Reaper

I choked back a scream, mostly because of the cloth that had been stuffed into my mouth.

My mind was going wild with thoughts. And yet, at the same time, I couldn’t pin any of them down, because the two men who had grabbed me were holding me against the wall of the nearby building, breathing into my face.

One of them, the one who had spoken, laughed as I struggled against their grip. He was older, probably around 30 or 40, with black hair and a full beard. I would never have given him a second thought if I had walked by him on the street – he was someone who would easily blend in with a crowd. I flinched away from him as he leaned forward, his cigarette-smelling breath brushing against my face.

I wanted to vomit.

“A pretty lady like you shouldn’t be walking around here this late at night,” the other man, a shorter man, purred. He brought up a hand and stroked the side of my face with it.

“Such a shame,” the first man agreed, pushing my arms a little farther into the wall. I closed my eyes and groaned in pain, despite myself. “Oh, well. What can I say? I have a thing for redheads.”

My eyes widened for a fraction of a second in fear before the man landed his first punch to my stomach. I moaned against the gag again, feeling tears begin to form in the corners of my eyes as pain erupted from my abdomen. He hit me a few more times - twice more in the stomach, and a slap to the face – before he and his partner released their grip on me.

Not expecting this, I crumpled to the wet, dirty ground.

The pain was horrible. I already felt as though I had been run over by a train, then promptly used as target practice. I felt the hot tears begin to stream down my face, bitten with cold. I was so, so scared, scared of who these men were, scared of what they would do to me, scared of what was going to happen.

The bearded man kicked me in the back while I was on the floor. I arched my back in pain, turning over onto it. Before I knew what was happening, the shorter man grabbed my biceps and pinned them to the ground, smirking with satisfaction. Not that I could have done much to fight back – my limbs wouldn’t work, though I begged them to do something.

He then squatted down over me, his feet on either side of my waist. I stared at him with wide eyes, wishing with all my heart that I could look away. But I couldn’t. There was something in his eyes that chilled me to the bone.

“Pretty little thing…” he breathed, running his hand down the side of my face. I squeezed my eyes shut as his hand traced down my neck, over my chest, and down my completely bruised stomach. I felt horribly nauseous, but there was nothing I could do for myself except scream into the cloth.

The short man slapped my face. “Quiet, little girl.”

This was it. I was just a little girl, trapped in a very adult New York. I had been so very frightened to come here, so frightened to be out tonight, and look where it got me. I suddenly missed my high school days, where nothing was complicated and I never knew people like these two men existed.

I lay still as the bearded man touched me all over, his grimy hands staining the little clean fabric on me that remained. I felt like trash, like a piece of meat that had been thrown to dogs.

And I felt, with alarm, that, in that moment, I had wanted to die. I just wanted this over with. If that was what they intended, then I wanted it to be quick, painless.

I strained against the man’s grip on my arms, but to no avail. I tried kicking the other man off of me, but all I earned from that effort was a slap and the quickening of the man’s pace, touching me all over. I felt sick, but I also felt completely, mind-numbingly cold, the worst kind of cold I’ve ever experienced.

It felt like my soul was just… draining away.

I heard footsteps approaching the scene. The man on top of me was the first to look up, but when he did, all of the color drained out of his face. The second man looked from his partner’s face to the face of the newcomer. He seemed shocked, scared. His grip tightened on my arms. I knew they were scared.

I managed to turn my head to face the newcomer. But what I saw made my heart race faster.

Glowing eyes. Again.

Where have these things been hiding for so long? And why are they just now starting to pop up everywhere I go?

I felt my heart swell with hope before I could stop it. Was it Sawyer? Was he here to save me? Or was he here to help these men do what they intended to do? I dismissed the second thought – Sawyer had gone out of his way to warn me, to protect me before. Surely he wouldn’t aid in hurting me. I felt the bubble of hope rise through my chest as the figure stepped closer. Its eyes were glowing a radiant green, light spilling out and filling the whole alley.

As the steps came closer, the two men began to be less nervous. I ignored this – there was something inside of me holding onto that hope that it was Sawyer, here to come save me. The figure raised his hand.

This, too, began to glow.

