A/N: Okay this entry is a little bit different from my previous fare. I actually get to poke fun at myself here - just a little bit. This entry, as short as it is, is based off a dream I had of running into Cabal in the present time. It's a fun little thing...and feel free to laugh at me along with me.

Enjoy!

Also this will probably be the last entry for a bit. I have another one that is not yet finished, but then again, I'm not going to post it up here until I get back into The Devil's Own (which may be a while). It's called Coming Home - and I'm still tweeking it. You guys might remember Sagira from the last few chapter of "OF DHAMPIRS..." and that is who is telling the story in that particular case. The problem is that the short gives a LOT away regarding upcoming events.

So thank you for taking a little time out of your day to peruse "Tales From the Dead Zone." I hope you have enjoyed what you've read! Thanks much!

Darwin

A Chance Encounter

A quick run to the store – that’s all it was supposed to be.

I’d run out of something I thought was essential, and I ran to the corner store to get it. Typical me, I wanted to make it as quick a run as possible. I had art to draw – chapters to write – friends to chat with. Oh yeah, and a neglected house to take care of and family to interact with. How backwards were my priorities?

Swinging my silver Honda into the parking lot and pulling to a stop in one slot, I jumped out, locked my car, and headed towards the entrance.

Not paying attention, I moved with my typical fast walk for the automatic doors. I waved my hand as I always did; just to be sure the door would be in motion before my pace got me to the glass. I heard the slight swish telling me that it was getting out of my path. Paying little attention to anything but the deck, I was more than a little surprised to run headlong into a body. Taller and wider than me, the man blocked any access I had to the interior of the building. I might as well have run into a wall. I bounced back, only keeping my feet by my better than average balance, and glared up at the offender. I’ve never been one to back down, even with someone larger than me. I wouldn’t be a good Chief if I was intimidated by a person’s size.

My jaw fell open as I got a really good look at the man.

He stepped closer to me, where I stood still frozen in shock. Clearing the door for those behind him, the man brought cinnamon skin into the light slipping between buildings. He peered down at me and smiled – one of those closed-mouth grins he used to hide his teeth in public.

Only he couldn’t be here. He was a construct of my imagination, and could not be walking around in the real world with me. He had never developed an ability to travel through time and space and imagination – at least not that he had ever told me. Then again, it would not be the first time he had kept a detail about himself to himself. I wrote his life for three years before he told me he was left-handed for heaven’s sake.

His grin widened at my continued locked stance; the shock and surprise that had to be evident on my face. Absently, he lifted a hand and brushed a loose strand of his straight black hair behind his ear. He had it pulled back into a ponytail, with a band I supposed – it was too short for his typical knotting shortcut. It was that latest “cut” I’d given him – when Nathan’s an adult – tapered and just past shoulder length.

“Denise,” he sighed, breaking the uncomfortable silence. A full blown smile crossed his lips for an instant at my discomfiture. The predator teeth disappeared a moment later, but the grin never faded.

I had to be dreaming this. Yet, people did ply around him; they threw him scared glances and dirty looks. So, unless I was imagining their reaction to his presence, I wasn’t imagining him.

“Cabal?” I blurted, shaking my head. I swallowed and attempted to compose myself. “It’s…weird…hearing my name falling from your lips.”

I shook my head, suddenly and painfully aware of the fact that I was dressed like I was slumming. I’d quickly thrown on a sloppy T-shirt and a pair of my least dressy jeans before leaving the house. My hair was messily gathered into a ponytail at the back of my head. The only fictional character in my repertoire who haunted my fantasies, and I looked like I just got out of bed. What an impression the Creator must have made for her creation. “I’m dreaming, right?”

He laughed. That deep voice of his sounded so much better in person than it ever did in my head. “No.”

“You know me?” An odd flutter went through my chest. I had been writing characters for a long time, a whole stable full of them, and it never occurred to me that any of them would be aware of my efforts to understand and do justice as I relay their lives.

In way of answer, Cabal placed his long fingered hands on my slim shoulders. His skin was warmer than I had imagined, but his touch still sent a shiver of gooseflesh over my skin. “Of course.”

“How?”

Cabal shrugged, his grip tightening slightly, before falling away. A purely plutonic gesture – one so typical of him. “I have for a while. Not sure when I became aware of you, but I’ve known.”

“Wow.” I flushed until my ears burned.

It was amazing how speechless I was. Never had I considered a conversation with him outside the ones we had in my head – and those had never been direct dialogue – just images.

I made my frame loosen, and I made myself look him over. He looked better in person than I had ever written him – than I had ever drawn him. I had never been able to do justice on paper or in the computer to the images that form in my head anyway. That quiet power was evident, and I wondered if everyone could see it in him – standing there among the early afternoon crowd – or whether it was because I have had years of insight into what he was capable of.

Without thinking, without weighing his possible reaction, I reached for him. I knew better: he was a predator, a warrior, and he could easily take my life just for intruding on his personal space.

My hand slid underneath the very familiar two tone duster, and as it resisted that action, I was reminded of how heavy the leather of it was. My fingers easily found his collarbone, the scar that lingered there even after half a century on his skin, and even when I have never laid hands on him in my life.

I’ve wanted to – many times – but never had I thought I would actually get the opportunity to do it. I felt ever play of muscle in his chest, the steady rise and fall as he breathed.

“I’m sorry,” came from my lips impulsively. My fingers pulled free of his jacket, making an odd swiping gesture, like claws raking across his chest. Those scars probably hadn’t lingered this long, but I remembered vividly that both his parents tattooed his flesh like that, “for all the shit I’ve put you through.”

“Put me through?” He asked, stilling my hand by capturing it in his own. There was laughter in his rich voice, and pain, and just a touch of remorse. His ice-blue eyes were intense on my face, only softened by the smile that said he wanted me to understand something I had not yet grasped. “What makes you think you made the choices regarding the way my life has played out?”

“Well,” I flushed, “I write it.”

He shrugged. “Yes, you write it. You merely document things that have already happened to me. I at least get to make choices about it – it’s more control than you’ve ever been allowed.”

I found it a little boggling that he, a being from a future I would never see, was telling me I was writing his past. That thought chasing tight circles through my head made me dizzy, and I steered my overactive brain once again away from it.

Cabal had gone on to say, “There’s nothing to apologize for. I’m flattered, actually, that you consider that mess worth chronicling.”

“Are you kidding?” I crossed my arms, smirking. “Every day I think about something with Only Half – I mean, your life.”

He leaned closer, that predator’s grin coming out again. “I know. Miranda would be jealous, but you at least include her. So she’s being tolerant.”

I flush again.

“Thank you.” He cupped my cheek with one hand, and I realized that it reached from my chin to my temple. “I wanted to let you know you’re doing a fine job. I’m grateful.”

He straightened, bobbed his head once and then turned away. As he started up the street people gave him wide berth, closing about his tall form and even halting to watch him slip quietly up the walk. I watched him myself, admiring his form from behind, until I could no longer see him. He didn’t disappear, or fade into the background like I thought he should – like the dream that my brain continued to insist this had to be – he just kept walking until he was lost in the crowds.