End of the Sabbath, Beginning of Another Night

[Annabel Caldwell]

Time: 6:30 p.m.
Date: September 3rd, 1978
Place: The Bronx
Status:Open to Edward

The evening service at the church was lovely. The pastor shook the hands of the members of his flock as they left the church. The last to leave was a woman in her early thirties. She wore an olive green turtle neck and black ankle-length skirt. High heels adorned her feet. Her scarlet hair, made curly by the humidity in the evening air, was held at bay my a black scarf. Milky-white pearls rested gently on her ear lobes, and a matching necklace sat around her throat, touching only the soft material of the turtleneck. She had a tweed princess coat thrown over her arm as the Pastor reached for her hand. "Bless you, Sister Caldwell." The pastor said softly, shaking her hand.

"And you, Pastor." Her words were soft and her eyes downcast, giving one the impression that she was shy and quiet. She released the pastor's hand and continued down the church's steps onto the sidewalk. She turned south and pulled the coat on to protect from any oncoming rain. The Bronx was a very crowded borough, but on this Sunday evening, there was very little foot traffic to accompany Annabel Caldwell on her walk home. She lived in a house north of Fordham Heights, close to St. James Park. The walk between her home and the church wasn't impressive, but with the rash of arson lately it seemed that the Bronx was in a downward spiral. Of course, Annabel needn't exactly worry about anyone giving her trouble Especially with how she lived her nights.

She crossed the street and headed down the avenue that would lead her to her house. She walked by the small cafes and stores, open even on Sunday. Annabel didn't understand the idea of being open on a Sunday: why work when you could spend time with your family by going to church or cooking dinner? Indeed, the world was changing, and Annabel knew that businesses being open on Sundays were the least of her worries. She walked a little faster past the bars further on down the street, and the catcalls that came from them. Annabel distracted herself by humming the hymn that the congregation sang for closing, 'Come Now Fount of Every Blessing."

As she approached the block full of one story homes that included her own, Annabel felt someone slip into step besides her. Without identifying the person, she said softly, "Good evening, Edward."

[Edward Reed]

Like the buildings own personal gargoyle, Edward crouched atop it and stared down at the lazy scrawling of the human world. It was cool that evening but despite it a bead of sweat slid from his brow and down his cheek before becoming absorbed into the collar of his shirt and added to the dingy and faded color. The squeal of tires were faint beneath the roar of the cities sins, thick and toxic it left the faint taste of bitter spices. Behind the stoic mask, the man studied the gaudy neon sign as it shuddered its color and vile sex filled promises of naked women. He scowled darkly and could still taste the tuna fish sandwich he had that morning. Annabel had left it in the fridge with his name neatly written in cursive on a folded note that expressed the simple offering of sandwich and milk. He had clumsily refolded the note and tucked it into his trouser pocket for later disposal. However after giving the last crumbs to Danny, the note remained as placed throughout the day. The neon sign buzzed loudly in his head and for a while all Edward could hear was the thrum of a crying child.

Rising to stand, the red haired man crossed the rooftop and quickly scaled down the rickety fire escape to land solidly in the neighboring alleyway. His ragged shoes were immediately soaked by the pot holes of soiled water left over from previous rains. A partially gloved hand went to the collar of his jacket caked and dried with past blood, sweat and mud and tugged it up slightly. He wished it to be his trench coat and the absence of his fedora and mask weighed on him. Beside the fire escape and propped against the wall was a wooden sign, easily seen as nothing more then trash. Edward hefted the wooden sign and the upside down words rightened themselves declaring ‘the end is nigh’ as he settled the handle across a shoulder. There was no point in checking the time, he wasn’t wearing a watch and no one was going to stop for a man and his sign. He knew Annabel would be leaving church soon.

Slipping out into the street with his head slightly bent and hands wrapped tightly around the sign’s grip, he was simply one of the many lost souls on the streets. He brushed shoulders with a passing drunk, the barest of touch that sent the man spinning awkwardly to shout obscenities at him. The younger man reeked of alcohol, smoke and vomit and it evaded Edward’s senses like a returning enemy. Two other men paused and glanced behind them and realized through their clouded memories they were missing a drunkard to their trio. One yelled at his friend and the other laughed foully before stumbling on the invisible cracks in the sidewalk. The man didn’t listen and continued to berate Reed and followed him in order to establish his dominance. In his state, he was king of the right side of walkway and he would be damned if a lowly peasant wouldn’t give him the proper respect and laid a hand on the slender shoulder of Edward.

The drunk hit the ground and the back of his head struck the pavement with a sickening thud. Blood poured from his busted nose and for a moment he was drowning in it, gurgling against the crescendo of pain that managed to break through the cloud of booze. His friends were not so swift to his side but they scattered around him, one nearly tripping over his legs as they confronted the stranger. One attempted to pull a punch only to have his hand caught and twisted behind his back to the point of snapping, pinned by the strong grip at his elbow. A sharp kick to his backside sent him floundering into his fallen friend. The third clumsily staggered forward and brandished a small pocket knife. He staggered away with it buried in his shoulder.

