Speaking of which, I really hoped the safehouse was the same way, otherwise I’d be getting several of Glenn’s friends and illegal supers arrested when they came for me. Glenn didn’t seem to think it was going to be an issue, so it was probably worth taking the chance. He was a psychic after all, and he knew much better than I did what would trigger that kind of thing.
“Bell?”
“It’s me,” I said simply, not surprised at all that he knew my name. Scott must’ve called ahead like he promised.
He said, “You’re late,” and the door buzzed.
I pulled it open and walked in. There was a hallway to the right and a stairwell straight ahead. The floor had short-haired dark blue carpet as did the stairwell which I took two at a time. The walls were painted an off white, the floorboards were a slightly darker blue than the carpet.
It’d been a long day. My whole life had transformed, and I was looking forward to getting this done so I could find a bed to sleep in. I’d also most likely break down again. I’d pick up my daughter the next day, after I made sure that none of Glenn’s superpowered friends would be a problem. Yeah, I had no doubts the heroes would be waiting there as well. I couldn’t imagine a more important life decision than taking my daughter back from my would-be murderers.
Two sixteen was toward the back of the building. He must’ve been waiting at the door, because as soon as I knocked it swung open. Scott was a wiry man at five foot ten with a scowl on his face. I hadn’t thought it’d taken me that long to find a phone, but whatever. He had ginger hair and brown eyes, and he was average in looks with small frame. The kind of person that could get lost in a crowd.
The scowl disappeared almost immediately, as he looked me up and down in obvious approval.
My life was complete.
Okay, that was a bit sarcastic, and I didn’t mind a man looking, but I drew the line at staring leers, that was just creepy. Also, I’d probably said it too much already, but my husband had just died not fifteen hours ago, and I’d had a long-damned day. I wasn’t in the mood to be ogled, and the jeans and shirt I was wearing was rather loose and not provocative in the least.
Honestly, I was barely holding myself together by that time in that harrowing day that changed everything.
“Can I come in?” I asked coolly.
His eyes snapped back to mine and I almost rolled my eyes when he looked like a kid that’d gotten caught with his hand in the cookie jar. That just made it worse, since he didn’t even own his gawping looks with confidence.
“Yes, come in,” and he backed up.
I walked inside with not a whole lot of worry. Five foot one, athletic curvy frame, middle of the night, on the bad side of town in a criminal’s apartment, and more than passably attractive. Not recommended, unless of course bullets tickle and you can lift sixty tons. There was truly something freeing in that, not having to overly worry about the world’s predators, but this guy definitely wasn’t one of them.
The apartment was surprisingly clean and orderly, for a man I mean, not the area. Maybe he had a girlfriend? The walls were a light blue, white baseboards, and a light brown medium length hair carpet with swirls in it. There was a small landing just inside, with a coat closet, that led into the living room and dining room area. The small kitchen was to the right, and straight back through was the short hallway to two bedrooms and a bath.
“Thanks. Will this take long?”
He shook his head, “No, follow me, and get out your money.”
Right. I pulled out the bound stacks of twenties, each one a grand, as we walked back to the second bedroom. It was a home office. He had a single laptop, another small monitor with cameras covering the outside, and a very large printer.
In all the bad movies that I'd watched the hacker that sets up identities always had stacks of servers in racks with blinking lights, and a whole bunch of monitors. Nope, this guy just had a four-hundred-dollar Dell laptop, and apparently did just fine hacking into the DMV, social security administration, and all those other places.
I dropped the cash on the desk.
He asked, “Name?”
I frowned.
He said, “It helps to stick with the same first name, there’s bound to be a whole lot of Bells in the city. They never look for that.”
Christabel, Belladonna? Bell worked for both.
“Belladonna works, surprise me on the last name, just not Smith or Jones.”
He laughed, “Fine, how about Carlson?”
I shrugged. I also had no idea what he was doing as several screens popped up and disappeared in seconds. I imagined it was highly illegal and he was hacking government agency databases, but a computer whiz I was not. I knew enough to surf and check my e-mail, and I didn’t even have a Facebook profile.
He said, “Stand in front of the screen.”
I pulled out the pictures, and I put them on the desk.
He nodded, “Still need you to do it. The picture works for your passport, but the licenses don’t have real photos anymore, they’re printed out. So that one needs to be digital.”
Oh, right. I did that, and he took a picture for my license. I don’t know how, but he had card stock for licenses and a pile of blank passports, all with the official raised seal to prevent fraud. Yeah, so much for that, right? I don’t imagine it was easy for anyone to get, but Scott had managed.
In a surprisingly short time, I had a license, passport, and two certified birth certificates. My stomach dropped and I had to suppress a sob when I saw the fake father’s name on my daughter’s birth certificate. That seemed like the worst crime of all to me, in that moment.
I cleared my throat, “That’s it?”
He replied, “You’re all set, except for the address which is fake. You need to put in a change of address as soon as you get a place. The sooner the better, don’t wait longer than a month.”
