The Marvel Knights Group presents: Sleepwalker #1

Her mouth tasted of blood as she pressed her lips into mine, again. Her pale skin and dark hair were a contradiction that only the insane could appreciate, and judging from the pack of friends that stood behind her, she was in perfect company. She licked her teeth and tried to look sexy as she backed away, trying to judge the lack of pleasure on my face. Her eyes studied my entire body, the bruises on my face that trickled small rivers of blood from the broken capillaries just below the skin.

Everything about her was peculiar. I could taste the blood she lapped off the open wound on my arm; the coppery taste wasn't so bad, if you were sadistic enough to enjoy that sort of thing, I'm sure I could think of worse things to taste while a woman kissed me. Snapping her fingers her goons howled with approval as I guess they considered me their broken prey. Captured, sure. Broken? I don't think I'd use that word to describe me. Of all the situations I routinely found myself, this wasn't something over my head, well at least not yet.

Give that another ten minutes; I'm sure it'll get worse.

I do have to hand it to her, or one of her goons, I'm not exactly sure just yet. Since she's the one in charge I'll give her the credit for right now, but the bonds against my wrists are just tight enough to keep me from moving or attempting to escape, and yet at the same time I can still feel my fingers. She has compassion, though for the life of me, I couldn't guess why. I've been nothing but a bastard to her and considering that she's the one that started it all, I don't find fault in my actions up to this point. Nor the options my mind runs through if and when I get the hell out of this mess I've found myself mixed up.

She could have been a little attractive if she went out in the sun occasionally, I know I keep mentioning that -- and I'm probably stupid for telling her more than once -- but I've been told I have the wrong taste in women at times. I can see why people think that, but being tied up really isn't me. There is a time and place for most things, but there are certain things that never enter even my mind.

I shake my head as my mind drifts away into yet another tangent, struck back into reality as one of her goons starts laughing as though he suffered from some mental abnormality or another. The bastard was as big as I've ever seen, and knowing the company I've kept in my youth, that's saying a lot. He was probably strung out on mutant growth hormone, or maybe he was just big and retarded, I couldn't tell one way or the other but he sure as hell had a hard enough fist to send me packing into la-la land with one punch.

I found that out, twice.

"It's been a hell of a week, Ricky." She snarled, well it was almost a snarl, a good attempt at it on her part at least. "Gave me quite the run for my money, I enjoyed the chase, baby."

There's something in my eye that's more interesting to try and force out than it is to listen to the rambling she has to say. I think it's an eyelash, maybe a piece of Rudy's knuckle from the last time he hit me, but I think she's talking again.

"Such the strong and silent type, you can take the beatings I dish out and you never complain. But when are you going to hit me back? I'm sort of getting bored."

She licks her lips as she looks down at the blood seeping out of the wound on my arm. Frank Sinatra plays in the background, I remember my grandma playing this song or something like it, she claimed it made her better than me. Like death metal was any different, stupid broad wouldn't know good music if I slapped her in the face with it. She has the act down pat, but this girl is playing it up way too much. The green is in her face, though she pretends to love the taste of the blood she sucks out of my arm I can see the vomit she forces back into her stomach.

Yeah, this girl is about as much as a vampire as I am a woman.

I twist my hips in the chair that's been my home for...fuck, for a while. My ass is sore as all hell, I dunno what it is about these sickos and their constant need to make me uncomfortable, or maybe she's just too cheap to buy a cushion. I dunno. Whatever. Nevertheless, the statement raises a side of wonder in my brain as I twist my hips; everything feels like it's in order downstairs, so I'm definitely not a woman.

She's definitely not a vampire.

Wannabe, probably. Yeah I think that works a lot better than actual. She's in love with all that Anne Rice bullshit, sexy, or homosexual nonsense, either way she'd probably shit her pants if she saw a real one. I know I almost did the first time.