Behind the mask of glaring eyes and blood flecked skin, Edward breathed heavily and the revolting disgust is nearly indistinguishable. He trembled slightly but not out of fear but of restraint. No one paused as they hurried along the sidewalk avoiding the fight as much as they can and it only turned his stomach more. “Scum.” His voice was low and hoarse, a simple affirmation justifying his violent reaction and he kicked the closest drunk as he climbed to his knees only to be knocked back down. Edward left them to pick up the broken pieces, slipping to cross the street between parked cars away from the gaudy neon sign.

He walked for what felt like an hour through various streets and alleys where the only companion he had was the occasional street animal and trash. As he neared his partners homestead he made sure his skewed tie was fixed and ran a gloved hand through his hair in an attempt to make it lay flat and instead achieved a more disheveled look. The spattered blood across his cheek had already dried and lingered with a good scrubbing with the back of his gloves. Closing the length of the alley he saw ahead as it opened into a street his partner crossing it. It wasn’t hard to miss the vibrantly colored hair that rivaled his own. Stepping out from the alley, he forced his hands to unlock their death grip on the sign and instead rested an arm over it, catching the handle in the crook of his wrist so it now remained more balanced then held in place by force.

"Good evening, Edward."

A soft grunt was his reply, unsurprised that she had guessed him right. Though he didn’t hide his presence the average person missed him until he was indirectly in their space. Of course, Annabel was much more then the average person. The last few notes she had hummed faded from his memory and he pathetically wanted to hear the rest of the song. Edward lofted his head in her direction and studied the curling hair that spilled down her back as he remained several steps behind her before he looked down at the ground in front of him and counted the cracks he stepped over.

“Not safe,” he answered to the unasked question toward his reasoning for following her. It wasn’t completely unusual to find the man stalking the streets. He often did so from afar without interacting with the younger vigilante and he was certain she knew he was there in an odd game of cat and mouse where no one was eaten except for possible other cats that pushed into his territory. Then they left limping away to lick their wounds. Edward glanced sharply up as a stranger walked by, oblivious until he glanced briefly behind him at the homeless man stalking the woman but he made no attempt to interject and kept on until he vanished from sight.

[Annabel Caldwell]

A small smile was enough to show the slight indents of dimples on Annabel's cheeks at Edward's grunt that stood for his greeting. Annabel found it somewhat endearing, as she did with many of Edward's mannerisms that others would think anti-social or odd. She looked at him through the corner of her eye, though he was a few steps behind her. Edward was one of the only men Annabel knew that was shorter than her, though she was a little tall for a woman. She noted his hair, same to hers in shade, and the state of his clothing. She made a mental note that, if she awoke before he did the next morning (assuming he would spend the night on her couch, as he did almost every night), she should try and wash what articles of clothing she could before they would both leave for the day.

"Not safe."

Edward's two words made Annabel's smile widen slightly. "It is a sad truth." She replied. Despite the best efforts of Edward and herself, trying to keep anywhere in the city safe seemed like putting duct tape over a hole in a dam. It might stem the water momentarily, but without heavier reinforcement, soon the flood would break forth. While Annabel could defend herself, she still appreciated Edward's protective air about her. It would have made William like him. Annabel certainly liked him. They had been partners for almost fifteen years, and Annabel would have no other by her side if given the choice. She saw the stranger glance at them and was sad that he probably thought the man behind her meant her harm. Edward was indeed Annabel's only friend or family, and the unspoken judgment so many put on him for his appearances made Annabel's heart sore.

With the woman leading and the man following, Annabel crossed the street once more to the unremarkable single story brick house where she, and at times Edward, lived. Attached was a garage. Through the windows one could only see glimpses of the truck that waited within. A couple of flower beds lined the walkway, the daisies that had bloomed in spring now without their petals. Their naked heads bobbed in a slight breeze . Walking up the few steps that led to the entrance of the home, Annabel took out her keys and unlocked the door with a jingling noise. Upon opening the door, the smell of a roast cooking inside and soap wafted out. She left the door open for Edward as she pulled off her coat and hung it on the rack next to the door. "Have you eaten? I've made a roast." A soft jingling sound announced the arrival of Danny, Annabel's gray ragdoll cat, from the hallway. He mewed and weaved in between her legs until his owner picked him up and scratched him behind the ears, providing the catalyst for a loud purring to rumble from his chest.

[Edward Reed]

"It is a sad truth."

The bold blue eyes narrowed in wariness of the stranger but like so many of the world, it continued on without stopping. Edward took note of the hurried scurry, the pressed pants and starchy black coat and briefcase and mentally logged the man’s face away for later. His partner was right and he thought of the fires that were slowly devouring the Bronx. The recent wave of them had left the air with a slightly sulfuric aftertaste that was almost pleasant, reminiscent of a smoldering camp fire. The faint wail of sirens marked another possible building and he curved his head at the inner pull that wanted him to follow the sirens but remained with Annabel as she crossed the street and dashed up the steps to her home.

