Name That Voice (March 2005)

• SUBMISSIONS CLOSE:
  midnight GMT Monday 7 March 2005
• PRELIMINARY GUESS CARDS DUE:
  midnight GMT Tuesday 8 March 2005
• LIST OF PARTICIPANTS POSTED:
  shortly after midnight GMT Tuesday 8 March 2005
• FINAL GUESS CARDS DUE:
  midnight GMT Friday 11 March 2005
• AUTHORS REVEALED:
  shortly after midnight GMT Friday 11 March 2005

“’Ello Sweets.” A deep voice said from in front of her.

Her heart suddenly racing, Holly looked up and immediately wished she hadn’t. In front of her a man was blocking the sidewalk about fifteen feet away. She hadn’t seen him there a moment before and realized he must have stepped out from between two of the buildings. As she studied him, her terror only increased. He was a huge, beast of a man, maybe six and a half feet tall and probably over three hundred pounds. The heavy overcoat he wore only served to make him look that much larger. A neck that Holly guessed was almost as big around as her waist supported his shaved head. Small dark eyes, which were to close together, over a broad flat, nose that looked to have been broken at least once, probably many times.

Holly took one slow step back, then another. The big man didn’t make a move to stop her, but his cruel smile broadened. She turned to make a break for it and her heart sank. There were two more men standing behind her. Not as massive as the man in front of her, but it didn’t really matter, she couldn’t fight even one of them, never mind all three.

She turned back to face the big man. “W…w…what do… do you …w…want?” She finally managed to stammer out.

Big man smiled and pointed at Holly’s commuter bag, “Hand ova yo’ bag Sweets, and yous’ can go along on yo’ merry way.”

She thought about what was in the bag, her wallet full of credit cards, not to mention all her personal ID cards. He laptop, cell phone, the papers she was grading… the papers! Shit! She couldn’t loose those papers, some of the students worked on those for weeks. She thought frantically, trying to figure out a way to get away from these men.

As she thought, Holly became aware of something else, the sound of approaching footsteps. The men had noticed to and she could see them warily watching up and down the dark street. Then in the pool of light created by a streetlight, Holly saw someone approach. Her heart sank a little as she realized it was a lone woman.

The woman walked casually between the two men who moved aside while exchanging knowing glances. The woman stopped right next to Holly, but kept her eyes on the big man. Despite the danger Holly was in, she had a hard time taking her eyes off of the woman. She was one of the most striking women Holly had ever seen, but at the same time she was a little frightening for some reason the Holly couldn’t really put her finger on. Long, straight black hair framed a face that was breathtakingly lovely. Her deep red lipstick made the rest of her perfectly smooth, pale skin and light gray eyes seem all the more pale. She was dressed in what appeared to ....

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Super glue-- I put a generous squirt up each ass. They'd have to have some doctor literally ream them a new asshole. No reaction. I stuck their palms and fingers to their asscheeks. I wanted to hang out some more and come up with some other brilliant revenges, but it was late and I had almost as strong a desire to flee screaming, so I compromised and just sauntered out to the street. I even locked their apartment doors for them before leaving. With a wedge for Vickie's, driven in at the sill.

It was two-thirty in the morning after all that, so I hit the truck stop. After my first cup of coffee I felt more human, and my head had cleared by the time I'd eaten the omelet. I didn't stop hurting for a couple of days; I couldn't get comfortable for much longer, of course. I did imagine a few other fine things I could have done-- mortar mix in the toilets, stuff like that. But on the whole I loved the super glue idea, it was easy and elegant.
_________

I was due to see Barbara that evening for our first date, and I had a day of work to get through. My mirror showed me all the bruising and welts. Mournfully I went to bed for a nap before work, getting to sleep by four in the morning.

I shall skip an account of my work day. By evening, I had found I could keep from hurting from muscle stiffness if I kept moving, but there were deep aches and bruises and the surface damage to my buttocks-- nothing made that any better except not touching anything with it.

I blamed myself. I used to work with named Ray Fish always said it: Never go out with anyone crazier than you are.

What could I possibly tell Barbara?

Barbara was a Northern Kingdom girl, out of Vermont; she knew just what to wear in a canoe. In the mannish woods clothes she was an inspiration in lightweight wool. I had her turn about. "How do I look?" she asked smugly.

"I was drooling. I had you turn around so I could wipe my chin," I replied. We chatted about the canoe trip, making sure we'd brought everything, comparing notes about how much canoeing we'd done. We'd left the main road before she mentioned it.

"You said you'd see that difficult girl of yours Wednesday, how'd it go?"

"She didn't take it really well. I mean, it was supposed to have been our first date and I was already breaking up with her. It got right out of hand. I didn't realize how much she resented it until it was too late."

"Too late? What do you mean? What happened?"

"I told you she'd been difficult, it was because of her first serious boyfriend back in college, she didn't trust men. It had taken weeks of gentle persistence to bring her to where she'd even go out ....

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Michelle leaned against the brick of the building, a stitch in her side, and her chest heaving. She tried to listen over the beat of her heart for any sounds of her persuer, but couldn't hear anything but her breath rasping in her throat. Maybe she'd lost him.

When her breath came easier, she began to move again. Walking under the streetlamps at a quick pace, she pulled up a map of the city in her mind, frantically searching for the nearest police station. She realized she was only two blocks away from the 18th precinct, and picked up her pace again, almost jogging.

A hand snaked out from the shadows beside her, and jerked her into an alley, slamming her up against the building, and another hand went to her mouth, smelling of sweat and cigarettes. She couldn't see him, just an ouline, but he was big. Her mind raced,
searching for a way out, and she sagged against the wall for a moment.

