Brianna spins around toward him. “What was that, Mr. Briggs?” She leans over the witness railing placing herself closer to him, making a show of offering her ear.
He says nothing, simply eyes her menacingly.
She smirks, referencing their previous conversation about tattoos. “What’s the matter, Mr. Briggs? ‘Sweet little kitty cat’ got your tongue?”
Gina’s eyes mirror those of the man in the witness chair as her memory fades, releasing her back to the present. The prison gates of the Louisiana State Penitentiary are now in view. Aubrey pulls the earpieces of her MP3 player from her ears at the sight. She taps on the back of her seat, alerting Emily.
Emily jerks her head up from its resting position, abruptly relieved of her meditation, coming into full awareness of her surroundings, amped and ready. She and Aubrey share glances in Gina’s direction, both curious as to how she will handle coming face to face with the men who raped her and left her for dead, after killing her husband and her son.
Gina does not acknowledge their inquiring gazes, as she, too, is indecisive about how she will handle their presence. Logically, she understands she should stick to the plan and stay calm, sane. But will she be able to remain lucid looking into the eyes of Manny Briggs and ‘G-Lo’ Tulane, when instinctively every fiber of her being seems stretched to its limit with sheer madness, her only release instant and complete retribution?
Emily leans forward toward Gina’s seat, uncharacteristically supportive in her demeanor. “Just get them off the property, Gina. Then they’re all yours,” she promises, her voice low and smoldering.
CHAPTER 3
Emily Truly whips her 1969 black Mach 1 Mustang into the underground garage at the back of the compound nestled in the foothills of the rugged mountainous terrain. The metal door barricading her in and all trespassers out, automatically engages. Her thumbprint identified, the wall swiftly separates, allowing her access to the basement craftily constructed of iron and stone.
She makes her way hastily to the corner letting loose on a hundred-pound heavy bag that hangs from a mount firmly secured to a large beam in the ceiling. Her sequences of rapid-fire strikes and kicks, called ‘blitz’ training, serves its purpose in defusing her aggression. She works the bag over with a series of jabs, hooks and uppercuts before working up to knee strikes, front and roundhouse kicks. The sounds echoing off the basement walls are of solid punches and kicks accompanied by the rattling of the chain on which the bag pivots. Her controlled breathing becomes brisk and audible within seconds of her exertion.
The elevator dings as it arrives from the floor above. Dr. Patricia Ryan, followed by William Truly, step out of the metal box into the basement. Looking around, Dr. Ryan questions, “Where are Aubrey and Gina?”
Emily ignores her, continuing to fire away at the water-filled leather bag.
“That’s a good way to break your hands,” William Truly scolds, eyeing Emily’s hands free of tape and gloves, her knuckles raw and reddening with each strike. He positions himself behind the heavy bag, holding it still, attempting to lessen its recoil.
Emily strikes the bag harder now, requiring William Truly to post more firmly against it, some of the punches and kicks perfectly placed and with such force knocking him back.
“Where are they?” Dr. Ryan asks again her patience wearing thin.
Emily bends over, her palms resting on her knees catching her breath. “You tell me.” She gasps in and out attempting to replace the oxygen briefly depleted from her lungs.
“How should I know where they are? Last I knew they were in New Orleans with you,” Dr. Ryan scoffs, eyeing Emily’s right hand, bleeding at the knuckles. Pulling at the scarf perfectly accessorizing the neck of her sweater, she grabs Emily’s hand, wrapping the fabric tightly around it.
Emily jerks away, standing upright, her lungs fully functional once again. “Where are they? The men at the Louisiana State Pen? Briggs and Tulane?” Emily walks to the refrigerator, pulling out a bottle of water. “Are you playing games with her…Gina?” She holds the bottle to her lips, comforted by its saturation, before continuing, “That’s cruel, Mother, even for you.”
“You think I sent you girls on some wild goose chase? All this planning and preparing for nothing. You think that little of me?” Dr. Ryan argues, her feelings bruised.
