The fourth day since Jason's arrival began, and Alex had a hefty morning to early afternoon shift to endure, and Josh was to be on patrol for most of the day. Deciding that I should probably get my ass out of bed, since it was nearing 12pm, with the sun burning bright and steadily from my bedroom window, I dress and decidedly walk down to the cafe through the crisp early Summer air for a coffee, and to scavenge something to do with my day.
Morning traffic has well since been subsided and was at a lulling pace, as I strolled through crosswalks, taking in the warm sun and a light breeze that brushed through the streets. Within a few minutes I arrived at the familiar heavy glass door. I open it, hearing the chime of the bells softly. I'm suddenly stolen by a memory of the violent clatter of those same bells, as Jason barged into the cafe, beginning the strange days that were to come.
As I sit towards the middle of the counter, I still hear the bells screaming in my head.
John: the aged owner smiled when he looked up from his show, which was playing quietly on a mounted t.v. behind him, and spotted me.
"Ah, Mr. Andrew Martin, what can I get for ya' kid?"
He hollered cheerfully.
I chuckle, glancing slightly at the show he had been watching. A werewolf currently is evading an angry mob of villagers, as they brandish their torches and spears maniacally.
"A coffee, just dark, please."
I ask, returning my gaze to John.
He nods, and clasps the coffee pitcher on his side of the counter, and grabs a tall coffee mug.
"The usual."
He said, pouring my drink..
He slides it over, and resumes his gaze to the t.v.
Absentmindedly, I watch as the werewolf is finally caught. He is speared, aged special effects visualizing the werewolf's thick flesh as it is punctured, blood spurting outwards like a geyser.
I sip my coffee, its hot smooth texture warming my throat and lips.
John goes to the beginning of the counter, to help a man puzzling over a crossword, who had gestured him over, when the chiming of the bells call.
I look over to find three men dressed in pristine black dress suits. They were muttering among themselves, keenly surveying the cafe before them. One of them meets my gaze and I self-consciously tear my eyes away, momentarily.
It is when John addresses the guests, that I look back.
"Hello gentlemen, how may I be of business to you today?"
The store owner asked politely.
One of the men, his dark skin reflective of the pale light cast into the store, steps towards the counter.
"Have you seen a six foot man recently in your establishment sir? Brown hair, brown eyes, and beard."
I take in a shuddering breath.
They can't be describing...
But then the man continues.
"Goes by the name of Jason."
My blood felt as if to freeze. I put down my coffee cup, glaring at the suited men, who must work for the government or an agency.
John pocketed his slightly wrinkled hands, and gives them a slow nod, his eyes dark and unfocused, as to be calling forth a memory.
"A big guy had come in four days ago,"
John stated softly.
"He was covered in blood, wearing this strange black and silver suit. Said he needed a phone."
The men looked among themselves, anticipation clear in their stature.
Another man spoke, his thin wiry black hair pasted flat on his head with hair gel.
"Are you aware of his movements after his visit here?"
He spoke in a high, sharp voice, eager.
John pursed his thin lips.
"I believe a young lad helped him out of the store. His name is Alex, he's been a regular in my cafe for nearly fifteen years. A good kid, just wanted to help the poor fella' out."
Jason is a wanted man. Alex has been harboring a wanted man.
An intense panic coaxed through my body, searing at me like an icy blade.
The third and final man, who had his thumbs buried on his smartphone, in the task of taking notes on the situation, spoke.
"Anything you can tell us about this 'Alex' individual?"
Decidedly, I reply, looking over to the men, my hands shaking.
"Alex is my foster brother."
The man with the dark skin's eyes widened.
John looked over to me curiously, not having known this information, since John and I rarely spared each other conversations beyond the confines of friendly small-talk.
I proceed to tell them everything I knew from the past four days.
Alex's address, Jason's living arrangements. Everything.
Once I was finished, one of the men thanked me courteously for my service, which I hardly heard, and the men hurriedly exited the store, fading into the light of the afternoon.
John looks to me, and I see fear in his eyes, the same fear that wracked my body.
"Is our Alex okay?"
I look at him, dazed, and don't respond.
Alex would be at work for at least until 3pm. I felt an overwhelming urge to call him as soon as he would pick up, but I attempt to push away that compelling thought.
If I call him, and Jason is near Alex, Jason would clearly become suspicious.
He could hurt, or even kill Alex.
I grip the counter tightly, my knuckles beading a pale white, attempting to alleviate the pressure of anxiety and fear in my head.
On the television, the beast was slain. Its hulking corpse bleeding on the rugged earth. A young and beautiful woman, cleary the beast's human form's love interest, is draped in mourning over the body of the beast, tears shiny over her features in the moonlight.
I suddenly see Alex as that woman.
Sacrifice,
I think, attempting to recollect my faltering mentality with common sense, and facts.
It's what it takes to restore order to the nature of things. The infection has to be located and cut out, for the good of everyone.
Alex... What have you gotten yourself into?
. . .
