"Sometimes, I wish I still knew what it was like, to feel things, and to have a heartbeat," Shadya Ismail said, as she stood inside Dr. Jayson "Jay" Hawthorne's living room, looking more tired than he could ever remember seeing her. The tall, handsome African-American physician looked at her with concern, and for a moment, he looked much older than his thirty seven years. Setting down his notepad, he sighed deeply and gently laid his hand on Shadya's shoulder.
"What in hell happened out there?" Dr. Hawthorne asked, and the hollow, haunted look in Shadya's normally sparkling brown eyes surprised him. Dr. Hawthorne knew that Shadya had been around for quite some time. In fact, the Vampire was pretty matter-of-fact about not dying. That's why seeing her so rattled unnerved him to no end. She's my rock and has been for quite some time, he thought, suddenly feeling very protective of her.
"I've been declared persona non grata by the Supreme Council of the Vampire Community, Jay, tonight, three of them came for me, I got lucky and took them out, but they'll send more, and sooner or later, my luck will run out," Shadya Ismail said flatly, and there was a defeated look in her soulful brown eyes. Dr. Hawthorne bit his lip, not knowing what to say. Impulsively, he grabbed her, and pulled her into his arms. Shadya seemed surprised but did not resist him...
"Not while I live and breathe," Dr. Hawthorne said, and he took Shadya's face into his hands and looked into her eyes. Shadya smiled faintly, surprised by such a display of passion from the usually aloof doctor. His handsome face drew closer to hers, and he looked into her eyes. Without another word, they kissed, embracing each other passionately.
Dr. Hawthorne's life was one void of excitement, and he couldn't recall whether he liked it that way or not. Excitement had become part of his daily routine ever since he met Shadya. Last year, his life changed after their explosive first encounter. Dr. Hawthorne went to give a lecture on minority rights and medicine at his old stomping grounds, Howard University in Washington D.C. While walking to his car that evening, he was accosted by a trio of young white men, and they were definitely not muggers...
"You think you're a big-shot doctor, eh? Well, we're taking America back in order to make her great again and you're going down like the uppity negro you are," said the lead assailant, a skinny young Caucasian man with spiky red hair and green eyes. Surging forward with a knife in his hand, he attacked Dr. Hawthorne, who instinctively raised his hands and assumed a defensive posture. Their eyes burning with hatred, the three white male thugs came for the lone physician.
"Screw you, you're the frigging scum of the universe," Dr. Hawthorne replied vehemently, and he surged forward and caught the redhead assailant with a mean left hook to the chin. The thug's head snapped back, and he spat blood. Glaring murderously at his prey, he nodded at his acolytes, a chubby tattooed guy with a shaved head, and a tall, slender, dark-haired young man dressed like a Goth. They surrounded Dr. Hawthorne, blades at the ready.
"What do you know? Bad apples really do come in threes," came a feminine voice, and both assailants and would-be victim looked up...and a vision of beauty and majesty materialized before them. A tall young woman with brown skin and a stylish Afro, clad in a black leather coat and tight black jeans stepped forward. With a grace that Hollywood sensation Beyonce couldn't match, the young woman surged forward, and waded into the three thugs.
"Fellas, check out Foxy Brown wannabe," said the redhead thug as he lashed out at the new arrival with his blade. The young woman caught his hand, and effortlessly twisted it, causing the thug to howl in pain and drop his blade. Balling her fist, she slammed it into the redhead's face, and he dropped to the ground, unconscious. The other thugs came at her, but she was ready for them.
"You're going to pay for what you did to Jeff," said the Goth, and he was still jawing when the young woman grabbed him by the collar, lifted him into the air and threw him at the nearby wall like a bowling ball. The Goth fell to the ground, and lay still. The last remaining thug was about to strike the young woman with his blade but the burly physician caught him in a bear hug and wrestled him to the ground. Raising his massive fist, Dr. Hawthorne slammed into the thug's face, and the pudgy, pale young man lay still.
"Nice moves," said the young woman, and she held her hand out to him. Dr. Hawthorne took it, and was amazed as she effortlessly pulled him to his feet. At six-foot-three and two hundred and sixty seven pounds, Dr. Hawthorne was a lot heavier than he'd been during his halcyon days at Howard University, where he'd played varsity football while studying pre-med. Yet this tall, slender yet curvy young woman did not look strained from helping him up. Impressive sister, he thought admiringly.