Edward stopped on the first step and turned around to face the open street. The neighborhood was filled with the usual noises of strangers living next to each other, a man yelled at his wife next door, children screamed as they ran about in the street playing tag and a elder woman with a shopping cart of treasured trash trudged on ignoring everything around her. The jangle of Annabel’s keys made him break his staring contest with the world and trailed after and before he stepped inside he ran the bottom of his worn shoes on the last step’s edge to scrap off anything he may have picked up wandering around the city. He swung the old sign off his shoulder and set it upside down as he passed through the doorway and rested the lumber against the wall near the door with an odd care.

"Have you eaten? I've made a roast."

“Yes.” It was an automatic but true answer however his stomach betrayed him as it groaned in protest of being empty. His brow creased as if to wince and he stared past the woman into her home and glanced at the various doors, open and closed that lead to the living room, dinning room and further on the bedrooms. Edward unceremoniously tucked his hands into his pockets and walked ahead and peered into each room long enough to deem them empty. His careful stroll covered the tightness in his shoulders, ready to lunge at anyone that might have been hiding in wait. Crime was crime, no matter whose home they invaded. Partially satisfied at finding nothing out of the norm, the man paused in the doorway of the small kitchen and closed his eyes at the smells that permeated the air with onions and beef with the odd trace of lavender afterwards.

[Annabel Caldwell]

Satisfied with the attention he had received, Danny leaped from Annabel's arms to the back of the couch where he gracefully flopped to lay down. She waited as Edward went to search the house, as he did some times, to see if anyone was lurking in wait. Annabel would feel sorry for any poor, stupid criminal who chose to break into this house. It was one thing if Edward wasn't home and it was only Annabel (she would wallop the vandal to a pulp with her blackjack), but if Edward was present...A soft chuckle issued from her throat.

Annabel walked into the kitchen and started pulling out plates, even though Edward had said he had already eaten. If there was one thing Annabel was able to do, it was feed her partner. She certainly didn't want him to starve, or keel over on her from malnutrition. While Edward may have been protective of Annabel, she wanted to make sure he was taken care of. That is why he spent so many nights on her couch, even though the spare bedroom was always made up for him with fresh sheets on the bed, and if he still slept when she left in the morning, she would leave him meals or food with little notes. Edward could protect her if he felt he needed to, but in return, Annabel wanted to protect and take care of him.

Edward returned, apparently finding no mindless sap that had broken in while they were gone. Annabel smiled tenderly as she set the two plates at the small dining table. "I know you've eaten," she said as she walked to a drawer and pulled out the silverware, "But I'm afraid I've made too much. Go ahead and join me, please?" That usually got him to eat, if nothing else. She walked to the refrigerator and took out the carton of milk and sat it on the table. She filled a pitcher with water and sat that next to the milk carton. She was just pulling out her oven mitts when Danny made a second appearance and mewed at his empty bowl. Annabel poured some cat chow from the box next to the cereal into his bowl and pulled her mitts on. She pulled the roast from the oven and using a dish-towel as a hot pad, set it on the table. She pulled back the foil to release a vapor that smelled of beef, onions, potatoes, and carrots. Annabel took out a serving fork and carving knife and waited to see if Edward would sit to eat or perhaps stand and watch her. She hoped he would join her instead of saying he was not hungry, it made things a little less...awkward.

[Edward Reed]

Edward watched the woman bustle about the kitchen was such ease and it caused a pang of momentary shame of memories long since past and buried. He ducked his head and glared at the linoleum floor as if it was the cause of his mood and the lines across his brow deepened. He had only intended to walk Annabel home safely and leave but this same scenario seemed to be happening more and more lately. She often if not always asked him to stay, if only for a bite to eat or to mend something. Sometimes he did, other times not, it all depended on the plans for their work at night. The man glanced sideways as far as he could without moving his head at the simple metal grate on the floor near the entranceway. There inside his costume lay folded neatly and hidden away until use. Annabel knew it was there, he trusted her enough to leave it alone. She was too good of a person.

The man scowled and the frown dissipated into a impassive mask of forlorn. At her gentle questioning, he looked more like a kicked puppy and shifted from one foot to the other as she set out dish and silverware as if already anticipating his answer. His fingers closed around the crumpled and sweaty note in his pocket mixed in with several piece of butterscotch candy and pulled it out slowly before curling his hand slightly to obscure it from Annabel’s line of sight. With a nudge of his thumb he opened it and glimpsed at the delicate scrawl of his name. Edward, he was Edward now and not Reed. Danny’s demanding appearance broke through the man’s thoughts and he pushed the note back into his pocket, tearing it slightly.

