With his limping gate, David kept tilting one of the suitcases onto one wheel, almost tipping it over with each step. The going was awkward, and painful, but he located apartment building as soon as he and Stephanie stepped out of the parking deck. Stephanie clung to his arm, rather unhelpfully as he found a gap in the traffic and lunged across the street.
Once inside the apartment building, Stephanie let go of her dad’s arm, running a small lap of the foyer, brushing her fingers against the brass mail slots as she made her second circuit. David reigned her in, nodding apologetically at the doorman, then made his way to the stairwell.
“Apartment 210?”
The doorman looked quizzical, “Westie’s place right?” The doorman waited for a look of comprehension which never came, “Yestler’s place?” he tried again.
David nodded.
“You Beach?”
Stephanie curtsied elaborately, “Madam Stephanie Beach, at your service.”
The doorman looked at Stephanie, “Does Madam Beach have ID?”
“Nu uh.” She looked at her father hopefully.
David dropped the handle of the suitcase, allowing it to tip over against the wall as he pulled out his wallet, handing it over.”
“Second floor, first on your left.”
David dragged the suitcases slowly up the stairs, panting and moaning slightly, spurred on not in the least by Stephanie’s giggles. She huffed and moaned mockingly, “It’s too far daddy, carry me, carry me.” David collapsed against the wall, halfway up the first flight, bloody hands wiping his sweating brow. Stephanie pursed her lips and looked genuinely apologetic.
David fussed with the key, allowing one of the suitcases to fall over as he slid the key into the lock. He dragged one suitcase into the small entrance hall and went back into the main hall for the other. Stephanie pushed past impatiently, running into the wonderland of hardwood floors, tall walls, high ceilings and modern furniture, kicking off her shoes so she could pretend to ice skate around the room.
“You like it?”
Stephanie slid onto her belly and pushed herself along the polished floor with her feet, “Oh Papa, it’s delightful, can we move here forever?”
David rolled his eyes and stepped past her into the living area. It was … he struggled to find a word, before settling on agreement with Stephanie. Delightful. It wasn’t that the apartment was ornately furnished, but it was so impeccably tasteful that David felt almost embarrassed to be standing there. The galley style kitchen area was decked out with marble counter tops, embedded with fossils, cleanly cut and polished. The appliances bore no grubby fingerprints or food spills, and each one was state of the art. In the living area, the furniture looked fit to melt into, but not slovenly and worn. The television was massive, but flush to the wall, and so not overbearing. He wandered down a hallway and glanced into each of the two bedrooms, and marveled at the fact that each of them bore king sized beds with en-suit bathrooms.
When he returned to the living room, Stephanie had already turned on the colossal television.
“Nope.”
Stephanie flipped over sullenly on the soft fabric of the couch, “But dad!”
“Not Les Mis!”
“Dad!” She looked crestfallen, but David shook his head sternly.
He stood in front of the screen, waving his hand as the movie covers flowed by. The occasion called for something special.
“That one.” Stephanie yelled as she saw Hello Dolly flash past.
David looked at his daughter with mock disgust, “You never, never make it through that movie.”
“Do too.”
“What happens in the end?”
Stephanie looked up to the ceiling, searching for an answer, “They all live happily ever after.”
Still watching Stephanie, he waved his hand to push past the title.
“That one!”
David glanced back at the screen.
“Iron Man?”
Stephanie gave her two thumbs up and lay her head back into the couch cushions expectantly.
David nodded his approval and pointed at the screen. Even in her absence, Hannah’s influence on his daughter was warmly appreciated. That thought flashed through David’s mind as his head hit the floor, but he was unconscious by the time Stephanie started screaming.
Stanwick Thrass had held back in traffic, then pulled up behind some construction workers, watching from a distance as David and Stephanie Beach left the parking lot. She watched patiently as they headed towards the intersection of 30th and Madison. She pulled out into traffic and raced to the intersection just in time to see them enter an apartment block on Madison.
