"Don't you go nowhere, darlin'. I'll be right back."
Where would I go? I have not figured that part out just yet. "I'll be—"
Tweak!
"...right here."
She pretends not to notice again. She heads to the other customer. I get the feeling that this tick is--Aaahhh, wait, this feels more like... Oh no. The burning smell, the metallic taste.
I feel it coming, but only for a sec--GAH!!! Just hold on, don't fall off the stoo--CRACK!!!
----------
Jessica’s voice is the first thing I hear as I come to. "Are you alright? Is there a doctor here?!"
It is alright. I do not need a doctor. Just ibuprofen for this terrible headache. I sit up, ears ringing once more, and begin to tell her so, but realize she is not looking at me, and it is not me she is speaking to. She turns to face me. "Tim, what did you do?"
Confused, I turn to look to whom she was speaking. A man, lying prone on the floor, not a foot away from me. What has happened? "I...What did I do?"
"I don't know. I heard a loud bang and turned around. You were convulsin' on the floor, havin' a seizure, I think. Then this gentleman came over to help. But when he touched you..." Her eyes scan me warily. "He just...fell over, stiff as a board. Hasn't moved since."
This makes no sense. I look at this man again, this man who tried to help me. His eyes are open, but no emotion shows on his face. Me? How could I have done this? She must be mistaken. I look up, and the few remaining patrons are gathered around in a loose circle. "He must have had a heart attack. Let me check his--"
"Don't you dare touch him again!" Firm, but still polite. She checks for his pulse and examines his arm. "He's breathin', but his muscles are really tight. I'm gonna call 911." She turns to me again. "Heart attack my ass. I seen my granddaddy have one, and it wasn't nothin' like that."
As she runs to the phone, I feel the eyes of the other patrons on me. I slowly get to my feet, the pain shooting through my head. One man approaches me and reaches out to help me to my feet, but then thinks better of it, and recoils. "You should probably lay back down, wait for the paramedics to arrive. Let them check you out, too."
He turns back to the other body on the floor, as some try to speak to him, and others steal a glimpse of me, suspiciously. I slowly stand, gain my balance, and when no one is looking, slip out the front door.
She said I did it, that he fell when he touched me. How can that be? I had blacked out. I had no control over my own body, let alone that of someone else. I start to panic and begin a slow jog. I must get away from here as quickly as possible. I reach my car and speed away. This is a day I wish to soon forget.
Chapter 3
Maiko
"I don't understand. We've been so careful. Are you sure?"
"Positive. This is the third girl in the last few months. I don't get it either. I'm still trying to work it all out."
"We've been doing this so long, maybe we're getting sloppy. Maybe this is me going too far."
He shakes his head vehemently. "No, you didn't do this. It's like you said, we've been at this awhile, and this shit just started recently. We haven't been deviating, we've been methodical, painstaking. And they're not just dead, they're getting...Fuck me...Fuck us! Believe me, we don't leave them the way they're being found."
There he goes, protecting me again. What doesn't he want me to know? "Fudge, what are you saying?" I know this is a serious moment, but I call him Fudge so often it's second nature now, not even meant to be cute anymore. I know he hates it, but I hate that he curses like a sailor. So when he says fuck, I say fudge. And then he usually rolls his eyes or gives me a love tap. Not this time, though, and I didn't expect him to.
"I'm saying maybe we're being watched, followed. When we leave, they're not dead. We make sure of that. Someone's going in there after we leave." He turns to me, a look of concern in his eyes, "I'm saying I think we're being set up."
I take it back. I didn't want to know this. "Fudge, if someone knows who we are, reports us, frames us for these...these murders...we're finished. It won't just be our careers that are over. It'll be our lives."
"Baby, I know. But there's no reason to believe we've been made." I'm not sure if he's trying to reassure me or himself. "We don't have anyone showing up at home or our jobs. He hasn't been caught so far. Fucker's been covering his tracks somehow. I've been thinking...he might not even care about us at all. He might not even be trying to frame us. He may just be grateful that we're leading him to easy prey, just like I'm leading you to them."
