Original Stories Fan Fiction ❯ Humans and Monsters ❯ Pen Names and Taxi Games ( Chapter 2 )

[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]
By: Smortz
A rather harsh critic. A vampire out to avenge his kind. Elinore about to lose all her clothes from goons tearing at her. Who the hells driving the taxi?

Miscellaneous: Original Stories Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Supernatural / Action | Type: Other | Uploaded On: 10.13.2009 | Updated On: 10.13.2009 | Pages: 6 | Words: 6.1K | Visits: 253 | Status: Work In Progress

The Pointless Disclaimer: This is my story and my take on the strange monsters our humanity has created. Reviews and messages are appreciated. If there are any typos or grammatical errors I am sorry. I re-read and edit all my chapters at least four times but it'shard to catch them.
 
 
Chapter 2
Landen slipped through the pages of Parazine. The pages weren't the nice polished paper, it was hard newspaper material. It was thick however, and as he sat in the small apartment he shared with his boss, he found the story he was looking for.
 
It was three pages. There was a picture of the scissors, the mansion, the shadow, then the picture of him, glaring at her over his shoulder.
 
“What's it say about us?” His boss asked, leaning back in his chair behind the dark wooden desk. There was a small plastic name holder on the front. It read Deven Sabin.
 
“Here,” Landen cleared his throat as he began reading.
 
“'On an eerie Tuesday night, I began an investigation of a 15thcentury mansion. The mansion had been boarded up and there were many precautions surrounding it. This didn't stop the `accidental' deaths of four people. A brutal stabbing, fatal fall, suicidal jump and a smashed body from a forceful door slam, were these accidental deaths? I needed to know. The back door was hanging on by one hinge and the only furnishing in the house was a bloodstained rug in the lounge. The blood was from a stranger who had trespassed and been brutally stabbed in the throat by a pair of metal scissors.'”
 
Deven interrupted him, laughing gently as he ran a hand through his jet black hair, a common trait on both sides of his family. “She does know how to hook you in,” he commented. Landen shot him a glare before he continued.
 
“The house itself was haunted, the doors all slammed open and shut rhythmically, and the poltergeist was aggressive. I noticed that wherever I went, the scissors - Figure 1 - would be thrown into the room, even my cell phone was thrown into the wall, and a failed attempt of my camera. As I made my way towards the staircase, it seemed to grow angrier, maybe annoyed that I'd been in the house after all the attempts at hurting me. A shadow, not connected at all to my body - Figure 6 - was against the wall, staring at me with a darkness only a person suffering a nightmare would know. It's hand came off the wall, pushing me over the railing and I hit the ground, severely damaging my camera, and sending me into a state of consciousness.
 
“I only came to when there was a man talking; an acquaintance who asked to remain unnamed called my disappearance in. A team, known from a company who also deals in the paranormal business named U.R, located me. The man - Figure 13 - accused me of having amnesia, and of being a stupid journalist. However, I found it peculiar how he seemed to be aware of the poltergeist, even sensing it before I could. He carried me out of the house as the slamming of doors and windows got louder and even drove me all the way home with another man, both never gave me a name or number.
 
“So in this story, instead of giving a conclusion of the paranormal activity - since its already concluded the poltergeist is indeed existent, and the house is haunted - I'm giving a critic review of the man's work… that bitch,” Landen snarled throwing the rest of the paper against the wall. His cheeks flushed in anger and he watched Deven stand up and with an even paced out elegance retrieve it.
 
His usually calm, expressionless manor turned into an amused child's. “Oh, I do like her,” he answered before clearing his throat.
 
“The man who rescued me also scared me. His appearance reminded me of a child molester, silently stalking a child after offering her an ice cream cone. He made me feel comfortable, in fact almost made me thinkhe was worried, before his attitude changed completely. His accusations of my intelligence angered me. Yes, passing over precautions are not the smartest thing to do, and also going into a house four people died in is not the smartest thing to do. However, if he has the right to call me stupid for reporting and explaining whythere are precautionsthere, I have the right to call him stupid also. His business, U.R., is a paranormal rescue team, like the priest from Exorcist they work to release spirits or search for mysterious disappearances.His workis not much different from mine.
 
