“How about if I organize another social event at my Country Club, out in Bethesda, say, in about two weeks?”
She sighed. “That won’t do. I’ll lose the momentum I’ve achieved. Is there any way you can push it up to this coming weekend?”
“Only if you say please; and by the way, I think you’ve been neglecting me.”
She sighed heavily. “You know, you can be real exasperating sometimes.” She mentally made herself resist the urge to reach through the phone and choke the life out of him, as her free hand clasped the post on the bed tighter and tighter. Relaxing her free hand, she forced herself to be nice, and take a deep breath. Then, “Okay, Roger. Please? It would mean a great deal to me. I promise, you and I shall a wonderful time. In fact, how about tomorrow night?”
“Aw-w-w-w… Do I have to wait that long?”
“Roger... don’t push me.” She again forced herself to remain calm. “Besides. Anticipation is half the battle.”
“Okay. I can live with that.”
“You know I love you deeply, now don’t I.”
“Oh, yes. We’re practically Romeo and Juliet.”
“Until tomorrow, then?”
“I’ll be here... and with an update on this weekend.”
“Perfect. See you then.”
Sunday, July 20th
Her eyes flew open as the morning arrived. Laying in her bed thinking, Poisonous realized that nothing was on her agenda today. She yawned, stretched and came to the conclusion that she needed something to do to satisfy her bloodlust. She could think of nothing in particular, so she dressed appropriately for the hot July weather, including wearing a large wide-brimmed hat to shield the suns rays from her head, and headed out to do some exploring.
The morning sun had not quite risen high enough in the city to bake the moisture in the air into a steam bath, so she decided to take a walk. Always on the lookout for the familiar smells of corruption and evil, she headed north on Fifth Street. A faint smell of the Light mingled with the smell of dissipation and hedonism tickled her olfactory senses. An odd combination, to be sure, which only piqued her curiosity further. Florida Avenue crossed Fifth Street, and the smell grew stronger to the North and West. Her homing instincts on high alert, she focused her entire olfactory senses on the source of the strange aroma. As Florida Avenue turned into U Street, the scent came from the North, so she took a right on Ninth Street.
The peculiar fragrance became almost overwhelming as she approached an older, small rock concert venue whose shows that appealed to fans of rock music of all ages. As she approached the front door, The Light became stronger. “This is odd,” she said. “I can’t imagine followers of the light meeting in a venue given to worldly pleasures like sensual dancing, drinking, and other forms of dissipation.” The sounds of music that lauded the Giver of the Light floated through the air and out into the street where she stood. The presence of the Holy Spirit pushed her back from the door, nearly causing her to fall over backward, so she decided to move across the street, and hide inside a small restaurant. Having not eaten today, she figured she would order some brunch. “I’d like to start with the cocktail that has tequila, sherry, hot bitters, and lemon.” Her mouth watered at the thought of any drink that was strong. “For my entrée, I think I’ll have the spicy Mapo Eggs, Szechuan pepper lamb sauce, fried eggs and scallions. And use a lot of the pepper sauce.” The food also contained spicy, piquant flavors that appealed to her.
Bowing slightly in a deferential manner, the server said, “I’ll be right back with your drink and your order.”
Her order and beverage came out, and she finished them both just in time for the service across the street to be ending. Not wanting to waste time, she threw thirty dollars on the table, which included the tip, and left in a hurry to mingle with the parishioners.
One woman in particular caught her eye. A new human life formed in her, and made her belly protrude as if she had swallowed a very large basketball. No worship of The Light occurred at this moment as happy congregants chatted with each other and made plans for the afternoon and upcoming church meetings. She walked up to the woman, who pushed a stroller with a toddler sitting in it.
Slithering up to her, Poisonous made note of the fact that the woman’s husband was not present. Turning on her best charm, she said, “my what a cute child. How old it he?”
“He’s twenty months. His sister should arrive in about another six weeks.”
