Nightfall (Devil's Night 4)

It was a rotten breakfast, but it was better than eating nothing, and I wasn’t sure she’d eaten yet today.

The trailers ran, and slowly, I felt her relax next to me, her eyes focused on the screen.

The opening scenes began, but instead of watching the movie I’d already seen, I watched her instead. Her eyes moved up and down and all around, mesmerized by the action, and her hand with a piece of popcorn stopped halfway to her mouth as she forgot all else.

“What is this?” she asked, but she didn’t take her eyes off the screen. “Is this...?”

The corner of my mouth lifted in a smile.

“Underworld: Awakening?” she finally said and looked over at me. “This doesn’t come out until January. How do you have it already?”

I cocked an eyebrow, and she rolled her eyes, remembering who I was.

“Of course,” she retorted. “Must be nice to—”

I looked back at the screen, clearing my throat extra loudly.

She halted whatever insult was on the tip of her tongue and let out a little laugh. “Thank you,” she told me. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

“Yeah, shut up,” I teased. “Just watch the movie.”

She focused her bright eyes back on the screen, a smile still spread across her mouth that I had a hard time ignoring. I’d seen her in the theater by herself from time to time, so I figured this was her happy place.

We watched, and as the movie played, she started to change. Her eyes got bigger, her color came back, and I even heard her laugh once.

I held out the Twizzlers and Milk Duds, giving her first choice, but when she picked the Milk Duds, I opened the carton and spilled half in my hand before giving her the rest of the box. I gave her a choice to be nice. I didn’t actually want the Twizzlers.

I ate and she ate, and I snuck peeks at her throughout the film, watching her more than the movie.

She noticed, because she finally glanced over at me, catching my eyes. “What?” she asked, turning her eyes back to the screen.

“You’re not what I expected,” I said. “You like action movies, huh?”

“You don’t?”

I laughed. She was back to shaming my anti-feminist remarks. Yay for normal.

After a moment, she spoke up, her voice soft. “I don’t think about anything else when I’m watching them,” she explained. “They take me away. It’s an escape. I like the survival aspect in some of them, too. Ordinary people becoming extraordinary. Being called to do great things.” She rolled a Milk Dud between her fingers, watching the screen. “Hell hones heroes, you know? I feel it when I watch them.”

What did she need to escape, though? I didn’t ask, because that would only put her on guard, and I didn’t want her to run.

“Well, I prefer the classics,” I told her. “Arnold Schwarzenegger, Sylvester Stallone…”

“Jean-Claude Van Damme,” we both said at the same time.

She turned to me, and I laughed.

“Yes,” she said, smiling.

“Fuck yes.” I nodded. “I mean, the Muscles from Brussels? Hell yeah.”

“Bloodsport,” she added.

“Kickboxer,” I chimed in.

Great movies. The eighties were the golden age. Ordinary people going to war—battling for honor. I mean, you just don’t get movies like Lethal Weapon, Beverly Hills Cop, and Cobra anymore.

You’re the disease, and I’m the cure. Booyah.