Requiem for Immortals

by Lee Winter

  Chapter 28

  Alison returned home to her one-bedroom apartment and kicked off her shoes. It had been five months since the day Lola died and the world had erupted over news of Requiem. She was exhausted. Ever since the last spate of arrests, things had been busier than usual. And now the media had noticed her and had some weird fascination with writing profiles on her.

  Oh, how her mother was loving that. Mrs Elsie Ryan, proud mother of Victoria’s much-feted GOU chief, apparently “always knew” that her daughter was destined for greatness someday.

  If only they knew. Alison and her mother did not speak at all now, despite her lies to the media. Alison had no interest in a relationship with a woman who wasn’t even sorry for treating her like dirt. The fabrications and crap Elsie told her friends about the reason for their rift beggared belief.

  Alison opened the fridge and pulled out a bottle of water. When she closed the door, she glanced at her lounge only to bite back a yelp.

  Natalya was arranged in a chair, regarding her, fingers templed.

  “You could just knock, you know,” Alison complained, trying to calm her thundering heart. “Like an ordinary person.”

  “But I’m not an ordinary person. And you didn’t knock at my home, either.”

  Alison had to give her that. “True. Want a drink?”

  “Do you have vodka?”

  Alison shook her head.

  “Infidel,” Natalya said. She folded her hands in her lap. “Never mind then.”

  Alison sank into the armchair opposite, and twisted the cap off her water bottle. “How’d your tour of Europe go?”

  “Better than expected, as I received no visits from local constabulary waving Interpol documents under my nose. Also, no unexpected stops at Melbourne International Airport on either of my departures. Now why was that I wonder?”

  “It’s a mystery,” Alison said evenly.

  “I did enjoy the online coverage of your career exploits while I was away. Congratulations are in order. It’s about time more women got ahead in bastard-dominated industries. Speaking of which, where, oh where, has your noxious brother-in-law hidden himself?”

  “That’s another mystery. But I imagine he has you to thank for sending the disc to IBAC? And leaking it to the media?”

  Natalya studied her nails. “It was only gathering dust with me,” she said. “It would have been a pity to waste it when his only skill seemed to be making your lives miserable.”

  Alison frowned. “Lives? Plural? You mean my sister, too? Being married to him?”

  “I imagine anyone in his orbit would suffer,” Natalya said.

  She was parsing her words carefully. Too carefully.

  “Anyone?” Alison repeated slowly. “Is there something you’re not telling me? I mean…are you hinting about…Hailey? I mean I know he yells a lot but is it…something more?”

  “I think it’s advisable he’s no longer in anyone’s lives,” Natalya said neutrally. “And that includes your niece.”

  Alison eyed her pensively. “Maybe I should have a talk to Hailey?”

  “A wise precaution.”

  The two women regarded each other for a few moments. The glass and chrome clock on the wall behind them ticked loudly. Alison fidgeted.

  “God, sorry, this is depressing. Trust Barry Moore to ruin any conversation. Let me put some music on.”

  She rose, went to her stereo, and crouched in front of it. As she flipped through her CDs, she said: “I enjoyed Harry Partch’s posts. How did you know I liked all the things in the photos you posted? Like the Whitestars chocolate fudge?”

  “I may know an insider with excellent intel.”

  “Uh huh. Is she cute and thirteen, with a big mouth?”

  “I never reveal my sources.”

  “Right. That’s what I thought. So why did you help me with the gangs? Aren’t these your colleagues that you’re tossing to the piranhas?” She selected a CD, hit play and returned to her armchair as the sounds of Rodrigo’s Concierto de Aranjuez began.

  “They’re nothing to me anymore,” Natalya said with a sneer. “Just the bottom feeders who paid Lola to have me do their bidding.”

  “You’re still helping the police, though.”

  “No, I’m helping you while destroying Lola’s empire and anyone she might have dealt with. And I’ve also been systematically removing from the equation every enforcer who might be a threat to me if they ever work out who the leak is. You’ve got them all, by the way.”