At that moment, I felt a tremendous pain in my chest. I cried out sharply. The place in my chest that I felt had warmed at the thought of Sawyer being there, that exact same spot, erupted in searing pain, burning a hole in my chest. I struggled against the man’s arms feverishly, trying to claw my way away from the source of the pain. I screamed, kicked… but there was nothing that I could do. I tried to writhe away from it, but the figure’s hand crept closer to me, the pain intensified.

I screamed one last time as the hand reached down to touch me. I knew, deep down, that it wasn’t Sawyer who was reaching for me, but the hope had become tangled in the pain. It was as though I couldn’t control the feeling anymore – they were mixed, in my chest, ripping it apart from the inside out.

This was exactly how I saw the others die. And here I was, dying the same way they were. What a terrible way to go.

Just before the hand touched my chest, an invisible force knocked the Reaper back, slamming him against the opposite wall.

The scene was still for a few moments. The two men holding me down loosened their grip slightly, taken aback by what they had seen. I gaped at the crumpled body sitting a few feet from my hand – the Reaper. He was a tall, lanky man with black hair that had been pulled into a tail. But what struck me was that his eyes slowly dimmed as I watched, surprised.

The man stared at his hand, which, too, was fading. He turned it over, inspecting his palm and the back of his hand, confused and completely taken aback.

I locked eyes with him.

He stood up, backing up against the wall. I could see everything in him then. I can’t explain what it was that I saw – but it was strange, upsetting. I saw the pain, the confusion, the loneliness that emulated from his eyes. I saw how I looked to him – brittle, dirty, and broken, one straw away from breaking. It was as though I was seeing with both my eyes and his simultaneously.

The Reaper clenched his fist. “You-“

Before he could finish his thought, a fist flew at his face, knocking him back down to the ground.

I looked over, terrified, to see Sawyer standing there, fists balled at his sides. He leaned over the Reaper he had just punched and yanked him up by the shirt, bringing him up to his face. The other man shook, clutching onto Sawyer’s arm that held him aloft. Sawyer, angry, hit the man again, and he fell the floor in a heap.

The exchange was wordless.

“Who are you?” Sawyer demanded. The tone in his voice was unlike anything I had ever heard before – it sounded as though he was straining against his anger, steeling himself from it. When the Reaper didn’t reply, he kicked him, much like the man had done to me. “Who is your leader?”

The Reamer moaned. “No one,” he choked, picking himself up. Sawyer glared at him. “I don’t belong to a clan,” the man clarified, backing away from Sawyer’s stare.

Sawyer balled his fists at his sides. He turned to the two men holding me down, both of which had left me on the ground a while ago and were staring at Sawyer in awe at his ability to take down their leader. “And you two?”

The bearded man looked as if he had seen a ghost. “W-We’re just h-humans, sir, w-we work for him-“

Sawyer launched himself at the men grabbing the two of them by their shirts and pinning them up against the wall with a loud thud. I scrambled to my feet, wincing at the pain I felt in my stomach and my legs, but able to move. I knew I was lucky to be alive.

Sawyer pinned the two a foot off the ground, each with one hand. They clawed at his hands to let them down, but he only pressed harder, fueled by their vain attempts to escape. “Not fun, now, is it?” The men stared. “Is it?” Sawyer slammed them onto the wall again. They both cursed, clearly in pain.

He let them go, and they both slumped down the wall. Before he could hit them again, they retreated the same way the other Reaper had started, the three of them cornered into the end of the alley. They all seemed completely terrified of Sawyer, and I had almost no idea why. It was three against one, and as much as I’d like to think Sawyer was strong, was he stronger than three others?

He picked up a trashcan next to him and threw it at the men. I took a step back, in shock. “And don’t you ever come near her again. Ever.”

The three of them nodded, clearly intimidated but also annoyed. Sawyer gave them a menacing glare and they ran, tearing off down the street without a backward glance. I watched them go, the nausea beginning to fade away as I looked up at my savior.

Sawyer was next to me in an instant. “Charlotte – how – are you alright?”

I couldn’t say yes. All I could do was bite my lip and wipe the tears away from my face.

He pulled me into him, his strong arms wrapping around my shoulders as I shivered. I knew I was seconds from breaking, and he was the only thing holding me together. He had showed up at exactly the right time. He had known.

He scooped me up into his arms suddenly, one beneath my back and one beneath my knees. “Let’s get you home.”

And I was so thankful for that, so relieved, that I had fallen asleep on his shoulder before I even got a chance to tell him where to take me.