The Muse

by Stephen Monaco

  "Shit! Are you alright? How bad are you cut?" George asked, looking for something to hold against the wound.

  Excellent! Feel the rage. Let it consume you. Free your mind!

  That brought Asia out of her trance. Her head was foggy. It took her a few seconds to get her bearings and remember where she was. Her eyes were drawn to the bright crimson that was half of Jessica's face. George squatted beside her, holding her hand, and yelling for someone to call medical.

  She remembered holding and twirling the knife. She remembered the image of George and Jessica naked on the desk. She remembered the rage and the whiteness threatening to come. "Oh my, god," she whispered to herself.

  Gitch came to her side. "Are you okay? You just stood there like you were too scared to move when those lights blew up. I like you, girl, but I ain't gettin' this face all cut up." He waved his hand in front of his face. "Seriously though, your mouth's bleeding."

  She tuned Gitch out and knelt down by George. "Is she okay? Oh, god. I'm sorry."

  "What are you sorry for?" George asked. "The lights exploded. Must've been a power surge."

  Jessica blinked her eyes, the one glowed white through the red of her face. She kicked at Asia and tried to scoot away. Her hands rattled through the shards of glass, and she left a smear of blood across the polished white floor.

  Asia sucked in a quick breath. The blood and white floor looked like it was swirling together. "Oh no. No. No No!" She said.

  You did it. And more importantly, you know you did it. You have barely begun to tap into your power. Let me teach you to control it. You need to shut her up before she says what she saw. You can do it! Silence her, now!

  "Get away from me! Oh, it hurts!" Jessica screamed, blood dripped from her upper lip and into her mouth. She spit it out, coating George's jacket and white shirt. She sat up and tried to push herself to her feet. Then, her eyes rolled back, and she slumped backward.

  You're welcome.

  "Shit! Somebody call 911!" George yelled as he felt for a pulse. He tapped her face. "Jess! Jess! Wake up! Don't do this to me!"

  "You, bastard," Asia thought to herself.

  Go ahead. Unleash your power on him too. I'll reward you. I'll free your creativity.

  Shaking off the voice, she put her hand on his back. "I really hope she's okay."

  George nodded.

  Kill that cheating bastard!

  "C'mon girl. You gotta get out of this mess before the squirrel-head decides to say to hell with the boss and fire you. You know she's just looking for any reason."

  Asia leaned over and kissed George on the cheek. Screw him if he didn't like it. "Call me later. Let me know how she is," she said.

  George didn't pull away despite a number staff members mingling nearby observing the incident. So he must not have been that worried about the reaction to their relationship within the group. He wasn't worried about showing his concern for Jessica. His reaction to her earlier must've been more about how Jessica would react than avoiding any perception of impropriety. That thought put a little burn back in her belly, flushing her face. She let Gitch lead her a few steps away, but with each step, she got angrier about it. She stopped and turned around. George was squatted down holding Jessica's hand. Fire burned up her throat. She imagined grabbing him by his manhood and twisting it. She could feel the weight of his testicles in her hand, the way they slid beneath her fingers as she turned them. In her mind's eye, she heard him gasp as the pain hit him.

  George let out a muffled scream and collapsed to his knees, his arm wrapped around his stomach. He pulled his legs up and laid in a fetal position, groaning. A security guard rushed over to help him.

  "Oh my, God," Asia whispered. "Oh my, God." She turned back to Gitch. "I gotta talk to you. Well, I gotta talk to someone. Away from here. Is there somewhere we can get a drink after work?"

  Gitch smiled. "Well, Mrs. Robinson, are you hitting on me?"

  Asia's eyebrows narrowed, and her forehead creased. "No," she said.

  "Never mind. It's a line from an old movie. 'The Graduate,' you ever heard of it? I swear to Cher, you millennials really need to understand that the world existed, and was pretty damn good, before the year 2000. Anyway, yes, there's a little dive bar called Simon Says a couple blocks from here. Pretty trashy place, toothless crowd, but cheap, strong drinks. Or there's Strobe, weak drinks, but prettier people. Think Nicky-like people at one and people like us at the other."