He took her relaxing as acquiescence, and the grip on her arm loosened just a bit, but it was enough. Michelle bit down on the hand at her mouth, and drove a heel, hard, into the instep of his right foot. The coppery taste of blood filled her mouth, and she gagged. Her attacker yelled, and clouted her with his other fist, making her ears ring. Pure reflex caused her to grab the hand that hit her, and with both of her hands on his arm, she forced his hand back on his wrist until it gave with a sickening crunch.

The man went to his knees, cradling his broken wrist with his other hand, and Michelle stood there a moment, considering, before swinging her leg around in an arc to connect solidly with his head. He slumped into a puddle in the alley, and she wasn't sure if he was breathing or not, nor did she care.

She gathered her purse from where it had fallen at the beginning of their struggle, dusted it off, then headed towards the lights and civilization. Her instructor would be proud.

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“Cli-cli-click”

The sound was unmistakable. The sound of an automatic pistol’s hammer being drawn back. My breath stopped and my hands slowly reached upwards.

“You’re not a common burglar.” His voice came from close behind me. “The fact that you got past the security system and the dogs tells me you are highly trained. That you are in my computer room tells me you are not looking for money or jewels. So, who are you and who sent you?”

My mind raced. How could I tell him his own boss had sent me? But what lie could I come up with that he would believe? He already had me pegged for the professional that I am.

He grabbed my arm, spinning me around. Reflex took over, my left hand swept across, bashing his right wrist against the door jam. His grip loosened on the gun momentarily and I snatched it away, my right knee impacting his abdomen to drive home my point. He was in good shape, I knew, but a fighter he was not. He crumpled to the floor, I guided him down with my free hand and straddled him, sitting hard on his chest to pin him down. I placed the muzzle of his Beretta firmly under his chin, jabbing it a little harder when he started to protest.

“I work for the highest bidder.” I pulled the spandex hood off my head, shaking my hair out as it fell over my shoulders. “In this case, Transpax Corp.”

His eyes grew wide, shock, disbelief and betrayal all evident in his expression. “Celia? What the fuck? You’re a corporate thief? Why? Why would you do this to me? And Transpax? They fired me years ago because they didn’t like where my research was going. What the hell would they want with it now?”

“I’m sure you have a hundred questions just now. I don’t have time to answer them all. Suffice it to say that Transpax regretted terminating your research before they fully understood its potential. They attempted to contact you to offer your job back. You didn’t return their calls and instead signed with Corvatti Corp. Transpax believes that the research you did while in their employ belongs to them even though they wanted nothing to do with it at the time. So they hired me four months ago to get it back.”

“Four months ago? Before we met! The day at the conference was a set up, wasn’t it? This whole relationship was just a way for you to get inside.”

“Yes, Jack. I had reconned your place before hand and knew the security system would take too much effort and expensive special equipment to get past. But I also knew you were alone, no wife, no family, no girlfriends. Yes I set you up. I looked over your Transpax file and watched you for weeks. Don’t be too hard on yourself, Jack, you’re a good looking guy and smart, caring and genuine. Most girls would love that.”

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The screech echoed around the street and Jamie shuddered, pulling his suede jacket tighter around him. That had sounded almost human. He’d heard so many banshee screams in this city that’d turned out to be cats fighting. To let imagination tell him anything else was just f…

The wind dropped and the scream cut through the night air again; it was a cry of pure fear and pain and Jamie knew where it was coming from. The alleyway on his right.

Jamie started walking towards the alley. Even if it was just fighting cats, he had to know.

The sight made his heart pound and he pulled back sharply. Two big men stood facing away from him, leaning over a girl and brandishing a vicious-looking knife. The girl that cowered between them couldn’t have been more than twelve. God only knew what she was doing here.

Jamie fished for his mobile. Of course, he didn’t have it with him. He had only been going to the shops, why would he need his mobile?

He took another glimpse. The girl looked up and saw him looking. Her eyes were pleading, desperate and Jamie knew then. He couldn’t leave.

Jamie grabbed a tin from his bag and crept down the alley. The girl was sobbing now, her head on her knees and Jamie prayed they would keep their eyes on her for a moment longer, just a metre more. He took one final step behind the knifewielder and brought the tin down on the back of his head.

The knifeman dropped. Jamie swung at the partner, but the man was quicker, catching his arm and punching into Jamie’s solar plexus, driving all breath from his lungs.

Jamie slumped to his knees, waiting for the boot to come down on his head. When he raised the strength to look up though, the man was gone and so was the girl.

He sat down, careful not to let his jacket touch the ground. His breathing was gasping and the world spun. Jamie dropped his head, closing his eyes as dizziness swamped him.

When he opened them, he stared incredulously at the red blossom growing across his shirt. Jamie’s fingers fumbled helplessly with the tear in the material, his mind disbelieving of what he saw. He slumped back, careless of his jacket, wheezing as his lungs struggled.

Phone. He needed his phone. He needed to call someone, anyone. This couldn’t be happening to him.

Across the alleyway, a small pink phone started to ring and Jamie stared at it. It must’ve been the girl’s. All he had to do was walk two metres.

The dizziness rushed over him again and Jamie felt sick. Why couldn’t he move? It was two metres away, just two goddamned metres and he couldn’t move. Darkness encroached, but Jamie still stared, watching that tacky, garish mobile phone purring its ringtone on the tarmac. He had to get up, he had to…this couldn’t…wasn’t happening…not to him…had to…

Then darkness covered him.

