The Stranger

Premonition...

Two

The moment she stepped into the front garden she sensed the danger. That horrible premonition when one experiences a gut feeling.

Her eyes closed in on the shards of glass scattered over the pathway, glittering in the sunlight like Stephenie Meyers sparkly vampires. Then slowly, as she approached the door, heart hammering, and sweat beading on her upperlip, she examined the thick flow of blood streaming across the white shaggy rug.

She followed the trail as Hansel had followed his bread crumbs and reached the limp figures of her parents, an entertwined mess.

'Oh no...oh my God!' She whispered hoarsely, her knees giving away as she crumbled to the floor to check for their pulse which she already knew was no longer in them.

Tears spilled down her face.

First came denial, then acceptance, and then the terrifying realization.

Silent agony ravaged her body. The tumultuous horror seeped through her heart. Fingers of hungered pain dug into her, dragging the physical shock that almost paralyzed her, curled next to the heap that was her mother and her father.

She lay there for minutes, absolutely stiff. Then all Azarette did was hold her parents hands, stirring up the feeling of security and warmth.

Despite their turmoil and savage death, their faces were portals of complete peace. They were wrapped together.

A hand gently brought out an Iphone, through blurred eyes she began dialing the Police Department. Her finger hovered above the green button.

And that's when she saw him...

The unwordly speciment that leaned against the wall, fingertips teasing the dark chrome of a 12 gauge (18.5 mm) shotgun, metallic black eyes focused on her every flicker of emotion. Every rivulet of crimson that ran down his fingers, every sharp breath that resonated in the silence, every slant and angle of gelled black hair, every swirl of permanent ink branded to his neck read: lethal, dangerous, pernicious and deadly. Yet despite his mortifying aura, he did not appear to be threatening her. He merely stood in a whorl of shadows, buttons gleaming on a heavy black trenchcoat.

Azarette stared back, her shimmering eyes into his glinting irises, uncertain as hell.

She could have judged him instantly and started shrieking in his face till he shot her in the throat. But she didn't. It seemed rather stupid to her if she reacted like a stubborn baby.

Then he spoke. A soft, rich, deep voice that could serenade angels. 'Aren't you going to press 'dial'?'

'Aren't you going to pull the trigger?' She responded.

He was speechless. He took a step out of the darkness that curtained him.

Azarette looked at him closely. There was something...just something that told her that there was more to this than she thought. 'Did you...did you do this?' Her voice shook as she spoke.

His endless black eyes never left hers. 'My hands are stained with blood, I'm holding a riot shotgun, I'm standing in a house two metres from a dead couple, what does it look like?' He snarled.

'I'm not asking you what it looks like. I'm asking you if you killed them.'

He was stunned. Never before had he witnessed a woman with such a strong character. He was used to the females that dressed like prostitues and covered up like porcelain barbies, slobbering over him as if he were a Greek God.

The thick, dark lashes that framed his eyes flickered shut. 'No,' he said. 'I'm a highly certified hacker and skilled gunman. I'm being pursued by the CIA and Mafia. They tracked me down here and assumed that these people were my family. So they opened fire –' He allowed her a moment to process that. Tears were splashing down her face, but she did not interrupt him.

' – On realizing that were mistaken, they fled,' he stepped closer. 'I stayed. I don't believe in cowardice.' Then he crouched to her level, 'This could be an excuse I momentarily made up to cover my guilt. I could be lying. There is no reason you should believe me.'

He placed his arms on her shoulders and his warmth shot through her skin as he lifted her up. She was staring at him, dumfounded as he pried open her fingers and slipped the gun from his hand to hers. Slowly he raised it in level with his chest, and with her fingers, slid back the canister. 'A life for a life,' he murmured, his breath against her skin. 'Your chance to get even.'

She couldn't understand how this was happening. It seemed so unreal.

Azarette looked at him deeply. He wasn't afraid. She weighed the gun in her hand for a moment, then with accquired skill, her right hand slipped down and the cartidge fell to the floor. She kicked it into the dry fireplace before he could react and then handed it back to him.

'I believe you,' she said, simply.

His brows furrowed in, 'Are you insane?' He growled. 'You're looking at an arch criminal and you're returning his gun?'

She never got the chance to reply. Sirens burst through the streets. His head snapped up, instantly alerted.

'Why are they here?' Azarette asked. 'I didn't call them.'

He lifted his phone, 'I did.'

She ran to the window and drew back the curtain to see hundreds of policemen and doctors flooding out.

'You shouldn't be h –' she turned around. The curtains flapped at the emptiness.

He was gone...