Tears Of The Narcissist - Preview

Holding her books tight to her chest, Natalie Stone could feel herself shivering as she walked through the London streets. The wind swept through her legs and her coat seemed pointlessly thin as it failed to keep out the cold night air. She reached the bus stop and checked the timetable. Her next bus wouldn’t arrive for another twenty minutes. Another reminder, as if it were needed, that her American blood wasn’t enough to keep out the chilly English air. She sat down on the cold metal seat, completely alone, with only a few people in the street as far as she could see. Natalie shook her head and took out a cigarette, raising it to her plain, unpainted lips before fumbling in her coat for a lighter, but it was impossible in the thick leather gloves she was wearing, and even they seemed to be doing little to keep out the cold. She pulled one of them off, and took the lighter out of her breast pocket, feeling the air sting the bare skin of her hand as it made contact. As she raised the lighter to the cigarette however, she heard a faint voice from the side street nearby.

“Miss?”
Natalie lowered the lighter and cigarette and gingerly stepped out to see the speaker, still holding her books tight to her chest.
“Miss!”
She rounded the corner slowly, and saw an ancient creature, lying in the street next to a dustbin, his face rough with years and obviously unkempt.
“Can you spare some change for an old soldier my dear?”
Natalie was about to open her mouth to say yes, but her eyes briefly made contact, directly with the old man’s. In that instant, she could see so much more than the vagrant lying on the pavement. What she saw disturbed her, like a great emptiness or black void, just hidden within the gleam of those deteriorated, gray eyes.
“No,” she said firmly. “I’m sorry, I only have enough for my own bus fare.”
“Oh but Miss,” the old man protested, getting up and moving towards Natalie.
The woman flinched and took a step back as the ancient hand reached for her.
“As one of God’s children to another, surely you can spare…”
“No,” Natalie repeated, still standing firm. She was in no mood for theology and wasn’t going to surrender to this old man now.

“How much do they give you then eh? How much?” the old man said, still keeping his jolly tone, yet Natalie could sense a hint of anger and bitterness beneath it.
“Never mind. Good evening,” she said, turning and heading off. But before she could get far, she felt a sharp pain in her left ankle. She yelped, almost falling as her books slipped from her grasp, spilling to the concrete.
“Take your hands off me!” She demanded, trying to kick free. But the old man’s grip was like ice, in which her foot was now firmly incased. She could feel his sharp nails dig into her skin, but she was soon released only, to be grabbed again, this time higher, as the attacker held her firmly to his own rotting form. He wrapped his arm around her neck, pulling her into a darker corner of the street.
“What are you then eh? What are you? Lawyer maybe? Or a doctor?” The old man sneered in her ear.
Natalie was choking. She couldn’t think or speak. All she could do was try to stay conscious as she struggled for freedom. In spite of the man’s age, his strength held her tight, and she could only move her neck slightly.
“Yes, that’s it, you’re a doctor aren’t you, little whore?”
Natalie tried to dig her own nails into his greasy old sleeve, but the fabric was thick and her fingers cold. She could barely make any impression, and certainly wasn’t working herself free. Summoning her courage, Natalie bit down into the cloth. The taste was unbearable, more so than the stench of his breath that was now invading her senses. But there was no point. The sleeve and whatever was beneath it was far too thick.
“Don’t even try it bitch!” he barked.

“Then let’s try this…” a commanding voice boomed from the alley’s opening.
Natalie and the vagrant looked up sharply, to see a tiny blonde man in dark glasses, a sensible black tunic and pants, wrapped in a dark gray overcoat not unlike Natalie’s.
Natalie tried to shield her eyes as a blinding light hit them. The intruder had taken out a torch and was now shining it directly on the scene, ensuring there was no way he could be identified. The old man also squinted in the light.
“What the fuck do you want?” he spat out, his putrid breath poisoning the air around Natalie’s face.
“How about,” the stranger continued. “You let her go, and I give you what you’re worth?”
“What?”
Before another word could be said, the newcomer raised an empty hand. Natalie blinked for only a second, and on opening her eyes could see the barrel of a tiny gun, which now fired two shots into the old man’s head. Natalie screamed as the vagrant’s blood spattered across her face and his limp arm fell from her body.
“I’m sorry about that,” the stranger said to her.
Natalie screamed again and back further away into the dark. But faster than she could see, he ran up and pinned her against the wall, the gun now out of sight. He put a gloved hand over her mouth to cut off the sound, and although he was much shorter and smaller than Natalie, his grip held her firm.

