Learning to HowlA Legacy Challenge:

Chapter 1:1

Jacques LaCroix was jolted from a nightmare as rain began to patter against the “vaulted” tin roof that kept him relatively dry. As he stretched, reacquainting himself with the present, the howling slowly began to fade from his ears.

Sitting upright he laid his head against the unfinished drywall behind him. He closed his eyes and allowed the breath he had been holding to escape his lungs. Mornings were the worst. Just as he felt confident to open his eyes without the betrayal that the burning sensation behind his eyes threatened him with, the second battle began. Clenching his fists his nails began to dig slightly into his palms…the pain grounded him.

He softy padded across the room to the refrigerator in search of liquid relief. As he opened the door his eyes were met with a lonely can of cheap beer that somehow had managed to make it to the refrigerator before his nightly ritual of passing out. Sneering slightly as the foul smelling beverage assaulted his nostrils, Jacques grabbed the can.

He grimaced as he took a swig of the foul tasting beverage. His tolerance was high, even starving as he was he wouldn’t begin to feel the lift of a buzz until mid-afternoon. Shifting his eyes to the lone window that allowed light into his make-shift living room he knew he only had an hour before the horn of his carpool beckoned him back to his pseudo normalcy.

After fifteen minutes of fighting with procrastination Jacques made it to the shower head, allowing the water to wash over him helped ready him for the day. “What am I doing?” His verbal thought resonated back to him off of the grime speckled walls of his washroom.

He had found the shack roughly six months ago. Normally he preferred the mystery of hotel living, but the fact that the property was on the industrial side of Downtown Desiderata, the realtor had cut him a deal.

Turning the water off he quickly dressed and headed out onto the lawn to pick up the paper.

“Shut up, it’s early.” He replied to the squeaking springs in his sofa as he opened the Valley Times. It always amused him to read it, ever since taking the job in journalism the way the world wanted to read things seemed slightly melodramatic. He sighed as it got to his small square of the paper. Doing reviews of local clubs and their shady management wasn’t exactly his dream.

He shook his head as he turned to the 7 day forecast. He didn’t have to read it…raining and overcast, with crystal clear nights…that was Desiderata Valley. “Maybe the freaks have a corner on the market.” He thought aloud, as the honking of the horn outside had his ears ringing again.

It was nearing five o’clock when the carpool managed to drop him off back home. Shutting the door to the hatchback, Jacques massaged an ache in his neck. When he had taken his job at the Valley Times it had been just to make a buck and find out a little dirt on his new city. Although he beat out his last opponent in a promotion landing him a field position, he was still forced into the office at least four days a week.

He sighed as he looked at the shack that he called home. It was the warmest thing he had had in a long time, but part of him missed roaming. He knew he could leave anytime he wanted, but something about this city pulled to him.

Shaking his head he went inside to get washed up. He had to visit a club tonight, not only for work, but he was recently out of actual liquor. Downing one more can of the cheap beer that was left in the fridge may just be the end to all his troubles.

As Jacques stepped into the night club he closed his eyes, inhaling deeply he attempted to acclimate himself to the rush on his senses. The illegal herb was the first, hitting him from different angles as the disc jockey continually aggravated the air around him by fumbling with his records. It was mixed with an aroma of multiple cheap perfumes, cheap alcohol mixed with breath mints, and incense that was attempting in vain to mask all of it.

The smoky atmosphere of the Crypt’o Night club was his favorite. The music here was trance-like. There wasn’t much left for him that actually had some type of enjoyment, but put a couple shots in him and he would ride high for the rest of the evening. Unfortunately tonight, that feeling would not wash over him. His consciousness was needed…at least slightly.

Heading over to take a seat at the bar he looked up at the neon clock on the wall and sighed. “What’s it going to be hun?” The bartender asked him. Was she being condescending? He looked at her for a moment attempting to find out just why she called him that. “Sorry.” She quickly responded her eyes growing wide as she watched him staring.

“No.” His accent was thick and perhaps he wasn’t controlling the volume of his voice because the immediate giggle of the waitress intruded his ears. “Something… light.”

“A cooler?” She inquired. “No. I’ll take that.” He said pointing to a bottle of clear Russian vodka. He watched

the bartender hesitate a minute before pouring him the drink. He could hear her mumbling about his use of the word light but chose to ignore it, he was still testy from this morning.

