Wandering underneath the orange hued streetlamps, I found myself walking for ages, barely a thought crossing my mind, while the darkened skies loomed quietly above. It felt serene, taking the solitude that came with such a lonesome night time stroll. I tried to hold down my anger at the Brimstone brothers, and remind myself that we were all on the same team, surely, but that feeling of betrayal, even if slight, still stung, especially with Isaac. I'd assumed that I hated this man, and everything he'd put us through so far. I'd felt fear, rage, and some other feelings that I'd prefer not to think about at the moment, all due to him. Yet...maybe I was being a little hard on him, as he was just trying to help his family, and the family of New Orleans as well. I wish I could talk to him alone...maybe hash things out. Just not yet.
A gust of cold air raced forward, unnaturally, and stopped me in my tracks with a chill. I stopped and looked around at the closely connected apartments hunched over the streets, watching me through their brownstone-esque facades, while sparse trees shaded me from their cold gaze. I didn't know how I'd found myself here, but I felt a sense of peace as I stopped in front of a red bricked building, lingering for some reason.
Suddenly, flashing lights coalesced within my vision and I was somewhere else...no, the same place...just a different time.
I found myself watching on as my spitting image cracked open the large brown doors up the steps across from me and appeared, descending down those same steps in a pair of large red heels, clacking then onto the sidewalk. It was me! The image wore a thin black dress with hints of red and a tight black fur jacket covering my upper half. Was I chic? I wondered as the image looked immaculate, down to the sharp crimson lipstick to match the outfit.
“Hey!” I couldn't help but speak to my image, waving at her.
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“Hey,” she smiled warmly, clutching a purse at her waist.
My eyes widened. “You can hear--”
“A beautiful night for a beautiful woman,” cut in a a smooth voice, as a dark haired and fit man waltzed up to my image, garbed in a charcoal pea coat and formal slacks below.
“Oh...” I quieted.
“A pleasure to see you again, Annabelle,” the man said, embracing my image.
“The pleasure's all mine, Mr. Martinson,” my image swooned.
“Tyler,” he said, pulling back and kissing my hand. “No need for such formalities where we're going.”
“Won't you tell me?” I teased. “You might not get a 5th date if you miss the mark,” I winked.
“There parties are secretive,” he turned me around to walk away with him.
“Not even a little hint?” My image begged, clutching his arm and hanging on tightly.
Tyler grinned. “Dockside, Warehouse 7, that's all I'll say.” He mocked zipping his lips.
FLASH!
The blinding light rolled over my eyes and sent me into a state of disorientation as I fell backwards and crashed hard along the steps, slicing my hand and drawing some blackened blood, while I returned to the present.
“Ugh,” I moaned, holding my hand, while shaking my head, trying to bring myself back from the muted tones of...the past?
Could that have been real? I sat in thought for a moment. I had a looming feeling of dread for that girl. No, that was me! I had to remind myself. Was that the night I died?
I firmly pressed my palm to stop the bleeding, before a white handkerchief entered my vision. Looking up, I found a man with short cropped hair, sporting a white buttoned up shirt. A harsh white glare bounced off both lenses of his wiry spectacles.
A thin smile appeared on the man's face, before he spoke. “Well now miss, it looks like you could use a hand.”
