Final Curtain

Nate's POV

I finished the conversation with Mel feeling relieved and awful. I was lying to her, again. I couldn't tell the truth about my part time job. It was going to be at night, at a club, definitely involving violence—but I wasn't a bouncer.

The club was... how could I put it? Private? Well, it was illegal so it would have Mel worry and yelling at me that it was a bad idea. It was, but it wasn't. I wanted find something in my area, it couldn't be that hard, could it? I graduated early in freaking Berkeley. It was a damn good college. So, I wanted to find a job as a lawyer but while I didn't find it...

“This is a bad idea.” Aric's face greeted me as I walked out of the quiet room I had escaped to talk with Melissa.

I rolled my eyes. Why was he here again? Oh right, he had a car. I didn't. Plus, underground fighting club wasn't located in the most popular of places. Subways were a no-go, as were buses. I called Aric as a favor—okay, I might have lied telling him I had a clue...

Since he was my ride I had to keep my retorts in check.

“Do you have a better one?” I shoved past a guy.

“Yes,” I perked an eyebrow standing in front of him. “Leave this place and think of something else.”

I scowled massively.

“No,” Aric sighed shrugging. Guess he had nothing more to say. Good, I didn't want opinions on my choices, no matter how fucked up they were.

My shoulder muscles locked up when a hand landed on my left shoulder blade.

“Let's go, he'll see you now.” The same rough voice that had greeted me and Aric upon arrival barked.

“About time,” I muttered, shrugging off the hand. “I don't need an escort, I can find Ben's office just fine.” The man gave a deadly stare. Maybe he thought I was intimidated because of his steroid-type muscles? Or was it because the left side of his face looked like a melted candle? Maybe both. Either way, I smirked brightly just to spite the dude. “You can keep my brother company,” I pointed to Aric who could tear me apart with his gaze. Ha. “He likes pretty little things like you.” I chuckled walking away feeling my back burn.

I'd been here before. Two times; one when I was eighteen—that had been my first visit to New York—I came here because some guys from the Hive said it was fun. I guess it was, if you liked beating up people who wanted to beat you up for money. The second time, I came here for information on a guy who I'd been hired to kill. Ben was a nice guy to me, basically because he knew I could kill him and get away with it. Fear was a nice tool—Mel would hit me for thinking it, but it was true. It's wrong, a part of me whispered no matter what.

Finding his office was easy. I didn't knock, I went right in.

A startled thirty-year old glared with big eyes. Nice to see I still left a good impression. My lips inched into a devil like smirk.

“Ben,”

He stared back, quiet, before his lips moved limply.

“Nathaniel,” seemed like the shock was lifting. “Is it too much asking you to knock?” obviously, my face read.

“I like great entrances.” I gazed around the small room. Blinds were pulled down on all the windows, the walls were a dark green, the furniture was all in the same light brown tone—including the large office chair where Ben sat at. “Nice joint.” I plopped down on a couch against a wall. “Hope you don't mind me making myself at home.”

Ben's gaze hadn't left me from the minute I waltzed in.

“You would still do it if I told you not to.” True. “Lets get straight to the point, shall we? What do you want? Are you going to off another spectator or is a fighter this time?”

“Neither,” I coursed a hand through my hair. “I'm here for something else.”

Ben's eyebrow kicked up a notch, “And what would that be?”

In all my life I'd had one job. Killing. I never asked for anything, I just threw myself into it. The only thing I needed to do was show up for training sessions, get my ass kicked, break a few bones—but I didn't need to ask. Now... now it was different.

Ben looked at me with a drawn face thinking I might pull out a gun.

“I want...” think of Melissa, I chanted, I couldn't use her money infinitely. What if I didn't get a job anytime soon? We would run out of money. And I wanted her to have everything she wanted. She deserved better than me, I'd told her that. She still wanted me, the least I could do was try. “I want to fight here.” I said without pausing to draw breath, I was still not breathing.

Ben's face was priceless with surprise.

“Excuse me?” it came out void, his face then changed—a smile creeping in. “Assassination doesn't pay for your expensive tastes?” should I feel insulted? 'Cause I did have expensive taste. Ranging from clothes to cars... my mustang, my poor modified mustang—okay, mourning period over, back on track.

“I've changed my life and I need money—fast—so, I want to fight here until I can get a decent job.” I didn't miss his scoff at the word 'decent'.

Ben scratched his lip, near the piercing. His eyes studied me as I grew impatient.

“What happened for you to... change your life?”

“That's none of your business.”

His lips drew into a shadowy grin.

“You're here at my club, Nate—asking for a job. I always like to know the people I let in.” My eyes shifted in a snake-like motion down his face to his neck.