  “So you’re finally retired then?” Alison asked, cringing inwardly at the amount of hope leaking from her voice.

  “I’m not sure if one can ever retire from certain professions,” Natalya said, casually brushing her pants with the back of her fingers. “But let’s just say it’s been twelve months since my last ‘coffee.’”

  “Do you miss…um, coffee?”

  Natalya regarded her. “Yes.”

  Disappointment flooded Alison. Well, what had she expected?

  “Alison,” Natalya said sternly, “don’t ask questions you don’t want to know the answers to.”

  Good point. She licked her lips anxiously. “Okay. Why are you here then?”

  “My current tour is over. And I wanted to check in on my Saintapaulia ionantha.”

  Alison blinked at her.

  “The African violet.” She pointed to the plant on the coffee table between them. “Just how many of my possessions are you tending, that you couldn’t work out what I meant?” Natalya drawled.

  “Oh right,” Alison said, slumping a little at hearing the reason for Natalya’s visit. “Your plant,” she repeated. “Well, I didn’t kill it, as you can see.”

  “I noticed. I’m rather impressed.”

  Alison didn’t reply. Her gaze took in Natalya’s entirely black outfit of tailored, linen pants and a button-down shirt. The buckled, polished midnight ankle boots were especially arresting. Assassin chic? Was Natalya having some sort of a joke?

  Neither spoke for a few moments but Natalya’s brown eyes held an amused glint.

  “Why are we listening to Concierto de Aranjuez?” Natalya asked, tilting her head. “Not that I’m complaining. It’s beautiful. Languid.”

  “I’m in a Spanish mood,” Alison said with a grin. “I’ve always wanted to go there and this piece is a shout-out to all things Spanish.”

  “Why Spain?”

  Alison’s eyes fluttered closed as blissful thoughts took over. “It’s so bright and colourful. The vibrant music. The gorgeous food. Oh my God, the food!” Her eyes flew open. “I swoon at the sight of paella. I was always so frustrated because Mum hates it. I’d have it every day if I could.”

  “Then I will think of you when I’m eating a paella in a few weeks’ time,” Natalya said with a slow smile. “I’m depping for another orchestra soon and we’re doing Spain, Greece, and France, among other stops. One food destination after another.”

  “My taste buds are so ridiculously jealous right now.” Alison leaned forward. “So why are you here? You didn’t seriously come back here for a proof-of-life check on your plant, did you?”

  “My visit’s not entirely plant related,” Natalya conceded. “I’ve been offered a permanent job with the Vienna Philharmonic in a few months’ time. It’s where I’ve wanted to play since I studied in Austria. It’s a permanent move. I needed to collect my things in storage and tie up any loose ends.”

  “So…you came to say goodbye?” Alison asked hesitantly.

  “Actually, I was in the neighbourhood.”

  Alison regarded her sceptically. “Sure. And do I want to know how you even know where my neighbourhood is these days? I’m unlisted for security reasons.”

  Natalya ignored that as though finding the address of the top cop cracking down on gangs was a small thing. “And I was exceptionally curious as to why I read about a master assassin named Requiem in the paper but there were no further names. Why did you reveal her if you had no plan to arrest her?”<
br />
  “I only needed her to have the desired effect.”

  “Which was?”

  “Strategy. I needed a charismatic figure to get everyone talking about the underworld families again. I had thought Lola would be that person but when she died I knew I needed someone else.

  “A brilliant female assassin with a poetic justice hook would be sensational news. And it worked. I have been drip-feeding the details of a different Requiem killing every six weeks. Her exploits are single-handedly keeping media and public interest in the gangs at an all-time high.

  “That means ongoing funding for my unit, better resources for raids, and political support from the highest level.”

  “So Requiem’s your modern-day bogeyman.” Natalya’s eyebrows lifted.

  “Or hero,” Alison said dryly, “if all those hashtags are anything to go by.”

  Natalya snorted. “Social media is a shallow cave where all the carcasses of humanity go to be buried.”

  “It’s a very useful cave at times.” Alison attempted her most innocent look.

