Post by David Lo on Jun 18, 2012 22:21:33 GMT -5
((Originally posted Aug - Oct, 2010))
((DISCLAIMER: This set of posts contains material of a violent and disturbing nature. Reader discretion is advised.))
A day's travel south of Mount Yasuo, late afternoon. An eagle screams in the distance. A shaft of blinding white light suddenly burns down from the sky. An instant later, a man thumps to the ground in the center of the circle of light. The light vanishes, and the man groans softly, then rolls to his hands and knees before pushing himself upright. He looks around, taking in the inhospitable landscape with a cold, arrogant gaze. He dusts himself off, staring at the mountain peaks in the distance. “Are you hiding there?” he asks the silent mountains, voice low and controlled, yet hinting at a rage buried just beneath the surface. The man sits cross-legged upon the stony ground and closes his eyes, seeming to concentrate deeply on something. His body is entirely motionless, save a breath taken once a minute.
Five minutes after he sat, the man opens his eyes and stands in one smooth motion, pivoting away from the view of the mountain peaks to look south. “So,” he says, “this way.” Without further contemplation, the man breaks into an impossibly fast run, ignoring the chilling wind whipping against his face and exposed skin. Five miles pass in as many minutes, then ten, fifteen. Finally, the man slows to a jog, then a walk, breathing betraying just a hint of the exertion from running. He stops, standing amidst the trees of an old forest. He sits again, falling into the same meditative pose as before. Another five minutes pass before he stands, face set in determined impassiveness. He begins to run again, stopping after ten minutes when he reaches a small town. The smell of freshly baked bread and roasted meat brings forth an anticipatory rumble from his stomach, and he follows his nose to a house on the outskirts of the town. A blow from his fist shatters the door into splinters. A startled man jumps to his feet from his spot by a fire and runs towards him, swinging an iron poker in terrified anger. He catches the poker effortlessly in one hand, ripping it from his owner and tossing it over his shoulder with a casual flick of his wrist. The poker buries most of its length into the wall as he snaps a foot into the townsman's stomach, sending him flying backwards, accompanied by the sound of snapping bones.
He doesn't bother watching the flight, turning immediately towards the kitchen. A screaming woman running out the back door is also ignored. All he's interested in is the food, which he quickly devours. After finishing, he walks casually out through the remains of the door, paying no attention to the crowd of people gathering around the house. Before anyone in the crowd can react, he sprints off again, heading directly south. One hapless person happens to be directly in his path, and is knocked aside as though struck by speeding train, landing in a broken heap a dozen yards away.
He travels another twenty miles before the setting sun forces him to slow his pace drastically. Walking across the unfamiliar landscape at merely human speeds is too inefficient, though, so he stops for the night, sitting down with his back to a tree and falling into another meditative trance. This one lasts for hours, until the morning sun streams through the trees and brushes his face. His eyes open, and he stands, looking southward. He stretches and rolls his shoulders, banishing any hints of tension, then sets off running again.
For weeks now, he had watched. Watched, and plotted. Now, it is time for him to act. First, he plans to make contact with some of his prey's acquaintances. Perhaps he will learn something useful. Perhaps he will be able to turn their minds against his prey. Tonight, he has chosen a tiny blond thing. She had been seen speaking with his prey only a few times. Thus, he concludes, she probably does not know him very well. It will be easy to fool her. He stands upon the roof of the building across from the Inn, and watches her leave. The buildings are all close together. It's child's play to leap silently from rooftop to rooftop, never letting her out of his sight. This area of town is too busy. While he fears no night watchman or good Samaritan, early exposure might disrupt his plans. No, he will wait, wait until they reach WestEnd, the slums of this strange and exciting city.
His quarry slips through one of the chinks in the wall that separate the chaotic WestEnd streets from the more neatly ordered Central District and froze in the shadows of a rusted, busted wagon. The tiny blonde frowns softly and glances around, left-right-forward-backward-but-never-up. Apparently seeing nothing, hearing nothing further, she moves quickly away from the dubious shelter of the wagon. Now, he speeds up, passing to a roof almost a block ahead of her and scales easily down the side, out of sight of casual travelers. He stands, hidden in shadows, waiting for her path to intersect his.
She stands at the end of the block, grey-green eyes narrowed in the dim light cast from the moon and the stars. "Oliver?" she calls out hesitantly. "Ollie? It's me, Callie." She shifts her weight from foot to foot in impatience. He steps silently out of the darkness a few feet from her, a tiny smile on his lips. It's so easy to fool these weak creatures. Hard to imagine he was once just like them, puny and pathetic. He waits, curious to see if she will spot him, even now.
Sudden movement from her right side causes her to squeal in fright and scramble backwards a few feet, end over teakettle when she trips on a rusted bit of rebar. Landing hard enough to knock the breath from her lungs, she recovers quickly and snatches up the piece of metal in both hands, holding it out in front of her in unsteady hands. She opens her mouth to cry out in fear...but then stops and frowns. "Mr David?" she ventures.
They are so laughable, these little creatures. As if that rusted chunk of metal posed any threat to him. They should kneel down and worship him. The smile widens as he imagines this future. Let her interpret it as though he had some interest in her. "Calico," he answers. Yes, he knows who she is.
She gives him a shaky smile and puts down the length of rebar. "Lawdie mercy, Mr David. You nearly scared the life out of me, sneaking up like that! What are you doing out at this time of night anyway?" She smooths down her skirts and blows out a relieved breath.
"Just walking home," he answers. He knows she'll believe it; they'll believe anything if it fits with what they wish to hear. "Where are you going?" As he speaks, he takes a few steps closer to her.
"Well, I come up busted at the Inn, so I was out here, huntin' up Ollie. He lets me stay with him when I can't afford a room at the Inn." She scuffs a bare foot against the ground and gives him a shy smile. "I'm real sorry to hear 'bout Mr Daniel leavin'. I'll bet Miss Riley's real broke up 'bout it, huh?"
"Yes," he nods. "It's very hard." The street kids are a surprising font of information, especially when one didn't care about false morality. Street kids went missing all the time; an extra one wouldn't be missed. He steps closer to her, looking at the ground as though saddened. "For both of us."
She reaches out hesitantly and pats his shoulder awkwardly where the shirt he was wearing covered his skin. "So, uh... You been out walkin' 'round a lot lately, huh? Can't sleep or somethin'?"
Well, well. He isn't the only watching David's movements. This could be interesting. Perhaps this one even has feelings for his prey. That will make things all the easier. He nods. "Yeah, been having trouble sleeping, especially when I'm alone."
"Alone? But..." She frowns in confusion. "Miss Riley? She...not...uh...keepin' you company?"
"It hasn't been the same since Daniel left." The secret to telling believable lies is to give a small amount of information, and let the victim fill in the gaps themselves. It's far easier to let their minds walk the path on their own than to force them down it.
"Oh," she says softly, her expression sympathetic now. "She's missing him something fierce then, yeah? Can't see past her own loss?"
"It's like I'm not even there." It was pathetically easy to play on her emotions. He finds it frankly amazing that she survives here. "I don't like being alone."
"Well, now. You ain't alone. You just gotta try talkin' to her, show her that you're feelin' just as bad as she is. Y'all need each other now."
He forces himself to sigh. "I keep trying."
She makes a thoughtful face, pursing rosebud lips together and creasing her brow in a tiny frown. "Maybe...maybe I could talk to her for ya? I don't know what I'd say, exactly, but...maybe...maybe she just needs a friendly ear is all?"
He shakes his head again. "Appreciate the offer, but I doubt it would help." He glances around, as though worried someone might be watching. "Honestly, she's being so selfish, she wouldn't listen."
"She wouldn't listen to me?"
"She doesn't listen to me. Losing Daniel hurt me, too. He was like the brother I never had. I can't talk to her about it, though." He sighs again, looks down at the ground.
"Do you...do you wanna talk to me about it? I'm a real good listener, you know." She gives him a fragile smile.
He has her now. He curves his lips into a small smile. "Yes, I'd like that." He looks around. "Guess we shouldn't stand out here in the street, though."
"Naw, prolly not. You got somewhere in particular you want to go?"
He glances around again. "That one looks good." He points, apparently at random, to one of the many ruined buildings on the street. Of course it isn't random; he has already scouted out that building and found it to be both structurally stable and fairly soundproof.
She nods and starts moving that way, gingerly picking her way through the debris scattered over the ground. When she reaches the building in question, she hovers in the doorway, looking inside as if she could see into the interior. "You got a flashlight or somethin'?" she asks him over her shoulder.
"Sure," he says, pulling a small flashlight out of a pocket. Preparation is nine tenths of the key to a successful plan. He clicks it on and points the beam past her, into the building.
"Oh," she says with a little giggle and steps inside the build. "Hey, this is one that Ollie's set up. Lemme just grab his stash and we'll have some candlelight and save the battery on your flashlight." She scurries over to a hidden corner and digs in a specific pile of rubble.
"Great," he says, waiting for her to get the candle out. Once it's done, he turns and picks up the fallen door, placing it snugly back in the frame. A subtle twist of the metal ensures it will be all but impossible for one of the weakling creatures to budge.
She sets one of the candles firmly in the crack of a piece of concrete and touches a lit match to it. "There. Kinda homey," she says with a little smile. Then she carefully spreads out one of the blankets that was also in the stash and settles down on it, crossing her legs in the tailor position. She tugs her ankle-length skirts down over her knees and smooths them out in a lady-like, demure fashion.
He sits down on the blanket next to her, making sure that his knee is very close to her, but not quite touching. He looks down, tracing the pattern on the blanket with one finger, the picture of someone feeling unhappy and unsure of how to talk about it.
"It's okay, David," she says, dropping the honorific. "You can tell me whatever. I promise I won't say anything to Miss Riley."
He affects a quaver in his voice, subtly tugging on her heartstrings. "I feel like it might be my fault he left."
She frowns and reached to pat his knee hesitantly, awkwardly. "Why would you say that?"
Excellent. She has initiated a touch twice now. His guess about her possible feelings for David was correct, as he knew it would be. "I kind of hinted that I might not want to share her anymore."
"Oh. I see." She frowns. "I don't have any kind of experience with that whole...French thing y'all were doin', but it's gotta be hard on a person. Always wonderin' if she loved him more than you an' all."
"I know she does."
She frows again. "Then why do you stay?"
He shrugs slightly. "I don't want to be alone."