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The Mugging

“What the…?” Cassie turned her head.

“Don’t move,” came the gruff voice.

Her mouth went dry. An object was pressing into her back, then a rough hand grasped the back of her neck.

“Hand it over.”

“What?”

“Your money.”

“I don’t have any.”

“Don’t give me that, bitch!” He slapped her across the back of the head. It didn’t hurt, much, but she felt his strength.

Fuck! How dare he?

“No, really, I have no money on me. Take my jewellery.” She tugged at her sapphire and diamond ring.

“Not good enough! I want cash!”

Think, Cassie, think! He was actually scaring her.

“Um, is there anything else I can do for you?” she said, hesitantly.

“Don’t give me that shit. What could you possibly have that I might interest me?”

“This?” She spun around, showing him her open mouth. He jumped back, startled by her quick movement. He was holding nothing but a twig. She gasped, a laugh escaping her lips.

Stalemate.

His eyes bore into hers; she tried to read his next move. She took the initiative.

Before he could react, she brought up her knee, swung her foot back, then propelled it forward, in one quick, swift motion.

“Ah,” he gasped, as the ball of her foot connected with his solar-plexus. He went down, a pathetic heap on the ground.

“Not so fucking tough now, are you?” she said, as she prowled around him. She kicked him in the stomach, with her booted foot. He groaned. “Awww, poor baby.”

Fuck, this one was easy! The one the night before had put up a fight.

“Get up,” her words were stern; short and clipped.

“I… c… can’t.”

“Yes, you can, you SHIT!” she spat at him, grabbing a handful of his hair and hauling him to his feet. Holding his hair with her left hand, she used her right hand to undo his belt, tugging it from his jeans. Then she undid his jeans, yanking them down, followed by his boxers, leaving them around his ankles.

“Bend over.”

“What?”

“Just do it.” Her face told him she wasn’t going to take any more insolence from him.

He did it.

“Good! Now hold your ankles.”

He did as asked.

Cassie wrapped his leather belt around his ankles and wrists. She knew he wouldn’t try to move, if he did, he’d fall flat on his face.

She prowled around him again, the heels of her boots clicking on the pavement. She went behind him and admired the view, took two steps back, swung her arm behind her, then launched in his ass.

Smack!

He almost lost his balance.

She continued the assault, raining down blow after blow on his exposed bottom. He whimpered.

Finally, she decided he’d had enough punishment, bent down and began going through his rumpled jeans. She found his wallet. “I trust the correct amount is in here?”

“Yes, Miss,” he meekly replied.

“Good!” She found the money, stood up, and bid him goodnight.

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James Matterson hated the city. Hated it with every core and fiber of his being. The rich smug and lost in a decaying world of the self and the poor pointing a .45 at the back of his skull and calling him a “cock-sucking ass pirate.”

“Listen fuckwit,” James muttered wearily and unintelligently. “I don’t have a wallet. You’ve been patting my ass for the last three minutes so you know as well that I don’t have a wallet. Now, let’s end the fucking charade and I can go back to hating this shit hole and you can go back to finding people who actually have wallets.”

“Hey motherfucker, I said shut your god damn mouth,” the mugger cried angrily twisting the barrel into James’s greasy hair.

James shrugged dejectedly. It was always the same with street punks. He had been held up at gun point over seventeen times in the last month and each time the mugger couldn’t figure out why James refused to carry even elementary ID around anymore. Common sense, that was the common denominator. The common denominator everyone lacked that was. James felt like the planet’s only elementary school teacher. Okay, dipshit, two and two makes what now? No, not blue. Let’s try again peoples. It was all so frustrating.

“Where the fuck you hiding it, man,” the mugger demanded angrily into his ear. James counted slowly under his breath.

With deliberate slowness, he spat out, “What part of ‘I have no wallet on me’ is so fucking hard to grasp in that small pea-sized head of yours?”

“I said shut the fuck up, you aren’t better than me,” the mugger swore again into his ear. He wanted to spit desperately. The angry bile was backing up a bit too much in his throat. It wasn’t the brainless thug. He was a mere nuisance. It was the fact that he had been standing around with a gun pressed into his skull for ten minutes on the sidewalk in bright daylight and yet still invisible to the milling hordes of things he had a dubious honor of calling his fellow man.

But that was the story, right? Everyone was so focused on their own little lives, never wanting to risk their own neck lest it be severed. And never hope for a good person, because the good weren’t selfish enough. Nope, never any-

“Hey, what the hell are you doing to that man,” a female voice cried out from behind him. “Police,” she shouted at the top of her lungs. “Poli-“

BLAM. The gunshot rocked over the crowd finally getting them to react and run and scream. Finally, James’s chance was open and he seized it immediately. He didn’t bother to look back. He knew she was probably slumping in shock as the mugger rifled through her purse and if she were still alive, she wouldn’t be much longer.

Dumb bitch, didn’t she know only the self-centered survive? It was as common-sensical as two plus two.

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"I'm not going to hurt you."

He spoke with a soft yet firm voice from just behind her, across her left shoulder, his hands gripping her biceps, not hard, but sufficiently to pin her to the spot. She'd not heard him come up behind her and guessed he must have been hiding behind one of the concrete columns in the car park.

His first touch transformed to a grip before she'd had the chance to whirl round and confront him; and his first words had been menacing, practiced, filling her with trepidation and the warning words of her parents echoed in the blank cavern of her mind about walking alone in dark places. She'd pee'd just a little as the lower half of her body turned to jelly at his touch and harsh command not to look around or to move.

