Beyond the Prophecy

Years of practice were finally paying off. In less than twenty-four hours, the greatest band ever to set foot in a studio would be on a stage, rocking for some of the biggest names in the music biz. Our band, Siren, could be standing on the threshold of something great. Thursday was a day that could change our lives in the best way possible, but tonight was all about having fun.

Ava, Evan, Jason and I all crowded around a busted X-box, pigging out and playing Karaoke Revolution, our usual shtick before a big gig. Sometimes we’d belt out numbers like divas and rock-gods, but other times we’d pick the hardest songs and sing as horribly as we could. We even had a small competition to see who could get the lowest score. Jason won, of course. He could play a mean bass, but his voice could kill kittens.

Pandemonium Records was hosting a contest at a local rock club called Escape where the winning musician gets a record deal with them. Pandemonium wasn’t as big as companies like Capitol Records, but the fact that they’ve launched some of the longest lasting bands out there means that there’s still a great deal of pressure to perform well.

As I stepped up to the screen with the mic in my hand, Jason started sharping his emcee skills.

“Here she comes, the finest Irish vocalist this side of Manhattan. Standing at 5’11” with the thick lips and sexy hips. The one, The only, Ms. Natasha McFadden!!”

I smirked and bowed, “Thank ya, thank ya, yer too kind. For my next number, I’ll show ya the skill that’ll snatch that record deal!”

The first notes of my favorite Nirvana track poured out of the speakers, and I let my voice fly. Throughout the song, Jason banged his head to the beat and sang along in the background, while Evan imitated a guitar with a broomstick and pretended to play it. Ava soon followed, using a pair of pens as drumsticks and the coffee table as a snare drum. Once I finished singing, the platinum rating came on the screen. All of us cheered, and Ava gave me a high five.

“Keep this up Tasha,” Ava told me, “and we’ll definitely get that record deal.”

I handed Jason the mic and sat on the couch. Ava followed.

“We’ll get it,” I said confidently. “We’re so close now. I can practically feel the contract in my hands.”

“I’m just so nervous! We’ve been trying to get signed for years and now…” said Ava, twirling strands of her chocolate brown, wavy hair in the process.

“Don’t worry, Baci. I’ve got a good feeling about this, and my instincts are always right.”

“Wish I was as sure as you.”

I smirked. “All ya need is a little gumption.”

Ava raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, sorry, I left my Gaelic-English phrasebook at home.”

“Heh, gumption’s an English word,” I said with a chuckle. “It’s even in the dictionary.”

“What does it mean then?”

“It’s means ya got to have spunk or courage. Ya need to be a little more aggressive.”

She chuckled. “I think you have enough of that for five people.”

“Mmm, I absolutely do.” We laughed.

Ava looked passed me, just as her smile grew. “Speaking of courage…”

It wasn’t until Evan sat beside me that I understood what she meant. Ava stood, the smile on her face still growing, and then walked out of the room. I smiled a little too.

Recently, I’d started to like him. A lot. While flirting with lads was common for me, something about Evan stalled my approach. I usually find myself liking guys who go toe-to-toe with me in the bold category, but Evan isn’t like that. He’s always been a nice guy, which was probably why I never saw him as more than a friend. Now that I’m crushing, I notice everything. How his almond brown hair was long enough to graze his shoulders. The benevolence in his mahogany brown eyes. His gorgeous smile. How even though he’s thin I can still see his muscles shifting and flexing underneath his clothes…Ok, I have to stop before I turn scarlet.

Whenever I’m fiending on someone, I do whatever I can to let them know that they have what I want and how soon they better give it up. Like that one time a bassist from another band tried to play hard to get. I told him straight up to just get hard. But I’ve never crushed on someone I was so close to first.

Evan whispered my name so sweet, and I turned to face him, trying hard not to smile much.

“Tasha, there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you,” he said while grabbing a pen off the table, “but I can’t ever find the right time to say it.”

“To say what?” I asked, my heart rate increasing. I prayed silently that he’d tell me exactly what I wanted to hear.

He stared off into the distance, his thumb clicking the pen repeatedly. Something behind me caught his attention, but he turned back to me before I could see what it was. “I’ll tell you before we go on stage tomorrow.” Before I could tell him to continue, he stood and shrilled along with Jason during the game.

