Two Polluted Black-Heart Romances

by Kevin James Breaux

  “Tubes?” He repeated as he looked into her eyes. “I had tubes?”

  Moselle walked around him to the next torch before she answered. “In your nose and throat.”

  “Wait…is that dirt?” Jackson’s head was spinning. “You have a dirt basement?”

  “Darling, do not mistake my current mood. Do not read it for what is shown on my face. I am very happy you are awake. Even happier you seem to be so well. I just…”

  “What?”

  “I wish these were better times. I would hold you a grand celebration, my love—a party like those my father took me to when I was young. Oh, it would be an event that you and all our friends would not soon forget.” Moselle paused and brushed her raven hair behind her ears one side at a time. “And when the night was over, and the cherished sun rose, I would have set into motion a day filled with the pleasures of the flesh. But this…this is…”

  Jackson could hear the fright and hesitation in her voice. Moselle had normally been the owner of a great deal of confidence, and the last time he’d seen her waver, it had something to do with her wariness to share with him the truth that she was a cursed undead—a living mummy.

  “Moselle, what happened?” Jackson asked, and then waited for her to face him before he continued. “Why don’t I remember checking out of the hospital?”

  “Because you did not check out of the hospital.”

  Her statement sent a chill down his spine.

  “Did I die there?” He pulled up his shirt in search of wounds. “Am I like you now?”

  Moselle cocked her head at him when she asked. “Like me?”

  “Undead.”

  A huff of air passed her lips and she replied, “No, darling. You are not like me.”

  “Then where are my stitches?”

  “I told you, my love, it has been several days. Your flesh wounds healed. I applied a special otherworldly balm—”

  Jackson ran his hand up his chest until he found a puckered scar on shoulder. “So…I’m alive?”

  Moselle smiled. “For now.”

  When another chill ran down his spine, he made every effort to stand. Moselle had lit enough torches to see clearly now.

  “What is this place?” he asked staring at one of several dozen ornate pillars.

  “I told you, it is my home’s subbasement.”

  “Is your home’s subbasement some sorta freaking crypt?”

  Jackson looked out past the pillars to the walls. The room was lined with cots and each cot had a trunk at its foot. The dirt floor, which had moments ago added to the eerie feeling that he was entombed, looked more like sand in this light.

  Sand? What the hell is all this?

  “Moselle, you’re starting to creep me the fuck out.”

  That got her attention, he thought as she turned and hurried back to him.

  “Sit, darling, save your strength. I will explain. I will…better yet, I should show you.”

  “Why are we down here? Is this where your guards stay?” He looked up at the beams in the ceiling and wished he were upstairs in the part of the house he was familiar with.

  “It is,” Moselle replied very matter of fact, then took his hand and kissed his knuckles.

  “Where are they?”

  “My guards?”

  “Yeah,” he replied as his eyes crept away from Moselle to a stone statue that was built into an altar in the one corner of the room. That looks like her fath—

  Moselle sighed. “Oh how the roles have reversed, Jackson…”

  “Excuse me?”

  “My guards…they are upstairs, guarding the grounds and the main floor, enjoying all that my home has to offer, while we are down here.”

  Jackson’s eyes sprang back to Moselle as his heart dropped. “Guarding the upstairs from what? From what, Moselle?”

  The color seemed to suddenly drain from her face and he watched as her once ruby red lips quivered in an apparent struggle to form a statement.

  She’s terrified. What could possibly have her so freaked out?

  “What Moselle?”

  “The wraiths.”

  Mistaken Identities

  Moselle collapsed.

  Gods, I’ve done it. I’ve said the it aloud. I’ve said the words to Jackson. We truly are done now. We will be exterminated. She sighed loudly. Her hands shook, and she felt her dry eyes blur.

  I’m starting to peel. I need to feed. Badly.

  “Moselle!” Jackson shouted with concern, sliding off the cot, and falling to his knees into the sand beside her. “Are you okay?”

