The Angel & the Brown-eyed Boy

by Sandy Nathan

  “Do you know what that means?”

  “You can do anything you want to me, however you want. If I disappear, no one will ask about me.”

  “Good. You understand. You tell me everything you know and we’ll be finished here. Tell me everything, even things you don’t think are important. If I’m not satisfied, I’ll take you to headquarters and get what I want where no one can see.”

  “I understand perfectly.”

  “What about the kid you killed?”

  “She arrived yesterday by herself. She was supposed to be on the plane that... was delayed in Russia.”

  “Was there anything unusual about her?”

  “She didn’t speak the language, not just English, but Russian. I can speak Russian; she didn’t understand me. Her mother and chaperone and the man from the embassy weren’t with her. She had no baggage, just a strange outfit. She looked like a waif with silver eyes.”

  “Why did you take her in?”

  “She was wearing ballet slippers, pointe shoes. She looked the dancer, in every way.”

  Madeleine shrugged. “Look around this place. The school is doing so badly that we claw at any chance to keep a roof over our heads. I am head of the dance program. I jumped when I saw her. Maybe she would be good enough to keep the program going another year. To attract the eyes of reviewers, you know?”

  Val did know. The star that could justify it all. She had been that star in her “father’s” stable. She was the star in her current position. “Did she ever dance? Was she any good?”

  “Oh, my God, did she! She was the best dancer I have ever seen. Boys from the film department taped her dancing. I looked forward to this afternoon class with excitement. I wanted to see how she performed in the structure of a class setting.”

  “And how did she?”

  “She acted as though she had never been in a ballet studio before. She insisted on doing her own routines—and the other girls followed her. When students don’t follow my direction, I discipline them.”

  Val’s pupils narrowed and her nostrils flared. “How do you discipline them?”

  “I make them dance after the others have gone.”

  “Dance?”

  “I make them dance until they fall on the ground and scream for mercy.” Mercier sat up straighter and looked into Val’s eyes. “And, sometimes, if they will not obey, if they will not give themselves over to my direction, I use the crop on them.”

  “How much? Where?” Flushed patches appeared on Val’s cheeks. Her lips parted.

  “I hit their buttocks, for as long as I want. It’s a technique my teachers showed me in ballet school. It works.”

  “Did you tell anyone about it?”

  “No. I was discreet. Aside from the girls themselves, the only one who knows is Richard.”

  “Richard?”

  “My premier danseur. I was hoping that the Russian girl would complement him. If the little fool had shown her ability in my class, she’d be with him now, rolling in his suite.”

  Val sat back at that revelation. She studied the other woman. “Do you fuck him?”

  “As often as possible. He’s wonderful.” The older woman looked at her, unapologetic.

  Val smiled broadly. This interview was taking a too-delicious turn.

  “How old his he?”

  “Eighteen, almost. Going on forty. He’s six feet tall, and broad in the chest. Do you intend to report me?”

  Val shook her head. “I’m here to investigate a breach of federal security and possible treason. Can you see the girl you killed doing either?”

  “No. If she could do anything, it was dance, and she didn’t have the self-control to succeed at that. She acted like a visitor from outer space.”

  This got Val’s attention. They’d had indications of greater activity from space. The government would be most interested in a creature from outer space—or her remains.

  “Good, we’ll get a team in to examine the remains immediately.” She spoke into the mike on her shoulder, “I need a medical team, STAT. Possible extraterrestrial. Yes, you heard that right.” To Madame Mercier, “Do you have any evidence that she might be an alien?”

  “I haven’t seen enough of her. She went home with Henry, the gatekeeper. She stayed with him and his wife. I thought it safer.”

  “Detain Henry... the gatekeeper,” Val snapped into her mike. “Detain him, now.”

  “Val, we can’t find Henry,” Will spoke through her receiver. “He was here when we came in. When the police went to get him, he was gone.”

  “Where is he?!” Val demanded of Madame Mercier.

