The Chronicles of Valen Ch. 14
“Disclaimer: Valen, Nathyrra, The Seer, and several of the other characters are the property of Bioware. If you’ve played the game, you’ll recognize them. The rest is the invention of my twisted little imagination, including Morrighu Badb and the goddess she serves.”
* * * * *
One Night in Camp
She grins, “I’m glad we’re back. We need to talk to the Seer right away. And I can’t wait to take a bath.”
Valen looks at Nathyrra, “If Morrighu is to have a bath any time soon, we’ll have to arrange for quarters. Will you go find us quarters at the public house?”
Nathyrra sighs, “Are the two of you sure you want to do this? It’s not too late to back out now. Once you announce it, you’re committed.”
Valen sighs, “Name another way to accomplish what she wants without bloodshed.”
Nathyrra shakes her head, “I cannot. Very well, I will see to your quarters. This will spread through camp quicker than the story about Foromir’s frog.”
Valen grins, “She did say that this should keep her from getting frogs from anyone else.”
Nathyrra rolls her eyes as they prepare to disembark. Cavallas navigates next to the dock and anchors the ship. Rizolvir watches as they disembark. He grins as he sees Valen leap to shore first carrying Morrighu’s pack as well as his own and then catch her as she leaps. He watches as the pair approaches him; they’re walking side by side, heads down while they chat and Valen is still carrying Morrighu’s pack. Rizolvir laughs to himself because he’s won his bet with Imloth. He bet Imloth that Valen would be carrying her pack by the end of the month.
Morrighu approaches Rizolvir and turns sideways, pointing to the damaged area on her armor, “Can you fix this for me? I’d also like to see if you have the extra under-padding ready.” She shakes a finger at him, “I’m paying you this time and no arguments from you.”
Rizolvir grins at her, “I can fix it, but I need to get you out of it first. As for the under-padding, it’s ready. Do you want to take it now or shall I have it delivered to the temple?”
She giggles and blushes but Valen answers before she can, “We won’t be staying at the temple any longer. We’re moving to the public house.”
Rizolvir stands with his mouth open, “Why? Has there been some problem?”
Morrighu’s still blushing but she stammers, “Oh…ummm…meet my patron-protector,” as she gestures to a grinning Valen.
Rizolvir laughs, “Good for you, Valen and you too, Morrighu. You both seem happy together.”
Morrighu laughs, “Don’t tell anyone. It’s still a secret. We’ve not made the official announcement as yet. Nathyrra’s the only other one that knows, for now. We go to tell the Seer next. As for my armor, I’ll have it delivered to you later. I’ll need it back quickly so I’ll pay you to set aside what ever you’re working on. Tell me how much it will be to give your other customers a discount for having to wait, and I’ll pay that in addition to your usual fees. I’m hoping to only be here for a day or two at most, before we set out again.”
Rizolvir nods, “I’ll start on it as soon as you get it to me. If you need, I can have it ready by tomorrow morning. Tell me how urgent your need is.”
She nods and squeezes his arm lightly, “I would get started as soon as we are able and thank you. I don’t mean to be any trouble, but I don’t know what else to do.”
He pats her hand, “We’re all very thankful for your efforts. I don’t think anyone will complain. Now, go tell the Seer your news.”
Morrighu grins and they set off toward the temple. Outside the door, Valen stops her, “Are you certain this is what you want?”
She shakes her head, “No, but I believe both of you when you tell me this is necessary. Since there is no other choice, my path is laid out for me. All that is required of me is the resolve to walk it. The only thing I fear is losing you. We will be shoved cheek by jowl and I fear that it’s too soon, that it will be a strain and that we might not withstand it. You and Nathyrra have made this whole thing bearable. For the first time in ages, I have someone I am not bonded to that I can call my friend. For the first time in even longer than I’ve had a friend, I have someone I am not bonded to that cares for me, who is not frightened of me, who might just possibly be able to love me. I don’t want to lose that. That is the only part of it that scares me.”
Valen puts an arm across her shoulders, pulls her to him, and kisses her forehead, “Did the night in the tower change anything between us?”
She shakes her head, “Not as far as I can tell.”
Still holding her to him, he chuckles, “Nor shall it. The only thing that will change is that you will sleep in my arms some nights, which I don’t think I will hear any complaints about.”
She sighs, “I’m still nervous about it.”
He grins, “It will be fine. As you tend to remind me, have faith. Now, just follow my lead and everything will be fine.”
He opens the door for her and Imloth sees them enter and suppresses a snicker at seeing Valen carrying both of their packs. Valen heads straight for Imloth, sweeping Morrighu with him.
