by Alex Rivers
He laughed, and kept searching me, the vial in his palm.
The truth was, the vial contained water and a drop of artificial food coloring. Breadknife would never have believed I didn’t have a plan of some sort when I walked inside, so I hid the vial as a red herring. Make him think that the vial was part of my foiled plan to outsmart him.
Breadknife’s strategy was to fill me with doubt. My strategy was to fill him with false confidence.
He located a cigarette packet in my back pocket and retrieved it, smirking. “Marlboro Light, huh? This brings back memories.” Matteo used to take those from me whenever he found them, when I was a teen, delighting in smoking them in front of me while I trembled in anger.
Finding nothing else, he returned with the cigarettes, the vial, and the pouch to the table, laying them down one after the other.
Breadknife picked up the pouch, and took out the box. He looked at it for a long moment with wide eyes, and then his gaze flicked to me. “Why didn’t you hand it over as soon as you had it? Why take us through this elaborate… mess?”
“There were some complications,” I said evenly. “Why didn’t you wait a few hours before kidnapping a five-year-old girl?”
“When I smell a stench in the air, I act. You know that, Lou.” He sighed, shaking his head sadly. “Now, let’s see. If I open this box, will I find the crystal inside? Or will my finger be pricked by one of your poisonous traps?”
I rolled my eyes. “You’re paranoid, Mr. Cisternino.”
“Am I?” He glanced at Hardy, who picked at the dirt in one of his fingernails. “If something happens to me when I open the box, walk into that room, and kill the girl.”
The man nodded. Breadknife raised an eyebrow, looking at me expectantly. I said nothing.
He twisted the key once in the lock, and pried the lid open. He picked up the chain holding the crystal and gazed at it. Despite myself, I tensed. Would he notice a flaw I couldn’t see? Could he see through the glamour?
And then he discarded it with disinterest on the table. My heart plunged. He knew. He had seen through it somehow. Now he would torture me. Or my daughter. Do whatever he could to get the real crystal.
But he didn’t. Instead, he focused on the black box. Caressing its lid with a trembling finger. Touching the key in the lock. I had no idea what he was thinking.
“What does your client want with the crystal?” I asked. “Is it really the Yliaster crystal?”
“The crystal?” He frowned. “I don’t know.”
I blinked. He didn’t know? What was he…
And then it dawned on me. I was dizzy with horror, the knowledge of what I’d done terrifying. “It was never about the crystal,” I said. “It was the box you were interested in.”
“It’s amazing how something so small can contain such a huge change,” he whispered, half to himself, still looking at the box.
“But there was nothing in it! Nothing except the crystal.”
“That’s what the first woman who ever received it thought as well—at first. She opened it, only to find it empty. But then she found out you could twist the key in the lock over and over. And if you twist it eleven times… the true contents of the box are exposed.” He put it on the table, shutting the lid.
Eleven times. My mind whirled. What was in that box? Whatever it was, it would lead to what Isabel had seen in the cards.
He twisted the key, and it clicked. One. No, along with the first twist from before, Breadknife had twisted the key twice already.
He twisted it again. Three.
“Can you guess her name? The woman who first received the box?” His voice quavered.
I thought hard. A box that contained horrors, kept in a secure vault. And then I recalled his words when he had first told me about it. The box was lost when Troy fell. Troy. Ancient Greece. What box could it be? But I already knew.
“Was her name… Pandora?” I asked.
The key turned again in the lock, the click echoing much louder than it should have in the empty warehouse. Four.
“You were always a smart girl, Lou. That’s right. This is Pandora’s box. The gods placed all the horrors of the world inside it, and when Pandora, overcome by curiosity, opened it, those horrors were unleashed on humanity. Oh, and supposedly the box also contained hope or something. I don’t know, sounds ludicrous to me.”
Click. Five.
“But the truth is that before all the horrors got out, Pandora managed to shut the lid and lock the box. Only some of the things in the box got out. But many remained.”
“Who is your client? Why does he want it opened?”
“My client is a she, not a he.”
Click. Six.
