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"Why is there always fog?" Topaz was attempting to stare through the blanket of white coating the lake. "It keeps prying mortal eyes from finding Avalon." Arthur's warm breath whispered in her ear. He wrapped his arms around her to fight off the mist. "Only the gifted can see through the veil."
"I'm trying," she mumbled, finding comfort and strength in his touch. She continued to look with her magical senses, not her eyes, trying to see the boat that would take them into Avalon. "There it is." She smiled with relief and pointed towards the boat. "It's over there."
"Finally." Vicki moved towards the boat but Arthur's hand on her shoulder stopped her.
"Please wait."
"Not this shit again," Lilith murmured from the shadows of the lake where she had taken up residence. "If you and the Witch Princess want to go exploring in Avalon together, be my guest. I'll go back to my mansion and watch TV."
"I must explain something to you both." Arthur took a deep breath. The kind reserved for those about to unburden their souls, or those about to tell long stories, or those about to betray secrets. "Avalon is a special place. It inhabits a dimension separate from this one, but it is not alone in that place. Avalon is part of a planet, much like this, but magic rules that world. In that world my sacred charge is to defend Avalon from all manner of demons and evil that seek to invade it. Avalon is the key to that magic and demon lords try to take possession of that power. I have pledged myself to keep anyone touched by evil from its shores. This is why you were kept away when you first came to these shores. I am breaking the most important vow I have ever made by taking you across."
Vicki was surprised by this information, but she understood. She understood vows and loyalty. "Thank you for trusting me."
Arthur's lips lifted in a smile. "I know that deep down you are a good soul. I pray that you fight the darkness closing in." His eyes flashed into the shadows where Lilith stood. "You are a good soul," he repeated.
Vicki felt inspired by his words. She'd had a rough week and it was nice to have someone believe in her. Being tortured by the image of a former friend, or that former friend, Vicki wasn't sure. Combine that with her father trying to kill her in his attempt to kill all demons and her lover being less loving than expected and Vick was feeling particularly picked on by the world in general.
Lilith's infidelity was not easy to ignore. Vick sat on the train in massive amounts of pain watching Lilith follow men to the bathroom on the train. Sometimes they'd rush right back, shocked and a little scared. Arthur had that look when he'd come up from the lobby. He didn't need to explain where the look came from. Other times men would waltz back from the bathroom, smiling with a hitch in their step and a bite mark on their neck. Vicki had a similar mark on her own neck. It seemed that Lilith left a brand on everyone she was with. Thinking back to the morning after, Vicki almost laughed at her naiveté. Actually believing that it was an accident and that Lilith couldn't have any malevolent feelings towards her. Truthfully, Lilith lacked feelings.
She was a cold hearted bitch, and they were going into battle with her watching their backs.
"Now that the heart warming speech is over, can we go? Fuck, I need to kill something."
"Don't we all," Vicki mumbled.
Together the band haphazardly climbed into the small dingy that would take them across dimensions.
"What do you think we'll find," Topaz asked Arthur. His lips were set in a grim line as he stared through the fog.
"I don't know." He was lying to her, but she seemed content to let him. He knew what he was expecting. Ever since the murder of his father all those years ago, he knew this day would come. But who wanted to know that their mother was capable of this. His father had known and had died because of it. It was why Arthur had been sent to live with the Knights of Avalon. His mother could not touch him there. She could not use his inherited powers for her own gain. He wanted to think the best. That somehow an unknown power had taken control, but the connections were too personal. Clea was missing, one of the girls that had been left on the island had been seen, and an old friend of Vicki's had appeared in the same setting. What was going on?
At last the oppressive fog lifted and Avalon came into view. It was a clearer day then the last time Topaz had been here, but the clarity did not lessen her sense of dread. They steered the boat away from the towering trees and stone ruins of the main dock. Arthur had a different destination in mind and he kept the boat away from the shore, on the edge of the fog until they arrived. The inlet was not the quiet port Topaz had envisioned them landing at; instead there were men on horseback and a small crowd of about a hundred people waiting on the shore.
One of the men on horseback dismounted and waded into the water as the boat approached, grabbing the wood and pulling, a smile of welcome on his face. Arthur jumped from the boat and embraced the man.
"Arthur! We saw you approach. A smart move to come here instead of going to see the priestess."
"We had a feeling of dread. I wanted to see you first. I was hoping you would not be here Jason and that my worry was for naught."
"Later. Come ashore with your friends. We will talk."
The curiosity faded from those on the shore and they drifted off to other tasks as Arthur, Topaz, Lilith and Vicki followed Jason up the shore and to a table near a bonfire. Tents were erected along the shoreline and they could hear the sound of metal on stone.
