Meeting the Night by Ash Knight (ink book reader .txt) 📕

"Goodnight, Arnold." The voice said.
"Goodnight, Madam'." He replied, turning and leaving the room.
Within a few moments, their peaceful silence turned awkward.
"Do tell me dear, why haven't you seated yourself?" The beautiful and mysterious voice asked.
"Oh, well I was just..." What was she doing, she asked herself, walking into a stranger’s home because they had asked her to do so?
"Forget it, dear. Please, have a seat."
"Ok?"
She slowly rounded to take the third seat in front of the unlit fireplace. It was a loveseat.
"So, my dear, whatever took you so long?" A beautiful woman with black hair and a trailing black gown asked, it was obvious that hers was the voice that had been speaking. To her left, a tall and handsome man sat, he had silver blond hair, and they both had the same striking pale blue eyes. The man was wearing a full black three-piece business suit, and sipping at a club soda.
"I had to have dinner with my brother. By the way, why did you invite me over here? You guys obviously don't know me since you only moved here a few days ago. And, how did you know about my parents? The word has barely gotten around to the rest of my family. So how did you find out?"
"Well, we invited you because your story intrigued us, my dear." The man answered, "And we know, because we have good ears and are very patient."
"Ok, whatever." She said, becoming uncomfortable, "Look, is there a reason you asked me to come? One that makes sence but isn't creepy?"
The man and woman laughed in unison. But stopped abruptly when the front door opened and closed.
"Ah! That must be Vincent now!" The woman said, "Vincent is our son. You know, he's about your age. You'll love him, you two have a lot in common.”
"Mother, you and father are not playing match makers again, are you?" A low but beautiful voice said from the entry into the parlor. It was like listening to music. But, the voice paled in comparison to its owner. The young man was tall, dark, and most defiantly, oh-so-devilishly, handsome.
He had the same pale blue eyes as his parents, and he had his mother’s hair. A dark, raven black.
His eyes caught even more attention thanks to the fact that he was wearing a long sleeved, black, shirt. He was wearing black jeans and black combat boots as well. His hair was messy, disheveled, and Just long enough that some of the strands feel on his forehead.
“Not much dear, only a tad. Come, you must meet our guest.” His mother said, motioning one handedly to the other half of the love seat Bree was sitting on.
“Mother, why does this lovely creature look like she’s been tortured?” He asked, walking up to Bree, her mouth finally closing, only to drop again when he picked up her hand and kissed it.
She muttered a curse under her breath and pulled her hand gingerly away. Knowing she was blushing only made it worse, and worse yet it got when she saw a small smile flicker across his face at her blush.
Squaring her chin, she lifted it slightly.
“Does she really? I hadn’t noticed. Dear girl, are you feeling alright?” His mother asked, looking slightly confused.
“I’m fine, the tortured look comes from not liking to be frustrated, and not being able to help it much in this case.” She answered bluntly.
“Well, got a bit of a temper do we? Tell me, what is so frustrating?” Vincent asked with true curiosity.
“Yes, I do have a temper, an awful one. What is so frustrating is that your parents invited me here, and won’t tell me why. And, if it was just so they could play match maker, then they should know, right here and now, that I don’t date.” She said in a deadly voice, staring at each of them with the same look.
“Trust me, even if that were their only purpose, you wouldn’t have anything to worry about, I don’t date either” He said, sounding unsurprised, as if he had know she would say so.
“Humph.”
His only response to her answer was to smirk smugly at her. Then, abruptly as if nothing had even been said, Bree stood.
“Thanks for the entertainment,” She sneered, “But I have to get home now, I have a car to fix.”
“Oh, can’t you stay a little longer?” Mrs. Remington asked in a pleading voice.
“Nope, I have places to go, people to see, and guys to turn down.” She said, turning and strolling to the door. Slamming it behind her, just for good measure. Show them, she thought as she climbed into her car, show them to play matchmaker with me!
She slipped down the road, and, being enveloped in the darkness where no one could see, she remembered how Vincent’s lips had felt against her hand, soft, mildly warm, and very, very, good. She blushed as she thought about how his lips would feel …And taste, against her own.


Chapter 3


On the way home, Bree had a wonderful idea, so, instead of making the turn off that would take her home, she went down I 40 and made a right. There it was the overpass. In under it, where she had hidden many times as a kid, was an alley, a refuge. But, it was different now.
She knew, the moment she got out of the car, that coming here had been a mistake. Already, she couldn’t breathe from the pain. Quickly, she raced to the blocked off alley under the overpass, and stole away into it.
Once there, where she found it safe, she let the pain, memories, and tears come. She took them on headstrong. Remembering the night her refuge had become a place of fear and pain. A place where her life had changed, and all for the worst.
It had been one of ‘those’ nights. Her parents had fought, screamed, and hit. But, like always, mom would forgive him in the end.
But, it had been to much either way, so, Bree had snuck over to the overpass, and into her alley. Not knowing that going there on that particular night, would land her mere feet from her deathbed.
She had sat there and waited, she knew better than to go home while they were fighting. It would only put her in the crossfire. As she waited, she began to hum.
About half way through her song a man walked into the alley. He was big, big as a mountain. And he was a cop.
“Are you Bree?” He asked.
“Yes.” She had answered.
“Can you come with me, Bree?”
“Nope, I’m not aloud to go any where with people I don’t know.”
“Really? What if it was an emergency?”
“She couldn’t go with you then either.” She had heard her oldest brother say. His words were punctuated by the three loud pops. The cop fell, blood oozing out of three holes in his back.
She remembered running, not knowing why she was, but running anyway. She remembered pain as a bullet was shot into her shoulder. She remembered thinking she would die; she was eight, what chance did she have of out running a twenty-seven-year-old male?
She remembered falling, falling hard and going under, being covered and surrounded in darkness. She could hear it all again, the sirens, the medics, her parents, cops, all of it. She could remember her brother, Drake, screaming. Screaming that they couldn’t do this to him, that they had no proof. Then she heard another voice. An older, more rugged male voice.
“What we have, you little punk, is your sister, shot but alive.” He had said, then, a man’s face had entered the dark, and it was staring at her. It asked her a question, but she couldn’t hear anymore. She merely stared at him, then, closing her eyes, she had drifter through it. All of it.
Her parents had