“And she wants it open because she was one of the things unleashed back then. And I guess she misses her family.”
Click. Seven.
Nervous, Matteo picked up the Marlboro pack from the table and knocked out a cigarette. He put it in his mouth and lit it, looking at his boss, who paused between each key twist as if drawing out the moment of triumph.
I was desperate. “Mr. Cisternino, if you open that box, it will destroy the entire world. Isabel saw it in the cards.”
“Not the entire world. Some of it. I would remain. And would receive a more than adequate compensation for my actions.”
Click. Eight.
“Steve, Matteo… you can’t be fine with this? Your boss is insane. He wants to kill us all!”
Steve’s face remained impassive. Matteo’s eyes were anxious, but he said nothing, taking another puff on the cigarette.
Breadknife glanced at me. “Loyalty, Vitalis, is an amazing quality. You could learn something from these men. If you had any time to do so.”
Click. Nine.
Shadows began gathering around the warehouse, the lights dimming. Each twist of the key sounded louder than the last, and by now they were like loud drums, vibrating long after the key had turned. I took a step toward the table. Steve raised a gun and pointed it squarely at me, his eyes blank, free of emotion. He scared me even more than Matteo. I could understand Matteo; I’ve seen others like him over the years. But Steve’s motivations were something I couldn’t fathom.
Click. Ten.
The shadows lurking around us seemed to be taking on forms. Strange, predatory creatures, all waiting for the box to open, for hell to be unleashed upon the world. Breadknife’s fingers hovered over the key, as if even he was suddenly hesitant to turn it one final time.
“Mr. Cisternino… Anthony. Please think about this.”
“I have, Lou,” he whispered. “I’ve thought about it long and hard.”
Steve’s attention was on me, while the rest of the men were looking at the box. No one looked at Matteo.
He was, unbeknownst to him, smoking one of my nightmare cigarettes. I’d transferred the contents to a Marlboro light, hoping that he wouldn’t be able to resist the allure of stealing my smokes again, especially if they were his favorite brand. Now, as the shadows loomed above us, his body transformed. It became thin, bony and pale, with numerous leering mouths pocking his skin. His hair grew longer, turned white and wispy. The kids who had dreamed this particular nightmare had been quite imaginative.
I glanced at him, letting my mouth drop, my eyes widen in fear. Steve, attention focused solely on me, glanced sideways to see what I was staring at. And he saw a nightmarish, deformed witch, standing over his boss, close enough to touch.
He swiveled his gun and began shooting, the explosions sharp and painful in my ears. The bullets tore through Matteo’s bony form as if he were made of paper, and he howled, a tormented, screechy wail.
I lunged forward, flames erupting from my fingers, burning high up to my elbows and casting a hellish light. I grabbed for Steve’s gun hand, and he screamed as I gripped him, the fire sizzling on his skin. He pushed me away and I tumbled back, falling to the floor. But he was too late.
The fire had caught his sleeve, and spread up his shirt. He le
t out a tortured screech, and began running around, waving his arm, trying to extinguish it but only fanning the flames. I used the distraction and lunged for the table, going for the crystal.
A gun barrel smashed into my face, and I stumbled backward, my vision blurry and tinged with red. Breadknife held his gun pointed at me.
“Good try,” he said vehemently, his words echoed by Steve’s wails as he ran around the room, his whole body a blazing inferno. On the floor, Matteo lay dead, the numerous mouths on his body slack.
“What were you going to do with this?” he asked, raising the crystal from the table. “Smash it and let loose the soul inside? Or did you have an even cleverer plan?”
There was a sudden detonation, and both of us flinched. Steve, his body blazing, had knocked into one of the oil cans, and it cracked. The years-old vapors that had accumulated inside caught fire instantly, and it exploded. Then, exposed to the heat and the flames, other cans exploded as well. Timbers were now catching fire at an alarming rate.
I lunged for Breadknife’s gun, but I was dizzy, my movement sluggish, and he simply stepped back, the gun still pointed at me, the other holding the crystal.