Arthur's fears were realized. "It has happened."
"Yes."
"What the hell is going on?" Lilith's patience had reached its ending. She wanted to fight and the sooner the better.
"Silence your demon, Arthur." Jason had not looked in Vicki or Topaz's direction yet and he did not do it then. Before she could reach across the table and kill Jason, Arthur interceded.
"She does not belong to me. Aye, she's a demon, but we will need her in the fight."
"It is not my place to question you, Prince."
"Enough of that. What is going on?"
"Two women were found floating offshore. They both were students of Priestess Beth. That same day, a woman from town found her daughter, in the same position. All three looked as though something had drained the life from them before flinging them in the water. Some of the students started to flee telling stories of the Priestess seeking out the young and powerful at the school, only to have them disappear. There was also a report of that powerful sorceress, Clea, being on the island but locked up some where with another girl. All the animals have fled the surrounding area. They know that something is wrong. We've set up camp and are preparing to attack."
"I still don't understand."
Arthur smiled sadly at Vicki's confusion. "My mother is Priestess Beth. Along with the ability to see the future or across great distances and a great understanding of magic, she can drain the power from others. This has happened once before. My father died this way."
"She didn't kill your father, sir. They caught the thing that stabbed him and took away his healing power."
"She caught it, remember. She conducted the search and the execution of that thing from her dimension. There were always the whispers that it was her until she killed anyone who spoke of it." He took a moment to collect himself, to curse his mother, to gather his thoughts. "This place is still hidden from her eye?"
"The Priestess cannot see what we do here."
"What of the King? What does he say?"
"He has sworn to protect the island. If that means disposing of the Priestess, then he is agreeable to it. The Shone are attacking the northern edge of the kingdom so the King's forces are there. He sent our division to re-take the island."
"When did the attacks begin?"
"Right after you left and the body of the girls started to appear."
"She's controlling the Shone."
"That was our theory as well."
Topaz had tried to follow the battle discussion, but one piece of information was troubling. "Why is she only killing girls?"
"What?"
"Both men and women study with Beth and you said that Clea is locked in a room. Maybe as a prisoner? Why are there only bodies of girls being found? Young girls."
"She can drain the power of anyone, but if it's a young woman, she can harness their power and amplify her own."
"Why would you give this kind of woman power?" Vicki seemed more exasperated and surprised than anyone else.
"She's been on our side and loyal to the forces of good."
"Until now," Lilith put in dryly. "I guess anyone is susceptible to the bad guys side."
"We'll attack tonight. Is everything prepared?"
Jason did not seem surprised. "We were preparing to attack tomorrow, but we can be ready tonight."
"Good. Tell everyone to be ready at dusk."
"Arthur, we need to talk." Jason excused himself and left the foursome alone. "What age group are these young women in?"
"I believe it is anyone in their twenties or younger."
Topaz now knew what that feeling of dread was. "Girls my age."
"Yes." Arthur's eyes widened with the implication of what she was saying.
"What?" Lilith's frustration grew. "God, this is confusing."
"She can drain my powers and use them. One of my powers is to amplify feelings."
"So she can make us all sad?"
"Or she can make us all suicidal, or ignore each other, or destroy each other. I haven't reached my true power potential. I don't know what she could do with my powers, but it won't be good."
"I'll keep you safe," Arthur whispered pulling her to him. "I'll protect you."
Topaz heard Lilith mumble something about the frailty of a man's protection. Vicki was about to agree when a figure near one of the tents caught her eye.
"Sam!" She jumped from the table and started running, silently thanking Topaz for her healing powers that allowed her to move this quickly. He was leaning against the side of a tent, his arm in a sling but his eyes followed the vision running towards him. And as always, his heart broke when he saw her.
"Careful, Vick, I'm a broken man."
She slipped down next to him, carefully hugging her old friend. "What happened to you?" He looked the way he was supposed to look. Not the evil, dark monster who had tortured her in Rome . No, Sam was... Sam. Warm, friendly, inviting, and loyal to her. "She had you imprisoned didn't she?"
"I was supposed to stop you Vick. I was in Texas and then I was here being forced to do things... God Vicki. I had to watch it all happen. I nearly killed you. That bitch brought out all the inner demons I possess and gave me the chance to use them on you. Months I spent down in Rome harassing your father. Trying to find my way out, my way back into control. Then you showed up with that fucking vampire and I hurt you so much. I'm sorry Vicki, I'm sorry." After months without seeing each other and their only other contact being that of hurt and pain, the two friends embraced.
Sam would always love Vicki, and Vicki would always love Sam, but they both knew that was all that could be. They embraced again and finally Sam pushed her away. "You look good for being almost dead."
