The Waif's Tale

by C. L. Stegall

  I spent the next year working for the magistrate, running errands, learning from him, protecting him from unwanted attention. Our sessions steadily grew more advanced and I picked up on the feeling that he was more than pleased with my progress. I enjoyed learning to expand my talents, being able to slip into others' thoughts without notice. I even progressed to a level that frightened me a bit.

  "Focus on something you would like him to do," the magistrate instructed during one of our advanced sessions. He indicated the human subject who sat staring at us with glazed eyes.

  The subject had been brought in at the magistrate's behest for this very purpose. The young man was only slightly drugged. This was not a real world scenario but a practice session. The drugged state was of little consequence.

  I was at a loss at first but then decided to try something simple. I slipped into the subject's mind and "suggested" to him that his nose itched and he really needed to scratch it. Initially, there was no reaction and I wondered if the drugs were affecting the outcome but then he twitched his nose. Once. Twice. Then, he reached up and scratched his nose. I hooted out loud at my success before thinking. Reigning myself in, I glanced at the magistrate who carried one of his half-grins across his cappuccino-colored face.

  "Well done, young Paris. Well done, indeed." Then, we tried again.

  The best part of working so closely with the magistrate was being able to build more solid relationships within the Citadel. I was now present for every political meeting and every dinner and event that required the magistrate's presence. It opened me up to a myriad of interactions with people I would most likely have never otherwise met. Two of them were to be of the most significance.

  CHAPTER 36

  PRESENT

  R ae had tried to end her life, getting a glimpse of nothing but the emptiness she was certain would follow. Rhett experienced only darkness as he passed through the mortal gate. Was there truly nothing for us once we left this life? It seemed so implausible to me, having seen so much in my one hundred plus years. There was a worrisome burden of carrying on with that thought. No matter how long I remained in this body, would it be all that I would ever have?

  The mystery had begun to haunt me decades ago. Now, with these latest events, it was bubbling to the surface once more. I needed further information, more research. Still, that type of data was a tricky thing to obtain. A thought struck me and I almost smiled at the possibility that the latest object of my attention, James Lieber, aka Sortie, might just provide the opportunity to gain some enlightenment.

  There were apartment complexes on every corner, in the neighborhood where I'd gathered Sortie hung out. If I'd held my actions in check better, I might have thought to garner more details from Rhett. Too late now, though. I was on my own.

  Even though I had the address that I'd stripped from Sortie's mind, there were dozens of apartments in the complex. I began my reconnaissance and kept to the shadows. If the bastard was here, I'd find him.

  After about an hour of stalking the area, I located my target. He was smoking on a third floor balcony. I watched him for several minutes, creeping into his mind. He lived alone. A mechanic by day, he was a closet psychopath. I gathered images of at least three other people he'd killed, in addition to Rae. His happiest memories seemed to consist of his history of rape. This little bastard was more of a monster than I was. I suppose they come in all shapes and sizes.

  Using passive force, I crept deeper into his thoughts and deciphered the layout of his apartment. Scanning the outside area, I noticed that there was a stand-alone grill connected to a thick pipe and concreted into the ground in a recreational area just beneath his balcony. When he went inside, I made my move.

  With a running start, a small leap toward the sturdy metal grill and a good push off from it, I landed on Sortie's balcony with almost no effort at all. I kept to the side, in the shadows of the blinds. I bided my time, until he went to the bathroom. Then I entered. He was too arrogant to think anyone would break in through his balcony, so the sliding glass door wasn't locked.

  Inside, it was as dull and dreary as the inside of Sortie's mind. An orange cloth couch, worn down to the barest of threads sat against one wall. On the opposite side was a tube television. I was amazed that anyone still had one of those in this digital age. There was a small round dining room table and two mismatched chairs.