You have to know that was the wrong thing to say. I grab his head in my hands and look him dead in the eyes. "I don't want to lead anyone to easy prey. The only reason I even agreed to all this was because you said no one would get hurt, not permanently, anyway. Unless I'm missing something, dead is pretty permanent." My head is swimming. I think I'm gonna be sick. "Maybe we need to stop. I need to stop. It's too risky."
The look on his ghost-white face says it all. "Sweetheart, you know that's not an option. You know what the consequences of that would be." The desperate look, the quivering of his voice. But also, the love. He couldn't bear to lose me, I know. He's been taking care of me for so long, I don't know what he'd do with himself if I were gone.
That possibility became real to us over two years ago, when we found out I was sick. Not the chicken soup and antibiotics kind, but the scary kind. The kind where you visit lots of doctors, get second and third and eighth opinions. The kind where you consider radical treatments with enough possible side effects to fill a bookshelf. The kind where you write a will.
They didn't give me long, but I stayed optimistic as always and kept at my work, figuring that maybe if I gave something to the universe, it would come back my way. Such a silly thought from such a logical mind, but sometimes smart people cling to loopy ideas when life gives you nothing else to grab onto. Until it happened, this thing that I can do. A funny thing happened on the way to the lab. Life gave me... well... life.
It was a pretty twisted discovery, but it's been keeping me alive ever since. I still don't really even understand how or why it works. I still don't really think it should work. But I didn't ask questions. I just accepted it, took advantage of it, but not too much, not enough to take anyone's life. Just enough to keep me going. It seemed like a pretty spiffy deal.
At first, we tried to limit it to the lab mice. But they only kept me going for a little while, and I didn't want to chance killing the cute little guys, or ruining any of my team’s experiments. Then, Fudge, sweetheart that he is, volunteered to be my first human trial. I was super nervous at first, but he insisted, and how could I resist my sweet Fudge?
It was better at first, but it didn’t last. Fudge took longer and longer to recover each time. Our guess was that it was because he's older, but we kept at it. It wasn't until he wound up in the hospital for a few weeks that I knew we had to stop. Even then, he was adamant that we could find another way, someone younger, maybe. But we weren't exactly gonna run Craigslist ads or confide in anyone else about my special needs. They'd lock us up if we told them what I can do, and not in the place where rapists, thieves, and murderers go, but the place where you stare at white padded walls all day because you see things no one else can, or hear voices that aren’t there.
So even though I didn't like it when Fudge suggested it, I went along with the new plan. But now, because of my denial maybe... the universe, or life, or whatever, is threatening to take it all away from me again.
So yeah, I'm scared spit of what would happen if we stop and I, ya know, die. But this price is too high, isn't it? I felt bad enough taking even the slightest advantage of these women, after what they'd just been through. But we rationalized it. I let him convince me that since they're unconscious, they won't feel any pain, won't be able to identify us later, or even know what we did. They'd just sleep a little longer, that's all. I wanted to believe, but now I'm not sure if I ever really did.
As though th
at isn't bad enough. So they can't remember it or feel it, so what? I've still violated them, used them for my own gain. And how do we know they don't suffer any long-term side effects? This goes against everything I pledged. Primum non nocere. First, do no harm. If only the young Maiko could meet me now, see what I've become. She would slap me so hard, I'd have a handprint on my cheek for a week.
Even if what he says is true, even if these poor women wake up remembering nothing of us, surely they remember what happened to them before we arrived. It has to scar them. It must! Sometimes I wonder if I'll ever see them walking down the street, if I'll even recognize them, or they me. Maybe then I'll feel some small part of the horror they felt when this man attacked them.
But for these last three, these poor souls. They won't even have a chance to heal, to find meaning in their lives again. Someone has taken that chance from them, stolen what we tried so delicately to leave in place. And so now I have this dread, these nightmarish thoughts that we've somehow contributed to their deaths.
