Prologue

Lights—blue, green, red, pink, amber and violet—slashed across the dance floor like knives to a chopping board. They sliced narrowly and swiftly in all different directions, as if competing for the greatest brilliance, or perhaps for the greatest disharmony. Amongst these blades were other contenders for the glory, as glowing tiles under the dancers' feet created their own frenzied and colorful patterns beneath a sea of fog. Intermittently, a strobe light would come into play, blinding patrons in a scene too white then too black, and through these flashes, the floor's inhabitants were given the eerie, rigid appearance of animated corpses.

The music pounded hard. The floor quivered with every low beat. The tremble carried into the dancers’ shoes, reverberated into their muscles and recalibrated their pulses to follow this communal rhythm. Angelic tones soothed heavy clashes, and upon the face of every patron was nothing but careless rapture.

My own body responded to these lights and sounds in just the same way; the bass guided the swaying of my hips as my lips mimed the words of the female vocalist. My fingers trailed down my body slowly, as shimmying shoulders edged them down. I felt the weight of a dozen or more male eyes on me, and the heat from their bodies, as they edged closer. Though no one was in contact with me, I sensed the quick fluctuations of the nearby dancer's pulses. The increased paces, created by heightened releases of adrenaline, as well as the scent of wet and slimy bodily secretions, suggested arousal. The smell of it was strong tonight, so great that I could taste the basic human desire. I was almost drawn in by their simple want, but my hunger could not be so easily satiated.

One man came so close that his excited heartbeat pressed up against my back. A martini glass filled with scarlet liquid was rounded in front of me as a voice rasped into my ear, “A cosmopolitan for the most beautiful lady in the club tonight.”

I took the glass and swiveled in his embrace. “You’re too kind,” I whispered, my lips touching his neck at moments.

His hand wandered down my body until it found my ass and squeezed eagerly. “Oh baby, you better drink that quick, you’re turning me on too much to be in public.”

My right hand slipped down his shoulder, along his arm, and moved to the inside of his thigh. I glanced at his package. “You’re not the only one excited.”

I curled my tongue around the cocktail's straw and sucked in deeply. When I took a final swallow, I held the glass to my side.

He grabbed it hastily and smiled. “You finished in one, that’s so sexy.”

He made to kiss, but I turned my head away coyly and he settled for caressing his lips against my neck. “Hm…” He murmured, gratified. “You smell so good.”

“So do you, just like honey,” I teased. “I bet you taste just as good, feel just as good.”

His grin widened so immense, it was like telling a child he could draw on the walls with a crayon. “Well,” he began, “how about we get out of here so I can show you my sweet side?”

“I’d like that,” I responded as my hand curved over his upper thigh, tempting towards his precious zone. “Have anywhere in mind?”

“Well, there is my place. I have a pretty swank apartment.”

“Apartment? No, that doesn't work. I can get very...noisy, you see.” The front of his pants swelled even larger. “I know somewhere exciting.”

He gaped in confusion but allowed me to guide him from the club without interruption. Ten minutes later, we hit the end of the street and reached the beach. I took my heels off with one hand while the other lay in his, making small circles with my index finger.

“Oh, I like where this is going!” He beamed, and without a moment’s hesitation removed both his shoes and socks and threw them by the bushes. Panting, he stared at me hungrily.

I backed toward the water, smiling mischievously, and undid the knot at the top of my halter-neck dress. It fell to the sand instantly.

“Not that I'm complaining, but I thought you said you wanted somewhere private?” I could only see his silhouette, but I could hear from his voice that he was very excited.

“Look around you, do you see anyone else here? Could you even make them out if they were standing just a few meters away?” I motioned down the length of the beach but did not give him a chance to respond. “No, it's too dark. Dark sand, dark water, dark sky. Within the depths of darkness— what better place is there to hide?”

My bra and underwear were next to greet the sand before I ran into the cascading black waves.

“I like your thinking!” The man tore his shirt off hurriedly but hesitated as he reached his belt-buckle. Caught in an indecisive moment, he turned his gaze behind him. Through the thick layer of trees he searched for the few emerging twinkles of light, looking for the cracks that would expose us to the streets crawling with clubbers. He heard them clearly enough, the yews and laughter of drunks, and no doubt wondered whether any would stumble by and discover our skinny-dipping. Then he patted something in his pocket as if unwilling to give it up.

“C’mon, honey!” I shouted to his silhouette. “You’re not going let me swim naked all alone now are you? You never know, there could be sharks in here and I might need a big strong man to protect me!”

He laughed and called back out. “Well, I’ll tell you what, sexy. If those shark nets don’t catch the bastards, then I will!” Lust won, as he finally relinquished his pants and underwear, and as he galloped into the surf after me all that remained on him was a gold chain around his neck.

It didn’t take long for the man to catch me in the waves and there he traced his fingers around my hips and breasts. Next, he grabbed my hair fiercely, pulling my head back, and pressed his lips and tongue into my mouth desperately.

I kissed back, insides tingling with anticipation.

He moved one hand to open up my thighs, and then moved his other to position his penis and pushed forward. He moved eagerly back and forth as I moved my mouth along his neck, which was comfortingly warm amidst the cool summer water. My tongue traced his salty-sweet skin and the pulse buried beneath. I could not refuse such an invitation.

He screamed as my teeth sunk into his flesh. I thrust my hand over his mouth to stifle the sound and severed his carotid artery with my teeth.

I drank the warm liquid like it was mother’s milk. When his moans grew weaker, I stabbed my hand into his chest, breaking the feeble bones of his ribcage. Inside his torso, my hand encapsulated his heart as it stubbornly continued its double beat. I playfully squeezed it tighter, and the organ fought back wanly. I knew that any tighter and its rhythm would cease; the flesh bursting from between my fingers.

I pulled it out roughly as the man gave a final weak moan.

The heart was still beating, weaker now with every subsequent thump, struggling to survive. The organ was hot in my hands, very beautifully painted red and pink, with blue lines interwoven. This was the time it was still nutritious, still full of flavor, still full of immortality.

I devoured it at once.

****

You may think me a monster, a cold-blooded killer, an abomination.

You'd be right.

I wasn't always this way. I was once human—no more than a girl—scared and deserted, floating aimlessly through a city of blood. Soon, that girl became angry and desired the power to change the world.

Then she got it.

However, this comes at a cost, and the currency is human hearts.

I am strong, fast, smart and next to invulnerable. I suppose that I am also evil. I have made peace with that by justifying what I do against the other kinds of evil out there. I know others will not be so quick to forgive my beastly appetite. Murder is murder— and cannibalism? Well, supposedly, that's just plain disgusting.

I'm not human anymore. I have ascended higher on the food chain.

Still, I do not think that these mere words will be enough to convince you, so I will take you back to how it all started; back to when my human life was stolen from me and I arose as something else.

Maybe then you will see that I am no more than a girl doing what she must to survive.

Chapter One

I stared forward, out through the taxi windscreen, into the gray littered streets I was traversing, into what was considered the slum of the Blue Coast. The day typically displayed a dismal site, where the footpaths were cluttered with plastic bags and pictures of naked girls advertising their 'escort' roles. Cigarette butts—very few of the tobacco variety—smashed bottles of beer and squashed cans of premixed alcoholic drinks consorted the disdainful sight. However, none of that was as unsightly and so horribly scented as the scattered deposits of vomit. Seldom did any council workers venture to clean these streets. Any normal person who did not want to integrate into the city's underworld averted the suburb of Paradise Grove, also known as Devil's Eden. When it came to me, though, time and again I found myself coming straight back into the hell-mouth.

It was not that I had a death wish, for as a reporter my very life would be at peril in the wrong areas, it was simply business that drew me. Dangerous business, unfinished business, organized business. It was because Devil's Eden was home to the notorious Foxes that it pulled me deep into its belly. There were always new scandals here—crimes, murders—but nothing was ever done about it. This was their land, even the cops knew to avoid it, but some reporters were just too foolish to listen to reason. Some reporters thought they could actually make a difference, but most just made fertilizer for the gardens of paradise.

The recent dance hit tune Serenity All Night Long resounded from my lap. I reached into my crimson handbag and whipped out my phone. It was Sandra. I pushed no immediately.

“Not gonna answer?” the taxi driver queried.

“What's the point, when you know what they're gonna say? Besides, I don't particularly feel like hearing verbal abuse at the moment.”

“Don't approve, huh?” He paused, as a subtle sideways glance caught me in his periphery. His lips pressed together, pulled up in that motion I recognized all too well as a face of judgment. “Perhaps they’re just looking out for you?”

Yes, he was indeed judging me for my scanty top, mini-skirt, three-inch stilettos, and black eyeliner combo.

“They are,” I answered simply.

His silence stated his agreement with my declined caller. To the hairy, plump, middle-aged man I was another hooker looking to sell her body for money or drugs. I made no attempt to correct him of my true agenda. I was still trying to set my mind into the role I was about to play.

Contrary to my appearance, this time I was not going for one of those facades, but as a bartender, albeit a bartender in a strip club. So sexy was key, and most definitely ditsy, but offering my body for that purpose was far from my intentions. Still, I could not delude myself from the potential risk of that outcome being brought about without my consent. I knew that, with these people, it would be all too easy for one of them to jump me over the next couple of hours, pin me down, cover my mouth and stifle my screams as they made their way with me.

Keep it together, Jane, you can do this! I counseled myself.

The Foxes need to be stopped. I will not run away, I will not hide my head in the sand. I will expose them, stop them, and do my part to save the city. It is up to my generation to summon the courage and restore peace to the Blue Coast. Today, I will find the evidence, then I'll print my article and finally people will take notice, take arms and fight. It all starts here.

“Well,” The driver stated as he pulled over. “Here we are, Paradise Grove.”

I paid him and gulped as I exited the car. Time to put my best game face on.

****

Standing on the cracked and unkempt footpath, I peered at the fluorescent Minx sign that gleamed ahead of me with apprehension. The streets were desolate, and for good reason. However, I knew that, in a few short hours, it would be sprawling with naive teens and other young adults who were addicted to the dangerous atmosphere. Devil's Eden was the ultimate party joint, in part due to the exhilarating name bestowed upon it. If you really wanted to party, the Minx was where “all the craziness was at.” The best DJs of the country frequented here. Multiple dance floors, an area for strippers—the pole dancers were truly breathtaking, and not just for their nude physiques, but for the caliber of skill they possessed. There were even a few poles set aside to encourage female patrons to show off. It was truly the best party spot anywhere, especially in a city where there was no such thing as too intoxicated and no such thing as carding. This place allowed you to have all the fun you wanted, at a cost the club was happy to collect. Here, alcohol was sold right next to the drugs at the bar. There was even a booth to the side where you could order your girl or guy for the night, then receive a key to access their room on an upper floor. Everyone wanted to party here, despite its alarming morbidity and mortality rate, but not everybody could get in. There was a strict glamour and cash policy. If you had enough of one or the other, you were welcome, but if you had neither then you never made it through the front door. My best friend, Sandra, and I had frequented this place many times in our youths, drinking to excess and taking drugs of which I never learned the names. Every time we were greeted warmly and every time it had only cost us the taxi ride out.

I rolled my shoulders back in an attempt to make my tiny breasts seem a little bit larger, and lifted my chin high. I minced towards the entrance, in my blue and white polka dot stilettos, with a graceful calm unparalleled to the tension in my hands. I knocked on the wooden front door, noticing the waxiness to the finish. My timid call brought no response. Hearing music coming from the inside, I summoned yet more courage and forced a more profound knock. This, finally, was greeted by a young man laden in superfluous gold jewelry. Before speaking, his eyes roamed over my body with a hungry smile. “You here for the bartending position?”

“Sure am! I’m so super excited to be working here!” I squealed with ridiculous excitement.

“Is that right?” He raised an eyebrow. “Well, you haven’t got the job yet. Come inside, Mack's over there. You'll be doing your trial with him.” He pointed out an older man sitting by the bar as he closed the door behind me. He breathed in deeply and stood so close that I could feel his body heat. “But from what I can see, you already appear qualified.” He gave an attractive bad-boy smile. “I’m Jase by the way. You’ll need to remember that when you get the job.”

I took a step inside, and just from the simple smell I was transported back to my clubbing days. I saw drink after drink procured in front of me, lines of white snow gallantly offered, erratic lights that caused my head to spin…and boys: new ones every night, new distractions, new lures into hell. Each night offered a new way to die, and yet I made it through my damaged period into adulthood. I ultimately stopped being suicidal, but walking back into that place I guessed that statement could be refuted.

I looked around, taking it all in. I could only see the one room clearly, yet the simple visage brought a detailed map back to mind. I recalled an extensive lounge area to the left, consisting of red leather sofas and tropical fish tanks lining the walls; that was where I smoked my first bong. To my right, was a dance floor lined with glowing blue tiles and a stage that was already set up for a band; that was where I grinded with my first 'serious' boyfriend. Right in front of me was the bar, this one dispensed just drinks. It was constructed of clear plastic with illuminated plastic balls inside that gave the semblance of bubbles; that was a bar I climbed onto once and stripped off both my top and bra.

My eyes scaled the room, settling on the focus of my mission—Mack. At least I assumed the spilling ass on the black pivot stool was the right guy. He was busy with some papers and sipping on something that looked like scotch or whiskey, appearing oblivious to my entrance.

I strutted toward the bar, donning what I hoped was a large, confident smile. “Hi there!” I threw out my right hand. “My name is Stacey Shaw, and I’m here for the bartending position. You’re Mack, right? The manager?”

He looked around languidly. “Yes, yes. Hm… your tits aren’t that great, are they? You’ve got a good ass, and nice legs, though.”

Anger flared inside me, but my face simply smiled, incredibly strained.

“Give us your resume and take a seat.”

I perched on a stool by his and fished through my handbag.

“Oh! Is this a new recruit? She’s pretty, but I don’t think she has the goods for performing.” A woman approached the opposite side of the bar and instantly leaned forward to nosy into whatever business was transpiring. As she hovered, her breasts almost popped out of the corset top she was wearing.

“Daphne, why don’t you go back to Freddie and the others and see if they need any refreshments, now.” Mack’s words came from tight jaws but soft eyes. His gaze scarcely left his employee’s endowment.

I handed Mack the paper. “I tried to mail it to you, you know, on the web, but the club’s site didn’t have an email address.”

“There’s a reason for that,” he replied shortly. “We prefer to do things in person.”

I know you do, I thought. The less trails, the better when you’re part of the Foxes.

“So, you worked at this Club Peninsula, I see,” he murmured as he skimmed through the papers. “Alright, go fetch me a scotch on the rocks. Treat me like a valued customer.”

There was meaning in those words which I translated to: be incredibly flirty and make me think we could have sex tonight, so when I whipped around to the bar side, I uttered huskily, “One scotch coming right up.”

I scooped ice into a short glass and poured straight from the bottle to the amount that I suspected was a shot's worth. I handed the four-fifth full glass to Mack and leant forward to display my cleavage directly toward seated eye-level. “There you are, hun.”

Mack took the glass and gave it a big swig without as much as a glance towards me. “Not bad.” He looked into the remainder of the glass. “However, for a valued customer, you should have filled it full way.”

My eyes widened. That resume was not entirely fictitious; I had worked at a bar while attending university. There I was taught to free-pour, tutored in some fancy cocktail recipes and was cautioned to follow the rule of never over pouring a drink— that would be too expensive. However, I should have realized that, at the Minx, it would be different. At a joint like this, the money made through alcohol was only a small fraction of the revenue. Here, alcohol served as a relaxant in order to open doors for patrons to pursue the many other, very illegal, services at the club. I realized then that their idea of good customers was not the big drinkers, but the drug addicts and playboys.

“I’m willing to give you a trial,” Mack sighed. “Stay on for the night, and if you please me, then you’ve got the job.”

“Oh, thank you so much!” I squealed. “I am so gonna make you hire me!”

“Yes, yes, follow me.”

As Mack led me to the back of the club, we passed the main stage that consisted of a front pole with two side cages that were each accessed via a set of stairs. Chairs were lined in front as if the place was a movie theatre. We passed behind the bathrooms and through a door that stated: Staff Only. Through this, we entered a hallway that faintly smelled of urine. From there we entered another door marked: Ladies Change.

Mack waltzed through the room and pulled out a corset, underwear and a pair of stockings. He held the scant fabric out to me. “This is your uniform. Put it on, but make sure you leave your underwear on underneath or we’ll charge you for cleaning. Come back to the bar when you’re ready.” He quickly left the room.

I looked at the clothes I was presented with aversion.

C’mon now, I told myself, Stacey would love this opportunity, and would have no qualms strutting her stuff in this skimpy little number.

My pride refuted, Yeah, well Jane doesn't! What if some girls don't follow the underwear rule and the outfit wasn't cleaned? Despite my disgust, I changed.

I peered into the full-length mirror in the room and desperately started craving alcohol. Even if I could inebriate myself enough to become more comfortable with my outfit, I needed to be clear headed, for this was the moment I had been seeking since I walked through that shifty front door. I was alone, and finally in a position to seek out the evidence that my story was lacking.

I retrieved my cell phone from my handbag and placed the rest of my belongings on an empty self. I tiptoed to the door, opened it slowly, and peered through the tiny crack it exposed. I could still hear the music from inside the club, but no other noise could be detected and nothing but a vacant hall could be seen. I entered it.

I thought about going back into the club, meeting Mack and beginning my trial, leaving this dangerous and very potentially frivolous search for the incriminating documents for some other opportunity. The smart thing would have been to give up my doomed mission entirely, but I could not back out now, not when my goal was finally in sight.

Stop, stop! My better judgment pleaded. Your foes are just on the other side of the wall. Just run away before they find you out. You know what these people are capable of. If they discover you, they will kill you!

“I'm too close,” I whispered back. “This is what every moment in my life has led up to. I need to do this. I need to expose the Foxes to the city. I need to end the crime and all the pain that has resulted because of it.”

I treaded lightly down the hall in the opposite direction to the patron side. I found another door and cautiously let myself inside the vacant room.

It was an office; of whose there was no indication. I crept toward the desk and opened the top drawer. Inside were various stationary items and a small bag of powder. I took a photo of this with my phone. Next, I pulled opened a side drawer. Seeing that this was full of papers, I pulled them out for my own perusal.

I skimmed through them but failed to find any damning evidence. The documents consisted of words such as; shipment, product, exchange piece, investment, but details were so vague they held no credible material to support my article.

As I placed the documents back into the drawer, I noticed a chrome dagger. The hilt was embossed with foreign scripts, perhaps even ancient. I wondered whose office this was and why that person had a knife like this hidden in a desk. I speculated that it could have been as a form of defense in case of any confrontations.

Finding nothing more of use in the drawers, I decided to explore the cabinet. Through its windows, grand crystal glasses and a wine decanter could be seen. Opening the mahogany doors, I found more drawers, each with a lock. There were no knobs to these, so I tested them using my nails in hope of pulling one free, but all were fastened tightly.

I fished into my hair and pulled out a bobby pin. I bent this to shape and tried earnestly to pick at the top lock. Thank you, James, my first serious boyfriend of all of three months. Good looking, good in bed, and good with locks— he would have been great, if only he wasn’t always high.

Click.

I was overcome with happiness. There it was in front of me, all the evidence I ever needed. I was finally going to be able to corroborate my story on the Foxes. A few simple photographs, and a quiet escape, and my article could be printed. The evidence would then be passed to the police; the responsible members would be convicted; history would be made, and the city would finally be saved from the rule of gangsters. My parents, if they had been still alive, would have been so proud.

Just as I readied my phone to begin photographing these documents, I glanced up to the crystal glasses in the cabinet. The reflected images on the glasses were moving as I watched motionless. Then my eyes widened in horror as I realized that those shadowed forms were the outline of a man, moving so impossibly fast I did not even have time to turn before he ensnared me.

The phone fell from my grasp as powerful hands clasped over my face and obstructed both my nose and mouth. With a fierce and winding yank, I pulled against a chest that was so hard I thought at first that I was pressed against a wall. Suddenly, I was deprived of all access to air and gasped against the vacuum frantically. I fought against those strong arms holding me, but my feeble attempts did nothing. I was sure that I was thrusting my hips and kicking my legs back vehemently in protest but nothing had any effect. I tried a couple of self-defense moves: strikes to the groin, stomping on toes; but all were a wasted effort and an even greater waste of oxygen.

I knew that no more than a couple of minutes passed before my vision sparkled and turned black.

There I was thinking it took longer to suffocate a person.

Chapter Two

I struggled to force my eyes open as if awakening from a deep slumber.

“A fucking reporter? How the hell did this happen? Which idiot was it that profiled the bitch?” I recognized the voice, it was Mack's, and he was furious.

“Relax,” an unfamiliar voice cooed, “I've already got it covered.”

“Damn right you do! Fucking disgrace that this filth got through these walls!”

“You better watch yourself, old man, or I'll take care of you too.”

“I—I—” Mack stammered, clearly fearful of the other man. “I apologize, Freddie. I did not mean to cause offence. I just can't believe that this shit happened!”

Freddie laughed softly. “That's more like it. Now you run on back to your books, or whatever boring crap you do, while I sort out this...delicious girl here.”

“Yes. Please do it fast, and keep this little embarrassing incident just between us?” A tremble entered his voice.

“What, are you afraid that the master will force you into retirement for yet another blunder?” The words slithered from Freddie's mouth.

“Please,” Mack begged. “I only left her alone for a second to change. It was up to Jase to keep an eye on the door—”

“Shut up and leave already. You're boring me,” he groaned. “Like I said, just go back to your little calculator, and I will take care of everything. You can trust me, Mack.”

“Yes...thank you.” I heard a scurry before the sound of a door closing.

At first, I struggled to understand any of the words being said over me and with even greater difficulty their meaning, but then consciousness began to return along with a heavy sense of foreboding. Why? Because I was in the clutches of the Foxes, I remembered. I was discovered, captured and about to be killed.

Get up, Jane, get up! I desperately tried to activate my sluggish body, but to no avail. I was rigid, immobilized, and I may as well have been a corpse already, but I couldn't give up. Not yet, there was still so much I had to do. I had to escape!

Just barely, I managed to flicker my eyes open and whined as I struggled to pan my head. My fingers also started to move and detected cold and chalky concrete. I tried to push myself up, but my muscles were frozen and I failed miserably in repositioning even an inch.

A blurry head hovered over my vision. “Ah, so you're waking up, Jane.” From the prior dialogue, I learned that this slippery voice had belonged to someone named Freddie. “Hmm, that's a boring name, your parents didn't have much of an imagination, did they? Stacey is much cuter.” I felt a tug at my hair and managed a groan in protest. “Not bad looking, though. Damn, I could have some fun with you if you were not planned for something else. Alright, we better get moving. Back to sleep you go!”

Encumbered by a strong acetone scent, I lost consciousness once more.

****

I awoke with a blurred, intoxicated sensation and tried again to open my eyes, but some force was pushing against them. I tried to move my arms to hold my dazed head, but these too were restrained. It was then that I realized that my back lay on a hard surface, with both my hands and feet tied at opposite ends, bound by the irregular roughness that only rope provided. Fabric hugged my face securely so that no matter how I shifted the position of my head no scene could be viewed. I could guess at a general area, though. From the gentle breeze brushing past me, and the squeaks of bats in the distance, I surmised that I was in an area with foliage, likely outside the city. There was also a strong scent of roses, and I wondered whether I was near some sort of flower garden.

Bats and the drop in summer heat meant that it was nighttime already. That suggested at least seven hours had passed since the start of my interview. The fact that so much time had elapsed allowed me a small hope that maybe they weren't going to kill me, but maybe just leave me out in the middle of nowhere to scare me off. Then I remembered a certain series of stories Sandra was following, these all had roses scattering the stage beautifully. No, surely not. The Foxes couldn't be involved with him!

Freddie's words repeated themselves in my mind: I could have some fun with you if you were not planned for something else. Planned? I had only just crossed their paths, how could I have been planned for anything already?

“Are...” my voice hushed, barely audible, “you going to kill me?”

I did not expect a reply as I thought I was alone, but a soft male voice responded, “Yes.”

“No,” I whispered, shivering. “Please, no, I don’t wanna die.”

“I know, Jane,” his gentle voice soothed, carrying with it a British accent. “I know.”

“You don’t have to do this,” I pleaded. “Just let me go. I swear I didn't see anything. I don't know anything! I promise, just let me go and you'll never hear from me again. Please!” The blindfold dampened as it absorbed my tears.

“I am not going to let you go. I am going to kill you.” It was a calm statement.

“Stop this, please! I swear I won’t say anything.” At first, I was soft, pleading as if to someone in a dream, but now realism had hit me. I was a captive and about to undergo something very horrible. I was a fool, too brazen to realize my mortality. I knew that I was about to learn the full extent of my folly.

“Don’t kill me. Please don’t. I’ll give you anything!” I cried as my dry voice broke so many times that even I barely understood the words. All the while, the scent of roses engulfed my nostrils with vigor.

“Stop!” I screamed. “Please stop! I’ll do anything, give you anything! Just stop this now! Just let me go! Let me live, I beg you!”

“You would give me anything?” he queried.

“Yes, I swear, anything. I have money! My parents left me with an inheritance. You can have all of it, just let me live!” I whimpered.

He gave a sad sigh. “I do want something from you, but it is not your money, Jane Kirra, that I want. It is your heart.”

In any other context that small statement could have brought a smile to my face, but out in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by the stifling scent of roses, it filled me with consummate horror. My terror became so great that it escaped from me in frantic ear-splitting screams.

I fought furiously against my bonds, but my body was still too weak to make even a decent tug. I writhed and twisted, trying desperately to find just a position, some possible way I could escape. I couldn't go like this; it was all too cruel. This simply couldn't happen, it couldn't!

“Shh.” A warm hand patted my forehead. “Don't be fearful, this is a good thing. With your death, you will have the chance of a new life, a better life.”

“I don't want to die!” I wailed.

“I know, Jane, but you don't have power over that anymore. Now quiet your sobs and ready yourself. It is time for your human life to end.”

He pawed his hand over my face as I continued to mutter, “please.”

The next moment, I experienced a strong breeze and then dampness spread across my chest. He poured water on me? Confused by the event, but endlessly grateful to be spared, I opened my mouth to say “thank you” to my attacker but instead found myself choking on liquid. I tried to cough it out but it had accumulated in my mouth and throat too fast to expel. My tongue registered what was obstructing my breath– a thick substance, warm and metallic, like iron. It was blood. My blood. Then I realized that the dampness over my chest spread so that it covered my whole torso.

At that moment, I remembered the dagger with the inscriptions. It seemed so bizarre to be hidden away in a drawer, but then I wondered, was that weapon connected to all this? My mind was no longer sluggish; it was alert and echoed cruelly to me that fatal wounds often were not felt due to a huge adrenaline release. That dagger. Could it be the focal point of the flowing liquid on my chest?

I couldn't breathe. My mouth and throat were full of blood and my body started screaming for air. I tried to inhale, but that just made the coughing worse. I tried to spit it out. I flung my head to either side, desperately attempting to fling the vile metallic fluid out, but the more I writhed, the worse the pain became.

Yes, pain.

With the adrenaline, I hadn’t realized it come on, but it gripped me then—my whole body was on fire. Hot but also cold at once, I was sure then my cruel attacker had taken a match and thrown it on me. It was the only way I could explain the sensation of my flesh melting away. I was choking, suffocating, drowning and burning all at once. Every moment became more agonizing, and every moment stretched out longer. Every nerve ending screamed pain and pain called for hate against life. I started wishing for death.

The pain climaxed and loosened its grip on me. Gleefully, I stopped fighting and opened myself up to a new fuzzy sensation. I felt myself spill away as if breaking up into millions of tiny pieces, emptying into nothing. I am dying now, I acknowledged. In the end, T.S. Eliot was right; “this is the way the world ends, not with a bang, but with a whimper.”

****

I awoke amidst a myriad of images: the neon Minx sign; a dagger encrypted with ancient designs; a glass filled of scotch and ice; a shape reflected back from a curved surface, hands reaching toward me; black rose petals floating down like rain.

I was falling through these replayed scenes with no clue to where I was heading. I had that rushing sensation, the familiar dropping of my stomach, and I could even feel a breeze. Then things slowed as I sensed myself orbit around a central body and fall inwards.

The next thing I knew, I was erect in my bed. I just started thinking it was all a bad dream when my eyes were drawn down to my crimson painted hands. This same substance also stained what were once crisp, white bed sheets. As I clasped my hands into fists, the dark color cracked away from my skin.

I licked my lips nervously and tasted a crumbly metallic flavor. I turned to my bedside table with haste, snatched the hand mirror and stared at my face. It was there, too, all around my mouth. I tensed as I realized I was coated in stiff, dry blood.

Chapter Three

I ran my fingertips gently along my forearm. The fragile crimson coating flaked away and revealed unmarred, porcelain skin below. The crumbs fell upon the white sheet like macabre snowflakes. Gulping, I pulled away the filthy linen and inspected the rest of my body; there was more of it, a lot more. The coating was thicker, darker, and wet. Below the gooey mass was a torn corset with a fierce slit in its center. I tore the apparel away, along with its heavy viscous burden, and exposed skin— muddy and red-stained, but without visible defect. No tears, no scrapes, no bruises, and no open wounds. A hand pressed to my chest revealed a steady, healthy heartbeat. I sighed with relief, but when I looked down at the soiled sheet and corset on the floor, my heart reclaimed its speed again.

In my head I heard them, the screams and pleas for a life to be spared. It was me who was begging. It was my life to be spared. They were my screams that were stifled by a metallic liquid gurgling from my mouth. An internal injury—that was what had to have caused the bleeding. My lungs would had to have been flooded with blood, and those types of wounds people do not easily come back from.

There was no knife, no stab into my chest or theft of my heart. It was all just to scare me.

It was certainly strange, and I failed to make much sense of it. The substance I was currently viewing on my hands, face and chest was most definitely blood, but without any injury, it would have to be someone else's. I hoped it was only animal's blood, but knew that the extraction process would have been too complicated. Despite some of the brutal acts the gang had performed, the Foxes were criminals, not butchers. This led me to suspect that the blood was most likely robbed from a hospital's donor supplies. With this stolen liquid my attacker drowned me, but just as I lost consciousness, he must have resuscitated me and returned me home. Why he placed me back in my bed and why he used blood to suffocate me with I could not understand, but at least I knew that he did not carry out his malevolent threat to murder me. With a fiercely beating cardiac organ resting beneath my hand I could be certain that my great fear of being parted from my heart had not been met. It was not him; it was not the mass serial killer, just some gangster scaring me off. It most definitely worked.

That explanation was a weak one, but with the soiled clothing and bed sheets, I could not pretend that it was all a dream and I most certainly could not entertain any of the alternatives. Any other option was purely fantastical and impossible.

Leaving my bed, I removed the remaining articles of clothing that still clung intimately to my form. I set the water in my shower to the highest bearable temperature and maximum pressure, and plunged myself in the small cubical. The bathroom was wrapped thickly in steam and I could feel the weight of it as I breathed humid air into my lungs.

Once I exited, I wrapped a towel around me and walked back into the bedroom, shuddering at the sight that greeted me. Mud and blood streaked the carpet as if a corpse was dragged inside. The sheets, likewise, were a mess. My alarm clock was in pieces on the floor, and even the cream curtains displayed a very proud red handprint.

Alerting me out of my reverie, the doorbell chimed, demanding my immediate attention. I took a couple steps towards my bedroom door, but after detecting the soft carpet tickling the soles of my feet, I became dimly aware that I was still undressed and turned instead to my closet. After donning a pair of jeans and a baggy black T-shirt, I tentatively returned to the doorway of my room. The doorbell continued in its strident song.

I pulled the bedroom door open slowly and was thoroughly dismayed at the muddied trail that ran across the floor tiles, speckled with crimson drops. The doorbell was now a continuous buzz.

I hurried to the front door, becoming incensed at the irritating noise. I peeked the door open to discover a haughty female clothed in a carefully manicured pencil skirt, canary yellow satin blouse, and pointed black three-inch stilettos. She possessed a soft nose, and lips so full I would have been sure they were filled if I hadn’t viewed them since childhood. Her eyelashes were fake, but her large bright green eyes almost made them believable. She was also such a perfect combination of short and slender that she could practically get away with murder. Normally, all this made her exhaustingly attractive, but today purple shadows framed her eyes and her blonde hair appeared more dry and damaged than its usual bouncy look. It hadn’t been for many months, the last time I had seen her hangover, that she looked so gaunt and malnourished. Instantly, she made to swing the door open wide, but my grip held firm; no more than my face showed through.

Her eyes narrowed as they fixated on me.

“Obviously, your phone must be lost or broken,” Sandra stated firmly.

“My phone?” I echoed lamely.

“Yes, you know, that device that's used to make and receive calls, which you never return! I think I deserve an apology for making me so worried all yesterday. I know you're pissed at me for what I said but shit, Jane, I was freaking out about you all day! You could have flicked me some little message, or just left one at the Horizon if you really wanted to avoid me. Geez, girl! I got no work done yesterday, no sleep. I was so sure something bad was going to happen, but look at you—you look great! You obviously haven't had any trouble sleeping. Well, you're alive, that's the important thing, I guess.” She sighed, shaking her head. “So, spill the beans. What scoop did you get?”

“I...took pictures of some documents on my phone,” I murmured as printed sheets flitted through my mind. I had taken pictures with my cell, then someone grabbed me, and I awoke to that bizarre scene.

“Wait, hang on!” She gripped my hands swiftly. “Where is your phone? You didn't leave it there did you?” When I did not reply in the brief opening that she left, Sandra continued. “Christ, Jane! How did you lose it? They didn't find it, did they? Obviously not, otherwise, you would be dead! Oh God, tell me everything that happened.” She leaned in so close that I could hear her pulse from her carotid artery. The left side of her neck flexed so beautifully, gently. “You are okay, aren't you, Janey-honey?”

I lifted my gaze to meet her eyes. “I'm fine.”

Sandra squinted at me and gasped. “Hold on, your eyes, they're so black! Are you feeling okay?”

“I'm fine— just tired.”

She didn’t look convinced as she bit her lower lip. She softened her tone with a sigh. “You know, I'm a little bit thirsty. We have a few minutes before we need to leave for work, how about we have a coffee while you tell me about your latest crazy adventure? Seeing as how I drove all this way, and because I'm such a nice friend, I'll even drive you to work.”

I stood fixed at the door, hand on the frame and exposing only a slit of the interior. “You don't like coffee,” I reminded her.

“Yes, but you do, and you can just make me a good English breakfast tea instead. Now c'mon, let me in.” Sandra started trying to force the door open, but I held it in place firmly.

“No! I...it's a mess...”

“When is it not a mess?” she interrupted.

“Just, no! Okay?” I noticed the fullness of her succulently red lips. “We'll...we'll talk in the car! You said you'd drive me right?”

She looked at me quizzically again. “Alright,” she relented. “I can see when I'm not going to win. We'll get some drive through drinks on the way then.”

I forced a smile, it was harder to do than I imagined. “Wait one sec!” I ran back inside the house, closed the front door and snapped the lock. I didn't know what Sandra would think of that, but with another glance around the interior of my home I was incredibly glad that I did so. The mud could be explained innocently enough, but the blood…that would be complicated. Sandra was my best friend, but I couldn't tell her about this, not until I could make sense of things for myself first.

I raced into my bedroom; found my spare key in my bedside table, grabbed my wallet—grateful that I had had the sense to leave it at home—and a handbag. I skirted back outside the front, relocked the front door and tested the security with a couple of forward thrusts. I turned back to my puzzled friend and forced another smile. “All ready!”

****

I sat at my desk at the Coastal Horizon, driving a graphite pencil into my notepad and watching the soft particles press into the paper. I was supposed to be working on a performing arts exhibition article but I found it impossible to concentrate with all the noise of the office: incessant chatter, the constant flick-flick-flick of keyboard buttons, clicking of mice, heavy bounding footsteps, and the occasional bout of hyena laughter from that annoying Emma Hart.

I desperately desired a coffee, but the beverage I had in the car tasted like ash and completely turned me off the idea. I was craving something. My nerves felt as if they were on edge, but everything I thought to consume sickened me. I thought that perhaps I was hungry; I hadn't eaten breakfast that morning. It had completely escaped my mind after the startling discoveries, but now I did feel a yearning to eat something. However, when I considered popping over to the cafe for a muffin or a sandwich, I felt like retching. There was one comforting sense here, though, and that was the tantalizing symphony of heartbeats in the office. They resonated louder than I had ever heard a heartbeat, the thumps excitedly murmuring over the racket of the workplace. I couldn't understand why, but there was something very soothing to the sound. I desired to move closer to my co-workers and gain a better seat to the hidden music they performed. I noticed Sandra's heart beating in the car, too. I could feel my mouth water as I allowed myself to become entranced in its melody. I wanted to get closer, look at it even. I wanted to see the music.

“Any progress on this big exposé in Devil's Eden yet?” Frank stood before my desk staring pointedly at the disappearing graphite on my pencil. I placed the pencil flat down and lifted my eyes, first to the erratically throbbing artery in his neck, then up to his wide face. I could smell tuna on his heavy breath.

“Still in progress, Frank.”

“Of course it is. What about the exhibition story, finished that yet?”

“I'm brainstorming as we speak.”

As Frank glared, his eyes disappeared into fat. “You've done some amazing pieces, Jane, that's why you're here.” I was getting the speech again. “Nevertheless, you're inconsistent as of late, and to say that your productivity has been dismal would be generous. I'm expecting some very big things from you soon, I know you will not disappoint me.” This was not intended as encouragement, but as a threat. “Get me that story by noon.”

“Of course.”

He stood there a second longer, swaying and breathing heavily as he leered. From my vantage, I heard his enlarged heart belt out forceful and desperate thrusts. I wondered what was with my sudden obsession with heartbeats and whether they were always so easily audible.

Just as Frank turned to walk away the television in the corner of the room was suddenly turned up. Everyone in the office hushed as highly attuned reporter ears grasped at the vibrations emanating from the flat screen's speakers. From the very first sentence, all eyes and ears were attuned.

“Valentine has stolen another heart. New reports are coming in that forty kilometers from the outskirts of the city another victim has been found. This newest, and latest, victim marks the astonishing fifteenth murder by the notorious Valentine, who continues to thwart apprehension. Details are scarce at present, but it appears that this body was discovered in an abandoned car found off Terry highway. It is, at present, unconfirmed as to whether or not the car belonged to the victim or the killer. Police have yet to give a statement to this latest incident and are currently investigating the crime scene. They have, however, urged motorists to take alternate routes if they normally travel along this road, since it is presently closed for the investigation. We will keep you updated as further details are revealed in this shocking murder case. I am Tracey Wickham on Cloud News.”

Frank grabbed the remote and turned the television down. He gave one of his rare smiles, and the office erupted in excitement. Numerous heightened conversions took place, a few energized yelps, a couple of slaps against desks, even an outcry of, “blood is media!”

Sandra appeared in front of my desk in a flash, smiling like a child on Christmas Eve. This was my best friend. However, she wasn’t visiting me, but the editor who happened to be standing before me in this revealing moment. “Frank! This is my piece, please let me go and cover it!” With Frank's nod, Sandra squealed with unrestrained zeal.

“I want you to go to the crime scene and work your special charm to get behind that tape,” Frank ordered. “I'll have some others here dig up information on the victim. Let me know anything you find straight away, we can't lose a chance to get exclusives with family and friends of this poor sap.”

“Yes, of course!” Sandra emitted a sound akin to a rabbit being strangled. She suddenly noticed my presence and sobered slightly as she looked at me. “Let Jane come with me. I...she drove me here today and I need someone to take me there.”

“No, I've got her busy on another piece. Besides, she has her own big story to be distracted with right now.”

“Please, Frank. I've got no way of getting there.”

“Zach can take you.”

“I need Jane.” Sandra lied as she bit her bottom lip. “She's got contacts with the cops. They can get us behind the tape. Without her I'll just be pushed away.”

Frank peered down at Sandra, despite his own stature being barely taller than her own. “Is that true?”

I considered the contacts Sandra was referring to. There was someone I knew that was in the homicide unit; there was Ryan Morgan who was once my brother's friend, and who was supposed to have recently been promoted to detective. It seemed unlikely that we would be assigned this case since Valentine had been at this game for over two years and had developed into quite a high profile investigation. No department in existence would give a new gun that type of responsibility. Even if he were involved somehow, I had not seen him since my brother split town— two weeks before my eighteenth birthday.

I very much doubted Ryan would even remember me. If he did, the fact that I was a reporter, and therefore his natural enemy, would surely have him turning me away like all the other cops on the scene. As to any other police contacts, well it seemed they knew me better than I knew any of them, and that was not a good thing. More than once, I had been thrown in lockup over night with a hefty fine for getting my paws into a crime scene. Due to the fact that my brother used to be a cop in their division, they never formally processed me; they just embarrassed me as I was escorted away from reporter heavy crime scenes in cuffs, and then threw me in a cell overnight. So, in this circumstance, I'd be the last person to take along to a murder case, but to appease the earnestness in Sandra's eyes— and to save myself from the dreary confines of the office— I replied, “Yeah, one of the homicide detectives and I go way back.”

As Frank ground his teeth, I heard the hard surfaces clenching and scraping against each other. The sound resembled cement granules being crunched by large devouring trucks. “Fine, go. Jane, I want the art piece by the close of trade today, got it?”

“Course.”

Sandra clapped her hands in excitement. “Alright, Janey, grab your gear and get ready for some furious driving! Well, not too furious.” She forced a laugh as Frank eyed her suspiciously. “Don't wanna give me a heart attack now.”

Chapter Four

“Oh my God, this is so exciting! Another victim of Valentine!” She rolled the name off her tongue as if it held a pleasing sound. “Lucky number fifteen, hey?” Sandra exclaimed as she drove onto Terry Highway. I could almost feel her excited heartbeat underneath my own breast; it was so invigorating that it distracted me from a thought that kept trying to pop up into my mind.

I could not help smiling. “You do realize that someone is dead so that you can get your story, right?”

“I know, you're right, I'm a horrible person, but wow, what a story! I finally have something with a little pizzazz to write about without the need of running headstrong into danger like some people.” She glanced aside at me. “Hey, there's your smile and God it's pretty! Have you been using that makeup I bought you for your birthday, finally? Your skin looks amazing, a little too amazing, actually. Don't go outshining me now, you hear? Damn, you're even making jeans and a T-shirt sexy.”

I laughed. “Thanks, but don't worry, you're still prettier than me.”

“Oh, it's not a competition. I am glad that I brought you along, Janey, and took you away from that boring story you're doing at the moment. What was it, some artsy-fartsy thing?”

“Performing arts exhibition.”

“Exhibition? How do you exhibit performing arts? What do people do, a dance routine in little booths all day or something?”

“Yeah, a bit of that.”

“Christ, that sounds stupid. Sorry to put it bluntly— Not dissing your story, but it sounds like you don't have much to work with. You're chattier now - this is nice! Say, we're getting closer, got any strategies on how we can get around that tape?”

“Not really. Why did you take me along, anyhow? You do remember what happened at the last crime scene I was at?”

“So you slipped under the tape and botched some silly footprints by accident. That was months ago, no one would seriously remember that. Besides, you made it across, didn't you? That's no small feat. You just looked so bored at your desk today; I knew taking you along with me would pep you up. Yes, I saw you destroying that pencil at your desk. Also, I wanted your company. I wanted to talk to you. You really freaked me out when you didn't reply to any of my messages yesterday. I know this is going to sound silly, but I just had this horrible feeling that something bad was going to happen to you. I know you said this morning that you were just too busy to respond, but I'm not satisfied with that. Something more happened, but you won't tell me. I'm your friend, Jane. You can't just keep shutting me out like this!”

Guilt coursed through me. “Sorry. I didn't mean to diss you, at least not the whole day, it's just that so much happened...” Sandra raised an unsatisfied eyebrow. “You know, you're absolutely right. I was a bitch, I'm sorry. I should have called you back to at least let you know that I was all right. I'll tell you everything soon, I promise. I just need a little air first, to clear my head.”

Sandra softened. “That's okay, Janey, I forgive you. I only pester because I care. Just don't take too long to open up.” She revealed her perfect white teeth, an end-to-end toothed smile that usually had guys melting at her feet. I heard her heart beat happily in her chest. It was rhythmic, and possessed a healthy combination of force and control. My stomach grumbled noisily.

Sandra laughed. “That was a good one! Did you have breakfast this morning?” When I shook my head, she continued. “Neither did I, when I know I should. It's meant to start your metabolism off for the day. Don't want to be getting fat now. Otherwise, Frank will start thinking he has a chance.” She laughed; I couldn't help joining in.

“Oh, God, thinking about that mountain of lard. My brain just flashed a picture of how clogged his arteries are.” I chimed in.

“Ew. That's gross, Jane.” She giggled. “He stunk so bad today, right? Was it tuna on his breath? I think he keeps tins of them in the top drawer to his office and scoffs them down when no one's looking. Seriously, there's no way his breath can stay like that all day without him constantly grazing on the stuff. Oh, check it out—We're here.”

In front of us were dozens of cars, several of which displayed network logos. Beyond these, I just made out the all too familiar yellow tape that people in our profession became so exhilarated to see. We pulled up by the side of the road amongst the masses of reporters and stepped out onto Terry highway.

“So this is where Valentine chose the location of his latest murder. I swear I can literally feel his presence here. Gosh, it's giving me goose-bumps.” Sandra husked excitedly in my ear.

As we walked towards the roadblock, we passed a pair of reporters commenting on the scene. The two were murmuring amongst themselves, but loud enough so that their words were clearly audible.

“It seems this one is different, she doesn't fit Valentine's usual victim profile.”

“How do you know this? I thought the cops weren't releasing any statements yet.”

“I overheard one of the detectives asking about the abandoned vehicle. He described it as a BMW—the same fancy-looking one that's on the inside of the tape over there. Seems like the rules have changed.”

I nudged Sandra and indicated the couple talking, but she simply shrugged throwing me a questioning look.

“Did you hear what they said?” I asked softly.

“Course not, they're ages away. You can hear them?”

“Sure, I haven't destroyed my ears from upping the volume on my mp3 player yet.”

“More like all the concerts,” Sandra granted.

“They're saying a car was left at the crime scene— a BMW. Even if she is a high-class escort, still sounds pretty pricey for our killer.”

“No shitting!” Sandra shouted, and then quickly scaled back her voice. “That is very uncharacteristic of Valentine. He likes lower class girls; the ones that won’t be missed as much; usually prostitutes or druggies, unsuccessful ones that this; broke girls, sometimes homeless, but never wealthy. This is going to be interesting!” Her eyes twinkled as her heart kicked up its pace.

I had the feeling like an important thought was trying to reach the surface but all the sounds— the singing birds, frantic chatter and excited pulses— were too distracting to discern its meaning.

When we approached the blockade dozens of reporters pressed themselves densely forward, shoving microphones into the faces of the police stationed there, as they demanded responses. The cops largely ignored the waving mikes. However, one occasionally responded with a monotonic, “No comment.”

“This isn't fair. Why is everyone so tall?” Sandra strained to see past the reporters in front us, hoping to catch a glimpse of the crime scene. Perched on the side of the road, I did notice that amongst a few police and other unmarked cars was a very expensive looking BMW. I wondered whether this was the alluded to vehicle that belonged to the poor girl whose life was stolen.

As I panned around, I was suddenly struck with a strange sense of familiarity. The car, the trees, and the smells; it was like I recognized them. There was a combined scent of eucalyptus, Banksia, wattle, and the same scent of blood clung to the air as it did to my linen that morning. There was something else as well, something which sparked a shiver across my body.

“Stop being so tall, people! Jane, do you see your boyfriend anywhere? Maybe he'll let us in.”

“You mean Ryan?” I asked incredulously.

Sandra shot me a defiant grin.

“Yes, well my boyfriend, who I haven't seen since I was in school, would totally let us behind the tape, but you see, there is no way he would be put on a high profile case like this. He just got into homicide, girl. Boyfriend, geez!”

Sandra elbowed me in my ribs and indulged in a giggle. “You were so keen on him.”

“He was my brother's friend. He used to hang around all the time. I thought of him more as a second brother than a boyfriend. I was never interested in him that way.”

“The way you used to blush when he was around...” Sandra reminisced.

I rolled my eyes. “You never know, we could always get lucky and find him around somewhere. I'll just go for a bit of a walk.”

“You mean you could get lucky.” Sandra teased.

I groaned. “I'll be back in a few.”

I left the barricade on the road and wandered around the perimeter of the taped off region, breathing in the air deeper as I left the masses of people back on the road. I could detect it more acutely now, the familiar smell, without the hindrance of those other reporters' odors and perfumes, but still I could not work out what it was. That thought prodded inside my head with greater virulence, begging for me to unravel it.

Continuing to distance myself from the barricade allowed me to hear the police officers’ further ahead through the thicket. Leaves crunched in a purposeful way, as if circling prey.

I looked overhead. The sun was approaching the center of the sky now, only just visible through the canopy of leaves, but as I peered in the direction of the crime scene, somehow the scenery transformed darker.

I stepped forward, and, for a moment, I thought I had stilettos on my feet, polka dot ones. I saw blood stream down my legs and coat my once-so-adorable shoes. A double take revealed my very ordinary black flats.

Then I heard mutterings from the other side of the tape. I followed this sound around, keeping to the perimeter, but was unable to get close enough to discern any of the words being said. Deciding I was out of view, I ducked under the tape and took cautious steps forward toward the speaker.

I tried to be quiet, but with every footfall, an enormous crunch resounded that echoed off the surrounding limbless trees. I hoped whatever noise I was making would be masked on the other side by the throng of reporters.

Finally, I was granted a glimpse of a man pacing through the forest, crunching far louder than I was, obviously completely unconcerned with detection. I could not make out any details as I was still some distance away and the trees continued to impede my view significantly.

I dared to venture further forward, risking yet another charge of trespassing into a crime scene, as a force, which I supposed was my journalistic curiosity, drove me onward.

As I paced, the smell became stronger, overpowering and yet it drew me in with its terribly sweet allure. I suddenly knew what that scent was—it was the cruelly beautiful scent of roses.

No, my thoughts whimpered. I'm here. I'm alive. This is someone else, some other girl. This was Valentine's murder scene, not the Foxes'. They returned me home, scared but unharmed!

Just as I thought I could see a figure lying on a slab of rock through the interweaving trees, the sky suddenly blackened. The sound of bats could be heard throughout the wooded area.

With consternation, I edged forward in a gruelingly slow pace. I, eventually, reached a point where the curtain of trees was no longer an obstacle and I could take in the view of a girl lying atop a rock.

She lay motionless in the still night, surrounded by candles and ebony roses. She was wearing a corset and polka dot heels. Her eyes were closed, body limp and drenched in blood. A crude rip was visible in the center of her chest. She was white—so white— with dark brown hair and a face I had seen a thousand times. I knew this girl. Her name was Jane Kirra.

This can't be me, it can't! I pleaded, as I continued to survey the scene in silent disbelief. It was like someone else was controlling my movements as I walked up to this other me. Leaves still littered the forest floor, but somehow no sound was produced. Not even my feet could penetrate the dominating silence.

I came so close that my own inquisitive face was a mere foot from hers. A trail of blood ran from her mouth. I panned across to her torso and stumbled back, shocked at the fist-sized wound between her breasts; left there was an empty cavern that could not even be filled by her clotted blood. Her heart was missing.

I looked all around me to call for help or to scream at someone, but discovered I was completely alone. No reporters were here, not even the man who did this, just myself and I, in the sudden strange darkness.

Then, most startling of all, the girl rose from her cold cradle, stiff and void like a zombie. She looked around her left and right, her eyes looking right through me, pulled herself to her feet and wandered awkwardly back in the direction of the road. It seemed the other me did not see me.

I followed her progress, eyes welling with tears as I watched her every distorted step. The way she walked appeared jagged and lifeless. Her muscles seemed inflexible, yet the ligaments and tendons posed no resistance to movement. With legs composed of mere bones, it did not seem possible that they could carry her. It didn't look like she was walking at all, but some other force was controlling her actions. Like something possessing her.

I followed her, afraid to view more but too entranced to retreat. When she reached the road, she stood still for about ten minutes. Finally, a car's headlights pierced the darkness. The high beams switched off as the car neared and pulled up by the girl. The car was a BMW.

The window lowered and a pleasant looking fifty-something man was visible in the driver's seat. “You alright there, miss?”

The girl didn't say anything but slowly turned her head towards the man. Wide blood-shot eyes red, and blood-streaked lips appraised him.

“What are you doing out here in the middle of nowhere all by yourself then? Do you need a ride back to the city?” the kind man offered.

Again, she said nothing. She drew a finger up and curled it towards her, ushering him out of the vehicle.

“Whoa, your chest!” The man leaned across to the passenger side so that he could get a better look out of his window. “You're hurt!” He hopped out of the car and rushed over to the girl.

I held two hands to my quivering mouth. I wanted to bring them higher, to cover my eyes, but I had learned not to do that anymore. No matter how bad things had become, I could never blind myself from evil.

As the man walked forward, the girl smiled impossibly wide. A mixture of drool and blood dripped from the edges of her mouth. She started walking backward and disappeared into the trees.

“Hey, hold on, don't you want me to help you?”

The man had to jog to catch up with her surprising pace and when he found her again, she was cloaked in shadow. “Geez, lass, don't act all spooky like that. My heart's not what it used to be, you know.”

Suddenly she was upon him, and with a lightning fast snap, she had his heart in her small hand. Her wild red eyes observed the organ, then the man's pained and confused face. “It really isn't much, but for now it will have to do.”

Her voice was my voice.

Then the creature-girl opened her mouth so that her lips stretched, literally, from cheek to cheek, and placed the red tissue greedily inside. As she swallowed, her neck swelled as a snake's body does when it devours its prey. Then the organ was pushed down into the depths of her

The vision was repulsive, so then why was I smiling? As the girl-creature-me smiled her features suddenly softened and her chest wound completely healed in moments. From pale and crooked in appearance, the girl transformed to porcelain-skinned and boasted plump, full lips, luxuriant hair and clear white eyes with pupils so large they swallowed her irises. She suddenly became beautiful. The only feature belying the transformation was the mass of blood drenching her.

She turned towards me. Knowing that I was not really there, I expected the beautiful girl to simply look through me as she had done before. This time, her eyes locked onto mine. A moment later she sprinted off so fast that the breeze tousled my hair.

I screamed.

Chapter Five

The sky returned blue through the deep green leaves overhead; the bark of the trees surrounding me transformed once more to their vivacious brown and the stone in front of me reappeared as a harsh red.

Eventually, I felt myself being dragged away. Confused and scared as I was, I did little to resist. I just wanted this nightmare to end, however possible.

“How the hell did she get in here?” A man exclaimed.

“No idea. We were watching the perimeter like you ordered, but the damn reporter must have snuck through some crack.”

“Yes, you're incompetent, but how the hell did she get into the center of the crime scene?”

“Sir, I have no idea! She just appeared out of thin air.”

“Right, of course she did, that makes sense. At least we know what to write on the report now.”

“Hey, you don't have to act like a jackass about it. It's not like you saw her coming.”

“No, but that's because I'm not on reporter patrol. You see this badge here, hmm? That means I'm here actually investigating. I've got enough crap to sort through without some stupid reporter wrecking the crime scene.”

“Sir, you know she can hear you? She's freaked out, not deaf. She just saw a crime scene coated in blood, maybe you should—”

“What? Give the press some slack?

“I'm just saying, she's clearly freaked out.”

“Kev, that's enough! Just get her out of my sight, and slap her with a one-twenty-two.”

“Hey, sir, are you sure you want to do that?”

“Yes, I'm sure!” He groaned. “I just want to get on with this investigation. I want to get further than my predecessors did on this case and I need every moment of the fresh crime scene that's available to me.”

“Yeah, okay, it's just that...” the man who carried me dropped his voice. “Detective, I think you might want to actually have a look at her. You might find something interesting.”

At this stage all I could do was hyperventilate as I took in what I had just witnessed: me, on the flat stone with candles lit up all around; me, walking grotesquely like a zombie; me, killing a man and eating his heart. It scared me and excited me all at the same time, and I had enjoyed it. Then it clicked, holy shit—this is my crime scene!

A man peered down closely into my face, as I lay crumpled in some stranger's arms. I darted my eyes back and forth, not caring who the officer was, just desperate to escape my reality.

“Oh, crap,” the detective exclaimed. “I did not expect this. Shit, I knew she became a reporter, but damn.” The man sighed and stroked my forehead. “It's all right, Jane.” He waited a moment, and then gripped my face in his hands, firmly but not harshly. “Jane, settle down. It's okay. It's me, Ryan.”

With my head held stiff, my eyes were forced to focus forward. When they did, I recognized the face they lay upon. It had been six years since I saw the then aspiring man in the flesh. The distinctive, albeit subtle, crook in the nose and deep blue eyes could be no one else's. “Ryan?” I uttered.

He smirked. “You're lucky Kev here recognized you. I was about to be a real hard-ass to you reporter scum,” he chuckled.

“Oh, Ryan!” I flung my arms about his stooped form and hugged him tightly.

“Jane, ease up. You don't have to squeeze me to death.”

Realizing that I may have been clinging too firmly, I loosened my hold.

“Ah, now that's more like a warm bear-hug.” He indulged me a moment longer then gently pulled me away. “Alright, Jane, now I'm sure you're aware you shouldn't be here. The fact that you're a reporter complicates things for me nicely, but I'm going to send you off with Kev here. You remember Kev, right?” Kevin appeared around his shoulder and waved. “Well, he's going to take you back over the other side of the tape. Now, do you have anyone else that came here with you? A camera-man maybe?”

“Sandra,” I replied.

“Sandra? Oh, I remember her. So, you two are still close then? That's nice. Well, Kev’s going to take you to her and you're going to forget you ever saw this place, okay?” He gestured behind him and then nodded. “Jane, you know how to put a spanner in the works, don't you?” He brushed my hair behind my ear. “It's okay, Kev will look after you now.”

He started to turn but I gripped onto his shirt. He faced me again.

“Ryan, that man, is he...” I considered my words for a moment. “The fifteenth victim?”

He opened his mouth as to say something then closed it once more. When he finally spoke, he chose his words very carefully. “There's been a new victim, yes. You'll know all the details when an official statement is made. I've got to go now and so do you. If you don't leave now, I won't be able to protect you and you'll be stuck in lock-up for trespassing an active crime scene. You don't want that, now do you?”

I shook my head meekly.

“Good. Go on then, Kev will look after you from here.” He stared at me with his eyebrows raised, waiting for a response. I nodded. “Good. Take care, Jane.” Ryan walked off.

