Icarus Down by M. Matlock and B. Babiera

In a world where nothing is at it seems, a young man discovers his true worth---to save us all. His job at the local morgue not only brings him closer to the answers he's been searching for, but closer to his destiny in the heart of his coworker and friends. Is she the end of all things, or the key to saving it?

"I support your habits, your fetishes, and your secret lives."

Twitch watched the expression on the coffee shop clerk's face. It was her favorite reaction, utter confusion. People had a tendency to ask what she did for a living, as she often wore her work clothes as street clothes. In fact, there was a thin difference between the two lives of Twitch. One with a waist apron, and one without.

The one with, required her to deal with drunken, groping idiots, the pounding rhythmic bass of dance music, shabby tips, and no respect. The one without was a paranoid, unhappy, and boring existance. Her only companions were her stacks of books, the internet, and the stray cats that lived in the alley behind her apartment. And maybe she could include her boss...or the regulars she served every night. But they were just a passing glance. Nothing is permenant in this world.

She paid for her twenty ounces of black coffee with a shot of chocolate, tipped the young man behind the counter and left without so much as a glance at another patron. Her breath escaped her in the typical warm fog of every typical cold night. Her thigh high leather stilleto heels clicked against the pavement with her hurried stride. Her free hand was shoved deep in the pocket of her hip-length, faux fur lined coat. She had nothing else on her person except the clothes on her back and the styrofome cup clutched in her little hand.

There was nothing out of the ordinary in Twitch's little bubble of existance this night either. Same street lights, same smells, same sounds, the anticipated wolf-whistles of sloshed men stumbling her way, as she clearly minded her own business on the sidewalk. This job would be the death of her...she could feel it. It would either run her into the ground living from paycheck to paycheck...or someone would mistaken her for something she's not, and she'd end up dead somewhere with no one to give a damn about it.

Sex sells. And if it wasn't for her good looks, she'd be broke. She played up on all the features men seemed to like about her to intice some nicer tips during the work hours. She'd become so accustomed to being in her work environment, it didn't seem to matter anymore. It wasn't that these short skirts and tiny tops made her feel good about herself--in fact she had very little self-esteem at all--it was a matter of survival of the fittest. If showing off perfectly sized clevage for her petite figure meant survival, then so be it. If her double pierced lip, gray-green eyes and jet black hair meant a meal for the next day, then she'd play up on them.

It was meager way of life, but it was her life nonetheless.

The typical scene at the Pub was showing up when she arrived. To avoid the crowd, she slipped behind the building and through the grubby back entrance. Her apron hung where it always had, and probably always would. Snatching it down from the hook, she quickly tied it around her waist and stepped through the swinging doors that opened up right beside the bar counter. Her eyes had not yet adjusted to the dark, and the swirl of bright colored lights, so it was no surprise to her when her body collided with someone.

Paranoia instantly swept over her. She stopped breathing when images of unspeakable horror flashed through her mind. Blood, lots of blood and gore and mangled flesh. A nude woman, her face look of extacy. A man pointing a gun, the audible click of it being cocked, then it fired, 3 rounds.

Then there was a flash of bright light, and then total darkness.

Twitch knew she was on the floor before she even opened her eyes. The side of her skull ache, which meant she'd probably bashed it on the bar. There was someone kneeling in front of her, a strong hand touched her shoulder firmly.

"I'm so sorry, I should have watched where I was going."

Twitch recognized the masculine voice as that of a regular patron her boss tended to. She'd never known his name, or really talked to him herself, but she did know he was bizzarely attractive. He helped her to her feet and stayed with her until she assured him she was fine.

"So that's why you're called Twitch, huh?"

Twitch just raised an eyebrow at his comment.

"Your boss, Quinn, you worry him. He talks a lot about you."

"Quinn's a pig...a good employer...but a pig."

"You should get some ice on that bump before it swells."

He cared? Why? Twitch just stared at him, not exactly knowing how to reply. The corner of his mouth quirked in something like a smile.

"My name's Hyde."

"I know who you are," she lied, "you're in here enough. Don't you got a girl at home waiting for you?" When in doubt, flirt.

"Yeah, my mom."

Twitch actually laughed at that...she really wasn't expecting a response like "my mom". After what she'd just seen from him...no way did he just live at home with a little old woman. There was something darker about him, something he kept hidden. And despite his innocent and caring demeanor at the moment...knowing what he really might be, well...it scared her shitless.