by Chanel Smith
“Anyone there?”
There was a giggle inside. The voice sounded familiar. Emily swung the club, testing the balance and then pushed the door open.
In the center of the room was a woman. She was blonde and wore a simple shift dress. She moved around as though the clothes annoyed her and she kept tugging at the fabric. She scurried around the room like an animal, looking for something.
“Who are you?” Emily asked.
The woman turned around and smiled a bright, sharp toothed smile at her. Emily squinted into the dim light of the city that came through the window. She only just managed to recognize her neighbor. “Mrs. Van Buren?”
Chelsea Van Buren giggled and came towards her, swaying her hips. She looked like a call girl coming into the room where her client was waiting. That was sinister enough in itself, but Chelsea Van Buren’s face was completely blank, apart from that big smile. Emily backed away and raised the club over her shoulder. Chelsea came towards her still, her arms wide as though she was making to hug her.
“Mrs. Van Buren. What’s going on? Where’s Mr. Van Buren?”
Chelsea Van Buren giggled again, and broke into a run. She ran at Emily and opened her mouth wide, baring her teeth. Emily swung. She felt the club’s heavy metal head hit the side of Chelsea Van Buren’s skull. There was a crunching sound.
But Chelsea Van Buren did not go down. Emily had expected her to fall to the ground with the side of her head caved in, but even the latter had not happened. There was no damage to the woman’s head at all. Emily ran. She turned and fled toward her door, but Chelsea caught up with her and grabbed her legs. Emily fell and twisted. She swung again with the stick, but Chelsea Van Buren was right on top of her. The razor-sharp teeth lowered to her neck. Emily beat at her with her fists and with the golf club. Desperately she tried to kick her off, but Chelsea was much stronger than she had ever thought she could be. Then the teeth were at her skin. The slightest touch of them drew her blood and she screamed.
There was a shot. Chelsea Van Buren’s head came up and then there was another shot. The bullets slammed into Chelsea’s body and made her shudder. They drew blood, but there were no visible wounds. But Chelsea jumped up. She was giggling again and stepped towards the new arrival with her arms widespread, like she wanted to hug the woman as well. The woman kept her pistol raised and fired again. Chelsea stopped and the pistol went off again. Chelsea’s smile disappeared and her shoulders slumped. Slowly she began backing away. The woman followed her and kept firing. Chelsea kept backing away too, until her legs hit the coffee table. It seemed to shock her and she shrieked, then turned and ran towards the window. She jumped, shattering the glass and fell down, her shriek disappearing. Something flew past them, blocking out the city lights for a second.
Emily scrambled up and looked at the woman who had just saved her.
“Thank you,” she stammered.
The woman waved a gloved hand and began reloading her weapon. She put the safety on and then clicked the release. She checked how many bullets were still in the magazine and then began slotting more bullets into it from an ammo pocket on her tactical vest. When it was topped up, she locked it back into the handle of the pistol. She holstered it and then offered her hand to Emily. Emily took the hand got to her feet. She noticed the woman who had just saved her wore all black and had very pale skin. The woman looked closely at the wound on her neck. She took off the glove of her left hand and ran the tips of her fingers along the wounds. Emily cringed at the touch of her fingers. Her skin was freezing cold.
“You’ll be fine,” she said. “You recognized that woman?”
Emily nodded.
“She looked like Chelsea Van Buren, but it wasn’t her.”
The woman in black nodded and looked at the broken window.
“You live next door?”
Emily nodded.
“Go take a shower; wash that wound out.” The woman looked into her eyes. There was something about her that was hypnotic. Emily felt herself go slightly weak. She just nodded and began walking back to her own place. Just outside the door, she turned and looked back at the woman in black. “What’s your name?”
The woman shook her head. “You already know too much. Best forget you even saw me.”
She watched the woman walk slowly, pensively to the elevator, her heels sounding on the marble of the hallway. The doors opened and the woman got in. She gave her a wry smile as she looked at Emily one last time and then the doors closed and she was gone.
***
Around nine o’clock, Veronica had returned. She looked tired and haggard, but she seemed to have the energy to take Rand to the bedroom again. There were no loud sounds of lovemaking this time and half an hour later they emerged again and she looked much better. Rand actually looked a bit gaunt, but an hour later he too looked quite normal again. She took off her black leather gloves and sat down on the couch next to me. The gloves were thrown onto the coffee table.
“Sorry,” she said. “I saw her, but she’s gone.”
There seemed to be regret in her voice, but her eyes were free of any emotion. For some reason I did not feel anything either. Instead, I was just glad this woman was seated beside me.
When I went to bed, I saw Veronica standing by the breakfast bar with Rand. They were talking, but I could not hear what they said. It looked serious, though. I could not get to sleep right away, and I heard them come up to the master bedroom. I heard their lovemaking again, but it did not take long. Soon I heard a pair of feet on the floorboards and a few minutes after that, the engine of the car firing up in the driveway.