His gaze latched onto the utensils in his partner’s hands and a heavy sigh was Annabel’s answer, as if to say If I must. Edward closed the few steps between him and table and as soon as his hand touched the back of the chair he paused as if to rethink before pulling the chair away. It scrapped nosily and he settled his lean frame into it and set his dirtied hands on either side of the plate, palms flat and fingers spread. He didn’t quite sit all the way in the chair as if relaxing would make him vulnerable and he gave a firm nod of his head as if to reassure his partner that he would stay.

[Annabel Caldwell]

Edward's sigh and movement made Annabel think of a boy who had been asked to willingly eat broccoli or spinach. His reaction to her coddling or mothering was often similar. Annabel wondered if sometimes she antagonized him, but she was not going to stop. She had offered him meals or some other bit of domestic life from the first time he unexpectedly broke in to her house fifteen years before; she wasn't going to stop now just because she may border on annoying.

Annabel sat the fork and knife next to the pan before sitting down, tucking the folds of her skirt beneath her legs. She bowed her head and crossed her arms. Her eyes closed and she began to pray. "Please bless this food and make it nourishing and strengthening to our bodies as good as we need. Thank you for our friendship, and thank you for our abilities. Thank you for the moisture we have received, and thank you for our continuing safety. Please bless that the source of fires will soon be stopped. Amen."

The roast was speared by the silver fork and then cut into by the butcher knife. Annabel gingerly placed the thick slice of roast on Edward's plate along with a few potatoes, some onion petals, and carrots. As she cut her own portion, she said, "I charted the path of fires today while waiting for service to start. There doesn't seem to be a set path." Annabel knew that Edward's mind wouldn't be too far from the rash of fires plaguing the borough; 'shop talk' had never ruined a meal before. "Where were you figuring on starting tonight?"

[Edward Reed]

The persistence of domestic life infringed on the various hang ups Edward had collected over the years and his usual route of dealing with it was to either to rack some violence under his belt or ignore it. In Annabel’s case it varied, they argued plenty of times in the past and occasionally it got physical with the random furniture being broken – usually by him - but he never recollected raising his voice at her. He would simply leave without saying anything, turning his back against the welling desperation inside. It was then he became disgusted with himself, she was his partner and he would keep her as far away from him as he could.

As she prayed, Edward stole that moment to look at her and take in her appearance. In the fifteen years of their partnership, there wasn’t a single thread of hair the escaped his attention. He had pretended to be asleep that morning, stretched out on her couch with his hands tucked under his head as a pillow and he watched her under hooded lids when she passed quietly by. Her hair had curled since last they saw each other and the adornment of jewelry was respectable and adequate. He let his gaze drift from the strand of pearls down to her delicately folded hands. Inwardly it amused him, the soft hands of the woman before him could bring a criminal twice her size to his knees.

“…Amen.”

Edward watched as Annabel worked fluidly to serve him a heaping pile of food and the fluorescent light above reflected off the metal ware. During the day, he never carried anything on him but what few pennies that were tossed at him could buy in butterscotch. Three today with leftover change he would stow away later for his partner to find. Instead of writing his notebook, any suspicious activity that couldn’t be dealt with that moment was carefully scrutinized and tucked into his memory to dwell on throughout the day. He lifted a hand for the fork and it lingered as he was drawn to the dirty smudge he left behind on the table before grasping the utensil tightly and dug it into a potato. He ate like a man starving, shoveling food into his mouth without care of what he looked like. Roast bulged his cheeks and he looked reminiscent of a dirty chipmunk as he chomped through the meal and listened to Annabel’s voice.

He grunted his approval and answered “Julies,” with food still in his mouth. He chewed twice more before swallowing and wiped his mouth with the back of his glove. “Wont wait again.” Julies, a simple looking club on the outskirts of the Jezebel Girl’s territory. On the outside there was nothing to distinguish it with the rest of the businesses that surrounded it but the bar club atmosphere was in fact a cover for a whorehouse. The owner Julie had plenty of vagrants entering and leaving at all hours of the night. He had spent the better of his morning stalking the streets outside the club to gauge what sort of scum was guarding it and was sorely tempted to enter without his costume and partner. Edward looked up to weigh Annabel’s reaction and recognition.

[Annabel Caldwell]

Annabel couldn't help but have a feeling of satisfaction as Edward dug into the food she served him. Despite Edward's efforts, she had once more succeeded in her own endeavors to make sure the man was fed. She gingerly cut into her roast, speared a piece onto her fork, and deposited in her mouth before chewing. That man could certainly be stubborn sometimes, but Annabel was patient -- she had several thugs thrown in Riker's that were testaments to that fact. She remembered once crouching on a broken fire escape in the stinging rain for three hours waiting for a certain perp to leave a bar. By the time he did come out, her muscles were stiff and sore, but that proved to be a blessing in disguise when she slipped and fell atop of him when her stiff legs refused to work the way they were supposed to. That was a fun night.

"Julie's...Won't wait again."