He draped the crystal’s chain around his neck. “You were the best, Lou. I hope the things in the box will find you as useful as I did.”
“I wasn’t going for the crystal, Breadknife,” I said. “Angustus!”
The chain around Breadknife’s throat suddenly constricted, biting into his skin. His eyes went wide, and he began clawing at it with one hand.
“Angustus,” I said again, making the chain constrict even more. His face became purple as his throat made rasping sounds. He raised his gun, but his aim wavered, and he shot wide, the gun dropping from his hand. He clawed at the constricting chain with both hands.
A movement flickered in the corner of my eye. It was Hardy, running toward me. I lunged at the table, grabbing the vial with the purple water. I swiveled to face the huge man, who was only five yards away. I lifted the vial high above my head, and shouted “Stop!”
He did, nearly tumbling down.
“If you touch me, I’ll shatter this,” I warned him. “And then we’ll both be dead.”
He blinked.
“Your boss is gone,” I said, speaking steadily over the roar of the fire around me. Smoke filled the warehouse. “This place is about to burn to the ground. You have nothing left to do here.”
For a long moment we glared at each other. Then without saying a word, he whirled and ran for the exit.
I breathed in relief, and waited for him to unlock the door and leave. Only then did I put the colored water on the table and pick up the box. Gingerly, I removed the key from the lock, placing it in my pocket.
Breadknife was motionless by my feet. His eyes were vacant, his mouth ajar in a wordless scream. I touched the tight chain on his throat, and it became lax, then slithered up my wrist, and linked into a bracelet. I grabbed the pouch from the table, and tossed the still-closed box inside. I had no idea what would happen if I left it behind to burn. Perhaps the things inside it would be free. Better to take it with me.
I stepped over Breadknife’s body and ran to the door at the other end of the warehouse. I prayed that, for once, no lock would stand in my way.
None did. The door opened to a small room, which must at some point have been an office. Now, the only remnants of its original function were severed phone cables protruding from the walls, and abandoned electrical outlets. A sleeping bag was unrolled on the floor, and on it lay Tammi, asleep. She was tucked in a fetal position, a stray curl on top of her cheek. I crouched by her side, brushing the curl away. Her skin was soft and warm. She breathed deeply, her lips in a pout, moving slightly as she dreamed.
The air became hazy and suffocating. I coughed into my sleeve, and then picked Tammi up, resting her head on my shoulder. To my amazement, she remained asleep.
She weighed almost nothing, and I easily carried her out of the room. The fire had spread to the far corners of the warehouse. The glass windows had cracked, then broken, and the flames roared as additional oxygen began fueling them.
The doorway out was engulfed in smoke. Flames licked at it, hungry for the air outside. I thought of my parents’ death and shuddered.
But then, the longer I waited, the worse the fire would become. Holding tight to my daughter, I ran across the room, the heat becoming more and more unbearable. My breathing, heavy from the effort, became a coughing fit as I inhaled a lungful of smoke. Tammi began moving in my arms, slowly waking up to an inferno.
And then we were plunging through the flames and I hugged her tight as she screamed, half blind with my eyes blurring from tears, running, running.
It took a while for me to realize we were out, that the air was cool and fresh around us. That we stood in a dark street, and not in a warehouse, orange with flames.
Tammi cried and squirmed. I quickly put her down, checking her for flames, for burns.
“What is it, sweetie? Are you in pain? Where are you hurt?”
“I want my mommy,” she sobbed.
She was whole and unhurt. Endless conflicting emotions drowned my heart as I hugged her, whispering, “Okay, sweetie. I’ll take you to your mommy. Calm down now. Stop crying. You’ll see mommy very soon.”
Chapter Forty
I had no phone; it was now melting inside the burning warehouse. No car either—nor, to be frank, the knowledge of how to drive one. No money for a cab. Besides, the streets around us were empty and dark.
I could wait with Tammi for the inevitable firefighters and police to show up. But that would mean I’d have to answer questions. One of the policemen who were routinely paid by Breadknife might have lingering loyalty to their barbecued boss, and I had no intention of risking Tammi or myself that way.
