1 Just A Dream

When Agatha pivoted, she saw that three large men were standing in a row not ten feet away. A fourth man appeared out of the darkness and stood near the exit, blocking off all possibility of escape. Confused and looking around wildly, Agatha saw only one way out-and good luck getting passed the feral members. She swore she was just on her bed trying to sleep then this happened.

"Crap," she whispered.

"Yeah, that sort of sums up what's left of your life," said one man who stood larger than the rest. With a face pockmarked by the scars of adolescent acne as well as battle scars he'd probably received in an untold number of fights, he added, "Got anything else to say?"

Agatha started to shake once the men came closer. From the way they dressed-long, black leather jackets, black boots and black shirts-she knew they were Shifters. They were a group of rogues who'd made their presence known a few months before with a series of violent acts against the homeless and the unlucky. And it was bad enough that she saw them doing their dirty work.

On the rare occasions when they deigned to meet the press, they always wore masks to disguise their faces as they espoused their wrong doings. "We're here to keep Central California safe. We're Safe Keepers."

Safe Keeping -they called it their motto. Some of the more clued-out citizens thought of them as guardian angels, but in reality they were merely punks who enjoyed killing innocent people for sport.

As for the police? Hah, this was California we're talking about, and the problems didn't just come and go it stayed there. They often claimed that they were in the process of making arrests. However, thus far they'd only hauled in two of the safe-keeping scum. Either they had more important things to do or else they were failing their only job. Concerning their weapons of choice, the Shifters rarely used weapons that are made of silver. Walking mountains didn't need silver, although they did carry an assortment of metal pipes, knives and guns. But now she knew their dirty little secret.

Now, the rustle of metal grating against metal resounded throughout the building and it sent another chill down his spine. "Guys," she said, summoning up her courage, "I didn't mean to, I swear I'll keep my mouth shut-"

"And we're going to keep your mouth shut forever," interrupted the leader as a savage grin split his nasty face.

Looking more closely at the man, Agatha noticed that he actually had his name stenciled on his jacket-Lachtan. Now what kind of idiot would advertise his name for the law to see? Oh! wait, the law wasn't here and no one cared.

"Are you ready, kid?" Lachtan asked. He carried a metal pipe and smacked it against his palm. The sound of metal hitting flesh echoed across the room. From the way he held it, it looked as though he knew how to use it. "You humans keep on making our jobs harder," he continued, swinging the pipe faster.

"We put a lot of effort on 'em," added Shifter number two, who carried a length of heavy chain. He didn't have his name stenciled on his coat, but it didn't make him any less threatening. "Get ready, brat. If you want to pray, do it now."

Allowing a final prayer also set the Shifters apart from other thugs. From what the newspapers had said, the Shifters always allowed their victims one last prayer before they ripped them apart. They then wrote the prayer in blood on the ground so all could see.

Quivering now, a feeling of hopelessness along with waterworks struck, Agatha clenched up her fists, desperately trying to hold everything in. She only hoped that her end would be quick. Bending to one knee, she made her voice sound as quiet and humble as possible. "Guys, I didn't didn't even know how I got here-"

She stopped speaking when she saw their implacable expressions. They weren't going to listen to her anymore than the wind would. She stayed down, but spotted a crowbar out of the corner of her eye. Oh yeah... Say hello to my little friend!

When the leader asked her again if she wanted to pray, Agatha seized the crowbar and in a shocking burst of desperation, smashed the big man on the kneecap. Lachtan fell to the ground and howled, "You freakin' hit me!"

As the other two men stood by, shocked that a victim would actually hit back, Agatha got to her feet, set her stance, took batting practice and knocked out Number Two. The other two men ran at her, but she menaced them back until she reached the door. "Come and get some," she challenged.

Bad idea, as the other men came at him. Stunned, she dropped the crowbar and tore out of the door, the howls of the men following her into the night. "You're dead!" they screamed. "You're freakin' dead!"

No, she wasn't-not yet. The cold air revived her, and she ran out of the building and down the alleyway. Strength wasn't her forte, but she could run, and fear and desperation fueled her flight. A metal fence at the end of the alley separated her from the safety of the street. Salvation lay ten feet away, straight up and over.

With a lunge, she jumped halfway up the fence and started to scale it, but a knife sang out of the darkness and buried itself in the back of his right leg. She screamed and fell to the ground. Closing her hands around the haft, she yanked the blade out. Blood spurted from the wound as agony lanced through her body. Try as she might to get up, she couldn't. The enemy closed in on her position, the leader limping noticeably, but she noticed that his injuries were starting to heal and Agatha cowered against the fence.

"You little turd," growled Lachtan. "We usually get rid of the brat quickly, but in your case, we'll make an exception."

"I'm only seventeen," Agatha protested. Why they were doing this to her was wrong and didn't they care? She wanted to shout it, but then realized, just like everyone else, they didn't care. The pack surrounded her and the assault began. Kicks to her ribs and stomach, sharp claws scratching on her face...

