Pinnacle Thoroughfare, called simply The Fare by its denizens, was quite outwardly ordinary if but exceedingly picturesque on the outskirts.

What better way to attract the influx of tourists needed for the funds necessary for the town to survive on?

Passing by the huge wooden welcome sign of aged brown oak and crisp white paint, was the date of est. of The Fare being listed as 1861, one entered the business district, as it were, and the town welcomed you, its new arrivals…

With wide open arms.

The town was a clinic in art and history and every direction one could gaze was rewarded with a visual fest.

The Fare was quite breathtaking.

Much like the plaza outside the Vatican, the building tops in the business district of downtown, every one, were littered with an assembly of statues, but these of varying style, orientation, culture and poses.

Not one was alike, save for the common characteristic they were all winged, not one. They were statues of stone and marble.

There were carved dragons, angels, ferries, gargoyles, skeletons and the occasional horned demon thrown in for good measure, dozens, if not hundreds marred the rooftops in jagged procession. Some were tall, some were short, some skinny, some fat, some stood, others lurked, peeking around chimneys, rooftops and steeples…

Some seemingly laughed flamboyantly at their own little internal, eternal jokes, with toothy smiles and pointed horns, while others looked down in sheer menace at the mortals below them, wrapped tightly in their bat wings or angel cloaks.

Then some sentries seemed lost in their own abject misery, while others seemed all but unconcerned with the world going on below them.

They all watched.

Each statue was unique in color, style, emotion, entity and appearance, but all eyes were created, directed down to watch the world going on below them. Every statue on every buildings edge and corner, every angel, gargoyle, or other worldly being watched with open eyes that which went on around them as if studying close & taking notes.

Stalking.

That was the feeling one got almost immediately upon entering the town – Stalked.

No matter how beautiful or breathtaking from the onset, you were almost immediately unsettled as the oppressive stone eyes above, seemingly watching your entrance into their town. The eyes stalked your trek as you progressed onward with their stone cold, un-blinking eyes, and that feeling settled upon you like a deadened weight growing heavier with every passing second.

In this town, with so many stone occupants, it was hard to ever really feel alone, even when you were.

The stone sentries were a vivid reminder of that fact that something was always about…

Watching.

It was a decidedly eerie feeling and one that lent to the spooky reputation of the town once one was able to get passed the intimidating beauty that menaced from above however, ones eye’s were drawn down to the storybook township that seemed to exist, just waiting, below the sentries of stone.

Beautiful shops and restaurants of downtown were quaint in their Tudor style abodes of aged grey wood with white starch trim, and black iron trimmed gable windows.

Here shop signs hung proudly outside, on iron posts, in hand-painted wood free-falling style, rattling from chains that would blow in the breeze, seemingly swinging ever aimlessly in their existence, in both benedictions and introductions to that which was housed behind the various old oak doors.

Clearly outlined with limestone brick paved streets, leading up to immaculately kept sidewalks barring nary a crack to be found.

The businesses were stacked neatly in rows of three and four shops to every city block. The main street pierced forward to the heart of the community, towards its schools campus all the while breaking off in varying directions, like veins from a main artery, branching off to the roots of the town and heading towards paths unknown.

“Dark by noon,” Was the towns motto, and so it was.

The Fare was a place where more often than not, darkness prevailed and the light was hard won…

Artificial or not.

Green French style Gas lamps often lit the way, like fun trails of bread crumbs to be followed by adventurous tourists. However as the day advanced into the darkness of late day, these same lights, with their gargoyle sentry tops, transformed seamlessly into torch lights of hope glowing in the ever pervading cancerous night.

The further one got into town however, the seemingly less picturesque the town became as the mask of perfection slipped.

Slowly, inwardly as one traveled, the towns age began to reveal itself in older buildings, some having fallen victim to overuse or disrepair.

