Disclaimer: The characters of Melinda Pappas, Janice Covington, Xena, Sheriff Lucas Buck, Gail Emory, Caleb, and "Dr. Matt" belong to Universal and Renaissance and all those great people. My apologies for borrowing them. The rest of this goop, however, belongs to me, Absinthe. This is an Alternative story, meaning we've got some lesbian romo going on, if this bothers you, TURN BACK NOW. Thanks.
Soundtrack: Sheriff Buck's theme song is undoubtedly "Sympathy for the Devil" by the Rolling Stones, "Precious Things" by Tori Amos belongs to Maia, and "Tiger" by Paula Cole goes to Gillian.
Prologue: They conditioned you to ignore pain. Or maybe you conditioned yourself. Sometimes it even worked. Maia was running on a broken ankle, but she wouldn't realize that until the adrenaline left her system. It seemed that when things went wrong, they went all the way wrong. She stopped to take the revolver from the cooling body of a dead security guard. The hit wasn't going as planned; that stupid old man wasn't supposed to have died. The echo of footsteps in the hallway in front of her stopped, and there was a sound of boots scrabbling on tile as Maia's quarry struggled to regain his footing. Maia cocked the serviceman's revolver, increasing her speed in spite of the growing numbness in her left foot. She rounded a corner and her eyes met those of a rich bureaucrat who was dead in the instant that he realized the beautiful woman with the gun was his lady Death. Maia wiped off the revolver and returned to the corpse of the security guard. She wrapped his stiffening fingers around it, and left him where he lay. Let the authorities try to figure out what the hell happened. She stood up and straightened her vest. Limping a little now, the woman with the shockingly blue eyes calmly got into an elevator and left the building. She feigned deafness as her reason for not having heard gunshots.
Maia walked half a block and just barely made it to the nearest stop in time to catch a bus as planned. Sitting in a sticky pea green vinyl seat, she tugged a rubber band out of her hair, releasing the long black strands from a tight ponytail. A half an hour later Maia, with a worsening limp, stumbled off the bus and slowly made her way to a public parking lot. Leaning heavily on the parked cars, she made her way across the lot, and at last into the safe haven of her slate grey ‘91 Pontiac Bonneville. She hated the car ordinarily, the big, bulky thing that it was, but this day, it was heaven. She flopped into the plush driver's seat with a sigh. She slipped her foot out of its shoe and gently probed her ankle, and finally concluded that it was indeed fractured. Swearing colorfully, she turned the key in the ignition, and peeled out of the lot. The heavy car strained against the laws of physics.
Chapter One: It's Awful Quiet Here
It was a perfect day in mid-June. Sunlight flickered off the surface of the reservoir in Trinity's County Park. A woman with wild black hair and blank blue eyes sat at the end of the pier, her left lower leg encased in a cast. She drummed her boyishly short nails on the plastic, her mindless stare directed in general at the school of pumpkin seed fish that had congregated in her shadow. Her foot itched unbearably, and Maia couldn't wait to be rid of the cast. Even here, in the relative safety of a small town she was paranoid and wanted to move on. She felt too out of the loop here. A ridiculous idea of course, she had her cellular phone and little Toshiba Satellite laptop with its internal modem to keep up with the rest of her world. Maia was, at the time, waiting for word from her current client. She was still formulating viable reasons for postponing the hit. Maia couldn't afford to let word of her little accident leak out. The dark realm of murder and intrigue that she inhabited would eat her alive if it suspected the slightest weakness in one of its most... well hidden denizens.
On the shore of the lake, not far behind Maia, a young woman was setting up her easel. She had planned on doing a study of the movement of the water, and the play of the light off of its rippled surface, but for some reason the figure of the lone woman slumped on the dock had captured her imagination and the in depth study of the lake's surface became merely a splashy background for the stranger. Maia covertly watched the painter long enough to discern that the woman meant her no harm, then fell back into her musings. The pumpkinseed fish scattered, however, at the startling electronic screech of a cellular phone. Maia's hand darted into the front pocket of her bag and produced the offending mechanism. She flicked it open and barked "Yeah?" into the receiver.
"Maia? Its me, Steve."
"What is it now?"
"They want to meet you."
Maia made no reply.
"WELL?" The voice on the other end demanded.
"You shouldn't even have to ask me that. You know how I work."
"Yes, but it's a very lucrative contract, and they're insisting...."
"Tell them to either send me the information, or forget it. I don't need this," she calmly hung up on her "friend." The dark skinned woman squinted up to discover that she was no longer alone on the pier. A tall man in a voluminous brown duster stood uncomfortably close. To make matters worse, Maia couldn't seem to remember how he had gotten there. She stared at him, realizing that he wore a coat and long sleeves even though it was June. The heat didn't faze him one bit.
On shore, the petite artist waited impatiently for the town's sheriff to get out of her painting. She pushed her hair out of her eyes. The curly dark mass seemed to have a life of its own sometimes.
"New in town huh?" the sheriff asked familiarly as he settled himself cross legged on the weathered wood of the public boat dock. He moved with a strange, vaguely unsettling grace.
"Staying for a while?"
"Long enough," Maia tersely replied, bored already. "M' name's Lucas Buck, County Sheriff," he held out one of his big hands. Maia rubbed the bridge of her nose with a calloused fingertip and quietly said, "Is there something I can do for you Sheriff?"
"Just thought I'd get acquainted with you; Trinity doesn't get too many visitors," he drawled, "You staying at the boarding house?"
"I was told that was the only place there was TO stay," Maia returned, still not looking directly at the sheriff. She was hoping he'd get tired of playing this game and leave, but he continued to prod.
"True. True. True," Sheriff Lucas Buck rested his hand on Maia's shoulder to get her full attention. He had a feeling about this woman; that she might be useful to him -- or dangerous. Buck's instincts were never wrong. Icy blue eyes froze the words in his throat. He removed his hand, and Maia returned her gaze to the water. The fish still had not returned.
"What brings you to Trinity?" Buck finally asked. Maia sat silently for a moment, running down a long list of lies that came instantly to mind.
"I'm on a therapeutic hiatus from work," she ran her tongue over her teeth.
"Ah," the Sheriff said, well aware that Maia wasn't telling the whole truth. But no matter. He'd find out, as he always did, and find some way to use her to his advantage, as he always did. Buck tucked a business card into the top of Maia's cast, winning another angry glare.
"My cel' phone number is there. If you need me for anything, don't hesitate to call..." he trailed off as he rose and backed away. Maia did not watch him leave.
The sheriff made a flirtatious comment to Maia's audience, then sped away in his midnight blue sedan. At last, when the fish abandoned the pier for more fertile hunting grounds, Maia heaved herself up onto her crutches. She stopped to examine the artist's canvas. The painting looked exactly like she felt; quiet and tense.
"That's beautiful," she said. The brunette grinned broadly, surprised at how pleased she was that the tall stranger approved. Ordinarily, a compliment like that from someone apparently uneducated in the arts meant next to nothing. As Maia started to limp off, on impulse, the artist turned and shouted, "Wait!" She didn't want this woman to leave. Not yet.
Maia carefully turned around, surefooted even on the crutches.
"Yes?" she asked politely.
"Um," The young woman groped for an answer, "Do...do you think you would consider sitting for me? For a drawing?"
"I just did, Didn't I?" Maia teased, but something about this woman made her loath to disappoint, "What's your name?"
"Oh, yeah," she blushed at her lack of etiquette, "My name is Gillian. Look, if you don't want to pose for me, maybe you'd let me show you around town tomorrow? Get you in on all the gossip?" Gillian winked.
"I'm Maia," Maia held out her hand, somehow managing not to drop the crutch. "That sounds like...fun,"she said warily, wondering how much the Trinity natives had already heard about her, "And we'll talk about that picture ok?" She didn't know what possessed her to add that promise.
"Great!" Gillian seemed pleased, "I'll be at the boarding house at...ten tomorrow morning?"
"Ten," Maia nodded.
Gillian watched the stranger hobble away before she started packing up her supplies.
A black ‘85 Trans-Am sat welcomingly in the parking lot; the crouching beast of a car gleamed malignantly in the summer sun. It was one of Maia's few frivolous expenditures, and she loved it. Only on rare occasions such as this one could she actually use the high-profile vehicle, which made her time behind its wheel all the more valuable to her. The car had belonged to her father. Originally, it had been banana yellow, battered and worn out. Maia had seen to it that the dents were beaten out and the body was given a flawless new paint job. She had the original, slowly dying engine replaced with one taken out of a ‘92 Trans-Am; she had the entire interior replaced, and added all the other necessities of life. The car was luxurious yet vicious, beautiful yet dangerous -- not unlike its owner.
The black leather of the driver's seat was uncomfortably hot from the summer sun. The engine roared to life, causing the car's heavy frame to vibrate madly. Maia grinned in feline satisfaction. Out on the main road, she pushed the car relentlessly. Her only regret was that the drive came to an end. She screeched to a halt in front of an immense antebellum house. She checked her watch. Just on time. A brunette in a sundress sat in a rocking chair on the porch, and a little boy in a striped t-shirt and jeans paced up and down the stairs. The two seemed to be in deep conversation.
Maia made her careful way up the gravel walk and onto the steps.
"And you were right about ‘im too ya know. He was just sad ‘bout his dog," the boy was explaining in a heavy southern accent.
"I'm just glad you finally went over there and talked to him, Caleb," the woman smiled as she stood up to greet Maia, "Hi! I'm Gail Emory, are you the new boarder?" She extended her hand.
"Yes, I'm Maia Pappas, how d'you do?" Maia did not think that she'd ever get used to the open manner of these people.
"This's Caleb, my nephew," Gail said as she ushered both the boy and Maia into the house, "You're here just in time for dinner."
These southerners set a fantastic spread for dinner, one which Maia did not allow herself to enjoy. She spent her time at the table sizing up her fellow boarders.
Caleb seemed a typical boy, but Maia's knowledge of children was so lacking as to render her observations on him worthless. Gail was an obvious transplant. She had a tinge of the city about her, and she didn't seem completely happy with staying in Trinity, but not unhappy either. There was something more than her nephew holding her in the small town. The thin, wan, sad looking man was a doctor. "Dr. Matt" as Caleb called him. There was something about his past that had damaged him irreparably. He was intelligent, and his mind was sharp but his emotions were not under his control. The woman who ran the boarding house was quiet as well, she kept to herself. Judging by the decor, she had a fascination with African lore and art. The others were animated, ordinary people. Static as far as Maia was concerned. They barraged their new house mate relentlessly with friendly questions.
"Where are you from?"
"What do you do?"
"Where's your family from? How're they? Are you married?"
Maia answered these with the usual, automatic story. She was from Colorado, she ran a financial consulting service. No, she wasn't married, and her close relatives died a few years back. It was a great cover really. There was no one to deny her story. She had an ingenious setup which would allow her to step into that life whenever she chose.
At dusk, Maia made a foray onto the front porch of the house. Caleb appeared and insisted on "helping" her settle into a chair and propping her foot on the porch railing. She had her back safely to the wall, and a commanding view of the rest of the porch as well as the street.
It seemed that he wanted to ask something, but he was interrupted when a shiny blue four-door pulled up at the end of the walk. The man from the park, Sheriff Buck, stepped out of the car.
"H'Lo Caleb, Miss Pappas," he nodded his head in Maia's direction before sweeping onto the porch and crouching near Caleb.
"Hey," the boy said, not particularly happy to see the sheriff. Maia examined a red mustang parked nearby, feigning disinterest in the conversation. Caleb was telling the sheriff that he didn't want any of "your kind of help" on his project, and that maybe he better go see if one of his friends didn't wanna do something. Caleb bounced off the porch and down the road as quickly as he could without being TOO rude. Buck watched him disappear, a rueful smile on his leathery face.
Gail stuck her head out the door and demanded to know what he wanted, hostility evident in her posture and tone of voice. Maia was puzzled, but not totally surprised. She didn't like him too much either.
"Came to see Caleb, Ma'am," his manner verged on the sarcastic as he tipped his hat and swept out as abruptly as he'd swept in. Once he was in his car and completely gone, Gail joined Maia on the porch. A boxwood-scented breeze did very little to stir the humid air, and did absolutely nothing to blow the mosquitoes away.
"I don't know why that man can't just leave Caleb alone. He knows he isn't welcome here," Gail complained, settling into another ladder-backed chair. The floor creaked a little as the painted floorboards shifted against each other. "I don't trust him." Maia said nothing, and they sat in companionable silence until the shadows vanished into the night. The hum of the cicadas outside and the songs of the tree frogs lulled Maia into the first real sleep she'd had in months. In later years, she would wonder how she could have slept so peacefully.
The predawn air was humid and sticky, somehow no better than the heat of the day. Maia managed to dress and escape her room without waking anyone. Outside, she breathed easier. The streets were empty with the exception of a boy indifferently tossing newspapers into people's yards. The town was silent. The back yard of the boarding house offered ample open space. Bordering the wooden fence that surrounded the manicured lawn was a fragrant garden. Foxgloves and some white lilies were resplendent with flowers. Lush green ivy vines clung to the fence and snaked a few tendrils out into the grass. Everything was covered with droplets of dew, graying out some colors, and intensifying others; lending everything a hint of unreality.
Quietly, and hampered by her aching foot, Maia launched into her morning workout. She tossed her crutches aside and stood gingerly on both feet. Her movements were almost balletic as she ran through several improvised katas. By the time she was done, her bare legs were soaked up to the knees from the dew on the grass, and the rest of her was thoroughly damp. She wiped her face, breathing hard. The sun had just risen, along with some of the other occupants of the boarding house. Maia returned to her room to wait for a chance to get into the bathroom. When at last a sopping Caleb emerged, she pounced. She hated taking showers with the cast on, it was such a bother to keep the thing dry. The mirror was fogged over, so Maia took off her t-shirt and wiped it off.
The reflection now showed her dark skin and hair in stark contrast to the white wall behind her. She had her father's reddish skin tone and thick black hair, and her mother's blue eyes and tall, powerful build. Her mother was the youngest daughter of Albert Pappas, who was the grandson a well known archeologist. Maia's father was an Indian immigrant. His grandfather had known a member of the Pappas family, and they had given him a job so that he could get his green card. Unfortunately, Maia's father had managed to fall into a debt that wiped out the last of her share of the Pappas fortune. Maia closed her eyes against the image of his smiling face. She couldn't think about him anymore.
By nine forty-five, Maia was dressed in a pair of hastily hacked off shorts and a black tank top. It was Tuesday, and breakfast had already been served. The house was nearly empty. Munching on a pear from the fridge, she hobbled back outside. It was barely ten A.M. but the temperature outside was rising fast. Maia glanced around, and saw no signs of Gillian's arrival. She hated it when people failed to be punctual. Leaning against the side of the Trans-Am, Maia hummed softly to herself.
Her good mood was shattered by the reappearance of the big dark blue luxury car. The sheriff must be a bored man to frequent this end of town. The monstrosity of a vehicle pulled into the wrong lane, and was within inches of Maia's extended foot when it came to a halt. The driver's side window buzzed down. The Sheriff smiled out.
"You've got potential honey," he announced as he handed her a stuffed manilla file. Maia frowned at him, but didn't have a chance to reply before the car lurched forward and was gone. Narrowing her eyes a little, Maia opened the folder and riffled through its contents. What she saw alarmed her enough to make her drop her crutches. They were newspaper clippings and obituaries from papers all over the world, some were not in English. Each article or death notice contained familiar names. By this time Gillian had sauntered up, and was peering over Maia's shoulder.
"Hi...." she started, unsure of where she stood. "Umhhmm," Maia pursed her lips, her eyes glued to the clippings in her hand. A Post-it note adhered to one read, "Shall we talk?"
"What does he mean?" Gillian asked, baffled by the articles.
"I don't kno,." Maia sighed, then in a fit of anger shredded the newspapers and scattered them on the breeze.
Chapter 2: The Darkness Has a Hunger that's Insatiable
The bits of bad news formed little dust devils in the wake of Buck's Crown Victoria. When the dervishes spun themselves out, Maia opened the passenger door of the Trans-Am for her guest. They roared off, sending the torn paper in the street into convulsions again.
"Where to?" Maia asked.
"Um," Gillian chewed her lip thoughtfully. She'd given the matter a lot of consideration, seeing as how there really wasn't that much to do in Trinity, "Turn left up there," she pointed.
"Where are we going?" Maia demanded.
"You'll see when we get there," Gillian grinned. Maia gritted her teeth. She didn't like being led around like this, it went against her grain. Gillian started off awkwardly, then launched into all the sordid gossip surrounding the other inhabitants of the boarding house.
"You might not believe it, but you're living in a positive hotbed of strangeness," the artist laughed, "Gail...Gail Emory? Well, her parents died in a fire under mysterious circumstances when she was young, and she's been living in Charleston, working as a journalist. She only came back because of the kid, Caleb? Well his family's house burned down, pretty weird coincidence, huh? And he was the only survivor. Rumor has it that the Sheriff claims to be the kid's father...." they approached another intersection, "Keep going straight."
Gillian interrupted her own monologue to give directions, "There was a big hoopla over where he was going to live, and who should have custody of him. I'm not sure exactly how that worked out, he's living with Gail, but I think he's more the common son of all the permanent boarders or something. Rumor ALSO has it that Caleb's sister, Merlyn, isn't dead. My landlady claims to have seen her. Who knows?" Gillian kept up the pleasant chatter for the next ten minutes or so. Finally, she pointed to a dirt road off to the left. There were a few old cars parked along it. Maia pulled up behind one of them.
The old oaks of South Carolina provided heavy shade, but the humidity was still nearly unbearable. Gillian led her new found object of curiosity out of the trees and onto the edge of a stream. A railroad trestle traversed its banks, and a wooden, floating platform provided a haven for bathers. The trestle's cement top was just wide enough for Maia to limp across if she used only one of the crutches. She tested her foot gingerly, deciding that maybe she'd abandon the supports in a week or so anyway. They passed by a group of old men fishing, and settled down in the shade on the uninhabited side of the stream.
"It's lovely here," Maia said automatically.
"It's a great place to swim too," Gillian smiled, "Maybe we can come back when you're out of that cast huh? Speaking of which, how'd you do that?"
"I was just being careless. Tripped," Maia drew circles in the sand with a twig.
"I've run on all this time... what do you do?" Gillian pried, as eager for information on the newcomer as any of the other occupants of the town.
"I'm . . ." Maia found it hard to lie to the candid young woman, "I'm a financial consultant. I have a business in Denver, but you get tired of the landscape sometimes, you know?"
"I can understand that," Gillian replied, and then blithely went on with her narrative about the people of Trinity. Maia listened intently, not overly interested in the subject matter, but fascinated by the delivery. Gillian had a gentle southern accent and a soothing voice.
The day passed quickly and peacefully. For a while, Maia managed to stop worrying. They had a picnic lunch and took a canoe out. When they returned to dry land the shadows were growing long. Shouts of panic came from the direction of the parking lot. Gillian dropped the paddle she was carrying and ran for the source of the sounds. Maia frowned and followed suit. The smaller, unencumbered woman arrived first. A few people were milling uncertainly around a man in a lawn chair. He'd been sitting, carving a piece of wood and enjoying the breeze off the reservoir, when someone bumped his chair and the knife slipped. He was bleeding profusely from a deep gash in his wrist. He was staring at his arm in a daze while someone was trying to get him to squeeze it. Gillian shoved her way to him, checked the gash gently and tried to reassure the old man. In one swift motion she hit two spots in his upper arm. His body jerked, but the bleeding ceased. When the EMTs arrived, Gillian repeated the jabbing motion and the blood flow resumed, though now the man was well cared for.
Once Maia had retrieved the paddles, she asked,
"What did you do to him?"
Gillian shrugged her narrow shoulders. "I stopped off the flow of blood to his arm. It's something my mother taught me how to do. She called them pressure points," seeing that she had a rapt audience, she went on, "Mom knew them all, I learned most. They are, like most things, a two edged skill though. You can kill using the pressure points in the neck."
"Teach me?"
"I don't know..." the artist paused, it was a potentially dangerous skill... but who would use it like that anyway? "Yeah, sure, but it's not as easy as it looks."
Gillian insisted that they hang around the reservoir to watch the sunset, and once that show was over, they parted.
It wasn't until then that thoughts of the sheriff popped back into Maia's head. She would call him tonight. She had to. She fingered the business card in her pocket. Maia found a pay phone outside of the gas station, and made the call. The Sheriff was at home and told her that his evening was free. Maia didn't like the idea of meeting the lion in his den so to speak, but she found herself outside of his door anyway. It was a singularly impressive house, for a sheriff. It wasn't locked, so she crept inside. The lighting was low but she could make out a bust at the end of the hallway and a chandelier overhead. Once Maia was over the threshold, the door blew shut with an air of finality.
Uneasy, she knotted her hair behind her head and slowly stepped forward.
"Welcome to my humble abode," Buck appeared as if from nowhere. He ushered her into the den. There were chairs all over the place, set in circles and lining the walls. Bookshelves were crammed with old and well loved volumes. A preserved raven glared balefully at nothing, its glass eyes gleaming dully.
"What do you want from me?" Maia demanded immediately. The house felt strange. It had an atmosphere of... wrongness...to it. The sheriff smiled again, but his eyes did not reflect it.
"Not much. Just you."
"Why?"
"Because I know what you can do. And I want you with me, where I can keep my eye on you," he drawled, seated then on the arm of a chair.
"What's that supposed to mean?!"
"You know what I mean," Buck snorted, growing tired of this game.
"Enlighten me."
"You kill people for a living, is that right?"
"No, I'm a-"
"Of course that's right. I am giving you a choice Miss Pappas."
"A choice?" Maia cocked an eyebrow as she paced the length of the room.
"Yes. I'm offering you a chance to work for me," he was standing behind her all of a sudden with his hands on her shoulders. Maia could smell leather and human, a delicious combination that reminded her just how primitive people were under their thin disguise of civilization.
"This town is mine, along with everything in it," Buck grinned as he felt Maia's shoulders tense, "I could use someone like you. Life can be very . . . rewarding here. All you have to do is make the right decisions."
Maia sighed. She didn't entirely understand, but she felt herself inexorably drawn to the idea. Abruptly however, she gave herself a mental shake and jerked away, whirling on him.
"What? I get YOU? That's supposed to be enticing?" she snapped. Buck laughed.
"There's more to it than that. Stick around for a while. You'll see."
Maia smirked.
"Like what?!"
Maia had a long discussion with the Sheriff of Trinity. The man had plans, and if she stayed around long enough, she would see just what sort of things he was capable of. Gillian thought he was evil, and maybe he was. Then again, maybe he was just power hungry like anyone else. Either way, he did have power. Maia wasn't sure where it came from, but she could sense it on him, and she knew that he wasn't exactly . . . normal.
In the next few weeks, Maia mulled over the Sheriff's business proposition. She watched his people; the people of Trinity. There were, as he had said, two sides to life; those that loved the Sheriff were happy, at least most of the time. And then there were those that claimed that Buck was the very source of all that was evil in the world, who for the most part, were miserable, or dead, or had simply vanished. Maia couldn't help but laugh at some of them. The good "Dr. Matt" was among that school. He despised the Sheriff, though you couldn't tell at first glance. The doctor was most skillful at hiding emotions, but he suffered nightmares; Maia could hear him sometimes yelling in his sleep. Maia heard tales of many "disappearances." The former owner of the boarding house was among those.
One morning Maia had stumbled across Miss Hale, the woman that ran the boarding house, boxing up the African looking artwork in the foyer. She explained that the other woman, the first owner of the house, disappeared months ago. Miss Hale had picked up the utilities and payments on the house. She hadn't had a chance to redecorate yet. Gillian later said that the house's former owner had been responsible for preventing the Sheriff from winning custody of Caleb.
Meanwhile, Gillian's lessons on pressure points occupied Maia's afternoons every day, and they watched the sunset every night together. With each passing week the concerns of her "normal life" grew more and more distant to Maia. She was jolted from her cloud nine when Gail handed her a large manilla envelope one morning.
"This came in the mail for you, yesterday." She smiled wanly and walked out the door. Maia watched her leave. Something was afoot with the journalist, but it was none of Maia's business. She opened the envelope cautiously. It had no return address but it was postmarked from New York. Maia stopped herself before she had it all the way open. She couldn't really do anything about it for another month, so she took it up to her room and stuffed it behind the headboard of her bed.
The sheriff would be expecting some kind of an answer soon. His offer was becoming more and more tempting. It would give Maia the chance to stay with Gillian, who, Maia had to admit, was much more than a town gossip. She was incredible, like no one Maia had ever met before. Gillian was so open, so honest, and she was so beautiful. Maia was on thin ice so far as physical attraction as concerned. For the first time in her life, Maia was deathly afraid of rejection -- of seeing disgust in Gillian's eyes.
The wall clock proclaimed it to be 9 am. A little on the late side. Maia frowned, and stalked out the door. She had taken to fishing to fill in her spare time, and although she would never admit it, she loved it. This morning, Maia rented a rowboat and hauled herself out into the river. She let the boat drift with the current, eyes glued to the water. She sat perfectly still, perfectly patient. When at last she moved it was with the speed of a trap snapping shut. She held then, in her hands, a very surprised and wriggling fish. Laughing, Maia tossed the creature into the boat bottom where it flipped about angrily. The sound of feet crunching on dead leaves rang out. Maia's head whipped up to find the source. She looked up in time to catch a flash of a blue and white striped shirt. Caleb. She smiled.
Chapter 3: And the Lightness Has a Call that's Hard to Hear
Maia wiggled her toes experimentally. Free at last. Matt set aside the plaster saw and, after a careful examination of the newly healed limb, pronounced Maia "fixed."
"Just go easy on it. I don't want to see you in here again," he grinned playfully, scribbled something on a clipboard and moved on. Gillian made a face.
"What?" Maia demanded.
"It stinks."
"Thank you, I really needed that," Maia snapped. Her slightly atrophied calf was patchy with dead skin, and smelled none too fresh.
"We can go swimming now at least," Gillian laughed.
Three weeks of physical therapy, and Maia would be out of excuses to give herself for staying in Trinity. At first, she had been oh so eager to leave.... but now, as her time grew short, now she wanted to stay. It had been a long time since Maia had felt attracted to anyone in a way that went beyond animal lust.
After receiving a stern lecture from a resident RN about taking it easy, Maia met her physical therapist. When she was finally allowed to leave, Gillian grabbed her friend by the wrist and tugged her out to the car.
"How's it feel?" She demanded.
"Naked. Weak, weird," Maia made a face. She drummed her fingers on the hot steering wheel, waiting for Gillian to get situated before she took off.
"Let's go down to the railroad trestle," Gillian wheedled.
"I don't have a bathing suit."
Gillian bit her tongue. She supposed they didn't have swimming pools in Colorado, just like they didn't have shorts. She had not missed the fact that every pair of Maia's shorts were cut offs, and when she'd first met the woman, they had all been very freshly cut. She was willing, however, to give Maia the benefit of the doubt. Who wouldn't be? A new opportunity presented itself however, so she tartly replied,
"Then we'll just have to wait until it gets dark then won't we?"
Maia glanced at her companion in surprise, expecting to see a mocking smile on her face, only to find a much different, teasingly hopeful sort of smile.
"Sounds like a plan."
That afternoon, sitting in a plastic chair in Gillian's kitchenette, Maia prodded her bloodless, useless right leg. They had begun their lessons with small, specific pressure points. These had limited effects, sometimes just causing a lack of sensation in a few digits without stopping off the blood, others doing exactly the opposite. On this day, though, Maia was learning the hard way how to return blood to the legs. She swore.
"What am I doing wrong?"
"Just twist your left finger a little bit downwards."
Following these instructions, Maia gasped at the pain of renewed circulation. Gillian smiled, then rose to retrieve a pitcher of iced tea from the ‘fridge.
"We're done?" Maia demanded.
"I think that's enough for now, you're looking a little green around the gills." And what I have to teach you next will take a lot out of both of us. She handed Maia a glass. Gillian was glad of only one thing about her small apartment, and that was that the place had air conditioning. The boarding house did not, and in this resigned, dead August heat it was hard to stay sane all the time without the luxury of coolness.
Later, after a light dinner, Gillian shanghaied her friend into going to the river and hanging around until they "had the place to themselves."