By morning, I found Veronica standing in the kitchen, drinking what looked like a glass of tomato juice. Her face and neck were plastered with a thick layer of foundation that seemed to be sitting precariously on top of an even thicker layer of sunscreen. She pointed to the cornflakes and fruit on the table and then went to check on something outside. When I followed her after my sparse breakfast, I found the car was back, but Rand was nowhere to be seen. Veronica told me to grab my things and get in the car. I ran upstairs and grabbed the few underpants and the clean shirt she had bought for me and then came back to the car. She made me sit in the back and took the wheel. The engine roared into life and she backed us out.
The car climbed all day and I noticed after a while we started going down again. She drove fast, almost recklessly so, but we had no incident. By late afternoon, I saw the buildings of a big city show up. I guessed it was Sacramento.
On the outskirts of the city, we pulled up in the driveway of a mansion. It looked old, yet modernized. A woman came out to great us. She looked quite young, but I got the impression of her being much older than her face showed. I did not know where the impression came from, but she reminded me of my grandmother. She had the same dignified way of holding herself and of talking. She greeted me and guided me through the lobby and to a salon that could give any in New York a run for its money. I sat down on a plush sofa and looking around, I got the impression that this house was not usually lived in.
The woman introduced herself by the name Julia and she began asking me questions about what had taken place at the Pinewood Hotel. I told her all I could remember. Veronica came into the room towards the end of my tale, holding something that looked like a Bloody Mary. Sipping it, she sat down on a chair next to Julia. When I finished my story, Julia turned to Veronica.
“It doesn’t sound like anything I have ever heard of,” she said.
“Thought so already.”
“It was to be expected. She knows full well we can deal with almost anything that we know exists, so she created something that we are unfamiliar with.”
“And you’re confident this is about me?”
“Yes. I am. You know her, you know who she is, you know her weaknesses. You know where she’s from and how she got here. You know too much for her to ever feel safe while you are living. So you have to go.”
“But this is a lot of effort and a
lot of mayhem to cause just to get to me. She can just show up and try to shoot me.”
“You and I would do that. But she is neither you nor me; she has been shuffling these cards for a very long time now. She knows exactly how to draw you out onto her playing field and how to deal with you then. We just have to make sure she has no chance to wipe out all the Watchers.”
“You mean I’m on my own.”
“Yes, my dear. I’ll tell Rand to stay here in Sacramento as well. If things go wrong, he knows what to do. But I cannot risk him getting drawn into it too.”
Veronica looked like she would lash out, but in the end she just looked down and sighed. She drank her drink and looked straight at Julia.
“Can you guard him tonight? I want to go into town, blow off some steam.”
“Don’t do anything stupid.”
***
I was left with Julia.
She had the demeanor of a European gentlewoman, not of an American nouveau riche. She was from old money and old class. I could tell. I have met European nobles at different times throughout my life, mainly because of my father’s business relations and my mother’s ambitions in society. But I was happy to be spending time with her. Veronica had saved me, and for some reason, I liked her being near me, but Julia was a pleasant change as well. I felt safe around her too, for a reason I could not explain. I felt safe in a way that I had not felt with Rand. And Julia was cultured. She spoke eloquently of art and culture and she spoke of world affairs, something I had been completely divorced from for the past few weeks, as opposed to the quiet and rough Veronica.
***
The bar girl at the Gothic Underground club in Sacramento was confused when the blonde woman came up to her and asked her to hand a note to someone who would undoubtedly show up. She put the note into her bosom and pulled it out again instantly. The paper felt weird. Then she realized it was not paper, but a scrap of parchment. She looked at the woman in surprise, but she was hushed. The blonde woman told her who she would be looking for and was about to turn and go away. “Who should I say it’s from?” the bar girl asked.
The woman smiled back at her. “Tell her it’s from Ida, with love.”
She did not even think she would ever have to give anyone the message, but not long after the brief conversation, she saw the woman that Ida had described. She had wandered in and immediately scanned the bar, then beckoned for the attention of one particular bartender. The man took something from the fridge and poured it into the glass with a shot of vodka. He gave it to the dark woman and she gratefully took it. She began wandering around the club and the bar girl moved swiftly after her. When she caught up with her, she tapped the woman on the elbow.
“Excuse me.”
The woman glared at her.
“I was told to give you this,” she said quietly, digging the parchment from her bosom. “It’s from Ida.”
The woman grabbed the parchment in a flash. She folded it open and read the message. Then she crumpled up the message and made to throw it away. At the last moment, she changed her mind and pushed the crumpled parchment into a pocket of her long, black coat. She quickly finished her drink and then made her way outside.
Everything about the woman told the bar girl that something was afoot. She did not know what, but she knew she needed to follow her. She told her manager she was going outside for a smoke, grabbed her purse and made her way out back. She ran to the front of the building to pick up the woman’s trail. But she hadn’t even made it all the way to the front when she saw the woman walk through the alley beside the club and turn right. She turned another corner and then she was in the shadows of an apartment block. She stopped there, in the orange light of a street lamp. The girl followed her and came closer. She stopped beside a garbage container and waited there.