Imloth notes the rather familiar arm around Morrighu’s waist, “Valen, what’s wrong?”
Valen grins at him, “Nothing’s wrong, but we need to speak with the Seer, in private.”
Imloth nods and turns to one of the acolytes, sending her to fetch the Seer. The acolyte returns and motions for them to follow. Imloth grins as Valen sweeps Morrighu with him, following the acolyte.
The Seer rises to greet them, “What is so urgent, Valen?”
Valen sighs deeply, “Where to begin? Morrighu has decided that I need to have both status and unquestioned authority. Nathyrra and I discussed it and the only bloodless solution we’ve been able to come up with is that I become her patron-protector.”
The Seer thinks for a moment, “With the exception of having to stay at the public house here in camp, I think that’s wise.”
Morrighu grins, “I’m not sure I understand all of it, exactly, but I need his help and if he gives an order, I want it carried out. I’ve come to trust his judgment. I don’t want the House Maeviir Matrons disrespecting or disobeying his orders. If it continues, I plan to carry out a show of my temper.”
Valen chuckles, “I doubt that will be necessary. Your practice habits are already the subject of camp gossip.”
Morrighu grins, “I hope not, but on to happier things. Seer, I have an artifact. It is a powerful thing and I do not like it. I can smell a taint on it. I will give it to you, but I caution you to be careful with it.” She pulls the Shattered Mirror out of her pack and hands it to the Seer.
The Seer takes it carefully. Awed she says, “Are you sure you want to leave this with me?”
Morrighu nods, “Seer, I would not trust any other with it. I hope you can make good use of it. Again, though, I would tell you to use it with caution, if you choose to use it at all. It is a tainted artifact.”
The Seer nods, “Have you anything else to report?”
Morrighu nods, “We have several artifacts that we retrieved from the Isle of Maker. In addition, we have the promise of golem allies to fight with us against the Valsharess.”
The Seer smiles, “Golems are powerful creatures. I’m sure they will be quite valuable as allies. Is there anything else?”
Morrighu shakes her head, “No, Seer, not yet.”
The Seer touches her cheek, “You have more friends here than you think. You look tired. Valen, take her where she can rest.”
Valen nods to the Seer and whisks Morrighu out into the temple proper.
Nathyrra is waiting on them, “I’ve arranged for all your things to be packed up so that we can move you to the public house. I’ve also arranged for your rooms there.”
Morrighu grins, “Now that I have you all together, I want to show you something. I’d like to hear what the two of you have to say about it.”
Standing in the central hall of the temple, Morrighu says, “You recall the artifact that I showed you? The one that I picked up on the Plane of Shadow?” Valen nods so she continues, “Well, I thought I should show both of where it goes, so that you won’t be surprised by it. It was quite a shock for me, the first time. Brace yourselves.” Morrighu activates the artifact and teleports back to the Gatehouse.
Valen looks around, intrigued, “This almost seems to be some kind of… demi-plane. How interesting. Does it have a name, Morrighu?”
Morrighu sighs, “The Reaper has always referred to it as his realm, nothing else. You can ask him, his explanations always give me a headache. My goddess handles the plane-hopping. I step into the circle when she tells me to and I step back out the same way.”
Valen chuckles, “And the Reaper is an outsider, is he? How did you come to acquire the services of such a being? And what do you know of this demi-plane, if that is indeed what it is?”
She sighs, “I told you about finding the relic in the Plane of Shadow. The Reaper says that he is bound somehow to the Relic. Once of the reasons I brought the two of you here is to see what you have to say about it. I’m rather curious myself. The Reaper says that his realm is a nexus, touching many places but part of none.”
Nathyrra nods, “A nexus realm run by a mysterious demon-type being? You certainly have put your faith in a strange ally, Morrighu. I hope your faith isn’t misplaced.”
Valen has become curious, “Such demi-planes are rarely lying about to be picked up, however. Most likely this is a part of something greater. How interesting. A demi-plane that has no allegiance to any higher power is not easily come by.”
She elbows him, “You may feel free to question him. His explanations always seem circular to me and it gives me a headache.”
Valen approaches the Reaper, “Where exactly is this place?”
“This is the Gatehouse, an entry point into the Land of the Dead,” the Reaper gestures all about him, “You are welcome here but I do not recommend you linger. It is nowhere, and yet everywhere. This is a nexus realm, Sojourner, that is tied to you… it touches on all places that you were, are and will be.”
Valen looks at the Reaper carefully, “What exactly are you - Tanar’ri, Baatezu, or something else?”
