Jezebel

by K Larsen

  “What makes you excited like that?” she asked.

  He set his fork down and looked to her. “My work used to. And your mother, I guess.” He looked out the window behind her. “Coffee in the morning, concerts, that music you refer to as ‘bad’ eighties music, and well . . . you my love.”

  Annabelle smiled at her dad and tried to think of ways she could make any of that happen for him. Coffee was easy enough but maybe they could catch a concert down on the mall together before summer ended.

  “I love you,” she said.

  “Love you too,” he answered.

  ~***~

  Annabelle all but ran into Jezebel’s room. “Piercing or tattoo?” Annabelle asked Jezebel. She had wanted a tattoo for a while now and was excited that her plan for their afternoon seemed flawless.

  “What? Neither,” Jezebel answered wrinkling her nose up.

  “You have to pick one,” she said.

  “Why? If this is that drastic something-or-other you saddled me with upon leaving last week, I’m out.”

  “Come on! I have a surprise for you,” she said, still standing in the doorway.

  “I think not, tiger.” Jezebel chuckled.

  “Put shoes on. I’m busting you out of this place for a bit.”

  “Sugar, you don’t have the authority, or a license . . . or a car. And I am not hoofing it.” Jezebel laughed and stuck her chin out stubbornly.

  “Put your shoes on or I will do it for you,” she commanded. Jezebel looked at her, arms crossed over her chest, nostrils flaring.

  “Make me.”

  Annabelle smirked. She knew it would be a task to make Jezebel do anything but she was prepared.

  “Fine,” she said. Annabelle marched to the woman and kneeled at her feet. Reaching under her chair she pulled Jezebel’s sneakers out and started to shove one onto her foot. Jezebel swatted her hands away.

  “Oh good grief! You’re serious! Back away before you snap my foot off with that brute force of yours,” Jezebel complained and snatched her sneakers up. “This better be damned good,” she grumbled as she tied her sneakers and stood.

  “I promise. It will be great.”

  They walked together hand in hand through the common room and out the back door into the gardens. From there, Annabelle led them down a path that rounded the side of the building and came out into the employee parking lot.

  “Where exactly are we going?” Jezebel asked, looking around.

  “To that truck,” she said, pointing at Mark’s enormous truck.

  “Jesus! Is that beast yours?” she asked wide-eyed.

  Annabelle laughed and tugged her along. “Nope, it’s Mark’s.”

  “Does Mark know you’re stealing his truck?”

  “Borrowing and no. Come on Jez, just . . . roll with it,” she urged. She pulled open the passenger side door and waited expectantly. “Please?”

  “You’re stealing your boyfriend’s truck, you don’t have a license and are serving probation, which includes spending time with me, and you want me to approve of this?” Jezebel asked cocking her head to the side.

  “Yup.”

  “Fine. But I’m driving,” Jezebel stated. Annabelle squealed with delight and tossed the keys to her. She climbed up into the passenger seat and watched Jezebel round the hood and open the driver’s side door.

  Watching Jezebel try to navigate Mark’s giant truck was amusing. She fumbled for the directional signals and the wiper blades went into a frenzy. Annabelle laughed and directed her where to go. By the time they pulled into the strip mall parking lot Jezebel was a frazzled mess.

  “Okay,” Jezebel said as she put the truck in park. “Where to?” she huffed.

  Annabelle pointed out the windshield in front of them to Hallowed Ground. “There,” she said.

  “What the hell is Hallowed Ground?” Jezebel asked, her face a mask of disdain.

  “Come on old fart,” Annabelle chuckled as she unclasped her seatbelt and threw her door open. Jezebel followed suit.

  “Here’s the deal,” she started, “I’ve decided that you’re getting a nose piercing today. I’m going to get a tattoo and while they’re doing it, you tell me more of the story.”

  Jezebel stopped dead in her tracks. “I am not getting anything pierced.”

  “Oh yes, you are.” Annabelle tugged on her arm and pulled Jezebel through the entrance to the shop. She watched as Jezebel took in her surroundings, the heavy death metal blaring in the background, the employees covered in tattoos and the smell of antiseptic. “Come on,” Annabelle said.

