Author Notes

Alright. Todays chapter should be the final leap in putting some pieces into place, I think. A couple of notes for anyone who hasn't picked up on it (And because I want to hear what those reading think)

The girls who all kind of look like Barbie dolls aren't human, so what do you think they are? Inspired from Greek myth.

Steven isn't human either. Think along the same vein as the girls, anyone want to guess what he is?

Rachel isn't human....any guesses there?

I can confirm if people are super interested, and I'll throw the answer in spoiler tags or something.

Also, I still have the questions posted a month ago to come back to. It's been rough to find more time to write new content. Work is busy, and I'm scrambling to do three solid updates a week between my two fictions. CO's closing will relieve some pressure.

My stomach was doing backflips but I woke up slowly. Sitting up wasn't hard. Being hit so many times last night should have left me stiff and tender in spots, yet nothing was noticeable. I performed better than expected, even if Tal only measured the effort at a six. That was kind of exciting, ten was a goal. A real personal destination.

Groggy calculations of my performance were derailed by a heavenly aroma. Laying next to me was a pile of food that would taste even better. Soon I was shoving a side of beef and potatoes into my mouth that tasted fantastic.

My mood turned sour as the word ran through my thoughts. Why did the word fantastic annoy me? I was on the fence about fighting and that adjective drifted through. I shook the thought out, finished my food, then stumbled to the bathroom to search for bruises.

I checked myself over enough to be a borderline narcissistic. Ten minutes of self-inspection revealed no lasting damage. No damage displayed on my side, chest, or shoulders. My face felt nearly pristine minus the nose which had never healed right. Having a hard skull was good for something.

Maybe Rachel was up still. I didn't even remember getting into bed, Roy and Tal must have dumped me off. I wandered downstairs and found the stout woman in her normal kitchen location. Halfway between cooking enough for two armies. It prompted a question I had meant to ask for weeks.

"Where does all your cooking go?" I asked.

"You eat some, other townsfolk get some. Then friends in other cities pick up some once a week. Some gets donated." She didn't even wonder about my sudden appearance. Guess I was noisy coming down the stairs.

"Huh."

"You sleep alright?" Rachel asked.

"Yeah." My sleep had been the best in weeks. Roy’s words about me needing to hit something were accurate. I didn’t remember being violent, though. Not to that extent.

"Good, you found dinner?"

"Sure did. Thanks.” I scratched my chin. “How did I get into bed?"

"Those boys dropped you off." Only Rachel could call two clearly grown men 'boys'. Tal was probably at least Rachel’s age, and then some.

"Huh," I repeated.

"You out drinking again?" she asked.

"No." For some fighting and drinking went hand in hand. That didn’t feel like the right style for me. I vaguely remembered being a bad drunk in the distant past.

"Don't you lie to me, kiddo. I hate liars."

"I didn’t drink."

Rachel turned and stared at me. Clearly she expected an explanation.

"A friend got me into a match, to fight another person.”

"Oh." The answer didn't improve her mood. Her cooking kicked up a notch and as the woman started bustling around even more. She went to the fridge to get additional items out, preparing another meal for the already growing stockpile.

I dug out a few leftovers and loaded them onto the plate. Dinner upstairs had been good, but there was still room in my stomach for another helping. There was no microwave and the stove was completely occupied. Cold food suited me fine. No salt either. After compiling my goods I sequestered myself in a corner of the kitchen and stared out one of the windows.

"Did you win?" Rachel asked after around round of preparation and food testing. She wasn't using gloves in her cooking but I doubt anyone cared.

"Yeah.” My head bobbed up and down as a small rush of giddiness hit.

“I did."

"That's good.” Rachel’s hand on the cutting board paused for two seconds. “Did anything else happen?"

I held my tongue. Explaining my weird other voice felt like a bad idea. Being strangely overloaded and feeling physical objects I wasn’t touching felt like a delusion. Maybe that was just the fight or flight instincts kicking in.

"Well?" Rachel asked. I hadn't answered her quick enough.

My mouth opened briefly to try and say a clever lie. That failed, so I did the next best thing. Another forkful of chilled leftovers was shoved into my face while I contemplated the nearest streetlamp.