“Don't look so glum,” Kevin cheered. “You’re in my capable hands now.”

I turned and looked back at the man cradling me warmly in his arms. I wanted to smile back at him, but leaning against his chest made me acutely aware of his heartbeat and I felt like crying again. He sensed my unrest and brought me to my feet, guiding me away from the site. A last glance revealed burned out candles and large quantities of blood deposited on the stone and streaked across leaves and tree trunks. Oh, God, what was mine and what did I spill? What kind of monster have I become, to kill a man in cold blood like that? He was only trying to help me!

“Don't look at it,” Kevin whispered as he led me away. “Some things are best to be read, or written about, only.”

I looked deep into Kevin's face for the first time as we ventured alone through the forest. His fiery red hair was as passionate as ever and his perfectly straight teeth gleamed luxuriously. His lips were also engorged, plush with blood. That same blood thumped in a shallow artery in his neck, driven by an internal rhythm. He looked delectable.

I, hurriedly, tore my eyes away from him, afraid that another moment indulging such features may lead to a recurrence of that wretched undead creature that appeared moments ago before my eyes.

“Hey, it's okay, Jane. Don't worry. We're well away from that scary place. It's just you and me now.”

My stomach growled.

“Sorry, and your stomach, too.” Kevin laughed. “Wow, I didn't think you would have had much of an appetite after that.”

I did have an appetite.

Kevin rubbed behind his neck. “If you like, I could probably escape Detective Ryan's command for a while and take you out to lunch. Would you like that?”

There was only one thing I felt like consuming.

Kevin continued talking to me; I heard the words but all I could think about was my hunger and my sudden realization of how to fulfill it. His neck pulsated so tenderly, so temptingly.

What am I thinking? I can't indulge in that. What would I do— throw a man that weighs one and a half times my body weight to the ground, rip into his chest and tear out his heart? No, it’s not even possible. I don’t have the strength for that and I would be thrown into lockup instantly. Everyone would be disgusted with me and I would be considered insane. Oh, how I long for a taste…

“Hey, Jane, hear that ruckus? That's the blood-sucking reporters we're approaching. You wouldn't happen to be friends with any of them, would you?”

The discord of the street was clearly audible, had been for some time, and I was not looking forward to listening to any more of it. Regardless, I was upon it before I knew what hit me. I envisioned ripping out each one of their hearts and devouring them whole.

What the hell are you thinking? I screamed inside my head. I was beginning to think that if I could not get my thoughts under control, I would have to commit myself to a mental institution before any further damage could be done. That, or turn myself in to the police.

As we entered the street, Kevin finally released me. “So, did you drive or would you like a lift?”

Before I could reply Sandra suddenly appeared in front of me. “Jane! What the hell happened to you this time? You disappeared ages ago. There was this scream, and when I realized you weren't back yet I started to think that maybe it was you. Please tell me you haven't wound up in another drama.”

“What? A scream?” Kevin cut in. “Oh, that's right, one of the new officers thought she saw a brown snake. I know, right? Freaking out about a snake at a crime scene? I guess it is the bush and those suckers are everywhere. We looked all around for it, but couldn't find it. Probably crawled into a hollowed tree-trunk or something. In our search, I found Jane trying peer over the edge of the tape. Of course, you lot are meant to stay on the road, so I thought I'd best escort her back so she didn’t get lost again. Are you okay now, Jane?”

I had to smile at his gallantry. “Yes. Sorry for taking up your time, officer.”

“Hang-on!” Sandra slipped in. “I know you.” She thought a moment. “Yeah, Kevin… Deverall. You were one of Jane's brother's friends.”

Kevin laughed. “You got me. Jack and I became mates when we started the force at the same time. Here, I can instantly recognize you as Jane's little friend, Sandra.”

“Little. Hmph.” Sandra pouted. “Well, good work. Thanks for bringing her back. We'll be outta your hair from here.”

“Actually, I offered to buy Jane some lunch. I'm feeling in a charitable mood, so I suppose I could extend my kindness to a tag-along as well.”

“Tag-along?” Sandra spat the words, then shut her mouth promptly. She battered her eyes cutely in the way that only she could. “Bah, I forgive you. Free food it is.”

“I'm not going,” I whispered, breaking my companions' chatter.

“What do you mean you're not going?” Sandra demanded. “The kind gentleman is offering us a free lunch. It would be the height of rudeness to reject. Of course we're going.”

“No, Sandra,” I continued in a quiet, yet resolute, voice. “I don't feel like eating anything,” I lied.

“Well, I don't know how you're going to get back to the Horizon without a car.”

“I'll call a taxi.”

“Jane, don't be daft, just come with us and I promise you'll feel better with something in your belly.”

“I said I'm not going!” I snapped.

“Jane, do you want to go home?” Kevin asked.

I could hear both their heartbeats so acutely at that time, slightly offbeat. Kevin's was performing at a slighter faster pace than Sandra's, but both held their individual rhythms so precisely. “Yes, Kevin. I just want to be alone. Let me go home. It's so noisy here, I can't think.”

Sandra glowered, but Kevin held only compassion. “Sure, I'll take you home.” He turned to Sandra, failing, to restrain a broad grin. “Sandra, I'll still shoot you. Can't have someone as skinny as you disappearing if I can help it.”

Sandra continued to observe me speculatively, and then responded, incredulous, “Me disappear? Please, I've put on weight. There's no chance of that.”

“You've put on weight? Since when, your birth?”

“No.” Sandra giggled. “Well, yes of course. I mean since, uh, the last month or so. I have kind of been indulging, but I'm back on track now. I'll tell you what, though,” she winked, “let me drop off this piker and we'll hitch up.”

Relieved to have been granted the prospect of my own solitude once more, I tuned out of their conversation. Struggling to shut out my newly attuned senses and my own monstrous desires, I concentrated on clearing my mind. As Sandra drove me home, I sat in silence. She tried a few times to start a conversation, mostly to pick my mind on what I saw, but I only responded with a few short, vague responses. I noticed her sullenly throw glances my way, but I cared little for what thoughts transpired through her mind. All I could care about was trying not to care: not to care about how incredible the revisited memory felt; not to care about how much I liked watching evil me so proudly holding the still-beating heart in her hand.

The more I thought about it, the more desirable my friend looked, in the most demonic way. No, I wouldn't be that creature! I'd rather be nothing—a vegetable, dead—than such a vicious thing.

Maybe you are both, dead and monster—A zombie that crawled out of her place of rest. A malicious voice speculated in my mind.

Eventually, we arrived at the curb to my house. As I opened the front door, Sandra sung out, “Jane, is that it? You're not even going to say goodbye?”

“See you, Sandra. I'll talk to you later,” I replied as I walked through the threshold.

“Jane, you're really worrying me. I don't think you're okay. Do you want me to stay and we can talk? I can help you if you're in some kind of trouble.”

Listening to her heart increase its pace, and watching how excited the pulsating area on her neck had become, I had to look away so that she would not see my tears. “I really need to be alone now, Sandra. Please, just let me be alone.”

She sensed my desperation. “Okay, we'll talk later, but call me if you need anything.”

Still turned away from the car, I nodded and closed the door behind me.

****

When I entered my home, I was finally given respite from my simultaneous monstrous and succulent temptations. However, as I peered at the discord in which I’d left my house, the tenuous hold on my emotions finally lost its grip and silent tears transformed into powerful sobs.

Why did this have to happen to me? What am I? What kind of monster have I become? A human heart? Could I really have...eaten that?

Weeping profusely now, I crumbled to the tiled floor of the foyer with a thump. I saw a vague image of myself in the shiny surface; only, it was not quite me. It was that demon-girl. Flawless white skin, shiny dark-brown hair and eyes that held pupils so large that no color could be seen to them. There were black streaks down my cheeks, as if mascara carried down from my eyes, but I was not wearing any makeup. I brought a hand to this fluid and examined my hostile black tears.

Curling my fist, I punched through the image of the monster-girl. My effort broke the tile, leaving behind a fist-sized indent in cold gray concrete. My knuckles had small shards of the tile embedded in them. I plucked each of these out, starting to struggle to see through the oil leaking from my eyes. Blinking it away, I took a closer look at my hand—there was blood on it, but no wound could be found as its source.

“What am I?” I sobbed, shaking my head in confusion. “How did my hand heal itself just now? That chest wound in the forest, that healed, too.” I placed a hand on my chest and was mildly comforted by the thumping. “My heart, he stole it, but then after I ate...” I gulped suddenly realizing the connection. “The man's heart healed me last night and it makes me strong now. I would have been dead if I didn't have it. That man, Valentine, he cut out my heart which made me need...” I could not finish the sentence out loud but my mind did not shy away from the words—I need human hearts to survive.

I didn't want to believe it, but I knew it had to be true. Like a child craving sweets to provide the energy necessary for growth, I craved hearts to satisfy my own physical requirements.

“No!” I screamed out loud. I couldn't do it. I wouldn't. I wasn't a murderer, much less this monster. “No, I would rather starve!”

I stared at the broken tile in front of me. Gathering the pieces, I tried to rearrange them back into their original positions. With a little glue, I could fix it; return it to normal. Sure it would always be cracked, but it would be a tile once more and that cold concrete underneath would be covered up. I could hide the damage to the world. It could work; I could fix it.

I ran to the garage, snatched some glue from the handy shelf and dashed back to the front. I hurriedly squeezed the adhesive from the bottle. It was a little viscous since it had not been used in years, but runny enough that it was workable. I replaced and stuck down every single piece. I fixed it. The cracks were displayed in an obvious spider-like design and the pieces were terribly uneven with gross amounts of excess glue, but the concrete was covered. So long as the tile shards remained, the cold gray foundation was invisible to the world.

Satisfied that one error was corrected, I turned my attention to the rest of the house. This meant sweeping and mopping the rest of the tiled floor with a strong mixture of detergent, vinegar, and bleach. I then strode into my bedroom and ripped the disgraced carpet into shreds with my bare hands. These scraps—plus the previous day's attire, bed linen, and the hand-printed curtains— were promptly transported into the lounge room in the center of the house and shoved into the fireplace. I found a bottle of vodka, took a big swig of it and coated a good portion of its contents onto the various fabrics. With a flick of a match, the fireplace came alive in a mighty display of flames. I edged my hand inside, to open the flue, and was tickled by the warmth of the fire. I withdrew my hand, covered the fireplace with the grate, and took a seat in front of the comforting sight. I rubbed the ash from my right hand and flexed the vibrant skin taut.

I smiled as I praised myself for eradicating the evil from my home. I could do it. I could still be me, be human. I was not going to allow that monster to come out again. Even if I had to starve her dead, she would not have her way, not ever.

With that last thought, my stomach growled. It was persistent.

I ran from the lounge room, back through the foyer and into the kitchen. Dipping into the fridge, I pulled out a container of two-day-old pasta and placed it in the microwave. As I waited for the dish to heat, I tapped my foot impatiently. Then when it was done, I pulled it out and drove a heaped fork into my mouth.

It tasted horrible! Vile! Against my tongue, it was like ash mixed in rotten eggs and curdled milk. Disgusting. Was I sure that this was only two days old? It was, though, made just the night before my...reinvention. I had made the meal as I listened to my favorite radio station from my ancient CD player. I sang and danced as I made the pasta, and the flavor it graced me with as I ate it was blissful.

This pasta tastes amazing, I lied to myself as I forced a swallow.

I took another mouthful. My taste buds screamed in disdain, but again I ignored this sense. I forced myself to finish the bowl. It was terribly difficult, and I felt sure that I was about to get food poisoning in a few short hours. So many times I thought of abandoning the dish, but then the craving of that warm pumping organ invaded my mind and my resolve to finish the meal was suddenly renewed.

Proud of myself, I smiled wanly and breathed, “I'm normal.”

I turned back to the lounge room so that I could watch the fire, but as I passed through the foyer, I heard a high-pitched skitter and realized that I had kicked one of the tile pieces from its place and sent it across the floor. Looking down at my feet, I saw a gap in the broken tile where gray concrete showed through.

I fixed it. It's not allowed to do this; it's fixed. It's fixed! At that moment, my stomach groaned.

Who was I kidding? The tile was a mess. It looked like a child had attempted a repair, trying to evade retribution from her parents. I knew nothing about tiles or about handyman fix-its. My father filled that role, not me. My father, my brother, they were the brave ones, the fighters, the ones that would repair the world. I tried to fill that role. I tried to make my father proud of me, be tough like him, but I was just a girl, too weak and ruled by my emotions. My mother said it did not matter if I cried at times, but my father knew better. He knew that sentimentality could be crippling in a damaged world. He told me that so many times before they died: “Tears only fuel the floods; it is only through tall dam walls that a city can be protected.”

I balled my hands into fists as I fought against the new tears welling in my eyes. It was not fair; I did not want this. “I wanted to make you proud, Dad,” I whispered. “I wanted to save the city, but I lost. Instead, the monster gobbled me up and spat me out as one of its own. No, not one of its own; worse. I am the thing that will destroy the Blue Coast.”

Then clarity swept over me more acutely than I had felt all day, as I managed to put the pieces of a far grander puzzle together. There was a victim last night that lost her heart, fifteenth in a line in fact. That victim fit the profile—young, female, reasonably attractive—but that victim was different. That victim rose like a zombie off the stone she was murdered on. She sought out company, and when she found it, she passed on her defect to a stranger. With that action, her own infirmity was rectified. She healed and had continued to heal from all insult since. The girl was changed so that her dark desire continued to intoxicate her thoughts whereby she fantasized killing all those around her. Her killer was of the serial sort; always performed in the manner of a ritual, always collecting an undiscoverable heart. It was for this reason that the killer was termed Valentine, because he always stole their hearts. The latest victim was a reporter who was in the clutches of some very disreputable people who ordered her demise. Putting two and two together, I realized that I had probably discovered the greatest break in the case to date—Valentine was a member of the Foxes.

I squatted down at the broken tile in the foyer and ran my fingertip along the void's margin. Valentine had taken a very important piece from each one of his victims. I deemed that it was only fair that he should experience the same romantic gesture.

Chapter Six

I spent hours that afternoon contemplating my revenge. I kept reliving the night my life was taken, trying to decipher who my killer was, but when I was placed on that stone slab in the middle of the forest. I was blindfolded. I had not caught his name or his face, just his voice. It was soft, youthful, and it held an English accent. I wondered how old the man was, with that voice I did not think he would be beyond his twenties, and then I wondered what he was. With what he did to me, did that mean he was just like me? Was he a monster, too, infecting me with his own demonic plague? Yet there was that voice, it was so gentle. It did not fit the voice of a killer.

I struggled to recall other voices that I heard in my semi-conscious state prior to my murder. There were a couple names I remembered there: Mack, my interviewer; Freddie, my captor; and mention of a Rose, who sounded like the leader. These were my leads. These were the ones that would have to die, but not before they divulged all they knew about Valentine.

The doorbell broke through my thoughts and brought me back to the present. I had been pacing in my living room, too agitated to sit; incredibly frustrated with my struggle to formulate a plan for vengeance. I was a reporter who wrote about spine-tingling stories of murder if I was lucky, but that left me ill prepared for what I was embarking upon. I had been turned into some sort of invulnerable-zombie-monster seeking to destroy whoever put me in this position, who just happened to be a member of the most powerful gang in the city and was likely to be an invulnerable-zombie-monster himself. How would I even start?

Again, the doorbell chimed, and I finally glanced around. Twilight had set in and the room was given a golden glow from the lights overhead. All was silent in the house bar the ticking of the wall clock in the adjoining kitchen. I focused my senses and realized that I could hear shoes being scuffed at the front door, and someone clearing their throat. I knew instantly that the sounds were emanating from a man. Was that him—Valentine? Or a Fox come to collect me back in their dirty paws? Surely, the fact that I survived that heart removing process must have meant some significance to them.

The doorbell rang again, more earnestly this time. Whoever it was, he was losing patience.

I crept as silently as I could over the tiles to the ash poker by the fireplace and grasped it. Gripping it tightly with both hands, I mustered the courage to venture to my front door.

Whoever it was suddenly began banging against the wood. “C'mon Kirra, open up!” A man's voice resounded over his heart's heavy thumping.

Go time. Well, I was not about to let myself die a second time. No, this time, I was going to be the one doing the killing.

I unlocked the door, yanked it open swiftly and speared the fire poker down. Just as the man cried out in alarm, I held back, inches from his forehead.

“Christ, Jane! Am I not allowed to make a little house call?”

I was breathing hurriedly. My arm was shaking as I realized how close I had come to attacking an old friend. I dropped the poker to the side. “Ryan, you scared the hell out of me! What are you doing here?”

He was in a defensive stance with his arms above his head, leaning back, obviously a self-defense tactic that had become second nature to the police officer. At the abandonment of my weapon, he lowered his guard.

“About to be assaulted by the look of things.” He laughed, but when I did not join, he continued. “Look, I was just checking up to see how you were doing after your stumble into the crime scene today. I, ah, I pawned you off pretty fast to Kev back there. Well, we go way back with your brother and all, I mean before your parents, you know...stop looking at me like that. Let me come in, okay?”

I realized that I was still huffing and glaring at Ryan. I composed myself and forced a wan smile. “Why don't you come in, then?”

He smirked. “Don't mind if I do.” He slipped through the narrow gap I left him, brushing me aside slightly. As soon as that contact was made I felt his glowing heat and the sound of his proud heart began to call out to me.

Regretting my admittance of the detective, I closed the door with a strained sigh.

“Whoa. It's tidier than I remember it.” Ryan exclaimed as he strode through the foyer and into the living room. “You got a fire going, in summer. Of course, you've always been a weirdo.” He collapsed on a sofa.

I stared towards the fireplace where little more than embers remained. “I've always liked their ambiance,” I responded quietly, as I came into the living area myself. I remained standing.

Thump-thump, thump-thump, his chest beckoned.

“Yeah, I believe that. Nice décor, I see you've changed the curtains.” He motioned behind him to the rear of the house where plain beige curtains veiled by sheer grass-green georgette obscured the river view.

“What are you here for, Ryan?” I grumbled.

“What? I really do like the curtains. I mean, the river view is okay, but hell, look at those curtains. You must have them pulled across all day.”

“What do you want?” I reiterated bluntly.

His sly smile evaporated and he turned serious. “Sorry. I thought I could just pretend it was like old times. I'm an idiot.” He leaned forward. “Jane, I do care about you. I know it might not have seemed like it today, but...frick, we go way back okay? You're like a little sister to me; a long lost little sister. Anyway, what I'm trying to say is that even though you are who you are, a dirty stinking reporter, I should have looked after you today instead of palming you off to Kev.”

He paused for a response, which he didn’t receive. “I'm bloody sorry, okay? Stop giving me the guilt trip with your eyes; they're freaking me out. Ah, Christ, you didn't make it easy for me either. I had to do a shit load of paperwork this afternoon, which only just begins to scratch the surface, and that's because you got your reporter claws all over the crime scene. This case is on me now. I've got to catch both Valentine and his damn copycat killer.”

The invisible hands I had outstretched to the man's heart instantly retracted by way of alarm. “Copycat?”

“Shit.” He groaned.

The cops are after me too?

“Look, just forget that, will you?”

Not only would the Foxes and Valentine be after me to see how I lived or what became of me, but I also had the police to contend with. It was obvious that the crime scene was not Valentine's style. It had been far too sloppy. A chill ran down my spine as I realized I would have left evidence everywhere pointing right back to me.

I raised my eyes to peer into Ryan's fearfully. How long before you come after me?

Thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump.

That sly internal voice made itself known again, Better get him before he gets you.

“It's not safe,” I husked.

“I know, but it's never been safe in this city, not really,” he responded as he ran a hand through his hair. “The public don't care about all the violence and crime that goes on right under their noses. They don't want to. They'd rather have one thing to be afraid of—one killer—but with a copycat, they'll have to see more danger—more bloodshed—and that's not good for someone in my position.”

“It's not safe,” I repeated. I meant to say that it's not safe here, but my mouth never formed that last word.

“Jane?” Ryan cooed with concern. “You're...you're really scared by this?” He was soft but disbelieving. “In all the time I've known you, you've never been scared of anything.”

Kill him. The voice ushered. That way he won't discover you, and you will discover satisfaction.

“I am scared.”

Then he took my hand in his. He was standing in front of me, beautiful blue eyes reaching into mine, looking for that pained spot to nurse back to health.

I recoiled my hand and averted my gaze before he could get a close look into my eyes. “Don't.”

“Jane, I don't understand. Did that sight really shake you up so much?” Then he breathed as if understanding hit home. “It reminded you about it, didn't it? About what happened in the restaurant?”

I didn't correct him that a torn out heart looks very different to bullet wounds. “The copycat, do you know who it is?”

“Not yet,” he replied, “but don't worry, we'll find him.”

“There was a lot blood there.”

“Yeah, I think you might have guessed that it was too much for just one person. Something went down there, and by the look of it, two people were killed. Except, we only have one body.”

My head was dazed as all my strength was used to just hold me still to the spot. I had to learn more so I could not run, but staying there made me want to attack him. My brother's best friend, a man I could have once called family. How could I desire to disfigure and murder a man that I still held feelings for?

This struggle used every ounce of energy I contained, and that resulted in my voice coming out small and feeble, belying the monster I had become. “Do you think that maybe the other person could have survived?”

Ryan breathed, “No, I don't. Even if the other person was a large man, there was too much blood loss. Whatever injury was sustained, it would have been fatal.”

“I see, so the other person that was there really is dead.” A tear escaped me.

He touched my chin lightly and turned my head so that I was looking back at him, at a seductively close range. “Quit crying, Bambi-eyes, you're making your mascara run.” He sighed. “I shouldn't be telling you this. Shit, I can't believe you have this control over me after all these years, but...If it's a copycat you're scared about, well I wouldn't be.”

I frowned, just able to tear my gaze from his blood-engorged lips.

“The psych reckons it's a new killer, but I disagree with him. For one, we know psychologists are full of shit.” He winked. “For another, the setup and execution were all so accurate, except for one thing—the victim. That makes me think that there is another killer, but he's not a copycat. He's an initiate, but then something went wrong. The psych thinks that Valentine is a lone wolf sort and would never share his knowledge with anyone else. Lone wolf or not, there were at least three people in those woods last night, and Valentine only kills one a time.”

I retreated from his grasp again, slinked onto the sofa and stared mindlessly into the embers resting in the fireplace. I just had to clear my mind: all my thoughts, emotions, and desires. Fear could not be easily quelled. “You said it won't be long until you find that other person?”

He sat back down on the sofa, far to the other end, respecting my need for distance. “There's blood, which if we can match it to any DNA on the database then we'll have a person of interest. Then there'll be investigations made into the victim to see whether this was a personal or planned attack, but any connection there will be unlikely. None of that will really matter anyway. With blood loss like that, it'll mean there'll be a body, and those tend to have a way of popping up. What I'm hoping for out of this, though, is something that will lead us from this missing person to Valentine. In a way, it could be our first big break, but at the moment it looks like a copycat and that does not look good on a public management system.”

“I see,” I responded slowly, pushing down that dark desire within myself. With opportunity presenting itself, I made a proposal. “If you give me a statement, then I can make it look like just another normal Valentine murder.”

Mistrust flashed across his features.

“I can make this work, Ryan. If you can trust me, then I can print something that will benefit both of us. You can have the public's trust.”

“You mean, you can have your headlines,” he shot back, voice becoming cold.

I wanted to shout at him: I don't care about glory or saving the city anymore. I just want to know what happened to me so I can fix it!

Don't forget, my internal voice piped, you want revenge too.

“Ryan, please trust me. The last thing I want to do is hurt you.”

This was said as a painful groan erupted from my belly.

Chapter Seven

As I walked into the Coastal Horizon the next morning, my course was interrupted after taking no fewer than ten steps into the office.

“Frank says you're not allowed to show your skinny ass in these walls anymore,” Emma Hart stated smugly, looking at me through daring eyes.

“Well, I happen to think that if your ass can fit through these walls than mine is capable, also.” I stared squarely back at her, on level due to our equal heights. I noticed her heart beating hurriedly and a small upturning of her lips, which she struggled to keep level. She was very excited but trying to appear authoritative and stern.

Emma was approaching thirty, but due to a chronic passion of smoking and yoyo dieting, she appeared closer to her mid-thirties. In daily failed attempts to mask her drawn and pallid features, layers of makeup were applied. The end result just made her look more sickly, as blush and mascara were applied too heavily, and only served to emphasize her gray-white skin. To add to the decayed figure, her hair was a lank, mousy blonde, framing eyebrows manicured so thin that, at a distance, they disappeared.

“Are you implying that I am fat!” she cried, incredulous. “I was once a model, I'll have you know.”

“One can hardly call you that now,” I incited.

She took a menacing step forward so that her face was pressed so close to mine I could feel the steam from her breath. After gritting her teeth, she smiled. “Well, I'm not the only person who looked better yesterday, but, at least, I can't be called unemployed.” She lingered on the word indulgently. Watching her plush red tongue pronounce the last word made me wonder how her heart would taste. After all, skin was one of the first organs to show signs of insult, obviously, her tar filled lungs wouldn't be looking so pretty, but their neighbor may be still lush with life. From what I could hear, it was pounding very triumphantly.

“Emma, you can get back to your desk.” Frank appeared and positioned himself to cut the smug girl from view. Emma shuffled around and reinjected herself back into the office's happenings.

“Frank, I was just here telling Jane what you were saying yesterday evening.”

“I know. I'm not deaf, damn it.”

Emma seemed taken back, and she dropped her pompous stance. “Frank, I'm just trying to help you deal with the dead weight,” she pleaded.

“Go back to your desk, Emma,” he demanded, then added under his breath, “Good work on that rush job by the way.”

Suddenly Emma became taller, and she stalked away proudly. Before departing, she replied, “Of course, Frank. It's nothing but a pleasure reporting for you.”

Frank stood still for a moment as if waiting for a cry of protest from me. When I said nothing, he stated, “Well, there you have it. Pack up your things and leave. You didn't turn in your art piece, so you're out of here. I want you gone within the hour.” He began to retreat back to his private office but stopped when I called after him.

“Hmm, alright then, but can you tell me which agency would pay the best for this story I wrote titled, Valentine's New Victim? It features an in-depth exclusive with head detective Ryan Morgan.”

Frank turned back warily.

“Didn't Sandra say something yesterday about an old pal of mine getting me to a front row seat of the crime scene? That's precisely what I got, and these pictures he gave me are straight from the police forensics unit. I bet this thing will turn a pretty penny to whatever news agency places the highest bid. Who do you think I should offer it to, Cloud News?” I had pulled the papers from my handbag and was now feigning to peruse over my own typed words.

Frank strode heavily towards me, in a pace, I did not think possible for the small stout man, and snatched the story straight from my hands. “Go back to your desk. I'll come back once I'm done reading this.” He was still frowning, but I could hear his elevated heart rate beating aspirin-thinned blood through his narrowed vessels as he strode for his office.

I nestled into my own desk, throwing a disgruntled Emma a smug glance. I wondered, then, whether I would have the chance at some point to be in a room alone with her. Surely, no one would cry over that girl if she were to disappear.

I shut my eyes tightly and reminded myself that, annoying as she was, she was still human, and I swore that I would not harm anyone else. It was getting quite hard, though, in a room with so many people to choose from. No! I have to keep in control!

“Did I hear you right just now?” I snapped my eyes open and turned slowly to a fuming Sandra. “That piece you threw at Frank, that wasn't about Valentine, was it?”

Proceeding with caution, I chose my words very carefully, “Sandy...” but I never had a chance to say them before she blasted over the top.

“How could you do this? You know I'm tracking him. I'm the one doing the Valentine reports. I'm the one who does all the psychological profiling, and I'm the one that attends the crime scenes.”

I tried to interject, but again was never given an opening. “When people turn to the Coastal Horizon paper in the morning and look for the latest info on Valentine, who do you think they expect to give the latest report, hmm? Me! Sandra Young! Not Jane Kirra or that stupid pen name of yours.”

“Sandra, settle down. I was just trying—”

“Christ, Jane, how can you stab me in the back like this? I take you to that crime scene because I feel sorry for you and then you write your own piece on it using Ryan as your hook. How can you do that to me? I swear if my story doesn't get printed because of this...”

Frank re-emerged from his office, squinting through the dense fat on his face.

“Good work. It's being uploaded to the website now and will be printed in tomorrow's paper. I want you to produce a follow-up piece by Friday afternoon. See if you can get more out of that detective you interviewed,” Frank ordered, before glaring at Sandra for being away from her desk.

“I'll never forgive you for this,” Sandra spat before turning heel and returning to her desk across the other side of the room.

“Sandy!” I called out as all eyes on the office watched us earnestly. “I'm sorry. It's really complicated, but please let me explain!”

Of course, she didn't and reclaimed her desk chair, swiveling it so that the full-back was facing me.

“I want more details of this victim, though,” Frank continued as if oblivious to the heated situation taking place. “Wriggle some statements from that cop. A name would be valuable.”

I diverted my attention back to my squat boss. “Hold on,” I mused with a smug smirk. “I thought you had fired me. I was just getting ready to pack up my things and sell that story you're uploading without my permission. Why, I haven't heard contrary to the negative, I think I have grounds for a lawsuit against you.”

“Stop being such a drama queen,” Frank huffed. “What do you want, Jane?”

“I'll do a follow-up, but in my own time. Next week sometime, I'm thinking. Oh, and a bonus for the piece of course.”

“Piss off.”

Well, it was worth a try.

“Get a name, then we'll talk.”

“A name, sure, no worries.” Of whom? Valentine's victim or the corpse found out in the middle of nowhere? My name, or that of the man I killed?

When Frank left, I exhaled. Could have been worse, I thought. I may have pissed off my best friend beyond repair, but at least Frank bought my fluff piece and I could remain relatively anonymous to the Foxes for another day.

I decided that things were better this way. Sandra's anger at me, her sudden avoidance, would protect her from me. Protect her from when I might finally lose control and mutilate the nearest person in search of their heart. This way, I would not kill my best friend.

Hours passed as I sat at that desk hashing out my plan for the night, bouncing my heel off the floor with erratic speed. I hoped it would all work out, but if it didn't, I didn't want to know about it. I was set: I had to learn more; I had to understand what happened out in that forest; I had to discover what I had become, and somehow I had to make this hunger that boiled in my stomach go away before I gave into the dark desires that kept flitting into my mind.

I would not be her. I refused to be that grotesque monster I saw in the woods.

You were her, a callous voice hissed in my mind, You are her.

Chapter Eight

Someone is going to die tonight.

This was it, my night of truths, my night for revenge. There were no large press releases of my extracurricular activities, just a few smaller ones that used the same quotes and references I had constructed. It seemed that no other agency really had much more to go on than to use my article as its reference. The police had yet to release any public statements, and no leaks had managed to surface yet. Even Sandra's report was withheld, since mine actually pointed to credible claims as opposed to groundless speculation.

The number of dirty looks she threw me that day in the Coastal Horizon was countless, but it had to be this way. The city had to think another girl was killed Tuesday night. The Foxes and Valentine had to believe I was dead or they would surely come for me. Even so, I did not think I would remain elusive for long from both the Foxes and the police. I had no doubt that the days were ticking down, perhaps even the hours, until my involvement in Tuesday night's events would be revealed. Depending on which party discovered me first, I would either be killed or prosecuted. I quickly decided on the former as preferable.

I did have some time though, however short, to do some uncovering myself and maybe, if I played it right, I would be able remain anonymous indefinitely. I had just one plan to achieve this: stay hidden, get answers, and eradicate all traces left behind. This plan frightened me terribly. I knew it was brash, but a part of me liked it, was excited by it, was hungering for it. There was a silent promise of blood tonight and it caused me to shiver with glee.

I pulled out my hand-mirror and checked that my wig was fastened tightly. The snug-fitting blonde bob obscured my brown locks, and the lightly tinted glasses gave my face a look that was foreign even to me. I was dressed in a loose gray top, long black tights, and black patent ankle-high boots. I hoped the attire contrasted enough to my last choice in “undercover gear.” Anonymity was more paramount than ever before. I snapped the mirror shut, placed it back into my clutch, turned my gaze just a fraction upward to the fluorescent Minx sign and gulped.

I approached the bouncer—thankfully one who did not seem to be present two days ago—and he let me in at once. For an attractive female there was no identification required, no entry fee. The next girl in line went through with as much ease and brushed past me brusquely.

I stared at her violently and wondered whether any of the bored door-clerks would notice if I ripped this girl's heart from her torso. I gasped at the dark thought.

Even though music boomed from the entrance of the club, the small utterance was enough to grab her attention. Her head turned back, and when her eyes found me they became wary.

“Suz! You gorgeous doll,” a man called out. Our gazes were drawn to a tall, tanned man, who dripped heavily in gold. It was the doorman who let me into the Minx two days ago—Jase.

I pulled in a deep breath when his eyes locked with mine, and I ran hysterias in my head that he recognized me and was about to send the Fox's goons to finish what they started. Then his vision slipped across, like I was no more than a piece of furniture, and fixed on my would-be dinner.

The girl galloped up to him with haste. “Jase, hun. You're here! I wasn't sure I got the right joint. Wow, it's amazing, though.”

He slinked an arm around her so smoothly that it made me think that groping women was a nightly venture for the man.

“Come in, babe, I'll show you the many wonders of the Minx.”

As they walked off, Jase's hands caressed her body, blatantly, and she only smiled in response, not even feigning hard to get. When I lost sight of them, I stalked down that same hall; the hall that led to the den of my enemies.

The sight at night was far different from that of the unoccupied daytime. Now, darkness swept the room, with numerous small spotlights planted at intersecting and various angles throughout the main club room. Over to the left, were the few low tables set with conveniently cushioned lounges that black-eyed youths sprawled over languidly. The center held the bar I poured a drink from during my interview. This was chock-a-block with desperate drunks and druggies looking for more substance that would statistically kill two or three of them tonight. The right side of the room had a line of the short and skinny, overweight and elderly, and, of course, the forties-to-sixties business crowd who were the regulars. They grinned happily as they waited, rapacious eyes selecting women they planned to sleep with that night. Further ahead, was one of the main dance floors. There, the clubbers had no feet as smoke clouded the floor, giving the area an otherworldly atmosphere.

I walked on, slipping past the corseted girls carrying trays full of inebriating substances, and moved right for the back. I saw a familiar door titled Staff Only and with a snap of the doorknob let myself inside. Pressing the door shut behind me, I entered the noisy, yet muffled, hall.

It was the same one I had ventured just two and a half days earlier, and that memory caused my confidence to waver. As I walked through the narrow space, I felt as if I was walking the path to my execution. The drumming of the bass was louder than any other sound and vibrated with such magnitude that my heart's own rhythm was sent to gallop alongside it. I could hear the calls of clubbers from the other side of the wall, as if they were cheering on to watch my promised death. My feet continued forward, but slowly, as if they really did anticipate that soon they would reach the stairs of the scaffold. I felt a tingle on my neck as if it were against the cool wood of the guillotine block, and my hair flew back behind my head from the gust of the axeman's swing.

Get a grip of yourself, you wuss. You're in control here. This time, you have the power.

I was unsure of what exactly that power was and even more terrifying, its limitations. As I walked through the unguarded hall, I ignored the assiduous thought that I was walking straight into a trap.

There were a few rooms here; most were locked. I did not force these doors; I knew I had no reason to. Focusing my attention, I was able to soften the sounds of the dance floor and instead hear the buzz of a solitary light left on in one room; the ticking of a wall clock in another; the scurrying of a cockroach on hard ground. I listened for human sounds too: pen scratching; weight shifting in a chair; a steady breath; a heartbeat, but came across naught. Something else grasped my attention, a familiar hum of electrical equipment. I broke the lock and let myself inside.

I was in the security control room, where dozens of computer monitors displayed, in black and white, the erratic movement of the club. One of these screens showed strobe lights sending a room into a fit of seizures. The tightly pressed dancers, flashing seen and unseen, made the floor resemble a mindless beehive.

I scanned through these digital displays, searching for a familiar face; searching for a lead. I saw Jase rubbing up against a heavily intoxicated girl in a side lounge, a different girl to the one he greeted just minutes earlier. Then the other girl entered the scene as she carried a martini glass and half-fell onto his lap. Jase then shared his interest between the two women.

I wondered whether their stupor had to do with a substance other than alcohol. The girls' droopy eyes indicated as much.

I kept panning across the screens, hoping to find a hint of that blurry figure that attacked me from behind. It was a futile attempt. Even if he popped up on one of these screens, my recollection was not enough to allow for recognition. He was not overly tall, not overly built, but then strong, so strong. I could not be sure, but I thought I heard his voice—I gave it the slippery one that promised to take care of me.

As I gazed over dozens of security displays, I wondered whether, at any time, my eyes fell upon the elusive Valentine. For him, there was no blurry outline, just a voice. It was so gentle, one incapable of harm, and yet he murdered me. I wondered if his body would be befitting of that voice; I wondered if I saw a kindly looking person, whether it would strike me as my fated foe, but no man in the thick of the club took my attention. Valentine was either not there, or not as distinctive as I imagined.

I broadened my scope to survey rooms that were not so heavily populated: the prostitution rooms on the levels above, the kitchen and drug manufacturing areas. There were a few offices, one of which was very close, judging by the map situated on the wall. This was labeled Finance, and just one person occupied it. A smile crept onto my face.

“Well, hello, friend.” I could only see his back, but I had no doubt who it was. I decided it would be rude not to reacquaint myself.

I deleted all recordings of my past movements and switched off the recording to the office I intended to visit. I eased away, lightly treading through the hall again, and discovered my destination. Opening the door revealed a dim room lighted by a solitary desk lamp. The plump older man sat hunched over a table and faced away from me, roaring in the midst of a heated soliloquy.

“Fuck that arrogant clown!” Mack's hand slammed on the desk. “Ordering me to do these books tonight, at this hour. It's unheard of! That smile of his, Christ, it's disturbing. No human could smile like that.”

“No human? Well, that's an interesting comment to make,” I stated from the hallway.

He swung around with unveiled fury, but when he viewed me his eyes widened. He shook his head, as if to shake off a crazy thought, and squinted. “Who the hell are you and what do you think you're doing in my office? Get in here so I can see you better!”

I did as ordered and walked silently towards the center of the room. As I felt the lamplight illuminate my features, I halted.

Mack jumped from his chair and backed away a few feet. “Impossible. You're meant to be dead!”

I placed a hand over the pulsing of my chest. “I think I might have been.”

His hand crept back across his coat. “How did you escape? Surely, that fool didn't let you go.”

My hand slipped between my breasts and fell by my side; both fists clenched so tightly I could feel my nails pierce my flesh. “You were there. You conspired to kill me.” I just managed to keep my voice calm.

“Doesn't look like it took too well. Fuck, Freddie, can't you even kill a little girl?”

Blood dripped from my hands. “Valentine. Who is he? Where can I find him?”

He cocked his head sideways as he performed a small twist to his body, his hand reaching inside the coat. “What? Valentine! What crap did that bastard give you?”

“Stop playing dumb.” My voice trembled as I drove my nails deeper into my palms attempting to quell my wrath. “I need to know. I need to know what happened out in that forest. I'm so scared, so confused, so...angry!”

I lunged forward and Mack stepped away hastily, but my hands were not aimed at him. Instead, I slammed them onto the wooden desk in furious desperation. “What did Valentine do to me? Tell me, what have I become?”

Black tears streaked my face and fell upon the blood-smeared table.

Mack scoffed. “What a mess. Seems like I'm the one who's cleaning this up after all.” He pulled a black object out in front of him, both hands clasping the metal tightly as he fixed a concentrated expression.

My fists tightened as I started to scream, “Tell me what happened! Tell me what I am,” but those words never escaped my lips. Instead, little objects started piercing my torso. The first of these forced my arms to fly laterally across my body. My mind caught up to the action around me, screaming the word, bullets.

Each succeeding shot caused excruciating pressure against my chest. I stumbled back. One rogue hand caught the desk-lamp as five more bullets greeted their friend in my chest. With the last I collapsed limply to the wooden floor, glass shattering down all around me. Blood rushed from every gaping wound, soaking my attire, and every ounce of strength was nullified. My eyes stared up at the dark ceiling, past the high-pitched roof, fixed in fear.

With my head flat against the wooden floor, I heard footsteps reverberate. “Stupid girl. You escaped once, why would you come back here? You really must have a death wish.”

Why did I come back here? I wondered.

I felt a wriggling, invasive pushing in my chest. Then I felt something breach my skin—six little metallic pieces ejected from my torso and clattered on the floor. Rabid pain in my stomach ensued.

Then I remembered, “I came because I'm hungry!”

I lifted myself back to my feet with ease and stole a quick look at my apparel. My top had almost completely changed from gray to red, and at the center were six holes that showed through to healthy crimson-coated skin. I could not silence my glee as a laugh, not too distant from a witch's cackle, escaped my lips.

“What the hell?” Mack raised his gun back up to me, just about to fire fresh hot pellets but I took hold of his arm, in a flash, and bent his elbow the wrong way. The gun clattered to the floor, misfiring a bullet before the man screamed in agony.

I placed a swift hand over his mouth, managing to slightly attenuate the vexing sound. I stared so close that our eyes were only inches apart.

“I really want to kill you, rip out your heart and eat it.” I smiled a Cheshire grin at the thought, but sobered quickly. “But I can be rational, despite what your lot have done to me. I'll give you a simple proposition: tell me about Valentine, what he did to me, and his connection to the Foxes—tell me and I’ll let you live. I'm going to remove my hand now. I expect an answer, not more pathetic moans.”

When his mouth was free, he gasped frantically. “Black...eyes!”

These, I narrowed. “Not what I asked for.”

His body trembled. “No soul. An abomination. They're the eyes of a demon!”

Within a second, I had him forcibly pressed against the wall. “Quit being cryptic, old man. You know something. What do you mean, demon? Is that what he did to me? Turn me into a...a demon? And Valentine, who is he? What is he?”

He whimpered.

A scary gangster whimpering. I groaned. Moving to his face, I placed a hand back over his mouth, brought the other to his broken arm and applied pressure. He howled in agony.

“Tell me and I'll let you go,” I pressed, and pulled away from his face.

“I don't know what you're going on about with that fucking serial killer! But there are things worse than serial killers. Demons walk the earth—strong, fast and murderous. Beasts in man's form.” He spat this out, seeming to regain some pride.

“How many?” I demanded. Mack grinned, bearing bloodied teeth. “What does it matter? If you're here, that means I'm already dead.” He broke out into hysterical laughter.

I wondered how his mouth started bleeding. Was I that strong? Could I have caused some internal hemorrhaging? I bashed him into the wall. “Tell me!” As I slammed him into the wall again, I heard something crack. After a wince, his smile broadened and blood slowly oozed from between his lips. Even several inches away, the smell was so intense, so sweet and so desirable. I felt the heat from it, and I heard his heart singing.

I could not hold out anymore—the monster won. I plunged an ardent hand straight into his chest. Reveling in the sound of his ribs snapping like bubble wrap, I wrenched the thumping heart free. The organ was so warm and moist; the smell being emitted was purely divine. Just like the image I had seen of myself the previous day, my mouth expanded beyond humanly possible limits, and I greedily placed the tasteful organ into my anxious oral cavity. I couldn't remember a moment of greater satisfaction than when I swallowed.

Consuming the dish was more satisfying than chocolate, or an invigorating workout, or sex with multiple orgasms. Every single cell, every nerve ending, every hair on my body was activated in a soft tingling way. I smiled. I couldn't not; I was so happy, so content and satisfied. I found myself giggling as if I were a child. In a sense, perhaps I was a child, though not a human one. I felt reborn into something greater, something more powerful. A new existence was birthed, and a wave of clarity swept over me. I still did not know how to define what happened to me but suddenly I could feel what I had become—I had transcended into a god. I could feel this incredible power writhing inside of me, desperate to explore this new world. At that time, the memory of my conflicting emotions was laughable. Surely, this was the truest state and one that I would be willing to sacrifice anything to preserve. I knew then that this was paradise.

“You know, you're a little noisy when you're hunting your prey. Lucky for you this is a pretty noisy club. In the future, you'll need to learn some discretion.” A confident English woman's voice dragged me sluggishly from my rapture.

I turned to a slender, silhouetted form leaning against the doorframe. The light shining in from the hallway set the edges of her long, curly hair ablaze in a fiery hue.

I licked the blood from my fingers. “Who are you?”

“My name is Ruby. I have been curious to meet you, Jane, but now that I have, I believe I am disappointed.”

My glee evaporated.

“The master wants you initiated, so, I'm here to tell you to come to the Sands on Saturday night. Come alone, and keep a low profile until then. Oh, and don't worry about the mess. I'll have someone clean it up as soon as you leave.”

I looked at Mack's disfigured corpse on the floor, the blood pooling around him, and at my own attire that painted me with a big red target. “What...did I just do?”

I was not surprised that she didn’t answer, but when I looked up to her for some guidance, she was gone. Pacing to the doorframe, I clutched it where she had just lazed against and looked down both sides of the hall. There was no one there; she had completely disappeared.

“Wait, you have to tell me what I am!” I pleaded. The club's music still pumped audibly through the walls. “Who are you, and where is Valentine? Wait!” I pummeled bloody fists to the carpet as more alluvium leaked from my faulty eyes, belying my prior elevated spirits. “Don't bring me into the darkness just to leave me here!”

Chapter Nine

Demon: An evil spirit capable of human possession requiring exorcism. A dark spirit that can control the person it inhabits and perform unnatural acts. Inhabited individuals may display changes in voice pitch, accents, even speak in previously unknown languages.

Demon: An entity from another spiritual realm. In some cults, these beings are worshiped similar to gods. During certain rituals a demon may be communicated with, and, for a price, the demon may exchange some of its power for the gift offered. Offerings usually involve blood or some other kind of bodily sacrifice.

Demon: Distorted spiritual remnants of human souls. After centuries of torture in hell, spirits are thought to forget their sense of self, and as a result, lose their conscience and individuality. These dissipate into multiple fragments, disperse and reassemble with shards of other broken spirits. Lost and confused, these amalgamations possess erratic and disjointed thoughts and are highly emotionally unstable.

My musings on my work computer screen were interrupted by a high-pitched snap, as the pen in my hand broke in half.

I gave an apprehensive glance around the relatively quiet Coastal Horizon office. No one seemed concerned with my sudden force; all were far too deeply engrossed in their own pursuits. Blood was pumping steadily through my co-workers' vessels; soft purrs of their breathing called out to me; their hearts thumped quietly, persistently and regularly; each with its own steady, mildly stressed, pace. Adrenaline was not running into overdrive, there were no screams of terror or pitchforks pointed at the barbaric creature that strutted into their office that morning. Though I bore long fangs, they never once questioned the ill-fitting wool I was draped in. They did not know that I was really a wolf.

That woman, Ruby, might have been telling the truth. They had cleaned up after me, covered up the death of one of their own, allowing me to parade another day in sheep's clothing, but why protect me? Was it because she was just like me? Was Valentine like me also? Was that why he turned me, so he could have another companion? The master wants you initiated...

Valentine—he had to be like me. He created me, and tomorrow offered the promise of long-awaited answers. Did I want this initiation into a life as an abomination, or was I still too angry and hungry for revenge?

I changed my entry in the search engine and gazed upon numerous images of “monsters.” They were ugly, violent, malevolent creatures with drool dripping from their mouths. One had a human heart in its hand with blood squirting from it. It was smiling in delight of the anticipated flavor. There was also a picture of Frankenstein's monster; he looked awfully sad and lonely. A caption stated underneath: Did I request thee, Maker, from my clay? To mold me, Man, did I solicit thee from darkness to promote me?

As I looked upon more pictures displaying cartoons of happy, fuzzy, animated creatures, I smiled. They appeared so likable, so harmless. A blue one of these was depicted guzzling cookies with great mirth. There was quite a mess about him as he satisfied his urges.

A demon, hey? I disagree, Mack. What I am is, undoubtedly, a monster. Then, what kind of monster and why did this have to happen to me? I wondered whether it would have been better if I simply died in that forest; surely, I could not remain playing sheep for long. People would find out who I was, sooner or later, and then I could no longer pretend to be the heroine. Soon, my secret would come out and the whole city would know I’m a murderer.

What would I do then? Would I do what would be necessary to defend myself? Would I harm innocent people? Would I remove a threat even if it was from one I cared about most? I did not want to die, not again - not ever!

I looked up from my desk across to the other side of the room where Sandra was pounding away at her laptop. We both came in at the same time that morning, just slightly after nine and moving so quickly that we brushed against one another as we passed through the office's entrance. She glared at me, haughtily, apparently still unforgiving of my latest tabloid. Whereas, I felt such a powerful desire to tear my teeth into her flesh that I had to scuttle away even quicker than she had attempted.

My hold on this beast was so weak. I thought I felt a little calmer, a little more in control than yesterday, but it was still tenuous at best. I wanted to feed, desperately. After learning how succulent the flesh of a human could be, my stomach groaned all day and my mouth watered at the thought of it—but I couldn't. I was still adamant that I would not attack anyone else. That was, of course, no one unless they deserved it.

Another thing that could not be quelled easily was my anger. The more I learned about the “new” me, the more my desires consumed my mind; rage flooded through me thick and hot. I hated who I had become; I hated envisioning myself ripping my friends' bodies apart; I hated the Foxes, Valentine, and I hated how much I was loving my new power. They wanted to initiate me into their clan, but all I wanted to do was rip out their own hearts and feed on them.

“Monster? What are you searching, your mother?” It was Zach, smirking impertinently as he read the titles on my computer screen.

“Simply not in the mood for it,” I replied curtly.

He leaned over my desk so that his frame partly obscured my monitor, forcing my attention. I glared coldly up at him and read the caption on his shirt: There are only 10 people in the world: those who understand binary and those who don't. He was the embodiment of scruffiness, teeing his outfit off with jeans, runners, and unkempt mousy-brown hair. Normally, I enjoyed his laid-back attitude and quirky shirts, but just then I could see him as no more than a sloth that had somehow brought its languid form to my desk. I did not care how good his photographs were—no one had the right to interrupt my current soul searching.

“C'mon, shorty,” he coaxed. “Don't be like that.”

“I'm not short and you're not black.”

“Yeah, I guess if I were you never would have gone back, hey?” He laughed.

Okay, so I slept with him - once. It was after a Christmas party and we were both ridiculously drunk. Fortunately, we knew that it was a mistake from the moment we woke the next morning, which thankfully never interfered with our professional or personal relationships. Zach was a great photographer, a nice guy, and one of the few friends I had besides Sandra. However, at that moment, where hatred was festering hotly inside me, he was starting to feel like dinner.

His laughter quickly sobered as he changed to pictures. “So, how you been going anyhow, Jane? I've got a few new pictures from the depths of Devil's Eden you might be interested in.” He was doing his best to be enticing. “We could do a stake-out around there sometime if you like, or just hit the piss. Shit, being Friday, I think I feel like a drink straight after I leave this stinky office. You wanna join me?”

“I'm sorry, Zach, not tonight. I have a lot of researching to do still, and besides, I'm kinda off the liquor lately.”

****

“Wine?” Ryan questioned with surprise from his apartment doorway. The look on his face betrayed his stifled smile.

“Yeah.” I waved the bottle around. “I've had this sitting around in my parents’ cellar for years. Trouble is, I’ve never been able to muster up the nerve to drink it and throwing it out is not an option. My childhood shrink would say that my hoarding was “unhealthy behavior.” I mocked her voice, annunciating with perfect diction as she used to. “I bet you, she would have added that this sort of thing could lead to an “explosion of emotions.”

Ryan chuckled. “Like, screaming like a banshee in the middle of a crime scene?”

“You could have said a damsel in distress,” I replied, abashed.

“That's funny, my shrink would say that would have been healthy behavior.”

My jaw dropped in surprise.

“You're not the only one damaged, Jane,” he explained. “This whole city is full of psychopaths like us who pretend to be normal. I might only be faking that I have my shit together, but at least I still do the right thing.”

I was so preoccupied with my own agenda; it was not until then that I realized how sad and defeated Ryan appeared. His cheeks and chin displayed stubble that was, at last sighting, clean-shaven. His hair was spiked up at odd angles as if he had been gripping onto it fiercely, ready to rip it from his skull. His shirt had the top few buttons undone, with a light brown spot about midway on the fabric where a tie would normally obscure. I then detected the alcohol on his breath. Rum, I surmised.

“Wanna talk about it?” I pressed. “I’d love to deal with someone else’s crap instead of my own for a change.”

“I really, really want to, but...”

“You're a cop and I'm a reporter,” I finished for him.

He gave me a weak smile.

“What if I wasn't a reporter and you...could be whoever you wanted to be. You could say anything you wanted without consequences and I would just be here to listen. I would simply be your friend, nothing else.”

“We were never friends. Your brother was my friend, not you.”

I recoiled a step backward into the apartment hallway.

There was a darkness in Ryan's eyes that suddenly softened as they met my own. “I'm sorry, I'm an ass. You know, we're more than friends. You're the little sister I never had. Here, come in.” He disappeared inside, leaving the door open for me to let myself in.

As I followed, I was not sure which part hurt more: the dejecting comment that I was his little sister, or the part that we were never friends. I knew one thing, though— both stung more than I could have anticipated.

He wasn't your friend then, and he isn't now. The sly voice crept into my mind. He is a homicide detective who is hunting you down for murder. He is your enemy and your next meal.

It did not matter what he was to me. I reminded myself that it was his connections, his findings that I needed. I was there for two simple reasons: to track the progress he made on the woods killing, and to gain more information on the Foxes. Whatever I thought or felt for him before was obsolete now. I had a new agenda, and that involved self-preservation and the undiminished desire for revenge. Old, childish relations would have to take a back seat to that.

Following him through the door, I observed the apartment. The minimal furnishings consisted of a dilapidated lounge, a small plasma television, and a solid black rug covering up obvious stains on the carpet. The place was so void of human touch Ryan could have been confused for a squatter.

Ryan was already on the sofa sculling down a brown-colored drink. I was surprised to see two wine glasses and a bottle opener already placed on the coffee table before him. In conjunction, there was a bottle of rum with barely more than an inch of fluid remaining.

I sat by him and placed the wine bottle on the table. He grimaced. “You know, I was thinking about going over to the bottle shop and getting more booze, but it looks like you saved me the hassle.”

“Glad I can be of use,” I smirked. “Hope you like it, it's twenty-four-year-old red.”

Ryan picked up the bottle opener, about to lean across to the wine, but froze. “That’s how old you are.”

“Yeah. Bought on the day I was born, in fact.”

Ryan shot me a sympathetic look, already knowing the rest of the story. I continued anyway, “We were supposed to drink it six years ago— my parents, my brother and I.”

“For your eighteenth birthday.”

I nodded. “I remember that, on Jack’s birthday, I was allowed a glass. I didn’t much like the taste then, but being treated like a grown up made it seem like the most divine thing I ever had to drink.”

After a silence, Ryan toned in, “You should save it then, instead of wasting it on a pathetic loser who’s already drunk.” He went to place the bottle opener on the table but I clasped my hands over his hold, halting him. As we made contact, I detected a slight coolness to his touch that mirrored the blue in his eyes. These stared deeply into mine, glazed and lost.

“That’s exactly the problem. I have been saving this bottle for years, looking for a reason to empty it, whether in my stomach or in the kitchen sink, but no reason ever justified it. At first, I told myself that I would share it with Jack on my eighteenth, but he left two weeks before. So, I kept waiting. As the years passed, I thought I would never drink it because the scenario would never be complete without my family by my side. Then we bumped into each other a couple of days ago during...strange circumstances.” I smiled. “I knew it was time; time to reunite with that almost-brother from my youth— even if he is already drunk— because, I just can't let another chance like this pass me by.”

Since our contact, Ryan had been staring at me deeply. “I never realized how dark your eyes were before. I know it's dark in here, but they look like they're completely black.”

I turned away, breaking all forms of contact.

After a sigh, he uncorked the wine and poured the glasses so that they were filled almost to the rim. We sipped in awkward silence.

Ryan lowered his glass and gazed into it, thoughtfully. “We have to take our moments when we get them because before we know it some terrible crime will happen and we'll be mourning again. I used to believe that this city could change, but your brother was the smart one. He knew the fight was useless. He left a bit over six years ago, but even before then, I could tell he had given up.”

I had a sip, too, and tasted the sweet oak as I responded. “It was nine years ago when he really gave up on the Blue Coast, when our parents died. He just couldn’t leave until his dependent sister turned eighteen. He didn’t wait, though, for my birthday. He left me, and this city, to spiral further into darkness.”

“You’re right, this city is dark, so damned dark no one can see the filth. I believed though; the fact that it’s messy was even more of a reason to clean it up. There was just too much to fight for; too many people that you just can't bear to see hurt again.”

His blue eyes drew my gaze back to him and locked me within the depths of his deep ocean. So peaceful on the surface but I knew once they approached shore that they would be turbulent. Somehow I caught myself thinking that maybe that powerful water could wash away my sins.

“It sounds like you've given up, too.” My voice barely cracked above a whisper.

“Some days I have, but then others I'm reminded of why I fight for peace so hard in this corrupt city.” His heart thumped proudly. It was strong, powerful and passionate. It was a heart that was capable of so much: love, despair, rage and possibly even killing. I wondered if he did find out about me, whether that heart would be capable of killing me, too.

Ryan clenched his fists, restraining his emotions. “Stop it, Jane! How is it that you have this way to make me wanna spill everything I'm thinking and feeling? If I tell you any more, then I will have said too much!”

I placed a hand on his, resisting the allure of the throbbing radial artery there. His hand was clenched and cool but relaxed at my touch.

“I told you, tonight I am nothing but a friend, or...sister, I suppose,” I smirked softly. “I promise. I'm not here to get information out of you— just to reconnect, and maybe we can soothe each other's souls in our time of darkness.” I lied so smoothly it surprised even me.

“A friend, hey? So, not a damn dirty reporter?” he said, skeptically.

“No,” I smirked. “However, I could be a damn dirty ape.”

Finally, there was a glimpse of glee as he chuckled mutely. He turned and looked into my eyes as if trying to pierce through them. Then he settled for a sigh. “I'm struggling with following orders.”

“I never pinned you as a follower.”

“I would happily follow if I believed in the cause; if I believed in the result, but... what they’ve asked me to do is not what I signed up for.”

“What are they asking you to do?” I prodded.

“To...back off on the Valentine case.”

I was so shocked I could not even think to restrain my gasp, but I did manage to keep a wide gratified grin at bay. “Why?”

“I can't say any more, Jane, but I think you know anyway.”

I finished it off for him in my mind: The Foxes are telling the cops to lay off.