The pale skin isn't much of a choice, usually the classy vamps cover themselves head to toe with ornate clothing and ridiculous jewelry. Most of them tune into the music of the current day and age in order to blend into their environment, to attract their next meal and all that garbage. A real vampire wouldn't broadcast something like early Sinatra when they were trying to hunt down a meal. They always tried to attract them by befriending them; their hypnosis worked a lot better if there were fewer barriers to break down. A vamp didn't need the pressure of hearing "What the fuck is this 'tard listening to" when all they wanted was to leave little trail of an impending death behind. From what I understand of it, killing someone to drink out their blood until their nothing but a hollow husk is a lot of work. A lot of work that involves subterfuge, manipulation, and just downright a whole lot of suaviness.

I'm not entirely sure suaviness is a word, but I'm just going to run with it here.

This girl is an amateur. Well, that's actually somewhat insulting mainly because I'm the one tied up here. If she's the amateur here, what the fuck does that make me? Ah hell, I suck as this gig, and she's talking again.

"A wild ride, Ricky. Are you paying attention to me at all?"

"Not really, I'm just waiting for the giant death ray or whatever you people amuse yourselves with."

She huffs and gruffs around, pouting like the little girl I take her for, at least emotionally; I wouldn't hit it if there weren’t grass on the field. Well, at least the potential for grass to be on the field, razors and shaving cream, they are immaterial. "No. No, no, no."

She likes to repeat herself, and it suddenly dawns on me that I should try to remember her name. On the other hand, maybe insulting the retard would be easier to do. I yawn, it's all getting pretty boring by now and finally, "Look dummy, your daddy paid me a pretty penny to bring you home, now why don't you tell your friends that play time is over?"

"No!"

She throws her fists into the air and her pack inches forward with the sound of her temper tantrum. She opens her hand and they stop, "Quite the trained dogs you have," I laugh at her, and mostly the six of them. "I bet the big dummy wants a cookie. Hey dummy, want a cookie? I have a cookie in my pocket!"

Sparks of fire jump across the nerve endings in my face and my head turns with the forced motion of her open palm, I can feel the heat after her hand moves away. "You leave him alone, it's not his fault!"

"MGH?"

"No, that stupid mutant drug, his parents fed it to him. They wanted to turn him into a pro-wrestler and turn him into their pet monkey that won money."

My eyes close as I try to shut out that last bit of information, as ridiculous as it sounded I tried not to laugh. I didn't try very hard, and after a minute or two, I didn't feel her slap me anymore. "Stop that shit!"

"You leave my Billy alone! You're just a big meanie, daddy sent you to take me home, but I'm going to drain you and make you into my slave!"

"Uh huh," a small laugh leaves my cheeks, and then oddly enough I start coughing. "I'm such a bully, yet you're the one using your gang to tie me to a chair! Jesus Christ girl!"

She screams loudly, flailing her arms over her head and dramatically falls to the ground like a shitty NBA player faking a foul. "Oh, right, the mentioning of holy shit harms you, uhm, so Jesus, Mohammed, the Jewish one...Jehovah? Gandhi!"

The girl hisses, her limbs move wildly in her fake seizure. Her pink tongue forcing saliva out of her mouth for added affect and I just roll my eyes. "Anytime you'd like to finish, I don't think your goons are buying it anymore." I whisper to her, hoping to save her the embarrassment of discovering it all on her own.

Shaking the ground with each step that deletes the space that separates us, the big retarded fellow lifts the girl off the ground and pats down the dress she wears. Almost like, he was cleaning a naughty puppy that was rolling around after a dust storm. Really, a dust storm? Where does this shit come from, Manhattan hasn't had a dust storm in...Probably ever and yet I use that to reference the retard.

Wait, did the word naughty enter my mind and not be completely sexual? I must be tired.

A familiar noise fills my ears when the idiot girl stops her fake tantrum. Plastic bottle, the brown tint makes my eyes gleam, and yeah I can honestly feel him trying to get out when we both see the bottle of pills in her hand. "Looking for these?"

"Fuck me."

"Now we're getting somewhere."