Covering up didn't help much. In that period known as the-moment-before-it-all-ended, she silently asked the wind to take her away. All she heard, though, was a whisper. Abruptly, the men stopped the beating. "Did you hear that?" one of them asked nervously. "It sounded like...wings."

"Maybe it's that bat they're talkin' about on the news," another punk said with a note of fear in his voice.

"Shut your mouth," snarled Lachtan. "There ain't no such thing."

The whisper of the wind grew stronger, and a gale force sprang up, pushing the attackers back. It wasn't random. It was as if someone or something had thrown up an invisible column of air, hard and impenetrable. "What's goin' on here?" Lachtan asked with a note of fear in his voice.

His friends didn't say anything, just pointed to the sky. Following their lead, Lachtan looked up and screamed. The other three men screamed as well when someone wearing a black cape dropped out of nowhere to land noiselessly in front of them. Black leather pants and boots completed the picture.

This was no bat. It was a person. It was dressed much the same as the Shifters but it looked sleeker and totally otherworldly. "What in the hell are you?" Lachtan shouted. "What are you?!"

The individual didn't answer. It stood stock still at first, and from her vantage point, Agatha estimated the person to be around six - five. Overly large and all, but whatever this person was, they had some veil of power capable of keeping the scum at bay.

As for this person's gender, it was impossible to tell, even though they wore their hair long. It streamed behind their head like a black waterfall, glossy and full, and shone clearly in the dim light of the streetlamps. Quickly the Shifters forgot about their terror and went on the offensive. Using their weapons as well as their claws, they beat on the newcomer, but the person in black simply allowed them to wail away. Their bullets and pipes and they even used their sharp claws but they just bounced back on the invisible hide.

Finally, in what had to be the last, desperate move of an equally desperate person, Lachtan pulled a pistol from his coat pocket and emptied the clip into the figure in black. He shot at point-blank range, no less than two feet away. No way could he miss...and he didn't. The person jerked around from the impact of the bullets but didn't go down. The ejected cartridges hit the concrete, each of them making a faint pinging sound.

Abruptly the gun clicked empty and it fell from Lachtan's suddenly-nerveless hand. "What's going on?" he screamed in fear as well as frustration. "Why won't you die?!"

"Because I can't," the person answered in a very deep voice.

A guy- It was a man! Agatha shrank back against the fence and watched as he went into action. In a series of moves almost too fast for her eyes to follow, he seized the enemy one by one in an iron grip around their throats and tossed them at the wall in rapid succession. They hurtled through the air, hit the bricks with a sickening thud and fell to the ground.

Seconds later, he strode over in a casual manner to where Lachtan was. Bending over him, he addressed him in a tone colder than ice. "Now, you shouldn't be picking on people. You know better." He waggled his finger as if to underscore his statement.

"Don't kill me," he babbled in a voice thick with fear. "I don't want to die...please."

A second later, he began mewling out of sheer stark raving terror. Through a blur of pain, observed the ownage going on, and it was sweet. Call this a moment to cherish...if he lived that long.

"I'm not going to kill you," the man said.Lachtan shrank back against the brick and his rant shut off like a faucet being twisted. "You're...not? What are you?

His voice softened only a shade, but his eyes has a dangerous glint on it.

Lachtan remained as he replied, "I'm your nightmare come true. The one you don't talk about. And I'll come back if you don't stop what you're doing."

In a lightning fast move, he punched him, just once, but very hard. His head snapped around, connected with the brick, and he slithered to the ground, unconscious. He pirouetted, and Agatha got her first clear view of him. The face was an adult's. He looked to be around his mid 30's and had angular, pretty manly features, but wih very pale white skin, so white it resembled porcelain. His eyes were bloody red, the color of Love and Death. Pretty though he was, her attention wasn't on his face or body. She zeroed in on his teeth.

No, not teeth... he had fangs.

Fangs...it wasn't possible. This was the twenty-first century. People like this didn't exist. Her mind screamed one word-vampire.

She wanted to scream, run away but she knew it was no use with her injuries so she just watched him walk toward her. She was still afraid but she couldn't help but be curious of who the man is. She was-

Her thoughts were cut short when the man was suddenly in front of her. She flinched back but he grabbed her wrist making her stay still.

"I'm not going to hurt or kill you so don't worry" she felt relieved when she heard that but she saw him grab a small bottle with a weird liquid on it.

"Drink this, it will help your wounds heal faster. " he said and with hesitation she drank the weird liquid and felt sleepy but for some reason she felt relaxed. She looked at the man and asked.

"Who are you?"

He just smiled and before she knew it she was consumed by darkness and let the needed sleep take over.

When she woke up. She on her bed. Sweating. And she thought.

' Just A Dream '