“Do you know why?”

“No, but it does give me one clue: whoever this psychopath is, he's got money.”

For a moment, dread filled me. I thought he was honing into my financial state until I realized the real assumption. “You think he's buying them off?”

Ryan didn't say anything, but from the tension in his jaw, I could tell he was gritting his teeth.

Our hands were still touching. His warmth flooded into my body, enticing. I could still feel the shallow artery in his hand, moving up and down subtly. I felt an overwhelming urge to lick this, at least, to taste it, and as my head started to lower I snapped it back up suddenly with alarm.

Seeing this movement, Ryan's expression softened. He brushed a hand across my waist, pressed his torso against mine snugly and sank his lips into mine. These were furiously warm, radiating more heat than any other part of his body, and as he pressed them onto mine, they scorched with passionate desire. I felt a gentle slimy touch of his tongue in my mouth, caressing my own with soft vivacity. His breath was hurried and his heart eccentric. Each thud was deliberate, full of intent.

I tore away from his lips, but I remained intertwined with his body. “What are you doing?” I husked. I knew he was tempting me, but I did not know into which act it was. He was readying himself to follow his carnal desires and I was dangerously being lulled in also, but my desires did not end just wet, but red.

Ryan suddenly let go. “I...I don't know. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that. Shit, I'm really sorry. My best friend's sister, fuck I'm an idiot!”

He left the sofa and strode into the kitchen that overlooked the lounge room, paced to the fridge, poured water from a jug and skulled it down as if it were an antidote to a lethal poison.

“It's getting late,” He stated flatly over the kitchen counter. “I'm going to go to sleep. You can have my bed, I'll sleep on the couch here.” As he all but ran from the room, he did not look at me again.

Eventually, I followed him down the hall and discovered two doors, opposite one another. One was open and displayed a neatly made bed and a desk with papers cluttered over it in large, disorganized stacks. The other was closed, emitting light from its edges and the noise of a shower running. This quelled the sound of his fervent heart beating and the succulent scent of his skin. I remembered his ocean-blue eyes, that stood out all the more for his dark brown hair, and felt myself wanting to be lost in them. My chest panged with longing.

As I lay on Ryan's bed and entangled myself in the sheets, I drew their aroma in deeply. Within moments, I felt myself float away and be swept into a great sea; first blue, then swiftly transforming into a magnificent crimson. I could almost taste the wonderful flavor of the water.

****

When I awoke, all I saw was darkness. Within a few moments, my eyes adjusted and sight was returned to me. I turned down to my wrist-watch which dictated the time as 3.52am.

My eyes diverted to the sole source of light in the room; a tiny blue flicker on a computer tower. I crawled out of bed, reached for the wireless mouse and gave it a jiggle. The hum from the large black box increased as the fan kicked into action. However, no image was displayed from the monitor. Feeling around the frame of the screen, I found a button and applied pressure. An adjacent green light came to life and then an image of one of Blue Coast's beaches formed the desktop background. As I clicked onto the Documents icon the sound penetrated so sharply through the air I felt sure that Ryan must have heard it from the lounge room. I preened my ears through the walls; I heard no stirring.

My eyes scouted another folder labeled Valentine. This was further broken up into dates traveling back three years ago. There were several of these, dozens, possibly a hundred even. Far more than the fifteen murders the press had covered. I wondered, were the other dates murders too, or just simply incidences that lead to significant information about Valentine? Curiosity piqued, I double clicked on the first folder.

This showed pictures of murder number one. The victim was a girl with deep purple hair and tattoos covering her body. The crime scene was in a cornfield, where she laid motionless on a coffin-like slab of rock. The girl had her eyes shut, and would have looked as if she were merely sleeping if it were not for the hole in her chest. A close-up shot showed an ebony rose rising from the red-rimmed cavity. Short candles marked the perimeter; their flames had been snuffed out long before. An attached report speculated the motivation to be part of a lover's quarrel being that the estimated time of death coincided with Valentine's Day. The boyfriend was taken into custody for questioning but was released after a few days when no proof could be mounted against him. Interestingly, however, the female showed a criminal record, detailing that she had done prior time in a juvenile detention center. This followed a fire that she admitted to causing, when she was just a child, which resulted in the death of her baby brother.

The next folder showed another murder, one in which I could not recall. It occurred just two days after the first, situated in an otherwise picturesque vineyard. This victim had no criminal history, but her body showed faded scars on her wrists and legs. The medical report recounted depression closely following a teenage abortion. There were a few onlookers captured on the film, perhaps owners of the vineyard, but miraculously no reporters. There was a doll-like little girl standing amongst the thin crowd and I wondered if she had been living on that property with her family. Her eyes were vacant, already scarred at an age no more than twelve. She cowered behind a young man who, with his dark hair and similarly empty eyes, looked like her older brother.

The next date related to a supposed attack by Valentine where the victim swore that she escaped the hold of the notorious killer. This was later downgraded to an attempted rape, and the perpetrator deemed unrelated to Valentine. The succeeding accounts took place in a nursery, then an observation point on top of Summit Mountain just northwest of the city.

Then a popular beach site followed. This one I recalled being blasted through the news, as it was a Japanese couple that found the body. It was discovered just before midday when the husband and wife sought a shady location on a beach under the cover of some trees. They had, at first, thought the girl close by was simply napping, until they saw the congealed blood on her chest. They began screaming and crying out for help, but bystanders avoided them like they were mad since all their rants were in a foreign language. Finally, it was a high-schooler who had studied Japanese that managed to translate the horror.

I scrolled over several files and clicked on an account of a florist who was robbed of his entire stock of roses. They ruled out any association with Valentine, despite his fetish for the flower. The next folder contained another young woman claiming that she escaped Valentine, but this time, he raped her repeatedly before attempting murder. Later investigations revealed that the woman was a con artist who only feigned the attack to gain exclusives with numerous reporting agencies for an easy cash gain. This woman was charged with obstruction of police investigations and for lying to authorities, but she was excused for her deception after a psychological report proved that she was mentally unbalanced. Like that would be unusual in this cursed city.

Skipping to the bottom, I saw Mr. BMW lying in the woods. The report told me his name was Brian Dalton. He had a wife and three children, and was having an affair with a woman fifteen years his junior. The report concluded that this homicide did not appear to be perpetrated by Valentine, but by a copycat. Though there were numerous similarities to the Valentine cases, the fact that the victim was a male suggested a new killer. Of course, that did not rule out other possibilities, such as an adapted killing style or the initiation of an apprentice. Two different samples of blood were found: the first was, unsurprisingly, the victim's, but the second type had no match to any existing data. However, it was affirmed as a female with type O positive blood. Dark brown hair fibers were recovered, natural pigmentation, but there were no matches to those in the database. The blood was sampled for any markers that could indicate environmental influences. These showed the person of interest to have been involved with cannabis, among other substances, between four and eight years ago. It also indicated that the female resided in a metropolis over, approximately, the last three to four years due to signs of air pollution.

It was a relief that there was no information directly linking me, but it was still unsettling that they managed to pull up so much data just by some blood and hair alone. I had never been under suspicion for any crime— well, nothing more serious than a few misdemeanors, which was why the DNA matching all showed negative. I had to keep it that way. I had to stay out of the limelight, out of the murder scenes. Otherwise, they would have more samples, and more chances to discover my true identity.

I sighed as I closed the Valentine file, and searched around for some whiff of last night's activities. I could find no data relating to yesterday; no recently added files in relation to Mack's murder, and following with a broader search, nothing at all relating to Devil's Eden. I realized it was true; that Paradise Grove really had been swallowed up by the gangsters and was solely under their control. The police gave the Foxes the district to run as they pleased so long as relative peace was maintained throughout the rest of the city.

“Cowardly pigs,” I snarled.

I heard a murmur through the walls. It was nothing but a minor stir. Perhaps the verbalizations of conflicts within a dream, but the growing light filtering in through the window threatened that early birds were to emerge from their slumbers shortly.

I checked my watch, 4:29. Damn. How I wished I lived in a state with daylight-savings then.

I opened a browser, typed in the address to my email account and was just about to log in until I realized the potential footprints I would leave. Every part of me wanted to email a zipped version of the Valentine investigation to myself, before deleting the browser history, but I rejected the idea. I knew despite covering my tracks on the browser, there were still ways to trace a user's whereabouts. I did not know how to skirt those measures myself, but someone like Zach did. He had, on occasion, helped me out of jams in the past, when I required a little extra assistance in my endeavors. I did not think Ryan would have had the same knowledge with computers, but decided I could not afford the risk. I cleared the browser history, eradicating the simple page of my email server, and returned the computer back to its homepage.

Morning light shined in from the window. It was time to go. I did not know why sunrise was the absolute curfew for me, because I did not really expect Ryan to awaken to a rooster's crow. Still, I slipped out of the tiny apartment by tiptoeing past the sleeping lounge and barely made a sound as the front door clicked shut.

I did not want Ryan to see me for what I really was; for the daylight to shine so brightly upon me that it would expose my monstrous features. That was what I told myself, but this was not the only time I had run away from Ryan.

Years ago, when Jack left for the west coast, Ryan extended his support to me, but I pushed him away and out of my life. Ryan was moody, passionate and sometimes angry, but mostly he was good and kind— Too kind to someone like me. He had done everything he could to help people. He defended the little guy, and he always did it fighting fair. He had uncompromising morals, and that was what scared me. I knew that if he saw me for who I really was, he would stop caring for me. I could not allow the light to expose me as the monster I had become.

As I drove away, I could not shake the sense that he was staring at me through his window, wondering why I had callously left without so much as a goodbye.

Chapter Ten

“This is all you have?” I demanded.

Zach scoffed. “There are hundreds of pictures here. How many do you need?”

“Zach!” I groaned. “You said you had pictures of Devil's Eden, but these… These are just a bunch of drunk teenagers out clubbing.”

The USB's images flashed upon my tablet's screen; all full of kids falling over themselves whilst grinning like imbeciles— all completely useless. What I needed was something on the Foxes, something on Valentine or Ruby, but these photographs just displayed the decrepit lifestyles of youngsters who gave up believing in any kind of future.

He rolled his eyes. “Just keep going through them, I promise there's some interesting stuff in there.”

I glared back at him and his annoying T-shirt that read: I 8 ∑ π and loved it! I tried to remind myself that his attire used to amuse me; the shirts were clever and so cheesy that they were great, but I couldn't feel that sentiment anymore.

“Can I take your order?” The waitress popped out of the restaurant at our street-side table.

“Ah, how 'bout, oh why not? A Frappuccino. Caramel,” Zach ordered, boisterously.

“Certainly,” the waitress exclaimed with far too much enthusiasm for her mundane job. “For you, miss?”

“A red wine,” I stated after some thought.

“Seriously?” Zach exclaimed. “It's barely after midday, and wasn't it just yesterday that you said you gave up drinking?”

“I never said I gave up drinking, I simply said I was feeling off it. Today, I think I like the look of the color. Besides, it is Saturday,” I justified.

Zach chuckled. “There we go. I knew the blood-thirsty-Jane wouldn't be gone for long. You sure you don't wanna order some lunch?”

The waitress looked at me expectantly.

Your heart sounds divine, as does that woman's to my right. “I'm sure. I had a late breakfast, so I'm satiated for the time being.”

“Just the drinks, then.” Zach grinned at the waitress. As she departed, he stared blatantly at her ass.

Apparently my expression said something. “What?” Zach demanded. “Hey, I'm a single guy. I have every right, and a pretty little brunette like that needs some appreciation.”

“I'm sure the eyes on the back of her head appreciate it,” I mumbled.

I turned to another picture. “Who is this?” I pointed out a figure to Zach. This man was large, in the scary sense; big, strong, with a murderous look in his eyes. I guessed he could have easily been seven foot tall. The lighting was poor. I supposed that was because the photo was taken at night without a flash, but from it I could ascertain that he had short cropped dark hair, mildly tanned skin, a square chin and was massively built. It was not the menacing appearance that spurred my enquiry, however, it was the police badge affixed to his suit. Any cop that was situated in Devil's Eden warranted note, since their presence in the region was a rare occurrence.

“Ah,” Zach exclaimed. “That's Detective Smoke. That picture is from a year or so back, where a murder had taken place in the middle of a street inside Paradise Grove. Since the place was where it was, there weren’t too many coppers on the scene, but he turned up with a couple others. Trouble was, by the time I heard about the incident the body had already been moved. Still, he hung around to secure the area, apparently. I tried to take a few sneaky shots but he saw, and that made me back right off. He didn’t do or say anything; he didn’t need to. All he had to do was look at me with that quietly furious expression, and those black eyes did the rest to freak me right out.”

I gasped. “Black eyes?”

Zach narrowed his gaze on me. “Shit. I never realized how dark your eyes are too. Whoa, you have the same freaky eyes as him.”

Black eyes. Did that mean he's another monster like me?

“Here you go!” The rudely excited girl laid our glasses on the table. She smiled to each of us and offered, “If there is anything else you need, please do not hesitate to wave me back. Okay?”

“Alright, sweetie.” Zach smiled ridiculously wide, already forgetting the alarm he correlated with my dark glare.

I thought I was going to be sick but had a swig of my drink instead. Recovering from my revulsion, I flicked over to the next few photos that held Detective Smoke, and not the crime scene, as the focal point.

“You managed to take a few more of him, even after you had him staring straight at you.” I passed from a dark-eyed glare at the camera to a nondescript shot of the same large man.

“Couldn’t help but take a few more shots, even if he did freak me out. There is something about him, isn't there?” Zach nodded as he inhaled his beverage. “The moment I saw him, I swear I could tell how shady he was. I mean, shit—look at him! Anyone can see it. I guess, maybe, all people can notice is his massive stature, so much so, that they wouldn't even dare to glance at him. Jane, everyone was freaked by him. I've never seen a crime scene with so little photos taken, so little footage shot. It was like they were afraid that they would capture him and he would go berserk at them because of it.”

“Smoke,” I sounded it out. “That can't be his real name.”

Zach nodded. “I agree, but I think you and I both know a cop working in Paradise Grove is no ordinary cop.”

I flicked to another image of the massive man. “He is wearing a badge. That means he's with the police unless that's a fabrication.”

“It's not,” he corrected. “I got a pretty close look at that thing, and I can swear it's the real deal. Still, I got a good look at him, too, and I can swear that he's one of those gangsters.”

If Zach claimed the badge was real, then I believed him without a doubt. During my explorations as a reporter I needed a few, perhaps frowned upon, fake-identifications. Zach was kind enough to provide me with them. He was a genius with anything techno-savvy or photographic. That was what made him perfect at forging documents. In any other city he would have made a killing making false eighteen-plus cards, but since these were obsolete in the Blue Coast he turned his talents to other uses. I did not know the details of these, but I knew it was nothing too dark, not when it came to Zach. He was all about giving people hope, second goes, not about aiding and abetting heinous criminals. His heart was so kind that he would help anybody in need; anybody, as long as they were not stained with blood. That was why, though he was my friend, I could never really be close to him.

“I wonder what this Smoke was covering up,” I mused.

Zach finished a long sip of his coffee. “I wish I knew too. I bet it would have been juicy. Then again, if the Foxes were involved, maybe it's best not to know too much.”

“That's true,” I agreed evenly. “If you dip your hands too deep into that chasm then you'll find your whole body is suddenly enveloped by the darkness. Once swallowed, you will never find your way back into the light again.”

“Christ,” he whispered, and yet somehow a smirk still appeared on his features. “Good thing I backed off Bigfoot there. Say, Jane, you've been investigating them for a pretty long time now—shit, since you started at the Horizon. How have you managed to keep out of their radar? Is it 'cause you're a chick that maybe they haven't taken you seriously, or have you not found anything worthwhile?”

Normally, I would have given him a playful dark stare on the two fronts of insult, but I just gazed, deeply, into the crimson liquid before me. It looked satisfying, but its smell and taste were disappointing.

“I definitely found something worthwhile—I found mountains of worthwhile. The only thing I haven't found is evidence to corroborate it all.”

“You know,” Zach pressed, “you've gotten me to source certain pictures and IDs and that, but you haven't actually told me what you've uncovered. If you don't mind, I'd love to know where you're at with your story. I mean, if you brought me up to speed, I could probably help you way easier since I’d know what I'm looking for.”

I tore my gaze from the crimson glass, up into Zach's green eyes. “Are you sure you want to know? I was not kidding when I said that this darkness could consume you.”

“Quit being cryptic, Jane. That's just making me all the more curious. Curiosity can be even worse than the knowledge, just ask the cat.” Smiling, he was always smiling.

“Alright then,” I relented. “I guess I'll start at the city's morbid past, at its recent descent into darkness: Our current gangster regime, the Foxes, spawned during the Blue Coast's most virulent time; when crime and violence was at its peak, when the city had its highest mortality rate ever. It was at the end of the gang war that the Foxes rose from the ashes and took sole control of the city. It was because of this war that they gained so much power even the police fear them.”

Zach’s mouth formed a thin line.

I continued. “This war lasted only six years, but the violence and terror steadily escalated, right up until its climax more than a decade ago. The last year, of course, being the worst.”

“There were five of them, weren't there?” Zach inquired. He stared deeply into his mug with a rarely seen somber expression.

I nodded. “Yeah, five gangs altogether: the Barking Dogs, the Silver Blades, the Fanatics, the Dynasties and the Crimson Coins. All were separate, each ruling their own district, just barely tolerating one another. They lived harmoniously, for a time, with the citizens of the Blue Coast vaguely aware of their existence unless their services were required. However, at the start of the war, the brother of the Silver Blades boss raped the daughter of the Crimson Coins’ leader. Soon, tentative alliances were made and a war was waged. The gangs massacred one another, and any unlucky bystander who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time fell to their untimely end.

“After six years of the relentless bloodshed, the war suddenly ceased. The gangs crumbled overnight. Each of the leaders mysteriously vanished, and numerous lackeys were experiencing the feel of metal bracelets around their wrists before being thrown into prison. Many more members were dead. No one could explain the mysterious end to the reign of the gangs, but, regardless, the citizens rejoiced at the prospect of peace for the future.

“However, when the smoke finally cleared, it became evident that peace would come at a price. At the end of the war, a new gang had surfaced who operated quietly to remove their opposition. Once they eradicated their competition, they made demands on the city for certain immunities, in exchange for the gang's protection. The Blue Coast had seen so much blood at this point that it would have been more apt to name us the Red Coast, as we are referred to in other parts of the nation. With fear heavy in everyone’s hearts, the city accepted this offer and gave the gang its own den of evil. That area is still named on a map as Paradise Grove, but everyone calls it Devil’s Eden, the home of the Fox gang.”

“The police made a deal with the Foxes?” Zach questioned, aghast.

“Exactly. This was all hideously covered up, of course, and now all that is common knowledge is that there was a gang war, both gangster and innocent died alike, and at its end only one gang remained claiming Paradise Grove as its hive. We all know to avoid that place, though it does not stop our youth and many others. The public does not know about the deal the city made to the Foxes, which, of course, was never officially stated anywhere. My own investigation led me to discover the truce, and it had been my mission to expose it so that the system would come crumbling down. With proof to my allegations, the federal government would have to stand in, send in the military if necessary and finally put an end to the rule of crime on the Blue Coast. My plan was to finally destroy the gangs in the city, but that...I don't think I will ever achieve anymore.”

I heard Zach's heart rate quicken and my own raced in response. My mouth watered, and I could almost taste a hint of blood in the air. No, Zach, don't get excited. It makes it harder for me to resist.

“Wow, Jane, that's really incredible stuff! You really found all that out? Hey, I really care about this story. Seriously, I do. I hate all the bullshit that happens. I want to see all the gangs come to an end on the Blue Coast, just like you. It may not be as bad now with one gang instead of the five from ten years ago, but one is still too many. They get away with too much. There are too many overdoses, too many violence-related deaths. I've seen the missing persons' reports, many of them their own families don't even care, but I do. Jane, I believe in what you're trying to do. I believe in this story. I want to help you. I'll get you the evidence you need, and once the country sees it, the federal government will have no choice but to get involved. You're right, this is exactly what's needed. Let me help you, and I promise we'll save the Blue Coast together.” He leaned forward, fists clenched in front of him. The sweet, gentle boy was promising loyalty to me that would get him killed. Days ago, I would have hugged him, but that day it made my evil heart feel that much heavier.

“I'm sorry, Zach. I should not have told you that.”

“What?” he cried incredulously. “Jane, do you know what you're taking on? You can't do all that alone, I don't care how much of a hero you think you are. If you take it on all by yourself, you're promising yourself failure. If you're going to succeed, you need help. Please, Jane. Let me help you.”

“You're too late, Zach.”

“Huh?”

“I'm not doing that anymore, so please just drop this, okay?”

“After all you told me, are you really going to give up?”

“Yes,” I snapped. “You can't save anyone if you can't save yourself first.”

“That sounds cowardly.” Zach's voice lost its passion.

I slammed my palms on the table. “Damn it, Zach! Listen to me when I tell you, these guys are dangerous. Get involved and they will kill you—I'm serious.” My arms were trembling. “I was hoping to learn more about them from any pictures you may have picked up, but now I wish I never asked for your help. Things aren't safe with me. I'm sorry, Zach, I really appreciate your offer, but your involvement has to stop here. If not then your life might be at stake.”

“Alright, Jane. You win, as always.” Zach regained his calm as another smirk crept onto his face. “Hey, I wanna help, but I'll back off if things are really as dangerous as you say. I'm not stupid.”

Despite it all, I found myself smiling in response. I never did smile very often, but it was Zach who always managed to turn my melancholy around. “You know, I think you're the easiest person to talk to.”

His grin widened. “I love talking to you too, Jane. Each time I do, I feel like I peel off another layer of your armor.”

“Armor, hey? I feel more like a raw egg; with just one drop I would be destroyed completely.”

Zach leaned forward, reaching for my hand. I pulled away.

“It's best to run and hide your head in the sand; it's what the rest of the city does after all. If you decide to fight, you'll quickly discover that you are the only person on the battlefield against a horde of demons.”

I took a sip of the attractive, yet distasteful, liquid before continuing. “People don't say it, but I always see it in their eyes. When the threat of another war rises, they envision it all again. You remember, right? Cars ramming into one another in the streets; the sound of gunfire ripping through the air; a person walking right in front of you suddenly dropping to the footpath with a third eye drilled into their forehead. I remember a story where an old lady had to be taken to hospital because of a heart attack after viewing someone who had fallen from the sky. She said that she would never forget the sound of how that stranger's bones, hundreds of them, all broke at once.

“Back then, plans were always very tentative, because you never knew if the restaurant where you planned to have dinner would be lost to a pile of ash or rubble before you ever arrived. You could never know if you were heading into the next area of collateral damage.

“Say your favorite restaurant still stood and you made a date for an intimate dinner with your family. You were a blossoming teenager with your parents telling you how proud they are with your exam results—all of which was suddenly interrupted by hail flying sideways through the air. Glass shatters all around you, and your ears become filled with deafening ringing. Then you would look around and realize that it’s not your ears, but everyone’s screams converging as one. You would be huddled on the floor behind a table and just barely notice one of the hailstones. As you pick it, up your stomach drops and you realize that the warm metal in your hand is a bullet. You would turn around, looking for your parents and find patrons drenched in blood, so many of them lying motionless on the carpet. You then find someone next to you, a woman who looks so much like your mother, but you knew that it couldn’t be her because that lady in front of you was dead.” I was suddenly breathing heavily, my world dizzy and unfocused.

I felt a hand on my shoulder.

“Yeah, I remember.” From his close proximity, I could smell the healthy dose of iron in his blood, and I could feel the gentle rhythm of his chest cause subtle percussive arcs through the air.

I shrugged his hand off me and glared haughtily. “What the hell do you remember? What the hell happened to you?”

“Jane, don't be like that. Don't push me away. This is good, you need to talk about these things.”

“There's nothing to talk about.” I pulled out the USB from my tablet and hurriedly packed it away. I slammed the likely corrupted information stick onto the table. “I've got to go now.”

“Wait, Jane,” Zach pleaded. “Just sit back down. Listen, we don't have to talk about any of that. Let's just talk about that annoying Emma from work or the latest fluff-piece you've been made to write.”

I was already gone, running away with black streaks pouring from my eyes.

Chapter Eleven

I took another long sip of my scotch-on-the-rocks as I sat at the Sands Casino bar and reflected on the self-imposed irony. I was struggling to retain control, to resist my primal urges, and yet I was consuming the very substance that destroys all that. I couldn't help myself. I was just too sad, too scared and too angry, so, I needed something to dull the pain, anything that could help me forget my dismal plight. It was failing, however. Of course, it was. Especially since I was drinking the detestable beverage that he favored, the very thing that carried him to his grave.

I mused over that strange habit all creatures shared: to lick one's wounds and pick at the semi-healed scabs. I wondered if, in our sorrow, we secretly hold the desire self-destruction. Was that why I forced detestable gulp upon detestable gulp as I sat alone in the populated casino?

I wondered if anyone would turn up. Ruby sent me here, but she did not tell me a time or a particular place to meet. Maybe she just wanted to send me on a wild-goose chase, all the while laughing at the idea of this murderess looking so lonely at a bar on a Saturday night.

The glass was soon finished and I placed it on the counter with a little too much zeal.

“Can I buy you another one, gorgeous?” An overly eager man quickly claimed the bar stool next to my own.

I eyed his throbbing carotid artery. “I'm hungrier than I am thirsty,” I stated sadly, as I tore my gaze away.

“Is that right? Well, I'm pretty thirsty, how 'bout after a drink I'll get you some grub?” He waved the bartender over and pointed at my glass. “Another one of these for the lady, whatever it is, and get one for me too.”

I eyed him hostilely. He grinned with pride. Oh, God, I sighed.

The bartender brought back two newly filled glasses.

My benefactor picked up the glass and indulged in a sip. “Scotch, I'm impressed.” He beamed. His heart shared in the excitement as it quickened, albeit somewhat sluggishly.

I slammed back the drink, without a second thought.

“There you go; that's the spirit. Nothing like a drink to take the hunger pangs away.”

My sentiments exactly, I thought.

“Say, what's your name? I'm thinking...Jessica. You look like a Jessica. Something starting with a J at least?” he probed.

“Sami.”

“No shit. So am I.”

Seriously?

“Well, I prefer Sam.”

I looked at the man's open-collared shirt. It was poorly fitted, with frayed stitching, and yet it did not look old. Just coming out of the open neckline a few brown whiskers pulsated gently.

Sam-Bam-Bam. I grinned at the rhyme.

Sam lifted his drink. “Here's to good scotch.”

I lifted mine up to his and our eyes locked. We drank in unison, watching one another, as if daring the other. He kept drinking, challenging me to follow him, gulp for gulp, and I did. We placed our emptied glasses on the counter at the same time.

I watched his enriched lips as they formed the words, “Wanna head out to the balcony?”

“Sure. Why not?” The alcohol was finally starting to work; I was forgetting the pain.

He interlaced his fingers in mine, smoothly, and led me from the bar, around some poker machines and out through a set of opaque black glass doors. He held one open for me as I passed through. I walked forward to the balcony barrier, dropped his hand and peered over the edge.

Beautiful as always. I watched the reflected lights twinkle on the water. Sands Casino was surrounded by a moat, framing the extravagant building like a castle that connected to the main river running through the city. I stared ahead, over trees growing along the far side of the bank and into the array of lights emitted from tall buildings in the foreground. This was the heart of Paradise Grove. The casino was easily the most beautiful attraction in the whole of the Blue Coast. It used to bring in tourists by the droves, but that was many years ago, before it changed into the hands of its current owners.

Sam eased beside me. “Beautiful.” He wasn't looking at the scenery.

I placed a hand on his chest. Suddenly, the alcohol could not diminish my desperate yearning. Pain seared in the center of me, which only intensified with the intimate touch.

“It's so beautiful it hurts,” I whispered.

“We're all alone,” he stated, meaningfully.

I knew that I couldn't, that I shouldn't, but I had forgotten why. He radiated so much blissful heat.

“I'm so hungry,” I murmured

“That makes two of us.” He launched himself onto me, locking his lips fiercely into mine as his hands groped over my body. Finding my breast and my crotch, he pushed his hands firmly. I could feel his heart shake the thin air that was between our chests. The sound of thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump boomed in my ears.

He released his lower hand, undid the zip to his jeans and reached inside. Our lips were still locked, his tongue caressing around mine. It tasted so beautiful, so tempting, and so fleshy. I took a bite.

He screamed and shoved me away as I chewed on my prize, but I did not let him go. Not when I had just started my meal.

In one swift movement, I placed a hand over his mouth, stifling his protesting wails, and sent a pointed strike forward. There was a tumultuous crunch as I sliced through the bones of his ribcage. His body convulsed under my hold, but I held tightly

I wrapped my hand around the melodious, life-giving organ. With an elated yank, I tore the organ free from its host. As I severed the cords that once connected it, blood gushed out like water from a hose.

Finally, the incessant moans ceased, and I was free to toss the leftovers to the floor. Sam collapsed on the ground, swimming in his own blood, legs kicking out to paddle him back to shore.

I admired my prize, its radiant warmth; its continual beating still pumping out little spurts of blood and blowing air bubbles from its two large arteries. Hunger quickly overruled my curiosity, forcing me to satiate my desires. I swallowed it all in one.

Leaning against the balcony, I licked my fingers and again stared at the majestic sight in front of me. Paradise. It was paradise.

I inhaled smoothly, as if air was composed of silk that caressed my insides with every exhale. I felt that familiar warm golden tingle again. It spread through me swiftly, yet softly. It was in my toes, in my cheeks, and I smiled as all weight was lifted from my shoulders. My whole body could have been composed of no more than air, of nothingness. I could feel it—a perfect harmony of full emptiness. It occurred to me that I, the ground, the water and the air, the entire universe was nothing but tiny flecks of glitter dancing around in a great abyss. This dance was so organized that from a distance it almost appeared as if something was there. It was enlightenment. It was truth.

Laughter escaped me as if this universe of nothing was trying to draw the glitter out from me, pulling right at the core.

Then I was interrupted by a woman's voice. “Well, I see you've made yourself right at home.”

Chapter Twelve

I lunged upon the trespasser, strangling the fiend with one hand. I knew, in a meager moment, I would hear the frail neck bones collapse, but that would not be before I delved into this chest, too. I shot out with my other hand, but it found neither ribcage to penetrate nor sternum to splinter. In fact, it found nothing. Suddenly, there was only the sound of air whooshing past me. My skull hit the tiled floor with a loud, echoing crack. I then skidded the twenty feet hard into the wall.

I righted myself quickly, to a crouched position, keeping low in case I suddenly needed to make a dash. I barely had a scope of my attacker before I was crudely bashed against the wall and dragged up so that my feet missed the ground. I could scarcely see past my fitful lashes to my pursuer's hands as they closed around my throat. I fought for a couple of minutes, flailing rapidly, summoning all my strength. My attacker may as well have been restraining a chicken, wings fluttering, just before snapping its feeble neck. Whoever it was, he was simply too strong. After a long while, my own strength waned and my movements transformed into those of a doped youth. My arms slowed enough that I found myself peering at a large nefarious figure before me with eyes of black pools.

“Smoke,” I managed to utter through his stranglehold.

He scoffed and dropped me back to the hard, tiled floor. I crumpled so limply I may as well have been a corpse. With trepidation, breaking through the pain of my throat and lungs, I realized that soon I would become one once more.

“Now that you have been subdued, I hope you are more...approachable now.” It was the voice I heard before, but it did not come from that dark figure. It was a woman's, and grew louder, as did the clicking of stilettos.

Suddenly, I felt a hand clasp around my jaw. It was gentle, kind.

“Darling, there is no need for us to fight, hmm? I don't like to see someone such as you so easily overcome and disheveled,” she added, with mildly veiled disdain. She drew my chin up; if I were not so battered, I would have awed at the visage of her beauty. She had exceptionally soft features and deeply tanned, flawless skin. Her face was perfectly sculpted; framed neatly by the bob of her jet-black hair.

I wondered who she was. She was not a demon, though, her deep brown eyes retained their human warmth.

“There, that's better now, isn't it?” she cooed as I relaxed. I heard a scoff from down the other side of the balcony. Smoke had retreated and sank into the deepest shadow the small space provided.

I backed away, hastily watching the woman all the while. I had not fully recovered, but I regained strength quickly. No doubt, thanks to Sam lying in a bloody mess just a few meters off. I could see the full ambit of the woman then; clothed in a deep emerald dress that clung to her slender frame with a noxious magnificence. It shimmered proudly as it defied the low lighting.

She took on a motherly tone. “You are not going to be difficult anymore, I presume?” I glanced back into the shadow where Smoke leaned against the wall. He was turned away from us, and though I could see little more than his silhouette, I received a distinct feeling that he was bored.

“Who are you?” I demanded with a husky voice.

“My name is Alex. Alexandra Perrier. It's a pleasure to meet you, Jane Kirra. So long as you don't try attacking me again.” Her smile indicated that she was finding the situation very amusing.

“You're not like me, are you?”

She shook her head.

“Detective Smoke there…he is, isn't he?”

Her eyes narrowed. “You've been doing a little homework, I see. Yes, he is the same as you.”

“You're Foxes.”

She nodded.

I breathed for a second and gazed across the blood-streaked floor. Sam's blood had been carried far. Suddenly, I stiffened. “You set me up! You made me do that.” I reached back out for her throat, but Smoke planted a gigantic fist against my cheekbone and sent me skidding across the ground. The back of my head thudded into another wall. Smoke disappeared just as quickly as he made himself known.

“Idiot,” Alex murmured. “Darling, you murdered him all of your own volition. A real shame too, he was a regular. Not a high roller, but spent enough cash that he was welcomed here.

Dazed, I pulled my hands out in front of me and gazed at the blood coating them. Dread filled me as I realized I killed again— this time, with no more motivation than to satisfy my dark desires. I clasped my hands tightly, watching the red liquid exude from between my fingers.

“I wonder,” she commented thoughtfully, “are you feeling remorse for the man's life you just stole?”

“I...I promised myself I wouldn't harm any more innocent people,” I husked.

Alex gave a light chuckle. “Coming from someone like you, that is very amusing.”

I looked up and saw her leaning over the balcony rail as she gazed down into the water.

“Why are you here? I thought I was to be meeting Ruby and Valentine.”

“They won't be coming this evening,” she replied. “You have been deemed too unstable. Some of them were worried that you may be still lusting for revenge, so they sent me instead; someone a little more dispensable, to explain your situation to you.”

I shot a look to Smoke, who stood back in his heavily shadowed corner. He was vigilant, but generally disinterested.

“Explain it to me then. Mack said I was a demon. What does that mean?”

Alex barked with laughter. The noise diverted my attention to the doors. I realized, with sudden gravity, that anybody could walk outside and discover us at any moment, dead body and all.

“Seriously, girl, stop looking so distressed. Those doors were locked the moment Smoke and I joined you. I mean, really, the way we need to clean up after you, it's as if we are your parents. I guess he is, in a way.”

Alex gazed back across the water. “You are not a demon. Mack's fear blinded him from the truth. What you are, Jane, is a daimon.”

Her eyes closed as a gust of wind tugged at the train of her dress. “A daimon is not a demon, though to an untrained and un-tuned ear it may sound very similar. Daimon, by Greek mythology, means an inferior deity, a demi-god; divine abilities in the flesh of a human. Otherworldly, if you prefer.”

Cautiously, I moved next to her by the rail. A part of me screamed distrust, but another part was being lulled to her side.

“How do you mean otherworldly? You don't mean, aliens or something?” I felt stupid as soon as I let the words slide.

Alex smirked, but she did not laugh so harshly this time, it was more as if my question was of a child asking if the monster in the dark really existed, though I knew I would not receive the preferred response.

“Aliens…” Her smile broadened. “Abstractly, yes, I suppose.” She stared long and hard at the scenery as she thought. Then she elaborated, “The power you possess, it does not exist in this world. All conscious beings that exist are composed of both spirit-energy and form. Everything that is living needs a basic skeleton, and if it is intelligent, requires a cognitive center where conscious thought may be processed. In a human, this is constructed by the human form and its brain. Animals are all very similar you know. Though our IQs may be quite different, our genetic structures are not too far from one another. Pigs, for instance, actually provide a great substitute for human tissues when the need arises. Despite being dirty and providing wonderfully tasty Christmas meals, they are also quite bright. With the equivalent intelligence of a three-year-old, so I've heard.”

“Pig tissue is the new collagen?” I extrapolated.

Alex looked aside. “You should know by now, we are nothing but pink meat.” When I did not respond, she continued with her original train of thought. “My comparison is not to undermine human life. It is to accentuate how intertwined all life is on Earth, no matter how trivial it may seem. When I speak of you, of where your power is derived from, it does not relate at all to human life or to the animals on this planet, nor to anything known in this world. Your power—what you are—” She chuckled. “You're right, you are an alien, but not from another planet, nor solar system, nor galaxy. You, darling, are not even from this universe.”

She let the silence linger for a moment again. I felt like slapping her to force her to speak. My thirst for knowledge was suddenly overpowering, but I did not lash out. Perhaps, because my other desires were at that moment satiated. I may be a “newborn” as this daimon, but that did not mean I was a child, or even a pig. I could maintain my dignity. I waited patiently, tapping a foot to fill in the time.

My agitation did not faze Alex. She continued to stare off into the picturesque distance, as if drawing its harmony into herself. “Daimons are a unique invention. The form—the body—the human skeleton is of this world, but that other part that makes things tick, the life-force, has been summoned from another dimension. That flowing force and the vessel that holds it is what makes you now, Jane. A hybrid of two different planes of existence, but in order to gain, something must be sacrificed. Your life-force from this world, Jane, was given into that other universe, and instead, you were gifted with another force, one far more powerful and ferocious than anything possible in this world.”

“This other universe…what is it? Where is it?” I wondered, was it just another big group of stars that was aligned right next to ours, though some billions of light years away.

Alex waved out her hand in front of her. “You know, many scientists believe that there are numerous dimensions all intertwined and coiled up in the simple three that we perceive, or four if you count time, but they are there, hiding. Others have described universes as being placed next to one another, and that they could be cut into slices like a loaf of bread. Right here,” she closed her hand, “is that other dimension and others. We pass through them, touch them, but never feel them; perpetually blind to the truth surrounding us.”

I frowned as I imagined the life force that was taken from me wafting around in one of these other dimensions. I would pass right through it like a holographic image, though I could never hold or reclaim it again. “So, a daimon is a creature that has been separated from its soul. I see now why Mack confused it with “demon.”

“A soul?” Alex considered this for a moment. “Yes, I can see how you would come to that conclusion. That is interesting, however, that you considered you had one to lose. A soul—amplified—yes, that could be what balanced the equation.” She pondered this more to herself than to me.

I stared out over the black rippling waves. “In exchange for my soul, I have been given this life-force from a parallel universe?” I was struggling to follow.

“I would hardly call it parallel, the universe your power is from or any other. These other planes of existence are as different to one another as wind is to fire. Put together in a beautiful puzzle, these other dimensions make life possible, but they may never truly coexist. If they were to be melded together, either the fire would consume the wind or the wind would snuff out the fire, and thus life would either end in a blaze or in a whimper.”

“You're being cryptic,” I growled.

“Oh?” Alex feigned surprise. “Yes, I suppose this complexity is all really beyond you. Quite ironic really.”

“You know, I'm thinking I could eat again.”

She laughed at my threat. “Smoke could rip out your heart before you could even lay a claw on me.”

I glared at her, icily, knowing that she was probably right. Instead, I waited for her to come to her point.

“Your power, that life-force you've acquired, is quite unique. It seems that it originates from a plane where only energy exists, with no matter, no form, and hence no consciousness. Therefore, with no means to dissipate this energy, it becomes very condensed and very potent, with near limitless potential. Accessing that would be like accessing the power of a god.”

“Why?” My voice trembled. “Why does it have to be human hearts?”

Her voice softened. “I don't know. Maybe, that's the payment required to access that otherworldly power. There's still a lot I have yet to figure out, too.”

“Why me? Why did I come back to life, and not any of those other girls?”

“He likes damaged girls,” she replied sadly.

“I want to see him. Let me speak to Valentine.”

“You mean you wish to see Rose. That is his name, not that stupid concoction from the media. For now, you cannot. Sage has decided that you are too unstable. When you learn how to control yourself better then I believe he will permit the two of you to meet.”

“Rose—that's true name of Valentine?”

“True enough.”

“Sage.” I pressed. “Is he another daimon?”

“Yes, and he is very protective of Rose. If he thinks there is any kind of risk then he will take measures to remove it. Though Rose created him, Sage plays the role of the guardian.”

“I see. So, what do I need to do to earn an audience with the flower?”

She shot me a dark look. “You best be careful how you speak of him. There are many that are very loyal to him.” She indicated Smoke, whose black eyes pierced right through me. “He wants you to start working for us. You will be given an assignment every couple of days; do this and you will have earned your trust with the Foxes.”

My eyes narrowed. “What kind of assignment?”

“An assassination, of course.”

“I refuse.”

“Don't be daft!” she shouted. “This is more for your benefit than for our own. Don't you see, you need to eat human hearts on a regular basis to keep healthy. They can't just be picked up at the butcher.”

“So I'll be unhealthy.”

“Stupid girl,” she muttered angrily. “You might think you can be noble and adopt a pacifist lifestyle, but just look to the ground there and remember your first kill. The harder you try to resist it, the less control you will have of yourself. Fast yourself and you'll transform into a wild beast. Trust me on that one.”

My grip tightened on the railing.

“Kill who we tell you to and we'll do the rest, clean up after you, and all the while you'll gain good stead with Rose and Sage. You really don't have a choice if you want to live.”

“I'll never work with you monsters!” Blood was still coating my hands.

She crossed her arms. “So, we are the monsters?” she echoed.

“You're responsible for all the destruction in the Blue Coast. So many murder victims, even more missing persons, and every life somehow shattered by you people. All you do is destroy, kill. You kill everything good. You're nothing but killers!”

“Ah, I see.” Alex mused, her voice becoming quiet. “You blame the Foxes for the city's tragic past.”

“Of course I do!” I sniped. “It was you filthy gangsters, firing your guns and setting your bombs. You destroyed everything, killed everyone. You killed my parents!” I screamed.

She simply nodded, her features irritatingly expressionless. “Your profile said that you were involved in a drive-by shooting, but that was performed by a different organization to ours.”

Alex was right, it wasn't the Foxes but it didn't change the fact that gangsters destroyed my family. Though their deaths occurred years ago, the pain was everlasting. It was what had fueled my hatred of organized crime. The Foxes profited from the previous gangs' fall. They gained the city's entire market, prior gang’s personnel and immunity from the police. The gang that left its mark on my family had disbanded, but its members lived on, kept up their violence and a few had assimilated into this very gang. There were members from the drive-by shooting within the Fox ranks; I knew it with surety even though it was no more than a feeling. I did not know who they were; the only faces I remembered of that day were those of my parents, splattered with blood.

My enemies were here. In my mind I saw them coated in red, a mask that kept me from discerning their true identities, but I knew that they walked amongst this pack. On all fours they eluded me, laughing as blood flowed into their mouths.

The Fox gang did not destroy my family, but that did not mean Foxes didn't perform the act. My enemies were here, hiding beneath another skin. To me, though, one Fox looked just like another - that was why I had to eradicate them all.

“Your parents' deaths had nothing to do with us,” Alex continued. “You were there, in that restaurant as it was torn to shreds. You know that it was another organization; one that died before the Foxes ever began. You can't blame us because we were never there, you can't blame the gang responsible because they've disappeared. That just leaves you. You're still here when your parents are dead. You survived a horrific incident when so many others didn't. So, if you are really so adamant on blaming someone, shouldn't you think of blaming yourself? Blame the pathetic teenager that could do no more than weep as people died around her.”

I leapt forth again and this time gained a grip on her throat and squeezed merrily. As I did, I imagined her face as one of those emerging from a car window with a rifle in hand.

Then, to the corner of my gaze, I saw a movement. Within a moment, Smoke was upon me again. I recoiled, just evading him by millimeters, and backed away a few meters. He did not stop, though, and kept moving for me. Again, I evaded and used the wall as a springboard to jump over him. I thought I had made it, until my ankle was locked in a crude, vice-like grip.

He swung me down at the floor. My head thumped against the tile, and blood began oozing from my forehead. I lifted my torso up and spat red onto the ground.

“Fuck you all,” I growled. “I'll kill you!”

Smoke was back in front of me and he slammed my head into the wall, again and again, more times that I could count. Swift and merciless he pounded me; each time I could hear my skull cracking. The last blow had spread all across from the back of my head to the front so that I could no longer see in alignment.

He sniggered brutishly and tossed me aside, back to the tiles, back to Sam’s corpse.

“You see, Jane, I am trying to appeal to your reasoning, your intellect,” Alex purred. “I know it's in there—you are not a dull girl— but since your transformation you have not used those qualities in the slightest. This has been very disappointing. There is a teething period, but right now you are really testing my patience. I think Smoke would not disagree.” She sniggered. “Girl, it is truly in your best interest to play along, so won't you just be a darl, hmm?”

Fury raged through me so forcefully that I barely heard her words. The vile gangsters had murdered me, twisted me into this vile, hungry, raging form, and thought I would simply forgive them and do their bidding? I would never work with gangsters. They were truly the most detestable creatures in the world; even more despicable than myself, and I would rather die than be their pawn.

Instead, I envisioned ripping out every organ from Alex's body, starting with her skin; tearing it to shreds. First, I would need to dispose of Smoke; he was proving to be very irritating.

I lifted myself so that my torso was propped up from the ground, arms trembling in the crouched position. The world was not blurred as such, but disarranged, like viewing a visual puzzle where the eyes and brain could not come into agreement. I touched my face, detecting the warm liquid drenching it. I pressed on my skull and found a smarting fracture beneath the skin, and trembled as I realized that my body was losing its healing ability.

“I will not be one of you,” I replied obstinately.

I heard her breathe heavily in and out. Her heart was very loud, prominent. It seemed like it generated too much force for her slender physique.

“You don't have a choice,” Alex replied tersely.

I was about to leap at her despite my poor sight but just as I turned Smoke was there with a expression which was either extreme disdain or pleasure, my eyes could tell no difference. He proceeded to beat me, repeatedly, against the walls and floor. This thrashing lasted maybe five to ten minutes, but to me, it felt like an hour. Over and over again he attacked me, as I pleaded for it to stop.

It all happened so fast, a hundred strikes in every minute, due to Smoke's incredible speed. So fast, faster than me, and far more powerful. I never had a hope of defending. I could do nothing but play the doll that took it all.

When he finally stopped, I was limp and completely unable to move. Dull, hot agony coursed through me. Most of that was in my head, which felt like an anvil was pressing in from all sides. I wished I had died that night in the woods.

I was thrown back to the tiles. The way in which I landed afforded my askew sight a full frontal of Sam, who had wanted nothing more than to enjoy a certain quality time with me. Already he was so pale, with eyes that rolled back into his head. Fear was frozen on his bloodied face.

“Jane? Stop being so obstinate and respond, girl.” I felt a weak kick from a narrow point. “Damn it, Smoke, I told you to go easy on her. She'll be brain damaged now, after that. Not that the ingrate wasn't before, what with calling us her parents' killers. Now, isn't that a joke?”

“It's...” I muttered weakly, barely audible. “It's your...fault. Mom...and Dad died as a result of...gangsters. You gangsters...”

Alex sighed loudly, then added, “So that's how you manage to deal with it, you project the blame on us. You don't own your guilt.”

“I...I...” I stammered weakly. “I didn't do anything wrong.”

“No?” Alex's voice was filled with amusement. “You murdered someone in cold blood, Jane, and you did it well. That's why you are so much like us: you kill with forethought. It's clean, and no one would have ever suspected you. You were only a teenager, but you murdered like a professional. Better than a professional. Many would not be able to stomach what you did.”

I gulped. “No, that wasn't my fault. I only did what anybody else would have...I had to do it. I had to.”

“You really are insane.”

“I didn't kill anyone.” I spat blood. “I...only finished the job.” I was breathing heavily as images flashed back in my mind. I saw a darkly filled glass fall to the floor and my own hand reach forward, looking for the pulse under a man's neck. I remembered watching the paramedics from the shadows; collecting the body, murmuring about another life wasted by drugs and alcohol. There was no investigation into the death, just a burial. A suicide, and I was in the clear. “How, do you know about that?” My voice was barely audible, even to myself.

“Please. You couldn't have turned into a daimon if you were innocent.”

“He deserved it, after what he did. My brother and I were all alone...” I pleaded towards Sam's corpse.

Then Alex came back, grasped my jaw in her soft way, and turned it toward her. Her perfect image was no more than a daze.

“You can stop this pain, Jane. Let go and join us. Become one with our family, and this hurt,” she touched between my breasts, “will be as if it never existed. You were made for this. Death—murder—it was always your calling, long before we intervened. Don't carry around that guilt anymore. Let it go, and be free with us. What do you say, Jane, won't you become a daughter to the Foxes?”

Though she appeared as no more than a blurry double silhouette, I could still tell that she smiled kindly at me. I wanted to fight it; I was so angry with the all the gangs for what they had done to the city, and for what happened to my parents. Yet, her gentility could not be circumvented. She was so sweet, so motherly. She was far younger than my mother and different in appearance, but I could not help feeling that I could trust her like a parent, or even the older sister I never had.

I whispered, “Okay.”

Chapter Thirteen

I ran; so fast that my eyes blurred, so light that I could barely detect the ground as I flitted over its surface. Background noise bounced around rapidly— high, low, high—a school science memory told me it had something to do with the Doppler Effect, though I had long forgotten its meaning. All I knew was that I appreciated when sound was absent. The moments of silence became more frequent and prolonged the further I traveled, so I kept running.

I did not want to be there anymore. I did not want to exist anymore. Abominations should never exist. I felt like a plastic bag that had once came from the earth, and just like one, could never return, except to suffocate it.

I ran away from civilization; from life and temptations; from cell phone reception, and most of all from my friends. My very existence placed them in danger. I wanted to avoid it all; run so far west that I could escape everything.

I suddenly understood my brother's sentimentality for the first time. It was not running to a new life, it was simply running away from this one. What I really wanted to do was run away from who I was and everything that happened during the past week. I wished to escape my bleak future and my terrifying past. I wished I could run away from the impossible situation placed on me the previous night, but that memory just kept catching right back up.

“Wait for us to contact you,” Alex had said after I was beaten on the Sands balcony. “Don't worry, we'll give you a target before you can even feel the first pang of hunger.”

“What if I refuse one of your targets?” I threatened, after finally regaining some strength.

“Oh? What we are offering you is not enough? Immunity from your past, future and present crimes.” Alex glanced back towards Sam's cold body lying lifeless on the floor. As she gritted her teeth, the woman’s beauty did not hit me so strongly anymore. “Then you will be persuaded by other means.”

“Go ahead, beat me up again.” I spat; blood landed next to her feet, missing her designer shoes by millimeters.

She smiled, but the corners of her mouth were tipped with poison. “No, if you continue to prove impertinent, a new approach will be employed. If spilling your blood has no effect on you, then we will just have to use a substitute's. You've got friends at that newspaper you work at, right?”

She gave me back my phone before the two left me, broken, on the balcony. I healed, but gruelingly slowly. It took me twenty minutes just to be able to pull myself back up to my feet. When I tried the door, it was locked. That meant I had to make a jump from that height. I landed, breaking yet more bones upon impact. By the time I managed to hobble home, clothes saturated from swimming across the moat, it was already sunrise. I fell asleep instantly. When I awoke, dread filled me acutely, and suddenly I was fleeing from the city.

There I was, running faster and further. I had been running non-stop for hours, all day in fact, and night approached once more. I wanted to soar down into the depths of the earth, into its moist boiling core. I ran up the hard bitumen, following the hardest track, the most enduring incline, and with dismal ease. I wandered through the bushland, brushing through spindly tree arms that snapped sharply as I soared through them. I leapt onto a sandstone rock, frustrated with the windy path, and kicked away the rubble that crumbled at my feet. I ran far out of the city, always angling higher. I could see light just a little way ahead, but as the hours passed, I found myself only becoming shrouded by greater darkness.

It was not until I reached the summit that I realized the reason for the unreachable brightness. It was the stars and the moon; I could see them, finally. My surprise caused me to stop, and I gazed into them deeply.

The night sky, the billions of stars of the universe, and even a couple of planets; I viewed for the first time in years. I was still not sure whether I was alive, dead, or more alive than ever before. I struggled to define myself.

I collapsed on a spot of grass I found, where trees gave way to the sky. I searched the stars, skimming over the ones that sparkled, and straight away sought out the ones that did not, as I always had.

I remembered, as a child, pointing to the sky and asking, “Is this one Venus?”

“Ah, but that one just twinkled, you see? That means it can't be Venus,” my father had explained.

“It only done it super quick—hardly at all!” I debated, impassioned.

Dad lay on the grass next to me. We were on top of Mount Air; the same mountain I found myself climbing, only perched in a different location. My whole family used to love this place when we, on rare occasions, would drive up and have a picnic here. It was an hour's travel from the city, but for the scenic views and fresh air it was totally worth it. One reason that made it so spectacular was that it was always just the four of us: Mom, Dad, Jack and I. Best of all, there were no work interruptions. There was a strict no-cell-phones policy up here, which I loved. This was not because of my parents' restraint. However, this was due to the fact that back then there just was no reception here. Even now my phone flicked between one and zero bars of signal strength, but back then the bricks picked up no signal at all. That meant that my parents couldn't be on call; the hospital could not reach them here, and we could finally relax without the possibility of canceling our plans or running from the house in the middle of the night. Women in labor would just have to wait a few hours before my mother could rush to help deliver the baby, and the other cardiac surgeons would just have to be able to handle emergencies themselves for a change. Trouble was, my parents were such fantastic doctors that they were always at the hospital, one way or another. So, these times were few, but cherished, and some of the happiest of my life.

“Jane, Jane...” my father sighed. “You cannot make something be what it is not by arguing.”

“You always said I should fight for what I believe in, and not to believe in things just 'cause people say so. You said, that even if someone says something is true, even you, that it still might not be. Only I can prove something as true.”

My father laughed. “I think Einstein would disagree with you. What I said, Jane, is that only you may verify a word for fact. This you have to prove to yourself.”

“Same thing,” I whined.

Again, he laughed gently. “For now, I guess so.”

“So...if this isn't Venus, then where is it?” I pointed back to the night sky.

“You can't see it. The planet is in between us and the sun, and since we are facing away from the sun, we are looking in the opposite direction. Sometimes you can see it just after sunset, or just before sunrise, which is why it is called the evening star or the morning star. It's too late, or too early, to see it now.”

“It's hide-and-seek!” I flipped around, laying on my stomach, but lifted at the elbows. I looked deeply in front of me and pointed into the dirt. “I see you, Venus.” I beamed.

He smiled. “X-ray vision? Very impressive, but I think...” he grabbed my hand and pointed just under the horizon, “it'll be about there, near the sun.”

Then I heard another body drop to the ground next to me. “You know, Edward, if you're going to be star gazing all the time when we come out here, it might be time to invest in a telescope. Christmas is coming up. I would get you one as a surprise, but I know how fussy you can be,” my mother exclaimed.

“I would love one, but it's not practical,” my father responded. “We only have a chance to get out here once or twice a year. I'd rather spend that money on my bright kids or sexy wife.”

“Well, I wouldn't mind a new necklace. I'm thinking diamonds.” My mother touched her collarbone gracefully, as she imagined it on her. “However, I would be happy to wait a little longer for that rock if you wanted to look at those rocks up there. Even if you get only a few uses out of it, if it'll make you happy then it would have been money well spent. Besides, you'll have to retire one day. I'm sure you'll have plenty of time to stargaze then.”

My father took my mother's hand and kissed it gently. He looked back up into her eyes. “I'm already star-gazing.”

My mother pushed him away playfully. “Oh, you smooth mover.” She leaned in and gave him a soft kiss.

“Ew!” Jack had just returned from his solo bush walk. “That's disgusting. Get a room.”

My parents giggled like they were children discovered doing something naughty.

I giggled too, wishing that one day I could find love like they had.

Then time moved on in my mind, where about three years had passed. The gang wars had commenced and darkness sat heavy in everyone's hearts.

I handed a glass out to my father. “You wanted me to get you a drink?”

He raised his head from his hands. Sitting on the living room sofa, he glared icily at me and snatched the beverage. He indulged in a large gulp before slamming it on the coffee table. “I asked for a scotch.”

I shifted apprehensively. “It is scotch.”

He scoffed. “Top shelf scotch, ruined because you decided to mix it with soft drink.”

I lowered my eyes. “You've...had so much drink already tonight. I thought, maybe, it might be best to slow down a bit.”

“Stupid kid. Always fucking everything up.”

With tears welling in my eyes, I was about to walk away, but he gripped my hand, restraining me.

“I'm sorry, Jane. I didn't mean that. It's just that...I'm so tired.”

I managed a half-smile. “Yeah, you and Mom have been at work so much lately. I feel like I hardly ever get to see you two.”

He nodded. “Your mother's at the hospital now, doing an extra shift; more gunshot victims. One of them is pregnant, third trimester. It looks like she will probably lose the baby.”

His hand was still gripping me.

“When I discovered that there was no cardiac damage to these latest ones, I was glad. Can you believe—damage to the kidneys, spinal cord, and brain, but not the heart— and I'm actually happy? It meant that I could finally go home, and when I do, I just get pissed.”

“It's okay, Dad. You're just tired, you need a break sometime.”

“It's these fucking gangsters. All they do is kill each other and any other person that's unlucky enough to be around.” He released me as he sculled the remainder of his glass. “I wish I could do something to stop them; stop this bloodshed, stop innocent people getting hurt by this evil; but these hands.” He brought them before his face, staring at them. He clenched his fists. “They can perform heart surgery, but they can't do what needs to be done. They can't remove the gangs from our city.”

I rubbed my sore wrist. “Dad, you save lives. That's the most important thing. That's what you do to fight.”

When he turned to me, it was with such malice that I retreated a step back. “Fighting would be to end this violence. Fighting would be to end the gangs; kill them if need be.”

“Dad!” I insisted. “Fighting violence with violence will just cause more pain.”

“Pain is what finishes it!” He threw the glass at the wall, where the fragments exploded away from one another as if shrapnel from a landmine. One of these pieces spun and reflected the light brilliantly. It grew as it soared from the wall until it finally neared and shot into me.

It only grazed me, but it was enough to slice into my skin. When I pulled my hand back down from my cheek, I observed the fresh crimson streak upon it.

