Now another unsolved summer night … vodka and cranberry juice neon of the Balboa Taxi sign seeping down into Frontera Street, the Liquid Crystal addicts emerging damp and urgent from their cocoons. I’m standing under a billboard for Dilley’s new “Sweet Seductions” wearing as little as the law will allow. I thought I heard Stacy’s song again, drifting out of a lounge bar. “Wayward Heart … always leads me to you … Wayward Heart … not a thing I can do …”
Padgett’s meeting me on the corner. I call him Mitzie. He’ll have told his wife he’s working another case and she’ll believe it, given the gang task force that was set up in the wake of the Laotian woman’s death and the feud that’s erupted between the Latino Brothers and the Ghost Tigers. Besides, she’s putting in a lot of late nights herself since she’s switched teams and joined the D.A.’s department. Now that her daddy’s going to run for governor, she’ll move up fast.
Mitzie wants me to apply to be the father-in-law’s PA. He thinks I could have a lot of influence. That prospect appeals to me, especially if I could thwart the redevelopment of Funland forever. But I’d have to move to Sacramento. We’ll see.
He isn’t transforming anywhere near as quickly as I did, but I’ll have to start showing him the chrysalis in the cadaver soon. Lance Harrigan will be next. They’ll pull my sled. But in a very, very different direction than Genevieve imagined. I don’t have her powers yet, of course. That will take some time. But I see now she had many blind spots about me. These will grow as I gain strength. Her weakness is her secret craving for devotion and the longing for a child.
I don’t know about children just now, but I do know that I feel more love than I ever did in the past. Not simply the desire for possession or the reassurance of form and protocol that Mitzie’s wife feels—that I used to feel. Something genuine that comes from the acceptance of responsibility and my immunity to jealousy.
All those old days spent trying to catch and handcuff men and women. Now they come to me to be handcuffed. For 25 years I thought I was brave and tough—and appeared to others to be. Yet I couldn’t face my own shadows, my own violence, my own real fears. Real fears are the ones that have your scent. They hunt you down no matter where you hide—because they are you at your deepest level. Yes, I am a monster. But so was I before. Now I see I have a choice about what kind of monster I will be. Can be. It may seem strange to you that I’ve at last learned something about nurturing and caring—but as the Mistress would say, maybe that’s because you haven’t looked closely enough at how you care. The true why of it, and what actually happens as a result. It takes a great fright to gain that perspective. To own those consequences. I intend to share that terror with as many as I can. Because I know in my loins the fruitlessness of seeking Hope in the light.
Real Hope lies beyond the shadows. You either make your way through them, or they come for you. And they always have a warrant.
Now I have plans instead of nightmares and empty dreams. For the first time ever. I’m doing a background course at the university to prepare me for entry at mid-year if I’m still in town. I’d like to study psychology—and I’m learning Japanese. Fast.
I’m taking singing lessons. And I’ve consumed every Titus Logan title. One day, some day, I’ll be ready to face the Mistress. My powers will strengthen. Perhaps much faster than she anticipates.
Through Mitzie I managed to access more police data on similar types of incidents to the Stoakes and Whitney deaths—and Cracker Jack. They’d seemed unusual before. They weren’t. Other cases had been reported in the last five years in Jacksonville, Memphis and Houston. In Europe, I identified more—in Stockholm, Zurich and Madrid. I’ll continue to build up my intelligence file. I still have what old skills I possessed—but with a new imperative.
One point of vanity—I’ve vowed to have a limousine finer than hers. A midnight black Bentley. And of course, a limo needs a driver. You know my choice. Not an African giant but my own Blue Knight. I’m arranging laser surgery to fix his eyes. You’d be amazed to learn who he really is. S is for Security. His security. You can Roger that.
I don’t know where Genevieve and her mutant entourage are now. St. Moritz, The Antilles, Vancouver. It doesn’t matter. I have time to gather my strength and grow my being. When I think of the MD 20-20 oblivion I might’ve fallen into, I do thank her. But I’m not one to lick her feet ever again. All my Benzedrine and malt liquor yesterdays are gone. This blonde alley leads to tomorrow. Because I know who and what I am. At last.
And so I can change form and yet remain intact. Who knows but that you’re on your way to meet me even now. Male or female … an intimacy beyond your imagination. If you can survive the fear of yourself, you may find a window in the mirror.
OF SIMILAR INTEREST AVAILABLE FROM THE OVERLOOK PRESS
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Private Midnight Page 31