  Against the wall, in the corner of the dining area of the small apartment, leaned a hunting rifle. On the narrow shelf, between the dining room and the tiny kitchen, lay the Glock from which had come the bullet that had taken Rae's life. I quickly stepped over to the rifle and, using my great strength, bent the barrel a half an inch to the side. I placed it back as I had found it and picked up the Glock.

  "Who the fuck're you? What're you doing here?"

  I kept the Glock from sight as I turned my head to see Sortie standing in the short hallway that led to the bathroom and his bedroom. I should have felt him coming. I admonished myself for letting my emotions get in the way of what I had come here to do.

  "You can call me Paris," I said. As I turned to face him, I could see the recognition in his eyes. Before he could move, I threw back the slide on the Glock, ensuring the next round was chambered and flipped off the safety. With the weapon leveled at Sortie's head and a sense of purpose in my eyes, I said, "Take. One. More. Step."

  He didn't.

  "From last night, huh?" he said. He was so stupid as to not be the least bit frightened. I added to my goals of the evening to see how much I could make that change.

  "She was just a kid. You defiled her and then killed her."

  "Hey, she was just in the wrong place at the wrong time." The bastard shrugged his indifference.

  "You see? I find it interesting that I was thinking the same thing about you." I set the safety back on the gun, hit the release and let the magazine drop into my opposite hand. I watched his eyes as I threw the magazine out the balcony door, which I'd left open. I pulled the slide back to eject the chambered round and then tossed the gun aside. I could see the itch in his bones to come at me, but my own confidence overshadowed his for the moment. I knew that wouldn't last long.

  "You're either unbelievably brave," he said, crossing his arms, "Or, incredibly stupid."

  "We've only got a couple of hours before I have to split, so let's get down to brass tacks. I am neither that brave nor, certainly, that stupid. What other description might you think would suit me?"

  "I'm thinking 'dead' might be a good description in a minute or two."

  "I was thinking more along the lines of upset, angry or pissed. Vengeful, even."

  "Little girl, you have no idea what you're in for." He came at me with that brash confidence that faltered when I open-handed his throat, dropping him to the floor coughing and choking, gasping for air.

  "You took the words right out of my mouth, you little shit." With a measured kick to the side of his head, Sortie was out like a light.

  CHAPTER 37

  1926, The Citadel, Age 49

  G arrett and I began to expand our friendship. We sparred more whenever he was in the Citadel and we began to notice similar tastes in books and music. It was nice having someone to talk to who had no apparent concern about what I said or how I acted. Being in the High Guard was a challenging role. Still, I loved it. I loved my journeys into fiction, adventure and romance, as well. To discover that someone else loved to read as voraciously as did I was a complete joy.

  "Have you ever thought of going to America?" I asked Garrett, one day in 1926. "I mean, it seems like such a huge party over there, now. At least, that's what I've heard."

  "It does sound like fun," he said, never taking his eyes from The Great Gatsby. He'd read that book three times already. I knew the thought of America intrigued him. "Still, the world turns in cycles. For all of the lush living, there will soon come a downturn. It happens all the time."

  "What do you mean?" I unfolded my legs from beneath me. We were sitting o
n the sofa in the Abode in the early morning. Everyone else had gone to bed already, or was out on assignment.

  He finally laid the book on his leg, his eyes focused on mine. "There are a few signs, economic and such, that indicate that the fun will slow down. Perhaps it will not be that bad. It will, I should think, put a damper on all the flapper parties and unwarranted spending. Cycles. Ups and downs. Every country, every society has them. America is no different."

  "I still want to go. Sounds like fun." I felt a bit of a pout coming on and I reeled it in before Garrett could comment. Nevertheless, I caught that sparkle in his eye as he lifted his novel back to view.

  "Oh," I said, trying to be nonchalant in my tone, "Do you happen to know Thorne very well?"

  Garrett closed his book. He stared at me for a long moment and then smiled. "Thorne, eh?"

  "What? I'm just asking."

