Hellstinger

4. ...home.

If there is anything Alexander dreaded more than Marcus doing whatever he deemed fit; is Marcus not doing whatever he deemed fit.

At first, she had thought nothing of his odd behavior when he got off at the Airport but now she regrets coming to Phoenix. Of course, it was necessary and she had hoped it wouldn't happen, but that doesn't change what will happen next.

***

Marcus was sure what he saw was real. He could have sworn his hanger was decorated with intense hellish Halloween effects.

But it wasn't, it was all in his head. As he walked in the middle; Big Joe and Bobby on each side, Tasha and Alexander leading the way, and the rest of the crew surrounding him; all Marcus could think of was his one-second hallucination.

He marched on with his crew, crossing the airport terminals to exit at the receiving bay, he expected a multitude of fans already waiting with things to autograph and pictures to snap. But what he saw blew his mind and took away the residual shock of the hallucination. He smiled and greeted the crowd;

"Hello ARIZONA!"

On hearing his voice, the multitude of fans went wild and tried to climb over the security team holding them in line.

Marcus laughed, stepping up front to greet his welcoming party. This was not the kind of turn-up he expected. Granted, he is a world-famous singer, but this? It seemed like the whole of Phoenix had come to greet him with flowers and signboards.

He waved to the fans and stood in his signature pose ready to make his signature greeting. The fans saw this and quieted just a little bit in anticipation;

"How..." He barely opened his mouth when the crowd Joined in.

"How the hell...are you DOINNNG!" Marcus laughed and waved before turning back towards his crew and boycotting the crowd to move towards the exit. He hadn't walked past the first row of fans when someone started chanting his name to the tune of his hit self-praise track. And before Marcus could decide to join in like the rest of the fans, Big Joe and Bobby put their arms around him and guided him towards the exit with a trail of the booming voice of hundreds of fans chanting.

They exited the airport to meet another round of fans crowded around the van that would be transporting him. Big Joe and Bobby didn't allow him to make any greetings, to the fans chanting his name, as they squeezed their way through the crowd and into the van.

In the safety of the van, Marcus was able to poke his head out of the van to shake as many hands as he could manage before the van pulled away and taxied out of the airport.

No one said much as the van rolled into the highway and roared down unfamiliar highways. The only occupants are Tasha; his manager, Big Joe and Bobby; his bouncers, and Alexander; his bodyguard. And of course, there is the driver whom Marcus has no intention of engaging with.

The others had moved in separate vans and had gained a few kilometers on them since they didn't have to stop to greet fans or squeeze through a crowd of fans.

The van was a typical Mercedes Benz built for comfort and luxury. Its seats were designed in a U-shape with a strip pole at its center, with a thin plane separating the driver's seat from the rest of the van.

Marcus moved to the leftmost corner of the Van and leaned back in his seat with a sigh as the van sped towards whatever hotel he would be staying at. He smiled at nothing in particular as he reeled in the chant of the fans even though it had faded away courtesy of the distance.

"You should sleep." Alexander's voice brought him to the present, he didn't even realize he was still smiling stupidly. "You might not get a good chance again."

"She is right," Tasha said, scrolling on her iPad, from her position beside Alexander, "you are in for the most stressful day of your life."

Marcus smiled. Nobody understands, sure his career makes him lead a stressful and intrusive life, but it is the one thing that actually makes him feel alive. The noise of hundreds and thousands of fans greeting him at every location, and the cheers of tens of thousands and millions of audience singing along with him during his performance; were the moments that truly made him happy.

He leaned deeper into his seat with his head fully resting on the headrest, he subconsciously turned to his right-hand side. There, staring right at him is a robust porcelain white-skinned woman in a red suit and black long skirt.

Marcus frowned, he sat up and stared back at the woman, trying to put a name to a face he was sure he had never seen before but somehow remembered.

His frown deepens and he cocked his head. The woman just sat there, looking at him...

"Marcus?" Alexander's voice startled him and raised his heart rate by a beat. He turned back to the woman but she was no longer there, "what is it? What are you looking at?"

"Eh?"

"You were frowning at nothing?" Tasha said softly, looking up from her iPad with an anxious gaze.

"Oh...I Erm...I was..." Marcus stuttered looking from Alexander to Tasha and then back to the spot where he had seen the woman just two seconds ago. "It's...I was just getting an inspiration."

Alexander raised an eyebrow.

"Shouldn't you be noting your inspiration?" Tasha asked, "It could be another big hit."

"Everything he sings is a big hit," Alexander said, turning back to her phone, "if he doesn't deem it necessary to note his inspiration, then he doesn't need to note it."

Tasha opened her mouth to say something else but thought against it.

Marcus leaned back into his seat with his heart beating a pace faster. Sure he isn't fully sober yet. It was just a hangover mind trick. Or even a trick of light, physics proved that light can play very daunting tricks under the right circumstances.

He deliberately faced away from the spot where he had seen the woman, looking at the leather lining of the van's walls. Even closing his eyes took a dreadful willpower.

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"...it must have been awful." A soft feminine voice brought his attention away from the blue-haired lady sprawled out on the floor behind a pile of long metal pipes clad in a simple crop top and white-turned-brown skinny jeans.

"She must have put up a fight." The feminine voice, a muscular-looking woman in a weird hooded jacket that has a crest designed on its shoulder, said still looking at the girl covered in cuts and bruises and mud and wounds.

"She is strong." He said, he tightened his grip on his whip, looking at the girl with near uncertainty. For the first time in his life, he isn't certain whether he should kill the demon that had possessed the girl or help the girl survive an ordeal she had clearly fought with all her might.

"Are we going to kill it?" The feminine voice said.

"Not every innocent deserves to die, right?" He said, against everything he had sworn, "Maybe we can spare the girl, she looks like a real fighter..."

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