The Reaper says with a hint of a smile in his voice, “I am…something else. I am a being of the planes, tiefling… no more, no less.”
Valen shakes his head, “You are being deliberately vague. Come, Morrighu, how do we return?”
Morrighu leads him to a planar door and they pass through it.
Valen looks around, “We are back in the temple.”
Morrighu nods, “I want a bath, to get my armor to Rizolvir for repairs, and to hear your thoughts on this thing.”
He laughs, “Why a bath?”
She sighs, “Baths and beds are the biggest luxuries to me. I so seldom get to use them.”
He wrinkles his nose, teasing her, “So that is why your under-padding was so gamey when you arrived.”
She looks at Nathyrra, “I see that my things have arrived. Would you be so kind as to show me where my rooms are? It seems he would prefer a less smelly dinner companion so a bath would appear to be in order. It is a pity he does not avail himself of such.”
Imloth coughs to hide the snicker and Nathyrra turns her head, biting her lip while Valen blushes furiously.
Valen seizes her belongings as Nathyrra sets out in front of them. They arrive at the public house and Nathyrra escorts them to the rooms she’s selected.
She cautions both of them, “There is one thing here that I do not like. There is a spy hole behind one of the hangings.”
Morrighu grins, rummages in her pack, and pulls out a shield. She removes the hanging, and hangs the shield so that it covers the peep hole. Nathyrra giggles as Valen nods approvingly.
He smirks, “If you do not mind, I shall see to my lady’s bath.”
With Valen gone, Nathyrra looks at Morrighu curiously, “So, tell me, what’s he like?”
Morrighu grins at her, “He’s sweet and considerate when no one’s looking.”
Nathyrra giggles, “That is not what I would have expected. He’s always been the dour warrior with us.”
Morrighu’s grin widens, “He’s even rather romantic, but don’t you dare tell a soul I said that.”
Nathyrra laughs, “Well, as soon as he returns, I’m off to see Imloth. He’s asked for a full report on the two of you.”
Morrighu blushes, “Please tell Imloth that all is well.” They chat for a bit about inconsequential matters until Valen arrives, pushing a large steaming tub of water.
Nathyrra grins at Valen as she ducks out of the room, “I’ll leave you two lovebirds alone.”
Valen shoves the tub into the center of the room and grins at Morrighu, “Your bath, my lady,” as he kicks the door shut.
She sighs, “A hot bath. How heavenly.” She stands on tiptoe and kisses his cheek, “Thank you, Valen.” She pulls her gauntlets off and starts to undress.
She realizes that he’s leaning against the wall, watching her with a very amused expression on his face. She blushes furiously, “There’s…umm…no where to undress.”
He chuckles as he walks over and takes a folding screen and puts it up for her.
He’s rewarded by having to duck as she throws one of her gauntlets at his head.
He hears splashing and a long sigh, “Ah, warm and clean. I really can’t thank you enough.”
He chuckles, “Had I known, I’d have arranged a bath for you sooner.”
She teases him, “I’ll make a deal with you. If you scrub my back, I’ll scrub yours. There’s always one spot right in the center I can never quite get.”
He laughs, “I might take you up on it, at that. Tell me when you’re ready.”
She giggles, “Let me finish washing my hair.”
He groans in mock dismay, “Oh, I’ll never get you out of there while the water’s still hot.”
She laughs, “You could help me with that too, and I’ll be done quicker.”
He laughs, “If you are you decent enough, I’ll help you with your hair.”
She calls to him, “I think I’m decent enough, but I’ll let you be the judge.”
He peeks around the screen and sees that she’s ducked down in the soapy water. He says, “I’m coming around the screen. Do you want me to scrub your back first or help you with your hair?”
She thinks for a moment, “My hair first. That way it will have a chance to dry out some before I have to start combing it out.”
He starts working suds through her hair, “This reminds me of when you arrived here. I remember when they started taking your hair down to wash it. I thought it was beautiful then, even when it was tangled and matted.”
He looks up and notices that she’s blushing, “Is this like brushing your hair for you?”
She nods, too embarrassed to speak.
He picks up her hair gently and kisses the back of her neck, “You should not be so shy of me. I will not bite unless you ask me to.”
She sighs, “I know, but you are not my husband or my father. This is…taboo among my people. If my father or brothers were know of it, you would very promptly be my husband. They would see to it.”
He finishes working the suds through her hair, “Where’s your wash rag? I’m done with your hair, so I’ll scrub your back now.”
A soapy rag materializes from the depths of the tub in her hand and she leans forward to let him reach her back.
