Chapter 7
Jayna arrived back at the shop a little too late from her shopping excursion, and found her kitchen in such a state she wondered if a tornado hadn’t dropped into the middle of it. Amidst the clutter of dirty dishes and empty cartons, she found Ciela sitting, wide-eyed, and her guest ransacking the fridge, his tail waving behind him happily.
His head popped up and he muttered a cheery “Hi Jay!” around a forkful of leftover Lo Mien as she entered, before returning his attention to the little cardboard box.
“Jayna.” Ciela glanced over at her and shook her head slowly in shock. “I’m going to go see Mike and probably take him out for lunch.” She paused, looking again at the fridge. “If I try to get anything around here I may lose my hand.”
“Bye!” announced the still-eating guest. “Nice meeting you!”
“Right…” Az glanced back to Jayna, eyes wide, as the carton of Lo Mien vanished, carton and all. “Is he ok?” She asked quietly.
“Yep, he’s fine. This is completely normal.” She grinned. “So, will you be home for dinner?”
“Will he?” She nodded towards the fridge.
The dark-haired eating machine’s head popped up at the mention of dinner, with a half-eaten jar of pickles in one hand, a carton of milk in the other.
“Nope.”
His face fell.
“Then I guess I will, unless Mike has other plans. Later, Jay!”
“Bye Az.” Jayna shouted at the hastily retreating figure’s back. She stepped over to the figure jealously guarding the refrigerator door and peered inside. “Geez, Vid, there’s some moldy cheese in the back, why don’t you eat it too, and make it a clean sweep?”
Some hours later, Jayna finished her chat with Vid, finally escorting him out the door before he ate the table. She sighed, laughing, as he happily walked off. Vid was a virtual carbon copy of his father, right down to his eating habits. It was a pity what he’d told her about the older alien, he’d dug up some really interesting toys for her back in the day.
She looked around the kitchen and decided take-out was going to be much easier than trying to scrounge up a meal in the decimated kitchen, and started cleaning.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Ciela and Michael arrived a few hours later, chatting happily about nothing in general. Jayna was sitting in the kitchen, head resting heavily on her crossed arms, blithely ignorant of their entrance. Ciela stepped over and lightly tapped her friend on the shoulder.
“Hey, we brought you some dinner.” she set down a few boxes, and went over to the counter to turn on the coffeemaker. “Are you ok?”
“Oh, I’m fine.” Jayna managed around a jaw-popping yawn. “I guess cleaning up the kitchen after Vid tired me out more than I thought.”
“Yeah. That was…” Ciela looked around at the empty kitchen, as if checking to see if all the furniture was still intact. “Interesting.” She grinned up at Mike, who had heard the whole story over a very long lunch. “You have some odd friends.”
“Yeah, I know. It takes all kinds to run a successful shop though. His dad was a great help to me on more than one occasion.” Jayna rubbed her eyes, got up and poured herself a cup of coffee. “If you still need someone, you could always ask him to train with you. If he’s anything like his father, he knows how to fight, and is pretty strong.”
“Hm. Well, he’s awful young, isn’t he?” Ciela asked, curiously. “Have you given any thought about what I said earlier?”
“Like I said, in a few weeks, it may be possible.” Jayna glanced over to Az, who was now visibly fidgeting in her seat. “What?”
“You had another guest while you were out.” Ciela looked over at Michael, almost as if she needed the strength to continue. “Kelegar came by right before Vid did, looking for Aquarius. He seemed…upset.” Ciela paused again. “I would have told you sooner but I didn’t want to say anything in front of, um, Vid.”
“Why the hell was he looking for Aquarius? He’s the one that sent him off J Street in the first place!” Jayna fumed.
“No, he’s not.” Came the quiet reply.
“What?” Jayna practically came out of her seat with this last comment.
“Kelegar said, amongst other things, that Zan had not shown up for an appointment with the Master today, and that the Master was very displeased.” She stopped for a moment, shaking the cobwebs out of her mind, before she continued. “Quetz that guy gives me the creeps. Anyway, I assured him that we didn’t know where Aqua was, and he left without another word. Thank the gods.”
Mike looked back and forth between both women, almost seeing the wheels turning in their minds. “That bastard.” Jayna fairly spat. “He’s in trouble with Ravenstrom so he jumps ship like a rat and leaves us to deal with it.”
“Maybe he just got mixed up…he could have forgotten what day he was supposed to go…” Cie started, weakly. “Never mind.” She finished, seeing the venomous look on the older woman’s face.
