Prelude to the Beast

[ok there was a mix up and i accidentaly uploaded chap 3 to the chap 2 spot...sorry for the mix up...things should make sense now]

Chapter 2

The Man I Come Home Too

Usually when I hear people talking about animal psychics almost ninety percent of the time they reefer to them as being a joke, or fake even. And I actually have to agree. Half of the people that claim to be psychic obtain the gift but it is no where near as strong as they claim it to be. And as for it being a joke, I admit it isn’t something many people brag about but it pays good and I can truly say I’m the real thing. Besides, I enjoy being around animals more than I do people. So what better job could I have?

The ride home wasn’t out of the ordinary. But the rain had subsided enough for me to set my wipers on their lowest setting. Outside everything seemed to be in shades of gray and black. . Nothing like a rainy night in Baltimore to make everything seem dreary.

The apartment complex was quiet, as was everything on rainy nights. The Land Rover rolled into its usual spot. After gathering my gym bag I reached under my seat and pulled out my 357. It looked awkward in my small hand. And I knew from experience that the kick back was enough to make me jump back a feet or two, but it was the only gun I had. Guns were for pansies. That had been my motto since the day I left home. But they did a good job of scarring away muggers and car jackers. And not to mention your occasional lycanthrope.

With my gym bag thrown over my shoulder and a gun in the other hand I got out and locked my door. At first glance I’m sure I look like a muggers wet dream. Barely 5’2 with big brown eyes my mere presence seems to call out all attackers from the woodwork. But once they catch the gleam of my gun they almost always head in the other direction. However, there were a few who tested my patience. But I was learning to forget about that.

The light rain sprinkled down on my bare skin, forcing small goose bumps to rise. I’d rub my arms but the gun was in my dominant hand. I made sure the gun was pointed down toward the sidewalk. The last thing I wanted was to blow away one of my neighbors. I didn’t like many of them but I wouldn’t go as far as killing them. Though each time I heard pulsating music from the bottom level due to a weekly house party, the thought did sound more appealing.

I wasted no time in heading up the steps, after every few steps I looked behind me, just to make sure I wasn’t being followed. With hopes I could make it into my place without a neighbor spotting the 357. I made sure the keys were ready in my left hand so I wouldn’t have to stand out in the open for too long.

Once inside I quickly locked the door, set the dead bolt, and latched the chain. A wave of relief flowed over me. I was finally in what I considered my safety zone. And the only man in my life (besides David) was here waiting for me. I knew he wouldn’t care that I looked like a sweaty mess. One reason why I loved him so much. I pulled the sweaty scrunchie from my hair. My long locks cascaded down my back in a wavy mass that screamed to be washed. After setting the gun down on the coffee table and kicking my sneakers off I collapsed on the couch. My ears waited for him to realize I was home and to hear the sound of him running. But after a few minutes of silence I gave up on waiting ( once again I have no patience ). I made my way out to the kitchen. I knew just what I needed to make the love of my life come running.

I picked up the empty bowl next to the sink and put in a fresh scoop of Pedigree. Just the soft sound of the small morsels hitting the bottom of the bowl had awakened him. The loud rumbling of his feet seemed to make the walls rattle. Angus was awake now. When he broke around the corner of the kitchen and saw me with his bowl he leapt up and put his saucer sized paws against my chest. Not having enough time to brace for the impact I soon found myself on my ass with dog food pebbles scattered all along the linoleum floor. That was Angus the dog, the man I come home to every night.

Too tired to be angry I just sat and watched as he ignored me and chased around the morsels of dog food with his muzzle.

“What am I going to do with you, Angus?” At the mention of his name he perked up his ears. “Yeah I’m talking to you.” Slowly he peeled his face away from the food and looked at me. I wasn’t angry but the vibes I was sending off told him I wasn’t exactly happy either.

His eyes were black, as were most Trollhunds. His hair was thick and wire like, reminded me of the Irish Wolfhounds my grandfather used to raise. He stood about four and a half feet and with his paws up against my chest he’s taller than I am. At first glance he was a dog that belonged at a farm with wide open land, but Angus was happy here. He never actually sat down with a cup of coffee and talked about just how happy he was, but I knew it. I could see it in his eyes whenever I looked at him. His mind was content with barely any little doggie stress.

Angus whimpered and nudged me with his face. “Try and make up with me now eh?” I had to laugh but the loud ringing of the phone took the laugh straight from my throat. It was going to be bad news. It always was. Getting up I checked the clock on the microwave to make sure I wasn’t late for my one o’clock appointment, and of course I wasn’t.

I answered the phone and was soon wishing I had caller ID…..