by B.A. Savage
Chapter Three
The little girl sits excitedly as her mother works on her angel costume for the annual school play. The young mother of this bundle of energy has the dress almost complete.
“You're gonna be the cutest angel in the whole play,” says the mom.
“Yup and with the prettiest dress. I'll be a princess angel.”
The mother laughs, “Sure dear, you can be anything you want.”
“Mommy.”
“Yes dear.”
“Thank you.”
The lady smiles, “You're welcome, sweetheart.”
She lifts the finished dress from the sewing machine, “Stand up Betty. I want to see how it's going to look.”
Little Betty leaps up with a grin that would lighten up a whole room. “Okay mommy. I'm going to be the bestest princess angel ever.”
“Yes you are, dear, yes you are.”
A pickup truck pulls into the driveway with the music almost blowing out the cheap quality speakers.
“Oh no! He's home and I didn't even start dinner! I completely lost track of time!” says the lady as she frantically makes her way into the kitchen, while Betty sits on her stool next to the sewing machine.
In the kitchen, the woman is scrambling around to make it appear as if she's been cooking. She puts the thawed hamburger in the frying pan and turns the burner on high. She starts a pot of water and tosses spaghetti noodles in.
The front door opens and her husband walks in. “Damn idiots at work, fucking write me up. They can kiss my fucking ass!”
He tossed his work jacket on the chair he passes on the way to the kitchen. His path takes him through the room where Betty is sitting quietly, he doesn't notice her. He opens the kitchen door and to his disbelief dinner is not ready. “What? Dinner is not ready? What the fuck have you been doing all day?”
She's pouring the sauce into a saucepan, her hand is shaking so much that she spills some of the sauce on the stove. Once the jar is empty, she reaches for a towel.
He grabs her by her arm as she reaches, “I asked you why didn't you fucking start dinner earlier? You know what fucking time I get home each damn day!”
With tears and fear forming in her eyes, “I'm sorry. I was working on Betty's costume for the play.”
The man is so furious that he pushes her to the side and starts pacing around the kitchen. Little Betty sits quietly in her place as she watches shadows on the open door play out the actions of both parents.
“I fucking work all day and this is my fucking reward? You don't have to do shit. I provide for you and this is how you pay me back? No respect at work and no fucking respect at home. You could have worked on the fucking costume tonight after dinner!”
“But the play is tonight,” she pleads.
“So fucking what! No one’s fucking going anywhere!”
“Mark please! She's been waiting to go to this for weeks.”
“So fucking what! I haven't eaten shit! No fucking one is going anywhere. I am going to lay down the fucking law in this house!”
Betty's tears go unnoticed in the other room. The mother is now crying also, “Mark, please.”
Mark's patience has grown thin and he's getting tired of tears. “Shut the fuck up bitch!” he yells as he hits her with a closed fist.
“See what you made me do you stupid bitch!”
The lady is now cowering on the floor and choking on tears and spit. She pleads, “Please take it out on me, but not Betty. I'm the one who messed up. Please take her to the play.”
“I'm not taking her anywhere! Shit, she's probably not even my fucking kid. You were out whoring around!”
“You know that's not true. You're the only man I've ever been with.”
“Then why the fuck were you found naked at that mother fucking campground?!”
“Yeah right you fucking slut!”
Little Betty's blue eyes are wide-open and dripping tears. Her mother is sobbing on the floor balled up in the corner.
“Stop your fucking whining!”
Mark then climbs on top of her, huddled in the corner and starts punching her in the head. Her arms block some punches, but some of Mark's timed punches make their way through.
Little Betty grips the costume angel so tightly, that one of the wings breaks off and falls to the floor. The little girl's eyes are locked on the shadows on the door.
The mother's screams and flesh meeting flesh are finally drowned out by the smoke detector that goes off due to the burning hamburger on the stove. The noise does not distract the man from his attack.
A phone ringing draws Shadow's attention to the present and to the person sitting behind his desk in his office. On the dark rooftop, Shadow stares down into the office through the sky roof. It's nighttime and late, only an occasional car can be heard driving around on the streets below. The man motions for two other men to leave the room. They do, and then the man continues his phone conversation. Shadow looks around the office and notices that no one else is in the room. She draws her sword from its sleeve.
In the back seat of the taxi cab, Century thumbs through the files, “Nothing too exciting or shocking in here, which usually means one of two things, either she's really over hyped or this folder is missing some pages. I hate being left in the shadows no pun intended.”
He flips to the part about her past. “So the myth is true, she was a prostitute before becoming Shadow and she was also a junkie too. Not too surprising to use her, someone the world would hardly miss.”
He now reads over the training flies. “They must have worked her ass off to learn that many things. Considering just the physical training part must have taken a long time considering she would be a recovering drug addict. And I haven't met many prostitutes who have the capability to learn six different forms of martial arts, along with various armed and unarmed combat techniques. And she can read and write fourteen different languages.” The list goes on.
He decides to double-check something in the file. “Just as I thought, something doesn't add up. She learned all this in five years, that's even more than I could handle.” Century looks out of the window of the taxi because he noticed it's been sitting for a while.
“Hey what happened? This heap of junk finally break down?” refers Century to the situation and the rustic vehicle.
“No, my friend, there appears to have been an accident or something. The street is blocked by police.”
Century does his vision-enhancing blink to get a better look. He sees several cops, including the detectives casing the scene. Also, a few Japanese men in expensive suits standing behind the yellow tape. Century looks at the address of that building, which is four blocks away. “It looks like a party started without me.”
He hands the cabbie a hundred dollar bill.
“Hey, I don't have change,” says the cabbie.
“And I don't have time,” says Century as he exits the cab, “so with the change, go out and buy yourself some breath mints and an air freshener for the car.” He then shuts the door and heads for the building on foot.