As she handed him the cup he downed the contents in one swig. He sat there a moment and analyzed the way he felt as it slid down his throat. Realizing it was probably going to take the entire contents of his wallet to feel a buzz he sat the money down on the counter and walked away.

A couple of hours into watching bottle blondes sway to rave music his half attempt at optimism was beginning to fail him. He was fairly certain his next column would once more be checking out the illegal drug use linked with the night club lifestyle.

After another fifteen minutes passed he walked back to the leather sectional behind him to retrieve his notebook and tape recorder. Taking a moment he closed his eyes, wondering just how many similar stories it would take to land him unemployment.

On attempting to leave the sofa he was met with a surprise blockade. A tall woman stood between him and his exit, her hands were on her hips and she seemed to be analyzing him.

He coughed, politely attempting to break whatever trance had manifested itself in her so that he could move.

“Excuse me.” He commanded as she shifted her weight from one foot to the other. His voice was loud enough to create a momentary feeling of confusion through his blockade as well as the bartender that had been watching the situation.

Still the woman hesitated, finally stepping aside Jacques’ eyes were fixed on hers as he passed her.

The emotional shift in the air as the woman turned was palpable. Jacques was irritated, not so much from her refusal to acknowledge his command, but from the fact that he had not noticed her standing there before hand.

He could not help but notice the woman’s expression as she turned her back towards him. She was obviously disheveled by the situation herself.

Shaking his head in confusion, he started towards home.

It wasn’t until the night air hit him, that Jacques realized his hairs were standing on end. Breathing outward in a huff of air he grabbed the back of his neck in nervous habit. “Mon Dieu…” he spoke aloud as he made his way down the familiar streets.

His head was in a spin as he reached the last leg of his walk home. After spending two miles staring at his feet the sudden click of heels against the side walk brought his eyes back from aversion.

“Good Evening.” She purred as she made her way out of the chain link gate. Her hips swayed back and forth as she made her way towards him.

He didn’t respond to her, his eyes were watching her movements. There was a grace about her that was unreal.

“Are you shy? I can help you open up…” She purred again her voice silky as it spun around him. As she proceeded closer a deep sense of self preservation was beginning to set in. An aroma of a trance inducing fragrance had him planted.

She stopped a couple of feet from him and rocked her shoulders back exposing her throat to him as she regarded the quality of the moon.

“What do you want?” He asked, finally finding his tongue. “It’s beautiful isn’t it?” She breathed in. “The moon.” “If you’re an addict.” He said as he moved to step past her. She moved to block him. “Tell me you’re name.”

As he attempted again to pass her he could feel his adrenaline beginning a rush. He breathed slowly to calm himself.

“Who are you?” She demanded, a sense of urgency now coating her voice. “I’d suggest you move out of my way Madam.” He replied attempting to keep

himself calm. “One question…answer it and you can go.” She placed a hand on his stomach .

As the argument grew louder two more came out to join her. Effectively blocking any path he had. “It looks as if we have a bit of a cat fight now doesn’t it?” The faux hawk bearing man snickered.

His darker companion nodded as his eyes turned towards Jacques. “What might be the problem with telling the lady your name?” He said his voice holding the edge of slight authority.

Throwing the woman behind him the dark skinned man clumsily put himself between Jacques and his former interrogator, effectively pummeling his companion with her body.

Jacques took hold of the man’s arm and pulled him closer. “I’ve had about enough.” He growled, his voice was deep and chilled the stranger.

“You’ll let me pass.” He stated as he shoved his would-be attacker away from him. Jacques did not glance back at the trio, or the warehouse that had witnessed their scuffle.

“What the hell is your problem!” The faux hawked thug shouted. “You just let him walk away…”

“I didn’t see you stop him Dacien.” His dark skinned counter part replied between pursed lips.

The faux hawk bearing Dacien crossed his arms and scowled. “You’re worthless Diego…full of…”

The hinges on the chain link gate squealed in protest, as the figure stepped out onto the sidewalk. The night seemed to still as the bickering of the lesser men was shrouded by a heavy silence.

“Follow him.”

There was no answer to him, there could be no answer if there could be no denying. There was only absolute…

…obedience.