A muscle in Annabel's cheek twitched slightly, and inwardly, she sighed. Not for the fact that Julie's was the starting point, but for the fact such a place existed. She swallowed the food in her mouth and reached for the pitcher of water to pour herself a glass. She understood that some of the women who worked at such an establishment felt that they didn't have a choice, but that didn't excuse the madams or pimps from using the girls. Annabel took a sip of water and said, "I'll suit up after dinner and we'll go." She stabbed a carrot and said, "It may rain again, which would provide good cover." She ardently hoped that the pair of them, if unable to find out anything about the person starting the fires, would at least be able to do some damage to the brothel and its clientèle, if not operators.

[Edward Reed]

The faint twitch of the muscle beneath the curve of her cheek was noted by the man across from her but he gave no inclination of noticing it and bent his head to feign interest in the rapidly disappearing food on his plate. Julies meant skirting the Bronx borough and though it was further then what was deemed important, Julie was the type of woman to collect back alley information and use it at her disposal. His grip tightened on the fork that threatened to bend under the pressure and he was ready to leave now. The drive pushed him tirelessly and the corrupt wouldn’t wait for them to fill their bellies. The thought of women that sold their bodies and souls for money turned his stomach, it had always been a touchier subject for Edward and this only showed in his loose restraint against beating a criminal.

The yellowed and dirtied nails of the hand that had remained on the table scratched against the surface as he curled his fingers into a fist. He took a slow even breath but the building revulsion never marred the wretched lines of his face and to anyone else, it was like talking to a ugly statue. It was too comfortable to be here and with that thought, Edward let his fork clatter to his plate, pushed his chair back and rose solidly to his feet. He tilted his chin up and squared his shoulders as his hands tightened into fists. The material dug into his flesh but it was ignored as he drew around the table to Annabel’s side and though he faced away from her, he dug into his pocket and tossed a single wrapped candy on the table beside her and crossed the room.

Edward nudged the grate with the toe of his shoe before he sank to his haunches to pull it loose and reach inside. It was apart of the air duct that ran throughout the house but it suited him just fine as storage for his costume. The first item that came into view was the brown fedora and it was carefully placed aside as the rest of his clothing was pulled one article at a time and refolded. He paused and glanced over his shoulder at his partner, knowing full well she hadn’t finished eating. “Scum wont wait, Annabel.”

[Annabel Caldwell]

The knife and fork in Annabel's hands had continued working, steadily transporting food to her lips before Edward's fork clattered to the plate. She did not look up as he stood and moved, and her only break in rhythm was when the piece of butterscotch skidded to a stop by her left hand. She put down her silverware and her fingers touched the wrapped candy before curling around it. The candies and their wrappers were almost little hallmarks of Edward, at least to Annabel. She took the ends of the wrapper, one in each hand, and looked down at it as she heard the familiar sound of the grate being opened.

“Scum wont wait, Annabel.”

"Indeed."The meal was over. Annabel would not be left behind because of Edward's eagerness to return to the streets, or for er tendency to be domestic. She left the candy on the table as she placed the two dishes into the sink, covered the roast with the tin-foil it had baked in, and slid the pan and the carton of milk into the fridge. Annabel returned to the table to retrieve the wrapped piece of butterscotch. "Won't be half a tick." She said to Edward before walking to the hallway and continuing down it to her bedroom. She passed the ajar door to the lavatory and the always open door to the spare bedroom that was never occupied. Her bedroom was at the end of the hall, and she closed the door upon entering. With a pull of the metal chain, the green desk lamp on her writing desk was turned on, bathing the twin bed and two pictures that hung above it in a greenish light. Annabel slid open her closet door and pushed all of her skirt-suits, jeans, and shirts to the side, revealing a black garment back that had been hidden at the end of the railing. Annabel had heard that her comrades in the Guardsmen before had tricky and secret little hideaways for their equipment, but they also had money and resources to design such a hiding place. Annabel did not. She laid the garment bag on her bed before stripping off her turtle-neck and skirt. She kept her slip on as she stepped out of her high-heels. She reverently took the pearls from her ears and from around her throat and placed them in a small circular container on her writing desk. It was then that she opened the garment bag.

Annabel's costume was very different from any of the other female masks she had ever seen. They seemed to relish the opportunity to be scantily clad and show their skin, while the prospect mortified Annabel. When she had decided to attempt to become a superhero so many years ago, she decided that she would not compromise her views on modesty just so that she could become a superhero. This led to Annabel feeling like a plain Jane when she first joined the Guardsmen -- All of her female Guardsmen were dressed seductively and ostentatiously while she was clad in a simple black dress and the only skin that showed on her was some of her neck, her jaw, and her forehead.