I nodded, and he walked me to the door. That’d been surprisingly easy and painless. I owed Glenn for it. I left the building and headed down the street. I considered going invisible and flying to the address for the safe house, but for all I knew there were supers watching the skies with thermal vision tech or powers. That’d be a dumb reason to get in another super fight, which I was keen on avoiding because they were obviously out for blood. No doubt most if not all of them having no clue who or what Mistral truly had been, and all honestly believing I was on a murderous meltdown.
Point was, I wound up taking the bus. I know, shocking isn’t it, Death’s Mistress took the bus. I really don’t like that name, but I suppose in hindsight I’d earned it.
They say the first kill is the hardest, and in some ways they were right. It was the one that hit the hardest, but only after the kill. The first time I’d killed had been pure self-defense instinct and terror, but even a justified kill steals something from your soul. It changes you in a subtle but hard to define way that is nonetheless profound. It puts an empty gouge in your soul. It would be the second for me, that was the hardest, not after it was done, but to do it at all.
At that point in my life I was upset and freaked out about a lot of things. It was all so overwhelming, the jumble of it all, including the fact I was a killer. Point was, the last thing I wanted to do was fight, and the last thing I wanted to do if I fought was to be forced to make that same choice. I wasn’t even sure back then if I could do it, and I thought that maybe it would be better if I died myself.
Foolishness, but it was also human nature. The world however, had plans for me, and fate wasn’t always kind and could in fact, be a bitch. I’d like to justify my life, and my decisions. To explain that those others needed to die to make the world a safer place, but I’ll let you be the judge.
Chapter Six
The safe house was a large two-story home with colonial architecture, it was another old one. I’d say it was built sometime in the nineteen fifties, almost seventy years ago. It looked well cared for, and the lawn and yard were well groomed in the middle-class neighbor
hood. The house was painted a light greenish gray with black shutters. There were five windows on the second floor, and four on the lower level in the front.
The porch light was on and it was getting really late. It was almost midnight and it was sixteen hours after my husband had died when I knocked on the front door. That seemed like so long ago, but it’d been less than a day at that point.
The door opened, and a woman close to my age answered it with a very light compassionate smile on her face. She was five foot six, with an average but very in shape hourglass body. Her face was heart shaped, with chocolate brown eyes and pleasant features, as well as lustrous dark brown curly hair. She was in a pair of stretchy shorts and a casual t-shirt.
She said, “Bell? I’m Debra, come on in,” as she backed up.
I walked inside. The entrance hallway led straight back into the kitchen through an open door about twenty feet back. There was a dining room to the left, with a warm dark brown colored table and chairs for twelve, with a matching china cabinet. To the right was an open archway into the living room. The living room was a bit more eclectic furniture wise, with a light brown leather recliner, black leather couches, and glass end tables and coffee table with gold metal trim. The floor was a light natural wood color but there were also throw rugs in various places people would most likely walk. The walls were painted a very light tan or dark peach color.
I said, “Thanks. It’s nice to meet you.”
I felt a little shy, but Debra had good vibes, and she seemed like an extrovert who looked to the comfort of others. It was a first impression that would be born out in spades.
Debra snorted, “You look like you’ve had a hell of a day, just make yourself at home. You’ll meet my husband Germaine and the others tomorrow at breakfast, they all turned in already. There’re five of us in four of the six bedrooms, so you can take your pick of the last two. Did you want something to eat or drink first?”
I nodded, “If it’s no trouble, something to drink.”
We moved into the kitchen which was painted a cheery yellow color with white speckled marble countertops that matched the major appliances which were also white. The floor was white tile with light brown circular and square designs on it of various shades.
She waved at the table as she walked over to the cabinet next to the fridge, and she pulled down two glasses.
“Iced tea, homemade, with lemon? Or we have soda or water.”
“Iced tea sounds good.”
She poured a couple of glasses and sat down, giving me a long penetrating and curious look. It would’ve been offensive if not for the compassion in her eyes.
“Want to talk about it?”
I shook my head, “Too much. Maybe another time.”
She just nodded, and started a casual diatribe probably designed to calm me. I must’ve looked a mess, emotionally I mean. I was strung out.
“Besides my husband there’s Maria. She’s a sweet thing and larger than life, about our age. Then we have the two younger ones, Sarah and Joey are just seventeen, and will start their senior year of high school this September.”
I frowned, “How did that happen? I mean where are their parents?”
Debra replied, “They had to run, honey. Their parents turned them in. We keep an eye on them, makes sure they don’t get into too much trouble. We’re all powerful enough to not want to take the chance on being a part of the seventy percent.”
Oh, ouch.
She took a sip of the tea, which prompted me to sip my own.
“This is fantastic.”
She grinned, “Made it myself, thank you. I don’t know what your plans are, but you and your daughter are welcome here for as long as you’d like.”
She studied me again, and that time I asked, “What?”
She blushed, “Sorry, but you look nothing like that cute golden blonde woman on the news. I was looking for… I don’t know, flaws in the disguise?”
I laughed, but it came out a bit hysterical, and I immediately felt guilty for the surge of humor that went through me when my husband hadn’t even been dead a whole day yet. The rush of guilt, despair, and loss would’ve taken me to my knees if I hadn’t been sitting already.