  "I probably need the stronger drinks right now, sorry."

  Gitch smiled and see-sawed his head. "Dive bar it is. I'll bring extra hand sanitizer. I'm done for the day, so I'll just be putzing around upstairs. Grab me whenever you can escape the orange one, and we'll get our drink on."

  Asia stole one more peek over her shoulder at George. Security had him sitting up and explaining what happened. She couldn't hear him, but from trying to read his lips, she was sure he said something about 'grabbed his balls and squeezed.'

  You're learning.

  Asia ignored the voice and made her way back upstairs. She was relieved to find that Nicky had left for the day but left her a copy of a script for a movie called "Scorched Earth," complete with instructions to read it by tomorrow and have costume ideas in mind.

  "Ya, the entire script in one night," she mumbled. She picked up the heavy script, fanned through the pages without reading more than a few words, then tucked it under her arm and headed to find Gitch.

  Twenty minutes later they walked into Simon Says, the distaste was etched across Gitch's scrunched up face. "I forgot how awful this place is," he said so that only Asia could hear. "My shoes are sticking to the floor, and as if paneling by itself wasn't bad enough, it looks like it was washed sometime around the release of the Thriller album. Oh sorry, do I need to explain the Thriller reference."

  Asia feigned being offended. "I know what Thriller was. Is. My parents played the CD all the time, thank you."

  "The CD? OMG." Gitch shook his head and started humming the song and doing a bit of the dance.

  They sat down in a booth. He was still humming when he pulled out a bottle of hand sanitizer and offered some to Asia.

  "Wow, you weren't kidding when you said you'd bring hand sanitizer," she said, holding out her hand to accept his offer.

  "What'r you drinking. First round's on me," he said. He rubbed his hands together and looked around the room. "That's illegal," he said nodding in the direction of three men on barstools, the heavyset one in the middle puffing on a cigar and blowing smoke rings at the standard-def television on a shelf behind the bar. An empty stool stood between each man. "Homo-phobic assholes probably shit themselves if I went and sat in one of those empty chairs."

  Asia forced a smile. For the last hour, she'd thought about little else besides excuses why she should lie and say that everything was fine. Even though she literally just met him, she liked Gitch. She didn't always make friends easily, but it felt natural with him. Comfortable. And in the short time she'd known him, more than once he'd cracked a joke at the exact time she needed it. Like he knew. That kind of connection was rare, and she didn't want to lose that by coming across as a crazy lady. But, she needed to have someone tell her that the voice in her head wasn't real, that her anger wasn't what hurt Jessica, and that it was a mere coincidence that George fell over in pain when she thought about squeezing and twisting his balls. Part of her knew that even Gitch's impeccable timing couldn't change what she knew was true.

  "Long Island Iced Tea," she said to the bartender who had wandered over to get their drink order.

  "Good choice," Gitch said. "But I'll take a Mojito, please."

  The bartender nodded and went to go get the drinks. He said something to the guys at the counter, and they all laughed. One turned and glanced toward the table, turned back around, and said something that started another wave of laughter. The bartender delivered the drinks and a second Long Island. "One of the fellas over there wanted to send a drink over, Miss."

 
"Oh thanks, but I'm seeing someone and not really looking to meet anyone new."

  The bartender shook his head and returned to his post. Laughter roared from the bar again. "No way!" was audible over the noise.

  Gitch glanced at the trio and shook his head. "So what did you want to talk to me about?"

  Asia swallowed hard, then downed about half of her first drink. "You have to promise not to think I'm crazy."

  "Girl you're the only woman I know that plays hard to get with the biggest playboy in Hollywood. I already know you're crazy."

  "So what's the deal with this ghost in the Burrows?"

  "I told you, ghost stories, nothing more. Everyplace in this town has to have its own ghost, you know how it goes. Blackrock Pictures's lives in the Burrows. Supposedly, as the legend goes, in the 50's, a couple snuck down there to hook up unbeknownst to their spouses, and they both ended up dead. Now they haunt the place. Your standard Hollywood spook fodder. No biggie."