Then for a few moments that seemed an eternity nothing happened other than his continuing to hold her by the arms, shifting his grip to hold her more securely. She willed herself to stand still, she read and heard enough reports to know that struggle only led to violence and if he was going to assault her the best thing was to accept her fate and try to remember everything about him for the police investigation. Anyone observing them would have seen a fragmentary moment of comedy as both sniffed the air inhaling and imprinting the others scent; he was chewing gum, she'd just been to the hairdressers.

"Drop the bag and walk away. Don't look back."

The relief swept through her like a cool shower on a summers day. She wasn't about to be raped! His words almost comforted her, almost; it was a Gucci bag. Her mind whirled seeking a route to keep her prized possession, though the withdrawal of physical harm allowed her thoughts to consider, fleetingly, the warmth of his hands on the bare skin of her upper arms.

"If you want money, I don't have any in my bag."

"But you've cards, they're as good as money. I can sell them."

He was talking too much. She realised he must be new at this, he should have snatched the bag and run.

"We can go to the cash point. I can get you some money, a hundred, two hundred. More than you'd get for the cards." She was guessing, and she knew the cash point wouldn't give her anything like that amount, she was already overdrawn on her borrowing limit.

"Where's the cash point?"

"In the High Street. A couple of minutes walk."
"No, too many people about. I'll take the bag."

Fuck, she thought, he saw through that.

"Take my engagement ring, it's a diamond. You can sell that."

"No, I couldn't do that, that's special. You keep it."

What the fuck is going on here, she thought, trust me to get landed with a fucking compassionate mugger. He'll be wanting me to hold his hand next.

"How about I turn around and… "

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It’s not cold. It’s supposed to be cold. Aaron was amazed that such thoughts would come to him with an eight inch knife resting against his jugular. The piss running down his legs actually felt colder than the steel – as did the fresh blood dripping from his ear. So this is how life ends, he mused, random thoughts about totally inconsequential things.

“My wallet’s in the car, and the keys are on the kitchen counter. Please ...”

He had just stepped out of the bathroom, dripping wet and in search of a towel, when the knife appeared at his throat. Hot breath against his bare shoulders told him that the intruder was several inches shorter, but that was the extent of his information. The heavy coat, gloves, and hood masked all else. The cut was made in spite of his complete lack of resistance. A warning, no doubt, and an effective one. The sound of his earlobe being sliced still echoed in his mind as he stared at the small earring on the floor. Then the pain signals, blocked momentarily by his disbelief, slammed into his brain and he nearly lost consciousness.

“I’m not here to take your money,” a woman’s hard voice announced.

What the ...? Think, Aaron. Your life depends on it. Keep her talking. “Do I know you?”

Her response was a well-placed kick to the small of his back, knocking him prone onto his bed. “Don’t move,” she said as she rested the blade between his thighs. There were sounds, but he couldn’t decipher them. Rustling. Everything was wet – blood, water, urine – and cold. Everything except that blade. It wasn’t even touching his skin at the moment, but he could feel its radiant heat. The point was millimeters from his balls and he felt as if the hair was burning.

Wait! Knives don’t buzz. He actually smelled it before the shock hit him. The taser probably did singe the hair on his balls. Aaron added his vomit to the wetness just before he fainted.

He came to bound, wrists to ankles, on his bed. She had cleaned him up a bit, but the stench remained. “What do you want?” he croaked just as she came into view.

She stood before him in just jeans and a t-shirt, having shed the bulky disguise. A small woman with long, dark hair and piercing blue eyes. Vaguely familiar. “I’m here to take your life – in the same way you took my daughter’s.”

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I burst from under the covers, my heart pounding against my breast, almost raging. Sweat burned into my skin, and my muscles bit raw with tension.

I closed my eyes and raised my hand feeling my fingers tremble before steadying them against my chest. “Breathe,” my voice cracked trying to silence my body, trying to listen, to make sure it was only a nightmare.

“Breathe,” I settled into a more even sigh, and listened. Only the rapid pulse from inside my body, and the sound of my breath spreading through the room echoed into my ears.

Opening my eyes, I glanced across the blue hue of the room to the clock. The sun was just rising, but it was too early to get out of bed. Still, something didn’t feel right. I didn’t feel alone.

Suddenly, the scrape of a chair across the hardwood floor downstairs splintered through my skin. I threw the covers, and almost jumped from the bed in a panic, but caught myself.

I needed to be quiet.

One foot pressed to the bare floor, and a sting of nervousness lifted every hair on my body. I reached under the bed, and grabbed a baseball bat that I kept for these moments - although I had never hoped to feel such a moment, again.

I needed clothes.

As careful as my fear would let me, I moved toward the corner chair. Each step almost creaking on the old floor, but I let my body shift and settle with each press of my foot.

Another sound – a voice – a whisper. I moved faster, placed the bat steady on the chair, grabbed my jeans and t-shirt, and swiftly pulled them on. My life savings were down there, all those things that were personal and precious to me. When I first moved to this small town, I thought I wouldn’t have to worry about being robbed or mugged, or raped or attacked.

But I was tired of being afraid. I opened the bedroom door with a set of balls for a change. The door creaked at first, but my mind was swimming with growing anger that was eroding the terror.

My feet moved with more firmness, my body with more certainty as I clutched the bat with both hands and descended the stairs with confidence into the darkness of the hall.

“Shh,” I thught I heard from the living room, and I paced down the hall, stopping near the door. ‘What if they had guns?’

I pressed my back against the wall, feeling its coldness spread like death against my skin. I didn’t care at this point, not after what happened in the city. I swallowed my breath and chased away my fear.

