The Changeling's Fate

Four: The Stranger

The man, Robin, released his grip on my jacket, and I can't help but curse myself for failing to notice that still had a hold of me. I shrugged my shoulders back, turning to cast the cashier an apologetic smile and collect my dinner before moving back to the exit. Call me ungrateful if you will, but the stranger was sending off some strange vibes and I didn't want to initiate any conversation by thanking him. His demeanor wasn't entirely malignant, but not entirely friendly either. Either way, I was a big believer in trusting my gut feelings, ever since my instincts vindicated themselves when 16-year-old Jeremy got busted for molesting an eighth grader my freshman year of High School. My stomach had never sat right around him, and I avoided being alone in his vicinity for the entirety of his short stay at Judy's. Regardless of the stranger's weird vibes, the sensation of watching had abruptly departed with his entrance, and that was strange enough on its own to merit passing this one by, gorgeous body or not.

Gripping the door handle, I stilled as a strange hand covers my own, pushing the already ajar door back into place.

"It is customary," a firm voice with a faint but untraceable accent drawls, "to return an introduction when one is given to you." The tone was slightly contemptuous, each word articulated slowly and clearly as if I'm a misbehaving child. The accent is hard to discern under the derision in the words, but it's not American. It reminds me of Kiwi or a posh English accent, maybe even Italian? Somehow seeming a mishmash of multiple inflections.

I flushed, cheeks which had only just cooled from my earlier embarrassment heating, but this time in anger. "And it is customary, in the South," I bite, "not to touch a woman without permission – especially if you are attempting to stop her from leaving." My eyes draw a hard line to our still clasped hands and I give a little 'Hmph' for emphasis.

He grins again, eyes alight with mischief. "Are you saying the gentlemanly thing to do would have been to let you fall?"

I narrow my eyes, peeved. "That's not what I meant and you know it. Twisting my words isn't polite either. If you'll excuse me, I need to get going."

He gives a low half chuckle. "If you insist, Alexandra." I gasp at my name coming from this stranger's lips, and at my reaction his eyes spark with some indecipherable emotion.

"How did you get my name?" No beating about this bush with this one – I'm certain I've never met the man before and I'm not going to bother with the preliminary do-I-know-you's or have-we-mets. My heart is a fierce staccato in my chest, but my voice comes out firm. On a scale of scary-creepy to impossibly-irritating Robin is definitely occupying the latter half at the moment.

"Oh, Todd told me all about you, Alex." He drawls out the last word, speaking my name in a tone that renders it obscene.

I jerk back reflexively, finally managing to pull my hand from underneath his on the door's handle. Robin bites down on his lower lip to stimmy a smile, confident in his attempt to unnerve me, but the motion has me thinking of other things; even as I shiver in terror and fury my body reacts to him on a visceral level.

Sucking up my courage, I deliberately take a step closer to him and his eyes flash in surprise. He must've been expecting me to turn tail and run, but if there's one thing I've learned from spending years watching Judy bounce back from personal tragedy and get up every day to face a houseful of troubled adolescents, it's that the first to fold dooms themselves to being last at the table. I wasn't going to fold.

I lift myself, standing on my toes and leaning into Robin until our faces, and bodies, are only inches apart. "If you know Todd . . ." I whisper, drifting my lips across his cheek in the lightest of touches, ". . . then you should know not to fuck with me."