Syphons - There's No Denying Their Existence

Chapter 2: Miss Otaku

AJ's white Range Rover barreled through Saturday's mid-morning traffic, in downtown Tampa. The late August sun baked the city and heat waves formed on the outstretched highway.

AJ wasn't a bad driver. He maneuvered with the efficiency of a jet pilot. I wondered if he realized his vehicle's tires belonged on the ground? I blamed his heightened senses, and a lack of cops waiting to pick him up, for this perilous trip.

Thankfully, my apartment was at the next exit, not too far off from downtown, but away from the trendy part of town where AJ lived.

I grabbed my smartphone from the bottom of my purse, which AJ stashed away in his trunk last night. I unlocked the screen and considered asking an odd question that popped into my head.

"You know what's been bugging me? How exactly did I make it back to your condo? Did someone else help you?" I asked.

"No one helped. I carried you in my arms. Why'd you ask?"

I gave him a dubious look.

"You've gotta be kidding," I said.

"You're talking to someone with a number of odd abilities, strength, one of them. Besides, I found it quite enjoyable carrying you home. You talk in your sleep. It was amusing."

I couldn't imagine a man lifting me up on his own with ease. I was unabashedly curvy and been that way all my life. I had the hips, thighs, and plump midsection to prove it. What stunned me most about AJ's admittance was the fact that he seemed proud of himself. I, on the other hand, felt mortified. I sat in silence and digested this information.

"Is something wrong?"

"Just drop it," I said.

"I'd do it all over again."

I pretended not to listen. He took the hint.

I scanned my phone for voice messages, text messages, missed calls. Nothing. I never even got a response from the text message I sent my best friend, Carmen Sanchez. We planned to meet up at the Skyline Lounge when I got off work, since she was back in town after spending two weeks in Paris, France for a photoshoot and runway show for a few major designers.

Carmen Sanchez knew how to own a room. She's a gorgeous spit-fire of a red-head with a fierce walk on a runway. Still she always took time to remember her roots and stay down to Earth. Our awkward teen years, during freshman year of high school, aided in solidifying our friendship. She introduced me to punk rock, and I provided her with friendship and my answers for most of our homework assignments. We fed off one another, and who couldn't help but be jealous of her life and her parents. Her dad, a corporate attorney. Her mother, a former corporate stiff turned artist. She lived a dreamy life with supportive parents and a near perfect home life. Their stability made life bearable back then.

Her parents moved back to Maine a few years ago, after we graduated, but she remained in Florida to attend college and to be close to friends. We've been close to one another up until recently.

I felt like a nuisance in her life now. In the past, I used to just pop up to her apartment. Now, we couldn't grab drinks without her boyfriend's permission.

She just moved in with him all of six months ago, and could no longer make time in her busy schedule to pencil me in. I'd call her or check in on her parents, but we would never be the same. After the craziness, I've been through just last night, I gave in, anyway and decided to send Carmen a quick text, asking her to give me a call if she wasn't busy.

All I wanted was a couple of drinks and catch up at the Skyline. I couldn't even have that. I wasn't sure what I would tell her regarding the other night. I checked the local media outlets, and there wasn't any info on the incident at the Lounge. Maybe, it wasn't a big enough deal to make it on a national blog, but the local news should have some info on a monster attack at a local club.