After a rather exhausting journey, I am once more home. Well…at one of my several homes, that is. A person with a career such as mine would be foolish to keep only one bolt-hole, after all. This home happens to be in Harlem, a lovely area I’ve become rather fond of. It is a two-story brownstone, quite well-stocked with money, supplies, and weaponry, as well as tasteful furnishings, a piano, and most of my rather extensive book collection. We just arrived an hour or two ago, and Morgan left almost immediately to purchase some clothes for himself. While he was out, I thought I would take the time to update you, dear readers, and share a small anecdote from the trip home.
We stopped in a small town in southeast Iowa to refuel the Mustang. As we were still wanted by federal authorities, I was attempting to avoid stopping in larger cities. This was mid-morning, and the only other person at the station was a young man in a surprisingly decrepit subcompact. He was overweight, though in a stocky way that managed to be interesting without being repulsive. He was watching me as he fueled his vehicle, surprisingly icy and calm blue eyes shielded behind round wire-frame glasses. Now, I’m quite accustomed to men staring at my figure. This one, however, was staring at my face. He appeared to recognize me, which I found odd. I’m certain I’d never been to this part of the United States before, so there was no reason for him to know me.
After he had finished filling his tank, he calmly resealed it and walked over to me. I could see Morgan inside the convenience store, bristling protectively. Something about this boy made me uneasy. He stopped a fair distance away from me, arms crossed over his barrel-like chest.
“You’re Andromeda, aren’t you?”
I blinked. This boy was too young to be a Federal agent. That automatically meant he was either a Proxy like myself, or a Runner (in which case he’d be RUNNING, not talking to me). No matter what, I had to be cautious.
“Yes, I am. Who are you?”
“Thomas Crane.” This boy was incredibly cool. He obviously knew who I was, yet he wasn’t reacting at all. This…worried and impressed me at the same time.
“What do you want with me, Mr. Crane?”
He smirked slightly. The light reflecting off his glasses temporarily hid his eyes, giving his next words an added bit of menace. “You killed one of my cousins. I kinda took exception to that. Y’see, I used to live with them, and I’m kinda protective.” At this point he pulled a butterfly knife from his pocket, casually flipping it open.
I replied calmly, keeping one eye on the knife. “Well, I can’t honestly say I REGRET doing it, but I will tell you that it was rather a while ago, and holding on to grudges will only end poorly for you. Now, you’re not actually going to USE that knife, are you? After all, it’s broad daylight.”
He chuckled at me. Actually chuckled. This boy had ice water for blood. “What makes you think I care?”
He moved rapidly, faster than I could counter. The knife drove itself up to the hilt in my left shoulder. As I was trying to puzzle out how the boy could move that fast, Morgan came barreling out of the store, roaring. I barked at him to get in the car and get us out of there. Mr. Crane watched us go, smirking. It wasn’t until we were passing through Akron that I remembered to pull the knife out of my shoulder. I’d stopped bleeding by this point, of course, but still felt faint. Even now my shoulder is sore, though it’s improving. Morgan is home, so I’m afraid I’ll have to go now, dears. I hope I’ve given all of you something to think about.
Ta ta for now, dears.