  Natalya’s eyes narrowed. “Tell me you haven’t been hash-tagging ‘SaveRequiem’ like all those other imbeciles?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. Do you know what my job title is? I’d never post that,” Alison said archly. She paused and added sheepishly. “I just came up with the tag, let Hailey loose with it, and got her to pass it on to all her friends at school. It caught on like wildfire.”

  Natalya stared at her in shock and Alison laughed.

  “Look, I don’t actually want Requiem caught, obviously,” Alison added. “It would mess up my strategy. As a concept, she’s far more useful floating around in people’s imaginations. But if, by some outside chance, you did actually get yourself arrested, you already have widespread public support in place. That would mean a far better outcome on sentencing.”

  “How devious,” Natalya muttered. “I may have underestimated you. Again.”

  “You and everyone else.”

  Natalya shook her head. “You say that but I see you’ve finally acquired some edge. You wouldn’t fly under anyone’s radar these days. Congratulations: You finally reek of cop. I’d spot you a mile off now.”

  Alison smiled. “Thank you.”

  “That wasn’t a compliment.”

  “It was to me. I actually fit somewhere. It’s unexpected. Nice.”

  “Is fitting in really so important?”

  “Not to everyone. Not even hugely so for me. But I was always on the outside, like looking at the world through frosted glass. I felt so disconnected. I hated it, not being part of anything, not belonging. Now I do and, yeah, it feels a little bit better.”

  “Sometimes fitting in isn’t an option. Society can’t make everyone conform into its neat boxes. I don’t belong; I never will.”

  “You conform to the rules of music. Why not conform to the rules of society?” Alison asked curiously.

  “You really have to ask? I’m the wrong shape, Alison. Where society expects smooth, I’m sharp. It wants docile and compliant; I fight authority and I loathe leashes. I never will be one of you. Sometimes the view through the glass just stays frosted.”

  Alison hadn’t expected anything less. She nodded.

  Natalya reached into her pocket. “Since I’m in the neighbourhood, I came to give you my piece of musical perfection. I even composed it myself. In fact it’s everything I am.”

  She placed a USB thumb drive between them, and a fleeting smile twitched at the very corners of her mouth.

  “What’s so funny?” Alison asked.

  “You’ll understand when you play it.”

  Alison reached for the thumb drive but Natalya’s hand came forward to stop her.

  “Later.”

  Alison’s gaze shifted and she caught a shape behind Natalya, leaning against the wall.

  “Why is your cello here?”

  “You think I would leave my 1849 Charles Adolphe Maucotel in a hotel room?”

  “Oh right. Of course not.” Alison studied the case with interest. “You’re staying in a hotel?”

  “My home is on the market now. As I said, I’m tying up all my loose ends.”

  “Oh.”

  This really was a permanent move. An unexpected sadness flooded Alison, and she pushed it down. It was absurd, given who Natalya was. Not to mention how little Alison meant to her. In fact, she doubted Natalya had given her much thought these past months beyond her being a plant caretaker.

  “So, can I see it?” Alison asked, after a few moments.

  “You want to look at my cello?”

  “No, I want to look at you with your cello. The first time I ever noticed you was when you were holding it. I thought you were exceptional. Well, you and the oboist.”

  “Please, oboists.” Natalya snorted. “Just show ponies. They’re almost as bad as violinists.”

  She went to her cello case, pulled the instrument out, and spun it gently until it faced the room.

  Alison admired the beauty of it in Natalya’s hands. Her reverence for it. The power this instrument had—the only thing that could move her. The only way she showed emotions. At that thought, she reached for the remote control and turned off the Spanish music.

  “Play something for me.”

  Natalya looked at her in surprise but, instead of arguing, simply reached for a straight-backed chair in the adjacent kitchenette area and carried it to where Alison sat.

  She positioned the seat facing her, and then settled herself on it. “What do you wish to hear, my liege?” she asked, eyes mocking.

  “You,” Alison said. “Play what you’re feeling.”

  An unsettled look crossed Natalya’s face.

  “You do feel,” Alison said softly. “Deeply. Even if it’s only with that in your hands. So show me. I want to understand, since you’ll never tell me.”