My mind returned to the present, where I was no longer a child but I could still feel that moisture on my face. I felt a drop land on my outstretched hand, another on my bare foot, and then the rain fell steadily, in sparse light drops. Though I was looking up into the sky, I had not noticed the subtle veil blanketing it. It transitioned so gradually that it was only then that I realized no more stars could be seen. There was only the moon’s glow showing through, though fuzzy and sadly dimmed. No more than a ghost of its original beauty.

I stuck out a hand and tried to catch a droplet, but it shattered at my touch. I thought of that scotch glass, and then of other fragile objects breaking, like the bones of ribcages. In my mind's eye, I saw rain falling, the color a blissful crimson.

The thought was terrifying, yet comforting. I wondered if I should scold myself for my waning aversion; I knew that was what would have been appropriate. Dark desires must be reprimanded. Things that eat human hearts are monsters, but that was not what Alex had said. She called me a daimon, something that derived its power from another world; a place that I would never be able to see or touch, but would somehow always breathe a hint of. I wanted to push back those domineering clouds then, scatter the rain before it made its mark on me and leap deep into the sky, up into the stars and discover this other world. Perhaps there I would find a place where I belonged, for this one had discarded me long ago.

I wondered, if I did escape into another dimension, another world, whether anyone would miss me here. Sandra had already rejected me for stealing her focus. Ryan had put up clear boundaries as the little sister, and Jack, my real brother, abandoned me before I even came of age. The only person I thought would miss me was Zach; always smiling, so positive and so ready to jump into danger for me, but so considerate to back off when I asked him to. I realized then that I could lose everyone, but if I lost his friendship, then I would not be sure if I could maintain my sanity any longer. He was the only person I had that I could talk to, even if I couldn't really say what I was thinking.

Then something flashed in my mind— it was that stupid Wolverine dog tag he always wore around his neck. The bloody nerd. Still, it made me smile.

“I got it in a cereal box when I was a kid,” Zach had explained after I asked about it over a year ago. “It's worthless really, but I just haven't been able to part with it since I got it. I don't know, I guess it just reminds me of my childhood. It wasn't anything spectacular, but yeah, there were good times there and I'm just not ready to let them go. Not yet.”

“Not when the reality of adulthood is so crappy,” I agreed.

That Christmas he gifted me with my own dog-tag necklace. This one had an image of Catwoman inscribed on it. I had told him previously that I liked the character for her independence, intelligence, and ability to slip into the shadows and disappear at will. I omitted the part how she does not conform to society's stringent morals. She does as she pleases and fights for herself, no one else.

“I thought, now that you have one, you could return back to your childhood, remember the joy. Your own beacon of optimism,” Zach explained.

I hadn't worn it once.

The clouds thickened overhead, the rain pelting down harder. The drops were getting thicker, increasing in number and speed. They struck down with malice, pushing me down into the softening earth, as if to bury me where I lay. Whatever I was, I was dead; murdered nights ago and due to return to the soil. I would not make it to the stars. Instead, I would be transported into the depths of hell.

****

My eyes sprung open to an incessant noise in my jeans pocket. I fumbled around with muddied hands and retrieved the device emitting the disdainful, pop-hit ringtone. I cursed the old-fashioned design that gave the device enough bulk to protect it from water damage.

“What?” I snapped.

“Jane?” A tentative voice projected from the phone.

“Sandra?” I grumbled as I sat up, and began to tease the dirt from my hair with my free hand.

“Yeah,” she responded stiltedly. “You're not at work. You are okay, right?”

I peered through the trees and up into the blue sky above me. “Right, Monday, a workday.”

“Um...” she trailed hesitantly. “Are you coming in? You know it's after eleven a.m.?”

I sat upright and started brushing away more hardened soil from me. “I guess, but I'm going to be a few hours out.”

“Jane, what the hell? Why aren't you here? You sick?”

I was surprised by the concern in her voice. “Yeah I'm fine. I just spent the night out of the city.”

“Huh? Out of the city? Where are you?”

I looked around me. “Mount Air.”

“Mount Air. Christ! Why are you there?”

“Um...”

“Tell me later.” She sighed, frustrated. “Just hurry your ass and get here. Frank hasn't noticed that you're missing yet, but I can't cover for you all day.”

“Sandra...does that mean you've forgiven me now?”

I heard her scoff through the phone. “I'm still pissed. I'm just making sure you haven't wound up in some ditch or something.”

“I see. I'll be there as soon as I can.”

She hung up.

I looked down at my phone that flashed with both one bar of battery life and signal strength. It seemed I hadn't run far enough away. Then I noticed the messages icon, which had a number 1 next to it. I clicked it open and again wished the phone had received water damage from the night's rain.

Target acquired.

127 Michelson Street, St Lucia

Caucasian male, 52 years old, height 174cm, gray hair, average weight.

Deadline: 3:30pm

Do not be seen.

I went straight to my messages, composed a new one, and selected Sandra as the recipient.

Won't be able to make it in after all. If you could tell Frank that I'm not feeling well that would be appreciated, and Sandy, thanks.

Chapter Fourteen

So Mr. Gray Haired, you're my next kill then?

I stalked the target as he tended to his garden at 127 Michelson Street, from the rooftop of 125 Michelson Street. It was early afternoon and I was fortunate that his neighbors were presently vacant, allowing my booming footsteps on the tiled roof to go unheard. I was careful to listen for signs of life before bounding into my chosen place of cover, as it occurred to me that I could be detected very simply by my footfalls. My mother had been the one who ingrained that notion in me, and at that moment, her words returned to me clearly, as if she had just made the lofty comment. “Must be a possum,” she had said after heavy clangs were heard overhead in our home. “It may sound like a burglar, but that's what must make it something smaller. If it sounded like an elephant on the other hand, then we should be a little more worried.”

I did consider it a strange place of cover, a bare roof, albeit a sloping one. The sun blared down on me, though I deemed a still form would go unnoticed in an elevated position, for whoever thinks to look up? Gray-haired definitely had his attention downturned, to his posies and mosses, as opposed to any sniper points.

He was humming to himself, a tune I recognized though neither of us could recall any of the words. He chopped weeds in his already immaculate flowerbed. He eradicated the unseen pests with gentility.

Who are you? I wondered. Why do the Foxes have you marked? I had been watching him for some time—a couple of hours—wondering what made him so special, what made him fit for dinner. It was this curiosity that stayed my hand as I watched his obscured image through the glass of his home. When he was out of sight, I focused my hearing on him and detected heaving between sips of some sort of beverage. I imagined him sitting at his coffee table, drinking tea, dunking chocolate biscuits as he read the day's paper. Perhaps it would be my own, the Coastal Horizon. Those scratching noises could be his pencil on a crossword. Then he came outside after the lunchtime heat began to abate and returned to tending posies with the exaggerated slowness of one who never had another day of paid work ahead of them.

Why? I wondered again. Why was this retired old man such a threat that he had to be eliminated, and by me of all people? I knew that answer would not be revealed before I made my strike; it was already 3:00pm, a shy thirty minutes from the deadline. I wondered, what would happen if I killed him after the allotted time, or if I lingered around the scene too long. Would I be able to tear myself from the encapsulating gratification that ensued with consuming a heart? I remembered, once more, Alex's threat with my first act of disobedience, where I would relive the excruciating punishment. The second would be taken out on someone else, someone I cared about: Sandra, perhaps my brother. Jack was hours away by plane, but I did not doubt that the Foxes could extend their reach that far if needed. I knew that, strong as I was, I was no match for Smoke, and how many Smokes were out there for me to face? How many of us daimons existed? Even if the answer meant I had just the two powerful enemies, Smoke and Rose, I was still far outmatched. Then there were the other mysterious characters, such as Ruby and Sage. Who and what were they? Did that mean I had an additional two daimons to contend with, and would all of them be as powerful as Smoke? I was hesitant to carry out this contract, but they made it blatantly clear that, if I did not, then someone I cared about would be targeted, and that I could not allow. Too many people had suffered because of me and I would not put all the good people in my life at risk. Whoever this guy was, he was not so innocent that he could avoid the cross hairs of the Foxes. If someone were to be hurt, I would rather it be this old man, and at the same time I could fill my empty stomach. Maybe Alex was right; killing their targets could prove to be quite beneficial.

I flashed the time on my phone again: 3:05. I decided that enough time passed contemplating my dilemma and action had to finally be taken. Gray-haired had to die.

I slinked off the roof, keeping as quiet and out of sight as possible, and slipped into the neighbor's backyard. Jumping the side gate, I entered the street footpath and turned next door. I reached out to press the doorbell with a finger, but then used a knuckle instead. Alex had claimed that she would protect me, so long as I followed orders. I believed the Foxes would, but that would all change in the future, as soon as I went back to plucking off their members; just as soon as I learned how to kill a daimon. When that time arose, I did not want to give them any evidence that could be dredged up against me. I would have to learn the art of invisibility very soon, since the Foxes were not the only possible enemies that the near future could hold for me.

The door had not opened. Anxiously, I pushed the button again, and held it down, though the decibels did not increase. Finally, I heard some footsteps in the hall. A little hard on hearing, Grandpa?

I stole a quick glance at the time; 3:10.

“Hello?” the man enquired through the half-open door. While clearly in his fifties, it was interesting to view him from this vantage. He did not appear as meek as he had just prior. He was my height, quite toned for someone his age, and there was a hardness to his eyes, like he had seen a century's experience, not half that.

“Hi, oh, I'm so glad your home,” I stated sweetly. “I tried next door but they seem to be out. I hate to be an inconvenience, but I was hoping I could use your phone? My car broke down just over there and I'm meant to meet up with my friend who lives near here, but as I turned the corner here the engine just cut out. I'm so close too, it's silly really, but at least it's not on a major road or anything. Anyhow, I was hoping I could borrow your phone to call her and get her to pick me up? I have my cell.” I brought it out from my pocket and displayed the blank screen. “It died on me, too. You know what they say, when it rains it pours.”

He eyed me suspiciously for a moment. “They also say tragedy occurs in threes.” He returned my smile. “Let's contact your friend before something else happens then. Come in, this way.”

I followed him down the hall, breathing slightly heavy after the dribble I just served. I had used that one a couple of times in the past, when I wanted to get a look into some politician's, or other person-of-interest's home, and it always worked like a charm. People can be so trusting of a damsel in distress; it's laughable.

As I walked through the hall, I eyeballed the pictures on the walls. There was one of the gray-haired man with a gray-haired woman, and another where the couple was with a little girl. Then there was a picture of just the girl herself. She had a toothy smile with a space between her two front teeth.

I was brought to the kitchen, where the man picked up a cordless landline from the wall and handed it out in front of him. Just as my hand made contact with it the man introduced himself. “My name is Greg, by the way. Gregory Fletcher. Do you mind telling me who you are?” He had not let go of the phone.

“I… I...” I stammered, surprised at the introduction. “I'm Jane. Jane Kirra.”

He nodded and released the phone. “Do you mind if I make myself some tea? I find it quite soothing. Would you like one, too? I have a few different assortments: Earl Gray, English breakfast, green, and chai.”

I shook my head. “No, thank you.”

As he made his way through the kitchen he continued, “I never used to really care that much for them when I was your age. To me, they tasted bitter and the chamomile effects cancelled out the benefit of the caffeine, making the drink seem pointless. You see, I was always so busy with my work and my many clients, but my wife—she loved them. Claimed they were healing tonics for the body and the mind. She drank them all the time, and it seemed like they did really work for her, since she was always so relaxed and calm. They worked for her mind, anyway, but when it came to the body, no tonic was strong enough.”

I grasped the phone tightly in my hands, unsure how to proceed. I knew I was running out of time, the clock on the wall said 3:19, but sentiment stopped me from interrupting his speech.

“The doctors say it was cancer, but it wasn't. I killed my wife.”

He paused at the sound of the kettle reaching a screech. Unloading it from the stove, he poured the water into a cup, which steamed violently.

“Others may have considered it ironic, that it was cancer that claimed her life, but they and the doctors only knew half-truths. Though I never struck her, it was me that was responsible for her death. It was through my neglect, my absence.” He sighed, shaking his head. “I only had to notice the signs earlier: her failing strength, her dizzy spells, her long naps. I missed them all. I was too busy in the midst of my work. Still, even through all the chemotherapy, it was tea that soothed my dear Betty. It was about the only thing she could keep down. Then, just when I had learned to enjoy a mug with her, it proved to be her last.”

He indulged in a gratified sip. “I enjoyed that cup with her as we sat hand in hand in this very home because I knew that her life would be the last I would take from this world. I retired from my profession the day my love retired from life. I told them I would not kill again; I could not bear to have anybody else harmed. I did not assassinate Betty as I had countless others, but one's identity will always infect those around them, whether intentional or not.”

A moment of silence lingered as Greg stared into his steaming mug. “Thank you, for letting me tell you my story, and for telling me your name. It has always been something that I believed very passionately in; that a target should know the name of their killer.”

There was a clatter of glass as the teacup shattered on the tiled kitchen floor. Warm red drops joined the scolding brown liquid. They drenched his soft suede slippers and threatened to douse my own ballet flats that were just a foot from his.

Greg coughed, blood spilling from his mouth. “So, you are one of their toys? I thought you were, since you're not carrying any weapons.” He raised a white hand limply to my face. His touch was ice. “The moment I saw your eyes I knew, but then there was that smile. You're just like them, but then somehow...you seemed human, too.” He coughed spasmodically, this time spraying blood into my face.

My hand tightened around his heart, enjoying the small force it made as it continued its pitiful writhing.

“The monster has been slain, only to give way to a greater one,” he husked, barely managing to maintain his consciousness. “Please, don't let her see...Don't let her know this, I'm begging you. It's all I care about in life anymore—it's my dying wish. Just let her be.” His eyes rolled towards the back of his head. “Betty, forgive me for what I have done.”

The blood spilled forth from the gouge in his chest swiftly, as life drained from his cooling body. The heart was beating fast, then slow; it was losing its rhythm. With a yank, I retrieved the organ and consumed it. Before I let Greg fall to the ground, I saw the life whimper out completely, like a suffocated flame.

Again, it was tasty; brilliant, happy; erotic, heavenly; but for the first time, there was a hint of bitterness to it. The effect of the tea, I wondered? I did not really think that was it; perhaps, it was his calmness, his expectedness, his acceptance. He was ready to die. He believed he deserved it, and so he welcomed death with a cup of tea. This concept awakened uneasiness in me. Was it the suggestion that all killers deserve to be killed? I glanced over by the teapot where another mug was poured; I could just see the faint steam rising from it. It was an invitation for me to give up my killing as well.

I picked up the cup and poured it down the sink before wiping the handle with a tea towel. “I wish it were that easy, Greg.”

“Dad, is that you?” The voice of a young woman drifted from just down the hall. Then his words hit me: Don't let her see. It was not his dead Betty he wanted to hide from, but to keep the girl, his daughter, from seeing his violated corpse.

“Dad?”

With not even time for one of my quick dashes, I ducked under the counter, crouching over Greg's limp form. I stole a quick glance at the wall clock behind me: 3:41. This was the reason for the deadline; to escape before the girl returned home. That left only a ten-minute gap, meaning the cleaner was either incredibly efficient, or that the girl was meant to see her father desecrated. Was that it? Was that the message the Foxes wanted to send? Was that my purpose, to create a horrific mess of the sole parent this girl still had?

“Dad!” she called out again, voice coming from just outside the kitchen. “I swear I heard somebody just now,” she muttered. “Where is he? He should be here.” She breathed deeply as something caught her attention.

I looked around my side frantically, trying to discover what gave me away. The body was tucked behind the counter, I was completely out of sight, and even the pool of blood and shattered teacup were hidden. The extra mug likewise was placed in the sink. There was nothing to expose me, not so soon anyhow. The only thing that was touched was the damned teapot, but that was hardly out of place. Then I saw it from above me; the steam that still drifted from its spout.

Her footsteps quieted as they neared my side of the kitchen bench. She sensed something was amiss. She was not a target, and I very much doubted that she would be a hit man like her father. She was just a young woman who was too punctual in returning home. It was a shame that such a simple behavior would lead her to be murdered.

She neared closer, and finally her footsteps stopped just before the corner of the kitchen counter. She gasped.

It was the blood that she saw, first. Then, as she took another shaky step, I knew that a slipper would be revealed. She let out a whimper; she recognized the red-stained shoe as her father's.

“No, Dad!” she cried as she rounded the full corner where I greeted her face on. Her face was frozen in horror as she realized that she would soon follow her father's fate. With her mouth gaped open, I could see her incisors, just a couple of millimeters showing from the edge of her top lip. The space between her two front teeth was as present as in that photograph framed on the wall.

I too was frozen. An inch apart from the girl, so close I could feel her body heat from the air alone, so close that I could smell her fruity deodorant. I noticed the school uniform that she wore, and the unruly couple of pimples that blemished her skin. I also could not miss that look in her eyes; that breaking point of fear, hatred, and despondence. I saw the innocence die from her, swiftly and painfully. She was no longer a child.

Panicked, I shoved her furiously to the floor, but she hit the end of the kitchen top with a pronounced thud before collapsing to the ground. She fell so that she lay right next to her father, eyes shut, with her own red halo starting to form around her scalp. I screamed and then fled, running from the murder-house without a semblance of discretion. I leapt straight into my car, which had only been parked a few houses down, and sped off. I was fortunate that I did not run into any police as I drove like a hoon, so typical to the Blue Coast. I was also lucky that I did not have an accident, as other cars were blissfully sparse while I headed back towards the central business district.

Yes, lucky; to be alive, to be free; to have gotten away with murder thus far. I was lucky that I remained an orphan for longer than Miss Fletcher.

Chapter Fifteen

There was no news, no broadcasting and no major scoop. Greg Fletcher and his daughter's murders remained completely invisible to the public eye. I wondered if their corpses would be made to be invisible, too, like a wand could be waved and everything would be cleaned up instantly. Some supernatural things were proving true, so why not magic? Of course, I knew that was not what happened. Someone, maybe a few people, walked in there after me and began to scrub the blood away by hand. I wondered as to the identity of these people; were they Foxes, or just hired hands? Were they even present this time? I had gone over the time limit, and because of that the Foxes may have decided not to clean up after me. It was that possibility that made the hours of the next day long and anxious.

I approached Zach's work desk. He was so busy taking apart his camera that he didn't even notice me.

“Is it broken?”

“Ah!” he yelped, as he dropped a piece of plastic that looked to fit into the device. “Shit, Jane, you almost made me drop my precious.” He clutched his camera firmly to his chest.

“So, it's not broken, then?”

“It's not calibrating correctly. The exposure is all wrong, and it won't reconfigure accessing the system settings. It’s gotta be a faulty connection from the digitizer. Yeah, that looks a little loose there. I bet if I plug you back in snugly...” He forgot about me and began addressing the camera.

“Well, I was thinking about those pictures you showed me the other day, and I was wondering if you may have had any more of that scary dude, or anyone else you think might be related to the Foxes, that I could have a look at.”

He placed his camera down and frowned. “I thought you said you were backing off them?”

“Um...Okay, I'm still looking into them, but I'm trying to be a little more discrete now.”

He nodded. “I knew you wouldn't give up so easily; even though they almost killed you last Tuesday.”

My mouth gaped open in surprise.

“Sandra told me you had a run in with them. Sloppy detective work apparently.”

“Hey, for one thing, I'm hardly a detective. For a second, I simply told Sandra that the Foxes gave me a shake-up at the Minx 'cause they kind of…worked out I was a reporter, and for a third—you're talking to Sandra now? You hate each other.”

Zach smirked. “Well, haven't you heard? Sandra and I go way back. We're best friends for life.”

I cocked an eyebrow.

He rolled his eyes in response. “Okay, so I'm bullshitting. She's as much a self-centered little bitch as ever, no offense. C'mon, girl, I can tell you've been acting differently lately, so I just chatted to her about what new crazy schemes were going on in your life. I've got to say, I'm actually a little offended that I had to pull it out of her, and that you didn't tell me yourself. I mean, you were going a little nutso with my offer of help on Saturday. You could have told me why.”

“That's what was going on here yesterday? The whole office was gossiping about me.”

“Quit acting so stroppy. I'm just trying to be your friend, unless I should start acting like someone a little more important—”

“Right, I get it!” I interjected. “Anyway, back to the beginning, do you have any more pictures I can work with?”

“That depends,” he responded slyly, “whether you let me into whatever spicy scheme you're cooking up.”

“It's a story, Zach, and you're a photographer. Why would you be so interested?”

He opened his mouth, but I quickly cut him off again. “Whatever—sure—get me some more photos and I'll spill the beans on everything else I've learned on the Foxes,” I lied.

He smiled triumphantly. “There. Wasn't so hard, now was it?”

I glared in response.

His smirk broadened as he plugged a USB into his computer, clicked his mouse a few times and retrieved the external device less than a minute later.

“Here, this is everything of interest I have of Devil's Eden over the past couple of years. There's a fair bit there, and tonight I'll be happy to condense down the points of interest. Just in case, you really are as impatient as you look, you can go through these in the meanwhile. You might just find a goldmine that I could have easily overlooked, who knows?” He handed the stick to me.

Returning back to my desk, I ignored the messages on my computer screen sent by Frank, where he raved about my unexplained absence for yesterday, and began searching through the photos. Though, due to my non-enhanced computer it took about ten minutes for the folder to load. Slight difference in operating systems, I noted.

When I finally accessed it, it did not take me long to lose interest in the shots; none of them were showing anything that could give me any leads. A long hour and twenty minutes later, I realized my mind was fried and I was not paying any attention to what was on my screen at all.

Groaning, I shook my head, stifled the growing hunger urges and forced myself to refocus upon my screen. As I called my senses to heighten, I could not help but overhear all the noises of the office: the tap-tap-tapping of buttons on keyboards, the slightly heavy breathing of Carol in the desk four over from mine, the grinding of Brian's teeth, the stifled burping of Karen; so many irritating, disgusting noises humans produce that makes you want to tear each one of those entities apart limb by limb. Additionally, other noises came through. These were more blissful, drool-inducing sounds, like the minor thumping of arteries sending its music throughout those bodies. I could smell the clammy flesh with its hint of salt and sugar and refreshing fluid keeping the meat moist. Then those hearts calling so sweetly; their tune out of sync, like children in a school choir; a sound that is all the more beautiful because of its sweet distortion that it makes you smile.

My stomach rumbled. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath and rotated my shoulders. Shrug it off, Jane.

From my left, Susan let out a sad sigh before her tap-tap-tapping recommenced.

“What piece are you working on there?” I feigned curiosity.

“It's this one about a young girl, only in high school, who came home and discovered her father had suffered from a heart-attack just yesterday evening.”

“Those things happen,” I commented unsympathetically.

“Yes, but if it wasn't tragic enough, the poor thing fainted from the shock of it all, hit her head on the corner of the kitchen table and is now in hospital with a brain injury. Unconscious, the doctors don’t even know when she’ll wake up.”

“That does sound bad...” I added slowly.

“That man was all she had left in this world, and to discover him lying dead on the floor...It must have been terrible for her.”

An image of a man lying on the floor drenched in his own blood flashed into my mind. I wondered how literal that heart attack report was.

“He was all she had?”

The thirty-something-year-old woman nodded with eyes barely capable of holding the fluid they contained. “Her mother passed away not long before. No brothers or sisters, no grandparents either. So it was just the two of them, but now they might all be dead.”

It couldn't be, she was dead, with all that blood that flowed from her head...

“What's her name?” I enquired.

“Lisa. Lisa Fletcher.”

****

I watched her, breathing mechanically, with the help of a tube down her throat and a sack of air to her right. She had heavy bandaging around her skull. There was so much of it, that if it weren't for her plush cheeks and sad closed eyes just showing over the mouth tube, she would have appeared mummified. However, she was not dead, merely asleep, but perhaps that meant the same thing, I was not sure.

The nurse I had asked directions from said that her condition was not good. There were fears the brain trauma was too great and that she may not make a full recovery, even if she was lucky enough to awaken. Then she added hurriedly that it was just a worst-case scenario, and to get further details I should speak with her doctor. She gave me his card.

I eyed the machine that beeped steadily by her bed and followed its lead down to the power source plugged into the wall.

“Go on, pull out the plug, it'll save me the trouble.”

I spun back to a figure seated in the corner. It was a brunette, slender and lanky, though he did not appear scrawny. He had not been there a minute before, but as to exactly when he arrived, I could not discern. Damn it, Jane, get your shit together and pay attention to your surroundings. Infuriatingly late, his heat-beat resounded through the room with far greater force than any other audible feature. His grin was penetratingly coarse enough that I could feel it slice into my skin. It was so wide that it also cut right up to his black eyes; his daimon black eyes.

“Well, won't you do it? It is more fitting that way. You really should be cleaning up your own mess,” he spat venomously.

“I never asked you to clean up after me,” I replied.

The man cackled with laughter. “No? Well, your actions say otherwise. You're a blooming mess, pearl. The wreckages you leave behind, well, I can't say that it's not...enticing.” He licked his lips as his eyes flashed with wild glee but then shrugged as if to restrain the savage within. “Unfortunately, that is not what the master has need of us for. He wants things...” he chewed his words as he looked aside, “cleaner. He does not want his subordinates behaving as beasts, but that is not fair. Master is not being fair!” Suddenly, the man moved swiftly before me and had me by the throat, my feet dangling in the air.

Not again. I flailed my arms and legs violently, reaching for his throat. I won't let it happen again, my pride cannot take it. I will not be victim again. I will kill or be killed before that will happen! Yet, his limbs were too long, making his torso out of reach. Every claw, every strike fell upon air only. I thought I made a slice along his face, but then realized it was just his mouth widening even further in its unholy joy.

Then suddenly my tailbone met the hospital floor with a sharp pang and I realized dimly that this time I was not thrown, but released. Saved, as if I were no more than some weak heroine that had to rely on others to save her pitiful existence.

I slammed my fist on the ground before even looking up, screaming through the rasping of my throat. “I didn't ask for any help!” When my eyes fell upon my rescuer my hostility softened as my jaw hung down limply.

Smoke had his full back turned to me as if I posed no threat whatsoever. Another surprise was his speech as he addressed his snarling comrade. It was not only the fact that Smoke was speaking that had me gaping, but also the way he spoke; it was so dark, deep, and menacing. That combined with what sounded like a Russian accent completed the picture of what I would have imagined the devil to look like if he were to pose as human. Then I finally registered the content of his words, which was enough to render me with cold fear.

“Your orders were not to harm her,” Smoke reprimanded. That's right, there is someone more powerful that I have to be terrified of.

There was a strangled laughter. “You got to! I saw it on the cameras, all black and blue and oozing with blood. It was delicious, but it’s all healed up now, just waiting to receive a new facelift. C'mon, Smoke, you got a taste, just let me have one, too!” he pleaded.

“She is not on the menu,” he growled. “The master ordered me to teach her a lesson, should she be difficult in the recruitment process. Now, he has ordered that no harm come to her, for the time being.”

The lanky brunette showed no attempt to hide his resentment. “She is not worthy of our master's protection. She kills who she likes, how she likes.” This was not said with condemnation, but with envy. “It is not fair. Why should this newbie be granted so much leniency that the rest of us have always been denied? It is unnatural. It is unsafe. She is granted too much freedom! With it, she might think she can actually rebel.” His words were quelled at once with a loud thud.

Smoke's hand was outstretched, raising the other figure off the ground, back pressed against the wall. “It is not our place to question the master's orders, Freddie. You yourself are new, and for that I forgive this disobedience. However, step out of line again and I'll teach you a lesson.” Smoke slammed him against the wall like a rag doll, with enough force to finally have the brunette clenching his mouth.

The young woman slept, unhindered by the room's commotions.

Freddie. I remembered that name. It was the man Mack spoke to, the one he was afraid of. Then I recalled the brunette in the reflection of a wine glass approaching me from behind.

Smoke had his teeth locked as he spoke. “Remember where your loyalties lie. Remember who holds your life.”

Freddie writhed on the spot, so eccentrically that I thought a creature was squirming on him. Then he started screeching and pulling at his hair. He was having a tantrum.

“I know who holds my life. Master does, and I love my master, but she!” He crawled along the ground towards me with an expression on his face as if I had terrible body odor. “She is suddenly created and thinks she can do as she pleases, kill who she pleases. It's not right. She's not right! There's something wrong with her. You see it, in her eyes.”

I pawed to my feet, glaring back at him and readying myself for more fighting, but then Smoke's imposing frame blocked our path. Still, he had his back to me.

“Freddie, I'm warning you, back down.”

“What will happen, you'll toss me around?” Freddie's laughter was a witch's cackle. “Go ahead, break all my bones. I’ll just heal, and then one day I’ll get stronger than you, and dish out all that was served!”

Smoke strode to Freddie, who was still crouched on the ground and glared imperiously over him. “Stupid bastard. Being a daimon does not make you immortal.” He grabbed Freddie by the collar and pulled him to his feet with one hand. “Mortals might not be able to kill you, but I certainly can. Keep tempting me and I’ll make it so you will never have to heal from one of my beatings again.” He emitted a soft chuckle, and though it was very quiet, the pitch was so low and powerful that I felt it cause a tremor to the soles of my feet.

“There used to be others, you know,” he added, indulgently, “but they were removed. They proved unnecessary. There was one about two hundred and fifty years ago who was a lot like you. He lasted ten years.”

Freddie's face had fear etched all over it as he finally shut up.

Smoke released him and at last turned to me and with the memory of Saturday fresh in my mind, I shrank away involuntarily.

There was a tiny crease at the corner of Smoke's mouth; it was his version of a smile. “Relax, Kirra. I've been ordered not to harm you for the time being, no matter your...transgressions. I don't disregard my orders very often.” He turned meaningfully to his comrade. “Freddie has a point, though, you are different from us. It almost seems like you are not loyal to our master.” Every word that Smoke said was slow and purposeful. Maybe he had to think a lot before he spoke as he translated his thoughts from a foreign tongue, but he could have just been doing it for dramatic effect because it certainly was working.

I pulled myself to my feet but said nothing.

“Why are you here?” Smoke questioned.

“I...to finish it,” I admitted.

He nodded, then motioned for the bed. “That's a start.”

That was why we were all there, to kill this one poor girl.

I frowned, wondering why they even bothered to question my loyalty when they surely knew the answer to that. Didn’t they? While taking very different approaches, they both seemed dedicated to the protection of Rose, whom they regarded as their master. With me, however, they sensed I was different, as if my lack of loyalty was a surprise. Could it be so long since a new daimon was made that my conduct seemed so unnatural to them? Could time be a factor in sowing loyalty into Rose's minions? It would make sense: with everyone else dying of old age, the only family they would feel like they had would be each other, with Rose as their father.

I wondered how old each of them were. Smoke knew someone two hundred and fifty years ago, but the way he remarked about it so casually told me he was older than even that. Freddie though was supposed to be new. Was he made just prior to me or was Smoke's definition of 'new' warped? Freddie was certainly Australian. His accent was not out of place, but his mannerisms were that of a lunatic. Perhaps that meant he could not so easily adapt his behavior to new times. This made me suspect that I could assume he was transformed sometime during the last couple of decades.

“Well, you just gonna stand there like some bimbo, or do something?” Freddie snarled.

“I'll do something to you.” I leered back, but moved toward the girl and hovered over her.

Do it, Jane, an internal voice egged. Kill the little wench who walked in unannounced during your hit. The victim confessed he was quite practiced at the same conduct himself. Kill the girl; she is just another loose end. Don't let those dirty Foxes clean up anymore for you. You know that with every clean up comes a tighter and tighter leash. Don't let them chain you, Jane. Don't let them have control of you.

I shrugged off my aversion, peered objectively at her limp body, and calculated a method for a quiet death. By the sight of the air tube and heart monitor I thought that could be achieved as simple as two little plugs. Ridiculously easy.

I leaned against the wall and pulled the power plugs. The beeping machine went silent. Glancing across the room, I saw Freddie grinning intently. Smoke was as somber as ever.

The room was not silent for long. I heard screaming, crying and shuddering right by me. Alarmed, I turned to the girl, but was dumbstruck to find her soundless, motionless and as white as if she had been claimed by death long before. The screams were still there, but they came from inside my head. I shook it, furiously, which dulled the cries, though I could not fully quell them.

I peered at her simple body, observing the stillness of the machines and the air bag beside her. Her breath no longer fogged up the mouthpiece. There was something about it, something too cruelly sweet—or the other way round— which I could no longer discern. I stared at her dwindling life force forlornly; white skin, pink cheeks; a frail form that was barely reaching womanhood, and suddenly she became too picturesque to die. She was Snow White, lying dead in her glass coffin, no more than a teenager with barely the faintest glimmer of hope that Prince Charming may come and kiss her back to life. But there was no Prince Charming here, only a dark giant, a gleeful praying mantis and a monstrous woman.

Then the cries changed; they were no longer the young girl's, but her father's, Gregory Fletcher. It was his last request that transcended through the grave to plead the salvation of his little girl. I'm begging you; It's all I care about in life anymore. It's my dying wish. Just...let her be. I remembered her name then: Lisa.

That objective part of me wanted to scoff at the ridiculous sentimentality. What did I care about some stupid girl? Her existence was a threat to my own. The monitors and ventilation were off; it was easy, so perfect to just let her die then and so necessary for my safety. Yet, despite the deactivation of the machines, I could still hear her heart beating with so much vibrancy. It hadn’t given up on life yet. Then, somehow, my desire was not to eat that heart but to save it.

Jane, this is crazy! You already know you're a monster, and because of that the girl must die. Either give into your desires, rip out that beautiful beating red-coated organ from the girl's chest or be smart and let her die quietly, without a mess. There is no third option. You're not human anymore!

When I next looked upon the girl, I did not see that same one who interrupted me a day earlier, but a girl with skin far whiter; one as porcelain; and hair long and unruly with a color of deep brown, glimmering with luster and sadness. She was a sad, disdainful invalid who relied on others for support. She could not even go in the sun without sunscreen before developing a burn and bore limbs that were weak from an over-privileged life. But looking at her then, I knew her life was not sheltered, for she had faced her own share of pain, all the while condemned to her despair.

I recognized this girl, I hated her, but I could not let her die.

Breathing heavily, I was surprised by my following actions: reconnecting the power cords, and even fluffing the pillow behind the teen's skull.

I heard laughter over my shoulder just before the air shifted from a deftly approaching limb.

“No!” I screamed and knocked the aggressor away with a kick that swept from behind me more naturally than any other movement I had performed in the last week.

Freddie flew like a dove and elegantly collided with the opposite wall. The noise was pleasing, his groans even more so. More, he needed more punishment!

I flashed up to him, gave him a dozen hook punches before he even hit the floor. When he did, he raised his head and smiled, blood dripping from the long corner.

“Big mistake, girlie. I was about to let you live tonight.” Freddie laughed manically as he moved swiftly towards me.

He went for a thrust to my solar plexus, but I evaded him by millimeters and instead threw a sidekick. This was easily averted by a far larger gap and suddenly he appeared behind me. Before he even struck, I sensed his left hand aiming to pierce my kidney. I blocked with one arm and performed a sweep with my right foot to trip him. Disdainfully, he was privy to this and jumped, dodging my attack and before my realizing he countered with his own as he swept a knife-hand strike at my throat. His strike landed home and sent an agonizing snap to my neck, where it turned about two hundred and seventy degrees.

I screamed as my spinal cord was simultaneously stretched and crushed though this, fortunately, was not enough to snap the vital body part. In response, I did a jumping back kick at the smiling bastard and sent him flying. This was confirmed by the petty sound of his mewing.

I snapped my head forward with my hands and viewed his body crumpled by the wall. I giggled in delight. I can win against them.

I ran again, this time to pull out his heart, but my outstretched hand never made it. Instead, I found myself pressed back against another wall.

Damn you, Smoke!

“We are not to harm one another unless given direct orders,” Smoke recited.

I spat at him.

He slammed my head so hard against the wall that I was dazed for a few moments. I soon realized my head was resting slightly within a newly formed crevice, where I heard grouchy murmurs from the occupants in the adjacent room.

“That wasn't harm?” I cried.

Smoke directed me with hostility. “There will be serious repercussions for your actions.” He stole a quick glance at Freddie, who understood what Smoke had left unsaid as he nodded. One moment later, both men had disappeared and it was just me left there with poor Snow White.

The fight was over. My tremendous anxiety had just started to fade, and with it the surrounding noises became as acute as a piercing scream. The two men's heartbeats, in their synchronization, had disappeared. In its place, were sirens calling out to every bigwig in the building.

Crap!

I took a quick ambivalent glance back at the girl and deftly crossed the threshold of the window, clinging onto its outside edge.

I wanted to jump down, but it was twenty stories. Twenty stories. I may have been able to heal, but with knowledge gained from Smoke tonight, my vulnerability was confirmed. For all my new monstrous capabilities, my body could agonize just as any mortal's, and I could die. This seemed worse though, as I began to realize how much longer it would take for me to finally expire.

Dangling over the other side of the hospital window, my fingers clung to the seal.

“Quick, code red; the girl's about to cark it!”

“That wasn't a code red, it was a malfunctioned monitor. They happen all the time, no big deal.”

The footsteps of the first man came to the room. “Dude, she's not breathing!”

The second man took a moment to reply. “Yeah, her ventilation's been screwed with. By these settings, it seems that someone was stupid enough to unplug and re-plug her, as if that would fix everything.”

“What?” the first man replied. “You can't be serious. That's, like… Nah, no way.”

“Sadly, this happens. Not often, but enough,” the second man replied. “Bradley, I know that it can be easy to forget nowadays, but we're in the Blue Coast. I'm sure you know what it has been nicknamed.” He paused for a moment. “Go on, get the defibrillator. This girl's not dead yet.”

Gulping, I dropped and landed, accruing a slightly twisted ankle. After a couple of strides I no longer needed to wince as I placed weight on it; it was well on its way to healing.

My car was not parked far off, and I was back home within the half hour. I may not have killed the girl, but at least I learned a thing or two tonight. One, was that we were not invincible. The other, was that I could fight.

Another daimon, the one that captured me, had just surfaced. Two daimons had shown themselves now, or three, if Ruby was one, too; I did not think I was wrong about that instinct. I wondered how many more powerful beings I would have to contend with. Though I had yet to meet him, I knew of a fourth playing guardian to Rose. Sage was his name, the descendant, and protector of the daimon master. What exactly was the daimon master? What kind of power did Rose possess that he could create such beings? I did not discount the idea that the sweet sounding Brit could have really been the devil in disguise. Well, whatever the case, I would just have to wait for the perilous future to unravel.

Chapter Sixteen

How mundane. There I was at the Coastal Horizon actually performing my job and writing some dribble about a hero dog. As I finally hit the send button to submit my piece to Frank for editing, I almost could not resist the overwhelming desire to tear some limbs off a body. I was not going to be fussy—anybody would do—even that irritating little canine's legs. That was how desperate my repulsion was making me. For the moment, I tried to satisfy those urges with the movie that played out in my mind instead: where Snuggles yelped pathetically as I broke his four legs like twigs. The amount of blood that emerged was pitiful, and the sound I imagined the yap-yap dog making started to irritate me even further, so in my thoughts, I ripped its jaw from its head and pulled out its throat. It started kicking wildly and became blissfully silent, like a cockroach with bug spray. I smiled at my vision.

“What's so amusing?” It was Zach; of course it was Zach. He was beginning to hang around like a bad smell. In closed spaces, he was becoming stifling.

“Just thinking about Snuggles, the hero dog.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “Snuggles the hero dog. Really? Shit, I'm glad I'm not a writer.”

“I'm glad I'm not you.”

“Ouch. Well, anyhow, I came over to tell you I found something you might be interested in.”

“Is that right?” I flicked, absentmindedly, through my emails.

He leaned forward. “You were after more photos of the Foxes, right? Well, I'm a man of my word, and as one, I pulled up some awesome little shots.”

I released my mouse and turned to face him full on. I searched his empty hands. “Where are they? What's in them?”

“Hold on a second. There's a bit to go through, and it's a bit...un-private here.” He motioned around the room, where many of our colleagues were stealing quick, curious glances.

“I see, and these photos were not part of the original files you gave me?”

“No, they weren't. My computer and camera's storage were completely wiped a few months back. Of course, I kept back-ups, but these photos were not transferred in time since the crash happened no more than an hour after transferring them. I didn't think too much at the time, I guessed that maybe my not-so-legal music downloads may have been carrying a nasty surprise that killed both my computer and camera when I linked them together. I'm pretty good with backing up my files since they're my bread and butter, but these photos were gone.”

“So—now, suddenly, you've managed to recover them?”

“No, I recovered them that night. See, when computers crash there's a physical dump that they store the user's critical information into before carking it.”

“Okay, you transferred the photos in time and managed to recover them from a trash can?”

He laughed. “Wrong again. The computer and the camera both shat themselves as soon as I connected the two. Now that I think of it, it would seem like a perfect way of destroying data on multiple devices without the user ever being aware.”

“Zach, how did you recover them?” I no longer hid my impatience.

He smiled proudly. “Because this baby,” he held up his camera, “is pretty much a computer itself. Not your android type, but one with your Intel dual-core processor and all. When my mate here died, it behaved like a computer and did its trash-can-dump thing.”

“Okay, but why not give them to me before, when I asked?”

“Well...” He put a hand up to massage his own shoulder. “Even though the images were saved, they became...distorted. Since they were rendered useless, I stored the reject pictures on my external memory in a different location, and never looked at them again.”

“Until I reminded you of them,” I surmised. “Where are they and why didn't you bring them here? I mean, you've chatted enough about them to get the whole office salivating, and yet you can't show me silent photos?”

He licked his lips and stared away as he thought of a response.

“Oh, I see, you're still trying to protect me, aren't you?”

“Jane...” he sighed. “I'd rather show you at mine, or at yours, I guess, since that's where we always end up.” He leaned in and lowered his voice even further. “It's weird. After I realized the convenience of those deleted photos, I kind of got thinking that maybe our office isn't Fox safe.”

I narrowed my eyes. “You think we have a spy working here?” We surveyed the office.

“No, of course not! Ah...but, I don't know. There's other ways of watching people.” His eyes flicked up to black domes that were situated in a couple of locations on the ceiling.

“They hacked into the Coastal Horizon's security?” I asked skeptically. “Why would they even be interested in a place like this?” Then an answer shot into my mind instantly—they could have been interested in me long before my life was toyed with.

“I don't know, Jane, all I know is that my man's intuition is picking up something.”

I rolled my eyes. “Man's intuition?”

“Hey, just 'cause I'm a bloke doesn't mean I don't have a heeby-geeby connection to the other world that so many chicks reckon they have. I am bloody serious, though, there's bad voodoo going on. I can feel it in this office. There's a presence here that's unnatural.”

Great, the only friend that's talking to me already knows that I'm unnatural.

“Jane, what's wrong? Did I worry you just now?”

I smiled, but I didn’t think I faked it very well. “It's fine, Zach. I just want to get to the bottom of this Fox business.”

He smiled in response; a kind, sympathetic one, as if to say, “don't cry, I'm here.” God, he can be so presumptuous.

“Alright,” I relented, yet again. “Come over tonight, then. Bring those photos and I'll bring you up to speed with the Foxes.”

“It's a date. We'll make an awesome team, you'll see.” He winked as he made off.

A team? An ally? I toyed with the idea in my mind. With the insurmountable force I was about to be up against it could be that backup was just what I needed. He had a keen mind, far brighter than my own; perhaps an alliance was just what I needed. I had learned that I had at least three powerful enemies to contend with, and even if I had only one mortal ally, perhaps that would be just enough to give me a fighting chance in this mess.

I looked at the time on the computer screen, almost 4 pm. I decided that would do for the day. Just as I raised myself from my chair, I smelled tuna breathing up at me from shoulder level.

“What the hell was that garbage?” Frank snarled, spitting a few white flecks onto my shirt.

Could I kill him with everybody watching? It may lead to a massacre of the entire office, but that only adds to the appeal.

“What, were you eavesdropping on our chat?”

“Now you're chatting away in the office, too!” He raised his voice as if that gave his tiny form more authority. “What I was referring to was that dribble you wrote on Snuggles, the Hero Dog.”

“Really?” I was baffled by his temperament. “I thought I did pretty good, considering the bullshit you gave me.”

“You think I gave you bullshit?” He quivered. Suddenly, he pulled up papers in front of him and began to read aloud. “Snuggles, the yuppie Shih-Tzu terrier, was declared a hero yesterday by firefighters who miraculously smelled a fire that was taking place in the home kitchen of two young parents and their twin toddlers. While mother and father were neglecting their parental responsibilities to care for their young, they were said to be in another room with loud music and a locked door. The toddlers, meanwhile, were being like all destructive children and were pulling apart the kitchen. Though they were both three years of age, it appears that intelligence is not increased with two minds, but rather subtracted, as the children thought it would be a good idea to light a fire. The twins soon burnt themselves but did nothing to quell the flames forming around them. Therefore, it did not take long for the kitchen to become ablaze. The toddlers reported that at this point they finally decided to do something, and that was to cry. This went unheard since their parents possessed a unique ability to sleep with loud music playing and so remained deaf to the pleas of help from their offspring. Whatever parental instinct these young parents harbored was limited to the bedroom. Then it was left up to Snuggles, the tiny, noisy dog whose screeches were loud enough to alert a neighbor who happened to be walking by. Snuggles had run up to the front door screen yelping wildly, giving the neighbor concern enough to investigate the house's happenings. As this lady approached the door and smelled the fire that the parents could not, she instantly pulled the kids from the home, rapped on the parents' bedroom door loud enough to rouse them from their sleeping, and called the fire brigade. The kitchen fire was put out with no more destruction to the rest of the house, and with only minor smoke inhalation damage to the children. Of course, Snuggles was given a clean bill of health, because he was a hero and impervious to fire.”

“I struggled not to heave while writing it,” I prided myself.

“I'm struggling not to heave this at you! This was not the approach you were meant to take. You don't go making judgments about the parents when the whole family could have been killed. Also, the only times you mention the dog you completely deglamorized the hero component!”

I shrugged. “Just edit the bits you don't like, I'm done today.”

“That would be the whole damn article,” he fumed.

Picking up my handbag and tucking in my chair, I retorted, “What's the difference to usual then?”

“Don't you think about leaving.” As I began to walk away, he added, “You get back here. Get here and fix this!”

Turning to one of my co-workers as I passed by, I murmured, “No wonder he's so keen on turning this dog into a hero, the two sound so alike.”

“Get back here or I'll fire you. I mean it this time! What are you sniggering at, Gary?”

“Relax. I'm going to work on my other report. See you tomorrow.” As I waved behind me, I could practically feel the heat emitting from his red face.

****

“So, you got me alone, now what are you going to do to me?” I teased as I ran my fingers around the rim of my glass of wine.

Zach almost sprayed the cola he was guzzling across my lounge. “Well, baby,” he grinned, “how 'bout you give me a glimpse of the devil inside you, and then I'll combine it with my devil.”

“Oh, Zachy boy, your devil is no match for mine; it would annihilate you.”

“Yeah? Well, maybe I like destruction.”

I cocked an eyebrow. “Careful now. Go down that path and your heart will not be merely torn to shreds, but will be pulled apart at the cellular level, exposing each little protein and fatty acid it's made up of.”

“Ah, annihilate my heart. Yes, I believe you when you say you would break it. Still, isn't the danger half the fun?”

“Not when you're losing.” I reflected, thinking of my past battles with Smoke.

“Fair enough. Sometimes it's smartest to retreat and count your losses. Still, I like the idea of winning better than the idea of losing. You're the same. That's why you won't let go of this Fox story, even when they threatened you. Jane, tell me…last Tuesday things got pretty hairy there, didn't they?”

I smiled. “Zach, you can see I'm fine. Quit worrying about me already.”

He shook his head. “You're as stubborn as ever.”

“I'm letting you work with me, aren't I?”

He sighed heavily. “Yeah, that’s something. Shit, I can see this getting messy fast.”

“Are you afraid to get your hands dirty?”

He frowned. “No, I told you that I wanted to work with you, but I don't want to see you getting hurt at the same time.”

I reached for his hand. “Thanks. You don't know how comforting that is for me.”

“Well, if we're going to do this, you better bring me up to speed. That nightmarish guy, you've seen him before, hey?”

The low ominous chuckle replayed in my mind as I nodded. “Detective Smoke is a double agent.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “Valentine—he's related isn't he?”

I gaped at him.

Zach smirked back. “Sandra might not get it, but I do. You went for Valentine in your latest story because he's got something to do with the Foxes. You would not have betrayed her otherwise.”

I was stunned at his seamless thought process. “That's right.”

“So, just who is he to the Foxes? Does Valentine pay them off, or is he one of their members?”

I did not answer, but my eyes stared with deep alarm into his.

“I see, so, the latter. Well, you really should back off then, Jane. Valentine is not afraid of the limelight, but the Foxes are. Connect them to the serial killer and they'll make sure you're his next victim.”

How did he know so much? If he could work it out, then what about everybody else? What about Sandra? What about Ryan?

I was breathing heavily. “How do you know all this?”

He smirked. “Well, I am pretty frickin' brilliant for one. That's how I know you're secretly in love with me but will never admit it 'cause you're too enraptured by a crush that will never work out.” He winked. “I may not be as socially adept as you, but I can pick up on visual signs quite well. Like the way that your breathing increases when I say something correct, even when your words lie. I know you so well, but I reckon you've got to be one of the best liars I've ever met. Most the time, when your guard is in full force, I have no bloody idea what you're thinking. Right now, though, you're raw; exposed, scared. Something bad's happened to you lately and I think it's more than just this little fright at the club, but you won't tell me, will you, Jane?”

Raw? Exposed? Damn it, he's right. After a stretched pause I took a deep breath. “Last Tuesday, it wasn't as simple as me being kicked out. In fact, I'm pretty sure they tried to kill me.”

I had Zach's full attention.

“They caught me going through one of their desks in an office, then found out who I was after taking my phone. One of them...” I choked on my words. “Hit me and threw me to the wall. Then, he went around to the desk and started to pull something out. That's when I bolted. As I ran out, I swear I heard a shot being fired.” I gulped.

I felt a warm hand rub my shoulder. “It's alright, Jane, I won't let them do anything to hurt you.”

Too late.

I gave a weak smile. “Thanks, Zach.”

“Do you think that with all that's happened, that maybe it’s best you stay off their radar?”

I shook my head. “They know who I am. They're the Foxes, and they aren't known for their forgiveness. That's why I've got to expose them myself. When they're all behind bars, that's when I'll be safe.”

“Jane, even if you put them away, there will always be some grunt who will come after you and take revenge for the gang's sake. Getting involved like this means that you’ll never be truly safe. Once people like this notice you, you can never go unnoticed.”

I managed to hold back the bitter smile. “That might prove to be the case, and if it comes to it I'll move out of the city, but I'm not running away yet. Not when I'm so close to exposing these bastards. I'm not doing this just for myself, but for every citizen of the Blue Coast that has been victimized by these gangs. Someone needs to take a stand against the creeps, and I'm not going to wait around for some hero to take action. These gangsters need to be brought to justice.”

I left out my final sentiment: they all must die.

“I see. Well, in that case, I definitely won't let you do this alone.”

I gulped, wondering whether or not I should have told a lie so close to the truth.

“So, Valentine is a Fox...” Zach murmured thoughtfully. “Is it possible that he's actually their leader?”

Picking up my wine glass, I stared deep into its golden-colored contents, my eyes as wide as golf balls.

“Shit,” he murmured. “Well, that explains why he hasn't been caught in all this time. Everyone knows that the cops are in the Fox's back pocket, and if he controls the Foxes...”

Zach already knew, so I relented, “He pretty much has full control of the city, where he can perform his pervasive acts without consequences.”

“What's he look like?”

I sighed. “That I don't know, but I intend to find out very soon.”

Zach reached down into a backpack and placed a USB on the coffee table. “Maybe we'll find out with this.”

I shot him a curious glance.

“Go on, take a look.”

I grabbed my tablet eagerly, connected the small plastic rectangle and accessed its images. “You sure you copied the right ones?” I asked, shifting through page after page of flowers.

“Yes, keep looking through them.”

As I skipped through the photos, I saw nothing of significance, namely because there were no people in them. They were composed entirely of lush flower gardens amongst a skillfully crafted landscape.

“You could have just started at the interesting part,” I mumbled, “instead of wasting my time going through all the fluff.”

The next picture caused me to fall silent. There was a figure, just in the corner, with his back turned. By the way the photo turned out, all I could make out was a gray-gold silhouette.

“Who's this?” I enquired.

“Just keep going through them.”

I did. The next one had the same figure further along in the same scenery. The shots continued the figure’s path one frame at a time. I realized that, by the way the figure's frame was composed, Zach would have been crouched down low, perhaps flat on the ground, as he took his curious shots.

“Put it into a picture viewer, and put the speed to maximum,” Zach ordered.

I guessed then that he had taken one of those continuous shutter shots. I did as he ordered and watched the figure walk into the center of a flower clearing, where he turned and we could finally view his face. I gasped as I realized that the figure cast with that strange ethereal glow was Smoke.

Then the skipping photos moved on a few moments more and others joined him; three others, that all shone with a variant of that golden hue. The dimmest and smallest of these was an old man who leaned upon a cane. Then there was another familiar physique, one that resembled an insect with his thin and lanky limbs. It was a distant shot but I swore I could make out that elaborate smile as Freddie's. He was the second dimmest. One of them sat casually on a rock wall. She possessed long curly hair with a fiery red coloration. Ruby. She glowed with a similar vivacity to Smoke, perhaps only slightly more muted. The last entity to enter the frame could not be determined as male or female. The figure's entire body glowed white, without a single facial feature to be detected. What on earth is that?

The pictures flicked through to show some sort of conversation taking place. Movement here was minimal. I did notice the old man turning his head frequently, however, as if he suspected they were being watched. Deciding that the area was safe, he reached into his coat and pulled out an object no more than a foot in length. He unwrapped some fabric and exposed the object. It was small but a sharp tip could be discerned unmistakably. He grasped the pointed end, and as he passed the device to the central figure, the side caught the light and it reflected with almost as much magnificence as the white-glowing individual.

I hit the pause button. “It's a knife.”

“Strange, the way they're all standing around it, as if it holds some sort of importance.”

I remembered a knife; I remembered the one that was used to kill me. I remembered one that I discovered in the Minx office a week ago. It had strange markings on it as if it had come from another world. I could not see any detail so fine in the photograph, but I felt certain that this must have been one and the same.

I continued the slideshow and saw Ruby lay back down and throw her arms about. Freddie approached her in one image and the next showed him to be flat against the stone wall with her hovering over the top of him. Freddie clambered to his feet and stalked off hunched over. The woman and Smoke, likewise, departed, but the white figure and the older one remained. Almost imperceptibly, they turned their heads in the direction of the camera. Then the older one walked away with his stick, using it as a crutch. The white figure turned full-on to the camera, then off in the opposite direction, and soon walked out of shot.

The photos stopped.

“What's with the glows?”

Zach let out a breath. “I told you they were damaged.”

“The white person, what did he look like?”

Zach looked pensive, then shook his head. “I don’t know. I was too far away, and while I was shooting the glare was hitting the display so I couldn't get a good look at them.”

I frowned. “You never saw the pictures before they became distorted?”

“I was about to, but then the computer crashed as I tried to upload them.”

I fell silent.

“It's kind of suspicious looking at it all now, though, after learning everything. I mean that guy there's got to be Smoke. No idea who the others are, but I'm banking that they aren't fellow coppers.”

“These pictures…why were you taking them, Zach?”

He shrugged. “I got a tip that there was a newly developed private property there; so private that the roads leading to it don't even show up on a map. Naturally, I assumed there was a fat chance that a celeb was camped out there, but whoever they were certainly didn't register as any famous clowns I knew of. After I recovered the ruined pictures, I thought them useless and put them straight into the rejects folder. I recognized the big guy, but they were hardly doing anything memorable. It was when you became so interested in him that I started wondering about these shots again.”

I backed through the photos and tapped my finger on the shiniest person.

Zach commented, “Looks like a god, doesn't he?”

My tablet slipped from my hands. “What— what did you say?”

He retrieved the smart device from the carpet and inspected it with concern. “Yikes! Watch it, Jane, you know how easy it is to break these screens.”

My hand clenched the sofa. “That white person, you think he is a god?”

His eyes narrowed. “I think that, to them, he may as well be. He kind of looks like their leader, doesn't he?”

I turned back at the image, shifting my gaze about to all the flowers that flanked the heavenly scene and the angels that painted it with gold. Then as I fixed my sight on the white being, I whispered, “Rose.”

“Zach!” I pleaded desperately. “You need to tell me where this is!”

“It's...” He frowned. “It's Mount Air. It was at a botanical garden there.”

I shook my head. “No, there’s no gardens there.”

“No public ones,” he corrected. “Remember, I said it was a recently developed private property. I was as surprised as you are that someone would develop a garden there. It's ridiculously impractical; the land's not flat enough, and it wouldn't receive enough sunlight to allow for proper flourishing, but it exists, or, at least, it did then.”

I gripped onto his shirt passionately with both hands. “Tell me, Zach. Tell me how to get there. I have to find him!”

He placed his hands on top of mine gently. “No.”

The fabric condensed under my grasp. “What?”

His green eyes remained soft. “You're too upset. If I tell you, you'll almost certainly start racing off there.”

“I don't want your protection, Zach,” I growled.

He sighed. “Don't do this to yourself, Jane. They weren't the ones that killed your parents. It was another gang's hit—the Silver Blades—not the Foxes that shot into the restaurant nine years ago.”

“It doesn't matter. I still need vengeance.”

“Jane, just think about this; you go skulking around gang property, again, looking for your damned evidence, and what do you think will happen to you a second time? They will kill you. You already said they tried it once. Why give them another shot, literally?”

“Zach, please. They're my enemy. They have always been, they always will be. I just need to be free of them.”

He pulled me into an embrace so comforting and warm that oil leaked from my eyes.

“Jane...I'm not saying don't go, just not yet. Not when you're still so shaken up by your confrontation. How 'bout we just give it a few days. Wait for the weekend, hey? Then we can go there together and take a look around.” I could hear him smirk. “With any luck the place will be completely empty. If not, well, at least then I can be there with you.”

“Damn it, Zach,” I sniveled. “Quit protecting me. I'm not worth it.”

Then he pulled me back in front of him and I could see green life in his eyes. He smiled and rubbed at my tears. “Idiot, your mascara’s running.”

“Fine,” I uttered weakly, too emotionally confused to resist anymore. “The weekend. Just...” My head fell onto his shoulder and stained his shirt with black drops. “Don't hate me before then.”