“Oh, how wonderful. Where’s the father?”
“He’s inside talking to the deacons about the upcoming deacon’s meeting. Do you go to this church? I don’t believe I’ve seen you before.”
“No, I just happened to be in this area, and I noticed you are pregnant, so I thought I’d stop and say ‘Hello.’ I think it’s wonderful that your husband serves with the Deacons.” Pausing for effect, she said, “Say do you mind if I feel the baby inside you? I just love children. If I’m being inappropriate, you can just tell me.”
At first, the woman looked at her with concern. The she relented, and said, “Sure. Go ahead.”
Making sure the she would be unaware of what she had in mind, her glowing red eyes held the unwitting woman in a trance. “You’ll not remember a thing that has happened; not even meeting me,” she intoned. As the woman’s eyes looked straight ahead, seeing but perceiving nothing, Poisonous put her hands on the woman’s belly, and sharp claws sank into the flesh of the woman’s protrusion. Poison injected into the uterus, and the growing life inside flailed helplessly as the poison overtook her. Within two minutes after flailing arms and feet made battle with the poison, the baby girl lost the fight, and became still.
The woman came to, and smiled. Did you feel her kick?”
“Oh, yes. She’s a strong little kicker.”
“By the way, my name’s Terry Foster.”
“I’m Perri Loliyekar. It’s been nice to meet you, Terry. Maybe I’ll catch up with you another time.”
* * *
That afternoon
Terry felt a strong, sharp pain in her abdomen, and cried out.
Her husband, Ken looked at her with alarm, and asked, “Are you okay, honey?”
“No…I …” Another sharper stab at her midsection caused her to double over again, followed shortly thereafter by her blood running down her legs.” On the verge of tears, she started shaking. “Ken, I’m afraid. I think I might be having a miscarriage. Take me to the hospital right away.”
“Absolutely, honey.” He pulled her gently towards the car, grabbing a towel on the way out to catch the blood. In a very short time, they arrived at George Washington Hospital. “My wife needs a wheelchair,” he practically shouted. A medic pushed a wheelchair towards her and they both gently lowered her into it. Quickly moving into the Emergency Room, they laid Terry on the table, and exposed her groin. By now, blood was coming out in great volume, and another sharp pain folded her body in two from the middle.
As the gynecologist, a Doctor Washington, inserted a speculum, she shook her head. “There’s no movement from the baby.”
A few moments later, Terry cried out as she went into forced labor. After several grueling pushes, a stillborn baby girl left her body.
“She’s dead, isn’t she?” Terry said, and started crying, and though her husband held her hand, she would not be consoled. Ken could do nothing more than weep himself.
“Why has the Lord done this to us?” she demanded, her tears turning to anger.
“I don’t know, honey. I just can’t explain this. You seemed fine until this afternoon.”
A few moments later, a tech ran up to Dr. Washington, and said, “There was a strong poison in the baby’s body.”
Both she and Ken gaped in horror. “You mean, my body poisoned my child?”
“I’m afraid we’re unsure of how the poison got there. There is no trace in your blood.”
She wept even harder. “My baby has been killed—poisoned, and I don’t know how or why.”
* * *
Monday, July 21ST 07:45
He had just finished his first sip of coffee, trying to shake off the weariness he felt since he had delved into this case. Dan leaned back in his chair, took a deep breath and turned back to tackling this case. Copious notes displayed on his electronic document, and he decided to review them to see if he could glean any clues. It did seem that many underground operations, some of which were based here in D.C. flourished because of the Dark Web. The advantage sleazy entrepreneurs of illicit drugs, armaments, and trafficking or pornography was because the Dark Web kept them very anonymous, and off the trail of users of the regular Internet. Samantha Boyle had disappeared, along with a couple more young girls from this area.
