Wraith perched outside her window,
sitting on the edge and looking up at the night sky. Tears streaked down
her face as if an angel was painting on a canvas. It was after midnight
and she could hear the heartbeat of the city; it meant a lot to her,
knowing that the city was alive.
The wind caressed her like an
old lover as her midnight hair danced along the cool summer
breeze. She brought a tissue up to dry her grey eyes. She had never seen
a soul that was more messed up than Max. She was crying because she had
peered into a void of content and had seen the pain that he had gone through,
and the pain that was yet to come.
There was a ring. An old fashioned ring. The kind of ringing you hear when watching an old detective movie.
A
rotary phone sat on the ledge beside her; she didn't like
cellphones. She felt that it took something away from the
character; a portable monster that attached itself to your face and
sucked the time away.
Who really needs them, she thought as she picked up the receiver. Life is too short to be constantly chatting on a phone.
"Hello," she said. "Yes," she replied. "Okay."
She sat there several more seconds then hung up the phone.
She
could hear music from the apartment below her. The young lads below
liked to listen to some of the classic alternative music from the 70's;
bands like Nectar, King Crimson and Klaatu. Wraith commended them on
their taste of music. Which certainly fit the mood she was in.
Pretty George drummed his fingers along the table; he was humming along
with the radio tune. It was something old and classic. His cafe latte
arrived and was placed before him. He smiled at the waitress, who must have been in her late 50's, and she genuinely
smiled back.
Pretty George had a quality about him. The waitress' face went flush and her heartbeat picked up. His eyes locked with hers, showing warmth and
tenderness and promising a night of passion so intense that it could
melt the butter in 13 states around them.
"You can turn it off now, Pretty," Mags said as she sat in the seat across from him.
Pretty
chuckled, and the waitress looked at Mags. And for one instant Mags saw that the woman was intent on doing her harm, but that passed like a shadow from a small cloud. Mags shook her head and smiled;
Pretty had that certain charm about him. Potent, but too gentle to be creepy.
"Hello Maggie Mae," Pretty said.
"Let's cut to the chase, Pretty," Mags said. "Did you get the stuff?"
Pretty feigned disgust. "After all these years do you think I don't know what I am doing?"
"Of course not," Mags said. "Just that it was an unusual request, is all."
"That's
nothing unusual; it was easier than getting the sweat of Elvis
in a vial," Pretty said. He toed the bag underneath the table so that it
brushed Mags' leg. And she nodded.
Mags flashed him a smile and asked, "Sweat of Elvis?"
"It's
a long story," said Pretty as he brought his latte to his lips. Before
tasting what the aroma promised to be heaven, he added with a slight
wink, "I shall tell you some morning when you finally discard that
lugnut of a wingnut of yours."
MAX, wearing a yellow t-shirt with a Sunnydale High logo, runs through an underground parking garage. He's being chased by three men.
MAN 1: There he goes, he's rabbiting!
MAN 2: Damn you Cube, just stop!
MAX
glides behind a corner, his ipod headphones showing, flings open a
door and runs up a flight of stairs. He runs down a hall, gunshots fly.
He dives in an elevator as bullets riddle the insides. The doors close. He stands up and straightens his shirt and presses 13. After he presses
13 he hits the stop button. The elevator stops. He then hits 13 again. The doors
open to a bright light. The sound of techno music fills the elevator.
CUT TO NIGHTCLUB INTERIOR. MAX and MAGGIE sit at a table.
MAGGIE:
You sure it was Big Lo Pi? He's a real scumbag. I hope you didn't lead his thugs here, or else I am
going to kick your ass.
MAX gives MAGGIE a wink.
MAGGIE: Oh sweetie, don't tell me that you did.
MAGGIE looks towards the elevator, seeing the numbers flashing on the door above
the entrance to the nightclub. Her hand reaches underneath the table as the elevator opens and several dark-suited, fully
armed men enter the club.