"There's worse things than bein' alone. Bein' miserable fer instance."
He looks up at her now. "Have you ever loved someone?"
She shakes her head. "Naw. Ain't no one ever had the time for a freak like me."
He looks back down at the blanket. "Hard to believe. You're very pretty."
"You think?" She blushes deeply, though the crimson was hidden by the flickering candle flame. "There's the whole fallin' over if you touch me thing, though. Most boys can't handle that."
"Of course I think. I've always thought." This is a problem, though. He doesn't know what she's talking about. Clearly, she has some kind of problem with others touching her. "Maybe it won't always happen?" A neutral statement, betraying none of his ignorance.
She shrugs, her small, dexterous fingers playing with the frayed hem of her skirt. "It don't always happen with everyone. And sometimes it only happens once...sometimes, three times and then never again. It ain't something I like takin' chances with, though. So. I ain't ever been in love. And I don't hold out hope for it happenin' any time soon, neither." She shrugs again. "But you...you got a lovely woman, dontcha? I seen how you feel about her, after all. That first readin' I did for yo. You just gotta work it out somehow."
"I'm trying," he says, adding a note of weary sadness to his voice. "What if she won't listen, though?"
"You gotta make her."
"Make her? How?"
"I don't know. Tell her that you're torn up, too. Let her know that you're hurtin' and you need her. Women love to be needed, you know. Makes 'em feel...useful."
She speaks a truth here. The little creatures love to feel like anyone cares about them. "You're right," he says. "Thanks." Now he's curious, though, about her problems with being touched. He reaches out as though forgetting about it, yet too fast for her to avoid, and pats her hand, making sure that his skin presses firmly against hers for a moment.
She falls bonelessly, limply to the ground, ending up on her back, as if she were a marionette and someone had just cut her strings. Her eyes roll up in her head and her breathing comes in slow, shallow gasps. Now that is interesting, indeed. He reaches down and pokes her shoulder.
A strange voice comes out of the little Seeress's mouth, a voice that is completely without the thick, Southern Louisiana Bayou-Country accent. "He knows you're here. He's been preparing for your arrival. The one with the most to live for will win."
Her words actually give him pause for a moment. Is this strange little creature seeing his future? He flicks his hand against her cheek, wondering if she is conscious of his actions at all.
The slap against her bare skin draws another gasp and her eyelids flutter. She says again in that strange, monotonous voice, "One of you is restrained. A basement. The other is with the Cat in the place of two trees." This is fascinating. It really does seem as though she's seeing the future. Perhaps he will, in fact, capture the prey and lock him away for a while. He could have some fun with that. And speaking of fun...his touch seems to draw these predictions, so why not have some fun with it? He shifts around to her head and leans over, sliding his hands down her blouse and under the cups of her bra to squeeze her firm young breasts. An evil little grin moves across his face. Very nice indeed.
A strangled, shocked gasp escapes those rosebud lips and she tries, even while unconscious, to draw away from him. The same eerie voice says, this time in a whisper, "He will win. Because he is vulnerable, because he has the most to lose, he will win." His grin twists into a snarl at her words. "You're wrong," he says to her limp form. "I will be the One." His fingers tighten cruelly on her breasts, hard enough that bruises will surely result.
She gasps again, her eyelids fluttering as she came back to herself. Her eyes pop open and she looks up, catching sight of that snarl, feeling the rough, bruising pinches on her breasts and cries out, "David! What are you doing? No!" She struggles to sit upright, to clamber to her feet and flee the building, but he has her pinned down. She can do no more than beat ineffectually at his arms.
"Don't struggle," he says calmly. "It won't help you." It's obvious that he won't get any more predictions out of her. Her usefulness to him has just about reached its end. But not quite. There's one thing she's still good for. His hands pull out of her blouse, one clamping onto her shoulder and the other bunching up the hem of her skirt. With an effortless jerk, he lifts her into the air and spins her face down against the floor, hard enough to knock the wind out of her.
"No!" she cries out, over and over, still struggling against his grasp, bucking her hips and screaming until she is hoarse, her throat raw. His hands are stronger than the steel bars that secured the windows of the abandoned building; there's no escape to be had for her. His choice of building, too, was carefully planned. No one is around for blocks except for a few squatters and street urchins, both of whom know better than to come searching for the source of screams. He pins her down easily with one hand in the center of her back, inhumanly strong. The other hand tears her long skirt from her body like cheap paper.
Tears streak hotly down her face and in a rough, ragged voice, she begs, "Please, David. Don't do this! I won't tell her. I swear, I won't tell anyone. I'll be a good girl, David. Please no." She struggles again, but quickly grew weary, her slender body not nearly a match for this powerful man. "David, no. Please. I'm...I'm a virgin, David."
"Not for long," he answers, the vicious grin curves his lips once again. His hand dips again, this time ripping her panties away, exposing her shapely little behind to the cool night air. "Very nice,' he says, running his fingers teasingly along her thigh. She cannot speak now, cannot continue to fight, so she just holds as still as possible and whimpers. The flesh beneath his hands jumps and quivers like a fly-bitten horse. She thinks of her grandmother, back in Louisiana. She thinks briefly of the swamps and the sunrises over the bayou. She thinks briefly of Riley and wonders whether she knows what kind of monster she's allowed into her bed and into her heart.
She is seeing the inevitable now, and has submitted to his power, as it should be. He forces her thighs apart with his knees, then reaches down and unzips his pants. At the sound of his zipper, she struggles again, the screams starting fresh, torn from her raw throat with a fury born of pure desperation. Trying to pull her knees up under her body so she can climb to her feet and sprint away, she half-turns onto her side, reaching behind her with one hand, her tiny fingers curled in a semblance of claws and rakes her nails over his exposed thigh, just missing the instrument of his torture.
He hisses at the unexpected pain and shoves her painfully back down against the rough floor. "Bitch," he says emotionlessly, increasing the pressure from his hand on her back until her ribs creak. Gasping now for air, the fight's completely gone out of her, though her brain still rebels against his attack. She lies still beneath him, submitting without further protest, seemingly giving in to the inevitable. She squeezes close her eyes and begins praying softly, whispering the words, "The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures; he leadeth me beside still waters."
He wastes no more time, driving into her brutally. She can feel herself tearing as he pushes inside her roughly. A wave of pain shoots up from her groin into her stomach and she gasps harshly, little moans and whimpers torn from her throat, even through the softly whispered prayer, "He restoreth my soul; he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake."
"Your prayers fall on deaf ears," he says. "Soon, I will be the One, and all will worship me." He thrusts his hips roughly against hers as he slides one hand up to roughly squeeze her breast. The other hand claps over her mouth, stifling her prayers and pulling her head back.
He may have stilled her audible prayers, but they continue on unabated in her head. There is only one God and He would not do this. "Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of Death, I will fear no evil." His thrusts inside her bruised and broken body send fresh bolts of pain throughout her and hot tears leak through her closed eyes, rolling down her cheeks.
His time draws near, and his pace increases, rocking her body with the force of his movements. His hand presses harder against her face, easing up to cover her nose as well as her mouth with an unbreakable seal. He leans down and whispers, "I'm not David." Her eyes pop open in confusion. She can't get a breath and her body's desperate need for air has her head thrashing back and forth as she tries to shake his hand off of her face. Not David? What did he mean, not David?
He smiled again, feeling her confusion, unaffected by her efforts to shake off his hand. "That's right. I'm going to kill David, you see. And when I do, I will be the last. The One." Some quiet part of her brain tells her to fight, to endure the assault until she can escape and warn the real David. But she hasn't the strength, hasn't enough air, can't get enough air. Her eyelids flutter, she sees stars and the edges of the world go fuzzy and dim. She suddenly knows she's dying and this kicks a final burst of adrenaline into her veins, starts her heart pumping furiously, giving new life to her limbs. She bucks, hard enough to dislodge his hand and bites down furiously on his knuckles, until she can feel her teeth grating against bone, until she can taste blood in her mouth.
Coming at this moment, right before his peak, the pain of her teeth in his hand serves only to push him over the edge, driving him to a powerful release, though he makes no sound during it. Then, very deliberately, his hand pulls back on her head until the bones of her neck snap audibly.
She hears a sharp snapping noise and then feels nothing, hears nothing. There is a flash of blinding white light and an overwhelming sense of peace. The last thing she is conscious of is the scent of lavender - her long-dead mother's favorite perfume. And then she knows no more.
He lets the limp head slip from his bleeding hand and fall unceremoniously to the floor as he pulls out of her. He stands, tucking himself back into his pants and zipping up. Without another glance at her body, he turns and walks to the door, pulling it aside and walking out into the night. He looks up at the sky and smiles, pleased with the night's events, before disappearing into the darkness, leaving the body behind where it will no doubt soon be discovered by one of the myriad tiny-willed creatures that scuttled around this place.
Tuesday morning dawned cloudy and dreary over most of the city, but on the northwestern shore of the Rhy'Din River, a little ray of sunshine was acting as a spotlight over a particular house with two huge oak trees standing sentinel over the entrance. It wasn't a literal ray of sunshine; it was the feeling that poured from the house – warmth, peace, tranquility, happiness long fought for and finally gained.
Dressed in a pair of black leggings and a mid-thigh-length cerulean blue tunic, Riley was lingering over her second cup of coffee, staring at her shirtless fiance with big moon eyes. She sighed happily, feeling really, really...sated. "I love you," she said suddenly.
David paused, glass of orange juice halfway to his mouth, and smiled at her. "I love you, too." No more hesitant fumbling over the words, for either of them. It was a very good change. Kind of amazing how moving to a new house tended to change a person's attitude, too.
She grinned and finished her coffee, setting the empty mug down and sliding off the counter top on top of which she had been perched all through breakfast. "Hey, I told you that I'm taking the kids over to the new theatre today, right? We're gonna start rehearsals for the showcase, get 'em used to the stage and the lights and all." She moved to stand next to him, wrapping her arms around his waist and resting her chin atop his shoulder. "I won't be home until late. Shall I bring dinner? Carito's, maybe?"
He turned his head enough to plant a kiss on her temple, and nodded. "Yeah, that sounds great. I'll head back to the Gardens and clean up some more. We should be pretty much done by the weekend."
She hugged him and reached up to cup his face gently, turning his head to claim a kiss. Her hand snaked down his chest, slender fingers dipping under the waistband of his boxers. "Beer and pretzels?" she asked, referring to the pattern on his shorts.