While the newer shops of the business district were the hub of The Fare’s robust tourist activity, thanks to the town’s reputation, the businesses of Main Street in the older part of town, were where the citizens lived their daily lives.

Putting aside all thoughts of those which watched them from above, out of their mind, marking it off as commonplace, the citizens of The Fare often ignored what made their town so popular in the first place.

That of which was as far removed from the everyday as possible.

Here older brick building of varying styles and sizes stood, with marred multi-colored rooftops a mixture of aged shingles and rusted metal. businesses lined the broken brick battered street of Main. Here were there dwellings of its inhabitants and were they seemed to congregate.

All of them.

The expected and the not so expected.

The older section of town, not quite so visually spectacular had more of a hometown feel and was often a nice reprieve from the barrage of visual effects bombarded down upon one by the newer area of town. Many a tourist could be found here on a nice day, when the sun was out, exploring the shops and wares to be had.

As a whole, both visually and historically, it was a town that called to the thrill seekers, and those out for a good fright.

A fright not alone of course because of the visual experience, which was fawned upon by those lovers of a mixture of elegance and old school style, but for the atmosphere of the town, no matter what part you were in, that always seemed to lurk darkly just underneath and whispered of the supernatural.

The damned.

Two little old men, sat every day outside the tin fronted feed store on Main Street.

The store had two small square windows, on both sides of the centermost red entrance door, and they were splashed with advertisements about feed, fresh eggs and bales of hay.

It was here where the men parked themselves for the duration of the day and they did so comfortably under the rusted metal awning that graced the establishment’s entrance. They sat in old weather beat metal chairs stained brown with rust, feeding the doves and crows that congregated around them, while playing their games.

“It’s your turn.”

“Damn if it is, I just went.” Pop frowned with big bushy, white eyebrows that stood out dramatically from his dark, chocolate-colored, time-worn face. His brows contained the only hair he had left on his head, he always wiggled them proudly when he could, and used them to his advantage when wanting to appear ominous.

Which was often.

Pop looked first down at the game he was playing, on the old wooden barrel table from his red, dented metal chair, then up and across to his perpetual, seemingly life long opponent. He dramatically arched his brows in a way he deemed most threatening…

His opponent just snorted at him, reaching up to caress the doves head that had landed on his shoulder.

Pop’s response? He snarled in return.

The dove flew off.

And so they went, absolutely, perpetually the battles raged every day – They argued just like that, ever continuously.

Cat would have been worried about the state of their health, about being in such constant conflict; however more often than not, they seemed to enjoy it.

Thriving on it.

Cat smiled as she approached them, walking through the gaggle of doves and crows, ever in competition for any bit of scraps tossed their way that loitered there on the side-walk.

The birds scattered in checkered flashes of black and white as she advanced through the thick of them, readjusting the straps of her three bags on her shoulders with a resigned sigh, she waved a hand in front of her face to discourage the settling of fallen feathers on her person.

Heck.

No way would she be able to pass them, heading to school, without stopping to talk if but just for a minute.

They simply wouldn’t allow it.

Rain or shine, snow or blazing heat, here they could be found playing board games, feeding their birds.

Beyond the games, there was a hidden agenda on their position, thus so, in the hub of The Fare.

Their agenda?

It was, most assuredly, to catch up on The Fare’s gossip, as small town life went on around them.

They lived for gossip.

The Old Biddy’s, is how they were referred to affectionately around town and when named, everyone knew who you were talking about.

Everyone got a kick out of them, as they told every passerby, just about everything they had learned in regards to the day’s gossip.

They were humorously tolerated by the town’s folk, even as much as they were feared for their gossiping ways.

One never knew what secrets they would divulge and at what inopportune time.

“Good morning, Pop.” Cat nodded at him as she passed, even as he reached with a withered caramel colored, shaking hand for his red chip to make his play on the games board. One side of his suspenders shifted off of his shoulder just then, and he was slow to react. While trying to slowly right his appearance, Pop dropped his game piece, which clattered down on the scarred wooden tabled.