“Jay, think about it. Cie’s probably right, it’s just some sort of mix-up.” Michael interrupted Jayna’s train of thought. “There’s a logical explanation for this.”
“Yeah. And if I don’t hear from him tomorrow, I’ll be finding out what it is on my own.”Chapter 8
My next task is much more complicated, but so much more satisfying at the same time.
I know how much time I have until he arrives. I know his every move, with my Adrianne floating around him, a fly on the proverbial wall.
As I go about my work with zeal, I wonder if his friends, comrades, the antique, the corpse, and the Quetz-bitch, know about this other home, this other dimensional whore of his. Well, nothing like a few secrets amongst friends to make the world run smoother, I suppose.
Smooth. Her skin is smooth under my fingers. Things are going smoothly for me. Not for him, of course.
Her body is still warm and barely moving when my mind slips back to the task at hand and begin to arrange her on the bed. She looks so peaceful lying there, dying and not knowing it in drug induced dreams, bleeding, slowly, no hope of waking, of escaping.
I feel her pulse slowing, her heart weakening, her breathing faltering, and continue my task. She felt no pain when I cut the first cut, slicing skin and sinew and fat, began the slow methodical carving of her body.
I put the finishing touches on the girl, spreading her long, strawberry blonde hair out to frame her youthful face. The round, tinted glasses I brought with me I perch on the end of her nose, giving her even more pixyish appeal. Beauty is in the eyes of the beholder, and she had such beautiful ones, didn’t she, mercenary, detective, water freak?
I know all about you Mr. Aquarius. Zan. You have your cake and eat it too.
I draw my attention back to my newest masterpiece. The thick mattress padding blankets sheets begin to soak up the blood leaking from various jagged wounds, and the air in the enclosed room becomes thick with the heady, intoxicating scent. I want to stay and watch it drain out and breathe and taste and lick up the warm crimson but that won’t look good in the headlines will it?
Or maybe it will. Horrific headlines always make for better newspaper sales, all the news that’s not fit to print, sex sells, blood and guts and ultra violence sells. I kneel down over one of the wounds and venture a small taste, my tongue slipping out like a cat after cream. I shudder and know immediately I must leave before I lose control and ruin the tableau I’ve set up for the detective.
Although I am very tempted, and self-control has never been my strong point, I manage to pull myself away. Pull up a chair and stay a while, make yourself comfortable.
I sit.
And I wait.
I surprise myself by falling asleep in the armchair, in the gore-strewn room. Waking after dark, I yawn and stand and stretch languidly, willing a stronger connection to Adrianne. She is still on that accursed street nexus dimensional plateau bullshit form of reality J Street. It fuzzes her thoughts in and out like a crappy radio station, but I know where she is, where he is, what he’s doing, who he’s doing. Who he’s lying to when he speaks, tells her that he has a big case off the street and he’ll be back when he’s done.
I close the connection to Adrianne, who is making lewd comments, suggestions, directions to me that are better off not discussed while a naked, bloody cadaver is in the same room with me. At least the blood is cold now, which turns the thick honey scent to vinegar and revolts me. I wander from the room, bored now that the light fire life has left the girl.
The main room is blessed with a massive entertainment system, which I flip on and watch in amazement. I had no idea that they made movies like that. At least now I know why the detective charged so much for his services. I flip off the television and wait.
I hate waiting. Waiting hates me. I think of the detective, smiling, and fall asleep again.
Adrianne whispers sweet nothings in my mind, waking me as she moves closer to and then through the static shock of a portal to this dimension. Minutes later brakes groan on the street below, outside the apartment. Doors open and close, footfalls echo down the short hallway to the apartment, thudding like my heart which beats rapidly, stattico. Excitement burns my senses as the key turns in the lock and the door opens in slow motion and I sink back into the shadows of the room, watching for his reaction with my eyes, with Adrianne’s eyes.
No reaction, not yet, as he takes off his coat and tosses it into the corner in disgust.
He steps forward and the scent assails him, assaults him, alerts him, starts to seep into his pores. His gun comes out in a silent movement, cocked and ready as he moves slowly forward, looking like someone who expects a boogieman to jump out of every corner. The gun sweeps from side to side with every creak of the floor.
He speaks but the words are lost to the thunder of blood in my ears, the fire coursing through my veins, the excitement affecting me in ways I didn’t expect. I wish the pretty young girl in the other room was still alive but there’s always the next one. Adrianne scolds me, and suggests a short return home but I want to finish my game first.