"It's perfectly safe, no one goes there after dark," Gillian reassured Maia on the way there. The Trans Am's headlights illuminated a relatively tiny patch of the darkness that seemed to stretch forever around them in spite of the full moon.
"What kinda bait do you use?" She asked, apropos.
"What?"
"You know, what kinda bait do you use to catch all those fish you keep bringing me to cook?" Gillian smiled in the green light of the dashboard. "Some of the town geezers are getting jealous."
"I'll show you sometime," Maia smirked.
"Just tell me."
"It's hard to explain."
"C'mon, don't go all mysterious on me," Gillian snorted.
"All right all right," Maia slowed the car a bit, "I don't use bait."
"You use a lure?"
"No. I don't use bait or lures and I don't know how to fly-fish," Maia replied.
"Uh huh," Gillian sceptically replied. Gravel crunched under their tires, and Maia cringed instinctively when a few pieces hit the sides of the car. "You DO know how to swim, right?" Gillian added as an afterthought.
"Of Course!" Maia snapped, then sheepishly said, "I just haven't had the chance in a long time." She thrust the auto- stick forward into park and turned off the engine. Silence engulfed them. The pair glanced at each other for the barest of moments before they opened the doors and let the night inside. A joyous cacophony of summer noises issued from the deep shadows formed by the stark white light of the moon.
"Let's go down that way a bit, get away from the road." Gillian pointed, and they tromped off through the trees to a more secluded part of the riverbank. Gillian reached the water first, and wriggled out of her sundress, deposing all of her attire unceremoniously into the sand, then making a mad dash for the water to escape the hungry, late-summer mosquitoes. Maia leisurely stripped down, glorying for a moment in the strangeness of the outside air on her bared flesh. Apparently immune to the predations of the bloodsuckers of the night, she walked, leonine, down to the water's edge. She caught Gillian's eyes running up her body and smiled to herself. Slowly, she stepped into the water until it was waist deep.
Gillian blinked and then she was alone. She scanned the be gemmed surface of the river for her friend, her pulse accelerating even more than when she had watched Maia disrobe. She wasn't sure whether to be concerned because the woman was drowning, or concerned because she was about to be the object of a prank. Gillian felt a cool breath of air on her shoulders and whipped around to find herself staring into Maia's deep blue eyes. Water clung to her dark lashes, and ran in streams down to her smiling mouth.
"You didn't think I could swim did you." she laughed. Gillian growled mockingly and pounced on the taller woman, hoping to succeed in giving her a nose-full of water. Instead, Maia grabbed her by the waist and pulled them both down. Gillian came up spitting out water the color of iced tea. It was a fresh water river colored red brown by centuries of run-off filtering through cedar roots and decaying cedar trees.
Somehow, the wrestling match deteriorated into a gentle embrace, which felt to Gillian to be the most natural conclusion imaginable. Bodies slippery in the water, they both knew that there was no going back, and they both knew that they wouldn't want to. Their caresses were hesitant, their kisses explorative, questioning, at least until Maia, in a fit of practicality, announced that they were going back to Gillian's apartment. Gillian, in a moment of mild lucidity, happily agreed. "I want you to come to New York with me," Maia announced from the bed. It was the only piece of really nice furniture Gillian owned - courtesy of her deceased grandmother.
"What?" The artist poked her head around the corner from the kitchen where she was slicing up a cantaloupe.
Maia swung her legs over the side of the mattress, letting the sheets slither off of her body. She stood up and stretched, cat-like. Her tan line was odd; she was sun darkened around shorts and tank tops, but possessed of one white foot that hadn't seen the sun in seven weeks. Gillian watched hungrily, in a faint haze of disbelief that such a person could want to have anything to do with her, let alone that they should somehow come together in such an unexpected way.
"I want you to come to New York with me," Maia repeated. She plucked a piece of melon from the bowl Gillian had forgotten that she was holding, and pressed it gently to her new lover's lips. Gillian bit into it obligingly, closing her eyes when Maia leaned forward to lick an errant rivulet of juice off of her chin.
"You could stage an exhibition of your work," Maia suggested.
"I don't really have anything that ... that... New York. Wow," She trailed off.
Maia wandered into Gillian's kitchen/living room/studio and poked through the canvases stacked against the wall.
"What's wrong with this one?" Maia held one up.
"Not for NEW YORK. It's the center of the art world!" Gillian scolded and returned the painting to its place. "When do we have to leave?"
Maia grinned triumphantly, "In two days."
"Two DAYS??" Gillian spun around, "I can't have a display ready by then!"
"So...you can ‘look about you,' settle on a place this time, then hold the show later..." Maia suggested helpfully.
"I thought you lived in Colorado."
"I do," Maia replied, heading in the direction of the bathroom.
"So what's going on in New York?" Gillian asked through the half open door.
"I have to go to a black tie affair." Maia sighed, then she turned on the hot water and stepped into the shower. .
"Are you coming or what?" Maia's voice issued from behind the blue plastic shower curtain.
Giggling, Gillian slipped out of her paint splattered bath robe.
Maia was taking the car into town for a tune up. She was in a fantastic mood. She licked her lips, thinking vaguely of running her fingers through, wet, curly dark hair when she noticed that she was no longer alone on the road.
A blue Crown Victoria lurked in her rearview mirror. She accelerated indelicately to confirm that the Sheriff was indeed paying attention to her. Sighing, she pulled onto the shoulder. An expansive field of head high, sun browned corn obscured any houses that might have been located nearby. By the time Maia came to halt, Buck was already leaning casually against the hood of his car. They regarded each other silently for a moment. When Maia refused to make the first move, the Sheriff straightened to his full height and sauntered forward until he was standing nearly toe to toe with his prey.
"You're planning to leave town," it was not a question. Maia peered over the rims of her sunglasses at him. Her calm gaze was neither impressed nor frightened, but she inhaled sharply as she caught a whiff of his scent. She had forgotten the power of his presence.
"Without even giving me an answer," he added, cocking his head to the side and slightly downward, like a disapproving parent.
"I have one last obligation to fulfill before I can settle down," Maia leaned forward just a hair's breadth, "and where better to live, than a nice southern town where the taxes are low, and the law enforcement officers are so... interesting." She smiled suddenly, revealing even white teeth to him for the first time. Buck involuntarily returned it for a split second. He stepped back and kissed the back of Maia's ringless hand.
She cocked an eyebrow.
"Meet me tonight, Sixish," he demanded.
Maia nodded. When the Sheriff was gone, the world seemed smaller than it had been before he had appeared.
Alone again, it was easy to deny that she felt drawn to him, but Maia knew that in person the very animalistic nature of the man was impossible to ignore.
Chapter 4: Follow Those Who Pale in Your Shadow
The Trans-Am crouched in the sun outside of a small yellow house. In her three room apartments, Gillian was flipping through a sketch book, looking for a drawing she wanted to enlarge. The last twenty pages or so were filled with sketches and pastels of the woman Gillian found herself spending most of her time with. She folded the book back, open to a nude.
"You'll have to pose again later. For the color," Gillian announced. She set the book aside and started to layer white latex house paint on the canvas she'd stretched while Maia was gone.
"Sure," Maia kissed the top of her lover's head, "I've gotta go out tonight. I have to speak to the sheriff."
"Buck?! Why?" Gillian looked alarmed.
"If I'm going to move my business here, I'd like to establish a few connections," Maia smiled foxily.
"Here?" Gillian waved her hands in the air wildly, flinging paint all over the room.
"Well, if you don't want me to..." Maia watched her earnestly.
"Don't want you to? Of course I do!" Gillian dropped the brush and was quickly swept up in an urgent embrace. They surrendered to each other hungrily, and somehow deep inside they both knew that their time together was limited.
That was the first fair evening that the two did not watch the sun set together. Maia whistled while she walked into the restaurant. She followed the hostess to a cozy table complete with a fireplace. Maia made a mental note to bring Gillian here when the weather was cooler and there would be a roaring fire in the hearth. Wordlessly, Maia seated herself. Lucas regarded her over the rim of a glass of red wine.
"I take it you tired of your room at the boarding house?" he raised his eyebrows in a way that would have been comical were it not for the predatory, ursine leanings of his face.
"You could say I got a better offer in the way of accommodations," Maia poured herself a glass of the crimson liquid, "You're fast."
Lucas acknowledged the compliment with an absent nod.
"How much of what I've been told about you is true?"
"What've you heard?"
"Only that you may be the very Devil himself."
"That, Miss Pappas," Lucas replied, "Is a matter of much controversy." Maia laughed, and realized that if he was the devil, she'd be doing the same things she was doing then.
They left the restaurant together, chatting amiably.
"Miss Pappas, I believe we may be kindred spirits," he smiled, and then he was standing too close again. Maia felt the dangerous heat of his body, breathed his breath, that smell of leather and skin and human. Suddenly she was leaning against the fender of a strange car, she was lost for a moment, and she felt every pore of her body begging her to give in to him. Giving herself a mental shake, she pulled her mouth free and licked his saliva from her lips.
"Lucas," she pushed forward, away from the car, away from that intoxicating aura, "On MY terms. Not yours." She stalked away, trembling inside and damp with arousal, but she still maintained an icy facade of controlled strength.
"The illusion of free will," he barked in a final verbal volley. Buck sniffed as he listened to her footsteps, then the start of an engine. He smiled calmly, and his hair seemed to right itself, or perhaps it had never been mussed in the first place.
Maia supposed that he meant that no matter what she did, the results would be the same, but he spoke with a jilted tongue and she suspected that his true meaning was that he already controlled her every move. She smiled; no, she would never allow him to get that far.
Her knuckles were white on the steering wheel and she ran with the windows open to get his scent out of her skin. Wondering briefly if she was making the right choice in trusting Lucas, she contemplated leaving for New York and never returning to this strange little town. She had done her homework after all, she knew what she might be letting herself in for. She would have to watch her every word, her every step, around Lucas. She was risking everything in dealing with him, but she couldn't help herself. It was what she wanted to do. She didn't care about the risk, it was all trivial -- her life was trivial. Maia was helplessly drawn to his devious, dark power.
Maia headed for the small yellow house that had become home to her in the past two days. It was strange to her, to have a home. She stood outside the door, her back to the wood, her eyes on the sky. She picked out the North star and Arcturis out of old habit before going inside.
Gillian was working late, harsh unshaded lamps kept her work space as bright as they could manage. Maia closed the door silently behind her, holding her breath. Gillian stood with her back to Maia, wearing a ragged shirt, and little else. Her movements were vicious, almost sensual as she put her entire body behind her brush strokes. The painting was coming into focus. The artist lingered over the rounded curves of the figure. She almost hated to flatten Maia this way.
"Exquisite." The three dimensional Maia breathed.
"You like it?" Gillian asked shyly, her nonchalance covering her surprise at finding herself suddenly no longer alone.
"I wasn't talking about the picture," a pair of cool hands slid over Gillian's stomach, tugging her backwards. Maia's mind compared Gillian to Buck in a hundred little ways.
"I was hoping you'd come back tonight," she turned her head to claim Maia's lips, and all thoughts of continuing her work escaped her.
"You've really got to stop this interrupting me while I'm working," Gillian laughed, between wriggling out of her own t shirt and working loose the hopeless tangle of Maia's shorts, "You're ruining my brushes."
Chapter 5: Things Are Gonna Change So Fast Maia woke the next morning, legs entwined with Gillian's, and her left hand instinctively cupping her bedmate's breast. She was content to laze where she was, but only briefly. She finally set about to waking the sleepy nipple so close at hand. Its owner smiled in her sleep. Maia administered a few sloppy kisses and nibbles to the back of the artist's neck. Gillian, now wide awake, tried to roll over to face the playful Maia, but found herself held firmly in place by a pair of powerful thighs.
"Ah ah," Maia admonished. She chewed an earlobe, and then proceeded to trace muscles down her lover's back, tugging at the fine, sand colored hair she found along the way with her lips. Tensing in pleasure against the heated body behind her, Gillian decided that this was definitely THE way to wake up.
Wind. Wind, sun, heat. Speed. The freedom of knowing that something was about to change, perhaps had already changed, and being convinced that everything would only get better. Gillian lolled in the passenger seat. They were speeding up Route 64 through Virginia. "You want me to drive for a while?" the bored woman yawned.
"You want to?" Maia was surprised.
"Yeah. I remember wanting a car like this when I was a teenager. Back when they were new that is," Gillian sighed, "It doesn't seem like all that long ago.... but this thing is 10 years old now? Wow."
"Mmhmm," Maia noncommittally replied.
"Speaking of that, when IS your birthday?"
Maia glanced at her lover for a moment. She could remember everything from birthdays of second cousins to daily exercise schedules of each and every hit she'd ever taken on, but her own birthday was an elusive memory. That was one of the burdens of the job, knowing every intimate detail of the lives of her victims. It made her feel like she'd accomplished something, to have put an end to the day to day cycles and abuses and stupidities of so many.
"I... Its in May," Maia decided.
A half an hour later when they pulled into a rest stop, Maia couldn't help but ask,
"Have you ever driven on an interstate before?"
"Yeah, sure. I promise not to damage your baby, oh mother-hen," Gillian smiled.
"Uh huh."
There was a moment of tense silence as Gillian worked the key into the ignition. Disregarding the speed bump incident, things went reasonably well.
Around 11 that night, Maia turned onto a side road, and finally came to a halt in front of a storage building. The sound of the driver's side door slamming brought Gillian fully around. She scrambled out of the shotgun seat.
"Maia?!"
"Over here."
Gillian followed the voice to one of the storage units.
"What's going on?" Gillian demanded, rubbing her eyes groggily.
"Gotta switch cars."
"WHY?"
"Well I'm not taking the Trans-Am into the city."
"Don't you think this is a WEE bit anal retentive?"
Maia shrugged.
"And why on earth do you have a car HERE of all places? You told me you were from Colorado," Gillian continued even as she started to unload their suitcases and move them to the dusty interior of the storage cubicle. Its rearview mirrors barely clearing the sides of the door, a rather boring dull grey sedan peeked out of the shadows inside. Gillian sneezed.
"I have to fly into Philly a lot, and it's just as easy to keep this thing here as to rent a car each time," Maia effortlessly settled their three bags into the trunk, then tossed the Bonneville's keys to her companion. They switched places and Maia securely locked the black monster up before resuming the driver's seat for the rest of the long drive into New York.
It was a nondescript hotel. Nicely luxurious yet not overly high profile, it was a sanctuary. As prearranged, Maia checked in with a drowsy desk clerk who was getting paid serious overtime for waiting up for them. Gillian was dead to the world, so her indulgent lover carried her into the elevator. Maia grinned affectionately when her cargo sighed and nestled in closer.
Gillian awoke hours later to the sound of her own screams. Maia's liquid voice soothed her foggy mind. They lay together until dawn, Gillian crying silently sometimes, mumbling at others, until she at last fell asleep again. She muttered about demons, and silver and fear. Maia never fully understood what nightmare it was that so frightened Gillian, just as she wouldn't understand her own desperately protective reaction to the other woman's vulnerability until sometime in the distant future.
That night's incident forgotten, Gillian woke up disgustingly perky. Maia sighed, giving in to the inevitable, and dragged herself out of the lovely warm bed. The shower being already occupied, Maia rummaged through her bags to find her one remaining, decent dress. It was painfully out of style and not a little worn.
"You're not wearing that to this party you're going to are you?" Gillian asked, her distaste for the garment obvious. Maia glanced over her shoulder at her towel-turbaned lover. "I guess not. We'll just have to see what else we can find."
Gillian grinned triumphantly, "Ah, the Big Apple... We're going to have to get going if we're going to find something in time for tonight."
Maia sighed. "Look, I really REALLY hate shopping. Could we just try to keep it simple?"
"What? You want to deny me my one chance to go crazy in NEW YORK?" Gillian pouted teasingly, "C'mon. You have to get a swim suit while we're here too."
Maia's only reply was to stick her tongue out on her way into the bathroom. As she left the hotel lobby, a pair of lustful brown eyes tracked her every movement. Maia's loosely styled hair whipped in the wind, and her simple but beautiful black gown battered itself against her legs, flaring out and twisting angrily with a life of its own. Gillian silently congratulated herself for having picked it out for her lover. Maia disappeared into the darkness around the corner, raising her hand as if to flag down a taxi.
The moment she was safely out of Gillian's view, Maia lengthened her stride. She walked four blocks through the New York twilight. She stopped in a small bar to insert a pair of brown contacts and modify her cosmetics to make her look a few years older than she was. Smiling viciously, she cleaned a spot of blood off of the spike of one of her high heels; the remnant of one more mugger that would steal no more. The sooty mirror showed her a subtly changed face, not different enough to fool anyone that knew her well, not that there were many who did, but enough to possibly throw off anyone that came looking for her later. She spritzed herself lightly with perfume to dispel the funk of urine and cigarette smoke that contaminated the air of the restroom.
Outside, she glanced in both directions, found a shabby hotel, and called the cab service for a taxi.
The party was being thrown by her target. He was the 34 year old heir to a large family fortune. His wife was the client. She had grown tired of her husband's wandering ways, but wouldn't settle for a weekly alimony payment if she divorced him. She wanted it all. Maia paid the taxi driver.
Inside, she rode the elevator to the top floor. Her stiletto heels drummed on the black marble floor. Maia smiled to herself as she brushed past a drunk couple. It was too early to be that intoxicated. The music issuing from the penthouse was anything but what she had expected. No string quartet here. There was a momentary lull in conversation as those near the door noticed the quiet entrance of a strange beauty. Maia haughtily ignored pointed stares from all sides and swept through the room. Stationing herself as inconspicuously as she possibly could under such circumstances, Maia sipped champagne and scanned the room for the party's host.
Steven had compiled what facts he could about the target. The man was a lady's boy. About an hour into the party he would appear, dance once with his wife, work his way through the rest of the room.
The white collar crowd had never been Maia's type of people. She listened discreetly to the conversations that rose and fell around her. One group of women occupied themselves solely by informing each other about how awfully their other friends were dressed tonight. Maia sneered behind her glass.
A wave of applause signaled the event she'd been waiting for, the entrance of one Ashwin Dillon, playboy extraordinaire. The patterns of roses and stripes and winding silk cords that covered the wallpaper of the hotel room were noisomely familiar. Gillian sighed and turned of the television. She sat down on the mauve carpet in the full lotus position. She breathed in and out, focusing on the act and its effects on her body as well as the air around her. Her mind faded from the room.
She closed her eyes and a lake shore coalesced, the surface of which hid the River Styx. A ripple ran through the surface, then gradually a water spout formed, rising to about six feet in height. It wended its way towards the shore. Upon contact with the soft silty earth, the spout collapsed in a gust of hot wind, leaving behind a totally dry woman. The resemblance was unmistakable. Aside from the darker skin, nearly black eyes and odd, old fashioned clothing, Gillian and this shadow person might have been one and the same. Maia spotted her quarry. He emerged from across the hall, a bottle of wine in one hand. She felt a thrill pass up and down her spine when they made eye contact. Maia translated the slow fire ignited in her groin by the scent of blood into a sultry smile. The hunt was on.
Chapter 6: It's Human Nature
Maia watched her quarry with icy detachment. After nigh upon an hour and a half, Ashwin broke free from the crowd and left the room. Maia followed silently. She stood outside the bathroom door in an empty hallway and waited for him to finish relieving himself. Maia smiled broadly as the door swung inwards and she stepped forward, one hand pressed firmly to the man's chest, forcing him to stumble backwards into the spacious room.
Surprised, if pleasantly so, Ashwin started to speak, but Maia pressed her fingers to his lips to silence him. She quickly replaced her fingers with her lips, nipping at his own lower lip. Digging her nails into his chest gently, she said,
"Can we go somewhere?"
Taken aback just for a moment, his brain could formulate no reply except to smile. He liked his women bold.
"What's wrong with right here?" He finally managed to get out.
"If that's what you really want." She replied, pushing him backwards against the sink roughly. "I'd love to stick around, really, you had such potential, but things just aren't working out in our relationship." She sneered, and he was pinned effectively against cold marble. A look of utter confusion crossed his tanned face. Maia grinned toothily as she jabbed her fingers into one side of his neck. His entire body spasmed, and his features seemed to contract in pain. Maia's grin widened. Her eyes slid halfway shut. Blood trickled from her prey's nostrils in the last few seconds before his body shut down completely and slid bonelessly to the floor. Careful not to leave any bruises, Maia released the constriction of his jugular, turned the body so that it appeared he had been facing the sink when he died, and slipped out the door.
As the elevator door slid shut behind her, Maia heard someone screaming. Guess they found him. . She managed not to laugh aloud. A ghost hand of ice brushed Gillian's cheek. Her dream scape doppelganger took a step backwards and said,
"All your instincts are correct."
"About Maia?" Gillian whispered. The profound silence that encompassed this imaginary place hushed her voice.
"Yes. Your time with her is so short."
"Who are you?"
"Does it matter?" M'lila smiled, and then turned away and disappeared under the surface of the lake. Gillian stood on the shore, peering into the murky water. The cab dropped her off outside of a different restaurant, and Maia quickly undid her modifications of earlier; the contacts went down the toilet, and she lightened up her makeup. She whistled as she walked, instinctively staying in shadow. The hotel room door swung open noiselessly. Maia stalked across the thick carpet, and pounced on her lover, who was sitting with her back to the door in the lotus position. Jerked from her meditation, Gillian involuntarily shrieked. Maia crouched on the floor, laughing.
"You're back a lot sooner than I thought you'd be," Gillian tried to salvage her dignity. "I did what I had to do and left. Couldn't leave you here all alone all night," the dark woman smiled hungrily. This time, however, it was Gillian who did the pouncing. When at last they lay quietly together in the voluminous, queen size bed, sleep eluded Gillian's grasp. My time with her is limited? Does that mean that she has no intention of staying with me? Gillian blinked her eyes in the dark. She listened to Maia's breath, even and measured in sleep. She never made any promises to you. Gillian scolded herself, But maybe its about time she did. At last she fell asleep in spite of her anxieties, and dreamed of the sea.
The next morning Gillian awoke when Maia reentered the room carrying breakfast and a copy of the day's paper.
"Your breakfast madam," Maia curtseyed mockingly. She unceremoniously yanked the sheets off the bed and its sleepy occupant narrowly missed landing on the floor with them.
"HEEEY!" Gillian bawled indignantly as she jumped to her feet. Sticking her tongue out at her unruly lover, she paid a visit to the bathroom before relieving Maia of a cup of coffee and the front page of the Times.
"How'd it go last night anyway?" She asked, over the rim of her plastic cup.
"It all went off really smoothly. The dress was a big hit," Maia paid quiet homage to Gillian's aesthetic tastes.
"Told you."
A comfortable silence fell, broken only by the riffling of the newspaper.
"Have you ever seen the Statue of Liberty?" Maia asked at last.
"Nope. Not up close. Do you think we could go there today?"
"Sure," Both women were jerked fully awake by the insolent chirping of a cel' phone. Maia looked around, rooting through a pile of clothing before she finally found it and silenced it.
"Yeah," She said into the receiver. She wandered nonchalantly to the other side of the room.
"Maia? Bad news. She says it was natural causes. She won't transfer the funds," The male voice on the other end hissed.
"Steve... just send her the standard response," Maia impatiently retorted, trying to keep her temper in check.
"Sent it."
"All right then, be a little more creative."
"Look Maia, she's not going to pay you. Not unless you see to it personally." "Yeah. Sure. Um. Look, I'll work on it. Later," she hung up. When Maia turned to face the table, she found that Gillian was no longer in the room. Confused, she looked inside the bathroom only to find it empty.
"Gillian?" She shouted. The hallway was empty. Inside, the front section of the Times lay open. About a third of the way down the page was an article about the death of Ashwin Dillon in his penthouse suite during a party last night. It said he'd been discovered around midnight, dead in a bathroom of a massive stroke.
"Shit!" Maia swore lividly. She grabbed her keys and slammed the door so hard behind her that a rain of plaster coated the room with white dust. She took the stairs instead of waiting for the elevator, and nearly slid down the handrail the whole way.
"Hey, you see a petite woman, curly brown hair, big brown eyes, utterly gorgeous, run through here?" Maia demanded, grabbing the obese doorman by the shoulders.
"Yeah, just a few minutes ago, she looked pretty upset," he said, blowing the smell of bacon and onions into Maia's face as he pointed to his left. She jumped backwards and took off at a dead run. People swore colorfully at her as she shoved through them. At the end of the block, Maia slowed to a halt. She glanced in three directions, searching for signs of Gillian's curly head. Hearing angry shouts to her right, she took off in that direction.
She caught a glimpse of the red t shirt Gillian had put on when the phone rang. Maia watched the young woman dash around an overstuffed shopping cart, and without breaking her stride, the hitwoman sprang over it. A bag lady shouted angrily at the both of them for "harassing a poor old woman."
Gillian stopped running at the juncture of the street and a narrow alley. Maia halted, and they stood silently staring at each other across the hot sidewalk. Jostled by passersby, Maia at last broke eye contact and retreated into the alleyway.
"How could you?" Gillian asked, abruptly approaching her lover. "How could you use what I taught you to k-"
Maia grabbed the distraught woman's hand and jerked her roughly out of the sunlight.
"Look," She said, her hand neatly silencing further comment, "We can't talk about this here. You understand?"
In response, Gillian sank her teeth into the hand covering her mouth.
"I understand," she snapped. Turning on her heel, Gillian led the way deeper into the shadows. When the sounds of the main venue were muffled, she wheeled around and slapped Maia unexpectedly across the face. Though she saw the blow coming, Maia let it fall.
"Just tell me why," Gillian demanded as Maia spat blood onto the pavement.
"Because its what I do."
"That's it?"
"Consider me the predator that culls the sickness from the herd," Maia took a step towards her lover. Gillian turned away coldly.
"Give me time to think, please," the artist begged. When she turned around again, Maia was gone.
Chapter 7: I Wanna Be More than a Pretty Girl
With her toes pulled back to a right angle with the bones of her foot, Maia took out her anger on a brick wall. The impacts jarred her body painfully, but her own agony wasn't enough. Abandoning the implacable building, she moved deeper into the city. Even if Gillian went to the authorities with what she knew, there was nothing substantial to connect Maia to her work, she was careful, of course. However, such a betrayal would be intolerable. A soft voice somewhere deep in Maia's mind reminded her naggingly that Gillian was not the one that had committed the transgression. I'm the bad girl here. She nearly giggled hysterically at the thought.
Maia stopped at the bottom of an antiquated fire escape. She crouched, then sprang easily up to grab the middle rung of the folded ladder and clamber up onto the platform above. She made her way up onto the roof of the old apartment building. Steam rose off of its tarred surface. Out of the corner of her eye Maia could have sworn that she caught a glimpse of a man dressed in ragged clothes surrounded by pigeons. When she turned for a closer look, she found herself alone. A chill ran through her body. Shaking it off, she jogged to the far edge of the roof, and as she approached it she picked up speed, finally making the jump across the gap between this building and its nearest neighbor. From her new vantage point, she had a clear view of one of the more disreputable streets in New York.
Sitting on the very edge, her booted feet dangling over, Maia watched all the little featureless people go about their pointless little lives far below. Why are you even worried? She's a liability. A weakness. Just go. The cool, professional part of her psyche demanded. The sound of gunfire reminded her that this little introspective was something that she could ill afford. She had business to attend to. Sighing, she pushed all thoughts of a certain gorgeous brunette out of her mind, and was startled to realize that she didn't want to. What's gotten into you? she chided herself, That little bumpkin has got you wrapped up so tight you can't even turn around in your own head. She smiled when she remembered something her father had told her once. Love is just a trick nature plays on us to get us to reproduce. Maia's grin broadened, That hardly applies anymore, does it? I'll give her a few days. If she comes around, she does. If not, it's no big loss. There are other people out there to fuck. She tilted her head to catch a draft of chill air. The last heat of the dying summer was spent that day, and the weather began the spiral into autumn.
Maia drew herself up, took a deep breath and straightened her hair. She went through the roof-service door and down three flights of stairs. The narrow hallway smelled faintly of old oranges and mildew and anxiety. Maia stopped in front of a door and pulled a key out of one of her pockets. She opened the door and went inside with the ease of familiarity. Incense burned on a stand in the corner, banishing the unpleasant odor of the rest of the building. Maia quietly inhaled the scent of patchouli and let her eyes roam the ornate Persian rug that covered the floor.
She had fond memories of that rug.
"Maia?" A wary voice issued from another room in the apartment.