Lifting my back from the wall, I raised my hand to the light switch. I would surprise them and take them off guard.

On three, I convinced myself.

One. I heard a shuffle of movement. My hands sweat against the bat.

Two. My cat screamed?

Three. I flicked the light and ...

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He tapped the glass from the small pane sending the broken pieces to the floor, and then he slipped his arm inside to unlock the door. Turning the knob he realized the door had been unlocked all along and he reached back inside to ‘unlock’ it again. This time it worked and he slipped inside forgetting about the broken glass on the floor that was until he found himself landing smack on his ass.

“Jumping Jesus!” he muttered as the pain spread across his hips.

Standing back up again he rubbed his sore backside before pulling a small canvas sack from inside his jacket. Making his way from the kitchen to the living room he scanned for things that would make him some quick cash. Nothing here but an odd collection of little carved statues of evil looking demons, their faces twisted in anguished grins with teeth gnashed and bulging eyes. He decided to look elsewhere.

Moving inside what appeared to be an office he found the normal office things, computer, disks, pens, pencils and paper nothing of real value. He grabbed a paperweight that looked like a large glass ball inside of which there floated what appeared to be an eyeball. “Gross” he thought, but it might get him a few bucks. Tossing it in his bag he never noticed the eye looking up at him.

In the next room he found all sorts of strange equipment, whips, chains and cuffs. There was a long stainless steel table in the center of the room under a single hanging light; the leather restraints on the sides were left open. Along side of the table was a smaller table with an assortment of strange looking knives, saws and clamps. He wasn’t about to touch those, Ew.

Along the walls were assorted bottles and jars, he walked over and squinted as he tried to see what they contained in the dim light of the room. The bottles were of different sizes shapes and colors labeled with names and words he never heard of, let alone could pronounce. The jars contained what looked like small-unborn creatures, their eyes unopened and claw like hands poised in a defensive pose as they floated in some kind of solution. Some had what looked like fur while the others had small scales; two had small wings folded against their tiny bodies. He grimaced as he looked at these little atrocities of un-nature and suddenly he felt he should leave this place. As he was about to leave a glimmer of something shiny caught his eye.

Near the doorway was an open chest containing hundreds of gold coins and jewels. He couldn’t believe his luck.

“Jackpot.” He cried and started to fill the bag with as much as he could carry. The weight of the booty caused the bag to rip open spilling its contents on the floor. As he scrambled to pick them up and put them inside his jacket it was then he heard the breathing.

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People scattered as the skimmer set down, hurriedly making way, reluctantly conceding space rather than be crushed. The blue-and-red lights were flashing, alternately warming and cooling the faces surrounding the huddled bodies, the darkness of the night anonymizing those further back in the crowd.

Black-armor-clad figures stepped from the skimmer, neural whips in hand. The crowd sullenly gave room, moving back, leaving only the two on the ground. One of the black-clad officers surveyed the crowd while the other crouched down beside the prone figures.

The girl looked up at the crouching officer, the acid etch of pain contorting what might be an attractive face under other circumstances.

"What happened?" The officer's voice was flat, blunt, emotion long since lost in the unending war against the dregs of humanity which preyed on those as lost as themselves, here in the underbelly of the cit-complex.

"Tried to rob me. Didn't know I had a shock-suit. Bastard broke my leg when he went down." The voice was clear, the words not slurred by synth as so many others were down here.

"Any witnesses?"

The girl gestured at the crowd. "Most of those, but no-one will talk. More than their life is worth."

"You don't belong here," said the officer. "So what are you doing?"

"Lost."

"Lost?" There was scorn as well as disbelief in the officer's voice. "On the way to where? Hell?"

A flicker of what might have been humor crossed the girl's face for a moment. "Not warm enough." She tried to ease her position, but dropped back with a gasp of pain. Belatedly the officer keyed the tongue switch in the helmet.

"Control." The tinny voice in the earpiece was familiar, steady.

"Need a med-unit. Broken leg. Home on my co-ordinates."

"Ack. Control out."

The officer turned to the other figure, ragged, bulky, twice the girl's mass. The figure was face down and the officer heaved the body over, grunting with the effort. A familiar face, one of the petty criminals who never quite did enough for re-con or mind-wipe, serving time on the gangs before returning to their petty ways. The officer took cuffs and fastened the figure's hands, before doing a quick but thorough search of the man's pockets. The officer smiled at the result of the search, then turned back to the girl.

"I asked you a question. I still want an answer."

"I told you. I was lost."

"And I said I didn't believe you."

"My so-called boyfriend brought me. Said there was a party, maybe some narco, but the smelg got drunk, so I decided to go home, and I got lost."

"Lucky you're wearing a shock-suit."

"It wasn't luck." The tone was flat.

"Who are you?"

"Can you reach my back? My ID's there."

The officer reached inside the shock-suit and took out the ID. The glance at the girl was sharp. "Why didn't you say?"

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It wasn't the money. After all, a few dead prezzies stamped on a few dead trees did not, contrary to popular belief, make the world go round. At least not the world of Preston B. Waldorf. The man was practically made of money. For a man who could use stock bonds as toilet paper, if he was so inclined, money here or money there was not an issue. So it wasn't the seven hundred dollars that were no longer in his wallet. Nor was it the designer bag no longer over his shoulder or the precision watch no longer on his wrist.

No the thing that really pissed Preston off about the whole deal was the fact that these kind of things just don't happen to these kind of men. He wasn't exactly the kind of person who wallows in his wealth, but he knew how to use that asset right. Anything can be bought, and security is one of those things. Men like Preston know how to buy themselves absolution from common street thugs. You just buy bigger thugs to scare them off.