"Yup," he answered once his mouth was released. "What, you didn't think I'd wear them?" A warm flush of pleasure went through his body at the feel of her hot skin on his cooler flesh, and he reached up, running his fingers into and through her hair.
She chuckled and shook her head with a little sigh of resignation. "No, honestly, I didn't." She kissed him again and then turned to pick up her bag and snag her pointe shoes. "Be a good boy today. I'll see you tonight."
He chuckled softly. "They're comfortable. Besides, no one's going to see them but you. Have a good time at the theater. Say hi to Mataya for me."
"I will. Bye." she tossed over her shoulder as she slipped out the newly-replaced front door. He turned back to finish off his orange juice, then suddenly stood and ran to the front door, pulling it open. "Riley, wait a sec," he called out before she'd gotten much further than the end of the path leading from the house.
"Hmm?" She turned and caught sight of him standing in the garden in just his boxers. It was such an incongruous sight that she barked out a startled laugh. "God, David. Go back inside." She shooed him with her hand.
He glanced down, noting his state of near-nakedness, and shrugged a little. "I wanted to ask you about something,"
She rolled her eyes heavenward and then fisted one hand, resting it on the swell of her hip and gave him a level look. "And you couldn't wait until you had pants on?"
"You'd have been gone already," he pointed out reasonably.
"And you're never gonna see me again?" She gave him a tiny, lopsided smile. "What is so pressing that you couldn't wait twelve hours to ask me?"
"I don't want to wait until May," he said simply.
She blinked and her right brow quirked. "We are not eloping."
"No, no," he said, waving that away. "Not right away. I don't want to push it. Just...how about a little sooner than May?"
"How soon is a little sooner?"
"Well. I was thinking February. Valentine's Day. Is that too sappy?"
A slow smile spread over her lips and she made the universal girl noise that indicated extreme happiness. She ran towards him, launched herself into his arms and covered his face in scores of kisses.
"I'll take that as a yes?" he asked, a smile curving his lips.
She unwound and slid down his body to her feet. Then she nodded and grinned. "Yeah," she said softly. "That's a yes."
"Awesome."
She bit her lower lip, letting her eyes rake over his body. "If I didn't have to be at the Gardens soon, I'd take you inside and show you awesome."
"I suppose it would be a bad idea to let the kids wait," he said, frowning with mock-sadness.
She nodded sadly. "But tonight..."
"Yes. Tonight." He gave her a big grin.
She blew him a kiss and then turned, headed for the Gardens now, a new little bounce in her step. He watched her until she was out of sight, unconcerned with any passers-by catching him standing there in his underwear. Then he turned and went back inside to finish off his orange juice and get in some bagua practice. The empty back patio made an excellent practice spot. An hour later, shined with sweat and feeling nicely warmed up, he came back inside to quickly shower and get dressed. Then he headed out, closing and locking the door behind him. A good practice combined with his high spirits ensured that walking wasn't going to cut it, so he jogged across the city to the Gardens.
Street kids went missing all the time - snapped up by slavers, made meals of by the myriad predators that lurked in the city streets; sometimes, though it was very rare, they even went to one of the orphanages that Miss Riley was always harping on them to go to. So when Pete and Chamomile's bodies turned up a few days back, Oliver didn't give a second thought to bothering Miss Riley. What could she do? She wasn't the Authority any more and besides, Pete and Chammie were in a better place, or so the priests like to say. Oliver and the other kids he took care of buried the bodies as best they could, said a couple of words over the make-shift graves, and then went on about the business of trying to survive. It was harsh, but so was life on the streets of Rhy'Din.
This girl, however, the girl whose body Oliver had spotted in the bowels of the upholstery factory early Tuesday morning, she was not a street kid. Sure, she sometimes bunked down with them when she couldn't afford a room somewhere, but she weren't no kid. Nope, she was a grown-up and a friend of Miss Riley's man, too. Oliver decided after half-a-second's thought that he had to go find Miss Riley and show her the girl's body. Someone done the girl bad, real bad. Miss Riley would want to know; maybe she could get one of them Watch buddies of her man's to find the killer.
Ollie ran off like a shot and hovered around the entrance to the big ol' building with the funny looking dogs standing guard out front. He dare not step foot inside for fear of incurring the wrath of Mr Cheung; he'd already chased him out of the Cafe once, shouting something about bugs and dirt. Ollie hopped back and forth, wringing his flat-cap in his hands and peering into the darkness of the building. “Mr Cheung?” he called out in a tremulous voice.
“What do you want?” the building's super shouted from inside, peering out into the street once he noticed Oliver standing there.
“Please, sir. I need to see Miss Riley. It's real important,” he said, still wringing his cap and bouncing from foot to foot. When the wizened old Chinese man made no move to go fetch Miss Riley, Oliver said, “Please, sir. I just gotta see Miss Riley. Will you please go fetch her, sir?”
Cheung stared at the boy for a long moment and then turned away, heading slowly up the stairs to the second floor, a string of Cantonese invectives coloring the air blue as he climbed upwards.
There was a sudden, sharp rap on the door of 2A - impatient, curt, and demanding. David looked up from the box he was taping shut, then stood and moved quickly to the door, one hand falling to gun holstered at his belt. That wasn't the knock of a friend dropping by for a visit. He stood to one side of the door and called out, "Who is it?"
"That dirty mongrel boy's downstairs," came the gruff voice of Cheung through the door. "Demands you come down and see him. I don't want him in my building, Lo."
He opened the door immediately, looking down at the grumpy form of Mr. Cheung. "Give the kid a break," he said. "He's had a tough life. It's not his fault."
Message delivered, the super waved his hand, dismissing Lo's words, and turned to go down the hallway, muttering darkly under his breath in Cantonese, the words Riley and Oliver the only things decipherable.
David shook his head, wondering if Cheung had lemons for breakfast every morning. Then he stepped out into the hall, closing the door behind him and heading downstairs. He saw Oliver pacing back and forth in front of the entrance, looking distressed. "What's up, Oliver?" he asked as he went out the door.
The boy stopped in mid-pace and glanced over Mr David's shoulder, as if expecting to see someone else with him. A brief flash of a frown crossed over his face and then he looked down to the cap between his hands. "Miss Riley ain't here?"
David shook his head. "No, she took her class to theater today." He looked down at the boy, keeping a calm and pleasant expression on his face. "If something's wrong, Oliver, I can help."
Ollie was silent for a long time, his brow furrowed in misery and thought. He had really hoped that Miss Riley would be teaching today; he felt much more comfortable with her than he did with any of the other residents of the big fancy building. Mr David had always been nice to him and the other streets kids, but he was ex-Watch, and Ollie had developed the innate distrust of Authority that most kids living on the street had.
"Oliver," David said patiently. "Riley's going to be gone all day. If something's happened, let me help you." He paused. "Riley trusts me."
That was the deciding factor. Miss Riley was good people; she wouldn't trust people who weren't like her. Ollie lifted his head and in a soft, miserably afraid voice said, "It's Callie. The pretty seer? Someone done her real bad, Mr David. You gotta come."
David's eyes widened and he stopped breathing for an instant before his self-control reasserted itself. "Callie? Calico Rose?" He shook his head, pushing away emotion and went into cop-mode. "Take me to her," he said quietly to Oliver. Ollie nodded and took off at a sprint, winding and weaving his way through the wasted streets north of the Gardens. He didn't bother waiting for David, knowing that the man could easily keep up with his short little legs.
David kept a tight grip on his thoughts and feelings as he followed the street boy. Now wasn't the time for speculations, he had to see the scene for himself. The boy came to a halt in front of a building about half-way between Reynaldo's and the Shadowy Corner bar that marked the northern edge of WestEnd. He pointed a shaky finger at the darkened doorway. "She's in there," he said, his voice quavering with more than just exertion.
David glanced into the darkened building, then back at Oliver. There was no duplicity in the boy's voice or stance; he didn't think it was a trap. There was a lot of fear, though. "Oliver," he said softly. "Is she dead?"
Oliver's eyes were wide, showing the whites all around the mossy green of his irises. He nodded, his expression two parts terror and one part misery. A grown-up getting killed in WestEnd meant life would be difficult for the street kids while the Watch investigated the murder. "Yes, Mr David. Someone done broke her neck, I think, sir."
Despite his rigid control, hearing that sent a jolt of sadness through him. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, seeking balance within. He opened his eyes again and nodded. "Okay. I need you to go find a Watchman and point him here. You don't have to come back." He paused for a moment, then forced a small smile. "Thank you for telling me, Oliver." Oliver nodded and was off again in a flash, his short little legs pumping wildly in a sprint to the WestEnd Watch House.
David turned back to the dark doorway and steeled himself. This wouldn't be the first time he'd been at a murder scene. It wouldn't even be the first time the murder had been of someone he knew. That didn't make it any easier, though. He nodded to himself, decisively, and stepped over the threshold. It was dim inside, but the sunlight coming through the open doorway and boarded-over windows was more than enough to see by. More than he would have liked, really, because it made seeing the small, broken body all too easy.
Callie was lying face-down on a ragged blanket that had been spread out beneath her body. Her head was pushed awkwardly back, lying on one out-thrust arm. She was wearing her usual plain linen blouse, but...her lower body was naked, legs splayed grotesquely wide. There were bloodstains on the blanket under her hips "Christ," he said softly, closing his eyes again. Some sick f*ck had raped her before he'd killed her. She'd hardly been more than a kid.
He whirled away from her body and slammed his fist into the wall beside him. The bricks exploded with a thunderous crack, sending large chunks sailing out to crash into the wall of the next building. Sunlight streamed in through the new hole in the wall and he took several deep breaths, trying to master himself again. The balance wouldn't come, though.
He thought of their fight in the Cafe, when Callie had been so freaked out by the revelation that Riley and Dan weren't human. He'd taken it badly, and she'd run out. The next time they'd seen each other hadn't gone much better. Eventually, they'd spoken again, and sort of worked things out, but...
Riley had offered her a job before things went south. If he'd kept his mouth shut, Calico would've taken that job. Then she wouldn't have had to keep living on the streets. Maybe she'd even have gotten a place at the Gardens; Riley liked to take in strays. If he hadn't scared her off, Callie wouldn't be lying in front of him, violated and brutally murdered.
