Rahab led the man, Daniel, if that really was his name, to a booth in the back of the packed diner just off of Sunset Boulevard. She still was not certain what she was doing here...with him. Her almost nightly vigil to the dark side was finished by all right she should slink back to the cubby hole that she called an apartment. She had too many cases right now including a death penalty one. She needed her rest. Yet here she was with a man she did not know.
At least she knew why. There was something in the man's eyes. Some pain, so deep and dark, that it threatened to swallow him whole. And as dark and seemingly all-consuming as that stain was, there was also good in him. She could feel that, just as she could feel when her clients were telling her the truth. She always knew the guilty from the innocent. And this man was both.
"Why?" was the single word that the man whispered as the waitress seated them in the booth. The torn plastic seat made more noise than he when he said it.
Nonetheless to her ear's it was as if he screamed it. It was another of things that had always been different about her. She felt heard, saw, smelled things that others could not. It had been that way for as long as she could remember. It was her gift. And her curse.
She thought about pretending not to hear but something about this man told her that would do no good. He was not the type to just let something drop. Like her once he made a decision, he followed through upon it. "Why what?" she asked more casually than she felt as she hid behind the stained laminated menu. She prayed the waitress would be here quickly. This could be the longest cup of coffee of her life. And something screamed at her...the most important.
***
Daniel watched the woman. Her emotions played upon her face like a Shakespearean tragedy. She did not want to be here. Did not want to be with him. It was an emotion that he was very familiar with. Few people did.
But they came anyway. Money and power bought you many friends. He chuckled self-deprecatingly. He had no friends. He had not had any in centuries, eons, eternity it seemed. He had hangers-on, minions, at best acquaintances who sought what gain they could find by knowing a man like him. While he did the same. And when it was no longer profitable for either, they simply disappeared. It had become the way of this modern world. He frowned, may hap it had always been that way?
He would think upon that later. The days were long this time of year, and getting longer. He would have hours upon hours when he was locked inside the earth to ponder that question and the million others that tortured his ancient soul. But for now, only one mattered.
"Why do you do it? You are not like them," he sniffed the air. Innocence clung like a cloak to her of this he was certain.
He saw her stiffen, knew that he had deeply offended her. His very existence was offensive so why should it matter so fucking much if he offended one tiny human woman? Because she is different, cried what tiny shred of a soul remained inside of him. But that too must wait, she was speaking now.
"Different from the whores, prostitutes and drug addicts you mean?" Her eyes almost blazed as they stared past him and through his withered soul it felt like.
But she did not give him time to reply. "It never fails to turn my stomach. We think we are this great country. This Christian nation. We wrap ourselves in the flag and apple pie. And all the while we turn our backs on those who need us. The poor. The lonely..."
It was a speech that probably would have gone on forever now that he had her heckles up if not for the approach of the waitress. "What can I get you folks?" It was so late and the woman was so tired that not even the appeal of a tip could force a smile upon her dour face.
The woman's body was still tense but she did manage to force a smile for benefit of the waitress, "Just coffee. Thank you."
He looked at the woman's tightly pursed lips. He did not need to read her mind to know that she not pleased. More bums to take up seats, keep her on her feet and leave little to nothing beyond the buck price of weak coffee. Perhaps even to pilfer extra packages of the sugar or salt even.
He took a hundred dollar bill that he had planned to use to lure his victim to him and laid it upon the table. "Just water for me," his voice deepened as he looked at her, "but this should cover it."
A genuine smile spread across the woman's face as she hastened to do his bidding. Money had its uses.
"You placed words upon my lips. I did not disparage your friends." He shrugged and looked out the window at the busy street. Dawn was but a couple of hours away, but still these dirty streets buzzed with activity. "We are all whores," he muttered as the waitress brought her cup of coffee. The woman started to say something else but he waved her away.
"That was not the differences I was speaking of." He captured her gaze and held it for a long moment. It was cute the way that she worried her lower lip with her teeth. A vague memory scampered across the dark corners of his memory and then like a tiny mouse it was gone before he could capture it.
"Your differences come from within. From your soul that is light to this darkness." To my darkness he wanted to scream.
He shook the feeling off. It would get him nowhere. It never did. He had made his choice all those millennia ago when death came to call for him and he escaped her clutches. Now he would welcome her like a lover or mother. But she kept far from his paths, following at a distance.
***
Rahab picked up the steaming cup of coffee and blew across its surface. She watched concentric circles feather out from where her breath hit its surface. She tried to clear her mind by focusing upon them and only them. This man confused her on so many levels. Death hung to him like an ancient armor. Yet at the same time she felt a depth of soul and purpose like unto her own. She could not reconcile the two. She shook her head as she brought the cup to her lips. The hot liquid scalded her tongue and throat. It was a welcome distraction from the puzzle.
To make matters worse, she was tired. So fucking tired. Over the past few weeks, her normally hectic schedule of public defender and part-time savior for prostitutes had been catching up to her. Sure, she was no longer a spring chicken as her mama would have said. But at forty-three neither should she be falling apart. Between the exhaustion and migraine headaches that were coming with increasing frequency, she knew she should schedule an appointment with her doctor, but who had time? Some niggling little voice added...and some things were best not known.
But Rahab had spent a lifetime knowing things she should not know. Tears blurred her vision as that thought brought her back to this man's question. She had always been different. One of her earliest memories was of Old Man Ledbetter. She had seen the darkness inside of the man that everyone else thought a kindly if eccentric old man. But she had known...known the man was a killer. Of course, no one would listen to a five year old, who claimed to know why women kept going missing.
Of course when one woman escaped, rising the cry that brought the sheriff and law to Old Man Ledbetter's backdoor, the whole town started to talk about the little girl who had known. Eventually they had discovered a dozen bodies buried on his property. But Rahab knew there were more. Bodies across the state and country that authorities would never connect to the man. When she started school, she had quickly earned the name teacher's pet and snitch. Whether it was pulled hair, spitballs or missing books, she always knew the culprit...and she always told.
Eventually her mama had quietly spoken to her about it. She never really understood or believed that her oldest daughter 'just knew' things that it was impossible to know. But she had convinced the child not to tattle as she called it. But guilt of knowing and not telling was a powerful burden for one so young to bear.
She had born that burden for a lifetime now. Maybe that was why she was so tired? She shook her head as she sat the empty cup back on the table. What was the use? She was not going to share the truth of this burden with a stranger. A man she had just met...especially not one shadowed by death and sin. If her own mama had not believed her, why would he? Why would anyone?
"Thank you for the coffee but I really should get going. It is late and I have work tomorrow," she ignored his question as she extended her hand across the table.
When he took it, the world swam about her. A thousand bright stars sped by. She felt herself float through them at the speed of light. The American West ripe with grain and war cries. Elizabethan England with bright clothes, parties and intrigue. But it was the crusades, knights in shining armor upon which she stopped.