  Jezebel made a face and stood motionless as Annabelle talked with Chad, the owner, about what she wanted done: a small nautical compass. A reminder to always let the universe lead her in the right direction. A reminder that even when things weren’t perfect, perfection could thrive. A reminder of Mark. In the depths of her heart she knew she would need the reminder of him. Of their time. That it was meaningful and right and pure. The tattoo would be small and tasteful on the inside of her wrist. Once she was set, she instructed Chad to sit Jezebel down and pierce her nose. Annabelle picked out a tiny diamond stud and after inspecting it and asking Chad a zillion questions Jezebel gave in with a great sigh.

  Annabelle had been prepped and was anxiously waiting for Chad to start as Jezebel stood before the shop mirror examining her new piercing.

  “It’s not terrible,” Jezebel said resolutely.

  “It’s sick.”

  “What?”

  “Sick . . . cool . . . it looks good,” Annabelle explained. “Now would you please distract me while this guy stabs me a thousand times over?” she asked.

  Jezebel grinned and took a seat on a small stool next to her free hand. She picked it up and held on to it as the needle started buzzing.

  “I think this entire trip is hogwash, you know. But I’m stuck here now. Paris, nineteen ninety-four,” she started.

  Chapter 40

  Celeste

  Paris 1994

  May

  Celeste brushed her teeth and examined herself in the mirror. She was thirty, and it was evident by the faint lines starting at the corners of her eyes. She thought it unfair that on Gabriel they made him more handsome, yet on her they made it appear she was tired. Spitting and rinsing she set her toothbrush aside and tugged her dress over her head before slipping on her heels.

  The sun shone brilliantly, and the warm color of the late Spring day seemed offensively bright and cheerful. It was as if the heavens conspired to show her how the world would go on without him while she thought everything should be as grey and foggy as her emotions. Cold and damp with silent air. But the birds still sang and the flowers still bloomed.

  She walked through the churchyard and into the church, arm hooked to Gabriel’s elbow, like a silhouette of herself. She wished she really was as insubstantial as shadows so that her insides might not feel so mangled. As she took a pew near the front and long held back tears began to flow. Matteo sat to her left and Gabriel to her right. Matteo clutched her hand and waited in silent grief for the start of the funeral service.

  Struggling to hold back sorrow, tears flowed steadily, silently down all the immobile faces surrounding her. At the end of the service Celeste felt bruised inside, numb, empty as she walked behind a mahogany coffin, saying goodbye with everyone else who so dearly loved Dr. B.

  “Although he is gone already, the soul, unwilling to acknowledge the finality of death, never to look upon his face again or feel his embrace, see the warmth in his eyes, be surrounded by his love.” Words from the Minister were heartfelt.

  The speech brought a fresh onslaught of tears from the small crowd. Everyone stood in black as dusky white roses were placed on the casket one by one. Celeste watched it being lowered into the grave through tear-stained eyes.

  After the funeral everyone gathered at the estate for food and drinks and quiet stories of Dr. B’s benevolence. Celeste wandered through the small groupings of people offering condolences as
well as receiving them. Matteo, every so often, would catch her eye and offer her a small smile. She wiped more tears from her eyes than she thought possible. She listened to story after story after story of Dr. B’s goodwill and generosity and her heart swelled knowing that she came from such good stock. Matteo let her cling to him when she needed a break and she let him disappear outside to smoke without nagging him on the terrible habit.

  Only one person looked as if he’d enjoyed the day’s events. Gabriel rocked onto his heels, hands tucked in his pockets, smiling like a man who had just had his fill at a fine restaurant and had savored every last mouthful. It irked Celeste that he could be so jovial while the world seemed to crumble around her. She’d yet to tell him of her parents or of Dr. B’s will. She wasn’t sure why she held back. It was just too much to fight all at once. Maybe it was simply self-perseverance. She knew the path to a solid marriage was founded on truth. She knew that. But she hadn’t lied-yet. She’d just not had the right moment to explain.