Finally convinced there is no threat, Aquarius steps across the room and into the charnel house that was once his bedroom.
Warren: 2
Aquarius: still zero
I step from the darkness and tap my foot impatiently. In the doorway, Aquarius freezes, and I watch the tension coil like snakes under his skin as he prepares to attack. I draw all the shadows present to myself, and let them slide across the floor towards him, writhing serpentine patterns on the thin carpet.Chapter 9
I let the darkness swirl around his feet for a few moments, letting him sweat, letting him swear at me in every language he knows, sweating, heart beating a mile a minute. I won’t allow him to pull the same trick that he did last time, the sneak thief cunning piece of trash that he is, swallowing me inside his waterform and suffocating me nearly to death.
No, he’ll have to be more original than that. I let my eyes play down my dark angel Adrianne’s form, hovering next to him, her wraith-fingers trailing sensuously through his hair, across his chest, in long strokes. My distraction proves to be a mistake, as the detective uses my foolishness to his advantage and vanishes.
I blink, momentarily confused. He can’t do that. He’s not Houdini, he can’t vanish. It finally dawns on me…he hasn’t vanished; he turned to mist.
The mist fills the room, thick and clinging to my skin. I quickly realize what he’s trying to do, and hold my breath. Sneaky. Suffocate, or worse, from the inside, instead of the outside.
Sneaky. I smile. He’s still got some fight in him.
Good.
But I think I prefer to fight on home territory.
I let my shadows steal up the walls, across the ceiling and the floor, close upon themselves, and I will us elsewhere. When I drop the pseudo walls, draw them back dark and swirling into myself, a hot, dry wind, sharp as knives hewn from obsidian begins to tear and shred the edges of the Aquarius mist, forcing the detective to reform or be scattered across the desert.
He falls, stunned and naked to the sand, shaking, writhing.
Ah, how lovely Mictlan is in the summertime.
I could kill him here and now and be done with him.
He couldn’t defend himself from me, not here.
He’s as good as dead and doesn’t know it yet, and I cannot keep the smile from splitting my face, feral and ugly. I think I start to drool, but I don’t care.
Adrianne saunters over to him, visible, physical, and licks her lips. He can see her now, in all her glory, and his eyes hold the beginnings of fear and the fear suffocates his usual bravado. I feel a pang of jealousy as Adrianne stares down at him, stepping lightly on his chest to hold his shuddering form still under her slow, scrutinizing gaze.
“I don’t suppose I could keep him…just for a little while?” she whines, pleading at me with a look I know all too well. This wasn’t part of my plan. This wasn’t part of the plan, the still rational corner of my brain shrieks. But, then again, do I really want to keep my angel from her depraved happiness?
I surprise both of us with my answer, and she shrieks joyously into the red sky.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
I put up with the howls and screams for about three days before I send Adrianne to check on the others, the detective’s friends. I wonder if they’ve even missed him yet?
Adrianne has had her fun, obviously, and as I look him over, I notice the detective is in much worse condition than I would have thought possible. Dried blood mars his skin from every conceivable type of wound, scratches, bites, gouges and strip-shredded skin.
Lack of water notwithstanding, he’s been through hell. What I plan will be a relief.
Well, almost.
I flex the muscles in my arms and back, then draw back and kick the sleeping figure curled up before me. A rib snaps, but he doesn’t stir. I sigh. Sleeping? He’s most likely unconscious. He’s been completely without water for three days. What did I expect?
Adrianne sends back a tendril of thought from her perch on J Street. Not completely without liquid, she chuckles, sending me a suggestion on how to wake the detective. After all, desperation breeds desperate acts, she laughs. I grimace at the thought, but decide to humor her.
I did plan on humiliating the detective…didn’t I?
Heh. Well, it never hurt a plant…
I’m surprised when he stirs shortly after I finish, now urine soaked. He quickly makes his way to his feet, trying to look menacing in his utter powerlessness. He speaks but the words come out a cracked whisper that is blown away in the breeze.
Adrianne, I think, is even more depraved than I am.
Maybe, maybe not, maybe not quite.
I watch as the last of the liquid soaks through his parched skin, and he licks his cracked, bleeding lips, in spite of his obvious revulsion. His pupils are uneven pinpricks of black swimming in a sea of purple-blue.
I let him stand there, weak and in pain for several minutes, as I walk around him, my arms crossed over my chest in contempt.
He’s truly pathetic without his toys, without his loudmouth boasting, and without his whores to back him up and keep him out of trouble.
“You’re not finished here yet…”