It flipped off with a clatter onto cement, hitting the sidewalk it went rolling.

Thinking ‘food’ the horde of birds descended on the game chip like a pack of ravenous dogs.

Cat shivered at the sight.

One dove however secured the prize, capturing it is it’s beak, immediately took flight, soaring high into the air, in attempted escape with it’s booty. The rest of the birds deterred, but far from admitting defeat, gave chase in an explosion spread, flapping wings.

“Well damn, me.” Pop muttered slowly, watching it go high up into the heavens. Looking back down at the game’s board while frowning, his old, gold and square wire framed glasses slid down his nose, catching on a huge hairy mole there at the tip. He pointed over to his gossiping partner in crime, “Hand me another one of my pieces there Jack, I dropped one. My birds took it.”

“Serves you right, you old coot,” Ol’ Jack wheezed a cackle, batting at a crows head who was brave enough to peek its beak up over the edge of the table, reaching for one of the crackers that remained there, to no avail. “That’s what you get for feeding the stupid things in the first place.” His pale cheeks turning ruddy with humor, Jack reached for one of Pop’s red chips sitting beside them in a stack. “And by-the-by, watch that taking Thy name in vein taking there old boy, it could get you in trouble.”

“From who?” Pop’s scoffed, reaching out slowly for the game piece, he took it with a shaking, snatching hand. “You? What’re you gonna do about it?”

Cat rolled her eyes at their continued contention and nodded to Pop’s opponent as well.

She turned to a stop at his side. “Morning Ol’ Jack.” He, for whatever reason, was her favorite.

The man who always wore a permanent frown, just grunted under his heavy beard.

Not bothering to grant her a look. He burrowed under his hat, looking steadily at the board while he ran a hand over his chin in a stroking motion that smoothed his beard, absentmindedly tossing a cracker over his left shoulder for the one crow that remained, so it could feast.

Ol’ Jack proudly wore his old railroad, blue and white stripped cap pulled low over his face, he said to block out the sun.

Everyone knew however that he wore it that way, so he could watch you with his little beady black eyes without detection.

He always smelled of a mixture of lemonade, whiskey and chewing tobacco.

White tuffs of hair stuck out behind the ears, in the ears, out his nose and in the full bearded scruff that filled his face. He gave her an absentminded wave with the back of his withered hand, while steadily watching his opponent. “Out early this morning, are you, Girlie?”

“Wanna get in some weightlifting time before school athletics starts this morning. Just want some one-on-one time with me and the weights before school lets out for Summer’s End break.” Cat told them with a shrug as she stood there, looking down at the game board. “Plus my Dad is getting ready for his trip, and I wanted to get out-of-the-way, so it was a good excuse as any.”

“I had forgotten about his trip.” Pop asked, “He leaving today?” Ever nosy, they always had to know what was going on.

Both men looked up at her, awaiting her answer in silent expectation.

They were cute.

In an old, annoying sort of way. “Yep, his plane leaves at ten.”

“Going to see your mother, is he?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t know her, do we?”

“Nope. Never met her.”

“How come she’s never been here to visit?”

“Disinterest maybe.” Cat shrugged feigning more indifference than she felt. “She never wanted kids.”

“But your Dad did?”

“Absolutely.”

“When is he supposed to be back?”

“Three weeks.” Quickly amending it to, “Maybe.”

“Three weeks? That’s some trip, why’s he going?”

“I have no idea.”

“Is there some sort of problem, with your mom?”

“Again,” Cat quirked her mouth with resignation at the rapid fire questions coming at her. “No idea.”

“You would think he would let his own daughter know if there was a problem.” Pop shook his head, saying all but under his breath, “The boy should know better.”

“What’s the matter Girlie, doesn’t he tell you anything?” Jack asked poking her hard in the side with one age twisted finger.

“Apparently not.” Cat harrumphed at Ol’ Jack.