His warm hand brushed my head. “Not even if you turned into a monster, Jane, would I stop caring for you.”

Chapter Seventeen

Frank had not spoken to me all day, though it didn't stop him flashing venomous glances as he passed near my desk. What, is he sulking because I didn't stay back yesterday to 'fix' my story? At least his silence meant that he was not firing me, though I was beginning to wish he would. I fancied just quitting, not caring for the dribble that was appearing on my desk. With my parents' inheritance, it was not like I needed the extra cash, but I forced myself to go through the tedious monotony for now. It would give me better cover for my murderous personality change, but I was wondering whether cover was even necessary, with the Foxes cleaning up my messes. However, I supposed that the more out of character I acted, the more my friends would pry to find out what was going on.

God this sedentary life is dry. How can anyone handle sitting at a desk all day, typing bullshit onto a computer screen and actually be proud of themselves at the end of it? It's all crap, this life, all a waste of time, a waste of potential. All this effort: the escalated heartbeats of my fellow workers, just struggling to put out garbage that would have next to no one reading further than the first paragraph. These lives—these essences—deserve more than what they were tasked with. They deserve to become part of something greater and join a greater force; enable a greater power.

They smelled sweeter that day, and so very palatable. I could have them all, why not? Sure it would get messy, but I had the Foxes cleaning up after me, didn't I?

I breathed in deeply. I had gone only two whole days without a feed and already I was ravenous, my thoughts more diabolical. I had to eat or I was sure that I would lose control of the beast that was my appetite. It was Thursday, and I still had until Saturday to slate my hunger with Fox blood. So, how would I control myself? Would I have to find a new target today? Would the Foxes give me another assignment that eased my life-taking dilemma?

I looked across the room to Zach's empty chair and his twin computer screens. I, surprisingly, missed the intrusive man's presence. He had been ordered to shoot some pictures out in the business district. Something to do with a council dispute or, at least, that was what my co-worker, Susan, informed me of when I arrived. With my entrance to work being 10:30 a.m., I guessed that I had missed him by a bit. I wondered if I had seen him that morning, whether he would have still been smiling at my leaky black eyes.

I turned back to the daunting task that lay on my desk: writing obituaries. Like I could care about the three cats old Mary Applebee was leaving behind, or how Harry Gilbert turned his life around losing twenty kilos just years before suffering a fatal diabetic episode. They were wasted lives, the lot of them, with organs that were already half decayed before they were even sent to the morgue. Worst of all, it was a waste of my time, when I could so easily be hunting my next meal.

“Great idea, Frank,” I mumbled blandly. “Writing about death is just the thing to help me deal with my emotional shock in the woods last week.”

“I'm so-ho-ho bored!” Sandra whined as she dropped onto the edge of my desk. “Can you believe Frank's got me writing politics? I mean me. Like I care who the figurehead is of this city. They're all just as corrupt as the other.”

I looked up, surprised. “You're talking to me now?”

Her eyes narrowed. “I'm still not happy about you taking my focus, but Kevin called to thank us for the story. He said that you really pulled them out of a sticky situation.” She smiled. “He thought we came up with it together.”

My mouth made an O.

“Of course, it wasn't him you did it for, was it? Certainly yourself, but also for a certain detective. So...since you were doing it for love,” she rolled her eyes, “I can forgive it. With my own submission in the print today, I guess I really don't have too much to complain about anymore.” She beamed.

“I see. So, copycat stories are on the loose now.”

“Uh-huh,” She exclaimed full of zeal. “Amazingly, it's still another first for the Coastal Horizon.”

“Well...” I sighed. “At least there was a good few days there before the media frenzy.”

“Yeah.” She bit her lip. “Um, if you see Ryan or Kevin, can you tell them that I'm sorry about the story? You know that it's nothing personal.”

I nodded, wondering when the time came for her to blast my involvement with this killer whether she would again say that it was nothing personal.

“So, what's the deal with you and Zach lately?”

“Huh?” I frowned as I turned to retrieve my beeping phone.

“You two keep acting all chummy. I can see how he flirts with you, even way over from my desk. It makes me sick.” She pretended to vomit.

“We're friends, Sandy, he knows that.”

I opened the text message and my face froze. I could have pulled off placid, if one didn’t look too close at my widened eyes.

“You act closer than friends, you know, but you won't admit that because you're still so in love with Ryan. Have you seen him again, since your exclusive one-on-one interview?” Her eyes twinkled with excitement.

“Sandra, I have got to go.”

“What? Go? It's only three o'clock. We don't finish 'til six,” she reminded.

“Yeah, I'm finishing early today.” I grasped my bag and threw my phone inside.

“What...but you can't have finished your article yet.”

After rising from my chair, I quickly turned to click send on my obituaries. “This'll do. Besides, Frank always edits the crap out of my work, so it's no longer mine.”

“He's got you writing obituaries?” Her jaw dropped as she turned to the opened document. “This is A through G. Jane, you can't leave it at that!”

“So he'll fire me; there are worse things.”

“Seriously? Wait, where are you going?”

Grasping my bag, I shone her my best selfie-smile. “To play with fire, wish me luck.”

“Fire?” she whispered. “Jane, wait! What is that supposed to mean?”

I didn’t answer, and in less than a minute I had vacated the office completely and was on my way to fulfill my promise.

It was all for show, that pretense of being one of the boring masses. Besides, I was sure if I stayed there any longer the masses would turn to a massacre—I was becoming very hungry. Just under seventy-two hours, that's how long it was since my last feed, and it appeared that was all my will was capable of. All those heartbeats of the office were making it very difficult to concentrate. Writing about death all day kept making me imagine new ways to kill my co-workers.

It was a good excuse to leave—Alex's text—and by the content, it did not look like I had any choice in the matter.

Heard the kids weren't getting along so well. Come to the Sands. Freddie has extended a piece offering for you - A

****

I walked up to the casino bouncer and dipped my hand into my handbag just when he directed, “This way.”

No waiting around like a lost puppy this time. Instead, I was led through the main foyer and into an elevator. He did not push a button, but instead pulled out a key, plugged it into the panel and the elevator doors shut closed.

I watched the digital display flutter by. After several long moments, and the passing of a bewildering number of levels, the elevator dinged at its stop. The final stop, the sixty-sixth floor.

Really? I thought sardonically. They’re really that cliché?

When the doors opened, the man simply gestured for me to walk inside. I did, and when I turned, I viewed the doors close and the bouncer decline through the height of the casino.

I stepped quietly through the penthouse, careful not to let any noise come from my shoes on the large, shiny tiles. As I did, I preened my ears and heard a heartbeat from just around the corner, and an object being placed down on a glass table.

“Kirra, you don't need to be quiet, I already know you're here. The elevator, darling.” There was a hint of amusement to Alex's voice.

The elevator. Why was I so naive not to consider that? Then I felt a pang from my stomach and the waft of Alex's perfume hit me with acute comfort. Rounding the corner, I could not help staring at her plush red lips; I imagined her heart would look just as delicious.

She motioned for the single seated lounge chair opposite hers. “Won't you take a seat and join me for a drink?”

Her pulse was moving quite rapidly, despite her composure. Her skin was vibrant, with ample collagen and fat stored in her cheeks to prohibit the appearance of wrinkles. It was strictly the good type she acquired—the healthy fats—and scarce enough of those that it did not remove her from her slender figure. I licked my lips.

She rolled her eyes. “Bloody animals you lot are; only caring about the next meal. Come sit. I have that arranged for you.”

Steeling control of myself, I did as she bid and glanced down at the sparkling wine set before me, and the small pink box between our two glasses. On top of this box was an ebony rose, plucked at the head.

“I've heard that you haven't been following orders. This has been very disappointing.”

“Sorry if I'm not living up to expectations,” I replied hostilely.

“You killed the target, that was pleasing, but you did not do it within the time frame; this lead to an alteration in the girl's involvement. She was meant to witness the body, not become another one.”

“Why?” I enquired. “I mean...why did you want her to witness that?”

“It is our reputation. Everyone knows it, just as Gregory did. Mess with us and those closest to you will remember terrible pain, if they’re that lucky. Being only a child, she was allowed the chance to survive.”

“He was just trying to retire. He was old…how much value could he be to you when he lost the will to kill?”

She pursed her lips. “There is no retiring. Once you join the Foxes, you're with us until death. Our employees know too much to be allowed to their own devices.”

“Such a mark on a young girl. You know this will destroy her psychologically,” I accused.

“Reminds you of someone, does it? I find it very interesting that you should attempt to kill her twice, but fail each time.” Her smile was broad. “No matter. It's been dealt with now.”

I closed my eyes to maintain control. “She was just a girl.”

“Yes. Imagine how her hatred would have blossomed as she grew into womanhood.”

Right when I was about to leap off that chair and launch myself at Alex, a voice halted me.

“You will stay put.” It was Smoke again. He kept popping up everywhere. I turned behind me to view him materialize into what was only void before. Damn he was slick, I never even heard him approach.

I repressed the anger that was ready to roar out of me. It was fear that kept me back; fear of his onslaught. Damn it. They really do have control of me now. It took just our first encounter to set that in.

I turned back to Alex and shot daggers with my eyes.

“Your assignment was a disappointment, but that was not the failure,” she continued. “The failure comes from your incessant probing into our organization. You've crossed a line there, and we did warn you that there would be repercussions for any further disobedience.”

“So, shoot me.”

She rolled her eyes. “Now that would be pointless, you'd heal almost instantly. If I were going to do something to you, I'd ask Smoke here to have a chat with you.” She caught my shiver. “My, so something has sunk in. You can feel at ease, I'm not about to do that. Smoke will only engage if you don't restrain that beastly rage of yours. I'm hoping, though, that we can put that anger and resentment behind us. We are working for the same man after all. Don't you think it's time we shake hands and play nice?”

“All I can think about right now is tearing you limb from limb, ripping out your larynx to shut you up, peeling that delicate skin from your face and then finally finishing with your heart,” I responded.

“I thought you'd say something like that. Especially, when it seems that three days is your limit. However, I hope with this...” Her eyes flicked down to the package on the table. “That bubble of anger you have been festering will finally be turned away from us. Freddie picked it up especially for you, you know. He might not be here today, but he really is sorry for his impertinence. He wishes to be your friend, your brother, just as the rest of your daimon-kind. Won't you accept our offer of kindness? Our offer of kinship? Rose would like nothing more.”

Sucking in a deep breath, I leaned forward, removed the black flower and brought the box to my lap. Lifting the lid, I gasped.

A heart—a human heart—bloody gift-wrapped.

“I'm serious about this peace offering. I want us to be friends, Jane. I believe we can work together.” She even managed to sound genuine.

My stomach growled as I stared at it.

“It's okay, Jane, I won't be insulted if you eat in front of me.”

Mere seconds—that was how long I could abstain before plunging my face in the box and consuming the contents in one gulp. The organ was cool, but no less satisfying. It was as comforting as a warm hand on the shoulder, making me feel, for a moment, like I was not alone and facing an impossible future. The glow came; the weightlessness, the blissfulness; and it was enough to make me forget the nauseating company.

Reality could not be dismissed for long.

“There. Do you feel better now? You look absolutely atrocious with all that blood on your face, but...” Alex winced. “I do want you to feel better. Like you can trust us, your family.”

I frowned. What was just going on here? Was she really just being kind to me now: giving me a free heart, no killing required, no stressing about the mess that will lead to my incarceration? It did not make sense. These were my enemies, not my friends, not my family—they killed me and turned me into a monster.

They do keep cleaning up after you, a desperate part of me argued. They keep trying to reason with you and protect you.

However cruelly things started, could I have been wrong about them? Could I actually trust them? Could I believe that I was not alone? Sure, I had friends, but with every moment I was in their company I lusted for their hearts. I cared for them and they cared for me, but that was why the friendships were so dangerous. It seemed inevitable that they would discover who I truly was and when they did they would not accept me. They would run screaming, or maybe raise arms to end my abominable existence. Then I would be left with absolutely no one. However, with the Foxes—with daimons, like me—maybe I could really find a family that wouldn't leave me; they would love me, monster and all.

Alex pressed. “What do you say, darling, will you stop trying to fight us and join our family?”

I clenched my hands. “All I ever wanted was a family.”

“You have one now, with the Foxes, with others like you.”

I looked up into the gold sparkling liquid on the table before me. “I guess I could give it a go.”

She smiled sweetly. “Rose will be most pleased to hear it. In time, it will be arranged for you to meet your new father.”

****

A family, could it really be happening? Could I accept these people, these gangster abominations, as kin? I still harbored an internal conflict, though my defiance was finally beginning to lose the battle. A family was all that I wanted ever since I was that little girl in the restaurant. It was a bizarre turn of events, to say the least, but it stopped feeling wrong. Ever since I consumed that heart, I felt a warmth fill me that never left. It was a lot like love.

Father Rose. I wondered who this man was and whether it was possible to love someone who stole your life. By the memory of that sweet English voice, I did not think it improbable that this powerful hatred could be morphed into love. Maybe, down the track, I would even thank him for removing me from my endless, self-hating existence.

My thoughts turned to my daimon brothers, Smoke and Freddie; one I feared, and the other who disgusted me. Could I love them too? Then there was Ruby, was she like us, too? A sister I never had? That old man in the photos—Sage— would he be the final missing character to this strange family? Was he a lovable grandfather who, one day, might teach me how to go fishing?

All these notions seemed ridiculous. They were no more than childish fantasies. Still, I could not dismiss the possibilities from my heart, because maybe this was it; maybe in this new warped life I had finally found a home again.

“Are you even listening to me, Jane?” Frank sputtered.

My thoughts snapped back to the present situation. That's right, I'm standing in Frank's tuna infused office, about to be fired. Go on then, get on with it.

“Can't close my ears, can I?” I replied.

He glared from the other side of his oversized desk constructed from mahogany wood. It was so impractically large that there was barely enough room for his plump form to get around behind it.

“I was saying that your performance lately has been inexcusable. I've given you a generous leash lately, knowing that you had some sort of panic attack last week. I've given you ample space to sort out your emotions, but this is too much. You've been late each day this week, you didn't even turn up on Monday, and don't think I'm buying that cod-bull story that you had a dentist appointment. What dental appointments last the entire day?”

I shrugged. “I eat bad food, so I had a lot of fillings.”

“Don't give me that.” He took a deep breath to compose himself and sat up straight as if trying to sit taller than me. “I'm afraid...I'm going to have to...”

Emma burst through the door. “Frank! You won't believe the tip I just got.”

“Emma, I'm busy right now.” He was steaming at the hair filled ears.

Emma was pushing the door open and was incapable of restraining her zeal. “I'm sorry, Frank, but it's a murder.” Her smile stretched right across her face. “A murder, and no one else has been tipped off on it yet. Frank, we're gonna be the first ones to drop the story.”

“A murder, you say, and no other agency has picked up on it yet?”

“Not yet, but I'm sure they will soon. Oh, please let me go. It's not far; if I leave now I'm sure I'll be first on the scene.”

Frank nodded. “Take your laptop and write up a piece straight away. Send it to me and we'll post it online. Then I want you to secure exclusives with the police and write a follow-up as soon as possible,” he ordered. “Take Zach with you to get some shots. He's usually pretty good at bypassing police parameters.”

“Can't take Zach, he's not here.”

“What? He can't be sick; he hasn't called in. Been spending too much time with this one here, she's rubbing off on him.” He scowled. “Take Nick, then. He'll do.”

“Right-o.”

Just as she was about to shut the door, Frank called out. “Wait, the murder happened close by, so not in Paradise Grove?”

“Yeah, it's unusual. Great, hey?”

“Close-by...” he muttered with concern in his voice.

“Yeah, right in this very suburb: 21 Kensington street.”

“Hmm,” he murmured. “Right, best be first onto it.”

He turned back to address me, but I was already out of my chair.

I snatched the door right from Emma's grasp as Frank bellowed after me. “You get back here!”

He continued to shout after me, but I did not hear a single word. I pushed Emma out of the way, and was out of there so fast that if anyone paid attention they would have realized that I was not the same Jane they once knew, as I dashed with inhuman speed, but I did not care. I could not care about anything except for the location Emma had just stated.

21 Kensington Street, I knew that place. I stayed the night there once; in a drunken error of judgment I had slept with a co-worker. Fortunately, however, this mishap had never hindered our friendship. In fact, it strengthened it. We became good mates, and I always enjoyed his light-hearted humor and easy-going approach to life. I always looked out for the stupid geeky shirts he wore, and divulged my bitching rants about Emma, and, at times, about Sandra, too. He was one of my closest friends; one of the few people I had left that I could really talk to. He was the one person whose smile I missed when he was gone.

After sprinting through the car park, I slid into my car and switched on the ignition. Driving dangerously fast, I headed for 21 Kensington Street—the home of Zachary Goodman.

Chapter Eighteen

What followed was a blur.

I leapt from my car, jumped the tape blocking passersby from approaching the run-down apartment building, pushed past the uniformed officers, dashed up the staircase, ran through the open doorway marked apartment 8 and stopped still in the lounge room.

No. No. Not him. Not Zach. He was too good, didn't anyone know? He was the last person—the last! Zach...Not Zach!” Somewhere, as I processed through that, I transitioned from thought to speech, from internal prayers to moans of despair.

“No!” I screamed so loud I felt the glass of the building shudder.

“Hey, it's okay, Jane. I'm here for you.”

“Zach?” I croaked.

“It's okay, Jane, let me take you out of here.”

“No, you're not Zach!” I pushed this person away as I rose to my feet, never realizing that I was actually crumpled in a ball on the coarse carpet.

“You,” I addressed the wall, “you're not Zach, you can't be. You're not allowed to be.”

“Jane...” that voice cooed.

“Leave me!” I roared with enough force that the do-gooder edged back.

“Zach, that's not you,” I whispered.

It couldn't be. I just saw Zach no less than forty-eight hours earlier. He was joking around with me, play flirting and comforting me warmly, reminding me that I was not alone. I had him as a friend. He was not the person I saw in front of me. He couldn't be, because this poor person was raised on the wall, stripped to his underwear and nailed through the wrists and ankles; dried blood oozed from each lesion; green eyes wide open, otherwise white skin mottled blue and purple, and a crass, disrespectful gouge in his chest—heart missing.

The writing on the wall, in red thick claggy ink, read: He died for her sins.

“It's not him,” I whispered softly. “There's no geek T-shirt. That's the proof, it's the proof.”

Then memory came flooding back of a teenage girl who looked upon a dead woman, wondering why this stranger looked so much like her mother. Of course, it couldn't be her; her mother was not allowed to be dead.

“It's not him, he's not allowed to be—”

“Jane.” Again, that soft voice cooed. “Jane, let me take you out of here.”

“It can't be. It's not Zach. It's not him. There's no shirt, you see? No shirt!” I pleaded to this stranger as I felt my body fall limp again. “It's not, it's not...”

“That's it, Jane, sit down. I'll take you from here.”

“Zach...” I looked up, into the face of my caregiver. “Of course, you're okay. You're the one who's always protecting me, like a big brother. My big brother...”

****

“Just look away, Jane.” I heard my brother, Jack, trying to soothe as a gentle hand pushed my head away, but I would not allow him to redirect my sight. I couldn't look away; the horror of it had me too transfixed.

“Don't look, Jane, just close your eyes.”

“Don't look away. You both must see this,” our father commanded.

Jack reluctantly removed his hands from my face, giving me no wall to hide behind anymore. I could see it clearly then; the horror of it inescapable. Even having my eyes closed wouldn't have shielded me from the events transpiring. The sound and smell were the worst of all.

I saw the origin of all the screams, and of the strange smoky cooked meat smell. The whole apartment block was crumbling down, tall black smoke rising from the inferno. It still stood, but only barely. We were told to stay back here, so as not fall victim to any collapsing rubble, but there were others further in than us, who never crossed to our side of the threshold alive.

There were many vans: some spilling water from hoses onto the building, others transporting blackened victims into them on stretchers. The number of injured paled in comparison with the number of long black bags that were lined up on the asphalt ground.

I saw a woman screaming and pulling onto the cloak of a firefighter, children clutching their dolls and a dog, coated in blood, lying limply on the curb. There was a young boy next to the dog who kept prodding it, tears streaming down his eyes.

“Dad, Jane really shouldn't be seeing this. She's only ten,” Jack pleaded.

“Does the fact that you're fifteen make you think that you're a man?” our father refuted. “No, you kids need to learn the kind of world you've been born into. I wish I could hide you from this, but I can't. Our city is not safe, and staying at home under your bed covers will not protect you from this corrupt society. You need to learn how to deal with this—it's the only way you'll survive.”

There was a great gust of smoke as part of one of the levels collapsed. There were cries from a couple wearing blankets, who held their arms out to it, desperately.

“What happened here, Dad?” I inquired, my voice squeaky and meek.

“A bomb was placed by one of the gangs,” he replied evenly. “The police received a tip and an evacuation was sent out, but that occurred barely a minute before the building exploded. It looks like some people have made it out alive, but many of the residents would have been killed either by the blast itself, or by the fires, or smoke that ensued.”

I placed a hand on my mouth in an attempt to stifle my whimpers, but my father's ears were far too keen. Without even turning to look at me he reprimanded, “Don't you dare cry. Crying is for the weak. You do not know these people; therefore, you should not feel sorry for them. Instead, you can take comfort from the fact that your mother, brother and I are all safe and untouched by this.”

I tried to do as he commanded but my eyes only dripped heavier as my body began to shake. I covered my mouth with my hand, but the wails could be easily heard now. I shut my eyes in a desperate attempt to block out the scenery, and I tried so hard to think about something else, anything else: my mother's cupcakes. Then, when I thought of the flavor, all I could taste was sickly sweet burnt flesh.

My father pulled my hand away roughly. “Do not shield yourself, Jane. This is the truth of the life ahead of you. Harden up, or you will find yourself in the same position as these pathetic grieving bystanders.” He motioned around us to where others were wailing; women with mascara running down their cheeks, and men gripping at their hair as if about to tear it from their skulls.

He leaned down to me and spoke in a soft, but firm voice. “These people are rendered weak by their fear. They are transfixed by what they see and they can do nothing to act, so, they merely watch as people die. You need to have control of your emotions and your fears. You must be strong if you have any chance to survive. It's always a fight for survival, never forget that.”

“Dad, why don't we just leave? Go to another city?” Jack offered, desperately.

“I can't leave, Jack. Unlike these others, I'm not letting my fear control me. People get hurt here too often for a physician to run and hide from it, but even if I were a schoolteacher, council worker, accountant or factory worker, I would not abandon this city. There are things that need to be done in the Blue Coast. I may not be able to achieve them, but I will not escape my duty. I know you're only kids, but I expect to see the same determination from you two. We're in the middle of a war, and wars cannot be won without soldiers.”

“Why, Dad?” I croaked. “Why do people do this to each other?”

“Some people are made evil. Others, develop that way, and all evil wants to do is kill and harm others weaker than it. You two must be strong; you must destroy this evil before it does you. I don't see this city being saved any time soon, not by my generation. That's why it will be up to you—the next generation—to take back the Blue Coast.” Despite the horrific scenery, his voice softened. “It really was a beautiful city once.”

Then I was back home. Everything was dark, and I had to use my hands to feel where I was going. I found the handle and the door creaked as it opened. I blindly walked forward, arms outstretched, until I found the cushioned mattress. I eased onto it, and under the covers I felt my brother's warmth flow into me.

Jack had placed an arm around me. “Just forget everything you saw today, Jane. You're too young, so just forget it.”

“I can't, Jack. I keep seeing them. I keep seeing all the black bags and people carried off on stretchers.”

“Try to forget. You don't need to know that stuff, not now, not ever. I'll always be around to protect you, I promise. So, you can forget, and I'll do all the fighting for the both of us.”

I nodded, forgetting that he couldn't see me in the darkness, and closed my eyes, but even next to my brother the images would not dissipate. The smell clung to my skin as if my own odor were the source of that dreadful scent. With a cold shiver, I realized how true that thought was.

I reached out to feel Jack's warmth again, but just found an empty bed. “Jack? Where are you? You're meant to protect me.”

There was no answer. Jack had left, flown to the other side of the country.

“You promised,” I whispered. “You promised that you would always be around to protect me. Why, Jack? Why did you leave me?”

Then a creature appeared before me, shining impossibly bright, like a beacon. The light distorted her image so that all that could be discerned was her porcelain white skin, long dark brown hair, and intense ebony eyes. This creature smiled at me as she answered, “Because he knows what you did.”

I shook my head violently, fighting against the image before me, but my movements were sluggish as if my body was fighting paralysis.

“No,” I cried desperately. “I didn't do anything wrong.”

Her smile increased as the intensity of her eyes dimmed, so that her features could finally be discerned. I gasped as I recognized the black-eyed woman.

“You're not me,” I whimpered. “You can't be.”

Her features morphed again, into someone who was taller, stronger and emptier. It was my brother Jack, but his eyes were different, too; white cornea and black engorged pupils. They were just like mine.

“Why, Jane? Why did you do this?” His question echoed through the darkness.

“What do you mean? Jack, I don't understand,” I said in a small voice.

He moved hauntingly forward. I could feel the power rippling off his body, and realized it was rage directed towards me.

“Your eyes...” I whispered as dread seared into me. “Not you, too. I'm sorry.”

He moved closer, and somehow the light shone on him in just a way to expose every line of hate etched on his face with transfixing clarity. “How could you do that, Jane? How could you be so...monstrous?” As he said this, he took a heavy swing towards me. It was so powerful that I felt the darkness shudder. It reached toward me slowly, and yet quickly, until finally I saw a hand as large as a giant's no more than an inch from my face.

“Jack, no!” I screamed as I braced myself, but then that black world was wiped away and I was left sitting alone in a new kind of darkness.

****

I was in a familiar bed that was not mine, drenched in a silence that made my nightmare scream.

I was panting heavily and became dimly aware of the cold sweat that blanketed my body. Sheets were tossed turbulently to the floor so that window curtains were shifted apart giving way to a streak of twilight.

The door was rushed open and a man's silhouette stood in the passage. Light flooded into the room from around his frame.

“Jane, is everything alright? I heard you screaming.” When my eyes adjusted to the brightness, I could make the man out. It was Ryan.

“What? I'm...at your place? How did I get here?” I muttered as I struggled to unscramble my thoughts.

He came and sat on the bed then, surprisingly, embraced me in his arms. “I'm so sorry, Jane. I know he was a friend of yours.”

I hugged back, too exhausted to push him away. I felt his heart beating, and the comforting warmth of his body. The comforting warmth.

“Zach.” I uttered.

“It's okay, Jane, I've got you. You're not alone.”

That was what Zach said. That was what Jack said.

You're wrong, I will always be alone, my thoughts answered him despondently.

“Why am I here?” I asked meekly.

“Because, Jane, I couldn't leave you after that. I know...you've witnessed too many people you care about die.”

“Yes,” I agreed vacantly. “Everyone around me dies. Everyone I love and care about, except Jack. He left. He saved himself from me. You should leave, too.”

“Jane...”

I brought a finger to his rough skin and grazed it against his stubble. “I do care for you, Ryan. That is why I want you to stop trying to protect me. I am not worth dying for.”

“Jane, stop speaking like this.” He held me out from him and stared his deep-ocean eyes into mine. He shook his head and murmured softly, “You are.”

My hand dropped as I turned my head away, suddenly afraid that through our locked gaze he would be able to see inside me; see inside to the hungry monster. So kind were his words and so wrong. I did not deserve them, but I was unwilling to correct him. One friend's life was a heavier burden than I had realized. I needed to be in control of my emotions—that was the only way one may control their actions. Objectivity; that was the only way I could control the wild beast, but that tenure was stretched to a frail thread. Any more strain and I was sure the daimon would swallow Jane whole. Then there really would be no more heart.

Again my words were full of emptiness. “They killed him because of me.”

Silence.

“He died for her sins,” I muttered mechanically. “That's what the wall said. It was...what his blood said.”

I heard his teeth grind. “You've been writing a story on the Foxes, haven't you? You've been working with Zach, and now you're not safe.”

“I should not have involved him, but I just didn't want to be alone anymore.”

Ryan grasped my cheek and fiercely turned my head forward. I could not evade those penetrating eyes any longer.

“How many times do I have to tell you?” He was struggling with his words. “You're not alone, Jane. I may not be your brother, but I will protect you as if you were my kin.”

He sighed. “You're in danger now. If they killed the photographer you were working with, you can bet you'll be in their crosshairs. I want you to stay here for the time being and I'll...work out some relocation program for you.” He released me and rose to his feet.

“Where are you going?”

“I need to head back to the station. There's a lot I still need to sort out with Valentine, and now there's you as well.”

“So, you are leaving me?”

I was shocked by the tortuous look he gave me; a disgusting amalgamation of despair and guilt, duty and desire; but I was unsure where either originated. Even more surprising was my effect on him; I could see how his worry made him gaunt and frail, despite his toned physique. I wondered why he cared, after not sharing a word with me for years.

His eyes sparkled, in a beautifully sad way. “I need to get back, things are developing too much to allow me to stay away long. I'm sorry, Jane. I will be back. Just stay here.”

After a moment's hesitation, he left the room. I heard him gather his things, and in a matter of minutes exit through the apartment front door. All the while, he left me to my darkness.

I slinked from his bed and found my handbag by the side table. A minute later I was closing the front door behind me also.

“I'm sorry, Ryan, but I can't stay. If I hang around you will be next, and I cannot allow that. Not you, too. This is my burden and I will carry it alone. I will fight it alone, and I will finish it alone. The Foxes will feel my wrath.”

Chapter Nineteen

Because I left my car back at Zach's apartment, I was forced to make my way by foot. This was more efficient, as my feet traveled through the air so swiftly they barely landed on the ground, though was far less discrete. However, the possibility of detection was of little concern to me then as I harbored only one desire, one all-consuming goal: I would have my revenge.

As I ran, I felt the air push menacingly against me, as if nature herself knew of my intentions and was fighting to restrain me. She sent out a strong gusty breeze followed by tiny flecks of rain. She veiled the skies to shroud the night in complete darkness. She made the trees bend against me, arms outstretched, fingering their leaves forward. She sent all her creatures away, as if to reinforce the fact that I was eternally alone, but her efforts would not be enough to restrain me; not a daimon. I ran fluidly through the darkness with vision adeptly modified to discern my surroundings. As to my isolation, I may have felt alone, but I was not the only daimon gliding through the city. I sensed another trailing me, approximately fifty meters behind.

So, they knew how I would react. That meant that this one had come to kill me. Convenient, really, for I was sure there was only one following me. I would simply kill this one and then return to the task at hand, with one corpse already ticked off my list.

Reaching a football oval that was satisfactorily insulated by trees, I stopped, taking my place right in the center.

“I was wondering where you were taking us,” a voice snarled happily behind me.

I turned and observed him from the corner of my vision. Yes, exactly who I wanted it to be. “I thought I would find a place that would give us the space to be ourselves. You seem like someone who does not want to be subdued. Isn’t that right, Freddie?”

His mouth stretched, corners nearly connecting to the ears in his way. “You know me so well.” He bobbed his head to the side as he crouched, hands planted on the ground. “We're similar, you know. Our spirits haven't been broken yet. We still lust over the chance to feed.”

I glared. “You're an abomination.”

“So are you, sister. C'mon, quit pretending you don't like the taste of that flesh on your tongue.” He licked his lips indulgently.

“Maybe I do, but it won't be as gratifying as ripping your heart from your chest.”

Freddie laughed, quietly at first, and then it morphed manically. “Perfect! Well then, sweet-pea, shall we dance?”

Instantly, he transferred himself from crouch to air, and appeared a mere millimeter from me. I fell away from him, just in time to avoid his impact, but not quick enough to escape the slap of air that carried with him. It knocked me down to the grass. I just felt the tips of these blades lick my back, but just before I connected to the dirt, I stretched my arms over my head and down. My hands landed on the ground, fingers flicked away and I rolled through the air. When I landed, it was on my feet; one knee bent, the other straight and at an angle to the ground. I raised my head and saw him coming for me again.

Another strike. This time I saw the claws, but I saw them too late.

I dodged back, flying across the ground, believing that again I avoided his blows. Suddenly, he was inches from me. He plunged an arm from behind and swept it across. I managed to miss his hand as it extended out, and I breathed in a relieved pant, but that gangly limb kept unfurling, reaching and stretching until long thick gray nails sliced through the gap and into the skin on my face.

I yelped at the searing mark they left as I dashed back away, and stole a moment to collect the blood on my fingers.

He was laughing. Of course the psycho is laughing.

“Too slow, kitty.” I knew what the laugh resembled now—it was a hyena's. “Come on,” he taunted. “Can't you do anything but purr?”

He launched again, this time pulling both arms back, ready to snap like a monkey with cymbals. Instead of dodging, I ducked into a crab-like position. I was crouched so close to the ground I was almost flat, as he floated over the top of me; his hands slapped against one another.

Pushing off the ground with all fours, I redirected my momentum upward and head-butted him in the sternum. This lifted him into the air until he effortlessly somersaulted and landed on his feet. I was starting to see that he had a strange affinity with cats.

Seizing his lost moment in recovery, I flew forward screaming, “You'll die for what you did!”

He sidestepped me easily, evading by a full meter. “Please, I gave you a gift.”

I dashed forward again, looking to embrace him with an uppercut, but he escaped it with ease.

“You murdered him,” I growled, as I tried again. This time, I led with an airborne sidekick and again he disappeared at the point of intended connection.

“Murdered? That's such a strong word. That would suggest I killed some superior being. No, I simply culled cattle.” He erupted with glee.

“You monster!” I roared, moving to his location in a flash, but in less than that he was already gone.

“You're calling me a monster?” I heard Freddie's amused voice to my left. “I didn't eat my friend's heart.”

“How dare you?” My body trembled. “You're disgusting!” I threw out a kick to the area where his voice originated, but he was not there. Suddenly he was behind me, and knocking me down with a sharp elbow. I landed face down with a severe thud in the dirt, dust erupting like ash from a volcano's mouth. This dissipated quickly; most of it swept away by the hurried breeze, the rest was slammed back down to the well-trodden earth by thickening raindrops. The storm was starting.

I felt him plunge a heel into my exposed back. “Now I am disgusting?” He giggled as he ground his heel into me. “You say that so soon after your friend’s blood was smeared all over your mouth.” He landed a sharp kick to the back of my head.

“I will be tasting your blood next.” I rolled aside from his next attack, flipped over to my back and was about to leap away, until his hand came at my neck and I found myself ineffectively pawing at his arms. Damn his gangly limbs!

“Aw,” he cooed. “Poor kitty can't reach.”

I grabbed one of his arms and bent it sharply backward. The sound of the snap was accompanied by a roar of thunder. Rain pelted down on the two of us.

He released me instantly. “Ah! My arm! You little bitch!” he screamed, water dripping down his face to form the tears he was too inhumane to produce.

I wished I could have taken that moment to launch an attack on him, but even with his release, I was still struggling for air. I staggered backward, drawing a thin cord of oxygen through my collapsed throat. I barely managed to remain on my feet. With his good arm, Freddie took hold of the other and snapped it into position with a screech. After some heavy breaths, he growled, “No more games. I'll put you down like the unwanted stray you are.” He rotated his shoulder shooting me a strange, knowing look. “I'll bury you right next to Mommy and Daddy.”

He flashed before me in a moment. I blocked the fist aimed at my face and countered using my right leg to sweep back behind his. He jumped and spun around in the air, coming full circle with a leg of his own. I ducked but then raised too soon as another leg followed around. He must have flipped mid-air. I pushed out both forearms and blocked him, but exposed my midsection from the left side. His leg dropped to the ground fluidly, swinging in the opposite direction; this time coming across with a hook. I tried to throw an arm back behind me but was not fast enough. The blow landed against my left ribs, crushing them like gravel in a cement mixer.

I screamed and was blinded by a combination of red-hot fury and the agony of my insides tearing apart. I brought my right hand towards my torso to cradle my injury, but before reaching it, I directed it to an uppercut to his jaw. There was shock on his face a moment before the connection. His expression transformed into one of torture, as his jaw snapped in two places and was almost dislodged from the rest of his skull.

“You don't get to talk about my parents,” I snarled. I lashed out a hook on the other side, leading to a ripping pain in my torso as it connected with his cheekbone. I went for a straight jab at his nose with my right hand, but he caught my fist in one hand. He smiled, jaw hanging limply, as black oil oozed from his eyes.

My moment of surprise was a moment too long as he ripped my hand back, severing it from my arm at the wrist. I stepped back and yelped in horror as I gazed upon my right hand, in Freddie's possession. I lifted my arm and whimpered at the stump left at my wrist and the two bones that stuck out like pikes.

“Touchy subject is it?” His question was muffled, as his jaw flapped with the strength of the barest of tendons.

I refused to allow a moment lost in distress, so I took a step forward. I threw my left fist at him with another hook. As I did this, my left ribs screamed at me and I felt the skin over them split and open.

Anticipating my counter, he grabbed this fist with his other hand and his broken smile extended further still, getting closer to those unnerving black eyes. “You're a lot like your mother, kitten; pathetically weak.” With this, he snapped my left hand, as he had my right, and then kicked me in the sternum. I was sent flying, ten meters away.

I could not scream, for my mouth was full of something else; I coughed and discovered my own blood splashing into the pool of mud I had landed in. I put my hands to the ground, but since they were gone, my arm bones punctured the oval pool like spikes on football boots.

I could not resist the revulsion growing inside me, and I stared helplessly at the tools I was left with. As I feared, Freddie left no moment to mourn my loss as he sent another kick into me, despicably aiming for my protruding ribs. He angled his kick down, so that I was not sent flying again, but deeper into the earth.

“Mew for me, kitty.” He let out a shrill mew as he repeatedly kicked me with all of his power.

“My mother was not weak!” I spluttered, as I reached out with spiked wrists and thrust them into his leg.

“Argh!” he cried with fresh oil dripping from his orbs. “Let go, you little bitch!” He jumped and kicked me with his other leg, and dislodged my hold.

“Fucking slut.” He slurred as he bent down to examine the holes in his leg. As he howled with laughter once more, the sky joined in. Lightning flashed brightly behind him and thunder chorused seconds later.

You know…”He struggled to speak, impeded more by his uncontrollable giddiness than his severely broken jaw. I just couldn’t work out what it was about you that I couldn't stomach, ever since the first time I saw you on that surveillance tape from the Minx. I knew there was something off—a girl with your eyes, yes; I knew there was something about them. Familiar and yet so different.” He had to pause as he released his glee up to the sky, opening his mouth wide and limp to catch the falling raindrops. He shut his mismatched jaws, licked the water around it savagely, and finally turned back to me. “Even at the hospital, I could not put my...” he touched a lanky finger to a space under his face where his chin was meant to be and chuckled, “finger on it. But later, when I sat outside your home and watched you talk to that bloke, I remembered.” He moved his finger to where his chin was actually positioned. “That the time I caught you in the Minx was not our first encounter. Our first was at a restaurant about ten...no, nine years earlier. At first you weren't looking at me, no, you were too distracted. A scared little shit weeping pathetically over her mother's corpse.”

I lifted my head up; rage emanating from my body with such ferocity that rain evaporated before it ever landed on me. I waited.

Freddie continued to rub his leg tenderly. “So much blood, so much destruction—It was such a beautiful sight. The noises were even more tantalizing: gunfire ripping through walls, glass shattering, tables splintering. The people, and their screams! So many dead, but not the target. It did not matter, though, because the end effect on the target was better than could have been dreamed. Then there was you, kitten.” He laughed. “I remember you. I saw you through that broken glass from the safety of my car. While people were running around mad, you gained control of yourself, no more than a teenager. You looked back through that open window and stared right at me with so much malice. That look you gave me was the same one you're giving me now. Truly –beautiful.”

I rose to my feet steadily, despite the ground shaking beneath me.

“I was human, too, then,” he explained. “Just doing my job with a bunch of other mates, following orders to destroy some shitface. It was a good job.”

I walked towards Freddie, where he did no more than crouch over his leg, slumping deeper still.

“I always wondered…when I killed your mother, what did I create that day?”

In an instant, I was in front of the heinous abomination. I stabbed him with a severed wrist and dangled him in front of me high enough so that his feet were off the ground.

His laughing dissipated as the darkness in his eyes shifted to a light gray. “You...really aren't like the rest of us.” He spluttered blood from his lopsided mouth; all the while, never dropping the smile. “I was right. You needed to be killed. So long as you live, Rose will not be safe.”

I lifted my other bony arm, and pierced through his eye, releasing black liquid. His jaw finally became slack and lay open twice as wide as any mortal's could. I retracted my right wrist from his eye socket and stabbed it into his chest. As I pulled away, his heart emerged with my injured limb. I wasted no time in swallowing it whole.

I breathed in deeply, readying myself for the gratification that would follow; eagerly awaiting the healing of my body, but that never came. Something else did, though—pain.

Suddenly, I was pierced with a blade that shone silver in my mind's eye. It penetrated to the very core of me; not through flesh, but into the depths of my being. My soul, if I had one. It plunged deep, tip burning with ethereal fire. I grew hot and dizzy. The very air I breathed was suddenly scorching my insides. I felt that cold silver blade burrow and sear until it reached a dense knot. Here, it twisted and worked maliciously to unravel it. A desperate truth rung out at me then, communicating that if the knot came undone, so would my life.

I screamed louder than I had ever before and violently drove my severed wrists into the sodden earth. I wailed but did not cry. I could not be certain whether this was because of stubbornness, or if the pain was too great for even that. I was in pain then.

I hadn’t noticed it during the fight but now it attacked me just as ferociously as my aggressor. Cool rain plummeted my body, drenching me, seeping deep into my skin. You’d think that with such a heavy downfall it would quench the fires at my wrists. It couldn’t. They were not large flames sprouting from my carpals, but were both a strong red. My wrists throbbed, my lost hands ached more, and every muscle I still retained lost its strength just as quickly as my blood escaped me.

What's going on? I don't understand.

“Stupid, stupid, girl.” A woman sighed. “Does save me the bother I suppose— killing two birds with one stone.” Dimly, I became aware of a familiar British accent—Ruby.

I squinted at the hazy figure walking before me. Her shoes stopped at my head. She grasped my chin and drew my gaze upward so that I had no choice but to look at her. I could just barely make out her milk-white skin and black eyes.

Ruby's red lips formed words in front of my eyes. “What a fool you are: you manage to kill your enemy only to kill yourself in the process. Now you can see, can't you, your great mistake?”

I tried to answer, but all that escaped was a weak moan.

She chortled. “It is sad that you did not realize the true power that hearts contain. A heart is where a human feels. It is their compassion, their love, and their strength. It is the thing that gives both the power and the will to live. Every pitiful little beat is the lingering force of a soul. Take that, and you can tap into a chamber of enormous power.”

I felt her finger slide along my cheek forcing me to pry open my eyes I had not realized I'd shut.

“A daimon's heart is different.” She placed a gentle hand onto my chest. “Ours do not harbor a soul, only darkness; powerful darkness. Our hearts are difficult enough to maintain, requiring endless replenishment from the livestock of humans. When our reservoir of human hearts depletes in our systems, then we start to...dissociate on a molecular level. Should a second daimon heart be introduced, the vessel cannot support the strain. It is overloaded and set to expire.”

She touched my forehead. “Do you feel it now, the fever? That is how it starts. Then your temperature will cascade towards boiling point, until you stop feeling. All molecules have a certain point where temperature affects them. Some are higher than others, but in the end, they all unbind. When this starts to happen, you'll hallucinate, and fall into a dream of delusions. As your brain turns to mush, you’ll have the joy of experiencing complete insanity. Finally, your body will turn to ash and simply float away, dissipating throughout the earth's vast atmosphere. It is here that it is thought that you die, but because we are daimons, I am not even sure if that is the case. It is possible that you split into millions of fragments, distorted and broken, but still manage to linger on in some presence.” She dropped her hand as she trailed her words, as if she herself was taken to some other place through her musings.

Chillingly, I registered her predictions were coming true. My body temperature was increasing steadily. It became so hot that I could feel my brain boil like an egg in a pot. I wondered how long it would be until the egg popped and the white started to ooze out of it.

Fighting, with just a whisper of strength remaining, I lifted my head back up to notice that Ruby was out of view, and in front of me was the silver corpse of Freddie. I believed I could just make out an open-mouthed smile before tiny flecks of him leaked into the air.

“It is tidy, at least, that you two should die this way,” she continued calmly. “It was only Freddie that was meant to die here. It was expected that you would kill him and that we would allow it as punishment for the disobedience he displayed. He was simply meant to procure you a gift; it was his folly to attack one you cared for. His sly disregard for the family led to the unanimous decision that we would allow you to kill him. After, you would again be invited back into the family, but it does not look like that will be occurring now. I hardly think it a shame, but Rose will likely pout for a few days. He had such hopes for his latest toy. Oh well, nothing can be done now. In a matter of minutes, you too will turn to silver and start to dissolve into dust, just like Freddie.”

She sighed. “Goodbye, Jane Kirra. I hope the next one will prove better than you.”

Chapter Twenty

I strained to hold onto my consciousness. I was all alone now; beaten and broken; burning as drops of acid tore into my raw body; my wrists rendered to a dull and empty ache. I looked up at Freddie, who was disappearing faster and faster. All that remained of him were tiny shreds of tissue clinging to stubborn bone, all of which were silver in color. I knew that he would soon disperse completely, leaving no trace of his existence.

I began to sob, but my body lacked the strength to even produce the oil my tears had become. I turned to view my hands, which lay many meters away. They were no more than a couple of gray lumps atop the flat grass, giving off a mist.

I really was going to die. I lay my head down as my eyes fell shut. It was my time. All strength finally abandoned me as the heat let go and I entered a blissful serenity of nothingness. In my mind's eyes, I saw the silver mist, calm and gentle, cool and empty. I could feel it now, the knot unraveling, and the widening disconnection of my cells. In a moment, I would be broken into the barest of constituents. This was an inescapable truth.

Images popped into my mind, quick and lacking in detail: my mother's kind smile, my brother's hand locked in mine, my father's resolved expression, and Zach's geeky T-shirts. I saw Zach’s lopsided smirk, his greasy hair, and a camera fall to tiled ground and smash into thousands of tiny shards. They were all lost to me, and as hopeless at reconstruction as shattered glass.

Then other images came: Sandra's sobs as she hugged me, and Ryan's lips; the way they touched mine so tenderly and roused a feeling I had long forgotten. I saw his eyes sparkle as they shouted unspoken words to me—I did not fear them anymore. All I wanted was another moment to go back and whisper, “me too.” Then I felt Smoke's darkness, as if he were the very real boogie monster my mother promised did not exist. I was, then, surrounded by the heartless bodies of countless women; many of whom were much younger than I was, and far more innocent.

No! I cannot die yet. Not this way. I still need my vengeance!

In the silver nothingness, I raised my head forcefully and turned back around to the source of my dissolution, the place where the cold steel was tearing at the fabric of my being. I traveled there in a moment and saw the blade was nearly through the knot completely. I outstretched new hands dressed in golden gloves, gripped the hilt of this sword, roared, and fought with every last ounce of my being to wrench it free.

The menacing weapon growled back at me and held fast to the last unbroken thread. It drove itself against the knot and I with greater malice.

“I refuse!” I shouted at it. “I refuse to die!”

Feeling a power surge erupt from me, the flecks of silver were blasted away as the blade quivered in my hands. They were fighting me, vehemently denying me of my salvation, but it was not enough to overcome my rage. Another ripple of energy rumbled through me, and with a loud snap, the sword was finally released. As I pulled it back, it shattered at once and fell with brilliant translucence. I raised my arms up to the nothing sky above and felt tiny drops of gold rain down on me in glory. I spun around in this place, clothed in a dress of pearls, and felt myself being elevated, breaking through oblivion. At last, I opened my eyes.

Feeling interestingly ethereal, I took a moment to allow my eyes to adjust and began to survey my surroundings. All around me was plush green, and I recollected that it was shortcut grass with a band of trees around it. Above, was a sky composed of a harmony of colors. It was the dawning of a new existence.

I pushed myself off the ground with regenerated hands and scanned my surroundings, looking for some trace of Freddie or two appendages that once belonged to me, but saw nil. As I rose to my feet, I detected a small leather parcel some distance off and made my way to retrieve it.

I picked up my handbag and spun through the still air, reflecting on the violence of both the weather and the actions of those who fought here last night: roars of wild animals and beastly thunder; gushes of fresh blood and oceans of rainfall that washed the crimson away; gray dust of the night's victims, and the strong breezes that claimed the particles into the atmosphere. I smiled at the magnificence of mother nature.

I did not dally there any longer, I still had my self-determined mission—I still had daimons to kill.

****

The drive to continue my goal was stronger than ever. However, a new sense came over me, and it bade me to first return home, gather my thoughts, and cleanse myself from my unsavory state before returning to the task.

I was not exactly sure what happened in that silver-nothing place. Was it inside me? Was it where the essence of my being lurked? Was it my soul? I could not answer these questions, but that did not seem to matter because I had assumed a strange sort of calmness since emerging from there. My conflicting thoughts and feelings, the wild beast inside that was eternally hungry, and the melancholy I harbored for the lost were all just a memory. It was like the teenager had finally matured into an adult, and with this new sense of self I recognized the errors of my prior plan. Returning home to cleanse, I intended to revise my strategy into something a little neater.

I ran all the way back. Traversing by foot proved to be an incredibly efficient method since it allowed me to jump fences and gates and create new shortcuts. As a result, it did not take long to round my block and find my feet slowing on the driveway to my house. I ran between the two cars parked in the drive port, and smiled at the sight of my little hatchback to the left.

I turned the handle to the front door and it opened without resistance. It seemed my kind car-returner made himself at home; inviting himself inside with the keys I had left in the ignition back at Zach's.

I walked quietly inside and turned into the living room, where a man lay, sprawled out on the lounge. I watched the gentle rise and fall of his chest as he slept. I approached him and listened to his heartbeat. For one who was sleeping, it pounded just a little too fast.

I ignored him for the time being and climbed up the stairs into the master bedroom; the one in which my parents once occupied. Dropping my torn and soiled clothes to the floor, I stepped into the shower and embraced the cascading water. As I closed my eyes, I saw those golden drops again and felt their purity cleanse me to the core.

After lathering myself in white bubbles, I enjoyed a final rinse, dried myself with a plush white towel and selected an outfit to wear for the day. I considered this carefully— it would be the attire I killed Rose in.

I donned a black tank top, stretch jeans that wore like tights, zipped up long boots and tied my hair in a practical ponytail. I kicked my previous attire into my wardrobe and called out to the other side of my bedroom wall, “Are you going to pace through that hallway all day or are you waiting for an invitation?”

The door burst open at once and Ryan came rushing in, panting. “Where the hell have you been?”

I gently shut the wardrobe door. “I needed some space to think.”

“You were meant to wait at my apartment. It was bad enough finding you gone when I got back, then you didn't answer any of my calls, and weren't even at your house. No one knew where you were. I...I just couldn't stop thinking the worst.” He strode to me in haste, grasped my face and pressed a passionate kiss to my lips.

When he finally retracted from the tingly touch, he did so slowly, hesitantly. He whispered, “I was so worried that something happened to you.”

I smiled. “I’m fine. More than fine. I’ve had time to...work through my pain, and move past it.”

He gripped my arms fiercely. “What do you mean? I don't understand you, Jane. Why are so calm? What's happening with you?”

I pulled my hands onto his arms and eased them down. I looked up into his furrowed brow and smirked. “It is okay, Ryan. Everything is okay.” I rubbed his shoulder tenderly.

His expression softened. “You're confusing me, but I'm glad you're safe.” He tugged at the tufts of hair that had escaped my pony and fell in front of my face. “I remember when you had a full fringe; you should go back to that at some point.”

“Go back...” I murmured, thoughtfully. Back to a time of youth and innocence. “I'd like to go back...” But a flower can never regain its petals once they're lost.

“Well, now that it's morning, would you like to get some breakfast?”

I put a hand on his chest and breathed in the potential delight of his heart. I wanted it, but I did not need it. “No, not today. I still have some work to do. I need to catch up from yesterday.”

He rolled his eyes. “I think your boss will excuse you for one day of missed work, considering what you've been through.”

“It's...more work for me; help me resolve things. Zach's death has affected me—I'm okay, I just still need some more time on my own. Do you understand?”

“Jane,” he responded firmly. “You're still in danger. You need protection.”

“I'll have my phone on me. Call me if you need to, just give me the day, okay?”

“You'll expose yourself to them; they'll have no hesitation in killing you. You should know this,” he pressed.

I shook my head. “They won't attack me. They sent a message for me, Ryan. If they were going to kill me, they wouldn't have bothered with it.”

“You're wrong, these people are harsher than the media fully realize. They send messages to their next targets first, as a way of instilling fear.

“I know,” I breathed, “I know how cruel they can be. That's why it won't be straight away. They won't try to kill me just yet, they want the message to be fully felt first.”

Ryan's hand continued to sweep through my hair and tugged gently at the pony-tail. “That would be right… if the message was only to you.”

I gasped. “You have still been investigating the Valentine case? The one your superiors told you to back off from; the one that the Foxes obviously had a hand in.”

His head moved over my shoulder so I could not see his eyes. His hand held my pony tighter.

“Do you know anything?”

It was a long moment before he responded. “No, not yet. Jane, that message wasn't just for you, and ever since I've felt...conflicted.”

“I see.”

“You need to stop this. You need to hide from the Foxes, they're planning on doing something with you, I know it.”

We were close, but I managed to slip a hand just under his collarbone. It was so warm there.

“Not today,” I refuted. “I will be going out during daylight, in populated areas, before returning home all safe and sound. I will give them no opening to make a move, and they will not force one. This gang is cold, vicious, but not uncalculated. They will happily bide their time. Foxes love to chase their prey.”

“It's still too risky.”

“Please, Ryan. I need this— just the day. I'll be back tonight and you can stand guard then, okay? Just give me some time now. I need to mourn, alone.”

He weighed this heavily, but I felt his tight muscles loosen. It did not seem like they wanted to, though. “Alright. Well, there is still a lot of sorting needed back at the station, and it looks like I'm going to need to start working on some sort of protection protocol for you. That will at least take the day, and there’s shitloads of paperwork that needs to be filed before that can be approved.” He drew out a long breath. “You'll stay in populated areas, have your phone on you, and answer when I call?” It was a directive.

I nodded. “Things will change soon. Can you feel it?”

He embraced me and whispered into my ear. “Yes. Jane. I...I've always cared about you. I remember seeing you here in your home, all dressed and ready to go for your school formal. When I saw you in that crimson dress that complemented your...” he laughed lightly, “skin so beautifully…that was when I saw the amazing woman you had become. I could not believe that you were the same kid sister of my mate who used to follow us all around. It was then that I knew how I felt, but I...I couldn't feel that way. Not about a girl who was five years my junior; barely legal, and my best friend's sister. So, when Jack left you later that year, I did, too, because I knew that if I didn't I would not be able to control myself.”

He pulled me away and stroked my chin affectionately. His ocean eyes reflected some unseen sun. “I had to respect both you and Jack, but it was hard. Honestly, I never really let you go. I checked up on you, stalked you. I read all your news articles and drove by your house a couple of times. I was so close to entering your life again, so close, but then years had passed and I thought there was no way that you'd even remember me, let alone care for me. I mean, you were just a kid back then. I'm sorry, it sounds pathetic, but I feel like I can tell you now. I need to tell you. I can't pretend that I'm not...” He trailed off as if deciding he said too much.

I reached out to his mouth and gifted him with a small kiss of my own. His eyebrows lifted and he crunched his eyelids firmly.

“I think I feel the same way, Ryan.”

He pulled away, smiling broadly. He opened his mouth to speak, but I placed a finger to his lips.

“Wait,” I commanded. “Just until tonight. Let's meet back here. Then you can tell me.”

He nodded, beaming with happiness.

“I've got to now, but I'll be back. I promise.”

His thumb caressed my chin gently before giving it a little pinch. “I'll hold you to that, Jane Kirra.”

Chapter Twenty-One

“Long Island Iced Tea. Little early isn't it?” I enquired of the woman seated next to me at the Sands casino bar.

Alex smiled, despondently. “Not when you're living an inch from the edge of the world. If at any time I could fall off, I want to be feeling good.”

“Good point,” I assented, and motioned for the waitress to give me what Alex was drinking.

“Does it do anything for you anymore? Do you even like the taste?” she pried.

“Last time I drank alcohol it helped me to forget who I was. As to the taste, it could be better.”

She chuckled. “About the same as the rest of us, then.”

The bartender placed a glass in front of me as I handed her the cash.

Alex became serious. “I didn't know, Jane. I didn't know what Freddie had done.”

“You're lying.”

She gasped and shook her head. “I was just following orders.”

“You really did play me for the fool, presenting me with such a kind gift when I was so famished. I liked the touch on the text message; the piece offering.” Alex’s grasp of her glass faltered. The liquid poured across the counter, found the edge, and began to drip down.

“Sorry,” Alex apologized to the bartender, abashed. This was not like her. She was the controlled one, the cool one. She was oddly jumpy.

The bartender sighed and mopped up the mess with a sponge, confiscating the empty glass.

Once the girl had left, Alex stared down at the counter in front of her. “I didn't know. Not then, anyhow. He told me what to write in that message, how to write it and left that rose to accompany your gift. Freddie killed your friend of his own volition, but Rose allowed it. In fact, I think he probably encouraged him. I think Rose would have found the whole thing amusing.”

I nodded. So, that was the truth then. Rose never really wanted me to integrate into his bizarre family. My struggles and despair were no more than entertainment for the undead bastard.

I slid my beverage across the wet counter. “Here, you can have mine. I'm still not very fond of the flavor, it's too bitter.”

“Thanks,” she muttered. I wondered, with the way her hands shook, whether it was due to an addiction to alcohol or something else. It could also be just plain nerves. Her heart rate suggested alarm in my presence.

“You're meant to be dead,” she stated. “Ruby saw you die. How is it that you survived?”

I breathed in and out thoughtfully, wondering just how important air was to me.

“I refused to die.”

She frowned. “No, it's not that easy. She said that you ate the heart of a daimon— Freddie's heart—which, to another daimon, is normally poison.”

I smirked. “I guess I discovered an antidote.”

She stirred her drink with the straw. “I wonder, if it doesn't kill you, what a daimon heart does to another of its kind?”

I touched at my chest, which somehow seemed fuller, more complete. Ruby claimed daimons were empty, soulless creatures; yet, I swore I could feel Freddie's insanity shackled inside me. It fought to consume me, but it lost.

My grin broadened. “I think it's like when a pawn makes its death run to the other edge of the board. Most of the time it is annihilated, but if it makes it, it claims enough power to surpass a king.”