  Asia downed the other half of her first drink. "Actually... I think I met the ghost when I was down there. He talked to me. He talked to me as soon as I got close to the elevator and until I left the studio. Not actual talk. It was more like this voice in my head, wanting me to be angry, and telling me I have power."

  Gitch leaned back in the booth and folded his arms across his thin chest. "So you're hearing voices. That's a little crazy, gotta say it."

  "I know. I know it sounds crazy, but it gets worse. The voice told me I made the lights explode today and bloodied up Jessica. She must've thought so too because she acted afraid of me. So I was still mad at George and imagined grabbing him by the nuts and twisting until he fell to his knees. Then out of nowhere, he drops and moans and holds himself like someone kicked him in the balls."

  Gitch motioned to the bartender and held up his empty glass and two fingers. "This is gonna take a double. That sounds totally irrational. I'm actually a little speechless. Not saying you're crazy, but that Cybil gal ain't got nothin' on you." He smiled and winked.

  Asia ran her hands through her hair, pulling it back over her ears. "I know it sounds crazy, but it's true. I've never heard the voice until today. Uggghhh! You think I'm nuts!" She shook her fingers in her hair!

  The bartender arrived with a tray of drinks. The two that Gitch ordered and two more Long Islands for Asia. He sat them in front of her. "From the gentleman over there. He wanted me to check for a ring when I was over here last time, told him no ring. Told him you said you were seeing someone, but he said he wasn't buying it." The bartender chuckled. The guy on the left turned around and smiled toward the table; his buddies laughed. The guy with the cigar blew smoke in his face. "His name is Clinton."

  "Clinton, like Bill Clinton? Now the cigar makes sense. Get some, girl. Your boyfriend does, you might as well." Gitch laughed. It was the first time all day, she'd noticed him laugh at his own joke, and it was a nervous-sounding laugh.

  "Well, his first name is Clinton. And the guy with the cigar is Jimmy, but yeah, you get the picture."

  "I'm really not interested," Asia said, sliding the drinks back toward the bartender. "How 'bout a couple shots of Fireball."

  "Whatever suits ya," the bartender said, picking up the drinks and carrying them back.

  As soon as he put them back on the tray laughter exploded from the other two men. "Strike two!" one of them yelled. Asia could only make out a few words here and there. "Told ya... about a mile outta your league!... fag!" The Jimmy guy sucked on his cigar and blew victory rings in the air.

  Asia saw anger flash across Gitch's face, and felt herself get angry because of it. That fat, judgmental, mother fucker! She forced herself to try to calm down. Now wasn't the time to get righteous, it was the time to support her new friend. He would find a way to say the right thing to help her; she needed to be able to do the same. But knowing what to say to friends in a crisis was something she was terrible at, and over the years it had caused more than a few friendships to unravel. Graduating and getting this job was a chance to reboot her life and learn from her mistakes. She didn't want to start by screwing up a chance at a friendship that she desperately needed.

  "Don't worry about what the fat fucker says, you hear me?" she said, putting her hands on his that were clasped tight around his glass.

  The bartender arrived with the shots, two that Asia ordered and two for Gitch from the guy at the bar. He looked over his shoulder as he sat them down. Clinton waved a twenty at him. The bartender paused and then said, "He said he's going home with one of you girls tonight."

  Asia felt the fire in her belly being stoked. She threw down both shots and motioned to Gitch to do the same. He did. She clanked the empty glasses onto the tray. "You tell him"--clank--"that I said"--clank--"that if he doesn't leave us alone"--clank--"that I'm gonna shove his friend's cigar"--clank--"up his ass. This is my friend, and I don't take kindly to him being bullied."

  "I can't tell them that, darlin'. That'd just stoke their fires. The cute little woman having to fight the man's fight."

  Yes! Teach them a lesson. They don't need to see that it's you. You can make them think it's Gitch! They'll see what you make them see.

  Asia jumped, surprised to hear the voice outside the studio. She paused, unable to gather her thoughts. Finally, she shook her head. "You hear that?" she said to Gitch.

  He frowned. "Hear what? A bunch of homophobic bullshit?"

