The air-conditioning in the moving truck finally rebelled against the Florida weather and went on strike. Rhychard coaxed every chill blast out of it he could until only dry air coughed its way out of the vents. Even in May, Florida was too hot to go without at least a breeze, which forced him to ride with the windows down. The air was still sticky with humidity, but at least it circulated. He needed that breeze to help dry him off.He had just finished a three-day move of office equipment for Brewster and Associates Law Firm from their old offices on Starks Avenue to their lush new paradise on Washington Street. It had definitely been a step up, too. They were now in a glass four-story on the corner of Washington and Alamo taking up most of the block with the building and parking area. They had a great view of Downtown on one side and the Indian River on the other, with plenty of fine dining and taverns nearby to schmooze the clients.Rhychard was one of three private movers hired to
The giant bats he witnessed flying overhead were attacking some man who appeared to be an actor for the downtown theater. The man had even brought one of the swords that seemed to match his Lord of the Rings attire. This, however, was not a show. The blond man knelt on one knee, trying to hold himself steady with a hand on the brick wall. His other hand held the sword he used to keep the creatures at bay. The ground and buildings were splattered with blood. The man's costume hung on him like tattered rags, and bloody gashes covered his flesh. The creatures, whatever they were, determined to make hamburger meat out of their victim. Off to the side, lay the remains of a wolf the size of a bear with a silver coat of fur drenched in its own blood. There was no doubt the animal was dead, chunks of its body ripped out and dripping from the yellow fangs of the beasts clutching the sides of buildings.With the sword, the man sliced at one of the talons of the leathery beasts. As he did, anoth
Rhychard jumped into the truck, dropped the sword on the seat beside him, and jerked the vehicle into drive. The railroad guards were up. The night was silent except for the shrieks of the gargoyles as they dissected the body of the elf. The cab of the truck glowed a cold blue as the sword still warned of danger. Rhychard hit Washington Street and headed for home."Okay, this is not what I had planned for tonight." He could hear the quake in his voice and stopped talking. He had somehow stepped inside a fantasy novel and needed to change his boxers. Elves were real. Swords glowed. Gargoyles were more than a Disney cartoon. He kept squeezing and rubbing the steering wheel. This was a nightmare come alive, and he would have thought it a dream except for the blood that covered him.Blood. Shit! Rhychard hit the brakes and slowed the truck down to normal speeds. He didn't need a speeding ticket now. There was no way he could explain a sword dripping blood or the blood that smeared his clot
As the memory faded, Rhychard pulled into a remote spot in the condo parking lot. The evening was coming on, the mighty oaks casting their long shadows over everything, and all Rhychard wanted was a shower, a beer, and a cigar. The day had been a whole lot of nothing, and he was over it.He knew he had upset Trace, but he couldn't help it. He was through sticking his nose where it didn't belong. He wanted his life back even though he knew that would never happen. Yet, while others may guide his destiny in some areas, he vowed not to make it worse in any other. His life was in enough turmoil.Kree wasn't there when Rhychard walked through the door nor was Tryna, and for that Rhychard was glad. He had dealt with enough people for one day. The silence was a soothing balm over his frazzled nerves.He grabbed the last Amber Bock out of the fridge and peeled off his shirt on his way to the bathroom. Using his sweat-soaked top as protection for his hand, he twisted the cap off his beer and to
He discovered the Whispering Oaks Condominiums while moving a senior couple out of one of the upstairs units. It was a quiet place surrounded by massive oaks whose branches intertwined overhead and shaded most of the back area. Shrubs and palm fronds cluttered the ground beneath the trees, but Rhychard had cut a path through to a small river that ran east-west behind the buildings. He found a flat rock that jutted out into the water he could sit on and watch manatees relaxing in the cool water. The only people he had seen had been a couple paddling a kayak one time while he was out there. Otherwise, the river was pretty deserted, which made it all the more enjoyable for him.His condo wasn't big, a small kitchen about the size of a walk-in closet with a dinette area next to it which opened into a small living room. To the west was the front door, to the south were sliding glass doors that led to his peaceful haven of a back porch and to the east the hallway to the smaller half of the c
Rhychard massaged his bicep as he waited in line at Common Grounds for his first cup of coffee of the morning, black, extra caffeinated, and hot enough to scorch the top of his mouth on the first sip. He hadn't realized he had been out of his Eight O'Clock Bean until he went to make some that morning and only then remembered he had used the last of it the morning prior. He hadn't been all that worried about it because he expected to have money that afternoon for essential things, like food. Of course, that was before Trace acted like Mr. Benevolent without asking him first. It didn't really matter, however, since Rhychard was out of anything resembling breakfast food, as well, and would need to go out, anyway. Luckily, the coffeehouse around the corner from his apartment served bagels, as well.His arm, though healed, was still tender from Vargas's razor-sharp talons. Tryna insisted it was all in Rhychard's head as Kree's powers had never failed, while Rhychard insisted it was all in h
"Rhychard? I thought that was you." Looking up, Rhychard saw the balding head and plastic smile of Miles Evans, one of the few members of Harvest Fellowship Rhychard was glad not to have to tolerate anymore. That was one of the things about going to church Rhychard hated. You had to be nice to the idiots. "How have you been? I haven't seen you around the church in a while." Miles took the other chair at the table and helped himself to Rhychard's peace and quiet. He was an odd-looking man with small ears, a nose that looked like it belonged on the yuppie's dog, and very thin eyebrows. He was short and squat, and his only exercise was pushing himself away from the table. By the size of him, he didn't exercise much."No, you haven't." Rhychard shrugged. Why is it church people only confront you about your attendance when they see you? They never go out of their way to reach out to you. Rhychard stopped going to Harvest Fellowship over two months ago, and not one of the righteous had even
Rhychard ran his hand through his long, obsidian hair. He winced a little from the stiff pain in his arms, not from the previous day's attack, but rather from a full day of hauling filing cabinets across town. With Trace giving Mrs. Ivy back her money, Rhychard had to scramble to pick up work to silence his growling belly. He had called in a favor with Captain Relco, who hired him to help move old case files into storage. It wasn't a big job, but it allowed him to eat for a couple of more days. The night was chilly, with the scent of autumn in the breeze as it tugged at the colorful array of leaves just starting to turn toward fall. He stood outside the Harbor Townhomes and watched as Renny Saunders slid out of her Altima, the night air catching her long blond tresses in its invisible fingers, stroking it the way he used to do. He couldn't help but stare, remembering how that petite form had felt in his arms just a short while ago. She wore a soft teal business dress and carried her G