He asks her, “Will you tell me how your husband died?”
She looks over her shoulder at him strangely, “He didn’t die. I lost him.” Valen looks confused so she continues, “I told you I lost a husband. I suppose that’s not very clear. I meant lost as in misplaced not lost as in dead.”
Valen looks at her, dumbfounded, “How exactly does one misplace a husband?”
She sighs deeply, “It was a situation much like my coming to Toril. I suppose I should begin at the beginning. Mikhail was an artist. My tattoo needed touching up, so I went in search of someone who could work with the design. The person I found was Mikhail. I had not been in the service of Morrighu long and my tattoo had been badly damaged by my fight with Rigan. He did the work I needed but he also began to court me. My service to the goddess did not intimidate him. I…I was alone and lonely so I stayed and let him continue to court me. Eventually, he asked me to marry him and I said yes. My goddess told me that it was unwise. I think, though She has never said, that her aspect as Feya is capable of foretelling. He was a very mundane mortal, not a shred of magic in him. I’ve already given you the overview of our wedding night. Early the next morning I was awakened by my goddess. She told me that I had a choice to make. I could go on a honeymoon with my new husband; or I could do my duty and go save a world of people being ravaged by a great evil. The longer I took the more of them would die. She also told me that the planes were about to shift and that she might not be able to find Mikhail again, at least not in time. I wept at the choice I had to make. I knew I could not live with myself if I let people die needlessly. I knew I had to go, and so did Mikhail. I cannot be other than what I am. He kissed me, helped me pack, and told me that he loved me. That was the last I ever saw of him. I finally found my way back to our home, but he had gone. I suspect he had given up. I cannot blame him. It took me decades to find our home again.”
Morrighu looks at Valen shyly, from the corner of her eye, “Now perhaps you see why I was so pleased to find out you are a planar and therefore able to travel with me. I would not loose a second husband if I can help it.” She blushes furiously at the thing she has let slip.
Valen pretends not to have heard her, and as he scrubs her back, he feels the knots and ridges of scar tissue, “Morrighu, what happened to you?”
She sighs, “Nearly all of those are from the battle with Rigan. The most of the rest come either from Morag or Heurodis.”
He sighs, “I’m done. I left you a towel and your robe on the screen. When you get out, I’ll get in and when I’m done, I’ll help you with your hair.”
She blushes again and grins at him as he gets up to give her some privacy. A few moments later, she emerges from behind the screen with her hair wrapped in a towel. He moves behind the screen and strips.
She hears him sigh, “The water is still hot.”
She laughs, “I hurried so you’d have plenty of time. Just tell me when you’re ready for me to wash your back.”
He laughs but says nothing.
Sitting in the tub scrubbing, he hears her busily rummaging through her things, so he calls out, “What are you looking for?”
She giggles, “It’s a surprise. You’ll see later.” He smells her exotic perfume and chuckles.
He hears her curse softly as she starts combing out her hair. She calls out to him, “I’ve bundled up my armor to go to Rizolvir. I think we should take yours as well, since it looks like it could use a good cleaning. What do we do about having the under-padding laundered?”
He laughs, “I’m perfectly capable of cleaning my own armor, and we’ll let one of the washers here at the public house handle the under-padding. I told you that I’d help you with your hair. If you really want to scrub my back, now would be an opportune moment.”
He has a soapy rag ready for her, as he hears her footsteps approach. He looks and she’s peeking around the screen at him, blushing. She motions for him to turn back around and he hears her bare feet padding up behind him. She reaches for the rag he’s holding and starts scrubbing. He feels her stop to rinse the soap away. For a long moment a gossamer touch traces the heavy scars on his back. He sits, hardly daring to breathe, unsure as to how she will react. He’s shocked to feel the warmth of her mouth close over a particularly bad one his shoulder. He sighs as he feels her tongue trace the scar. He groans as she moves to another one, giving it the same gentle treatment.
When she’s done she throws her arms around his neck and whispers in his ear, “Oh, Valen, these are terrible. I’m so sorry.”
She releases him quickly and returns to her task of soaping his back. When she’s done, she rinses his back carefully and tells him, “Don’t put your shirt on right away. I have something for these.” She plants a kiss on the top of his head and as the wash rag plops back into his bath, he hears her padding away. He finishes quickly, wondering what she has in mind. He gets out of the bath to find that there are no towels.
My heart was beating like a triphammer, and beneath my hand I could feel that Virginie”s was doing the same. I held her close, heard her let out a deep gasp of relief, and then she started to cry. I turned her around towards me, and the panic I saw in her wet eyes very nearly broke my mind.
