Misguided; First in the "Memories" Trilogy

Prologue

The morning sun displays a wondrous landscape of oranges, and reds, and yellows over the busy streets of New York City.  From the top of his apartment complex, Matt Myster inches closer to the lip of the roof and sets his coffee mug on its edge.  He looks out over the city and can't help but think of a pinball machine as he watches the cars bounce from street to street.  Matt smirks at his strange humor.

A cool summer breeze blows across the tops of the buildings and tendrils sneak their way into the folds of his bathrobe and prickle his skin.  He wraps himself tighter and looks off in the distance until he finds a patch of green.  In a couple hours he will be doing his routine walk around Central Park.  It's something he always looks forward to--it brings him peace; allows his mind to be at ease, even with all the cars streaking by.  To have a little nature in such a large, materialistic area is soothing.

In the distance, the roar of an engine steals his attention.  It's still a good mile or so away, but there is no mistaking that custom engine.  It echoes of the buildings like an irritating chorus and slips into his ears.  Without a second thought, he heads back into the building and toward his apartment.

Still overlooking the streets of New York City is his mug, with the words:

Life and enjoy life, because it can end at any time

In the apartment, he heads to his room and dresses.  Matt the proceeds to go to the door next to his and knock, but before his fist meets wood, a yelp comes from the kitchen.  He walks down the hall and rounds the corner to find his daughter clutching a damp towel.

"You know," he chuckles, "it usually works better if you don't grab the hot metal object."

She returns his comment with a rigid stare.  "You're a cruel man, you know.  Your

daughter just burnt herself and all you can do is laugh."

"And I thought I had an intelligent daughter," Matt counters.

His daughter combs her hand through her hair in frustration then throws it at the pot on the stove, which is still filled with water.  "And I thought I had an intelligent father who picked up after himself."

"Have I apologized yet?"

"No."

"Well, Claire, I'm sorry," Matt snickers.  Then quickly adds, "I like my morning tea."

Claire opens her mouth to respond, but finds it useless.  Instead, she returns to nursing her wound.  As she does, Matt's snicker, slowly disappears as he watches.  Only now does he realize how similar she is to her mother... just like the others... Matt shakes himself; he's gone through centuries of relationships and they all end the same.  This time, life's going to be different.  

Matt returns his attention to Claire with a forced smile.  She now has her back to him as she rummages through the refrigerator.  Her dark brown hair springs down, barely passing her shoulders.  She hardly smiles, which he can unfortunately understand; it's not easy living without a mother.  What he doesn't understand is how she got blessed with her mother's tan skin and not the pale skin he has.  Nonetheless, he feels he's been blessed in his own way, because even though she's nearly eighteen, she has yet to bring a boy over that he'd want to kill.  In fact, she hasn't had one over period, which makes him a little uneasy.  He feel s like he can trust her, but there's always that thought that she's doing things other places.

And there is only one cause for such a thought.

He hears the car from earlier racing down the street until it comes to a stop in front of the building.  Claire's head perks up as Matt's drops.  After a few seconds, their eyes meet, and before she utters a word of plea, he tells her, "I'm still going down."