"So do you. Maybe Topaz can take a look at your wounds. She fixed me up pretty good." Vicki turned to yell at the younger woman but didn't see her. "Has anyone seen Topaz?"
She had to pee. There were people milling all around her, and all Topaz wanted to do was find a little privacy to pee.
"Christ, there has to be a bush around here or something." She kept walking deeper away from the shore and the people, waiting until the voices were a distant buzz before relieving herself. She was glad that Sam was ok, that had been a large worry on Vicki's mind. The thought so powerful that Topaz picked it up by accident a few times. Everyone's emotions were on edge right then. Fear, anger, confidence. If she could only amplify that confidence and make all the others feel that way, they might stand a good chance of winning.
Topaz stood, pulling up her pants and took a few steps back towards camp. It was only a few steps and then she fell forward onto her knees, her head splitting and the world tilting on edge as the vision started.
Arthur found her that way ten minutes later when he went to investigate her prolonged absence. She was lying on the ground, legs curled underneath her, rocking back and forth and crying.
"Topaz!" He held her face, willing her to look at him. "Topaz! What is it? What did you see?"
Her eyes were rolling back and forth in her head and they continued to do so even as she sought to focus on his face. "I saw the end, I saw the battle." At last they stopped and her eyes latched onto his won. "I saw their deaths. I saw their ends." Her eyes began rolling again as she was pulled back into the vision. "We are all going to die."
End Part Two
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Mallory had gone and left his goodies, paid in full. Rosemary's Baby, came on the scene only a few months ago; all the rage with the yuppie Chelsea crowd.
For Annie and her friends it started as little more than a little pick me up, a replacement for pot; a stronger "out of body experience" and none of the nasty smoke. All natural, a hallucinogenic cousin to the herb, in liquid form. When becoming the future leaders of the world got too boring they would shoot up; between hitting the books, after concluding a lame formal dinner with daddy's lawyer and doctor friends or when Student Body President just wouldn't shut up about the blood drive. It took the edge off, or added one, whichever.
Annie wiped the dried plaster of sour milk from her stomach and readied the needle. The Baby glowed an ethereal black; like living shadow, a sizzling darkness. The cold syringe tucked inside the folds of skin in her belly button. She shivered, equal parts pleasure and pain. She pushed until it broke the skin; little red spittle. The syringe gulped in Baby slow, until the whole vial emptied.
The effects settled in quick, her stomach filled with fire, her muscles loosened, her bruises healed and her senses dulled.
She couldn't hear Eric and Anthony as they shouted at her, angry and envious from the hall; their percussion of fists splintered the door. Anthony took a good charge--perfected with three years as Linton's varsity middle linebacker--steel hinges crumpled and the oak door burst into confetti. The young boy crashed to the floor, followed in by Eric.
Annie revolted through the red shag carpet, her eyes flickered like strobe lights. She was gone. Eric studied the vial and syringe beside their tripped friend while Anthony popped his shoulder back into place and chased it with a prescription pain pill.
"You bitch! You used it all!" Eric screamed at her. He added a swift kick to her ribs for good measure. She was too gone to care.
Rosemary's Baby was the perfect drug to hide from mom and dad, it had no tell-tale signs, and had no long-term effects. If the kids had a place to ride out the wave they could go home as if nothing happened. It left no bruises. Eric and Anthony did.
The past month the three of them hadn't even gone home, they decided to stay in town; the candyman only delivered within the city limits. They found this place, a low income shit hole. Eric and Anthony smacked around a recovering addict working midnight clean up for a mechanic shop and they set up. The candyman came every Wednesday, but would only sell to Annie. She left only scraps.
"Greedy bitch is getting worse, now we don't have dick," Eric raged.
"We're gonna have to make this one memorable, then," Anthony laughed; he cracked his knuckles.
Both boys ditched their jackets and unzipped their blue jeans. Eric dropped to his knees and crawled over her body, she wiggled like a dirty little worm. Anthony watched intently in the corner and readied himself, a perverted smile on his face. Eric balled his fist and smashed her twice in the side of the face. Exhales of joy leapt from the peanut gallery. Eric lapped crimson from Annie's dull lips with his tongue.
He returned to the well, slowly tickled her lips with his tongue. As he swirled over the bottom lip, her mouth opened slightly and he rammed his tongue down her throat. Her unconscious body reacted, began to choke. Her eyes snapped open. Mer mouth slammed tight; fangs sunk into the fleshly purple tongue.
"Wlah, waht fthe fthuck!" screamed Eric in agony. he tried desperately to rip his tongue from her jaws. Then he saw them, her eyes, consumed entirely of fiery opal.
