Fic: Encounter

[briarwood]

Title: Encounter
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: Mature
Genre: Gen, Vignette
Warnings: Violence, horror. (Spellchecked but not beta-read.)
Summary: Everyone knew something terrible lurked here, something evil. In this modern world, no one wanted to be the first to say it. So they hid away in their apartments, afraid and alone. Some watched through twitching curtains the strange woman walking their street and wondered whether her face would be the next missing person in the news.
Note 1: Inspired by the spn_xx gen flashfic challenge, prompt #11.
Note 2: Naomi is an original character who will appear in a future long story of mine if it ever gets written. In the story I'm planning, she's much older than she is here. In this story, she's a fledgling hunter and doesn't really know what she's doing. With OCs I have a habit of writing little bits and pieces like this as I get to know who they are; usually these vignettes are never seen by anyone but me. In this case, since I was inspired by the challenge prompt, I'm breaking my "rule" and posting.

Also posted on AO3: http://archiveofourown.org/works/5895

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ENCOUNTER

A security light above a nearby storefront cast a scarlet glow across Naomi's path. There was a light drizzle in the air, the kind of rain that isn't really rain; more like the air feels wet and chill. Above her head, warm air came from a vent, turning white.

The Cuban heels of Naomi's boots were too loud on the wet sidewalk, no matter how hard she tried to walk quietly. She drew her coat tight around her and slowed her pace a little. The ear buds of her iPod were in her ears but she had no music playing. She was supposed to appear vulnerable and inattentive. In reality she was listening intently to the sounds all around her, but especially behind her. Her shoulders felt stiff and tense and she knew someone was watching. She longed to turn around and look, but resisted the temptation.

Naomi turned a corner and abruptly she was in a much rougher neighbourhood. Moments before she had been in a street full of glass storefronts, bright banners above doors and a cleanly swept sidewalk. Now she saw stores with rusty metal security screens pulled down over windows, garbage littering the sidewalks and cars with wheels and even doors missing.

Whoever was behind her, he moved with great stealth. He kept to the shadows, and there were a lot of shadows in this narrower street. Naomi used the windshield of a car to sneak a glance behind her. She caught movement, disappearing swiftly from view, enough to confirm someone was there, but no more. The car windshield had a spiderweb of cracks radiating out from a corner. It made Naomi remember another window: the big window in her childhood home. The window that exploded inward, one flying shard giving her the scar she still bore on her cheek. The window that admitted flying death and horror on the night her family died and her childhood ended forever.

She still remembered the sound of her own screams, high and thin, and the way her throat ached because she just couldn't stop screaming. She remembered that the blood was so thick on the carpet that she tasted metal on the air. She remembered the stink of the thing that killed her brother. She remembered the gleaming teeth stained with blood that ripped out Mikey's insides even as he screamed for help Naomi couldn't give. She remembered it looked at her with pale, shining eyes before it began to feed.

Then the window, and the glass, and the man who burst in like some kind of superhero. The gun in his hand and the loud, loud shot that made her scream even more. Naomi remembered his eyes, that man, flint-hard and angry as he came toward her. She remembered his gun and his coat, brown leather spattered with blood, but she didn't remember his face at all. Only his eyes: dark brows above green-brown irises.

Naomi shivered, forcing herself to think of something else. She had been nine years old that night. She was older now. She was smarter now. She knew how to look after herself now. Naomi knew there were other things out there in the darkness and one of them was following her tonight. She knew that silver bullets really did kill werewolves and that salt was good for a lot of things. She was still learning, but she knew a lot more than the nine-year-old girl who couldn't stop screaming while a monster ate her brother.

The rain was heavier, the light drizzle turning into actual rain. Naomi didn't raise her hood or open an umbrella. The hood would limit her vision and she needed both of her hands free. A little rain wouldn't hurt her.

Closed storefronts gave way to a residential area, but the streets were oddly deserted. Naomi saw people here and there, lurking in doorways, but there was no one but herself in the street. It was late, and stores were closed but a neighbourhood like this should not be so quiet. This was how it happened, Naomi thought. Everyone knew something terrible lurked here, something evil. In this modern world, no one wanted to be the first to say it, but they all knew. So they hid away in their apartments, afraid and alone. Some watched through twitching curtains the strange woman walk their street and wondered whether her face would be the next missing person in the news.

The stake in the pocket of her trenchcoat was smooth against Naomi's fingers. She slid her hand down the wood, almost caressing, and felt the rougher texture where she'd carved one end into a sharp point. Her mouth felt dry with nerves and a hollow place near her stomach was fluttering with butterflies. She debated for a moment before turning into the alley. She was prepared. She was ready.