“You staying with that Antiope girl – What’s her name?”

“Barbara Jean?” Cat rolled her eyes, “BJ. You know her name. And yes, I am in fact, but you know that already too, don’t you?”

“Selective memory, Girlie. That Antiope girl is trouble, mark my words. I don’t like her, not at all” Ol’ Jack said, pulling his cap lower he sunk down in his chair.

“Oh, you only don’t like her because she won’t stop and talk to you, to give you fodder for your gossip.”

“Yep,” Ol’ Jacks hand crashed down on the table, the smack of his palm made the game chips jump. “And I resent it immensely.”

“At least he’s honest.” Pop said, shaking his head at his partner. He looked up to Cat with a shrug, remembering what lead to the tangent in the first place, “So, why the extra work out time? Trying to snare a boy?”

“Please,” Cat waved away that assumption. If a girl tried to better herself, why was a boy the first reason that popped into everyone’s mind? Could girls not have lives outside of boys – A world that didn’t revolve around boyfriends? God, she wanted a boyfriend! “Like I have time for boys…Boys are the least of my problems. Actually, I’m going in early because we might actually have some tough competition this year in volleyball, when it starts up in a couple of months, so I wanna be prepared.”

“Worried you can’t win your matches?” Pop asked, pausing in the act of moving his game piece, he looked up at her with that loaded question as Ol’ Jack laughed loudly as if in some hidden joke, from his position across from him, before breaking into a coughing fit that stole his breath.

Jack shot him a searing dirty look from under the brim of his hat.

“Not win?” Cat asked, slapping Ol’ Jack easily on the back. His hat tilted off-kilter as a result of the force of her thumps. “Winning is all but guaranteed, just the degree of the win is in question, hence the extra work-out time.”

“Oh, really? No win, is ever guaranteed, Girlie.” Ol’ Jack said, waving her help away, once he got his breath back. He righted his hat with a frown. “Never forget that.”

“Or,” Pop finished in all seriousness, not looking at her. He made his move on the game’s board. “Take it for granted.”

Looking down at the game they played, Pop’s statement, and the seriousness behind it, prompted her to ask, even despite the ridiculousness of the game in question, “While playing each other, is there never a point during the game, which you just know you’re going to win?”

“I suppose.” Pop nodded.

“But then the game takes a drastic, surprising turn and everything changes. Just like life.” Ol’ Jack said, picking up his own black game piece, he studied the board. It was his move. “Sometimes it just doesn’t turn out the way we expect…Or counted on.”

“Put it right there.” Cat pointed, looking down at the game board, laughing as Ol’ Jack slapped her hand out-of-the-way. “Ouch.”

“Get out of my way, Girlie. I don’t need your help.” Ol Jack growled. “Besides you’re helping the wrong side. It’s the old man over there that needs your help, not me.”

“Hey – Who you call old, you old fart?” Pop blasted out, jabbing the air with one crooked, shaking finger. “Who’s name is ‘Old Jack’ here, hmmm? Not mine I tell you? They don’t call me Ol’ Pop.”

“Cause that would be a practice in redundancy, wouldn’t it, old boy?” Ol’ Jack told him, then yelped when Pop reached over, snatched off his hat and slapped him over the head with it.

“Boys!” Cat snickered, stepping between them and their sparring, as their arms flailed like two fighting children in a schoolyard. “You boys need to calm down, before someone’s pacemaker gives out and I have to reboot you.”

“See, he’s mad cause he knows he’s gonna lose. Today is that day. It’s mine turn to win I tell you…My turn!” Ol’ Jack said as he repositioned himself in his chair with a grunt, glaring up at Cat. “So if you just have to help someone, help him. After all, age before beauty, Girlie. Age before beauty.”

“Beauty my withered black butt.” Pop snorted.