First on went the black ottoman dress, knee length with sleeves reaching to her wrists. The collar of the dress went about halfway up her neck. The dress clanked slightly as she pulled it on, for underneath the dress was hammered sheet metal that functioned as a sort of light-weight armor. Annabel had learned by trial and error to always wear a slip underneath her costume unless she wanted her skin to be pinched and bruised the following day. Once the dress was on, Annabel adjusted it and pulled the skirt down as low as it would go. Next, she pulled on the black stockings inside the garment bag and her black gloves. From the closet came a pair of black ankle boots. Finally, Annabel affixed the leather-wrapped lead weight known as a black-jack her her side, and pulled her mask from the garment bag. Annabel did not pull it on, but replaced the garment bag in her closet and pulled her clothing back into place. The closet door was closed, and Annabel forgoed the usual braiding of her hair and headed back to the kitchen, mask in hand.

Annabel sometimes felt guilty for not being as ready to hit the streets at night as her partner. She felt guilty that sometimes she was more concerned with Edward's well-being than that of the city. She supposed it was just her maternal or womanly side -- She knew that Edward did not have an easy life, and did not have people who cared for him. Annabel wanted to at least attempt to undo all of the wrongs that had been done to the man -- Even if he might find them annoying at times.

"Ready when you are, Edward." Annabel said, stepping into the kitchen. She would not pull her mask on until they were clear of her home -- She did not need someone to spot her with her mask and possibly recognize her as Shimrith -- The information of where she lived in the wrong hands could get her and Edward killed.

[Edward Reed]

Edward remained in his low crouch as Annabel moved about, one hand tucked around a bony knee while the other remained clutching the grating. Beside him he had pilled his costume and the stale smell of previous wear clung to the fabric, drowning out the metallic bite of dried blood. He didn’t move till his partner spoke again and vanished and collected his belongings to stand. He had eaten a good portion of what she had served and for now his stomach was sated enough to stop the whining and cramped muscles. There would be time to eat and sleep after they completed their nightly duties, those kinds of luxuries for reserved for the average citizen. Though it struck him as peculiar, he seemed to eat the most when Annabel cooked. Granted he had been in her house numerous times whole she was out scavenging through the cupboards for a bite to eat before going back out.

He tightened his jaw and the nearly forgotten throb returned. A tooth had begun to bother him from nearly the back of his mouth a few weeks ago. He poked a tongue at it and felt the edges of a chipped tooth and immediately knew it was from a simple sucker punch from a junkie. He hadn’t been giving his full attention to the cowering man that had stripped to underwear and socks with track marks big enough to map out the wilderness of Canada. He had turned his head to his partner and that’s when the fist sailed in a nasty left hook. The junkie didn’t, couldn’t do it again after he smashed his knee into the man’s stomach and face.

He shrugged out of his coat and folded it loosely before placing it over the back of a chair and undid the normally hidden suspenders, sliding them off his shoulder and reached down to undo his pants. It might have seemed odd to be changing in the kitchen, but the living room had too many windows and the bathroom was too close to Annabel’s closed door. It didn’t feel proper to be that close to… Edward stepped out his pants and stood in his shirt, tie and boxers and again folded them with care and placed them over his coat. Though still clothed, he felt nothing but vulnerable and exposed and quickly drew on his other pants. With his head bent, he buttoned them and slid his feet back into the shoes he had toed off before undressing and cuffed his pants several times.

It was a well rehearsed dance, switching from persona to the other and after each new article that was taken off and replaced, it imbued him with the pulsing strength that made him forget to eat and made all the little aches and pains dissipate. This was the reason he had been brought into this God forsaken world, to be the force that so many refused to be. Edward tugged on the edges of his gloves and wiggled his fingers until they fit just right and slid them down the front of his trench coat that hung off his shoulders. He tied the straps at his waist, synching the material tighter around him and rested a hand atop a faded stain across his stomach. That one had come from nearly three years ago from attaining information from a crooked factory worker that had in retaliation threw hot oil from an engine block at him. He touched another blood splatter across the left sleeve from busting a mob bosses nose. Each little stain a reminder to not forgot and not give up.

Edward checked each pocket of his coat methodically and made sure everything was suppose to be where it should. He had several bundles of twine he used instead of handcuffs. Twine was just as efficient, cheap and easily discarded if needed. His flashlight with new batteries courtesy of Annabel’s kitchen radio and the pad and pencil tucked inconspicuously away for uses later. He hastily stuffed his civilian clothing into the air duct and pushed the grate back into place with a heavy shove of his right hand and returned to his feet, dusting off his knees with the brim of his fedora. There was one last piece to make him complete and the man swiveled on his heels to the shapeless mass of grey material on the table. The black eyes stared vacantly back at him, mocking him from a faraway place while simultaneously begging him to touch the weathered cloth. Without it and with it, he was no one. That was his anonymity.

He reached out and touched the material as if expecting it to recoil from his glove. When it didn’t he snatched it angrily twisted it in his hand until the black eyes were swallowed in the grey. At his partners reemergence, he turned to face her while clutching the hood in one hand, the hat in the other. He contemplated sliding the faceless mask over his head but resolved to shove it into his coat pocket and slid the fedora on instead. He never really noticed the height difference until someone pointed it out to taunt him and even though he tilted his head back to look at her, it didn’t cross his mind.