Once she was sure of where they had headed, Stanwick took a circuitous route, doubling back to the parking lot on 30th. She pulled into the lot and cranked the hand break on, leaving the engine idling while she climbed out hurriedly to survey what damage had been done to her beloved Pontiac in the side on collision. “Piece of shit!” she hissed, leaning down to stroke the buckled metal and the foot-long scratch which coursed through the paintwork. She bit her knuckle and punched the car furiously, admonishing herself for not paying more attention. She held onto the rear bumper and took a deep breath, trying to reassure herself that keeping pace with Beach had been worth taking the hit. She wasn’t entirely sure of that yet. She wasn’t sure about any of this, which made it all the more frustrating.
The valet attendant approached apprehensively, “Can I help you mam?”
“Do your skills extend to body work?”
The valet grimaced as he surveyed the damaged rear wing and wheel arch, “No mam, I’m sorry. I can do my best to clean and buff the scratch, but it looks like you took quite a ding there. Are you okay?”
Stanwick smiled vacantly, “Oh I’ll be fine, thanks for asking though.”
“You need me to park her up for you?” the man asked, sounding rather too cheerful for Stanwick’s liking.
“Sure, thanks.” She took the ticket from the valet and walked down the ramp towards the pedestrian exit. She made her way down 30th towards the apartments, eager to perform some elementary reconnaissance on the layout of the building. Once she was certain that the only entrance to the apartments was on Madison, she scanned the surroundings and noticed a small café on the opposite side of the street, with window seats the entrance.
She ordered an Americano, found a well situated seat and tried her best to switch off her busy thoughts. She took a sip of coffee and allowed her gaze to drift down the street to the intersection. A handsome couple caught her attention as they walked slowly around the corner from 30th and onto Madison. She watched them distractedly, imagining that they must be a fairly recently acquainted couple. Was she being cynical? No, she felt sure that this was a new romance; the two walking with linked arms, him carrying the shopping, her with a spring in her step. Cute outfit though … not self-consciously retro. She was surprised to see the couple walk up the couple of steps to the apartment building, then as they reached the top step, the man turned, and Stanwick’s coffee spilled across the table in front of her. A concerned waiter ran to the table, “Is everything okay?”
Stanwick couldn’t take her eyes off the apartment entrance, the blue dress slipping through the doorway, “Oh no. No!”
“Sorry?” the waiter started to mop up the spilled coffee.
“The Thane of the Void. My North, my South, my East … My West.”
The waiter perked up, “Four Weddings and a Funeral right?”
Stanwick spun quickly in her seat to face the waiter. She pushed a wad of money into his hand before storming towards the exit, “Buy an education.” The yelled response didn’t play out as nonchalantly as Stanwick would have liked.
West heard the child’s screams as soon as he opened the door to the stairwell. He called out to the doorman, “Larry, did my guests arrive?”
“Sure did Westie.”
Before Charlene could ask what was wrong, West had already rounded the corner
of the first flight of stairs. The door to apartment 210 was wide open, and as he entered the hallway, West could already see David Beach sprawled out on the hardwood floor, Stephanie kneeling over him sobbing.
“Stephanie, stand back.” West commanded as gently as he could manage.
“What’s wrong with him? What’s wrong with him?” Stephanie cried, turning to Charlene for an answer. Charlene dropped her shopping on the floor, ran forward and hugged the child, picking her up and stroking the back of her head, “He’s going to be okay sweetie, don’t fret.”
Crouching down beside him, West slapped David’s face firmly. David didn’t stir. West shook David’s shoulders and slapped him again as Charlene stepped backwards slowly, whispering calming words into Stephanie’s ear.
“Why’s he slapping daddy?”
“Hush now, he’s just asleep. West’s trying to wake him up.”
West turned David’s head and noticed a pronounced dark vein on his neck. He ripped David’s shirt easily, but just then, David started to cough and lift his head forwards.
