“This was merely a coincidence. Don’t you want to hear the rest?”
“Fine. Whatever.” She sat back down.
“The mission will include the live apprehension of an angel. Time of the target’s arrival is not known. You will be informed of details as they become available.”
Shrazz looked up at her after he finished reading.
“An angel? What kind of payment will we get for this?”
Shrazz looked down and pretended to read.
“Riell will receive an advance payment of 10 million curtain credits,” Shrazz said. “And a payment of 50 million credits once the mission is complete.”
“What?! Let me see.” She reached for it.
Shrazz set the letter aflame, and she gaped at him.
“Sorry, it was an accident. I guess I got excited.”
Riell frowned.
“It’s fine... you really were not aware they wanted you and I to work together?”
“No,” he laughed, “of course not.”
She stared at him, and he smiled at her. Reading him was impossible. More than anything she wanted to say yes to see if she could trust him and spend a little more time with him. At that thought, she knew it was time to go. She had already invested more emotions in him than she had meant to.
Riell sighed and wished she had just left the wings with a nurse. That would have been less complicated.
“I’ll consider it,” she said.
“Better than a no. Are you leaving?”
She walked for the door.
“Yeah. Goin’ home.”
Riell put her hand on the handle.
“Where is home these days?”
“I have more houses than I can remember. I’m staying in an apartment in upper limbo for the privacy right now. You?”
“An abandoned building in Nuevas Cruces.”
“You’ve acquired taste in my absence.”
They laughed together, their duet of mirth reminded both of them of a companionship they had thought lost forever.
“Thank you.”
They were silent.
She turned the handle and waved.
“Well, enjoy the wings. You’ve grown into an impressive warrior. Took you long enough.”
He laughed.
“Yeah. Thanks. Thanks for stopping by. Let me know about the mission?”
“I will.”
Riell left the room.
Shrazz marveled at Satan’s genius.
He buzzed the nurse and had her bring him a tablet pc so he could ensure he would have cash for Riell’s advance if she accepted the offer. He smiled, he had more than enough.
He ate his fill of wings and fell asleep watching his DVD.
Chapter 4
As she spun to “Ghosts N Stuff” by DeadMau5, Eliza’s glowing poi balls surrounded her body with halo-like rings of ever-changing color. She watched herself in the large mirror hung on the brick wall of her loft.
“Now as the music changes you can extend your arms to make the balls rotate slower. Or bring them in to make them spin faster,” she said to her friend Cari, who sat on her bed.
“I’ve tried practicing at home,” Cari said. “I can’t even get the basic motions down.”
“You’ll get it. Just work on making your left hand follow your right. It helps if you watch yourself in a mirror.”
Eliza’s body seized. She screamed and fell to the ground, unable to control her violent seizure.
“Oh my God!” Cari yelled. “I’m calling 911 just hold on, Eliza.”
“No!” Eliza yelled. “Paintbrush. Paper.”
“What?”
“Bring a paintbrush and paper!” Eliza yelled.
Cari did as she told her.
Eliza grabbed the brush and painted. Her seizure lessened.
“Uh you don’t have any paint,” Cari said.
“It makes it stop ok!” Eliza said. “Help me to my desk please. Hurry before they start again. Pull that easel closer.”
She grabbed two brushes in each hand holding one between her thumbs and index fingers and the other between her middle and ring fingers. She painted fervently using colors in glass jars at her desk: a display as stunning as her poi dance. As she recreated her vision on canvas her body relaxed. She wiped drool from her chin and focused on her work.
Cari stood over her shoulder.
“Does this happen... often? Maybe you should see a doctor.”
“I have. They say nothing is wrong with me. Brain scans detect nothing abnormal. My counselor says I have repressed memories that surface and cause this reaction.”
“I don’t know how you paint like that. You’re like super ambidextrous or something.”
“I had to learn to paint quickly. To make the seizures stop.”
“Well it’s the fiercest thing I’ve ever seen. Next to your dancing.”
“Thanks.” She cleaned her brushes, chose different colors and continued to paint.
“Ok. If this is from your memory, who are these people?” Cari asked. “That man is in these other paintings you’ve done. He’s real hot. Earned those muscles in the gym I’m sure: no pain no gain. Mmhm.”
Eliza shook her head.
In Eliza’s painting a woman with purple skin held a naked man’s body down with one hand, her long black finger nails dug into his tan athletic chest. Discomfort or pleasure tightened his face, which, Eliza could not tell. The woman’s huge green eyes smiled on him and her red lips pulled back in a grin. She painted black bat-like wings on the woman and Cari took in a breath.
“So you used to be a swinger who liked to role-play?” Cari asked.
Eliza laughed. “No. I have no idea who these people are,” she lied. “They could be from a dream.” She tried not to cry.
She had seen the demoness in her paintings before, in Gerald’s past. Even though the man in bed looked nothing like Gerald she knew it was, and this was his future: to lay with the purple skinned demon as he had once before.
How could he give in to such a harlot again?
She wanted to scream as loud as she could and predict when she would see him again. She would prepare abrasive insults for the occasion, bludgeon his pride until it broke and toss him back on the streets where he belonged.
