The Collectors

It’s not the heat, it’s the humidity.

Any local will tell you the same, as much as they hate to say it, it’s the mantra that slips out between frustrated sighs and long gulps of lukewarm water. 

And it is true. It is something that wraps around you like an unwanted cover. It is always thick, always weighted, and always the same. It is one of the constants in these small, forgettable, East Coast beach towns. 

Stella could always count on the humidity. It licked at her in a way that felt similar to an overeager dog lapping at her skin. Dripping from, yet clinging to her at the same time. 

She relished in the feeling as much as she despised its uncomfortability.

For Stella, it offered a baseline. If the humidity was clinging to her then the Warnings weren’t. Which in turn made it easier to identify when something else had arrived and that was something that was especially necessary due to the other constant that plagued the coastline.

Tourists.

Tourists were the double edged sword that Stella unendingly found herself battling against. They were good for business. Beach bars don’t tend to last long without them. New faces, new names, rotating through every two to three weeks also helped Stella keep her anonymity. Most of the questions she would be asked never delved deeper than “What’s your name?”, “Where are you from?”, and “What brings you all the way out here?”. Generic questions that would receive generic answers with a generic smile as she refilled a beer or blended yet another daiquiri. The rotation of different people ensured no one got too familiar as much as it ensured a Warning wouldn’t stay around too long. If the Warnings arrived with one wave then they would likely leave with the next.

It’s why the humidity, while horrid, was necessary. Feeling the Warnings sooner rather than later gave Stella valuable time. Time to compose herself. To grin and bear it. To mentally prepare for the internal battle it would cause. The sooner she detected the Warnings, the better she could gauge her reactions to them. The better she could control herself, the longer she could stay in one place. 

It’s why as much as she hated humidity and tourists she always sought out a beach town.

That and who doesn’t love the sight and sound of the ocean? 

If life was a constant walk through hell at the very least she could attempt to enjoy the scenery. 

This one was her fourth town in six months. It was the same as all the rest for the most part. It was a short strip, only stretching about four miles of coastline. The locals were as weathered and worn as the wooden walkway that ran in tandem with the sand. Both had seen better days. Both still had a unique charm. 

The bar Stella had settled on was just the right amount of run down. It was a long standing establishment, well known and well loved by locals and tourists alike. A rare feat in and of itself. A small dried palm frond lean-to type of place. Sand covering the wood floors so often that no one ever bothered to try and sweep it away. The kind of spot that opened two days before peak season started and shut down the week before it ended before reopening for the locals two weeks later. Because the “Season’s End Party” was the kind of thing that was just enough of a tradition to draw in a large crowd and just cliché enough to make others stick around for. Allowing the little spot one last hurrah with a heavy influx of cash and making it so they didn’t have to put up with the stragglers who wanted to hang around longer than they were truly welcome to. 

The building, though sparse, was better built than many of the others Stella had been through. It clearly had withstood the test of time even after a hurricane or two. It was angled perfectly to keep the staff and the majority of customers out of the overbearing sun once it reached high enough in the sky. Unless someone wanted to sit at the last two tables that were closest to the sand and remained under the burning rays. Metal fans that made a shaking kind of racket rotated back and forth along the walls, spraying out mist that didn’t actually go anywhere or do anything to help cool the heat. 

The bar top itself was long; it ran the length of the building and separated the tiny kitchen from the floor. It held as many seats as the tables provided and yet the owner had made it very clear there would only ever be two bartenders on at once while the floor would always have at least four servers. Well the owner’s son rather. Though the twenty something year old with more brawn than brains certainly acted as if he owned the place.

Ricky was a Warning that almost had Stella grabbing what few belongings she had and sprinting towards whichever beach town she could find next. What put a stop to those rapidly developing plans was Ricky informing her within thirty seconds of her “onboarding interview” that he likely wouldn’t have much time to spare this season. He was in the middle of a huge renovation on his beach house off of Branchview that demanded his attention so Stella would be left in the capable hands of the long time manager Jen. He did, however, deem it necessary to inform Stella that he often had friends over on the weekends and should she ever want to, she was always welcome to swing by.