But a change of schedule and a odd twist of fate was all it took to place him without his expensive flesh-and-bone armor in a side of town where men like him have no business walking unprotected. So what he mourned was the revelation that he too was human, a fact that it is easy to forget unless reminded of it. That the barrel of a gun could reduce any demigod to a scared little dweeb down there with the rest of them. A wake-up call. A little loss of innocence.

And the ring. The gold ring no longer around his index finger. He'd really miss that. Money and fancy stuff was just that, money and fancy stuff. But the ring was the real deal. It had fucking connotations. Connotations are hand to come by, wether you are filthy rich or on curch rat level.

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Fog rolled around the soft curve of Macy’s legs as she strolled down the sidewalk towards her apartment. The black heels pinching her feet clicked on the hard concrete, the sound seemingly muffled in the soup swirling around her. The weak beams from the streetlights made little headway against the dense darkness, and she had to strain to see more than an inch in front of her.

Even though the weather created the illusion she was alone in the late night, Macy sensed a presence. The tapping of her shoes quickened with the pace of her heart as she hurried toward the safe haven of home. Relief flooded her as the entrance to her building materialized out of the gloom. As her hand closed over the door handle, a strong arm circled around her waist.

“Don’t make a sound,” a low voice growled.

She stiffened in the tight embrace of the stranger, the hammering of her heart returning to pound as though it would burst through her ribs. Flinching when the rough pads of his fingers traced a scratchy trail down her cheek, she hissed in fear and anger and jerked her face away. “Don’t touch me,” her words were clipped as they oozed from between her clenched teeth.

Hot searing pain flared in her scalp. “I said don’t make a sound.” His deep voice was a cold as the steel blade that suddenly appeared in front of her.

The surge of bravado that had spawned her demand disappeared as her eyes gazed upon the glinting silver. Her arm went limp as her purse was tugged from her shoulder. Nothing inside the leather pouch was worth bodily harm. Money could be earned again and plastic could be cancelled at the touch of keypad. Skin and life weren’t so easily replaced.

“Much better doll, your face is too beautiful to be marred by my knife.”

Back into the shadows, the man melted from sight and Macy slumped against the door. The fear slowly ebbed until a startling thought etched against her mind. He had her keys. She rushed into the building and banged on the manger’s door, her fists aching by the time he answered.

Even after she explained what had happened, he refused to change the locks. “Don’t know which one you live in,” he said with indifference. “Not likely he’d come try them all just to find you. Worrin’ for nothing.”

He let her in with the master key and said he’d get her a new one made the next day. Macy locked everything up tight, and headed to bed, but sleep wouldn’t come. Every sound sent a thrill of fear running through her. Is it him?

“Get a grip Macy, he only wanted your money, not you.” But his words about her beauty haunted her thoughts. When the morning dawned bright and clear, she felt a weight lift from her. Surely if he was going to come, he would have already done so.

Stepping in the shower, she ....

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(Background: Lord Sebastian Vayne goes slumming in an attempt to ignore his growing interest in his own housemaid.)

Sebastian panted, thrusting home hungrily. He’d been hesitant. He’d been ashamed. He’d been slumming. But now he was deep in the joys of a threepenny upright. If he closed his eyes and ignored the questionable bathing practices of his companion, he could imagine soft brown eyes and a face like a Rossetti Madonna. He groaned, pulling her décolletage down to let his lips to her breasts. She was braced on the wall, head back, utterly uninterested in him. But he had illusions to maintain, and he wanted the touch of warm, soft skin in his mouth.

He groaned, sucking her nipple between his lips. Elizabeth. He pushed her name fiercely away, gripping the taut flesh hard enough to draw a gasp from the whore. He’d sworn, of course, that he would think no such thoughts. No dreaming of housemaids while slumming with doxies; certainly no comparisons to Rossetti Madonnas, Boticelli Venuses, or any such ludicrous thing. He’d come with a simple mission: seek an amiable creature, glut the flesh a little – obviously there was need of it, if he found himself pining after housemaids – and return home without a minimum of embarrassing internal revelations.

Difficulties had set in. He’d meant to be swift and decisive, but the trouble with slumming was that it took place in slums. Slums were not notorious for putting forth delicate and delightful flowers. He’d wandered the street like an idiot, painfully aware that his dress marked him a likely target for blackmail or robbery. There were whores aplenty, but for the most part hideous, nearly all filthy, and hardly any … what he was looking for. It wasn’t so much a specific set of characteristics as a sort of look … he’d know it when he saw it. And so he did. He could hardly help it if she happened to look just a little like …

“Ah, God!” He drove home, feeling the sudden rush take him. He closed his eyes, pressing his face to her neck, and without thinking he kissed there hungrily as he finished. His mind, a traitor entirely, brought the to his eye: her face, her neck, her lips.

“Now, you’ll be kind to a nice lady, an’ step back good and slow,” said a growling voice behind him. Sebastian groaned, then obeyed. He met the whore’s eye with a look of reproach, but she slid away with a philosophical shrug. He’d been going to give her a sovereign, he thought bitterly. Then he sighed, nodding to the justice of it. One could hardly rail at a whore for being faithless.
He turned, observing the three nasty looking specimens of East End thuggery facing him in the alleyway. He spread his arms, doing his best to look totally unresisting. Then a thought and a cool breeze struck him at the same moment.

“I don’t suppose,” he asked wearily, “that I might be permitted to fasten my trousers?”

