Half-Monster

“All clear," I say into my walkie-talkie. Darkness settles into the open windows surrounding me. A cobweb brushes the top of my thick black hair, but I don’t stop. I don't have time to be squeamish. The girl I’m chasing is well aware that I’m on her trail, so I stay low.

Something slick catches the bottom of my boots. I lift each foot up and down in a rhythmic fashion. The object is to try and stay as quiet as possible, she might have a gun. I don’t smell metal, but in a rundown house like this, you can never be too careful.

My palm sweats over my gun, but I keep my grip tight. She's moving towards the center of the house. I pause. When someone is running, they don't run towards the light. A million things run through my mind. A corner catches my eye, and I slide into it for cover.

“Is she in sight?" Camille’s voice calls from the walkie-talkie.

"Yes," I say in a whisper. I can see her, but I also know that she is aware of me. A phantom of a woman stands in the middle of a room lit only by moonlight streaming in. Her back is to me, but she isn’t moving.

“Do you need back-up?" Camille asks voice cracking.

“No,” I say. I realize from the shake of Camille’s voice that she’s scared.

I move towards the girl. She is just inside the large living room with her hand perched on the banister leading upstairs. Her head moves slowly to the side, and dark brown hair falls onto the side of a porcelain face. She is laughing.

She’s laughing, but it is void of the actual noise. Something doesn’t seem right about a face so twisted in a cackle without any noise. This slender girl is toying with m,e and I’m fixated on her.

Her skin is so white that she doesn’t even appear alive. She’s delicate in every feature but her startling blue-green eyes. Eyes stare at me.  They are so beautiful, and they remain focused on one thing in the room, me.

Looking into those enlarged water-colored eyes, it’s hard to believe that she’s killed ten people. I look into her eyes again, and I can see how much she enjoyed each kill. “They say you’re good," I say, approaching the dimly lit stairway, "they warned me that you are quiet and deadly."

“Silent," she says with a voice too high-pitched to be real, “and deadly”. I slide into the living room from the other side of the house. My feet search for weaknesses in the decaying floorboards. A gasp escapes my mouth.

It registers in me that the lady before me isn’t human. Every vein in her body is revealed beneath translucent skin. What I thought was porcelain is limpid. She watches me as a slick stream of sweat rolls down my neck and spine.

“Are you the one they call Aiden?"  She says sharply.

“How do you know my name?" I say, staring into her still eyes. She seems to float above the floor, but I know it is just the darkness playing tricks on me. Her eyes hold me. I can’t stop staring into those dense eyes.

“I know more than your name, Aiden. I know your soul," She says.

Suddenly, I find myself frozen to the spot. I have my hand on the trigger of my gun, but I can’t pull it. I’m so still that I can feel my heart bellow in my ears. I whisper, stop inside my head. I feel myself plummeting into total darkness.

I snap back to the sounds of glass breaking. Someone starts to yell something, and I can’t quite make it out. “She’s getting away!" A masculine voice shoots through the dark.

The floor begins to be whole again underneath me. It’s whole but yet it’s not completely solid. The world is spinning, yet it’s still. I can’t tell up from down or high from low. All I know is something has happened that means I will never be the same person.

Outside of the abandoned house, I sit on the wet grass, angry with my performance. The house has all but collapsed at my feet. She’s gone. Standing, I make my way over to my partner. The dry fall leaves crunch under the weight of my boots. The sounds of summer have long passed. Emptiness crowds the horizon.

I’m Aiden Samuels, and I work for the Assassination Southern Squadron based out of Georgia.

Someone probably had a good laugh when they realized we’d be called the A.S.S. The northern squadron has the better name and the better stats. It’s just a name with the type of money we’re making. Money is, after all, the only comfort in times like these.

Virginia has become one of the most violent states in America. Decades ago, it was known for beaches and amusement parks, but now crime. Super-naturals are the only tourist attractions, and the city is run by monsters.

 “I thought you said you didn’t need help, Aiden." Camille’s brown eyes greet me beside the black police car. The white has been taken off to give a stealth feel. Our headquarters are in Norfolk. Part of the job we do is shielding ourselves from the civilians. To the general public, we’re the police, so we’re not exactly respected.

What’s left of the real police get more respect rescuing old ladies and giving out traffic tickets. We have a few rules. Being able to kill whatever is in our paths has been essential. They only call the A.S.S. in when there is something that needs to be killed. In a town full of monsters, we have to have no conscience.

“She isn’t human," I say as Camille gets into the passenger side of the black police car.

“Her file said human," She retorts, taking off her backpack. The ends of her long brown hair fall across the back of her black sweater. I hate the way she only believes what’s in front of her face.

“I know what her file said," I say, turning onto the highway.

“Maybe you’ve been on the job too long, Aiden," She says, staring off into the darkness of the woods. That was a usual tendency with her. Sometimes I think it’s what is beyond my eyes that makes her avoid them.

“It wouldn’t be so bad if I weren’t looking forward to a lonely house. I mean Mike’s your backbone, which has to feel good." After I say this the car goes silent. I take the exit. My house is closer than the office, but we have to check in our equipment before going home for the night. Some nights I don’t even go home.