“Now Tricia,” William Truly consoles using her nickname. “That’s not what Emily’s saying.”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” Emily pipes up. “You should’ve seen the look on her face when Aubrey and I came out of that place without Briggs and Tulane.” Emily slings the water bottle against the wall of the basement. “I have no loyalty to the woman, but a deal’s a deal. Do you know what you’ve done?” Emily paces, her hands fiercely gripping her hips. “You recruit Dr. Godfrey, bring the woman back from the dead, turn her into some Vigilare for your own intent and purpose. You’ve wrecked her life. You make her believe she’ll get her revenge on the men who killed her family. Then you pull the rug out from under her? What the hell is that?”
Dr. Ryan throws her hands up in the air, shaking her head. “I can’t listen to any more of this,” she says gravely, hurt by her daughter’s conclusions. She departs the basement, passing Dr. Gerald Godfrey who slowly makes his way down the stairs entering the cool, dark underground dwelling, reminiscent of a lair, a hideaway.
Emily watches Dr. Ryan walk away, feeling partly vindicated but mostly guilty.
“You know you have to make that right,” William Truly reprimands his daughter, eyeing her disappointedly.
Reluctantly she nods.
“Hitting the ol’ heavy bag, huh?” Dr. Godfrey acknowledges Emily, a proud smile displayed on his round face.
She gives him a weak smile, sliding down the wall conveniently located behind her. She lets her body relax until her legs bend beneath her, coming to rest on the concrete floor. Her arms crossed and resting over her knees, her mind spins.
William Truly grabs two chairs from the center of the room arranged around elaborate electronics. He positions the chairs in front of Emily, motioning to Dr. Godfrey to have a seat, as he nimbly settles into position.
Dr. Godfrey scans the chair, which with the exception of the shoulder harness and lap belt looks like your standard black leather, reclining office chair. He takes a seat cautiously, as if the contraption might buck him off.
“Start from the beginning,” William Truly directs, leaned forward in his chair, elbows resting on his knees, his hands pressed together and intensely rubbing one off the other as he engages Emily.
She lets out a sigh, then inhales deeply. “We were in New Orleans. Filled out all the paperwork, picked up the car and the uniforms, as planned. We had breakfast,” she explains her hands keeping perfect rhythm with her verbal cadence. “Then we drove to Angola, to the Pen, to pick up Briggs and Tulane. For their transfer,” she intones.
Dr. Godfrey listens to her testimony while intrigued by his chair. He has found a remote in the side pocket flap. Emily pauses briefly, scantly amused as she watches Dr. Godfrey study the remote, holding it at a distance peering over the tops of his glasses.
“We get past the guards at the main gate, no problem. They ID us, everything checks out. Gina stays outside with the car as planned. Aubrey and I go inside. That place is huge, by the way,” she diverges. “Took us nearly an hour to get to where we needed to be. Only to find out Briggs and Tulane had already been transferred.”
“By whom? To where?” William Truly questions.
“They couldn’t…or…wouldn’t tell us,” she answers.
“Whoa!” Dr. Godfrey exclaims, his chair suddenly thrusts back and vibrates, tipping from side to side.
William Truly jumps up out of his chair, eyeing it suspiciously.
“Hit the power button,” Emily instructs calmly.
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Dr. Godfrey attempts to study the remote in search of the power button to no avail, between his diminishing eyesight and the vibration and flinging movements of the chair. He starts to laugh, enjoying the ride.
“The red button,” Emily commands, beginning to chuckle herself.
William Truly grabs the remote from Dr. Godfrey, quickly halting the ride with one agitated push of the red button. The chair winds down, returning itself to a full upright and locked position. “Quit screwing around, Godfrey,” William Truly scoffs, securely tucking the remote control back into the side pocket of the chair.
Dr. Godfrey tidies his lab coat, wrinkling up his nose, pushing his glasses back to eye level. He chuckles. “That was most fun. I dare say I’ve never experienced a chair quite like this,” he continues, craning his neck, fully inspecting the exquisite object for which he has acquired a higher level of respect.
“More fun than Six Flags,” Emily confirms, a grin on her face, recalling the expression on Dr. Godfrey’s as he flailed about. “They’re motion simulators,” she answers the curiosity in the round-faced man’s reverent expression. “Helps us prepare for car chases, in-flight missions, the fun stuff.”