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The thread-bare coat did little to protect him from the elements as he walked briskly towards the bridge. No hat adorned his bald pate and his once fine clothing was stained and tattered. He didn’t feel the cold. He didn’t feel much of anything any more. Life simply became more of a day to day wait for the end.

As he looked over the river with his hands grasping the cold steel railing, he recapped the life he meant to end today. In the hazy brown horizon, the faces of the people important to him flashed and greeted, whizzing by. ‘Too fast, too fast,’ he thought but couldn’t slow down their progression.

There was no note, nothing to be left behind but his shoes, lined with enough money to make the person who found them comfortable beyond measure. He knew the vagrants beneath the bridge would find the shoes. He could only hope that the money wouldn’t be spent on drugs.

As he slipped off his shoes, a well dressed woman with familiar eyes came up behind him.

“Where you goin?”

He shook his head in despair. This was not the way he wanted to go. “A vacation. I’ve always wanted a river cruise.”

The stood staring at one another, each waiting for the next reaction.

“I’ll be taking your shoes, old man.” She demanded. She knew where he kept his money. In fact, she knew him very well.

“Susan, of all my children, you would be the one to take something that doesn’t belong to you. You were my only regret.”

He bent as if to hand her the shoes but instead tossed them over the bridge to the cardboard homes below. Outrage flared her nostrils and anger overwhelmed her as she shoved him with all her strength. She watched as his body plummeted to the icy black depths below.

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The top level of the temple consisted of a colonnade running the breadth of the temple, giving shade to those who managed to climb all the way to the top. On either side the arcade swept back into a walkway carved out into the rock, embracing an open space behind the shaded entrance. The sun beat down directly into the potted garden, doing his best to burn the swaying fronds off of the date palms, dry up the poppies planted around the small basin in the middle.

Jahi entered the walkway to the right, glanced for a moment at the beautiful small garden and continued on. Following the marble steps that led down into the mountain he brought Sanura to a little cubicle at the foot of the steps.

"This will be your sleeping place for the next cycles. Since you have been chosen as initiate I expect you to behave properly."

"I will, dignified one." Sanura's voice was soft and full of remorse, but her eyes sparkled with the excitement of being the chosen one.

Jahi allowed her a few moments to take in her new home for the next turning of the moon or more. The rock kept out the heat but in winter it could be cold and unforgiving, as the walls were bare. Since the girl was supposed to be devoting herself to learning and honing her awareness nothing inside should detract from it. The sole furnishing was a pallet with a straw mattress, covered with plain unbleached cloth.

"I'll show you the way."

Jahi knew he was being harsh again, but he couldn't help it. Apart from wanting the girl to succeed as the new high priestess, he was desperate to keep himself apart from her. She was highly intuitive, an obvious choice to be initiated into the secrets of the cards. It wouldn't do to confuse her training with intimate knowledge of his mature body. He sighed. How he wished things were different. Her smooth, golden skin would be beautiful against his darker, tougher hide. His tall, lean frame embracing her softer, rounder form.

Abruptly Jahi cleared his throat, dispelling the enticing images from his mind. He stepped aside and gestured Sanura inside the proper temple quarters, showing her the place for eating, for cleaning her body and for praying. Finally he led her out again, continuing along the curve around the inner garden till they came to the back of it. There, hacked out from the sheer face of the mountain stood a sturdy wooden door, which was adorned with the Eye of Horus.

"Sanura, observe the symbol. Can you explain why this hall - and no other - is guarded with such a door?" Jahi's voice was a bit less cold as he looked at the young woman.

* * *

Sanura looked at the large painting in gold and blue and nodded her head. She glanced at Jahi for a moment, biting her lip as she saw his eyes resting on her face.

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“It’s the adrenalin rush,” he said to himself as he got off the subway and started up to the mean streets.

That’s what he always told himself. As if repeating the mantra could make it so.

Johnny’s explanation bothered him. Not enough to keep these nighttime forays from being more addictive than crack, but enough to make him look for an alternative. As he exited the station he adjusted his shirt, making sure the bulging wallet in his jeans was clearly visible.

Jeb passed several hookers, a couple of bars with neon advertising, girls, girls, girls, and a few sex shops. It didn’t take him long to pick up his quarry. Three kids, more gold than Mr. T, pants falling off their hips and colors proudly displayed.

He stepped into an adult bookstore and browsed a bit. When he saw them follow him in, he felt the tightening in his chest, the rush. His hands itched and his heartbeat accelerated.

He then moved to the rack with gay mags and selected a few. Experience had taught him his quarry tended to actually go for it when they thought their victim was a fag. He paid for them in cash, making sure to let a loose C-note fall to the floor. Money was the prime bait, and he made sure they saw he was loaded.

Clutching his purchases to his chest he hurried out, and made his way back to the subway station with plenty of furtive looks. He could play the part well now, and didn’t worry about hamming it up. His prey very rarely ever suspected something was wrong.

The train was there, so he stopped to bend and tie his shoe. Once the bell sounded he ran down the steps, but of course, missed the train. Those who had just gotten off disappeared quickly and in a few moments, he was alone in the dreary station.

He thought perhaps his quarry had given up, but they came down the stairs, checking to make sure the station was empty as they did so. He waited now, tense, ready.

The leader was tall and thin, with a sneer on his face. The other two flanked him, and they approached quickly, sure of themselves.

Jeb turned to face them and waited.

“Well, well, well, lookee here boys, poor little fag missed the train,” the leader said as he produced a knife from under his jacket.

