Noir

NOIR

I gazed at the rat, now back in its cage. All animals hated me; they sensed I was not in the least...human: never had been. Lyra believed I had at one time been human, I continued letting her have her belief, in fact, I had let her think I and my brothers had been. It was easier than the truth. But the signs I had been seeing lately were showing me time was running out.

From his cage, Atomic began to raise hell again, then standing on his hind legs once more, he began a screeching that was damn-near ear-splitting. *What the fuck?* I couldn't help thinking before I felt the sudden oily layer of their presence slide over me. *Fuck me in a basket!*

Within seconds, I was wearing an arsenal of weapons and was slamming the door of my rooms behind me before sprinting down the hall toward the stairway, where with a leap, I cleared the steps altogether. When my feet hit the floor of the lobby, I broke into a full run toward the agency's entrance. With a wave of my hand, the doors of the agency flew open as I hurled myself between them and into the eye of the hurricane: literally.

It didn't take but a minute for me to track Lyra, and turning in the direction I had sensed her, I made my way down the dark alley. Without giving her time to protest, I lifted her off her feet and threw her across my shoulder as I headed back toward the agency and the parking area. Draped over my shoulder and face buried in my back, Lyra, voice muffled from my shirt, bellowed, "What the actual fuck, Noir?"

Ignoring her, I continued moving through the parking lot until I reached my pickup. After jerking the passenger door open, I planted Lyra on the seat, growling, "Keep your ass glued there," afterwards, I slammed the door shut and made my way to the driver's side.

I could feel Lyra's eyes on me as I climbed in the driver's seat, but continued to ignore her as I fired the engine to life, then placing the transmission in gear, I shot out onto the road, the rear-end of the pickup swinging back and forth as the tires fought for purchase on the asphalt. As I righted the pickup, I glanced in the rearview mirror, hissing, "Son of a bitch!"

I didn't have time to react before my head whipped forward my forehead hitting the steering wheel as we were hit from behind, sending the pickup into a slide. From beside me, Lyra uttered a sharp cry of pain before trying to scramble out of her seat, but another scream of fright erupted from between her lips as she was thrown against the dash, as the pickup, now skidding almost sideways in the center of the road, took a second blow.

With a snarl, I fought to get the pickup back under control, but despite my efforts, I lost control anyway as we were once again hit, this time from the side. Within seconds we were flipping through the air before the pickup slammed onto the pavement on its side, then went airborne again.

When it finally came to a stop, having given a metal grinding groan, the cab had crumpled beneath the impact and shards of glass had showered us beneath a flow of torture. Everything was dark, the heavy clouds and rain hiding the moon, but my vision allowed me to see Lyra.

With a roar at seeing her crumpled form, my wings unfurled and I split what remained of the cab from the inside out. LYRA

Slowly, I regained consciousness, and raising a hand, I rubbed at my forehead just below my hairline; the low throb in my head was the first thing I'd become aware of, and gently, moving my fingers upward, I worked them through and in between strands of hair, massaging my scalp in an effort to stop the pounding.

I didn't recall what I had done to bring myself to this point of misery, but I sure as hell hoped I had enjoyed myself while I had done it! Lord, have mercy my head hurt!

With excruciating slowness, I explored the top of my head, my fingers working on their own violation as I sorted through the moments of the day before. However, my mind stayed persistently blank. A sense of frustration washed through me at the inability to recall anything, but when my fingers found a fairly impressive lump, I became distracted by the piercing pain that shot outward from the extra sensitive area and overrode the preexisting ache, as the newly awakened pain screamed through my head, bringing tears to my eyes. Jesus Christ! What the hell had I done to myself?

Mouth parting slightly as I panted with light breaths through the pain, I licked my lips, my tongue scraping across them like sandpaper. For seconds, I struggled to bring moisture to my mouth, finally managing a reflexive action that resembled something close to a swallow. Following the action, and with supreme effort, I forced myself into a sitting position before, lowering a hand from my head, I rested it on the mattress, a sensation of the room dipping and swaying, assaulting me and making me slightly nauseous. Uttering a groan, I lowered my body back to the bed, as curling into a ball, I willed the world to end and to take my abused body with it.

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When I awoke again, I didn't know how long I'd slept, but the headache, lethargy, and dizziness still plagued me, as did a battery of other aches and pains all over my body; an unpleasant reminder of being tossed around like a ping-pong ball in the cab of Noir's pickup. With that recollection, the night before those things in the alley, Noir, the accident-all of it slammed through my mind, bringing forth a surge of unanswered questions. What were those creatures? And why had they come after us? Why had they intentionally attacked Noir's pickup, causing him to wreck?

Noir! Oh my God! Sitting up and opening my eyes, I winced at the action, but disregarded the pain as I gazed about the room. Forgotten were thoughts of Noir, and instead the question of where the hell I was replaced it.

I was in a bedroom that was approximately twenty by twenty-four-foot in size, and definitely wasn't mine. Its furnishings were all too... small... too childish. In fact, it reminded me of a little girl's room, and judging by the dolls, the tiny shoes tossed haphazardly about the room and the clothing crammed on top of and draped over the arms of a miniature version of an adult recliner, the room's owner couldn't be more than, at the most, five-years-old. As I inspected the items of the room closer, I realized the curtains, walls and even the bedspread were all pink: a nauseating explosion of cotton candy, pink.

Pushing aside the blush-pink sheet that felt soft and expensive, as if no amount of money had been spared for the princess who slept on and under the four-hundred count threaded luxury, I climbed off the downy soft mattress, desperate now to learn where the hell I was. Though the agency had spared little expense on accommodations in its living quarters, none were as luxurious as the tower-room I now found myself perched within.