The Perfect Spot
Xander walked on the street towards the outskirts of town. He heard the distinctive rumble of a
Honda Superhawk coming from behind him. He stopped walking and looked up at the sky.
Dark, thick clouds had gathered, blocking out even the tiniest ray of sunlight.
The Hawk stopped just long enough for him to climb on the street bike. He wrapped a loose arm
around the driver's waist and pressed his cheek to the leather clad back. He closed his eyes and
sighed as the motorcycle jumped forward, racing out of town.
You'd think I'd be used to this by now, Xander thought, automatically shifting his weight to lean
into a sharp curve. Depression slid over him, along with resignation. He couldn't stop the
upcoming storm, he could only deal with it the best way he knew how.
The bike came to a stop and Xander lifted his head to look around. The area was flat and
desolate. Empty. At one point it was probably the site of a home, or possibly a store. Now, it
was a track of hard dirt, strewn with rocks, broken bottles and other trash. No other buildings or
homes were within view.
It was perfect.
But Xander knew it would be.
Xander climbed off the Hawk after the motor was shut down. Others would say that,
without the purr of the motorcycle's engine, the area was silent. But to Xander, the area was
screamingly loud. The electricity gathering in the air crackled. The hot gusts of wind that had
whipped the storm together whistled past his ears. The rumble of thunder from high in the sky
sounded like the pounding of tribal drums.
"This one came up too bloody fast."
Xander turned to the peroxide blonde straddling the bike. "You say that every time, Spike."
"Well, it's true," Spike raised his sunglasses-covered eyes to the dark sky, "I
haven't even had a chance to stash our gear."
"Better do that." Xander took the cell phone out of his pocket and handed it to Spike, then he
pulled both his shirts over his head.
"How long?" Spike accepted the shirts and shoved them in the bag at his side. He adjusted the
strap of the leather satchel more comfortably across his chest.
Xander looked up at the sky. "A couple of hours," he rubbed the large, black thundercloud
tattoo on center of his chest, "maybe more."
"Right." Spike started the bike's engine.
Xander sighed, removed his sunglasses and handed them to Spike. Despite the darkness caused
by the storm clouds, Xander squinted as if it were bright and sunny.
"I'll come get you after the storm," Spike said out of habit, tucking the wraparound sunglasses in
his inner duster pocket.
"I know you will." Xander's tone was not one of tenderness or thankfulness. It indicated a
statement of fact.
Spike nodded once, revved the engine, and rode away. Xander let his gaze wander around the
area, making sure he was truly alone. When he was satisfied no one else was there, he lay down
on the hard, dirt-packed ground and shut his eyes.
Thirty seconds later, the first bit of lightning cracked the sky, and the electric bolt raced to earth...
...and hit Xander in the center of his chest.