"Hello Abby." Maia replied.
"Where in Hell have you been?" The voice was closer then.
"Workin' on my tan."
Abby soon followed her words into her den. Almost as tall as Maia was, the well dressed blonde grasped her guest in a welcoming embrace. Maia didn't have to lean far to kiss her. They consumed one another in almost desperate possessiveness. For Maia it was a simple act of rebellion against the love she felt for Gillian, an unfamiliar sensation, and an unwanted one. Abby responded to her occasional lover's touch with utter abandon. Maia was like a drug to her, one for which she could find no substitute. Gillian returned quietly to the hotel room. She stared warily at the still tousled bed. We made love there just last night- and she's a murderer.She sank to the floor, lost in her bitingly clear memories of the previous night.
Everything was fine when you didn't know, wasn't it? There's so much more to her than ... than that. Gillian closed her eyes, and tried to stop thinking. Artless intimidation was one of Maia's specialties. It wasn't particularly original, but it worked. The money from the Dillon hit was sufficient to support a comfortable retirement, something that Maia would not even consider. She enjoyed what she did; more than enjoyed it, loved it. While Mrs. Dillon would quite possibly never leave the house without proper protection again, Maia felt energized. She tugged her laptop out of its case and plugged into a pay phone. The ten million dollars that the late Ashwin Dillon's bereaved wife had transferred into a bank account in Zurich was indeed safely tucked away right where it belonged, in Maia's electronic pockets. Maia sent the money on to several other final destinations. She shut down, reassured that things had gone smoothly once Mrs. Dillon had been persuaded to "see the light."
Maia hailed a taxi. She silently cursed herself for having left the Bonneville at the hotel when she discovered a wad of chewed gum on the floor mat of the dingy conveyance. She ordered the driver to drive out to Manhattan, but after only fifteen minutes changed her mind. It had been three days, and it was about time that she made herself go back.
"Driver, take me to the Omni."
"Sure lady?"
His eyes met her fiery glare in the rearview mirror, and he grunted assent to the course change. When he finally parallel parked in front of the hotel, Maia tossed him his money and stalked through the revolving doors without returning the doorman's greeting.
She charged rather foolishly back into room 223. It was empty. Maia couldn't decide whether to be relieved or disappointed. Gillian's duffel bag lay unzipped on the floor, its disorderly contents reassuring Maia that her lover had not run home to Trinity. It was a good sign. The sight of what sat laid out on the bed made her grin. A black halter top, smaller than not, and a pair of bootleg black leather pants. She picked up the top warily. Looks like she wants you to look the part. Maia thought. She smirked, fingering the soft leather of a pants leg.
Tossing the clothes aside, Maia unbuttoned her dirty shirt as she went for her first shower in several days. Gillian wasn't listening to the tour guide. She gazed up at the torch the statue held and smiled winsomely. She wanted to go inside, but the statue was off limits nowadays. Sighing, she turned away from the copper behemoth and looked out over the sea. Her father had been a sailor of sorts, he worked for an imports company and captained a cargo vessel. It went back a long way, and ended with Gillian. She loved the ocean, but not that much.
The tour guide at last ended her memorized speech and invited everyone to look around for the next few minutes before they returned to the mainland. The clot of people surrounding her broke up and drifted around the island. Gillian pushed a few loose curls behind her ears and faced the wind coming off the harbor. The warm iron railing that surrounded the island bit into her hands and stomach as she leaned far over it. For a moment she hated being tied to the earth by this heavy, mundane body of flesh. Oh to let go. To be completely free.
When it was time to leave, she followed placidly with the rest of the tourists, feeling suspiciously like a milk cow. Shrugging the sensation off, Gillian made her way back to their hotel, every step weighed down by anticipation. Every time she returned, her heart hammered in her chest and she speculated wildly about what she would find when she opened the door to the room. She slid her key into the lock, and the door swung inward once again. Over the thundering of her own blood pounding through her ears, she heard the shower running.
Maia stood under the flow of scalding water. She drank in the heat, just as she seemed to absorb the very radiations of the sun, and the humid, human warmth of passion.
At last, emerging from the steamy bath, Maia dripped her way to stand in front of her lover. Gillian sat slumped in a mauve armchair, her head tipped, cockily, back and to the side. She stood up slowly. She leaned her head forward, and let the side of her face rest against the damp skin just above Maia's breasts. Gillian listened to the powerful thrumming of this enigmatic heart, a heart capable of the extremes of both deep, profound love and calculating hatred.
"I want to go home," the artist whispered, "Get me out of this city. Please."
Maia closed her eyes at the sensation of Gillian's breath on her body. She wrapped her bare arms around her lover.
"We'll leave in the morning." Chapter 8: The Hardest to Learn was the Least Complicated
"Maia?"
"Yeah?"
"Why are you really going to see the Sheriff again?"
Maia slid her left foot into the comfortably worn leather of her favorite pair of boots, "Well," she pulled the other boot on and said, "I'm working for him in an unofficial capacity." As much as Maia despised working for anyone but herself, there were things she wanted to learn from Buck before she moved on. She wasn't quite ready to leave Gillian yet. She kept telling herself that it was merely a temporary attachment.
"I wish you wouldn't. He's not exactly normal. He has a way of twisting things," the artist called as Maia left the room.
"He's my friend," Maia replied just before she slammed the front door.
Gillian flopped heavily onto the expansive bed. This was not right. Nothing here matched up with what she knew to expect of Buck. She suddenly felt very alone.
Maia met the sheriff in the county park as agreed. The morning sun was not yet hot, and the park was nearly empty save a few other early risers.
"So how was your little interlude in the big city?" Lucas drawled.
"Productive," Maia smiled. She was momentarily relieved that he was standing behind her and that he was keeping his distance for once.
"She knows now doesn't she," once again, it was not a question. Maia caught herself just as she was about to demand to know how he knew that.
"What if she does?"
"She's still letting you live with her and she knows just what you are," Lucas circled around her, and leaned towards her conspiratorially, "What do you think she's really doing?"
"She says that-" Maia began.
"Of course she says," Buck frowned, "But how can you honestly think that she'd stay with a practiced, cold blooded killer? An innocent girl like that? You better believe that she's not going to let it go, that she's just hanging around, biding her time until she can turn you in."
For a moment they stood close enough together to share breath. Maia sneered and whirled, even as she wondered just how much of the truth lay in his words. The sheriff was playing with her. No one was immune to his manipulations, but Maia couldn't see that. The seeds of doubt he flung outwards fell onto fertile soil. The idea that Gillian was traitorous had indeed preoccupied her for a while, but she had pushed the thoughts aside. Maia protected herself when it came to her work. She knew what she was doing, but that didn't mean that someday she might not slip up somewhere.
"What exactly are you suggesting I do?" Maia demanded, her back still to him. She watched a man in bright orange jogging shorts run by.
"I'm merely pointing out that she's dangerous to you now," Buck replied, he'd tested the edge, and was ready to back off for now.
"Mhhmm," Maia turned around, her arms hanging loose at her sides, her relaxed appearance at odds with the turmoil she felt. A sudden movement in the parking lot caught her attention. Two run down local police cars had parked on either side of the Trans-Am.
"What the Hell is this?" Maia demanded, drawing herself up. She was shocked.
"Why don't we find out?" Buck asked, the picture of southern implacability. "Ben!" He shouted as they approached the officers. "What're y'all doin to this lady's car?"
"Just what you told us Lucas," the deputy shouted back, "You were right." He held aloft, over his balding head, a gleaming Sig Sauer, the only weapon Maia had ever allowed herself to hang onto. Ben lowered the gun and checked the ammunition.
"Two rounds missing," he announced, handing it over to one of the other men to bag.
"Sonofabitch," Maia snarled, her eyes filled with icy hatred. Before he even managed to get a retort out, she had him by the throat. She had the strength to snap his neck. He seemed to be laughing at her despite the fact that she lifted him up onto his toes.
"Lucas!?" Ben yelled from the parking lot.
"Who did you kill with those bullets, huh?" Maia demanded, jerking the sheriff back and forth a little with each vicious word. Lucas got a good grip on her forearm, squeezing so hard that she could feel the bones grind together.
"Let him go Miss Pappas," Ben cautiously approached, the three other men fanning out around him.
Buck managed to gasp out, "She's armed."
Maia spun them both to the left, placing Buck between herself and the deputy's leveled revolver. In doing so however, she gave one of the flanking officers a clear shot.
The sheriff fell backwards when Maia's grip slackened. Maia groaned, pressing her forehead into the grass. When the initial surprise wore off, she heaved herself upright and balanced precariously on one leg. She found herself painfully wrenched back to the ground, and someone's knee pressed into the small of her back. She felt the cold metal of a pair of handcuffs snap around her wrists. Through a black haze she heard Ben haltingly read her Miranda Rights, and another voice, more distant, saying that he hadn't never shot no woman before. A red frog walked across the ceiling leaving red footprints on the plastic florescent lighting panel. Maia shook her head roughly to banish the hallucination. The walls were green; nasty, anti-septic green. Maia tried to sit up but was stopped short by a set of standard issue hospital bed restraints. She struggled against them in a moment of cold panic which was almost immediately replaced by hot rage. She forced herself to relax and try to determine what had been done to her. She didn't know how much time passed before the door opened.
Dr. Matt Crower waltzed into the room. Maia followed his progress with the eyes of an angry cat.
"Miss Pappas." he smiled tentatively, "How are you feeling?"
"Shitty, how do you think?" Maia snarled.
"You almost crushed Lucas's trachea."
"He set me up. You know what he does better than most."
"He has evidence against you. In a murder."
Maia laughed. It was ironic to be framed when she was guilty of so many crimes. "That's not what I'm here to talk to you about. The bullet struck your lower thigh, and split the bone in several directions," Matt set a heat deformed slug on the bedside table. "I've done what I can, but one of the fractures extended down into your knee, and I can't guarantee that you'll ever be able to walk without a limp if you don't have the joint replaced."
The doctor pushed the sheets aside to examine the sutures.
"There'll be a nurse in in a few minutes to give you whatever you need," Matt turned stiffly and disappeared. Maia got herself as upright as she could and peered down at the double line of stitches running down her thigh. A padded brace held her entire leg immobile.
She grimaced and flopped back onto the noisy, plastic covered mattress. Maia closed her eyes against the sight of the industrial ceiling and tried to ignore the dull throbbing of her leg as the pain killers wore off. She put her mind elsewhere, somewhere green and humid, with olive trees growing wild everywhere. She wanted to scream, but didn't want to give the guard left outside the door the satisfaction of hearing her. The panic was returning.
Maia opened her eyes again, to the sight of Sheriff Lucas Buck's lean, ursine face.
"You can't stand it can you?" He mocked, "Captivity definitely doesn't suit you." Maia collected herself as best she could.
"So who died so you could put me here?" Maia forced her tensed muscles to relax one by one.
"Nobody you'd know. Just a local man, been a thorn in my side for years."
"Aren't you concerned about the FBI coming out here?"
"They don't have much interest in my little town." Lucas twirled a lock of Maia's black hair between his index finger and thumb. Maia briefly considered biting him. It would be an ineffectual, if satisfying move. At least it would make her feel better.
"I haven't had the gun dusted yet," he produced the sig, dangling it by a corner of its baggie. "You can walk away from this...well, you know what I mean," he laughed.
"Just wiping the handle clean isn't enough to get me out of this," Maia retorted.
"Of course not. We'd just have to make sure somebody else's prints showed up on it, now wouldn't we?"
Maia snorted, "And who else would have access to my gun but my partner in sin."
"Excuse me sir," A nurse bustled in, pushing a supply cart, "I have to ask you to leave the room."
The sheriff tipped an imaginary hat at both women as he pulled the door shut behind him.
The nurse performed her tasks quietly and warily, giving Maia some water through a straw. Maia could almost smell her apprehension.
When the nurse too, finally left, Maia lay alone with her fears. Getting caught had never been an option, but here she was, helpless, humiliated and crippled. There was an easy way out of this. Six months ago you would have done it in a heartbeat. Maia pushed those thoughts away and instead invited the anger to return until the tranquilizer the nurse had given her drowned her in sleep. Chapter 9: It Makes Me Feel So Fine The blonde stood in front of the painting, gnawing contemplatively on a pen.
"These are all really cliched." She sighed.
"They're selling in the smaller galleries." A tall, tanned man replied.
"Money is all these people are after isn't it?"
"Well Sarah, artists have to eat too." He smiled, unbuttoning his grey suit jacket. Sarah shot him a look over her shoulder. "And so do we," he added.
"David, you're such a pragmatist," Sarah brushed past him to survey the rest of the new works stacked in various states of unpacking around the room. "I don't want any of those silly landscapes in my gallery. Have them sent to Cosmic Cactus or something, but this building is supposed to exemplify the company."
The yuppie shrugged submissively.
Sarah's high heels tapped softly across the oak floor. That was one of the things she liked about Ishtar Galleries's building; all the floors, even in the storage rooms were real wood. Pushing aside protective tarps and sheets of cardboard, she flipped through the canvases, making approving noises.
"This bunch is interesting." She said, picking up a painting of a lake.
"Thought you weren't in the landscape mood today?" David teased her.
"You're missing the focal point," she turned and held the painting in front of her so that her assistant could get a better look at it.
"AH, the solitary figure on the dock. Intriguing," he examined the brooding image more closely. Sarah thrust the painting into his hands and went back to looking over the rest.
"Where are these from? I'd like to get in touch with the artist," Sarah called over her shoulder.
"I'll check," David set the picture down gingerly. He returned a few minutes later with a printout.
"I'm not sure how we wound up with them. Apparently Bev picked them up at a county auction," he shrugged.
"Look at this," Sarah breathed. She slid a large canvas out of its box. It was a life size portrait of a nude woman painted in deep shadow. A pair of stunning blue eyes glittered predatorily from a tan, sculpted face.
"Hmm," David replied dubiously, "Doesn't look like someone I'd care to meet."
"No, but there's more to it than that. Her eyes are hungry, but her face is.... loving, almost calm."
"Like the painter went back and changed something after they were finished with it."
"Yeah," Sarah absently sniffled, entranced by the painting. For the briefest of moments she felt a glint of recognition. Leaning it against a wall, Sarah stepped back from the picture. The messy signature at the bottom corner might have said Sirila, but Sarah doubted that was actually anybody's name. The date was 1992. That made the painting almost 7 years old.
"I can't believe these were just lying around somewhere for 7 years." Sarah clucked her tongue absently. "Do you have the name of the town?"
"Um...Trinity? Yeah, Trinity, its in South Carolina," David frowned, "It's really imposing hun, I don't think it'll sell."
"Who said anything about selling it?" the art dealer smiled, "I'll have whatever Bev paid for it taken out of my salary."
"Whatever floats yer boat I guess," he shrugged again.
Forcing herself to turn away from the haunting woman, Sarah picked a few of the other paintings to have hung out on the floor.
On her lunch break, Sarah signed up for vacation time in the most immediate available slot. She wasn't usually so spontaneous; the woman in the painting sparked something long buried within her. Sarah didn't understand it, but she wanted to know this woman. Her long skirt, decorated with Chinese coins, jingled as she walked into the office. The woodsy interior was distinctly dated, and the patrol cars outside had definitely seen better days.
"Excuse me," she trilled, leaning on the scarred counter between herself and the actual office space.
"Yes Ma'am? Can I help you?" a bald deputy asked in a heavy southern accent.
"I want to talk to someone about some items that were recently sold at auction here," Sarah smiled, trying to hide her amazement at the stereotypicality of this place.
"Well Ma'am, can you tell me what it is that you're looking for exactly?"
"I'm not looking for anything, I have a painting, I'm looking for the person who painted it."
"A painting?" the deputy raised his eyebrows, "Just a minute Ma'am, I think you want to talk to the sheriff."
Sarah watched him amble off in search of his superior. She drummed her fingers idly on the counter.
"Ben tells me you're looking for an artist?" a deeper, throaty drawl issued from behind her. Sarah whirled around in a swish of brass coins and blue fabric.
"Yes."
"The name's Lucas Buck, with a B," he smiled carnivorously and extended a large, calloused hand. Sarah gripped it with her own narrow, small hands and said,
"Pleased to meet you. I'm Sarah Covington, I'm with Ishtar Galleries," she led him outside to her big Oldsmobile. In the back seat rested a carefully wrapped package. She slid the large canvas out gently, and revealed the painting to the Sheriff.
"Oh yes. That would be Maia Pappas," his smile turned sour.
"The artist?" mention of the name Pappas made Sarah sit up straighter. Her great grandmother, Janice Covington, had once worked with a member of the Pappas family, back when the Covingtons still had a history of "working," in "archeology."
"Nope, the model. Why don't we go inside?" he pressed Sarah gently out of the heat and back into the air conditioned police station.
"So you know who painted this?"
"Yeah. Her name was Gillian..." he seemed to fish for a last name for a moment, "Gillian Muray. They were both bad news..."
"Were?"
"Yes, well, Gillian was convicted of murder, she died in a prison riot three years back," Buck drawled lazily.
Sarah bit her lip, "What about the model...Maia?"
"Haven't heard anything about her in...oh...7 years," Lucas replied, "What's your interest in all this anyway?"
"I just want to know the story behind those paintings. We have a few dozen by Gillian, they're beautiful, not exactly modern, they're too academic, but they are beautiful," Sarah smiled. "You have no idea how I might find the model?"
"Sorry," he narrowed his eyes at her. Blonde hair, green eyes. Lucas never forgot a face, especially where Maia was concerned. "I wouldn't try to contact her if I were you. She's vicious, probably worse than her lover. It was only out of the kindness of my heart that I decided not to press charges."
"Her lover?"
"Miss Muray," Buck smiled archly, then said, "Well Ma'am, if that'll be all, I have work to do."
"I'm sorry for keeping you. Thank you," Sarah stood up, gripping the painting by its frame, "Can you tell me one more thing? Where did she live?"
"They had an apartment, but the house burned down last year." Sarah wound up in the county park. She immediately recognized it as the setting of the painting of the dock. There was a dim atmosphere to the town, in spite of its comic typicalness. Sarah could almost taste the darkness of the air. It was pretty, but her mood was rapidly going downhill. This park especially depressed her. As she wandered back to the parking lot, Sarah shivered in the intense heat. There was a wrongness here.
Sarah spent the night in a big yellow boarding house. They served dinner to all the boarders at one long table. The decorations were quaint, and the food was overcooked in typical southern fashion. The boarders were pleasant, barraging the new guest with questions. A boy, probably about 15 years old, sitting directly across from Sarah remained obtrusively silent for most of the meal.
"Actually, I came here to find a painter. One of our purchasing agents picked up 13 paintings at a county auction here."
"Paintings?" Miss Hale, the owner of the boarding house asked.
"Yes, they're very beautiful, I came to find the artist, but the Sheriff told me that she died in a prison riot..." Sarah sighed over a forkful of string beans.
"Oh. Gillian was such a darling girl. I don't believe she did what they said. Now that other woman, Maia? There was always something a little...off about her," the blonde woman shook her head ruefully, "I just don't know. And Mr. Davis was such a nice old man, he kept to himself, but he was pleasant to me whenever I saw him."
"You met them?" Sarah demanded enthusiastically.
"Well, yes dahlin, Maia stayed with us for a week, until she," Miss Hale lowered her voice to a loud whisper, "Moved in with Gillian. I try not to judge," she said loftily.
"Ah. Did she tell you anything about herself? About where she came from?"
"Oh Honey, that was 7 years ago. I don't really remember."
"She tried to kill Buck," the boy announced.
"What?" Sarah asked, startled by his rough voice.
"Miss Pappas, she tried to kill him," only it sounded like "Miass Peappas, shey traed to keel ‘im."
"Really?"
"Caleb," Miss Hale scolded, "Don't talk about that at the table."
"Why did she do that?" Sarah asked, horrified.
"I dunno," Caleb shrugged.
Later, once the dinner crowd had dispersed, Sarah found the boy sitting outside on the voluminous front porch.
"Hey Caleb," she sat down next to him on the wooden steps.
"Hey."
"So you were here when Miss Pappas was staying here?" she prodded.
"Yes ma'am."
"Can you tell me anything about her?"
"I don't really remember much, it was a long time ago. ‘Cept that she tried to kill Buck," the boy shrugged his bony shoulders.
"Did you meet her?"
"Yeah. She was nice..." Caleb's face lit up when a lanky, long haired girl rode up into the yard on a 12-speed bicycle.
"Good night Caleb," Sarah called as he stood up.
"G'night Ma'am," he waved. Sarah watched him walk down the road with the girl, the two of them chattering in their matched accents.
What am I doing here? This is absurd. It's just another painting. Sarah thought. But the next morning, the blonde found herself in the dusty archives of the county library, reading a faded copy of a newspaper from September, 1992.
Trinity Sheriff Injured in Fight with Murder Suspect
Sarah found only two other articles on the subject, one detailing the testimony of Gillian herself. The woman had nearly confessed on the stand. The second article was about the verdict, and Maia's disappearance.
Sarah left with Xeroxes of the articles, her unknown questions still unanswered.
Chapter 10: Some of Them Want to Abuse You
Washington D.C., 0300 hrs, November, 1999
"Nadine, get out of there," Maia ordered, directing her rich, smooth voice into the microphone attached to her headset. She bent the wire a little closer to her mouth automatically. There was no response.
"Control, what's going on?" Maia demanded, the headset deactivated transmissions automatically when she named an operative that sat diagonally across from her at a stainless steel encrusted computer terminal.
"I'm getting some interference. Looks like she's down, she's being dragged down the hallway," a middle aged man watching an lcd intently replied. The display provided maps of the area, infrared images of the interior of the embassy in front of them, and tracking of all operatives involved.
"Control," Maia hissed into the mic, "We've got an agent down."
A familiar, gruffly masculine voice replied, "Go in."
Silently Maia stood up and leaped lightly out of the gray unmarked van. She was over the rear wall of the embassy grounds and into the building via the roof only a few seconds later.
Following Control's directions, and her own memory of the building's floor plan she made her way through the darkened hallways. She passed four agents on her way in. Maia jerked her head in the direction of the stairs. She watched them proudly as they disappeared into the shadows, then sprinted on silent feet to the door of one of the lusciously appointed guest rooms.
Moonlight in the shape of a window shone on the mauve carpet, so that Maia had the distinct advantage of being the one in the dark. She peered around the doorjamb cautiously. Nadine, her black face mask tossed aside, lay on the floor, a sizable bruise purpling the left side of her face.
A flabby man in boxer shorts sat in an armchair watching his two bodyguards tie Nadine's hands and feet. One of them slapped her gently, trying to revive her. Maia groaned inwardly. Operations had forbidden her or any members of her team from killing any of the embassy's' occupants. This should have been a simple reconnaissance mission.
Maia backed down the hall and filled Operations in on the situation.
"Terminate the agent. Do not engage the Ambassador or his men. Get out." Came her orders.
Maia didn't bother to ask why, even as the team's head, she knew nothing. It was not unusual. Maia padded back to the doorway and drew her gun, with its absurdly long silencer. Stepping into the open door, she aimed and fired. The shot took her team member under the chin and exited through the top of her head, leaving a fan shaped splatter of blood and brains on the lush carpet. Three sets of eyes and two automatic weapons swung towards the darkness outside the safety of the guest room. Maia was already halfway down the hall when a hail of bullets rained down upon her. She ran faster, flinging herself up the stairs and at last outside to safety.
Back in the van, the team was silent. Maia ordered the driver to get going. The others knew instinctively what had happened. They also knew better than to ask why.
Maia sat, expressionless. She would have to choose a replacement agent now. Her mind ran through all the things she'd have to do, anything to avoid thinking about the color of Nadine's blood as it seeped into that mauve carpet.
She had a dream that night about planting explosives in the headquarters of some terrorist group. The operation had gone off perfectly. The next week however, Maia bought a newspaper and read the casualty tally of the "accident." Fifty men, twenty seven women, and five teenagers. It hadn't been just a base of operations, but living quarters for the radicals and their families. They were a GreenPeace group, Maia found out. That wasn't in the papers, but Maia had discovered a lay-out for one of their brochures while she supervised the operation.
She woke up angry. Maia had no problems with killing, but she wanted to know why she was doing it. As a base level agent, she'd been lied to, a fact she learned upon her promotion. That was, however, all she'd learned. Now she was one of the perpetrators of those lies, but the only advantage she had over the base agents was that she knew they weren't true. So she thought. Maia now clung to the pretense that Section worked with national governments for the good of the people. Whether or not this was true was uncertain. All operatives, in theory, were convicted killers, and all their missions, in theory, were beneficial to humanity at large. These were the two major ideas that Maia wished to be true. There was no way for her to prove what was real and what was not, so she lived her life with an uncertainty that she was forced to hide from her superiors.
When she was within Section's walls, her responsibilities centered around preparing operatives for their missions and evaluating their mental stability. Maia was highly valued by Operations and other members of the upper echelon of this strange organization for much more than her ability to escape the most dire of situations both victorious and unscathed. She wielded a mysterious power over her subordinates. They might not trust her completely, but they obeyed her unconditionally. Anyone who took the time to watch her work, could see that she knew just when to say or do exactly the right thing. Given a few weeks with a new agent or trainee, she could have them either so cowed that they would kiss a pistol if she yelled at them loudly enough, or so devoted to her in some way that was a mixture of lust and awe that they would not consider disappointing her.
There was even talk of transferring her to another Section, Section I, where they were having difficulties controlling some of their agents. This was unheard of though, especially at Maia's relatively low clearance level. Move her and she might learn something dangerous to the organization. Like, who controlled them? What were their affiliations?
What am I doing? She wondered. But, Section allowed her to indulge her blood lust and foist the guilt off onto her superiors. It was easier than freelancing in that respect, but the pay was not as good, and she had to be constantly on her toes to avoid termination. One slip, if it was large enough, could cost you your life. Maia sighed, the other problem was definitely in the retirement plan. Once you outlived your usefulness, termination followed. There was no getting out.
Sighing again, Maia got up and began her morning workout. She could not afford to get out of shape. Sarah drifted around the room. The genteel murmur of voices rose a little in her proximity. She greeted her clientele enthusiastically, calling everyone by name. Not that they were easily forgettable people. Some were business people, others were television and movie stars or executives, and still others were authors and artists, but they were all rich.
Tonight, Sarah was hosting a private opening for Ishtar Galleries' newest consigner. Rowan Austin was a surrealist, and the commission from the purchases made tonight would undoubtedly cover the gallery's expenses several times over.
Sarah worked the crowd skillfully. She took offers on the paintings tactfully, making things feel more like a party than an auction. Rowan was doing well too. He had stationed himself at the front of the room, directly below the keystone of his display, a fantastical piece that was sparking a great deal of conversation.
He was playing up to the stereotype of the wild artist. Sarah took a moment to watch the gesticulations that accompanied his breathless speech. They really were in the business of pageantry, just like any good advertiser.
Smiling broadly, genuinely, Sarah sipped her champagne. She nodded her head emphatically in agreement to the commentary on prima donna actresses that she was half listening to. She politely excused herself and joined Rowan at the front of the room. Sarah proposed a toast to him, and the room responded heartily.
Beneath her smile and apparent enjoyment of the evening was a tinge of irritation. Some of her clients were so artificial. They came to Ishtar so that they could feel like they were on the "edge." On the edge of what, Sarah refused to wonder. For all her skill in dealing with people, she felt like she would never truly understand them. Her naivete in this respect was part of her edge in her business. She liked to pretend that it wasn't business, which was exactly what her clients wanted in the "eccentric" owner of an art gallery. Just as Rowan was doing, Sarah played up to a stereotype because it was good for business. They liked to pretend to be eclectic, educated, wacky people, and Sarah knew just how to stay between too dull and too different.
It was nearly midnight when Sarah locked up the gallery. She drove her Volvo home, always sure to use her turn signal and never exceed the speed limit by more than 3 m/hr.
Sarah stripped off her shoes and wearily pulled her dress over her head when she finally made her way into her bedroom. She hated New York in many ways, but she loved the old high ceiling-ed apartment that she rented at an exorbitant monthly rate. Flopping onto the firm mattress of her mahogany sleigh bed, Sarah stared sleepily up at the painting that watched over her sleep. She never tired of looking at it. In the six years that she's had it hanging on her wall, the three men she'd brought here had complained that it gave them nightmares. One told Sarah that the woman in the painting reminded him of a female praying mantis about to devour its mate. Sarah had laughed at him. She found that having Maia there made her feel protected. Sometimes she had bizarre dreams, and woke with a strong sense of both well being and longing.
