Protectors Chapter 3

 Chapter 3

    It was strange, the feeling of a sudden loss of air when she walked in a room. These feelings were different, some say bad, but to me, these feelings were the only thing connecting me to her. None of the protectors had feelings, another thing taken from us, no anger, jealousy, sadness, love, nothing but the knowledge of what we were designed to do. I don't know what the feelings are or what the words mean but, with Malory, I knew she was different, she was the one I'd die for, no matter what.
    She was eleven when her grandfather passed away, lung cancer, it was a difficult time for her. They were best friends, he was the one she'd run to when she needed advice, a laugh, or just a shoulder to cry on. Malory's father worked a lot, everyday he was up at 5 o'clock on the dot, worked at a law firm, slowly working his way up to lawyer. When Malory was fifteen months, her father lost his job, lost his partnership and slowly lost the house, moving them in with his parents. Later that same year, he sank into a depression and killed himself. Her mother worked a night shift at a local nursing home from 6 o'clock to three in the morning, leaving Malory home with her grandparents every night and one night, never returned. Her grandfather would sit her on his lap and read old love letters to her from back in the war. She'd lay with him and listen to every word, amazed by the simplicity of a letter, and secretly wishing to feel love like that. Ever since the night he died, she wears a necklace given to her by the man she respected more than anyone, the man that taught her so much, the man she first felt the feeling love toward, her grandfather. The necklace, a simple gold cross, 'love comes once' sketched in the back, has never left her neck.
    I remember feeling nothing but the urge to hold her, wrap my arms around her, comfort her, and never let her go. I fought with myself constantly over whether to stay away and continue my job or whip her tears off her soft face to heal her broken heart, I fear I chose wrong. With the speed of a freight train, I raced to the coffee shop, where I knew she'd be working tonight. Frustration grew as one of the machines began to foam, spit, and eventually stop working. People lined up, waiting for their beverages became inpatient and angry, some even yelling at her for something she didn't do. People like this, pissed me off.
“S**t,” I overheard her whisper to herself, her green apron was covered in white foam, beginning to melt, coffee ran down her arms, to her elbows, then slowly dripped off into the huge puddle of coffee and water that began to pool at her feet. I wanted nothing more than to help her, clean her up and tell her everything will be okay, maybe even snap at the selfish people only thinking of themselves but I couldn't, I had work to do. The way we protect our assignments without being seen is simple, we pay attention, watch for any signs of harm or danger and steer them away. Occasionally we get a lead, a call from the pit. The pit is where we were created, where were altered, and where we start our jobs, it's also where we get all the information we need on the assignment. Tonight, the pit called giving me a job, stop a car from hitting Malory on her way home from work and I'd do anything to not let that happen.
    There it was, a mint green ford pickup, rusted around the edges, four spotlights sat straight on the roof, camouflage seat covers, gate on front bumper, and a hat on dashboard that said 'Redneck born to partie', and of course it was spelled wrong. I glanced around, eyes peeled for anyone, anything. I circled the truck slowly, deciding what to do, finally landing on slashing the back tires and puncturing a hole in the gas tank making sure he's not going anywhere. A scream, I whipped my head in that direction and scanned the overly bright strip club, ready for anything. A young women, in her early twenties, legs wrapped around an older gentlemen that was holding her to wall with his body screamed again, this time out of pure pleasure. I let out a groan, rolled my eyes and turned my attention to the strip club where loud music blasted, lights flashed and young women through their lives away. There he was, the sick freak that would drive his killing machine, drunk. He sat on one of the couches in the back, 'professional dancer' all over him, beer in one hand and singles in the other, a smile plastered on his face. He's happy as can be, until he finds out what someone did to his truck, then that smile will be whipped clean off.
    Crisis averted. Malory did what she always did after a crappy day at work, grabbed her poetry book, lit some candles, and relaxed in the warm water in her big white tub. Now when I grew up, and I say when because I was born on the sixteenth day of the ninth month in the sixty-fifth year of the 1800s. When I grew up, we treated women with respect, we took care of them, treasured them, and never watched a women undress, it was unmoral and a sin in my family. So anytime she changed or undressed for a bath, I simply closed my eyes, never peeking. I was told I was meant for this job, to live forever, protecting people, it was my destiny although, It never felt like anything more to me than my job, until I was assigned to Malory.
    Her bathroom was a nice size for an apartment bathroom, tub in the back on the left, toilet next to it on the right, sink and counters covered the right wall and closet on left, next to the door. I watched her concentrate on one poem, it was called 'The one she was', she must have read this poem a hundred times. I myself could recite it without skipping a beat, knowing every word, every pause and sometimes I'd read it with her. Her soft pink lips would move along silently with the words echoing in her head, her heartbeat would pick up, and her eyes would glisten with a flash of wonder. It was wonderful watching her enjoy something so simple yet, so complex and curious in her mind. Then, slipping on her light blue pj'ss, she snuck in her bed, held her little BorderTerrierr, Poe, close and closed her eyes.
    Bright and early the next day, I watched as she tied her black running shoes, grabbed her iPod, a bottle of water and left. I followed, watching, she ran every morning and most evenings, when the weather was beautiful she ran, when the weather was bad, she ran, and any time in between. She was very energetic and outgoing, all throughout high school, she was on track and field and soccer and to this day she's still in that healthy lifestyle. That morning run, will change things forever.