She sobbed against my chest. “What just happened? What happened?”
“Someone tried to shoot us,” I said. I couldn”t pretend that it hadn”t just occurred. I didn”t tell her that it appeared as if whoever pulled the trigger knew what they were doing.
“What was that light?” Her voice was muffled against my chest, my skin wet with her tears.
“It was a laser. Used for aim.” As I spoke a chill ran up my spine. For a brief moment it had occurred to me that it may have been the scruffy bastard that had approached her earlier, but that was ridiculous. That was just a horny fan, this was the work of a professional. I felt the chill again as another thought struck; a professional doesn”t like to fail. They tend to finish the job off.
That was what got me moving. I kissed the Virginie”s hair and stroked her back, hating the sadness that were coming from her, and scanned my eyes across the dark room, not seeing what I was looking for.
“Honey, where”s the phone?” I said quietly. She didn”t answer, just continued to cry quietly against me. I pulled her away from my chest as I sat up, and her shoulders were visible shaking as I looked at her. I spoke firmly.
“Virginie, listen to me. I”ll keep you safe, I swear on my life. But I need you to get it together right now.” She sniffed and looked downwards, and I lifted her face with my hand underneath her chin.
“I need you to help me, okay?” She nodded, and at that moment I may well have fallen in love with her, at least to the depth that I understood that emotion. She rubbed the back of her hand across her tear streaked face and sniffed again, and while the fear didn”t leave her eyes I saw that it was battling against another something else; determination. I”d seen it from her throughout the day, and I was overjoyed to see it now. She nodded again and almost gave me a smile, and I knew at that moment we were going to be all right.
“First, are you hurt?”
She blinked and then shook her head. “No. I think I”m okay.”
I breathed a sigh of relief. “Now, where”s the telephone?”
“In the bedroom, by the dresser.”
“Good.” I climbed on my haunches and stopped her as she attempted to follow me. I wrapped the blanket tightly around her until only her face and feet were visible, and told her to stay still. I”d pushed us away into the corner of the room away from the window, and I knew that as long as she stayed where she was nobody would be able to see her from the street or the window.
“Stay here,” I ordered. “Don”t follow me, and don”t turn a light on, right?”
She nodded. “Be careful, please.”
My lips brushed hers, and I stood, feeling a muscle protest in the small of my back. I could also feel blood dribbling down my ankle, but there wasn”t enough light available to see the extent of the injury. I took a cautious step forward and the ankle felt okay, so I kept moving.
I knew the front door was locked; I remembered watching Virginie snap a bolt home after we”d stepped inside, so if anyone tried to enter the apartment I”d hear and hopefully be ready for them. The stereo had stopped, and with the broken windows the sounds of the city were amplified and wind came through the shattered panes and whipped the pages of a magazine across the coffee table. I shivered, still naked and now feeling it, but Virginie would be warm in the folds of the blanket. I gave her a thumbs-up and a grin, which she returned, and then slunk into the bedroom.
The room was just as dark, but my vision had adjusted enough to the blackness so I could see well enough. The window in here was smaller and would show less of the bedroom interior, but I still stayed crouched low as I shuffled across to the large oak dresser that was opposite the bed. I looked at the bed quickly and tried not to think how the night might have worked out; the thought of lying next to Virginie until the sun had risen was too painful a thought, and I dismissed it. The phone was in an old-fashioned style, the receiver hanging from a cradle, and I snatched it up and punched zero for the operator.
The line was dead. Not humming or clicking, just totally silent. I held the receiver to my ear and hammered on the cradle a few times, and was rewarded with nothing more than dry air. I threw the phone and ran my hands through my hair as an unwanted burst of panic ran through me. Before I”d reached the telephone I could have accepted, however improbable, that whoever pulled the trigger of the gun was just some crazed fuckup looking for targets. Unlikely, but not totally out of the question. Now however, the evidence was just too solid. Laser scope, silenced rifle and communications down led me to one conclusion. Somebody was deliberately trying to kill Virginie. An actress with a high profile in the city, a seemingly untouchable young woman. A beautiful girl who in the last few hours had reminded me of the man I could become again. But why?
I didn”t know and didn”t have time to come up with scenarios. Instead I slinked back across the room and through to the living area again. Virginie was in the exact same position as when I”d left, her eyes wide and her knees clenched to her chest.
“Are there windows in the kitchen?” I asked, reaching down and pulling her to her feet. She clamped a hand around my forearm and leant against me.
“Skylights, not windows. I didn”t hear you talk on the telephone.”
“The phone”s dead.”
