Far Too Young To Die: An Astraea Renata Novel

by Wayne, Douglas

  “What are you going to do now?”

  “I’m going to make a stop at my place for a little change of clothes, then head down to the house you told me about and see what’s going on. Maybe I’ll get lucky and someone will talk.”

  “Or you’ll get unlucky and someone will kill you. The guys at my place had to have seen you. I’m willing to bet they have people on the streets looking for us both.”

  “It’s a good thing I have a little trick up my sleeve.” I held my above my hand then let it drop in front of my face. Aiden’s eyes lit up in excitement as my little spell changed most of the prominent features of my face, making me look about twenty years older, yet covered with makeup. “Think this look will fit the girls?”

  He nodded. “Make it a few years younger and you have a winner.”

  I grabbed a piece of paper off of Greg’s desk, scribbled my phone number, and handed it to Aiden. “Call me if anything odd goes on. If I don’t answer right away, don’t freak out. It gets crazy at work sometimes.”

  “I thought you said you were going to the house?”

  “I am,” I said, confidently. “But I need to get to the pub right after. I have a friend of mine, Molly, covering for a while. She is a good bartender, but not really up for the volume we have.”

  Aiden nodded.

  “I’ll stop by after work and fill you in on everything.” I walked to the front door and opened it, then turned around. “Be gentle on Greg. He’s a good guy, just a bit overprotective of me.”

  “Let me guess, he’s worried I’m here to whisk you away.”

  “Pretty much.”

  “I’ll talk to him about it. Let him know I’m not here to take you from him.”

  I laughed silently and shook my head. “We aren’t like that… anymore, that is. We haven’t been an item for over five years.” Wasn’t exactly true, but it was close enough. It’s hard to consider the occasional romp as a steady relationship, even if we spent most our time together. Don’t get me wrong, I care for Greg in a way I couldn’t for anyone else, but there’s no way I could go back to the way things used to be. Him standing over my shoulder, giving threatening looks to any guy drunk enough to make a move on me. Dealing with the constant fighting and arguments if I flirted back ever so slightly.

  I’ll admit, I’m definitely the flirty type, but if I’ve committed myself to a relationship with you, there is nothing on this earth that could rip me away from you.

  Except for you.

  “Still,” he said. “I’m not here to make things more awkward than they already are. The second we get this all figured out and the bad guys are locked behind bars, I’ll leave you guys alone.”

  “It doesn’t have to be like that either,” I said. “We can still be friends.”

  “I’d like that.” He smiled.

  “Me too.”

  And with that, I limped out the door and away from the inevitable display of machismo that was surely about to erupt under that roof. Thankfully, Aiden seemed like he was willing to crawl into a hole if it would make Greg happy. I only hoped it didn’t come down to that.

  - 10 -

  It was closing on nine in the evening when I grew the nerve to walk up to the house. I’d spent much of the last three hours watching the house, to get a better idea about the people who constantly entered, and eventually left. While there were a few people who looked as I expected, sad, almost drooping eyes with large bags under them. They were the ones with ripped and tattered clothes that were often too large to fit properly. That or they wore them to hide the drugs or even track marks from their arms.

  To my amazement, those people were not the primary group of people entering the house. For every one of them that walked through the door, ten perfectly healthy and clean people also walked in. I imagined some of those people were there on behalf of the business happening behind the doors, but most of them had to be there to get a fix of their own.

  After seeing the normal clientele, I decided against dressing like a junkie or one of the business types that had gone through the doors, and instead opted for something more promiscuous. I was wearing a short red skirt that barely covered my upper thighs with a tight red shirt that helped accentuate my other womanly assets. Using my magic, I’d changed my hair from its normal black to a strawberry blond, my eyes from brown to blue, and my facial features to look like I was about ten years older. The look I was aiming for was more hipster mom and less prostitute, but I was certain that if they thought the later, I’d still be let in.