I let my neck release and the back of my head hits the hard wooden back of the chair. The cliché of it all is starting to wear on my nerves. I don't look at her, I keep my eyes closed tight and I feel her tongue lapping around my neck. "It tastes so good," she whispers loud enough for the pack of goons to hear and cheer her on. "I want to take a taste, but I need to control myself. I cannot allow myself to succumb to my desires, lest they control me!"

"Oh, for fucks sake."

Lifting my head off the back of the chair my neck cracks as I move to look her in the eyes. She's snaking all around my body and I realize she's trying to seduce me, at least I think that's what she's trying to do. "Seriously, Denise? Deidra? Dumbass! Yeah, we'll stick with Dumbass, what are you trying to do here?"

Dumbass looks up at me, she's got a nice trick going with the sad puppy look, but all I want to do is bash my forehead into her nose, "You like me, don't you?" She asks.

"Like you?” I raise both eyebrows as I contemplate breaking her nose with the only weapon I have available. I think twice about it, the headache tomorrow morning would suck. “You annoy the living shit out of me and you have me tied to a chair, what's not to like?"

The girl looks up to me with those patented brown puppy dog eyes thinking that she’ll get me to be nice with just a glance. I shake my head in the negative and the expression leaves her face and she brandishes the baby-vampire teeth – I swear to whatever I believe in these days that’s what she calls them – and I laugh at her again.

I stop when the retard steps forward.

She licks my neck again, “God damnit, will you just bite me and get it over with already?”

She never grants my request, and I know she wouldn’t. I’m getting tired of it all, she’s been at it for hours and it’s all been very annoying, too bad this frustration isn’t boring, too bad the bottle of sleeping pills is in her hands, or I might get out of this mess. I lock eyes with the retard slinking back into the crowd of the other five of Dumbass’s tag-alongs and smile at him. “Hey dummy.” I say quietly, “I bet you haven’t been outside in hours. What kind of depends do you have to wear? Industrial strength wouldn’t do, what is it, I bet she has to tape like fifteen of those together to wipe your ass.”

Tears well up inside the retards’ eyes, it’s almost scary. I’m not sure if he’s hurt at the things I say or just that pissed off. I’ve been that angry once or twice in my life, in tears wanting to hit something really hard, god I hope he doesn’t try to hit me too hard. He’s liable to knock my head the fuck off.

The retard stomps over; nothing in the world could stop him. Great, I’ve pissed off a retarded Juggernaut. This is going to hurt. His closed fists are devoid of any blood, white and jagged knuckles are the only things I focus on and I realize I shouldn’t look at them. But I can’t look away, it’s all so amazing, his fists are bigger than my head, and I marvel at the site of those massive structures of human flesh and bone and realize something else. If he’s on MGH, what if he’s made of something harder than bone?

This is going to hurt tomorrow.

I watch my body tumble down. The chair legs crumble beneath me and in a flash of light, I feel no pain whatsoever. I suddenly do not envy what I’m about to go through whenever I wake up, but hopefully this won’t take long and I’ll wake up somewhere useful…like a hospital.

My body comes to a rest, still tied to the chair, and I pray that none of my bones is broken. Twisting my fingers in paired knots while I watch the faces of those pre-pubescent cronies turn to terror as a soundless beam of light widens and disappears with as much quickness as it had exploded. He always makes the best entrances, exploding from my mind like a supernova star, his purple cloak waves in the windless building, and I still have no idea how it does that.

The girl is the first to slip away. She has the mentality of a proper super villain, hide behind the cronies and make a clean getaway. I set my eyes on her, though I know the fight that’s about to start is going to be much more interesting to watch.

Hidden behind the red glow of his eyes, the Sleepwalker’s green face almost fades back into the purple cloak that floats in the stale air. The face frightens them, six goons and back against a wall. The wall startles them, looking to one another it’s almost funny how their gaze quickly moves to the retard, their foundation – it seems – when it comes to a fight.

As if it was on cue, the retard is the first one to swing.

