Rishi's Wish

Chapter 1-2

Movement farther in the cemetery, ahead and to the left, caught her attention. The arms of a concrete angel beckoned her forward, welcoming her towards victory. Believing this a sign that her chase was motivated by some redeeming cause rather than misguided instinct, she focused her attention on that spot.

She crept through the shadows, intent on surprising her prey, but when she arrived, there was nothing to find. She stared stupidly at the neatly tended plot, grass inked black by night.

Continuing to crouch, maintaining silence, she listened as she'd never listened before.

-You're not very good at this.-

A car at the far entrance distracted her attention, the crunch of tires telling of its turn onto the unpaved paths that curved through the cemetery.

Her attention was taken from this new problem when the old's rushing force met her in another surprise strike. The creature's enjoyment of tackling her was pissing her off. Whatever this game was, it needed to end.

Its body slamming into hers brought an exclamation of air from her lungs. Hissing growls sent panicked chills across her skin even as she fought to get her arms free from an iron-like hug.

Attempting to rip her arms from their trap only served to instill more c*****e on her already battered body. The shredded skin of her damaged arm pulled away, so she wasn't sure what might be left to hold it together.

The sharpness of the pain overrode all thought, and she tightened her muscles in a body-sized cringe before going limp in defeat.

-Really? Just go fetal and hope it gets bored?-

Adrenaline surge overrode the pain of her many injuries, and she was suddenly free, tossing the creature away with a push of legs. Something wet ran down her face. Shutting off the part of her brain that wondered if the beast had managed to take a bite out of her for after she survived, she focused on completing her getaway.

Rolling to its feet in a display of agility that left her jealous, the two squared off, both panting as they stared each other down.

She noted the layer of grime covering it, hiding any clue to what its original skin color had been. Its similarly filth-dyed hair was matted so tightly to its scalp, only thin wisps protruding from the knot allowed her to tell there was hair there at all. But mostly, it was in the eyes, something just off about its facial structure that defined the thing as not human. Did its eyes bulge just too much? Was its brow-line retracted just so that the forehead sloped too sharply? Were its limbs elongated beyond their normal reach?

Whether one of these or all of them, it was too subtle to pin down in her current distress.

The creature pounced.

Rather than get out of its way, her great idea was to take it on.

-So much for your getaway.-

Insides jarred by the clash of bodies, she found the air she'd regained pushed back out of her. They were motionless, pushing against each other in a test of wills.

The distraction of keeping her skin from its jaws was enough of a disadvantage that she lost her forward momentum. She fell backward, forearms crossed against the creature's chest to keep it from making a meal of her face.

More pain exploded through her as her body slammed into the grass. Whether this pain was from a fresh wound, or old, she hoped to survive to find out.

-This seems familiar.-

Hoping another kick would save her, she leveraged her legs beneath her, managing to get one in a position to push out at the thing snapping at her face. Her arms burned with the effort to keep its mouth from fastening on her, while pain threatened to send her into unconsciousness.

She threw all her will behind that one-legged kick.

Free, she scrambled onto her stomach, pulling herself through the damp grounds of the graveyard in a half-crawl, half face-shimmy. She didn't make it far before the boy-that-was-no-longer-a-boy caught her leg.

Groping in desperation, her hand settled on a piece of broken tombstone. It was all she had to fend off the snarling vestige intent on ending her life. With a secure grip, it dragged her towards it. She swung…

-You really are going to die.-

…feeling the bone of its head cave under the mass of the stone. The snapping sound of the impact echoed in her stomach, sending her senses to war. Willing herself not to throw-up, she maintained a tight grip on the makeshift weapon, swinging for a second blow.

Another snap, this time from a facial crack, and she was free. Scrambling on a hand and knees until she could get to her feet, she tripped on steps that propelled her faster than her balance could maintain.

Stumbling, she sensed the creature line up for another leap. In the recesses of her brain, she wondered how she could still be conscious after so much blood-loss, while a more primal part of her maintained control of her physical movements. This instinct paid more attention to the wrought-iron fencing buried in a season of overgrowth than on her encroaching death. This instinct allowed her to grab the new weapon, rise, and spin to meet the next assault.

As if choreographed, the two met, becoming one as the metal post pierced through the creature's body. Its face shrieked in surprised defeat while its fangs clamped open and closed mere inches from her face. Letting go, she kicked it away before she, too, dropped to the ground.

Out of danger, the emotional torrent adrenaline had kept at bay flooded over her, manifesting as silent tears. Already on her knees, she heaved the contents of her stomach into the damp grass.

Gasping from both physical and mental trauma, she rolled away. With cheek pressed to the damp earth, her eyes fluttered closed.

Darkness took her.