There had to be something to this. If he could just infiltrate some of the traffickers here in D.C., he might be able to make them give up information about other sellers of human souls. So far, all the young girls had been picked up by complete strangers, and taken away in a car, a train—including the Metro trains—and typically taken to a place far away; sometimes within an hour’s drive; sometimes across country or even the world. He remembered the case of a girl who had just graduated from High School in Alabama who was kidnapped while she was on a trip to a Dutch island in the Caribbean. She had long since been declared dead, since there was no hope of ever finding her body, which could be decomposed to dry bones by now. He shuddered, knowing that a similar fate could happen to anyone kidnapped, be it for trafficking or not.
In fact, many of the girls who had been kidnapped often ended up dead from disease or neglect. He fought to gain his composure, and popped two five hundred milligram ibuprofen pills to ease his throbbing headache. As if on cue, his phone rang.
“Hightower.”
“Dan, got some more good news for you,” said Stan Lindhall on the other end of the line. “Seems a beat cop recognized a woman matching the profile of the woman on the Metro when Samantha Boyle disappeared. Turns out she was present when a young woman, about seven and a half months pregnant, later miscarried. She had been perfectly healthy up until that point.”
“Bad things seem to follow our perp,” he said, grimacing. “Does this beat cop know where the young woman lives?” he asked.
“Yeah. She’s Terry Foster, and her husband in Ken Foster. They live at 2313 Ontario Road in Adams Morgan. Been married for five years, and have a son, Ken Jr. born just under two years ago in September.”
“Thanks, Stan. I’ll follow up on this information immediately.”
Eight
Dan drove up Sixteenth Street, took a Left onto Florida Avenue, then a Right onto Ontario Road. Stopping at the Foster’s residence, he got out, walked up to the door and knocked.
“May I help you,” Terry Foster said, eyeing him with suspicion.
“Mrs. Foster, I’m Dan Hightower, FBI.” His badge came out of his vest pocket, and gave him credence. “May I come in?”
After hesitating a moment, still looking nervous about letting a stranger into her house, she finally said, “Please. Come in.”
“Who is it, honey,” Ken Foster asked from further inside the house.
“It’s a Mr. Hightower from the F.B.I.”
Ken walked into the living room, and motioned him to have a seat. “Please,” Ken said, “be comfortable.”
“Well, folks,” he said, “we have reason to believe your wife, Mrs. Foster, was approached by a person of interest of ours. She was seen with a young lady named Samantha Boyle just before Samantha disappeared.”
He looked at Terry Foster with concern. “I’m sorry about your loss, Mrs. Foster, but we have reason to believe this person might have been involved in that as well.” A picture came out of a manila envelope, and fell on the coffee table. “Have you ever seen this woman before?”
Terry scratched her head. “No. I don’t remember seeing her. I remember that I left Ken and Junior in the sanctuary with the fellow elders, and I walked outside to wait for him. I guess about twenty minutes later, he came out and we went home.”
“Are you sure you didn’t see her that day? We have her on security cameras and she was seen approaching you. In fact, let me show you a video of that scene.” His mobile smart phone pulled up the video, and in it, Poisonous was seen walking up to her, patting her belly, and saying something unintelligible to her, then walking away.
“You’re sure you’ve never seen this woman.”
Terry’s eyebrows form a ‘V’ as they crimped above her eyes. After some serious thought, she finally said, “No, I don’t remember seeing her.”
“Well, he said, “We’ll being keeping an eye out for her. We suspect that she might be involved in all manner of questionable activity.”
“I’m sorry I couldn’t be of more help, Agent Hightower, but if she had anything to do with my baby dying, I hope you catch her.”
Looking at both Terry and Ken, in turn, he said, “Well, thanks for your time. I’ll keep you updated as we find out more.”
* * *
Monday, July 21st 14:05
Poisonous waited at a table overlooking the main dance floor of the Gentleman’s Club. Well appointed chairs sat on top of a deep red carpet. She ordered herself a Jungle Juice cocktail, feeling the mood to drink something very strong. As the liquid travelled down her gullet, it left a warm sensation all up and down her chest. It actually calmed her, making her able to think more clearly. “My, but alcohol has changed quite a bit since ancient days. This is positively invigorating.”
