"Nicky, I'm not playing games. Stop!" she yelled. No answer except for the echo of her own voice bouncing off the stone walls. "I'll go beyond George, I'll go all the way to Marcus Beezel. I hear he's a bastard if you cross him."
She tugged on the cart, noticing she was in a section of darkness.
You're safe with me. I want to teach you.
"Teach me what?" she answered, but there was no reply. Her stomach lurched, but she ignored it and kept lugging the cart forward. The black door looked like it got further away with every step as if the hallway was some kind of funhouse mirror. Every step, the load felt like it got five pounds heavier. She stopped a couple of times, in the lighted areas, to catch her breath. She had run a half-marathon a month ago. She was in great shape and shouldn't be this winded from pulling around a cart full of clothes, but she was. She told herself that dragging the rack across the costume department upstairs had been a chore, it had nothing to do with the Burrows, the 'ghost,' or the voice she kept imagining. It had to just be the weight of the dresses. No other explanation made sense. "Asia, you're freaking yourself out. Get it together," she mumbled.
A few yards shy of the end of the hall her foot stepped down on something soft! She jerked it up and hopped back, almost losing her balance. Her eyes focused on the gray and red object on the ground. It was half of a mouse! Its eyes bulged, and its tiny mouth hung open as if screaming. The other half lay a few feet away. She gasped but quickly convinced herself that there's probably a lot of mice down here, they call it the Burrows after all, and that most likely it wasn't the same mouse she saw. She nudged the front half out of the way with her toe and guided the cart around the back half so she could continue.
The door at the end of the hall was heavy steel, painted black with the Blackrock Pictures logo in gray. Red paint under the logo warned: Authorized Personnel Only. An electronic pad next to the door lit up in the shape of a right hand. Asia pressed her hand to the pad; a yellow image it appeared on the screen. The hand on the screen turned red, and ACCESS DENIED flashed across it. The brightness hurt her eyes that had acclimated to the dim light. She pressed the pad again, same yellow image, same result. She sighed and turned to walk away when the lock released.
The area was bathed in a green light. ENTER was written in green on the display which still showed the red handprint. But the image wasn't red, it was white. The red was on top of the white image. Blood ran down her hand and trickled onto her wrist. The hand on the screen blurred the red and white together like her hand had the night she attacked Beth. She shook her hand. Blood splattered her face; the bitter copper taste danced on her lips.
Uncontrollable rage boiled inside her. She wanted to lash out; wanted to make that bitch feel her embarrassment. Her hands felt heavy, like she was holding a golf club. Not just any golf club, it was the one she held that night in her living room. She heard it whistle through the air and the crunch of the bones breaking as it shattered Beth's face. Her face gave way before offering resistance, like punching a stack of towels. She heard a voice, "Again! Hit her again! She's still laughing at you!"
It was that voice!
Good! You remember me coming to guide you! Remember those drawings you did after that night? Chaplain Hill was so impressed with them. That's when you realized you had a gift. That you were beyond an ordinary artist. And you loved showing them to him, didn't you? You wanted his approval. His praise. But you wanted more than that. You wanted... him!
She screamed. It echoed its way down the hallway seeming to get louder the further it traveled.
When the echoes finally died away, the blood quit dripping from her hand. She touched her face where she'd felt the blood hit it. Gone. The image on the panel was white with the green ENTER message scrolled across it. No blood smeared on it. Asia took a deep breath and clutched the rack for support.
The black door had three dents in it, and the paint was chipped away in two of the spots. The door handle turned, and it swung open.
By itself.
Asia needed the support of the rack. Her legs shook, and she thought if she tried to stand up on her own they would collapse under her. Her heart thudded, and her stomach clenched so tight it felt like it was squeezing her lungs. She peeked at her hand again without moving it off the rack, still normal. She turned to the pitch-black doorway. The second door handle turned and opened. A single fluorescent light near the center of the room flickered on.
Welcome.
She maneuvered the cart through the doors as if being pulled by strings. Her head screamed not to go, but she couldn't help herself.
