Taking on Tory(14)

He pulled the black leather jacket he was wearing off. Holding it loosely in one hand, he flicked the button at the top of his jeans free. It looked like he was going to be scaring more than Tory tonight. He flicked open his cell phone and punched the number for Youssef.

“Be prepared for a cleanup mission,” he growled. “Lock on my location.”

“You are not going to kill her, are you?” Youssef hissed in dismay.

“Not her, the two men following her,” Simon replied in a low voice as he rounded the next corner. He watched in disbelief as Tory stepped up to the iron gates of one of the local cemeteries, opened it, and slipped inside. “I swear I have never met a more clueless female in my life.”

“Then why do you chance discovery?” Youssef demanded. “Let fate do what it will with her.”

“Because she is mine,” Simon replied. “Magnolia Cemetery on Cunnington Aveune.”

“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes,” Youssef promised. He stopped on the street across from the entrance to the cemetery. The two men had paused at the entrance to the cemetery and where they argued in quiet voices. He could hear every word of their conversation and it only heated the fire of rage building inside him.

“This is crazy,” the shorter man who smelled like stale cigarettes muttered. “Let’s find some other chic.”

“No,” the tall, lanky one hissed. “Did you see the curves on her? Did you see the size of her tits? This one is perfect?”

“She might be perfect, but she walked into a fucking cemetery,” the first man argued. “Normal chics don’t go into cemeteries at night. Besides, what if someone sees us?”

“Who’s going to see us? The ghosts? Everybody is dead, man,” the lanky male chuckled. “Dead people don’t talk, dude. Come on.”

“I don’t like this,” the first man grumbled. “I’d rather find some bitch down near the harbor.”

“I get her ass,” the lanky male replied. “Since you’re such a pussy, you can have that.”

Simon started across the street as the words faded. By the time he got done with the two men, there wouldn’t be anything left for Youssef to clean up. He was going to rip them to shreds and burying their remains among the dead.

Slipping through the gate, he stripped off his clothing before calling forth the beast inside him. It was time to hunt. First, he would kill the two men. Then, he would take his prize, the clueless woman that would discover he was all male.

*.*.*

Tory waved to another ghost who smiled and floated away from her. She loved walking through cemeteries. There were so many interesting people who had lived during all different time periods. Cemeteries were the best place to learn about the past.

Mrs. Fitzpatrick, a widow from the 1800’s who still hung out at the Magic cemetery, was one of her best friends even if she was an old ghost. Mrs. Fitzpatrick and Sheriff Buchanan, the first sheriff of Magic, had helped her with her history during high school. She would have failed if it hadn’t been for them.

“How’re you doing? Nice to meet you. Is there a nice place to sit and have dinner?” Tory asked one group of soldiers gathered around a ghostly fire.

“Down by the pond is nice,” one of the soldiers in gray replied. “Nice night. If you come back again in a couple days, the moon will be full and it is real pretty, then.”

“Thank you. I’ll have to make sure I come back.,” Tory replied with a grin. “See you.”

“Have a good evening, ma’am,” another soldier replied, looking with envy at Tory’s ass as she walked away. “I wish they had women like that when I was alive.”

Ghostly laughter filled the air as the soldier turned back to his comrades. Tory heard the comment and chuckled. Yep, there was always a ‘lively’ bunch in the cemetery.

She wove her way through the beautiful, peaceful tombstones enjoying the cool evening and the serenity of the grounds. Some of the tombstones were works of art, while others shared their tragic stories. She remembered being fascinated and saddened by the tales the ghosts told her.

She had been around seven the first time she went down to the cemetery in Magic. A sigh escaped her as she remembered crying when one little girl, the same age as her at the time, told her how she had died on a dark winter morning after being ill. The young girl’s mother sat beside her, brushing her hair as they talked about what they liked to do. The girl’s father sat nearby chatting with Sheriff Buchanan.

Tory thought of her Aunt Topper. Topper had found her sitting on a bench in the lone shade of a mature Juniper tree with tears streaming down her cheeks. Her aunt had sat with her and helped her to understand that there were many different levels to life than just living.