“Sorry, can’t do it.” Ignoring the grunts and growls as the little old men resettled themselves, Cat chuckled as she helped Ol’ Jack to right his hat and looked down at the pieces played already. She shrugged, “I can’t help him because he doesn’t look like he needs it. He’s got two ways he could win and you can’t block them both – He’s winning. It’s just a matter of time.”

“He is not.” Ol Jack barked up at her, leaning forward to study the game, while Pop busted out laughing. Jack evaluated all the options and came to a frustrating conclusion, “Well, damn if he is!”

This time Cat laughed as well.

Pop watched as Jack glanced down discreetly at his watch, raising his eyes he met Pop’s from under the brim of his time-worn hat. He nodded, to something just over Pop’s shoulder.

Apparently the time had come.

Pop sighed, then stopped laughing. “You go on now girl, times quickly passing. Leave now or you’re not going to make it and miss your move.” Pop frowned, looking back over his shoulder, watching through the thick of the trees as the sun battled to break through the clouds which rolled in, in the distance.

Clouds growing darker by the minute.

Closer.

He closed his eyes briefly,Pop took a deep breath, then opened them, turning back to beautiful young woman before him. “You’re going to miss getting your early start if you stay here yammering with us.”

“Yep.” Ol’ Jack nodded in concentration, never once looking up from his game. A worried frown was hidden under the bill of his cap which was tugged low in anticipation for the gales on the horizon and he couldn’t help but say, “Be careful, though Girlie, a storms a’coming.”

“Storm?” Cat teased and in the way of the young and optimistic, looking up at the sky, directly overhead, where the morning sky was a bright, clear blue, while ignoring that which was coming up behind her. “The weather called for sun all day from today, all through next week. The weather is supposed to be beautiful, but it’s sweet of you to worry.”

“Not sweet, so much as prudent.” Ol’ Jack told her. “The Fare is going to need you to go all the way in the games this year, so it’s in our best interest that you stay safe…Healthy.” At Pop’s sideways glace at him, Ol’ Jack glowered back, clarifying to his opponent, “Yes, I said ours.” Pop nodded, satisfied, as Ol’ Jack continued. “You to take care, now, you hear?” Ol’ Jack finished with a very put upon scowl that he felt impelled to request.

“Yes, Sir. Not that I don’t appreciate it, but we have an excellent volleyball team this year, trust me, going all the way is all but in the cards this year, with or without me.”

“There is no game without you.” Ol’ Jack said.

“There you go with your taking things for granted again.” Pop tisked his tongue. “You’ll need to watch that, if you want to win big and take home the big prize.”

Cat frown back looking at Pop, “Is that warning?”

“Yes.” Both men responded, instantly and together.

Cat shifted on her feet uncomfortable. She had never heard them unified on anything before and for just a second it caught her off guard.

Sometimes they were just too weird, even for her, and she was a girl who ever appreciated a good dose of weird.

Just look where she lived.

“Again, thanks for the warning, boys. I’ll just go and leave you two to it, then.” She took Ol’ Jack’s hat off and kissed him on the bald head she revealed, before slapping the hat back on. “Play nice.”

“Catherine.” Ol’ Jack said seriously, grabbing her by the arm he held her still so he could stare into her eyes, “Happy birthday.”

Cat smiled hesitantly at his words, he sounded almost sad to say them, “You remembered.”

“Always.” Pop said from behind her, causing her eyes to jerk to his as Ol’ Jack released his tight grip.

“Thank you.” Cat nodded at the two of them before turning to walk away, rubbing her arm where Ol’ Jack had gripped her.

It still stung.

The air vibrated with the rumblings of thunder, as she shook off her dark musings looking up at the sky.

Storms?

Cat wondered looking up, shaking away what was left of the sting in her arm with a good violent shake.

Musing of strange old men aside, really, what in the world was up with the sun?

She frowned looking around at the sky as it began to darken swiftly by degree as the darkness bled into the bright blue.

