There had been times when he had feared the dark.
When he was a child - a hundred years ago, or so it felt - he had dreaded the night, dreaded the darkness that cloaked the world and made it cold. He was so naïve then, so innocent to think that the darkness was something you could see.
He took a sip of his coffee, the bitterness sharp against his tongue despite the vanilla creamer he had poured into it so liberally. Rain dashed itself against the window to his left, rivulets of water running down and glowing red in the light of the diner's neon 'Open' sign.
Roadhouse Diner was one of the few places where Abe could go to work and eat at the hours that he kept. Aside from being one of the only twenty-four hour joints in town, the food was actually decent. It was all the greasy, artery-clogging American fare you would expect to find in that kind of place, but it was all delicious. Abe took another sip from his mug and grimaced. With the exception of the coffee, that was.
The coffee may not have been delicious, but it did what it was supposed to. A few more sips, and Abe felt the grogginess lifting, and focused back on his laptop. The fifties music coming through the speakers and the clash of dishes being washed in the kitchen made a comforting background noise that Abe felt was helpful as he worked. He found it difficult to focus when he was too alone, or when things were too quiet. He had spent enough of his life in silence.
He got to work, his fingers typing furiously as the caffeine begin coursing through his veins. Normally Abe was hyper-vigilant. He could tell you, at any moment during his visit in a restaurant or café, just how many people were in the building. He kept track of the entrances, of the comings and goings, and always sat facing the doors when he could. He had learned to be careful all of his life, and he was hard to sneak up on. It was only in moments of distraction that he let down his guard. He didn't hear the door open, didn't notice the fall of footsteps coming up behind…he wouldn't have known that another man had entered the diner had not that man dropped a hand on his shoulder.
Despite the absurd amount of caffeine in his system, Abe didn't jump. Instead he froze, his body tensing as a chill shot through his body. He recognized the hand, the heaviness of it, the lack of coordination as it fell on his shoulder, as though it were a dead appendage that was not attached to anything living. When he thought that he couldn't feel any colder, the owner of the deadweight hand leaned close and whispered in a husky voice,
"Now what's a nice guy like you doing in a place like this?"
Abe swallowed hard and clenched his teeth around a scream. The visitor removed his hand and moved to the other side of the table, sliding into the red vinyl bench opposite Abe.
Abe was not an average-looking person. Rather, he was like an average-looking person whom someone had drained all of the color out of. All that set him apart from the crowd was his paper-white skin and pale hair. One might notice the odd pinkish-blue color of his eyes if they happened to look that closely. But besides his color, he managed to remain under the radar. Dark baggy clothing and hats concealed most of his oddness, and he was able to go through most of his days unnoticed.
The same could not be said of his visitor.
The man was tall; nearly seven feet. He had a heavy, squared-off jaw and a protruding brow that shaded his sharp brown eyes. Aside from his size was the fact that the man looked as though he had been cobbled together. Thick keloid scars traced his body, connecting patches of skin that didn't quite match in color. There was an awkwardness to his movement, the way he shifted his cumbersome limbs. But Abe knew not to underestimate him. He had seen him in action and knew what he was capable of.
Swallowing his fear and narrowing his eyes, Abe managed to ask,
"How did you get here?"
The man shrugged, throwing his huge hands in the air.
"I'm back from the dead, baby!" He said, and laughed. Abe didn't respond.
"Glad I finally caught up with you," the visitor continued, "you're a hard man to find, did you know that?"
"I try to be."
"And it's not like I've been slacking, either," he went on, "day in and day out, ever since I got blown up."
He glanced around the diner, his gaze falling on a young couple who were giggling in the corner. They had probably come from the dance club down the street. Their mirth seemed to annoy the tall man.
"What do you want, Gevault?" Abe asked finally. The man seemed put off by the question.
"What do any of us want?" he replied, "Answers? Closure?"
His gaze wandered to the laughing couple again and he played absently with the butterknife on the table.
"Revenge?"
Abe closed his laptop, looking closer at the man.
"Why would you come to me?" he asked. Gevault stopped playing with the knife and shook his head.
"Why not come to you?" he retorted, "you're one of us, aren't you?"
"Barely."
The visitor's face changed, a darkness clouding his features. He laughed, and the sound made the hairs on Abe's arm stand up.
"Oh, is that how it is?" he asked, an edge to his voice now, "You think you're better than the rest of us? The newest model? You think you're any less of a slave, Abithar?"
Abe's stomach clenched at the sound of that, and his vision began to swim.
"What did you call me?" He asked, his mouth going dry.
"Your name," the other man shrugged.
"No one knows that name," Abe said, "no one except for…"
"And by the way," Gevault said, running his finger along the edge of the knife, pretending as though he didn't notice Abe's distress,
"Father says 'hi'."