  All playfulness was gone from Natalya’s face as she considered the request. Then she closed her eyes, lifted her bow and began to play.

  A low, drawn-out, guttural moan filled the small room, a gravelly dirge, like a weeping, old woman at a grave site. The hairs on the back of Alison’s arms stood up as Natalya’s lithe fingers moved across the strings and her left bow arm slashed fiercely.

  Alison was chilled by the mourning sounds. The song was listless and broken. It soon picked up pace and now there was bite to it, too, an iron will behind it, like an angry fist shaking at the heavens. Tears in a storm.

  Finally she recognised the composition. Contemporary. Surprisingly so. She wouldn’t have thought Natalya would know this piece. So, a Game of Thrones fan? She probably shouldn’t be shocked. She eventually placed the name.

  The Rains of Castamere. A song about a castle broken by war, defeated, crumbling, where the rain falls and no one is left alive to witness it. Defeat snatched from the jaws of the strongest, most dominant forces on earth.

  Did the castle mean Natalya? She felt weak? No longer powerful? Or was it to do with losing her place in the world, feeling stateless and purposeless with Lola gone as her driving force?

  Whatever it meant to her, it sounded like Natalya’s painful requiem.

  A tear unexpectedly slid from the corner of Natalya’s eye and made its way down her cheek.

  Alison rose, padded silently over to her, and lifted her finger to stop the salt water’s progress. Natalya’s eyes flew open in shock, as though she’d forgotten she wasn’t alone.

  She stopped playing instantly, laying down her cello and then scrambled backwards until Alison’s hand dropped.

  “What are you doing?” Natalya demanded harshly.

  “Emotion is not weakness,” Alison said. “It’s strength.”

  “You sound like my father,” she retorted, her voice hoarse.

  “Your father? What was he like?”

  Natalya stared at her intently as though debating answering so personal a question. “A military man. Originally from Russia.”

  “Ah.” Alison’s smile
willed her to reveal more. “He’s still alive?”

  “No, he died not long after Lola did. For obvious reasons, it wasn’t advisable to attend the funeral. I wasn’t sure of the GOU’s intentions.” Her accusing gaze pinned Alison. “You’d only just revealed Requiem’s existence to the world.”

  Alison swallowed back a sympathetic response that she knew wouldn’t be welcomed. She wondered if this was one of the loose ends that had drawn her home. Attending her father’s grave. Sorting out his estate. Natalya’s pain was evident in the way she bit off the ends of the words.

  “What was he like?” Alison asked tentatively. “I’m guessing, given his background, he was tough?”

  “Only externally. Somehow, his heart always saw the good in people. He couldn’t even begin to grasp what Lola was up to. How she was manipulating everyone around her for her own ends. He saw this harsh, brutal world through a sentimental gaze and prayed to his God that I would follow his path. It was a flawed strategy. To lay yourself bare is the worst kind of vulnerability. And I don’t…”

  “Do that. I know,” Alison said, biting back her disappointment. “I know.”

  “I was going to say I don’t know how.”

  “Oh, Natalya.”

  “Don’t,” she snapped. “Don’t look at me like that. What have you done to me? What is this?”

  “This is emotion.”

  “I don’t like it. It’s chaos,” she said and straightened, eyes icy and cool. “Lola was right.”

  “Lola was not right. On not one single thing has that wicked woman ever been right.”

  “She’s not wicked.”

  “Oh?”

  “She’s…Lola.”

  “Ah,” Alison said, understanding. Lola’s empty, harsh view of the world represented safety for Natalya. “Well, a person might find it overwhelming and chaotic to rub shoulders with the unwashed masses who wear their messy emotions on their sleeves, but it’s living. Don’t be afraid of that. There’s nothing to fear.”

  “I don’t fear anything,” Natalya said coldly.

  “Good, because I’m going to kiss you now and it’s going to be okay. You don’t need to freak out because you’re not prepared. You don’t need to do anything. Just feel.”

  “I don’t…” Natalya began and faded out.