Who: Aubrey Rois What: Alter switch narrative Where: A downtown parking bay When: The night before Halloween Warnings/Rating: Violence
Robb was not happy. He was lingering in the background, with nothing but stony silence to offer. That’s a new one, Aubrey thought drily, feeling the cold waves of the other man’s disapproval radiating throughout his mind and chilling him to the bone. He wound his way through the shadowy corners of the parking structure, slipping between Cadillacs and Fords so swiftly that the soles of his black boots barely made a sound against the concrete beneath him. His target was drunk, stumbling and weaving his way towards the car he’d parked haphazardly across three spaces. He had certainly been tipsy when he’d arrived at the lot and headed off to the bar, and now Aubrey suspected that this man was closer to shitfaced.
Of course, this made him a hell of a lot easier to tail than if he’d been sober. Aubrey managed to duck out from behind a pickup and crept up behind the man without notice, pulling his silenced pistol from within his jacket and jamming the tip of the barrel against the man’s spine.
“Move,” he said softly, barely more than a breath against the back of a neck. Aubrey gave him a bit of a shove to get him moving and followed close behind into the darkest corner of the parking bay, cordoned off by warning tape and construction equipment. The man stumbled over a pile of broken concrete and fell to his hands and knees, and Aubrey stood over him, calm and still with his gun pointed right at the back of that blonde, balding head. He had gotten a tip-off from one of the thugs that he paid off now and then to pass him info, a hint that there was a man who had something to do with the murder of Aubrey’s father. There had been a picture, too – a mugshot that showed the man’s beady eyes and pointed chin and an ugly scar across his forehead.
The man lasted for nearly ten minutes while Aubrey tried to interrogate him - try being the operative word. No matter how clearly he threatened or bribed, the thug denied any knowledge and stammered his innocence.
Innocence. Right. That was a sick joke.
Aubrey’s patience was growing thin, and there was a hot rage bubbling up in his throat that wanted to escape. All it took was one too many unanswered questions, one too many denials, and then he was pulling the trigger. The man was there, and then he wasn’t. A lost burden.
But something was off. When Aubrey rolled the man over with a kick, he saw no pointed chin and no gruesome scar slashing his brow in half. Aubrey ripped the photo from his pocket and his heart sank. A quick perusal of the man’s wallet and I.D. confirmed Aubrey’s worst fear - he had the wrong man. He was not innocent – still a mob thug with dirty hands, still dangerous scum that had been kicked out of the bar after he’d been discovered in the bathroom with a bloodied, crying girl - but he truly didn’t know anything about the murder of Aubrey’s father. And in that instant, Aubrey felt Robb… leave. He was just gone, leaving an emptiness in his wake when only a moment before he had been hovering somewhere in the background.
My name is Henry. The words flashed across Aubrey’s mind, written somewhere behind his eyes in an elegant script, and Aubrey nearly dropped his gun. He saw the image of a man’s hand in an elegant glove, outstretched. Do not weep, for you must be strong. You are not alone.