David wanted to cover her up, try to give her a least a little dignity in death, but he knew he couldn't disturb the scene any more than he already had. He walked slowly over to her body and knelt down next to her head, seeing the dried streaks of tears on her cheeks. "I'm sorry, Callie," he whispered, reaching out as though to brush the tears away but stopping just before he actually touched her. She hadn't liked to be touched, because of the visions. His eyes widened. What it must have been like for her when...
Worse, he was certain the poor girl had been a virgin. Just a simple touch of her hand was enough to send her into that strange trance. Intimacy would be impossible with that kind of fear. "God....Callie. I'm so damn sorry."
There was a soft thump behind him. David stood and turned, thinking it was the Watchman he'd sent Oliver to find. He saw an oddly familiar-looking form outlined in the doorway, then something impacted his chest. Before he could even look down to see what it was, there was a buzzing sound and burning pain poured through his body. His muscles locked up and he fell forwards. A distant part of his brain recognized the sound and effect as a Taser, but there was nothing he could do with the information. His body was as rigid as a bar of iron, and the pain made any attempt at concentrating on moving impossible. He hit the ground hard, unable to even break his fall. It was impossible to turn his head to see who was wielding the Taser. His pain-fogged brain faintly registered soft footsteps approaching.
The pain began to fade, and he felt a sore spot on the side of his neck. "I've just injected you with Pancuronium bromide," said his own voice. It took a few seconds for his sluggish thoughts to realize who it was standing over him, then a jolt of fear made his muscles twitch ineffectively. "Don't bother trying to move," his antagonist continued. "By the time the effects of the Taser wear off, the Pancuronium will have paralyzed you."
The footsteps receded a few feet and stopped. "In a moment, you will be completely unable to move for the next two hours or so." Then, complete silence for what seemed like forever, but couldn't have been more than two minutes. It felt like he was in someone else's body, able to see and hear and smell, but with no control over the muscles. The footsteps drew near again, then rough hands grabbed his arms and swung him from the ground, onto a hard shoulder. He could see a pair of blue-jean clad legs, and the bottom of a white shirt, nothing more of his attacker, though he knew quite well what the man looked like.
The man – David didn't even know what his name was – turned and broke into an impossibly fast and smooth run, that hardly even bounced him around. This must be what it was like when he carried someone, David realized. All he could see was the street blurring past under the man's feet; there was no possible way to assess where they were going.
Maybe ten minutes later, they came to a halt. David heard a door open, and was carried inside a darkened building. Another door opened, and then they were going down a set of concrete stairs. He was dropped unceremoniously on the floor and footsteps walked away. There came a rattling, clinking noise, like lengths of chain being gathered up and dragged over to him. A hand grabbed his hair and jerked him up, coming face to face with his attacker for the first time in over four months. He didn't look any different, though. It was like looking into a mirror, only his mirror double had a hard, cruel expression that didn't match.
"My name is Dave Luo," the man said conversationally as he quickly and efficiently stripped of David's clothes, leaving him entirely naked and eminently vulnerable. Then Dave began to wrap a length of chain around David's shoulders. "Soon, everyone will know my name. When I kill you, I will be the One. A god among mortals." Dave's face twisted into a snarl. "Before we get that far, I owe you a little payback. I was stranded for months on your pathetic little sh*t hole of a planet." There was now so much chain wrapped around David that he must have looked like a chain mummy to an outsider. Only his face and feet were uncovered.
Dave let go of him, but the chain was apparently suspended somewhere, because he didn't fall back down. Dave walked behind him, and a moment later, David could hear a cranking noise. The chain wrapped around him lifted into the air and rose a good fifteen feet before it stopped, leaving him suspended and helpless. Dave came back into view a moment later, wearing David's pants and pulling David's shirt on over his head. Dave looked up at him with a vicious smile. "It wasn't all bad, though. Everyone thought I was you." With that, he turned and ran out of the room in a blur, leaving David literally and metaphorically hanging.
He runs quickly back to the abandoned building where the girl's body lies. He knows how far it is to the nearest Watch house, and that he has plenty of time to be back and in David's place before the Watchman arrives; even if the brat ran the whole way, the Watchman surely won't. As expected, the building is empty save for the body, and silent as a tomb. No sign of the brief struggle with David shows. He kneels down near the girl's head, mimicking David's pose exactly and forcing his feature into a mask of sadness. Fortunately, David is something of a stoic, so tears are not required. Then he waits, patient as death.
Fifteen minutes pass before the pathetic little policeman arrives. It takes no effort at all to play the part of a grieving acquaintance and an upstanding former comrade who would never have done something like this to the poor girl. The idiot believes every word he says and soon lets him leave. He exits the building, walking slowly, shoulders slumped, like a man bowed by sorrow--until he's out of sight, at least. Then he breaks into another run, heading quickly back to the Zen Gardens building. He pauses half a block away and takes a deep breath. This is a crucial part of his plan. The building is heavily warded against malicious intrusion, so he must clear his mind of all evil intent. Of course, for one of his proficiency, reaching a calm, near-meditative state is simplicity.
The giant statues flanking the entrance do not even quiver as he walks past, and he allows a small smile to pass over his face briefly. Now it's only a matter of waiting again. David's woman will return soon. After careful testing, he has already determined that his scent exactly matches that of David. His woman's unnaturally acute nose will not sniff him out for an imposter.
He walks upstairs to the loft and pulls the key out of David's pants, which fit him perfectly, of course. He unlocks the door and walked inside, glancing disinterestedly at the piles of boxes and half-packed crap. It might look suspicious if he didn't continue the job David had begun, though, so he starts packing, finishing several more boxes before deeming it enough and settling down to wait. He grabs a beer from their refrigerator and opens it, sitting down against one wall.
A few hours later, Riley knocked on the loft's door and stepped inside, bare foot and carrying her dance kit bag. She glanced around the room and spotted David nestled in amongst piles of boxes. "Hey, handsome. Didn't expect to see you up here."
Part of the time he has been sitting here has been spent remembering unpleasant events of his childhood and early life, forcibly recalling the sadness he's felt in the past. He knows she can smell emotions as easily as normal people can smell a meal cooking, so he has to actually be feeling the grief to pull this off. He arranges his face into a picture of sadness, and looks up from the beer, slowly standing.
A slight frown marred her features and she put down her bag next to the doorway, moving deeper into the empty loft. "David? What's wrong?" she asked and reached for his hand.
He takes a deep breath, reaching out to clasp her hand. "Callie's dead," he says quietly, not meeting her eyes.
"Callie," she repeated slowly, the frown deepening as she struggled to place the name. "The cute little blonde? From Louisiana? The one Danny fed that one day?"
"Yeah. The fortune teller."
"Oh, no. What happened?" She moved a couple of steps closer to him, holding his hand still, the other reaching up to gently cup his face as she looked into his eyes
He meets her eyes, letting her see the sadness he has conjured up in them. "Oliver came while I was packing, looking for you. I guess he or one of his kids found her. He took me there." His voice is leaden and slow.
She gasped, her hand involuntarily clenching his. "Oliver found her? Oh, god. Is he okay?"
"He's scared, and upset. It...it was bad, Riley. She..." He breaks off, pausing as though overwhelmed by the memory of it, letting past sadness flow through him.
She folded him into her arms, murmuring softly in his ear as she held him. "Shh, you don't have to talk about it. Does the Watch know?"
He wraps his arms around her, the same way he's watched David do it over and over again. He nods, laying his head on her shoulder. "Yes...I sent Oliver to get a constable."
She turned her head and pressed her face against his temple, inhaling his scent deeply. Poor guy; he was really shaken up about the girl's death. "Are you all right?" she asked softly, one hand sliding up his back to stroke through his hair.
"I feel like it's my fault she's dead," he says. clutching her hand like a life preserver.
The frown creasing her brow deepened further and she drew back to look him in the eyes. "What? Why would you say that? You didn't kill her."
"I know," he says sadly. "But I do."
Her eyes narrowed and a flash of anger lurked in their caramel-coloured depths. "It's not because of that fight you had with her, is it?"
Her words explain much to him, and he now knows that this is why David took the girl's death so badly. He knows she spent much of her time living on the street. If she had still been friends with David, surely he would have helped her, noble fool that he is. "Yes," he says. "If we hadn't fought, she wouldn't have been living on the streets."
She shook her head and kissed his forehead. "She made her choice, David. I'm very, very sorry that she's dead, but... You had every right to defend Daniel and I. And we went out of our way to be kind to her, to help her get a leg up." She caught his face in both hands and stared hard at him. "This is not your fault. Okay?"
He nods, meeting her eyes again. "I know. It's...it's just hard to tell my heart that, you know? Seeing her like that..."
"What happened?" she coaxed softly.
He pulls away from her a bit and sits back down on the floor, tugging her down with him. He takes another breath and changes his voice to the calm, near-monotone that all law-enforcement officials use when describing a crime scene--a voice he knows well. "She was in a beat-up old building, a few blocks from here. Looked like she'd planned to spend the night there. There was a blanket under her, and a pool of hardened wax nearby." He paused again, as though picturing the scene.
She sat down next to him, still holding his hand but remaining silent until he finished the story.
He thinks of all the fools who have stood against him, calling up that anger, his voice hardening as he continues. "She was naked from the waist down. He raped her, Riley. Raped her and broke her neck."
That anger that flashed through her eyes earlier returned, hardening into a white-hot, feral rage. Her lips peeled back from her teeth in a bestial, savage snarl. "That is where your anger should lay, David. With the f*cker who did that to her; not you."
He nods in agreement. "I hope he gets what's coming to him." And he will, though it's not what she thinks. "She was a virgin," he continues. "Afraid to touch anyone, because of the visions. What it must have been like for her..." he stops, shaking his head, letting the sadness come back again.
"When you find him," she says in a soft, growl, "Give me five minutes alone with him."
"I'll give you more than that," he replies.
She leaned in and kissed him softly. "We should go home. Have some wine, maybe take a bath. Sound good?"
He nods, bringing a little smile to his lips. "Yeah, sounds great. I need to try to relax."
She hopped to her feet, hooking one hand under his elbow and drawing him up next to her. Then she went back to the door and picked up her bag. "Wanna grab a box or two or leave it until tomorrow?"
"Might as well take a couple," he says, standing and picking up the nearest few boxes. "Silly to waste a whole trip." He walked to the door and waited for her to open it, then headed out and down the stairs, small smile still playing on his lips.