She tore into his tongue, pulled it clean from his mouth. Silent nothing as he protested, dirty blood spilled from his jaws like a waterfall. With a freakish strength she pressed the star wrestler off her stomach and rose to her feet. She struck him three times in the side of the skull until it snapped sideways, broken. Extra blows turned the boy's face into a raw, bloodied pulp, unrecognizable.
Anthony tried to run, pants around his ankles he tumbled to the floor. Tears stained his young John Wayne features. He pleaded for his life.
Red spatter chased the moonlit shadows on the wall.
Three days later;
He watched the sunlight filter through the stained-glass prism and bathe her porcelain skin in a rainbow. She tossed gently between the sheer white sheets as the sun fanned kind heat upon her supple skin; her pale cheeks warmed to passionate roses. To him, she was perfection. The sun seemed to concur; as she turned listlessly to and fro the sun chased after her like an awestruck lover, shadow refused to touch her; afraid to mar her innocent beauty.
She pitched on her side, caught the spotlight admiration through the massive church window; her eyelids fluttered apart, awake. "Tyrone? Tyrone?" she called out sleepily.
"I'm--I'm here, Tandy," he meekly replied.
"Have you been there long?" Tandy sat up on the humble down mattress; the floorboards directly beneath yawned. She kept the sheet tucked modestly over her chest.
"Only a few minutes, promise."
"That's fine." Tandy rubbed her eyes with a delicate fist and stared out into the bright sun. "Oh, you didn't let me sleep in did you?" she sighed, "I wish you hadn't."
"A half an hour, you looked too peaceful. I--I--I didn't want to disturb you."
Tandy rolled across the mattress and looked after him. At the edge of her bed the sunlight evaporated and the rest of the attic fell into darkness. It was there in the shadowy quilt-work of rafters that his intense and cool eyes watched over her, her guardian.
"You knew I was working in the soup kitchen today, dear. If Father yells at me I'm telling him it was all your fault." Her face warmed and she chuckled kindly.
Tyrone replicated the laugh in his tinny baritone voice.
Tandy dropped the sheet briefly and slipped the wash-faded Bananarama t-shirt from the floor over her shoulders. She then stood up and stepped inside a ratty pair of blue denims--the knees patched with plaid flannel--wriggled them up past her slinky hips and thumbed the buttons closed. She finished by clawing her platinum curls into a ponytail and tied it off with a blue rubber-band.
"I gotta get goin' Ty," Tandy regretted. "Promise I won't be long."
The silhouette of Tyrone's eyes nodded, but he said nothing.
Father Bowen was an earnest man, a kind and gentle soul and a beacon of light for his darkened community. His naturally patient demeanor was tested as he checked every fine detail of his after-service soup kitchen; the collection of different flavored soups couldn't be cold or too hot, each table had to be attended by two parishioners and he wouldn't tolerate a mess. Cleanliness was next to godliness after all.
He scratched the salt and pepper scruff under his chin, irritated. Disorder had been brought to his soup kitchen and it wouldn't be tolerated.
"Where is that blasted girl?" Father Bowen cursed his niece and stomped around impatiently.
"Oh, hush, uncle," charmed Tandy as she skipped downstairs into the church, a pretty smile painted on her face. She rose on her tip-toes and pecked the giant Father on his mangy cheek.
"There will be no sweet-talking your way out of this one, Missy." Father Bowen's stern, chiseled face cracked into a toothy grin. "What ever was the hold up?"
"Had an issue with my alarm clock." Tandy glanced around nervously; made sure none of the volunteers paid any particular attention. "If you know what I mean," she whispered.
"I suppose we'll save this lecture for someone else then. Now, run along, dear, so that I can open these doors," Father Bowen chuckled. "Our city awaits!"
A chorus of cheers erupted from the platoon of volunteers. Tandy patronized him with a slow clap that caught his brief ire. With a hearty huff he split the heavy church doors.
The soup kitchen, at times, seemed rather assembly line; insert ladle into slop, spoon slop into bowl of another faceless vagrant and repeat. Tandy hated that. It made sense, of course, to get as many inside and feed as many as they could. It just seemed too unemotional, detached. Tandy wanted to know their names; wanted to know all about them--or the information they wished to divulge--and even where they stayed so that she could help them later on. If she promised she would, then she did.
Some of them were regulars, like Richard Crossely. Beyond the years of wear and sandy white patches, Richard's dull copper face was smart. Beady golden eyes danced side to side, not nervously but intuitively as if the man read the world around him like lines in a book. Tandy believed he could. He was a former Doctor of Philosophy and had held a lofty position in the Empire State University English Department and the college's Advisory Board.