Walking quickly away from the feed store now, she saw that it grayed there just in the distance over the Eastern most ridge behind her. The gray of the clouds seemed to be sweeping closer, covering the sky like a thin veil of time worn, dirty lace as the wind blew, ever closer to her.

Closer still.

The Biddies were right.

There was a storm rolling in into The Fare, of that it was patently obvious.

The questions that came to mind were these: How bad would it be? And where would she be when it hit?

Strange.

Cat had watched the weather on this news this morning as she was getting ready for the workout with her Dad, even pulling it up on the Net before she dragged out what she was going to wear to school today and no bad weather had been predicted in the forecast all week.

The sky had been predicted to be the brightest blue of Mother Nature’s atmospheric delight, now hung dourly now overhead with the prospect of a burgeoning storm just there, on its immediate horizon.

The sky through the trees was quickly filling with dark and sullen bushy clouds of frowning elderly brows, and darker ominous shadowy outlines of a gloomy burgeoning foreboding tempest just underneath. Rushing closer, the dark rolling clouds seemingly prepared to all but blot out the sun if the sky caved to it’s mushrooming fury.

Cat pinched her coat together at the top, as she ducked her head down – The storm was blowing in fast, so fast in fact she didn’t think she would be able to make it to school before the bottom dropped out.

Well wasn’t this perfect?

“Stupid weathermen.” Cat groused, through the thick of the wind. “How is it they can always be wrong and still have a job? I swear I need to be a weatherman when I grow up. A job where failure not only is forgiven often, but expected…Geesh!”

The temperature of the air dropped like a lead weight in a shallow pool, from the earlier light jacket faring weather, to becoming almost painfully brisk, bitingly so, with a hint of moisture in the air.

It was August for cripes sake! But that was The Fare for you. Weather here was unlike weather any place in else in the world. They lived in a hole after all.

And usually a cold one at that.

A white foggy shroud began to blanket the ground in a concealing, eerie white which seemed to come in on rolling waves behind her.

God, Cat thought, where had all this come from?

Cat’s breath puffed out from her mouth in white billows as she hoofed it down Main Street, at a steady athletic pace, towards The Fare’s school campus and her destination, the school’s gym.

She sincerely hoped she got there before the rain came down, as the rumbling sky thundered behind her threatened it would do in torrents.

She hated to start a day off badly.

It just always ruined the rest of the day when that happened and getting wet walking to school would do just that.

The thunder growled again, but this time closer, almost directly overhead.

Closing over her.

Cat picked up her pace, and her bags lightly, annoyingly tapped the back of her legs as if they where trying to push her forward…

It was like they were poking at her.

Urging her on.

Run.

She readjusted the bags on her shoulder.

Pulling them closer to her body, she held tight to put an end to the annoying tapping as she moved.

In fact, she had just reached back to steady her artist case against her side when she heard a loud pop, like something had fallen on the metal roof now just overhead, followed by the tell-tale tittering sounds as something rolled down the roof.

She had just enough time to see a glimpse of red as if fell from the roofs metal awning overhead, followed by the snapping sound of contact of a solid object with the cement underfoot when she suddenly slipped. Skidding a good foot, thanks to a sliding boot, her slide took her quickly across pavement with flailing arms and a startled gasp.

Excellent balance had her righting herself quickly however, and *she caught herself with one hand braced on the corner of the historic Bell Hotel directly to her right.

Cat’s eyes flew immediately, to glance around her with embarrassment, in order to make sure no one had seen her graceless faux pas, or even possibly recorded it on their phone.

She was all for instant celebrities and celebrity-isim, but the last thing she wanted to do was end up on YouTube for falling on her behind. BJ would never let her live that one down, best friend or not.

Lucky for her, the downtown streets of The Fare were eerily empty this morning as the fog rolled in, layering the ground, just as the storm clouds overhead layered the sky in an uncanny-like reflection.

Odd.