Alex's expression remained firm. “Maybe that is true, but with your analogy, you are still dispensable. Don't ever forget that the king has a legion by his side, and the game will never end unless he does.”

That was a fair point—there was still a full board of pieces blocking my path to the king. “He is playing a game, isn't he? That's what I am, just something to play with. All this time I wondered why and how this happened to me, but now I see it’s all just the whim of a monster.”

“You only see that now?” She paused. “I guess…he did try to play house for a bit there.”

During the discourse my fists clenched tightly, but it was not until I detected Alex's despondent demeanor that I realized I was not the only toy in the basket.

“He is playing a game with you, too.”

She took a long sip. “My game is not so much fun as yours. Mine has a lion barred in a tiny cage. Here, it is constantly prodded and taunted with its walls shrinking around it. Its cries, once a powerful roar of vengeance, are reduced to the pathetic whimpers of a kitten. The bars become tighter and tighter, reducing her to the size of a mouse; weak, and defeated with ease.”

“I would hardly call the Sands Casino a tiny cage.”

She grimaced. “As a child, I never would have either. These halls were so large and mysterious, and yet, I felt completely safe roaming through them with the knowledge that my father owned them. Sure, it is a place of inebriation and uncouth behavior, but I was kept safe by the staff. To me, they were family. They kept a watchful eye on me so that I did not run into any trouble, but I always tried to evade their detection as I explored the out-of-bounds areas. I made up my own games here, and in them I was the victor, the hero. Never did I play the part of the captive princess.” Her eyes were cast into a shadow of despair.

I pulled at the thread she left dangling to the story. “The Sands Casino was once in the possession of the Crimson Coins. The boss, Makoto Himura called this place home. He lived here with his daughter ever since a car accident claimed the life of his wife, Louise Himura. The daughter was named Kiyomi, meaning pure beauty. She was beautiful, too beautiful, and before she had even come of age, she was raped and left for dead. It was thought that these wounds were fatal and she died soon after, but from my own investigations, I could neither confirm nor disprove that theory. I wondered whether she adopted a different name as an escape from everything that happened to her.”

“That's right. Before you were trying to kill us, you were trying to expose us.” She laughed softly. “The human Jane Kirra wanted to write an article in that silly little paper of hers. Yes, that was how you first got our attention, and after a closer look at you, Rose became very intrigued.”

“Kiyomi was sixteen when she was attacked,” I continued, evading her distraction. “It was soon discovered that the perpetrator belonged to their rival gang—The Silver Blades—and that he was, in fact, the leader’s brother. Makoto was enraged and overcome with despair so deep that he made the dangerous declaration of war against all those involved with the Silver Blades. He vowed to see anyone part of the gang murdered, as well any that had dealings with them.”

Alex clenched her glass firmly. “It wasn't just one guy—I know how to fight one man. There was a group of them, and I was all alone when they jumped me. I tried to fight them off using the self-defense my father taught me, but there were too many. They were too strong. I was...overpowered.” She took a deep breath. “Is this it? Is this what you want to hear, the poor little broken girl's sob story?” Her shoulders softly rose up and down.

She finished her drink and made to get up, but I placed a firm hand on hers, pinning her to the counter. “I'm not done yet.” I waved for the bartender to return.

“What? You think if you buy me a drink I'll spill everything to you?” She scoffed. “You're as bad as the horny bastards that come to this bar at night.”

I scowled. “Your dark past is my dark past. I need to know everything that happened. I need to know how everything got so fucked up. Stay, have another drink. Please, just talk with me.” My voice lost its firmness at the end.

She nodded and requested another long island iced tea from the bartender, who quickly started to shake the creative mix behind the counter.

“I reverted to my middle name after that incident, and adopted my mother's maiden name; thereby becoming Alexandra Perrier. It was my father who changed my identity, and all the while I slept in a hospital bed. It was not until I was finally dismissed, a whole two months later, that I finally learned why I was being addressed as a different woman. My father said it was best this way; that our enemies would not be able to harm me if it seemed like I no longer existed. It was not just my name I lost, it was my innocence, it was everything. I transformed into an empty shell, battered and bruised and scared. My whole world was broken; I both feared and hated everything, but there was my father, the beacon through it all, the one force that loved me always. He was by my side, smiling, every time I opened my eyes. He held my hand and whispered his love to me. I knew that, so long as he was there, nothing would hurt me ever again. Later, I discovered that I was not meant to recover, that I should have been killed or suffered irreparable brain damage due to my injuries. That's when I knew that it was my father who healed me; his kindness and his warmth were what brought me back to life.” She smiled bittersweetly. “It hurt us both so much when mother died, but because we had one another, we became a force that much stronger.”

The bartender returned and placed Alex's refreshed glass before her. Alex nodded her thanks.

I wrung my hands fiercely. “The part about the lion's roar of vengeance,” I pressed through gritted teeth, “that got my attention. I'd like you to elaborate.”

She sighed. “My dad; he loved me so much that he started a war on my behalf. He took on the whole of the Blue Coast's gangs pretty much single-handed. He did manage to tie-in the barest of alliances with the Dynasties, but in the end, they double-crossed him, as you already know. Still, even though he was outnumbered and outgunned, the Crimson Coins held their own for six long years, until the battle finally ceased. However, it was not ended by another gang, but by monsters...like you.”

“I see…so, your father made it right to the end; right before the rise of the Foxes.”

Alex gripped her glass so tightly that it cracked, slightly. “Yeah, that's when they appeared. That's when it all ended and a whole new horror began. It was the beginning of my own oath, my own promise of retribution for the death of my father.”

“How did he die?”

Alex was shivering, too frozen to respond.

I gently squeezed her shoulder. “What happened to Makoto Himura, Alex?”

Her tension eased in defeat; she really was a broken animal. “It happened at the collapse of the gang war, during the last few days. For months, people had been vanishing with no trace as to their whereabouts. After a while, some of the bodies began to pop up and all of them had their hearts torn from their chests. It didn't matter who they were: middlemen, bosses, prostitutes, girlfriends; as long as they associated with a gang, any gang, they were a target. No one knew who carried out these attacks.

“Then one day the casino was being hit by a mysterious group. It all happened so fast—people were dying all around me, most of them just patrons. I took the elevator up to our room, where my father was in deep conversation with his top men, Ryota and Seiji. The apartment windows shattered, and he told me run and hide. I ran into a closet in my father's bedroom and tucked myself behind a bunch of jackets, leaving the door open just a crack. Soon, I heard bullets firing from the other rooms, and the painful cries told me that a lot of people were dying. I did not know from which side.

“I saw my father retreat into that very bedroom with two of his top men. He shut and locked the door, and they poised their guns towards it, all the while never realizing that I was hiding right behind them. The door tore open so quickly and violently that I thought an explosion must have gone off. They were all thrown off their feet. It was then I saw Rose—so beautiful and vicious—rush into the room, rip into Ryota's chest, pull out his heart and swallow it whole; all in the flash of a moment. He didn't take a moment to savor it like you. The next moment he ripped out Seiji's heart and then headed for my father.

“I wanted to scream out to him, stop this monster from coming any closer and protect my dad, but I couldn't move. I was too scared. I was such a coward that I had my hands covering my mouth to try to muffle my sobs. I was twenty-four, your age now, but unlike you, I was frozen by my fear.

“Dad pulled his gun on him and began to fire, but the bullets may as well have been flower petals. Rose walked through them without so much as a wince. Then he reached him and...” Alex trailed off, leaving me to paste in the last details. “I couldn't do anything.” A tear rolled down her cheek. “I just stood there, hidden from view, and watched the person I loved most die brutally in front of me. My father, who waged a six-year war for me, murdered horrifically, and I did nothing to protect him!” She barely kept from sobbing at the memory.

As she fell into silence, I continued the story. “Rose didn't see you, and you survived.”

“No,” she corrected. “I survived but...he saw me. After finishing with my father, Rose looked right across to the wardrobe, held out a hand and smiled. The sick son-of-a-bitch, with blood covered right across the bottom half of his face and hands, was smiling at me. Then this old man came into the room, and he was as bloodied as Rose was. He said something I that couldn't hear, and just before leaving the room, Rose turned and winked at me.” She shook her head, as if in disbelief of her own story.

Despite her distress, I lacked the capacity for empathy. “So a girl with no family and no identity survived a terrible massacre. What did you do with yourself then?”

“I disappeared,” she husked. “I came back, though, pretending to be someone else. I used my new name and tried to get close to him. I learned all I could about Rose and his daimons, and strategized a thousand ways to kill him in my mind. The trouble was, the more I learned, the more that my imaginings failed. I murdered him over and over in my head, but because he was immortal, he kept resurrecting and attacking me in my dreams. Years ago, I told Freddie of my plight, of how my nightmares killed me night after night. He thought these were funny and decided that was what he wanted to be—a nightmare. My foolishness, really, for trying to connect with such an evil creature; even if he was newly reborn at the time.” She took a long, hard drink. “I got close to Rose. I worked for him, and, before I realized it, was caged by him, subservient and scared. I let him rule me—the man I hated most. He commanded all my actions. I became his pawn, and that little promise I gave my father was looking less and less likely to become fulfilled.”

I understood her self-loathing and the fact that she could never run away. Though she hated Rose and his daimons, she could not permit herself to leave them before she fulfilled her promise. She would work with them and stand by their sides, all the while waiting for one moment that may never come. Rose undoubtedly knew of Alex's intentions and cruelly allowed her the slim hope of retribution, though knowing none would ever emerge. Alex would continually be dominated by her greatest enemies and haunted by her failed oath. I realized what game he was playing with her then: mouse in maze with the scent of cheese but no passages that led to it.

“Rose seems to like his games. Do you know what game he has set up for me?” I asked.

She laughed mirthlessly. “You haven't figured it out yet? It's the same game. It's the same game he plays with everyone—kill me, if you can.”

“I thought you might say something like that. Still, the game he has set up for me is quite different from your own. He has actually given me a chance of winning,” I stated.

She shook her head mockingly. “He wants you to think that. It does not matter what you are, your case is as hopeless as mine.”

“I am a daimon who killed Freddie, consumed his heart, and, I think, acquired his power as a result. I don't know if this was all a part of Rose's plan, but I believe it gives me a fighting chance.”

She rolled her eyes. “You were meant to kill Freddie. He let you think that if you're strong enough to kill one daimon, then you could kill them all. Freddie was weak, too wild and primal, and ruled by his emotions—a lot like you, and just as dispensable, I imagine. Rose wanted the two of you to have it out, and I suspect he knew you would be the victor.” She smirked. “The others are far stronger, faster, and smarter. Rose… he's more powerful than all of them combined.”

I brushed her words aside. “It doesn't matter. I will still kill him; I will kill them all. At first, I just wanted to avenge what was done to me, but now, after what those bastards did to Zach, I refuse to let any of them get away with this. I won't let his death go unpunished.” I promised.

She played with her straw, amusement lighting her grim features as if she just heard precious nonsense from a child. “Then you will die.”

“No,” I stated firmly. “I refuse to die.”

“You know, you could have just run away, left the Blue Coast and you would have been thought dead. You would have been safe and alive, but the very thing that you say has kept you living is the very thing that will get you killed. When you walked into this casino with vengeance on your mind, you would have been made, and there will be no chance of escape now. The daimons were fearful of how strong you were, how you would not follow commands. They had been ordered not to kill you so that Rose could have his fun, but I think survival is beyond you now. It is only a matter of time before they make their move and eliminate you.”

I smirked. “I invite them to try.”

She sighed, almost sadly. “Alright, you wanna skip to the end of this game?” She fished around into her handbag, pulled out a slip of paper and a pen. After writing on it, she directed, “Then this is where you need to go.”

I inspected the note. “I will find Rose here?”

“Yes, that is where he resides, but I warn you, they will know you're coming. In fact, they are watching us right now.”

I held the address in my hand. “Thanks.”

“Jane…it'll be Sage who comes after you. He considers himself Rose's personal protection squad. He may look old, but he is very strong; fast and smart. He'll kill you, but...I hope he doesn't. I hope you have your vengeance. I hope that if by some crazy miracle you manage to face it off with Rose, that you win—for your reporter friend, and…for my father.” She took a last sip of her drink and slid away.

I let her leave this time, as I was too lost in bewilderment.

Did I just make friends with a gangster?

Chapter Twenty-Two

I walked through the stiffly quiet car park. It was dusty and dark in the underground cavern. The overhead fluorescent lights guiding my way were spaced a little too far apart, causing vast areas to be completely veiled in darkness. There was also a smell here, of sweat and urine, reminding me just how sickening humans were.

I stopped, dead in my tracks, as I detected muffled footfalls. No one could be seen, but their hurried breaths echoed around me. Their heartbeats began to drum across the vast car park; a dozen of them, if not more. Adrenaline sent these rhythms into furious paces; their bodies were preparing them for fight.

Then the firing started. Bullets soared through the air from all directions; all aiming at one target—me.

I rolled away and took cover behind a sedan. I pressed myself up against it as the metallic rain barraged into the sturdy panels. The car wailed at the unfriendly treatment, and headlights flashed in protest. It did not take long for its screams to be silenced. I yelped as a bullet connected with my hip, searing through my flesh like a hot iron. The culprit, to my left, was tucked behind a blue hatchback, with a rifle lifted straight out in front of him.

He continued to fire, but no other shots made their mark as I leapt through the air and fell right on top of him. With one swift movement, I tore into his chest, ripped out his heart and snatched it into my mouth.

I peered behind me; there was another one, riddling me with a volley of bullets. I did not feel the first few, likely due to the positive effects of ingesting the organ, but in moments, I sensed them slicing into me. I took fifteen, outright, before I made it to this man and ripped away his heart as well.

His friends, to the left and right of his position, were ill prepared when I spun, midair, to land in their blind spot. I drove a kick to side of the first man’s head, sending him sprawling to the ground. I grasped the second man’s skull, engaged a firm twist, and his neck snapped instantly. I returned to the first man, still staggering from my assault, and stabbed two fingers straight into his eyes. He groaned for just a moment before he fell to the ground limply, blood oozing heavily from the sockets.

The gunfire continued, in force. I dashed swiftly to another row of cars and cleaved my hand straight through the waiting man's throat. Then used my other hand to tear the head away completely, and sent it flying into another aggressor, firing five cars away. As the cannon bowled him onto his back his fire fell silent.

To the right, four of them crouched behind the side of a car. From here they donated more fresh bullets to me, causing my vision to turn red. I ran up to the car and rammed it against the one parked next to it. All four torsos were severed at the point of contact.

Yet more bullets pelted my flesh. I roared as blood spilled down my legs and moistened my socks, but I was far from wounded yet. I ran up to a man, snatched his weapon and plunged it right through his belly. Gun tip emerging from his back, I pointed to his partner and riddled him with bullets. He danced erratically as each landed, shimmering shoulder-to-shoulder before his body collapsed in a heap. His mouth gaped open and closed as a pool of blood formed swiftly around him.

The remaining men moved in, surrounding me; firing into me from every direction. How many of these cronies are they going to throw at me? How many men are they prepared to throw to their deaths?

I launched through the hail of cartridges, grabbed a shooter by the throat, and pierced his windpipe with both thumbs. I elbowed some hero trying to strangle me, threw the man in my grasp at a rushing assailant, and then turned round and ripped out the hero's heart. I was about to gobble it up and restore my strength, but then I felt smooth steel pierce through my back, just below the ribs. Screeching, I retrieved the blade, turned around, and thrust it inside the stabber's belly. “How do you like that, fucker?”

I made for his heart, but was cracked in the skull with a steel chain. It was drawn back too slowly, allowing me to grab the chain. I yanked it from my pursuer, and pulled it back to whip it at him. Gunfire hindered my retaliation by ripping into my Achilles tendon on my right foot, forcing me to stagger down and lose my grasp on the chain. I fell down to my hands and knees—spewing blood— as the artillery assault continued.

“You fuckers are all dead!” I screamed. Staggering backward, I fell into a man shooting me from behind. I quickly took hold of his head in both hands and squeezed full force. I managed a slight smile as his skull cracked, eyes nearly bursting from their sockets.

One of them managed to sneak up on me and stab another knife in my back. This time, I was too slow. The man twisted the blade, severing my spinal cord. I collapsed to the ground, twitching and writhing in pain at the point of impact. I tried to pull myself to my feet, but they wouldn't respond; I managed to use my arms to pull myself up, but was only able to achieve a butchered form of the yoga-cobra position.

Hurry up and heal! I shouted internally at my body.

I felt the blade tickle at the back of my neck. I flattened with enough time to prevent any further spinal damage, but a quick hand to my neck showed yet more blood.

He made another go as I rolled away, using my hands to push off. As the knife fell, I caught it between both palms, yanked firmly away, shifted the hilt so it was in my hand, and cut away his outstretched limb.

He screamed with horror as I threw the blade straight at his face. His cries muted at once, and he collapsed motionless on the concrete.

The remaining assailants had regrouped and advanced, slowly. They had reloaded and resumed firing into my torso, arms, and legs, though the latter I barely detected. I crawled back to the knife expert, relinquished him of the weapon he held tenderly between his eyes, and flew this at one of the shooters. The bullets stopped from this direction. There was just one more stream of fire, one more stupid pip-squeak to kill.

I rose to an upright position and stared vehemently at my toes. They wiggled.

A bullet tore into my shoulder. I took a deep, hate-filled breath before rising unsteadily to my feet. I turned at this man and directed him a malevolent glare. The firing stopped.

He took a couple of slow steps backward; looked around at his comrades, all dead. He looked back at me, limping towards him, and gulped audibly. The coward turned tail and fled. In my barely recovered state, I could not even attempt to catch his pace. So, I turned back to the slicer at my feet and crouched over him. I was about to dig in for quick nourishment, when a heavy round object was crashed into my ribs, splintering the already broken bones in multiple places.

My weakened knees gave way instantly. I sagged to the ground, my hand clutching my side. I wheezed, suspecting that perhaps a rib was poking into my lungs or diaphragm. I blinked hard, forcing my sight to become clear. This took a few seconds to come into effect, as the ball that lay heavily to my side focused into a human head. It was the man's that fled.

Perfect. Silent laughter erupted from me, causing me to wince at the pain in my ribs.

I raised my head and found an old man watching me, somberly. This man was as crinkly as crushed aluminum and bore a deep furrowed brow. His wizened physique leaned on a cane in a lopsided way, as if to indicate at the decrescent strength he still maintained, contradicting a resolve in his black eyes. The searing pain to my side made me rethink the idea that his frame lacked substantial power. I knew then that this man, who bore a most hideous scowl, was none other than Sage.

I spat blood before me on the ground. “So that's your play is it? Throw a bunch of corpses to weaken me? You know, you're a fucking asshole.”

He was many meters away, and yet I could still hear him grinding his teeth as if he were pressed right up to my ear. “Disgusting.”

Strange, that's what I thought when I looked at your ugly mug.

“The whole human race has decayed to uncivilized savages,” he continued. “Drunk, drugged, money-hungry, sex-crazed, crass and disrespectful—to others and to themselves. Vile creatures that compensate for their unrefined linguistic skills with the use of...uncouth language.” He shook his head in distaste. “Anyone displaying this kind of behavior does not deserve the gift of life; their bones would be better used as fertilizer.” He stared hard at me.

Squatting, I pulled a hand across my mouth to wipe away the blood, but I could feel more leaking from my beaten gums and cracked lips. I smiled. “Seems to me like a messy way to feed the posies.”

He maintained his hard gaze. “Such a waste of potential.”

“Okay, now I know you're talking about me.” I shrugged, loftily. “Just because I refused to join your little club, doesn't mean turning me was a complete waste. I did kill Freddie, didn't I?”

The grinding of his teeth grew louder. “Yes. That is why you have to die.”

“What? I'm not under the special protection of Rose anymore, the great father?” I mocked.

His eyes narrowed. “He still wants you alive.” I failed to hide my shock. “However, his wishes can no longer be respected. Your rebellion was...testing. You were weak, uncultivated and ultimately manageable. Now, you have not only killed one of us, but assimilated his heart into your own. This has escalated the risk you pose to our master as unacceptable. Therefore, you will be eliminated.”

I smirked. “You're afraid of me...killing Freddie means that I can kill any one of you next.”

“Freddie was a fool, hardly a challenge for any daimon,” Sage snapped. “Regardless of whatever power you gained with his demise, it is a far cry from what you need to destroy the rest of us. We're a lot older than Freddie, and you, Kirra. You have no hope.”

“Then why disobey your master in trying to kill me?”

“One does not wait for a spider's nest to begin to hatch before cleansing it of pests.”

Nodding, I responded, “Once a pet, now a pest. I'm surprised by how poorly trained you dogs are. It seems like you need putting down.”

Air puffed from his nostrils. “We respect our master’s wishes, but we serve to protect. That is our inherited priority, something that strangely does not seem to have been born with you.”

“What can I say, I'm just special,” I replied.

“Your existence is an insult to the master, an abomination. Rose likes to have his games, but at times he goes too far. That is when we correct things. He will be upset, but not for long. He always has another toy.”

“Yeah...games,” I snarled. “I got a whiff he's into those. So, what, you want to kill me and ruin Rose's fun? I wonder if he takes it out on you—”

“He will not kill me, if that is what you are insinuating. Though he won't like it, he knows that my actions are in his best interests.”

“Sounds like you're his Daddy.”

“Rose is my master and my father, but I am his guardian—his protector— and in doing my duties to care for the well-being of my great parent, I will now kill you, Jane Kirra, and this time you will not reawaken.”

“Okay, okay, you wanna fight. Fine! Just give me a minute to snack on one of these delicious hearts.” I reached back over to the man I carved a third eye into, and was about to strike, until I was rudely interrupted by Sage's flying torso.

Two hands clamped around my throat. “You will not be allowed to recover. You will die here, quickly, and by my hand.”

I struggled at his grasp. “This...is not...a...fair...fight you...son-of-a-bitch.”

“At what point did things start to be fair? Was Rose fair when he blessed you with rebirth? Was he fair when he allowed one of his followers to die in your stead? Were you fair when you drugged your unsuspecting victim? Was the justice system fair when it failed to recognize the fifteen-year-old murderer?”

He drove me back and slammed my back against the concrete wall. Crumbs of stone cascaded down either side of us. With both his hands he flung me back against that wall again and tightened his grasp around my neck; in an impossible vice-grip I felt it clasp narrower and narrower, collapsing my airways within moments, and occluding my blood vessels. I thought it would be imminent that my head would pop off my shoulders. I could already feel my eyes begin to swell in my skull, threatening to protrude from their sockets.

I was not fighting; I was too weak, too stunned, too incapacitated by the memory: the man I killed when I was just fifteen. The murder I had gotten away with—the one I pretended never happened. Sage knew. Who else did? No, I could not dwell on that now. I was innocent. It was not my fault. I had to do it; I had to.

In cold blood? A cruel voice whispered inside me. Imagine if your father knew what you had done...

Tighter and tighter still those hands clasped around my throat. The world around me began to blur together.

I did it for my father. For the strong man he once was. He did not accept any sign of weakness or remorse. He did not forgive. My father died because of what those gangsters did. It was their fault, and I would kill every last gang member to avenge my parents, every last daimon to avenge Zach. It did not matter how havocked my body became; it did not matter what monster I came away as; I would kill Sage here for both my parents, and for Zach.

Something rippled through me; golden, smooth silk intimately caressing my body. I released it, and Sage was instantly thrown ten feet away. He looked up at me, flabbergasted.

“It's...not...possible.” I barely heard his words before my hand clamped over his throat and I raised his tiny frail body high over my head.

He tried to punch and kick me, moving strangely slow for a daimon. I grasped one of his arms, snapped it backward and let it drop down limply.

He screeched in agony, eyes bleeding black, just as Freddie's had done.

“How...have you attained such...power?” he spluttered through mouthfuls of blood.

“How…?” I repeated thoughtfully before entering my hand into his chest. My fingers enclosed over his all-too-warm heart.

There was a small tweak to his mouth, a wan attempt at a smile. “Yes, the daimon heart,” he ascertained. “Full of such volatile power. Consume it and it will consume you. Harness it and you harness the power of the daimon that possessed it; gain an enormous jump in power, but can you contain it again?”

My hand remained in his thorax. “I managed with Freddie.”

“Freddie...” He struggled to stifle his coughing. “You know what fuels our power? Fusion. That's the power of the sun. Incredible power. It can swallow planets whole by its pull alone. The size of suns can vary considerably, just as the power of a daimon. The death of one, great star produces a massive explosive force that cuts across solar systems and distorts even the light around it. If you're going to take the power of a star, you better be prepared to handle the blast.”

I caressed his heart within his chest. “Interesting information, but somehow I can't help but think you're motivated by self-preservation, as opposed to genuine concern for my well-being.”

“Take my heart.”

I almost dropped him with shock.

“Go on, take it,” he urged. “I don't wish to die but at the preservation of my master I will accept it willingly. My physical strength may not be much different to Freddie's, but my mind is far superior. If you try to take my power, you will have to defeat my subconscious first, and that you will be incapable of.” I could no longer discern whether he was racked by fits of coughing, or of laughter; I could not be sure. “Rose is much more powerful than you. If you have any hope to survive, you will need my power.”

I hesitated.

“I know; it's like those plagues humans were so fearful of. Some survived, but most perished. For a small chance of an improved immune system, who would willingly accept the high probability of death? You may even be thinking, “Just wait, maybe a cure will be developed over time—a vaccine—and you could get your greater power that way. Though, there is no science being developed for daimons, Kirra. If you really want to win, you've got to expose yourself to my disease.”

My hand tightened, but could not bring myself to tear the organ from his chest. It was not right, coaxing me to kill him this way. It was not that I thought he was lying; in fact, I hesitated because I believed every word he said. I needed his heart to get stronger, but most likely I would die. I did not want to admit it, but I was terrified of death. How many more times could my determination win out? I wondered how many more lives Zach's Catwoman had left. Then I remembered the Catwoman necklace Zach had once given me that I never wore. What a disgraceful friend I was.

I pulled my hand away, clasping its red package. I looked into Sage’s eyes, watching the life fade from them. The deep black of his irises softened into a pale blue, faded further to gray, and the rest of him followed in kind.

The organ in my hand was paling, too. Its red luster dulled into a soft pink with gray touching the edges. I was running out of time. I swallowed Sage’s heart whole.

Nothing happened at first, and I thought that I was safe, thought I was strong enough to fight off the disease, without the need for an internal battle. Maybe it destroyed me before I even had a chance of defending.

Gasping, I released Sage. As he fell to the concrete floor his body shattered into countless grains. Instantly they were taken up by the air and the dust dispersed into the breezeless space.

I desperately clutched at my chest—it had come.

Chapter Twenty-Three

I wished it had been like last time. Oh how I wished it were that easy. As soon as I fell into that strange place, I was instantly engulfed in flames. They licked my skin, tenderly, vehemently. I heard the searing of my flesh resound like giggles. Minions, devilish minions, lashed whips of fire onto my fresh skin, crooning at the sight. I heard kookaburras, friendly, bold birds that once ate from the palm of my hand as I stood excitedly on the family balcony. They were now laughing at my agony. Their laughter morphed into the bellyaching laughter of the cruel kid in the playground that wanted everyone to know that they were enjoying themselves, and at whose expense. It was chilling how painful a human could still be.

The dismal realization washed over me: I had failed after all. That was what the hell-fire meant.

Lash; whip; cut; sear; they all violated my body. Is it my body? My subconscious? My soul? Am I dead? Is it really all over? I remembered Sage's strange smile. He knew: should I attempt to claim his power, I would be killed instantly. He did it; he killed me.

“No!” I screamed, passionately, somehow breaking my shackles and falling stiffly to the hard red dirt. Around my wrists were silver cuffs that glowed with a similar resemblance to the blade Freddie had plunged into my internal heart.

Maybe...this is another subconscious place? I proposed the idea to myself tentatively, but as I turned to gaze on my surroundings, that notion was a breath from shattering.

It was a desert, as red as the Australian outback, but the sky was as black as ink. No stars and no moon, no light was emitted at all, and yet the earth roared red. It was even red to the touch. When I pulled my palms away, I saw the dirt cling there, a coating I could not escape.

There was more laughter. It surrounded me, tormented me as it pointed and jeered at my plight. The sound echoed across the desert, filling every space, pressing down from an empty space.

I raised my hands to my ears, desperate to block it out, but in this place the sound was only amplified as it howled into my skull.

“No. No...stop it! Stop it! What do you want from me? What’s so funny?” I screamed, but my voice could not be heard. In its place, my throat emitted a foreign cackle.

“Stop. Stop!” I tried to say, but again it was a maniac's laughter.

I slammed my fists to the ground; drawing on my daimon power to punch holes deep into it, but with my diminished strength, barely more than a dust cloud was created. My hands fell so slowly as if my muscles were wasting away. My body reduced to the shell of a corpse, trying to fight against the massive force of the planet.

What is this? Where am I? How do I get out? Still, I hoped that it was another subconscious realm. I prayed for it, in fact, before my thoughts were rendered mute by the irony of it.

Then that dark voice inside me spoke out. God won't listen to you; you're in hell. Not that He ever would have, not after you killed your first victim. Not after you killed your—

“Shut up!” I screamed at my thoughts, but the laughter wouldn't stop.

Stop. Don't laugh anymore. Can't you see it's doing something? I shouted at myself, but every word came out as a cackle; getting darker and more synonymous with my nightmares, but this was me. It was coming from me. I was the monster, the witch, and the villain. I was the thing to fear.

I placed both hands over my mouth, and I managed to quell it. However I was not able to block out the howls that surrounded me. The cold dark laughter permeated through me.

I looked around again, desperate to find something, anything to save me from this place. Wherever—whatever— it was, it was still a desert, devoid of any kind of hope.

I turned behind me, looking for the podium that I was raised on, that my current shackles had once been bound to, but there was nothing there. With that supernatural phenomenon, at least I knew that I was not in Blue Coast anymore.

I thumped against the dirt again, and I noticed that my wrists were thinner; the chains had become even longer. When I raised them off the earth, I noticed their weight increase, and their gravitational attraction to the red soil strengthen. This place was trying to chain me to the earth, imprisoning me in this hell for eternity.

This did not fill me with panic, but hope. The chains are not connected yet, there's still time.

Where is the hope? the dark voice husked.

I gulped, and blinked with exaggerated slowness. It was true: in a desert, where was there to escape to? Where was the oasis? Where was the possibility of survival in a barren land? There had to be something. I had to fight. As long as I had will, as long as I possessed some strength, I could fight. I would fight to the last breath.

Are you even breathing here? the voice uttered.

It had a point—I stopped breathing and waited.

Nothing. Nothing at all.

I did not suffocate, nor faint; I simply crouched, motionless, in the red darkness. In this place, breathing was an illusion. That incited the next hopeful thought: what else is an illusion?

Epiphany struck, and the answer became obvious: the endless desert, the hopelessness…

The laughter continued to press in around me from all sides, echoing as if the desert had walls.

I lifted my heavy arms; the tissues beneath my skin so slight that the outlines of my two forearm bones could be distinctly made out. I barely managed to raise the growing chains from the soil for longer than a couple of seconds.

Time was running out. I had to go now. My only chance was to run to the walls of kookaburras and demonic minions, and break free. This was my hope, the only hope of survival.

I lifted myself to my feet and almost collapsed with the effort. The desert spun around me and the ground pulled, tugging at my too heavy arms. I gritted my teeth; I would not fall back down, could not. I had to survive, I still had to make so many suffer.

I raised my hands, barely able to pull them above my forehead so that the chains did not contact the ground. That I managed for a few scant seconds before red hands, crumbling and exposing black reticular lines, rose from the earth and claimed my silver binds.

“No!” My untranslatable laughter spewed from me, unrestrained. It could not be subdued as I fought against my captors.

“NO!” I felt my arms drop down. Fervently, I saw the red hands retreating back into the earth. They're pulling you six feet under, my cruel voice whispered. If they make it below the surface you'll be chained forever.

I could not help my panicked stare at the dust being stirred up from the descending limbs.

“Yeah Catwoman's one of my favorites,” a voice called out from behind one of the unseen walls. “It's not just the sexy body and black leather get-up, but for the fact that no matter what trouble she gets herself into she always finds a way to slip away. No bars or chains can hold that thief.”

I looked around desperately, trying to find its source. There was nothing but red sand.

“Zach!” I screamed and this time it was my voice cutting through the insane laughter.

“You're a lot like her,” Zach's voice continued. “The way you prance behind police tape in some of the biggest crime scenes. I swear they're gonna throw you in lockup by the look on their faces. Then you just flutter your lashes and walk away unscathed, hot data in tow. I swear, Jane, you could get away with murder.”

“Zach, where are you? Help me, please! I don't know what to do. I can't fight them anymore…” At the end, my voice was transformed back into laughter and my chains tightened firmer than ever.

So much for Catwoman slipping away unscathed.

My chains descended into the earth steadily, as if cranked by a wheel, and I laughed; uncontrollable laughter that nothing would ever break. I laughed at my supposed death, my rebirth, my promise to return to Ryan, Zach's corpse nailed into his apartment wall, all the people I had killed as a daimon, and at the man that I killed as a human. I laughed because it was not funny at all; it was cruel, hideous, and despicable. I laughed because madness was taking over. I laughed because it was all over.

The chains retracted further as my wrists were pulled, without contest, to my knees. The ground shook, and I could feel it preparing to open its mouth.

Down the rabbit hole we go. Dust to dust, ashes to ashes...

My inner voice was right—it was all over now. As soon as those hands found my chains, it was all over. No…it was all over from the moment I thought I could beat fate again. How could I ever have thought that I stood a chance of beating a daimon a second time?

Zach's voice echoed off the desert walls. “She always finds a way to slip away.”

How, Zach? How can I slip away when chains are pulling me into the earth?

I slouched in defeat, inches from the world’s red belly. The silver cuffs, perfect circular bars, grazed my wrists intimately by my sides. My throat continued to roar its insane shrieking.

Slip away. The words repeated in my mind as if it was an important message that I needed to take heed of. I wondered if they were telling me to let my life slip away to escape my self-inflicted torment.

My fingers now touched the ground, the unforgiving cuffs pulling. A small effort of resistance caused those bindings to cut into my wrists, threatening to snap the small bones there with any further rebellion. Suddenly, I knew how to escape.

Laughing manically, I pulled and twisted my hands so that all the pressure would be applied to the bones of my thumbs. My body was so frail that, even with my paling strength, I was successful in severing this bone at the joint.

I yanked, still not enough room to allow my hands passage. Panting, I viewed my wrists where the silver binds just began to enter the ground.

I twisted the other way, to the metacarpal leading to my little finger, and forced an additional snap. My laughter became deafening.

Again I pulled, utilizing strength that should not have remained, and I suddenly felt deathly ill. The dirt grazed by the bottom of my wrists.

I'm not going to die this way!

I ripped with all the strength my wasted muscles contained, and with a sickening crunch of dozens of fractures, I raised my hands with a triumphal roar.

This time, I actually enjoyed the uncontrollable laughter.

Suddenly, I felt a cold sliver at my ankle. A furtive glance showed a vine emerging from this barren floor, silver and encircling, ready to create a pretty little anklet. A friend for the other foot was fast emerging.

I don't fucking think so.

I narrowly escaped it as I dashed forward, and fled as fast as I could. It was not the pace I had recently become accustomed to, nor even one that I possessed as a human. It was the pace of an invalid, who barely managed to crawl out of their deathbed. My limbs ran listless, threatening to collapse with each new foot fall, but I would not give up—never. Father had to die.

I ran from the vine, but it followed, like a cold-blooded serpent that was specially adapted to the barren land. I felt it slither briefly against my skin, preening for another grasp. The touch only spurred me on and accelerated me faster to my goal. I was getting nearer to the invisible walls; I could hear it from the echoes. I could feel that they were close by, like the kind hug of a friend.

“Run, Jane. Run!” Zach screamed from just ahead. I leapt and plunged forward, diving through the black sheet of a wall, which rippled silver before collapsing onto gray concrete.

I lay there motionless; unseeing, unhearing; not even breathing. I could do nothing. I was all used up. There was no pain, but I knew that all my bones, even the tiniest ones that structured my ears, shattered upon impact of this hard floor. I was rendered completely powerless and utterly vulnerable, unable to enact another motion.

Nothing…there was nothing. I ran to nothing.

My sight, composed of void, shifted around in circles. My heartbeat, illogically hammering all this time, finally stopped and sighed into death.

I crossed a threshold.

Is it already too late? Is this even the right place to go? Was Zach's voice all part of the illusion, enticing me to a deeper pit of despair? Ushering me further into an inescapable hell? If it was, I did not blame him.

Chapter Twenty-Four

“Get up, you stupid girl.”

Something was out there, from beyond the winding darkness, drawing me out. It ushered me to a nasty place: bright, painful, and heart wrenching. I truly did not want to go there.

“Damn it, Jane. Wake up or we're both dead!”

That voice again. I recognized it, and I did not like it. Go away, I can't bear any more.

There was a sharp sound—a clap, or a slap. “Don't you dare die on me.” Her voice was panicky. “You're my only hope. Please—you must kill Rose!”

Rose...Yes, of course. I must kill Rose. It is for vengeance, my vengeance. No, not just mine, but also a friend's. I must kill Rose for Zach. I must make him suffer for the death of my friend.

The sharp sound made a repeat. It sung loud in my ears; it sung loud on my ear, too. “Jane!” Her voice was desperate, its holder’s with no other place to turn.

I reached out my hand and caught the woman's that was flying back at my face.

“I'm done with feeling like a fucking punching bag,” I snarled, as the stinging sensation from her slaps began to take hold.

I could see again. Alex's face beamed like a child told that Santa would be giving them presents and not coal for Christmas after all.

“Jane!” she pleaded. “Fucking Christ, don't bloody well die—I'm dead if you are.”

I pushed her off as I sat upright, rotating my stiff shoulders. “You think you're alive, if I am?”

She recoiled and retracted her hand. It hit me then just how shadowed she was under the eyes. “All that matters is that I'm dead if you are.”

I watched her stern expression and curled body. She was almost as frail as I had been in my red hell. She was so skinny. It made her beautiful in the right light, but in the wrong ambiance and the wrong posture, she looked ill, beaten and helpless.

My hand was outstretched from grasping Alex's, there I surveyed my limb's appearance: slender but not bony. Not fatty nor stout, nor emaciated like the features of the grim reaper. It was just me, but clenching my fist I could feel the power that resonated within. I was back to normal. No, I was better than normal.

“Why are you suddenly marked for death?”

She adjusted her dress as she sat on the concrete floor. A quick glance reminded me that it was the casino car park where I had my face-off with Sage.

She shook her head and smiled weakly. “Your heart does not need to stop beating for it to die.”

I nodded. I felt the same way after my parents' deaths. She maintained her will to live so long as vengeance was still on the agenda.

“For the time being, it looks like we're both still alive.” She sighed her relief. “Something tells me that was a close call, and yet you don't have a single wound on you. There's a lot of blood, but I think you've healed already. Now, I wonder, whose heart did you take to recover so well?”

I held my gaze firm, not that she waited very long for a response.

“Idiot.” She shook her head in exasperation. “Well, you're alive and surrounded by crushed bullets. I guess that says something.”

I looked around me and was slightly alarmed to discover the dozens—hundreds perhaps—of distorted bullets. My body must have expelled them as I was healing.

She smirked. “I'm glad you're alive. That way, maybe you can live up to your promise of killing Rose for me, but...don't take a daimon heart again. There are not many that can handle its power.”

“It's not such a foreign concept then?”

Her eyes twinkled. “Well, I've heard it work for one daimon.”

It didn't take a heartbeat to work it out. “Smoke.”

****

“I thought you didn't have the balls to take on Rose yourself,” I snarled over my hatchback's rumbling engine.

Alex sighed from the passenger seat. “I don't know. After what you said, I started believing that maybe you could...” She shrugged. “Crazy. You're so damned crazy that it's rubbed off on me.” There was a warmth there. She smiled. “I really am sorry about your reporter friend. I had friends once, too, before...” Her voice trailed off and I could see it fade into some sort of sad thought in her mind.

I hardened my expression. “He was a photographer, and I haven't forgotten your role in his death.”

Her eyes shone as we passed an intermittent streetlamp. “If you kill Rose, no matter what else happens, that will be enough.”

“As long as I kill Rose,” I continued. “No matter what else happens, that will be enough for me too.”

There was a silence, one where both of us were lost internally, battling our demons, preparing ourselves for what was to come. Not making peace, not in my case, just readying myself for the very imminent prospect of death. I thought it was high time that I got used to the idea. Even as Zach's Catwoman, I doubted I had even a single spare life to rely on. Some quivering part of me whispered that any other close calls and it really would be over. Not game over, restart or quit, but a very real and complete silence. Yes, I thought that would be my cue for death: not a white light, or terrible, insane violence or noise, just silence.

Alex navigated us up a narrow private drive obscured by tall hedges on either side. It was a steep incline. A glance showed her to be more rigid than ever. So, we are here.

The car leveled off and the bushy walls parted to allow a full view of the grand estate. Great gardens lined right from the front lawn and extended back into endless hills. In the darkness, the full beauty was heavily veiled, though the bountiful variety of flowers and plants could still be seen splendidly in my acute sight.

Alex instructed me to stop the engine, with a trembling voice. As she gazed into the small house in front of us, she shrank into her seat.

A quaint single-storied building was situated in front of us; one that appeared ridiculously small for the land it boasted; small, but not lacking in elegance. It too possessed a delicate beauty, just as the flowers surrounding us. I wondered, again, just what kind of man Rose was.

“Time to say hello?” I prodded Alex, but she only shivered with greater exuberance. Her closed-mouth breathing became hurried, and her heart drummed with greater purpose. As she stared fixedly through the windscreen, I analyzed her mind and detected its juxtaposing signs of fight and flight. She had courage in her, but also a great amount of fear—which will win out?

“Yes.” She gulped. “Do or die...or die a slower way.”

“Hey, Alex...” I reached across the center console and placed one hand over her mouth, pushing up to snugly block her nostrils. My other hand braced her head.

She stared at me, shocked and bewildered—betrayed—and failed pitifully to fight against my hold.

It took a few minutes but eventually her eyes began to roll back, indicating that she was falling unconscious. I murmured, “Thanks.” When she finally lost all fight, I released her, laid her seat as far back as it would go, and tilted her head to the window corner. She wouldn't sleep comfortably, but she would sleep.

I exited the car and wondered at my companion's change of mind, or rather her change of heart. She desperately wanted to win a game that she was so heavily disadvantaged at from the start, but she was never defeated despite the years of torment from unfulfilled promises. This was her shot, but I knew she gravely doubted its success. Was her faith a testament to me, that I would succeed with her help, or was she so desperate after all this time that she would cling to the faintest hope, no matter how easily it would be carried off by the wind. Like dust, her hope in me could fade in a matter of minutes.

Though the air outside was still, I shivered, just as Alex did, with the prospect of failure. I imagined my defeat and the resultant disintegration of my flesh dispersing into the air. It would be a harsh realization, that my corpse would not even be accepted by mother earth. Perhaps she relinquished that title over me when I took on Rose as my father.

The estate ahead had light emitting from the interior, indicating its occupancy. A silhouette walked across its terrace. Slender, yet tall, with voluminous hair: the clear outline of an immaculate woman.

Ruby floated a wistful limb. “Won't you join us, Jane?”

I approached her on the threshold and halted. “May I ask who my hosts will be?”

She smirked. “Cheeky...for someone who comes without an invite.” She fluttered her lashes as if to bestow her superior beauty to me. “Of course, our dear master wants to greet you. I think,” her eyes blazed, “he wants to kill you himself. Normally, the others won't let him, for the risk it poses, but God I know how you can just...itch to kill.”

I leered, “Yeah, I heard he's up for a challenge.”

Her smile broadened. “I'm glad you got rid of that old man. From the day he was reborn, he was such a drag. Always with the protecting, but you see, Rose is a god. In every realm of the term.” Her eyes twinkled. “Nothing will ever threaten him, but he has been dissatisfied.” She choked on her words. “Not in a sexual sense—I saw to that—but on a blood-lust scale.” She sighed sadly. “He's like a shark that's been fed tuna. Disgraceful! He needs some real meat.”

She grunted as I pushed past her and entered the building. “Yeah? Not interested. I just wanna kill him.”

There was a black-eyed glare as I passed. “Say whatever big talk you like, but he will kill you. All this time, he has been preparing you; allowing you to gain strength and fester hatred so that the battle will be all the greater. He is so much more powerful than your immature mind can ever grasp. He will fight you, he will win, and he will take great pleasure in consuming your heart. Then, when the rest of you is no more than gray soil, Rose and I will be reconnected once more.”

As I walked into the foyer, her words were readily forgotten. The room was far larger, and more exquisitely adorned, than was anticipated: multiple large crystal and pearl decorated chandeliers, a wide room with white granite floors and gold hinged at the edges, and tall windows on the perimeter, heavily tinted so that the dark outside was totally obscured. It had occurred to me that the cottage-like building was one room in its entirety. That was not completely true. This place was too grand, as it displayed a spiral staircase at its center, but this descended downward, not up, carrying its hidden splendor into the depths of the earth.

“Well, won't you meet him? I've heard that you've just been...dying to.”

I turned back to the redhead who stood at the doorway. “Are you his girlfriend?”

Ruby smirked indulgently. “I'm so much more than that. So much more than a pretty puppet, like you are, and will die as.”

“I see. You're no puppet, you're his doll.” I turned back forward. “When Rose and I fight, will you interfere or should I eliminate you now?”

She chuckled softly behind me. “You don't have to worry about me. Rose wants to play with you, and I never get in the way of his games. I'll be no more than a spectator.”

I nodded. “Good. I'll see you later.” As my heels clicked over the stone floor, I heard Ruby snarl behind me, but I ignored it. I trusted what she said, that she posed no immediate threat to me. I decided to save my energy for Rose himself; I could always deal with her later.

It was a longer chamber than it appeared from the front. It was as if it was designed so that each loud step would only procure greater trepidation. I walked steadily. It did not matter how imposing this greeting would be. I was resolute in my chosen mission, and thanks to Rose himself, my fear was far more easily managed as this new species. Greater hearing, sight, physical strength and emotional stability—albeit more instinctive—it was true, that this father had given me a great few talents, but he made a mistake—he played god. He gave me power, and for his own peculiar pleasure allowed me my free will—a perfect combination to destroy him. A little, I thought, like Hercules given the power to fight the gods. I was no hero, but I would be an avenger. I would play his twisted game, and I would win.

Click. Click. Click. I trotted down the granite steps and descended into the shadowed depths.

Darkness, I postulated, that is what the real hell is made up of.

Chapter Twenty-Five

“Welcome, Jane, I've been hearing that you've wanted to meet with me,” a voice penetrated from the other side of the long hall. The man possessed an English accent. I knew it was him, Rose, but through the heavy shadows I was not yet able to make him out.

My feet carried me forward along the center aisle, passing long wooden rows either side. There were books laid on these, books with a single cross embossed on every one. I almost laughed at the irony of the image, but all I could do was gulp with consternation.

I wanted to say something back to him; the man I was dying to meet, the one I was dying to kill; but maybe because of the darkness, I felt that he was not truly before me yet. He had been so elusive all this time that it was hard to imagine him near without the proof of my eyes. I expected to encounter Smoke, as Rose's protector, first. I did not see him, nor hear, nor smell him. I did not want to admit it to myself then, but it was likely fear that kept me from viewing him. I think I preferred the cold myth, to the hot devil.

I continued pacing forward, my footfalls steady, as if unhindered by any of these thoughts. Even when I was human, I was a competent actor.

I came upon a staged scene. There were a handful of lowly lit candles, flames still, around a widely birthed altar; a white bowl in the forefront, raised to waist level; and beyond were three large wooden chairs that had a royal quality to them. Two of these were occupied.

I felt Ruby brush by me in a blur and stealthily take her place in one of the winged seats. She faded into the shadows with the others, but the red flames of her hair could still be made out. The sudden interception made me halt.

“Please, Jane, come. I haven't seen you in some time. I would like to see how you're getting on. The last time...I wasn't sure if you'd make it.”

His voice reflected in my mind, I do want something from you, but it is not your money, Jane Kirra, that I want. It is your heart.

His voice uplifted. “It pleases me to see you’ve succeeded. Your bio gave me great hope, and I see that it was not misplaced.”

My bio? He does know. That was why I was chosen.

“Jane, come closer, let me look at you with proper lighting,” he requested.

I obeyed and walked tentatively forward without so much as a smart-ass comment to his warped perception of proper lighting. Compelled by a force similar to gravity, I was pulled up a step and entered the raised threshold. The wooden boards clunked loudly beneath my feet.

I stopped.

Just meters away Smoke's black eyes cut through the darkness as he sat stiffly in the chair to the left. To the right, Ruby was smiling broadly as she looked upon the figure seated between them. Rose watched his fingers swirl onto the wooden handle of his chair. He paused this movement when he felt my eyes on him and snapped up to shoot me a challenging glare.

I frowned, almost not believing what I witnessed, not wanting to accept the oddity before me. I thought him gentle from his voice, but I did not expect the form seated before me. He was blond-haired, sweet-faced, slender, and no more than sixteen or seventeen years in appearance. How could I attribute all those devilish and beast-like conjurations to a boy who looked like someone who helped out his grandmother on weekends? He smiled so delicately that his eyes caught the dim light, where they flashed a majestic deep purple. He really is a beautiful flower. I wondered where he hid the thorns.

“My friends have shown great concern in you,” he mused. “They don't appreciate your...free-spiritedness.” He began to tap his fingers on the armrest. “I ordered them to let you be, allow the toddler her tantrums. Then you started learning how to control your power, how to rule your ferocity, how to cultivate it, and this had them worried. You see, they fear my existence, or lack of it. We share a bond that ties them to my lifeline. Should I die—they all do— which is one reason why they would do anything to protect me; even...disobey me.”

The information hit me like a fist to the solar plexus. I could barely more than whisper, “They all die?”

He nodded. “I am the alpha, the gateway to the dimension of power. The...router, I guess you could say. Should I die, my subordinates would not be able to stream any longer.” The pattering of his fingertips was all that could be heard for a moment. “Knowing that, are you still so motivated to kill me, Jane?”

I simply muttered, “Zach...”

“That reporter.” I could hear the smile in his soft voice. “You know, my sources tell me that he may have loved you, but you kept rejecting him. Though it seems that you wouldn't reject his heart.”

I was shivering all over: fear, hatred, despair, and guilt all intertwined. I could not make sense of it, and I could not decide what was more important. I wanted vengeance, but I did not want to die. I wanted to see my friends again; I wanted to tell my brother I was sorry. I vowed that I would seek revenge for Zach, but there was just still so much to live for. I want to live, Zach.

“You did very well against Freddie and Sage. I wonder, though, did taking the heart of someone so important to you give you the strength to actualize those achievements?”

I hung my head down low as I considered my plight. The brief discourse between Alex and I repeated itself in my mind: If you kill Rose, no matter what else happens, that will be enough. Now, there were no ifs about it, no possibility of escape—It was kill and be killed.

“We're connected too, aren't we?”

“You are my daughter, so, of course you are,” he stated matter-of-factly, “and like any child, who could live with themselves after taking the life of their father?”

I gasped.

“C'mon, Jane.” He appeared suddenly, an inch from my face. “Don't tell me this junction scares you.”

He slapped me so hard I fell to the floor. My head clunked against the floorboards, reverberating beneath us.

“Maybe you need further motivation,” he snarled. “Ruby, grab the girl and prop her in my chair.”

“Certainly, sire,” Ruby responded.

After a bustle of movement, I felt supple fingers grasp my chin. Rose’s fingers dug into the flesh beneath my jaw, and pulling against the bone, sharply yanked my torso up off the ground. Now that I was sitting and gave him no resistance, he was gentler. His warm fingers caressed my cheek and turned it sideways. My face was aimed toward the center chair. As I focused, a sickening dread filled me. No. Not her! Don't take her away from me, too.

“Sandra!” I screamed. She did not move, she was as still as the dead.

Rose kicked me in the abdomen and pushed me into the floorboard so hard splinters serrated my skin.

“Christ, you've gone and put a hole in my lovely altar,” Rose complained, sounding more like the teen he resembled.

I fumbled to lift my body from the newly created hole and realized that, as I groped for something to hold onto, I was brushing objects along: shards of wood intermixed with gray fragments; objects that were long, firm and yet surprisingly brittle. There were bones under the floorboards, and I was guessing that they didn’t belong to animals.

Ignoring this revelation, I pulled myself to my feet and rushed toward Sandra. Before I could reach the chairs, Smoke clasped onto my shoulders with a vice-like grip, immobilizing me.

“You can have her, if you win,” Rose baited me.

“She's alive?” I panted desperately.

“She is unconscious; alive, but sleeping, thanks to a great amount sedative. It's wonderful that, in this city, certain detectives have access to just about any drug one could require.” He chortled.

“What,” my voice was little more than a whisper, “will you do to her if I fail?”

His answer slipped fluidly: “Replace you, but...somehow I don't think she'll survive the rebirthing process.”

“No, no!” I screamed, flailing against Smoke's wall-like structure. He did not give an inch. How is it that, after all, everything I gained, I’m still incapable of putting even a dent in this guy?

“Will you take me up on my offer?”

“I'll fucking kill you!”

“Excellent. Ruby, grab the girl; we'll go into the garden to do this. Jane,” he turned back to me, “you're still too weak to be of any fun in a fight. If you defeat Smoke here, then we'll have our game. In the meantime, Ruby and I will prepare...Sandra was it? For her rebirth. You have approximately one hour, don't squander it.”

“No, I'll kill you now!” I screeched, as I fought frantically against my captor, writhing to attain freedom, but nothing could break his grasp. He just clenched tighter; my shoulders crunched under the force.

“Don't disappoint me, Jane. I've been setting this up for years.” With a great gust of wind, Rose's presence was swept away, along with that of Ruby and Sandra. The force of the departure stirred the air creating a gale strong enough to fly my hair above my shoulders and snuff out the tiny flames to the few candles. That left me alone, ensnared in the darkness by the boogieman.

Chapter Twenty-Six

I felt suffocated, not by my attacker, but from the ensnaring darkness. My owl-like eyes normally allowed me to see in low lighting, but this time, there was nothing.

Smoke was there, unseen in the darkness. I felt him tightening his grip on my shoulders. His fingers were harsh and cruel as they began to pierce my flesh.

“You haven't a hope,” his voice boomed. He was right in from of me, but the low tones resonated from all directions. “To get to Rose, you must first beat me, but you are too weak. You never posed a threat.”

He never broke Rose's command because he could always kill you in a heartbeat, my internal snake voice hissed.

“You're wrong.” I did not intend for my words to come out as a whisper. “I am stronger now.”

Crunch. I felt a bone snap. I whimpered from the pain.

“Because of those daimon hearts you consumed?” When he laughed, it was comic book evil. “You think two have given you enough power to defeat me?” Another snap from my other shoulder and he continued his baritone taunt over the top of my groans. “You should try closer to fifty—that's how many I have had.”

Fifty? Where the hell does he even find fifty daimons to kill in the first place? Crunch went a couple more bones.

As if in response to my unspoken question, Smoke replied, “Rose allows me to feed on the failures. Just between you and me, the daimon flesh is much tastier than human.”

That explained the power difference.

I spat in the darkness, and yelled in defiance. “I've conquered unbeatable odds before, I can do it again.”

There was a rumble of laughter.

“Enough chit-chat, but you'll find plenty of others to talk to when I consume your essence, adding it to the others.”

He released one of my shoulders, and an instant later I felt a warm foreign body invade my chest. It cut easily through my ribcage, and drove itself in.

As I felt that sickening invasive hand wrap around my heart, time froze for a moment. My life didn't flash before my eyes, it was just a feeling—a picture—one where I sat bolt upright in bed after a nightmare. My father had come in after hearing my whimpers. I told him it was the boogieman, and that I saw him, my father, shake the dark man's hand. I didn't know what it was about in my dream, but I could be sure that some terrible business transaction took place. My father told me to harden up, that there was a lot more to be fearful of in this world, and if I cried about that, I would cry about anything. How could I save the city if I could not save myself in my dreams? My father did not realize that it was not me that I was crying for, but for him. It was silly really, but at the time I was sure. My father was treading a dark path, one that would soon consume him.

In the same moment, Smoke's hand remained wrapped crudely around my heart, smothering it in his oversized appendage. I felt him begin to retract his hand.

Harden the fuck up, Jane!

Using my freed arm, I shaped my hand into a knife and shot into Smoke's forearm. I punched a hole into that wide stone, causing him to reflexively drop his hold. My heart was free from his grasp, for now.

Grasping the hand still held onto my shoulder, I pivoted off it, swung my legs inside, leaped off his massive chest, and dove backward.

His surprise granted me the time to enable my escape, but as soon as I landed on my feet, many meters away, there he was again, inches from my face.

Smoke’s fist, as wide as my skull, shot at me like a bullet. Knowing the brute's strength, I strained with every effort to dodge the attack as his hand flew through my blown hair, and scraped against the top of my head.

I ducked further, overcompensating, proving to be a grave mistake. He lifted a knee to connect with my petite jaw. With a loud snap, I knew my mandible was broken. Though it only connected at the front, the force of his blow penetrated to the sides of my jaw and caused parallel fractures.

I did not have time to scream aloud, or more accurately, the state of my facial bones rendered that too difficult. Instead, I recoiled further, using the momentum to flip backward, screaming inside all the while. When I finally landed, I was barely gifted a moment to reset my mouth into its correct position before Smoke's onslaught continued.

Impenetrable. Nobody would be capable of defeating such a massive beast. In this darkness, and with his unbelievable strength, there was no hope that anyone could ever succeed. I heard him, smelled him—definitely felt him—but there was no chance of seeing him. Without the possibility of dodge and counter, one could never succeed against this foe. He had all the strength, and I had nothing to contend with it.

There he was again, felt before heard, as a hook threw me off my feet and sent me flying into the chapel wall. Both his feet landed down on my beaten torso, driving the wind out of me at once. Bile rose into my mouth, and this I projected. Then, with a calculated guess, I threw a foot right through the air above where Smoke's feet rested. It connected and with a pleasing squelch, crushing the only soft part of Smoke's body.

I took great pleasure at the sound of his anguished cries. Smoke fell off me at once, and I sensed through the darkness that he was clutching his groin.

I swung a roundhouse kick toward his whimpers, but to my astonishment, he caught my leg mid-air and threw me into the wall like he was swinging a bat. With his other hand, he stabbed deep into my belly, causing the blackness to spin.