“The other man, his chaffier, I didn't mind. He remained calm, and was kind enough to keep the molester quiet after threatening to shove me in the trunk. In conclusion to this long review, I have figured out what their business name stands for,” Deven sighed at the last two words before repeating them, “Utterly rude.”
Elinore sighed, dropping her purse on the counter of her kitchen. The two bedroom apartment was small, cozy, and cheap.
 
The flooring was a corkboard floor, cheap and worked to soundproof the hormonal couple in the room below her. The walls were painted differently in each room, the kitchen a dark, luscious orange, matching the white tile that covered it. Setting a sauce pan over the electric stove she leaned her lower back against the island behind her.
 
“Do you always leave your apartment unlocked?”
 
She screamed in surprised turning on her heels to stare at the intruder.
 
“I'll call the cops!” She threatened with her voice stern.
 
“Phone's disconnected,” he answered.
 
Elinore couldn't see the man. He was standing in the corner of her living room. The lights were turned out like she'd left them. He was big, not overweight, but muscular, and buff. He stood at six feet maybe taller, and with wide broad shoulders reminded her of a bear.
 
“What do you want?” She asked as she reached into her pocket, the pocketknife she carried around about to prove itself useful.
 
“A story,” he answered.
 
Her eyebrow raised in confusion. “A-A story?”
 
“Yes,” he answered, his voice low, dangerous. It wasn't threatening though, almost entertained.
 
“I-,” she couldn't get a word out as he cut her off.
 
“I've read all your works, you're probably my favorite author,” he explained, shifted to where he was no longer leaning against the wall.
 
She could see the silhouette of his face. Oval shaped, definitely bald, and ears that seemed too small for his head. “I want you to tell me where the U.R. headquarters are,” he explained.
 
Elinore had to run the name through her head before the gruff man returned to her mind. “I don't know where they're located, if you want I could give you a number and have someone call and give you information. You see they took me straight here, and I never got their names,” she explained calmly, taking a deep breath in relief that he wasn't after something else.
 
“Shame, I guess you'll have to come with me then,” he began, stepping out of the shadows.
 
That's when she made her move. Sprinting for the front door she was happy when it slammed closed behind her. The elevator signaled it was on the fifth floor. The next floor up, and she didn't have time to wait.
 
Her feet found the stairs easy, having taken them whenever she was running behind and the elevator was just to slow. Her skirt gave away, a tearing noise echoing in the stairwell as it reached her mid-thigh. “Damnit,” she growled.
 
The first floor door was thrown open by her and she gasped seeing Aaron face down on the floor in front of the door.
 
“Idiot,” she cursed, falling and sliding to the side of him, slapping his cheek, “get up!”
 
His wrist caught hers, holding her in place as the stair entrance door opened. The man, resembling a bear, stood there. Large fangs covered his bottom lip, his eyes were pulled back almost like he'd squinted in the sun and someone had taped them like that.
 
She pulled Aaron's grip off, his eyes opened. They were so flat, so emotionless, like under a trance, and awaiting orders. She gapped at him, shoving his arm away and jumping over him. She pushed the heavy door open and began the sprint down the street.
 
People's arms flew at her, as if there was some bounty on her head. Fingers tugged on her hair, ripped into her jacket and scarf. “Get off me!” She begged, her mind reeling for a safe place to go.
 
The sun had set an hour ago, she thought as she dug around her pockets for something. A wrinkled, light blue post-it note found its way into her hand. She didn't remember writing it, and the address on it was unfamiliar. However, in the current situation she didn't think she had a choice.
 
Her feet carried her towards a subway station, before she went against it. If that man reached there, maybe people would grab and hold her down. She didn't feel up to it to test out her theory as she continued by it.
 
People stopped grabbing at her, and her breathing wasn't the best anymore. The building was in front of her as she buzzed it repeatedly. The buzzard was anything but gentle chimes, it was irritating and she gasped when a voice came over the intercom.
 
“Hello?”
 
“Help! Let me in!” She begged as a man grabbed at her back.
 
The door opened and a hand pulled her inside. She hit a strong chest and the door slammed on the man's fingers, his hold on her shirt giving in instantly.
 
“Thank you,” she chanted, “thank you, thank you, thank you!”
 