The massive fist lumbers slowly toward the Sleepwalker, he weaves out of its way with a dancer’s ease. The retard is fast to throw another and another, but each time the ‘Walker moves away. Twisting his body without any effort the Sleepwalker avoids every would-be blow, and it’s so amazing to watch. Another one comes at him, I think it’s a woman, but with these Goth types, it can be hard to tell, what with the make-up and black lipstick he/she/it is wearing. A large sword, more like a gigantic stick of metal fashioned to look like it was out of some sort of video game and attached to a broom handle comes down at the Sleepwalker.

It’s not so much that he avoids the weapon, but the inanimate object is not subject to the code Sleepy lives by. His hand comes up just as the sharpened metal comes down and his eyes glow a dark crimson. He waves it away, the metal melting into the wind and falling straight down to the ground, splashing with a small puddle of an almost blue hued liquid. The would-be assaulter looks terrifyingly into the Sleepwalker’s eyes and that was his/her/its second mistake.

The rest of the pack look puzzling toward each other and a smile pull on my face from the safety of the mindscape. They form a semi-circle with the retard in the center, they try to snarl their menacing faces at the Sleepwalker’s emotionless gaze, and nothing ever seems to bother him anymore. Maybe it’s the routine of always saving my ass when push comes to shove, or maybe it’s all boring to him anymore. He steps backward, putting distance between him and the makeshift mob and they follow suit, stepping forward closing the distance he tries to create.

They have him outnumbered, five-to-one, the payday girl flew the coop a few minutes ago and I’ve been keeping my eye on her absentmindedly as I watched the fight scroll on better than any pay-per-view. One of them lunged; he wasn’t quite as Gothic as the others were, at least I could discern his gender from the other, heavier made-up, beings. He had knives in either hand; they weren’t anything special, not weighted or particularly sharp. But, taking a closer look as soon as I could see clearer, the black handles gave them away.

Kitchen knives. The little son of a bitch stole kitchen knives from his mommy.

The Sleepwalker was not concerned. The blades disappeared with a wave of his hand, a sharp red glowing energy surrounded the wannabe gangster’s wrists, and he floated up over the rest of the crew for all of them to watch. The Sleepwalker’s hand guided the kids’ movement and like hanging a crucifix, the young punk hung on the wall with his arms extended and his feet fastened together. The retard stomped forward, trying to frighten the Sleepwalker; confused when it didn’t work he stepped back and tried to find the girl I was after.

He almost whimpered like a sad dog when he couldn’t see her immediately, it was interesting to say the least. The Sleepwalker dispatched the rest of her little cronies without harming them, as per the usual. I keep my eyes on her as she tries to scuttle away, hiding between boxes and pillars. As she runs she stops to listen, hoping to use footsteps to guide her escape…the futility of it all is laughable.

The Sleepwalker floats effortlessly toward her, she doesn’t look up to see until it is too late. Her scream is a muffled silence as she falls into a quick slumber. The Sleepwalker’s gaze glowing that dark crimson red again and she falls gently into a deep sleep. Tightly curling her body into his arms, the Sleepwalker lifts her into the air with him, almost walking outside the window and outside the city.

Rooftop by rooftop, he glides and rests a moment, not wanting to waste any bit of his energy. It’s a slow going process but soon he brings her to my loft and gently sets her down on the couch. She’s much more appealing when she’s asleep, so quiet and less able to give me a piercing headache. I’ll call her father in the morning and collect that check, meanwhile, allow the Sleepwalker to have his fun in the moonlight.

It doesn’t take long to drop the kid off at my loft, the Sleepwalker puts her in my bed and I admit I’m annoyed; she’ll probably smear eyeliner all over my pillow. I stare at her through the Sleepwalkers’ eyes and wonder why he’s so interested in her; then again, she could be attractive if she dropped this wannabe vampire bullshit. The caked on make almost gives her facial features a white pasty look, a little bit of sun could do wonders. Hell, it might make her less of an outcast…though it wouldn’t help the weirdness.