  “No,” she sobbed. “The wraiths are coming.”

  “Who are the wraiths?”

  Moselle knew the rules. No human could ever know of them. To know is a death sentence, but we’ve already been marked for death. The hospital… There’s no reason to hide this any longer.

  “Jackson, my love…” she still had trouble releasing the words caged inside her. “I want to say. It’s just hard for me.”

  “Just relax. We’re fine, right?”

  “No, we’re not.”

  “Then tell me what’s wrong, so I can help,” he said as he took her hand. “Tell me so I can fix it. Is it Kintner? The police? Is the LAPD looking for us? Is that why we’re hiding in your basement—”

  “Subbasement.”

  “Moselle.”

  Moselle stood up and brushed the sand off her leather pants. They were one of her favorite pairs, bought twenty or more years ago when she was visiting Italy. She would have been more concerned for their well-being had she not had more pressing things on her mind.

  “There is a TV down here somewhere. I know there is,” Moselle said as she looked about. “The storage room. They probably keep it in there.”

  “Moss?”

  “Jackson, please. Please sit still a moment. Let me locate the TV. You need to see something. It will help me explain.”

  “Is it Kintner?”

  “No,” she paused. “He’s dead.”

  “And Sabrina? We saved her?”

  “She saved herself.”

  “So…she’s okay?”

  “For now.”

  Moselle did not want to be rude; she knew he had many questions. He’s confused. He may not even remember exactly what happened at Kintner’s offices. He has no idea the true danger we are in.

  Moselle dredged up the emotions she felt at her rebirth, and when she thought of Jackson feeling the same panic and terror, it staggered her. She put her hand on the wall near the door to the storage room and held herself up. She wanted to cry—she wished she could cry.

  My dear, Jackson, she thought as she glanced back in his direction. She may not have been able to see him, but she still felt his eyes searching for her. I am so sorry. This is all my fault.

  Moselle faced the wall, leaned her forehead on it, and pounded her fists against it. She wanted to scream but held it in. She bottled these emotions like so many others and prayed she would simply forget.

  After she straightened herself, she took the final steps to the storage room door and opened it. The room was pitch-black; she cursed herself for not bringing a torch.

  She patted the waistline of her pants, where she had kept her cell phone tucked since leaving the hospital days ago. When she switched it on, it buzzed and chimed with alerts: twenty-two messages from Sabrina London, three messages from her father, and two messages from Cade. I shouldn’t even have this device on. It could be used to track me…but I need it’s light.

  Moselle turned her phone face-out and used its small degree of light to illuminate the many shelves of supplies, weapons, and antiquities. “Guns. Guns. Guns. Ammo. Ammo. Ammo,” she read off the labels on the boxes. “Ah…there.”

  Moselle picked up the small CRT TV and extension cord that accompanied it. As she turned to shut the door, her eyes crossed over something she hadn’t known she had—or perhaps, with her ailing memory, she had long since forgotten about: a was sceptre1.

  Whose coul
d that be? She took a step back into the storage room to get a better look. Shouldn’t it be upstairs on display, with the rest of my Egyptian antiquities?

  “Moselle, whose pajamas are these? They smell like they’ve been sitting in a drawer too long. Where are my clothes, Moselle?”

  She heard him but did not respond. Instead, she promptly left the storage room and shut the door firmly behind her, making a mental note that there was plenty of water inside if needed—if they lived much longer.

  “Moselle?”

  “I’m coming.”

  The electrical outlet was behind him, on the far wall, where several tables and chairs were spread out and a blackboard with faded chalk marks stood.

  “I found the TV,” she said as she hoisted it up. “See?”

  “I don’t need to watch TV. I need you to tell me what’s wrong here? What happened at Kintner’s? What happened to me? Why was I taken out of the hospital?”

  “Please, my love, I understand how scared you are—”

  “I’m not scared. I’m freaked out.”

  “I know. I understand. I do,” she said nodding, her mind still cluttered with thoughts. “I’m sorry.”

