October 2000, Brooklyn / PART 2

Sable turned down a sidestreet and entered a small restaurant. Turning around, he looked back through the window to see if he was still being followed.
No one appeared.
"Are you coming in, or out?"
Sable turned back around and pulled back his hood to respond to the proprietor. "Sorry, Haleef... Thought I had a tail."
The owner was standing behind the counter of the restaurant's bar. As he turned around to retrieve a bottle, he asked, "Cops again?"
Sable sat down on one of the stools at the bar. "Better not be. I haven't done anything."
Haleef looked over his shoulder and gave the young man a doubtful look.
Sable put up his hands. "Honestly. I'm clean."
"Whatever you say." Haleef bent down and took a couple of glasses from a shelf under the counter. "You want a drink?"
Sable nodded, and then looked around the room. Only a few people sat at various tables under dim lighting, quietly minding their business. "Busy night?"
Haleef shrugged as he poured Sable a drink, and then himself. "Am I ever busy?"
Sable lifted the glass to his lips. "Ah, it'll pick up." He took a long drink.
A chime sounded as the door to the restaurant opened. Sable didn't turn around. He set the glass down and asked his friend, "Tall male wearing a good lookin' suit and a black overcoat?"
Haleef nodded and looked down at his friend. "Doesn't look like you lost him."
"It would have been too easy, I guess. What's he doing? Is he coming over here?"
"No. He's heading for a booth." Haleef then looked seriously at Sable. "I don't like the look of him, my friend. You sure you aren't in some sort of trouble?"
"Really, Haleef, I don't know who this guy is or what he could possibly want." Sable turned around on his stool to look at the newcomer. "But I intend to find out."
He got off the stool and strode over to the booth where the man now sat. Sable finally had a chance to get a better look at his follower's features. He was clean shaven and had dark, well-groomed hair. He was a lean man, but without seeming weak. He sat upright, with an almost arrogant air. And his eyes were...the strangest shade of brown Sable had ever seen. Aged gold would have to be the best description.
The man watched Sable approach.
"If you are expecting burgers and fries, then you came to the wrong place."
The man didn't respond, but simply gave Sable a humored smile.
"So?" Sable tucked his hands into the front pocket of his hoodie. "What's the story?"
"Story?"
"Let's just say, I know you didn't come here for the Islamic cuisine."
The man smiled again. "Have a seat, Sable."
Sable laughed shortly. "What is that? Some sort of intimidation tactic? Knowing who I am before I know who you are? I'm not impressed. First of all, it's been done before. Second, it's not that hard-"
"I am not here to impress you." The man stared into Sable's eyes. "I don't need your admiration, or your approval. Just sit down."
Sable remained standing for a moment, and then sat down across from the man.
"Do you believe in Heaven and Hell, Sable?"
Sable laughed. "Here I was thinking you were with the FBI or IRS, or something like that, and it turns out you're a priest!"
The man did not respond. After a moment Sable looked away from him uncomfortably.
"A guy like yourself doesn't go lookin' for someone, equipped only with a name," Sable said at last. "So I am sure you already know about my past."
"Your past?" There was a humorous tone in the man's voice.
Sable got very serious. "I watched my mother gun down my old man... Four shots to the chest." He looked down at the table, staring at nothing. "Not that I blame her. He was abusive to an extreme. It was only a matter of time before she would have been dead herself."
The man remained quiet for a moment, and then said, "You have yet to answer my question."
"Didn't I?" Sable retorted. He leaned forward. "Do you really think that I would continue to believe in Heaven after..." His fists tightened and he impulsively slammed one clenched fist down on the table. But he did not continue his initial response. Instead, he waited to calm down, and then said simply, "No. I don't believe in Heaven."
"And Hell?"
"Life is Hell."
The man's lips parted into an amused smile. "That sounds like something your father would say."
"Don't ever compare me to my father!" Sable hissed angrily.
The man's amused smile remained. "Don't worry, Sable. You will become so much more than your father is."
Sable questioned irritably, "Is?"
"Or ever will be."
"You mean was." Sable sat back. "Yo, you don't have very good hearing, do you? I already told you, my old man is dead."
"That is correct."
Sable shook his head. "You know what? I'm done with your game."
He started to scoot himself out of the booth where he sat.
The man's mood turned dark. "Stay where you are."
Suddenly something... something oppressive and sickening, took hold of Sable. No hands were laid on him, but a terrible force held him still. He tried to move, but could not. Terror set in as he tried again. The sickening feeling that gripped his gut began to climb upward. His body impulsively went to vomit, but nothing came out.
The sickness crawled higher and his mind became filled with the sound of a thousand screaming souls as they clawed at his consciousness, searching for an escape.