Another woman showed up. The bar girl recognized the woman who had given her the parchment.
“Ida Averbach,” the dark woman said.
“Veronica Melbourne,” the other woman answered.
They seemed to stare each other down. To the spying bar girl, they looked like exact opposites. One was dark and athletic, the other elegant and blonde. Yet there was a hardness about both of them. The girl watched them circle each other, wondering what would happen.
“Tell me why I shouldn’t shoot you right here and now?” Veronica asked, now facing the girl by the Dumpster. The other woman had her back to the girl, so she could not see her face.
“Because if you do, I will never tell you how to get rid of my very special creation.”
“Yeah, I met your special creation. Nice work.”
“Thanks, vampire girl. I did put many hours into the development of it.” There was a slight cackle from the woman.
The girl saw Veronica Melbourne snort. “Just now I was wondering whether I fell asleep in front of the television, with Cartoon Network on full blast. You seem like a cheesy cartoon villain.”
There was a chuckle.
“Cartoon villain! Alas, if I were, I could do so much more than I can. But I can do a lot of things for you, Miss Power Puff Girl.”
Veronica looked annoyed.
“What is it you want?” she snapped.
Another chuckle.
“I just wanted to see how you were getting on.”
Veronica went for her gun, but there was a flash. The girl screamed in shock and when she recovered her vision and looked over again, the elegant woman was gone. She heard Veronica swear and then she too was gone.
Chapter Three
“We stopped checking for monsters under our beds when we realized they were inside us.”
—The Joker, The Dark Knight, 2008.
I heard Veronica come back that evening.
She threw something and there was a loud crash. Then I heard what sounded like a heated discussion between her and Julia. But I could not overhear what they were saying. All I knew was that Veronica was in a foul mood the next morning. She bundled me back into the car and set off. She said nothing. She just drove off in silence. She would not explain anything to me, but I knew something had happened the previous night. About a mile down the road, she cursed loudly and pulled over on the side of the highway. Holding up her hands, she cursed even more viciously. I could see the skin on the back of them blistering and bubbling, but even as they boiled they seemed to be healing and in a few seconds, what had looked to me like third degree burns, were gone. She dug through the clutter in the front seat until she found her gloves and pulled them on before turning back out onto the road.
We drove into the country again, heading north. I did not know the area, but I could tell we were heading north since we kept the mountains to our right. I saw a sign saying Route 5 show up and then I began to drift into slumber. I woke up from time to time to find our car either speeding down the Interstate or trundling through another random small town in the shadows of the Sierra Nevada Mountains. Around midday, we stopped in the City of Redding. Veronica bullied me into a diner and told me to get something to eat. She needed to take care of some business herself.
I ordered a cheeseburger and a large Coke and sat down, wondering what business she would be attending to. I was still not sure what exactly we were doing or where we were going up until that point, but I was determined then to ask Veronica what was actually going on.
***
On the top floor of a small house close to the center of Redding, Amy Garcia plied her trade.
Every man and woman in the town knew where to find her and they knew exactly what they could expect from her. She started work around lunch time and entertained between one and three clients during the normal lunch time period and then she would rest and freshen herself up before receiving more clients after four o’clock. Often the rich and powerful of Northern California would pay for her time after six and some of them would even spend the night at her apartment.
She had always been the belle of the town. She was the perfect multicultural type, a Latino father who came from
generations of Spanish Californians, an Irish mother who was one of those rare beauties to come from The Kingdom. It had caused her to have a perfect skin tone and shining brown hair. Her body was the perfect hourglass shape and her breasts and bottom were perfect in size and shape.
In high school, she had always been passed over as homecoming queen; she simply had never been popular enough. But in college, she had found out she was very capable of using her demure nature to a greater effect than the popular girls had ever used their open sluttiness. She had learned there that she liked being with men, and the occasional woman. Moreover, she never made an advance that was refused and she had chosen to make a career out of that instead of using her degree in Environmental Studies.
The good people of the town of Redding did not seem to mind at all; in fact, she had become one of the most respected women there. She knew what she did and she was good at it. She knew everything that went on in Redding and she was careful about her clients. She had given some of the younger sons of the elite their first night of pleasure, and all of them – men and women, rich and poor, old and young – kept coming back to her for the special brand of comfort she offered.
That afternoon, she had no client names on her calendar and she figured she would spend an hour in her parlor and then do a little bit of shopping if nobody showed up. And nobody showed up. She began to feel extremely bored and sat down at her computer to read through the articles she got on her news stream. She always caught up with the news and the scientific developments when she was bored. She had a few RSS feeds of Silicon Valley bloggers in her stream too. Several of her clients made their living in Silicon Valley and had their country homes in the area, or would pass her house on their way to their homes in Oregon. She wanted to be up to date on the latest developments in those men’s businesses. Sometimes it would be the only thing they spoke about so at least she would be informed and then she would have to draw them out of their shell and make them interested in something other than gadgets.
