“You keep glancing at me,” noted Tim. “Am I even more handsome than usual?”

It was around six-thirty in the evening. The sky was still bright outside, with small patches of pink and orange scattered about. The sun was slowly creeping closer to the horizon. Tim had been restocking the shelves in Retro Records while humming some of his favorite tunes. His leg smarted as he squatted down to squeeze a record into its rightful place.

Jenkins squeaked in surprise. He had been sweeping the floor while shooting what he had believed to be discreet, suspicious looks at Tim. “N-no … quite the opposite. You look horrible today.” He seemed very reluctant to answer Tim.

“Ouch,” said Tim, shrugging. “It can’t be helped … accidents follow me wherever I go.”

Jenkins shot another suspicious look while muttering under his breath, “That wasn’t the case before …”

“Stop doing that, man!”

“S-stop doing what?” Jenkins asked, feigning innocence.

“You’re looking at me as if I were some kind of delinquent!” said Tim. He wobbled back up, using a shelf to support himself. “The gangster thing was just a joke!”

“W-what if you're just trying to make me believe you aren’t bad so you can trick me later?” He stared at Tim, scared that he was up to no good.

“Bad guys dispose of people who know too much, you know,” Tim responded, grinning evilly at his co-worker.

Jenkins stopped sweeping for a moment as he considered Tim’s words, then he abruptly swept the same spot over and over again, his face distorted with distress and horror.

“Hey! I was just joking again!” Tim added quickly. “Oh … never mind …” he gave a big sigh as he turned around and continued to restock. It’s tiring trying to talk to him … maybe I should just shut up …

Haley hadn’t been too far off when she claimed that Tim lived in the middle of nowhere. The Thompson residence was on the outskirts of town, far northeast, deep within a forest. They didn’t live close to anything at all, but that was the way his paternal grandfather, Markus Thompson, liked it. “Who needs spying neighbors?” he had remarked.

Unlike the majority of the people in Little Rockwell, the Thompsons knew about the Blood. They were a family of Keepers. Ever since the town was created — or even before that — their family had been a line of Keepers.

Sarah Thompson, fifteen years old, was sitting at the kitchen table with her grandfather, Markus, who was reading the newspaper. She wore a lavender-pink tank top and black track shorts. To Tim’s dismay, Sarah was almost as tall as him — and still growing. Even now, he could remember her cute, beaming face during his Blood Oath. He still found her cute at times — until she stood up.

Sarah was looking rather irritated. Her cellphone was against her ear. Its pink case had sparkling swirls which converged into a dragon. Tim had bought it for her when he got a raise at work. The phone kept ringing on the other end of the line, but no one answered. “Pick up already! Why do you have a phone if you don’t use it?!”

Markus chuckled. “Still can't find our boy?”

CLATTER!

Their mother, Tabitha, had dropped the plate she was washing. She always did that when she was worried about something. The family had given up once she had broken an expensive fine china dinnerware set, ceramic plates, and most of the glassware — on separate occasions — and replaced everything with plastic instead. They were still breakable, but at least they were cheap.

Markus and Sarah turned to look at her. Tabitha kept her jet-black hair in a tidy short ponytail. Dirty dishwater was splattered all over her beige light sweater and gray pajama pants.

“Mom, are you okay?” Sarah asked as she ended her call, pushing away from the table as she started to get up.

“Do you need any help, Tabs?” Markus asked, though he already knew the answer.

“Oh, no. I’m fine. I can handle this.” She gently shooed Sarah away as she always insisted on doing things on her own.

“Are you sure, Mom?” Sarah was a bit skeptical.

“Yes, Sars.”

“Alright,” said Sarah as she returned her attention to her phone, tapping her left index finger irritably on the table. “Tim probably put his phone on silent again …”

“He can take care of himself,” Markus reassured her with his hearty voice. He flipped through the newspaper again and grinned when he reached the Sudoku and crossword puzzle section, the highlight of the whole paper. The articles had been rather boring; nothing ever happened in Little Rockwell.

“He’s injured!” Sarah and Tabitha verbally ganged up on him in unison.