“Please, don’t do that again.” He muttered, taking out a cloth and wiping the blood from her face, which was now whimpering with fear. “Shhh…” the stranger whispered. “Try to relax, you’re alright.”
There was no way Natalie could relax. The man was shorter than her, and was not causing any pain. But his grip was still firm.
“Doctor Natalie Stone,” he said.
Natalie stopped struggling and froze. “How… how do you know my name?” she stammered.
“We know you. We’ve been watching you Natalie.”
“What?”
“Watching you, and watching over you.”
The stranger released his grip, and Natalie relaxed slightly, regaining her feet. Her heart pounded as she stared into the man’s glasses. Staring back at her was only her own timid face, wishing she could be anywhere else, yet frozen, eager to find out who her rescuer had been.
“Who are you?” Natalie asked, nervously.
“Why do you need to know? All that matters is that you’re safe.”
“What are you talking about? Why are you watching me? There’s nothing important about me!”
“Not yet, but you should take better care of yourself doctor.”
The stranger then pressed a small piece of paper into the woman’s hand. Natalie steadily opened it, and read the postal address that it contained.
“He watches you, and he’s waiting to hear from you.”
Natalie shook her head, trying to find words to describe her feelings.
“But, but who is he? And why me?”
Before she could get an answer, a car pulled up in the street next to the bus stop, and the man lifted a hand, gesturing for Natalie to get in.
“You should leave, we’ll take you home.”
“Why should I believe you?”
“Because I just saved your life.”

Natalie turned away, shaking her head again, still unable to process what was happening.
“Trust me doctor. Just write to him. He is waiting to hear from you.”
Swallowing noticeably, her strawberry blonde hair almost ashen in the grey darkness of the street, Natalie steadily began to walk towards the car. After a few steps she turned to face the man once more, but he hadn’t budged.
“Go.” He whispered, almost silent.
Picking up her books from the pavement, Natalie quickened her pace as she headed for the car. She jumped nervously as something cold and wet landed on her shoulder, before realizing it was snow, Fumbling to open the car door, she shot a glance back at the blonde man, but quickly looked away as he moved towards the dead figure of the vagrant. Inside the car was warm and inviting, and a friendly older gentleman, who looked in his mid 50’s, turned to her, smiling.
“Hope you’re alright Miss. So sorry about the fright.”
The doctor looked up into the older man’s eyes. They were kind and sympathetic, but she couldn’t speak. She smiled in response and looked down, trying to recollect her wits, concentrate on making sure her books and notes were all accounted for. No sooner had she made sure that they were, than from the seat in front of her opened a small compartment, and out slid a tray with a steaming mug of hot tea. Beside the tray was a computer console that looked like a sophisticated form of coffee machine.
“I took the liberty of brewing you something soothing before you arrived. If it’s not to your taste, please feel free to mix your own. Ask me if you’re not sure of anything.”
Natalie didn’t even acknowledge him this time. She took the tea and carefully examined it. There was nothing odd about its colour or smell. Nevertheless, she was reluctant to take a sip, and replaced it on the tray.
“Father said you’d be a cautious one.” The driver laughed.
“Father?” Natalie asked, confused.
“Nobody you know, just think of him as a friend Miss. Just think of him as a friend.”
Natalie knew she wasn’t going to get much more out of this, and sat back watching the city go by as the car drove on.

Staring down at the dead figure on the pavement, the Overseer mused over what had just happened. Stone hadn’t seemed as strong as Marcus had suggested, but then, the unfortunate incident with the degenerate, who now lay on the ground, had not been foreseen. The figure knew it was dangerous to stay here much longer. This creature hadn’t caused Natalie grief without purpose. What’s more, there was something not quite human about the dead man. It was as though staring into his frozen, ancient eyes the Overseer could detect another presence, which was now leaving the body like a predator leaving a carcass from which it could eat no more.
The stranger’s concentration was interrupted by the clang of a garbage bin lid a few meters up the street. It rolled into the street steadily in perfect formation before falling to the ground with a crash. But the Overseer’s ears were pricked for other sounds, the sounds of unwanted company. A moment later, the company emerged, in the form of a well-fed orange tabby cat that stumbled out of the darkness and ran out into the open street. But no sooner had the cat left the alley, than the Overseer heard another sound, much closer. Quickly raising an arm in the sound’s direction, the figure didn’t even flinch as a small knife shot out from the overcoat’s sleeve, burying its blade in the neck of a young skinhead.