((DISCLAIMER: This set of posts contains material of a violent and disturbing nature. Reader discretion is advised.))
A day's travel south of Mount Yasuo, late afternoon. An eagle screams in the distance. A shaft of blinding white light suddenly burns down from the sky. An instant later, a man thumps to the ground in the center of the circle of light. The light vanishes, and the man groans softly, then rolls to his hands and knees before pushing himself upright. He looks around, taking in the inhospitable landscape with a cold, arrogant gaze. He dusts himself off, staring at the mountain peaks in the distance. “Are you hiding there?” he asks the silent mountains, voice low and controlled, yet hinting at a rage buried just beneath the surface. The man sits cross-legged upon the stony ground and closes his eyes, seeming to concentrate deeply on something. His body is entirely motionless, save a breath taken once a minute.
Five minutes after he sat, the man opens his eyes and stands in one smooth motion, pivoting away from the view of the mountain peaks to look south. “So,” he says, “this way.” Without further contemplation, the man breaks into an impossibly fast run, ignoring the chilling wind whipping against his face and exposed skin. Five miles pass in as many minutes, then ten, fifteen. Finally, the man slows to a jog, then a walk, breathing betraying just a hint of the exertion from running. He stops, standing amidst the trees of an old forest. He sits again, falling into the same meditative pose as before. Another five minutes pass before he stands, face set in determined impassiveness. He begins to run again, stopping after ten minutes when he reaches a small town. The smell of freshly baked bread and roasted meat brings forth an anticipatory rumble from his stomach, and he follows his nose to a house on the outskirts of the town. A blow from his fist shatters the door into splinters. A startled man jumps to his feet from his spot by a fire and runs towards him, swinging an iron poker in terrified anger. He catches the poker effortlessly in one hand, ripping it from his owner and tossing it over his shoulder with a casual flick of his wrist. The poker buries most of its length into the wall as he snaps a foot into the townsman's stomach, sending him flying backwards, accompanied by the sound of snapping bones.
He doesn't bother watching the flight, turning immediately towards the kitchen. A screaming woman running out the back door is also ignored. All he's interested in is the food, which he quickly devours. After finishing, he walks casually out through the remains of the door, paying no attention to the crowd of people gathering around the house. Before anyone in the crowd can react, he sprints off again, heading directly south. One hapless person happens to be directly in his path, and is knocked aside as though struck by speeding train, landing in a broken heap a dozen yards away.
He travels another twenty miles before the setting sun forces him to slow his pace drastically. Walking across the unfamiliar landscape at merely human speeds is too inefficient, though, so he stops for the night, sitting down with his back to a tree and falling into another meditative trance. This one lasts for hours, until the morning sun streams through the trees and brushes his face. His eyes open, and he stands, looking southward. He stretches and rolls his shoulders, banishing any hints of tension, then sets off running again.
For weeks now, he had watched. Watched, and plotted. Now, it is time for him to act. First, he plans to make contact with some of his prey's acquaintances. Perhaps he will learn something useful. Perhaps he will be able to turn their minds against his prey. Tonight, he has chosen a tiny blond thing. She had been seen speaking with his prey only a few times. Thus, he concludes, she probably does not know him very well. It will be easy to fool her. He stands upon the roof of the building across from the Inn, and watches her leave. The buildings are all close together. It's child's play to leap silently from rooftop to rooftop, never letting her out of his sight. This area of town is too busy. While he fears no night watchman or good Samaritan, early exposure might disrupt his plans. No, he will wait, wait until they reach WestEnd, the slums of this strange and exciting city.
His quarry slips through one of the chinks in the wall that separate the chaotic WestEnd streets from the more neatly ordered Central District and froze in the shadows of a rusted, busted wagon. The tiny blonde frowns softly and glances around, left-right-forward-backward-but-never-up. Apparently seeing nothing, hearing nothing further, she moves quickly away from the dubious shelter of the wagon. Now, he speeds up, passing to a roof almost a block ahead of her and scales easily down the side, out of sight of casual travelers. He stands, hidden in shadows, waiting for her path to intersect his.
She stands at the end of the block, grey-green eyes narrowed in the dim light cast from the moon and the stars. "Oliver?" she calls out hesitantly. "Ollie? It's me, Callie." She shifts her weight from foot to foot in impatience. He steps silently out of the darkness a few feet from her, a tiny smile on his lips. It's so easy to fool these weak creatures. Hard to imagine he was once just like them, puny and pathetic. He waits, curious to see if she will spot him, even now.
Sudden movement from her right side causes her to squeal in fright and scramble backwards a few feet, end over teakettle when she trips on a rusted bit of rebar. Landing hard enough to knock the breath from her lungs, she recovers quickly and snatches up the piece of metal in both hands, holding it out in front of her in unsteady hands. She opens her mouth to cry out in fear...but then stops and frowns. "Mr David?" she ventures.
They are so laughable, these little creatures. As if that rusted chunk of metal posed any threat to him. They should kneel down and worship him. The smile widens as he imagines this future. Let her interpret it as though he had some interest in her. "Calico," he answers. Yes, he knows who she is.
She gives him a shaky smile and puts down the length of rebar. "Lawdie mercy, Mr David. You nearly scared the life out of me, sneaking up like that! What are you doing out at this time of night anyway?" She smooths down her skirts and blows out a relieved breath.
"Just walking home," he answers. He knows she'll believe it; they'll believe anything if it fits with what they wish to hear. "Where are you going?" As he speaks, he takes a few steps closer to her.
"Well, I come up busted at the Inn, so I was out here, huntin' up Ollie. He lets me stay with him when I can't afford a room at the Inn." She scuffs a bare foot against the ground and gives him a shy smile. "I'm real sorry to hear 'bout Mr Daniel leavin'. I'll bet Miss Riley's real broke up 'bout it, huh?"
"Yes," he nods. "It's very hard." The street kids are a surprising font of information, especially when one didn't care about false morality. Street kids went missing all the time; an extra one wouldn't be missed. He steps closer to her, looking at the ground as though saddened. "For both of us."
She reaches out hesitantly and pats his shoulder awkwardly where the shirt he was wearing covered his skin. "So, uh... You been out walkin' 'round a lot lately, huh? Can't sleep or somethin'?"
Well, well. He isn't the only watching David's movements. This could be interesting. Perhaps this one even has feelings for his prey. That will make things all the easier. He nods. "Yeah, been having trouble sleeping, especially when I'm alone."
"Alone? But..." She frowns in confusion. "Miss Riley? She...not...uh...keepin' you company?"
"It hasn't been the same since Daniel left." The secret to telling believable lies is to give a small amount of information, and let the victim fill in the gaps themselves. It's far easier to let their minds walk the path on their own than to force them down it.
"Oh," she says softly, her expression sympathetic now. "She's missing him something fierce then, yeah? Can't see past her own loss?"
"It's like I'm not even there." It was pathetically easy to play on her emotions. He finds it frankly amazing that she survives here. "I don't like being alone."
"Well, now. You ain't alone. You just gotta try talkin' to her, show her that you're feelin' just as bad as she is. Y'all need each other now."
He forces himself to sigh. "I keep trying."
She makes a thoughtful face, pursing rosebud lips together and creasing her brow in a tiny frown. "Maybe...maybe I could talk to her for ya? I don't know what I'd say, exactly, but...maybe...maybe she just needs a friendly ear is all?"
He shakes his head again. "Appreciate the offer, but I doubt it would help." He glances around, as though worried someone might be watching. "Honestly, she's being so selfish, she wouldn't listen."
"She wouldn't listen to me?"
"She doesn't listen to me. Losing Daniel hurt me, too. He was like the brother I never had. I can't talk to her about it, though." He sighs again, looks down at the ground.
"Do you...do you wanna talk to me about it? I'm a real good listener, you know." She gives him a fragile smile.
He has her now. He curves his lips into a small smile. "Yes, I'd like that." He looks around. "Guess we shouldn't stand out here in the street, though."
"Naw, prolly not. You got somewhere in particular you want to go?"
He glances around again. "That one looks good." He points, apparently at random, to one of the many ruined buildings on the street. Of course it isn't random; he has already scouted out that building and found it to be both structurally stable and fairly soundproof.
She nods and starts moving that way, gingerly picking her way through the debris scattered over the ground. When she reaches the building in question, she hovers in the doorway, looking inside as if she could see into the interior. "You got a flashlight or somethin'?" she asks him over her shoulder.
"Sure," he says, pulling a small flashlight out of a pocket. Preparation is nine tenths of the key to a successful plan. He clicks it on and points the beam past her, into the building.
"Oh," she says with a little giggle and steps inside the build. "Hey, this is one that Ollie's set up. Lemme just grab his stash and we'll have some candlelight and save the battery on your flashlight." She scurries over to a hidden corner and digs in a specific pile of rubble.
"Great," he says, waiting for her to get the candle out. Once it's done, he turns and picks up the fallen door, placing it snugly back in the frame. A subtle twist of the metal ensures it will be all but impossible for one of the weakling creatures to budge.
She sets one of the candles firmly in the crack of a piece of concrete and touches a lit match to it. "There. Kinda homey," she says with a little smile. Then she carefully spreads out one of the blankets that was also in the stash and settles down on it, crossing her legs in the tailor position. She tugs her ankle-length skirts down over her knees and smooths them out in a lady-like, demure fashion.
He sits down on the blanket next to her, making sure that his knee is very close to her, but not quite touching. He looks down, tracing the pattern on the blanket with one finger, the picture of someone feeling unhappy and unsure of how to talk about it.
"It's okay, David," she says, dropping the honorific. "You can tell me whatever. I promise I won't say anything to Miss Riley."
He affects a quaver in his voice, subtly tugging on her heartstrings. "I feel like it might be my fault he left."
She frowns and reached to pat his knee hesitantly, awkwardly. "Why would you say that?"
Excellent. She has initiated a touch twice now. His guess about her possible feelings for David was correct, as he knew it would be. "I kind of hinted that I might not want to share her anymore."
"Oh. I see." She frowns. "I don't have any kind of experience with that whole...French thing y'all were doin', but it's gotta be hard on a person. Always wonderin' if she loved him more than you an' all."
"I know she does."
She frows again. "Then why do you stay?"
He shrugs slightly. "I don't want to be alone."
"There's worse things than bein' alone. Bein' miserable fer instance."
