Monachopsis

Chapter XI: Leave It To The Professionals

The pain that stabbed my eyes was more of a surprise than anything. I shielded them with my arm the best I could while still wielding my pistol, but it was hard to aim at anything with spots swimming across my vision.

As soon as the light appeared, it vanished. I blinked the clouds from my sight, and was left with the visage of two short, crestfallen men. One held up a camera, the other clutching a handheld spotlight in his fists (the kind with enough power to bring down airplanes). The one with the camera sighed in obvious disappointment and turned to his partner.

"Ugh, cut!" he shouted, though it was just the two of them. He sighed again. "Just a few humans."

His partner shut down the spotlight. He turned to us in not-so-subtle irritation. "What are you guys doing here?"

My surprise evaporated into impatience. "Excuse me?"

Sam gently tapped my arm, and I turned my glower to him. I wasn't one to scare for sport.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Dean asked back.

"Uh, we belong here," sneered the guy with the camera. Even from this distance, he reeked of reefer. "We're professionals."

"Oh, yeah?" I growled. "Professional what? Star Wars figurine collectors?"

"I'm not going to satisfy that with an answer," drawled Camera Guy, "but, for the record, sweetheart, there's a lot of money and dignity in that trade."

"Sweetheart?" I snarled. My vision began to narrow. All I felt was anger; even Camera Guy's shaggy stoner beard made me mad.

Before I could pounce on him like a rabid cougar, Sam's large hands clamped onto my biceps and held me fast. I was so fired up I squirmed for a second, my legs kicking out in frustration. Stoner Beard and his baby-faced partner stumbled back like the roof had come down between us.

"Keep a handle on your Viper, there, pal!" Baby Face cried.

"Calm down, Gray," Sam hissed in my ear, his voice sounding more surprised than anything. "Punching out a couple of douchebags isn't gonna do anything but get the cops called on us."

"It'll feel really good, too," I said through clenched teeth.

Sam's hands tightened. "Gray. I mean it. Cool it, or get out of here."

His warning tone put things into perspective. I blew a strand of loose hair out of my face as I fought to tamp down my anger at the same time I could feel the rapidly-growing embarrassment. I hated that my temper had gotten away from me so quickly. So easily. My whole life I've worked on keeping my emotions under control. Now two wannabe indie movie directors call me sweetheart, and I almost rip their heads off.

What the hell was wrong with me?

Sam was still holding on to me, like he was scared of what would happen if he let me go. I did my best to loosen my posture and unclenched my fists.

I looked over my shoulder at him. "I'm good." He raised his eyebrows, and I gave another nod. "Really."

He pulled away reluctantly. His grip had left red marks on my arms. I hadn't realized just how tight he'd been holding me. Did I really look that crazy?

"Answer the question," Dean snapped. He side-eyed me warily. "Professional what?"

Baby Face still stared at me in fear, grasping his spotlight like a weapon, but Stoner Beard had completely recovered from my savage episode and said, deliberately slow, "Paranormal Investigators."