Local kids called it the 'Two-Four.'
A parking lot near the middle of town, the 'Two-Four' was open twenty-four hours a day for citizens who needed a spot to stash their vehicle close to Main Street while running errands or shopping or what have you.
Given that most of town closed up shop early in the evening, the Two-Four thus became a place for teenagers to meet up before a party, a road trip, or the big game.
Or to meet your boyfriend or girlfriend away from the watchful gazes of parents and elders.
On a sunny June afternoon, Frank could see two teens using it for the latter purpose. He rolled his eyes in an expressive orbit.
He was stopped at a red light in his father's truck, an older but well-loved Chevy C-10 that was more gray than blue at this point in its life. With it being the off season for football, the soon-to-be senior at Wilmington High was spending his Saturday helping repair the backyard patio instead of watching game film. Sent into town to visit the local Ace Hardware, Frank was on an errand to pick up some more nails.
As he waited for the light to change, he glanced back over at the two making out in the parking lot with a smirk. Geez, get a room--
Wait. Was that...?
Derisive look changing to a much more dangerous scowl, Frank realized the girl who was receiving rather enthusiastic attention from an older boy with spiky blond hair was his sister.
Shorter than him by almost a head, Lauren was still in the jeans, purple tank top and sandals she'd been wearing when she had left the house earlier in the day to meet with friends to work on a school project.
Or, at least, that's what Lauren had told their parents.
Wasn't really his business, he tried to tell himself as he noted traffic crossing in front of him slowing to a halt as their own light went to yellow. He did have errands to run, and...
And that guy was totally sticking one of his hands up her shirt. Lauren broke the kiss and gave the boy a nervous grin that was partially a grimace.
Oh, hell no.
Ignoring the honking horns of the cars behind and ahead of him as the light turned, Frank pulled a rather illegal U-turn and drove the C-10 into the lot, stomping on the brakes just behind the car Lauren and Guy He Was Going to Punch were necking against.
As he jumped out of the car, he saw Lauren's head whip towards him as she spotted her brother approaching. While she whispered to the boy, Frank could read her lips.
'Oh my God.'
Frank didn't whisper.
“Hey! Hey! Keep yer hands out of her shirt, jackass!”
He recognized the boy. Billy Heisel, from the baseball team. New to town. Kind of a prick, or at least he thought so. Guy thought he was the next Sean Casey. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Frank marveled at Lauren's bad taste as Heisel turned to face him as well, looking surprised and annoyed.
“What's it to you, bro? Fuck off.” Ah. He didn't know who he was.
“I ain't yer bro, bro...an' that's m'sister yer gropin'.” Next to Heisel, Lauren gave an exasperated sigh.
“Frank! It's okay! Everythings okay. Billy wasn't going to do anything I didn't want him to. Were you, Billy?” Even as she said the words though, Frank could see her cheeks darkening as she unnecessarily smoothed down the front of her shirt a few times.
“Wait, this is your brother?” Understanding seemed to dawn on the teenager as Lauren tried to stand between them, hazel eyes annoyed from behind her dark brown hair. Frank continued to try and get around her, hands balling into fists.
“Yeah, shit-for-brains, I'm her brother, an' I am gonna break yer fuckin' jaw!”
“Damnit Frank, will you calm down!?” Lauren put both of her hands on his chest, glaring up at him. “Everything is under control here, okay?”
Heisel grinned nastily at Frank over Lauren's head.
“Yeah. Like it was in the back of my car last Saturday.”
As quickly as Frank was trying to connect his fist to Billy's nose, Lauren beat him to it. Squealing in indignation, the fifteen year old spun on her heel and slapped Billy Heisel across the face. As the baseball player back-pedaled, surprised, Frank reared back and...
...and then Billy Heisel faded from sight, rippling away like heat haze. Gaping in surprise, Frank watched as the other cars on the street near by did the same, as did pedestrians. Soon only Frank and Lauren were left.
Letting his hands drop to his sides, Frank exhaled. It wasn't Lauren, was it?
This had happened almost seventeen years ago.
And Lauren, the real Lauren had been dead for almost as long. As this occurred to him, he looked down at his hands. They were the rougher, calloused hands he had now, not the softer ones of youth.
Nearby, the psychic shade that looked like his sister and had many of her memories blinked a few times as well, running a hand through her shoulder length hair.