A wooden ladle to the head put focus back where Rachel wanted it. By the time I turned around she already had another one out and was stirring brown liquid in a pot. I stared at her, then the ladle. She must have pulled it out of a drawer just to throw at me.

"Not really," I said.

"You sure, kiddo? Fights do weird things to boys. My husband always hated how he felt afterward. He used to spin me such a yarn in his letters."

"You were married?" Rachel didn’t have a ring that I saw. There were no pictures in the house. If I hadn’t seen her sleeping here I might have suspected this place as belonging to someone else.

"I sure was, but that was ages ago," she paused and blinked, "he was a kind man who died overseas during World War Two." Rachel stopped cooking for a moment and stared. This time, the delay was even longer than before. After ten seconds the woman went back to bustling around the kitchen.

"Huh." I felt stuck on repeat but didn’t have a better response. World War Two was decades ago. It helped me guess how old Rachel was. I had a hard time figuring it out. Her hair stayed a dark brown and she looked like she had the same short plump figure forever.

"Well, when you want to talk, I'm here. I ain't so old that I don't remember how boys get when they squabble. Always need to air to someone, else the anger sits like poison."

I blinked, then smiled.

"Sure, Rachel."

"Oh. Mister Henderson called, guess one of his weekend boys is out sick. I told him you were out rabble rousing last night, but should be okay tomorrow. He wanted you to come in for an extra shift. Take food with you."

"Tomorrow?" Working on a Sunday sounded horrible. Not even God worked on Sundays.

"Tomorrow. Your normal time from what I gathered. I'm not a secretary, so if you want details, you go ask the man." Rachel shook a rolling pin at me without looking up

"I couldn't see you as a secretary."

"Watch it." She didn't sound offended though.

I shrugged, then staggered out the door. I wanted to clear my head a bit. The food had helped, having a normal conversation helped. Still, last night was weird.

Only a few blocks away I found myself practicing the movements Roy was teaching us. Not the full blown dances, only portions. An arm here, a footstep here, twisting the hips like so. Anything that might help dissect how they went together, what they did, what the point of each move was.

The one I used last night was a good example. It relied on turning the opponent's movements against them. Forcing them to open their defenses and take the damage. Some combat schools focused on joint locks, others on striking techniques, some on ground control, or just kicking. Each one had a different cadence.

But Roy's I couldn't quite figure out. There were a lot of different stances. A lot. It almost seemed like they were entirely separate flavors. Strawberry verse chocolate. Bananas against Rum. Hell. That was a terrible analogy, but I was still hungry.

Sirloin was a spinning set of swipes that twisted in circles. Sawing at the edge of someone's defense, knocking them off balance before going for the kill. Prime Rib punches that annihilated the weak spots between limbs. Separating chunky meat from bone.

I wandered downtown while counting out my pocket change. There was a market that stayed open most of the day. Combination food store, pharmacy, liquor, video rental. People in Tennison still had VHS.

They would have jerky or something to snack on. Maybe then I could focus on how these moves tied together without equating them to food. Rachel was going to kill me for eating somewhere else.

Finding food was easy. I grabbed a few strips of preserved meat and walked to the register.

"Hey, man," a male voice greeted me in the checkout line. I turned around and looked. The bartender, or crazy paramilitary cult member, stood behind me. He wore baggy clothes and glasses which barely covered his intense gaze.

"Hey," I said.

"I’ve seen you around town. Figured I should properly introduce myself. I didn't want you to be chased off from our last meeting."

"No, I don't drink much. I'm James." I held out a hand for a shake. Playing along with the nice crazy man was the best course to take.

"Zach. I remember you from the bar. I've got a good head for faces, man." We shook. It was firm if a bit forceful.

"Nice to meet you." I wasn't sure about him, but rudeness wouldn't serve me. Being new in town came with social hazards. "I'll see you around."

I slipped the cashier some money and headed onward.

"Hey, James!" Zach shouted after me. I turned around at the door and waited for his additional words of wisdom. "You watch out for that lady you're living with. Something ain't right about her."