On a trip back from Christmas at his brother's in Boston, the Crossely sedan hit a bad patch of black ice and spiraled out of control, into the other lane and met oncoming traffic. Mrs. Patricia Crossely, a member of Doctors Without Borders on special leave from South Africa for the holidays and their six year-old daughter Carmilla were both killed in the passenger-side impact.
Her uncle had explained to her when she was younger that tragedy struck intelligent people harder. He claimed that they had too much time to analyze tragedy instead of feeling it. Tandy was pretty sure her uncle made that up, but Richard Crossely was a perfect example.
His soft African features never showed emotion, they seemed too occupied for that, too occupied for anything; he eternally chased the deaths over in his mind, as he tried to make sense of the senseless act.
Tandy took his quivering blue bowl and flipped three ladles of grilled chicken gumbo with rice into it. "How did you guys enjoy the books I delivered?" she asked.
Books were the only thing left that could sooth his analytical madness, but not just any books, they had to be children's books. The last communication left with his Carmilla. She had always loved story time, and Richard liked to think that in Heaven--a concept he didn't believe in before the accident--it was no different. When he read, she would intently listen like she always had. He couldn't believe otherwise.
"Oh, they were very nice, thank you." Richard flashed a quaint little smile and took his bowl back, eyed it hungrily. "My Carmilla always loved Aesop. I did too."
"Then it's yours," Tandy grinned.
"Really?" beamed Richard, like a child.
She nodded.
"I couldn't," Richard paused. His brightened features returned to overcast. "Even if it was right, I'd have no where to store the book. I'm afraid I snapped at somebody at the shelter--he wanted me to stop reading so that he could sleep--and I have to find a new place."
"I'll tell you what," Tandy nodded in approval to her own plan. "You can bring me back the book and I'll start a library here for you. That way you'll always have books to read and won't have to worry about disturbing neighbors. You can come any time you want, okay?"
"I'd like that, thank you." A single tear streamed down his face.
"My pleasure," Tandy responded. "but I thin we might get in trouble with the miserable old ogre over there if I don't get this line moving. " She shot a glance toward her uncle.
Richard's eyes followed and he nodded knowingly. Before he stepped toward the tables to eat he looked at Tandy; his eyes said "thank you" again.
Richard was followed by three regulars: Marcia Frost, Stephen something, and Toby Mack. Tandy exchanged pleasantries and scooped the gumbo into their bowls. After that came a lull; the rush of regulars had all been herded in and fed.
Tandy wrapped the ladle in sheet of paper towels and set it to the table. She then closed the lid on the steel pot and flicked the burner beneath to low heat to keep the soup warm. Her uncle stepped behind her.
"Going somewhere?"
Tandy spun, unaware of his presence. "Um, I thought I'd just take the down time to maybe go outside and see if i could find anybody else out there. It would be a shame to waste any of the soup."
Father Bowen laughed heartily. "True. it would be a horrible waste. So, please, go look for others and then you can go check on our friend upstairs."
For all the good and selflessness inside his niece, she was still young. All the crusading in the world couldn't change that. Father Bowen made sure she was safe by providing order where he could.
Tandy untied her white apron spattered with pieces of soggy okra and stray strands of rice and set it beside the ladle. She left the Holy Ghost Church on 42nd and and strolled down the city block by block; 41st, 40th, 39th.
It was a relatively quiet morning as churches around the city began to pour out their congregations in laughter and small talk. The sun was directly overheard turning the black tar burning coals. A young woman in her early thirties, her hair pulled tightly back into a bun and walking four dogs cautiously strolled past Tandy, hoped not to tangle up the girl. It was a peaceful Sunday, but a horde of silver clouds from over the coast warned of darkness.
So entranced with the world around her Tandy didn't realize she had walked twelve blocks. Not once had she looked for a single person to interest with the soup kitchen. Her uncle would fume if he found out. She decided to head back to the church; this time she'd look harder, in every nook and cranny.
As she crossed an alleyway that forked from 36th, Tandy caught a short and repetitive sound, like frantic scratches through plastic. Curious, she took a few steps into the alley. The brownstones that formed the corridor stretched into the copper-green sky and splashed shadow into the alley. Lines of hanging garments above dangled playful black tendrils across Tandy's creamy skin.
The wind kicked up, slightly higher than a calm breeze; it grabbed Tandy's skin tight, she shivered. A dormant light that glowered just below her icy blue pupils grew outward, consumed her eyes, then sparked across her face; an irradiant white filled the faint crescent ghost over her cheek. Darkness loomed ahead.
Lost in a heap of black trash bags stacked fives high, contents having been mulled through by maggots, flies and whatever other morbid beasts spilled oozy green mush and strands of red and brown rot, a body thrashed wickedly.