Sarah had called her parents, hoping to find word of the Pappas family. To her dismay, that branch of the Pappas family was all but extinct. Their fortune was spent, and Maia was the last remaining descendent of Professor Mel Pappas. Sarah had even read some of his translations of the Xena Scrolls, the discoveries that had helped to build the family's financial security. Sarah despaired of ever finding the woman. Even if she did, Sarah wasn't sure that Maia would want to talk to her. Sarah certainly wouldn't, not about Gillian anyway.
These were thoughts that ran through her mind every now and then ever since her hare brained trip to Trinity. They were pointless meanderings; Sarah felt that she would never find Maia. Why that fact bothered her so much, she did not know. Chapter 11: Shame on You
Maia pulled on her tailored black duster, a garment recommended to her by Amanda as the absolute "essential to her fall wardrobe". Humming an old funeral dirge, Maia wandered aimlessly. She was planning on buying some fresh food to replace the frightening globs of mold that were stinking up her apartment. She never felt comfortable in grocery stores, surrounded by wailing children and their impatient parents.
Maia hadn't had much time lately to see the city, and she didn't regret that at all. The place reminded her of too many people she would rather forget. She decided to follow a man in a Led Zeppelin t-shirt for a couple of blocks, and then she turned left and trailed a woman in black heels. She remembered pretending to stalk people when she was a kid. She hadn't been very good at it then, she was always trying to stay hidden, which made her presence painfully obvious to her "prey". Maia wished she could remember the words to that song.
When she grew bored with her game, she stopped and looked around. She was standing in one of the ritzier districts, judging by the rare book dealer and the gourmet food store that seemed to flourish there. Even the trees planted in the sidewalk were abnormally tall. Maia went inside the little food store and bought some strange foods that she had no intention of eating, but might make nice conversation pieces were she to actually take anyone home with her. Maia hated playing at this normality that her life did not possess.
She was several blocks into the walk home when she heard the sound of a muffled gasp, and two feet scraping across cement. Whirling, Maia tossed her groceries onto the hood of a convenient car, and followed the memory of the sound.
She caught sight of disheveled strawberry blonde hair, and the back of a shaved head. Immediately recognizable was the unusual scar on the back of the would be attacker's neck.
"Reggie!" Maia growled. The body hidden under several layers of ragged clothing tensed. He released his victim. The petite woman dodged away from him and ran.
Reggie narrowed his eyes and took a step towards Maia.
"Are you suicidal?" she asked, laughing maliciously.
"You know I doan mean nuthing," he replied, raising his hands defensively. His bluff had been called. The dark woman blocking the way back onto the sidewalk had nearly killed him the last time he'd stood up to her. That was why he'd moved closer to the business district; to get away from her.
Sneering, Maia told him to run. For a moment, his nostrils flared rebelliously. The left one was missing a sizable chunk where Maia had ripped a stud out of it at their last meeting. The moment passed, and Reggie turned and ran. Only when his echoing footsteps were faint did Maia turn her back on the pathetic thug.
Reggie's victim's purse lay on the ground in a puddle of noxious fluid that was leaking out of the dumpster. Maia picked it up by the handle distastefully. Carrying it at arm's length, she was annoyed to discover that the woman had run off. Her grocery bags were gone too.
Maia bought more food on the way back to her apartment. She dumped the damp contents of the woven cotton purse on the linoleum floor of her kitchenette. Munching on a slice of cheese, she plucked a wallet made of eel skin out of the pile.
She smiled at the picture on the driver's license. Sarah G. Covington had guileless, girlish features and green eyes and strawberry blonde hair. Maia laughed aloud at the pretentious, carved rosewood business card holder. Flicking it open, she slid a card out. They were all printed in gold and black ink on crumbly papyrus. Snickering still, she read the card. It was so cheesy. Without keys, Sarah was forced to take a taxi back to the gallery. She paid the fare with the 20 she always kept inside her shoe. She tried to pull herself together in the car. She hadn't gotten a look at her rescuer, and she had known better than to stick around to say thank you. She'd been mugged only once before, and had planned to take a self defense course, but there never seemed to be enough time.
Sarah brushed past her assistant, David, answering none of his questions. She called the police from the lounge in the back room and reported the incident. She would call her credit card companies once she got home.
"Sarah?" David held out some towel wrapped ice cubes, "Your face." He added in explanation.
Sarah took the proffered ice and locked herself in the bathroom. She was going to have a nice scrape down one side of her face and a hand sized bruise on her neck. She stuck her forehead under the tap, regrouping and slowing down. She was tired now that the initial fear had worn off. When she no longer felt like crying she pressed the ice to her neck and went back out into the gallery. The big, airy central room had a loft running round half the width of the building for sculpture displays and clear skylights far overhead to give things a more naturalistic feel and to feed the potted plants.
Her purse sat on the front desk. David opened his mouth to tell her that a woman with black hair had dropped it off. Sarah dashed for the door just as it was swinging shut. David closed his mouth when he realized that she was gone.
"Wait!" Sarah shouted, looking frantically in both directions at the dozens of people bustling past. A tall, lean woman in a black duster turned her head inquiringly.
Sarah's jaw dropped.
"Uh...Maia?" She gasped.
Maia blanked her expression to conceal her surprise.
"Yes?"
"Would you...Would you like to come inside..for coffee?" Sarah stuttered, opening the heavy door as wide as it would go.
Maia smiled and preceded the stranger inside. She had an hour until she was due at Section, and nothing else to do. She noticed the scrape and ice pack. Maia let herself be led into a lounge behind the front desk.
"David?" Sarah called, "Could you whip us up some cappuccino here?"
Maia smiled again, "He didn't hurt you too badly did he?" she asked courteously when her hostess sat down next to her. Their eyes locked and something akin to a spark glowed between them. Maia broke the contact and examined the glossy leaves of a huge jade plant growing on the coffee table amid a welter of Vogue and Arts International magazines. The room was decorated in dark reds, shimmering golds and ornately carved cherry furniture.
"No," Sarah replied, flustered, "Not really." She lowered her ice pack to reveal her trophy bruise. "Thank you for helping me."
Maia nodded, "I was there, that's all."
David showed up with two steaming mugs of Irish cream coffee. Sarah took the mugs from him and shooed him away.
"My name is Sarah Covington," Sarah handed her guest a mug.
Maia sipped the beverage dubiously.
"Outside, you called me by my name. How did you know?" she asked tersely.
"I wanted to talk to you about that. I've been wanting to talk to you about that for years." Sarah replied mysteriously, setting her mug down on a copy of Vogue. "Six years ago, a dozen paintings came into my possession. We usually deal in consignments, but we always keep an eye out for anything promising. Somehow or other, one of my employees purchased these paintings at a county auction in Trinity, South Carolina."
Maia's lips twitched.
"One of them was of you."
Maia set aside her now too sweet drink.
"Where are they?" The dark woman demanded.
"Most of them sold very quickly. I still have your portrait though," Sarah watched the still face for any signs of a reaction.
"I never saw it completed. Is it here? May I see it?" At least she finally got her work displayed in New York, just like she wanted. she thought.
"I'm afraid it's not here right now. If you'd like, perhaps we could have dinner, and have a look at it? I'll cook," Sarah almost clapped her hands over her mouth. She couldn't believe she'd just made a pass at a total stranger; a woman, no less. But Maia didn't really seem like a stranger.
Maia smiled at the dismayed expression on the blonde's face.
It can't hurt, and you haven't gone out in months. Maybe it will get Amanda off your back for once. Maia decided even as she accepted the invitation.
The memories of that time spent in the heat of the south, of the pain and the passion washed over her mind.
"Are you all right?" Sarah touched her guest's hand in concern at the distant look in those cerulean eyes. Maia jumped, barely restraining her reflex to defend herself from a possibly hostile touch.
"I'm all right." Maia stood up suddenly, "But I have to leave."
Sarah nodded and fumbled in her purse for a business card. She scribbled her home address on the back and handed it over to Maia who accepted it awkwardly and left before Sarah could say anything more.
The art dealer watched Maia's lithe form retreat across the floor and out of the room. There was a melancholy to the woman that was absent in her portrait.
Sarah rode an adrenaline high through the rest of the day. It seemed impossible that after 6 years of wondering and speculation, her search was at an end. There's something about that woman. Maia thought as she swept into Section. She went through the motions of interviewing her new trainees, and of privately meeting with each of the members of her team from the last mission to reaffirm their loyalty to her. She gave them each the same story, leaving each man and woman convinced that she was putting her life at risk by telling them the "truth" about Nadine's death. Maia played her part like the professional she was, but with each repetition, the weight of her knowledge grew greater. This is the last time. she told herself. These people don't deserve to be treated like fools. At first she'd enjoyed this sadistic game she played with her operative's souls and minds, but the game was no longer just fun. Maia couldn't view them as toys anymore, Nadine's murder was the spark that had at last ignited Maia's compassion. She who had once killed with glee, swum so easily through the bloody world she inhabited, was beginning to feel the pangs of remorse.
"Maia."
Maia turned to the source of the voice and forced herself to smile.
"Hello Amanda," she said warily.
Amanda, dressed somberly yet fashionably as was her custom, sashayed leisurely up the hallway. Her wild platinum hair was pulled back in a careful ponytail.
"How've you been doing honey?" Amanda asked, so close the two women were nearly touching.
Maia carefully weighed her response, and finally decided to say,
"I'm all right. Nadine was a big loss though. She was good."
"Yes. Yes she was. But that can be said of almost any of our agents," The blonde smiled, her expressions often verged on being maniacal.
"They're all good, but Nadine was surprisingly stable. She reminded me a little of myself," Maia sighed. It was good for her to show a little bit of perturbation over the agent's death, but only a little, and it was necessarily short-lived. Maia knew how to play Amanda's charades. Or so she liked to think.
"Ah. You performed well nevertheless," Amanda placed one of her deceptively soft hands on Maia's shoulder. The skinny blonde was nearly as tall as she was, though Maia was more voluptuous and powerful looking. Amanda was a hard woman. With a farewell nod of her head, Amanda stopped and let Maia continue on out the door without her.
It was so easy to walk out that door, but it was a meaningless act. She couldn't simply leave the state, or the country and hope to be free. They would find her eventually. Even if she escaped them, she would never be able to relax for she would have to be constantly vigilant, and all people would be suspect. The only way out was to be dead to them. Or to destroy them. Maia snickered at the thought. Destroy Section, when it was allied to the government? Yeah, right. Chapter 12: I'd Like to Tell You Something ‘bout My Life
The scent of stir-fry greeted Maia when she made her belated entrance into Sarah's home. Maia made her apologies for her tardiness. The truth was that she'd had to run home and shower, scrubbing her body from head to foot to be sure to remove any tracking devices Amanda or Operations might have seen fit to plant. It was an action Maia herself had performed on many occasions, and she knew that she was not above such surveillance. It was doubtful that anyone was.
Once Maia handed over the obligatory bottle of red wine, she stripped off her coat and gloves. She followed her hostess into the kitchen, her appreciative eyes taking in the apartment's ingenious design and opulent decoration.
"Smells great." Maia inhaled contentedly. She peered over the blonde's shoulder at the sizzling vegetables.
"Thanks." Goose bumps rose on her skin in response to the proximity of Maia's body. Sarah picked up the wok and turned, forcing the dark woman to back up. Mentally sighing with relief, Sarah said, "This doesn't keep real well. Hope you're ready to eat."
Over dinner, Maia couldn't keep her eyes off of the little blonde. They talked with a strange familiarity, and Maia's concerns seemed to become lighter in Sarah's presence. "Have you actually seen the Xena Scrolls?" the blonde asked over a forkful of rice.
"What are they?" Maia asked, baffled.
"You mean..." Sarah trailed off, "They're a bunch of scattered parchments written by an ancient Greek bard about a warrior woman named Xena. I've read a few of them, but they're widely held as being pure fiction with no basis in fact."
"What about them?"
"Well, they were discovered in the early 1900's by Dr. Mel Pappas; I think he was your great grandfather?"
"More like great-great I think." Maia nodded, "Yeah, I do think I remember hearing about them, but my parents never talked about the family." She shrugged.
"Really? Well, did you know that the Covingtons and Pappases have a history together? At first, they were sort of archeological competitors." Sarah laughed, took a sip of wine and continued, "My great-great grandfather was a dealer in black market artifacts, and Mel Pappas was a University based archeologist. They were both in search of the Xena Scrolls."
Maia grinned. "So what was in these ‘Xena Scrolls' that's so interesting?"
"Some of the stories...contradict and refute current historical beliefs. Frankly, if they were true, the historical world would be turned on its ear," Sarah shrugged and pushed her empty plate aside. "I actually have a copy of one of them if you're interested..."
"Perhaps some other time, but I would like to see the painting?" Maia arched one of her perfect brows teasingly.
"Oh. Yeah, it's out here."
Wine glass in hand, Sarah led the way into her living room. She had tactfully removed the portrait from its normal location and set it out on an antique easel. For the first time since she'd seen it, Sarah felt awkward about the painting. Until Maia was really standing there in front of her nude picture, it had been merely a piece of art to be viewed with some objectivity. She blushed vividly as she watched the dark woman study her portrait.
Maia felt like she was seeing through a tunnel. She knew I was a murderer, and she hated it. But...she still took the fall for me... The blood drained from her face. Reaching out, she brushed her painted face with calloused fingertips. Sarah became painfully aware of her state of fifth-wheelness.
"It...It didn't look like this when I saw it last." Maia breathed. She didn't like the idea that Sarah and whoever she had chosen to show this artwork to had gotten such a clear look at Maia's soul. The painting was too true, and she realized that it was dangerous both to herself and to Sarah.
"Has this been on display anywhere?" She asked, letting her arms drop to her sides. "No. I've kept it here. Not many people have seen it." Because I don't get laid all that frequently. Sarah did not add. She walked towards the kitchen, calling, "I'll be outside when you're done."
"I've seen enough." Maia followed her, "Thank you for letting me have a look. It meant a lot."
Sarah sat down on the plush couch, and gestured for her guest to join her. She refilled Maia's glass and sank back into the soft cushions. Thankfully, they could see only the back of the easel from where they sat.
"Why did you really invite me here tonight? It would have been easier to show it to me at the gallery," Maia twirled the stem of her wine glass between two supple fingers.
"Why did you accept the invitation?" Sarah volleyed.
"Ah-ah, you first," Maia smiled, but it did not touch her eyes. She lowered her head, still staring at Sarah's lovely face.
"Fine," Sarah replied in mock irritation, "I don't really know."
"Fair enough. I don't really know either," Maia mockingly returned.
"That was enlightening."
"You never answered my other question. How did you know my name? It's nowhere on that piece of canvas," Maia sat up straight, and her long black hair whispered over her shoulders.
"Oh. Um. I..." Sarah stuttered, "I took a trip to Trinity."
"You went to Trinity? Just to find out who I was?" Maia laughed genuinely, the melancholy momentarily banished from the ice of her eyes.
"Well, not exactly. I went to find out who the painter was, maybe to try to convince her to consign with Ishtar. Needless to say, that was futile," the blonde shrugged, "There was something about that place though. It had a sort of....I don't know, unpleasant atmosphere to it. And that Sheriff, God, it was like he'd just pop up out of nowhere..."
Maia shuddered visibly.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to..." Sarah trailed off at the look on Maia's face.
"No, it's all right. Other than that, you didn't have any...problems... did you?"
"No."
"What did they tell you about her?" Maia asked, silently hoping that Gillian's friends did not believe her capable of murder.
"Not much really, I did, however, find these." Sarah stood up and pulled a heavy album off of the end table. She opened it and handed it to Maia.
The dark woman scanned the articles quickly and handed the book back. She swallowed her entire glass of wine.
"You probably want to know what really happened."
"Not if you don't want to tell me," Sarah smiled faintly. It was true, her sense of urgency had dissipated, as if Maia's presence were enough for the moment.
Out of loyalty to Gillian, Maia felt obligated to make the truth known.
"I know. But if that," she gestured to the clippings, "Is all you know...you should hear the whole story," Maia stretched out her long legs and began her tale with an apology,
"I'm not very good with words. I...I was in that town recuperating from an injury. We met the first day I was there." Maia proceeded to give as accurate a recounting of the months she had spent loving Gillian as she could. She carefully avoided much of what had gone on, like how she'd broken that ankle, and what she was doing hanging around with Buck in the first place. She slowed down for another drink when she reached her second night under Dr. Crower's care for a gunshot wound. "When I woke up strapped to that hospital bed, I didn't know if I wanted to live or die. Buck told me that it was either me or Gillian that would take the blame for some old man's murder-"
"His last name was Davis." Sarah pointed out.
"Oh," she fell silent for a moment, "Gillian came to see me, though they wouldn't let us talk alone. She knew I hadn't killed him, she said she was going to talk to Buck herself. I knew what she was going to do. I tried to confess but... they gave me something and when I woke up I was in Charleston and it was all over. There was nothing I could do, so I never went back. When I found out about the riots..." Maia trailed off, her head cradled in her hands. She didn't tell Sarah about how she had lain in that bed, fighting the restraints, screaming her head off for someone to come and take down her confession. The deputy left to keep an eye on her didn't seem to believe her, so Maia had resorted to threats in a desperate attempt to be allowed to talk to the Sheriff. The noise attracted a few nurses, who were ordered to sedate their irate charge. Her struggles had reopened the sutures and undone much of the doctors' careful orthopedic work. Once in Charleston, she hadn't even gone back to Trinity to retrieve the car that had once belonged to her late father.
It was another month before she lost patience with the therapists and surgeons trying to repair her leg. Crippled, Maia was not much use on foot. Because of her marksmanship and amazing skill behind the wheel, she could perform a few select jobs from the driver's seat of a car. Furious and in agony, she was nearly as deadly as before under the right conditions. Frustrated, Maia had turned to bigger and more dangerous games.
"I'm sorry," Sarah said, breaking the silence.
"You have nothing to be sorry for. I don't regret meeting her, I regret meeting sheriff Buck. Without him, who knows what might have happened? He was powerful. He knew things; things that most people don't dare to think about," Maia shrugged, "It was all a part of his plan."
"Plan?"
"Mhmm," Maia sighed, but did not elaborate.
Sarah stood up and stuck a Madonna album into the stereo. Maia watched her turn and start back towards the couch, lamplight reflecting in a soft glow from her fine, well groomed hair. She felt a jolt of recognition, and for a brief moment, everything seemed to make sense, like it had all happened before. But then it was gone.
"I think this calls for the heavy stuff," Sarah produced a 3/4 full bottle of bourbon from.
"How tacky, bourbon in a wine glass," Maia gave a full throated, nearly hysterical laugh.
"My mother would tan my hide," Sarah replied, shamelessly filling both their glasses.
Conversation went around the world after that. They talked about bad first date experiences, setting things on fire stories, and cackled over ex lovers like they had known each other all their lives. Of course, Sarah did most of the talking, but then, Maia was an excellent listener. Sarah was a breath of air to her drowning lungs. She was so accustomed to artificiality, that the heartfelt emotions and candid speech of the art dealer shocked her; and comforted her.
A few hours later, it made perfect sense that they both stumbled into Sarah's bedroom and burrowed into the generous layers of blankets on the sleigh-bed. That night, Maia slept like a woman that had never had her heart broken or her tongue silenced, a woman that had lived only one life.
Chapter 13:
Maia woke up just before dawn with a pounding headache. Sarah still slept soundly next to her, her small body nearly lost among the quilts. Straightening her sleep rumpled clothes, Maia surveyed the room. She made note of a rectangle on the wall opposite the head of the bed where a picture had once hung. Maia crept out of the room, and as much as she wanted to stay to say good morning to the younger woman, she left.
It seemed so strange to Maia that Sarah was so immediately and unabashedly honest. So unaffected. Maia had a sense of the trust that hung, unwarranted, between them. I don't think I'll be able to lie to her. She thought as she rode home in a cab. It's been too damned long since you were a part of the real world. She's so alive. Not like us, like me. She's not one of the walking dead.
Maia stood in what would have been her dining room, but was used as a workout room. She felt too confined inside. The scarred walls and battered dumbbells depressed their owner, so she changed into leggings and a sweatshirt and went running instead. She strode purposefully outside onto the sidewalk. The cold air hit her like a slap, but she set off at a dead run anyway. Pushing herself to the limit, she ran all the way to Central Park and then some. Drenched in clammy perspiration, Maia covered about 15 miles that morning when her breath came in white gasps of vapor.
Clean and dressed in her favorite leather pants with a loose blouse, Maia found a can of chick peas in the cupboard and called it breakfast. Only then did she crack open the "company issue" laptop to check for word from Operations. She was to report to the briefing room in 30 minutes. Maybe this will be the one.
It was not.
While Maia waited for her chance, a mission that would give her the opportunity to fake her death, she walked a thin rope. She needed to appear safe for Section's continued use, but still edgy enough so that a fatal mistake might not seem completely out of character.
in the outside world she felt compelled to seek Sarah out repeatedly. The two women grew close, Maia thrived in the light of day, and the honesty that seemed to be the very root of Sarah's personality.
"I'm going to have to leave soon." Maia whispered one evening. They were nestled comfortably together on the floor of Sarah's living room.
"But we haven't' finished watching the movie." Sarah protested, gesturing to the rented copy of Boys on the Side. She didn't want to move, she loved the feel of Maia's long, powerful body behind her.
"No. I mean I'll be leaving soon. Leaving the state." Maia explained. The head resting against her chest pulled away and a pair of green eyes flashed in her direction.
"You're moving?"
"Yes."
"Where?"
"Don't know yet."
"Why?"
"There's something here I have to get away from."
"Dammit." Sarah snapped and jumped to her feet. Maia looked up at her uneasily.
"What is it that won't tell me?" Sarah demanded.
Maia had never see her so angry before.
"Why can't I call you? Where do you live? What do you do? What's going on that's so terrible?"
Maia said nothing.
"What's the matter? Did you do something? You're in trouble, but for what?" Sarah asked, kneeling now. "It can't be that bad. Come on. I'll do anything you want me to that will help."
"I am in trouble, have been for a long time, but I don't need your help." Maia chewed her lip keep it from trembling, "You can't be connected me. That's why I use pay phones to call you, why you can't call me, or come to see me. It's not because I don't trust you. It's because it's not safe for either of us."
"You think I would tell anyone where you are?"
"No. I think I couldn't live with myself if they made you suffer."
"Who are they?"
"Sarah." Maia begged, "Stop."
The blonde sat down again, slowly. She brushed the side of Maia's face hesitantly; the dark woman leaned into the tentative touch.
"I'm sorry." Sarah tearfully said at the pain evident in her friend's face. "How long until you have to go?"
"I can't be sure. It could be tomorrow, it could be months from now."
"Is there anything I can do?"
"Just keep doing what you always have."
"Will you come back?"
"No."
"I want to go with you."
"Absolutely not." Maia brusquely returned. She explained, "It may be too dangerous. Besides, why on earth would you want to give up your company?"
"I remember what it was like before I met you. It wasn't bad...not at all, but it was emptier. I want to see the world. I feel restless here. I have these dreams about traveling with you; only you're not really you and I'm not really me. I just feel like we're family."
Maia stared at her.
"You feel it too don't you?" Sarah asked, getting excited again, "Its like we knew each other as children and then forgot about each other."
Maia continued to stare, keeping her expression carefully neutral.
"I don't know what you're talking about. Maybe its because you've had that portrait in your bedroom for so long."
Sarah slapped the powerful woman's arm playfully.
"You saw the fade mark huh?" She asked sheepishly.
"Kinda hard to miss."
"You feel it too though."
"I still don't know what you're talking about." Maia snorted, but the look of triumph on the blonde's face proved that she saw through Maia's gruff response.
"I could run Ishtar by remote. If you're going to start over somewhere else, you'll need money." Sarah pointed out.
"That's not a problem." Maia was planning on falling back to her reserve funds, the money from before Section, from before Steve's crazy plans.
"This is partly my choice Maia. I can't stand this stupid dirty city anymore. I'm tired of silly, shallow people trying to be something they're not."
"The answer is still no. I can't let you." Maia grabbed Sarah's hand and kissed it affectionately. "Let's just watch the rest of the movie ok?" Maia did not contact Sarah again. She couldn't face another argument because she was almost certain that she would give in , and that could only cause Sarah pain in the end.
Maia's next assignment almost made her lose control too soon. It was a quick undercover operation. It wasn't the first time by far that she'd had to play such roles, but this was the first time she had orders to put herself completely at the mercy of a stranger. Amanda called her into her office after the briefing. "I thought you might like to know why you're being asked to do this." The blonde said, a hard coldness creeping into her voice.
Maia simply waited for her to go on.
"Durret has an intolerance for sedatives; we need him alive and completely unaware of our surveillance."
"And I can't just go in as a household employee because...."
"We don't have time to have his maid killed and insert someone in her place." Amanda flashed a manic smile.
"Why me?"
"Because you're his type."
"Why him?"
"He's a threat." Amanda vaguely replied. Maia pursed her lips, thanked her superior dully and went home.
She showered, shaved, and dressed exactly as she had been told to and settled down with a copy of Garden of Eden to await a phone call. It came at 10pm, and was almost immediately followed by the arrival of a replica of the car used by Durret's usual "service."
Maia sat wordlessly in the back seat, smiling halfheartedly at the driver. He was one of her agents, Jimmy, she thought. He was looking a little uneasy with the situation. When at last they reached their destination, and Jimmy pulled up in front of sprawling house in the suburbs, he turned to her and said,
"Good luck. I'll be back in three hours to pick you up."
"Thanks. I'll be fine Jimmy." She walked up the front door, staying on her toes to keep her ridiculous high heels from sinking into the turf. She was admitted inside by a short, mousy woman in a maid's uniform. Looking over her shoulder once at the street, Maia fervently wished that she was somewhere else. Maia rode despondently back to her apartment. Jimmy kept glancing nervously at her in the rearview. She had never felt so unprepared for a mission before. Durret liked handcuffs. They reminded Maia of hospital restraints. Her wrists were bleeding onto her coat sleeves. in a moment of panic, she'd struggled against the handcuffs even after she felt the skin peel back from her wrists. Her distress had, as was the basic idea of using such props, excited Durret. Maia was only grateful that he was not a man with a great deal of stamina.
Once he was out, snoring, Maia mustered all the professionalism she could, wrapped her wrists with strips of the bed sheets, and peppered the house with transmitters. She placed tiny tracking devices in the hems of all of his shirts and jackets. When she was done, she roused Durret and demanded her money before she ran out front to meet her ride. She said nothing to Jimmy this time, just let him drive. Something is up. she seethed, Anyone could have done that. Hopefully I won't be here to find out what's going on. Chapter 14:
Only two weeks after severing contact with Sarah, Maia broke into the woman's apartment. It was about four in the morning, and it was snowing a little outside. Maia was closing the bathroom door behind her when she heard Sarah slide out of bed. Freezing, Maia waited for her to go back to sleep, but to her growing dismay, the blonde padded towards her, a pewter candlestick held over her shoulder like a baseball bat. Maia stepped to the left side of the door and nudged it a little.
Sarah jumped, stupidly walking straight into the dark bathroom. Maia relieved her of the candlestick then clamped a hand over her mouth.
"Shh. Its me." Maia said, waiting for the body in her grasp to relax. Sarah nodded in the darkness.
"Maia! You scared the shit out of me!" Sarah almost shouted when she was released. "I thought you were gone." She added as she flicked the wall switch. She gasped at what the light revealed.
Maia's blue eyes shone harshly from a face coated in soot and grime. She was hugging her right arm close to her torso, and her hair was singed several inches shorter. There were a few blackened holes in her jacket, and she looked drawn and tense.
"I just need to clean up..." She said.
"Take your jacket off." Sarah tugged at the wool duster anxiously.
"Sarah, I'm fine, just leave me alone and I'll take care of myself."
"Mhmmm. Just take your jacket off, let me take a look at you."
At the stubborn set of her friend's jaw, Maia relented and gingerly shook the coat off. It slid unnoticed to the tile floor.
"God." Sarah exclaimed. The torn back of Maia's shirt was stuck to her back with dried blood. Sarah touched the fabric gently.
