"All right, your first is born, and look at his white hair and red eyes, he will fetch a high price," a distant voice spoke.
"I guess that bitch was good luck. His name will be Kain. Get him ready for the auction," a voice replied
"N... no, don't take my child...d-don't take him," a weak feminine voice spoke.
Pain...screaming...mother
"Wait, look at this birthmark," one man said.
"What is that? It's two dashes and a long curved line on his neck,"
"Damn this might mess shit up." another young man said pissed off.
"Don't worry, some people will eat this up. We have to market it right," another older voice laughed.
...
In the middle of an open road, a young man with short, white hair, dressed in a dark red trench coat, sighed as he rubbed a mark on his neck, which glowed a dim red. Driving down the road in his all black 1970 Oldsmobile 442, the boy struggled to hold back his anger.
"I'm sorry this has taken so long, mother...I will stop it all,"
"Kain, are you sure you want to do this. What are you doing is very risky?" a British man's voice asked over a radio.
"I already told you, Finn, I would come back here and end it."
"But tell me, why did you take this job...it does not seem like you usually pick? Don't tell me you think..."
"Finn, this is the closest trace I have had to finding it, and my mark has been burning ever since I started the trip," Kain replied
"...Fine, just make sure you don't do anything stupid," Finn sighs.
"Talk later, Finn," Kain said, cutting off the radio.
Continuing down the road, Kain looked at his GPS to see he had only an hour left of his drive—an hour until he would arrive at the sin-filled place of his birth.
{Pov First Person: Sam Walker}
"Good morning."
The words faded back into the ether, and I awoke with a start. Jimmy Prescott was lounging against the wall near the door, an amused yet disapproving look on his face.
"Shit, sorry Mr. Prescott. I didn't hear you come in."
"You know, I worked here when I was a kid, too. I installed the bell on the door for this very reason. Didn't seem to wake you up, though," he laughed. I mumbled another apology and idly straightened a stack of business cards in front of me.
"Late night?"
"Ah…kinda." Very.
"I hope you weren't out at the bonfires with all the other underage drinkers."
"No, sir." Yep.
"Good. Anyway, I'm just here for my lunch. I'll take a Parmesan chicken with avocado on rye."
"Yes, sir." Happy that the conversation was over, I walked over to the sandwich counter and unwound the twisty tie from the rye bread.
Jimmy Prescott stepped back from the counter and idly studied the pictures on the wall, though he'd seen them a thousand times before. More of the photos were of the Prescott family, taken over the last century. I'd always thought it odd décor, but then, the shop was named after them after all.
"Is Meera here?" Prescott asked as I wrapped up his sandwich.
"She's in the back."
"Ah, I thought she'd still be in St. Louis. Well, when you're finished, would you mind getting her for me?"
Shit.
"Yes, sir."
I handed him his sandwich and went to the back to find Meera. She was in the office, furiously punching the keys on her accounting calculator.
"Uh, Meera? Jimmy Prescott is out front. He wants to talk to you."
She turned and gave me a dubious look. "Did he say what about?" I shook my head.
"Okay," she sighed. "You can go home for the day, Sam."
"But…are you sure?" I still had three hours on the clock.
"He's the only customer we've had since we opened. Don't worry, I'll pay you for a whole day, kiddo."
"Thanks, Meera. Um, good luck, I guess."
I gave her a sympathetic shrug, and she patted my arm. I didn't know how she did it. Meera was perhaps the most burdened and stressed-out woman in all of Drisking, but she never failed to be unbelievably kind. There was a hopelessness about her, a sadness that she hid very well.
As I opened the door to step outside, I almost bumped into a man a few years older than me. The first thing that caught my attention was his appearance. His short white hair and blood red-orange eyes. He was dressed in a long, dark red trench coat, paired with a button-up shirt featuring what seemed to be the pendant of a skull, black pants, and topped off with leather boots. I don't know if it was because I was tired or because I had imagined it, but I could have sworn I saw a mark on his neck glowing with a dim crimson as he passed me.
"Sorry, kid," he said as he passed me and entered the store.
"N-no problem," I replied as I slowly closed the door behind myself.
As I walked to my truck, I couldn't help but think about how much he stood out compared to the surroundings, like a bounty hunter from medieval times, lost in our time. But the Main thing I felt was that things would change because of the arrival of this person