The look on my face must have been pure confusion.

"You should drop by the bar again, we'll talk." The cashier distracted Zach by asking for money. I made my way out the door before the bartender was done shifting cards around.

He was warning me against Rachel? She was such a nice lady. A bit stern, maybe weird with her sleeping patterns, but if vampires could have their nocturnal habits, Rachel could sleep however she wanted to. If that qualified as disturbing then there was no telling what my hearing a strange voice would be. Zach's unintended counsel helped cement my silence.

I munched my goods and wandered to the park. There was an hour until our gathering. Time passed as I laid on the grass contemplating what had been happening. Too many things weren't adding up. Nearly everything. I had traveled a lot of places around Western Sector, one coast to another, and Tennison had more going on than originally expected.

I tried to untangle the people from my recent months. Was staying here in Tennison worth it? It wouldn't be hard to pick up and leave. We were barely invested in each other. Leaving wouldn’t hurt anyone.

That compound of gun nuts had members from all over town. Zach was probably only one of many. Still, not everyone liked them. One of Henderson's drivers clearly detested the place.

Rachel gave off the mom vibe but didn’t have children. That confused me because one of the upstairs bedrooms had been a nursery of sorts that was remodeled recently. She provided food which ensured a high score, even if she beat me with kitchen utensils.

Roy and Tal seemed overly attached to my well being. We only knew each other for a few weeks and that was enough to drag me out to a fight. Afterward, they tucked me into bed. It qualified as strange. Still, they hadn't shown any signs of hostility or ulterior motives.

Then there was Steven. He basically amounted to a skirt chasing puppy. He would probably pester me again tonight. We hadn't gone out to drink since last time, yet I had an invite from the bartender himself.

Luckily there weren't any other players in this town. Everyone else was unimportant. Even my job was a pointless blip on the radar. Something to do for money.

The list had numerous problems on it. If this place got worse then I would pack my bags and hit the road again. I didn't want to get involved in a mess. Avoiding complications was the whole point.

Fingers scratched at my arm idly while I tried to remember the person being avoided. Recalling even a full scent felt difficult. There was something, the barest hint of something sharp and crisp which cleared my sinuses. What was that flavor? My fingers could almost feel smooth skin attached to a tall body. The woman’s legs were long and firm and part of me ached to be near her and say a name. I knew her voice went between quiet and demanding or angry, but never for long. Yet, remembering who she was, that proved difficult.

The sun was setting before I noticed. How long had passed while my memories danced just out of reach? Thirty minutes? An hour? Hell.

Looking around revealed a lighter crowd than normal. Roy and Tal were gone along with most of the group. That seemed off for a Saturday. I looked around for either of Roy's sons but found no one.

The ladies were here. Steven was here. A black teenager with his mother had also shown up and they chatted off to one side. He demonstrated some of the moves, trying to walk her through the steps. She was middle aged, white, slightly overweight, but most of it was in her top. I was willing to bet she was only here to make sure her son didn't stare too hard at the other females.

"Where's Roy?" I asked the crowd.

"He's busy tonight," one of the women spoke up. She was one of many of the indistinguishable clones. Why such an array of beautiful ladies showed up in this group was beyond me. Normally there were six or seven of them, tonight there were only three.

"Tal? Anyone?"

"They’re not here either. None of the men are, except you," a second one piped up. She looked worried and confused. The worry spread through the trio.

"And me!" Steven acted as his own cheerleader.

"And Steven. I guess," a girl said. She was a bit more put together than her vapid supermodel sisters.

"Come on, we both know I'm man enough," he insisted.

"It's not the same." She shook her head.

"How so?" I asked.

"I don't..." She drifted off and looked at the other women, "...don't..." The words fell apart again. They tried to help each other out but were having a hard timing completing their thoughts. I knew that feeling, especially recently.

"Roy and Tal help us. You help us. But I don't..."

The black teen noticed our conversation and ran over. He stood between the ladies and me. Steven, true to form, had found his way to one of the female's sides. He was busy whispering, no doubt trying to secure his nightly plans.