“What?” I heard an understandable note of fear in her voice again.
“It”s dead. Off. Listen, I said I”ll keep you safe and I will, you believe me don”t you?” She nodded quickly and I knew that apart from anything else I”d earned her confidence. “I”ll be amazed if whoever had the gun hasn”t vanished, but if he knows that the phone line is down he may still be watching for us, so we”ve got to be careful. We need to get dressed, because not only am I freezing but I look a lot better covered up.” She laughed nervously at that, and I was glad, it was something I needed to hear myself.
I took her hand and we entered the kitchen. There was a long line of sunken skylights in the ceiling, and when I looked up all I could see were stars and moonlight, which reflected against the white tiles on the floor and gave us enough light to see with. Virginie moved quickly, throwing open the door of the clothes drier and retrieving my formerly damp clothes. I held out my hands and she threw them to me, and the cloth was warm and soft against my skin as I pulled my shirt around my shivering shoulders. While I dressed Virginie tossed the blanket to the floor and opened the lid of a wicker basket that stood in the corner of the kitchen. She pulled out a pair of small panties and I watched as she slipped them up her legs and over her butt, the white material almost glowing as the moonlight bounced across it.
“Have I told you how gorgeous you are?” I whispered, and she looked up from where she was rooting through the basket, and again I saw how determined she looked. Still frightened, as was I, but definitely thinking straight. She shook her head.
“No.”
“I won”t forget again,” I said, wriggling into my jeans. I could still feel the blood on my ankle, but there was no time to deal with it. As I buttoned my shirt I saw a impressive display of knives hanging in a rack against the wall, and I snatched up a medium-sized blade. Chances are I wouldn”t need it, but holding something solid and potentially deadly in my hand made me feel more confident. As I reached for the knife I also saw a small bottle of Scotch sitting on the shelf, the seal unbroken, obviously there for some time. For a couple of seconds I literally couldn”t take my eyes of it, and at that moment my whole body genuinely craved that bottle. To tear the cap from the neck and spill firewater into my throat, to feel the burn as it hit my stomach, to lose myself in the pure destructive mess that was alcohol. Had I been alone, I may have done so, and any potential assassin could have walked into the kitchen and pumped me full of holes as I lay in my usual fucked up state in the corner.
Virginie must have seen how I”d frozen, and only when she spoke my name did the spell break and my craving fall away. I looked at her to see she had dressed in jeans and a dark T-shirt. She came to me, her hands circling my waist.
“Are you okay?” Her tone was questioning, and I kissed her as a reply. She looked down at the knife in my hand. “Are we going to need that?”
“No,” I replied, and hoped that was the truth. “It”s just to make me feel better.”
Back in the living room I made Virginie stand against the wall while I ducked across the bedroom again and grabbed my boots and some shoes for her. As we sat on the floor pulling on our footwear I could see a large gash in my ankle, the blood clotting around the wound and appearing black in the low light. I laced my boot over it before Virginie noticed, wincing as the pressure of the leather stung sharply. I”d live though, and it could have been a lot worse.
I was fairly positive that the shooter would have been well clear of the opposite building. It had been a good five minutes since the gunshots, but I was taking no chances. We crawled across the floor towards the door, me on the window side of Virginie, and only stood up when we were inside the hallway with the door to the living room closed firmly behind us. With no window it was pitch black, and after asking if it was okay to do so Virginie reached out and felt for the light switch. I grabbed my jacket from the peg that she had hung it on earlier, not more than four hours ago but now seeming like another lifetime, and she closed her knee length black coat around herself. As she did so a sudden and obvious thought struck me.
“Do you have a cellphone?” How the hell hadn”t I thought of that before?
She shook her head. “No. I don”t believe in them.”
I chuckled at the irony. “Neither do I.”
“Let me rephrase that. I didn”t believe in them, until tonight.”
I switched the knife to my right palm and took hold of her hand. “Who else lives on this floor?”
“Only an old lady, Miss Balibar. Jeanne. She lives on the other side of the elevator.”
“Do you think she”ll be at home?”
“She never leaves, just paints and takes care of her little dog. She”s an amazing artist.”
I took a deep breath and interlaced my fingers with her own. “Right, here”s the plan. Down the corridor, get into her place, hope they didn”t knock out her line and call the police, Okay?” She nodded quickly. “No matter what happens, stay with me.”
Her fingers squeezed me tightly. “Do you think something will happen?”
“I don”t know,” I replied truthfully. “If it does, I”ll deal with it.”