That was…odd. He rarely looked at me, and there was a break in his voice every so often when he spoke to me. Evan’s normally a social butterfly, striking up conversations with anyone in the room effortlessly, but he was scarlet and jumpy. I was sure there was only one thing he could want to tell me.

Ava plopped down beside me, a grin brightening her face. “So, what did I miss?” Her excitement grew with each word I said. “That’s great! Maybe he wants to tell you that he liiiiikes you.”

“So why didn’t he just say it? The moment ya walked in, he clamped up.”

“He probably wants to tell you in private.”

“I hope so.” I glanced at the time on my cell phone. “Dammit. Unfortunately, it’ll have to wait until tomorrow. I have to go.” I stood and told the guys the same thing.

“You want a ride?” Jason asked.

Grinning devilishly, I turned to him and said, “Ya can give me a ride anytime. But not tonight love, I’m absolutely shattered.”

Though his eyebrows puckered, he also grinned. “I get the sense that you’re not talking about me driving you home.”

“It really depends on what ya meant. Tell a woman in Ireland that ya want to give her a ride, and they’d take it to mean you’re offering them sex, not to drive them home.”

“Really?” he asked, beaming, and moved closer to me.

I rolled my eyes and pushed him away. “Like I said, I’m tired as hell. And even if I wasn’t, it’s not going to happen. As far as driving me home, save yer gas money. I can walk to my place since it’s not too far from here.”

“It’s gutsy for you to be walking alone this late.”

I smirked and replied sarcastically, “Yeah, with all the wild animals loose in 207th street, I’m a total daredevil. But this isn’t the first time I’ve done it, so I’ll be fine. New York may have a bad reputation but the city’s a lot safer than it looks. I’m just going to walk through Isham Park.”

“It’s closed by now, isn’t it?”

“Nah, it’s not 1:00am yet. I still got about twenty minutes.”

“You can’t walk through that park by yourself! Don’t you remember that article that came out earlier this year? Someone was mugged there by some guy with a BB gun. Something like that might happen to you too.”

I couldn’t help but smile. Over the years Jason’s been more and more like a brother to me, so seeing him worried about me like that was further proof that he saw me in the same light. The only exception is the occasional flirtatiousness between us, but that’s only because it’s in our nature.

“What are the chances of that happening again? Besides, I’ve been learning how to fight and defend myself since I was a kid, so I can handle myself.”

“Why don’t you just take the staircase on 215th street?” asked Ava.

“Ya mean the hellacious steps? Heellll no. There’s 111 steps on that staircase! I’m not doing it. I might have to climb a few steps through Isham, but they’re not like that.”

“How do you know there’s that many steps?”

“I got bored on my way here and counted it. Bottom line, I rather go through the park so I have to leave now. Practice tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” said Evan. “We can practice two hours before the show at the Fort George church on Saint Nicholas Ave. Naira said that the Head Start program there has an all-day field trip, so we can use their gym.”

“Grand. I’m going to leave my guitar here though. Don’t feel like lugging it all the way back to my place. This, though, is essential,” I said when I grabbed my purse and walked towards the front door.

“Let me walk you home,” suggested Evan. “Just in case.”

Oh man, I would’ve loved for him to do that. But in doing so, he’d have to walk back by himself. I didn’t want that at all. Plus, the idea of being escorted everywhere makes me feel like I’m being babysat, which I absolutely hated. I knew he was just concerned and being gentlemanly, but I’m too independent and too stubborn to allow it.

“Seriously, I’ll be fine. I’ve walked that path a million times. I’ll text ya guys when I get back to my place, okay? See ya tomorrow.” Hesitantly, they said their goodbyes before I headed out the door.
Like every New Yorker in this city, I crossed the street towards the park even though it wasn’t my light. A car pulled out of a parking spot and sped to catch the light before it turned red, but it came to a screeching halt when the driver noticed me in the middle of the road. He stuck his head out the window and yelled obscenities at me. Most people might jump at the sudden lashing or yell back. I just blocked out the sounds, flipped him off without looking at him and kept walking.

Thank goodness I wore my green parka, because the night was cold enough for me to see my own breath. Every time a gust blew by, I hid in it further like a tortoise in a shell and walked even faster, hoping to get home quicker than normal. It would’ve been easier if it wasn’t for the extended staircase that stretches throughout the park. It would’ve been easier still if the steps weren’t covered in soggy autumn leaves that made it a little slippery for the black heels I wore. Maybe I should’ve stuck to sneakers, but my designer shoes were begging for a night out, even if it was a brief one.