"You remember James, he's been exercising with us." Steven stepped in and gestured in my direction. He patted my arm in reassurance and I almost punched the wiry man.

"Yes. I know him. Ja..." her words drifted again. The one who had been doing most of the talking was a brunette. Normally they weren’t spacey, and they never talked to me. They usually followed along like dancers. Yet, now they couldn't link two thoughts together.

"James, yeah." Steven nodded.

"James can protect us." One settled on the thought and smiled pleasantly. Confusion passed over their faces as they looked in my direction.

The teen nodded along with Steven. He said, "We'll just have to go without Roy tonight. James can show us."

"Me?" I blurted out doubt before it even registered. Putting me in charge wasn't the best idea. A few weeks weren’t enough to be in charge of anything.

"Sure, just do the same stuff we practiced last night. It'll be fine," Steven suggested while the black teen nodded.

"Are you two sure?”

"Yep, stand over there, we'll face you, and just watch the movements.” Steven pointed.

“We’ve done this a few times, so it should be easy,” the black teen said.

I didn’t know his name off the top of my head. “Roy said you'd be okay with it. He's giving you the class for the night."

The class was mine tonight? Mine? Why did that word matter so much? I tried not to shiver at the strange thought pattern passing through. The teen was giving me a weird face. I had to get myself together.

"Roy said this was mine tonight?" I asked.

"Yeah, I got a text a few hours ago." The teen held up a white phone with some lettering on it. I squinted and tried to read the words but it was snatched away before anything became clear.

"Someone has to lead," one of the girls said. "Someone good. You're good at it." She seemed convinced.

"I just started." I tried to back out again. Being in front of people like this felt weird. Fighting another man and being punched had been far less scary.

"You're better than I am. This whole thing makes me feel like I've got two left feet. If it wasn't your summer vacation we'd be back somewhere sensible. Like home or a movie," the teen's mother said. She looked exhausted already but we hadn't even started. Her clothes were comical and not the least bit workout ready.

"You promised you'd do what I wanted to, besides, it's only for another week," the teen told his mom. Their conversation became background noise as I scanned the rest of the group.

Steven had nearly separated one girl from the crowd, she had a pleasantly confused look on her face. She all but exuded confusion about how she got so far away from the other two women. It was odd how spacey these three were getting.

"Alright, we'll start. Line up," I directed my words at Steven. He missed them completely. The female with him did not. She regained her composure and headed back to the group.

"Steven, you're up front." He had tried to position himself behind the ladies.

"Me?"

"Yes." I stared at the man and his perpetual grin.

"Alright, boss. If you say so." He ambled up front, right in front of the girls. I glared. It didn't stop the man from giving a wink behind him and then turning back to me with a faux serious look on his face.

I sighed then we started.

We started with the first series. It moved slowly and felt designed like a warm up. I liked to think of it as peeling a giant potato. When Roy did it things quickly moved from one motion to the next. I went slower because everything felt weird from this side of the crowd. Focusing was harder than expected since some of the movements required low dips or poses that looked far too appealing on the ladies. There was at least some plus about having Steven in front. His stupid smirk made staring behind him easier to avoid.

We held each position a little longer than we should have. Half a dozen mistakes were barely avoided as I tried to walk through the transitions. Some people’s hands were too low or feet in the wrong spots. A nagging voice in the back of my mind kept correcting motions before the problems became obvious. By the fourth starting stance I found something resembling a rhythm. We moved through the rotation once and then started over.

I tried to eye the six people gathered like Roy would. My goal was to see if they moved right and check their posture. At the same time I had to remind myself to keep my head pried back, shoulders down, and spine tall. No one really needed adjustments besides me.

Watching the others for errors felt harder than Roy made it look. That man had his body on autopilot and his attention on the crowd the entire time. Splitting attention was beyond me right now. We made it almost the end and moved into a cool down phase.

Steven was probably cursing himself now for not having a prime view. I was kicking myself not to stare too hard when the ladies bent over. Their fronts were even worse on my sanity then their backs.

I tore my lingering gaze away then looked around. The teen and his mother were doing fine. He had to be adopted but the two of them managed to remain friendly. They didn’t feel standoffish like some families.

