Episode Five – An Act of Redemption

Episode Five

An Act of Redemption.

Patience insisted we see the PPG Place Christmas tree at the point, sixty-six feet of glorious illumination.

     Originally, her idea was to walk. Since it’s a good twenty-minute walk from where we were, I pushed to insist on a cab. There would be no way her body would last that long.

     The powers that be set up the Christmas tree in early October so construction on the surrounding ice rink can begin, which opens to the public along with everything else in late November. The tree itself is lit during the Highmark Light Up Night, which illuminates all three bridges. The Roberto Clemente, Andy Warhol, and Rachel Carson bridges will have their own beautiful light displays and celebrations, along with spectacular fireworks.

     Pittsburghers love their fireworks. I had to admit that, from my spot on the nineteenth floor with 360-degree views, I loved them too now.

     I couldn’t help but see her as a child, gazing up at the massive tree, its limbs darkened in the night as we erupted from the cab a few minutes later.

     “It’s going to be spectacular this year,” she said, stumbling forward and leaning heavily against the temporary barriers that the city had erected to keep the public away from the tree’s construction. Her face tilted upward to see the tip of the tree.

     “Yeah, well, right now it just looks like a pile of crap,” I said, my gaze scanning the darkened patches of the landscape.

     She merely huffed and moved back to one of the surrounding benches and sat down. “Don’t you ever get tired of being miserable?”

     “Nope,” I said, sitting down next to her. “It suits me.”

     “Trista said that you live in a gigantic penthouse.” She glanced over at me. “But that you hide it well.”  

     I looked down at myself, thinking I had put in quite a bit of effort tonight. I styled my hair, letting the soft waves of crimson fall naturally, which contrasted nicely with my black leather duster. I even dabbed some powder and blush on my face before facing the night and whatever consequences might be waiting for me.

     But all I said was, “Thanks.”

     “You’re welcome,” she said, a fresh smile puffing her usually hollow cheeks out.

     The wind whipped around the tree and scattered leaves at our feet, and I thought about killing her. Not because she had pissed me off, but because I was starting to like her—like a mercy killing. If she kept going as she was, and she would, her death would be long and unpleasant.

     I could make it quick and unpleasant.

     I had just resolved myself to taking her life and giving her relief in return when I spotted them approaching from the corner of my eye.

     There were three of them, men in their mid-to-late twenties, bundled up against the cold and the lamplight. Faces hidden in darkness. I felt the air whistling past them and reaching us where we sat. No sign of vampires, just three assholes looking for trouble.

     Two heartbeats later, Patience stiffened beside me as she became aware of them.

     “We should probably head back,” she said, just as one of them started to hum. She was on her feet, pulling me to join her. Only I didn’t move.

     “My, my, what pretty ladies,” one said.

     The one to his right chuckled loudly into the night air and clapped his hands together. The other pulled what looked like a thin blade out of his back pocket and held it steady at his side.

     Patience pleaded with me silently, using her eyes.

     “Relax,” I said, “just sit back down.”

     “Yeah, sit back down,” said the one with the knife.

     I could smell the beer on them. Cheap. They were going to taste like garbage. The thought of them ruining my fish sandwich and oysters annoyed me, but what could a girl do?

     “Look, guys,” I said, trying my best to sound timid. “We don’t want any trouble.”

     The tall one, the one who appeared to be leading the small group, stood right in front of me, his smile tight on his lips.

     “You might not be looking for trouble, but it sure found you,” he laughed at his own humor, his eyes flicking away from mine for a split second.

     I’m not exactly sure whether Patience or the idiot was more surprised when I reached up and broke his arm. But boy, did he scream.

     “What the fuck did you do to Kenny!” the guy with the knife yelled, lunging forward and catching me in the side; his blade bounced off my rib as my elbow made contact with his face, and I could feel his nose shatter.

     They had almost forgotten about poor Patience Stevens, sitting alone on the park bench and screaming her lungs out in terror, and honestly, so had I.

     It wasn’t until I was done, Patience sitting comatose on the bench, that I remembered my friend. I could kill her now, be done with it, but I had already consumed my fill of low-grade blood for the evening, and I wasn’t in the mood for any more.

     After I slid the last corpse into the rushing waters of the point where the three rivers merged, I pulled Patience’s dazed mind back to me.

     “Patience,” I said, shaking her shivering body. “You must have dozed off, had a bad dream.” It was more of a command than a question. Her eyes still wide, still wet with tears, she blinked, refocused.

     “Yes,” she said, wiping her face with her fingerless gloves. “That was so freaky.”

     “We should get back. Where do you live? I can drop you.”

     “I’ve been crashing at Trista’s.” Her gaze left mine as she watched the waters, as if she were trying to recall something important. “I’m kind of in between apartments right now.”

     “How about we go to my place? I don’t think Trista will be too understanding about the beer on our breath. You can call her once we get back, so she doesn’t worry. We can make a night of it, watch some movies, and pop some popcorn.”

     Thirty minutes later, she was sitting on my sofa, clicker in hand, while I played Little Miss Sunshine, popped popcorn, and made small talk. I changed clothes as soon as I got home; luckily, my black sweater hid the blood well, and apart from the damn hole in my leather duster, there was no sign of anything unusual happening.

     “How much butter do you want on this?” I asked, not bothering to look up, trying instead not to burn myself. “I was thinking a whole stick, why worry about calories now?”

     Nothing.

     I looked up. Patience was standing in the middle of the room, gazing out the wall of windows that spanned the entire side of the penthouse and offered a view of the city below, the clicker hanging in her hand.

     “There’s someone outside your window, and he wants to come in.”

     “Shit,” I said. “Just shit.”