In the Claws of an Angel

"...So, come on doooown to Tom Sandy's discount auto lot, where our answer is always yes, yes, YES! Bad credit? No credit? Noooo problem...!"

An annoying, rambling radio commercial stirred me from my nap, but I didn't open my eyes just yet. Instead, I stubbornly furrowed my eyebrows and pressed myself into the hard interior of the door, trying to get farther away from the noise.

The man in the commercial babbled on about Fords, Nissans and Toyotas in his thick southern accent, giving anyone listening some very enthusiastic directions to his auto lot.

When I finally felt the truck slow to an idling stop, I reluctantly let my eyes blink open and take in my surroundings. There was Logan, of course, with one hand rested on the wheel and the other propped in the open window.

His tight white tank top hugged his chest and torso, showing off his tan, muscular arms. I could see a tufft of chest hair emerging from the neckline of the tank top... And it was the "just right, sexy" kind of chest hair... Not the "ew, that's a hair sweater" kind of chest hair. My eyes dropped down to his shiney metal dogtags, but I still couldn't read them...

"Mornin', sunshine." He said to me as he turned his head to the side.

I averted my eyes from his dogtags and felt myself blush as I looked into his smirking hazel eyes.

"Hey," I muttered a quiet but sincere greeting as I turned my gaze out the windshield. "Where are we...?"

The truck was stopped at a red light in the middle of yet another small town... This one looked a little more upscale, though. The buildings were taller, and there were definately more vehicles and people. I glanced at the green mini van sitting next to us at the light.

A soccer mom was singing in the driver's seat, bobbing her head all around to what I could only imagine to be a Pop or Rock song. In the backseat, a cheerful toddler kicked her legs excitedly as her mom danced.

A grin spread across my face as I turned my head forward again. The light for the turning lane next to us switched from red to green, and the mini van led a train of six cars in a turn to the right, into a Walmart parking lot.

"I don't know," Logan replied to my question as he tapped his thumb against the worn leather of the steering wheel, "Passed a sign a little while ago, but I can't remember. My memory's shit..."

He grumbled the last three words, sounding a little bitter. I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye and I could see he looked a little disgruntled... But as our light turned green and we accelerated down the road, that seemed to fade away.

The sun was low in the sky, giving everything in front of us a deep orange glow. Cars and trucks all around us began flipping their headlights on, it was about that time of day. Logan seemed to notice and turned the truck's lights on, too.

"How long was I asleep?" I asked as I peered at my reflection in the passenger side mirror.

My eyeliner was a little smudged and my hair could stand a brush, but otherwise it wasn't too bad to look at. I actually looked pretty rested, for once.

"Few hours." Logan said back, putting on his blinker and trying to merge into the left lane. "C'mon, asshole, get outta the way...!"

I peered over but I couldn't quite see what the other driver was doing to slow traffic.

"Old person?" I questioned, knowing how horrible the elderly were behind the wheel... Bless their hearts.

"Nah, idiot on a cell phone." Logan barked as he stared into his mirror, glancing up at the traffic in front of us periodically. He sighed, then clamped both hands firmly on the steering wheel, glancing over in my direction. "Hold on."

I did what he told me, grasping the frame of the door as he throttled the gas slightly. I nodded to Logan, signaling I was ready for take off.

Then, he slammed his foot on the pedal, sending the truck roaring forward at an incredible speed, and tossing me back into the bench seat. I heard myself let out a squeal at the sudden jolt.

Logan kept a steady grip on the wheel and a sharp eye on the road, inching up a few car lengths, and finally cutting in front of a dented red Saturn. The driver blared the horn, and Logan waved out the window.

I couldn't stifle the small giggle that escaped my lips as the truck slowed back down with the regular flow of traffic. Logan turned his head to look at me, my grin obviously becoming contagious.

"What?"'He said through his smirking lips, "You liked that?"

I nodded my head as my fit of giggles passed, but my grin stayed behind.

"Mhm." I hummed as I shyly gazed out my window, "I've always liked going fast... boats, cars, rollercoasters, doesn't matter."

Logan chuckled softly this time, making my stomach twist into knots. "Me, too."

We drove through a few more traffic lights before Logan spoke up again.

"You hungry?" He asked me without looking away from the road.

My stomach instantly grumbled at the thought of food. Logan smirked at the sound, and I knew I couldn't lie and say I was fine.

"Yea, I'm pretty hungry." I said honestly.