“Where are Aubrey and Gina?” William Truly stays on track.
“They wouldn’t come back with me,” she defends. “Dr. Ryan really screwed up this time. Gina won’t come back here. Not after this.” She shrugs aloofly. “Can’t say it hurts my feelings. Maybe Mother did us all a favor.”
Dr. Godfrey pulls the shoulder harnesses from the back of the chair, wrapping them around, securing them along with the lap belt. William Truly looks at him agitatedly. “Safety first,” Dr. Godfrey excuses, unable to restrain himself from the newfound gadget.
“You still haven’t told me where they are,” William Truly reiterates.
“New Orleans,” Emily responds blankly, her mind pulled to Gina’s reaction to the man on the street in the café that morning. “She said she had something to look into down there…Gina.”
“And she took Aubrey?”
Emily huffs. “She didn’t take Aubrey. Aubrey wouldn’t let her go by herself. Said it’s a great time to be in New Orleans anyway, what with all the Halloween…masquerade…vampire balls, or something like that. Hell, I don’t know.” She petulantly shakes her head. “All I know is, Gina said she was going to New Orleans.” Pushing off the wall, Emily stands.
“Ooh,” Dr. Godfrey emits, the chair heating and massaging his backside.
William Truly rolls his eyes. Emily smiles at him affectionately, a rare expression seemingly reserved for Dr. Godfrey and her father.
Dr. Godfrey hits another button and the chair spins him a rapid, full three hundred and sixty degrees. Emily chuckles as she passes him, headed for the stairs.
“You know your mother worked on the logistics of this assignment for months. Cost her a lot of time and money, Em.” William Truly strikes an emotional chord, using his moniker for her. “You think she really would have sent you girls there, knowing Briggs and Tulane were already transferred?”
Emily stops at the bottom of the stairs, still turned away from her father but listening.
“You go upstairs. I bet you’ll find her in her office working diligently, calling everyone she knows trying to get to the bottom of this.”
Emily turns around. “But it doesn’t make any sense. She contrived transfer papers for those men. They weren’t supposed to be transferred in the first place. The whole thing was made up. So, I find it hard to believe their actual transfer was some coincidence.”
“It’s anything but a coincidence, my dear,” Dr. Godfrey chimes in, taking a break from his tilt-a-whirl.
Emily looks at him, a pleased grin surfacing. His hair, what’s left of it, is disheveled, and his glasses rest cockeyed across the bridge of his nose.
Dr. Godfrey looks at her through one eye, then the other, her image clear at first, shifting to a blurry lump with only one lens in place. As his chair returns to its stationary position, he reassembles himself, patting at his hair and adjusting his spectacles. “You’re a smart girl. In your heart, you know Dr. Ryan…your mother…would not set you up. But who would set her up? Waiting until the most precise moment to do so?”
William Truly’s ears perk. Emily thinks momentarily, half-heartedly, coming up with nothing. She shrugs.
“At the ravine. Months ago. The bus wreck. Who came for Vigilare…Gina?” Dr. Godfrey leads.
The episode plays like snapshots in Emily’s mind–landing the chopper, jumping into the ravine, seeing Gina underwater, electric prods rendering her powerless, and the man holding the controls. “Dr. Shaw,” she whispers. “But he’s dead. I watched Gina…Vigilare…whatever,” she shakes her head. “I watched her force those spikes from her body, aiming them and connecting with Dr. Shaw. The tines sparkled emerald green. Remember? He fried,” she concludes.
“Dr. Shaw may very well be dead, but…”
“ETNA is alive and well,” William Truly finishes Dr. Godfrey’s sentence disparagingly.
“Bingo!” Dr. Godfrey confirms.
“Okay,” Emily explores cautiously. “So, say ETNA sweeps in and takes Briggs and Tulane out from under us. Why? To get back at Dr. Ryan?” she asks disbelieving. “There’s got to be more. What the hell is ETNA going to do with them now that they have them?”
“Wouldn’t be the first time inmates were used as guinea pigs,” Dr. Godfrey says.
“Guinea pigs?” William Truly contemplates.