“What’s what now?” He mumbled, watching West’s face loom overhead, “Hey. Hey buddy. What you doing?” David sounded delirious, words slurred drunkenly together.
“You’re dying.” West informed him urgently.
Stephanie screamed and tried to push away from Charlene, but Charlene hugged her tighter, “Stephanie, he’s going to be fine, it’s just an expression.”
David’s eyes rolled, “I’m dying? Oh God … I’m dying.”
Charlene couldn’t help but laugh at how horrible West’s bedside manner was. She watched him lift the man off the floor and drag him to one of the couches. The man vomited on himself, then slumped back into the cushions.
West turned to look at Charlene and mouthed the words slowly, “He’s dying.”
Stanwick Thrass stood in the foyer of the apartment building, tracing her fingertips over the nameplates of the mail slots. West Yestler, Dannum’s second son, here in New York. She scanned another row. West Yestler, Thane of the Void, Master of the Fall, living in obscurity on 30th and Madison. Her finger found the mail slot. She spoke the words, out loud, paraphrasing the label slightly, “West fucking Yestler.”
“He’ll be up in 210. Some kind of ruckus up there.”
“I’m sorry?”
Larry looked up from his paper, “Westie … I’m pretty sure he’ll be up in 210 if that’s who you’re looking for.”
“Oh.”
Westie … Ahken’s Bane, Destroyer of Allim, Herald of De Somnio Mirifico.
“You mind if I head up there?
“Friend or foe?”
“Not sure to be honest.”
Larry shrugged, “That fool’s handy with a knife lady. Saved my life once. You better hope you ain’t a foe.”
Stanwick nodded appreciatively and made for the stairs.
As she approached the door of apartment 210, Stanwick could hear a commotion coming from inside. She waited, wondering if she’d be able to hear his voice, or get any sense of his presence. She pressed her ear to the door, and she heard a woman’s voice, muffled but distinct enough, “Look, he’s awake, he’s okay,” then a man’s voice, “Stephanie, Daddy’s fine. Daddy’s just fine.”
She recognized Beach’s voice, even drunk, even muffled by the door. She suddenly felt stupid, like she’d been missing something that should have been obvious for a long time. Of course Beach was working with West; how else would someone like him be able to pull off the assassination? Then clear as a bell, a voice which came from much closer to the door, “Stephanie, your dad is very unwell, but I can help him. He is dying, but with my help he will not die. I can guarantee it … okay?”
Stanwick hammered on the door, her fists raining a fast series of blows. There was silence from within for several moments, then the slurred voice of David Beach, “You … you gonna get that?” She hammered again, punching the door now, slapping it with the flats of her hands, kicking it repeatedly. She could hear a child screaming, sobbing, then the sobbing became hushed, mumbled angst mushed into fabric, and the door handle turned slowly.
There, unchanged, yet somehow inconstant, a bolt of lightning in a world of eternal darkness, there he was; her West, the Sire of the Second Kingdom. Her punch landed squarely in the center of his face with enough force to throw him several feet, where he landed flat out. She walked slowly into the apartment and stood over him.
He lifted his head and smiled full beam.
“Stanwick!”
“West!” She yelled the word, then glanced menacingly at Charlene, who appeared to be considering some sort of intervention. Charlene backed up a step in acknowledgment, and Stanwick’s gaze returned to West.
“West Yestler … a mailbox label! What the fuck?” West started to laugh, but Stanwick Thrass continued, “What? You think it’s funny? The whole world moves into the digital age and somehow you manage to avoid me? Phone directories, government databases, social networks, and you remain elusive. I spend a century looking for you, trying to contact you, wishing like some forlorn child that you’d even spare me a moment of thought, hoping beyond all hopes that you’d contact me! Then this?” She pointed at Charlene, “Strolling through New York without a care in the world, belle of the frickin ball on your arm?”