He looks up at her now. "Have you ever loved someone?"
She shakes her head. "Naw. Ain't no one ever had the time for a freak like me."
He looks back down at the blanket. "Hard to believe. You're very pretty."
"You think?" She blushes deeply, though the crimson was hidden by the flickering candle flame. "There's the whole fallin' over if you touch me thing, though. Most boys can't handle that."
"Of course I think. I've always thought." This is a problem, though. He doesn't know what she's talking about. Clearly, she has some kind of problem with others touching her. "Maybe it won't always happen?" A neutral statement, betraying none of his ignorance.
She shrugs, her small, dexterous fingers playing with the frayed hem of her skirt. "It don't always happen with everyone. And sometimes it only happens once...sometimes, three times and then never again. It ain't something I like takin' chances with, though. So. I ain't ever been in love. And I don't hold out hope for it happenin' any time soon, neither." She shrugs again. "But you...you got a lovely woman, dontcha? I seen how you feel about her, after all. That first readin' I did for yo. You just gotta work it out somehow."
"I'm trying," he says, adding a note of weary sadness to his voice. "What if she won't listen, though?"
"You gotta make her."
"Make her? How?"
"I don't know. Tell her that you're torn up, too. Let her know that you're hurtin' and you need her. Women love to be needed, you know. Makes 'em feel...useful."
She speaks a truth here. The little creatures love to feel like anyone cares about them. "You're right," he says. "Thanks." Now he's curious, though, about her problems with being touched. He reaches out as though forgetting about it, yet too fast for her to avoid, and pats her hand, making sure that his skin presses firmly against hers for a moment.
She falls bonelessly, limply to the ground, ending up on her back, as if she were a marionette and someone had just cut her strings. Her eyes roll up in her head and her breathing comes in slow, shallow gasps. Now that is interesting, indeed. He reaches down and pokes her shoulder.
A strange voice comes out of the little Seeress's mouth, a voice that is completely without the thick, Southern Louisiana Bayou-Country accent. "He knows you're here. He's been preparing for your arrival. The one with the most to live for will win."
Her words actually give him pause for a moment. Is this strange little creature seeing his future? He flicks his hand against her cheek, wondering if she is conscious of his actions at all.
The slap against her bare skin draws another gasp and her eyelids flutter. She says again in that strange, monotonous voice, "One of you is restrained. A basement. The other is with the Cat in the place of two trees." This is fascinating. It really does seem as though she's seeing the future. Perhaps he will, in fact, capture the prey and lock him away for a while. He could have some fun with that. And speaking of fun...his touch seems to draw these predictions, so why not have some fun with it? He shifts around to her head and leans over, sliding his hands down her blouse and under the cups of her bra to squeeze her firm young breasts. An evil little grin moves across his face. Very nice indeed.
A strangled, shocked gasp escapes those rosebud lips and she tries, even while unconscious, to draw away from him. The same eerie voice says, this time in a whisper, "He will win. Because he is vulnerable, because he has the most to lose, he will win." His grin twists into a snarl at her words. "You're wrong," he says to her limp form. "I will be the One." His fingers tighten cruelly on her breasts, hard enough that bruises will surely result.
She gasps again, her eyelids fluttering as she came back to herself. Her eyes pop open and she looks up, catching sight of that snarl, feeling the rough, bruising pinches on her breasts and cries out, "David! What are you doing? No!" She struggles to sit upright, to clamber to her feet and flee the building, but he has her pinned down. She can do no more than beat ineffectually at his arms.
"Don't struggle," he says calmly. "It won't help you." It's obvious that he won't get any more predictions out of her. Her usefulness to him has just about reached its end. But not quite. There's one thing she's still good for. His hands pull out of her blouse, one clamping onto her shoulder and the other bunching up the hem of her skirt. With an effortless jerk, he lifts her into the air and spins her face down against the floor, hard enough to knock the wind out of her.
"No!" she cries out, over and over, still struggling against his grasp, bucking her hips and screaming until she is hoarse, her throat raw. His hands are stronger than the steel bars that secured the windows of the abandoned building; there's no escape to be had for her. His choice of building, too, was carefully planned. No one is around for blocks except for a few squatters and street urchins, both of whom know better than to come searching for the source of screams. He pins her down easily with one hand in the center of her back, inhumanly strong. The other hand tears her long skirt from her body like cheap paper.
Tears streak hotly down her face and in a rough, ragged voice, she begs, "Please, David. Don't do this! I won't tell her. I swear, I won't tell anyone. I'll be a good girl, David. Please no." She struggles again, but quickly grew weary, her slender body not nearly a match for this powerful man. "David, no. Please. I'm...I'm a virgin, David."
"Not for long," he answers, the vicious grin curves his lips once again. His hand dips again, this time ripping her panties away, exposing her shapely little behind to the cool night air. "Very nice,' he says, running his fingers teasingly along her thigh. She cannot speak now, cannot continue to fight, so she just holds as still as possible and whimpers. The flesh beneath his hands jumps and quivers like a fly-bitten horse. She thinks of her grandmother, back in Louisiana. She thinks briefly of the swamps and the sunrises over the bayou. She thinks briefly of Riley and wonders whether she knows what kind of monster she's allowed into her bed and into her heart.
She is seeing the inevitable now, and has submitted to his power, as it should be. He forces her thighs apart with his knees, then reaches down and unzips his pants. At the sound of his zipper, she struggles again, the screams starting fresh, torn from her raw throat with a fury born of pure desperation. Trying to pull her knees up under her body so she can climb to her feet and sprint away, she half-turns onto her side, reaching behind her with one hand, her tiny fingers curled in a semblance of claws and rakes her nails over his exposed thigh, just missing the instrument of his torture.
He hisses at the unexpected pain and shoves her painfully back down against the rough floor. "Bitch," he says emotionlessly, increasing the pressure from his hand on her back until her ribs creak. Gasping now for air, the fight's completely gone out of her, though her brain still rebels against his attack. She lies still beneath him, submitting without further protest, seemingly giving in to the inevitable. She squeezes close her eyes and begins praying softly, whispering the words, "The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures; he leadeth me beside still waters."
He wastes no more time, driving into her brutally. She can feel herself tearing as he pushes inside her roughly. A wave of pain shoots up from her groin into her stomach and she gasps harshly, little moans and whimpers torn from her throat, even through the softly whispered prayer, "He restoreth my soul; he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake."
"Your prayers fall on deaf ears," he says. "Soon, I will be the One, and all will worship me." He thrusts his hips roughly against hers as he slides one hand up to roughly squeeze her breast. The other hand claps over her mouth, stifling her prayers and pulling her head back.
He may have stilled her audible prayers, but they continue on unabated in her head. There is only one God and He would not do this. "Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of Death, I will fear no evil." His thrusts inside her bruised and broken body send fresh bolts of pain throughout her and hot tears leak through her closed eyes, rolling down her cheeks.
His time draws near, and his pace increases, rocking her body with the force of his movements. His hand presses harder against her face, easing up to cover her nose as well as her mouth with an unbreakable seal. He leans down and whispers, "I'm not David." Her eyes pop open in confusion. She can't get a breath and her body's desperate need for air has her head thrashing back and forth as she tries to shake his hand off of her face. Not David? What did he mean, not David?
He smiled again, feeling her confusion, unaffected by her efforts to shake off his hand. "That's right. I'm going to kill David, you see. And when I do, I will be the last. The One." Some quiet part of her brain tells her to fight, to endure the assault until she can escape and warn the real David. But she hasn't the strength, hasn't enough air, can't get enough air. Her eyelids flutter, she sees stars and the edges of the world go fuzzy and dim. She suddenly knows she's dying and this kicks a final burst of adrenaline into her veins, starts her heart pumping furiously, giving new life to her limbs. She bucks, hard enough to dislodge his hand and bites down furiously on his knuckles, until she can feel her teeth grating against bone, until she can taste blood in her mouth.
Coming at this moment, right before his peak, the pain of her teeth in his hand serves only to push him over the edge, driving him to a powerful release, though he makes no sound during it. Then, very deliberately, his hand pulls back on her head until the bones of her neck snap audibly.
She hears a sharp snapping noise and then feels nothing, hears nothing. There is a flash of blinding white light and an overwhelming sense of peace. The last thing she is conscious of is the scent of lavender - her long-dead mother's favorite perfume. And then she knows no more.
He lets the limp head slip from his bleeding hand and fall unceremoniously to the floor as he pulls out of her. He stands, tucking himself back into his pants and zipping up. Without another glance at her body, he turns and walks to the door, pulling it aside and walking out into the night. He looks up at the sky and smiles, pleased with the night's events, before disappearing into the darkness, leaving the body behind where it will no doubt soon be discovered by one of the myriad tiny-willed creatures that scuttled around this place.
Tuesday morning dawned cloudy and dreary over most of the city, but on the northwestern shore of the Rhy'Din River, a little ray of sunshine was acting as a spotlight over a particular house with two huge oak trees standing sentinel over the entrance. It wasn't a literal ray of sunshine; it was the feeling that poured from the house – warmth, peace, tranquility, happiness long fought for and finally gained.
Dressed in a pair of black leggings and a mid-thigh-length cerulean blue tunic, Riley was lingering over her second cup of coffee, staring at her shirtless fiance with big moon eyes. She sighed happily, feeling really, really...sated. "I love you," she said suddenly.
David paused, glass of orange juice halfway to his mouth, and smiled at her. "I love you, too." No more hesitant fumbling over the words, for either of them. It was a very good change. Kind of amazing how moving to a new house tended to change a person's attitude, too.
She grinned and finished her coffee, setting the empty mug down and sliding off the counter top on top of which she had been perched all through breakfast. "Hey, I told you that I'm taking the kids over to the new theatre today, right? We're gonna start rehearsals for the showcase, get 'em used to the stage and the lights and all." She moved to stand next to him, wrapping her arms around his waist and resting her chin atop his shoulder. "I won't be home until late. Shall I bring dinner? Carito's, maybe?"
He turned his head enough to plant a kiss on her temple, and nodded. "Yeah, that sounds great. I'll head back to the Gardens and clean up some more. We should be pretty much done by the weekend."
She hugged him and reached up to cup his face gently, turning his head to claim a kiss. Her hand snaked down his chest, slender fingers dipping under the waistband of his boxers. "Beer and pretzels?" she asked, referring to the pattern on his shorts.