“Dr. Shaw stockpiled Gina’s blood. ETNA probably has access to that blood. They wouldn’t,” Emily quickly connects the dots, her breathing hastily picking up pace with each revelation. “Dr. Ryan!” she calls distressed, running up the stairs.
Dr. Godfrey watches her, a grin on his face.
“What are you smiling about?” William Truly grumbles, headed for the stairway.
“Didn’t take her long at all. You’ve got a real smart cookie there,” he beams.
“Takes after her mother,” William Truly confirms. “Aren’t you coming? We better get something figured out.”
“Momentarily,” Dr. Godfrey says, patting the chair. “Never know when a little simulation might come in handy.”
William Truly shakes his head turning to the electronic station. “Here.” He plunks a helmet onto the head of Dr. Godfrey. “Safety first,” he quips.
The helmet is complete with a built-in virtual reality screen. “Ooh,” Dr. Godfrey exclaims as he finds himself at the controls of a red Kawasaki Ninja ZX-14 motorcycle. He grips the virtual accelerator on the handle bar. With a twist of his wrist, VROOM! VROOM! blares from the speakers in his helmet. “Fascinating,” he concludes.
William Truly starts up the stairs shaking his head, a grin surfacing on his lips quickly morphs into a quiet chuckle at the Oohs, Ahs, Whoa’s and Oh No’s! emitted in Dr. Godfrey’s indulgent and exasperated tone.
CHAPTER 4
“We look ridiculous,” Gina sputters, self-consciously running her tongue over the protruding, blood-tipped vampire fangs uncomfortably attached to her canines.
“Oh, lighten up,” Aubrey orders, gently whacking the back of her hand off Gina’s abdomen, as they walk the cobblestone street of New Orleans’ French Quarter.
“Light being the operative word,” Gina groans. “I feel like I’m about to faint.” She pulls at the stifling, metallic corset with leather trim Aubrey stuffed her into. “Tell me again why I couldn’t just wear my street clothes with a mask.”
“It’s a masquerade ball, Gina.”
“Exactly! Wouldn’t a simple masque,” Gina emphasizes, “suffice?” She adjusts the petite crimson disguise secured to her face, perfectly matching her lip shade. Gina eyes Aubrey, her blonde hair covered by a dark black wig, bangs coming to a point at the center of he
r forehead. Her face pale with powder, fully highlights her severe, black eye makeup and matching lips. “Where’s your mask?”
“You don’t literally have to wear a mask to disguise yourself,” Aubrey replies flippantly. “Trust me, no one is going to be looking at our faces.” She giggles, glancing down at her bountiful harvest, then to Gina’s secured by her bustier.
“Why’d I let you talk me out of the Joan of Arc costume?” Gina grumbles.
They round the corner, approaching the Wyndham Hotel, host to the extravagant affair. “You said you’re searching for answers,” Aubrey points out. “Trust me, whoever said ‘you catch more flies with honey’ knew exactly what she was talking about.” Aubrey giggles, taking Gina’s hand as she finagles their way through the VIP line. “See, it’s working already.”
As they enter the hotel foyer, the scene is right out of Wonderland. Swarovski crystal-trimmed chandeliers hang high above perfectly crafted, lifelike ice sculptures. People parade in lavish costumes sporting exotic Venetian masks of assorted colors. Others are handmade, elaborate undertakings, displaying elegant and vibrant shades of real feathers, peacock plumes and sequins. An orchestra plays at the bandstand, where couples gather to dance, each seemingly taking up fifty square feet of space with the size and grandiosity of their costumes.
Blackjack and roulette tables line the corridors, where men and women alike sip large, colorful cocktails and puff on fat cigars. At plentiful intermittent food stations, decadent chocolate billows out of fountains surrounded by luscious strawberries and sparkling champagne. Super-fit waiters and waitresses, garbed in scant, flowing white togas accompanied by gold jewelry and headdresses, glide about the room, skin bronzed and glowing, tending to the comforts of guests.
“This is so not my crowd,” Gina confesses, turning away and looking for a quick exit. A hand laces around her wrist from behind. Instinctively she pivots, easily breaking the grip, her body language defensive and prepared to counter-move.
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