  She watched Gabriel’s smile with a scowl on her face. He had been eating and drinking all day while she had been crying and using up tissues. Matteo stepped to her left and smiled half-heartedly at her before noticing what she was looking at. He kept smiling, but it looked strained as he took in Gabriel’s indifferent aura.

  “Cece, are you alright?” he asked.

  She turned to Matteo and looked him in the eyes. “No. I don’t think I am.”

  Chapter 41

  Annabelle

  “Everything was clean and pretty and safe for you and me. The worst of enemies became the best of friends.”

  ~ Tick Tock, Stevie Ray Vaughn

  “We have to hurry!” Annabelle shrieked as they ran from the shop. “Mark will kill me if he finds out I took the truck.” Annabelle and Jezebel looked like quite the pair sprinting to the truck and jumping in. This time Annabelle drove—they didn’t have enough time to be cautious.

  “Child! You’re going to kill us!” Jezebel squawked as Annabelle took the turn into Glenview’s parking lot at thirty miles per hour.

  “Shhh!” Annabelle scolded. Throwing the truck in park, she hopped out and scooted around the hood to help Jezebel down. She locked the doors and hurried them along the path through the back garden until they made it to the common room. Looking around Annabelle hurried Jezebel back to her suite. The second they were seated she let out a great sigh.

  “You’re a badass,” Jezebel said and licked her lips.

  “No way, you’re the old fart with a nose piercing!” Annabelle retorted and grinned.

  Jezebel touched her nose gingerly and smirked. “Yes. I am.”

  ~***~

  Annabelle lay on Mark’s bed face up. “God . . ..” Mark’s lips on her silenced her. He slowly, gently kissed her breathless. Her mouth . . . her neck . . . her collarbone and chest received nearly five full minutes of attention. It was beautiful torture. Mark slid his hand down the center of Annabelle’s chest, over her stomach, creeping ever lower. His hands and mouth roamed over every inch of her . . . except for the inches she most needed kissed, most desperately desired touched. Annabelle raised her hips, seeking some sort of pleasure but feeling nothing but renewed pressure in her belly.

  “You’re going to kill me,” she breathed.

  “I think you exaggerate,” he chuckled into her belly. “You should really get going.”

  “No,” she whined and popped her head up to see him.

  “Annabelle, your father will kill me,” he said, giving her an authoritative look.

  She pushed his hair from his forehead and looked at him. “No, he won’t. I told him I was staying here tonight.”

  “What?” he asked.

  “He wasn’t exactly pleased, but I’m not a child anymore. He didn’t have much choice other than to remind me to stay safe.” She laughed, recalling the embarrassing talk her father tried to give her before she left. Little did he know, she’d had the talk years before with Madison’s mother.

  “Hmm,” he started, sliding his hands over her inner thighs, massaging them, running his fingers to the very edge of her painfully aroused center before pulling away again. “I suppose I’ll keep you then.” Mark kissed her rib cage, her stomach, lower and lower, until his mouth was only an inch away from where she so desperately wanted him to kiss. She blocked out the thoughts that their time together was dwindling and threw herself into the physical sensations he was offering up.

  ~***~

  Jezebel handed Annabelle a flat rectangular gift. “What is this?” she asked.

  “It’s a graduation present—a little late,” Jezebel answered.

  Annabelle smiled and ripped open the paper to find the book Oh The Places You’ll Go. She looked up to Jezebel, “Thank you,” she said.

  “Don’t give me that face—I know your reading level is above Dr. Seuss, but that book is a goldmine of wisdom,” Jezebel said.

  “Oh really?”

  “Yes really—it’s speaks to the importance of seizing new opportunities, keeping an open mind, trying new things, taking chances and pushing beyond your comfort zone.”

  “I’m sure it will be riveting,” Annabelle deadpanned.

  “Ahh, there’s my little shithead,” Jezebel smirked. Annabelle laughed and flipped through the pages. She stopped when she saw the inscription from Jezebel.

  Oh the places you’ll go darling, never forget the strength you possess.

  I have the utmost faith that your life will be anything but bland.