"Ready when you are, Edward."

“Annabel.” He said it out loud, his gravely voice drawing on the syllables as if to ask her something but the silence that followed spoke otherwise. She had become Shimrith, his vigilante partner in metaphorical crime. Her civilian name would be reserved for furtive whispers in the dark where he leaned close to her to study the city map and share the ring of light from his flashlight. The unchanging demure costume a familiar staple, it fit his own simplified one and the two could easily pass as regular folk in the dark.

He nodded and took lead towards the garage, his fingers caught the edge of a key ring that hung near the door and the jangle of the Chevy truck’s keys chimed like an angry bell. Through the kitchen to the side door that lead into the garage, Edward slid his hand against the door behind him allowing Annabel to slip through without it hitting her. In the dark the man felt for the right key and slid it into the lock of the door, unlocking the passenger’s side. Fifteen years of fumbling in the dark, Edward never turned the light on and instead relied on memory. His partner had a habit of spoiling it by turning on the light and he would stare at her as if her common sense was unnecessary. The crew cab light went on as he unlocked and opened the door and pulled himself into the driver’s seat.

[Annabel Caldwell]

The familiar stains on Edward's trench coat caught Annabel's eyes. If it had been another item of clothing, she would have perhaps thought of washing it on the sly, as she did with Edward's mundane clothes. The coat, however, was part of Reed's identity. The stains were like scars for the coat, and Annabel would never even think to insult Edward by a gentle suggestion to wash it. She found the marks, some of which she had witnessed their creation and others that were a mystery to her, oddly comforting. Edward spoke her name, but that was all he said before he took the keys to their proverbial dark horse (A Chevy truck) from their hook and headed for the garage door. Her mask still clutched in her hand, Annabel followed Edward.

Like a gentleman, he held the door so that she could slip through behind him. True to form, Annabel flicked on the light once they entered the garage, but only to unlatch the garage door and pull it up enough for the truck to slip through. Annabel surveyed the truck, which was fondly referred to as 'Bertha' as she went to flick the light back off. The Chevy truck had been made in 1973. When Annabel had originally bought it, the steel had been painted a lime green color. The color was too loud, so Annabel had painted the outside black with several gallons of black paint. The frame was square and solid, with large, thick tires that had no rims. The driver's and passenger's side both had a step to aid getting into the tall truck, which stood at about seven feet high. The reason Annabel had bought the truck was because it was sturdy, solid, and probably the closest thing to a tank that she and Edward could acquire. The light was flicked off, and Annabel went to the door that Edward unlocked for her. The door opened with a metal groan and Annabel stepped up into the clean cab. The interior was still lime green, but there was only so much that Annabel could do about that.

Annabel reached forward to the glove box, where maps of each borough, plus a large scale city map, laid in wait. She grabbed the map of the Bronx and set it on the dashboard before pulling the retractable seat belt and buckling herself in as the engine roared to life. She inhaled a deep, steadying breath and bowed her head. She closed her eyes and murmured a quick prayer, as she usually did before she and Edward went out. It was a simple prayer asking for protection for herself and Edward, and that justice found the proper person that night. She also steeled herself for the upcoming confrontation with unbridled sin that she was about to face. Her eyes looked over to Edward and then back to herself. She was slightly apprehensive also about going to Julie's because she knew the 'services' offered there was a sensitive topic with Edward.

Bertha rolled out of the garage into the small space that could be considered the driveway, and Annabel hopped out to close and l0ck the garage door before climbing back in. Night had fallen while the partners had eaten and masked up. Annabel saw her neighbor Mrs. Snearwell peeking through her lace curtains, probably alerted by the deep rumbling that Bertha was making as she ran. Annabel waved and the woman's nose disappeared from the window. The truck lurched onto the street, and Annabel and Edward were off to Julie's.

Once they were a reasonable distance from the house, Annabel pulled her mask on, only enough to cover her forehead. The mask, when not worn as such, could pass for a large headband. And weren't the kids wearing anything nowadays anyway? Not that Annabel was a kid, but still...She opened the map and traced the route to Julie's with her finger. "Are we going in through the front? It wouldn't be as risky as breaking in through the back, but it might attract unwanted attention. But that might be just asking for trouble."

[Edward Reed]

Pulling the seatbelt across his shoulder, Edward clicked it into place and set his hands on the steering wheel. Through the gloves he felt the ridges and bumps and his fingers fit snugly into them before he pushed the key into the ignition and turned it, the truck turning over in a roar of power. From the belly of the beast, it rumbled and groaned as it awakened from it’s slumber ready to do it’s part in the vigilante duo’s trade. Though he had become used to the strange coloring of the truck, it still was a shocking color one he didn’t except from Annabel. When she climbed in and retrieved the map, he glanced briefly at it but knew the general area in which to head. If he seemed hesitant, Shimrith would give him the directions alleviating him asking needlessly.

