Work in progress

Peter "Gabriel" Abraham picked up his pace. He had no time to lose. It was starting to get dark around him. Clouds had gathered overhead and there was a sense of gloom in the air. A cat meowed in the distance and an old homeless man rummaging through a trashcan paused to have a look at him. The man considered the stranger for a moment and went back to his business, clearly uninterested. The wind was beginning to pick up speed and Peter had to adjust his hat more than once; but he kept on walking. He had less than an hour to complete his task.

He had barely walked ten paces down the alley when Peter found himself staring at the dead-end ahead. It was lit by a single Sodium lamp and the light was casting eerie shadows on the brick walls nearby. The sun appeared to have set. Or maybe it was her, thought Peter. He could see there was a figure moving impatiently in the shadows. Lucy had arrived.

“You’re late,” spat Lucy.

“I got held up,” said Peter nervously.

Lucy stepped closer to him and as the light hit her face Peter could tell she was trying hard to suppress her anger. Brow furrowed and jaws clenched, she had an air of someone ready to kill.

The Tracker gave Peter a piercing stare. Her cold, dark eyes seemed to bore into his, as if she was trying to read his every thought. It did nothing to improve his nerves.

“Where is it?” she demanded.

“Somewhere safe.”

“Somewhere safe? Somewhere safe? I thought I told you to bring it to me!”

“Well,” said Peter, still nervous but not giving in, “it’s safer where it is right now. In any case, I couldn’t have removed it even if I wanted to. He wouldn’t have let me.”

“Then you should’ve fought for it, fool,” snapped Lucy.

“I didn’t want to.”

There was a pause. Peter could hear the distant rumbling of thunder.

“Why ever not?” she asked curtly

“I… I’m no match for him.”

“You’re pathetic,” she spat again.

“I’m sorry,” said Peter, and he meant it.

“You’re sorry? No, Gabriel, you’re not sorry. Not yet, anyway.”

Peter looked at her.

“Kneel!” she commanded.

Peter did as he was told. He didn’t know what Lucy was about to do but he hoped and prayed she would be lenient with him. She took his hat and tossed it aside unceremoniously.

Peter watched as it rolled away into a nearby dent.

Lucy put her right hand on his head. Her long, sharp nail dug into his scalp and Peter let out a whimper of pain as she began to draw a line across it. He felt her finger move in the shape of a triangle. Blood started trickling down his hair and Peter watched, horrified, as a big drop of it fell from the tip of his nose to the ground with an audible thwack. His entire body was shaking.

“Get up,” she barked.