  I waited until there hadn’t been any movement to, or from, the house to make my move. The porch light was off as were most of the lights inside, except for a flickering blue glow of a TV against the thin curtains. There were no decorations or furniture on the porch, like they were doing everything they could to dissuade anyone from walking up. It didn’t help stem the regular flow of people, but I suspected it would keep a girl scout from walking up trying to sell cookies in the spring.

  I rang the doorbell and took a few steps back. The thin curtain wavered, and a head poked out to study me with his eyes.

  “Dude, look at this!” he exclaimed to a man somewhere in the house.

  Two other heads poked out of the curtain at different spots. Peering in against the darkness, I couldn’t make out any of their faces. At least, with the way they were all gawking at me, I knew I would find out soon enough.

  The front door opened and a man stepped out. “How can we help you, little lady?”

  I leaned on my back leg, flashing more of the front to the man who couldn’t keep his eyes off of it. “I was told you all take care of the girls. Give us what we need. Is that true?” I said it all with a thicker southern accent than I already had.

  He reached up to his bearded chin and stroked it a few times while licking his lips. The guy was wearing a pair of blue jeans and a white tee shirt. There was a long silver chain attached to his pants in the front that dangled close to the ground before swooping back up to his back pocket. On each of his arms was a black leather band with small metal nubs attached.

  “That’s right,” he said, opening the door open. “Come inside and have a seat.”

  Anxiety pulsed through me as I walked inside the house. A worn down couch and two recliners were the only sitting spaces in the otherwise modestly furnished room. A heavily nicked and scratched wooden coffee table sat between all the chairs, almost looking like it doubled over as a place for these people to cut up the drugs. On the TV they were watching an action movie with endless gunshots and explosions going off every other second.

  “Sit on the couch little lady,” he said, stretching his hand toward it like I would’ve gotten lost otherwise.

  I took one look at the couch, with its holes, scratches, and missing hunks of cushion and thought against it. “I’ll take a seat here, darlin,” I said, heading to the one empty recliner.

  “No can do. That’s Brian’s seat. If he catches you sitting in it, he won’t be happy.”

  I glanced between the recliner and couch, thinking twice about being here. Eventually I decided that maybe I should listen to instructions and took a seat on the couch, sitting on the one spot that didn’t look like it was in too bad of shape.

  “You must be new in town?” the guy asked, taking his seat in the front left recliner.

  I nodded. “Just moved here a couple weeks ago from Seattle.”

  “I love it there,” the guy in the other front chair said, turning to look back at me. Unlike his punk friend, he was wearing a pair of jeans with a Metallica shirt. He had short dark hair with stubble on his upper lip and chin that looked like he was trying to grow a goatee, but was failing. “The weather sucks, but I love the view.”

  “The weather sucks here,” the last guy said. I got the impression that this was the owner of the house, or at least the guy who got to stay here most the time. The only thing he wore was a knee length pair of shorts though there looked to be a shirt under his right arm.

  I
smiled as the two of them bickered back and forth about the intricacies of the weather between Seattle and Atlanta. Smartly, I decided to stay out of the argument, mainly because I’d never spent a moment in Seattle, or the Pacific northwest for that matter, to have the slightest clue what the weather was really like. Except to know that it rained in Washington almost all the time.

  Eventually, the punk guy who answered the door cleared his throat, silencing the other two men instantly. “The little lady isn’t here to talk about the weather.” He looked back at me, assaulting me with his eyes before continuing. “Is she?”

  I shook my head.

  “Sorry about that,” the short wearing guy said, turning around with a smile. “What’s your poison?”

  And that’s where I hit my snag. I’d sat out front scoping out the house for the last few hours trying to come up with the best possible outfit to wear to get me inside. Yet I’d never stopped to consider what I’d do once inside.

  I knew he was asking what drug I was here for, but to tell the truth, other than pot, I knew little about them. Just from their looks, I could tell they expected me to ask for something a little more potent than that, given my current attire, yet I didn’t know where to begin. So, I answered, “surprise me,” and hoped for the best.