"You're shivering! Siddown." Sarah pointed imperiously to the edge of the bathtub, "I'm going to go call for an ambulance." She started out of the bathroom, only to be stopped by a shaky but steely grip on her wrist.
"No."
Grabbing a handful of towels, she started the painstaking process of soaking the cotton shirt and the still soft scab off of the wound.
"What happened?" Sarah asked, disguising her fear as best she could, "And don't tell me it was nothing either, because it's obvious that it was something."
"It was an explosion. I set the fuse on the propane tanks, and I just couldn't get away fast enough. I was going to make a run for it." The cold and the long walk from the site of the explosion to this place were telling their toll. Maia told herself to shut up, but she was so tired... she couldn't quite remember why she was supposed to shut up. Her jaw was starting to swell up from where she'd pulled out one of her molars with a pair of pliers just before she set the fuse. It was a small miracle that she'd been even within the country, let alone close enough to make it back here in only five hours on foot.
"Shh." Sarah said, "Just take it easy. Its ok. You can tell me about it tomorrow."
"I can't stay here." Maia mumbled. "I have to go tonight."
"Why? Who's going to come looking for you here?"
"They will." Maia inarticulately replied, her head swimming in a crimson sea of pain.
"No. No one is going to come after you here, tonight. We can leave tomorrow if you're up to it."
"Yer crazy." her unfocused blue eyes sought Sarah's determined face.
"Pot, Kettle, calling each other black." The blonde mockingly pointed at Maia then at herself. The false grin on her face faded when she got her first good look at the singed, discolored, long slice that extended from the top of Maia's shoulder blade diagonally to the juncture of her arm and torso. The projectile had sliced through that strap of her bra, melting the nylon and elastic to her lacerated skin at the points of incision. Inhaling sharply, she asked,
"What did this?"
"Shrapnel. You'll have to get it out." Maia replied, over the sound of tearing fabric. Sarah ripped the back of the shirt the rest of the way down and let it slide off of Maia's arms onto the floor. She kicked it into the corner where it lay, giving off the powerful odor of smoke.
"You're crazy. I can't do it. Why don't I take you to see a doctor?" Sarah suggested again, an edge of panic creeping into her voice. The hot metal had partially cauterized the wound as it entered, but Maia's flight from the fire and awful, fumbling, freezing walk back into the city had caused it to shift inside her body and caused further damage.
"No." Maia replied tensely, "Do you have any forceps or needle nose pliers?"
"I can't do this."
"Please Sarah. I can't reach it or I'd do it myself, and there's no one else in this city that I'd trust right now." Maia begged.
"I have forceps."
"Would you get them, boil them?"
Nodding as she walked out, Sarah did as she was told and helped Maia tend the minor burns while they waited for the forceps to cool. Sarah had only ever used them for jewelry repairs before. Now, as Maia leaned warily against the wall she felt nauseous and scared and naive. Figures that my courage would choose to sell out just now. she thought.
With her brilliant yet sad eyes closed Maia almost looked young. Sarah would have guessed her to be in her mid twenties except for the worry lines just beginning to form at the corners of her mouth.
"They're ready." Sarah announced at last, her voice high with anxiety. Maia opened her eyes and stood up slowly. She knelt in the porcelain tub.
"There'll be a lot of blood." She explained. Gripping the edges of the old tub she stretched her arm painfully out to her side to hold the gash open.
"Oh God." Sarah felt her knees go weak. Taking a deep breath, she climbed in behind her friend and stared, greenly, at the oozing wound.
"Can you see it?" Maia asked through gritted teeth.
"No."
Maia shifted the muscles again.
"Wait...yes. Stop." Sarah said, leaning closer. Maia held as still as her trembling would allow. She closed her eyes and waited. When at last Sarah held a three inch long, narrow sliver of twisted steel in her fingers, Maia lay slumped and only semi-conscious, draped over the side of the bathtub.
Feeling like a deer in headlights, Sarah stood rooted to the spot. She watched in mute horror as blood welled past the lips of the tear and poured down Maia's well muscled back. She came to herself only when blood started to soak into the hem of her robe. Sarah tossed the sliver into the trash and ran into the kitchen where she spun around a few times helplessly trying to remember what she'd decided she needed in there in the first place. Remembering suddenly, she grabbed a bag of sterile cheese cloth she'd purchased in an abortive attempt to make jelly one summer and ran back to the bathroom. Sarah wrenched the plastic open and pressed a wad of the cloth to the wound with as much pressure as she dared. She was afraid that her clumsy work getting the metal out had only made things worse.
It seemed like she crouched in that tub for an eternity before the bleeding stopped and she was able to tape a makeshift, lumpy bandage onto Maia's shoulder. The ends of her hair were stained maroon, but she was too tired to move the sticky strands out of her face.
"Maia." She gently shook the other woman's greyish face. Maia blinked at her.
"C'mon. Stand up."
Pliantly, Maia eased herself unsteadily onto her feet, leaning heavily on the smaller woman until they were both on the floor again. Pushing her crutch away, Maia started towards the door, mumbling her thanks.
"Hey. We had this fight already." Sarah grabbed her recalcitrant patient by her good shoulder and guided her into the bedroom. For the second time in as many months, they spent the night in the same bed.
The bleating of an alarm clock jerked both women awake. Sarah lunged for ti and the noise ceased. She rolled over and found herself nose to nose with Maia's sleepy face. The dark woman lay on her stomach, her head turned to watch her bedmate.
"I'll call in sick." Sarah announced.
"No. Go to work."
"I own the place, I'm allowed."
"Just go to work, pretend I'm not here. I know it seems paranoid, but I just want to be sure..." Maia couldn't bring herself to move just yet. She knew that once she did, her body wold start punishing her.
"I'll go. But you have to promise me to stay here and get some rest." Sarah wagged a finger at her.
"Ok." Maia mumbled.
"PROMISE me." Sarah demanded.
Rolling her eyes, Maia nevertheless gave her word that she would not leave. Not that she had any way to get anywhere anyway.
"How are you feeling?" Sarah brushed her charge's forehead and checked the bandage.
"I've been worse." Maia yawned.
Smiling broadly, the ordeal of only a few hours previous, felt distant to Sarah as she dressed. At Ishtar, she arranged for David and Bev to take over for her, gave them her cel phone number and remote email address, and by the end of the day had prepared everyone for her departure.
"This is awfully sudden Sarah." David chided her as she hung up the phone after taking a call from one of their consigners.
"You know I've wanted to do this since we were kids." Sarah poked him in the chest.
"Why now?"
"I had a dream last night."
"OK." David rolled his eyes, "Don't you think you're carrying this new age femme thing a little too far here?"
"No. Not at all." Sarah snorted.
"All right." David snapped, "What do you want to tell everyone you're off doing?"
"Uh." She laughed, "Tell them I'm on a walkabout." She took a last look around the gallery that had been the center of her life for so many years, and walked out.
During the tedious drive home, Sarah felt as though a flock of winged frogs had been loosed inside her chest cavity. I can't believe I'm doing this. I'm probably aiding a fugitive... for Arson at LEAST. The magnetic force that seemed to draw the two women together kept her on he present course. Turning Maia in was not an option. However, in the moment it took her to pull into the private parking garage under her building, Sarah suffered a moment of doubt. She broke her promise. She left. A warm feeling in the back of her stomach told her otherwise when she started up the stairs. She didn't know how. in fact, the entire mood surrounding Maia was of mystery. Her breath smelled of secrets, and the whole situation should have been sinister, but Sarah did not feel that. Instead, she felt more at home than ever before in her life. When Sarah left, Maia fell asleep again almost immediately. She woke in mid-afternoon, and just let herself inhale the smell of the room, Sarah's smell. She inhaled slowly, and held the air in her lungs for as long as she could. Even if the tooth wasn't enough to convince them of her demise, she had this, her first free breaths in six years. Nothing had ever smelled or felt so good.
All of a sudden, she remembered the words that went with the music that she couldn't forget. She sang them softly as she pushed herself cautiously into a sitting position to take her mind off of the little (and not so little) twinges of protest her various bodily parts gave to her movements. She stood up and padded off to find lunch.
Using only one arm made things much more difficult than usual. She had to use her teeth to open the child-proof bottle of tylenol. Downing a few of the things, she wished absently for something stronger. Uh Uh. she scolded herself as she felt the familiar feeling of need crop up. It was not as powerful as it once was, the shadow of that addiction still reared its ugly head occasionally. It had started with the morphine drip at the hospital for her leg, and progressed from there when Steve started supplying her with heroin. The little peppering of scars on her arms had long since been removed through plastic surgery, a tiny benefit of working for section. Maia stared down at the healing bruises still coloring her wrists and shuddered. At least they didn't look like they had a week ago. Then you could still see the muscle through the scabs.
Snatching an apple to finish off her meal, Maia wandered through the house peering at the oddments of sculpture and paintings on the wall. She was surprised to discover that a few of them were Sarah's work. They weren't very good, but they weren't bad either. What is it with you and artists? she mused. Maia fought back the urge to go through the tempting, secretive cabinets and cupboards that lurked here and there.
At last she sprawled on the sofa and reviewed her options. She did have one thing to be grateful for. Section had never learned anything of what she'd really been doing before Steve's climb to infamy. All the money from her work as killer was still there. All carefully tucked away in foreign accounts under dozens of different names, not one of which was Maia Pappas. It was still there, and hopefully, unmonitored. Each one contained around two million dollars. It was all blood money, and the thought gave Maia momentary pause. Curled there on that blue brocade sofa, Maia closed her eyes and pressed the apple she was still clutching to her face. It smelled of life. She smiled when she bit into its crisp flesh. Eating it slowly, she made the tart fruit last. You never know when it will be the last one. Sarah turned the key in her lock and swung the door open. Breathlessly, she walked into the silent apartment. The lights in the living room were on. Sarah approached the entryway pensively. When she came in full view of the room, she let out the breath she'd been holding. Maia sat cross-legged on the carpet, her bluish-black hair wet from a bath, a towel wrapped around her body, breathing like she was the only one that remembered how good air was. Like she was the only one that needed it. The blonde stood in that doorway just taking it all in . If she was ever asked later to pin down the moment when she fell in love for the first time, that would be the moment. Sarah didn't want it to end, but Maia turned around and returned her stare.
Gods she has the most incredible eyes. Those eyes could set me on fire...or turn me to ice and shatter me. Sarah incoherently thought before she managed to say,
"I-uh-I got you some clothes. I don't know if they'll fit, but they have to be better than mine." She held out a Nordstrom's bag as though she were afraid she might offend the woman now standing within an arm's length of her. The grey towel barely covered her. It contrasted with her dark, caramel colored skin. Maia smiled hugely, showing those amazingly straight white teeth of hers.
"Thanks." She said, "And I...I want you to know that I really appreciate what you did last night. And I'm sorry for disrupting your life like this." Maia crumpled the top of the bag nervously.
"Maia?" Sarah reached out, just as Maia once had to her portrait, and touched her skin with her fingertips, "Why are you apologizing?"
"I broke into your house-"
"Shh. No. I woulda given you keys if you'd asked. It's all right. You were hurt."
"That doesn't excuse anything. I have to leave tonight." Maia said, pushing Sarah's gentle hand away. She whirled away and stood facing the wall.
"I'm coming with you." Sarah replied.
"No you're not. It's not safe."
"It's ok. I want to . Whatever it is, I want to be there with you."
Maia spun back, fixing her gaze searchingly on the woman in the doorway.
"You have no idea." Maia said, her voice husky, "You have no idea who it is that..."
"Maia. I'm coming with you tonight. I've told everyone I'm leaving. I can take care of everything. We'll take the Volvo and we'll go wherever you want to go." Sarah took a step forward.
"Why?"
"I told you...once before. The last time you told me that I couldn't go with you."
"That wasn't good enough. Don't you get it? You're risking your life even letting me be here."
"You're being paranoid."
Maia snorted, her euphoric mood gone like the evanescent thing it was. She brushed past Sarah, who still stood in the doorway, but the blonde grabbed her left wrist between two soft hands.
"I love you." she said, "That's not wrong is it?" She asked, her hazel eyes pleading.
"You don't know me." Maia winced when she jerked her hand away. She reemerged from the bathroom dressed in a black silk shirt with sleeves that were almost long enough, and a pair of baggy jeans. Sarah looked up from the lettuce head she was savagely chopping. She was chastising herself for saying the three deadly words. Why did I do that? She hates me now. She has to . Sarah felt the lettuce give way to the blade and calmed herself.
"I tried." She said by way of an apology. "There's some aloe gel in the linen closet for your wrists if that will help." Sarah noticed that aloe was inadequate for the dark, thick scabs that covered an inch wide swath of the soft, tender flesh on the inner part of both wrists. "Those are old aren't they? What is it?" she set down the knife. When the realization hit her that the marks had been made by a struggle with a set of handcuffs, she picked up the knife and kept cutting.
"Yeah." Maia examined her hands as if seeing them for the first time. The too short sleeves of the ill-fitting shirt ended just above the jagged edges of the scabs. She felt more exposed than she had in the towel. "Look. Um. There's a lot that you don't know. I really don't think that you should be coming with me."
"Well maybe this isn't just about you. I'm coming, because you shouldn't be driving in the shape you're in , and I want to . You're not going to ditch me yet." Sarah waved the knife in the air.
"All right. Fine. But we have to make a stop before we leave the state ok?" Maia finally acquiesced. As soon as the words left her mouth, she felt something inside her break loose. She felt like she had finally done the right thing for once.
Sarah's jaw dropped.
"Did you just say ok?" she demanded.
"Yeah, I guess I did."
They smiled in unison.
Chapter 15:
Oh Gods, what was I thinking? I'm going to get her killed. Maia thought frantically as she let Sarah tape on a clean bandage.
"You're thinking about changing your mind aren't you?" The blonde teasingly tugged at one of the long strands of Maia's wild ebony hair.
"Now why would I go and do a thing like that?" The dark woman retorted, her jocularity revealing not a hint of the doubt she felt. She started to button the shirt up clumsily with her left hand.
"Let me get that." Sarah circled around and pushed Maia's larger hand away trustingly. She was like a child playing with a lioness that did not know that those soft paws were capable of tearing her in two with hardly an effort. Sarah found her eyes wandering above the black buttons she was absently fastening. Maia watched bemusedly, as green eyes fastened on nipples the color of wet sandalwood. Sarah swallowed hard, hoping that the trembling of her fingers was not visible. When the shirt was at last closed to the second button, they prepared the apartment for their leaving.
Garbage was bagged, laundry done and clothes packed. Maia scraped the dried blood up off the floor with her torn, scorched clothes, failing more or less completely to avoid getting Ajax in the blisters and cuts and pocked her one useful hand. Swearing lividly, she nevertheless, finished the awkward job and disposed of the ragged clothing.
When the two had readied everything, it was only 7 pm. They planned to leave after 10 to avoid Sarah's second-shift working neighbors. Sprawled on the sofa, Sarah peered up at her friend. The blonde grasped Maia's left hand and examined its wrist again.
"Are you going to tell me about these?" She asked.
The darkness that always lurked just beneath the seas of Maia's eyes edged nearer to the surface. Instead of pulling her hand away again, she settled cross legged on the floor.
"It's not something I want to talk about. But it wasn't from an arrest if that's what you're wondering. Not saying I've never been arrested, but that was...five years ago I think."
"Well then, are you going to tell me what it is you're hiding from?"
"I guess, of all people, you're the one that should know. The less you know, the better off you'll be though. Just remember, you can change your mind about coming with me after you hear this." Maia tilted her head to rest on the cushion by Sarah's elbow.
"I don't think that's likely." The blonde twirled a lock of Maia's curly hair.
Maia quirked an eyebrow.
"A little over six years ago, really nearly seven, I..I did a lot of things that...got me into a lot of shit." She paused, ad , what remained unsaid lay heavily in the air. Maia wasn't yet willing to divulge the details of those two years. She had become addicted to morphine. They'd given it to her in the hospitals for her leg, but when she left, the wound as yet unhealed, the powerful drug was all that kept her on her feet. She had nearly destroyed the joint in that leg by using it while under the narcotic's effect. She'd even gotten a tattoo to hide the scars, but the gradual deforming of the bone was unignorable. Maia remembered the intensive sessions she'd spent working with the men. The men that she taught how to fight and kill with and without weapons. They were all highly effective at reconnaissance, assassination, and hand to hand by the time Steve started to develop cold feet two years later, and handed the operation over to the US government.
"OK. That's not very informative." Sarah snorted.
"I'm sorry, but what happened then isn't important now. A man that I trusted, betrayed me." Even after all those years when he worked with me in picking out jobs to take. He always had a knack for picking out the right clients, the ones that would come through with the money in the end, and not decide to turn themselves and I in for murder after the hit was done. "He handed everything over the Government. He was granted clemency, and before I was caught, I sent one of my men after him, just to find him, to find out why he'd turned us all in , handed over the whole damned operation, but my instructions were mistaken, and Steve was killed."
Sarah was now paying rapt attention, despite the gaping holes in the story.
"I was convicted of murder, possession of illegal weapons, treason, selling and using illegal drugs, among other more numerous crimes, and sentenced to death by lethal injection. We went through the rehearsals, the last meal...And finally the day came when I went into that room for the last time. There was no one there to watch me die except for the staff and a few reporters. When I woke up-"
"You're telling me you survived a lethal injection? That's impossible."
"That's just it, it wasn't lethal, it was never meant to be. I was diverted...to serve my time in a different way."Gods I remember that month, after they stopped giving me the painkillers I couldn't walk on my leg anymore. I couldn't wait for the day to come when my life would end. And I used to cling to the knowledge that Steve was dead, that I'd had my vengeance., " They told me that we were protecting the people from terrorism. And I guess we were, but none of us ever really knew what was going on. When we first got out of training, they told us what we thought was the truth, but later I was promoted I guess, to head missions and train agents. Then they told me that everything I'd been told before was possibly not true, and that it was now my responsibility to make my agents believe, to cater to their emotional needs and keep them under control. I was good at it." Maia ran her fingers through her hair roughly. How many did I kill to save my own life? "Not that I'm proud of it. That's why I had to leave. I couldn't keep lying to them. I held their lives in my hands. If I was given the order, I had to be ready to terminate the men and women that I had trained myself instantly. Or I would be terminated."I owe them though. Section gave me new bones, taught me how to walk again, and took away the physical marks of my life before. Even that tattoo is gone now.
"So the people who made you do that are the ones that are after you?"
"I hope not. They should think I'm dead. I left all my equipment and a tooth. Hopefully that will be enough. I just have to make sure that I'm not seen."
"A tooth?"
"Yeah. Not much of a human body would have survived an explosion of the intensity that blowing all that propane caused. That's why I didn't get out fast enough to avoid getting burnt....It took me longer to get the thing out than I thought it would."
"You pulled one of your own teeth out!!??" Sarah sat up in shock, still disbelieving, but edging closer to comprehension of the truth. Maia nodded and opened her mouth for the younger woman to confirm that one of her molars had been recently wrenched out.
"This can't all be true. Why don't you tell someone about these people? There must be someone who can stop it!"
"Sarah, don't you see? They must be working for the government, or else they would never be able to get hold of so many convicted criminals right out of prison. They get results I imagine, though their methods are..."
"Horrifying."
"Yes. They're sanctioned, or else they have some kind of power over the government somehow. I done' know. They kept us in the dark, all us disposable people." Maia turned her gaze back to her friend. "So do you still want to come with me?"
"Of course I do. You didn't have a choice about what you were doing!" Sarah clung to that idea.
"Don't you dare try to victimize me in this. There is ALWAYS a Choice." The bronze woman grabbed Sarah by the shoulder and shook her once. "You're not seeing the truth here. I'm a murderer Sarah. Coming with me could be the biggest mistake you ever make."
"MAIA! Stop it. I have to come. I love you. I told you, you said I don't know you, but I do. I know who you are NOW, and that's all that matters. You've changed."
"How can you be so damned sure?" Maia snarled.
"I know!" Sarah tried to wrap her arms around the resisting woman, "You saved me back there in that alley, and you trusted me enough to come here when you were hurt. in a half an hour, we're going to leave this city, and we're not coming back. OK?"
Maia gave in to the comfort of Sarah's warm embrace. There were no tears. Chapter 16:
Just after midnight, the laden station wagon pulled up outside of a row of battered aluminum storage buildings. They were relatively isolated in the generally ignored countryside of NY state.
"It never ceases to amaze me how different two places so close together can be." Sarah said, stretching and looking around at the frozen trees.
"Mhmm." Maia noncommittally replied, striding confidently down the row of sliding doors, ticking off the numbers above them. She stopped at number 15 and twiddled with the combination lock on the door. She drummed her short nails on her lips.
"What's the matter?" Sarah asked from behind. "Can't remember the combination?"
"Its been five years." Maia defensively returned.
"Whooee, you really paid ahead on your rental. Was it the one that came with the lock?"
"No. Had it changed thank you."
"Was it your birthday?"
"No."
"Was it your mother's birthday?"
"Will you be quiet and let me think??" Maia commanded playfully.
"Sorry." Sarah took to drawing in the dirt with her toes. She looked up at the sound of the door rattling in its rusty tracks. A click from inside heralded the flickering activation of a plain light bulb hanging from the ceiling. Sarah wandered into the dusty room. The cement floor held the temperature, and made the interior seem even colder than outside.
Looking around, Sarah was first struck by the emptiness of the storage room.
"Um. Excuse me for asking a stupid question, but isn't the idea of renting a big room like this to have stuff in it?" She held out her hands and pursed her lips, striking a mock-baffled pose.
Maia walked to the back wall, scooped a duffel bag up off of a hook hanging from one of the raw 2 x 4s the composed the cheaply built structure, and bent down to rifle through a box on the floor.
"There is stuff here. I'm sorry, but there's very little to be found in the way of storage space between two by two rental lockers, and these things." Maia tossed back over her aching shoulder. Over the counter painkillers my ass. she thought, They're not killing anything. Giving up, Maia hefted the box up onto her hip, wishing for the umpteenth time that night that she had the use of her right arm.
Sarah frowned and wrapped her fingers around the bag's strap.
"You'll hurt yourself worse." She chided, sliding the nylon strap off of Maia's arm.
It was unexpectedly heavy, however, and she fell forward, dropping it solidly onto the concrete. Maia rolled her eyes.
"It's my RIGHT shoulder." She sighed and handed Sarah the box, which was lighter, and hefted the duffel back up.
"I'm not gonna ask what's in there." Sarah retorted, exasperated, and returned to the car. Maia put out the light and stood in the dark for a moment, the whole detour was making her uneasy. They say that history repeats itself. Maia cast a fervent prayer to whoever might be listening that it didn't replay to the letter. She tucked the lock into her pocket, its frozen weight pulled her ill fitting down on one side. Ignoring it, Maia left the door open to alert the place's owner to the new vacancy, and got back into the car. She felt more than a little guilty at making Sarah drive for so long, so late at night, but it had been the woman's own decision to come, and the Volvo was a standard transmission. Maia silently cursed her own helplessness as she watched the trees lining the road gradually block out the lamplight from the parking lot of the storage buildings.
Trying to take her mind off of it, she rummaged through the bag now resting on the floorboard between her feet. Its contents smelled of leather and marijuana. She'd forgotten about that, though now the drug seemed tame and childish. Punching the button for the power window, she opened the little ziplock baggie and tossed the aged stuff out of the car. Sarah glanced over quizzically several times during the procedure, but didn't say anything for once. "What we're doing is wrong." Sean snapped.
"Is it?" Maia asked deliberately. The stood facing each other outside of a small coffee bar on 22nd street. She started walking away from the shop, pulling him with her.
"How can you be so sure about everything? What gives them the right to set themselves up as judges and us as executioners? For all we know we're killing innocent people."
"Read the papers."
"You know as well as I do that they can be manipulated."
"Well, then I can only assure that we aren't." Maia shrugged. "Sometimes we lose a few, but is anyone truly innocent?"
"Maia, you're not really listening to me." The walked past a man playing a harmonica. Maia tossed him a dollar.
"I'm listening to you all right. Do you think any of us haven't had these same doubts? Maybe there are no innocents or guilty, good or bad, only lesser degrees of evil." Maia gave him an intense look. It was important that they think you were sincere, and that you were sharing a piece of yourself that no one else had seen. She wasn't sure the was on the right tack though. Steve was her first agent to be so emotionally committed to his doubts. She was, however, known in Section for her ability to deal with her people and keep them under control. She had never had one freeze up on her.
"We're murderers!" Sean nearly shouted.
"You wouldn't be here if you weren't already a murderer Sean. That's why we're all here. And so are they. Or we wouldn't be going after them. We prevent further deaths. You can't second guess everything all the time. Just believe that we're working for the greater good."
"People can change. Yes I did kill someone before Section, and I've regretted from the moment it happened. I'm not sure I can keep doing this."
"Well, now you have no choice. Just try to stay alive Sean. Don't do anything stupid. Please." Maia turned on her best pleading face. He swallowed hard.
"How can you be so blind?" He was whispering then, "It's not just about us. How are we worth more than the terrorists we kill? Isn't terrorist just the word the big army calls the little one?"
"They're dangerous people. We're here to make sure they're shut down. If we have to do it by killing them, then so be it."
Sean was unconvinced. Maia was perplexed. She had never been bothered by what they did. She'd made a living from death and destruction before Section, and continued to stay alive by using those same skills. Sean's arguments did not impact her at the time, but they waited, crouching in her brain to take root later.
When Sean gave out on a mission and failed to do his part, Maia was forced to take the matter to Amanda.
"I'm surprised Maia." The blonde had said, "Your track record so far has been flawless. You're usually so good with your agents."
Maia merely shrugged, "He was listening to conscience, not to me. I don't think he's salvageable. He's been fighting me from the beginning really."
"All right. I want him pulled. Tell him he's relieved until he can pull himself together." Amanda turned away, signaling the end of the interview.
Maia turned on her boot heel and stalked out of the office. Sean had just signed his own death certificate. He would be allowed to live until Operations could set up a suicide mission. They liked to make other people to the dirty work of corpse disposal whenever possible.
The mission came a month later. Maia headed it, taking with her four agents all slated for termination. One was a middle aged woman, another wore an eye patch. Each of them were marked in some way either by time or injury that made them useless to Section. Maia remained in the van with Control. When the agents had planted the explosives, she ordered them to hold their positions.
"Maia?" Sean's voice was tinny through the headset, "Isn't this shaving it a bit close?" Jimmy, seated next to her at Control, opened his mouth a few times. He wanted to protest, but the look in Maia's cold blue eyes warned him that a word may take him one step closer to his own demise.
There were 20 seconds left on the clock, but Maia had orders to speed things up a little. She hit the remote detonator. The van vibrated with the first shockwave from the explosion. A screeching noise filled the air. Maia rolled out of the bed and onto the balls of her feet, ready to fight if she had to . Her first waking thought was They're here.. Outside, a garbage collection truck stopped backing up and the noise ceased. Maia ran to the flimsy door and fumbled with the lock. She nearly fell through it when the door opened outwards. She stumble outside, barefoot, wearing the shirt she'd been wearing the day before and little else.
Sarah sat up in bed when the cold, January air hit her face. She sleepily pushed back the covers, not waking fully until her feet touched the frozen cement stoop of the cheap hotel.
"Maia? Are you insane?" She shouted, her suspicions as to the woman's mental stability were abruptly reinforced.
Maia laughed throatily. She jumped back up onto the stoop and grabbed Sarah around the waist, pulled her close and lifting her off her feet, spinning them both around a few times ecstatically. Sarah held on for dear life.
"It's over." Maia laughed, finally setting Sarah back on her own feet. Dizzily, the blonde gazed up at those baby blues, which were for the moment anyway, joyous. in front of a shabby hotel with sagging floors and an internal miasma of mothballs, Sarah realized that what she'd thought of as life before was nothing compared to what lay ahead. Coming to herself, she tugged Maia back inside.
Rubbing her icy toes against the dubious carpeting in an attempt to warm them back up, Maia said, "Why don't you go ahead and shower, I'll," she glanced at the clock, "go find us some lunch."
"Are you trying to say something?" Sarah teased, but tossed Maia her pants anyway. The art dealer looked around them in disgust.
"This place looks a lot worse in daylight." She complained.
"Yeah, well, it was better than you passing out in the driver's seat." Maia snorted.