Charlene waved meekly, “Charlene Osterman. Charmed to meet you, I’m sure.”
Stanwick looked more carefully at Charlene now. She was beautiful, she conceded. She had that certain glow about her. Stanwick lowered her head, her eyes meeting with West’s once more, “You … You made her?”
West nodded slowly.
“No, I mean …” Stanwick closed her eyes and composed her thoughts, “When? When did you make her?” She bit her lip and waited for a wave of burning melancholy, but her anger subsided quickly. She smiled at West, her longest living friend, “How long did you wait?”
“Seventy-five years.”
Stanwick walked over to Charlene slowly, her palms outstretched, her eyes soft, her smile heartfelt. Stephanie nestled her face against Charlene’s neck as the woman approached.
“Stanwick Kith Thrass. Charmed to meet you.” She touched Charlene’s arm gently, feeling the warmth of her skin, watching for the telltale ripple there, the delvers protecting their carriage.
“Hello!” David Beach spoke up, waving a tired hand, “David Beach. Dying over here!”
Frustrated by the interruption, Stanwick’s hand fell from Charlene’s arm as she walked over to the couch.
“David Beach. Your name, and your actions precede you.”
“Wha?” David managed, coughing and gripping at his chest with aching hands.
“Tiernan, struck down in plain daylight, shunted from his pedestal by an office grunt. None of us could have imagined that the dream would end with such ignominy.”
West got up from the floor and came quickly to Stanwick’s side, “Stanwick, Beach had nothing to do with the assassinations.”
She ignored the words, kneeling on the floor in front of David Beach, “Tell them David. Tell them how you and your father masterminded this. Tell them how you helped him take down the would be Emperor of the Void.”
David shook his head slowly, lolling from side to side, “Dad’s a cock. Dad died.”
Stanwick grabbed the front of David’s shirt, shaking him bodily, “Tell them! Tell them how your father stole the seed of Dannum.” She glanced up at West, “Don’t pretend you weren’t involved in this.”
West knelt at her side, “Stan, you’ve lost your mind. Julien Beach died years ago. David doesn’t know a thing about the assassination.”
David stuck out his tongue, slowly, biting it as he spoke, “Dying here.”
West took hold of Stanwick’s arm firmly, pulling her hand away from David’s chest. He pulled the fabric down to reveal the skin, then he spoke softly, “David’s body is riddled with poison.” He lifted David’s limp hand, showing Stanwick the maze of cuts and scratches, “He’s managed to c
ut himself all over, and he has some badly infected wounds, so it’s spread fast. He’s done.”
“You honestly think he wasn’t involved in the assassination?”
West’s words thundered, “I know he wasn’t.”
“How do you know?”
West sighed, “Here, take his hand.”
Stanwick took command of David’s clammy palm, extending a finger to his wrist, feeling his pulse. West was right about one thing at least; without intervention, David was about to die. He could die, she thought; it wouldn’t really change anything, and eventually she’d learn the truth of his involvement. West wanted him alive. She glanced at the child who still clung nervously to Charlene’s side. Of course the child wanted him alive. She lowered her head in an attempt to make eye contact with David, “Hey, David … David” She snapped her fingers in front of his face, and his eyelids raised slowly, “Huh?”
“David, we can save your life, but you’re going to become one of us.”
“A dick?” David chuckled slowly, his breath catching in his throat. “Hoth …” he tried again, “Hothpital.” David chewed his tongue again, eyes wandering about the room.
Stanwick stood up, and pulled something from her pocket. She looked at Charlene, “Cover her ears.”
“What?”
“The child. Cover the child’s ears.”
Charlene’s brow furrowed in confusion, but she clamped her hands over Stephanie’s ears. Stanwick’s stern expression flickered into a smile as her eyes locked on West’s, “He needs this bad. He needs it fast.”
West offered no resistance.
Histories of the Void Garden, Book 1: Pyre of Dreams Page 13