MAGGIE: You're a real bastard. That's why I love you so much.
Lightning erupted, followed instantly by the crash of thunder. The storm
was right over top of them. Maggie
sat at the kitchen table, a cup of coffee sitting before her offering an
inviting aroma.
Max was pacing across the floor. Walking to and
from the window. His face as stoic as a statue. Maggie knew what it was, though; she had only seen him do this
once before. She opened her mouth to say an apology.
"It's not your fault and you know it," Max said.
Max
was in mourning; he had grown attached to Suki. She was like a kid
sister to him. She was killed trying to protect an injured Maggie.
Police Investigate Weird Accident Shooting by Hank Markins
BLUDRAVEN,
NY. (AP) - When police arrived at a West End neighbourhood to
investigate a possible homicide, they found a car wreck with what looked
like brain matter and blood on the front seat, dashboard and windows -
but no sign of the victim.
Police began searching around the
vehicle and discovered several gun shells scattered about. Police began
knocking on doors and a lot of the neighbourhood claimed to have seen or heard
nothing, except for Lunden Kallen.
Kallen was watching television when she heard a commotion and peered out of her window to see what was happening.
"First
of all, there was this flash of light and yelling and screaming," said
Kallen, an eyewitness to the event. "There was the fellow who stood on
the hood of the car firing round after round at this huge man behind the
wheel."
Kallen went on to say, "The car swerved off the road and
into the tree sending the guy on the hood onto the lawn there. And the
driver of the vehicle got out and was walking towards the man on the
lawn."
She describes the driver to be over six feet tall and wearing some kind of gorilla suit, with what looked like a diver's helmet on.
Kallen
doesn't know what happened next, since she was scared. She did notice that the man in
the gorilla suit seemed to be unaffected by the severe wounds that he
suffered.
Police are trying to locate the victim in the gorilla
suit, and a caucasian male in torn jeans and a yellow t-shirt with the
words Control Freak. If you happen to see them or have any information,
phone Bludraven PD.
A dim light shone in a
small room. It offered a balance to the glow of the neon sign just
outside the window. Painted on the window was Cube Investigations with the tagline "We Have the Time to Solve The Crime On Your Dime".
Max
Cube sat behind a desk, his feet up and his arms stretched back behind
his head. A cigarette dangled from his lips; smoke drifted hazily
towards the ceiling. He tried not to think since, for some reason, his
thoughts were broadcast out loud to no one in particular. And, for
some reason, the same or another, everything was black & white.
The music from the radio was loud enough to drown out some of the noise coming from street level, but not quite all of it. Max
loved the sound of the traffic below his office. He chuckled to himself. Being a paranormal investigator was a good life.
The phone rang. Max let it ring three times before picking it up.
"Yo," was all that he said.
"Mr Cube?" a voice inquired.
"The one and only," he lied.
"Good." The voice sounded reassured. "I was wondering if I could ask you a question?"
"It's
going to cost you," Max said. He leaned forward and butted out the
cigarette. He reached for the bottom drawer of the desk and pulled out a
bottle of Jack Daniels and a glass. He poured himself a drink.
"How much?" the voice asked.
"Well, that depends on how severe the question is."
Two horsemen approached, their horses
tired and worn out from a long hard run. Now they were taking it
easy; if they were to go any faster they would surely perish.
A
young fellow was holding the reins of the other horse, leading it
along while the rider of that horse was slumped over the saddle,
trying to stay on.
"Hold on, Maggie," the fellow said. "Just a
little further. There's a medicine man who will take care of you. He
fixed me up real good."
Maggie was leaning forward on the horse,
holding on with much difficulty. She had lost a lot of blood on the
trail and she felt that this would be it for her. She didn't acknowledge
her companion because that would take too much effort.
She
wasn't doing too well, with 8 slugs in her body. She felt like giving up but her spirit was much too strong.
"We're there," the man said.
"I hope this fellow is a good as you say, Bill Bonney," Maggie whispered.
