The Book : Part 2

Welcome to a mini series brought to you by Christopher J. Perger. If you are first time reading this blog segment, I highly suggest that you start with "The Book : Part 1". After all, the only climax you'll get is from the proper illustrated placement.

Cheers

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“May I take your coat?” the welcoming man on staff asked me.

“Surely,” I replied as I slid my overcoat off and handed it to him. He took it from me and coolly turned away to closet it nearby the door.

I rolled my shoulders and tossed my neck sideways bringing out a series of cracks. I sauntered over to the bar, glancing from patron to patron in search for her.

I leaned an elbow upon the bar and scanned dance floor.

“Where the fuck is she?” I softly asked.

“What’ll it be, chief?” the bartender asked in a chipper.

“I’m thinking a shot of-” my answer choked in my throat as I took in the sight of her behind the bar.

Sharice’s hair was curled at the tips and dyed a blood red. I barely recognized her through get up; eye shadow thick and lipstick matching her hair. She wore a black silk shirt that maliciously covered her breasts and tight, black leather pants.

“Really? You’re still drinking shots of tequila, Julius?” She cupped her right hand to her hip, and cocked her head to the side with a curious smile.

I returned a smile and as I glanced back towards the entrance to make sure I hadn’t been followed said, “Old habits die hard.”

“New habits die even harder,” she whispered in my ear. She now stood right behind me, her smell as intruding as her words.

I spun in my chair to face her. “The tequila can wait. Care for a dance?”

She snapped her fingers, bringing a passionate rhythm of a saxophone through the place, and then offered her hand to me.

I cradled her hand in my own, and escorted her out to the floor.

“I never thought you the dancing type,” Sharice said, a sly smile grounding her face. She eloquently followed me out to the center of the floor, other fellow dancers giving a glance at us and parting out of our way.

“Well, I honestly never thought I’d meet the dancing type tonight,” I whispered into her ear as we nestled each other close, one arm around her waist and a hand with hers, fingers intertwined and close to our faces. As our cheeks rested together, I softly said, “Why did he give you a chance?”

She jolted lightly and reared her head back to grace me with eyes of shock. Her bottom lip quivered lightly as she looked past me, and then slowed the dance to a halt. She squeezed my hand that she held as her eyes widened.

“Because he gave you a chance,” Sharice said, face fallen into complete disbelief. “They’re here.”

“I know,” I replied. “Just keep dancing.”

Hesitantly, we got going again, the flow of our dance less smooth this time; as though it’s forced.

“He knows what you’re doing, Julius,” she sternly said. Her eyes were affixed to the whereabouts by the entrance. I didn’t have to look to know that there was probably some men of the larger type giving a bother to the welcoming staff. Men that aren’t as they appear. Men that have unseen wings and wield the word of my father. Sharice’s father.

“Sister, he knows nothing. They’re pawns on a chess board to him. A fucking science experiment. And how many times must I tell you, call me Lucifer,” my words slithered.

Sharice pulled me close to her, the warmth of her body heating me uncomfortably. Her hand began burning in a way that made me doubt my intentions in meeting her that night. I glanced at our hands clenched together to see them boiling. Literally.

“Brother, you don’t know what he has in mind. They aren’t only pawns. They are us!” I heard her teeth grit between her words, and her syllables very pronunciated.

She pushed me away from her, arms extending after the blow so far that they buckled and broke at the elbows. A suddenness of surprise ran through me as I flew back and fell upon a table at the edge of the dance floor.

I slowly got to my feet, brushing the remnants of the tabletops holdings off of me as I did so. As I met Sharice’s eyes and realized how red they had grown, the prophet-men from the entrance were at my side and placing their hands upon my shoulders.

“It’s time to go home, Julius,” the one at my right said. His voice was light, entrapping even. “You’re father needs to speak with you.”

“I don’t have a father,” I muttered lightly enough for them to edge their ears closer to hear.

I grabbed each of their ears and twisted with all the strength I had. As I held my eyes on Sharice, her body buckled forward and attending to her broken elbows (snapping them back forward with as little as a small shutter), I tore an ear from each of men next to me. Knowing it would do very little to the angels, I ducked and ran, throwing the ears at my sister as I made it towards the back door.

A moment later I shoved the door open and had bullets wining by me. Two of them planted into my hip as I rounded out of the doorway and headed down the alleyway.

The daylight hit me abnormally, and I knew it to be of his work, considering it was 12:30 in the A.M. My legs buckled underneath me and I fell hard against the building side in the alley.

“Fuck,” I screamed.

The backdoor I had just exited flew open and Sharice gallantly walked over to me.

“Tell me, brother. Have you found Jesus?” She asked it in a way that claimed business.

A smile slithered its way onto my face.

“Well, as a matter of fact-“