At the same time she wanted to trust him, she wanted to love him, and that fact brought tears to her eyes.
“Well your dreams are naughty,” Cari said. “They make me jealous.”
Eliza’s muscles relaxed when she finished the image, but her anger did not and her sadness did not. She hurled the painting in her fireplace, lit it and watched it burn.
“Why did you do that? It’s amazing! I knew you could paint obviously, but I didn’t know you could paint like that.”
“Thanks,” Eliza said.
“Are you ok?”
“Just in pain. Don’t worry about it.”
“So you have a lot of sexified angel on demon dreams?” Cari asked.
“What do you mean?”
“They’re in most of your paintings... you’ve framed some of this angel.”
She pointed at one of Gerald standing on a building with his shirt off and wings fully extended.
“I guess you can say he’s one of my fantasies,” Eliza said, trying to make light of the subject.
“Yummy,” Cari said. “Well I’ll work on my poi motions at home. I need to get a bite. Want to come along?”
“No. I’m fine.”
“Alright, see ya.”
Eliza heard the elevator ding outside and then ding again as the doors closed. She was alone finally.
She cried out, swiped at her paints and left a mess of color and broken glass on the floor. She tore Gerald’s portraits off her walls one by one until her walls were bare. She took a chef’s knife and dug it into canvas after canvas, tearing Gerald’s apart until the knife fell from her trembling hands.
Chapter 5
Riell could not find her center. Seeing Shrazz had derailed her emoti
ons. The thought of a partnership with him excited her, and she hated it. He had not invaded her thoughts for at least a hundred years. His injuries should not have changed that.
When Riell felt burdened to the point of distraction, she found comfort in people watching. This therapeutic routine usually helped her surmount her stresses and look to the future with optimism.
Her favorite place to do this in Nuevas Cruces was the boardwalk of the city known as The Circ: an establishment built on the shoreline of the largest lake in the city.
Its ring of themed bars, clubs and restaurants provided a wide variety of entertainment options for different music tastes, social classes, sub-cultures and sexual orientations.
If she ever tired of one area, she could move to another and experience something completely different. The Circ had more than enough authentic establishments to choose from. This alleviated Riell’s need to travel when The Falling Curtain required her to remain in Nuevas Cruces.
At the outskirts of the section devoted to southern Asia, the sound of an Indian woman’s voice caught her attention. Riell immediately knew the woman was singing a portion of “The Ramayana.”
Riell had originally heard the epic from her teacher Devi in the Himalayas. It, among other Hindu texts, had shaped her during the first century of her life. She walked into the restaurant to listen to her.
The two-story high building looked like a temple dedicated to Vishnu. Small statues of the god stood in niches cut into the orange-red stone of the place. Its stepped pyramid roof climbed fifteen feet into the air.
She could hear the woman’s voice plainly now and recognized her lament. She sang of Rama, an incarnation of the god Vishnu and his decision to banish his wife Sita. The epic had reminded her of her relationship with Shrazz.
Shrazz was twenty and she eighteen when they moved together from London to Paris. Three years of leisure culminated when Riell found Shrazz with three other women.
She had heard their moans outside the apartment and watched their orgy camouflaged.
Although they had been romantically involved from time to time, they had never declared themselves as a couple. Riell could tell that he did not love any of the women and had used them to satisfy his voracious exous passions. It had been years since he had seen combat, so she gave him the benefit of the doubt and tried to alleviate his tension by ambushing him from time to time.
Introducing unexpected violence into Shrazz’s life curbed his appetites, but eventually the same women returned.
Weeks went by. With every one that did without Shrazz uttering a word about his continued affair, Riell packed more of her things. She had assumed Shrazz would want to work things out and be mature about the situation.
She had received a letter from her old mentor Dejanto before Shrazz’s affair began. He wanted her to continue her education and suggested a teacher in the Himalayas. Devi was that teacher.
By the time Shrazz had noticed that his possessions outnumbered Riell’s in their flat his silence had already proved him to be only a selfish child. She decided to leave.
Riell remembered her talk with Devi about the epic. Riell had not agreed with Rama’s banishment of Sita when she had been completely faithful while in the hands of the demon, Ravana.
“So you feel like Rama knew that she was telling the truth?” Devi had asked.
“Yes,” Riell said. “He just wanted her to leave so he could be unfaithful with a clean conscience. He never really loved her. She was just a beautiful trophy of dark skin and curves that he could wrap his fingers around. Then he used her to entrap Ravana, who may have truly loved her.”
“An interesting retelling,” Devi said. “Ravana was a demon who reveled in destruction though. He had thousands of concubines waiting on his beck and call.”
“Rama had concubines too,” Riell said. “But, while he fell prey to temptation and lost his love for Sita, Ravana somehow fell in love with her despite succubae being more than likely included in his band of mistresses.”
“You speak as if this story has historical truth,” Devi said. Her black lips smirked, dimpling her dark wrinkled cheeks.
“You were the one that spoke of the truth behind the gods, goddesses and demons of these epics,” Riell said. “Most of them actually lived as half-breeds, which means some truth does exist in these tales.”
