Death of a Nightingale

CHAPTER 29: THE FIGURE

For the first time in centuries, I have trouble keeping up. I follow the tall, lean man through the city. Alley by alley. Corner after corner. He knows this place intimately. It makes me wonder just how long he's been here waiting for me.

I can't get past that moment. In bed with Ness, holding her, consoling her. Just the two of us.

Then I felt it. A static within me. Buzzing. New. I knew instinctively what it was even though it was the first time. I could feel his approach and his hovering. Even the level of old, undiluted strength radiating off of him. This being is older than me.

I narrowly avoid the garbage can in my path as he rounds another bend. Where is he heading? I'm also starting to worry. I'm following something I have no idea about. What is he leading me into? But in moments of danger, I like to play a little game I call "worst case scenario". In this particular one, he'd probably kill me, which, if we're being honest, seems to be a hard thing to do, and if he succeeds, great. That's what I've been aiming for. What would he gain from my death?

I'm so curious that I almost don't see the car cutting off my pursuit. It almost hits me, horn blaring in annoyance and a dirty puddle water splashing up my pants.

He glances over his shoulder and I swear I see a grotesque smirk. Not a pretty sight. He's tall and sculpted, meticulously dressed, albeit very outdated. His shirt is at least a few decades old, and his pants reveal sock garters as he moves. His hair is bound together neatly by a small band at the base of the neck. An overcoat completes the ensemble. Half-long, and most certainly hiding whatever weapons he favors most.

I managed to strap most of my knives and scalpels back to their various hiding places, but I was in a rush. I'm barefoot. Drawing attention from humans. Not wise. I'm without my jacket, which usually contains two sets of throwing knives and a curved, wicked short sword strapped to the back. None of that is with me now. Instead, my long, light-blonde hair sways with every run and jump. I didn't even grab my hair band; rookie mistake. I must look insane to the passerby's and drivers. An older woman in her Fiat gives me a pitiful stare. Before she can finish rolling down her window to ask me whether I'm all right, I jump through the assembly of cars waiting for the light to turn green, and rush back into the darkness.

The alley is deserted. Only a rough-looking, murderously inclined cat calls it home. It meows at me with a foul-mouthed attitude of utter annoyance. I'm quite impressed. This small body can produce this much hate.

"Me too, buddy." I answer its call for peace and look around me. I think I lost him. The figure is nowhere to be seen. I turn back to the street and the cars start the slow process of rolling through the intersection in their very human, orderly fashion.

Some light blurs into my spot and I try to feel where he went. The electric buzz remains within me. He must still be close. But I don't see him anywhere. My new feline friend hisses at me with pure dissent, wondering why on earth I haven't left his domicile. I lean down and give him a pat on his dirty head and he seems surprised for a second before he digs his small little fangs into my unbreakable skin. It makes me smile, he is sassy. Good for him. The little street lion comes up for air having realized it can't hurt me, and gives me one last glare before sauntering off, tail raised. I feel accepted.

The buzz inside grows and I know. I look up. Of course. I use the same trick. He stands even taller, two stories up, sneering down at me as though I was a peasant in front of his castle gates. There is no kindness in his old face. Sewn from granite. Perfect, not a wrinkle, but no love either. I'm not sure how the rules of my own existence work, but I think this creature was never human.

I jump and the ease of the movement feels freeing. One hand on the old windows of the boarded-up carriage house and one between the bricks. I have no trouble holding myself up. Old buildings also provide plenty of opportunities for climbing. The vines of ivy are strong and sturdy and help with another thrust upwards. Within seconds, I make it to the roof and half expect him to face me. But he's already gone again. I run across the flat surface and jump blindly, not fully knowing what's below. Mid-air I see more urban abandonment. Old factories, broken windows, wild and unattended greenery, and decades of loss of wealth and status.