The dead of night…


The dead of night, or the calm of morning. It didn’t matter much to Icy. Morals and scruples became meaningless when one allowed oneself to truly attempt and justify their continued use.  In the end, it boiled down to the desire and emotion that one held on to, be it a fleeting moment, or the span of a lifetime.  Those who held on to their morals often operated in the light of the morn, while the opposition dwelled within the refined shadow of evening.

 

Icy preferred neither and both at once.  She was a creature of time, not recognizing any supreme value in either day or night.

 

Her time was now.

 

A deliberate caution hindered somewhat by protesting muscles, Alice Rodgers shifted her arm from the warmth of the expansive chest of Jordan Woodson, reaching for the cold grip of her P .38 handgun she had kept underneath her purse nearby.

 

“So soon?” a gruff voice queried.

 

Her face not betraying the underlying surprise she felt, she turned her vision to the jaded, demanding eyes of the Demon.

 

“You’re supposed to be asleep.”  A light accusation, considering the severity of the situation.

 

“You should know better than that,” he replied, his tone quite a bit lighter than Icy knew it should be.

 

“We finally stopped only twenty minutes ago.  It’s going to be sunrise soon.”  In the darkness of Woodson’s bedroom, Alice’s fine-honed vision caught the moonlight confessing the position of her gun, in Jordan’s hand. His grip was light, but she could tell his every sinew was taught, waiting for her movement to be the slightest bit unfavorable to him.

 

“Looks like the Riot wore you out.  Now you know why I don’t dance.  This was kind of interesting when Nells attempted it on me.”

 

Icy couldn’t help her smile, then.  The story of the wannabe toppler of Jordan Woodson, Nells was quite the tale among his lieutenants. What wasn’t quite clear was how she was caught.  What was crystal clear was how she had paid for her treachery.

 

“You’d put me in the same room as her?” Alice asked with indignance.

 

“You put yourself there, Icy.  I’m just finally lettin’ you see that.”  He stifled a yawn, a movement that flustered Alice, despite herself.  “Why don’t you get some sleep, darlin’?  I’m gonna start breakfast.”

 

He rose without another word, stopping only to throw on a lavender robe and don some fuzzy slippers.  Alice’s patience broke in those moments of silence.

 

“What do you mean?” They were quiet words, but well-reinforced with a deadly venom.

 

“If you have to ask, you’ll never know.  It’s good to see you still have ambition; it means that the guvs didn’t get to you.”

 

Once his presence was gone, Alice allowed herself to wrap the sleeping bag around her naked body and shiver.  She was very aware that she wasn’t cold, and more aware that Woodson was perhaps the sickest, craftiest man she had ever come across, and attempted to cross.  Questions began spinning in her head about the past, about the day the Demon was taken down, but the most prominent question that played with her psyche like a finely tuned harp was thus:

 

Why did she love that man so much more, even now?

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  1. I have to say I am a little confused about who is who and what they are doing, but I think that’s because I haven’t read all of the things before this.

    I’m intrigued!

    Like

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