How did I get to this point? Just a few short years ago, I was a happy, healthy, goofy, giddy girl with a rad career, a grizzled, mid-life crisis boyfriend dude, and no worries more serious than what color my hair would be next week. Now, I feel like a shell of my former self, and not just physically.
I look up, and he sees the despair in my eyes, the pain, the worry. "We'll be more careful, make fuckin’ sure no one’s following us. We'll double back, take less direct routes, whatever we have to. And I'll make damn sure the cops don't suspect us."
I don’t know if that’s good enough, not anymore. But all I manage is a nod. My puny brain is in overdrive right now, not to mention my aching heart. I’m not ready to fight this battle just yet. How did I get here, and where do we go now? I can’t think when his big puppy dog eyes are aimed right at me. Despite his best efforts, or maybe because of them, I feel more alone than ever.
Chapter 4
Priya
Ugh, come on, dude, leave already. I've been here too long as it is. If anyone sees me, they will find me suspicious, I think, crouching amongst the bushes. I'd better have another look around, make sure no neighbors decided to walk a dog or go outside for a smoke. Hmm, maybe I should start scoping out Belmont. No smokers to worry about there, at least. Not that I could even get there on my own at this point.
Let's see. In the house to the left of my target, someone's sleeping upstairs; a child, it looks like. Three adults, maybe parents and a teenage son or daughter, sitting watching TV. To the right, several adults are scattered about the first floor, one on a computer, another reading, a couple more engaged in conversation. Scanning the rest of the block, I see similar scenes. Everyone is home for the evening, winding down, going about their business on this quiet street tucked near the hills, unaware of little ol' me, a tiny blind Indian woman hiding out in the shrubbery. They are unaware of the man in their neighbor's home, too, doing who knows what.
He's messing up my clever plan, to put it mildly. I've been watching this house nearly every night for weeks, and she's never brought anyone home. Once I saw him here, I considered moving on to another place on my list, but I haven't been watching that one as long, and felt it might be too risky. No, this is the place, this is my target. God, I hope he leaves soon, or I'll have to come back another night. Then how will I pay my rent on time?
She lives alone, like most of the others I've borrowed from. She's asleep on her bed upstairs, which will make it easier for me to take my time, do it right. Though that makes it even stranger that this man is still here while she's asleep. Maybe a friend, or random hookup. If he's staying the night, I'm SOL. Something tugs at my memory, another time that I saw a man walking around while a woman slept, knowing then, as I know now, that she resided there but he did not. Curious, that one. I crept into that house, right after the man left, and found the woman lying on her couch, stiff as a board, eyes wide open. I thought she was dead at first, almost screamed. That would've been real smart, Priya. At least I was able to hold it to a short yelp. Then the relief came when I realized she wasn't dead, just couldn't move. It was so weird for her to just be lying there, like a plank. I bolted from that place quick. I didn't even bother grabbing anything on the way out, hoping that she didn't get a good look at me.
I hope this one forgot to lock the back door again. They're good like that, so trusting in these nicer neighborhoods. It would be too risky otherwise, having to break a window or jimmy the lock on a door. I know how to, of course. It's amazing the things you can teach yourself when you're desperate. I practiced enough times on doors in my apartment, but outside of the privacy of my own home I'd prefer to not be standing there, even for a few seconds, and give someone the chance to spot me while I'm distracted, unable to use my gift to see them approaching. Ha, gift, what a joke.
It seemed like a gift, at first. Able to see things in such a different light. But it didn't help at all with my work. Hindered it, in fact. And I sure as heck haven't found any other good uses for it. Maybe it's my lack of imagination for anything besides art, but this is the only purpose I've discovered it to serve so far. Helping me to become a common thief. My, how I've changed the world. Perhaps I should have read superhero comics as a child, maybe then I would know of a better use for my newfound talent. A lot of good those books would do now, not being able to read normal print anymore. Books are meant to be read in visible light, not whatever part of the electromagnetic spectrum I can see in now. There aren't a whole lot of microwave ovens or radio telescopes reading comic books, I suppose. Maybe James could read one to me sometime, if I told him the truth.
