The Perfect Spot
Xander walked on the street towards the outskirts of town. He heard the
distinctive rumble of a Honda Superhawk coming from behind him. He stopped
walking and looked up at the sky. Dark, thick clouds had gathered, blocking out
even the tiniest ray of sunlight.
The Hawk stopped just long enough for him to climb on the street bike. He
wrapped a loose arm around the driver's waist and pressed his cheek to the
leather clad back. He closed his eyes and sighed as the motorcycle jumped
forward, racing out of town.
You'd think I'd be used to this by now, Xander thought, automatically
shifting his weight to lean into a sharp curve. Depression slid over him, along
with resignation. He couldn't stop the upcoming storm, he could only deal with
it the best way he knew how.
The bike came to a stop, and Xander lifted his head to look around. The area
was flat and desolate. Empty. At one point it was probably the sight of a home,
or possibly a store. Now, it was a track of hard dirt, strewn with rocks, broken
bottles and other trash. No other buildings or homes were within view.
It was perfect.
But, Xander knew it would be.
The brunette climbed off the Hawk after the motor was shut down. Others would
say that, without the purr of the motorcycle's engine, the area was silent. But,
to Xander, the area was screamingly loud. The electricity gathering in the air
crackled. The hot gusts of wind that had whipped the storm together whistled
past his ears. The rumble of thunder from high in the sky sounded like the
pounding of tribal drums.
"This one came up too bloody fast."
Xander turned to the peroxide blond straddling the bike. "You say that every
time, Spike."
"Well, it's true," Spike raised his sunglasses-covered eyes to the dark sky,
"I haven't even had a chance to stash our gear."
"Better do that." Xander took the cell phone out of his pocket and handed it
to Spike, then he pulled both his shirts over his head.
"How long?" Spike accepted the shirts and shoved them in the bag at his side.
He adjusted the strap of the leather satchel more comfortably across his chest.
Xander looked up at the sky. "A couple of hours," he rubbed the large, black
thundercloud tattoo on center of his chest, "maybe more."
"Right." Spike started the bike's engine.
Xander sighed, removed his sunglasses and handed them to Spike. Despite the
darkness caused by the storm clouds, the young man squinted as if it were bright
and sunny.
"I'll come get you after the storm," Spike said out of habit, tucking the
wraparound sunglasses in his inner duster pocket.
"I know you will." Xander's tone was not one of tenderness or thankfulness.
It indicated a statement of fact.
Spike nodded once, revved the engine, and rode away. Xander let his gaze
wander around the area, making sure he was truly alone. When he was satisfied no
one else was there, he lay down on the hard, dirt-packed ground and shut his
eyes.
Thirty seconds later, the first bit of lightning cracked the sky, and the
electric bolt raced to earth...
...and hit Xander in the center of his chest.
End
