts - because those green eyes could not possibly be natural, could they? Then something else dawned on him - this was a big city, and big cities not only had more than their share of eccentrics and flat-out weirdos, but also plenty of people who were bad news. Backtracking might be prudent at this point - he had pegged her as an easy victim, not pausing to consider that she could be one tough cookie herself.
He raised his hands, palms open. "Okay. I'm out of here, see? I'm gone. You never saw me." Another thought joined its comrades: no other person had appeared and not a single train had passed since he started to notice her - correction, her purse. It could not be true, this being New York, but it was. The situation was sliding out of puzzling and strange into downright creepy.
The woman made a dismissive gesture. "I'm not looking for trouble. I'm just here to wait for my sister. She said she'll arrive at this station at eight forty-five. Maybe the train is late."
Jack had a sudden vivid notion that, indeed, no train had passed through this station since eight forty-five. Which might well be the case, since he had only been here since eight-fifty. It was a crazy thought - batshit insane would be the more apt term. Yet the mental picture of being hurled into another dimension where all trains and their passengers had been canceled for eternity clung to him with slimy fingers. He shook it off ferociously. Now that it was understood that there was to be no purse-grabbing for the time being, he attempted casualness. "Maybe."
"She will be here." The woman bit at her lower lip, while the upper one was peeled back. Her teeth were impossibly white, her canines prominent. Jack tried to remember if vampires had green eyes by default. "I'm sure of it. Her husband and son live nearby. My sister hasn't seen them for centuries - she's been longing to meet them."
Did the woman say 'centuries'? Jack was liking this encounter less and less. "Yeah? Good luck," he said curtly, and immediately wished he had spoken in a more sincere tone. If the woman got offended, she might leap at him, and there would be no more Jack. Not in the current version, at least. Although if she was a vampire, she would have attacked him long before, he decided.
"Yes." Her eyes were dreamy now. "Her husband and son have been assimilated into their surroundings... purged of their remembrances. They may not remember her, but she remembers them. And that is what's important." She visibly roused herself. "Anyway, don't you have other business elsewhere?"
"That's right," Jack agreed. "Urgent business." It did not escape him that her speech had grown more sibilant and her voice had wound down into a whisper.
The woman grasped the purse with both hands and pressed it to her bosom. As she did so, Jack saw her bare arms: there were patterns on them that were too similar to scales for comfort. In a moment, he suspected, their color would match those of her eyes and the purse. He tried to swallow and could only produce a dry click. But then she turned to him, her eyes shining, and he had never seen such naked love and hope in anyone's expression before. These emotions transformed her beauty from mundane to terrible.
"So go," she said. Hissed. "My sister and I - we'll always have each other. It would be splendid, however, if she could have her husband and son as well."
Jack whirled around, stumbling on legs that refused to bend properly at the joints. When he risked a backward glance, the woman was strolling away in the opposite direction. Her gait was light, and her long hair swung against her back. If he had not seen her close-up, he would have thought her normal - harmless.
Her words about her sister, and the husband and son that appeared to have been lost, came back to him. He kept his gaze on her until she dwindled away into a speck and vanished. Even then he stayed where he was, feeling the coldness that had settled into him seep away, but reluctantly.
Any minute now, he thought. Any minute now the train would rumble and roll into the station. After all, the woman had left, perhaps to where her sister was really waiting. Or she could be on her way to pay a visit to her brother-in-law and nephew. Seeing a person like her would surely shake loose buried memories, expose them to harsh sunlight. In any event, she no longer had any business here.
Jack stood, hearing only his own shallow breathing.
Any minute now.
the end
e-mail: stormofblossoms [ at ] gmail dot com
artist: llyse (llyse)
email: xanedrian [at] gmail.com
What had caught Jack's attention was, naturally, not the woman's looks. She was of average height, twenty-something, a stereotypical Chinese beauty if he ever saw one, but otherwise unremarkable. It was her purse that was more interesting by far: made of green leather, expensive-looking, and held loosely in one hand. Jack thought the woman must be an idiot - standing in a deserted New York subway station at 9 p.m., all by her lonesome self, sporting a purse that would attract anyone with a dexterous hand. That was her problem, though, and his potential good fortune.
The purse aside, her attire was very ordinary - printed blouse, plain cotton skirt, white canvas shoes, no jewelry or wristwatch. Her long black hair gleamed so smoothly that Jack half-expected to see a beauty parlor receipt stuck in it. The purse was the only thing she carried; she was probably on the run or otherwise had left home in a great hurry. She was standing behind the yellow line, posture relaxed, eyes straight ahead. The two of them had been the only people in the station for the past ten minutes, and she ignored her surroundings completely. It was as if she had hypnotized herself to just stare at one direction only. That, or she could be high on something, though she looked very much sober.