After a rather makeshift meal, Maia shook out the wrinkled articles of clothing that she'd packed away five years previously in anticipation of being on the run. She'd known then that Steve was up to something, and that it might have been years before she'd be able to get to the stuff. There were a few shirts, some jeans, underwear, and emergency cash, and "supplies." Everything was carefully packaged in sealable plastic bags. The most fragrant of the "supplies," Maia had tossed out the car window already. Taking the bag into the bathroom with her, Maia flushed nearly two hundred dollars worth of heroin down the toilet. That done, she struggled into some of the slightly musty clothes and re-closed the heavy bag. "Wow." Sarah appreciatively announced. "I'm just lucky they still fit at all." Maia turned around once to show off the old jeans and the skin tight t-shirt. "I think I like you in leather better though." Chapter 17:
Sarah was much perkier after a good rest. Maia watched her from the passenger seat, bemused and yet distrustful. Her companion was too talkative, there was something going on. "What's the matter?" She finally managed to insert into Sarah's running monologue.
Sarah just gave her a puzzled look.
"You talk a lot, but not usually this much." Maia replied.
"Oh thanks."
"I mean it. What's on your mind?"
Sarah was silent for a few minutes.
"I'm trying not to be pushy here, but... there's so much you haven't told me. And if we're going to be traveling together, I'd just like to know you...that's all I guess." She blurted. Maia bit back the comment, I didn't ask you to come. But she had spent too many years among devious, dangerous people to take any question at face value.
"Things like that can get you into trouble." Maia retorted, turning to watch the trees whizz by.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
It was Maia's turn to pause.
"I'm sorry. I'm just not used to people like you." The dark woman sighed softly, "I find it hard to trust...It's been a long time since...It's just that you're so different. I'm trying to get used to talking. I haven't been able to trust anyone in so long." Maia grappled with the rebellious words. "It's hard for me not to sit here and analyze your motives."
"I already told you why I'm here."
"Yes you have. This has been so drastic for you though."
"You think I'm some kind of spy? A plant from those section people you're always talking about? You'd sooner think that I'm here to betray you than that I could possibly WANT to be with you?" Sarah demanded, "Well, frankly, I'm still not sure you're not crazy, and making this shit up, but I do know that even if you are," she stopped, her tongue stumbling over the three words that she'd uttered before in a moment of pain, "I'm not going to leave you." She substituted. She wouldn't throw herself at Maia's feet again.
Maia laughed harshly. Of course she'll leave. If she ever finds out everything, and if you don't get her killed first, she'll leave.
"Maybe I am crazy. That would be nice." She replied, "But no...that's too easy to say. And I don't think I can lie to you."
"But you're still not going to tell me everything." They made it into North Carolina by dark. This time the picked out a more pleasant hotel.
"Maybe we should stay here a while, to give you time to recuperate?" Sarah suggested.
"Not yet." Maia shuddered inwardly. She didn't like being so close to Trinity. She could almost smell Buck from here. "I want to get down to Florida at least, before we stop."
"What's there?"
"I've never been there." Maia smiled sadly, there were no memories lurking there.
"We could go shopping, you could really use some clothes..." the blonde asked hopefully.
"I'd rather not." Maia groaned.
"Ok, Ok."
"Why don't YOU go? I've got some stuff to take care of..."
"What?"
"Just money stuff."
"Well, I'm not going alone."
"Fine, whatever you want."
Maia made a few phone calls, ordering the transfer of funds from her oldest foreign account into a U.S. bank. She ordered checks, credit cards, and cash, to be picked up in the morning.
"Maia? If you're trying to hide, won't a paper trail lead those Section people right to us?" Sarah skeptically pointed out.
"There are some things that even they never found out."
"How can you be sure?"
"Because the assets are still there, and because of my...profession, none of the money was ever connected to Maia Pappas."
"So what did you do before?"
"You really know how to go for the throat."
"So they say." Sarah grinned until she noticed the way she was being watched, "Oh come one, it can't have been that bad."
Maia just tilted her head to one side.
"What? Do you think it's going to scare me? Or do you think I'm going to run out and report everything you say to somebody?"
"Can't you just be quiet?"
"I pulled a piece of shrapnel out of your back. I can't say as that I would've done that for anybody else! Can't you just trust me?"
"I trust you more than I have trusted anyone in a long time or else I would never have asked you to do that. My past is just something that you don't need to know a lot about. Can we just leave it at that for now?" They fell silent. Maia was relieved that the day's gauntlet of questions was over. "What if I say no?"
"Then you'll wind up where you should have been yesterday." Amanda brandished a black and white photo, somewhat blurry, of Maia's mother holding a rose over an open grave. Amanda thrust the picture into Maia's hand.
"Why should I believe a word you say?" The ebony haired woman retorted, sitting up all the way. Her bad leg was propped up in front of her in the bed, the swollen knee and lower thigh throbbing in time with her pulse. Amanda's hand shot to the damaged limb, her fingers digging in right above the scar from the initial wound. Maia's reflexes were still sluggish from the injection she'd received in the prison, and she only managed to wrap her own hand around Amanda's wrist. She felt the bones of the strange woman's forearm grind together, but Amanda gave no indication that she felt anything.
"We can fix this you know. All you have to do is agree to work for us, and I'll get you right onto some analgesics. Nothing narcotic of course." Amanda relaxed her painful grip and straightened her shoulders. She gave one of her manic smiles, an expression that Maia would soon become well acquainted with.
"Want to think about it? Why don't I come back later." Amanda was out of the room before Maia had a chance to protest.
Shit. She thought feverishly. What the Hell is this? At least she wasn't restrained. The room was stark white, sterile and plain. Maia stared at her own reflection in the mirror that ran the length of the room. She recognized it instantly as two way, but she frowned disapprovingly at the circles under her eyes and her dull skin nevertheless. These last months had not sat well with her. The prison's infirmary nurses had been unsympathetic about her withdrawal symptoms when she'd had her supply of the various narcotics she needed to keep on her feet was abruptly cut off. At least they had given her high doses of acetaminophen. It was better than the nothing she had in her system right now, but pain was no stranger, so Maia struggled out of the bed.
She limped heavily across the small room to try the door. She knew before she even bothered that it was locked, but her instincts demanded that she try it anyway. She leaned her back against the wall next to the door and pursed her lips. If only she had some idea of what was on the other side. Making her way then to the mirror, she pressed the flat of her palm to the cold glass. It vibrated ever so slightly. There were people on the other side, talking, sitting very close to the glass. Had there been any furniture other than the bed, which was cemented to the floor, she might have tried breaking through it.
Bewildered, lost, and cold, Maia slumped back onto the thin mattress. Her only choice was to agree with that madwoman and see what happened. Despite the apparent instability of her new situation, it was, at least, better than it could have been. Her last memory was of the ends of those syringes going down, supposedly pumping deadly chemicals into her bloodstream. She remembered the hot sensation as the liquids burned their way through her veins, and the heavy numbness that had descended. She remembered thinking that she was dying. Just before she blacked out, she remembered feeling surprised that she wasn't angry for once in her life. The strange serenity that accompanies the certain knowledge of one's own impending death, however, was quickly fading.
Her resolve was strengthened by her almost immediate hatred of Amanda. She decided that she would play along, but at the first chance, she would leave. If she had to , she'd kill every single person in the building to do it, but she'd get out of here. Wherever here was.
That was before she found out what she was up against. Not only was Section more powerful than she had begun to imagine, but they catered to some of her own desires. It was a love hate relationship of the kind that are nearly impossible to escape as long as some of the ecstasy still exists. But before any of this became clear, Maia had known that she owed Section a debt.
She awoke in a cold sweat. It was still only 3 am. Sarah was awake and kneeling on the floor, her elbows resting on the bed, reaching out as though she'd planned to wake her friend.
"You were having a nightmare. Are you all right?" Sarah touched Maia's arm gently. "Yeah. Fine." She was still caught up in the dream. Not only had they saved her life, even if they planned to kill her later, but they gave her back her leg. The knee joint had to be replaced along with much of her femur, but with therapy, she was soon back up to a level of performance that she'd nearly forgotten that she was capable of.
"You ah...you were...talking about somebody called Amanda." Sarah made the end of the sentence bounce upwards like a question.
"Yeah? Was I?" Maia replied, shrugging it off, but the grey tinge to her skin belied her outward calm. "I'm sorry I woke you up. I'll be all right now. Get some rest." Maia smiled faintly. Sarah stared at her rumpled friend a moment longer before getting back into her own bed. Maia was amazed at how little time passed before the petite woman was asleep again.
Dreading falling asleep again, Maia got dressed and went outside into the cold night. Sarah stretched languorously, enjoying the delicious warmth of the bedclothes surrounding her. She noted the empty bed, and sat up with a start.
"Maia? Are you here?" She called, scrambling to her feet. A note of panic crept into her voice. "Maia?" She left me here.
But then the door swung open, and Maia walked in , bringing a drought of chill air with her.
"Yeah?" She asked nonchalantly.
"Where were you?"
"I went walking."
Sarah looked her friend over critically and finally came to a conclusion, "You've been out since you woke up from that dream haven't you?"
"I couldn't get back to sleep. Didn't want to disturb you." Maia shrugged, rubbing her hands together slowly.
"Do you want to talk about it?" Sarah pressed on.
"No."
The blonde, for once, asked no more questions, but proceeded to tell the story of Melinda Pappas and Janice Covington. They were in northern Florida when the Volvo began to sputter. The oil pressure dropped, and the engine finally ground to a smoking halt. The two women spared each other shocked looks before Maia scrambled out of the car. Releasing the hood, she peered through the black clouds rolling off the engine.
"Shit." She announced when the air cleared enough for her to see.
"That bad?"
"Yeah. Got a bugle? You should be playing Taps right now."
"What? You're kidding me? These things are supposed to last forever." Sarah pushed her friend aside and looked, aghast, at the hunk of steel that had once been a fine piece of German engineering. Even Sarah could see that the car was good and dead. A sizeable crack ran down the front of the engine block, through which oozed blackened oil.
They stuck a white rag in the window, grabbed what they could carry, and started walking. The highway was pretty empty, but every time a car passed they held out their thumbs hopefully.
"I had you pegged as a cel phone owner." Maia teased.
Sarah shrugged, "Yeah well, we can't all be perfect."
The grass was damp, but the day was turning pleasantly warm. Sarah shed her winter sweater, enjoying the sun and the change from dreary slush.
An hour later, a car rattled to a halt. The women again exchanged looks. It was a yellow VW bug, with a cauldron of unusual size strapped to the top along with a large plaid trunk and a dozen or so less identifiable objects. A huge battle axe hung out over the windshield. A man with a bedraggle moustache and a black leather jacket on rolled down the window.
"Need a lift ladies?" He asked. "Where you headed?"
"Anywhere with a towing service." Sarah answered with forced cheerfulness. Ordinarily, she would never have dared accept a ride from a stranger this...unusual, but Maia's dark presence made her feel safe enough to go for it. The man got out of the little car. His black jacket clashed loudly with his navy blue leather pants.
"I'm Dr. Blockhead, this is my... associate the Conundrum." He waved his hand at the passenger, a half naked puzzle tattooed guy. "We're headed to Gibsonton, it's not too far now."
"Sarah Covington, and we appreciate it." She slid into the cramped back seat. Maia just smiled, and folded herself up to squeeze in beside her friend. The car smelled faintly of fish. The Conundrum turned around and smiled, revealing his yellowed teeth and elongated canines.
Sarah stared uneasily at the driver and his unusual passenger. The Bug sputtered and jolted forward, its eclectic burden rattling spasmodically.
"So what's in Gibsonton?" She asked, trying to be polite.
"I have friends there. We meet up every year to break from touring."
"You're performers?"
"Yeah. I do body manipulation. My friend here is a geek act." Dr. Blockhead had to shout to be heard in the back seat.
"What's a geek act?" Sarah murmured to Maia, who smirked.
"They do freak shows. Eat live fish, run around half naked, act like ‘wild people' etc etc...."
"Oh."
Car Jamming
By Lydia
Driving back to Gibsonton, and you couldn't ask for a prettier day, I'm thinking. A day with actual genuine vitamin D carcinogenic sunlight is rare for winter, but when it shines it pours. I have the urge to pull over and catch a few rays, never mind the temperature, but we can't, not if we want to make it into town in time to say hey to the gang before checking in . Even so, I can't help but roll down the window and soak up just a little UV radiation, relaxing into the upholstery like a melting crayon and nearly swerving off the road in the process.
Can't fall asleep, though -- Conundrum got his license permanently revoked after that little incident with the chocolate- covered crickets, the margaritas, and the Stevie Nicks tape, so he can't take the last few miles while I catch a little snooze. Damn inconvenient. Got to stay awake, but it's too far to the next 7-11, so caffeine or trucker's speed is out. Maybe a couple tunes will keep my eyes open.
Shit. Radio's still tuned to some mindless Top 40 station. Should never have left the Conundrum in the car back at that last gas station, but it's hard enough getting good service without the asshole behind the counter gaping at the 6'3", half-naked, puzzle-tattooed gentleman who happens to be paying for half the gas. And who has crap taste in music.
I reach for the dial, see if I can't hunt up something with a little more spice, a little more joie de vivre to it, but Le C swats my hand from the panel with a low but sincere snarl. The man loves his pop-culture fluff, and damned be he who comes between him and Mariah Carey, whose perky strains are now filling the car.
"You win this time, but it's Squirrel Nut Zippers after this," I say, acceding as gracelessly as I can. I'm a sore loser when it comes to La Guerre de La Radio, what can I say?
The Conundrum just grunts and makes an impatient chopping motion with his hand. Conversation over. He can speak English just as well as I can, maybe better, but he likes to keep up the "untamed savage" act for fun. I shrug and keep my eyes on the road, taking some comfort in the fact that at least it's not that much further to town.
"Just...like...honey," croons my traveling companion, waving his hands in time to the beat. His version bears as much resemblance to the original as a MIDI file does to the Boston Pops. The hand-dancing is also a little much. I think I'm gonna be sick.
And then...I see them. We'd passed a broken-down Volvo on the side of the road a while back, but I've forgotten all about it until I see these two women walking alongside the road. I almost skid off the asphalt when they come into view...particularly the little blonde one. Oh, sure, the tall dark-haired one is easy enough on the eyes, but she carries herself like the type who kills twelve guys like me before breakfast on the mornings when she's feeling spunky.
The blonde, on the other hand...I can tell she likes it when someone makes her laugh. Something in her bearing (and, possibly, her wardrobe) says that she savors the exotic and doesn't fear the strange. Gorgeous, groovy, graceful; radiant, divine, luminous; i.e., my type. Wow.
I pull the reluctant Bug to a halt; the halberd dangling in front of the windshield skitters dangerously forward, but I'm not thinking about the security of the luggage rack just now. If I'm even thinking at all. I lean out of the window, ignoring the confused look the Conundrum is shooting at me, and what I want to say is: "O lady, come away from this place with me; come away with me to the Casbah, to the shaque d'amour where we shall spend our days in paradise", but instead I opt for the marginally saner:
"Need a lift, ladies? Where you headed?"
"Anywhere with a towing service," answers the goddess in a voice like morning bells, and treats me to a full view of the beauty of her visage. Oh...green eyes. I've never seen them occur naturally, and on her I think just about anything would do, but green is wonderfully, particularly suited to her. That old black magic called love is working its voodoo mojo on me for sure, I think as I hop out of the car as genteelly as possible. After seeing the expressions on their faces, I'm aware for the first time in days of how I must look after about a week of driving, but then, road travel never made anyone a god, except maybe Jack Kerouac or Thelma and Louise.
"I'm Dr. Blockhead, this is my...associate, the Conundrum," I say by way of introduction, waving quickly at my companion. You would not believe the ease he has in picking up women even if I told you, so I won't. He waves to the pair calmly, though, still bopping his bald, blue-splotched head along with his one true love, Mariah Carey.
"We're headed for Gibsonton, it's not too far now," I explain, pulling up the driver's seat to allow the goddess and her friend passage into the back. Please, good madames: we're not rapists, serial puppy kickers, or perverts -- just... artists who don't mind playing eccentric knights-errant to random damsels in distress.
"Sarah Covington, and we appreciate it," demurs the goddess -- Sarah, Sarah, Sarah, a name to be exalted unto the firmament -- as she clambers in with a nod of acknowledgment to the Conundrum, who thoughtfully turns down the radio. The brunette doesn't give a name, just eases herself into the back. Hell, maybe she doesn't have one, or maybe Sarah is both their names and the Conundrum and I are going to be assimilated, but since resistance is futile, I'm past caring as I climb back in and coax the Bug into starting again.
"So what's in Gibsonton?" asks the divine Sarah politely, once we're on our way, and I search for the least potentially disturbing answer.
"I have friends there," I offer at last. "We meet up every year to break from touring."
Only last year half the guys opted to take a trip to Disneyland, and due to several mysterious circumstances I was nearly arrested for murder by Sheriff Jim-Jim and a couple of FBI agents, one of whom was a really cute redhead who could've slapped cuffs on me anytime she wanted to so far as I was concerned, and the Conundrum nearly got eaten by a voluntarily detachable conjoined twin, I neglect to add. Mainly because I still don't believe half of it myself.
"You're performers?" The angel sounds intrigued. Quick! What's a nice polite term for what you and the Human Garbage Disposal Unit here do?
"Yeah. I do body manipulation. My friend here is a geek act," I shout, the baggage strapped to the top of the Bug making a hellish rattle as we hit a pothole-riddled stretch of highway. Read: I stick assorted sharp implements into various parts of my body and my friend here eats really fresh sushi, among other things. Wanna catch dinner and a flick sometime, you sweet young thing?
in the backseat, I can just barely hear Sarah whisper to her friend:
"What's a geek act?"
"They do freak shows. Eat live fish, run around half-naked, act like 'wild people', etc. etc.," explains her nameless friend. Ace on the history of the art, too -- I'm impressed, and even the Conundrum gives a nod of appreciation of the stranger's erudition.
"Oh." The goddess is distinctly unimpressed, I fear.
But you know what? I don't even care. The day has been beautiful, I'm driving with a friend and two of the most amazing-looking women I've ever seen are along for the ride, and I'm heading home. I'm feeling pretty fan-fucking- tastic as I take one hand off the wheel to search around for some music.
"So...what kind of music do you ladies prefer?" I ask hopefully. "Squirrel Nut Zippers, maybe?"
The End
Chapter 18:
Maia rested her chin in her hand, fighting off drowsiness as the final strains of "Spice Up Your Life," combined with the cumulative weariness of two days of travel and insomnia began to take their toll. She was immensely relieved when the Bug rolled to a halt in front of ‘Arnie's Towing and Repair.' Maia scrabbled out of the back seat.
"Thanks for the ride." She spared the erstwhile driver a nod of thanks, though his attention was clearly elsewhere. Pursing her lips, Maia watched Dr. Blockhead give Sarah some gentlemanly assistance out of the car.
"Thank you for your help er...Dr....Blockhead." The blonde added the name only haltingly. She hoped vaguely that that was not indeed his real name.
"It was my pleasure Madame."
"Er..." Sarah glanced helplessly towards the dusty shack that housed Arnie's shop, wherein Maia was having a rather involved discussion with the attendant. "It looks like we may be stuck here for a while...Do you know if there are any decent places to stay around here?"
"That would depend on your definition of decent. There's one place to stay, Mr. Thumb's Trailer Court. He has some nice set ups you can rent." Dr. Blockhead made a futile attempt to smooth out his moustache, "I can take you there if you need me to ." At this, he looked almost hopeful.
"That's Ok, thank you, I don't want to keep you. We'll have to wait until the car gets here anyway." Sarah looked again towards the shack in which Maia was still quite involved with the attendant, " I better go see what's keeping her." She started towards the building, but Dr. Blockhead insisted on accompanying her.
"Why don't you just leave this to your friend, and I can run you to Mr. Thumb's so you don't miss the good trailers?" He suggested.
"No, thank you, I uh..." she fished for a good reason not to , "I don't want to leave her alone right now...she's uh...a little crazy."
"She seems ok to me."
"Yeah, well you see, she has these fits sometimes. It's not pretty."
"What, is she like the Incredible Hulk or something?"
"Uh... not exactly."
Dr. Blockhead held the door open for her, then followed her inside.
"-where do you want it taken?" The pimply teenager behind the counter was asking. "Just bring it here. We'll deal with it then." Maia slapped the counter with the palm of her left hand and turned on her heel.
"Is everything ok?" Sarah asked, doing a quick about face to go back outside.
"Yup. Looks like we're going to be here awhile. We should-"
"I already found a place to stay." Sarah interrupted.
"Great."
"I'll be staying there as well, so if you want..." Dr. Blockhead trailed off, leaning casually against the overburdened yellow Bug.
"We'll see you there!" Sarah said, perhaps a little too loudly.
Dr. Blockhead repeated his offer a few times before finally, reluctantly leaving.
Maia sat down heavily on a cement drain pipe. in the shade it was chilly, but at least there were birds singing in the trees.
"I think he likes you," Maia teased her friend as Sarah joined her on the pipe. The blonde chose to ignore the comment.
"I wonder if the ‘Conundrum's' tattoos are everywhere," she asked.
"The puzzle pieces? They weren't on the palms of his hands."
"What about his feet?"
"Couldn't see," Maia yawned hugely.
"How's the shoulder?"
"Getting there."
Silence fell for a few minutes.
"Do you believe in love at first sight?" Sarah asked, leaning against the larger woman.
"No. I believe in lust at first sight though."
"Have you ever been in love?"
"Yeah."
"With Gillian?"
Maia sucked in a sharp breath, "Love...Yeah, we were in love. Love throws your focus; makes you stupid, she'd still be alive if it weren't for love," she threw the last word out like a spent shell casing.
"No. It makes you give."
Maia sighed at her young friend's idealism and let her head droop to rest on Sarah's honey gold hair. And here I go being stupid again.
"What are we going to do?" Sarah asked.
"Get a new car."
"No, that's not what I mean. What are we going to do after we leave here? What are we looking for, where are we going?"
"West."
"What, we're just going to wander around? You know, you could do a lot of good. We could help people," Sarah poked her friend's forearm to accentuate her point.
"Help people? Sarah, people don't need the kind of help I could give them," Maia jerked her head upright and stared off into the distance. This time Sarah knew better than to waste her breath asking for more answers. Mr. Thumb's Trailer Court was crowded with trucks and trailers reading things like, "Tam-Tam, the WILD CHILD," and "Amazing Live Dinosaurs!" Sarah thanked the driver who'd given them a lift from Arnie's before perusing the selection of bizarrely painted cars and R.V.s.
"Oh wow, look, it's your old trailer!" Sarah cracked, pointing to the "Tam-Tam"-mobile. "Ha-ha," Maia wrinkled her nose.
Mr. Thumb himself was at the check- in counter. A platform running all the way along the back wall made the top of the desk accessible to the tiny man. Sarah once again stifled the urge to just keep her eyebrows permanently at her hairline so that she wouldn't offend anyone by being surprised by them.
"So, uh, have you ever done any performing? Seems there's a lot of people in the showbiz here tonight," Sarah said, innocuously enough.
"You think just because of my size I would demean myself so much as to take part in that? I rarely go to the circus, much less bumble around IN it. I happen to have a Bachelor's in economics and a degree in business management. If I based all my opinions purely on the appearances of others, why, I'd have to say, judging by your soft clothing, and her menacing demeanor that you were the perfect butch-femme gay couple." Mr. Thumb finished finally, giving them both a superior glance over the tops of the registration forms.
A pregnant silence ensued.
"Can we have the keys, sir?" Sarah asked, she was enjoying the uptight man's discomfiture too much to point out that they weren't a couple per se...yet. Mr. Thumb blushed a lovely shade of scarlet and handed over a set of keys on a fake shrunken head key chain.
The sun was long gone, and the temperature outside was dropping fast. A heavy moon hung full in the clear sky, drowning out most of the stars with its light.
"Watch out!" Maia warned just moments before Sarah stumbled halfway into a three foot wide cauldron. "Looks like Dr. Blockhead is here already," she added as she pulled Sarah upright by the back of her shirt.
"Puh." Sarah replied, wiping her face off furiously, "There was something in there."
"Oh lovely. Come on," Maia replied, exhaustion making her impatient. They found their unit and struggled with the lock. The dim interior was decorated in the colors that had been popular in the early ‘70s. Sarah threw her overnight bag onto the clean but tasteless couch.
"I never thought I'd be so glad to see shag carpeting."
"Oh don't be such a snob." Maia returned, scrubbing her face with the palm of her hand. "Sorry." Sarah shrugged and went to explore their temporary domain, "Hey, we have a real bathtub. Wan' me to run you some water?"
"Tomorrow. Come to bed."
They both performed their nightly ritual ablutions and, after a brief argument about not sharing the bed, curled up together on the slightly lumpy mattress. The growing attraction between the pair made it a guilty pleasure for the both of them. Maia drew great comfort from Sarah's calm proximity, but she dreaded separation for other reasons as well.
Maia watched her friend drift off to sleep, enjoying the gentle play of white moonlight on Sarah's still face. The moment of peace did not last long, as Morpheus soon claimed her too. One foot in front of the other, she told herself muzzily. Her feet and hands had long ago gone numb, and the cold was slowly creeping up her legs and arms. She had never been so cold in her life. She could hear cars rumbling past on the highway, but she dared not go any closer and try to thumb a ride. One foot in front of the other.
Her hair was falling out of the tight ponytail it had been in , and chunks of it were falling off of her head. She didn't notice the brittle, singed stuff breaking off, she concentrated on staying upright. It was so cold. She wanted to lay down and just sleep for a little while. She wasn't feeling the cold quite so much now, and for a moment she felt relieved. No, that was just her body going into shock and beginning to freeze. Just take another step. The wind was blinding. She stumbled against a tree. She pushed off and kept going, her eyes on the ground. Damn the ice and the burning in her shoulder. The blood that had dripped down to her hand was dry and flaking off already. Her breath was freezing into a white cloud in front of her face.
Her eyes drifted closed just for a second and she stumbled again, jerked fully alert for a few moments more, then she fell. She caught herself on the palms of her hands, the sudden movement wrenching the shrapnel in her shoulder. A fresh flow of hot blood coursed down her back. She could feel the cold seeping through her blood dampened coat. Grunting, she collapsed onto her face in the slush. Her clothes were soaked now. Maia let out a weak sob.
"Fuck." She whispered. Taking a deep breath, she heaved herself back up. She would not let them break her. She would get out, she was so close. All she had to do was walk. Just put one foot in front of the other. She couldn't feel the ground, and the dizziness was getting worse. She tucked her purple fingers under her armpits to warm them in spite of the pain it caused. It wasn't long before she fell again. She lay there for a long time before she managed to get back up.
This is nothing. she scolded herself, Move. God dammit. UP! Get up you stupid bitch. You said you'd get out and you will. But the rage that had sustained her all these years was quiet for once, and she couldn't seem to make her legs work.
Just into the city. Just into the city, go the steps and the miles will take care of themselves. Pain is nothing. It will be gone soon, the cold will not last forever. It will all pass in time. And she was up and walking again. Just another step. Another step through this endless night. If only the sun would rise, at least it might warm her a little, but the days were brief, and the night would go on forever.
It was nearly 3 a.m. and the warm bed was no match for the ice in her heart. Sarah slept on in the contented way of a woman with a clear conscience. One of her arms rested lightly over her bedmate's shoulder. Maia gingerly eased out of the trailer, as silent as the night itself. The moon had made over half of her nightly journey through the sky and now hung a little past her zenith. She was tempted to go back inside and just lay abed, but she knew that even if she fell asleep again the dreams would return. Lying awake watching Sarah sleep struck her as voyeuristic, so she started walking.
Maia still felt the cold of the northern winter in her bones, though the warmer, humid Florida climate made all the old injuries ache from the change. She limped a little until her muscles warmed up enough to work properly. Old at 30, Maia mused. She paused to peer into the cauldron, which was then exuding an evil odor. Backing away quickly, she caught a flash of light glancing off of a window from the corner of her eye. The flash was followed by the sound of a door being softly shut. Someone else was awake at this ungodly hour.
Catching sight of a tanned, mustached face, Maia pursed her lips and moved in to investigate further. What manner of mischief might the likes of Dr. Blockhead the "body manipulator" be about at this time of night?
Chapter 19:
More from the eyes of the Man Dr. Blockhead.
Also contributed by Lydia.