"Me, too," Logan agreed, zipping by a chubby Asian man on a MotorScooter, just barely keeping up with all the regular vehicles. "I see a sign for a Denny's up there."

"Denny's is good, but I don't have any money." I meekly pointed out. I thought he knew that?

"What makes you think you're paying for anything?" Logan asked me seriously, glancing at me with a raised eyebrow.

I didn't know what to say. I just stared at him with my ice blue eyes, my voice caught like a lump in my throat. I gulped a little bit and nodded, a small smile curving on my lips.

By now, we were parked in the Denny's parking lot, and Logan had switched off the ignition. The keys jingled as he yanked them into his palm. Before we stepped out of the truck, Logan pulled a plain black t-shirt on over his white tank top.

The sun was almost completely gone, leaving the sky in shades of purple, with the slightest sliver of deep orange remaining at the edges of the clouds. I shivered, the night air becoming a little crisp. Logan grabbed the door handle of the Denny's holding it open as I walked inside.

I smiled inwardly as the gentlemenly gesture.

"Hello, welcome to Denny's!" A very cheerful hostess greeted us at her podium, "Just two this evening?"

"Just us." Logan said to her with a nod and a small, forced smile.

The hostess bobbed her head of short red hair before grabbing two menus, and flashing her freckly, smiley face back up at us.

"Right over here." She led us to the right, and down along the wall to a booth in the corner. "Your server will be right with you!"

With that, the hostess scurried back to her post, and Logan and I took our seats on either side of the booth.

Logan pursed his lips as he flipped open his menu and began to look it over. I copied him, flipping mine to the back where all the drinks were listed. Lemonade, iced tea, chocolate milk, soft drinks...

"Hello, my name's Mark, and I'll be your server this evening." A dull, robotic voice pulled my attention away from the menu and into the face of a young man with short blonde hair, blue eyes, and a gap between his teeth, "Can I get you both started with a drink?"

I could tell he hated his job as he stared at us with an uninterested expression, tapping his red pen against his notepad.

"What do you want to drink, Anabelle?" Logan asked me without taking his eyes from the menu.

I blinked, my stomach fluttering as I realized that this was the first time he had really called me by name.

"Do you have rootbeer?" I questioned Mark hopefully.

"Yup." His reply was flat as he scribbled on his notepad, then turned to Logan, "What about you?"

"Coke." Logan replied, and Mark scribbled again before stalking away.

We were quiet as we looked over the menus. Denny's had a pretty overwhelming selection... Pasta, soup, pancakes, burgers... I just couldn't decide what I was hungry for.

Mark was back at our table shortly with two glasses of dark soda and two straws, asking if we were ready to order. Logan slapped his menu onto the table and ordered a meatloaf platter with mashed potatoes and green beans, and then it was my turn.

I hadn't really decided, so I just went with my usual at most restaurants: Chicken tenders and fries. They were always a pretty safe choice, I mean its pretty hard to mess up chicken tenders.

"Any sauce?" Mark asked me in the same robotic voice as before.

"Uum, barbeque." I replied, naming the first sauce that came to my mind.

Mark then collected our two menus and disappeared again, leaving Logan and I to ourselves.

I felt a little awkward, but tried to ignore it as I tapped my straw against the table and popped it through its thin paper wrapper.

I plopped the straw into my drink, then wrapped my pale pink lips around it and took a few long sips. The bubbly, sweet flavor of vanilla coated my tastebuds as the rootbeer slid down my throat.

Logan left his straw laying on the table, simply lifting his glass to his lips and sipping the cola. His eyes flickered a bit as he smacked his lips together and set the glass back down.

"So... Anabelle," Logan said across the table just loud enough for me to hear, "Where are you from?"

The sudden personal question caught me off guard, and I felt my face go blank for a few seconds. Logan raised his eyebrows at me, causing me to snap back to reality.

"Oh, um, Oregon.... Portland." I clarified while stirring the ice around in my rootbeer with my straw. "You?"

"I think I'm from Canada." Logan replied to me.

I furrowed my eyebrows in confusion and tilted my head to the side.

"What do you mean you think you're from Canada?" I pondered, my voice puzzled. Logan shrugged at me.

"I don't know," He muttered gruffly while resting his arms on the back of the booth, "I told you, my memory's shit."

I guess that wasn't the weirdest thing that someone could say now adays. I mean, both of us heard voices in our heads... The same voice, at that.

"Have you always..." My voice trailed off as my eyes wandered to Logan's knuckles, and he could gather what I was trying to ask without me actually having to say it.