He turns away from the sleeping girl and looks out the window. There’s some of that superhero crap coming our way and I couldn’t be more bored. That shit gets old, watching it night in and night out.

I wonder if Spider-Man has nights like this?

The pounding of my head made the pounding on my door that much louder. I pulled myself off my couch slowly and my eyes could barely focus as I pulled the door open. She stood there, with her arms crossed and that cute little ‘I’m going to kill you for not answering your phone,’ look on her face. The tapping of her foot had a catchy rhythm to it, I’ve heard it a dozen times before and it never stopped being a source of entertainment.

“Amy?”

“Oh, you do remember my name!”

“Of course I do,” I smile as the words ooze from my tired as hell body. “How could I forget that look of yours?”

“What look,” she says, “I don’t have a look.”

“Aw c’mon, you’re wearing that I’m gonna kill you for not answering your phone look. It’s really cute on you, especially so early in the morning.”

“It’s two in the afternoon, Rick; we were supposed to go to lunch. You fucking promised.”

When the black haired girl starts cussing, I know the game is over for me. She pushes her way into the loft and before I can utter a word, she sees her lying in my bed. My head drops, and I mutter some word that I can’t even hear.

“Who the fuck is that?”

“Baby, I’m working!”

“Some perks with this job of yours!”

“Well she is…” and I stop myself from finishing the sentence as I see the fire in her eyes. You can’t be too safe these days, you never know if you’re dating a mutant until you piss her off, then the fire shoots from her eyes and you need a change of clothes. And a skin graft.

“Say it.”

“Say what?”

“She’s perky?”

I throw up both hands in a sign of defeat, “You said that, not me!”

She glares at me, more like glares down at me…I hate dating girls taller than me for exactly that reason. I’m counting down from ten repeatedly, just waiting for something to happen. Maybe fire will come from her eyes and I’ll die quickly. The door slams and I’m left standing there, wishing for the fire. The fire would’ve been so much easier.

Collapsing on the couch, I suddenly remember the headache. The room starts spinning and I hear something that makes my skull want to explode. I push my fingers into my temple and hope the answering machine answers the phone for me and soon. I can’t deal with the shrill voice of anyone at the moment, let alone someone threatening my life again.

God damn I love this city.

The shriek of the answering machine lasts for-goddamned-ever until a dull voice sounds through the room. “Mister Sheridan, we had a deal.” It’s the father of the girl sleeping in my bed, which sounds so much better than reality makes it. “If you don’t return my daughter to me by sun down I will be forced to call the police. And you know how much I don’t want to do that.”

I move to pick up the phone, I’m not very quick about it and the fucker hangs up before I can say ‘hello’. I’m somewhat thankful, but I need to deal with him in order to get my cash, and I need my cash to pay my rent. Fucking landlords in this town, I swear, they just find some way to sit around, write their novels and take advantage of needy people like me.

“Mister Browns,” I ask, the fucker never says hello after the ringing stops. I’m never sure if he actually answers the phone until his heavy breathing clues me in.

“Yes, Mister Sheridan?” The fat man sounds like he just climbed a shit load of stairs, but knowing him as little as I do, I still find that doubtful. “Have you found her?”

“She’s asleep, safe and sound in my apartment.”

“That’s not a good place for her,” he says, with a fairly stern voice I may add. “I don’t want her to wake up in such a strange place, it may scar her.”

I want to say a trillion things to him; my smart-ass mouth probably wouldn’t do me any good. Especially as my eyes gain their focus and I see the terrible state the dishes are in and I can’t disagree with him. Child services would shut me down if I ever had a kid. Well a kid I knew about, there’s always that possibility of several exes that I still wonder about, but they won’t ever return my calls so I could guess I’m in the clear until I get rich.

I look around as I hang up the phone. The driver will be here in the hour, I guess I could check the mail, but I don’t want to let my eyes off this cash crop sleeping in my bed. Especially since, she ran Amy off and I’ll spend the majority of the money trying to get her to pay attention to me again.

Women. What the fuck