  “Moselle. What are the wraiths?”

  “Can you stand?”

  Jackson tried to stand, but fell to his knees.

  Moselle handed him the TV. “I will aid you to a seat at those tables over there. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “Ready?”

  “Yes.”

  She braced his weight as he shuffled his feet through the sand; he smelled amazing.

  “We should’ve fled when we had the chance,” she whispered.

  “What?”

  “Before going to Kintner’s office building, I suggested fleeing the country. We should have gone.”

  She helped Jackson into a chair, then walked over to the table nearest the wall.

  “Moselle, these chairs, that blackboard…” he sounded curiously amused. “This was either a classroom or a locker room.”

  She attached the cable wire, plugged the portable TV in, and turned to face him. He was pointing, and she followed his outstretched finger to the blackboard.

  “See that? Those look like plays, like when I was in college, on the hockey team. Back then, my coach would sit us down and draw plays on a old chalkboard.”

  “If you say so, my love.” She forced a smile.

  “Really, look.” Jackson pointed again. “Your guards were planning some sort of flanking—”

  “Jackson.” Moselle raised her voice, stepped to the blackboard, and wiped the faded chalk markings away with the palm of her hand. “This was long ago. Ages past, a time when this house belonged to my father.”

  Jackson furrowed his brow. “You never told me this was your father’s place.”

  “Long ago.”

  “So, he must’ve come down here to train your guards.”

  “His guards.”

  “His guard,” Jackson repeated. “Those must’ve been, I don’t know”—he shrugged—“maybe plans for guard duty, or maybe emergency escape plans.”

  “Maybe.” Moselle sighed.

  “Interesting.”

  “Jackson, please. Focus, my love.”

  With that, she turned on the TV, and a fuzzy black-and-white image crackled into existence.

  He chuckled. “I didn’t know black-and-white TVs came cable-ready. Must be, what, from the early 1980s? Wait, you have an electrical outlet down here but no lights? That makes no sense at all.”

  “Jackson!” Her frustration with his lack of seriousness overcame her.

  “I’m sorry. What did you want to show me? What does this have to do with the hospital and…” But his words trailed off as the picture on the tiny TV took shape and the announcer spoke.

  “The city’s police and fire departments are issuing a warning to stay away. Do not try and get any closer than five blocks from the sinkhole. The city of Los Angeles has called in the aid of the National Guard to facilitate the evacuation of the area and maintain roadblocks. We are going now to the eye in the sky, Andrew Phope. Andrew, what are you seeing now from the news KCAL 9 copter?”

  “This is Andrew Phope reporting. Sorry for the shaky camera; we’re facing some strong winds. As you can see, the sinkhole has not only swallowed up the hospital and adjoining buildings, but also the parking garage and at least two blocks out in all directions.”

  Jackson gasped. “What the…”

  “Fuck.” Moselle finished for him. She had not heard this part of the news. She only knew of the gas leak.

  “Moselle!” He looked equally shocked by her language.

  “Sorry, my love. But this, this was not what I was expecting to see.”

  “What the hell were you expecting?” Jackson asked. “Was that where I was? Shit, Moss, was that the hospital I was at?”

  “We were forced to flee it.”

  “Before it came down, sunk into that…” He pointed at the TV. “That massive crater?”

  “No, we left when everyone started to die.”

  Jackson looked perplexed. “Started to die?”

  I need to tell him, she thought. I need to tell him the truth. I need to tell him what happened. I need to tell him all I know about the wraiths.

  “Oh my God!” Andrew, the newscaster, shouted. “The sinkhole is expanding again. It’s reached the businesses district. I hope everyone is out of those buildings.”

  “Damn. Was there an earthquake?” Jackson looked down and kicked his bare feet in the sand. “Fuck, Moselle, maybe we shouldn’t be down here right now. If there’s another quake, we could get swallowed up, like Sarlacc-pit style. What the hell are we doing down here, anyway?”

  She shut off the tiny TV and sat down across from him. “Jackson, there is something I need to tell you.”