Hamal had had no trouble finding her and even less tailing her over the last few days; his job made simple since the girl rarely left the house.

Whoever she was, she was clueless that anyone had any interest in her. No security other than a lock on her door. No awareness of her surroundings as she left each night to trek her jogging path through town. He didn't worry that anyone would catch him snooping around, especially the girl he watched.

Possibly the most boring person he'd ever seen, he still had no information to suggest she was worth this much trouble to anyone, especially to one as powerful as the one who'd sent him.

Desiree Galen. Small-town girl, living in a degraded upstate town, complete with the small-town life.

As far as Hamal was concerned, Adam's Center, New York, was the center of Hell. If Hell was the most mundane place one could think of, anyway.

Her only friend, a Mike Nolan, hung around for reasons Hamal had yet to discern. Mike's work took him out of town more than he was ever there, but he'd never officially relocated. A romantic relationship between the two would have explained things, but Hamal had found no evidence they were anything but good friends.

Hamal smirked. i***t. He couldn't understand the use of a female friend, especially not one who kept him living in a place like this. Hanging around a place like this for anyone was senseless.

The only information he had managed to collect was that Mike called Desiree, Dee. Hamal had made a notation of this, the words close to slicing through the paper from his fervent tracing of the note in an outlet for his obsessive boredom. That, and a detailed map of both her house and Mike's, along with their surrounding properties, was all he'd been able to add to her file.

He laughed to himself at the ridiculousness of the assignment. Didn't they have drones and satellites for surveillance jobs like this? Way below his pay-grade, Hamal had only agreed to take it because Zi had personally asked.

As Dee came jogging around the corner of the night darkened street, a fact about her flashed through his mind. A fact that could be interesting. A fact that could be nothing. A fact that ate at his pride so he couldn't just forget it.

He drummed his fingers against the leather steering wheel of his luxury SUV, annoyance at her outperformance of him coming through in this tick of motion. Nothing in her file suggested she was anything other than some random girl, but the fact that her endurance far outreached his own ate at him. Finding this out on his first night when he'd failed to tail her festered in his mind.

He sighed, a huff of air that expressed his annoyance at a mission barely started. Not that anyone was monitoring his mood, or would care if they were, but it made him feel just a little better.

To circumvent this problem of tracking her through town, he'd set up cameras along the girl's jogging route, tuned to give him live-feed of her progress from her front door, through her journey, and back again. His gamble that she traveled the same path each night had paid in full, which helped heal his wounded ego.

Parked in the center of this course, between the sparsely placed streetlights, he waited. In a town like this, everyone was sure to know everyone else, so his SUV would look suspicious. Proactively, he had stopped by a few of the local haunts to drop hints that he was in town doing some work. If anyone noticed him, he'd sown the seeds of explanation. Not that she would hear any town gossip. As far as he could tell, she had no contact with anyone other than Mike.

He'd noted this with more heavily traced marks in her file.

As she moved closer to his position, he relaxed into the bucket seat, ensuring his obscurity in shadow. As unlikely as it was, there was always the chance she would notice him sitting there. Whether or not she recognized his truck as out of place, someone hanging out in the middle of the night in their vehicle would draw attention.

The portable screen he used to view the camera's video sat in the seat next to him. Tented by a thick, dark cloth to keep the light of the viewer from reflecting to the exterior of the vehicle was something else that might garner a look.

He held his breath.

When his presence went unnoticed, he let out the held air, then glanced at the screen to watch her turn the corner behind him.

Anticipating another eventless night, he picked up her file from the center console to keep his hands busy. As many times as he'd been through it, he still hoped some nuance of information would clue him into what he was doing there. These late-night jogs were weird, but they were nothing that required the level of attention his presence indicated. Especially nothing that explained the secrecy stressed around him being there.

Flipping the folder open, he stared at her picture. Short, dark hair framed a nice face. Pretty even. Her cerulean eyes held sadness as she looked away from the photographer to some faraway point.

Eyes flickering from her file to the monitor, he noted nothing of interest. Settling more comfortably, he dragged the file onto his lap.

Five-foot six. One hundred forty-five pounds. Athletic. Hair cut in a sort of naturally tousled look, though it had grown out a bit since the picture was taken. Dropped out of college after her father died at the end of her sophomore year. An only child, she'd inherited everything. However, she had turned the operation of her father's company over to Mike, who'd expanded the very profitable construction firm into consulting as well.

Mike's head for finance was the reason for Desiree's growing accounts. She was worth over one-hundred million dollars. From what her file told Hamal, she didn't use much of it. The house was paid off. She had no extra-curricular activities and rarely traveled. The occasional night out with Mike, which he usually paid for, was the only time she spent money on anything outside utility bills and groceries. Running shoes seemed to be the only thing she splurged on with any consistency.