"Yup," he answered once his mouth was released. "What, you didn't think I'd wear them?" A warm flush of pleasure went through his body at the feel of her hot skin on his cooler flesh, and he reached up, running his fingers into and through her hair.
She chuckled and shook her head with a little sigh of resignation. "No, honestly, I didn't." She kissed him again and then turned to pick up her bag and snag her pointe shoes. "Be a good boy today. I'll see you tonight."
He chuckled softly. "They're comfortable. Besides, no one's going to see them but you. Have a good time at the theater. Say hi to Mataya for me."
"I will. Bye." she tossed over her shoulder as she slipped out the newly-replaced front door. He turned back to finish off his orange juice, then suddenly stood and ran to the front door, pulling it open. "Riley, wait a sec," he called out before she'd gotten much further than the end of the path leading from the house.
"Hmm?" She turned and caught sight of him standing in the garden in just his boxers. It was such an incongruous sight that she barked out a startled laugh. "God, David. Go back inside." She shooed him with her hand.
He glanced down, noting his state of near-nakedness, and shrugged a little. "I wanted to ask you about something,"
She rolled her eyes heavenward and then fisted one hand, resting it on the swell of her hip and gave him a level look. "And you couldn't wait until you had pants on?"
"You'd have been gone already," he pointed out reasonably.
"And you're never gonna see me again?" She gave him a tiny, lopsided smile. "What is so pressing that you couldn't wait twelve hours to ask me?"
"I don't want to wait until May," he said simply.
She blinked and her right brow quirked. "We are not eloping."
"No, no," he said, waving that away. "Not right away. I don't want to push it. Just...how about a little sooner than May?"
"How soon is a little sooner?"
"Well. I was thinking February. Valentine's Day. Is that too sappy?"
A slow smile spread over her lips and she made the universal girl noise that indicated extreme happiness. She ran towards him, launched herself into his arms and covered his face in scores of kisses.
"I'll take that as a yes?" he asked, a smile curving his lips.
She unwound and slid down his body to her feet. Then she nodded and grinned. "Yeah," she said softly. "That's a yes."
"Awesome."
She bit her lower lip, letting her eyes rake over his body. "If I didn't have to be at the Gardens soon, I'd take you inside and show you awesome."
"I suppose it would be a bad idea to let the kids wait," he said, frowning with mock-sadness.
She nodded sadly. "But tonight..."
"Yes. Tonight." He gave her a big grin.
She blew him a kiss and then turned, headed for the Gardens now, a new little bounce in her step. He watched her until she was out of sight, unconcerned with any passers-by catching him standing there in his underwear. Then he turned and went back inside to finish off his orange juice and get in some bagua practice. The empty back patio made an excellent practice spot. An hour later, shined with sweat and feeling nicely warmed up, he came back inside to quickly shower and get dressed. Then he headed out, closing and locking the door behind him. A good practice combined with his high spirits ensured that walking wasn't going to cut it, so he jogged across the city to the Gardens.
Street kids went missing all the time - snapped up by slavers, made meals of by the myriad predators that lurked in the city streets; sometimes, though it was very rare, they even went to one of the orphanages that Miss Riley was always harping on them to go to. So when Pete and Chamomile's bodies turned up a few days back, Oliver didn't give a second thought to bothering Miss Riley. What could she do? She wasn't the Authority any more and besides, Pete and Chammie were in a better place, or so the priests like to say. Oliver and the other kids he took care of buried the bodies as best they could, said a couple of words over the make-shift graves, and then went on about the business of trying to survive. It was harsh, but so was life on the streets of Rhy'Din.
This girl, however, the girl whose body Oliver had spotted in the bowels of the upholstery factory early Tuesday morning, she was not a street kid. Sure, she sometimes bunked down with them when she couldn't afford a room somewhere, but she weren't no kid. Nope, she was a grown-up and a friend of Miss Riley's man, too. Oliver decided after half-a-second's thought that he had to go find Miss Riley and show her the girl's body. Someone done the girl bad, real bad. Miss Riley would want to know; maybe she could get one of them Watch buddies of her man's to find the killer.
Ollie ran off like a shot and hovered around the entrance to the big ol' building with the funny looking dogs standing guard out front. He dare not step foot inside for fear of incurring the wrath of Mr Cheung; he'd already chased him out of the Cafe once, shouting something about bugs and dirt. Ollie hopped back and forth, wringing his flat-cap in his hands and peering into the darkness of the building. “Mr Cheung?” he called out in a tremulous voice.
“What do you want?” the building's super shouted from inside, peering out into the street once he noticed Oliver standing there.
“Please, sir. I need to see Miss Riley. It's real important,” he said, still wringing his cap and bouncing from foot to foot. When the wizened old Chinese man made no move to go fetch Miss Riley, Oliver said, “Please, sir. I just gotta see Miss Riley. Will you please go fetch her, sir?”
Cheung stared at the boy for a long moment and then turned away, heading slowly up the stairs to the second floor, a string of Cantonese invectives coloring the air blue as he climbed upwards.
There was a sudden, sharp rap on the door of 2A - impatient, curt, and demanding. David looked up from the box he was taping shut, then stood and moved quickly to the door, one hand falling to gun holstered at his belt. That wasn't the knock of a friend dropping by for a visit. He stood to one side of the door and called out, "Who is it?"
"That dirty mongrel boy's downstairs," came the gruff voice of Cheung through the door. "Demands you come down and see him. I don't want him in my building, Lo."
He opened the door immediately, looking down at the grumpy form of Mr. Cheung. "Give the kid a break," he said. "He's had a tough life. It's not his fault."
Message delivered, the super waved his hand, dismissing Lo's words, and turned to go down the hallway, muttering darkly under his breath in Cantonese, the words Riley and Oliver the only things decipherable.
David shook his head, wondering if Cheung had lemons for breakfast every morning. Then he stepped out into the hall, closing the door behind him and heading downstairs. He saw Oliver pacing back and forth in front of the entrance, looking distressed. "What's up, Oliver?" he asked as he went out the door.
The boy stopped in mid-pace and glanced over Mr David's shoulder, as if expecting to see someone else with him. A brief flash of a frown crossed over his face and then he looked down to the cap between his hands. "Miss Riley ain't here?"
David shook his head. "No, she took her class to theater today." He looked down at the boy, keeping a calm and pleasant expression on his face. "If something's wrong, Oliver, I can help."
Ollie was silent for a long time, his brow furrowed in misery and thought. He had really hoped that Miss Riley would be teaching today; he felt much more comfortable with her than he did with any of the other residents of the big fancy building. Mr David had always been nice to him and the other streets kids, but he was ex-Watch, and Ollie had developed the innate distrust of Authority that most kids living on the street had.
"Oliver," David said patiently. "Riley's going to be gone all day. If something's happened, let me help you." He paused. "Riley trusts me."
That was the deciding factor. Miss Riley was good people; she wouldn't trust people who weren't like her. Ollie lifted his head and in a soft, miserably afraid voice said, "It's Callie. The pretty seer? Someone done her real bad, Mr David. You gotta come."
David's eyes widened and he stopped breathing for an instant before his self-control reasserted itself. "Callie? Calico Rose?" He shook his head, pushing away emotion and went into cop-mode. "Take me to her," he said quietly to Oliver. Ollie nodded and took off at a sprint, winding and weaving his way through the wasted streets north of the Gardens. He didn't bother waiting for David, knowing that the man could easily keep up with his short little legs.
David kept a tight grip on his thoughts and feelings as he followed the street boy. Now wasn't the time for speculations, he had to see the scene for himself. The boy came to a halt in front of a building about half-way between Reynaldo's and the Shadowy Corner bar that marked the northern edge of WestEnd. He pointed a shaky finger at the darkened doorway. "She's in there," he said, his voice quavering with more than just exertion.
David glanced into the darkened building, then back at Oliver. There was no duplicity in the boy's voice or stance; he didn't think it was a trap. There was a lot of fear, though. "Oliver," he said softly. "Is she dead?"
Oliver's eyes were wide, showing the whites all around the mossy green of his irises. He nodded, his expression two parts terror and one part misery. A grown-up getting killed in WestEnd meant life would be difficult for the street kids while the Watch investigated the murder. "Yes, Mr David. Someone done broke her neck, I think, sir."
Despite his rigid control, hearing that sent a jolt of sadness through him. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, seeking balance within. He opened his eyes again and nodded. "Okay. I need you to go find a Watchman and point him here. You don't have to come back." He paused for a moment, then forced a small smile. "Thank you for telling me, Oliver." Oliver nodded and was off again in a flash, his short little legs pumping wildly in a sprint to the WestEnd Watch House.
David turned back to the dark doorway and steeled himself. This wouldn't be the first time he'd been at a murder scene. It wouldn't even be the first time the murder had been of someone he knew. That didn't make it any easier, though. He nodded to himself, decisively, and stepped over the threshold. It was dim inside, but the sunlight coming through the open doorway and boarded-over windows was more than enough to see by. More than he would have liked, really, because it made seeing the small, broken body all too easy.
Callie was lying face-down on a ragged blanket that had been spread out beneath her body. Her head was pushed awkwardly back, lying on one out-thrust arm. She was wearing her usual plain linen blouse, but...her lower body was naked, legs splayed grotesquely wide. There were bloodstains on the blanket under her hips "Christ," he said softly, closing his eyes again. Some sick f*ck had raped her before he'd killed her. She'd hardly been more than a kid.
He whirled away from her body and slammed his fist into the wall beside him. The bricks exploded with a thunderous crack, sending large chunks sailing out to crash into the wall of the next building. Sunlight streamed in through the new hole in the wall and he took several deep breaths, trying to master himself again. The balance wouldn't come, though.
He thought of their fight in the Cafe, when Callie had been so freaked out by the revelation that Riley and Dan weren't human. He'd taken it badly, and she'd run out. The next time they'd seen each other hadn't gone much better. Eventually, they'd spoken again, and sort of worked things out, but...
Riley had offered her a job before things went south. If he'd kept his mouth shut, Calico would've taken that job. Then she wouldn't have had to keep living on the streets. Maybe she'd even have gotten a place at the Gardens; Riley liked to take in strays. If he hadn't scared her off, Callie wouldn't be lying in front of him, violated and brutally murdered.