Of course, the real reason I'm in Gibsonton -- the reason nobody really knows yet, not even the Conundrum, though I think he suspects -- is to say goodbye, to bid my farewells to my colleagues in the field and thereby to the sideshow trade itself. This will probably be the last time I see Gibsonton, for now that I am become a nearly middle-aged old geeze, I must put away childish things, and all that Hemingway type crap. Who knew you could become a grown- up a decade after you're allowed to vote?
Anyway. The reason I'm leaving and giving up the glorious struggle to keep America in touch with its more twisted roots is just as simple as this: I'm not getting any younger doing it. Ask not for whom the biological clock tolls, it tolls for thee. Found a gray hair in my goatee the other morning and nearly swallowed my toothbrush in shock. It's easy to forget birthdates on the road -- no time for it, not when you've got to show at least fifty-plus intimate strangers that you can have your face ground into broken glass, and then get up and introduce the next act with nary a whimper -- but after some quick calculation and mouthwash, I realized I'm nearly thirty-five. Which means in another five years, I'll be forty, and in another ten, fifty. Given the average lifespan of an adult white male, minus about twenty years of chain smoking, and you have nearly half your life over, give or take. Not a pleasant thought to have to face over the Aquafresh first thing in the morning, and not exactly conducive to sleeping like a Percodan fiend, either.
So here I am, awake at 3:00 a.m. in Mr. Thumb's trailer park Riviera, and pondering the deeper facets of human experience, viz. and to wit, getting closer to that Great Motel Room in the Sky. I was never really the introspective type before all this aging shit popped up on me, though. I was only twenty-two when I started my act, working the boardwalks of Myrtle Beach, and I never thought maybe one day I'd actually stop and look at myself and think, "What the fuck have I done with my life thus far?". You know, you think you're immortal when you're a kid -- and I don't mean like that "vampire" chick Conundrum picked up last year when we were doing the S&M clubs in New York -- but then one day you wake up and you realize you're thirty-five years old and basically a vagrant with no permanent address except maybe your car.
I wish I had some fucking cigarettes.
I wish I could just go to sleep.
I wish the Conundrum would stop making those weird-ass noises from the back of his throat every time he inhales. Lucky bastard's conked out on the rug, but does that mean I, the long-suffering roommate, get an iota of consideration? Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, let the record show: I do not.
Mostly I wish I had someone to talk about all this to , though. I mean, yeah, okay, I see the Conundrum nearly twenty- four hours a day, seven days a week, but he's chasing rabbits in his sleep right now, and he thinks I'm crazy for wanting to retire, anyway. Maybe he's right, maybe this mini van-and-white- picket-fence-with-2.5-kids-and-a-pair-of- labrador-puppies midlife crisis thing is just a phase, maybe life as a norm will kill me, but I could still use a sympathetic ear at the moment. Barring that, of course, there's always the option of taking a brisk pre-dawn walk. There's a huge full moon out, bright as daylight -- maybe a little cool night air will help me clear my brain out. And then there's always the hope that I'll accidentally get hit by a passing car and just forget about the whole idea. Maybe I could get some sleep in the hospital. With this hope in mind, I shrug on my leather jacket and slip outside.
I've gone maybe five feet out of the trailer park when I hear footsteps on the gravel road behind me, and someone says:
"Couldn't sleep either, Dr. ... Blockhead?" Someone sounds like a night DJ on an alt-rock radio station, one of those voices that sounds just as comfortable saying "Eat hot lead, Kinkaid" as "We'll be right back after these messages from our sponsors". Luckily for me, Someone also sounds amused, so I turn around to see who it might be.
It's the ever-radiant Sarah's strong-and-silent type lady companion, and I must admit, among other things, that the divine Miss Covington has excellent taste. Her friend is very beautiful in a way that fits well with natural surroundings like this one. She's also more than a little unnerving to suddenly find behind you late at night and alone.
"No," I admit to her at last, hands in my coat pockets. "Got too much on my mind, I'm afraid. You?"
She shrugs, chuckles a little. "You could say that, I suppose...mind some company?"
Not that she strikes me as the sociable type, mind you, but the truth is, I'm not in the mood to be alone, and so maybe she isn't, either. It could be that type of night, after all -- Attack of the Insomniac Brains of Doom! -- so...
"Not at all," I say amicably. "I was just gonna walk to the end of the road, watch the sky a little, maybe, turn back."
"Sounds good to me," she says, and we walk on down the road in amiable silence, which I've always thought is the best way to be around someone. It's a beautiful night out, and it's nice not to have to make small talk.
After a while, she asks:
"So what've you got on your mind that's keeping you up?"
"Oh...just realized I'm not getting any younger, I guess, and wondering if I really want to spend the rest of my life pounding nails into my nostrils...if this is really what I want to do with the rest of my life."
"Trying to figure a way out of it, huh?" She sounds surprisingly sympathetic.
"Yeah. Sideshow work doesn't exactly have a pension plan for retired performers. I never really thought before about what I'm going to do when I get too old for this...does that sort of thing ever bother you?"
"The...last job I had didn't precisely provide for, ah, retirement options either, you could say. To be honest, I never thought I would make it to an age where that would begin to be a problem."
And about all I can say to that, besides "So does a life of crime pay well, or is that just the ad copy?", is:
"Oh." "You had another nightmare didn't you?" Sarah said almost as soon as Maia poked her head back inside. It was just a little after sunrise, and it wasn't a question.
"I didn't wake you did I?"
"How long has it been since you slept the night through?"
"It doesn't matter." Maia shrugged, pulling clothes out of her bag to mask her bewilderment.
"I know you don't want to talk to me about it, but something is wearing you away." Sarah grasped her friend's hand and pulled her a little closer, "Sit down with me. I got something for us to eat. I want to help you Maia. Will you let me?"
They both picked at the food for a few moments, though Maia seemed on the verge of chuckling.
"You're so innocent," she said at last, "You know you're the first person that..." she trailed off, "I don't want you to get hurt."
"That first night we were together . . . It started then," Sarah firmly replied, "It's silly. We're being silly, I see the way you look at me, and it drives me crazy sleeping in the same bed as you and not being able to touch you. But I see the walls too. Sometimes I wonder if I'm reading you wrong, but I don't think so." The blonde leaned forward, reaching across the table.
Such aggressiveness had never been in her nature, but Maia managed to make her act out of character as no one else could. Their souls spoke to each other as Maia would not allow their mouths to . It had been years since Maia had been around anyone that could make her feel, and it was painful in the way that circulation returning to a frozen limb causes it to burn with renewed sensation.
"I'm not sure of anything right now. We may not be safe. I'm sorry." She looked down, "I should ne-" her speech was stopped abruptly by Sarah's mouth covering her own. For a breathless moment, Maia considered pulling away, but the contact was too sweet; too long desired. She melted forward, drawn into the deliciousness of the moment. The instant heat she felt was strangely new, and while she was far from virginal, she felt giddy.
"Nothing is going to happen. But if it does, then that means that now may be all we have. Perhaps we don't have time to equivocate and play these little games." Sarah continued, whispering. It occurred to Maia, not for the first time by any means, that the savvy art dealer from New York didn't believe a word she'd told her about the past and the demons it contained, and the unimaginable things that went on right under the public's collective nose. It made her smile to think that most people wouldn't.
Maia stood up, drawing Sarah with her. The taller woman looked down into Sarah's eyes, eyes that revealed her entire, vital being. A thrill ran up her spine.
"Teach me to make love to you." Sarah asked, suddenly hesitant now that she had gotten so close to what she wanted most. Maia smiled again at the blush now coloring the blonde's fair cheeks. She kissed Sarah's fingertips, moving slowly up until she buried her face in the younger woman's chamomile and rosemary scented hair. The reluctance of her mind; logical, strong resistance, broke down in the face of her emotions. Maia's surrender was sudden and complete. She wanted to learn every detail of Sarah's body. She stepped back, breaking contact for a moment. Maia unbuttoned Sarah's satin night-shirt impatiently, and finally the woman's voluptuous, ivory skinned body was laid bare.
Sarah stood, trembling inwardly, hoping desperately that her excitement was not visible. She had never felt so naked and vulnerable before in her life. It wasn't that her pajamas lay crinkled on the floor, but it was the way that those laser like blue eyes devoured her. She'd been looked at before to be sure, but this time, she couldn't help but feel that Maia saw past her flesh and into the soul inside. When a few seconds had passed, though as far as Sarah could tell it had been hours, the blonde heard herself demand that Maia lose the blue jeans. She wanted to feel skin on skin: Now.
Maia grinned, her eyes never leaving her lover's face. Their hands bumped into each other, as each went for the hem of her ancient t-shirt. Maia shook her head in facetious rebuke and slipped the garment over her head. Sarah was wide eyed in appreciation of the sinuous twist that the movement entailed. Before Maia had her hands completely free again, she snaked her own arms around the taller woman and unfastened her bra, tugging it off as well.
Maia claimed another kiss, and while Sarah was distracted, moved them onto the bed. She straddled the blonde's hips, never losing the precious, hot contact of their lips. Sarah's half voiced complaint when Maia withdrew was interrupted by a gasp as knowledgeable teeth latched onto a delectable nipple. She snarled her fingers in Maia's uneven, wild curls and arched her back obligingly. Maia drew sensuous patterns on Sarah's smooth, satin body with her saliva, exploring. She let her fingers scout the heated apex of the blonde's legs before she slid with agonizing slowness down the length of Sarah's torso and allowed herself to taste . . . The toe-curling action long abated, the two new lovers leaned against each other languorously. It had to be about ten in the morning by then, the sun was slanting prettily through the window in straight rays. Sarah toyed with a piece of Maia's hair, an activity that she never seemed to tire of. Maia simply lay with her eyes half closed, enjoying a moment of complete and perfect peace. The voices in the back of her mind were silent for the moment; anxieties forgotten and guilt temporarily relinquished.
She didn't notice Dr. Blockhead until he was suspended upside down over his cauldron.
"Your friend is back," she quietly announced.
"Is he?" Sarah asked, her mind clearly focused on more immediate concerns, "guess even highly trained body manipulators have to practice sometimes."
"You think he's not doing that for your benefit? Right outside our window?"
"Jealous?" the blonde teased, "I bet YOU can't do that."
"Hang upside down over a pot of malodorous . . . eh . . . crap?"
"No, drive nails into your head."
"Wanna bet?" Maia darkly replied.
"Not," Sarah gave the head resting on her stomach a speculative look, "really."
Chapter 20
Sarah stretched deliciously in the cool air. The sky was a perfect cerulean blue, and the chlorophyl scent of the grass crushed beneath her bare feet was more intense than she'd ever been aware of. She felt as though she'd lived all the previous years of her life half-asleep and was just now truly waking up. Maia crept up behind her, watching over the blonde's shoulder as Dr. Blockhead writhed in his straight-jacket. He was still suspended upside down over that cauldron, but the jacket was looser now, and he was clearly quite close to sliding out of it. Maia snickered as he wriggled out, and awkwardly swung off of his scaffolding safely onto his pasty white feet.
Sarah applauded him. Maia merely watched the body manipulator with an air of cool dis-interest. Their chat of the night before might have served to illuminate a little depth in the man's apparently shallow soul, but had not increased Maia's respect for his occupation an iota. "Good morning, ladies," he said with forced cheerfulness.
"Rehearsing on your vacation?" Sarah asked, trying not to notice his discomfort. Maia merely smirked ever so slightly as the realization dawned on both women that the walls of trailers were far from soundproof.
"I think best while I'm working," Dr. Blockhead replied, stripping off the jacket and hanging it carefully over the arm of the scaffold, "I was just pondering the conversation we had this morning, Maia."
"Oh?"
"Yup. I think I found a way to retire," he continued, blithely even as the Conundrum poked his tatooed head out of the smoking cauldron and grinned toothily at the gathering, "but it's best not spoken of here. I don't suppose, by any chance, you two enjoy fishing?"
"Actually . . . no, but I've heard some unsubstantiated rumors about Maia's skills in that department," Sarah elbowed her new lover teasingly in the abs.
"Me? Why, whatever do you mean?" the dark woman replied in a mock southern accent.
"A little bird named Caleb once told me that he saw you take a fish right out of the water; bare handed."
"Hrmph. Well, if we're going to go, we need to get this car shit out of the way first." They eventually found their way to a river. It was well on its way to being a part of the Everglades, sans alligators, and the trees lining the banks were sufficient to make the fishing expedition a private one. It was there that Dr. Blockhead revealed a rather dubious plan to gain sufficient funds for a comfortable retirement.
He went on, in an irritatingly verbose monologue, for nearly thirty minutes about a nearby cult of quasi-baptists that used rattlesnakes in their worship ceremonies. Blockhead felt that with the proper assistants (ie, Maia, Sarah, and the Conundrum) he would be able to convince them that he was the Messiah. It seemed that their philosophy of "if it hurts us then it was Gods will" was exactly the opening someone with his qualifications could follow right into the little cult's pockets.
Sarah balked. Maia shrugged. The Conundrum belched and everyone fanned their noses. The crickets he'd eaten for breakfast were returning to haunt them all.
"So?"
"So WHAT?" Maia returned, glaring briefly at Blockhead, who was applying a liberal coat of sunblock to his pallid skin.
"So will you help? It shouldn't take long, and I'd be happy to cut you in ."
"How mu-" Maia's reply was interrupted by an indignant punch on the arm.
"Maia! That's illegal, and it's immoral, we're not helping you, we're sorry," Sarah stated firmly, managing to thinly disguise the unexpected pain in her poor, abused knuckles. If asked, Maia would have had to admit to briefly toying with the idea of helping the poor man. She felt a certain odd kinship with him, but she was in love, and her Love said no. in this small thing, Maia felt she could indulge Sarah. Gods knew, there were some things that she might never be able to give her.
"We'd only be giving them what they want to see. Who knows, it might help their cause!" Dr. Blockhead pressed on.
"Can we just fish?"
Maia shrugged, giving Dr. Blockhead a helpless glance, and waded slowly into the cold water. Sarah stuck a sandaled foot into the water and withdrew it immediately.
"I think I'll watch from here," she said. The blonde took a seat on a mossy log and proceeded to toy with the guinea hen feathers attached to the fringe on her designer cut-off shorts. When Dr. Blockhead FINALLY finished with the sunblock he handed it over, and Sarah daubed it on. Their sojourn continued in silence for a few minutes. Maia standing thigh deep in the unpleasantly cold water, her hair up in a tight bun and her graceful neck arched and slightly twisted. Her hands were poised to make a lightning fast grab.
"Pass me the sunblock."
"You just had it!"
"Well, I need it again. Fork if over, Blondie, before I get done Cajun-style."
"What you gonna do if I don't, huh?"
"Melt."
"Hmf. Here, if it'll make you quit mewling."
"Ow! What are you in your spare time, a relief pitcher for the White Sox?"
"Hold it. You said ‘ow'? Mr. Rattlesnakes and strychnine? I feel cheated!"
Sarah was about to continue with her tirade in a Lady Macbeth-like fashion when she was brutally silenced by a sloppy wet smack, as an expertly tossed fish impacted with her face. She flung it aside in reflexive disgust as Maia grinned satisfiedly from the middle of the river. The Conundrum glared briefly at Sarah over her thoughtless near- waste of a precious catch and scrambled to the shore, scrabbling in the mud for the still-thrashing fish. Pressing his face to its silvery belly, he began to gnaw as voraciously as a starving dog into its innards. Sarah looked on in fascinated horror and suppressed the urge to vomit on Dr. Blockhead, who dozed happily in the sun, not even opening his eyes at the grotesque sounds of his cohort's dining habits.
Maia cast one glance at the gruesome proceedings before returning to listening for any signs of disturbance in the water that might give away the location of her prey.
A clammy fingertip tapped insistently on Sarah's bare shoulder, and she turned to face the puzzle-tatooed visage of the Conundrum, who grinned placatingly at her. He held up one half of the now-dead fish as in offering, the garishly pink loops of its entrails hanging over the edges of his cupped palms. Sarah swallowed uneasily and managed to squeak out,
"No...thanks..."
"Raw fish has a lot of good protein in it, don't knock it," advised Blockhead sleepily. He added, as an afterthought:
"Although your digestive system might not be able to handle it."
A second fish landed flopping on the bank. Sarah eyed it warily, then turned her attention to the paperback book she'd brought with her, content now with her firsthand knowledge of her lover's fishing proficiency. They returned to the trailer park with a bucket of fish, which Dr. Blockhead obligingly cleaned and filleted. The Conundrum cleaned up the leftover bits, crunching happily on discarded fish heads. Maia pretended to ignore his antics while she busied herself with lighting up a charcoal grill, but she was secretly entirely disgusted with the Conundrum.
in fact, by the end of the day, and after being introduced to several of their friends and colleagues, Sarah and Maia were ready to leave. Dr. Blockhead's sermons on normality versus deviance, and nature's abhorrence of normality were beginning to wear on their nerves.
Maia was already feeling a touch of anxiousness to leave when they were finally alone in the dark. Somehow, she felt that she would never again be able to relax fully. She would never know if Section was stalking them until it was too late. There was a rainbow around the nearly full moon. They sat at the picnic table outside their trailer and stared up at it.
"Let's go inside," Sarah suggested, her hand finding its way ever so stealthily up the back of her lover's shirt. As she rose obediently, Maia cast a single prayer towards whatever deity might happen to be listening.
Let this not be the last night. Let this last forever. Chapter 21:
"Are you SURE you want to do this?" Maia demanded one last time.
"Positive," Sarah replied.
With an elegant shrug, Maia held the door open for her diminutive companion and ushered her out of the yellowy trailer.
"It'll be fun."
"That's what you said about the fishing trip yesterday," Maia reminded her, not really as crossly as she sounded.
"Yes . . .well . . .There won't be any raw fish in downtown Tampa, at least not that he'll have access to ," Sarah snorted.
It wasn't that Maia didn't agree to the necessity of going into the city to get clothes and a new car, but she would have preferred to pay for a nice long taxi ride than to accept a lift from their "friends". But alas, Dr. Blockhead insisted that since he needed to pick up a nice, somber looking suit for his little scam, that he'd be more than happy to cart the ladies and their stuff into town.
Sarah accepted. She seemed extraordinarily happy. Maia was more than a little flattered that she was the cause of her new lover's euphoria, but she wasn't looking forward to trying to cram Sarah's bags into the V.W. bug's trunk. "What about this?" Sarah held up a tie-dyed tank top.
"It's winter."
"Yes, but if we stay in the south . . ."
"It's tacky."
"Hey! I have one of these!" Sarah indignantly protested when Maia gently but firmly returned the item to its rack.
"I have everything I need. Let's go. I want to get to the Pontiac dealership before the salesmen all go on their lunch breaks."
"But . . . Aren't you going to try anything on? What if they don't fit?"
Maia frowned irritably. She hated shopping.
"Fine," she stalked to the Nordstrom's dressing room, trailing Sarah, who kept snatching up additional shirts and adding them to Maia's previously small armload. At each addition, Maia grumbled menacingly.
Sarah settled herself outside, watching the door vigilantly all through a rather involved conversation with the attendant about the virtues of bright colors in one's wardrobe. When it finally became apparent that Maia had no intention of modeling anything, Sarah invaded. She dragged a chair to the door of the little cubicle and peered over. Maia rolled her eyes for the tenth time in as many minutes, but continued to go through the pile of clothes, picking out the things Sarah had added and laying them aside. Tie dye, bright greens and pastels were carefully separated from greys, blacks, dark reds, and blues.
She didn't have a problem with them per se, but years of somber coloration were a hard thing to leave behind. She picked out a couple of pairs of black pants and a few shirts, and to Sarah's dismay, called it enough. Sarah, always one to advocate a huge wardrobe, immediately suggested the addition of a dress. Maia frowned at her for such a long time that the blonde gave in and sheepishly agreed that she was being pushy.
They cleared out of the mall as quickly as they could, hampered by Sarah's desire to say thank you and good-bye to Dr. Blockhead and his associate. She then found herself the unnerved recipient of a wet and fishy kiss on the hand from the Conundrum, who, she had the sneaking suspicion, probably usually had better luck with women than he'd had this weekend.
Dr. Blockhead, arrayed in a horribly respectable, unimaginative suit, bowed theatrically.
"I trust we'll run into each other again later," he started, clearly about to start into one of his infamous monologues. Maia clouted him on the shoulder in what passed as a gesture of affection, said good-bye and dragged Sarah behind her as quickly as the smaller woman's legs would take her. They wound their way across the parking lot and into the display lot of a huge auto dealership.
in this case, their tastes seemed to be reversed. Sarah was drawn to the sensible, safe cars, and Maia to the faster, gas guzzling sort. Actually, Maia's interest in the heavier, faster, more maneuverable cars was purely tactical.
Once again, gently, but firmly, Maia's will won out. They drove off the lot with a brand new blood-red Pontiac Trans- Am. It was a poignant reminder of the car her father had left her, but the faint and old sting of loss had long ago been replaced by a mellow nostalgia that was colored only slightly with resentment. If it hadn't been for her father's stupidity, her life would have been so much simpler.
"Are you sure this is safe?" Sarah asked for the third time from the passenger seat. Maia was glad to be driving again, and as the automatic transmission allowed her to favor her still sore arm, she intended to take her new possession out for a long, hard run.
"Yes. Safety specs have come a long way since the medieval period."
"Oh, cute, tres cute," her voice jumped an octave on the last word when Maia depressed the gas pedal a little harder and let the tiger out of its box. Sarah clutched her arm-rest anxiously as they careened onto the interstate.
Maia glanced at the white knuckles that clung to the console between them. She covered them with her right hand and pried them gently away from the plastic.
"Trust me," she said, squeezing the smaller hand a little, "this isn't any different from any other car . . ." Maia was perplexed by the anxiety that she read in every line of Sarah's tense body.
"What is it?"
"Uhm . . . It's stupid . . ."
"Can't be that stupid if it bothers you this much," Maia replied, slowing down and gliding into the right lane.
"I'm sorry, it's stupid, I'm just . . . I'm afraid of these things, I don't know why, but cars make me nervous, and sports cars scare the daylights out of me," she said, swallowing hard.
"Why didn't you say so when I bought it?"
"Because it's stupid."
"Do you know why they bother you so much?" Maia firmly asked, taking her eyes off the road for a few seconds to stare intently at Sarah.
"Watch the road will you?! I don't know why, they just do. David used to have one . . . it was one of the ones with the wavy sides and headlights that come up. I'll never forget that thing as long as I live."
"So something happened to . . . David . . . he's that guy you work with, right?"
"Yeah, that's him. We grew up together. His first car was a . . . a kelly green . . .thing . . . I guess it was a Corvette. It was my first accident. He was showing off for me. The car was totaled."
"Ah-ha. So now the truth comes out," Maia said, keeping the disapproval studiously out of her voice . She was long used to living in a world in which phobias were absolutely intolerable, and if they were undefeatable then one day they would get you killed, "But keep in mind Sarah, this is far from the old Stingray Corvettes. Those things were dangerous, and flimsy. And I'm no 16 year old just learning how to drive. Neither are you."
Maia didn't bring it up again. She drove for five straight hours until Sarah pleaded that they make a "potty stop". Outside of the small brick building, Maia tossed Sarah the keys to the new car. Sarah dropped them as though they were hot to the touch. Maia smirked and got in the passenger side. She was perhaps being a bit hypocritical in forcing her lover to overcome her fear of the big car, but she also knew that once Sarah was all right with the machine, she would have a lot of fun with it.
It took her a few minutes to regroup, but to her credit, Sarah staunchly adjusted the seat to her shorter frame,
inserted the key into the ignition and started the engine before she started to freak out.
"Where are we headed?" she asked, obviously stalling.
"Took you long enough to ask," Maia replied, secretly amazed at either Sarah's naivete or the trust the young woman had in her, "We're going to the Gulf. Have you ever been to the beaches in Louisiana?"
"No, sure haven't."
"Well, we won't get there by sitting here idling . . . This isn't going to be that bad. Do you trust me?"
"With my life."
"Then put the car into reverse, and back us out of here," Maia firmly ordered. With a little bit of coaching, a lot of sweat, and a few tears, Sarah drove the rest of the way to the coast. Despite the elation that the younger woman was clearly enjoying, Maia had to fight back a wave of self-disgust when she realized that even with this woman she had reverted to her usual role of trainer. She had presumed to force Sarah to overcome a deep-seated and old fear that, in her world anyway, was completely harmless. She'd overstepped her bounds.
"I'm sorry, Sarah," she said against land-breeze.
"For what?"
"For making you do that, it was childish."
"I had to do it someday."
"Did you?" Maia replied, raising her brow skeptically. Sarah smiled brilliantly, and her warmth, yet again, banished all else. Maia hugged her love with rough affection.
Staring at the calm, balmy Gulf, Maia felt entranced by the play of the harsh sunlight off of the water's surface. She felt the call of the sea, the same vague desire to be near something so vast and implacable and ancient was the same emotion that led her to strip off her shoes and walk out into the frothy surf.
The gentle motion of the small breakers fell short by far of the furious crashing that she really wanted to see and hear. She wanted to see the angry pounding of the pacific on its rocky shores. And they would, Maia resolved, reach the west coast.
They stood together in the surf until the chill breeze drove them back to land. Nestled together in the vestigially warm sand, they watched the sun set together. Maia wanted to memorize every detail of the moment from the spectacular display to the wondrous sensation of Sarah's curvaceous form pressed oh so softly against her. Chapter 21
in the car the next day, Sarah excavated the back seat and recovered the box of Maia's old things. Stuffed down between the back of the front seat and the front of the back seat and ignored for weeks, was the battered cardboard box two women had retrieved from storage; the one with Maia's family bits and pieces in it. She rifled through it. Some of the contents was obviously junk, some of it was obviously not: A battered teddy bear, a box of old looking jewelry, a folder of pictures, a scrapbook, a pocket watch, a moth eaten fur stole wrapped around a leather-bound journal, and a gold art-deco key ring with a set of intriguingly ornate keys on it.
Sarah picked up the journal and opened it to the first page.
"Melinda Pappas : 1929"
Sarah whistled appreciatively at her find. The handwriting was precise and contained, with no extraneous flourishes or doodling. She leaned forward against the seat-belt, with the journal open in her reverent hands.
The next page was tearstained, and Sarah quickly flipped past it and the rest of the entries in which Melinda seemed to be coming to terms with her father's death. The journal had obviously been purchased for just that purpose. Finally she came to something that she felt it would not be intrusive to read.
"I received a letter today; from Janice Covington. No, that's not true. My father received a letter from Janice Covington. I opened it. I guess because I thought that business is business, right? But when I read it, I found that she wants papa's help. She needs a translator, she says she's found a cache of scrolls which she believes are Xena scrolls. Papa's life's work. I think what she wants is validation; a respected name to associate with the find.
It's ironic that a Covington would ask us for help, but this find, I hear, is legitimate. I'm going to go out there, I don't know if it is entirely wise, but it will be an adventure, and a chance maybe for both of us to escape our father's shadows. I think papa would go if he could."
There followed a protracted narration of the steamer ride across the Atlantic and the long overland journey to the dig site. Sarah had to smile at how the southerner agonized over what to wear to her first meeting with Dr. Covington.
"I decided on the plum suit."
The next night's entry had a decidedly different tone.
"I don't think that my life will ever be quite the same again. I'm not sure where to begin, so I guess I will just try to relate it as it happened. I woke up at the hotel and took the car out to the site. There, I stumbled into the middle of a gunfight! There were two German thugs, and Janice fought them off, but unfortunately some of the artifacts were damaged by the gunfire. Once the were gone it became clear that Dr. Covington hadn't heard about papa. She tried to send me home, but she needs me. She's botched what translations she's already done.
She's not at all what I expected. I don't know what I expected. She dresses, and acts, and smokes just like a man! She even fights like a man, but what struck me was her beauty. I didn't expect her to be pretty. She makes me feel clumsy and silly, but I think I've proven to her that she needs me. We read one of her scrolls today. It was about a blonde warrior who tried to destroy Xena's reputation by killing people in her name, and the battle between them that follows. It will require further attention later, but we were interrupted by the arrival of a moronic Frenchman, and the rest of the Nazis. It sounds like a radio show, I know, but it's true. And it only gets weirder.