"For as long as I can remember," Logan said thoughtfully, his eyes glazing over, "But... It's complicated. There's a lot I don't know."

He seemed to be troubled by this question, so we stayed quiet for a minute. Then Logan leaned into the table, propped on his forearms.

"What about you? Always been able to move stuff with your mind?" He pressed, glancing up as the peppy hostess guided a family of five past our booth.

I shook my head while I took another sip of rootbeer.

"Only for a year or so," I informed him with a slight sigh, "It's... hard for me to control most of the time."

Memories from my last night at home in Portland flashed through my mind at rapid speeds. I blinked a few times, trying to clear the image of Troy laying in a pool of blood on the kitchen floor from my head, and the echoeing sound of my mother's screams from my eardrums.

Suddenly, the salt and pepper shakers at the head of the table began to rattle around in the metal caddy. Within a split second, the vibration spread to the ketchup and hot sauce bottles, becoming more violent, as if a mini earthquake were happening under our booth.

Logan's hand shot out and grasped the bottles and shakers, covering them with one masculine hand, silencing the rattling and clanking. I felt the pressure inside my head release as I focused on Logan's face, my eyes wide.

"...See?" I whispered in embarrassment as I glanced from Logan's eyes over to his hand covering the condiments.

He slowly released his grip, withdrawing his hand back in front of him. I stared at my rootbeer, almost feeling ashamed of what had just happened. I could feel Logan's eyes from across the table, studying me.

I just wanted to sink under the table and melt into the floor, anything to escape this helpess, humiliating feeling.

"Hey," Logan's hushed voice spoke up after a second, "Don't sweat it. That's nothing to be embarrassed of."

I felt the courage to make eye contact again, meeting Logan's sincere hazel eyes with my scared ice blue ones. He grinned a little and kept talking. "I actually think it's pretty cool, you know. That's like a real superpower. These things I got?" Logan lifted up his hands and wiggled his fingers, "They're just fancy knives attached to my bones... You just need practice."

Logan flashed me a reassuring grin in the fluorescent light of the restaurant, and I couldn't help but reflect it. His smile was so contagious and attractive, and he actually did make me feel a little better.

"And I promise I'll cut it down to one personal question a day. Deal?" Logan said, cocking an eyebrow.

I thought for a second.

"Do I get to ask you a question, too?" I asked him.

"I don't care. Sure." He replied back with a shrug.

"Okay, then. Deal." I agreed as I brushed a strand of long, dark hair behind my ear.

"Aaaall right, here we go." Mark's voice came from behind me as he swooped to our table, holding two plates. "Tenders with barbeque, and the meatloaf platter. Anything else I can get you guys?"

"I'm good." Logan grumbled, then raised his eyebrows at me, "You good, Ana?"

I nodded, and Mark whisked himself away to a table with two elderly people seated at it.

As Logan reached for the salt and pepper, I picked up a french fry off my plate and crunched into it. It was fresh and crispy, but needed ketchup.

I reached my hand for the bottle, just at the very moment Logan had decided to replace the salt shaker. My finger tips grazed the side of his rough, leathery palm, sending an instant shock up my spine.

"S-sorry." I stuttered, my reflexes ripping my hand back to my body.

He didn't say anything and simply gave me a look. He grabbed the bottle of ketchup, set it down in front of me, then began cutting his meatloaf with a knife and fork.

Mark checked on us periodically as we ate, chatting about this and that, but mostly we were quiet. We each denied soda refills the fourth time Mark passed our table, and Logan asked for the check instead.

I had gobbled down the four crispy chicken tenders about ten minutes after receiving my plate, so now I just picked at the few left over fries.

Our waiter dropped the check on our table, and it barely had time to hit the surface before Logan snatched it up. I couldn't see how much the total was, but judging by Logan's expression, it wasn't too expensive.

He dug in his pocket for his wallet, but as he dug for the right bills, the front door slammed open far too roughly... And suddenly, the hostess screamed.

"Oh, fuck..." Logan hissed as I whipped my head around to see what was happening.

I gasped, my heart almost halting in my chest as I layed eyes on three men storming into Denny's. Each of them wore jeans, black t-shirts, and black skii masks. They were armed with heavy automatic assault weapons.

The biggest one in the front yanked the screaming hostess from her podium and pointed his gun in the direction of all the tables. A few women shrieked, shielding their children, who cried out in fear.

"Everybody, ON THE GROUND!"

xxx TBC xxx