“Don't thank me,” he growled.
 
Her voice caught in her throat, her breath next as she stared at the molester. His fingers were woven into the hem of her shirt and she gapped pulling his wrist away. Sighing she bowed her head in apology.
 
“S-Sorry about the article, there's an apology in the next issue, and about how I treated you, I was just mad, about the whole stupid comment,” she muttered out.
 
When she looked up, wide eyes were staring back at her in shock. He looked away, and she blinked her blue eyes at him. “You shaved?” She asked in awe.
 
The stubble that had littered the bottom half of his face was gone, skin so smooth and pail it made him look like he was glowing. Golden eyes or maybe it was the lighting and they were just brown, stared ahead of him and she blinked at the reddish brown tresses that were tickling his neck.
 
“I shaved,” he retorted smartly, his voice still that gruff, low voice. “Here,” he added rather quietly, taking off the black leather jacket and pushing it at her. “You look like shit.”
 
Elinore ignored the comment as he led her up the flight of stairs. The realization of it hit her like a person jumping off a skyscraper. “O-Oh my god,” she gasped, stopping on the step, “I-I led him to you, I'm so sorry.”
 
His eyes looked over his shoulder at her, “Its fine, whoever it is can't get in even if he wanted to.”
 
The explanation did little to calm her down, “T-Then he'll get in by force, he was in my house, and Aaron, he… he-.”
 
The leather hit her bare shoulders. Her jacket had been ripped off long ago, and the leather caressed her tender skin like cold lotion. His hands held it on before he tugged it closed and buttoned the middle button. “He can't get in,” he repeated tightly before resuming his ascent. “Your doorman will be just fine too,” he added.
 
Elinore stared at his back; even under the black t-shirt she could tell it was firm, muscular. He was taller then the man that had been in her apartment, yet leaner, a lot thinner.
 
The stairs were cut short when he led her down a worn out hall. There was a small office door that he opened for her and she stepped through, the knee-length black skirt, tightened as she took the long step in the door.

The skirt was finally going on strike after running so far. It ripped higher, thee sound making her cringe and she stared down at her bare feet in shame.
 
“How'd you know where we were?” He asked as he walked passed her towards the fridge. She was almost shocked at the change, it was like extreme maker, molester edition.
 
The driver she'd met walked into the room, his glasses hanging low on his tanned nose. He was holding Parazine and gave her a smile, “It's a very accurate magazine.”
 
Elinore smiled softly at the compliment, she barely got one on the thing. “Thank you,” she replied before she tightened the coat around her torso, “its time consuming.”
 
“You're digging yourself an early grave,” he warned, “these things can get out of hand. Do you run this magazine by yourself?”
 
“Of course not, I co-own with a pass publisher, and we have some sponsors through college universities and small franchises,” she explained, “a-and it's time consuming and… I like doing it. It's interesting.”
 
The man nodded before he held out his hand, “Deven Sabin, the found of Utterly Rude.”
 
She cringed, shaking his hand, “Elinore Vanhok, like hawk. I-I' sorry for the review, I published an apology in the next issue.”
 
“Oh? It's quite alright,” Deven returned almost instantly, “our business does stand for something different though, it's full name is UR Unusual Rescue.”
 
“T-That makes sense,” she returned.
 
“Have a seat, or-do you want some clothes? I'm sure Landen can find you something to wear,” he suggested looking her over.
 
The exaggerated A-line cut she had was tangled, tousled and teased from being mishandled and tugged. She'd never believed in make-up, but her eyes were red from exhaustion and teary from her extended running period. Her shoes had came off back at her apartment and the skirt had wrapped to the band, her red satin panties showing down the slit.
 
Her shirt, hidden under Landen's jacket was in shreds, and her bra was easily visible. “W-Who was he though?” She asked.
 
“A vampire most likely,” Deven returned with ease.
 
Her eyes widened and she reached for her purse. She hated how she had left it at home. “No way!” She shouted in objection and excitement as she closed the gap between them. “Do you think he'll talk to me…?”
 
Landen snorted from the kitchen, popping open a beer with a broken edge of a tile. “Yea, sure, after he either kills your or turns you into his goon,” he murmured.
 