The rectangular room was at least a hundred yards or more on the shorter sides, maybe double that length-wise and at least forty feet tall. Another light flickered to life. Followed by a third. In the shadows around the edges of the room were shelves all the way to the ceiling. Shorter shelves, about ten or twelve feet high, stood like church pews along the side walls leaving a wide central aisle. The shelves were loaded with wooden crates with writing on them. The central aisle was populated hundreds of mannequins and dressmakers' dummies; a few wore clothes but most didn't. The flickering lights gave the appearance that they were moving. Dancing even. Goosebumps spread up the back of her bare arms.
She breathed deep and tried to focus. "Get it together, Asia. This is what that bitch wants you to do," she said to herself. "She wants you to--"
That 'bitch' has no idea what you're capable of. If she did, she'd be afraid.
She released the rack and let it roll on its own. It rolled about ten yards before bumping a couple dummies, knocking one over. Her legs felt like rubber that had been stretched too far, but they didn't fail her. Slowly, she stood up straight. Every moment she didn't give in to the weakness in her legs felt like a victory. She took a few tentative steps, and the fear started to subside. By the time she reached the dummy and stood it back up, she felt better. "You got it. You're good," she told herself.
Let me help you unleash your power.
Gooseflesh rolled up her arms again. The uncomfortable weight of eyes pressured her, though she didn't see anyone else. At the far end of the room, in the shadows, she spotted a figure. It was roughly human-shaped but much too tall to be a person.
"Hello?" she called, but her voice was weak with fear.
The silent figure moved. Black wings uncurled from around its body and spread wide open, spanning half the width of the aisle. Its head turned to the side revealing a huge beak. At least ten feet long, it looked like it was made of cold, sharp, steel. The wings extended fully and the figure slowly rose into the air. But, it wasn't simply rising, it was expanding! As it grew, its head turned toward her. The eyes, big and round, focused on her; they slowly illuminated like static on television screens. Images came into focus through the black and white static. It was her at sixteen, sitting on the couch with a boy and Beth!
Asia stood there, unable to avert her attention as she watched herself beat her step-sister into a bloody mound with a golf club. The picture froze with her about to pound the club down the final time. Her face became the focal point as if a camera was zooming in. She was screaming, her face contorted with rage, a stripe of blood splashed across it. The closer it zoomed in, the less the face on the screens resembled her. Just before the image faded back to black and white static, she thought she saw a man's face instead of hers.
Ah, you see me. I've always been with you. I'm part of you, the part you're afraid of. Don't be afraid.
The beak glimmered in the light cast from the eyes. It opened. A shrill wail made her cringe. But it didn't come from the bird. It came from the hall. The elevator door!
Asia screamed and ran.
Learn to control your power! Don't hold back. Set me free!
She rounded the door into the hallway and almost ran into Gitch running toward her. He grabbed her by the shoulders and stopped her, spinning her around. "Good lord, girl. You got some lungs on you," he said.
She hugged him and started to cry on hi
s shoulder before pushing him away. She wiped the tears with the back of her hand and took a deep breath. She didn't know this guy, and freaking out in front of a new co-worker on the first day wasn't a stellar plan.
"Wha-- why are you down here?" She tried to focus on his face but kept looking past him expecting to see the huge, razor-lined beak poke through the door. Or an eye with Beth's bloody face sneering at her.
"I felt bad about teasing you about the ghost. Just rookie hazing, honey. Everybody hears the stories about the ghost. Now, seeing you, I feel worse than a guy at a sidewalk sale without a credit card. What's wrong?"
Both steel doors swung shut. The locks engaged, and the control panel turned off. No beak. No eyes.
No voice.
Asia smiled and chuckled a little between sniffles. Gitch was funny and seemed nice. She debated telling him about what she saw but decided it sounded too crazy. Plus, saying 'Hi, I'm Asia, I spent about eight months in a psych ward, err... inpatient therapy, for almost killing a girl," wasn't the best introduction. She opted for: "I'm just nervous and, I guess, jumpy. I was looking at the costumes and didn't know if I was supposed to be and the elevator noise surprised me."