  “I don’t know. At home, probably. The office will have his address.”

  “Dispatch units to the gatekeeper’s home. I want him alive. Repeat: I want him alive...”

  “He has a wife, too. Lena,” Mercier said. “Her work address will be on file.”

  “Get Henry and his wife, Lena. I want them alive.”

  13

  She was floating in darkness, unaware of her body. It was a friendly, full darkness. She heard chirping sounds around her. Others were nearby. It was a familiar place, though she couldn’t recall having been there before.

  Then she understood: this was where her kind went when life was too frightening or painful to bear. Her body looked as dead as the dead báslikay she had once seen. No one could sense her heartbeat or breathing. Nothing could reach her where she was. No pain, no fear.

  Whatever was around her told her this in the wordless way she’d known before learning English. Her real people were around her.

  Eliana had known that she was not from the golden planet for a long time. She wasn’t burnished yellow and beautiful, and she wasn’t very smart like the grown-ups. Her skin was soft and rosy. She blushed when embarrassed, the only one who did. She had stuff growing on her head. Hair, in English. If her mother didn’t cut it, it curled into clumps.

  Her mother told her that she had come from another planet long ago. She said, “You are mine, Eliana. I brought you here so that you could have a better life. I will keep you safe and take care of you. You are my child.”

  She couldn’t remember coming to the golden planet. Sometimes when she was going to sleep, she saw flashes of light like explosions. Something grabbed her and she was afraid. Then her mother’s arms were around her, her soft gold skin cuddling her tight. Her mother was always there. Eliana understood that she wasn’t quite a person, but her mother loved her anyway.

  The love she had for her mother and the golden people was different from what she felt now. As much as she loved them, she wasn’t the same as them. Whatever was in the darkness with her was as much part of her as her bones. These were her real people, and the quiet and stillness were natural.

  Why hadn’t the golden people told her what might happen when they got her ready for her job? She realized they didn’t know enough about her kind to tell her. They’d never seen her leave her body. The golden world had no violence. It never had.

  Still, Eliana knew something very bad had happened to her and worse things would happen if she didn’t leave. Her eyes opened and she was alert, jumping to her feet. She looked around the studio frantically.

  A door on the far end of the room called to her. She started toward it, then remembered her coat. She had to have it. The girl ran to the bench where Madame had thrown it and stuck a hand in the pocket, pulling out the piece of paper. It said, “Find the Golden Boy,” as it had since she had arrived at the school. She grabbed the coat and ran to the far door. A few steps of trying to run in her clumsy shoes had her en pointe and flying across the studio.

  Opening the door slowly, she peered down the hallway. Light poured from a doorway down the hall. She crept toward the light as carefully and quietly as she could in her shoes.

  “Hey, babe! I’ve been waiting for you!” He swung from the top of the doorframe, hanging by his fingers. He was naked to the waist. Light blasted from the room behind him. His hair fell around hi
s face in golden ringlets and the light made them glow. He was beautiful. The Golden Boy, she thought.

  Tufts of hair stuck out under his arms. His face and chest were covered with disgusting wetness. He stank of something she didn’t recognize.

  “I thought you’d be here ages ago.” He backed off so she could enter. He quickly shut and locked the door. “Keeps the girls out. We don’t want them to come in here while we’re busy.” He reached for a square bottle of clear liquid that sat on a wooden bench. He gulped it greedily and spilled some down his face.

  “Sorry, babe. I started the party early.” He laughed and shoved the bottle toward her. “Vodka. That’s what you Russians like, isn’t it?” She recoiled. “OK, if you don’t drink, we can smoke dope. Drop some acid. Do X. I got a whole pharmacy.” He waved at a bank of tall metal boxes.

  She looked around quickly, hoping to find a way out. Lots of the metal boxes ringed the room. There was a small dance studio with a long pole like Madame used in her class. The wall next to it was covered with mirrors. Another area held large metal wheels with a pole in between them. The pole rested on a rack over a bench. Smaller circles with rods between sat in pairs around the room.