Tandy took cautious steps closer, studied the manic thing before her. Thin and kind fingers knuckled into angry fists, arms flailed uncontrollably and smashed repeatedly across the ground. Stressed sighs pushed unwillingly and painfull through a parched throat and died on the uncaring asphalt. Ugly wriggling veins marked the colorless skin like zebra stripes, inked horribly back. She was going into shock.
Tandy reached out to the girl; her body pulsed under touch.
"It's okay, I'm not gonna hurt you," Tandy rationalized. "You don't look well. I can help."
Bashfully Tandy closed her hand around the girl's shoulder and rolled her onto her back. Tandy let go and leapt backward, fearful of new horrors she had uncovered. Lifeless eyes glazed over in black rolled lazily around in the girl's skull; the smattering of filth that stained the private school outfit Tandy had mistaken as fetid foodstuffs, grease and mud were in fact rusty old blood stains like the girl had showered in it.
"Tyrone." The name crept wearily from her lips. "Tyrone, I need you!"
The girl stood up. Her thigh-length plaid skirt matted in blood and sweat tottered on her hips as she unnervingly crept closer; fiery black eyes burned hungry as they mirrored Tandy's stare. Pallid and cracked lips peeled open, exposed unnatural teeth like thorns of a rose, wrapped around the shadowy-vine tongue that dripped off the chin and down the girl's chest; it lapped excitedly for the taste of Tandy. Charmed, her dusty blonde hair turned electric black and Medusa-wreathed; the eel-like locks sizzled.
The starved girl could handle no more; she charged Tandy. A shrill yell escaped the girl and her tongue crackled as it lashed out. Tandy clapped her palms and her hands burned with a pure and good white-hot light. She braced for attack.
A hand clapped over Tandy's shoulder, fingers sunk in; pushed her aside. A matador stepped between the two; the possessed girl was swept up in a dark blue cape tattooed with erratic black stripes, she disappeared into nothingness.
Tyrone, The Cloak, his body made up of a parallel Dark Dimension and masked in his startling namesake turned to his partner. A sparkling tear crept down Tandy's face; Tyrone swept it away.
"You...you...took her," Tandy stammered.
"Had to, Tandy. I wasn't going to let you get hurt." Tyrone created a smile for her benefit. "It had nothing to do with anything else."
Tandy caught her next tear and rubbed into her cheek. She replicated the smile.
"You can still help her, but this isn't the place or time."
Tandy nodded. "Thank you."
"Always."
Tyrone crept from the spider-web of shadows into the languid moonlight filtered gently through the massive church window that mimicked their Lord and Savior. Below the church had deadened, all the congregates disappeared with the fleeting sunlight. The arthritic grandfather clock across from him beside sweeping bookshelves filled with dusty unread leather bound novels croaked anxiously midnight.
On cue the hollowed oak attic door split and Tandy slipped through. The modest civilian clothes from earlier husked, Tandy now wore the armor of Dagger; an ivory body suit with her chest and belly exposed in the shape of a cross. A constellation of bright, living lights chased after her like lovestruck stars; her beautiful frame glowered with such brilliance that even the moon blushed slightly pink.
"Are you ready, Ty?" she quizzed.
"Yeah, y--y--yes." Tyrone toggled with his broach and the dusky cloak billowed open, his formless black belly exposed. A calm breeze sucked and kissed at his emptiness.
Her left fist tucked between rib and thigh, Tandy extended her left arm well above her head and held the pose elegantly. She snapped her fingers and the white flame that rippled over her body collected in an unstructured lantern in her grasp. She gave Tyrone one final beautiful glance and then stepped inside his chest. A cool shiver shook down his spine.
Tyrone Johnson, Cloak, was a freak. Misguided, abused and deformed as a teenager, his being replaced with Dark Dimension and Darkforce his soul craved darkness. Against his will, he was an evil creature. Tandy, beauty and light was his only salvation. Only she, would he have penetrate him; only she could substitute his addiction, and keep him virgin, clean. He feared that one day his taint might never wash away.
Mallory Janssen sat down on the short red painted stool; his toes danced softly across the muddy green tiles. He lifted a limp leg over the other knee and pulled off the dead limb, he threw it against the floor. He then yanked the opposite arm across his chest and ripped it out at the shoulder, it too found its place on the floor. He scratched his salt and pepper stubble and smiled.
"Something amuse you?"
Mallory tossed his upper body onto the island in front of him and clamored toward the red and white carton at the center before answering. He noticed with delight that it was room temperature.
"Rosemary's Baby is popping up all over the state," he gleed. "From Chelsea to the nightclubs of Sodo...it's spreading like rabbits. Everybody's starting to look pretty familiar if you follow."