  “Nice,” Punk said nodding his head. “I love a woman willing to try anything.”

  Shorts smiled at him. “Think we should get her the new batch?”

  Metallica replied, “she can handle it.”

  “Give us a couple of minutes, little lady. We’ll get you all set up.” He stood up and took a few steps towards the hallway. “Would you like anything to drink?”

  “I’m fine, thanks.”

  Punk and shorts both walked into the hall, leaving me alone with Metallica. Thankfully, other than the discussions about Seattle, he didn’t seem like the talkative type which was apparent when he leaned back to watch the movie still running on the TV.

  Unfortunately, I’d hoped that he would’ve left the room with the others, just in case they brought something back I wasn’t prepared to handle. Particularly something involving a needle. I had a spell in my repertoire that could keep whatever they brought from ever entering my blood stream, but I had to prep it ahead of time. If whatever they brought got in my blood stream, there was nothing I could do to stop the effects. I’d have to wait it out and hope it wasn’t anything too bad or addictive.

  “Do you have a restroom?” I said to Metallica, who was already deeply engrossed in his show. “This girl needs to freshen up before I get back to work.”

  “Bathroom’s broken,” he said, not bothering to even turn his head. “Gonna have to wait to pretty up until you get to where you’re going.”

  “Not even a bedroom or a mirror I could use?” I said, now getting desperate.

  “Nope. They are off limits. You won’t be here long. Doesn’t take those two long to put together an order.”

  My hands clammed up, and I started to sweat, causing my makeup to run down my face. Whatever they were planning on doing was going to happen, regardless of whatever I had to say. For a moment, I considered running to the door, but before I could, the two men entered the front room.

  Punk was holding a small wooden box he placed on the coffee table in front of me and took a seat at my side with shorts taking the other. “We just got this in last night.” He opened the box to reveal three syringes on top of small baggies full of a purple looking powder. He pulled one baggy out of the box along with a syringe, while Shorts handed him a large, burnt spoon.

  Just my luck, I thought as Punk placed the powder in the spoon. My instincts were screaming to run, but with them sitting at my side, there wasn’t anywhere to go. Besides, if I left now, there was no way in the world I’d find out anything about the people who wanted Aiden dead.

  While they got everything ready, I closed my eyes and chanted my bodily ward under my breath, all while trying to ignore the thick sulfur smell assaulting my nose. I was nearly halfway through my spell when Shorts jerked my arm, shaking me out of my trance.

  “You still awake there, girlie?” he asked. “It’s just about ready.”

  I looked over at Punk who was holding the needle up to my arm and jerked it away.

  “Easy there,” he said, grabbing it with his free hand. “We aren’t here to hurt you, just help you get it in.”

  “Does it hurt?” I asked stupidly, not removing my eyes from the large needle in his hand as if I didn’t already know the answer.

  “Just like a shot at the doctor,” Punk said, grinning widely. “It will be over before you know it.”

  I took in a deep breath as Shorts stood up and tied a tan rubber strap around my left arm. He then took my hand and placed it under his, to hold it in place. Guess they’ve had their fair share of people getting skittish this close to being done. That, and I suspected whatever they cooked up has a shorter shelf life as a liquid than as a fine powder.

  Before I could protest, Punk jabbed the needle in my arm and pushed in the liquid. Whatever it was felt warm going into my veins. Almost felt the same way a warm broth feels going down your throat when you’re sick, but instead of filling my belly with delicious goodness, it was filling my heart with something odd.

  Within moments the world went fuzzy. Punk and Shorts watched me with a demented sense of curiosity as I stood up and tried to take a few steps. I walked around the wooden coffee table and walked to the door, but my foot caught against the side of a recliner and I took a tumble, face first into the nasty carpet.