Pop and Ol’ Jack were the only souls present, seated just yards away, in their place still out front the feed store just behind her, however they appeared lost in the rigmarole of their game and strangely, uncommonly unobservant.

Neither glanced in her direction.

There was however the screeching sound that suddenly filled the air of metal on metal, that let her know that being alone at any point in The Fare, was relative.

The sound was from a ghostly pump-action railcar as it made its way down the railway tracks that hadn’t been used for years.

The ghostly apparitions of Baron Semedi and Baron LaCroix, wearing their funeral’s best ceremonial dress, completed with black top hats, black shades and cherry tipped cigars, flew by merrily pumping at the lever of the railcar as they raced on wings of demented laughter past Main Street heading towards the old prison property, now the Dorsey property for goodness knew why?

Seeing them appear unexpectedly, then disappear just as quickly always gave Cat the hebbie-jebbies, just as much as seeing them always made her doubt her sanity.

But in The Fare, one often had to suspend sanity just to live here.

After all, how many towns had evil ghosts that loved to go cruising the rail lines for laughs?

Not many would be Cat’s estimation.

Like zero even.

So other than a couple of demonic, joyriding ghosts, a couple of old town gossips, for all practical purposes, Cat knew was completely alone.

Good, she thought shaking off the blush that stained her cheek as a result of her stumble and that just meant that no one was around to witness her blundering, oafish humiliation.

What in the heck had she stepped on, Cat wondered with a grimace?

She frowned down at the ground, as she picked up her boot to see what it was that had taken her for a nice little ride.

Cat chuckled ironically when she saw it.

It was Pops lone red game chip, the same one she had seen him drop earlier, which had been carted off by a bird.

Cat looked up at the sky, as if scanning it for bird bombers but saw none in the tree tops.

Apparently, having failed to beam her with the dropped game chip, the birds hightailed it off to parts unknown.

Figures.

Out of all the places on the sidewalks of The Fare for her to step, leave it to her, to step on the one bird-dropped red game chip and almost bust her butt in the process. But how strange that it had landed just so?

Looking down at it, Cat debated.

Should she leave it there and forget about it and just get to school before the storm unleashed, or should she do the right thing, a thing that would really take up so little of her time, and take it back to Pop.

Cat rubbed her forehead, seriously wishing she could rub off the word ‘Sucker!’ she just knew must be seared on her skin, there.

With a heavy put upon sigh, knowing what the answer was, what her conscience demanded, almost before the debate was even finished, Cat reached down for the game piece.

Picking it up, standing straight, she flipped it into the air with a pop from her thumb and a frown at herself for her chump-like demeanor.

Catching it on the fly, snatching it from the air, she felt it slap her left palm with a satisfying ‘pap!’ as it fell from the heavens.

Her fingers closed around it.

“What the–” Cat barely had enough time to register what was happening when she suddenly found herself instantly yanked to her right, on a shocked gasp, all but jerked off her feet, by a strong, harsh hand that ripped out from the shadows.

She stumbled, yanked into a dumpster filled alleyway, the one immediately next to the side of the Bell Hotel and the Troy property.

Propelled by the force of the pull, instinctively dumping her bags off her shoulders, to give her arms free reign as she went, Cat went into instinctive, instant defensive mode.

Her breath stuttered in her throat as she was immediately slammed up against the brick wall of the hotel behind her.

Cat reacted instantly, before the red game piece even had the chance to hit the dirty ground of the alleyway from her dropped hand – She reacted before she thought about reacting, as she was taught.

She just did.

Cat had just lowered her right foot back to the ground, her pant leg slightly mused from her recovery reaction, her boot heel slapping the concrete, congratulating herself on her whiplash reflexes when she suddenly found a curved Persian knife’s blade pressed firmly to her throat and a foreign hand knotted in her hair, holding her back and deathly still.

“Well this was new,” Was Cat’s immediate, irrational first thought.

Apparently she wasn’t the only one here in this alley with good reflexes.

Bummer that.