Winding down the rest of the road, we’re silent. I focus on her ragged breaths and the hum of the car engine. A cat scampers across the road. I jerk the car. Inside, I growl in hunger. “Is everything ok?" Camille’s breath quickens as she turns to look at me. Her huge brown eyes are completely focused on me. 

I pause as her smell clings to the inside of my nose. Camille expels a pungent, meaty stench that chokes me so that I’m almost unable to move. “Aiden?" Camille says and then goes quiet. I don’t know what it is that she sees in my eyes, but it silences her. “I’m fine," I finally say putting focus back on the road," I’m just fine."

Gunshots cut across the night. We’re coming up on gang territory. I drive slowly. Gangs have been known to put things on the road to slash your tires.

When we pull up to headquarters, I let go of the breath I didn’t know I was holding. Lights blare, illuminating the head caps of several skateboarders outside. Climbing out of the car, I walk past them, head down. Camille follows behind me, passing out cards for a safe house. I don’t know why she still tries, but I won’t diminish her hope.

Most of the kids on the streets have become lost causes. We walk up to the large office filled with officers, rogues, and visitors. Many of the people I work with don’t go home. It’s a waste of money to rent a place they will hardly ever see. Some have never known a home outside of the A.S.S.

They are just kids taken from the streets. The A.S. is quick to enlist tough juveniles and re-educate them to fight crime. I think they figure one day, they’ll be who we’re hunting if we don’t recruit them first. I think that there will always be evil to hunt. This city is just one giant loss cause.

We are fighting the entire state flooded with a thick cloud of self-loathing that some of us can’t even see through anymore.“Aiden!" Caleb comes from his office to slap me on the back. Caleb is just like that, enthusiastic about everything. Skinny and pensive, he blocks the clear route to my office.

He’s a great guy, the only one I’d trust on a mission with me, but his own worst enemy. He’d be my partner now if he hadn’t messed up a couple of nights ago.

Caleb is the type of guy who’s been scrawny his whole life. He is the target of many office bullies, but he handles himself well. I’m sure the office isn’t the first place where he’s been the brunt of a joke. “Boss wants to see you before you go home," A blond yells at me from the doorway of an office on the right. 

“Gotcha," I say, turning back to Caleb. He just shrugs his shoulders.

“What did you do this time?" He says, smiling. His green eyes work overtime to try and conceal the fact that he is happy I’m in trouble.

“Nothing that you haven’t," I say, and his eyes move into a fake icy glare. We both laugh.

“Well, well, we have a cocky son of a bitch on the force now," Caleb says giving me another hard slap on the back. I glare at him now. He takes the hint and moves back down the hallway to his own office.

Walking down the hall, the office is a buzz with worried glances and inquisitive looks. They know I’m headed to Mirasol’s office. I don’t fear my boss, but it is hard not to have a healthy hesitance around her.

Mirasol is a beautiful, tall blonde with long legs and a Vogue sense of style with more kills than anyone else in the office. She’s the type of woman who would be comfortable on any red carpet, but she would rather get down and dirty with the boys.

 I walk to her office, and she’s already peering in her doorway. Her eyes catch mine. I know by the look embedded in them, I’m in a ton of trouble. The members, who were once looking at me walking down the hall, have all retreated to the safety of their office. I begin to fumble my thick thumb over a cigarette in my pocket. I quit about a week ago.

“Come here, Aiden," Mirasol calls from her large office doorway.

I walk into her office and she instructs me to shut the door behind me. She sits on the edge of her desk in a red skirt. Athletic legs covered in perfect pink flesh cross and uncross over the black desk. A trickle of sweat sweeps over my eyebrow. I finally look up and meet her eyes.

Mirasol’s eyes are so commanding. My focus barely goes to the long cigarette she places in her mouth. The same silky smooth brand I used to smoke sits between her fat red lips. The line of white breaks up her perfect lipstick. She is truly a beautiful woman from her feet to her perfectly coifed blonde pixie haircut.

Men fall over themselves for her beauty, but they fear the odd hue of blue muted purple of her eyes. “Do you have a problem with backup Aiden?" Mirasol asks as a swirl of smoke plays around her head. “Every job you’re on, you insist on going it alone. Even with a great girl like Camille backing you,” she says angrily.

“Camille wouldn’t survive if she were truly at my back. She’d die and I would have to watch knowing that it’s my fault," I say as Mirasol stamps the end of her cigarette in a silver ashtray. The stray flames almost hit me as they swirl near me.

“Someone else, perhaps? Jennifer? Lisa?" She looks at me with disappointment.

“They’d die too," I say, feeling like I know where this conversation is heading. Honesty doesn’t seem to be getting me anywhere. The red leather chair underneath me clings to the sweat appearing on my bare arms. I’m sweating and she’s watching.

“Why don’t you think the women in this office are capable of taking care of themselves?" She lifts the cigarette back to her lips and tosses me her gold lighter. "Do you think I’m capable?" She asks moving in, "I staffed this office and I chose the best."

“It’s not that," I respond, standing with the lighter in my hand, " I wouldn’t trust most of the men here either."

"Would you accept anyone in this office as your equal?" Her stare compels me to pick someone. Her choice of words spells danger.

"Caleb," I say, surprising even myself. She’s silent. She stares at me with snake eyes for a while before a smile spreads across her face.

She leans into me, giving me full cleavage, and seals my fate by saying, "Caleb, it is then."