David wanted to cover her up, try to give her a least a little dignity in death, but he knew he couldn't disturb the scene any more than he already had. He walked slowly over to her body and knelt down next to her head, seeing the dried streaks of tears on her cheeks. "I'm sorry, Callie," he whispered, reaching out as though to brush the tears away but stopping just before he actually touched her. She hadn't liked to be touched, because of the visions. His eyes widened. What it must have been like for her when...
Worse, he was certain the poor girl had been a virgin. Just a simple touch of her hand was enough to send her into that strange trance. Intimacy would be impossible with that kind of fear. "God....Callie. I'm so damn sorry."
There was a soft thump behind him. David stood and turned, thinking it was the Watchman he'd sent Oliver to find. He saw an oddly familiar-looking form outlined in the doorway, then something impacted his chest. Before he could even look down to see what it was, there was a buzzing sound and burning pain poured through his body. His muscles locked up and he fell forwards. A distant part of his brain recognized the sound and effect as a Taser, but there was nothing he could do with the information. His body was as rigid as a bar of iron, and the pain made any attempt at concentrating on moving impossible. He hit the ground hard, unable to even break his fall. It was impossible to turn his head to see who was wielding the Taser. His pain-fogged brain faintly registered soft footsteps approaching.
The pain began to fade, and he felt a sore spot on the side of his neck. "I've just injected you with Pancuronium bromide," said his own voice. It took a few seconds for his sluggish thoughts to realize who it was standing over him, then a jolt of fear made his muscles twitch ineffectively. "Don't bother trying to move," his antagonist continued. "By the time the effects of the Taser wear off, the Pancuronium will have paralyzed you."
The footsteps receded a few feet and stopped. "In a moment, you will be completely unable to move for the next two hours or so." Then, complete silence for what seemed like forever, but couldn't have been more than two minutes. It felt like he was in someone else's body, able to see and hear and smell, but with no control over the muscles. The footsteps drew near again, then rough hands grabbed his arms and swung him from the ground, onto a hard shoulder. He could see a pair of blue-jean clad legs, and the bottom of a white shirt, nothing more of his attacker, though he knew quite well what the man looked like.
The man – David didn't even know what his name was – turned and broke into an impossibly fast and smooth run, that hardly even bounced him around. This must be what it was like when he carried someone, David realized. All he could see was the street blurring past under the man's feet; there was no possible way to assess where they were going.
Maybe ten minutes later, they came to a halt. David heard a door open, and was carried inside a darkened building. Another door opened, and then they were going down a set of concrete stairs. He was dropped unceremoniously on the floor and footsteps walked away. There came a rattling, clinking noise, like lengths of chain being gathered up and dragged over to him. A hand grabbed his hair and jerked him up, coming face to face with his attacker for the first time in over four months. He didn't look any different, though. It was like looking into a mirror, only his mirror double had a hard, cruel expression that didn't match.
"My name is Dave Luo," the man said conversationally as he quickly and efficiently stripped of David's clothes, leaving him entirely naked and eminently vulnerable. Then Dave began to wrap a length of chain around David's shoulders. "Soon, everyone will know my name. When I kill you, I will be the One. A god among mortals." Dave's face twisted into a snarl. "Before we get that far, I owe you a little payback. I was stranded for months on your pathetic little sh*t hole of a planet." There was now so much chain wrapped around David that he must have looked like a chain mummy to an outsider. Only his face and feet were uncovered.
Dave let go of him, but the chain was apparently suspended somewhere, because he didn't fall back down. Dave walked behind him, and a moment later, David could hear a cranking noise. The chain wrapped around him lifted into the air and rose a good fifteen feet before it stopped, leaving him suspended and helpless. Dave came back into view a moment later, wearing David's pants and pulling David's shirt on over his head. Dave looked up at him with a vicious smile. "It wasn't all bad, though. Everyone thought I was you." With that, he turned and ran out of the room in a blur, leaving David literally and metaphorically hanging.
He runs quickly back to the abandoned building where the girl's body lies. He knows how far it is to the nearest Watch house, and that he has plenty of time to be back and in David's place before the Watchman arrives; even if the brat ran the whole way, the Watchman surely won't. As expected, the building is empty save for the body, and silent as a tomb. No sign of the brief struggle with David shows. He kneels down near the girl's head, mimicking David's pose exactly and forcing his feature into a mask of sadness. Fortunately, David is something of a stoic, so tears are not required. Then he waits, patient as death.
Fifteen minutes pass before the pathetic little policeman arrives. It takes no effort at all to play the part of a grieving acquaintance and an upstanding former comrade who would never have done something like this to the poor girl. The idiot believes every word he says and soon lets him leave. He exits the building, walking slowly, shoulders slumped, like a man bowed by sorrow--until he's out of sight, at least. Then he breaks into another run, heading quickly back to the Zen Gardens building. He pauses half a block away and takes a deep breath. This is a crucial part of his plan. The building is heavily warded against malicious intrusion, so he must clear his mind of all evil intent. Of course, for one of his proficiency, reaching a calm, near-meditative state is simplicity.
The giant statues flanking the entrance do not even quiver as he walks past, and he allows a small smile to pass over his face briefly. Now it's only a matter of waiting again. David's woman will return soon. After careful testing, he has already determined that his scent exactly matches that of David. His woman's unnaturally acute nose will not sniff him out for an imposter.
He walks upstairs to the loft and pulls the key out of David's pants, which fit him perfectly, of course. He unlocks the door and walked inside, glancing disinterestedly at the piles of boxes and half-packed crap. It might look suspicious if he didn't continue the job David had begun, though, so he starts packing, finishing several more boxes before deeming it enough and settling down to wait. He grabs a beer from their refrigerator and opens it, sitting down against one wall.
A few hours later, Riley knocked on the loft's door and stepped inside, bare foot and carrying her dance kit bag. She glanced around the room and spotted David nestled in amongst piles of boxes. "Hey, handsome. Didn't expect to see you up here."
Part of the time he has been sitting here has been spent remembering unpleasant events of his childhood and early life, forcibly recalling the sadness he's felt in the past. He knows she can smell emotions as easily as normal people can smell a meal cooking, so he has to actually be feeling the grief to pull this off. He arranges his face into a picture of sadness, and looks up from the beer, slowly standing.
A slight frown marred her features and she put down her bag next to the doorway, moving deeper into the empty loft. "David? What's wrong?" she asked and reached for his hand.
He takes a deep breath, reaching out to clasp her hand. "Callie's dead," he says quietly, not meeting her eyes.
"Callie," she repeated slowly, the frown deepening as she struggled to place the name. "The cute little blonde? From Louisiana? The one Danny fed that one day?"
"Yeah. The fortune teller."
"Oh, no. What happened?" She moved a couple of steps closer to him, holding his hand still, the other reaching up to gently cup his face as she looked into his eyes
He meets her eyes, letting her see the sadness he has conjured up in them. "Oliver came while I was packing, looking for you. I guess he or one of his kids found her. He took me there." His voice is leaden and slow.
She gasped, her hand involuntarily clenching his. "Oliver found her? Oh, god. Is he okay?"
"He's scared, and upset. It...it was bad, Riley. She..." He breaks off, pausing as though overwhelmed by the memory of it, letting past sadness flow through him.
She folded him into her arms, murmuring softly in his ear as she held him. "Shh, you don't have to talk about it. Does the Watch know?"
He wraps his arms around her, the same way he's watched David do it over and over again. He nods, laying his head on her shoulder. "Yes...I sent Oliver to get a constable."
She turned her head and pressed her face against his temple, inhaling his scent deeply. Poor guy; he was really shaken up about the girl's death. "Are you all right?" she asked softly, one hand sliding up his back to stroke through his hair.
"I feel like it's my fault she's dead," he says. clutching her hand like a life preserver.
The frown creasing her brow deepened further and she drew back to look him in the eyes. "What? Why would you say that? You didn't kill her."
"I know," he says sadly. "But I do."
Her eyes narrowed and a flash of anger lurked in their caramel-coloured depths. "It's not because of that fight you had with her, is it?"
Her words explain much to him, and he now knows that this is why David took the girl's death so badly. He knows she spent much of her time living on the street. If she had still been friends with David, surely he would have helped her, noble fool that he is. "Yes," he says. "If we hadn't fought, she wouldn't have been living on the streets."
She shook her head and kissed his forehead. "She made her choice, David. I'm very, very sorry that she's dead, but... You had every right to defend Daniel and I. And we went out of our way to be kind to her, to help her get a leg up." She caught his face in both hands and stared hard at him. "This is not your fault. Okay?"
He nods, meeting her eyes again. "I know. It's...it's just hard to tell my heart that, you know? Seeing her like that..."
"What happened?" she coaxed softly.
He pulls away from her a bit and sits back down on the floor, tugging her down with him. He takes another breath and changes his voice to the calm, near-monotone that all law-enforcement officials use when describing a crime scene--a voice he knows well. "She was in a beat-up old building, a few blocks from here. Looked like she'd planned to spend the night there. There was a blanket under her, and a pool of hardened wax nearby." He paused again, as though picturing the scene.
She sat down next to him, still holding his hand but remaining silent until he finished the story.
He thinks of all the fools who have stood against him, calling up that anger, his voice hardening as he continues. "She was naked from the waist down. He raped her, Riley. Raped her and broke her neck."
That anger that flashed through her eyes earlier returned, hardening into a white-hot, feral rage. Her lips peeled back from her teeth in a bestial, savage snarl. "That is where your anger should lay, David. With the f*cker who did that to her; not you."
He nods in agreement. "I hope he gets what's coming to him." And he will, though it's not what she thinks. "She was a virgin," he continues. "Afraid to touch anyone, because of the visions. What it must have been like for her..." he stops, shaking his head, letting the sadness come back again.
"When you find him," she says in a soft, growl, "Give me five minutes alone with him."
"I'll give you more than that," he replies.
She leaned in and kissed him softly. "We should go home. Have some wine, maybe take a bath. Sound good?"
He nods, bringing a little smile to his lips. "Yeah, sounds great. I need to try to relax."
She hopped to her feet, hooking one hand under his elbow and drawing him up next to her. Then she went back to the door and picked up her bag. "Wanna grab a box or two or leave it until tomorrow?"
"Might as well take a couple," he says, standing and picking up the nearest few boxes. "Silly to waste a whole trip." He walked to the door and waited for her to open it, then headed out and down the stairs, small smile still playing on his lips.