Mallory tugged at the carton of spoiled milk like an impatient child until he could sit down plainly on the stool and suck back the curdled slop. Between gulps he would spin the carton playfully around. He stopped when he saw the missing child profile on one of the sides; it read: Annabelle Thompson....blah...blah...blah...missing over a month. Mallory giggled hard and rocked back and forth on his chair until he nearly toppled himself. His little Annie.
"That one has made the complete transformation, I can feel it," the cold feminine voice interrupted. "Does that make you sad, my little demon?"
Mallory ignored the carton and scrubbed the white milk-jelly from his face with the back of his forearm. "Don't know. Loved dirtying her up something awful." Mallory licked his chops. "Watching her squirm in pain as I ripped through her."
"Do you enjoy human flesh more than you do mine?"
"Course not, you're my life. But I am what I am and mutilating young girls is what I do."
"If you do love me, then come lay down your endowments and mutilate me. We have much to celebrate as soon the world will be ours."
Tyrone paced around the church attic, agitated. His wraith-like appearance glimmered silently across the anemic floorboards; a disgruntled look stitched into his cheeks and brow. "Is she gonna make it?"
Inside his frantic bulwark in the center of the attic tacked to the mattress like an insect to a slide ready for study or dissection was Annabelle Thompson; she wriggled like a dying worm atop the bed, struggled against her chains made of the white satin sheets. She frothed at the mouth, spat angry curses at her two captives.
Tandy sat beside her on the edge of the bed, her ankles crossed on the floor. She watched the manic girl, afraid and concerned. Her eyes were aglow with painful streams. "I really don't know," she struggled. "but I fear the worst."
Tyrone's grimace tightened, he stopped inches in front of Tandy and looked down into her eyes. "You have to try, Tan. You're the only one can help her now."
"Have you noticed--" Tandy stopped and looked away from Tyrone back to the girl.
"That she's no older than we were?"
"Do you think--"
"The people who hurt us are gone, Tandy. We made sure of that." He wanted nothing more than to hug her at that moment. He could manifest arms from the darkness inside him but the embrace would be hollow, empty. "Monsters are a part of our reality. They aren't going anywhere, but you, we, can help their victims."
Tandy traced her finger down the tear in the girl's dress shirt, stained scarlet. She pulled a piece of the fabric over her bruised chest and read the badge: Linton Prepatory School. The girl squirmed under her touch.
"You went to Linton?" Tandy asked meekly. Her inner light wafted from her skin in waves. "That's a very nice place."
"Linton's a shithole," raged the girl. "Anna hated it there; the faculty students, proud fucking PTA parents...all of them were cocksuckers."
Tandy turned to Tyrone, he nodded. Tandy placed her hand on the girls forehead welled in sweat. The gentle light cooled the girl's skin as well as her temper. Tandy bathed her in more light. "Your name is Anna?"
"Was, but not anymore. Blood now runs Rosemary." A complacent smile formed in the girl.
"Rosemary?" Tyrone wondered aloud.
"Who's Rosemary?"
"Not who," the girl delighted cryptically. Her veins flushed black under her opaque skin, her ratty blonde hair began to dance, hissing wildly as if alive. The twitch that had calmed returned to the girl.
Tandy pushed back from the girl. "The darkness is too strong...I'm losing her!"
"I have an idea," Tyrone claimed. "but you're gonna have to trust me."
"Always."
A month later;
Christine stared down at the alley through the third story open window of the dilapidated hotel. A wintry gush of air sucked in through the window chilled her; the curtains stirred to life and embraced her, kept her warm. Her shiver disappeared.
A small shadow skipped goofily through the dirty yellow cone of light from a street lamp in the alley, chased after a squatty rodent of a man. Christine watched him carefully. She curled her alpine ringlets nervously and fidgeted with the Linton Prep School badge on her breast which refused to sit correctly. It was time.
Minutes later footstep rushed gaily up the wheezing and old wooden stairwell and a hollow knock sounded inside room "203." Exactly one story below where Anna used to get her fix and the bodies of Eric, Anthony and two cops had been found.
"It's open," Christine cried from the window.
The door creaked open slightly, and she felt his presence as Mallory Janssen waded across the sparse patches of carpet.
"It ain't quaint, but I guess it's home," Mallory quipped as he made his way into the living room. He eyed the girl in front of the window up and down, hungrily; like a dog on steak. "You're Christine? A friend of Little Annie's?"
"Be quiet," Christine shushed.
"Well, she sure had good taste in friends." Mallory tongued his stubbly lip, pleased. "Tell me, how is she?" A rhetorical question.
"Be quiet," Christine persisted. "Somebody could here."
"Like who?" Mallory chuckled. "The cops? Not even two snotty kids and some dead blues can keep the smart ones in this part of town."