“You are astute,” Devi said. “So which are you? Rama or Sita?”
“What?”
“You told me about you and this exous, Shrazz,” Devi continued. “That he had mistresses and still loved you. Despite that, he did not tell you the truth and you left him.”
“Right,” Riell said, through a clenched jaw. While her teacher had required Riell to tell her of her life to be considered as a student, Devi had agreed to never bring up her past relationship with Shrazz.
“I am Sita,” she said.
“So he banished you?” Devi asked.
Riell could not speak.
Shrazz was her Ravana, and she had banished herself along with their potential relationship. He had always loved her, despite the other women. Her mistake was not professing her love. If she had, maybe they could have salvaged their relationship. Maybe he would have understood that he had hurt her. She wrote a letter to Shrazz that night to rebuild their friendship.
His reply came months later: a band of ragtag humans who dared to call themselves knights with him at the helm. Still, Riell fondly remembered their little skirmish, mostly because she was the one who came out on top.
She giggled.
I was on top later that night too...
She sighed, why was she acting like such a fledgling? She listened to the woman sing for a bit longer. She missed the Himalayas.
I wish I could hash this out with Devi right now, Riell thought. The thought of her taking me as a pupil humbles me to this day. She was worshiped as a goddess. Not only one, Riell smiled, but three: a nurturer, a warrior and a destroyer.
She walked to the guardrail of the boardwalk and looked over the lake to let her thoughts bathe in the cool, limpid water.
That angel’s coming heralds the next Great War. Which is he, I wonder? A teacher for these humans, a warrior fighting for a cause? Or perhaps he is only the apocalyptic instrument of his God. How could such a being be entrapped? And what does The Falling Curtain want with his life?
Riell gazed at the full moon.
“Whoa, check out this chick’s get up!” A man shouted from behind.
Riell closed her eyes tightly and silently rebuked herself for not changing clothes.
“You know the medieval section is on the other side of the lake,” the man said. “I can take you there if you want some company.”
Riell ignored him.
“Christ, you don’t have to be so bitchy,” he said as he continued on his way and left Riell to her thoughts.
She turned back to the lake.
“That guy was right. You don’t have to be so bitchy,” a woman rasped. She leaned against the rail and looked at their reflections in the water.
Riell’s hand went for her short sword when she saw translucent wings cloaked the stranger.
The skia’s thin lips curled into a smirk. She reached into the pockets of her jacket. She pulled a box of cigarettes out and the short jacket rode up. Riell saw the top of the skia’s butt and her red G-string and relaxed.
Riell took her hand from her hilt but kept her eyes on the eavesdropper.
“You fledglings are always so classy,” Riell said.
“I just came here to talk, but your ego is getting to me,” she said.
“You’re the one with your junk hanging out,” Riell said. “Who are you anyway? You’ve got some audacity following me here. If we weren’t in such a crowd this meeting would be an unpleasant one for you.”
The skia jammed her cigarette box back into her pocket and lit the one that hung out of her mouth. She took a deep drag and blew the smoke in Riell’s face.
“Either tell me wh
ere the angel went or next time you’re not in such a complicated area we’ll collect the bounty on your head,” she said and ruffled the back of her brown spiky hair.
“Bounty?” Riell laughed. “No benefactor would dare place a bounty on my head, not with my connections in The Curtain. You have heard of The Falling Curtain, haven’t you, fledgling?”
The skia said nothing until she finished her cigarette. “When The Curtain finds out that you and Shrazz are using a third party for the best paying kidnapping job I will ever see in my life, you may find we’re not the only ones after you,” she said.
Riell laughed. “Shrazz would never commit to such sacrilege,” she said. “How old are you? Twenty-five?”
“Actually I’m closer to fifty, bitch,” the skia said. “Age doesn’t matter as much as skill.”
“He and I have been at this for over three hundred years,” Riell said. “You’ll soon find that age and skill are two inseparable attributes. Who trained you?”
“Verill the Unbreakable himself.”
“The self-proclaimed ‘Unbreakable.’” Riell chuckled. “He has one loss on his record, if I remember correctly.”
“Shrazz got lucky.”
“I have received training from many sensei, knights... warriors of all kinds,” Riell said. “The goddess Devi is the most notable of them.”
“Gods and goddesses don’t exist.”
Riell laughed. “I guess calling Devi a goddess is being dishonest. She is a skia with multiple personality disorder that has lived for thousands of years. Each personality was a different well of knowledge. Her warrior aspect was named Durga.”
The skia hacked out a laugh.
“So you learned how to fight from an insane hag?”
“How many times did you have to spread your legs to get into Verill’s little posse so you could waste your time with your ‘training’?”
“We’re going to find the angel. Then you. I promise you that.”
Riell chuckled. “I’ve been absolutely cordial with you,” she said. “If I see you or anyone else spying on me the last thing they’ll see is the tip of my sword piercing their eyes.”
“You won’t find me on the end of your sword, old whore,” the skia said as she walked away.
From Heaven To Earth (The Faith of the Fallen) Page 3
