2019-07-18 - Siren's Call

Parked in a lot across the street from where the Harbor Mist Pawn Shop is located, the town's only Rolls Royce Wraith is a difficult vehicle to miss. Even when parked amongst other vehicles, this was Elm Street. It stood out like a sore thumb.

Byron was on his fifth cup of extra-large coffee for the day, despite the fact that the skies were beginning to darken. The radio is playing at a nearly inaudible volume; it's a wonder that he even had it on at all. This was the sixth time that he'd come this way and the tenth hour spent lying in wait. Not ten consecutive hours, as he'd roamed the streets every so often, circling the Pawn Shop. For this waiting game session, he was just hitting the one hour mark.

People would come and go, into and out of the cozy little shop and Byron would watch them with a burning intensity. Did they want it just as badly as he did? Of course, they did. He was just making sure that they, whoever they are, didn't get their hands on it. How secure could it really be in there? Lilith was able to open it that safe with only knowing half of the combination. No. It wasn't safe at all.

Throughout the day, he's been taking business calls from right here in his car, barely spending any time out of it anymore. He'd leave little messages for Vivian in case she worried about his whereabouts. Everything was fine. He just had people to meet, a festival to promote. Though, it's been a while since he's done anything with that. There was still a long list of businesses and business owners that he needed to speak to. And yet he was here. Waiting.

He hears the vibration of his phone tap-tap-tapping against the hard surface of the center console right before the generic ringtone goes off. It's not unheard of for him to receive work calls at this hour. Sometimes it's a tenant, other times a client in another time zone. What he doesn't expect is to see the name Clayton come up o his screen. Byron had a right to feel suspicious. Why would Alexander Clayton be CALLING him rather than text messaging? He's hesitant and curious at the same time, so after a long wait, he finally reaches for his phone, swiping to answer.

Alexander is the first to hang up this time, leaving Byron to sit there in silence. Isabella wanted the ring and she was willing to come out here to hunt Lilith down to get it. Maybe he should wait here then, in the case that she escaped Clayton, he would be ready for her. Then it dawns on him, she was coming here with /a gun/. In recent days, Thorne made it a habit to never leave the house unarmed. One hand reaches to pat at the side of his navy blazer, feeling the hard lines of a revolver holstered beneath.

Rather than calling Vivian, he sends her a few texts instead, relaying the address and room number of some hotel near the harbor that Alexander was trying to get out to him. Vivian will get to them. Hopefully, that's all that it would take to bring Isabella down. He was needed here. He couldn't leave his post. Not without the ring. Things were just fine.

Or were they? If it wasn't for his desperate attempt at finding out WHAT THE FUCK that ring was in the hopes of keeping Lilith free from its curse, Isabella wouldn't be in this situation.

But she wants the ring...
She doesn't know what she's doing though. Right?
She's willing to kill Lily for it.
/Lily/.
And who's fault is that?

He was fuming inside, fingers which were nervously tapping along the steering wheel, now gripped onto it tightly as if he were trying to squeeze the life out of the thing. In this chaotic turmoil of emotions and desires, there's this moment where he feels as if he could tear that steering wheel right off of its base. "FUCK!" Is his final cry, his words spoken in an aggravate tension, before the headlights of the Wraith turn out and the car backs up before proceeding to circle the parking lot to make its exit. He was headed to the Harbor.

She was calling for him, filling his very being with this aching warmth threatening to go cold. She was lonely out there without him and she wanted him back. He wanted this too, oh so very desperately. He would do anything to hold her again, so tightly within his grasp. And like a siren's song so tantalizing and luring it beckons for him to follow.

That's when Byron blinked his eyes awake. This was the third time that he'd awoken over the course of the evening. How could he stay asleep when the ring was still out there? Staring up at the ceiling through the darkened room, he finally decides to drag himself up. The bright red numbers on the clock read 3:33am. Vivian was still asleep, looking precious there beside him. Not wishing to wake her, he takes care when sliding out of bed, swinging his legs over the edge, his feet pressed into the carpeting.

He knew that he wouldn't be able to get back to sleep. It was no use. All he could think about was...

Byron lifts himself to stand, his bare form crossing the room to collect his pair of jeans which were draped over the armchair. Slipping these on, he proceeds out into the main living space, his hands patting down at his newly pantsed pockets for his cigarettes out of habit, having forgotten that he'd removed them before he slept. They must be sitting on the nightstand somewhere. No matter. Allowing the chill morning air to creep inside, he pushes both of the French door panels wide open. These were killer views, he thinks to himself. The views of the bay. "The bay which Bayside was named for... " These last words are spoken aloud in a weary ramble, his eyes glassy, because despite what his may be vocalizing, his mind begins to purge itself of such trivial thoughts.

She was so beautiful that day. So pure and vibrant and... His eyes then begin to focus. "The ring." He utters, reminding himself of what he was tasked to do. "I'm the only one who can protect it."

"Now how am I going to open that god damned safe?"