The alley smelled different. It wasn't a bad smell, but it was strange. Naomi expected smells like garbage or people-smells, but this was a thick scent that evoked childhood memories of Uncle Joe's boat - salty water, rotting wood and wet seaweed in the sun. It made her uneasy, because the scent didn't belong in this place at all. The buildings on either side towered above her, blocking out the night, and the ground beneath Naomi's feet felt uneven. Her boots were no longer loud on the asphalt but muffled by wet dirt. There was a haphazard line of dumpsters ahead and a fire escape stretched upward. It made for a blind spot in the dark. Unconsciously, Naomi's fingers felt for the cross around her neck, but the trenchcoat covered it. She walked onward, hearing her pursuer quicken his pace: squelchy footsteps behind her.

She came level with the dumpsters, and even though she'd identified the blind spot, Naomi wasn't prepared for what happened. It flew out of the shadows, a whirl of dark cloth and hair and pale flesh. It hit Naomi's side and she found herself falling. She twisted, taking the impact on one buttock and used the momentum to roll, ready to spring to her feet. It was perfect, just like in class.

But that was when it all went wrong.

Naomi grabbed for her stake as she got her feet under her. The next moment something swept into her ankle and she fell again, heavily. There was a great weight on top of her, pinning her to the ground. Naomi looked up and saw its face in a blur of motion above her. Skin so pale it looked blue, eyes that seemed to glow in the darkness and an impossibly wide mouth full of razor-sharp fangs. Oh, Jesus, it was so strong!

She pulled the stake free of her pocket and stabbed up at the thing's chest. Effortlessly, it flung the stake from her grip. Naomi raised her hands, intending to get a grip on its clothing and use its body as leverage to get up. A clawed hand tore at Naomi's clothing.

A gunshot echoed through the alley. The thing on Naomi froze. A dark star appeared dead centre in the middle of its forehead. As it fell, Naomi shoved it to one side and struggled out from under it. She rose smoothly to her feet, and came up into a fighting stance: her feet apart and braced for balance, her knees slightly bent, arms close to her body but ready to move. This, she could do, but if this came to a real fight it wasn't going to be like sparring in the gym. Her mouth was dry with fear but she remained steady. Adrenaline sharpened her awareness. The creature lay on its stomach on the floor, no longer moving, dark blood forming a slowly spreading pool around its head. And there was a dark figure moving toward her, a gun in his hand.

For a moment - long enough that it would have been fatal had the man intended her harm - Naomi flashed back to that terrible night in her childhood and her breath caught in her throat, her heart racing. Then she caught herself. She wasn't nine years old any more. She wasn't helpless. She crouched, keeping her eyes on the stranger and retrieved her stake. She straightened as the other man reached the creature's body.

He was African-American, a little taller than she. He didn't look at Naomi, only at the thing he'd just killed. He put his gun to its head and fired, twice, point blank. Its skull exploded, blood and bone and brain flying across the alley. Then he grabbed its shoulder and heaved, turning the body over.

Oh, Jesus, it's female! Naomi stared at it for a second. "Wh-what is that?" she stammered.

The man had drawn a large, narrow-bladed knife from somewhere. When she spoke, he looked up at her for the first time. The look was slow, taking in everything from her gore-spattered boots to the stake in her hand, the cross at her throat, visible now through her torn coat, and finally to her face. He smiled when he reached her face, but the smile never touched his eyes.

"You were expecting a vampire." Contempt lay heavy in his voice.

Later, Naomi would hate herself for not having some snappy comeback all ready. She felt her cheeks burn with embarrassment and she hid the stake against the folds of her coat. The gesture was pointless, but it made her feel a tiny bit better. She wanted to answer him. She wanted to say, okay, she'd made a mistake, but... But there wasn't any but that would make her sound cool about this. Damn it!

"Well, Buffy, you've been watching too many movies." He knelt in the dirt beside the dead thing, tore its ragged clothing open and drew his knife down its chest. "Crosses and stakes won't get you anywhere," he went on, his voice even as if he wasn't carving a hole in a monster's body, "and this is no fang." He pushed his hand into its chest and pulled something out. It's heart? Naomi couldn't tell, and wasn't sure she wanted to know. He was too cold, as if this meant nothing to him.

"A lot of things feed on blood," he concluded. He stood, opened the nearest dumpster and put the bloody lump of flesh inside. He bent down, lifted the body and hauled that, too, into the dumpster.

Naomi watched, her feelings running from disgust to reluctant admiration and back again. The adrenaline rush was fading, though, and she was thinking straight again. The not-a-vampire that attacked her had been lurking in this alley. So...

"You were following me!" Naomi blurted out as he closed the dumpster.

He turned to her again. "Been behind you for days. You made good bait."

Again, Naomi was left with nothing to say. She stood there, feeling angry and embarrassed, until he walked away. She wanted to yell at him for using her that way...but she'd been using herself that way, hadn't she? When he turned and headed back the way they had both come, Naomi wanted to run after him...but couldn't make her feet move. She was scared. She had a feeling that man could cut out her heart as easily as he had that thing in the dumpster...Jesus, she didn't even know what it was.

The thought propelled her into action and she ran down the alley, calling after him. "Hey! Wait!"

But when she reached the street, there was no sign of him.