Fang Chronicles

Chapter 5: Part 1

Amy glared at her friend Brian. If he didn't stop yelling, she was cutting him out of her non-existent will. She'd had it. He didn't even care that the drugs were barely out of her system. He didn't care that her face still hurt. Oh no, he was more interested in pounding her head with his words.

"Enough, Brian. If you don't stop, I swear, I'll have the hospital remove you."

"Try! You are a stupid, idiotic, fluff-for-brains female." He scowled down at her. "s**t! I don't know why I even bother."

As he stormed from the room, Amy knew he would be back and that she deserved the long lecture. He loved her like a sister, and as with any sibling, his anger would cool. It just wasn't going to happen while the evidence of the assault on her face stared back at him. Once she healed, she would apologize and invite his wife and him over for his favorite dinner.

Amy's mind reviewed the events of the past twenty-four hours. Her head might be groggy, but she remembered bits and pieces. The one thing that stood out was the perfect profile of her rescuer. Mesmerizing was the only way she could truly describe him. His face was sculptured like a God's. His eyes a soft brown, she knew she must have imagined their amber glow the first time she'd seen them. Why had he taken her to a place where she was injected with more drugs and then dumped her back in the same alley?

She told the police about none of this. She let them think she was drugged and knocked out. The rape kit they did showed nothing. With hours missing, Amy hadn't been certain. So, she allowed the invasive procedure. She wanted to be sure.

The only marks showing her struggles to live were on her face. A tremor rippled through her. She didn't know if her attacker was dead or alive but knew she could identify him. Oh God! What if he came after her?

She wrapped her arms around herself and rocked. She vaguely remembered his body flying through the air. Could he have survived? She knew it wasn't good Karma, but she hoped he was dead. She suspected he was the killer of the young women. But how had her savior lifted, let alone tossed, a two-hundred-pound body across the alley?

Prostitutes were assaulted every day. Did some drop-dead gorgeous man rescue them too? She knew this wasn't true.

Amy left the hospital with a medium sized plastic bag in hand. Brian had returned and brought her requested items from her apartment. The plastic bag contained a few things provided by a woman's crisis advocate. The police took custody of the clothes she had been wearing when she was attacked. After Amy got home, she stayed in her small apartment and typed on her laptop. When she was in her writing groove, she rarely knew what was going on around her.

She finally came up for air and turned on her favorite celebrity news show. She could watch the evening news, but when she was writing a serious article, she enjoyed the gossip fluff more. She started to flip the channel as a hard news story broke, then her eyes narrowed on the screen at the photo. "Breaking news: A merger between ICon Industries and Flex, Inc. ICon's latest takeover is complete. It happened faster than their usual acquisitions. Few details have been released. Owner and CEO, Marcus Lincoln, one of the country's most eligible bachelors, is unavailable for comment."

Amy's heart skipped a beat at the grainy photo. He was the man in the alley, the one who saved her.

The news story continued, "Candid photos are rare. While, Mr. Lincoln is portrayed as a playboy, he is seldom seen in public and behaves more like Howard Hughes. In his rare appearances, he has a different beauty on his arm, whose identity always remains a mystery. This female reporter loves nothing better than a puzzle, and Marcus Lincoln is an enigma."

Floored, Amy froze the picture on the screen and focused on his incredible face. What would Marcus Lincoln be doing in a dark alley? He didn't sound like someone that would even be caught dead on the South Side of the city. Not that she was ungrateful, but she had questions that needed to be answered.

***

It took a week for the bruises to fade. The daytime makeup hid the majority of the damage that was left. Amy felt good as she marched into Henry's office. Brian might still be furious at the risk she took, but Henry was ecstatic.

"Your story's gone viral, Amy. This type of work is exactly what we want. Your career is on the rise."

"Thanks, all it took was almost getting raped and killed, but anything for a good story."

"That's the attitude. So, what are you working on now?" Her words went right over Henry's head.

She shook her finger at him. "Henry..." He didn't expect an answer, but he tried every time. She always played her stories close to the chest. That was one of the lovely things about being an independent journalist...she wrote on spec and didn't discuss her next project.

"I promise it will be good. Maybe more in depth than this one, but it'll be a few weeks before you have it. I'll keep in touch. You know my price has gone up."

"If it's as good as or better than this one, you'll deserve the increase."

After she left the office, she decided to drive by Marcus' residence. It was just outside the city. When she arrived at the address Google had for him, she faced a six-foot brick wall and iron gates. As a security man approached her, she rolled down her window. It was amazing how the rich lived. A forest of trees hid the home from the road.

"May I help you, Miss?"

"I'm wondering if Mr. Lincoln is available. I don't have an appointment, but I think if you tell him I'm here he'll speak with me. Tell him Amy Cox from the alley is here."

"Mr. Lincoln is not in residence at this time and I'm unable to give his current location."

"Can you get a message to him?"

"Yes, I will let his people know you come to call."

Come to call, it seemed such a funny, old-fashioned way of speaking. The other phrase that got her was "his people." Proof the rich didn't live like the rest of the world. Amy's disappointment was tempered. She knew it wouldn't be easy. However, the guard told her plenty with his choice of words, "Not in residence and unable to give his current location."

The Internet was a wonderful tool, and she would have the information soon. Mr. Lincoln wouldn't stay hidden from her for long. Unfortunately, her recorder had been missing from the hidden pocket in her shorts so immediate answers weren't available but she knew who had them. The so-called playboy would soon discover; she didn't play.