Lilith/Cain

A radio alarm clock sat on the nightstand. The time changed to 8:00am and music started blaring into the small room. "THIS IS THE STORY OF A GIRL, WHO CRIED A RIVER AND DROWNED THE WHOLE WORLD."

A fist came down on the clock radio. It missed the snooze button by a hair and the music continued. "SHE LOOKED SO SAD IN PHOTOGRAPHS, BUT I ABSOLUTELY LOVE HER WHEN SHE-"

The fist came down again, harder and multiple times. Finally the hand gripped the clock and threw it across the room. The cord ripped out of the back and it fell silent mid song.

Angie threw off the pink blanket and pulled herself into a sitting position on the small bed. She turned and put her left foot on the rug. The stump at the end of her right knee hung off the end of the bed.

She gripped the nightstand with her left hand, drawing in a breath and holding it as she prepared herself. She lurched to one foot. She hopped over to the dresser and clung to it.

In the corner of her room sat her prosthetic leg. It was made of bland plastic and looked like the severed leg of a Ken doll. She glanced at it briefly, then ignored it. Her cane was propped next to the dresser. She reached for it but ended up knocking it over. She decided against bending down to retrieve it.

She opened the top drawer of her dresser, pulling out a clean pair of underwear. She retrieved a shirt from the next drawer. Her jeans were in the second to bottom drawer. She leaned down and immediately lost her balance.

“Motherfucker!” she yelled as she plummeted to the floor. She landed hard on her backside. The drawer she had been holding onto was pulled out of the dresser, throwing her shirts on the floor.

"Angie!" Heavy and footsteps hurried to her room. An older man appeared in the doorway, his brown eyes worried. "Are you all right?"

Angie rubbed her backside. "The only thing bruised is my pride..." she muttered. She glared at the man darkly. "What are you doing in here, Arthur? I told you to stay out of my room."

"I thought I heard you call me."

She gaped at him a moment, then shut her mouth with a snap. "Did you really just make the WORST dad joke ever?"

His gray eyebrows pulled together in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"Nevermind." She reached one hand up. "Here, make yourself useful."

He grasped her hand and pulled her up easily. He was past fifty, but fitter than most twenty year olds. He had broad shoulders and thick muscular arms. He wasn't as huge as her brother, Chris, but he was a close second.

"You should wear your prosthetic," he told her sternly. "You're not going to get used to it if you don't wear it."

"I hate it," she said bitterly as she held onto his bicep. "It's clunky and useless."

"Is it because it's not your leg?" he asked, his hands on her upper arms, holding her steady as she wobbled.

"It's because it's heavy and hard to use. I can't even walk on it.

"Maybe we can do something about that, then." Gently he guided her back to the bed, till she sat down. He picked up the dresser drawer and crammed her shirts back into it. Then he returned it to its place in the dresser. He held up both hands towards her. "I'll be right back. Wait here."

He was gone barely a minute. Angie tapped her foot against the rug impatiently anyway. When he returned he held a large rectangular box in both hands.

"What the?" Angie asked, perplexed.

"It just arrived. I was answering the door when I heard you yell."

He set the box down on the floor by her bed, then pulled a black tactical knife from its holster at his hip. He cut the box open with surgical precision. Inside was a long black case. He pulled it out by the handle and tossed the box out of the room. He set the case on the bed next to her and put the knife away. His hands went to the clasps.

"Arthur, what the hell is this?" she queried.

He lifted the lid on the case. "Your new leg, if you like it." He turned the case so she could see inside.

Nestled in a gray foam cutout was a prosthetic leg, but unlike one she'd ever seen. It was long and thin and made of metal. It wasn't straight, but curved in a natural way. There were joints and springs at the ankle. The foot part was made of flexible plastic.

"Where the hell did you get this?" she asked incredulously. She ran her fingers over the metal. It looked strong. Titanium?

"Mechanex," he answered simply.

Both of her eyebrows shot up. "The evil corporation that tried to turn me into a vampire?"

"With Harris' death I'm hoping they're less evil. Especially since I own them now."

"What? Seriously?"

He looked away nervously. "I forgot to tell you about that..."

"No shit. So come on. Time to spill." She crossed her arms over her chest.

"Well, 'own' is a strong word. After Gabriel attacked their headquarters their stock took a nosedive. It recovered quickly, but not before I'd bought enough shares to become a majority shareholder. I own roughly a third of the company now."

"Funny thing to not mention..."

At least he had the courtesy to look sheepish. "I thought it prudent not to bring it up, considering they did almost kill you."

"So you want me to strap on one of their evil prosthetics?"

"One of their neutrally-aligned, prototype prosthetics." He patted the case. "This one isn't available on the market yet."

Only one eyebrow was raised now. "You want me to be a guinea pig?"

He sat on the floor and looked at her gravely. "I want you to stand on your own again."

She let out a sigh, her shoulders slumping. "How do I put this ridiculous thing on?"

He sucked in a breath through his teeth. "That's the thing... It has to be attached surgically."