“He’ll be fine,” said Markus as he reached for a pencil in his red checkered shirt pocket. “Sad to say, the boy’s been through worse.” He began filling out Sudoku boxes, rustling his short gray hair when the puzzle stumped him.

“I know …” said Sarah as she continued rapping the table. “I want to at least give him some kind of warning …” She speed-dialled Tim’s number for the umpteenth time. Stupid brother, answer your phone!!

Jenkins locked the back door of Retro Records while eyeing Tim, who was standing beside him. Jenkins had changed into his street clothes, wearing a light, blue-gray V-neck sweater, a white collared shirt underneath, fancy midnight-blue pants, and black-laced leather shoes.

Tim pulled out his cell phone from one of his trench coat pockets and switched off the telepathic and standard alerts from his Keeper App, a function that worked almost like airplane mode. If he had kept it on, then the endless notifications, communications and errant thoughts popping up in his head would have given him a constant headache, or as documented in the Journal of Blood Medicine, an aneurysm. 

He was surprised to see a plethora of text messages and calls from Sarah. The thought of phoning back unnerved him after he had missed so many.

“Oops … it must be really urgent,” Tim panicked. “Sarah almost never calls me.”

“Your sister?” Jenkins inquired as he straightened up from the door and pocketed the key.

“Yeah—oh, there she is again,” said Tim as his phone vibrated. “Sorry, man, gotta take this call … hey, Sis—”

“Bro, where are you?!” Sarah’s voice bellowed.

“On my way home. Why?” Tim signaled to Jenkins, indicating that it was okay to walk. 

They started heading east. Jenkins lived in a respectable neighborhood right before the forest. He watched as Tim limped, wondering if he’d be able to walk all the way home in his condition. He felt a bit guilty for letting Tim handle all the restocking by himself. Abby had offered to swap closing shifts with Tim, but he turned her down, believing that it wasn’t necessary. Haley had left immediately after work. According to Abby, she had a martial arts class to attend. Mr. McCarthy instructed the new employee, and one of Tim’s long-time friends, Rodney, to swap with him. The boy had listed a string of excuses as to why he could not stay before finally explaining that his mother needed his help at home. Mr. McCarthy had given up at that point.

“The baddies that you bagged earlier were busted out by a large spider-like Blood on their way to the Hub!” Sarah urgently explained. Tim flinched when he heard the word ‘spider’ — those nasty crawlies. “You need to watch your back or you're gonna end up as chalk lines!”

Over the phone, a crash could be heard. Tim knew right away that it was his mom.

Sarah could be heard talking to her, “Mom, maybe you should put off washing the dishes for now …”

“Oh, er …” said Tim as he glanced at Jenkins, who was on the lookout for potential trouble. “… how many did mom want me to buy?”

“Wha—oh. Three confirmed so far … we think there might be more. Terry’s on his way.”

Hm, Terry’s finally back? thought Tim. “Okay, three of them … did she want anything else?”

“Answer your phone.”

Tim paused for a moment, trying to think of an appropriate response. “I loooove you too, Siiiiis—” Sarah hung up before Tim could finish. Guess he was going to get chewed out at home; a flock of enraged geese would have made less angry housemates. 

“Sorry, man, gotta run an errand,” Tim apologized to Jenkins. “Will you be okay on your own—” He cut himself off when he realized Jenkins wasn’t behind him. He glanced around the street, but there was no sign of him anywhere. Worried, Tim retraced his steps.

“J.K.?” he called, “J.K—hmmmph!!” Tim’s phone went flying as he was abruptly pulled into the alleyway. It spun through the air before crashing onto the pavement.

CRACK!

Dang it!

Tim was roughly dragged on his back by his wrists through the alleyway. Coming to a rest in an undignified heap, he saw a trembling Jenkins kneeling on the ground, held down by Hyssss. Hyssss had bruises from where the rounds had hit him the night before.

“J.K.!” he shouted. Tim glared up angrily at his captor. He’d already guessed who it was.

“Heh-z heh-z,” laughed Wazp. He had a glaring black-eye as he stared down at him. “Itz the-z puny-z little-z ant-z!”