  “That’s my gym. One of the perks of being the best danseur in the school. My own pad, and my own studio and gym. I lift those babies. You didn’t think I got these doing ballet, did you?” He pointed to his bare chest, making the muscles across it jump up and down. “Massive, huh?” He turned around and showed her his back. The muscles fanned upward from his waist like a V. He was disgusting. Her face screwed up in revulsion.

  “Wait, babe. Look at this.” He lay down on the bench under the stand holding the heavy wheels on the bar. Taking a deep breath, he hoisted the bar off its stand and held it in the air. He held it until moisture burst from his forehead and chest. Then he slowly lowered the bar until it almost touched his chest. After that, he raised it in the air again, arms and body shaking and water dropping all over the floor. He put the wheels and bar back on their stand and sat up.

  “What do you think of that? I can press 250 and I’m only seventeen. Can you imagine what I’ll look like when I’m twenty?” He put his arms over his head and flexed his biceps. “See? I’m not just a pencil-necked dancer.” He looked at her in a way she didn’t like, eyes traveling up and down. “It’s not all from steroids, either—I won’t have any trouble doing you. Don’t worry.”

  Her eyes widened at his tone and she stepped back, about to run for the door.

  “Wait a minute, baby. Madeleine says she wants me to teach you what you need to know. I thought you’d already know everything, like the other Russian babes. But you don’t, do you? Are you a virgin?”

  He looked like he might devour her. She turned toward the door.

  “Don’t worry, honey, I’ll be nice. You’ll love it.”

  She ran for the door. He grabbed her around the waist and hauled her toward the center of the room.

  “No, babe. You don’t get it. It’s you and me time. You don’t leave until you do everything I tell you to do. Everything. Madame M will want a full report. Do you understand?” He held her to his stinking, wet body.

  Something was pushing against her belly. She looked down.

  “Yeah. The Golden Boy. What they all want. Want to see it?” He yanked his pants out of the heavy belt he wore around his waist and pulled them down. She gasped. Something stuck out of his body, the most horrifying thing she’d ever seen. She struggled, but couldn’t get away.

  “Yeah. That’s the big boy. Pretty impressive, huh? You’re going to love it. How do you want it, baby? Front, back, or suck my dick?” He was rough, pushing her toward the bed. “Because, sugar lips, I know that big Mama Mercier thinks you’re the hottest thing since shit. You’re the top dancer in the school now, not me. So you’re going to get what you deserve, you stinking bitch. No one takes my place.”

  He shoved her into the metal boxes. She hit them and bounced; her shoulders hurt and she felt stunned. He pushed her against the hard boxes. “This is fine for a start.” He held her wrists in one hand and shoved his forearm against her throat.

  His other hand felt between her legs. He cursed. “Where is it?” He finally found what he wanted and shoved his fingers in, hard. “Do you like it, baby? Does that feel good?” He rotated his fingers and she shrieked. That made him laugh. He bent his knees and fumbled against her with the big thing.

  Her eyes rolled back; she was about to leave her body again. As she lost consciousness, she saw a wavy impression of sharp white teeth filling the room above them. Long, flowing hair. Ferocious eyes. A snarl bounced off the lockers.

  “Wha—” Richard looked up. Massive jaws closed on the back of his head. She heard crunching sounds. He was dead, she knew. She wanted to weep for what happened, but a voice in her mind said, “Run. I’ll guard you.”

  She grabbed her coat and ran out the door. There was only one way she could go, toward the end of the pitch-black hallway. She could hear growls and snarls from the room she had left. Something was knocking over the metal boxes and banging them around. She heard the mirror smash. The lights in the room went out.

  “Shaq,” she whispered.

