Within My Grasp Prologue
I laugh as the late night host takes a jab at
the guest on his show and I settle back on the sofa. Using the thick ring I
wear I pop the top off the cold beer I’ve just retrieved from the fridge and
take a long swig. I’m not really one for jewelry but over time I’ve grown
accustomed to the heavy band and some of its finer functions, like how it
doubles as a bottle opener quite nicely. With a flick of my wrist I toss the
cap on the coffee table and try to focus on the television, but I struggle. I’m
tired. It’s nothing new; I can’t remember the last time I wasn’t exhausted. Had
to be before David, I surmise. Surely I’d slept better before the little
monster latched onto me?
As my thoughts shift toward the child I mute
the television and turn toward the closed door across the apartment, behind
which he lies sleeping. My keen Wanderer hearing doesn’t detect anything amiss,
in fact it doesn’t detect anything at all, causing the hairs on the back of my
neck to stand on end. A paralyzing fear snakes its way through my stomach and
before I can think twice I’m off the sofa. Mother’s instinct…that’s how
one of the women at the M.O.P.S. (Mothers of Preschoolers) group I’d been going
to had described it. At the time I’d thought she was nuts and had almost let
her know, using very specific terminology that there was no fucking way I was
plagued by some feminine sixth sense. Then I remembered that they all thought I
was a woman, thanks to a little mental tampering on my part so I could fit in.
Looking at it in that context her assessment wasn’t so offensive, I decided.
Still I’d Googled that shit when I got home only to discover she’d been spot
on. The unexplainable feelings of dread that I sometimes get are apparently
frequent in mothers of small children.
In a flash I’m barreling through David’s door
with no consideration for the sleeping occupant. I can feel a light breeze from
the window that I don’t remember leaving open and panicking I flip on a light.
I run to the bed and yank back the covers that I find nothing out of the
ordinary despite already knowing something is very, very wrong.
“David?” I yell. Sweat beads on my forehead as
my eyes dart from the empty bed to the fluttering curtains and lock on to the
malevolent grin and dark luminescent eyes floating in the shadows. I lunge for
the Sylph calmly hovering mere inches beyond the window sill.
“David,” he says, mimicking my cry with
mocking humor. Before I can get my hands on him he dissipates, leaving tufts of
bright smoke that swiftly extinguish before my eyes.
“David!” I bellow again, fingers dug so
tightly into the window frame that it cracks. I clutch at my chest and spin
about disoriented; it’s difficult to think. I have to move, I have to find him.
My battle-ready body responds to the simple command and all higher reasoning
checks out. I leap through the window into the night; it’s time to hunt.