  “What did you give me?” I said, watching my hands wiggle around in front of my nose, even though I wasn’t moving them.

  The two men, now standing over me, both opened their mouths to say something, but nothing came out even though their lips wouldn’t stop moving. Punk reached down and offered me his hand, which I took, but the world went completely dark long before I got back up.

  - 11 -

  The straight vision of reality welcomed me along with a massive headache when I opened my eyes. There were two brick walls on either side of me along with a smaller one I leaned against. A steady flow of traffic passed the open side of the alleyway, noticeable through the trash cans and dumpsters lining both sides of the walls.

  My arm was sore and bruised where the needle had penetrated my skin, but the rest of me felt fine.

  Using a nearby dumpster, I pulled myself to my feet and held it for a while until my sense of balance allowed me to stand on them without extra help. My clothes had a layer of dirt and grime that turned the once pretty dress into something not quite as attractive. I looked myself over, wondering if anything else was off, but the more I looked, the more it looked like nothing was wrong.

  Yet, as I took my first shaky steps, I couldn’t help but feeling like something was wrong. Nothing in the sexual department had happened, at least it didn’t feel that way. But, I couldn’t help feeling like something else had.

  Perhaps I was just over exaggerating things. As far as I knew, it was the drugs that were making me feel like this. Perhaps what I was feeling was similar to a hangover. It didn’t upset me I didn’t have enough personal experience to know for sure, but I wished I had someone I could talk to about it.

  Then, I remembered Aiden. He had been selling the stuff to people for a while, perhaps he’d sold someone the new product Shorts and Punk tried out on me.

  Groggily, I made my way to the open street, shielding my eyes from the bright morning sun as I got close to the end. It was a bright sunny day. If it wasn’t for the massive headache, this would be the type of day where I’d get up early and drag myself to the beach to get a little sun. But between that, and my eyes’ newfound sensitivity to light, the only thing I wanted to do was to get back home and crawl into bed.

  As I got out of the narrow confines of the alleyway, I noticed it was much closer to noon than I originally thought. How long had I been out? Better yet, how long was I in that alley.

  I walked do
wn the street, trying to get a gauge on where I was. People gave me odd looks as they passed, often making a wide berth like I was carrying something contagious. Was I so repulsive dressed like this?

  I stopped outside of a diner to take a look at myself in the glass. My face, now completely my own as my spell had long since faded, was covered with dirt and was caked with some other dark brown, almost black substance. I licked my hand and scrubbed my cheek, causing whatever it was to transfer over to my hand.

  What was it?

  Dirt?

  Blood?

  Oil?

  The flashing lights of a police cruiser pulled off to the side of the road just ahead of me. My guess was that someone called the cops when they saw me shuffling out of the alley, looking like a walking corpse. I was thankful for whoever that called because I still didn’t have the slightest clue where I was.

  “You OK, Miss?” the officer asked as he stepped out of his car. He was an older man, judging by the streaks of gray in his otherwise jet black hair.

  “Where am I?” I asked, turning to face him.

  “Where do you think you are?” he countered as he walked up slowly.

  “I’m not sure. The last thing I remember is heading into a house just outside Atlanta.”

  “If that’s the case, you probably don’t want to know that you’re in Augusta.”

  “Augusta?” I asked. “Georgia?”

  He nodded. “Do you have any identification?”

  I reached for my purse, but it wasn’t on my shoulder. Then I remembered I left it in my car before I went into the drug house.

  At least, I hoped I’d left it there.

  “I must have lost it.”

  “Come with me,” he said, leading me into the back of his police cruiser.

  I wondered what kind of trouble I had myself in now. Was it against the law to look like you woke up in the gutter here in Augusta, or was it something else? I suspected the later, but there was no way to know unless he filled me in.

  The officer walked around the car, looking around for anything out of the ordinary. Almost like he was expecting to find another scantily clad woman, covered with dirt walking down the street. Seemingly content I was the only one, he opened the door and got inside.