Catching Rodrigo
Lily
Ah, shit. I pull away from Liam's warm body and reach for my cell. I flip it open and the ringing stops. “Hello?” I'm still a little out of breath.
“Lily, it's Mark.”
Huh... I was definitely not expecting him. “Oh... Mark, what's going on?” I ask. His tone is sharp.
Liam mouths What the hell? I shrug.
Mark coughs before speaking. “Amelia is dead. We need backup. Rodrigo got away, for the third, fourth or fifth fucking time today. We're in the alley next to a building, bunch of flats. Thornton flats.”
No need to precise which alley, our hearing and sense of smell is enough. “On my way,” I tell him.
“And Liam too,” Mark adds.
Well, of course he'd bloody know if Liam were here or not, him with his damn stealth and all. No surprising Mark. Ever.
“Sure thing. Be there A.S.A.P.” I flip the phone closed and turn to face Liam. “You heard the conversation, right?”
“Yup. No time for a shower then, hey?” He grins and I sigh, as if I can't believe he wants to do something like that in a situation like this. Then I remember Amelia. “What's wrong?” he asks, sitting up, looking for our clothes.
“Amelia. She's dead. This is serious.”
While we're getting dressed, I can't help but think of her and her haughty airs, yet there were times when she could be so kind. Were. Over now. As Liam leads me out of the small one-bedroom flat, down the stairs and into the tiny car we share, I wonder if I should miss those times when she was kind, or be grateful I'll never have to listen to her when she was haughty. The drive takes two minutes.
I force myself out of my trance and almost leap out of the car, ready to fight. Will is crying, standing by Amelia's body. I freeze at the sight. He loved her. I go to comfort him and Liam slinks straight over to Mark, ready for instructions. Tahlia is... her usual self. Completely immobile, silent. I've only seen her smile once. Maybe twice. Then again, I don't see her often. And I've only known her for a year.
“Will?” His eyes meet mine and my heart is squeezed by sadness, grief. Do not let yourself cry. If one tear escapes me then more will follow. “It is not your fault. Do not feel guilt of any kind, promise me that. Rodrigo is at fault. Blame him. Not yourself. Okay?”
He doesn't answer me, or even nod, so I wrap my arms around him. His own arms stay limp at his sides. “Come on, don't let those pretty amber eyes of yours get all red and swollen,” I say, looking up, a small smile playing on my lips.
“But she's gone.”
The way he utters those words, in child-like simplicity, has me crying. The kind of crying that leaves you breathless and has your face drenched with tears, the kind of crying that has your body shaking. “Our kind has never gotten killed!” I shout, voice hoarse already. “Never before. It's not supposed to happen.”
“Our kind has gotten killed before,” Tahlia states. “Just because you have never been there, does not mean it has not happened.”
I stop everything, crying, shaking, hiccuping for air, and wonder, how many of our kind has she seen get killed and how many has she killed? I blink. That must be why she's like this, today. So serious, so dour. I stop seeing her as dull, unnaturally mature for her age, annoying because of that: she didn't choose to be this way. She's just reacting to the events that have happened around her, and still are. Events I don't even know the details of.
The thing with Tahlia is, you tend to forget that she isn't an adult; she's only fifteen. That aspect of her frightens me a little. Just enough to make me forget that I'm five years older than she is. Shouldn't I be the one with more life experience? Tougher?
That cold look– no, it's more than cold, it's frigid. Absolutely frozen. That frigid look in her eyes, a mix of grey and green, frightens me too. But it's not just coldness, it's intelligence, both street-smart and book-smart, a deadly mix. That's when I notice her hair, blonde and tainted with blood and dirt. From fighting. Killing. Getting hit and clawed. Scratches along her cheeks, neck and arms.
It's so wrong. I can't bear this, yet it's only just begun.
“William, get Amelia's body to safety,” Tahlia says.
I notice her face reveal only a glimpse of emotion for the word “body”. It doesn't last long and it's hardly perceivable.