The grind of gears made him inwardly flinch as he shifted into drive, popped the emergency break and eased the behemoth out of the garage. He slowed to a stop to allow Annabel to close and lock the garage behind them. As soon the door closed behind her, he pulled out into the street and roared on down the road. Though the man didn’t have a drivers license – it was too easily traceable – he had enough years of practice to curb any doubt. From the corner of his eyes he watched the sway of lacey curtains before the buildings grew tiny as he drove on.

Edward leaned forward to study street signs as they went through a green light and spotted a black and white cop car but it was turning away from them. His hands tightened against the wheel, the leather gloves creaking slightly. Though they often worked without the local police, it was never a good sign to see them congregating near them. The next light was a red light and Edward slowed the truck to a crawl, stopped and pulled off his hat. Setting it atop the dashboard he pulled the mask from his pocket and held it with both hands, the black eyes and crooked mouth staring back. He turned as much as the seatbelt would allow him away from his partner and slid the mask on, dragging his fingers across his face as he pulled the material down his nose and mouth. He knew the cab was relatively dark and the light above would reflect off the window obscuring any nosy passerby’s that he may have missed in scouting out.

He didn’t particularly like putting the mask on in front of others, even Shimrith but the deed was done. Now he was simply Reed, another part of his individual and behind the safety of his mask, he closed his eyes. The fibers scraped at his mouth as he moved his lips and adjusted it so it fit perfectly. He tucked the edges of the mask into his shirt’s collar and resettled the fedora back on his head, held in place by the extra layer of material. His hands returned to wheel just as the light turned green and the truck rumbled on.

”… But that might be just asking for trouble."

“Not cowardly,” the cloth muffled his voice slightly, but the same growly tone seemed to deepen behind the safety of the faceless mask. He unconsciously did so to hide behind another layer and disguise his voice. “Font door, through bouncers.” He had counted two that changed hands in the morning and was assuming they changed again in the evening. That meant fresh faces awaiting them at the door but he was uncertain on how many were inside. Whatever the number was, they were hardly a threat to them.

[Annabel Caldwell]

Once Reed was sitting besides Annabel instead she knew it was time. Annabel grabbed the lower edge of her mask and pulled it down. It cinched her hair tightly around the back of her head, securing it just enough so that the red main would not move about freely when things got physical. The black material stopped just underneath her nose, crossing over the top of her lip and just below her cheekbones. The mask reached up to stop above where her eyebrows would be, and the eye holes were covered with black nylon so that she could see out, but to the world the mask was solid black. After a moment of silence, Annabel was no longer in the car; Shimrith now sat in her seat.

"Not cowardly. Front door, through bouncers."

"Of course, forgive me." They wouldn't break in like thieves. Reed was straightforward, even if Shimrith sometimes would prefer a sneaky approach. She folded the map and stuck it back inside the glove box as they neared the vicinity of Julie's. They parked about a block away from the so-called 'club.' It was close enough so that they could make a fast getaway, if need be, but also close enough so that the workers at Julie's wouldn't know which vehicle they came in, so there was less of a chance of their getaway vehicle getting slit tires. Shimrith slid the back window open enough so that finger could slide it the rest of the way open. A passerby just giving the truck a quick once over wouldn't be able to tell the window was open. Shimrith and Reed had learned the hard way that making a hasty getaway was painfully slowed down by having to unlock Bertha's door. The solution was to crack the window enough so that both of them, on arrival, could leap into Bertha's bed, and one could slide the window open the rest of the way, jump in the cab, start Bertha, and take off while the other person in the bed would fend off any pursuers. Shimrith opened her door, hopped down to the street, and pushed the lock down before shutting the door.

Once Reed had also exited the truck, Shimrith fell into step beside him, her hand straying to her blackjack. The air was heavy with humidity, and tthough the sun had gone down, the temperature still felt the same. A stray cat ran across their path as they approached Julie's. The music from inside certainly threw off the club aura. Shimrith's eyes scanned up the facade of the building, noting lights on in windows. Her stomach churned at the thought of what was probably happening behind closed doors.

"The hell is this?" One of the bouncers spoke to the other as they saw the approaching masks.

"Damn fruits." The other growled. He crossed his arms, his impressive muscles rippling underneath his shirt. "Let's just take care of them quietly, ok? No need to cause a fuss inside."

The two men stood their ground as Shimrith approached. "I believe you're supposed to allow entrance, not block it." The bouncer to the left said nothing; instead he grabbed for her throat. Shimrith's arm was a blur as she snatched her blackjack up and clubbed the man on the head, a hollow 'thunk' sounding in the thick air. The man groaned and grabbed the arm that held her blackjack. Craning her head backwards, Shimrith brought her skull crashing against the bouncer's. He groaned, his grip slackened, but still he was not down. "Must have a skull thicker than Goliath!" Shimrith thought to herself, and clubbed him once more with her blackjack. The bouncer finally slumped to the ground, and Shimrith turned to see what Reed had made of his counterpart.