********************
The hallway was exactly the same as when we”d walked along it earlier; the antique lamps were still glowing and the air was silent. I could see that the elevator was resting on our floor, and at least that was in our favour. If anything happened at least we wouldn”t have to wait for it to reach us.
We walked as quietly as we could, and I kept hold of Virginie”s hand but kept her behind me as we moved. The knife I kept at waist level with the blade curved upwards, a position that enabled me to bring it up quickly through the air should something or someone come at us. We passed three of the lamps before we reached the area where the corridor widened to accommodate the elevator, the mechanical workings disappearing into a beautifully patterned ceiling. No one was either in the cage or waiting with a weapon, and I felt my breathing ease as I stopped and Virginie pressed up against my back. There was only one other way to go apart from down, and the corridor across from us was identical in style and length to the one we had just come from.
“Down there, to this Miss Balibar”s?” I said quietly.
She nodded against my shoulder, and I started moving again, circling around the elevator, and though I peered down the shaft I couldn”t tell if anyone was on the other floors. I started down the other corridor, trying to keep one eye infront of me and one over my shoulder. I was positive that it wasn”t possible for someone to sneak up behind us, there was no other approach except from the elevator, but I still kept looking. In a few moments we reached the door, as large and solid as the one that secured Virginie”s apartment, and I squeezed her hand once again before I stepped forward and knocked sharply on the wood.
The door was heavy and only moved a couple of inches inward as I rapped my knuckles on it, and my hand hung suspended in the air, still gripping the knife, as I realized it was already open. A shaft of light escaped from behind the door and illuminated the dark carpet of the hallway. No sound came from within.
I tensed and moved back against the wall, Virginie gripping my hand and arm tightly, her breath shallow against my face. Holding the knife high once again, I stretched my leg forward until my boot reached the door, and after a moment of hesitation, pushed it open.
I”m thirty-three years old, and in my life I”ve seen some things that have imprinted terrible images on my mind and my subconscious, images I wouldn”t wish to share with anyone. Earlier that day Virginie had said that I looked haunted, and that was as good as description as I”d ever heard for how I felt.
What I saw as I looked inside that apartment would stay with me for a long time.
At first I thought the floor was red, red and shiny, until the unmistakable copper stench hit my senses and my vision seemed to focus. The old lady was lying twisted in a rapidly spreading pool of her own blood, her dress bathed in crimson, torn away from her body, and her torso was scattered with deep puncture marks. Her eyes were mercifully closed but her mouth was wide in an everlasting scream of silence. Littering the floor around her mutilated body were torn canvases, originally depicting beautiful images of Paris but now splattered with gore. And to the left of where she lay, a small dog, it”s tongue lolling uselessly from it”s mouth and a spike through it”s tiny body, pinning it to the floor. There was more, but I can barely bring myself to describe it.
I saw this in around two seconds, the length of time it took for the door to swing fully open and click audibly against the frame. The sound was sharp, and I looked up from Miss Balibar”s corpse as the man standing facing her window span around on his heel. Virginie saw him at the same time as I, and she let forth a tiny scream of shock and gripped my arm even tighter.
Apart from his tanned skin he was all black. Suit, shirt, tie, even his hair was the color of coal, like an undertaker, or how I”d imagine a twenty-first century incarnation of the grim reaper might have looked. In his left hand, a hand that was sickeningly painted with red, he held a curved blade of a style I didn”t recognize. His features were Oriental, and as he saw the two of us he produced a smile that was constructed from perfect white teeth. When he spoke it was with good English but laced with an Eastern accent.
“There you both are,” he said with a leveled tone that didn”t suggest he”d just committed murder. “I was wondering how long I”d have to wait.”
I had a strong idea what he was waiting for, and had no desire to have my thoughts confirmed.
“Get to the elevator,” I hissed as I glanced at Virginie.
Her voice was shaking, “I”m not going with-”
“Do it!” I shouted, finding my voice and pushing her abruptly away from me. “Go now.”
If she hadn”t turned and ran right there I think we would both have been killed at that moment. No sooner had she started down the corridor than I heard a deep-throated cry come from within the apartment, and I looked back just in time to see the Oriental come flying across the room at me. He moved fast, leaping the body of the old woman and throwing himself through the doorway, the wicked blade arcing down towards my face like a diving hawk. I threw my body to the left and felt a rush of air as the blade missed me and sliced into the wall, and as I dived I managed to kick my leg out and connect with the Oriental”s thigh. He grunted and fell to one knee, reaching for the weapon, and that gave me the time I needed to roll over and to my feet. I readjusted my grip on the knife as he stood, his own blade shining against the lamplight of the hallway.