She goes on, “The rest of us will hunt Rodrigo, before the sun comes up and before the scent fades away.”
“Lily, it's Mark.”
Huh... I was definitely not expecting him. “Oh... Mark, what's going on?” I ask. His tone is sharp.
Liam mouths What the hell? I shrug.
Mark coughs before speaking. “Amelia is dead. We need backup. Rodrigo got away, for the third, fourth or fifth fucking time today. We're in the alley next to a building, bunch of flats. Thornton flats.”
No need to precise which alley, our hearing and sense of smell is enough. “On my way,” I tell him.
“And Liam too,” Mark adds.
Well, of course he'd bloody know if Liam were here or not, him with his damn stealth and all. No surprising Mark. Ever.
“Sure thing. Be there A.S.A.P.” I flip the phone closed and turn to face Liam. “You heard the conversation, right?”
“Yup. No time for a shower then, hey?” He grins and I sigh, as if I can't believe he wants to do something like that in a situation like this. Then I remember Amelia. “What's wrong?” he asks, sitting up, looking for our clothes.
“Amelia. She's dead. This is serious.”
While we're getting dressed, I can't help but think of her and her haughty airs, yet there were times when she could be so kind. Were. Over now. As Liam leads me out of the small one-bedroom flat, down the stairs and into the tiny car we share, I wonder if I should miss those times when she was kind, or be grateful I'll never have to listen to her when she was haughty. The drive takes two minutes.
I force myself out of my trance and almost leap out of the car, ready to fight. Will is crying, standing by Amelia's body. I freeze at the sight. He loved her. I go to comfort him and Liam slinks straight over to Mark, ready for instructions. Tahlia is... her usual self. Completely immobile, silent. I've only seen her smile once. Maybe twice. Then again, I don't see her often. And I've only known her for a year.
“Will?” His eyes meet mine and my heart is squeezed by sadness, grief. Do not let yourself cry. If one tear escapes me then more will follow. “It is not your fault. Do not feel guilt of any kind, promise me that. Rodrigo is at fault. Blame him. Not yourself. Okay?”
He doesn't answer me, or even nod, so I wrap my arms around him. His own arms stay limp at his sides. “Come on, don't let those pretty amber eyes of yours get all red and swollen,” I say, looking up, a small smile playing on my lips.
“But she's gone.”
The way he utters those words, in child-like simplicity, has me crying. The kind of crying that leaves you breathless and has your face drenched with tears, the kind of crying that has your body shaking. “Our kind has never gotten killed!” I shout, voice hoarse already. “Never before. It's not supposed to happen.”
“Our kind has gotten killed before,” Tahlia states. “Just because you have never been there, does not mean it has not happened.”
I stop everything, crying, shaking, hiccuping for air, and wonder, how many of our kind has she seen get killed and how many has she killed? I blink. That must be why she's like this, today. So serious, so dour. I stop seeing her as dull, unnaturally mature for her age, annoying because of that: she didn't choose to be this way. She's just reacting to the events that have happened around her, and still are. Events I don't even know the details of.
The thing with Tahlia is, you tend to forget that she isn't an adult; she's only fifteen. That aspect of her frightens me a little. Just enough to make me forget that I'm five years older than she is. Shouldn't I be the one with more life experience? Tougher?
That cold look– no, it's more than cold, it's frigid. Absolutely frozen. That frigid look in her eyes, a mix of grey and green, frightens me too. But it's not just coldness, it's intelligence, both street-smart and book-smart, a deadly mix. That's when I notice her hair, blonde and tainted with blood and dirt. From fighting. Killing. Getting hit and clawed. Scratches along her cheeks, neck and arms.
It's so wrong. I can't bear this, yet it's only just begun.
“William, get Amelia's body to safety,” Tahlia says.
I notice her face reveal only a glimpse of emotion for the word “body”. It doesn't last long and it's hardly perceivable.
She goes on, “The rest of us will hunt Rodrigo, before the sun comes up and before the scent fades away.”