Her brain was already doing flips, “What else exists, please tell me,” she begged.
 
Landen sneered at her. “So you can do what? Publish it in that fake magazine of yours?”
 
Elinore gasped offensively, “I-it's not fake! I work hard to publish only the real storie-.”
 
Landen snorted again, chuckling dryly, the sound hollow, “Okay, sorry to get your panties in a twist.”
 
Elinore swallowed hard, his fists clenching before unclenching rhythmically. “Do you have anyone to call?” Deven asked, as if to break the uncomfortable silence that were between the three.
 
She looked up at him, he had worried eyes and smiled, “No.”
 
“Parents? Husband?” He offered and she shook her head, “Nope. Who is that guy though?” She asked. Landen watched her hand look towards under her arm and her frown deepen, “Shit, I left everything at my home.”
 
“He's a vampire,” Deven explained before he tossed the magazine on a dark wooden coffee table, in front of a black leather sofa.
He walked towards a closet opening it only to pool out a longer jacket, a full length business coat actually. A dark brown, with white pinstripes and a large collar, Deven handed it to her and she took off Landen's jacket to pull that one over her.
 
The sleeves were too long, and the bottom hem was falling between her toes. “Thank you,” she murmured as she cradled the leather jacket in one arm.
 
Deven only nodded in return. “The vampire, can you explain him? What did he look like?” He asked, his voice a serious tone she only knew as a meeting tone, one she'd used when ordering others around for information.
 
“Uh, huge, like a bear, he was bald,” she explained, “six feet, just short of Landen though, either really fat or really muscular, he had pointy ears and an egg shaped head, squinty eyes also.”
 
They didn't give any emotion filled expressions. No reaction to let her in on anything. Landen was still quiet, leaning against the kitchen counter and Deven had moved to sit in a high leather chair behind an office desk.
 
“Did he say anything?” Deven asked, pushing his glasses higher on his nose. Elinore shook her head before she moved to sit in the corner of the couch, covering her lips to hide a yawn. “No, nothing in particular, he snuck in to my apartment when I was at work, and was asking where your headquarters were located,” she explained before shivering, “…said I was his favorite author.”
 
“I thought you were a journalist?” Landen asked smartly, leaning over the counter with a beer cupped in his hands. She found herself staring at him. Those hollow cheekbones were large, strong, and those eyes seemed to really shine even without light. “I-I write books also, mystery and supernatural.”
“Oh?” Deven asked his eyes widening in interest, “Do you use a pen name?” He pressed on further.
 
Elinore nodded, “Yea, I do.”
 
She didn't really like giving her alias away, not when she could help it. “That's why when he said I was his favorite author it worried me, there's no connection with me to my pen name, not even my magazine.”
 
Deven sighed in thought. “He definitely sounds familiar, Landen,” he said suddenly, “walk Ms. Vanhok home, make sure she gets there safely and that man is no where around.”
 
Landen and her both moved to protest, however she fought for control and succeeded. She couldn't say the same thing for Landen as he snarled at Deven. “What?! Why don't you go?” He asked angrily before continuing, “Better yet why don't we just let her go alone?”
 
Elinore rolled her eyes before sighing in disappointment reaching for the office phone to dial a number she was familiar with.
 
“Fine, I will go, alone,” she sneered, “I wouldn't want to take up any of your drinking time.”
 
Landen nodded, “Good, have a good night.”
 
The opposite side picked up and she cleared her throat to proclaim her order, “I need a taxi.”
 
She had to retrieve the purple post-it note she had to repeat the address and when she spoke the words she hated the fear that was creeping through her. The thought the vampire knew where she lived, even the thought they really existed.
 
She hung up the phone, “They said it'll take a half hour to forty-five minutes.”
 
“Landen will go-“
 
A loud door slam left her and Deven alone in the room. “I-Is he always like that?” She asked quietly, as if the man would still hear her.
 
Deven chuckled, “Usually.”
 
“How do you deal with it?” She asked. Deven's chuckle turned into a light laugh, a mature one.
 
“I learned silence,” he replied. Elinore nodded in admiration before smiling at the name tag, “So you're really the boss?”
 
Devin gave a crooked grin, one that surprised her and he nodded. “I'm Mr. Bossman.”