“Do you know what's the easiest arm bone to break?” it was a simple question to me, one I knew how to answer by heart. Ben's face scrunched in a ball of tension—I kept a smirk to myself. “It's the radius.” I rolled off the couch, standing quick on my feet. With a calm, deadly stalker-walk I braced my hands on his desk, bending over. “It usually happens when you fall and land on your outstretched hands. I can think of much more painful ways to do it.” His Adam's apple acted in a up and down slow motion. “I always wanted to try out reverse hanging,” I lowered my voice to a thoughtful, dark tone. “You tie the person's hands behind their back and suspend them in the air by their wrists dislocating—”

“Fine!” Ben's outburst and wide eyed expression told me I won. That was easy, I thought he'd be more of a challenge. “You want in? You're in—”

“That's not the only thing I want.” I backed up crossing my arms. Ben looked like he could shit his pants—was I really that bad? This guy ran a fight club, wasn't he used to bad people? “I show up and fight—whenever I want. You don't get to book my nights.” He nodded greatly.

“Anything... anything else?” he ran a hand through his cropped hair.

“Yeah, one more thing.” I walked around his desk to where he was sitting—he followed my every move, spinning the brown office chair. “All the money I make—the money from my fights—comes to me. You don't get to take thirty-percent, twenty-percent, not five-percent—” I fisted my hand in his collar lifting it up bringing his face close to mine—the guy was sweating like a pig. “No commission, got it?”

Nodding hastily and tripping over his words, Ben meekly said, “Y-yes...”

A smirk spread along my lips. I threw him into the chair.

“Glad we understand each other, Ben.” I walked to the door, stopping a step from it. “Just so we're clear,” I glanced at him with slitted eyes, smirk gone. “No asking me questions about my life, no telling me when I fight and the money I make breaking bones out there comes all to me.”

“That's right.” He agreed immediately.

“Then I'll see you—” the cell phone blared. I tsked pulling out—Reed. Oh joy—wait, wasn't he supposed to be with Melissa? Why the hell was he calling me? “I'll see you soon.” I didn't bother glancing at Ben. My insides clawed at me, I had to take this call. “What?” I bit, out of the office I began hunting down for Aric.

“Nate?”

“Yeah, it's me—who else?” I grumbled growing impatient. There was no sound from the other side. “Reed, you there?” it wouldn't be the first time he hung up on me.

He spoke next, in a voice that was struggling to be steady, “Where are you...?”

“Finding some work. Why?”

“Is Melissa with you?” that was all I needed to set me off.

“She's at home—I talked to her and she hung up because you were at the door. It was like twenty-minutes ago.” My head was starting to hurt. If Reed was asking where Melissa was, it meant he hadn't been with her—he hadn't been at the door. “Shit,” I cursed pushing some guy from my path—where the hell was Aric? “Where are you?” I wasn't amazed by the edge in my words—my voice always sounded rougher and deeper when there was trouble, when she was in trouble. “Dammit Reed, where the fuck are you?”

“At your apartment,” that made my heart beat crash. “I just got here and... the door's wide open. There's... there's blood on the threshold and mat.” Where's Melissa? It echoed. Where was she? She was all I cared about—not the door, not blood smears—just her.

“Where is she? Where's Melissa?” I asked a question when I was sure I knew the answer—but I just had to ask because... “Where's Melissa?” the feeling in my gut felt familiar. Memories from that day at the humongous toy store whirled—I never remembered the toys or even the stupid bike I liked—there was always the aftermath. The waiting for my Mom, how she never showed—then a woman with pretty red hair asked me what was wrong, why I was looking so sad and I told her. I remembered the police asking questions, Mel's parents were there—and I remembered the question “where's my Mom?” this felt exactly the same.

“She's not here.” And so was the answer.

In that minute I felt numb, powerless and afraid—not for me, for her. I felt eight years old all over. My hand clenched around the phone. I'd stopped walking, what I'd been doing fell apart. I just stood there near the underground ring. The place was empty now, it was morning it was normal... empty. I felt empty.

“Nate?” my name rang over and over.

“I'm on my way—don't leave.” Was all I managed before shoving my cell into my jacket. A tap on the shoulder revealed Aric behind me—how long had he been there?

“Took you long enough, mate.” His unhappy Australian-sounding voice was the last of my concerns. “What the bloody hell are you doin'?” he blurted in a thick tone while I tugged him to the wooden stairs.

“I need to go home. Right now.”

“What am I? Your personal taxi driver?” Aric removed my hand from his wrist—I should have winced, I should have felt pain because he twisted my own. I didn't. There wasn't room for pain—not physical, anyway. “You tricked me into bringing you here. You're lucky I didn't leave your ass stranded all the way out here.” He tapped my face—hard, making me pay attention. But my head wasn't here. “I should beat you to a pulp for lying, you understand—”

“Fine, beat me up all you like, but drive me home first.” I ruffled my hair, feeling damn capable of tearing it out. “I need to get there—now.”