So I walked. At first, I told Tammi we would walk hand in hand. I wrapped my palm gently around hers, marveling at how small and soft it was. Then we began walking, but I quickly realized that walking with a five-year-old, even my daughter who was the best and brightest and most wonderful girl in the world, was… difficult.
Her steps were so small. She constantly stumbled, or paused for no clear reason. She was tired. She wanted her mommy. After what felt like a lifetime of walking, cajoling her to walk slightly faster and be a brave little girl, I looked back and saw that we’d barely crossed a hundred yards.
So I took her in my arms again and marched, already hearing the sirens of the first responders getting closer. I ducked with her into an alley as I spotted the flashing blue light of a squad car, and then moved on, keeping off the main streets to remain hidden.
She dozed off, her head bobbing on my shoulder, her hair tickling my nose. Though she didn’t weigh much, carrying her around wasn’t easy; her feet kept bumping my body, and my arms were starting to ache.
Nevertheless, I wanted this walk to stretch forever. My daughter in my arms, for the first time since she was born.
Finally, we reached an open bar. I stepped inside, looking around me warily. There were several men sitting around, drinking beers and playing pool, and one tired-looking prostitute smoking by the bar. Not the most wholesome place to bring a five-year-old to.
“Can I use your phone?” I asked the bartender.
He was fat, and a faded tattoo of what looked like a snake decorated his neck. He took one long look at me, and said, “Are you okay? Do you need help?”
I glanced at the mirror behind him and saw that my face was sooty, my hair a mess. A large ugly bruise was developing where Breadknife had pistol-whipped me. “I’m fine. I just need your phone, thanks.”
He handed me his own mobile phone, and I called Sinead, whose number I knew by heart. I gave her the address of the bar, refusing to go into any details other than “We’re both fine.”
While I waited, sitting on a bar stool with Tammi cradled in my lap, the bartender made me some tea. The prostitute stubbed out her cigarette, apologizing for the smoke. She gazed at my d
aughter and murmured that we were so much alike, a forlorn smile on her face. When I gazed around me, all I saw were kind eyes.
And then the bar door opened and Sinead and Kane walked inside. Sinead rushed to my side, hugging me carefully to avoid waking Tammi up. I followed them out, thanking the bartender profoundly for all his help.
Kane held the rear passenger door for me, and I carefully lay Tammi in the backseat. She shuffled slightly and murmured, “Mommy.”
“We’re getting you to your mommy now, sweetie,” I whispered in her ear.
I stood up, gazing at my daughter asleep in the back of the car. Then I took three steps to the side and threw up.
Sinead was by my side in an instant, fulfilling the loyal role of hair holder as I retched and vomited again. The world spun. I shook violently.
“You’re okay, Lou,” Sinead whispered in my ear. “You’re okay.”
“I’m… not okay.” My teeth were chattering. “I killed them, Sinead. I killed three of them. And I ran with Tammi through a fucking fire. She could have been hurt. I killed those men, Tammi. Matteo and Steve and ABC.”
“You were protecting yourself. And Tammi. They deserved to die.”
Tears were running down my cheeks. My body shivered violently. “But I was the one who killed them.”
Something had changed in me when I’d killed those men. Something profound. I went from being someone who’d never taken a life, to someone who had. This was something I could never undo.
I would have done it all over again, and it was the right thing. The men I had killed really did deserve to die. Still, Steve O’Sullivan was my age, and we had joined Breadknife’s gang almost together. His main crime was blind loyalty. And Breadknife used to be Anthony, and he had saved me from homelessness, and taught me things. We used to have a connection. And Matteo “Ear” Ricci…
Well, he was just an overall shitty person, and the world was infinitely better without him. But still, I had been the one who had taken his life.
But something else had changed in me. I had beaten four strong men, left three of them dead and burned, and come out almost without a scratch. And a small part of me, a part that used to be afraid, was now gone. I was dangerous. Predator, not prey. And if people messed with me—or even worse, with my daughter—they would pay the price.