  "Yes, I can see that." He laid the book aside and faced me on the sofa. He pulled his hands together in his lap, interlacing his fingers, eyes boring into me. "What do you want to know? If he has a chica in the hold?"

  I was about to put on a look of denial but why waste the time or the energy? "Yes. Is he involved with anyone?"

  "No. Not that I am aware. I suppose you both are about the same age now? Mid-forties or so?" He winked. I huffed.

  Although I looked to be fifteen, I was starting to fill out better than I had expected. I was also feeling the urges that came along with that development. Thorne was a new Protector, having only about fifteen years under his belt. Still, he'd been birthed earlier than I had, so we were now about the same actual age. He appeared to be around twenty years old, physically. Not to mention he was cute as hell.

  "He has attracted my eye, I admit it."

  "Good for you," Garrett said, performing a light golf clap as a visual. I smirked at him.

  "So," I said. "Introduce us, damn it."

  "Fine, fine. As you wish, Madame."

  CHAPTER 38

  PRESENT

  S ortie regained consciousness tied securely to his own bed, arms outstretched between the metal rails of his headboard. His legs were bound to the corners at the foot of the bed with ropes I had found in his closet. I had shoved a smelly sock into his mouth, held firmly in place by another length of rope tied around his close-cropped head.

  "Rise and shine, dickhead," I said, seeing his eyes go wide. "Time to pay the piper."

  I'd dragged his single nightstand along the side of the bed, within his line of sight. On top I had placed a folded bath towel. On the towel lay several significant objects chosen for various specific reasons. From left to right was a kitchen fork, a steak knife, a corkscrew and a pair of pliers. The only pliers I could find were of the narrow-nosed sort but they would do in a pinch. Sortie did his best to scream out as I gently ran my hands along the items and eyed him with glaring intent.

  "James Lieber. How many women have you tortured? How many innocent women have you raped and murdered? How many people's lives have you ruined for your own sport and sick desires?" I knew the answers to all of these questions. What I wanted right now was to bubble all of his misdeeds to the surface of his thoughts, before the waterfall of penance washed those thoughts away forever.

  I retrieved the steak knife, holding him still with one hand and ripping through his shirt with the blade. I removed the tattered cloth, leaving him bare-chested and a little more vulnerable than he had been a moment before. I reached down and unbuckled his belt and then the button on his jeans. With the knife, I managed to cut them from his legs, removing them altogether. I could have removed them much easier while he was unconscious but that would have defeated the purpose, here.

  Sortie was now struggling to scream through the gag. Tears streamed from his cold blue eyes and snot bubbled from his nose. Now we were getting somewhere.

  "How does it feel, James? How does it feel to be so out of control of the situation? So afraid. So helpless. How does it feel to know that someone else now holds your fate in her hands?" I dragged the tip of the knife along the inside of his thigh with just enough pressure to dig in. The deep crimson ran down his inner thigh, dripping onto the sheets in tiny rivulets. His voice left him as he screamed it away. At least now there would be some quiet, as I finished up.

  I reached down and, with a quick jerk, ripped his boxers away, leaving him naked and bleeding. I replaced the knife and stared at the other instruments. Looking back at Lieber, my fingers found the fork. His whimpers gave me a warm flush. With two swift but firm motions, I grabbed his penis, stretched it toward his stomach and drove the fork through it and into his abdomen to hold it in placed. Sortie passed out.

  The splash of cold water brought my hapless victim back to consciousness, the pain in his dick an even colder alarm.

  "You can't sleep just yet, son," I said, reaching for the pliers. I brought them up between us, observed them as I continued to speak, giving him time to imagine what might come next. "Your punishment has just begun. For all of those women whose innocence you ripped away, for all of those for whom their womanhood was but a plaything for your demented sense of superiority—let's see how you deal with it." His body twisted and shook as I placed a firm hand on his sternum to hold him steady. With slow and deliberate movement, I grasped his right testicle in the teeth of the pliers. "Now, you hold still, James. You don't want this any messier than it has to be." I squeezed. At first, I was impressed with how resilient this guy's balls were. Then, I felt the pop as the testicle burst within the scrotum.