Taking a path home without a staircase being part of it was pretty impossible, but even at night the park was much more picturesque than walking on the sidewalk and up the hellacious staircase. Every set of steps had a lamppost that emitted a brilliant vanilla light, though there were a few that were burnt out. One of the ones I passed on the way even turned off when I walked up to it, making me laugh internally. Typical. Nothing works around here, but I still love the neighborhood. Inwood’s landscape was one of the few areas in Manhattan that’s barely been altered, so it may be urban but it was also pastoral, which I always found very comforting.

Even this late at night there were a few people walking through park, probably on their way home too. There was even a guy texting someone while sitting on one of the concrete benches in the circle; the only part of my path that wasn’t grassy and wasn’t a staircase. I didn’t think much of it so I didn’t look in his direction. A part of me believed that I should, but I ignored it. I shouldn’t have, because the second I passed him, he came up behind me and pressed a knife against my neck.

“Don’t move. Don’t scream,” he warned.

You’ve got to be kidding me! Was this seriously happening? The one time I went against my friends’ advice and I ended up getting threatened by a complete stranger. What was I supposed to do? Scream anyway? Try to get my cell phone and call for help? Do what he asks? Fight back? Oh God, what did I do to deserve this? Was it because I flipped that driver off? Because I’ll take it back if it was.

“What do ya want?” I uttered while my heart pounded quickly in my chest.

“Just this,” he said, snatching my purse from my shoulder.
When one of the straps reached my hand I gripped it. It caught him by surprise, so I used that opportunity to fight back. Using my right hand, I gripped his wrist to keep the knife from moving closer and stepped on his foot as hard as I could with my heel. He screamed in agony and tried to move his foot away, but I was surprisingly too strong for him. I pulled the hand that held the knife further away from my neck and snatched my purse back. Before striking his solar plexus and neck with my left elbow. He coughed uncontrollably, moving his free hand to his neck to try and help stop it. I grabbed his knife wielding hand with my left hand and broke his nose with my right elbow before turning to face him, shoving his back downward and kicking him in the stomach with my knee. The last thing I did was twist his arm behind him and used my upper body to push him to the ground. Using a knife hand strike technique, I struck his wrist, making him shriek and drop the knife immediately.

“You crazy bitch!” he shouted at me.

Instead of responding, I applied pressure to the wrist fold beneath the thumb for three seconds, rendering him unconscious.

“Well done,” I heard someone say behind me.

For a moment I froze, but then I slowly reached for the knife the mugger dropped and gripped it. I couldn’t see behind me through my short, curly hair, so I’ll have to be on guard the moment I turn.

“Thanks,” I said as I stood and faced him.

The man was dressed in black from head to toe; a wool toggle coat, straight leg trousers, leather gloves and even a pair of shoes that shined enough to reflect the light in the park. The only item he wore that was a hint of any color was the gray ribbed, cashmere scarf that nearly covered his neck completely. His short, dark hair was perfectly coifed and looked as smooth as silk. There wasn’t a hint of facial hair on his creamy skin, not even on his chiseled jawline or around his ample lips. But what stood out the most were his almond shaped eyes. The iris was such a light blue that it made the pupils look even darker, like a black marble frozen in ice. They were piercing, cold, and yet incredibly sexy.

“You’re not from around here, are ya?”

“What makes you say that?”

“The way ya dress. How you carry yerself. The men in *Washington Heights don’t wear cashmere, and they certainly don’t walk or stand like ya.”

“How do I walk and stand?”

“Like an aristocrat. Or like you’ve been studying at Cambridge or Oxford University yer whole life.”

“Well, I did earn a few degrees from both, but that was a long time ago.”

A few degrees? A long time ago? He looked like he was in his mid-twenties. Maybe he was kidding, but I couldn’t tell.

“Fair play to ya, lad. As much as I’d like to talk about it further, I best be headin’ home.” Once grabbing my purse off the ground, I smiled and said to him, “It was nice meeting ya.”

I was nearly at the staircase on the other side of the park when he addressed me again.