"Thank you for your help, mademoiselle," Dr. Hawthorne said, and the young woman smiled faintly, licking her lips with a tongue that was far longer than any normal woman's tongue had any right to be. Was it his imagination or were her teeth a bit too white and too sharp? He looked her up and down. She appeared to be in her early twenties, and exotically beautiful. Definitely not the sort of sister commonly found in Washington D.C.
Looking at the eerily beautiful, leather-clad female stranger, Dr. Hawthorne was reminded of the lovely Somali ladies whom he saw while visiting his cousin Lucas Hawthorne in Saint Paul, Minnesota, a while back. There were so many of them on the University of Minnesota campus, where Lucas played basketball while studying Criminal Justice. Dammit I'm staring at her, he thought, as the young woman's expression shifted from amused to slightly annoyed.
"Don't mention it, sir, although if you're going to drive a fancy car and wear fancy clothes in a neighborhood like this one, you ought to carry protection," she said, flashing him that disturbing smile of hers. Dr. Hawthorne blinked upon noticing that he was not seeing things, the young woman's canine teeth were way longer than they should be, and her ears were a bit pointy, not quite like Spock's, but more like Peter Pan's in that ancient Disney classic.
"Wait, I don't even know your name," Dr. Hawthorne cried out, and the young woman laughed, a laugh that was both thrilling and absolutely scary. He watched as she took off in a run, moving faster than any human being he'd ever seen. Not even Usain Bolt could match that speed, the good doctor remembered thinking at the time. Shaking his head, he got into his car and drove away. He went home, had a stiff drink, then slept. The next day, one of the American Capital's leading physicians went back to work as if last night's events were nothing more than a bad dream...
Dr. Hawthorne, being a physician, believed firmly in logic and science, dismissing the supernatural as nothing more than the result of superstition. When the Washington Examiner began to feature stories about a black female vigilante fighting crime on the streets of Washington D.C. he laughed along with everyone else. He never forgot that fateful night's incidents, but he put them aside, until he ran into her again...
One night, Dr. Hawthorne went on a stroll around town, having seen the new movie The Dark Tower at AMC Loew's Georgetown. He was on his own, as usual. He'd dated a few women recently but none of them lit his fire. A lot of people thought that being a doctor made him one of the most eligible bachelors in the U.S. capital, and they were dead wrong. Few women could handle being the wife or girlfriend of a physician, not with the hours that such men had to keep at work. Or the stress they brought with them when they came home.
"I'm going to end up the male version of the crazy cat lady," Dr. Hawthorne mumbled to himself, as he came toward the park. It was ten o'clock, and at this hour, the parks were usually deserted. Lovebirds and vagrants found better spots to hang out. The sound of violence, of screams and shouts caught his attention, and with a DMV native's curiosity, he went to check it out. Just call me nosey, he thought to himself. He went deeper into the park, and came upon a seemingly one-side conflict...
"Shadya, your actions have attracted the attention of the humans, if you're caught, you will expose us all, I must put you down," said a tall, burly man with long blonde hair and alabaster skin, clad in a dark overcoat. He was standing over a young black woman who lay on the ground, seemingly hapless. The blond man pulled a sharp piece of wood from his coat pocket, and drew his hand back, ready to stab the young woman with it.
"See you in hell, Hauser," the young black woman replied, and the blond man slammed his boot into her neck, and she gasped. Dr. Hawthorne had seen enough, and surged forward, gun at the ready. The blond man and the young black woman looked at the new arrival. The one called Hauser looked at Hawthorne, and his eyes zeroed in on the gun. The man's eyes suddenly turned bright yellow, and his teeth, which looked normal a second ago, elongated and sharpened into wicked fangs.
"Let her go, dude, don't make me kill you," Dr. Hawthorne warned, and Hauser ignored his warning and surged forward. Before the good doctor could even aim, however, Hauser was on him. The blond man struck him, and Hawthorne doubled over in pain, and fell to the ground. How did this fucker move so fast? Hawthorne wondered, astonished.
"I wish you hadn't interrupted us, human, because you've seen too much and you must die," Hauser said, matter-of-factly. The blond man stood over the fallen physician, and shook his head. Before he could do or say anything else, however, the young black woman he'd so thoroughly beaten came up behind him. Moving faster than anything human, she snatched the wooden shaft from Hauser's hand, and shoved it through his chest.