  Seize the day, my dear Annabelle, and find your happiness—a great life awaits you.—-Jezebel

  “It’s great Jezebel, thank you. Really,” she said sincerely.

  “I’m aware . . . now, there is a lot to fit into this week’s story because you hijacked our last visit.”

  “Don’t let me keep you,” Annabelle said sarcastically.

  “I won’t. Paris, nineteen ninety-four,” Jezebel said.

  Chapter 42

  Celeste

  Paris 1994

  May

  Celeste looked around. Small aging chandeliers hung from hooks. The dim bulb overhead cast broken light over the dusty attic. She knew she was being shamefully nosy but she couldn’t stop herself from opening some as she sorted through the contents of dozens of boxes. As she sorted she set aside the ones willed to others with a green dot sticker so Matteo could carry them downstairs later.

  “Crap,” she grumbled at the box she hefted up only to have the bottom drop out of it. Papers scattered across the floor. She knelt to retrieve them all.

  FILE: CLASSIFIED

  PROJECT: TKDM, CIA

  DRUG: Zemtranium besylate

  Celeste furrowed her brows. What was she looking at? She picked another paper up from the floor.

  Targeting: Short range

  Transmission and Reception: Foreign production; Human trials

  Purpose: fjidfjidjfijdfijosdfjiosdjfoisjfiodjfozidvjzidhozidgh

  Effects: sdhfosdjhofkhoisdoijoekihosieht Defection against will

  Subprojects: hesiohfosihdgoishdgoir Many

  Pseudonym: Project Domino

  Functional Basis: heihfosidhoihdsgoihoisdhgoihs

  *Black budget funded TKDM.

  Celeste read further, grabbing the other pages from the floor. Skimming through partially blacked out pages of acronyms and military jargon she gleaned what she could. It wasn’t much. Government-sponsored murder, biological warfare, secret weapons, a CIA classified research program from the CIA’s scientific intelligence division, French-American relations. The main point seemed to be that a small amount of some substance, placed in a liquid, could render an entire company of soldiers unable to fight, all upon consumption. The papers were dusty, crinkled and weathered.

  *Note: Given the CIA’s failure to follow informed consent protocols with participants, the uncontrolled nature of the experiments, and the lack of data, the full impact of TKDM experiments, including the resulting deaths, will never be known. Director Richards ha
s instructed all records of these activities destroyed. Myocardial infarction recorded for all deceased.

  “Black budget funded TKDM? Everything in here is coded. I don’t know what all these terms mean.” Celeste huffed and tossed the file on the floor. A photograph slid out, skittered across the floor and wedged under the foot of a dusty chair. She walked to it, bent to pick it up and examined it. Three men in lab coats stood together, clutching hands. They all wore glasses that were long outdated. The big frames covered their faces, but one of the three was definitely Dr. Basle. Celeste flipped the photo over. Nineteen sixty-five. She tucked the photo back into the file and inhaled sharply.

  The file seemed such a gross invasion of privacy it turned her stomach to even have it in her hands. And yet she couldn’t stop, even after learning of the atrocities that Dr. B had been involved in. Unease settled deep in her gut. She had to get to the bottom of this.

  ~***~

  Celeste, file in hand, went to the only person she knew that could help her with what she was looking at. As she marched purposefully through the hallways of the embassy she felt like goo, her knees barely able to keep her upright. Pushing through Dan’s office door she marched to where he sat and flung the file onto his desk, popped her hip out and waited, arms crossed over her chest. His eyes scanned the blacked out label on the front of the file. Tentatively he opened it. She watched as his eyes scanned some of the pages. He grimaced. He groaned and finally he spoke.

  “Aww hell Celeste, I wrote a report to the Commissioner years ago for Dr. Basle, but when he confronted the CIA director, they said the incident never happened.” Dan shrugged. “The CIA would do anything to meet its goals and the public has been lied to for so long, they wouldn’t be able to recognize the truth if Jesus himself told them. Where the hell did you get this?” he asked, pinning her with a look that meant business.

  Celeste arched a challenging brow at him. “Why would Dr. Basle be consulting with them?” she asked, ignoring his question.