He glanced at the restaurant hoping it wouldn't have a line. Willing it to be so. He entered with the rest of his family.
The place was dead. It was Friday night, 8:00PM, and no one was there. Weird.
He wanted to get the number of the hostess. She reminded him so much of Neve Campbell. He controlled his thoughts. Then, the waitress came around.
5'7" or so. Dark hair. Nice figure. "Hi! My name is Alisa. I'll be your server this evening. What can I get you to drink?"
He ordered a strawberry daquiri, thinking he would get it in "virgin" form. Not that he hadn't had alcohol before, as he had, but because he assumed she knew who he was, who they were, and therefore knew that he was only 15. Nowhere near the legal drinking age.
She left. After a few minutes of watching McGuire try for his 70th homerun of the season, and then succeeding, his attention veered back to the table. Alisa was placing his daquiri on the table. He smiled in thanks.
As his mother inquired about Alisa's somewhat unusual accent, he tuned out and tested his drink. When the flavor hit him, his eyes widened. This was no virgin.
He glanced up at Alisa. She smirked, and cast a wink in his general direction. He knew the night would be interesting.
He smiled in spite of himself. Alisa's phone number, hastily written on a cocktail napkin, was now tucked carefully into his pocket.
She had whispered to him after pressing the napkin into his hand as he was leaving. Her words. "Call me. Make it tonight. Exactly 1:37AM. It's urgent."
He glanced at his watch. Just after 10:00PM. He willed the time to fly by.
Surprise, surprise. It did just that.
It was now 1:37AM. He dialed slowly. It rang. Once. Twice. Midway through the third ring, someone picked up on the other end. He was about to inquire about whether Alisa was able to take his call, but was intead greeted with a distorted voice that held a menacing tone. "Come to the docks at 3:00PM this Friday. She'll meet you there."
Then, silence. A moment later, the dial tone echoed in his ear. That idiot. It was Friday.
The sky was overcast, and the sea rose in crests, crashing against the boats lined up along the old wooden structure.
These were the docks. The only known ones left in New York City. All of the other ones, the newer ones. They weren't true docks. Now, where was Alisa?
He gazed out at the sea. It was a common conflict. Man against nature. The most common being man against self.
A voice spoke from behind him. "Shouldn't you be making millions of girls scream?"
He didn't speak. There wasn't a lump in his throat, or a frog for that matter. Fear didn't stop him. Nor did "her beauty", though she did have beauty. He wasn't breathless. He just didn't know what to say.
Alisa stood before him, nude but for the hat balanced smartly on her raven hair. She spoke again. "They're after me. They want me to. Questions. The soup was burning. Help."
He closed his eyes because good judgement told him to. Teenage hormones kept them the slightest bit open. She didn't make sense. At least, not to him.
She began to run then. She reached the end of the dock, but she didn't stop. He saw the splash, and jumped in after her.
Now, he was breathless. The water stung with it's cold and motion. He regained his breath quickly. One deep breath.
He was under now. There she was. He pushed himself further beneath the water.
His arms encircled her waist. He pulled her close. He wrapped her arms around his neck for good measure and struggled for the surface.
A deep breath. It pained as well as relieved him. The waves were worse now. It took him a moment befiore he realized why. The hail that fell stung his skin. He had to get her out of there.
He held her close and fought against the current to get to the rocky shore. Almost there. Five feet or so.
Out of the water. He lifted her up and held her close. Her bare breasts with her cold-hardened nipples pressed against his chest. Her dark, wet hair mixing with his damp, blond hair. It was almost too much for him. He repeated one word as a mantra. "Control."
But where would he go now? He glanced across the street, then hurried to what he saw. It was a warehouse. And it had an open door.
He rushed over, Alisa still in his arms. He kicked the door open a little more, ran in, and shut the door behind him.
He hurridly performed CPR when he realized that she wasn't breathing. There was no light around to aid him. The cold pierced his soaking wet clothes. He shuddered. One more breath.
Pinch the nose. Tilt the head back. Breathe out, they breathe in. He pulled away as she let the breath out.
She began to cough violently. Her back arched in an utter lack of self-control. He took deep breaths as he watched her writhe on the floor. "Control."
She soon lay still, but breathing this time. He debated with himself as to whether or not he should go off in search of warmth, possibly food, clothing, and a bed. But in a warehouse? He willed it to be so, and set off to find it, leaving Alisa to rest for a moment.
Around the corner. A small room. He cautiously entered. He was relieved. Quite relieved. It was a kitchen.
He ran back to Alisa. He gently picked her up. She gently caressed his hair in her state of...what? Possibly, he would find out. He carried her to the kitchen.
He searched the cabinets, drawers, and closet for warm things. He found things. An electric blanket. Chicken soup. But, they were useless unless this place had power. He hesitantly flicked a light switch.
He stood drowned in relief, bathed in light. He plugged in the electric blanket, covering Alisa with it. She appeared to be sleeping. He hoped she was for what he was about to do.
He undressed. He shivered as the cold hit his bare flesh. He wrapped a large towel around himself. He tried to warm up a bit, but it was almost useless. Then, he noticed something in the corner. A heater.
He gladly turned it on, and placed his clothing next to it. Then, he got up, careful not to lose his towel, and checked the contents of the fridge.
A few gallon jugs of water. Some cans of juice and soda. All things that would keep indefinately. He then checked the freezer.
To his delight, a pizza was in there, and not freezerburnt. He gladly popped it in the oven.
While it was cooking, he made a can of chicken soup. He poured it into a mug that he found and had rinsed out well. He brought it over to Alisa. She was just awakening.
She began to speak. He stopped her. "Drink this first."
She gladly obliged. The timer on the over sounded. He retrieved the pizza, cutting it into 6 slices with a large knife, serving it on a small plate. He tasted a piece. Delicious.
~ Hanfic ~ Torific ~ Other Writings ~ Moffatts ~ The Babble Zone ~ Webmistress ~ Contact ~ Guestbook ~ Links ~ Cool Stuff ~ Updates List ~ Tori ~ Zac ~ Tay ~ Ike ~ Aspie's Fic ~ Fastimes At Moffatt High ~ Starstruck Fiction ~ HF.C ~ Home ~