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---->Sometimes black isn't black. Sometimes it's just a very dark blue that borders on black. Sometimes it's such a deep, lightless blue that one would swear it was black until something that is truly black slinks up and, by comparison, one can see just how light that very dark blue actually is.
---->Sometimes...but not tonight. Tonight it was undeniably black.
---->Angela Vorcoza was dressed in the new pink uniform the owner of Lucky's had recently forced onto his employees to increase professionalism in his workplace. Her hair was unkempt and greasy, as one might expect after a late shift of slinging hot dogs and fries. Angela was not particularly beautiful woman. She was young, but tough looking. Her skin was smooth with the rich brown color typical of her latino heritage. She was attractive enough and had a shapely body, despite having delivered three children. She had begun working here as a third job after her youngest child was born less than a year ago. Their father was a founding member of Buffalo's lower westside "10th Street Thugs" before he was killed by a gunshot to the face. Angela was a good mother and cared as well as she could for her children. When her third child arrived, she refused Welfare and applied for this third part-time job instead. Whatever she couldn't cover, 10th Street supplied her.
---->She locked the door behind her, looking up and down the silent city street. She gripped her coat tighter to her body in the chill winter air. She could see her car from where she stood. Employees at the diner parked in the tiny ten car parking lot across the normally busy street labeled "For Patrons of Lucky's Only."
---->She made one last scan of the dark, empty neighborhood and started across Clinton Street to her 80-something model hatchback, awaiting faithfully under a blanket of snow.
---->Her feet made squishy sounds in the slush of the blacktop's newfallen snow. Angela hurried as best she could through the slippery mush. She hated being in this neighborhood alone at night. In fact, she had just been telling her upstairs neighbor, Mrs. Mirella, about a newspaper article she had read that talked about...
---->What was that? Angela paused where she was for as second when she caught something out of the corner of her eye. Stupid dogs. She remembered one night that her boyfriend had gone to the door of their apartment dressed in sweat pants and armed to the teeth with a baseball bat when she heard "a prowler" outside. That poor, hungry dog had been looking for no more than a few leftovers when he chased it away.
---->She continued her pace as the memory recalled a pleasant smile. Angela was exhausted and couldn't wait to get home to her children. She desperately hoped they had behaved for Mrs. Mirella tonight...
---->There it was again! Her face spoke the anxiety in her heart. That's no dog, she thought. She picked up the pace as much as she dared without falling on the icy layer of slush in the middle of the street. Almost to the other curb...
---->Laughter. Angela could hear it distinctly, but still a ways off. Two or three maybe. It was teenage laughter; male teenage laughter.
---->She was across the street now, too afraid to look for unseen danger. She concentrated on the driver side door of her Chevette. She was so close! Angela felt for the door key on her jumble of key chains and key rings. Her children's father had always nagged her for carrying so many. She wished now that she had heeded him.
---->She heard footsteps crunching behind her in the snow. Are they that close? Again, she was too frightened to look.
----> "What's up, barrio-mama?"
----> His voice was too much for her to bear. She yelped in spite of herself and broke into a run. Only 20 feet more!
----> She heard them again, still slow paces. They hadn't chased her yet.
SPACER"Where you going sweetheart?"
----> She yelped again and fumbled with the keys. She jingled the key into the paint on the car door, her haste causing her to miss the lock several times.
----> "Please," she muttered aloud desperately.
----> From out of the darkness, a strong hand grabbed hers and Angela's whole body shook with fear. She backed away to see her adversary for the first time. He was a shaven-headed teenager wearing a black leather jacket and sunglasses despite the night. She noticed he had a silver ring pierced through his eyebrow.
----> "Let me help you with that," he grinned.
----> Angela screamed and the grip on her wrist loosed. She bolted for an alleyway on the opposite end of the parking lot. She glanced over her shoulder to see two other similarly clad young men pacing slowly toward her.
----> The alley was only thirty strides long and opened to a side street. Surely if she could make it that far, she'd be out of danger.
----> Just as the thought finished going through her mind, she heard the low rumble of a powerful engine. Salvation, she thought. She would make enough ruckus to gain the driver's attention. That should be all the help she needed in scaring off three street punks.
----> The vehicle slowly rolled into view at the finish line of her alleyway. It was dull black with chrome wheels and a streamlined design. Muscle car, she decided.