Gitch eyed her like he was measuring her response. "That squirrel-haired hag got you that jumpy. Relax, girl. Because when the day's over, you're gonna go home and get the D that she's wanted for years. Enjoy it. I know I would if I were you. So jealous. Mmmmm."
Asia glanced again at the doors, half expecting them to burst open at any moment.
Don't be afraid to set me free.
Asia's gut clenched. Her eyes had only been off of Gitch for a second or two. She looked at him, and he still seemed to be off in his dream world of imagining George Collins naked, he couldn't have heard the voice. He never so much as flinched.
"Let's go. Will you wait for me to go up first by myself so that Nicky doesn't think I needed an escort down here?" She paused, dousing thoughts to the contrary. "I just want to be able to design. It's what I love. Thank you for coming after me, though."
Gitch smiled and twirled her hair like he had done upstairs. "Sure. But darlin', don't get your hopes up that she's gonna let you do anything that comes close to designing anytime soon. You're gonna be her personal coffee fetcher, garbage dumper, door holder, you get the picture, for the foreseeable future. I've seen it before. She don't take kindly to pretty girls. Especially ones that are--"
"Ballin' the guy she lusts after," Asia finished his sentence.
"Quick learner," Gitch said with a wink. "Sure, go up alone, but you're gonna owe me at least one dick pic of Collins."
Asia smiled. "I'll see what I can do. But to be perfectly honest, I haven't even seen it yet. I'm a little harder to get than your average woman."
Gitch put his arm around her shoulders and nudged her toward the elevator. The hall didn't feel as long, dark, and intimidating as it had going the other direction.
"Thank you," she said. She shot one last glance toward the doors at the end of the hall as the elevator door screeched closed. She leaned against the back wall and composed herself on the ride up, feeling better with every yard she put between her and the Burrows.
"I let my imagination get the best of me," she thought, trying to disbelieve the entire sequence of events. Voices in her head, a giant black bird with televisions screens for eyes, bloody handprints, all of it could be explained with movie effects, but not the video. That couldn't be explained away. There wasn't any way for anyone here to know about that night. The alternative was... She pushed the thoughts away.
The elevator door opened and she spotted George talking to someone across the room. She hurried over, hugged him from behind, and stretched up to kiss him on the cheek. He turned but didn't smile.
He leaned down and whispered to her, "Ummm Asia, I'm not really comfortable with affection here at the studio. I don't want people to get the wrong idea about us, ya know?" He stood straight again and adjusted his suit coat, then said in a louder voice, "I know it's your first day, but I hope Nicky is teaching you a lot. I see a lot of potential in your work and think she can be an invaluable resource for you."
He finally smiled, but Asia felt like she'd been punched in the gut. She felt her face radiating her disappointment and forced a smile to try to cover.
"I'd like you to meet Jessica. She's my personal assistant and almost always has tabs on me," he said, ushering forward a curvy blond with blue eyes the size of saucers and long doe-eyed lashes to match. For a second, Asia thought she was looking in a mirror.
"Nice to meet you, April, Mr. Collins has told me what a big fan of your work he is." She held out her hand. Asia hesitated but took it, suddenly aware that she was sweating.
"It's Asia."
"I'm sorry, what?"
"It's Asia, not April."
"Oh my apologies," Jessica said. Her voice was high-pitched and whiney. Asia thought if she had to listen to that voice very long she might have to kill the girl.
Yes! Kill her! She's fucking your boyfriend since you're not!
Asia cringed, and her knees buckled slightly.
"Are you okay?" Jessica squeaked, grabbing Asia by the elbow and supporting her. George reacted too, bracing her other arm and wrapping it around his shoulder.
"My hero," she whispered in his ear, amazed at how venomous her voice sounded.
"Oh goodness, what's going on here," Gitch's voice came from behind her. She turned and smiled. She'd only known him for a couple hours, but he had a knack for putting her at ease. "Girl, is that wicked step-mother in the costume department working you to exhaustion on your first day? Oh, hello there, Mr. Collins. I don't think we've met. I'm Beauregard Gitchel, but you can call me Gitch. I'm a first assistant makeup artist. It's truly a pleasure meeting you."