"You're not kidding, are you?"

He shook his head. "Not even a little. If you decide to use this then a part of it will be permanently fused to the bone in your leg. You'll be able to remove the prosthetic, but not that piece." He lifted out a metal bit and showed it to her. "The good news is that we can cover it with a silicon sheath that Mechanex is also working on. It won't look like a real leg, but you won't look like a cyborg either. Plus it will be water proof."

She reached over and lifted the metal leg out of its case. It was surprisingly light. "Is it sturdy?"

He nodded. "It'll hold up through almost anything. We were developing it for soldiers, so it's extremely flexible as well."

She moved the foot piece around, checking the range of motion. "Fine. When do I go in for the surgery?"

"Any time you want."

"As soon as possible then. I have work to do."

xxxXXXxxx

The chess board was finally set up between them. All of the pieces were in place, black on her side and white on her opponent's.

"It's your move," her opponent said softly.

She peered at the board. None of the pieces had been moved. "White goes first," she said.

Her opponent smiled. It was a gentle smile, but still made her heart tighten. "I've already made my first move. You just can't see it."

"If I can't see how you move your pieces, then this game isn't fair," she protested.

"You're right. This game is not fair."

She picked up the white queen, moving it to the front of her pieces.

"You're going to play anyway?"

"Of course," she said. "I'm going to win."

"Using your queen with your first move, how bold."

"Hopefully it's tempting enough that you reveal yourself to me."

"My, how clever you are."

"It's your turn now," she told her opponent.

xxxXXXxxx

Angie wobbled, but stayed upright. Arthur hovered close by, in case she toppled.

She leaned her weight on her new leg and was surprised that it held. Her knee joint bent like it was supposed to, and the prosthetic kept her supported. "It's not bad," she judged simply.

Arthur gave her a patient look. "Why don't you try taking a step." He held his arm out to assist her.

She refused his assistance, lifting her new foot up and putting it forward carefully. She was already used to having only one leg and had to fight the instinct to grab onto something for balance.

Her first step was shaky, like that of a newborn foal. Her next one was not much better, but she was moving.

She was sweating from tension as well as exertion, her breathing heavy. "I think I can get used to this," she announced. "In time."

"That's good to hear, because we're hitting the track tomorrow morning," Arthur informed her.

She looked back at him incredulously. "What?"

"I'll wake you up at six," he said, turning to the door. "I'll go make us some lunch. Practice until then."

She blinked at the place he'd been standing in. "What?"

xxxXXXxxx

"So far you haven't captured any of my pieces."

She frowned. "Well, I don't know where they are, now do I?"

The laugh she got in response was like a whisper of breath. "No, you do not."

"If I did know where they were, I'd have beaten you by now."

"I highly doubt that."

"You haven't taken any of my pieces either. So you can't be that good, even with cheating."

"Maybe I'm just indulging you? There's no way you can win."

She moved her queen again. The white pieces were still in their original positions. "The only way you're going to prove that to me is by beating me. I don't care how long you try to stretch this out, as long as I have pieces I'm going to keep playing."

"Such a stubborn child."

"You've been watching me a while, right? Even before we started this game?"

"That is correct."

"Then my stubbornness should not come as a shock to you."

That breathless laugh came again. "No, I suppose not."

xxxXXXxxx

Angie finished her first lap after thirty minutes and nearly collapsed. Arthur was waiting for her, water bottle in hand. "Two more feet and you're done." He held the bottle out to her, but not quite far enough where she could reach it.

She wheezed at him in response. He didn't budge. She threw herself forward the last couple of feet and grabbed the bottle of water.

She shivered as a gust of wind blew through the park. The sky was overcast and the trees had lost nearly all their leaves. They were the only ones around. "It's too cold out for this," she complained after draining half her bottle.

Arthur wore shorts and a sweatshirt and seemed completely unaffected by the weather. "Work a bit harder and you'll warm up." His voice was stern, but not harsh.

She groaned loudly in response. Her phone buzzed briefly in her pocket, announcing a new email. She checked it quickly, then placed the phone back in her pocket. "All right, let's go again."

xxxXXXxxx

Once night had fallen he started moving again. Always on foot, running silently through crowded city streets and desolate forests without distinction.

Why do we only run? There are other ways to travel now. A plane can take us so much faster.

'I do not trust you,' Azreal's voice, his voice, echoed through his head. 'You'll just find some way to chicken out, again.'

No, not this time. I'll do it properly this time. I swear.

'You'll be seen. You can't let yourself be noticed.'

That's only because you took away my influence. I can't pass for human anymore.

'That's to prevent you from getting picked up like some stray dog. Again.'

Is she really still alive?

'She is.'

How did she survive?

'Because in the end you couldn't do it. You have to go back and finish it.'

Is she waiting for me?

'Yes. She knows you're coming for her.'

If this is what I'm supposed to do, the most important thing. Then why is it that the farther I go, the more I feel something pulling me from behind?