〖⚜ — 〗 “Excuse me?” Aurélien scoffed, putting both his hands on the edge of the display case to bolster himself. “Is this a modern form of highway robbery I am not aware of?”
His brow knit hard as he scrutinized the man’s face. He didn’t strike him as a charlatan, though there was an undeniable undercurrent of unpredictability about him.
“I know the law, monsieur,” he said firmly, crossing his arms over his chest. “I will have to see some form of identification that you are from the NYPD or I will be forced to call the police, myself.”
His tongue darted out to run along his bottom lip. Tasted like cherries. Or strawberries. Whatever it was, it was sweet, and smelled like vanilla and berries. The taste of Aphrodite Swan’s lips.
It was just a goodbye kiss. One of those thoughtless, meaningless things she bestows upon him every time he’s foolish kind enough to walk her home from Webster Hall, all the way to her apartment in the West Village. It’s not a long walk, but it leaves him by the wrong trains. He can still get home, it’s just a pain in the ass transferring. But if there’s anyone that’s worth the trouble, it’s her.
Stuck in a jejune daydream like some lovesick schoolboy, he didn’t even realize he’d wandered into a neighborhood he’d never seen before. He was sure he knew downtown like the back of his hand. Hadn’t passed park, even though he’d been heading north for a quarter of an hour. That was weird. He should have been at the 8th street station by now.
Kipling Street. That’s what the sign said. He’d never heard of it.
He peeked at the storefront signage at the corner: Grand Green Florist. Next to it: Edward Bear’s Candy. Cute. Little mom and pop shops not uncommon in this part of downtown. But he still didn’t know where he was.
A crash sounded on the other side of the street, like one of those metal garbage cans getting overturned. It was late enough that the streets were empty, and it was near the only sound apart from the muffled backdrop of the low thrums of bus engines whirring and the static whisper of electricity that permeated every inch of the city.
Could have been an alley cat scrap. He prayed it was.
And then the the dull, thick slap of a punch connecting, accompanied by a low, graveled yelp. This was not where Cullen wanted to be. He slipepd behind a column on one of the apartment stoops, hidden out of view. He wasn’t going to get tangled in this mess. Not without a proper piece to back him up.
He remembered briefly his first attempt at breaking up a fight. Back when he’d just gotten his shield and he flashed it, thinking it would be enough to break them up, sort some sense into them, send them all home peacefully. All he’d gotten was his own nose broken, and the lesson beat into him that he needs to pick and choose his battles.
Solid metal struck hollow, and Cullen swore under his breath. Weapons were involved now. Great. His hand reached for the phantom radio on his shoulder, finding only the broadness of his shoulder. “Christ, of course,” he muttered, venturing to peek at what was going on. A large man with a long object in hand (Cullen cursed that he’d left his glasses at home, but who wears glasses to a club?) was the present assailant. No clear sight of the victim, either, who was obscured by the row of parked cars.
Cullen at least had the prescience to remember his phone. Head ducked down, he felt around his pockets, his irritation growing by the second that he couldn’t find it. A formidable, guttural cry tore his attention away and his head swiveled around reflexively to see what was going on, before his gaze fell back to the task at hand.
And then silence. Had they gone? Cullen stepped out from behind the column and saw nothing. No more big guy. Chest pounding, mind racing, adrenaline spiking and flooding him with the discomfort of pressure, Cullen took off in a sprint across the street to see if the victim was alright, mentally running through all the shitty first aid training he’d half forgotten already.
Except there was no victim. Only blood stains. ... Really huge blood stains. Cullen wasn’t medic by any means, but he knew that amount of bloodloss wasn’t an okay amount. But where was the victim? Hauled off by the assailant? Cullen hadn’t even seen them take off, had no idea where they’d gone to. He hadn’t even seen either of them decently enough to identify either of them. All he knew was that a crime was committed, and he needed to do his due diligence to investigate.
A witness. There had to be a witness. The alteration hadn’t exactly been a quiet one. Looking up, Cullen saw only dimmed lights, closed curtains in the apartments above. Even if he came back tomorrow, he wouldn’t even know where to start investigating.
Across the street, he caught sight of something, someone, a form of what looked like a man. “Hey!” he called out. “Hey, did you see where they went?”
Shannon gently closed the door behind her and slipped off her coat, followed by her soaked shoes. Light, careful steps carried her to the living room, where she learned that her efforts to be quiet had been unnecessary. John was already awake. The pleasant surprise curved her lips into a smile.
“Hi. I thought gloomy Saturday mornings were for sleeping in,” she teased, disappearing into another room. “That rain came out of nowhere.”
Lucky for her, the water had been her second home lately, so it wasn’t much of a shock to her system. She returned with a towel and wrapped it around her wet hair. Blotting and squeezing it dry section by section, she took her first good look at John. Her smile faded as she finally realized something was off.