George and Gitch shook hands; Gitch smiled, George didn't. "Can you help Asia back upstairs?" George said, nodding in her general direction. "Nicky is going to be needing her. We just picked up a small movie deal-- low budget deal, but low returns expected so little risk. I've instructed Nicky to assign Miss Ross to lead the design team."
Asia regained her composure, assisted by a surge of adrenaline after hearing the news. "I'm good," she said, pulling away from the hand helping her.
Jessica placed her hand on George's lower back and attempted to guide him away. Asia felt anger rush through her like a crashing wave. She reached out, grabbed his arm, and pulled him to her. She pushed her breasts against his arm. "What kind of movie is this? I should be a little prepared when I talk to Nicky, shouldn't I?"
"We bought the movie rights to a novel by some new author, Stephen Monaco, a post-apocalyptic thriller about a couple of brothers trying to survive together. No zombies, though. Thank God," he said, not pulling away from her closeness. Maybe even pushing his arm closer.
She glanced at Jessica, who had pulled out her phone and was thumbing through emails. Asia was annoyed at first, but it quickly moved to anger. She was attempting to establish dominance over what she felt was hers, and this bimbo didn't give her a second thought! She felt the white rage hinting at the edges of her vision but pushed it away, even taking a step back from George's arm trying to gain her focus.
Stop fighting it! Quit holding me back, I can help you!
She let go of George's arm completely and rubbed her temples. She shut her eyes to try to will the white away, but her stomach still burned with anger. It bubbled like a volcano building up pressure. She could smooth it over on top, but the danger still simmered below. She hoped Gitch would say something funny that would smother it, but he looked like he was in some other reality, oblivious to her predicament. She heard a laugh from somewhere. She glanced around, but no one was laughing. The pressure made her want to double over.
She imagined kissing George, hoping it would distract her. He was a good kisser; each time they kissed it was harder for her to resist him. The celibacy had been something she felt like was necessary, even though it wasn't what she wanted. And she knew it
wasn't what he wanted. That was clear every time he pushed against her.
He's just getting it from someone else.
As soon as she absorbed those words, her thoughts of kissing him abruptly changed. In her imagination he wasn't kissing her anymore, he was kissing Jessica. They were naked, and she was propped up on her elbows on his desk. Her legs wrapped around him and her heels pressed into his bare butt. Her head rolled back, and her blonde hair slid papers around his desk. She moaned and covered her breasts with her hands, pushing them together.
Asia tried to force the image away, but white anger threatened to replace it. She closed her eyes and mumbled to herself that it wasn't true and was only her imagination, like the giant bird she saw in the Burrows. Thoughts of George pushing himself into Jessica returned. Each stroke brought waves of ecstasy to Jessica's face. She turned her head and winked at Asia.
Give in to it. Let yourself be set free by it! You are more powerful than you realize.
"Stop it!" she yelled, shuffling her feet and clenching her fists.
Pop!
One of the fluorescent bulbs overhead shattered, raining shards of glass down. Then two more popped in succession. George covered Jessica's head and his own. Gitch dove to the side. Asia stood still while glass rained down like jagged confetti around her. It landed in a perfect circle around her feet.
Asia opened her eyes but stared straight ahead, unfocused. Her lips pulled back in a sneer. Her teeth bit down on her tongue. The bitter taste of her own blood reminded her of Beth shoving her into the wall. She looked at George, he became the boy on the couch. She felt the weight of the club in her hand. But it wasn't a club this time it was a butcher knife. Its blade glinted like the bird's beak. She rolled the handle between her fingers.
Jessica screamed and backed away. Her eyes locked on Asia's hands.
"What's wrong," George said, reaching for her.
The skin along Jessica's cheek opened up like it was sliced with an invisible scalpel. Blood built up at the edge like water in an overfilled glass before cresting and pouring down her face. She clutched at her bloody face, collapsing to the floor.
The Muse Page 2