Stretching felt pleasant and I really focused on the ones for my arms and upper back. I tried to close out with Roy’s short bow to the group.

"Enjoyed the view girls?" Steven asked. We had barely finished and he was already back to work.

I shook my head and worked the cool down further. Tension bled away as my side stretched. One ear focused on listening to the others for any signs of failure. No one complained or uttered anything negative. They weren't saying much either way.

That was good, right? Hopefully Roy would be back tomorrow and we could talk about it then. Maybe he could explain why his entire family had vanished out of the blue. For weeks they were steady, one of them at least, then disappearing. Did it have anything to do with the fight last night?

The girls left in one car. The mother and son in another. Steven was the last person there and he looked dejected at his failures. Then he turned to me and the partial disappointment on his puppy dog face shifted to happiness.

"Do those lines ever work?" I asked him.

"Sometimes."

"You enjoy failure then?"

"Can't win the game if you don't play!" He bounded over and pantomimed shooting a basketball.

"That's kind of shallow." I didn’t place much value in girls without a personality.

"Not at all, if nothing else these girls know I appreciate their looks, trust me, they're just as concerned about how they appear as I am."

I shook my head and sighed. Steven didn't seem like the type to change his mind easily. He had probably been acting this way for years. Anyone could tell just by associating with him. That personality was ingrained in every action he made.

"Drinks? We can go to that sad little bar! Then I'll convert you to the Game as well. You and me, I need a good wingman! With those arms, we could lure them in for miles."

It should worry me how much thought Steven put into my arms. Sure they were defined, but that was only from years of work.

"C'mon, you reel, I'll hook," Steven said. That stupid smile was plastered across his face.

"I'm not a good wingman."

"I'll be yours then. You could use some action.” He pinched his nose and waved me off. “Believe me, you reek of pent up frustration. Though it's better today than it was a few days ago."

How the hell would he know? It couldn't have been that obvious, right? Maybe Steven was a pack member. The comment put me on the defensive.

"Yeah. I was out last night," I said slowly.

"That where that sweet, but barely visible, I swear, shiner came from?" He pointed at my face.

I reached up and pushed at a spot that was still somewhat tender but not too obvious. "Yeah."

"Out fighting?"

"Yeah."

"Damn, wish I'd been there, the drinks? The girls? Ladies get all hot and bothered watching a good fight.” His arms waved in the air as if praising a glorious sunrise. “It’s worth every moment. Cave man mentality in action."

"There were no drinks or ladies." I shrugged and started toward the parking lot. Walking home two miles would give me space to try to unravel this latest twist.

"Ah, boring. Sausage fests aren't my thing," Steven muttered behind me.

"I needed it."

"Sex is way better," he said, sounding deadly serious.

I nodded slowly. The man was probably right, but talking to him about it was disturbing. When had I ever talked to anyone about this sort of stuff?

"So we'll make a thing of it, tonight? Or, tomorrow? Tonight's better though. I've got no plans."

Steven clearly needed plans. He was starting to wind up toward full on hyperactive. Where the man found all his energy was beyond me. I tried not to look hard at his goofy face. How girls fell for that was beyond me. He would be fine without me.

"Not tonight." I shook him off.

"Suit yourself! See you tomorrow!" Steven wasted no time waiting for a response. Moments later he was in a rather nice looking car, gunning the engine, and tearing down the street. Chances were he only had that kind of car because it attracted females.

I walked home alone.

Solitude was preferred. Standing in front of that small gathering, even if they were silent and just following along, had been draining. Presenting myself wasn't the same as hiding on one side or another. There was an awkward pressure I shrugged off by concentrating on my movements. Only afterwards did it become obvious how out of place I was. No one said anything, but they had to be thinking the same things I had.

What the hell was I doing up there? Who was I to just be put in charge like that? Why did they trust a man they barely knew? That last one was a bit of a stretch. Still, those three girls had said I could protect them. That turn of phrase bothered me. She said it with such conviction and certainty but hardly knew me. A few weeks of standing in a group together an hour a night wasn't enough to judge anyone but Steven.