The piercing cold that filled Stella due to Ricky’s proximity only got worse when he touched her lower back and he leaned into her personal space while he delivered his invitation. It forced her to grit her teeth in order to bite back what would be a very inappropriate reaction for the current company and circumstance. She held her breath as she let the feeling roll through her, fighting off the instincts that came with such a thing and forcing her to calm down and keep her composure. Stella did her best to give a polite but dismissive smile. Causing Ricky to grin at what he perceived as a successful interaction while Stella fought the urge to vomit. 

The humidity settling back in over her skin as Ricky left gave her the reprieve she needed. She took a deep breath once he was far enough away as she attempted to shake off the lingering cold the Warning had left.

“Luckily he won’t really be around much, if at all.” Jen said once Ricky’s feet hit the boardwalk. Stella turned to the middle aged brunette who offered Stella a comforting smile. If Ricky was a Warning, Jen was the opposite. She was genuine and kind and just wanted a simple, happy life. Stella grabbed a spare rag and began helping Jen wipe down the bar top. Jen’s smile turned grateful at the act. 

“He inherit this place or something?” Stella asked.

Jen let out a long suffering sigh. “He might as well have. His dad started this place back in the 70s but the old man just isn’t up to running it anymore.” A sad look crossed her face as she continued. “Brian was diagnosed with Parkinsons a few years back. Told Ricky this was the kid’s chance to prove he could run the place on his own.”

“So why are you running it for him?” Stella asked as she rinsed the rag in a red bucket of disinfectant and started wiping down chairs while Jen moved on to cutting the citrus for the day. 

Jen paused for a second to look around the place. A fond look crossing her face as she took it in, as if she was reliving a memory. “Because I owe it to Brian.” She said softly and went back down to cutting fruit. “I was in a real tough spot when I first came here in the early 90s. If it wasn’t for him I don’t know where I would be right now. Hell, I probably wouldn’t even be alive.”

Stella let the silence sit for a moment before she made her way to wipe down the tables on the floor. “So you run it for Brian and put up with the son.”

Jen let out a humorless chuckle and nodded. “I figure the least I can do is make sure the idiot doesn’t run the place into the ground.”

Stella gave her an understanding smile. “Well you can count on me to help with that, for the rest of the season at least.”

“It’s not a bad gig, all things considered. Ricky really will stay out of our hair. The servers on the floor have their own rotations worked out and between tip-out from them and whatever comes in from the bar itself we will make some damn good money in the coming weeks.” Jen said as she unlocked the cabinet behind the bar and began placing the liquor bottles in their various designated spots. “It gets hectic as hell but you seem like you have done this before.”

“Once or twice.” Stella told her.

“It’ll be nice to have a partner in crime for the season.” Jen told her with a genuine and kind look that had a twist of guilt wringing Stella’s insides, if the girl only knew.

“Be careful what you wish for.” Stella told her and if Jen noticed the dejected way Stella said it she didn’t show it. The servers started to arrive and after quick introductions everyone moved to finish setting up before it was time to open. 

“Hectic as hell” was absolutely correct, Stella soon discovered. Once one customer stopped in it was like word spread to all of the other snow birds that it was time to get the party started for the day. Once it felt like one wave of sweaty and oiled bodies was starting to settle another wave would start. Stella and Jen quickly fell into a routine. They worked together seamlessly as if they had been doing this together for a decade. Which made everything move that much smoother and while it was utter chaos, it was manageable chaos. 

“Damn.” Jen said as she stared at the opposite end of the bar while she finished shaking the cocktail she was making. “Hey Stel, you see that guy at the end of the bar? With the undercut fade and trimmed beard?” Stella looked to where she was directed and the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. 

A chill crawled over her skin, it didn’t pierce her like a Warning normally did. It didn’t feel like an icicle stabbed straight into her heart and turned her blood cold. This was different. It tip toed over her pores until it seeped through them. It was cool but not cold, comforting almost. And that is what made it frightening. Whoever he was, he wasn’t a Warning. But he was something else. Something that Stella had never felt before. And because she had never felt it, she couldn’t associate it with behavior she knew. Making this stranger an unknown in Stella’s very known world. Unknowns were dangerous. Unknowns usually made her run.

“Yeah.” Stella finally blurted out when she realized Jen was waiting for an answer.