“Oh. Yeah, I had to practice for a while in front of a mirror. My power maintains it without focus, once it’s set, so it’s not like I can slip up that way. They know I can turn invisible, but I don’t think they know about this part yet.”
She nodded thoughtfully, “Any plans yet?”
I shook my head, “Just vague ones. Find a job, get a place for me and my daughter that I can afford, and fade into the background as much as possible. Not counting that interview I promised to give to tell my true story. I don’t know yet though, if that’s realistic or not. Glenn seemed pretty sure I’d be doing more that way, though I can’t imagine what.”
She said, “They might not stop hunting for you, and maybe he’s seen you do more. He probably just didn’t want to say that, not after the day you’ve had.”
I nodded, “It’s ridiculous in scope. There’s a SAB building in every large city across America. In every one of them there’s got to be at least a handful aware of the conspiracy. Killing citizens. How could it be secret for so long, it’s why everyone dismisses it so easily. Then what about their bosses, how high and deep does it go. It’s just too outrageous to be believed, and I’m a killer besides, which doesn’t help my credibility.”
She smirked.
I frowned, “What?”
She said lightly, “I don’t know. It just seems like you’ve put an awful lot of thought into it already, not to mention the passion in your voice for a woman that has no interest in helping, and just had the day from hell.”
I shook my head, “That’s not fair. I never said I didn’t want to help, but I’m not sure how much help I’d be, and I don’t want to fight physically. Sure, a few people might have second thoughts if I don’t die from my powers like SAB suggested I would, on the news, because I’m out of control and crazy dangerous, but if enough leaders are involved any chance of investigation would be compromised.”
She asked, “What do you do?”
I said, “I was a homemaker the last two years, but I have a four-year degree in business. Of course, that’s Christabel Moore. Belladonna Carlson doesn’t have a degree in anything.”
That was a depressing thought.
She waved her hand, “Glenn and the others will help with that. I imagine you didn’t have a lot of time to talk to Glenn tonight. He got my husband and I set up in jobs, Maria too. I even imagine they’d support you straight out, if you decided to go all in.”
“He mentioned others too, but not who.”
She shrugged, “They are anonymous to all of us, honey. They know Glenn, but they’d prefer not to risk their lives and careers by publicly agreeing with him or supporting him in the open. Apparently, they do agree it’s something that their integrity can’t abide, so they throw money at it to help and sooth their conscience. I’m assuming a lot, but it seems a likely guess.”
“What do you do?” I asked, reminding myself it wasn’t all about me. I also liked her, and if the others were anything like her then I wouldn’t have any qualms about bringing my daughter here.
She said, “Administrative assistant, for my Germaine. We work for an accounting firm. Maria works as a teacher in the local high school, she’s on half day’s right now for summer school.”
“Why haven’t any of you given an interview?”
She looked at me with pity, “We all tried, in super suit disguises since we can’t look like anyone else, they won’t put us on the air. Illegal supers aren’t news. But given your escape from a place no one has escaped from, the death, and the fact you won’t die over the next… ten hours, they won’t be able to not run the story. It’d be ratings gold for them.”
I bit my lip, “He wants me to wear a suit.”
She looked me up and down, “I wouldn’t think that’d be a problem for you.”
“I don’t know. It seems a bit sexist, doesn’t it?”
She snorted, “Looking good? Honey, it is what it is, nothing wrong with strutting your stuff, or men drooling over what they can never have. It’s also practical. You don’t want your clothes ripped off because they’re too loose and get caught on something, when you think about the kinds of forces involved when it comes to super powers that’s no joke. Even the men wear tights.”
I hated to admit she had a point, but I still didn’t want to wear it. It was also then that I’d decided to seriously consider it, despite my disgust at the idea. I didn’t want to fight either, but I got the idea I might not have a choice. Surely the psychics would see me picking up my daughter, and quite likely me showing up at a television station and demanding a live interview, or whatever the plan was for that, would have them running.
I finished the iced tea, and we talked a bit longer. She went over schedules, and chores. The two teens did a lot of the cleaning around the house for the money they were given and a roof over their heads. They’d both be gone most of the day at work, while Maria would be home after lunch until full time school started back up. The four of us as adults would share the cooking and shopping duties, and of course we were all responsible for our own bedrooms.
I decided to go crash at that point.
The two rooms that were left unchosen weren’t really a choice. The last one was almost half the size as the rest and far too small for myself and my daughter. The room was done in a neutral beige color a little darker than the rest of the house, and the queen-sized bed had a light brown comforter. There was also a cherry oak dresser and two-night tables that matched.
I grabbed a pair of loose shorts and a t-shirt to sleep in, and then I headed into the hallway bathroom for a quick shower. It’d been a long day, and I needed one. When I finished, I took a few minutes to unpack the bag into the dresser, and to hang up the shirts in the closet.
Need sleep or not, it was a long time in coming that first night of my new life. The strange bed felt cold and empty. I hadn’t slept alone once since marrying my Brad, and I missed his warmth, the feel of his presence and the weight of him next to me. I even missed his light snore.
Death's Mistress: Origins of Supers: Book One Page 7