"Fine, whatever, just keep it down. You got what I want?'
"I'm the Candyman, babe, I got it all." Mallory pulled a vial of gurgling black fluid from his jacket. "Now, been' a friend of Anna's you gotta know how this stuff gets paid for."
Christine stepped away from the window, knelt to the floor and sat down a carton of milk. Mallory watched carefully as her miniature plaid skirt revealed a triangle of pink panty. Another strong gust of wind blew in through the window; the curtains buffeted angrily. Mallory's glance shifted impatiently toward the annoying sound.
"Few weeks old, and room temperature." Christine stood up.
"Good, and what about part two of our transaction?"
Christine thrust clasped hands into her lap and turned bashfully away.
"That's fine, too." Mallory rubbed the sides of his face. "You'll find that rape's not beneath me."
Christine wanted to scream, but couldn't. The ungainly little man was unnaturally fast, he limped the distance of the room in a flash and cupped his hand on her neck. Her squeal died in her throat.
With one strong hand he shoved her hard against the wall, little sky blue flecks of plaster flaked and fell to the floor. She flopped against him he was too strong. He bent in and twisted his tongue across her electric blue decorated lips. She tasted very sweet and pristine. Nothing like his fetid obsession, the spoiled milk. He would change all that.
He watched her pupils dodge around her skull as she slowly suffocated. His excitement grew. Then, the color in her eyes faint and lost in the dark of night began to intensify and burn. It was too late; a flash of lightning leapt from the girl's hand and cleaved through his opposite shoulder. It separated at the joint and the bloodless limb clattered against the floor.
"Owie, owie, owie!" he mocked, a jubilant smile on his face. A look of shock covered her young face. "Looks like we both came here under false pretenses."
"It's a dummy arm, made of plastic," he explained. "So is the leg on the other side. Quite the balancing act, huh?"
He lifted her off the wall and threw her across the room. She skidded hard across the floor on her side and yowled in pain. She tried to pull her self up but her ribs felt like mashed potatoes and she drooped painfully onto her back.
"I don't know what exactly you are, bitch, but the Candyman is gonna deliver as he always does and you're sure as hell gonna pay."
He hobbled closer on the one real leg, threw off his jacket and exposed a freakish hidden appendage strapped to his limb-less shoulder. He loosed it and the tentacle perked up with the smell of her. It pulsed down his body and slithered across the floor toward where she lay and the exposed triangle in her skirt. It chased up the side of her leg.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you."
Mallory spun around toward the window. "What the fu--"
In his last moments on Earth, the self-proclaimed Devil saw the fires of Hell as they raged in those eyes. Then the bizarre living curtains, a murky blue and zebra-striped swallowed him whole.
The sun smiled down on Holy Ghost Church on 42nd, it's delightful grin radiated through the massive circular stained-glass window and the attic sparkled like sugar. Annabelle Thompson looked carefully out into the world through false lenses of ruby and emerald.
"What do I do now?"
"I'd go home," answered Tandy. "You have a family and they love you, even if they never say it."
The young girl was entranced with the living world beyond the church window. A world she nearly lost forever. "Am--am--am I going to be okay? I mean...is all of it gone? Am I clean?"
"I wish I had an answer," sympathized Tyrone. "I've never known any darkness too strong for Tandy's light, so the transfusion we gave you should have sterilized your blood of whatever possessed you, but only time will tell."
"And what about him? He's gone for good? Can never come back?"
Tandy stepped up behind Anna, placed her arm over the girl's shoulder and her hugged her gently. "That we can promise you. Where he went no one can escape. He'll never hurt you or your friends again."
Anna turned to Tandy, tears sparkled down her healthy pink cheeks. "Thank you," she sobbed. "Thank you for everything."
Tandy smiled warmly and nodded. "We couldn't have done it without you; you gave us enough information to track down 'Candyman' and without your Linton patch he wouldn't have believed I was your friend so easily. My sewing is weak, so I hope I got it back on okay."
"Yeah, it's fine." Anna smiled. She returned Tandy's embrace. "I should get going, huh? Dad's probably worried big time."
"Don't forget," Tandy pulled the girl away and looked her in the eye. "If you need anything--anything at all Tyrone and me are always here."
"I won't, and thanks again."
Tyrone walked Anna to the attic door said and said a final goodbye. He then returned back to Tandy at the window as the the girl skipped down the stairs and out the church. They watched Anna jog across the street. She stopped and waved back at the church. Tyrone smiled and Tandy returned the girl's wave.
"Ty, you think we'll ever know what 'Candyman' really was, and what he was selling?"
"No. I don't think so, Tan," Tyrone paused. "All our answers disappeared inside me."
"You did the right thing."
"I hope so." THE END
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