Chapter 1

“You’ve never talked about your family before, you know.”

It was dark and slightly unsettling in the kitchen; night-time had taken its usual toll on the world. Everything was still, quiet, and splashed with shades of gray and black. One kitchen light, stark against the dull monochromatic tones around them, somewhat illuminated the futuristic room in which the two sat. It was just a kitchen, but when dressed in that post-modern attire, any room seemed imported from space.

Usually, an ambience like this did not bother him, but, as his eyes darted to the woman across the table from him, he realized what, or, more applicably, who, the problem was: her.

“You’ve told me a lot of things about yourself, about your home, about the society and technology. You can tell me a little bit more, can’t you?”

She was sneaky, he had to admit that: stream-lined like a dolphin and sly like a weasel, and quick as a striking snake. When she wanted something, she got it, grabbed it, even if it took a bit of uncomfortable maneuvering and relentless interrogation. Back when he was younger and squashed beneath the scrutinizing gaze of his bodyguard, he would have laughed in her face. Older, more numb, and dumber (maybe), he now knew that this, a pretty young woman with glistening intelligence, was a wonderful weapon. He inwardly cringed at the epiphany, and continued to glare at her, outwardly unwavering.

She sighed and shifted her position, her curls shaking momentarily. Replacing her left hand with her right, she balanced her head there, sharp elbow against the lacquered white table. The muted quality of their surroundings caused her colors, even her pale skin, to appear unnaturally bright, angrily so. The blue of her eyes and hair struck the grays and blacks and off-whites like frantic lightning; the orange of her sweater burned like a match; her lips, a reddish pink, before once so small and delicate to him, seemed infected, diseased, like a painful wound. Another quiver jolted his organs, but years of training taught his eyes better. Like the room around him, he was silent and unassuming, black irises piercing like a hawk’s talons. Only his eyes, the contrast of charcoal-black and flour-white, stood out; the rest remained hidden, shadowed, as he commanded himself to be.

For the thirty minutes they had been sitting there, “chatting,” as she called it, he answered her questions curtly, since, at first, her intentions came across as purely scientific. She did allow him to stay in her house, after all, and throughout their conversation she reminded him of this, subtly berating him with guilt. It was a tactic utilized commonly by women of her intellectual stature, especially if the female perceived the man as weak in that aspect. She could tell that the way to open the door to his mind and all its sordid secrets was to pick or chip away at it, like a scab or slab of marble. She also knew that he saw her façade, and was not enjoying this whole experience. He had noticed that as each minute passed, the smile on her face transformed into a smear of make-up, a plastered piece that grew grotesque in its fakeness. The evolving grin soon betrayed her ulterior motives.

What she may or may not have perceived was that he had already finished the mental maze she set up for him. He inferred that she had manipulated men all of her life, delicately removing information as if it all hung upon a spider’s web. To his displeasure, he imagined her fingers roaming through his brain matter, dissecting it with those acrylic red nails of hers. Removing the image with a quick downward movement of his eyebrows, he returned to the present, to the reality, and stared, listless and annoyed. Although she seemed to be a mechanical, complicated mess at first meeting, he saw her now as a creature of habit, one used to getting what she desired, one used to outsmarting all those around her, one used to grinning just like that and unnerving her “victims,” so to say. She had shot down one of the protective walls around his mind, for it was the once easily destroyed by the careless beauty she possessed. He was able to admit that, now; she was alluring, another attribute she used to her advantage. Yet he sensed that she did not know he was peering into her, discovering more than she would have liked.

If you gaze long into the abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you.

How true for two depraved creatures as them. They were peering into each other.