Violinist (CENTURIES series: Book #4)

6

I donned Dan's overlarge t-shirt which was his old college shirt. It fit me comfortably. That's why I usually slept in it. I then slipped my feet into the flat shoes he packed as well since I had lost my heels running from...

Don't think more about it. My head was still throbbing from all that had happened. I was still in shock, too. My mind couldn't fully comprehend all that had happened tonight. What I had been through. It was going to take time and sleep to process it...

And him.

Me and Dan drove home in a cab and he made sure to tuck me safely into bed while promising me a delicious breakfast when I woke up. We didn't get home before 4.45am in the morning, so it was safe to say I was going to sleep for a long time. I was both physically and mentally exhausted from running and fighting and crying and overdosing on adrenaline. Not to mention the massive hangover that was biting my ass as well, as if the rest wasn't bad enough.

But as I closed my eyes and tried to sleep, I only saw one thing, and surprisingly, it wasn't the devil who's face I thought would haunt me for days. Maybe even weeks. No.

I saw him. Blue oceans, glowing behind a mask of darkness. My savior. My guard.

I fell asleep with him on my mind, those dark-blue eyes burning my corneas until I knew I'd never forget him.

After tonight, I knew how to find him.

~~~

If my intuition about him being a veteran was true, then there was a place I knew I could search for him. It wasn't a place known to the common person, but to those who had grandparents who had fought in the war, they knew where the lost souls went when they didn't feel like they belonged anywhere anymore.

There was an old building on 32 Mill Road that had been a shelter specifically built for veterans. It had coincidentally been called 'The Veterans Place', but it closed down years ago. Still, even though the building was abandoned, homeless veterans gathered around and behind the building, sleeping there as the soldiers before them had. It was a sense of comradeship, a place where they could feel together in their lost, post-war world.

My heart clenched as I stopped up in front of the building that Monday morning, watching the homeless people gathering around it. Tourists were taking pictures of them like they were some exciting city attraction. I felt my fist tighten around the plastic bag I was holding, but stopped myself when my wounded hand began to hurt. I reminded myself why I was here.

With a deep breath, I centered myself and began my search. I walked into the alley lining up to the building where a strange neighborhood of homeless people had set up their homes. Small makeshift awnings and tents created a labyrinth of houses while some lived out of old shopping carts, paper boxes, or simply just what they could carry in a small plastic bag, not much bigger than the one I was holding.

But there was no sign of my guard.

I sighed and looked down. I knew it wouldn't have been that easy. After days of searching, it would've been just too easy if he had really been here...

But I couldn't quit just yet. With a deep breath, I turned to the first homeless guy who was sitting underneath his awning, whom from the looks of it was chewing on an old piece of hotdog.