  Eliana knew she was in danger. If she went back to the dancing room, Madame would hit her again. The only way out was down the black hallway away from the dance studio. She entered the corridor, turning left into the darkness. She extended her hands in front of her, but it was so dark that she couldn’t see them. She felt her way along. Her hands told her that one side of the corridor had no doors; the other side, the side Richard’s room was on, had lots of doors. They promised places to hide, but she knew instinctively that they were traps. If she went in one of those doors and hid, she’d be found.

  The way out was at the end of the hall. She felt her way, hoping to find the rear wall. She felt for a light switch or a door. She could find neither. Finally, her hands struck the end wall. She turned to her left and lightly touched the surface. An indentation a door.

  There! She found the handle. She shook it, trying to remember how the humans opened doors.

  The door flew open. Arms reached out of the blackness and pulled her in. A hand covered her mouth. “Don’t make a sound,” a voice commanded. She was pulled inward and heard the door lock behind her. Everything was black.

  “Be quiet!” The voice was rough.

  Her eyes rolled back and she disappeared into unconsciousness.

  14

  Val stalked into the dance studio, gun held before her with both hands. Her team flanked her, with Mercier somewhere behind them. The practice room was empty.

  “Stand down,” Val barked and turned to the teacher. “Where is she?”

  “I have no idea. She was there,” she said, pointing at the spot.

  Val scanned the room. Empty. She saw the bank of windows to the left, the grand piano at the far end, the door to its right. A ballet studio in an old school. Unremarkable, except for one thing.

  “This is a new room.” Except for the wooden floor and windows, the room was new cement. The edges and corners of the poured concrete were crisp, not showing any of the aging that a building this old would exhibit.

  “Yes,” Madame Mercier replied. “A few years ago, maybe five or six, the trustees received a gift from a benefactor.”

  “Who?”

  “Mrs. Edgarton. She’s on the board.”

  Val’s eyes narrowed. Everyone knew Mrs. Edgarton. She practically ran the country. She only slept with men richer and more famous than herself. That left the general, President Charles, and the tsar.

  “Mrs. Edgarton funded a redo of the school?”

  “Just the basement and foundation and some structural supports. The theatre was refurbished, as was this studio, and the offices and practice rooms behind that door. She redid the electrical system, as well.”

  “Why?”

  “The school was about to be condemned. The basement was crumbling; the building could collapse
. The electrical system could have burned the place down. It had to be done.”

  “The girl must have come to and run away through that door,” Val said. “Unless something came out and dragged her back there.”

  “Richard is the only one back there. He wouldn’t hurt anyone.”

  “We’ll see.” Val raised her weapon and nodded to her men. “Follow me.”

  The team reached the doorway at the end of the room and opened it. The hallway was absolutely black. They shot their high-intensity flashlight beams down it and could see nothing.

  “Let’s go in,” Val ordered.

  “Richard’s room is up there,” Madame Mercier called from the rear of the column.

  They found a door with the top glass panel blown out. “That’s his room,” Mercier shouted. Val motioned the agents to enter. They had flak jackets, flashlights, and enough weaponry to subdue anything.

  “Holy shit!” That was Will. “Jesus, what a mess.”

  Val moved quickly through the door and shone her light inside. Her nose wrinkled. Few people knew how badly the contents of human intestines smelled when ripped open. She stepped over a severed leg. Muscle and skin, guts and their contents, and pieces of the body were thrown all over. The floor was slippery with blood. Lockers were tossed around as though a giant had been playing with them. A barbell loaded with weights was imbedded in the wall.

  “Here’s his head,” Will said from behind some downed lockers. “Oh, my God.”

  That kid Richard had been shredded by something that hated him very much.

  “Madame Mercier... stop, don’t come in.”

  But she had already entered the room and was standing beside the head of her favorite student and lover. It looked like it had been gnawed and partially consumed.

  “Oh.” She held one hand to her throat for an instant. “Richard. Who did this to you?” She bent over his ruined head.

  Val moved back to the room’s door and spoke into her walkie-talkie, leaving the other woman to her grief. “We need reinforcements. Full backup. This is Code Red. Repeat: Code Red. We have an act of terrorism.”