Behind me I could hear Virginie as she reached the elevator, her hands rattling against the cage, but I knew that if I now turned and ran after her the Oriental would be on my back instantly. As long as I could keep myself between him and Virginie then she had a fighting chance.
He grinned at me insanely. “Prepare to die.”
The bastard was fast, whipping the curved blade towards my eyes like a striking rattlesnake, and I threw my head back to barely avoid a blinding. The speed at which he”d used the blade had thrown him forward, his arm sailing past me, and I stepped into his body and drove my knife upwards with as much force as I could muster. It was an inch away from sliding between his ribs when he caught my wrist, and his grip was strong, clenching against my bones. I barely even saw his own weapon as it fell behind me, and I threw out my other arm and somehow managed to catch hold before it tore through my jacket and flesh. We strained against each other for a moment, spinning around and smashing against one of the antique lamps, glass shattering at our feet.
The oriental bought his face in close to mine. His eyes were as black as his clothing, and I saw that he was much older than I, maybe fifty. Strong as a horse though; I could barely hold his wrist as he twisted against me. His breath was stale when he spoke.
“You haven”t got the first fucking idea what you”re getting into boy,” he snarled. “Just let me have the bitch and you might live.”
I saw red, felt a scream of pain and anger lodge in my throat, and I slammed my head forward, bringing my brow down across his nose and feeling a satisfying crunch as the cartilage split under the blow. He yelped and I pushed him hard against the wall, droplets of blood spitting from his nose and over me as I looped my leg through his and pushed him off-balance. He tottered briefly, and then my weight sent him to the floor and I landed on top of him. The vulgar blade he held left his grip and I watched it slide across the carpet out of reach. I pulled myself up and straddled him, both hands on the handle of the knife, and he looked up at me with dead eyes, his nose a smear of red across his face.
“Do it. Do it, fucker.” There was no emotion in his voice, no fear or regret, nothing more than a flat tone. “You”re dead anyway, might as well take what pleasure you can from the rest of your life.”
I raised the knife high, gripped it tightly, and bought it down. Behind me I heard Virginie call out my name, the shock evident in her voice, and I smashed the metal handle of the knife against the side of his temple. His head snapped to the left and his eyes fluttered shut, and after his body had jerked beneath me a couple of times he lay motionless. I held a finger by his half-open mouth and could feel breath on my skin.
“Fuck you,” I whispered, and climbed off him, standing on shaking legs and rubbing the sleeve of my jacket across the blood that dotted my face. I turned to see Virginie standing by the elevator, her arms wrapped around herself in a thin embrace and her eyes full of tears. I walked quickly down the corridor towards her, feeling pain in my back and legs, and as I reached her she clasped herself against me and hugged me hard. It was the best feeling I could ever recall.
“Is he dead?”
“No, he”s very much alive, which is more than we will be if we don”t get out of here right now.” I said. “You okay?”
She nodded. “Are you hurt?”
“I”m fine,” I lied. I may not have been physically injured but my mind was preparing to sail off the edge of the world. In the past six hours I”d experienced the entire spectrum of emotions, from total pleasure to sheer terror. At that moment I”d have sold my soul for a drink.
We stepped into the elevator and I slid the gates shut, enclosing us in a cage of solid metal, and pressed the button for the lobby. Virginie hugged me hard, slipping her hands inside my jacket and stroking my shirt as the carriage started it”s slow decent towards the ground floor. I wondered what would be waiting for us in the lobby, everything or nothing? I ran my fingers through her soft hair and thought of the Oriental stretched out in the hallway above us. I thought of the heavy gold ring he”d been wearing on the index finger of his right hand, and the missing little finger of his left. A finger that I knew had been amputated deliberately, as a mark of respect to his master when an order had been disobeyed or a job had failed. It was not an uncommon sight, and an easy way to recognize a member of the Yakuza
I know at that point I started to physically shake. The hitman had been right; I had absolutely no idea what I was getting into. I had a dozen questions and no way of answering them. But I did know that the Japanese Mafia were ruthless and deadly, and where one had failed there were plenty more to take his place. As I held Virginie against me and watched the brass indicator of the elevator creep towards the ground floor I knew that the night was just beginning. I also knew we”d be lucky to come through it alive.
To Be Continued
********************
“Like it, Loathe it, Love or Hate it, if you want to mail me your thoughts all will be appreciated and answered. Thanks for reading.”
This entry was posted on Wednesday, December 30th, 2009 at 1:35 pm and is filed under Stars Stories. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can skip to the end and leave a response. Pinging is currently not allowed.