  “Okay. Finally.”

  She shuddered. “First, I will need to explain to you what the wraiths are, and then I will tell you how we escaped from their clutches at the hospital.”

  * * *

  1 Was Sceptre - An Ancient Egyptian scepter with an animal head. Often seen in hieroglyphics. It is a symbol of power and domination.

  Health Care

  Moselle thought she smelled something strange. She sniffed the air while she flattened a dollar bill and then tried to feed it into the vending machine again. When the machine rejected the dollar, she kicked its base with the toe of her boot.

  “Bloody machines.”

  She ran the dollar against the edge of the vending machine, working out the wrinkles, and inserted the bill once more. What is that smell? Moselle sniffed, but the scent was mixed with so many others.

  Hospitals, she thought as she choked. Vile. The normal collection of scents was enough to make her ill, but this was not detergents, bleach, urine, or death. This stench was something else.

  To her surprise, the machine finally took her dollar. Moselle would have cheered if it weren’t for the handsome doctor that was waiting behind her. She felt his eyes on her backside and smirked. She missed the attention of men, but at the moment, not feeling her best, she did not entirely welcome it.

  “You need another dollar, miss?”

  “No, this one has finally yielded to its fate.”

  She pressed the button that corresponded with Dasani Water and the machine went to work grinding hidden gears until the plastic bottle was spit out at the bottom with a loud thud. She bent over and retrieved the bottle of water. The good doctor no doubt stole another look, she thought, but when she looked back, he was lying on the floor, his eyes rolled up into his head.

  “Doctor?” she called out. “Someone, the doctor…”

  Moselle looked out into the hallway in time to see several more people collapse. When one nurse’s head smashed hard against the linoleum floor, she realized what was happening.

  “The wraiths,” she breathed.

  She jumped over the doctor and ran as fast as she could back to Jackson’s room. There were dea
d and dying people as far as she could see, and the smell—it was getting worse.

  “Jackson!” she shouted as she tore into his room.

  The nurse taking his blood pressure had fallen over him and her shoulder had covered his face. She could hear beeping; alarms were being set off all around her. Everyone—doctors, patients, staff, visitors—they were all dying and there was nothing she could do to stop it.

  “Stay with me, Jackson. I’ll get you fresh air.”

  In the bed next to him was an old man on a respirator. Moselle, shoved Jackson’s bed over, and she went to work quickly unhooking the breathing apparatus.

  “I am deeply sorry for this,” she said looking at the old man’s kind face. “Know that your life will save another’s…and that kind of sacrifice is always rewarded by the gods.”

  Moselle’s mind muddied with conflicting thoughts. All otherworldlies feared the wraiths; knowing they would destroy all who put the reality of the otherworld into jeopardy.

  They must be here for me. The Assembly dispatched them…gave them the freedom to exterminate all who I have come in contact with here. They must be cleaning up after what happened at Kintner’s offices.

  “Cade! I must warn him.”

  Moselle pulled her cell phone from her purse and dialed Sabrina. For an instant, she questioned herself. Was she wrong to involve them? But Cade was already involved, and she knew he was honorable and would protect Sabrina at all costs.

  “Cade, it’s Moselle,” she whispered.

  “Lady Moselle, is everything well?” Cade asked. “Has Jackson’s condition changed?”

  “Cade, I—I need your help.” Moselle’s normally confident voice wavered. “Something unexpected has occurred. Please come to the hospital right away.”

  She was unsure how she did it, but she had unhooked enough of the respirator to move it over to Jackson, so she abruptly hung up.

  “Jackson!” she shouted. “Please be alive.”

  She placed the breathing apparatus over his mouth and nose, and then reset the machine. A long moment passed; Jackson did nothing. But when he finally took a breath, Moselle felt like she might pass out.

  “Thank you, my gods.” She grabbed Jackson’s hand and held it to her heart. “If my heart beat like yours, it would sound like a war drum right now, my darling.”