Or maybe he'd run away. It's probably what I would do, if the roles were reversed. I couldn't even handle my cousin being gay, let alone this. Then again, James might know exactly what to say. He'd probably encourage me to become some crusader for justice, use my sight to track down criminals or something. Like I would ever have the courage to do such a thing. What would I do if I found their hiding spots? Wilt away like some unwatered flower, that's what.
James. I have almost forgotten what he looks like. I can spot his body's outline, of course, and know his voice like my own father's. But his handsome face, I fear I'll never see it again, certainly not as I once did. Forgetting his face is one of the things I fear most. That, and telling him how I feel about him.
He may know it already, but if he does, he's kind enough not to let on. He's been like a big brother to me for so long, encouraging my art, that it may seem incestuous to consider anything more. I really should tell him. Not about what I do on nights like this, certainly not, but the real reason why I haven't been able to paint anything coherent in over a year. His concern shows, but he must know I'm holding something back. I don't think I've fooled him completely.
Speaking of fools, I may have to call this off, since this fool inside the house--oh! He's headed towards the front door. Finally!
I see him take a final glance around, open the door, casually walk through, and close it behind him. He checks that it's locked. Good thing it's the back door that she always leaves unlocked, or this would be a real short heist. As he walks away, I slowly sneak around the house on the side opposite his path, then watch him until he gets into a van down the street and drives off. I always read that some animals used thermal imaging to track prey, but instead, I'm using something similar to avoid predators, to remain in the shadows. Funny, before this change, all I wanted was for people to notice me and my paintings. Now, all I want is to be overlooked, ignored.
I put on my gloves and check the doorknob, careful not to make too much noise as I turn it. Yes! I slowly twist the handle, and gently push open the door, hoping that it doesn't creak too loudly. It does not, so I slink into the kitchen and begin my search. There's not often anything small and of great value in the kitchen, but I have a look around anyway. Since I can see that no one is approaching the house for blocks on either side, I certainly have the time.
It's a nice kitchen, with marble cou
ntertops, custom cabinets and shelves, and high end appliances, from what I can tell. It probably looks beautiful in visible light. Too bad I can't lift a whole room. Why couldn't I have a superpower like that? I move onto the next room.
Jackpot! This lady's definitely a fan of Tiffany's. Judging by this house, she won't have too much trouble replacing the necklaces, rings, and bracelets. She must work for some tech company or venture capital firm in the Valley. Jealous.
I delicately handle the trinkets, careful not to damage them as I place them together in a small pocket in my satchel. I may not get nearly as much for these as they're worth, but it'll be enough for awhile. I really should figure out a better way to unload than at pawn shops. They are so suspicious, even when I play the poor blind girl routine. This isn't far from the truth, and usually does the trick, but at least one owner seems to be getting wary of me. Truly, how much jewelry could a poor, blind Indian woman be selling that is wholly obtained through honest means?
Let's see, what else can I easily abscond with? There's a giant tablet. I hope it fits in my bag, these tend to be valuable. Maybe not at pawn shops, though. The phones do ok, but these are hit and miss. I'll give it a shot, as it's a nice big one. Pawn shops. I'm such a pathetic criminal, I would need to look up money laundering in a dictionary.
I could try selling on Craigslist or eBay if I got James or Julie to help, but I recall hearing quite a lot about criminals being caught that way, and I doubt I'd be crafty enough to get away with it without getting myself or my friends into any trouble. At least pawn shop owners tend to keep their mouths shut about where they obtain their merchandise. So far, anyway.
Do I dare go upstairs? I have plenty of room left in my bag, but what if she's a light sleeper? I would have to flee quickly if she wakes up, and it certainly wouldn't be quiet, so the neighbors might hear. But why not? She hasn't moved a muscle since her companion left, and there's usually some good stuff in bedrooms. This one is clearly loaded, so if I do well, I might not have to work another block for weeks. I scan the street again for a moment, and it's still a quiet night outside, more than usual, so I bravely venture upstairs. Ha, yes, "bravely" sneaking upstairs.
The Ripper of Blossom Valley Page 3