The front door to the club opened, and she recognized the woman whose long, died blond hair flowed all the way down her back. Having met her a few days earlier walking the streets in the section of downtown where most women of easy virtue worked and plied their trade, she had proposed a deal that she might be interested in. The streets at that time of night crawled with the party-going crowd in DC. There were always the drunks sitting in the street, smashed out of their normal wits, and the occasional brawl that broke out, sending the women hiding in an alley, or some other safe nook to avoid getting beat up or worse, shot.
This particular escort had caught her eye. After starting up a conversation with her, she found out her name was Phoebe, though her street name was Candi. Convincing her that she could make an offer of much more money, and no pimps beating you or making you take what jobs you weren’t interested in had at least made the woman curious. Better money and better working conditions were the main items on the agenda.
“I’ll think about this, and get back to you in a couple of days. As promised, two days later Phoebe called Poisonous, and suggested they meet at the Gentleman’s club at the Corner of 5th and K Streets Northwest.
Phoebe walked in in a skimpy outfit, which covered enough to allow her not to appear a prostitute; tartish, perhaps, but a step above cocotte. As she walked in, Poisonous waved her down. Phoebe walked toward her table, and sat down.
“So tell me this grand plan of yours. I hate to sound skeptical, but it sounded a bit too good to be true.”
“I assure you, I meant every word I said. You will be paid at least eight hundred dollars for every gentleman you entertain, whether you have sex or not. I will teach you the art of subtle seduction. Unlike how you ply your trade, you don’t proposition: you seduce. This works well with men you consider handsome.”
“You mean, in essence, that I flirt with men to get them to have sex with me?”
“No, not exactly. You finesse your way into their good graces, and make them want to be with you, especially in an erotic way.”
“But that may take a long time,” Phoebe objected. “I can’t make money doing that.”
“You, my dear, have a lot to learn about the fine art of seduction. It doesn’t take that long to bed a man. Further, each time you communicate with the guy…or girl, if you like, you get paid the eight hundred dollars, as if you were actually spending the night together.” She grinned, and added, “and there’s no law against juggling multiple men, which means more money. Fur
ther, if you end up in bed, the fee goes up to fifteen-hundred dollars. Every day you stay overnight with your lover is an additional fifteen hundred dollars.”
“Huh. We’ll let me think this over. I’m still not sure how this kind of thing works, but it sounds interesting, and sure pays well.”
“Can I buy you some lunch?” she asked.
“No thanks. I usually eat my lunch around five o’clock. But I appreciate your offer.” With that, Phoebe got up and left.
* * *
Monday, July 21st
Poisonous’ thoughts turned to Roger as she sipped her cocktail. What she hadn’t expected was for the anticipation to work on her as well. Once sex inhabited her thoughts, her mind worked overtime. Her body slowly primed itself for an encounter. A happy smile pasted itself to her face for the rest of the day. About an hour later, she returned to the condo.
Her mood did not escape Evie. “My, but you’re in a good mood. You must be planning something naughty.”
She shot Evie an evil glance. “What I do is none of your business. Now do me the favor of staying out of my affairs.”
“Affairs. Yes, that would be the right word. But, don’t worry: I’ll be praying for you.”
“Oh shut up.” She turned her back on Evie and walked away. “I’m ignoring you.” By ignoring Evie, maybe those prayers of hers wouldn’t haunt her as much. Those emotional bombs devastated her.
Poisonous went to Roger’s condo by herself. Taking charge of the events of her life gave her a sense of control, and she liked it. A quick knock on his door and she heard his footsteps approaching. The door opened, and he eyed her with interest.
Poisonous: A Visit To Earth (DC Angels Book 2) Page 11