“I...wow. Man, you have vivid memories sometimes.” Laughing softly, the entity he called Echo wiped a hand across her mouth, as if she had really spent the last few minutes lip-locked. Frank snorted, shaking his head as if to clear it.
“...you sure this is one of my memories?” Hopefully it was. He shouldn't be having bleed-through from Echo. Should he?
Could he?
“Um. Yeah? I mean, I don't think it could be anything else...” The very spitting image of his sister shrugged at him. Born of a last act of love and protection from his sister just before she died, Echo was for lack of a better identifier a living spell. A ward of sorts. A mixture of his sister and her magic, magic neither Frank nor his parents ever knew she had had. Echo had ridden around in his head until he had become Bee-stung. The two magics had worked together, allowing her to become stronger.
Finally, as a result of psychic turmoil and damage from his time in Kaidan, Frank had become aware of her, first believing her to be some trick or malign spirit. Then he'd come to accept her and her presence in his mind, a warm spot of affection that placed itself in the back of his thoughts as she did her best to help him against mind affecting magic and trauma. He'd also come to accept that he was just as bibbledy-fuck weird as everyone else in the Ealdwic set, thanks to his 'co-pilot.'
As she'd told him repeatedly in his dream-scape when he slept, however, she was still learning what exactly she was and what she could do. And he didn't dare go to the Order for advice on the matter. Somehow he doubted they would take well to his psychic tag-along.
“Pretty sure this is one of yours,” she murmured again, looking distracted.
“Did I fall asleep? Don' remember goin' t' bed. Wait, wasn't th' station under attack? What th' hell?” Frank turned in place, looking at the shops and businesses along Main Street, now bereft of people. The buildings looked washed out, faded of color with the memory seemingly over.
Echo blinked, sticking her pointer finger in the air as if she'd just thought of something, but remained quiet for a few seconds as Frank looked back at her. Then, nodding, she answered him, finger still in the air.
“You're totally unconscious, big guy.”
“I got knocked out?” Frank rested his hands on his hips, brow furrowing in growing frustration.
“Yep. Looks it. Maybe that's why you're here.” Echo was tracing patterns along the parking lot blacktop with her left sandal. Rubbing a hand down his face, Frank sighed.
“Y'know, there's times I really wish y'knew more about how all this worked...”
“Technically I'm three. Gimmie a break, Frank! I'd, well, I dunno...jump start you or something but it doesn't work like that.”
Smirking, Frank looked up at the illusory sky.
“Well, hopefully I'll wake up--”
“...soon.” Rasping out the words, Frank realized he was still looking up at the sky.
Only it was the dead of night, and a blood red moon was shining in the darkened heavens. He felt dampness on his back and his neck. Mud? Yes, he was lying on the ground. Warm wetness on his forehead too. Groaning, he ran a hand across it and saw sticky blood in the illumination provided by the moon.
As he tried to sit up, he saw there were other sources of light: barrels spaced out at regular intervals in the open field he was lying in had firewood dumped inside and lit. They crackled and popped to themselves. By firelight he could see ragged figures slumped in various poses all around him. Torn clothing, flesh with a corpse-like pallor...
Zombies. Recently destroyed.
Right. Right. He was still in Kingsmouth, for his 'mentoring' stint with Keyah Healowe. This 'blood moon' nonsense had empowered the local hordes, and they'd thrown themselves at the police station in greater and greater waves.
Turns out what all the Ealdwic set had to say about the blood moon was right after all.
“Hey, I found Frank!” It hurt to twist his head, but Frank did so to spot a man running up to him, rifle in hand. Dirty police uniform, bandage on his left hand. Behind the man, Frank could spot the ramshackle barricades and spotlights of the police station, where survivors continued a seemingly unending fight against the risen dead.
Caldwell. Caldwell? Frank thought that's what his name was.
“Jesus, pal! Gave us quite a scare.” The Solomon County LEO offered him a hand, and Frank accepted it, letting the man pull him to his feet.
“When that big one hit you with the club, wow. We were afraid you were done for! Didn't think you Visitors could even die...”
Frank blinked back at the man, uncomprehending, until Caldwell gestured behind Frank. Turning slowly back to the scene of devastation, Frank noticed a considerably larger corpse. With dyed skin, blue-green, and a bone headdress.
And a really big club.
“Haven't seen ones like that in a while,” muttered Caldwell as he too looked down at the Mayan zombie. Frank blinked a few times more, wiping his hand on his jeans.
“I really hate this here blood moon bullshit,” he grumbled to the cop.