“Can you take his order? His name is Uri, he comes around every so often. Nice enough guy. Great tipper. But he likes to chat and I’m in the middle of table ten’s shot order.”

Stella wanted to say no, wanted to make up some excuse and slip out the back before booking it to her car and hitting the road. But Uri was staring her right in the eye and as much as she wanted to run, it was like she was being pulled towards him. So Stella nodded instead and made her way down the line.

They stared at each other for a minute. Neither speaking but both assessing the other. He tilted his head with a slow growing smile that reminded Stella of the Cheshire cat. Enticing and dangerous and welcoming. But there was still no Warning from him. Just a pleasant chill that was fighting off the sweltering heat.

“Oh dearest you can see, can’t you.” He said, eyes lit up with excitement as he leaned forward on the bar and towards Stella. Pinning her in place as if she were frozen with her palms on the bar top. His voice was calloused and droning, yet almost ethereal at the same time. His eyes seemed a bit too bright, skin a bit too smooth, smile a bit too bright, and teeth a bit too white. He rested on his elbows as he kept looking over Stella like he was studying her.

“Yeah…” She trailed off awkwardly “20/20 vision and all, never needed glasses or anything…” His hand shot out and grabbed Stella’s arm, gripping her tightly and suddenly everything about him was too sharp. 

His eyes went hard, each tooth looked like it had been filed into individual points. His nails thickened and lengthened around Stella’s forearm until they looked like claws. Then he pulled away and leaned back lazily in his chair, everything the way it was before he had grabbed her. His smile even wider now. 

“No. You can see beneath it all.” He stated as his eyes roved over her once more before pinching his eyebrows together. “How old are you?” He asked curiously.

“26” Stella answered automatically and he just raised his eyebrow at her before leaning forward again. 

Dropping his voice he asked, “How old are you really?”

She should lie to him. Everything in her told her she should lie to him. 

She didn’t.

“57” She said so lowly she expected him to ask her to speak up but instead that Cheshire grin just spread across his face again.

“You’re new.” He said excitedly. “It has been quite some time since I met a new one. Do you even know what you are?”

Stella shook her head. She didn’t. She just knew what she could do and the cost of it.

He nodded slowly as that smile grew even more. “Would you like to find out?”

She had thought about that question a lot. Ever since she realized how different she was. If she ever had the opportunity to find out she had decided long ago that she would leave the truth be unless absolutely necessary. However, she also never truly believed she would have a way to find out what she was to begin with. And now the devil in front of her was offering her that exact truth she had always said she would avoid. She should tell him no. 

She didn’t.

She nodded.

He stood from the bar. “I’ll be back here at closing time. Chat then dearest.” And he was gone.

The rest of the shift was a slow grind to the end. Stella and Jen were both dead on their feet, going through closing routine like zombies. Still no sign of Uri. 

Stella didn’t know whether she was disappointed or relieved. 

After saying goodbye to Jen and offering to take out the trash since it was on the way to her car Stella decided that it was likely for the best Uri didn’t show up after all. Which is of course when she saw him leaning against the hood of her Corolla. 

“You need better taste in vehicles dearest.” He said as she got closer to him.

“It’s practical.” She said almost defensively. She liked her car.

He just chuckled and grabbed one of the bags of trash she was carrying. Once the chore was finished he turned back to her. “I’m going to give you a choice dearest.” He said his eyes lighting up with a bit of mischief. “You can get in your car and drive 15 miles North, straight down this road until you see a light blue beach house on the left hand side. You can knock on the door and walk in and meet others who are Collectors like yourself and get all of the answers to all of the questions you have ever had about yourself.” He paused as he let her take in option one. “Or you can run again and keep running until eventually you can’t run anymore because you’ve killed someone one too many times accidentally and the law finally caught up with you.”

Her eyes blew wide as he just gave her a knowing look. “How many has it been already.”

“Two. My foster parents.” Stella said.

Uri nodded and said “If you do decide to go to that beach house you’ll learn not only what you are but how to control what you are. The choice is yours.”

He gave her one last small smirk before he turned away and started walking. Stella had him in her line of vision until all of a sudden she didn’t and he was gone. 

She knew she should get in her car and drive in the opposite direction until she ran out of gas.

She didn’t.

She went North.