Janice believes that she found the tomb of Ares, and the Germans are interested, I'm still not sure why. Everything is so confusing now, but I'll get to that. They held us at gunpoint to force us to help them open the tomb, and I guess I sort of spoiled Janice's plan to get us out of it. Either way, we wound up inside, and we managed to get away from the Germans. Janice thought I'd only screw things up, so she left me in one of the passageways, where I found a compartment containing a dozen or so scrolls, and half of the chakram. Xena's chakram. Anyway, it pulled me. I picked it up and it started to pull me, and I couldn't let go of it. It sounds nuts, I'm sure, but as I said before, this is all true. Then all of a sudden, the Germans' leader showed up with the other half, and then there was a flash of light, and a warm feeling at the base of my spine. Everything fuzzed out after that. I remember feeling cradled and protected. When I came to , or whatever it was that happened, I felt different.
Janice says that Ares himself had been there, and that I had prevented him from escaping into the world again. I even used the chakram to reintomb him. Janice says that I was possessed by the spirit of my ancestor, Xena. But it didn't' feel like that at all. It felt more like . . . my body was remembering something that I had long forgotten. I think it did anyway. It just feels like a dream now. If it weren't for Janice I'd say it was exactly that; a dream.
She respects me now. I want to stay with her."
Sarah and Maia exchanged a knowing look before Sarah continued to read the neat cursive script aloud. She turned a few pages when she realized that Melinda hadn't written any more about Janice.
Five PM:
I didn't realize how big the house is until I came home today. I guess I'd gotten used to living in a tent, and to having people around me all the time. I also didn't realize how empty it is. I guess before though, there was always Papa, and then there was Aunt Jen and Sue to keep me company. I imagine they don't think I need company any more.
I miss Janice. Isn't that silly? I miss her and I've only been home for two days. I'm going to Giseppe's tonight with James. I can't wait to see him.
Midnight:
I'm breaking off the engagement. I don't think I can marry a man who treats me as though I'm not only incompetent but a chronic liar. I may be clumsy but I'm not stupid. Janice always acted like I was a capable . . . man. James, well, I guess he's been doing it all along, and I just never noticed it. He didn't believe a blessed word I said when I told him about the dig and Ares and Xena. He just asked me if I wanted some water instead of more wine. I couldn't believe it. But I wasn't really angry. The people that you love are the ones that can really hurt you. Maybe I don't love him. Maybe I never did. I need time to think. Actually, I need to talk to Janice. Something tells me that Caroline would just pat me on the head and not offer any useful advice.
My guts say that . . . My guts? That's something that Janice would say. That I should break it off. But perhaps I could give him another chance. We've been friends for so long, after all . . . he deserves that. We deserve that. Right?
Maybe I've learned too much about life and about myself to go back to being a nice southern girl. Whoa. I think that's Janice talking again."
After that, reading aloud from the journal quickly became a daily ritual.
"A letter came from Greece today. Janice says she's found a tomb, and that she thinks that it's Xena's. She also believes that Gabrielle will be in it. I wish I could be there. She's promised to send pictures, but it simply isn't the same. I wanted to go, but she said not to , that it was too dangerous with the war on. I'm asking here to come here. We can spend some time translating the scrolls she' found in what was once "Amphipolis".
I've been working on the scrolls she sent from the find in Mesopotamia, and I think we've stumbled across an early batch. What strikes me most so far is the state of Asceticism that they lived in ' wandering the country with only their clothes, bedrolls, and a few supplies. It must have been one heck of a comedown for Xena. She was a warlord, so one can only assume that she was used to a certain amount of relative luxury. But after she gave it up in scroll #32- 11, Gabrielle mentions that the fund for new boots for Xena isn't doing well. She wouldn't accept monetary rewards for her good deeds. Gabrielle found it noble, but it seems to me that was only a desperate attempt to find redemption and forgiveness."
And when Janice finally made it to visit South Carolina, neither Maia nor Sarah was at all surprised to see that Janice and Mel soon tumbled into bed together. It was through sheer luck that they stumbled across a display of the Pappas artifacts, including the chakram, sword, and several of the infamous Xena scrolls. She insisted on taking Maia, and much to her surprise, Maia found that she was eager to see it.
The room was relatively crowded for that end of the museum, people no doubt drawn by the controversial nature of the scrolls. There were many in the archeological and historical fields that claimed them to be fakes. Sarah was a firm believer in them though, in spite of the fantastic content of Melinda Pappas' journal.
"I bet they'd give anything to get a hold of that diary you have," Sarah whispered after reading one of the placards at the entrance of the display. It was necessarily vague, as many of the facts surrounding the initial Xena scroll discoveries had been lost during WWII.
Maia just smirked and followed her lover patiently up to the glass cases. A copy of an old photograph showed a smiling Janice and Melinda holding up the chakram triumphantly. Sarah glanced at her tall companion, silently comparing heights with the woman in the picture.
"There's a definite resemblance," she said appreciatively.
"Runs in the family," Maia replied, the sensual tone of her voice lending meaning to her words. Sarah giggled until she was silenced by a few nasty looks from one of the museum employees.
Sarah insisted on reading the translations of the two moldering scrolls that were laid out for viewing. One was the story of a great battle between Xena and a warrior woman named Callisto. The second was a narrative of a funeral, and a transcription of the lyrics to a dirge that Xena had performed for Hercules' dead wife. It was references like this one that made many experts question the veracity of the scrolls' contents.
Maia read the lyrics absently, and something clicked. Given in both Greek, phonetically, and in English, they were the words to the song that her mother used to sing to her. Maia had even sung it for Sarah on several occasions.
Both women recognized it immediately. It was astonishing that the words to a song, written in a language the singers did not understand, had been handed down through the family for so many centuries in tact.
They came next to the display of metal artifacts. A twisted piece of brass was supposedly the remains of a sewing kit, though neither woman could quite agree with that. A surprisingly well preserved sword hung beside it, the chinks in the iron giving testament to the many battles that it had fought. The only object in the display that had been positively identified as belonging to Xena was the chakram itself. Suspended in its own glass case, the sapphire inlaid disk gleamed in the track lighting. They stood there for so long that one of the guides approached them.
"Excuse me ladies," the young man said, "Do you have any questions you'd like answered?"
"Can you tell me who owns this?" Sarah asked, clinging to Maia's arm.
"Yes ma'am, they belong to the University of South Carolina," he said patiently, "The University funded the Pappas research. I can't help but notice, you look terribly familiar, both of you, have we met?"
"No," Maia said when Sarah looked to her to supply whatever information she was free to reveal, "But you might be recognizing her; Sarah's a Covington."
"Yes, that's it. The resemblance is amazing," he gasped excitedly. Maia smirked behind her hand until she realized that the intern was calling other employees over and asking them to stand by the photo of Janice and Mel. The dark woman put on her most forbidding facade and they made a narrow escape from the hands of academia. They read a little further in the journal; in fact, they were in the middle of a particularly juicy passage when Maia quietly asked her lover to stop.
The interstate was crowded. It was late winter, and the Yankees were down in force for a break from the cold weather.
"What's wrong? Tailgater?"
"No," Maia replied, "I'm not sure yet, but I think we're being surrounded."
Sarah paled visibly.
"Surrounded by who, exactly?"
"Who do you think? Maybe I'm just being paranoid . . ." she trailed off, watching the four black, foreign sports cars cruising behind them, and the five that had maneuvered, unnoticed, into spots in front of them. As the gap between the two groups began to close gradually, Maia announced,
"Put your head down, I don't know exactly what they have in store for us, but it won't be pleasant."
She depressed the accelerator further and wove in and out of traffic, catching up with the leading cars. As the Trans- Am approached them, the vehicles clearly started to struggle to keep ahead of it. Maia caught a glimpse of a driver with platinum blonde hair wearing dark, big sunglasses. She floored the pedal and made a reckless dash for the narrowing space between the black Porsche, and the black Mercedes 280-SL. The two cars moved to intercept, pressing Maia back towards a mini-van. Swearing creatively, Maia jerked back and around the three cars. She ran along the outside of the moving blockade, accelerating hard and trying to make a run for the nearest exit. If they were to stand a chance, they had to get out of this crowd.
"What's going on?!" Sarah demanded from her crouched position.
"It's OK Sarah," she began, but then had to jerk the wheel hard to avoid colliding with the side of a tractor trailer that was in the process of merging, "Oh fuck."
She knew when she was beaten. She wouldn't risk a wreck under these conditions. She had placed Sarah in enough danger as it was. Flicking on the car's emergency lights, Maia slowed down and eased into the left lane and then into the break-down lane.
"Stay down," she said. Sarah just nodded mutely. The car came to a full halt along with two of its pursuers. The Mercedes stopped in front of them, and a navy blue BMW pulled up to within six inches of their rear bumper. Two agents approached either door of the Trans-Am. Maia opened hers, keeping her hands carefully visible and slowly unfolding her long body. The passenger side of the car was locked, and when one of the agents demanded that Sarah open it, Maia growled warningly.
"I'll come peaceably, but you leave her be. She has nothing to do with this," Maia unequivocally stated. There was no answer other then a repeat of the command. Sarah looked uncertainly through the windshield at her lover. The sound of breaking glass sent the ex-agent into an explosion of furious motion. She vaulted cleanly over the hood and kicked the man who had dared to break the passenger side window far enough to the left to dislocate his shoulder; his arm was still inside the door-frame. The second agent on that side of the car soon followed his partner to the asphalt, but Maia's efforts were brought to an abrupt end when she caught sight of the dull barrel of one of the standard issue automatic rifles that Section liked to use.
There were two, she actually ascertained, one leveled at herself, the other at Sarah.
"Hands on your head," a tall woman with a graceful, melodious voice ordered, "and you; out of the car. Now."
Sarah obeyed, visibly frightened, and stood up, her shoes crunching on safety-glass. The tall woman motioned for Sarah to precede her towards the BMW.
"Now wait!" Maia demanded when she was pushed towards the other car, "Let her stay with me. She doesn't even know-" her protests were cut off by the sickening thud of the rifle but on the base of her skull. Sarah shouted her name, but she was already unconscious when they dragged the howling blonde away.
Chapter 23: I Wrapped My Fear Around Me Like a Blanket
Deep brown eyes normally possess a certain warm guilelessness that is disarming and expressive. But not these. They were the brown of dead leaves, of ancient rusted iron, and dried blood. Amanda's frightening gaze rested with apparent apathy on the bedraggled form of her wayward agent. Maia had been unconscious for hours. She was held upright with her arms out perpendicular to her torso by a series of vinyl straps. Her head sagged forward and her hair hung around her face in greasy strands. Her left sleeve had been cut up to the elbow, and the red marks from several intravenous injections and bloodlettings showed on the vulnerable skin at that joint.
Her hands jerked spasmodically as she came around. The first sound she heard clearly was Amanda's voice.
"You really had us fooled. Your performance record was exemplary until this. No complaining, no ridiculous little intrigues designed to get you out or anything like that," Amanda looked exaggeratedly perplexed, "And now this. Certainly was out of the blue. And all over a woman, a rather unremarkable woman if I dare say so. How could you forfeit your life for her? For love?"
Contempt burned in Amanda's eyes. For six years she had seen Maia as a woman so isolated and powerful that she verged on being masochistic, and yet, she had given in to what Amanda saw as one of the greatest flaws of human nature: Love. She had never believed Maia to be capable of feeling such a thing.
"How dare you ask me that," Maia growled, her thoughts still disorganized, "how dare you. You were never a friend, and you can't understand how far I've come since I met her."
"How far you've come?" Amanda laughed throatily, "It seems to me, luvvy, that you've regressed. Look objectively at what you've done. You've dragged an innocent into a situation from which you knew there could be no escape. You knew this, and yet you did it anyway because you wanted her. What a stupid reason, Maia. You've become weak. Before we picked you up you had such solid roots. We thought you'd be able to move up in this world. We thought you'd be trained to replace Operations. Yes, dear. We knew about your early training. Those years when you worked as an assassin. The accounts were left untouched because they were untraceable anyway. Why should we have bothered with them?"
"Are you sick of this yet?" Maia yawned disdainfully, slowly regaining control of her faculties, "How did you find me?"
"That's easy enough," Amanda cackled. She crossed the room and picked up a data-pad. She activated it and a tinny version of Sarah's voice issued from its little speakers:
"Maia. I'm coming with you tonight. I've told everyone I'm leaving. I can take care of everything. We'll take the Volvo and we'll go wherever you want to go."
"Why?"
"I told you...once before. The last time you told me that I couldn't go with you."
Maia did not betray any emotional response to the recording but seemed to wait calmly for an explanation.
"Want to hear more? We've got some great material here." Amanda circled her captive audience dramatically.
"Teach me how to make love to you."
"That's enough Amanda," the captive's eyes flashed with anger at the sounds rising from the device, "So how did you do it? I checked myself for subcutaneous implants. Where was it?"
"Mmmm," Amanda circled a few more times before leaning over Maia's lap to pluck at her pants leg, "I think you know. You didn't really believe that we'd let an opportunity like a major bone replacement go to waste now did you? Of course, it takes a lot of filtering to get rid of the sound of your heartbeat, but . . . it's worth it in the end."
Maia suppressed the urge to start screaming and sat patiently.
"Oh I'm so proud," Amanda bit her knuckle excitedly, "We did such a good job with you. It's just such a shame about all this. You really should thank us for that implant. If it weren't for the records we have of everything you've said and heard, we couldn't be sure of your fidelity. We'd have to make sure you told us everything, and you know how unpleasant that can be."
Maia suppressed an involuntary shudder.
"You know, of course, that this is the end of the road for you."
Maia waited stonily.
"But it doesn't have to be for her. It will be conditional of course."
A spark of fire ignited in the dull blue eyes.
"I have a last mission for you. It's highly irregular, that's why we'll need the insurance of Sarah's life, and the combination of your disposableness and expertise make you the only candidate for it."
"You going to let me out of this thing?" Maia demanded suddenly.
"Ah yes, terribly sorry. We had to be careful, you understand," Amanda smiled and released the agent's bindings. Maia stood up too quickly and had to hang onto the outstretched arms of the ‘chair' for support for a moment.
"Read up on it. We can talk about this later," Amanda handed the data-pad to Maia and glanced at her watch, "Understand?"
"Yeah," Maia crossly replied, "I understand perfectly."
Maia watched her leave, amazed at her incredible luck. She couldn't remember anything like this ever happening before. By all rights, both she and Sarah should have already been dead. But then, she'd never seen a class five agent run off before either. Usually by the time an agent had the seniority to reach class five, their will belonged to Section. Maia even remembered a time when she herself would never have been treated as a caged animal. She wouldn't have allowed any of this. Despite the many ways that Amanda and Operations had succeeded in breaking her down, she remained an example of exceptional personal durability.
The high emotions of the last hours stirred inside, but Maia harshly repressed all thought, and all feeling. She had already allowed herself to feel too much. Emotions were luxuries she could ill afford. More than herself rode on her success at ingratiating herself to Section, and that extra weight was so precious that failure was unimaginable.
She needed insurance that when she died, Sarah would be left alone. That was the only way. But as before, she would have to bide her time, and time was an elusive commodity in Section, especially if you were an agent of questionable loyalties about to head into a long-term deep cover mission that would require complete immersion. Wary of the one chair in the room, she sat down in a corner and read the mission profile.
It was absolutely startling. As far as she could tell it was another first for Section. She was going undercover as a recruit. To Section One. She had to read the profile twice before the enormity of its contents truly hit her.
Oversight had developed a recent suspicion as to the motives of Section One's head. There was also some suspicion that he had ordered Adrienne, the notorious founder of Section One, terminated.
The price would be high. It would involve total relocation, total immersion, and a total paradigm shift. Maia would be given a new face, a new identity, a new way of being, and a new past. The intensive plastic surgery would include the fitting out of the implant in her thigh with a remote switch. Amanda, of course, would be the one holding the controls. She would turn it off only when they were at risk of being discovered. The price was high, but Maia would pay it. For Sarah.
When Amanda returned what could have been hours, perhaps days, later, Maia presented her case.
"Amanda," she began, the iron force having finally returned to her voice, "I'll do this if you'll agree to my two terms."
"And what, pray tell, are they?"
"I want to say goodbye to her. I want two days at least, and I want a guarantee that she goes unharmed. For the rest of her natural life."
"Yes, yes, of course," Amanda replied with ill concealed impatience. She picked the data-pad off of the floor and left without another word. Maia let her head fall forward and rest on the back of a hand which was draped over one of the knees that she had pulled up to her chest. She found her apartment exactly as she'd left it with only a few exceptions. Her bags were ranged about the living room floor, and Maia's portrait had been turned away from the wall. Sarah savagely scrubbed the tears from her face and explored the rooms carefully, feeling under table tops and chairs, searching anywhere that her limited knowledge of such things told her she might find transmitters hidden. Her search turned nothing up, but when she tried to unpack she couldn't keep her hands from trembling.
She was afraid, desperately afraid. She'd been given a glimpse of something she had never imagined could exist. But it did, and now they knew who she was, where she lived, probably everything about her that there was to know. Worst of all, they had Maia. There was nothing to be done but fret. Sarah rummaged angrily through the baggage until she found the moldering duffel bag that she and Maia had retrieved from storage the night they'd left New York together. It had been less than a month, but it seemed like a lifetime had transpired since then. Two lifetimes.
Sarah heaved the bag up onto the sofa and pulled the clothes out of it to reveal a black plastic case about the size of the bottom of the bag itself. She'd suspected what was there when she'd tried to lift it the first time. Sarah drew the heavy case free of the nylon fabric and set it in front of her. She hesitated briefly, her hand hovering over the latch. This was a huge invasion of her lover's privacy. This was a more personal piece of her past by far than had been the old journal. Spurred on by her fear, Sarah flicked the latch open and jerked the lid up.
The scent of steel wafted up, and Sarah swore lividly. The assault rifle inside had been carefully dismantled; all of its parts stowed in custom fitting compartments. It took her an hour to put it together, and by the time she did she was feeling more in control of herself. She tried to picture Maia holding the gun, her steely blue eyes sighting through its scope, expertly handling the heavy weapon with her personal brand of confidence. The image served to calm her further, and she fell asleep curled around the rifle.
When she woke up hours later, it was light outside. She jerked upright, spinning around, holding the rifle at ready as she checked the apartment for intruders. Sarah was struck by the cold realization that no one would know if anything happened to her then. No one knew she was even back in the state. She immediately phoned David at the gallery, but she couldn't reach him, only Bev.
"Sarah!" The overenthusiastic voice on the other end of the line crowed, "It's so great to hear from you! How are you hon? When are you coming back?"
"Hi Bev. I just called to say I'm home, I'm not sure when I'll be coming back. Can you have David call me when he gets in ? I need to talk to him."
"Well, how are you? How was it? Give me the dish!"
"Uhm, I really don't have time right now, can I talk to you about it later? Thanks. ‘Bye." Sarah hung up quickly. She couldn't handle the woman just then.
She didn't know how long she sat sprawled on the floor by the phone when it rang, startling her enough to make her drop the gun.
"H-Hello?" she stuttered into the receiver.
"Sarah? It's David. You OK?"
"Yeah, yeah. I'm fine."
"No you're not. You sound terrible," he replied, once again reading her accurately.
"You've known me too long," Sarah attempted levity.
"It happens," he retorted. They'd been sweethearts back in high school, and had even been pressured by their families to get married, "You wanna tell me what was up this morning with Bev?"
"I just didn't want to talk to her. How's business?"
"Great. We've got seven new clients since you left, and sold the entire set of Provectors we had in here."
"Good job David," Sarah distractedly replied.
"All right, now are you going to tell me what's bothering you?"
"Eh. It's hard to explain."
"Try me."
"I think I've been given a reality pill."
"What is it that happened to you?"
"I can't explain now Dave, give me a few days ok? I just wanted to let you know I'm here, I needed to hear your voice again," Sarah sighed heavily, "Good-bye, I'll see you later." She hung up before he could say any more.
She had hoped to reestablish something by speaking to him again. She wanted to regain her footing, her sense of normality, along with her interest in the galleries and the rest of her life. It hadn't worked. He only seemed more annoying than ever before, and she had only spoken a few words to him. She looked small and alone on the floor, cruel light sliced across the room from the window, placing her in an illuminated island. Sarah kicked the phone away angrily and lay flat on her back, with her eyes on the front door. She waited three days, keeping the rifle with her even in the bathroom. Sarah didn't rationalize her paranoia, not even to herself because any thoughts would only take her back to what she'd seen. She couldn't handle that until she knew what was going on. Late in the evening of the third day, the intercom buzzed. Sarah approached the door warily to activate the 5X7 LCD feed from the camera at the outside door. Her heart pounded in her ears. Thick black hair, a familiar suit jacket, broad shoulders, and a bouquet of roses. Sarah instantly unlocked the door to let her in .
Does she know what I've been doing here while she's been going through Hell? She released the dead`bolt and the chain and retreated into the living room. A few moments later she heard the door swing slowly open. Maia's rich voice washed over her, warming her and cleansing her. She felt as if it returned the color to her clothing and the life to her body. Suddenly she was repelled by the cold, heavy rifle in her hands. She shoved it aside and stood up; then sat down again.
"Sarah?" the voice was tinged with fear now.
" in here," Sarah croaked, her voice unused.
The room was dark and it took a beat for Maia's eyes to adjust and find Sarah crouched on the floor with her knees pulled up to her chest. The dark woman immediately joined her, though it took all of her waning self control not to pull Sarah into an embrace. She roughly set the roses aside.
"What did they do to you?" Maia asked, her voice promising a fate worse than death to anyone that had harmed her lover.
Through her sobs, Sarah replied,
"Nothing . . . nothing. Are you OK? I was so afraid. I thought-no. I didn't know what to think. What's happening, Maia, what's going to happen?"
"I'm fine, it's going to be fine, Sarah," Maia lied, stroking Sarah's flaxen hair gently.
"How am I supposed to believe that? Last week I thought that there were no such things as covert, invisible conspiratory organizations . . . Maia, they were in HERE. They were here. When I came home, everything was here. The car was downstairs, the keys were in my pocket. They even replaced my dead plants with plants of the same species. How did they find us? What's going to happen?" Sarah rambled hysterically. When she was done, she flung herself into Maia's arms, clinging to her helplessly.
"Shhh," Maia soothed her, "Listen. They found us because that's what they do. They find people. What's going to happen is this: for the next two days we're going to stay here and just be together until you feel better. Is that what you want?"
Sarah nodded against her lover's chest, listening to the rustle of fabric and the steady, reassuring thrumming of Maia's powerful heart. Breathe, just breathe. Maia told herself. She didn't have the heart to tell the woman in her arms the truth.
Chapter 25:
They walked in step with each other. Their fingers were entwined and their bodies were so close to each other that their hips rubbed together with every stride. Sarah had only been coaxed outside through several promises and much cajoling. Maia felt that she couldn't leave her lover if the woman was afraid to go outside. Every time Sarah jumped at a noise, Maia flinched inwardly. She felt a little piece of herself give up and break away. It was her fault; all her fault. There was no going back, and no time for regrets, Maia scolded herself meanwhile giving no outward indication of her ongoing inner monologue.
It was the late morning of the first day. It was likely that the sun would set on them together only once more. Sarah didn't know it yet, but their time seemed to be visibly dwindling. Maia forced herself not to look at clocks or ask passersby for the time. She didn't want to know. She wanted to take Sarah back to the apartment and ravish her with her tongue and rough, harsh hands. But that would be selfish; she'd been selfish enough for ten life times already.
The right thing to do was to walk quietly and make sure that Sarah would be able to function with her new-found knowledge of the truth behind James Bond. The awful truth was that Section wasn't always clear as to its motives, nor was it exactly something you could take a vacation away from. Sarah would have to live with the knowledge that she could be followed, monitored, used, killed, or taken at any time by the expansive organization.
Chances were, though, that she would be safe as long as Maia lived.
The only question that remained, was how could Maia tell her what was going to happen in 48 hours? Should she lie or tell the truth? As she had long ago realized; here there were no right or wrong decisions, only lesser degrees of evil.
When they returned to the apartment, Sarah pulled her lover to the couch and sat them both down purposefully.
"OK. There's something you're holding back from me," she said.
Maia felt both her eyebrows creep up her forehead. Sarah was unfailingly surprising in her ability to read people; Maia in particular. It was an old skill that Sarah was remembering as they became familiar with one another. Not even in their dreams were they truly aware of the ancient nature of their association, however.
"Uh," was all Maia could think of to say.
"Does that mean yes?" Sarah replied with forced levity.
"No. I mean yes. Yes I guess it does."
"Well?" Sarah managed to invest this single word with an edge of hysteria.
"I knew the risks when I decided to leave Section. Now it's my time to pay."
The clock on the wall ticked with alarming volume, and even the sounds of the cars outside intruded on the silence within.
"How much time?" Sarah finally asked.
"Tonight. Tomorrow, maybe a little longer," Maia shrugged.
"When were you going to tell me? Were you just going to leave me a Dear Jane note or something?"
"I don't know. I was building up the courage," Maia felt somehow defeated. Saying it out loud made the whole situation so much more real. Sarah stood and strode to the sideboard for a quick drink to still her nerves. The warmth spreading in her stomach gave her the strength to turn around and look her lover in the eyes.
"You said it was going to be all right."
"I'm sorry. You were hysterical. I didn't know what else to say. Every time I'm close to you Sarah, I can't think right. No more questions. It's all been said," Maia grasped Sarah's wrists gently and tugged her close.
"You gave up your life to be with me," Sarah breathed.
"I'd do it again. A thousand times over. The life I've left behind me was . . . nothing," she stopped and bent down a little to capture Sarah's lips in a bruising kiss. Sarah was tempted for the briefest of moments to pull back. She had so many things to say. The heat building at the apex of her thighs clamored that this was more important. I wonder if it burns like this in heaven? If not, maybe I don't wanna go, Sarah thought warmly. in the glow of the aftermath of their lovemaking, she almost managed to forget that the dawn was their enemy tonight. The fury of her earlier thoughts had been scorched away by the incredible heights to which their passion had driven them. It was as if all the previous times they had pleasured each other they had not begun to plumb the depths of their capacity for sensation. Even Maia, who had long believed that she'd lost her ability to be surprised by her body, was pleasantly shocked. It was, no doubt, the fleeting, stolen feeling that pervaded every touch and every moment they had left together that heightened both their senses.
The enemy arrived too quickly. They were worn out from the long night of passion, and even more tired by the emotional strain they were both under. But neither would surrender any time to sleep. Sunrise found them downing coffee and laughing together as though it were any other morning of their lives. If the laughter possessed a tinge of desperation and the coffee was a little stronger than usual, no one noticed.
The day passed in a haze of caffeine and personal revelations. At ten that night, the phone rang.
"Angela," an unfamiliar voice said without preamble.
"I'm coming," Maia replied automatically to her code word and hung up the phone. Sarah's eyes widened as the moment approached with devastating swiftness. At the time when they had finally opened completely for each other, they were wrenched apart. Maia walked stoically to the front door before turning to look at her lover again. Sarah rushed forward and was folded one last time into a rough embrace. She clutched at Maia's shirt.
"You don't have to go. Let's leave. We have the car, we can run away again."
"And be found again? No. Never. Forgive me Sarah," Maia firmly, but sadly replied. She used one hand to gently lift Sarah's chin, "You are the best thing that ever happened to me."
The words struck some ancient chord between them that echoed over the fabric of centuries. Sarah let go. She squeezed Maia's hand once and then folded her own determinedly behind her back.
"I love you." There was a car waiting for her. Maia turned her thoughts ahead, not sure suddenly, if it was worse to worry about the pain that lay ahead, or to reminisce about the brief time that she had pretended to have something that could never be hers. The last months reared in all their delicious beauty and absurdity to taunt her as she sat quietly in the back seat of the Mercedes. I looked at the phone, and for a moment I thought that the innocuous device was the demon that had destroyed the little life I'd built up for myself. Forgive her? Forgive her for leaving or for coming in the first place? The apartment was so silent. I understood then what Melinda Covington had felt when she returned home from meeting Janice.
Everything happened so quickly. Could it be that we met and fell in love and lost each other all in less than three months? We had spent only two weeks on the road together. Only two weeks.
But we'd said goodbye. You didn't always get to do that. It let me step back from the pain, just like it'd let me step back from her. I can step back now and know that I had felt love. I had experienced a thing that many only dream about, or pretend to know when in truth they felt only a shadow of the real emotion. I had felt love, and knowing what it was, my heart was as wide as the sky.
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