----> Angela ran up to the driver's side window. It was tinted and she could not see into the car's interior. She knocked, waved, and yelled frantically for assistance. She looked over her shoulder for a moment, trying to locate her assailants. they had not followed her down the alley. Have they given up? Maybe all they wanted was my car...
----> The window rolled down to reveal a man in his early twenties. His hair was slicked back and he wore a plain white tee shirt. He had a tattoo on his left arm and a lit cigarette hung from his lips. He reminded her of what she thought a good mechanic might look like. He looked her up and down as she tried to explain herself, almost hysterical.
----> "Three guys...thank God...they chased me...I..."
----> The car door opened and the man stepped out of the machine. "Something wrong?" His voice was very comforting to her.
----> "Three kids...they were...chasing me," she tried to explain., but as she looked about, she saw they were no where to be seen. The man only eyed her. "Thanks...I think...I think they're gone." Angela allowed herself a chuckle and a sigh of relief.
----> The man reached into his car and pulled from it a leather jacket that he put on. Angela saw the lettering on the back for an instant. 'The Knights.' She grew silent. The man closed the car door and in the window's dark tinted reflection, she could see the three punks standing behind her. She froze.
----> The man in front of her removed the cigarette from his mouth and flicked it over her shoulder onto the sidewalk as Angela's face drained and took on the pale color of her fear. She could hear the final sizzle before it died. She began to scream.
----> With blinding speed, the man grabbed her by the hair. He pulled her off-balance and dragged her back into the alleyway, shrieking and wailing. The others followed, tittering.
----> She continued to scream and struggle until the man held her up by her hair and slugged her in the jaw. She rolled over, coughing, and began spitting the blood that filled her mouth.
----> "Please," she cried between coughs. "I don't want any trouble..." She paused to spit again and rested her head against the soothing cold of frozen concrete. The voices above her were laughing. She realized she was too frightened to look at them.
----> Angela pulled her purse out from under her coat and tossed it at their feet. "Here's my purse...take whatever you want." the laughter only grew louder. She saw the man from the car turn and walk back toward his vehicle. "Take the keys," she cried, dropping them from her hand. "The restaurant register's full...take my car, too..."
----> "We don't want your money," one of them smirked.
----> "Or your car," said another.
----> Angela felt a hand on her shoulder as she was spun around to face them. She looked at them now: three boys in leather jackets and sunglasses. Two of them had shaved heads and the largest one wore a black bandanna on his head. She wondered if this were racially motivated.
----> Angela spent a moment clutching madly at her skirt and coat. The boys laughed harder. Angela began to sob. "Please," she cried softly, still clutching at her clothing, "don't hurt me..."
----> They all laughed heartily at her discomfort.
----> The one in the bandanna chuckled. >"We don't want that either!"
----> "I do!" the skinny punk threw in, wagging his tongue and stepping closer to her. Angela shied away as best she could with her back against the alley wall. The one in the bandanna caught him by the shirt collar, physically lifted him off his feet, and pulled him back.
----> "You can have her when we're through," he said.
----> New fear replaced old and Angela thought she would feint.
----> "Please," she attempted to reason, "just tell me what you want...anything...but, please...please don't hurt me..."
----> They stood there in the frozen night and watched her writhe.
----> "I have children at home...please, let me go home to my babies..."
----> They laughed again at her sobbed pleas.
----> "Please!" she sobbed, "What is it you want?"
----> The skinny one stepped out of the shadows of the alleyway and into her view. His face was contorted. His eyes were sunk into his skull and they had turned entirely scarlet. His lips parted and grinned to reveal two rows of thin, white needles. He sucked them once before he spoke.
----> "Your BLOOD!!" he hissed at her.
----> The three predators pounced on her. She was dead before she could scream.
----> Angela Vorcoza would never see her children again.
----> 'Bryce'.
----> He peered up at the sky and exhaled wisps of carcinogenic ghosts. In the dim light from the street lamp above, his wicked mouth smiled.
---->The lights in the small restaurant went out, leaving only the sign above the plate glass window aglow. "Lucky's," it read in faded brown and white.
----> In that starless night, that undeniably black night, the fourth figure turned his back to the alleyway and the feeding frenzy it held. He lit a cigarette and took a deep drag held it for a bit. He adjusted his leather jacket. A name was stitched above the left breast pocket.