Jack ambled toward her, already thinking to send back her ID card and other things he could not profit from. Her feet were visible from the knees down, and he gave them a cursory inspection: they were as slender as the rest of her, without the hard curves or bunched muscles of a lifelong athlete. The possibility of her catching up with him after he grabbed the purse seemed to grow slimmer, pun unintended.
They were now only three feet apart. Jack slowly moved his hand to his side, ready for the snatch. In his book, people who were careless with their property deserved to lose them. His toes tingled. The woman continued to stare.
As he was about to walk past her, his skin anticipating the supple feel of leather, she shifted and looked directly at him. "Excuse me."
"Huh?" He was first startled, then angry with himself. Could it be he was the one who had taken the stupid pill? What if she was a cop, fashion-model legs notwithstanding? And, more to the point, who was there to say she did not have any weapon of her own, like a switchblade?
She smiled. Not the smile of a person who was likely to carry a switchblade, though not an affable smile, either. "I just want to tell you I've seen more skilled thieves in my time."
"Thief?" He sounded dumb to his own ears, and the anger turned into warm, throbbing resentment. There was no fear yet, which was good. "You want to watch what you're saying, lady. There's no one here but us."
The smile deepened, and became somehow bright and hard, a diamond sliver etched across her face. Her eyes were alert and very green. It suddenly struck Jack as odd - this woman, alone at night in a subway station, carrying nothing but a purse and wearing colored contacts - because those green eyes could not possibly be natural, could they? Then something else dawned on him - this was a big city, and big cities not only had more than their share of eccentrics and flat-out weirdos, but also plenty of people who were bad news. Backtracking might be prudent at this point - he had pegged her as an easy victim, not pausing to consider that she could be one tough cookie herself.
He raised his hands, palms open. "Okay. I'm out of here, see? I'm gone. You never saw me." Another thought joined its comrades: no other person had appeared and not a single train had passed since he started to notice her - correction, her purse. It could not be true, this being New York, but it was. The situation was sliding out of puzzling and strange into downright creepy.
The woman made a dismissive gesture. "I'm not looking for trouble. I'm just here to wait for my sister. She said she'll arrive at this station at eight forty-five. Maybe the train is late."
Jack had a sudden vivid notion that, indeed, no train had passed through this station since eight forty-five. Which might well be the case, since he had only been here since eight-fifty. It was a crazy thought - batshit insane would be the more apt term. Yet the mental picture of being hurled into another dimension where all trains and their passengers had been canceled for eternity clung to him with slimy fingers. He shook it off ferociously. Now that it was understood that there was to be no purse-grabbing for the time being, he attempted casualness. "Maybe."
"She will be here." The woman bit at her lower lip, while the upper one was peeled back. Her teeth were impossibly white, her canines prominent. Jack tried to remember if vampires had green eyes by default. "I'm sure of it. Her husband and son live nearby. My sister hasn't seen them for centuries - she's been longing to meet them."
Did the woman say 'centuries'? Jack was liking this encounter less and less. "Yeah? Good luck," he said curtly, and immediately wished he had spoken in a more sincere tone. If the woman got offended, she might leap at him, and there would be no more Jack. Not in the current version, at least. Although if she was a vampire, she would have attacked him long before, he decided.
"Yes." Her eyes were dreamy now. "Her husband and son have been assimilated into their surroundings... purged of their remembrances. They may not remember her, but she remembers them. And that is what's important." She visibly roused herself. "Anyway, don't you have other business elsewhere?"
"That's right," Jack agreed. "Urgent business." It did not escape him that her speech had grown more sibilant and her voice had wound down into a whisper.
The woman grasped the purse with both hands and pressed it to her bosom. As she did so, Jack saw her bare arms: there were patterns on them that were too similar to scales for comfort. In a moment, he suspected, their color would match those of her eyes and the purse. He tried to swallow and could only produce a dry click. But then she turned to him, her eyes shining, and he had never seen such naked love and hope in anyone's expression before. These emotions transformed her beauty from mundane to terrible.
"So go," she said. Hissed. "My sister and I - we'll always have each other. It would be splendid, however, if she could have her husband and son as well."
Jack whirled around, stumbling on legs that refused to bend properly at the joints. When he risked a backward glance, the woman was strolling away in the opposite direction. Her gait was light, and her long hair swung against her back. If he had not seen her close-up, he would have thought her normal - harmless.
Her words about her sister, and the husband and son that appeared to have been lost, came back to him. He kept his gaze on her until she dwindled away into a speck and vanished. Even then he stayed where he was, feeling the coldness that had settled into him seep away, but reluctantly.
Any minute now, he thought. Any minute now the train would rumble and roll into the station. After all, the woman had left, perhaps to where her sister was really waiting. Or she could be on her way to pay a visit to her brother-in-law and nephew. Seeing a person like her would surely shake loose buried memories, expose them to harsh sunlight. In any event, she no longer had any business here.
Jack stood, hearing only his own shallow breathing.
Any minute now.
the end