The tall, lanky attacker didn’t have time to see the blade coming. All he could feel was the searing pain as he heard the machete he’d been carrying drop to the ground with a loud clatter. He stared helplessly at the tiny, mild mannered blonde man who’d impaled his neck, before losing consciousness and falling to the ground, blood pumping from the wound almost steaming as it hit the freezing cement.
The Overseer retracted the knife carefully, wiping it on the skinhead’s white shirt, before examining the man’s numerous tattoos. Rolling up the sleeve of the attacker, the stranger found the mark…

There was another noise in the dark. This time, the Overseer wasn’t taking chances, bounding off one wall and then another until reaching the roof of the three-story building that stood over the alley, before turning quickly, only to be instantly dismayed by what was waiting.
“That’s him,” one of the men shouted as the pair of them lunged at the blonde man.

The man who’d spoken was heavy, and a little older looking in his mid 40’s. His companion was a woman, a slender brunette who despite her youth radiated the confidence of someone with years of experience in the mercenary industry. It only confirmed what The Overseer already knew. WASPS - members of the World Affiliated Strategic Privateer Services guild.

The pair opened fire and bullets blasted small holes in the wall as the figure nimbly rolled over the ledge and fell to the alley below. Instantly raising two small handguns towards the roof, The Overseer had to blink as the snow blurred any clear vision. But the attackers were nowhere in sight, and the man quickly moved to a darkened shadow in the hope of giving his eyes time to adjust. The sound of quiet feet taking cautious steps resonated above with its only counterpoint the quiet impact of snow. The Overseer could see the white steam of breath in the dark, hoping it would not give away the presence that lay in wait for the WASPS. Before long, a shadow cast over the small section of light that still pierced the alley. And the outline of the older, WASP could be seen steadily climbing down a ladder to the street.

The man was surprisingly fit for his age and shape, nimbly jumping to the ground and walking over to the dead skinhead. Shaking his head in dismay. But it was a mistake, as he had neglected to prioritise his own safety.
Before anything else surrounding him could touch his senses, he felt the shattering pain of bricks as the side of his head hit the building beside him, and the steaming breath of The Overseer swirled round his ear, a warm counterpoint to the icy voice that soon filled his head. It was slow, deliberate and threatening.

“If I were you…” it began. “I would be giving me as much information as you could about who your client is, what you think you’re doing here and your client’s interest in the good doctor.”
The WASP could barely speak, he began to stammer an answer but if he was attempting to form words, they couldn’t be understood.
“Now!” the Overseer barked again.

The WASP looked down at the tiny man who held him captive, but was met with such a frightening glare he instantly had to look away. There was something familiar about that voice, and the shape of the figure…
His concentration was broken as a gloved hand tightened against his skull.
“Aaagh! I don’t know! We weren’t told! Some media guy I think…”
“Oh really?” the Overseer replied casually.
“Just said to try and get a message to the girl…”
“I think I beat you to it.”
“I don’t know…”
The Overseer gripped tighter and gently ran a finger down the man’s throat. The nails were unusually long and felt sharp.
“You don’t know much do you.” The tiny man purred.

Before the WASP could make any more sense of that, the Overseer pulled his hand away and swung a punch, deep to the mercenary’s mid-side. The man screamed in agony, and the Overseer’s eyebrows were raised with interest. The WASP had not been hit that hard. Holding him firmly against the wall, the Overseer lifted the man’s shirt where the blow had been delivered. There, was the stitching of what had once been a bad stomach wound, a sealed incision ripping across the side of the man’s gut. The Overseer stared into his eyes for a moment in surprise.
“I remember you…” the Overseer whispered, gently lowering the black glasses that separated them. “Look at me… do you remember?”
The WASP was too terrified to do anything else, and peered into the frozen dark eyes that now felt like they were piercing his brain and his soul, a sensation made worse by the chilling wind that had begun to billow up the side street.
“Listen to me…” the voice continued. “Remember? You owe me…”
The realisation of his attacker’s identity hit the WASP with the full blast of the icy wind that was now sweeping through the street. He forced himself off the wall and tried to run, managing not to slip in the snow. But his foot struck the dead body of his skinhead colleague, and he stumbled to the ground, hitting his head on the frozen cement. Barely conscious, only able to roll his body over to stare into the face of the woman who was now in total control of him, he moved his bloodied lips to speak, but no sound came.
“Don’t bother,” she said with a sympathetic smile. “Your debt is paid.”
With that, Dinah Corvana raised the machete she’d picked up from the dead skinhead, and brought it down swiftly and firmly over the man’s throat.