The man angled his head and stretched the muscles in his neck, as though working out a tight knot at the top of his shoulders. The sound of a few pops and cracks could be heard. He then returned his hateful gaze to Sable. "The Morning Star believes that you are important." He shrugged the thought off. "Personally, I think you are expendable, as all mortals are." He then rested his hands back on the table. "I will tear you apart, Sable. I will shred your flesh into strips-. "
"Hey!" Haleef strode angrily toward the booth. "Are you giving my friend trouble?"
The force withdrew from Sable with a rush and the screaming ceased. He slumped heavily down onto the seat and began gasping for air.
Haleef impulsively stooped down to help the young man. "Sable... are you all right?" The concern in his voice was obvious.
"You are intruding, Disinherited One."
Haleef glared at the man. But then, as though he suddenly recognized the other, he stood upright and took a step backward. "Shaitan..."
The man laughed. "Oh, you superstitious and ignorant fool!" He shook his head. "Shaitan, I am not." He removed himself from the booth and rose to his feet. "But I suggest you go on with your business, regardless."
Haleef visibly trembled, but he did not retreat. "Leave my establishment," he managed to say.
The muscles along the man's jawline flexed. He regarded the proprietor with cold impatience. Then, almost lazily, he brought his right hand up and extended his fingers toward Haleef's chest.
Haleef was lifted up into the air, and then suddenly a force threw him backward. He crashed into the stools that lined the front of his bar. The few customers that were in the restaurant jumped to their feet in alarm.
His attacker advanced toward him. "I can't say that I am surprised by your insolence, Haleef. You had such strength... That is, before you subjected yourself to this viral life of mortality!" He grabbed Haleef by his hair and began dragging the panicked owner toward the back of the restaurant.
One customer went to leap over a table in order to help, but his body suddenly disintegrated into ashes. The remaining witnesses dashed out of the restaurant, clambering chaotically over anything in their way.
Sable fumbled his way out of the booth and tried to stand. But nausea overtook him and he fell to his knees and vomited.
"Haleef..." he coughed, and attempted again to rise.
"Get out of here, Sable!" Haleef screamed. "Get out of here now!" He clawed at the hand that held his hair in a death-grip.
Sable, panicking, began gasping for breath again. He looked toward the entrance. The way was clear. He looked back toward his friend of several years. Haleef was thrashing wildly, curses in arabic spilling out of his mouth.
Tears began forming pools at the base of Sable's eyes as he looked back at the open doorway again.
"Where are you going, Sable?"
Sable immediately looked again toward Haleef. The man still held him, but was now staring at Sable intently.
"Oh, I grow bored with this... Go ahead and run, if you want. My errand is incomplete, but it is of little consequence." The man tilted his head back slightly. "Even if Piryol finds you before I, and enlists your cooperation, the end result will be the same." He sighed. "There truly is no grey, Sable. So, go. Run away. There is nowhere you can hide." He then looked down at the proprietor at his feet. "And there is nothing you can do for this one, besides."
The tears now began rolling down Sable's cheeks. He looked at Haleef's face and saw tears on his cheeks as well.
"What do I do?" Sable quietly cried as he stared into his friend's eyes.
Haleef got control of his fear and replied quietly, "Take courage, my friend, and go. It is okay." He looked up into the eyes of his assailant. "إبليس ، لم يكن لديك السلطة هنا... You cannot hurt me."
The man laughed. "Oh can't I?"
Haleef moved his hand to his chest and removed a small vial, dangling from an old chain, from his shirt. "This water was drawn from the Well of Zamzam by my ancestors. I have thought, in the past, that it was unrighteous of me to keep it... But, perhaps my ancestors were looking out for me."
"The Water of Zamzam?" The man scoffed. "And what could you possibly accomplish with Ishmael's-" Suddenlly Haleef, with one quick stroke, pulled the stopper and jerked the vial toward his attacker, sending its contents spraying upward.
The man shrieked, and clawed at his face with violent terror. The flesh sizzled behind his groping hands.
Haleef jumped to his feet and sprinted toward Sable. He grabbed his young friend by his shoulders and yanked him to his feet. "Let's MOVE!"
They crashed past tables and overturned chairs in their wild attempt to escape. Haleef spoke hastily, "When we get to the door, you run! Just run, Sable! Do not look anywhere but straight ahead." He took hold of Sable's shoulder to keep the young man moving faster. "Do not listen to his words. He speaks in lies. You can hide from them, Sable! And you must! Just keep moving... Just keep running..."
Their attacker growled in anger behind them. The horrific mess that had become his face repaired itself within seconds. He leapt into the air and flew toward the runners with blinding speed. With taloned hands outstretched he grabbed Haleef's back and lifted him upward, slamming the proprietor into the ceiling.