  Lieber had passed into the darkness of unconsciousness once more. My next glass of water failed to bring him awake. I retrieved one of the chairs from the dining room and pulled it close to the bed. Taking pause, I sent my thoughts into the deepest recesses of Lieber's mind. I saw him standing before his own victims, his head hung low. Finally, I watched as he raised his eyes, meeting each one of his victims' and his tears revealed his heart.

  In the distance, a light bloomed. Small at first, like a pinhole into some far-off vibrant room, it grew larger by the second. One by one, each of the victims began to be drawn to and then meld into, the light itself. I tried to make out what was happening as the last two victims faded into that ball of brilliance, but it was such a strange and wondrous event that it escaped my comprehension. I failed to grasp the details. Everything about it was hazy and unfocused in my eyes.

  It was then that I noticed Lieber looking at me. No one had ever seen me within their mind. I always protected myself from their thoughts, stealthily scampering about in their consciousness, hidden from view. Yet, he was staring right at me.

  "You are a harsh teacher," he said.

  "What?" I wasn't sure what he meant.

  "All the pain I'd dealt to so many meant nothing to me. It was beyond my own understanding. You helped me to feel the very pain I had so callously ignored, handed out by my own actions. It wasn't a pleasant lesson to learn. but, I thank you."

  This did not make sense to me. I had tortured this man, this evil, thoughtless, psychotic man. The picture I now perceived seemed too literal. It seemed too foundational in a belief I did not share.

  "You don't see it, do you?" he asked.

  "See what? That death becomes you?"

  He smiled. He just fucking smiled and shook his head slightly. "You've got time. Maybe someday you'll get it. I get it now. I do. I have you to thank for this. You have a trial coming up. It's coming fast for you. You'll have to figure things out for yourself but don't think too hard on it. Let your instincts guide you as they always have."

  Within the blink of an eye, he was gone. Darkness enveloped me and I quickly retreated back to my own mind. In the bedroom of the rapist and murderer, James Lieber, I sat with uncertainty and confusion. What the hell had I just witnessed? What did it mean? What did Lieber mean when he said I had a trial coming up? Was the Protector so close now that I was about to be caught? If so, I had little time.

  I had stood to leave before I realized that though the damage
I had done was not sufficient to cause it, Lieber was dead. His heart had stopped and his mind was gone. A chill crept up my spine. I shook it off and made my way out.

  My thoughts were a million miles away as I traveled back to the hotel, gathered my things and left, after dropping the two key cards on the dresser for Liam. I made my way to the parking garage. Earlier, I had pick-pocketed a set of keys from the businessman who had been pleasuring himself the night before. I only had a couple of hours of darkness before dawn, so I headed north on Interstate 4. I'd find a hotel outside of Daytona for today before making my way to Jacksonville once the sun dropped. The crazy idea that I'd had was risky. Still, it felt like something I had to do. I hoped I wasn't setting myself up for failure.

  CHAPTER 39

  1927, The Citadel, Age 50

  S o," London prodded, "Are you guys going out tonight?"

  She and the other girls had taken a far greater interest in my love life than I preferred. Not that there was much to tell as of yet. I chose to move slowly, as this was my first foray into the realm of intimacy. I was nothing if not cautious with my emotions.

  "He should be back this afternoon, yes," I said, as I continued oiling the blade on my saber. It wasn't that I actually used it much but, as it had been a gift from Garrett after one of his assignments, I took great care of it. I'd pulled it down from its place on the wall above my bed only moments before London barged in, asking about Thorne.

  "What are you going to do? Not much to do here in the Citadel." She slumped in the chair that sat opposite of the bed. I tended to spend most of my time here in that chair, reading. More time than sleeping, come to think of it. "I'm glad you've found someone, Paris." Her tone pulled me away from the blade.