“You may need to hold on to that knife you took from the assailant. You’re going to need it very soon.”

“Why, does the mugger have friends in high places?” I asked without looking at him.

“No. It wouldn’t be to use against them,” he began, but his voice became sinister once he stated, “The knife is to use against me.”

“What?” I said to myself before turning in his direction.

To my surprise, he was gone. I didn’t hear a single footstep, or see any trace that he had been there. He moved that fast. That’s when I started getting very nervous and very cautious. I took a few slow steps while frantically scanning the area, the knife in my hand already pointed forward. The only one I saw was the mugger, who was still out cold. Maybe he was hiding behind one of the concrete benches, or behind a tree. One thing’s for certain: if he wasn’t lying then I don’t want to stay here long enough to find out. I didn’t even have a chance to run, because the moment I turned back to the steps I found myself face to face with him.

“What the fuck?!” I exclaimed, jumping back by a few steps at the same time.

The light in his eyes grew a hundred times colder. He still stood tall, but it felt much more intimidating. I could be in a room with the way he was before and not only feel comfortable, but maybe even flirt with the guy. But the energy I was feeling from him made me too scared to even be alone in the park with him. It’s like his aura was oozing a terrifying kind of evil. The cold killer type that would slaughter others, no questions asked. A demonic evil that’s for the purpose of killing people slow and deliberate, so they would suffer for as long as possible. Or maybe even the calculating type that can not only analyze their opponent in a matter of seconds, but use every weakness they discover against them. The kind with a quiet strength that catches the victim by complete and utter surprise. The worst kind of evil.

“Stay away from me,” I said sternly, but my voice shook a little too much for me to sound threatening.

He took one step towards me and I gripped the knife further. I’ve never used a weapon against anyone, and I was hoping that my reflexes were fast enough for me to use it without hesitation. Another step was taken towards me and I fought to stay in place. What would he want with me? It can’t be about money; someone that desperate wouldn’t be so spiffy looking. The next step from him was followed by a few more, so when he got too close for comfort I swung the blade towards him. Unfortunately, he moved away from my attack too fast for me to see.

Every time he tried to get closer I threw more attacks his way, but his movements were too swift. Left hook, right jab, more knife swings…nothing I did worked. The mugger began to regain consciousness and groaned. It caught my current attacker’s attention for a brief moment, and I used that opportunity to slash his cheek and punch him. I tried to run away but he grabbed my arm before I could completely pass him. His grip was too strong to wrestle out of, and it became stronger when his free hand moved to my other arm.

“Get off of me!”

I nearly screamed for help, but the new gash on his cheek astonished me. It bled slowly, a stream of blood running down his cheek like slow moving tears, but then it healed before the blood reached his jawline. Not a single scar or mark was left behind. The only evidence left of the cut was the blood on his cheek. It’s impossible for a gash to heal that fast, so how could his heal before my eyes? And if he was able to heal a cut that quickly, does that mean that he’d be practically unaffected by any blows I give him?

“What the hell are you?”

His grip on my arms grew stronger as I fought to free myself from it. Since I couldn’t use my arms, I used my legs instead. My right leg swung as hard and fast as it could, striking his gonads in the process. He doubled over, his hands dropping from my arms. I took that opportunity to jab him in the face and run up the steps behind him.

“Hope it falls off!” I shouted without looking back.

I shoved my hand into my bag, searching desperately for my cell phone. My bag was filled with so much stuff that it took forever to find it. When I finally managed to pull the phone out of my bag, I felt my arms forcefully pinned behind me. He kicked the back of my legs before pushing me down to my knees. While one of his arms and hands kept my arms pinned, his free hand brushed my hair to one side and held it in place. His lips brushed my neck and I shuddered. Oh God, he planned on raping and murdering me, didn’t he. How the hell was I supposed to get out of this one? With my hands pinned to my back, I couldn’t see my phone in order to dial for help. Maybe if I screamed for help—

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” I asked.

“Scream for help.”

My eyes widened in surprise. I didn’t know if he assumed I would, or if he actually knew that I wanted to do that.

“What the fuck do you want from me then?”

I felt him smirk against my neck before whispering, “A taste.” That was all he said before his teeth painfully pierced into my neck.
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*Head Start program: A program or school for preschool children.
*Fair play to ya: Slang for "Congratulations."