Sable smashed through the restaurant's entrance and out into the open air. He tripped and collided roughly into the pavement. But the adrenaline that coursed through his body claimed dominance over the pain, and Sable jumped back up and continued running. The pounding of his heart in his chest matched the wild pace of his feet as he ran down the dark street...alone...without looking back.

October 2000, Brooklyn / PART 1

Sable pulled a book from the shelf and thumbed through it absent-mindedly. Occasionally he would look up from the pages and glance down the isle. A few people could be seen beyond, quietly thumbing through their own books while relaxing in soft chairs. They seemed very interested in whatever reading material was before them. They didn't seem very interesting themselves, though... except one.
A young woman, of mixed ethnicity, sat at the far end of the room underneath a tall window. A New York Yankees ball cap hid most of her short black hair, as well as a portion of her profile. It was of little matter to him, though. He knew the color of her eyes well enough.
"Hazel," he said quietly, in response to his thoughts.
She sat in her chair with her legs pulled up in a cross-legged fashion. It was a reflection of her youthful personality. A personality that he had always, secretly, admired. Though for the past couple of years she had been suppressing it. The library seemed to be the only place he saw it come out anymore. Believing she was alone, it was easier for her to relax here, and lose herself in books.
In High School he never would have suspected her to be a bookworm. Not that he ever got a chance to really get to know her, though. He hadn't been the most popular white boy in school.
An older man came into view, and turned into the isle that Sable occupied. He stopped a few steps from the young man and began running a finger along the backs of several books, obviously searching for one in particular.
Sable impatiently shut the book and placed it back on the shelf. He pulled his hood further down over his face and headed for the exit of the isle. It was about time he get going anyway.
The older man stepped closer to the row of bookshelves to allow Sable to pass.
He left the room without looking back and made his way to the escalator that would take him down to the main floor. Tucking his hands into the front pocket of his oversized, black hoody he made his way through a small crowd, and then exited the Brooklyn Public Library.
Sable barely noticed the noise and chaos of traffic that flowed around the Grand Army Plaza outside; he had been through here a hundred times. He just walked directly to the bus stop, purposely avoiding eye-contact with everyone he passed.
It was getting dark when he slumped down onto the bench to wait for the bus. The evenings were getting colder lately, so Sable shifted underneath his hoody in order to find the warmest position.
Having nothing better to do, he then scanned his surroundings. Little was of any interest to him, until he noticed a lone figure standing in the shadows underneath the Arch of the Soldiers' and Sailors' Memorial.
He could not see features clearly, but it was obvious that the figure was returning his stare.
The bus arrived and the view was interupted. Sable rose to his feet and got on the bus. He sat down in a seat that faced the Arch in order to look again at the shadowed individual... But no one was there.
He shrugged it off, and then slouched down into his seat.

---

The ride wasn't long. Just a short distance down Flatbush Avenue, and then down the remaining length of Prospect Park. He got off at Parkside Avenue, a corner that had always been fascinating to him. The contrast between Park and City was definite here at night. Behind lay an entrance to Prospect Park; dark and quiet. Intimidating to outsiders. Ahead was Ocean Avenue; busy and crowed. This part of the street never seemed to sleep.

He folded his arms across his chest in an attempt to hold in some warmth, and then approached the intersection to wait for a chance to cross.

A reflection in a window across the street caught his attention.

The lone figure seemed to materialize out of the darkness of the park as he slowly walked toward where Sable stood. Looking through a reflection still left details vague, but Sable could easily tell that the individual was male by his build, sharp-looking suit, and dark overcoat.

The walk-light came on and Sable immediately crossed the street. He figured he could lose this guy once he reached the mass of people about a half block down.

He hunched down as he shouldered his way through the crowds. He tried his best to set a relatively fast pace that wouldn't bring a lot of attention to himself.

TO BE CONTINUED...