Aric showed a smirk in the face of my despair and I swear if I wasn't so blind with rage and hurt I would have punched him.

“The way you're talking is like someone died.” My jaw clenched like a high-protection safe. The smirk vanished. “Aw crap, what now?” he kicked the bar's door walking to his car.

If Aric didn't care about me or anything else, I think he cared about Melissa. That was one of the few reasons I tolerated him.

***

I nearly broke the elevator panel. The rush in my veins had me dangerously close to losing control. I was both in fear because of Melissa and because the shitty elevator wouldn't go up—had it always been this... small? I felt more trapped than ever. The anxiety of getting to our apartment caused all of my fears to bubble up—I knew this wasn't the moment to have a panic attack. It wasn't, because I would need my head fresh when I reached our place.

“You look terrible.” I forced my eyes open but didn't move from the wall where I was practically plastered. Aric looked casual, collected—like always. The damn jerk never seemed bothered by anything. “Do you always look like a cancer patient when you ride an elevator?”

My teeth gritted, but my arms kept themselves firmly crossed, hands gripping my elbows.

“Only when I ride with unwanted company.” Another floor went by—it felt like ages since we'd gotten in. I tried not to eye the four walls too close to each other, if my thoughts lingered on them I'd see them moving—closing in. I knew somewhere in my mind that couldn't happen, but during panic attacks nothing was rational.

“Were you always like this?” Aric's words earned him another glare.

“Like what?” I was too tired to snap back a decent comment. It hurt to think.

“Claustrophobic,”

My eyes dropped from his, my head pressed into the metal wall. Breath raging a little more than usual.

“What's it to you?” now I was gripping my frustration concentrating it on Aric.

“I'm just trying to get to know you better—little brother.” I felt my muscles tense up at the last part. Would he never stop calling me that?

I gave out a dry laugh.

“Do me a favor, leave me alone.”

“I was making conversation—”

“Don't,” I yelled. “I don't want to talk. I want to get out of here and I want to find Melissa, I want to know what the hell happened to her!” I banged a fist into the wall out of any other target—I could have gone for Aric but my legs weren't reliable at the minute. “Leave me alone.”

Aric shifted, leaning on his shoulder. My eyes wandered off. But anywhere I looked I saw the same color—gray. Everything looked the same. It felt like it would swallow me up and I hated feeling that way.

I hadn't always been claustrophobic. But even now that the reason for my phobia was gone, I still couldn't get over it. Probably never would—I managed to deal with it, most times. This with Melissa... it set me off the rocket.

I found my eyes on Aric's. They were passive, the kind of calm that ticked me off so often—to my surprise... I wasn't angry, or at least angrier. Before the melancholy set in, I actually felt more relaxed—the striking similarity to our Mother's eyes made me flinch lastly, but it was followed with the doors slipping open.

They couldn't have done it fast enough. I was out in a jump, going for my apartment door—it was open. Reed leaned on the couch. As he saw me, his brown eyes shot to mine.

“There are no signs of struggle,” he informed—that was his job, wasn't it? To inform. I couldn't help to feel angered because he couldn't say more— “No signs but this.” Reed held out his palm—it was clad in a latex glove—a bloody one.

I took an hesitant step, not stepping on the blood on the doormat—was it hers? It rocked my body with a dreaded feeling I couldn't place, I could assure it wasn't anything good. Not at all.

“She must have teared it off while fighting back.” Reed filled the lack of sound—a presence came behind me—Aric.

I kept staring at the piercing.

“Do you think this is her blood?” he asked it. I felt cold hearing them.

“I don't know,” I breathed. “I don't know.” I said more strongly. I didn't.

“I know you don't know, but doesn't this building have surveillance?”

“No. It was one of the reasons why her parents chose to live here.” I looked up, around the room. “If they needed to... take care of things—” kill intruders. “They wouldn't have to worry about any of it getting caught on tape.” I wish there was a tape somewhere leading me straight to the fucker who had the audacity to come in here and take Melissa. “Can you send this blood to a lab?” I could collect favors in low places, meaning other people with illegal jobs—Reed was the opposite. He had friends in high places, that was one of the reasons why I chose him as m Informant. If there was someone who could get me out of a pickle in the Hive, it was him.

“I already collected some of it, it's bagged up ready to go.” At least he thought ahead.

I coiled my hands. I didn't know the who bastard took her yet. There was one thing I knew—one thing I promised. Whoever took her was going to die.