Just as I was done caressing my gut, he was upon me again, with an uppercut to the right side of my ribs. Then he landed a hook to my face, shattering my cheekbone and sending me to the wooden floor, splinters flying about in tow.

I made to get up, but I was greeted with three strong jabs to the jaw. This time, I knew it was broken beyond a quick reset.

I gurgled my protest. Smoke laughed. It was uncanny how similar it sounded to a villain’s in a child’s animated movie. The difference was his was slower, more indulgent, and required no special speaker to have his tone tremble the very ground you rested on.

Then the palm of his hand covered my entire face and drove my head deep into the broken floorboards. Pinned down, I knew what was coming, but was too weak to react.

I closed my eyes in submission.

I heard Zach again, screaming out to me: Catwoman doesn't take any shit from Bane. She's too smart, too cunning. Use your senses, girl.

Then somehow, with my eyes closed, I saw that fist plough forward again; striking at the healing cavity in my chest, ready to reopen the wound and take out its prize so fast that its host would not be able to retaliate this time. I saw this happen before it did.

I rolled to the side. Thump! Smoke's hand shot into the wood and fragments were sent flying through the air. One or two grazed my cheek, causing fresh blood to line my flesh. Smoke's roar made the wood beneath us tremble.

Then I could feel something emanate through the darkness. Between the tiny molecules of the air was a weight, the touch of which spurred a slight tingle. It originated from a single source; one that was right in front of me, and it was growing stronger as it rushed toward my skull.

I turned back the other way, just in time, and dodged another fist as it slammed into the ground. Then it was there again, the rippling force building pressure at my skull.

I rolled as this entity neared me; all the while, Smoke's power strokes plummeted into the floor, sprinkling us both with fragments of wood. Finding my feet, I leapt away and closed my eyes.

I could make out his form, composed of twinkling sparks. There was something radiating from him, rolling off him in virulent waves. It was not something new either, for I had sensed something roll off me with my fights with Freddie and Sage. It had been for just a moment, and the quantity paled when compared to this. It was energy of some sort, the embodiment of power. As I saw these lights pour from my foe, in my mind's eyes, I could not help but shiver from their electricity.

Where there is smoke, there's fire, a nagging voice whispered inside me. If his power is so great that it leaks this densely off him, then what is the full extent of that deathly force? It was not a happy thought, but at least I could gain one thing from all this—Smoke suddenly became visible.

He came at me again, and I could see that twinkling mass rushing forward, his hand outstretched, glowing fiercely bright. It made for my face; I sidestepped and missed its concentrated center. However, some of the glowing debris caught my cheek and left a searing imprint.

He attacked again, desperate to land a hit. Even dodging, I could still feel something pull at the skin of my face; like claws had shot out from his bright hands and were just preening for the chance to rip at my flesh.

The next one I ducked, and I could smell a slight burning hint as his hand brushed through my hair. I made my own fist, and ploughed it deep into his belly. As I did, I was pleasantly shocked by the glow of my own limb, but the pleasantries stopped there.

In one smooth motion, Smoke reached down with his hand and caught mine before I could even make a dent. His glowing increased as he squeezed, and I shrieked with pain.

There was no way he could have seen what I was doing in this complete blackness, not unless he saw me with another sense. You've only just caught on, but he's been able to see you this whole time, my internal voice hissed.

So, he’s always had advantage over me, until now…

I threw out another hand, readying it to slice right through his outstretched wrist, my limb glowing brilliantly. At once, he caught this, raised a twinkling leg, and kicked me in the solar plexus with the heel of his foot. Only one hand released and forced crude oversized knuckles into my chin, before tossing me into the air, causing me to slam the back of my head on the roof. I landed limply to the ground like a rag-doll, and felt my body's glow dim.

“Pitiful,” Smoke assessed, his voice still bouncing from all directions. His twinkling mass could be seen hovering right over the top of me. It was difficult to maintain this view of him, my inner eye’s sight dwindling, as he launched down on me, throwing a barrage of fresh blows. The appearance of those bright limbs shuddered.

After a few minutes he stopped, raised his form high over me; the tower of particles skipping around excitedly, leaking from him and flicking over to me. I could almost hear their whispers, their giddiness for the anticipated carnage of Smoke finishing me off.

The room spun, the embers flittered around like fairies, blinking in and out of existence. I realized, dismally, that I was losing sight of them.

I spat blood to the side and started laughing.

“You find your imminent death amusing?” Smoke enquired.

“No,” I husked back. “I'm just imaging how glorious it will be when I kill you. Your underestimation of me is what will defeat you.”

“Is that right?” This was the first time I witnessed his amusement. It was going to be the last.

“Yeah. You see, you're stronger than me, but I've worked out how to be faster than you.”

He puffed air from his nostrils. “Fool, you're already dead.”

Those fluttering specks of light, turning off and on, shot back down and glowed ethereally bright. One collective shot out with such brilliance that the particles swelled and connected so that a solid fist came into view. It punched downward, hands opened and fingers formed into blades, ready to cut and pierce my flesh one last time.

Smiling, I felt blood drip from my cracked lips. The rest of me remained motionless, devoid of energy; my eyes remained peacefully shut as I waited for Smoke's final death strike.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

My head was turned toward the long corridor. When I first came, chin held high above shaking legs, I recognized a beautifully somber room. The soft golden candlelight illuminating pews and religious texts stationed on top of stands. It also showed the intricate craftsmanship etched into the end of every bench. I gazed down that corridor, looking for its eerie splendor, and saw blackness.

I did manage to see, for a bit, golden specks, like miniature candle lights, guiding my movements. I saw energy; I navigated through it and now lost sight of it completely. I was all consumed within darkness once more. Everything was released, my power faded as I lay motionless on the floor, smiling.

With a quick flux of energy, I filled my core back with that twinkling power, sped it into my limbs, and with a small sideways shift, poured my spirit forward and upwards. Once I connected, blood rained down on my face. Smoke’s clammy hand tightly squeezed my own. I retracted that newly glowing limb and kicked the shocked-still Smoke back onto his ass. His heart pulsated furiously in my hand. It beat so hard that the hypertrophic organ would have proved too large for my small hand to contain without my nails anchoring into its flesh.

He sat on the floor, arm raised, with what looked to be a swarm of bees surrounding his body. The tiny golden pixies were losing their form. Soon, they would disperse like ash carried on a breeze.

This did not stop him from rising to his feet again. He made a move for the heart, but he was slow and I easily dodged. He swiped a few times, with the skill of a drunken brawler, and after each one he panted harder, little flies swarming in and out as if fighting between the two gravities of the earth, and his own great weight.

“How?” He groaned.

I kicked the pathetic creature to the ground, where he fell heavily, unable to resist even the minor force executed against him.

“I told you that you underestimated me,” I slurred through my broken jaw. The heart raged with scalding heat in my hand. “It's interesting…before this fight you had every advantage over me: strength, speed, control—then the lights went out and my cause appeared hopeless. Ironically, this darkness was just what I needed to gain an advantage over you. I noticed it a couple times before, the force, or energy, that was coming from all of us, but I could not truly sense it until my sight had been taken away. When Rose left, wiping out all those faint candles—that was the moment the advantage was spun in my favor. Perhaps...” I mused. “I should thank Rose for that.”

Smoke's particles spun around with greater radius, his form now barely definable. “So you learned how to sense, but...” He coughed. “I...was still more powerful. Sensing should not matter!”

I nodded, conceding. “Stronger, more controlled, and you definitely moved with greater speed, but you reacted slower. I noticed that, before each strike, energy had to be accumulated in that body part. As a result, this area became more densely concentrated of those interesting little particles. This, I assume, is somehow connected to the amount of power that may be commanded. That made it clear what attack you would take next, and, of course, you would have guessed the same for myself. That was why you always anticipated my moves.”

As I explained, the photos Zach showed me of the botanical garden shone back into my mind. I saw the golden glows of the figures, Zach thought them to be a malfunction of the camera, and since Smoke was depicted clearly in other shots that was entirely possible. However, I suspected somewhere through the malfunction, or by some other circumstance, the daimons were shown in their true forms. I remembered Smoke's density; so bright that, if it were not for his massive physique, recognition would have been rendered impossible. His glow had been second only to that white-hot glow I had little doubt was Rose.

I continued, “Your knowledge of this occurrence had previously given you the upper hand, and my obvious lack of sensing ability gave you no need to restrain your building force, no need to attempt to mask your attacks. That was the over-confidence that gave me this.” I tossed his heart in the air and it splattered blood in its circular motion before I recaptured it with my claws.

“The next part was simple, but it allowed me only one shot,” I gloated further. “I therefore suppressed all my energy, and let you think that you had won before making one last sudden, but powerful attack. Thanks to your speed, I managed to pull it off before you noticed my rising energy. You had me so many times, but failed. I had you once, and succeeded.” I dangled the organ in front of him, teasingly. “I told you that you underestimated me.”

There was no discernible human form left in front of me now, just a mass of twinkling, swarming dust. Some of the specks in the outer layers no longer held together and began to disperse into the air. It started; his death was occurring.

That evil laughter filled the room, spreading out like those flickering energy spots. “Dirty fighter,” he husked. “I see Sage's influence in you. He could never win a fair fight.”

“Battles aren't just about brawn,” I corrected. “Strategy is just another part of the play.”

“Yes, you are learning the game now. I wish...I could have seen how it ends.”

I turned to the heart in my hand where it was still beating stubbornly, and hotly, refusing to give up. “You may not see it, but rest assured that you will be there for the end.” We couldn't see one another's features, but I felt that he was watching my greedy lop-sided smile from across the room.

“I will destroy you,” he threatened as his heart beat faster.

“No, you will join me.” I opened my broken mouth wide with my free hand and squeezed the oversized organ inside. With a smooth gulp, it was mine.

The twinkling lights lost their center of gravity, and started streaming through the long room, sending the underground chapel into an illuminated splendor. Smoke's voice surrounded me: “We will destroy you.”

****

There was no pain, no sound, and no smell. There was no floor beneath my feet or light bulb overhead, but there was light. Bright speckles surrounded me in all directions, above and below. I thought this was Smoke's spirit apparition, but the stillness of these, and strange formations, made me doubt that. There were great clusters of white and red, blue and yellow hues, and areas of smoky clouds. I saw something like this before, except those lights had twinkled then. These were as steady as stone. However, these spots were not meager stone, but great emblazoned gas giants—they were stars.

I almost sighed with the beauty of my surroundings, disarmed by the tranquility that lurked in the heart of the frightening Smoke— my bone-chilling boogieman. I was also surprised by the emptiness of it, the solitude of the endless space. I breathed in deeply through my nose, but could detect no influx of air to fill my expanded lungs. I was hoping to catch a hint of some kind of scent, smoke perhaps, so I knew where to look for the fire, but there was no smell because there was no air. I was suspended in a void, with the only presence to keep me company that of billions of lights scattered all around me. The fight had taken me from a place where sight was stripped away, to a place that gifted sight, but took all other senses; it was an interesting turn.

“How, Smoke, will you destroy me then?” My voice was inaudible of course, because this was the vacuum of space.

As if in response to my question, one of those glowing lights dashed across the sky, but then froze as it settled upon a new position. Whatever that was, it was not a star.

I tried to kick off, but because there was no ground beneath my feet my legs simply waded on the spot, as if walking in water. I tried circling my arms, as if performing breaststroke, but they cupped no matter and, therefore, propelled me with no displacement.

I frowned as I concentrated on the little physics I remembered from school—I recalled someone called Newton who suggested that every force had an equal and opposite reaction. Movement was normally attained by pushing against the surface of the earth; as a person would push the earth, it would push back, resulting in a negligible displacement by the earth, but a measurable one by the person. Applying this to my situation gave me cause for concern. With no matter to push against, I would never move forward. My furrow deepened.

Again that light jumped across and then held still. What the hell is it?

I raised my hands and closed my eyes. Breathing deeply, but sucking in nothing, I concentrated once more on my newly acquired sensing ability and viewed my little sparkles spring to life. I clenched my hands and saw the pin points glow more fiercely, as they danced around, in and out of where my form was composed with excitement. I focused this energy to my fingertips; these shone brilliantly in response, and sent my little fairy embers out.

I gasped mutely as I was edged backward, my shock forcing my eyes open and causing me to lose insight of the particles. I decided then to call them photons, packets of energy. I thought that would have pleased my high school science teacher.

I twiddled my toes, summoning more energy to the area, and then I projected these photons and bounced up. I almost congratulated myself, until I realized that I was moving in the wrong direction. I frowned once more.

Okay. If I want to move forward, then I need to eject energy in the opposite direction, and this needs to be evenly distributed, or else I'll go all crazy directions. Crap, this is gonna be hard.

I rotated my shoulders, as if I were some wrestler about to jump into the ring, concentrated my force evenly across the back of my body, and sent it out behind. Instantly, I was projected forward, though slowly and pointing downward somewhat. I noticed I decelerated, but did not come to a complete stop.

Are you serious? Isn't this meant to be some kind of subconscious place? Does it really have to be so technically accurate? As if that brute is smart enough to conjure something like this up in his mind. I groaned silently.

Concentrate on spreading my energy evenly, I ordered myself, but the more I thought about what I was doing, I realized I was just aggregating power up into my skull. I rolled my eyes, forced myself to relax and distributed more of this sparkling grace to my legs. This was far from evenly spread, as I detected glowing clumps here and there, but I gave it a whirl regardless, and with a broad grin sent myself flying forward; in something close enough to a straight line.

The shiny spot moved again; left and right, then forward, towards me, and it swelled in size. All at once I saw a glowing body and reached out to it, but just sprinted past it. A quick turn behind me showed it to have diminished in size rapidly and become smaller and dimmer than ever.

I kept projecting my energy, and in a no-resistance realm that meant I was accelerating the whole time. I was accelerating! I streamed photons out in front of me, changing the direction of my momentum, and reversed. This time, I quelled my exiting force. The object became enlarged once more and I activated the breaks by shooting energy behind me, and managed to come to an almost-complete stop. Then I saw her—a little girl, glowing as if a ghost from an eighties horror film. She nibbled on a nail, and peered at me with wide, alarmed eyes.

What the hell…a girl? Smoke's psyche is messed up.

I reached out to her, but she recoiled instantly, flitting back like a butterfly so that her form suddenly became tiny. I was awed by the ease of her movement.

I moved myself forward by trickling just a small amount of energy behind me and placed the breaks in front. “It's okay, I'm not going to hurt you.” She couldn't hear me; I couldn't hear me.

The girl, wearing a simple cotton nightgown, lowered her hand and glared at me with hostility.

“I won't hurt you,” I continued in silence. Unless you're what's going to try to kill me.

Then she flew away, too fast and deft for me to follow. It did not stop me trying, however, though the process led me nowhere fast. It also caused me to expend too much energy. I found myself puffing once I slowed myself to another almost-stop. Again, what I huffed was not air, and gave no aid for my growing fatigue.

I threw my arms up, exasperated, wondering when my escape would show itself, or even the deathtrap. Was this not purgatory—a place where the power of daimons was decided to end in elevation or descent? The closest thing to that, the only possible thing to that scenario, kept itself at a distance from me. Was that Smoke's ploy, to hold me in limbo indefinitely?

With my next blink, an illuminated army appeared, suspended in the air, staring at me with cold silence. The little girl was with them and blended in seamlessly with their hateful glares.

There were around fifty of them in number, and each one I knew was once a daimon. We will defeat you, Smoke's voice echoed in my thoughts.

Christ, don't tell me I've got to fight fifty daimons!

These daimons appeared confident as they floated and flittered through space; I was awkward, like taking my first steps as a toddler, and possessed far less skill than even the least threatening of them. I really may have bitten off more than I could chew.

“So, how do you wanna play this? How 'bout you fight between yourselves, and I'll verse the champion?” my unheard voice posited hopefully, but unfortunately, it seemed their answer was no.

One flew at me from the left. I managed to duck with a release of photons from my head, but then another came from below. I shifted past, moving into another to the right. I repelled myself from that one back up again and—thump—was sent flying through space.

It took me a moment to put on the breaks. When I was moving slowly again, I took a quick glimpse to survey my attackers. This time, they were surrounding me from every direction; the way they networked was not unlike a cage.

Again, I saw the flicker of movement just up to my right. Instead of dodging, I blocked this and countered with a fist of my own. From underneath, one was going for my solar plexus, so I grasped another creeping to my left and threw him downward. My back cracked as a heavy weight soared into me from behind, which sent me flying forward and into the fist of a rather angry looking woman. She greeted me with a back-kick just under my sternum, winding me, then landed an elbow in a soft spot just back around my neck, sending me downward. There was someone there, too, who anticipated my arrival, but I put on the brakes and shot back up to the unsuspecting woman, with an uppercut to her jaw.

Someone else made their way in. I noticed in time, grabbing the leg that was meant for me, and I sent him soaring through space. A punch connected with my cheekbone, but before I could be tossed myself, I grasped that same hand, gave a hook of my own, as well as a good kick to the groin, and threw him into where another woman was approaching me.

Relentlessly, they came for me; little jabs here and there; some connecting, some I managed to evade and counter; some causing searing blows to my unconscious body. I wondered if that was their ploy—kill me here, and kill me in the real world?

A foot appeared out of nowhere, right over the top of my head, and the heel ploughed down with a weight far greater than our small masses were capable of on earth. This sent me flying down to where a man smashed me in the jaw, and another head-butted me before doing a spin-kick to send me into another flight-path.

The forces they managed here were incredible, each holding so much power, but it seemed the lack of a wall or floor allowed that energy to dissipate so that I was not hindered for long. This held true for my opposing army as well, where all fifty bounced back with frustrating ease.

Someone to my left; I greeted them with a kick. Another below; I gave them a backward swipe with my heel. Some little shit from above punched my jaw and dazed me for a moment. They took this opportunity to go at my torso again and again. Then jab to the head, jab to the solar plexus, and back to the head.

I grabbed that fucker's arm, kneed him in the sternum and delivered a blow just above his eye. The bone cracked under my knuckles. He backed off, and another woman jumped in.

My fatigue increased substantially. Perhaps my attacks were causing less effect, but still each of my aggressors managed only a few blows before the next one made themselves known; none with any real purpose to finish me off in my weakening state.

I dodged a man swooping at me from below, and another to the right, but then one connected back below and nudged me to the right, and behind. That was when I realized—this whole time, I was being guided toward something.

Another made a kick at me and I failed to react in time. Again, I flew behind and to the right. I slammed the breaks on fast and took a moment to look carefully in that direction. I had one moment to see it; a little black dot, far in the distance, but so immensely black that it could not be missed; a faint hue shone around it.

I remembered my school science teacher say something with unabashed excitement: “This object is so dense, that, after a certain point, nothing can escape it, not even light. With these, exist a certain horizon—a point of no return. You would never know if you ever crossed it, but someone behind you would. They would never see you take that last fateful step. They would only see your image fade away, and finally disappear, as if you were no more than an apparition. No one knows what occurs on the other side of the event horizon; some think it's a gateway to another dimension, a wormhole maybe. Even if such a wonder did exist, the gravity there would be so great it would crush your bodies into non-existence. Whatever is on the other side, I know that I wouldn't want to find that out personally.”

I still had that moment to gape in horror at the little black ball in space. It was a long way off, but even with my breaks on I could feel it pulling at me like a rip in the ocean. I remembered enough to know that my science teacher's point of no return existed for light only, but other matter would fall prey to the mass gravity far sooner. It was far away, but with its pull against my light body, it was very possible that I was already ensnared by the black hole.

Thump. Another being kicked me right along the spine, sending me closer to my impending doom. I realized they had no fear of it since that was what claimed them already. Their hunt of me was just to add another victim to the hive.

The blackness grew a little before me. It remained small as I shot my breaks on, but its size could not be diminished with any distance. This was Smoke's core, his power. The onslaught renewed; attack after attack. Not too forceful, but quick and swift. It was enough to prevent my swift recovery. The key to all their blows was that I was getting nearer to the black marble.

I could gain no ground; only lose it. Little by little, I was being directed into that black hole, and I knew that very soon it would apprehend my mass and pull me into the heart of its chaos. I could do nothing to stop my progress towards the dense blackness. The darkness was calling, and soon it would be my eternal cage.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

I remembered the black-shadowed man from my childhood nightmares; the one I named the boogieman. I knew he was evil, he was a form blacker than black. No light reflected off him to give color to his features. His clothes even melded into the darkness. This man of no-face was intent in causing destruction, feasting on light; never to shine any in return.

He wanted to take my light; this I knew, for the boogieman frequented my dreams often, and each time stole a little piece. I always ran and hid, but never managed to evade him. He always discovered me, and painfully drew my light into him. His black hand would reach out, touch my dream-form and greedily feast on the brightest part in my core. Fortunately, I would wake up before he could snatch it all. I would sit up in my bed, and scream and sob. My mother used to cuddle me and tell me that it was no more than a dream. She was here and she wouldn't let any nasty boogieman get me, but at times, my father would walk in on my rants. In my most youthful years, he cuddled me and absorbed my tears on his shirt, but as I grew older, he grew less patient. By the age of nine, he made it apparent that he would not tolerate any more night terrors. After that, my mother wouldn't even visit me when I awoke screaming. One morning, where my eyes were red from a night of endless crying, my mother hugged me tightly and whispered in my ear that while she may not be holding me tightly under the covers, she was always there with me. Not to fear, her love would never leave me, and so long as we had that, we were invincible.

It seemed my parents had different views on parenting, but my father proved to win without question. That was what made me strong, brave in the face of calamity and grow into the endless fighter. I only wished that my mother had refrained from coddling me as much as she did in the later years. I was tough, but I was not unafraid. Rarely, with cringingly greater frequency in the past few days, tears etched down my face, and proved as a display to the rest of the world that I was not as strong as I should have been. So many have looked on me with sympathy, all the while thinking: what a weak little orphan girl.

Whack! Thump! Kapow! Wham! Groan...

I fought them back—deflect, counter, dodge— but more often than not, the attacks were landing, and most disconcerting of all was the fact that the black spot was growing; now slightly smaller than a golf ball, but with a drawing force so strong I had to keep consistently expelling energy towards it to stop from being pulled inside. That reminded me of something: it was the size of the sun, over a million kilometers across, but upon its death it was supposed to contract to the size of a golf ball, too, while still possessing the same gravity.

A black hole is much denser than any normal white-glowing dead star. I couldn't remember just how much denser things became with a black hole as opposed to an ordinary dead star, but I knew that at this point, even if only on a subconscious level, the force would have been enough to crush a person under the sheer weight.

Sure, because fighting fifty daimons isn't hard enough, I have to contend with a bloody black hole, too.

Another attack came at my left ribs; the blow had enough impact to crunch the bones, despite the lack of hard barriers to instigate a large impulse.

I turned on the attacker, put a hand around her back and shoved my other through her throat. With my hand around the back of her, there was no place for the energy to dissipate except back into myself, but I was not going to allow any attenuation to my force. This nuisance would feel it all.

Droplets of blood misted into the non-air and held there motionless for a moment as if confused on what they were supposed to do now. Eventually, they fell back behind me and soared with alarming speed towards that distant black doom.

I pulled my hand free and dropped the foe I held captive. She brought her hands to her throat in a look of alarm. Clutching at it, feeling the blood, she did not know what to make of it. She was panting heavily, so panicked she forgot that breathing mattered little here. She was a daimon, but also only a little girl. As she clawed frantically at her throat, she writhed and squirmed, and screamed silently on the spot. Surely, as a part of another's subconscious, she could not die here—could she? Did she even really exist to begin with?

Someone else sent a kick into my spine, plunging me closer still to the ball of nothingness, which swelled to the size of a snooker ball.

I fought off one, and then two attackers, and had a quick glance around. They were still encircled around me, though every so often one would lunge forward and have a go at pushing me toward the threshold.

The Horizon. I wondered how much longer I had before I reached it.

This was not a safe place to be. I had to escape, and soon, if I wanted any chance to save my captive friend, but where was the exit and how could I escape from these cage bars?

Someone came from above with two hands clamped together as if holding an imaginary hammer. I tumbled through space and curved back around her so that my feet shot into her lower back, but just as I did, I felt a blow to my head so strong that I heard a crack resound in my skull. I can hear nothing out here except my head being pummeled, I thought dryly.

I turned to counter, but he shot a fist into my stomach and then grabbed my head with one hand and forced it down into his knee. As my nose collided, I felt the cartilage dislodge from the bone, the skin of which just contacting my cheek. He twisted my limp form and shot me backward with a sharp elbow. This sent me flying closer and faster to the black mass.

It was a bowling ball now, one of complete density.

I put on my brakes, but they struggled against the gravity of the mega-force. In front of me, I could still see light; behind me, I could still see light. Please let that mean I haven’t reached it yet—the horizon.

Dual attackers sought their next victory. I fought these both desperately, not allowing either to get the upper hand, but then there was an old woman who turned up out of nowhere, screaming silently. This shocked me so much that I failed to even see the guy at my left. He struck with a powerful front kick, and after colliding with his shoe, I soared like I was no more than a football, or some spoiled child's unwanted toy.

A ball, a toy, that's right, my snakelike voice analyzed. You're nothing but a form of amusement for Rose. If you fail here, he will be so disappointed that he never got to have a play.

“No!” I yelled silently. “If I can defeat Smoke, I can defeat his subconscious.”

The slithering voice interjected once more: You only won because you tricked him. He was always so much more powerful than you. Now you can see why. Now you can't do any dirty strategies to free yourself. You're a fool to think that you could ever possibly conquer this power.

I believed evil-snake-subconscious me. Fifty daimons, plus the Smoke core himself? Besides Rose himself, I doubted there could have been a more powerful culmination in existence.

No! I pleaded with who-knows-what. I have to get out of here. Please, help me. Zach? Somebody? My deceased friend remained silent for this battle. He had helped me out so much already that I felt he was here, beyond the grave, protecting me, but that was pure foolishness. Why would he protect a person that stole his heart away? Cruelly, and truthfully, I hadn't only done it in the crudest sense.

Help me, Zach. Help me! Whatever essence served me before had abandoned me now. With good reason, too, I assented.

Strikes came in from the right, the left, from out in front; I fought and blocked, but all the while, I kept getting moved inward. As long as I was fighting, my stance had me in the black hole's immense gravity, and this sucked me ever closer.

I needed to escape, but I wondered: as I fought and simultaneously lost my ground, or space I supposed, how could I achieve that? Worm holes could jump you through space in an instant, but the only place they have been postulated to exist that I knew of was within the core of a black hole. I could gamble that the hole would take me to where I needed to be. Inside, maybe there was just another layer that I could tread. Because this was all part of a subconscious battle maybe I wouldn’t be instantly crushed, but something told me that was all wrong. It was the pull, it wanted me too much, and I knew that anything that wanted me so badly would result in my death.

The event horizon was the end point. Whatever avenues remained beyond it would not have mattered if forces were great enough to collapse the atoms of a body.

I fought off another sweeping kick, which raised me upward and straight into another aggressor. He took hold of my shoulders and plunged a knee into my gut. I ploughed two fingers through his eyes before he was instantaneously sucked away by the black mass.

Okay, so, I'm in space. ET wanting to find home, how can I do that? Then a thought occurred: maybe earth was home, the exit to the madness, with the black hole the path to hell.

I panned through the endless glitter of space. Right, now where is dear planet Earth?

Such a gorgeous view; so many pretty stars; so proud of their glory they were not even twinkling. The number of yellowish stars was too great to count. The yellow star I searched for, marking the center of our solar system, could have been any one of those.

Chuck me a bone, I demanded to the universe. This is just nasty. How am I meant to survive without a single semblance of help?

I fought off a few more of them. Their blows were getting more powerful; either that, or I was getting weaker. All the while, the black spot swelled to the size of a soccer ball.

No help was coming—I was just beginning to realize that, which meant all was failed, or it was all up to me. I remembered my father's words: you can't rely on others to save you; because when you'll need it the most, they won't be there. You're all you've got. You have to fight your own battles; no one else will do it for you. No one will come to your rescue. You have to be strong. Use the fighting skills I have taught you, but also, the mental ones—they're the most important. Intelligence wins over force every time.

What about those kids at school? I thought in response to my father’s words. Who excelled in math, but then failed to see because some bully broke their glasses? I never said that one out loud to him, I already knew the answer: they were already resigned to defeat, that was why they lost.

My father was right, I decided, just because I was losing did not mean that I should give up. Even dying, I had to continue to fight.

Someone above my head tried a heel at my face, which I dodged. Then a girl to my left did a sidekick right towards my skull. Great flexibility, but the stretched movement gave me enough time to grip her ankle, twist it, crack it, and uppercut her in the ribs. Just as I was about to toss her aside, some guy jumped me from behind and wrapped his body around me.

I did a quick turn. The black sphere was now almost a meter in diameter. The core was still a long way off but its gravitational pull increased exponentially to my vicinity from it.

I had experienced a great number of rips in the surf of the Blue Coast. It boasted volatile beaches with shallow, yet powerful, dumping waves that on numerous occasions had me leaving the surf with a bleeding nose. However, even with the rough water movements, the outward pull of the surf was the beaches' scariest thing of all. Its rips were so powerful that, in a matter of minutes, those red and yellow flags were no more than a blurry hint at the shore. In fact, I had a close call once, with a rip so powerful that my angled stroke to the coast still would not direct me to safety. It was not until a very lucky wave broke, which I rode or was dumped by, that my feet were finally delivered back to the contact of the blissful, coarse sand.

This moment was similar, and yet the powerful drawing force was far greater than any other. Fighting the pull of the black abyss, fervently now, I could not even manage to gain an inch back to recover some distance. It had me; the gravity of the black hole finally had me. I saw my science teacher's face in my mind's eye then, floating behind me and fading away.

The daimons, my aggressors, stopped fighting me. Quite a few were being drawn like me and yet they were not fighting it. Why should they? They were already consumed by the darkness. There were others a little further off, and interestingly their images appeared stretched.

I looked at the black space, which had swelled to almost the length of my own body. I fought against the tide, yet it kept gaining momentum.

Ignoring my condemned outcome, I muted my senses so that I was able to take in that twinkling presence again. I was not surprised to find that all was reticent around me. My foes emitted no golden glitter since they were not living. The stars also went silent, which I supposed meant that my sensing ability applied to humanoid beings only. I panned around, looking for just the faintest of whisps, some trace of the planet I once inhabited, but discovered nothing.

Too far, I rationalized, too far from Earth to see any daimons sparkling, ushering me home.

This whole time, I fought against the gravity of the black hole, but I was lost to it. It sucked me further so that now it looked to be the diameter of my height; a friend, a fat and hungry one, that wanted to gobble me up.

They're out there. The real daimons will be sparkling with their monstrous auras.

I concentrated hard on my target—that blond boy who seemed incapable of harm and yet he hurt me greater than any other in my broken life. I only met the youth for a moment, a moment where he inflicted unbelievable pain upon me, but there was some feeling he left there, like a signature. I thought that maybe I could use this strange feeling he left me with, use it as an anchor in which to pull myself back home. I remembered that ethereally glowing figure in Zach's photograph, its vibrancy like looking into the sun itself. It was undoubtedly Rose; his power, his life force, so intense that it could sting from sight alone. With a force so potent, it was feasible; slim, but possible, that I could use it as a beacon in the depths of Smoke's subconscious to return home.

Ping. It was there for a second, no greater than that, but it was there. It was Rose; the beautiful boy situated on Earth some millions of light-years away. He was there, Earth was there, but I was far away, ensnared by this massive dark gravity. So then, how could I possibly reach him? How could I reach home?

The black sphere finally grew larger than me, and morphed into the diameter of a car. I gulped.

I had to get there; I had to get to that barely twinkling spot. The black was growing. Part of me accepted that I had reached that point-of-no-return, but another, more stubborn, part - the one that I had inherited from my father - argued that I was not there yet. Looking around me, light still shone brilliantly, even if eerily arched. Where there is light, there is hope, I decided.

That single-storied building was swelling into a two story flat.

Everything now—all of it. I commanded every photon into my feet and hands, and pointed them all towards that menacing darkness. As that energy shot from me, it appeared like golden ribbons extending deep into the darkness. There was a point where it stopped stretching, a point where it hit a black wall. That had to be the event horizon. Elated, I took comfort that I was not there yet, but I was not as far from it as I would have liked. I held far more mass than light, and thus was compelled by the force with a terrifyingly stronger grip. I hadn’t reached the point of hopelessness yet, but that didn’t necessarily mean my salvation wasn’t hopeless.

I continued to draw more energy, and with no restraints, it expelled from me in enormity. It pushed against the massive force valiantly, but it was still not enough. I had slowed my course but failed to reverse my direction. I stared in horror at the growing darkness—the boogieman's true form—and knew that this time he would win. He was about to swallow my light whole.

In my despair, I thought I could feel my mother's warm embrace. I may not be under the covers with you, but I will always be holding you, protecting you from the darkness. My mother's celestial glow flowed into me, giving me greater strength, which I poured to my limbs before finally shooting it out in a last mass release.

My hands and my feet were like volcanic mouths; hot, thick glowing power erupted from them. These tightly packed rivers of energy shot forward with fury and plunged deep into the core of the black body.

The black ball, now the size of a multi-story apartment building, stopped growing. Then, it started to shrink.

I kept pouring, losing reserves fast and holding nothing back. If I could not get far enough away, then it would just suck me back in. This moment was my last hope of escape, my final struggle for survival.

It was shrinking, back to a soccer ball, but it still held a terrifying gravity. I had to give it more, every photon. I searched within myself for every last spark of energy and sacrificed it to the void of space. Nothing was to be spared.

After what seemed like an eternity, I released the last sparkle, and floated limply through space, completely drained of energy. I thought I could feel my skin turn gray and clutch at my bones tightly to form reverse wrinkles. I was sure that in order to expel this kind of energy I had to convert my very body to photons leaving me.

Wanly, my eyes gazed ahead of me, looking for that giant black sphere that would have undoubtedly reclaimed me in its attraction. When I peered around me, I saw only regular darkness; one that permitted the distant stars to be seen in full clarity. I dared to hope that this meant I was free from the menacing pull.

I was still travelling backward, away and at a tremendous speed so that the stars to either side of me were just blurred streaks. Were they shooting stars? No, I was the shooting star, on a collision course for Earth.

I concentrated on that speck I saw earlier. My energy was so devoid that I could not locate it so easily again, but then I remembered it like the comfort of a well-loved bed and managed just enough strength to recalibrate my bearings towards it. I smiled as I sailed toward it.

Reaching it unbelievably fast, I barely managed enough brakes to swing near the blue planet and cascade toward it.

With a groundbreaking thump, I breathed an audible sigh of relief.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

“Jane! Oh, thank fucking Christ, you're still alive.”

Bright light flooded into my eyes. I reached out and lowered a device so that it was not blatantly blinding me. As I angled it downward, its luminance reflected from the war torn timber.

“Alex, you've woken up.”

“Hmph. Yes, thanks for that nap.” Her tone was seething, but from the light of her phone, her features were etched with deep concern. “Speaking of sleeping, I thought for sure you weren't going to wake up. You're covered in so much blood.”

I looked at myself and saw a dark liquid coat just about every inch of me. I looked like I literally arose from a swimming pool of blood.

“You should have stayed back in the car,” I reprimanded.

“Protecting me, that's priceless,” she muttered. “Jane, I saw a girl with them. That's your friend, isn't it?”

“Sandra.” The one I was about to sacrifice my life for. No, not just for her, but for my revenge as well. “If you saw them, then they would have seen you, too.”

She lowered her head as she trembled. “He told me...” She let out a trembling breath. “He told me that if you lost, he would try replacing you, with me.”

“I see. Would it work, would you become a daimon then?” I pondered, considering the prerequisites a person needed for such a process to be successful.

“It...might. In order to become one of your kind, a person must have their heart swallowed by a master daimon, one with purple eyes. I don't know how it is, but it seems like that color symbolizes the balance between life and death: between red, vibrant blood, to the black tar of death. When a creature like that consumes a human's heart, they seem to be capable of forming a bond with them. Maybe it is because the master daimon has the power to defy death that somehow it can be transferred to his victims. Not all victims are as helpless as the next. Some are innocent, and because of that their hearts seem to be too pure to be lulled by evil. Others can be, others that know the taste of blood and like it.

“Not everyone can become a daimon. I know that, as a human, they must have first taken a life, taken it with full intention. I also think that they must die without regret of that action.” Alex turned to me with fear heavy on her features. “I'm not innocent, Jane. I’ve taken a life. I did it because I wanted to; I hated him. I...” Her voice wavered, before softening. “I did what I thought was right, but I don't really know how I feel about it. It happened a long time ago so I should know, but still...I don't know what I would become if Rose tore my heart away. I might die...but I also might become one of you, and if that's the case,” her voice suddenly firmed, “then I would rather die.”

I looked back at the blood coating my hands. It was so thick that no skin could be seen beneath. “Where have they gone, Alex?”

“To the waterfall, in the flower garden. He told me to tell you to follow him there, and remind you that time is ticking.”

“How much time has it been since I left you?”

“Ah...” She looked at the display of her phone. “Probably...at least an hour.”

That was the limit; all the time I had left to save Sandra had completely run dry. It could be at this very moment that he was performing the ritual on her, the heart depriving process. For Sandra—it would fail. She had never killed anyone, so instead of becoming a daimon she would simply die. All because of me.

“The waterfall, where is it?” I demanded, grasping Alex's shoulders with haste. The ferocity of it caused her to drop the phone to the floor.

She did not even whimper at my tight hold. “I think you will have no trouble finding it; even a human could. The smell of them is so strong.”

I shook her. “The smell of what, Alex?”

She responded as if the answer was obvious, “The roses.”

****

I could smell them. They were intoxicating, permeating; they were everywhere, and yet I detected the source some way off in the distance. I ran with my inhuman speed, deeper through the beautifully arranged flowers: lilies, tulips, daisies, orchids; passed the nocturnal butterflies, that simply could not resist the euphoric sight, but their scents were largely overpowered by the strong aroma of roses. Powerful, and consuming—it was the smell of my greatest enemy, the perfume of Rose himself.

Sounds of cascading water reverberated through this dense flower blanket. So low was its amplitude that, at first, it could only be felt. Within moments, the subsequent roar was detectable. Its humid scent carried along the vibrations, yet was barely a match for the thickening floral aroma. It become so intense that I could taste it on my tongue, it was sickening.

As I passed my first garden light, I slowed to a jog and stared in wonder at the black celestial arcadia. All around me were magnificent ebony roses. From emerald foliage, they rose proudly; black rose upon black rose; unmarred, eternal, and immortal. Great in number, and quiet in their immaculacy, they were a sight that could bring tears from their beauty alone. They were so bewitching, so peaceful, that I forgot they bore thorns.

A breeze tugged at the roses, and they softly danced to their own rhythm. The wind, likewise, pulled at my own hair, lifting it above my shoulders. I felt the deep brown strands snake through the air behind me as if they were trying out the foliage's tune.

The waterfall could be seen just up the hill, a large cliff that was higher than it was wide. It was composed of pure white stone that shone brilliantly, from the continual smoothing of water.

There was no river or stream that fed in or out of this magnificent structure, therefore proving it to be man-made. It became apparent that the greatest beauties found of earth were not of its own creation.

My feet had stopped moving, caught as if entangled by the wondrous flora, but it was not this majestic sight that had me paused. It was the stone that was raised so low in this pool that it was barely exposed an inch over its surface. A white alter, in which a white-skinned girl laid, eyes closed and peaceful. Her blonde hair traveled above her head so that the ends just touched the water. She alone made this scene complete in its perfection, it was all for her—Sleeping Beauty—as she rested motionless in her last moments. She lived, but only barely. She was on the brink of death as she fought her villain's powerful tranquilizer. Even if she were strong enough to battle the heavy poison, it would all prove for naught in an utterance; the dragon was drawing its sweet floral breath, and would engulf Beauty in flames.

Rose was there, above Sandra, knife held high and ready to strike. His brilliant purple eyes flicked towards me. They were expectant, like he always anticipated this moment, like he was waiting for it. Through his flawless golden hair and blemish-free skin, there snuck just the slightest of smiles—it was hideous.

A familiar knife was grasped firmly in his hands. Its blade caught one of the garden lights as it made its descent down to my friend's chest.

“No!” I screamed, running faster than I ever had before. The silver knife fell in slow motion, yet so swiftly, too swiftly for me to arrive in time.

Sandra was still, her skin deathly pale; contrasting her plump red limps starkly. There was a slight depression to her chest, an expulsion of air like she knew what was to come and had already accepted it.

“No!” I screamed again, more earnestly. I watched that metal cut through her pretty blue top. Not her, too! They murdered Zach, but I wouldn't let them have Sandra too. No more. No one else I cared for was going to die because of me.

I lunged, filling all those sparkly photons into my body, and collided with the blond youth. With a tumble and many great splashes, I crouched up from the shallow water and panned with crazed trepidation.

I found her, a cut through her top but no blood in sight. I began to breathe again.

“That was fast,” Rose observed blithely.

I stood up straight, drenched clothes clutching me intimately, and looked on him with vehemence.

“You saw me coming.” I spoke slowly through clenched teeth, hands trembling. “Why did you attack her? I made it. I'm here to fight you. Damn it, leave her out of this!”

Rose himself was saturated; the opened collared short sleeved shirt, and faded jeans, clung to his toned physique. The moisture had sunk deep into his hair. Dark blond locks framed his flawless skin, and his eyelashes darkened to illuminate his tantalizing purple eyes all the more. Once an angelic alter-boy, the water gave him enough of a bad-boy edge that it had transmuted him into the ultimate teenage pop sensation. I could almost hear all the teens and preadolescents gushing over a mere poster image of him.

Rose lifted that smile fractionally, the teenyboppers in my head sighed with longing. “You were late—a whole half an hour late—but I thought I would wait just long enough that you could witness the death of your human connection.”

Racing through the knee-high water, I interjected myself between Rose and Sandra and assumed a defensive stance. “You won't lay finger on her!”

He casually looked up to the night-sky where trillions of stars twinkled. “I was doing you a favor, Jane. By removing your friends, I would be removing the fragments of your past life, the last traces of a conscious. Killing her would free you of your guilt. You could live a perfect daimon life.”

“I'll kill who I have to.”

“Those who you feel deserve death, is that right? There will be others that get in the way; other innocent bystanders that you will need to eliminate in order to protect your identity. Like that girl you put in a coma, and the man in the woods who was your first meal. I have heard that you had a hard time dealing with these two.”

“I'll kill who I have to.” My tone lost its conviction.

He nodded. “What if I was to awaken dear Sandra now? She would see you, your black eyes and bloodied attire. She would see us fight; see us move. What would you say to her then? What would you do to her then? Can you do what is necessary?”

I turned back to my sleeping friend. “I would protect her, even at the cost of my own life.”

“We have the power of gods, Jane. A god never sacrifices himself for cattle. A martyr or a profit may, all in the service of a god, but never a god himself. It is a shame that the very thing that gives you the will to fight me is the very thing that cripples you so that you may never defeat me.”

“It's true then, if you die, the rest of us die, too?”

“Your power comes from me…so, yes, you will die, Jane. Again I ask, do you still wish to fight me?”

The talk of gods and martyrs brought back the image of Zach crucified to his lounge room wall. “I want you dead, at all costs.”

“I see.” His eyes blazed.

“Just, tell me one thing. Was it just random convenience that you did this to me, because I walked into the Minx that day and stuck my nose where it didn't belong or—”

“Did I choose you before that?” He smiled. “Yes—to the latter. I chose you because of your history, because of what you did.”

Another breeze cut through, causing the flowers around us to sigh. Rose's hair was swept in front of his eyes for a moment as he turned away from me.

“Alex has been quite instrumental in guiding you through your transition, telling you what you are and how you came into creation, but I think little of the why.

“We are not easy creatures to create. This is not because of the process implemented, but because of the offered people themselves. The method used to create a daimon is the same as it is for one to feed. Simply tear out the victim's heart and take it into your body. With this, a connection is made—one where the daimon draws on the power of the deceased's soul and gains strength from it. There is an enormous pool of energy in the soul of a human, but only one of us may access it. From it, we attain great increases of power. So incredible are these that they may bend or even break the laws of physics. Powerful enough that it can even regenerate a heart.”

My hand crept to between my breasts where I felt a comforting thump. An image of that corpse-girl shot into my mind, a great red void was located in the center of her.

“Very rarely, however, the energy flow may reverse, and the victim both maintains their soul and draws on a tiny thread of the daimon's power. It is only the faintest amount, and if that resurrected one cannot claim another's power they will finally perish, never to glimpse life again.”

“For the rebirth to be successful, the person needs to have killed someone first,” I offered.

He smiled sweetly. “Yes, but even so, the chance of ascension is still slim. You see, it's not so much about the taking of a life that allows one to snatch at a daimon's power, but the conviction in it. You, Jane, you took a life and didn't even blink. It was planned and executed in cold blood, all the while you simply played the heroine. It's that murderous desire, the deep seeded darkness, that allowed you to realize your potential as an eternal killing machine.”

I spoke through gritted teeth, “I only did what I had to.”

“That's it!” he cried joyously. “Ever since you murdered him, not once did you feel an inkling of guilt.”

“I didn't murder him!” I shouted. “He...” my voice softened. “He was already dead. I only finished him off.”

Rose grinned. “You know, even amongst our own kind, you are different. All the others, since I created them, have felt a bond to me—one not unlike that between father and child. They may not like what I order of them and like a rebellious child they may act on their own accord at times, but they never stray too far from my wishes. Take Freddie, he despised you tremendously, but I commanded him not to attack you. He did my bidding, mostly, but like a child, he found a loophole to my words and approached you after that photographer was killed. You threatened him. Therefore he was free to engage you in battle, and he hoped to kill you as a result. Of course, that did not pan out so well for him.”

He showed his perfectly white, straight teeth.

“Sage was older, and so possessed the relationship as an adult son to his parent. My children may not have liked me all the time, may have even hated me as you do now, but they always loved me. None of them wished to see harm come to me—they would have all been happy to throw down their lives in defense of me. You, however…you are exempt from this. You can kill your father. That's what makes you special.”

I could not look at him anymore, just down at my boots that were stretched and darkened by the water. I had always been fearful of this revelation, of this moment. In the past, the thought of people finding out about my dark secret caused me to shake involuntarily, and a simple whisper of my parents' deaths had me escalating into a panic. My nightmares were filled of that horizontal hail shattering through the restaurant windows, and the screams of patrons that interlaced into a continuous siren. It was the day my parents died, it was the day I was orphaned and left in the care of my big brother. Then my dreams forwarded six months to when I finished off a man that was halfway in the grave, and I saw that half-filled scotch glass drop limply to the carpeted floor.

“Shut up, shut up!” I rushed up to Rose, cutting through the water like a speedboat, and gripped his neck fiercely with my hand. He did not fight me off; his bright purple eyes just shimmered with greater luster.

“You don't deplore what you've done.” He beamed. “Though, you're ashamed of something. Perhaps, what others would think of your treacherous actions?”

“I said—shut your face!” With my other arm, I threw out a punch but he grasped this easily with one hand.

Unfazed by my attacks, he continued, “If that was the case, then why even kill him? I learned about you some months ago; a reporter snooping into Devil's Eden, trying to find dirt on the Foxes to print, but it was not until I learned of your violent history that I really became interested. A restaurant shooting that killed your mother, and a father that later took his own life. You yourself have had much psychological counseling. So then I wondered, whether such a colored past had more to it?”

I released his throat and went for a quick uppercut to the chin, but in that thin opening, he brought his other hand inside and waved me away as if I was merely a nuisance.

“Your father,” he went on, “was terribly depressed after your mother's death, so it came as no surprise when it was discovered that he committed suicide. No one ever considered that someone else had crushed up those pills and put them into his glass.”

“Stop it!” I screamed as I tried to swing an elbow to his temple. This too was quelled as he gripped my forearm and spun it around behind me painfully. I screeched as my shoulder gave a high-pitched snap and dislocated.

“I could not understand how you could take the life of one who never physically abused you, and provided you with such ample means. It even appeared as though he loved you.”

My back was facing him, so I used my head as a weapon and snapped it back firmly, but one of his hands crept onto my forehead and increased my acceleration down. In another moment, I found myself spluttering and reaching up for air as my body was shoved into the shallow lagoon.

Water flooded my lungs, my insides burned, but just then his delicate hands pulled me out. He sat on my lap; his twinkling violet eyes were just inches from my own.

“Then I realized that he disappointed you so greatly that it severed your bond between father and child. Something broke inside you, a certain capacity for love. Family loyalty disintegrated, and you acted as your pride dictated. There was a depressed man in your house, drunk and weak and related to you. That embarrassment had to be ended, that life had to be ended. That was your rationale for murdering your own father.”

“No, I didn't!” I cried through fits of strangled coughing. “It wasn't him anymore. My father died back in that restaurant. That man, he was a disgrace!”

Rose smiled broadly, pretty eyes dancing with the divulged dark truth.

Chapter Thirty

He was already dead. He had been dead for six months before his heart finally stopped beating. The pills that were dissolved in his scotch just finished him off.

He laid there on the sofa, eyes closed, and slumped over silently as the movie credits rolled on the television in front of him. He looked to be just sleeping, indulging in a peaceful doze. For the first time since the incident, his face no longer wore that mask of deep sorrow. He was finally released from the world that he could no longer bear. He was free to return to her in his everlasting sleep, but of course, he was never really away from her. Spiritually, he had already left this world; the strong, tough man had gone to her. What remained was no more than a shell of what he was, a physical apparition of nil likeness to the once great father.

There, on the family lounge, he had made his home. Alone; weeping, drinking, and stinking for six months; he had not moved an inch from this wretched couch bar to use the bathroom or to make himself a drink. He refused to leave the house or to part with the photo frame clutched tightly against his chest. He refused to attend my brother's graduation ceremony from the police academy. He refused to see a shrink. He refused to give up the scotch. He did go to my mother's funeral, however, and that was when I first realized that he was just as dead as she was.

Jack told me to just give him time. He has been through a terribly traumatic experience and just needs to be able to process through it. It can't be easy watching the woman you love die in your arms. Jack skipped over the fact that I was there too, holding my mother's hand, pleading her to come back to life for her little girl. She didn't, and so I moved on. My father, however, he failed to regain any sense of life. Six months elapsed, but nothing changed with him. That was when I decided that it was time to finally put my father to rest.

This vessel of a great man I once respected continued to live in that dire moment, the one where my mother disappeared from us forever. Every so often he would murmur, “don't give up, the ambulance is coming,” as he once had to the corpse in his arms. He would mutter other unintelligible things, something to do with his pain and his loneliness, how wonderful she was, but never would he mention the events that led to the tragedy itself. Nothing about the gangsters he despised so much. Not even a single thought for revenge. It was so unlike him: no anger, just despair.

I could not believe the intruder wearing the face of my father. That strange man did not even attend the court hearing where one of the gangsters responsible was sentenced to life in prison. Two months later, it was alerted on the news that he was beaten to death in jail. We both watched it as we sat on that same couch. I started laughing, and jumping up and down in gratification, but he did not join me in my pleasure. He did not even smile. In fact, he may have seemed even more grieved, as if regretting that the gangster would never be able to finish him off as well. I told myself, six months. If he couldn't be revived after six months of the shooting, then I would personally grant him his death wish.

I placed the painkillers and antidepressants by the glass that had fallen to the carpet as my father took his final doze. I pressed my fingertips to his neck where my science teacher had taught me, just two weeks earlier, to find the carotid artery. I could feel no movement. My father, Edward Kirra, was free to find my mother, Sarah Kirra, if any such other world existed. I didn't believe there was, but he did. That was why he could not do it himself. Committing suicide meant a direct ticket to hell, and my mother would surely have been in heaven. I liked the idea though, that they could find happiness with one another again.

I pulled out my cell and called for an ambulance, deciding it had been long enough. I told them that my father didn't seem to be breathing and, “Oh my God, there's all these pills on the ground.” I then started to elaborate, saying that I came to check on my father after his movie finished. He had fallen asleep like he always did when watching films, but when I tried to stir him awake, he wouldn't respond. I told them that he had to be okay and that they could pump his stomach, and that would make him better. The lady on the line was very calm and reassuring. She asked me for my address and instructed me to feel for my father's chest. She also instructed me to perform CPR if I knew how, or to ask for help from family or friends if they were around. I told her that some people came to school to teach us and that I had my first aid certificate. I then put down the phone and started compressions on the man in front of me.

I did not tell the emergency department that I knew that my attempts would be futile, that I had mixed the lethal dose of drugs in my father's scotch glass just before playing the movie. I did not tell them that I watched as he sipped on the drink and let it slip from his grasp after only ten minutes. I did not tell them that I watched as his eyes fell closed and witnessed the last rise of his chest. I did not tell them that I had already checked his pulse before heading up to my room to do my homework. I did not tell them that my father was dead, but of course, he had already been dead for six months.

****

Rose was staring joyously as he watched my face contort. It was true; I never really wanted to admit it to myself. That was why I made that man out to be a stranger, but he wasn't, he was my father. He had fallen deep into the abyss of depression where nothing could retrieve him. I told myself it was not really him; my father would never fall prey to such weakness; and that something must have died inside him the day my mother passed. Psychologically, he was broken, and already dead. What was left was a hollow shell. My claim was that I killed him out of pity, but that was not entirely true.

It was not pride, as Rose suggested, though it was a gross embarrassment to refuse friends over to my place because of the living corpse on the couch. He may have been empty, but he was still my father. This moment was what made me accept the truth—that I killed my Dad, and that I did it out of anger.

I had to; he led me to it. All my life he had coached me to be strong, never to shed a tear, never to cringe at the sight of blood. I had to be tough, impermeable to incapacitating emotions; I had to be like him. If I followed by my father's lead then maybe I would have the fortitude to save this crumbling city, but then my idol transformed. First to a puppet, then gnarled into a blathering mess. In the end, I could no longer recognize the great man I once admired. All I saw was another weak, useless life. One that had failed me and that made me angry. He was meant to stand up for justice, protect the city and guide his children in that path, but instead, he gave in to weak emotions. Sentiment—that was what made him fail. That was what drove me to kill him. From that moment on, I never regretted murdering my father.

“Get off me!” I roared as that same hatred filled me again, an old fury that always laid at the inner most part, hard and dense like the inner core of the Earth. It was so tightly compacted that I had not felt it since those few months as a teen, but it broiled to the surface now and exploded out of me with pestilential heat. The water started bubbling violently all around me. Rose himself even pulled his hands away.

A violent eruption threw him several meters away, and as I pulled myself upright from the boiling kettle, the displaced water plummeted down upon my steaming form.

Rose pulled himself from the water with a disarmed expression that morphed into a wide grin. “I see you've found your fire. Now we can have some fun.”

He rushed toward me. I sidestepped, evading his fist. His other hand was thrown out, but I shifted from this, too. He came back with the first limb as a knife-hand to my neck. I leaned my body backward and dipped my head behind. The hand sliced through the air above my face, with an inch to spare.

Taking advantage of my adverted gaze, he came with an uppercut to my belly, but my internal sight was switched on and those twinkling fairies allowed me to twist through the air and dodge the attack. When I landed, Rose's eyes sparkled.

He came back with a: jab, jab, back-kick combo, which I dodged, dodged, and blocked. Then countered with a roundhouse kick of my own. I thought I had him, but within a blink, he was on my flank with another uppercut. It landed and bruised my battered ribs.

I hooked back at him, but he blocked. I went for a front kick to the jewels, which he deflected with his hands. He pushed my leg back to the ground and elbowed me in the temple, dizzyingly. Before I had a moment to think, there was a smooth hand right at my face—I sidestepped from just in time. Not wasting a moment, I threw an uppercut at his abdomen, then a hook back to his face—they both connected.

He stumbled back a few steps and stole a moment to brush the back of his hand across his cheek. He pulled it forward, saw the small streak of blood and gave a soft excited laugh. “Yes, this is it!”

I went back in with a jab, then knife-hand to his neck. He evaded both. He dropped, cutting through the water, and in a whirlwind he swept under my feet. I collapsed onto my back and rolled to the side, just in time to miss him landing his dripping shoes to my face.

Lunging off my hands, I launched my legs into the air. With a turn of fate, I landed on top of his body. My boot pressed just under his chin so that his alarmed eyes wavered beneath the agitated water. His hands reached out to my leg to throw me off, but I concentrated my energy into that limb and drove it down with greater force. In an instant, his hand glowed with opaque intensity as it ripped into the flesh in my calf. With a pained yelp, I released my hold of him and stumbled backward.

Rose needed no time in recovery; he came right at me with a sharp jab to my cheekbone. He dropped, and swept under my other foot. I fell back again but this time, I was ready as I flipped onto my hands, leapt up and spun backward to reclaim my footing.

He rushed in during my moment of vertigo and struck to slice into my throat. I missed his hand by millimeters. He went for a stab to my gut, I sidestepped that one as well, but my healing leg was slow and dragged me back. As his blade-hand breezed past me, it made an incision a couple of centimeters deep.

For some uncanny reason, I thought of the sharp cuts Valentine always made into his victims. I had always thought they were due to a blade, as did the coroners, but with the speed of his swipes I could understand how a blunt end could slice so cleanly. There was that dagger, though. He did indeed use that for his targets; he boasted it so proudly only minutes earlier. I wondered what an attack from such a mysterious knife would do to a daimon.

I skirted past another thrust towards my shoulder. It was not entirely missed, as this fresh strike also produced crimson fluid.

I leapt into the air, swirling my legs out to him in a flurry. He dodged, backing away a little, allowing me to keep swinging a little distance on.

He shot a jab-jab-jab-hook, which I kept sidestepping, edging back; making my way closer to Sandra. He jabbed, and side-kicked, following up with a masked back-kick, which I managed to dodge, all the while flying furtive glances to the floor of the lagoon.

Another uppercut, jab, and then front kick, which was a balk, as he slipped deftly into another back kick. The heel of his wet shoe drove right into my sternum, forcing the bone to crack, and I soared through the air backward, this time not of my volition. Before I even landed, he was back at me again, with his forefoot fluidly connecting against my forehead. I plummeted to the lagoon's floor with a hard crash. Water was sprayed in a great radius. Sandra was involved in the shower, as the drops drizzled her faint skin.

I put out my hands to rise myself up, but halted. Rose took this moment of hesitation and threw another foot below my chin. I was thrown backward again. Just before the somersault was to end, I broke in with my limbs and crouched there, waiting for the next attack. It didn't come. He still lingered at the center of the pool, his back to me, hovering over Sandra. He had a hand raised, with fingers locked together into a blade, and began to plunge down.