The rush hit him, pleasure on a different level than even sex coursed through him as he lashed out and broke the leader’s arm just below the elbow. The screams were the real prize. The shocked expressions and howls of pain. He saw red. Felt the unequaled thrill. He didn’t stop kicking, hitting, breaking bones until they ceased to move and even to groan.

As he boarded the train Johnny’s words came back, but in the afterglow they didn’t bother him.

“Pure meanness,” he has said.

He might just be right.

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The night was thick, hot, and humid, the air waiting for the relief of the thunderstorm that had hovered just out of reach for days. Celia walked slowly down the dark, empty street, her heels clicking dully off the blind, brick walls, every sense alive, the darkness drawing her on.

She knew she must be crazy to be out in this neighborhood alone like this, but this was the third night in a row now that she’d dressed, made up her face, and cabbed down to the center of this forlorn urban wasteland. Here she’d pay the cabby and get out and walk through these dangerous and deserted streets, wandering slowly, her heart pounding. her stomach knotted in delicious dread. She’d just walk, alone and aware, her restlessness drawing her on, going nowhere.

Eventually she’d reach a boulevard or busy street and find the safety of another cab. She’d ride back up north, the sweat drying on her skin, gazing out the window with a mixture of relief and hungry, gnawing frustration.

There was something out here she wanted in these dark and mean streets. Something hot and male and dangerous.

She stopped on a street corner and looked left and right. The dim yellow streetlight barely penetrated the humid air and left dark pools of shadow in the empty doorways and around the rubbish in the street.. She pulled nervously at her blouse, tugging the fabric away from where it had stuck to the cloying perspiration on her chest. Listening carefully she could hear the hot whine of tires on asphalt and knew that a busy street was somewhere nearby. There was the sound of an ambulance in the distance, too far away to do her any good.

A traffic light at the end of the block changed from red to green, but there were no cars to notice it. Far in the distance she saw a slash of heat lightening in the west. She’d been seeing heat lightening all night, but the rain never came. Down here it felt like it never would.

There was a low laugh from directly ahead of her. A man’s laugh.

Another, and she froze.

She cast a nervous glance down the side street, but it was too dark to see anything for sure and she was afraid to stare. The shadows cut the street into bands of gray and deep black, but as she turned her head back she saw the unmistakable glow of a cigarette in the darkness, only a few doors down and on the same side of the street.

A thrill of real fear suddenly shot through her, knotting her stomach. In all her other walks she had never come across another soul down here, and she realized that she had no idea pf what she should do. She couldn’t run; that was out of the question. The thing to do was to look in control, cross the street as if she knew where she was going and walk away.

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Let me tell you something, at 4:00 in the morning in the mountains in February its darned cold outside and stuff. I always have the last dance set on Friday night ‘cause the boss says I’m the best pull and it keeps the guys there later. So I finished up my last set and tucked my tips into my duffle with my costumes, pulled on a pair of jeans, a sweatshirt and my boots, grabbed my coat and headed for the door.

Tony was at the door and he offered to walk me to my car ‘cause he takes good care of us girls and stuff. He’s a big guy so nobody messes with him. I guess he got that way from being a bouncer. Anyway, Tony walked me out and then he got in his car and left. That’s when I noticed I didn’t have my duffle so I left my car running and went back to the club but the door was locked. I guess Me and Tony was the last ones out and stuff and he locked it up when I wasn’t watching.

So I started back to my car but there was a guy standing by it and he didn’t look nice b ut I was tired and I just wanted to go home so I walked past him and reached for the door but he stopped me.

He said he had a gun in his pocket and he wanted all my money but I didn’t have any ‘cause it was all in my duffle so I told him that. He said he didn’t believe me ‘cause he knew I was a dancer at the club and he said he knew I got lots of tips. So I pulled my coat up a little and turned around, I said, “You see a wallet in those back pockets you dumb jerk?”

He said, “No but I see something worth just as much. Take your clothes off.”

I said, “What the hell for?”

He said, “Cause I wanna see you naked and I got a gun.”

I said, “You only said you got a gun but I ain’t seen one and if you want to see me naked your gonna have to pay like everyone else.”

He said, “Pay? I’m trying to rob you, bitch.”

I said, “Well I ain’t got any money and you call me bitch again and I won’t even take off my coat. Now you got money or what?”

He said, “Ok, how much?”

I said, “Theres a $30 cover charge plus you gotta buy 3 drinks. And since this is a private dance that’s another $25 and that don’t count the tip.”

He started kickin’ at the snow and said, “But that’s like 50 bucks and I only got 40.”

I said, “Give it to me.” And when he did I flashed my boobs at him. His eyes got real big and kicked him in the crotch and jumped in my car and drove ...

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I walked out the second set of doors and the cold slapped me like an angry Joan Crawford. I squinted into the blackness of the large lawn that led towards the frozen river.

“Over here, Handsome.”

A flare of light to my right announced her location as she lit a cigarette. She was leaning against a tree in the dark center of twin light beacons that tumbled from the windows of the warm house. It looked like something that should be shown only in the original black and white with a newsreel first. The shadows competed for the right to frame her perfect face around the stage of the flickering match.

The match fluttered from her hands to perish in the snow with a hiss and a last wisp of smoke. She blew the smoke into the air as her eyes sparked a challenge.

“”Is there a reason we need to do this out here Jan? What’s wrong with the warm kitchen?”

“Too loud and too bright. Plus there are way too many witnesses…”

At the last she rushed me and flew into my chest. The icy sidewalk won the short battle for balance and I collapsed backwards into the snow with Jan on top of me…

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