“I don't fucking think so!” I roared, sailing through the air. As I fell, I outstretched my hand and drove a real blade into the center of my foe. He became deathly still until finally a cough reverberated through him. There was blood at the entry of my slice, which had splattered onto Sleeping Beauty.

“You found my dagger,” Rose stated.

“That's right. I picked it up just before you clipped my chin here and now,” I twisted the silver harshly, “it's time for my counter attack.”

He slumped.

Yes, that's it! The blade, whatever it is, has some connection to daimons and using it here weakens him. With this strike, I will destroy him! I sung internally, triumphant.

Then his hand whipped back behind him, retracted the short sword from his body and out of my brief hold, flipped around and injected the blade into me. This all happened in a flash.

I coughed, spraying blood into his face. I would have fallen limp to the ground if it were not for his tender hand cradling me. I watched, dazed, as the through-and-through slice on him started closing in seconds.

“You seem quite paralyzed as if this dagger has some effect on you.” He pulled it out and shoved me to the water. “Idiot. What did you think; it has some kind of mystical power? It's a piece of metal.” He spat, so unlike the altar-boy I envisioned him as.

“This dagger,” he continued, “is no more than a trinket. Some family heirloom I took from a noble that was brave enough to challenge the Cardiac Animus.” He guffawed. “I do like it, though. At the time, silver was very expensive, you see, and that was what gave the people of the town the notion that my kind could be harmed by it. Of course, they were wrong.”

I took a quick glance at my belly, and indeed, it was healing; no special properties there. Damn.

Rose admired the intricacies of the weapon. “Thanks for returning it to me. I would be devastated if such a nostalgic item was lost.”

He came at me again with the dagger poised right in front of him. He took a swipe, and I sidestepped again, but the blade did not twinkle in my mind's eye like his body did, so I misjudged its range. It cut me deep and pulled across, slicing through my ribs with ease, and right through to my lungs underneath. As I coughed, blood flowed freely. I knew that if he had entered my other side, my heart would have been cut in two.

I placed a hand to the gaping wound, and hopped backward, clutching at a moment's reprieve, but Rose just kept slashing that silver forward.

The thrust towards my throat, I missed by a whisker. He whipped around to my left, coming with a swipe. I leaned back and pulled my breath in just at the right moment to view the metal cut through my tight shirt only. The leg came around to my right, which I blocked with my forearm, then that blade came back at the left and it seemed I was sandwiched. I leaned back so low that it would have looked as if I was lying comfortably on the water's surface. The strike waved overhead and I came back up with an uppercut to his jaw; a pleasing, bone-crushing collision resulted.

I moved inside with an uppercut to his solar plexus, an elbow to his temple, and then a backhand to his once perfect nose. The cartilage broke as he gaped, fish-like, in his surprise.

I did not quell my assault. Relentlessly I went for fist upon fist, then elbow, knee, and a final back-kick. Rose, my nemesis, soared into the air and collapsed limply beneath the shallow water.

He just lifted himself from the surface of the rippling waves as I grasped his shirt collar and landed a palm-hand into that broken nose. It snapped even more, and with its retruded appearance, I thought that perhaps the bone had struck back into his brain. By the venom in his face, it seemed such a blow did not matter much to a daimon; those pretty, poisonous eyes loomed menacingly into my own.

I drove him under the water, pinning him just as he had me, and struck my own crude hand into his torso. I felt the thump-thump of the devil’s heart until I was catapulted away; sent so far that my back collided with earth quaking violence against the waterfall's cliff. Through the cascading water in front of me was a faint outline of a person with savage red hair.

It was Ruby, lurking in the shadows, waiting for the moment to spring to her master's aid. So much for no interruptions.

The hazy outline grew larger until Rose's voice halted her. He said something in a foreign tongue that made her relinquish her short assault, approach the blurry figure of her master, and kneel.

Climbing to my feet, I pushed through the waterfall and watched as Rose tore inside his comrade's chest and retrieved a pulsating red organ.

I ran as quickly as I could, to prevent the event, but it was no use; it had already happened. Rose took the heart into his mouth and swallowed as if it was no more than a meager human heart. He shut his eyes.

Suddenly, I saw his body flicker in that golden twinkling. His eyes reopened and blazed violently purple, with more luster than ever.

He ordered her to give herself to him so that he would become more powerful, my snakelike voice analyzed. You were barely on par with him before, but now that he's consumed a daimon's power so effortlessly, you haven't the slimmest hope of success.

As he turned to look on me he smiled oh-so-gently, and yet the water rippled from him like he was a powerful center of antigravity. He grinned like we knew a common secret.

And I did know, it was: You're dead now.

Chapter Thirty-One

One glance at him and I saw the golden glow ripple as if it were the extension of his heartbeat.

Holy crap! I thought. He was scary powerful before, but now, from the heaviness in the air alone, I could sense that he transcended into something even more horrifically omnipotent.

Dazzling purple eyes gleamed at me as Ruby's corpse fell into the water, and floated away languidly. Her skin grayed, as dust began to dissipate into the air above. Her majestic hair dulled, fading to taupe, before turning to ash.

“You killed her, just to gain her power?” I cried incredulously. “I thought this was all a game to you. Challenging me was just a bit of fun, but you killed her! She...she told me that she loved you. How could you do that? How could you kill someone who loved you so much?”

Rose smiled. “How could you?”

I gulped. “I...took his life, but I didn’t forget the value of it!”

“Maybe, but what about the other lives you've taken as a daimon: the man in the woods, the retired assassin, Mack, the casino patron, Freddie, Sage, Smoke, the Fox gang members Sage had attack you. All of them had value to their lives; they all had ambitions, they all felt pain, but you murdered every single one of them. I wonder, did it make a difference to you whether they were human or daimon? What is motivating you, Jane? For one who killed her father, you are most interesting.”

Somehow he had a knack of saying things that made me avert my gaze. I was a monster, but there were certain sentimentalities that hurt me still. He knew that too, that was why he was uttering such spiteful comments. The bastard was trying to lull me into emotional weakness, but that was not who I was. I was too strong, my mind too impenetrable. He would not break me.

“What is motivating you?” I quipped back. “You murdered someone who was so committed to you. She loved you greater than any kind of family love, but you destroyed that when you ripped her heart away. Are you really that detached that you don't even feel for your own kind?”

Something shifted through his eyes. “You're evolving very fast. You are truly a prodigy.”

“I'm going to kill you,” I husked.

“I'm counting on that intent.”

I turned my gaze hard on him. “Why do you do this? Why do you have your followers throw themselves at your defense, but really set them up to fail? Why do you want this fight? Why do you toy with me? Why did you torture me? You said how, but you never said why. You have brother against sister; shouldn't we be family? You could have easily nurtured me from the start—taught me what it was to be a daimon. You didn’t; you left me to fend for myself for days before I even learned that others existed. Then when I found you, all I faced was hostility and hatred. All I ever wanted was a family. If you had only accepted me, then I would have accepted you, but you didn't. Instead, you toyed and murdered someone very dear to me. I have to hate you now—I have to! Why couldn't you just accept me when I needed you? Why?” I screamed, uttering words before I even realized the truth of them. They were all true; they were all what I really felt, and they held so much substance that I even cried. Using the back of my hand, I rubbed the oil from my face.

“I dismissed you,” Rose uttered apathetically. “Because I did not want another child. I wanted someone to fight; it has been far too long for me.” He smirked and pulled the edges of his mouth wider. Now, the teenyboppers would have stopped fawning and run away, for he suddenly appeared more like the monster he was. His skin was stretched beyond normal limits, as his mouth became a long line ear to ear. His teeth gleamed, and a child-like voice inside me queried: Grandma, why are your teeth so large?

“Fine, that makes you what I've been looking for all along also,” I stated resolutely. “I have a certain purpose of my own, a destiny given to me by my father. Living in a city soiled with crime and filth, he put it to his children to draw strength in response to the Blue Coast's suffering. He did not cover our eyes to the reports on the television, nor did he tell us sweet white lies about why there were always so many funerals to attend. He made us watch the horrors in front of our very eyes, hear the people of the city as they screamed and smell their flesh cook as they were trapped in burning hells. Evil had invaded our homes, and its potency was growing in diabolical proportions. His generation did not know how to handle such threats. They never learned how to overcome their fears, and it paralyzed them. That was why we had to be different. He trained us to be tough, strong. My father trained me to deal with vileness like you. I had hoped to use a pen instead of a sword.” I tensed my hands in a planar position. “But I will not complain about the weapons I have been given.”

“So that's it. By fighting me, you think you can redeem yourself for murdering your father. You know...” Rose ventured, “I now wish I’d eaten your psychologist. You are so much deeper than I ever imagined.”

“In whatever crazy world this is, you are my father, but that will not stop me from killing you.”

“Of course,” he responded mildly. His head was down-turned, but his purple eyes, locked into mine, were shinier than ever. “I've been anticipating a time like this for so long, I hope you will not disappoint me.”

“You will not be disappointed,” I agreed. “You’ll be dead.” I flew towards him, all a blur, as I struck towards his chest, but he was more powerful than ever and saw my movement before I even contemplated it. He used an arm to sweep it aside, and then thrust another hand into my belly.

I roared as he violated my flesh. I leapt back to gain a moment, but he interrupted that with an unanticipated hook kick to my left shoulder, then a knee up to my chest, followed by a head-butt to my forehead. Then a sidelong kick sent me flying far across the lagoon's surface.

I finally skidded to a halt just as I saw his evil sweet smile, followed by a winding blow to my belly. He snatched my head with effortless ease and smashed it with a bony knee. He paused for the briefest of moments before striking me with a back kick, sending me flying, yet again, over the great pool's surface.

I landed with a heavy splash, and a breathless wheeze, wondering how on earth I could attain the upper hand against a man who commanded so much more power than I could have ever dreamed of.

He came in again: jab-jab-jab-uppercut-hook combo; so fast that I failed to dodge a single one. He did a spin kick, twisted behind and connected me with his heel once more and sent me flying so far I hit the lagoon's low rock wall barrier.

Rose appeared so happy in this distance. He wanted this; he wanted all of this. The death of his followers only added to the glee. It was all for the ultimate battle—for the ultimate game.

I lifted off the wall a mere centimeter before he was upon me again, and again, and again. There were so many punches, so many knees and elbows and feet. At any moment, he could have gone for the killing strike. I was incapable of defense at that stage.

I was no match for this strength display. Despite all I attained from Smoke's huge gravity of power, it was nothing compared to the father himself. Rose already won this battle, he claimed victory from the moment he devoured Ruby's life force.

No, he was always going to win; ever since he had me tied down in that forest. This was all calibrated, hundreds of years of experience culminated for this one battle. He sacrificed a lot in this game: losing a bishop, a knight, a rook, and a queen though none of those fazed him. He was set only on winning the battle. A king was all that was needed, and that was far more powerful than any board could depict. Once that exhilarating battle was won, he could easily replenish his troops, and I wondered how many times he had done that before.

Everything was blurry, the earth was wavering, but I fought on. I struck with a couple of punches, and a knee out to where his ribs were. It was like he was moving faster than light. I never saw him evade those attacks, just like I never saw the counters. He curled behind with a roundhouse kick, causing me to buckle over. Then he kicked under my descending chin and propped me back upright, before striking back down with a crude elbow to a soft spot in my shoulder. My ribs received a sidekick that sent me flying back towards the center of the lagoon.

I was still soaring through the air when he appeared above me in a flash and knocked me flat onto my belly with the point of his heel. I flopped heavily against the water's surface before plunging hard into the stiff dirt below. I didn’t even have time to struggle for air as a hand wrenched me from the water, and the heel of the other palm struck right into my sternum. The bone crushed upon impact, pushing sharp debris against the fascia of my heart. He threw me into the air, and I soared like Peter Pan.

My air travel was interrupted by a tall, round, thick object behind me. I gasped with the pain of my spinal discs shifting onto my spinal nerve, and was momentarily paralyzed by the damage. As the object behind me began to shift backward, I realized it was the trunk of a tree as it collapsed to the ground with a deafening explosion. Limp as I was, it took me with it, and I fell back further still before rolling my face onto dirt. My hair was yanked roughly, forcing my head off the ground. Soil besmirched my face.

Hot, humid wind cradled my ear. “If I knew it was going to be this easy, I would never have eaten the beautiful Ruby. Oh, well. Time to end this game, I think.”

His smooth, soft hand entered my back, severed that already beaten spinal cord, and found its way towards my heart. His fingers curled around it, cradling it gently.

That moment froze. No, I thought desperately, this can't be it—it just can't be! I've come so far, fought such impossible odds. I can't die yet, not before Sandra is safe. Not before I kill him. I have a duty to my father, a destiny to destroy the evil in this city. I have to make it safe from crime, safe from monsters!

You are the monster, my sly, malicious voice cooed. If you want to make this city safe, then you should accept death.

No, I whispered back to it. I will die, but not before I kill Rose, not before I do everything I can to protect the Blue Coast.

That moment unfroze, and no matter how much I pleaded within myself to find that extra energy reserve, none came. I used it all already. All my loved ones living inside me, and all those pent up emotions lying at the core of my being, were finally extinguished and I could do nothing to stop his hand from retracting.

There were a few snaps, my blood vessels separating from my vital organ, and then several more sharp sounds as bones were crushed in the retrieval. Then it was gone—my heart was torn from my body. I could already feel those photons trying to float away from me.

It was too late; I had failed. Rose won the game, and I was dead. In a minute, all my sparkly flecks would lose form and take my corpse with it. I would simply disappear and no one would know where I had gone. Sandra would be killed, and hers and Zach's deaths would never see justice against this empowered demonic being. Ryan would wonder what had happened to me, but thinking that I had run off to another state like my brother, he would simply move on and find a girl that truly deserved his affection. Jack would hear some whiff about his sister disappearing in his hometown. He would wear a somber expression for just a moment, before brushing it off and getting back to his life on the west coast. That would be it; no tears would be shed. None, bar the black oil that dripped down my fading face.

Chapter Thirty-Two

I waited for it; I could do nothing else after all. With my spinal cord crushed and severed, I had only the faintest of movement in my hands and arms. There was none at all in my lower body. As I watched the hazy tree leaves blur in and out of the black background, I thought: at least if I was to become a paraplegic it would not be for long; I will never know its associated fearful dependence.

I thought I could sense it behind me, the twinkling flecks parting way where Rose's lips should have been. I knew I could also have just imagined it in my mind, filling the unseen gaps in a picture. Either way, his mouth had stretched into that grotesquely large cavity I myself depicted on so many occasions. There, my heart was being lowered inside his stretched jaw, descending down his neck to indicate a successful swallow.

I barely detected a muffled drum sound. Or was it a bang? A stamp? Did Rose kick my back just to gloat in his victory over me?

Then there was a very subtle thump, and I felt something roll across to my feeble arm. I turned my head to it wanly and focused with great concentration at the ill-defined red object. Straining my concentration, I noticed it gave a small pulsing.

It’s my heart! He dropped it, but how? Well, that doesn’t matter for the moment; all that matters is that I take that precious thing back!

Sluggishly, like a snail crawling back to its crack in the wall as it paced away from a hungry bird, I fumbled over that fist-sized roundish object. It was heavy, almost too heavy to lift, but I had to—I had to have it back before I lost my miraculous chance.

With a trembling hand, I pulled my heart back to my mouth, stretched wide with enormous difficultly and fit it inside. I closed my mouth and swallowed.

In the distance, those retreating golden flecks halted for a long, excruciating moment; held in stasis, as if unsure whether to return to their disappointing owner, but ultimately deciding to give her another go. They circled back around and assimilated back within me. Their touch was like pixies' wings fluttering against my skin, but the energy they supplied was far greater.

With an enormous spurt, they burned at my torso and spine to rectify the damage until finally I could move my legs. I was not at optimal health, my limbs were slow to respond and I desperately craved something to eat, but it meant I still possessed a fighting chance.

With the looming danger of Rose close by, I took no moment to indulge in my regained health, and brought myself to my feet as hastily as my frail limbs would allow. I whipped my head around towards the clearing, poised my hands defensively before me and focused my blurry sight. Time for round three.

My gaze traveled between the trees to either side of me, over the tops of resplendent ebony roses, across the quivering surface of the lagoon to two figures just on the other side. There was a woman with short black hair, holding a black object firmly in both hands, and a certain youth who approached her with alarming speed. Before I could widen my eyes in surprise, I saw Rose backhand Alex with a sickening blow. She crushed to the garden's floor. She remained motionless after the attack.

When the black object skidded across the ground, it misfired and sent another shot Oh, Alex, how could you be so stupid as to save me?

Rose turned back around, and, this time, did not look so pleased at my recuperation. His face darkened.

I gulped. Did that mean playtime was over?

He was twenty meters away, but then he was twenty centimeters away. I never even saw him press off. His hand wasn't that far, though, his fist was at my belly. It was a blunt hit so it did not cut through. Instead, it ripped me internally as he forced that appendage more than halfway through the depth of my torso. I felt my intestines flatten all at once. What else was there—a liver, a stomach? Whatever other soft things there were, they were flattened, and my skin stretched with purple streaks from the point of impact. I couldn't see all this, not outright. It was my insight; those torn, and tragically trusting, fairies told me just how ravaged I was becoming. That was just one hit. Then came the other fist.

It landed in my stomach again, squashing everything once more. The second jab was sent to my ribs; these were turned to dust as he pummeled either side of my torso. Then a hook to my skull cracked the solid bone. My cranium dipped inside like a deflated basketball. Thankfully, Rose did not interrupt my flight as gifted by this last blow, which gave me a much appreciated moment of reprieve, even if it was limited to an all-too-brief moment.

I landed against another tree, this time crushing my shoulder, and as I fell the timber tumbled to the floor loudly. Rose was hovering midair, over the top of me, with his fist pointed downward at my face, and his eyes twinkling in their amethyst splendor.

I twisted away just in time to feel only the rush of air along the left side of my body, and to hear the ground quake with a roar.

There was his leg, coming at me incredibly fast. Somehow it came from my right even though he was at my left and turned down into me.

With a screaming expulsion of force from my mind, I somehow avoided that attack and instead felt the ground quiver just superior to me. However, before I could make sense of my evasion, he lunged into the air with the ease of an arachnid, and with more deafening thuds hunched over me with all four limbs, setting up bars at all four corners.

How can he move like that? I barely formed the thought before he smashed his skull into mine, causing me to dip into the earth so that my head was almost buried.

He raised a hand up to me, my only defense to shut my eyes tightly. “See no evil,” does not mean one experiences no evil. He plunged a knuckle into my left cheekbone, just beneath the eye.

My mind started zinging, and then I felt myself floating in an endless ocean. Waves upon waves of turbulent water berated my inner-form. The moisture was everywhere: my clothes, skin, hair, my organs, and brain. My brain was leaking, I could not feel it, but I knew it to be true. As those waves cascaded down on me, I saw their color change from blue to red, and through the ocean, I could see an ill-defined pair of...eyes. Beautiful blue ocean eyes—Ryan's eyes—and they were turning blood red.

I opened my own eyes, where things did not quite seem to line up right, as the scenery was staged in hues of crimson. Rose, the delicate, beautiful, ethereal, demonic beast, lay down another hand towards me.

Thump. My arms were outstretched above my forehead in an x-shape. As they blocked my attacker's fierce throw, the thin bones shuddered and accrued multiple hairline fractures under the force. They held still, though, determined not to let anymore of that wretched and pleasing color etch the form of another friend.

Rose pulled back his fist, drilled into my linked arms and thought to have another go. Aiming for an uppercut to my ribs, he struck, but I pulled this X down lower to block this additional attack. With several more cracks, I was alerted that more hairline fractures were occurring in my arms.

He twisted to his left, exposing an undefended right torso. If I had more energy; if I was stronger, tougher; I would have made for it, but I was beaten. I had been spared, a moment from death, only to be propelled towards it at a neck-breaking pace. I missed my chance, and then he swung back around, led by first a heavy shoulder, then a solid elbow, ready to strike at my solar plexus.

Seeing the immense power, I abandoned blocking and opted for the slim chance of dodging. Tucking in my knees, I rolled as swift as I could to the side he left open. His elbow almost missed me; it fell, scraping alongside my back, crushing my rear ribs and knocking a vertebra into an awkward position before thunderously colliding with the ground.

I cried out with renewed agony a split second before he turned back around, and planted a heavy fist to my tormented side. I rolled away just as he hit me, and spat a large pool of blood.

I was ravaged; so frail that I could barely move my limbs, but, this time, it was not nerve damage causing my phlegmatic behavior. It was my lack of energy. I was drained so completely that my wounds, once again, were not healing in a timely manner. I needed a human heart to recover, and the thought turned my gaze back towards the clearing's entrance.

Alex was laying there, motionless, no doubt dead, no doubt leaving a perfectly good heart go to waste.

I was suddenly lifted off the ground and tossed over the top of so many pretty black roses. When I landed, my head lolled to the side and I was staring into the closed eyes of another woman.

“Go on, eat it. You need her heart if you want any chance of destroying me.” I could hear the smile as Rose urged me to action.

Alex focused in and out of my vision. She was completely still, but I could feel the warmth emanating from her body. Her scent could just be made out over the suffocating aroma of roses; it was sweet and yet a little spicy. It was enticing, tempting, calling me to claim her heart. It's what she would have wanted, a part of me rationalized. So long as Rose is killed, she would not find her sacrifice made in vain.

I pulled myself back to my wobbly feet, lifted one hand across my smarting torso and moved the other as a stubborn fist out in front of me.

Rose was a blurry white silhouette in the distance. “Stupid, girl.”

He rushed back to me with a pace that, I swore, could have rivaled the speed of light. My body lacked the nimbleness to evade, it lacked the fortitude to block and my mind lacked the emotional stability to even whimper in fear, but I still had a fist, and I still had those swirly photons that swam around me with great zeal. I could do nothing to deflect this next attack, but I still retained strength enough to make my own mark.

He flashed up in front of me, bent arm forward, and fist tight. In the freeze frame of my mind, he was midair, legs tucked back behind him— torso exposed. I saw him unfurl towards me with that haughty fist and a wild grin across his grisly features. He was inches from me and I had yet to make a move.

I may not have had the energy to hold myself with any steadiness on my feet, but I did have energy. It was twinkling all around me, through me, and it burned with a lust for revenge. I closed my eyes again, but this time, I was not hiding from my impending doom, but rather welcoming the fight.

I flared the hot energy into my limbs, using it to control my body in a puppeteer-esque fashion. Glowing bright, my own fist shot out in front of me and collided, with a ground breaking collision, into Rose's outstretched hand. His resistance was incredible, knuckle breaking, so I poured more photons here, pushing against his great might. When he upped his force in response, it almost made me tumble backward, but then I directed more golden fairies to my feet and drove it down hard into the earth to stabilize my position. I wasn't going anywhere.

The ground beneath my feet cracked and my hair tumbled wildly from a powerful breeze created at our combined point of combat. I was clenching my teeth, Rose was clenching his teeth, and for all the incredible power ejected, no one was giving an inch.

I poured more out, but he met and raised me. For a few seconds, dragging on immensely, we kept upping our levels on each other until finally the ground tore from beneath our feet and we were blasted apart with the shockwave of an explosion.

I sailed through the air, somersaulting, and then like a cat, found my feet on my landing. Rose did likewise and watched me speculatively across some ten meters. He leapt back up into the air, as did I, still using my dwindling reserves of photons to command my wasted body. We both rose, climbing slowly, to clear fifty meters in the air. We met, and as we re-entered combat, gravity began to pull us back down.

He shot downward with a heel-kick. I expelled energy from a blocking left forearm and shifted to the right slightly. I snuck inward with a roundhouse kick to his exposed back; he gripped my calf and pushed it down. Pivoting over the top of me, he struck down with a fist. I blocked with the right forearm—expelling yet more sparkling glitter—shifted slightly to the left, snaked my left hand around to his approaching fist, and slipping back inside, swung both legs in an arc to slam the balls of my feet into his abdomen.

As he gasped, I laid a left elbow down to the back of his neck, curled that arm around his head and slammed his skull into my knee. As he came up for air, I gave a quick jab to his beautiful face and crushed his recently healed nose.

He spat blood into my eyes, which distracted me long enough for his left arm to hook back into my still partially deflated skull.

Opening my left, Rose came with a right hook. I ejected a mass of photons with a blocking left arm, but too weak and too late, so that my bone beneath bent and cracked, just shy of a through-and-through fracture.

I groaned, took hold of his shoulder with my right hand, and spent an enormous amount of energy up into the air above, accelerating us downward likely to the point of terminal velocity. We collided thunderously into the ground. Rose lay underneath me in the cratered earth, sprawled, dazed and completely defenseless from the force of the impact.

With a smirk, I tore my hand through his ribcage, ripped into his protective tissues and to a spot a little left of his center. I just managed to claw at his heart before his amethyst knife-edge stare pierced into mine, and his right hand slit into my left forearm, where it squeezed painfully between its two bones.

I roared with pain, and yanked his hand out so fiercely that the momentum broke his elbow. He screamed, but he had survived the round as I released my hold on his heart. He raised his torso up from the ground, swung to his right, then back to his left and followed through to my temple. It was such a fluid, smooth movement that he connected with ease, and I weakly detected the utter potency of photons expensed into the blow as I was launched off him and back into the lagoon.

We dragged ourselves back up to our feet at about the same time, before fixing on the other and assessing the damage levels. My skull, my chest, my left forearm, and my ribs at full circumference, and my internal organs bore the worst of it. Blood oozed from my mouth and nose, but my eyes…I knew those were oozing black. Rose was not unscathed.

He had an open wound to his chest, a crushed nose, and a useless right hand. These injuries were healing far swifter than my own, but it was not instantaneous, and judging by his hunched stature, he was losing steam too.

I smiled, but Rose did not share my enthusiasm.

I flew towards him, across our vast space. I drew out all the remaining glittering pixies and struck a heavy foot down onto him. He blocked this with his left forearm, but there was a discernible snap in the bone as he did so.

He countered with a quick sidekick to my belly, but I sidestepped this, dipped under him, and returned with two deft uppercuts. He came down with his right elbow to my rising skull, which dropped me to the ground, but not before I stabbed a hand through the side of his knee.

He howled and went for a backhand to my face, but I twisted myself around low on the ground and spun a leg under his good one. He lost his balance instantly, but before he could recover himself, I launched myself onto his torso to force him down. While he was helpless in my grasp, I stabbed back into that clotting wound. I found it at once, and, this time, did not hesitate. With the last bit of glitter I maintained, before they all dulled and lost their luster, I ripped Rose’s heart from its beautiful host.

Bereft of his heart, my enemy would surely die now, and I watched him cautiously to ensure this. Though he had a broken, bloodied nose, and dirt upon his face, he transformed back into a bewitching beauty. His soft milky skin and pale blonde hair continued to give him that angelic appearance. Those violet eyes; they were sad, despondent, and so lonely as they twinkled through drooping lids. He did not fight, nor did he moan, or writhe with pain, or protest. He simply held himself still, perfectly composed and perfectly beautiful, even in his death.

He blinked very slowly and drew a thin breath inward, just as his sparkles began to trickle away. I thought that it was his last breath, until he whispered.

“You won,” he stated this with an odd, soft smile. “I never thought...” He coughed; flecks of blood pried from his pink lips. “Never thought, anyone would ever be able to defeat me. You are quite surprising; truly a prodigy.”

I felt something fade from me as well. My dull and languid fairies were shifting from my battered form. Despite winning the battle and achieving my goals, in the end, there was no true victory. A monster like me was always doomed to defeat.

I laid down beside Rose on the grass. As we stared up at the billions of stars in the sky, I held his heart tenderly in my breast.

“I have lived for a long time,” he managed. “At first, I hated myself for what I had become, and for all the human lives I took just so I could sustain life. I was lonely…so I made others. They all became my servants, never friends—never really family. So I killed them and tried again, and again. Every time I was lonelier than ever. Then I finally decided it was time to die.”

I gasped as I turned side on to view him. He was more immaculate than ever, draped in a curtain of abandoning glitter.

“I wanted to rip out my own heart, but each time my hand trembled and refused to break the flesh. It was like a reflex that stopped my body from performing self-harm. I could not commit suicide, and I could not refrain from defending myself when attacked. I told my followers to kill me if they truly loved me, but when I pushed this, they ripped out their own hearts and offered it up to me, before fading away. How cruel it was to see my children die willingly when all I wanted was death for myself. That's where you come in, Jane Kirra; a child who would murder their father.”

“I see,” I murmured, as I turned back to the stars. I inhaled the deep perfume of the roses. It may have been due to my dwindling senses, but their aroma became rather comforting then. “That was why you killed my friend—why you took Sandra—you had to make me hate you so that I would kill you.”

“Like your father.”

So many pretty flecks swirled above me that I was not sure which were stars and which were parts of our dying spirits. In a way, it did not matter; the sight was too resplendent to care what aroused it.

“Do you still wish to live, Jane?”

It took me some time to answer. I did not like monsters; they always terrified me as a child, and because fear was a weak emotion, I wished them all to die. I was a monster, a murderer, and this was not of a transformation of the last few days. This occurred years ago. I always knew I deserved death. Perhaps, that was why I ran into the face of it so willingly, but fought it at every turn. There was so much I still wanted out of life: repentance for my father by doing what I could to save the city from violence; friendship from people like Sandra and Zach; to return selfless love; and forgiveness from a brother. There was so much I still wanted. I did not deserve them, and most of these I would never have had a chance of attaining, but it did not stop my petty little heart thumping a little harder at the possibilities. Even a monster can want life's precious gifts. Without them, it may as well be dead.

Rose's heart continued to beat weakly in my hands.

“Yes,” I answered finally, with a voice devoid of emotion. “I don't want to die, not yet, not when there is still so much for me to do.”

“Then you need the power of a transcended daimon. If you eat it before the beating stops, you will have all my power: my independence, the rare ability to form a link with victims, and...my loneliness. Take it if you really want to live, but I warn you, once you do, you cannot die.”

His voice was losing definition; my sight blurred so that a gold blanket lay across the top of me. The smell of roses was growing fainter, more delicate and more precious. The heart in my hands drummed fragilely.

“I don't think I have the strength to fight your subconscious,” I muttered, not sure whether the words escaped correctly or not.

“I am not fighting you anymore. Take it if you want to live, and maybe...if you want to understand as well.”

Wanly, I raised my hands, holding the very heavy, slimy object. I opened my mouth and uttered a, “thank you,” as more black tears fell down my cheeks.

I am not dead, yet. I will live and carry out my mission, Dad.

Chapter Thirty-Three

I opened eyes and discovered myself walking along a cobblestone road. The lighting was low, and at first, I could not discern where I was. This was until the blaze of a stationed torch approached up ahead and dimly illuminated a dilapidated single-story home, just off from the road. My legs took me down it.

I marveled at the way I was moving. I had not commanded my body to walk, and though my limbs moved quickly, I was travelling far slower than I would have expected. My feet brushed the ground and almost caught on a stone poking up from the dirt path leading to the house, and I realized that it was because my shoes were too large, despite being the size of a child's.

As little bustling legs hurried me forward, I eyed the home with greater clarity and would have frowned had my body been responsive. The small home was built from oddly arranged stone brick, which held two tiny windows. These were void of glass and were simply veiled by a sheet from the inside. Through the translucent opening, the lowly lit room possessed the faint murmuring of women.

A short, unfamiliar arm stretched out in front me and found a doorknob. I turned it, and I let myself inside.

I walked softly into the humble home, lit only by candles, along uncarpeted floors and cold stone walls. There were no picture frames, paintings, or wall clocks…no nostalgic items at all.

I realized then, it was not the nostalgia that was missing, but modern technology.

My footsteps softened as I approached a wall, clutched the entrance's frame and peeked a head across. There were four women in what looked like a pauper's rumpus room. There were no sofas, just hard wooden chairs discarded to the edges of the room. The women were kneeling on a thin and worn rug on the floor. Their eyes were closed as they muttered a foreign tongue in unison. As my eyes laid upon a pretty blonde teen in a filthy white dress, my heart skipped a beat.

The women were all young, clad in full length encumbering dresses, and were seated to form a circle. In the center, five short candles formed a pentagon. Inside this design was another object, one of far greater interest, and one that could not so easily be explained. I peered closer so that I could see what they surrounded. There was a saucepan, blackened and filthy on the outside, but its contents were what held my interest—a spherical dark-red object. I edged a little closer and lost my balance, stumbling over the threshold. The girls' eyes sprung open at once; the one with the blonde hair sent silent daggers straight into me.

Finding a rock next to her, the blonde pegged it to where I stood just before I hid behind the wall. “Get the fuck out of here, you little maggot!” she spat. It was in another language, and yet I could understand every word of it. “I told you not to come back here tonight!”

I edged just a single eye from the frame and found her at once. I admired the terrible irony of how this almost-woman was so beautiful, and yet so gaunt and sickly in appearance.

“I'm sorry, sister.” I spoke in a meek boy's voice, with the same foreign tongue. “I tried to stay away, but I was so scared outside, alone in the dark.”

The other girls remained silent as they watched this interplay. They did not need to express the rage they held for the interruption; the blonde would deal with the menace.

She smirked darkly. “Perhaps we should teach you a lesson by offering you up to the Goddess. I'm sure she would have greater use of you than I, little brother.” She cackled, the epitome of an evil witch.

Then the scenery morphed. I found myself watching idly in the middle of a forest. It was during the early hours of dawn and the same beautiful, yet ill-appearing girl was slaughtering a goat.

The surroundings transformed again, so that I looked upon this blonde, as she lay asleep in her bedroom. She was soundless, still and peaceful, as she was suspended horizontally, still as a board, a meter above her bed.

Again the scene changed so that I was walking amidst a bustling crowd, wearing conservative clothing. Most were taller than me and missed seeing me as they whispered cruel gossip. I heard some of the words: evil, devil worshiper, enchantress. I knew they were talking about my sister, so when I heard the word cleanse I shuddered.

I found myself in a church hall. I was walking alongside others, and this time, I was taller than most of the women, even a few of the men. I walked up the aisle that was illuminated with the purest of white lights; I thought maybe a flash was going off. However, as the seconds passed and this intense light lingered, I began to think that what I had witnessed was the divine holiness of God. I came to the front of the aisle, knelt and looked up into the face of a kindly man. He waved his hands in such a way that I was sure he absolved me of my sins.

Suddenly, I sat in a room surrounded by children who were busy scribbling onto tiny chalkboards. One girl, in particular, took my attention as she giggled merrily. I approached her and questioned what had her so bemused. She responded that her pet doggy looked more like a horsey, and she laughed with great mirth. She showed the image to me and it proved to be a very probable splice of dog and horse, so I laughed alongside her.

You cannot create a new creature like God, my daughter, I cautioned the girl, but in your mind and in your dreams you are encouraged to explore your creativity, for from that, lays the fruit of innovation, the seed for greatness. With our lord's guidance, we can achieve tremendous feats, both men and women, and provide a world of greater illumination and happiness. Just don't let these imaginings distract you from your studies, dear Lizzy.

She smiled sweetly before she faded away into another frame. The world grew darker, and I saw my sister grinning just as sweet as Lizzy had been, but with heinous blood dripping from her mouth.

I was immediately surrounded by noise: people yelling and cheering so loud that they muted the sounds of fire crackling and eating away at wood. From behind me, I could feel the wrath of the flames. They were growing quickly, proving eager to consume the pile of timber, and racing swiftly to reach the woman bound at its center.

I turned back around, fighting the urge to shield my eyes, and gazed upon the blonde. She wore a yellow dress that covered all but her face. Jeers of whore and temptress ran throughout the crowd. I knew these to be false claims, but that was not all that was being said. Words such as heathen, Satanist, and witch, also roared. These were true; the young woman had fallen to the devil's darkness, and the only way to purge that evil from her was with holy fire.

“Vermin!” the blonde screeched crazily from her stake. “You are nothing but cattle. You think these flames will end my divinity, but you are wrong.” She smiled. “It will only amplify it! My blood will not be so easily quelled by such an insignificant act as death. My goddess will resurrect me; she will not see this blood spilled in vain.”

A hand crept onto my shoulder. It was a town priest. “My son, as an initiative of the clergy, your actions are to be commended. Today, you did something that very few would be capable of. You did it because of your love of God, and for that, you should never regret your actions. I know this time may be tough for you, but know that God is by your side, guiding you always and seeing your sacrifice.”

I nodded, hearing the words, but was unsure whether they held any value. My sister was upon the stake, embers spreading thick and fast, licking at her feet. She was silent now, as stubborn tears poured down her face. The flames grew greater still, to creep up her legs. When her mouth sprung open, I hoped it would be her plea for God's forgiveness, but only screams erupted from her frail, scolding body.

“You did the right thing,” the priest reminded me. “The devil must be eradicated in all its forms, even if that means cleansing loved ones.”

I nodded, though hesitantly. I agreed with my superior's words, but they did nothing to ease the pain in my heart. “My sister paid the price for allying herself with Satan. I do not regret my actions.”

The father's comforting hand was still on my shoulder as I reached up to my own white collar. “I know that this is the way it has to be. My sister is the physical realization of evil. She is the embodiment of hell's wickedness. The fact that she does not repent now is a testament of her corrupt soul and the very need for purification. My sister has been transformed into no more than a demon, and for that, she must be driven into the depths of hell.”

The blonde's screams escalated as long flames licked all along her body. I could see her flesh melting from her pretty arms and legs as she stared back with hateful eyes. She yelled, groaned, and screeched; she suffered immensely, but not once did she plead for her life. She was too proud, even in the agony of death.

Little Lizzy appeared at the front of the crowd with something in her hand. She threw a small stone forward, hitting my sister's scolding leg, and shouted, “Monster!”

The blonde's shrieks transformed so that they were analogous with mad laughter. “You think I'm the monster? He is the monster!” she roared, as her blue eyes seared into mine.

Other bystanders took inspiration from Lizzy's actions and started pelting my sister with food, rocks, whatever they could find. After a while, my sister's cries stopped, but the tall flames and barrage of projectiles continued on.

I closed my eyes snugly, but it was too late. A single tear trickled down my left cheek. I raised the hand that once held my sister's so tenderly in youth, the one that had combed through her silky blonde hair—the one that ignited her bonfire. It was still shaking as I used it to wipe away the salty drop.

Lizzy appeared before me, bearing a smile that was far too broad. She raised her hands up to me, offering a bloodied object. When I reached out, it was with my own slender, female, hands that I accepted the human heart.

****

Lying on the ground, I turned my gaze to the side and watched red blades of grass sway in the wind.

Rose, you killed your sister in the name of good, but by cleansing the wickedness from her, it was empowered to change forms, jump hosts and take seed inside of you. In your pursuit for God's love, you embraced the Devil. There was blood spilled as its host's flesh melted away. This was not spent in vain, it was resurrected, but as another creature. One that refused death, one capable of murdering a person it loved, and one that fed on hearts. It was an abomination, hell-spawn, and it was you. Of course, you wanted to die.

“You won the game after all,” I whispered to the place where Rose's body once laid.

The sound of hearts beating filled my ears. One was my own, steady and strong, pumping rejuvenated blood through a recently healed body. The other was barely audible over the plummeting waterfall.

As if all I had to do was think it, I stood over Sandra, who rested on the low stone in the center of the lagoon. Perfectly tranquil and perfectly beautiful, she boasted a newly acquired snow-white skin. There were the smallest hints of movement from her: blonde hair clutching at the wind.

I became acutely aware of a metallic smell interweaving through the roses. In recognition of that, I was suddenly standing over Alex, who lay serenely on her side as a small pool of blood haloed her head. I was about to turn away before the subtlest of sounds caught my attention. It was the softest of thuds, two in a row, but largely spaced apart. I knew from the arrhythmia that it would be insufficient to supply her brain with the necessary oxygen. She grasped at life, but would not remain for long. In a matter of minutes, she would die; it would not even be worth the effort of attempting resuscitation.

I recalled her desperate statement, one that hoped for nothing more than Rose's death, even at the cost of her own life, and that indeed was coming true. One bullet had sealed her fate, the one that saved my life in exchange for her own; all so that Rose could be killed.

I promised her that I was of the same mind, but really that wasn't true. I still had things to live for, a person to live for. Seeing her laying there with cerebral trauma, struggling valiantly and pitifully to cling to life, I wondered whether the mysterious woman had something else to live for as well.

I thought of my reason—my life-long unrequited love that held the silent promise of fulfillment. So long I had loved him, looked upon him with admiration as he spent time with my brother. So long I had followed the two around, pretending that I wanted my brother's company, when really it was always that one boy I yearned to see. So serious, so tough, but at times he could break out of his shell and make me laugh like no one else could. My brother could not; Jack did not laugh, but Ryan did not hide his smiles. Ryan never gave up on achieving happiness.

I realized that he should have been back at my house by then, waiting for me with his heart on his sleeve. I decided that it was time that I stopped tearing out other people's hearts and finally gave my own away.

Chapter Thirty-Four

Again, the front door to my house was unlocked and it was apparent that a skilled policeman had picked the lock. I smiled as I raced inside the house towards the sound of a heart beating, in the lounge room, and threw myself onto the amazing man seated on my sofa. It was when he did not return my embrace that I became aware of the odd lack of lighting.

I leaned away, hands still clutching Ryan's shoulders as I searched his expression in the darkness. His deep frown was cold, breath jagged and his tightly clenched fists hostile. I wished his head was not turned down so that I could see his harmonious ocean eyes.

“Ryan, what’s wrong? Why do you look so...angry?”

“Let go of me,” he responded with a deep, ominous voice.

“Ryan?”

“Get those filthy hands away from me!” he yelled, as he pushed me away hurriedly.

Even with all my power, it was not enough to keep me on my feet as a heavy gravity caused me to collapse on the carpet. I looked up at him, and this time, I could see his eyes, but instantly wished that I couldn't, for they were filled with rage.

In complete contrast to his outburst, he managed a steady, empty voice. “It's almost sunrise. Tell me: where were you, what were you doing? And...don't lie to me.”

“I...” My utterance was small and thick with trepidation. “I was with Sandra. She had an accident, so I was dropping her off at the hospital.”

“Stop lying to me!” He roared with such magnitude that I felt my golden fairies tremble.

“I'm not lying.”

I wasn't, I had indeed delivered Sandra to the care of medical professionals. I dropped her in, my clothes sopping wet but at least rinsed of blood. I told them that she took some pills, was not sure which, and that I feared an overdose. Then I raced back home, back to my prize—my reason for living—the unspoken promise of Ryan's love.

He waited a minute before breaking the silence with that composed, dead voice. “We received the results for some DNA tests today. Well, it arrived Friday, but since things were so crazy then I didn't get a chance to have a look at them 'til today, or I suppose, yesterday.” He turned his head in the direction of the window, where the golden glow of a new day was transforming the outside garden's appearance. The river, however, still retained its deep melancholy.

“Ryan, don't...” I husked.

“All that blood of the mystery person in the woods; it was revealed as a woman's, but there were no matches anywhere in the database. That left us with a relative dead end, but that was until Zachary Goodman was murdered. On the wall, written in blood: He died for her sins. You then admitted that her was in reference to you. I thought it was punishment for your investigation of the Foxes, and my pursuit of Valentine, but there was one more possibility. I didn't want to consider it, but as soon as I did, I knew that it had to be right. That woman who lost all that blood in the woods, that woman was...you.”

His eyes softened just enough so that I could see the water enter them again. “Even though it had to be right, it just didn't make sense! This mystery woman lost so much blood, too much to possibly survive whatever terrible insult she suffered. If she had somehow recovered, maybe received a blood transfusion that was not reported in any local hospitals—that could have saved her. She didn’t though. She was a victim, so it makes no sense—why not come forward? This survivor could have been the key we needed to finally identify Valentine, and she could have been given protection, even in a force that's as crooked as ours. If it was you, then you would know that you could trust me to protect you because I...” He clenched his hands even tighter.

He turned and looked at me for the first time during that early morning. His expression had finally turned gentle, and he even bore a slight smile, but it was sad as if remembering a lost loved one. “It was hard to consider that you were caught up in this more than I had thought. I mean, it was you I was considering. Jane Kirra—my best friend's sister, a kid I had known since she was in puberty, someone I care about, but you were pursuing the Foxes and your friend was killed as a result. So, I had to find out just how deep you went into this case. That was when, while you slept in my bed after your discovery of your friend, I took some of your hair, a swab of saliva and a small drop of blood. You hardly even stirred as I recovered them. I guessed that you were held captive by your dreams, or your nightmares.”

His kind side disappeared, and he turned away from me again. “When I read the results today, I realized that the labs made a mistake. You see, they were only meant to compare your samples to those from the woods, but it seemed that a couple of other DNA fragments were recently flagged that I had yet to become aware of, and so these were also compared against yours. The first match was the crime scene in the woods, as I sadly expected, but then there was a second one involved with a case I wasn't even working on. It matched blood found in the private hospital room of a teenage girl who died of suspicious circumstances. The father of the young woman had been rumored to have involvement with the Foxes.”

The silence was heavy; it was agonizing as it crushed my heart.

Ryan reached into his pockets and drew out both a gun and a pair of handcuffs. He held them in his hands as he breathed heavily. “It does not look good, Jane. You have been known to be involved with these gangsters. At first glance, you seem to be investigating them on some supposed story to expose all their black market dealings, but you've been attempting this for years, with no success and no stories. If you were really a threat to the Foxes they would have killed you for your intentions alone, but they haven't. This leads me to believe that you’re involved with the Foxes and by extension, Valentine. You should be dead, and yet you're here pretending to be the victim when all signs indicate that you collaborated in at least two murders.”

“Stop it, Ryan. Please, stop,” I pleaded, my voice wavering.

“Who are you really, Jane? Who have you become?”

I leaned forward from the ground and gripped his knees desperately. “It's me, Ryan. Jack's little sister. The annoying girl that followed you all through our childhood, the girl that's always been in love with you.”

He recoiled and stared deeply at his gun in hand. “You won't answer me…you won't help me understand. That tells me just one thing: that you have a dark secret you're trying to hide. Jane,” I felt his knees tremble under my hold. “Who are you?”

“I'm still the same person, or she's still in me, but there's another part to me as well now. Something...happened to me, Ryan. I’ve changed.”

“I see.” He was right in front of me; I was still clutching the fabric of his pants, and yet I could feel him drift so far away. “Just tell me this at least—tell me that you had nothing to do with their deaths.”

I couldn’t say anything. I wanted to lie, but I knew that would have achieved nothing in the long run. He finally saw; he had a glimpse of my demon. There was no way I could spare him from the monster now.

“Your silence makes you look guilty. That means I have no choice but to apprehend you.” He suddenly stood up, breaking my hold of him, as he sighted his gun down on me. The cuffs dangled from his other hand. “Jane Kirra, you are under arrest for the suspicion of murder.”

“Ryan, please don't do this. You can't. Please! I...I love you, Ryan!”

The cuffs jingled. “You have a right to remain silent...”

“Please.”

“I'm...sorry, Jane. You haven't given me any other choice.” He stood strong and tall as he towered over my hunched form on the floor. His serene sea-eyes were so far from me that, with a horrible truth, I knew I would never be near them again.

I looked up into the gun barrel that was pointed into my face. “I can't let you take me in. Even if you threaten to shoot me, even if you do shoot me, I won't be in your custody.”

The gun was shaking. Then I heard the sound of the cuffs being raised. “Just work with me here, Jane. If you're innocent, you have nothing to fear. We'll sort it out soon. Just submit yourself!” It was him who was pleading now.

Grasping the barrel, I pulled it so that it was flush against my forehead. “I can't submit myself, because...I am not innocent.”

He pulled the weapon away hastily, hesitated, and then snatched my hand roughly. Circling me, he took hold of my other hand and with a couple of snaps placed me in handcuffs. Guiding them upward, he directed me to my feet and gave a little tug towards the front door. “We better get going then.”

He tried to pull me but I would not budge. My eyes were set on the carpet, which I feared was about to become soiled. “I can't let you take me in.”

“This is not up for discussion, Jane.” He gave another tug, stronger, but still only possessing a human's strength; a far cry from the force needed to have me moving.

“I wish,” I stated sadly, “that you were not forcing me to do this. It is breaking my heart.” Black tears began to flood down my cheeks.

Then, surprisingly, I felt his forehead collapse on my shoulder. “Yours may be broken, but you've devoured mine.” He nestled across, to the top of my bosom.

“I wish you could understand, but I don't think you will.” With a sharp, loud ting, I severed a link to the cuffs restraining me.

Ryan rose from my breast with confusion. I brought my hands to his face, and caressed it softly as if that would ease his woes. He, however, could not refrain from shifting his eyes between my two hands, and the broken metal that once connected them.

Stroking his cheeks, I explained, “I've changed.”

He recoiled, and pulled his gun straight up to me.

“Ryan...” I attempted to soothe his anguished expression but failed. After a long conflicted moment, Ryan's shaky hands enabled the force to pull the trigger.

I stumbled back a step and touched the blood oozing from my right shoulder. “I see.” I placed a thumb and index finger inside the hole. After retrieving the bullet, I rolled the metal along my palm, leaving behind a stark red streak, before letting it falling from my fingertips. Before the bullet even landed on the carpet, my wound had completely healed.

Ryan took one step back, then another, gaping with horrified alarm. He raised his gun toward at me yet, again.

I looked down at the red and gray bullet, and at the carpet that was besmirched with crimson droplets. “I knew you wouldn't understand.”

“What...” His voice trembled. “What are you?”

I looked back up at him and smiled. “I’ve changed. I'm not quite human anymore. I've become another creature; one that...hurts people. If I don't, I will lose my sanity and start attacking without restraint.”

“How do you hurt people?” he pressed.

“I feed on...”

“The missing hearts,” he finished.

I nodded. “It's still me, Ryan; the Jane that you know, that you've grown up with. She's still here. Your best friend's dorky little sister who has always loved you, and still does. Ryan, I still love you!”

He fired another bullet, this time, it was not diverted from a less lethal area; this time he shot right into my heart. “Ouch,” I murmured.

My body spat the metal out and healed within moments.

“You pretend to be Jane, but you're not, you're a monster!” The gun trembled in his hands before letting loose the rest of the clip. Once the clip was expended, Ryan continued to dry-fire, clicking away in his panic.

After my body healed, I responded, “Yeah, a monster.”

I drove a hand into his chest and caught hold of the very heart I desired.

Ryan's eyes widened, and as I pulled that organ from his body they screamed betrayal. I held him in my arm as my other hand placed his heart in my mouth. As I devoured it, his eyes became still; no more turbulent waves, no more peaceful drifts. Suddenly the earth became barren, and the peacefulness of water ceased to exist. I did it; I took away his vitality, his sea, and his heart. I murdered the man I loved.

****

Hours passed as I lay by my love's corpse, still in the lounge room, with the morning daylight shining upon us.

I'm so sorry. I love you; I want to be with you forever, but I have to protect myself. You have to understand that.

I brushed my fingers against his ashen face and stared up into the still waters of his eyes. I leaned in and planted a kiss on his lips, before their coolness had me retreating back onto his chest, yet again, to expel my tears.

They had changed color again, my tears. They were now cold, devoid of life— a deep purple, like that of veins.

I coated Ryan in the substance, painting him violet, and clutched at his lifeless body as if he were not really gone.

“Why?” I whispered. “Why did you make me do it? Why, Ryan? I love you; I've always loved you. You were the reason I accepted this eternal curse. I just wanted to be with you, feel your warm arms around me. I never admitted it, but everything was all in wait for you to find me desirable. I was always waiting, hoping that someday you would love me as much as I love you.”

This time, I had no one cleaning up after me. The daimons were dead. I was hopeless. Very soon, my world would catch up with me and hunt me down.

Reluctantly, I broke contact with my eternal crush and walked into my bedroom shower. The water was fresh, clean, and it did not reek of roses. I lingered there for some time. Finally, I retreated, clothed myself in simple jeans and a shirt, and stared at the mesmerizing woman in the cupboard mirror. Beautiful vibrant brown hair, skin white, yet luscious, free from any signs of aging or hormonal imbalances; full pink lips and eyes that sparkled a vibrant amethyst. Like blood without oxygen, I knew them to be starved for life.

I heard a rustle from the kitchen. I traveled there at once and found a man ripping apart cupboard doors, cluttering stale food to the floor and smashing plates and glasses. He paused before turning his head round to me.

Ryan exposed his full body. His chest was devoid of a heart, yet he continued to persist in some semblance of life. He looked at me hungrily and lunged forward, a hand reaching out toward the heart he tore in two.

I sidestepped him, slipped behind him and held onto him snugly, smiling. “I guess we better find you something to eat then, killer.”

Epilogue

I released the man to surf, as blood continued to spill out of his open chest wound. It poured freely, unable to coagulate due to the high salinity of the water. It subtly colored the dark waves red. I thought about his earlier remark; that if the shark nets didn't catch the ocean's predators, then he would. It seemed it would be the other way around. The sharks would taste his presence in the water and find a way to the shore so they could catch their next meal. I happened to know that there were several tears in the nets of this beach; sharks had no trouble gaining entrance to the shoreline, and as long as there was a little motivation, they came slicing through with haste.

I pushed him forcefully so that he would float further out to sea, and as he sailed, the gold chain around his neck reflected the moonlight brilliantly. “Good bye, Jase. I'm afraid you won't be picking up girls ever again.”

My mind returned to Sandra, who had lain asleep in the hospital for days, as she recovered from the powerful tranquilizer. The medical staff was not surprised to find the compound in her system to be ketamine hydrochloride, or Special K, as it was often used as a date-rape drug, though normally at much smaller doses. The animal tranquilizer typically dissociated its victims, making them more pliable for sexual encounters, but with the concentration Sandra experienced, it was enough to induce coma and possibly death. When she finally awoke, she had no idea what had happened to her or even where the attack occurred. All that she recalled was a man grabbing her and a lot of gold. That was when it became clear: the daimons had Jase, the gangster, snatch my friend. I remembered our brief encounter weeks earlier and was glad that the Fox had not recalled me. It made this process of retribution so much simpler.

From afar, I could see the water splash violently, and a fin cut through its surface.

Sandra had been distant to me in the following few weeks as if understanding that I was the reason for the danger her life had been put in. She did not say it; maybe because I was the one who supposedly saved her, after discovering her lying unconscious on her apartment floor. I guessed it was a conflict that she struggled to resolve within herself. I wondered, though, if with this justice for her abduction, whether she would ever forgive me—perhaps sensing what transpired on a subconscious level.

As I floated through the water, I thought back to my list of next targets: a rapist, a wife beater, and an HIV positive woman that slept with as many men as she could, hoping to infect with the virus. It was all becoming rather methodical—simple—but no less gratifying. There were no Foxes on my list because there were no more Foxes in existence. After the death of their bosses, the gang disbanded and broke off into smaller disparate sectors. There was still crime on the Blue Coast, but it became attenuated, more manageable and less impervious to police intervention. I hoped my father would be pleased with that. It was not a win, but it was certainly a step in the right direction.

I kept a keen eye on the ex-Foxes and their relocations. Some had assimilated into other gangs, but a surprisingly large number fled the crime scene altogether. When I recalled the retired Fox assassin, the idea did not seem so unexpected after all. Gregory Fletcher just wanted out of the gang, to live a peaceful life with his daughter, but instead, they were both murdered as a result. No wonder so many of the gangsters fled, the only severance package they would have received entailed severed blood vessels.

Alex was amongst the ex-Foxes who escaped the gangster world. I was astounded by her miraculous recovery. I had controlled the bleeding with a makeshift bandage, constructed from the fabric of her dress, but I was sure that the internal hemorrhaging would cause too much pressure around her skull. She was discovered at a bus stop right outside the hospital and wheeled in just after I carried my friend to the emergency ward. Alex's attendees held grave expressions but gave her the same exceptional care as Sandra. It took Alex some time longer to recover, but when she left the hospital two weeks ago, she instantly reverted back to the name of Kiyomi Himura and claimed possession of the Sands casino. Being that it was left for her in her father’s will and its original owners had disappeared, the transition took mere days. I often wondered if it was for honor that she fought so hard to survive. I could imagine that Makoto would not have been pleased to see his legacy in the hands of his murderers.

I still worked at the Coastal Horizon. Frank never had a proper chance to fire me, and since I wrote my articles dutifully, he no longer had any reason to complain about my performance. He could hardly fire me for all that happened before, not when one of our own photographers was killed. So, I continued the facade, played sheep and kept my wolf claws retracted during office hours.

I waded back through the water, stepped out of the surf and was about to pick my clothes up from the sand when another hand reached down and retrieved these. I took the fabric from the outstretched hand and stared up into deep black eyes.

Ryan looked back into mine, never diverting to my exposed breasts, or wanting body. I stood completely naked in front of the daimon, and he stared back without even a flash of desire.

I gazed at him: his strong arms, slightly tanned skin, taut abs that hid beneath his collared T-shirt, rough stubble on his chin, and then back to his eyes where, just for a second, I saw a ripple, like a wave of the ocean. I could not restrain myself any more. I dropped my clothes and threw myself on him, smothering his warm lips with my own, but he didn't kiss me back. He didn't move. He simply waited for me to get off him.

Fighting back violet tears I released him. Looking back into his eyes, I realized how foolish I was; the ocean I saw was a reflection of the sea behind me. That water no longer coursed through him. He no longer possessed those turbulent, passionate waves. He was simply black now…empty, void, and heartless.

He leaned back down and offered me my clothing once more.

I dressed as he watched me austerely.

“We should go,” Ryan advised, offering me my handbag. “This place is too exposed. If we stay any longer, we risk discovery. We don't want to have any association when the shark remains are discovered.”

I nodded solemnly. “Agreed.”

Ryan ran off in a swift blur, expecting me to follow, but before doing so, I gave just one last gaze to the sea. It too had turned black, but I knew that, with the rising sun, it would appear blue again. The ocean's glorious color was always just a reflection of the sky as if a glimpse into the Earth's spirit. Maybe one day other waters would find their color again, too. Maybe one day that ocean would forgive me; give me just a little color, a little smile. Maybe one day it would give me back its heart.

Reaching into the clutch, I pulled out a silver necklace. I fastened this around my neck where the dog tag, featuring an image of Catwoman, nestled over my chest. Suddenly life did not seem so bad; I was powerful, invincible, protected from police investigation, and from time to time I experienced the greatest satisfaction in any kind of existence. There was a balance to the world. I was a monster, but so long as I fed on the other monsters out there, I could go to sleep easy at night; glass half-full. I was a killer and I loved it.

I shot off the balls of my feet, and picking up a pace that created no more than a blur,

I embraced the darkness.

Impressum

Tag der Veröffentlichung: 01.01.2021

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