  You can make them see whatever you want!

  Clinton got off his stool, pulled up his jeans, and sauntered toward the table. His friends cackled away. The fire in her gut blossomed into white-hot rage as soon as he took the first step in her direction. Gitch wasn't going to make a joke or bring any levity to the situation. His face burned scarlet, and he stared at his glass, running his finger around the rim. "I can do this," she thought.

  Of course, you can.

  "Please, go back and sit down. I'm not interested. We're trying to sit here and commiserate about our day," she said, trying to keep her voice level. The white began to invade the corners of her vision.

  "Honey, you aren't seriously interested in this guy, are you? I think he seems more interested in my friends than he is you."

  Make them see your power. Make them believe!

  "Listen, if you don't leave us alone, I'm gonna take your buddy's cigar and shove it so far up your ass they'll never find it."

  Gitch's eyes doubled in size and his color melted away.

  They'll see whatever you want them to see!

  Clinton laughed. It reminded Asia of the way Beth had laughed at her. She imagined the boy on the couch only he had Gitch's face. That same feeling of embarrassment flooded over her. Followed by the anger brought on by the embarrassment. She wanted to lash out. Make someone hurt the way the embarrassment hurt. She remembered lashing out at Beth and the way she looked lying on the carpet, her crushed eye socket a black moon barely visible through the blood.

  Terror spread across Gitch's face.

  Clinton stumbled backward a couple steps, bracing himself against a post. He recovered and reached for her. "Are you alri --"

  Asia saw him reach for her and reacted by closing her eyes. She imagined him held firmly in place, like a mannequin. His arm extended toward her but was unable to come any closer. The look of horror on his face morphed into panic as he realized he couldn't move. He tried to fight it. The tendons in his neck bulged as he struggled against his invisible bindings. His face turned red from the strain.

  His friends were gone. So were Gitch and the bartender. She saw herself walking around him, like a lion circling its prey. He didn't act like he could see her, but he moved his head to follow her footsteps. She started humming Thriller. He jerked his head back and forth trying to see where the sound was coming from.

  Out of nowhere, she had a cigar in her hand. She imagined pressing the cigar into his eye and watching it shrivel up like a piece of melted cellophane. She pressed harder. It sizzled and popped as it burned its way through the cornea. The ran
cid tang of burning flesh assaulted her nose. She twisted the cigar, pushing it deeper. His other eye, wild with pain and fear, focused in on her. She felt a pang of guilt causing her to lose her concentration for a second. Suddenly feeling less restraint, he jerked his head to the side. As he turned, the cigar left an angry red stripe from his eye to his temple.

  She opened her eyes. She knew she had to be ready if he lunged at her but didn't know if she had the energy to restrain him again. Her heart pounded in her chest, and her breathing was short and fast. But she felt energy like she hadn't felt in a long time. It was more than energy though... it was exhilaration. It was almost a euphoric feeling, a sort of numb pleasure.

  Clinton didn't attack. He looked like he was in shock. He stood a few feet from the table, woozy. He opened his mouth to scream, but no sound escaped. A ribbon of smoke curled away from smoldering red crater where his left eye used to be. A single thread of blood crawled from it. His right eye stared straight ahead, unfocused. He crumpled to the floor, banging his head on a table, and opening up a gash in his forehead. A dark pool began to spread out around where he landed.

  Jimmy tried to scream, but it was choked out by his lunch coming up and splattering on the floor. The other man pulled out his phone and called for help.

  "What the hell just happened," the bartender said.

  Gitch's face hadn't regained any of its color. His mouth hung agape. "Did you?" he whispered.

  Asia felt torn between battling tears and wanting to relish the euphoric feeling. She shrugged.

  "Are you--you had blood all over your face. Now it's gone. Oh lord, you're making me crazy now too. I swear your face was bloody."

  The bartender ran over, gripped her chin, and gently turned it toward him. "He's right. You were a bloody mess. I thought Clinton must've hit you or something and was getting ready to jump over the bar when his eye... oh my God, his eye... it started burning." He breathed in and blew it out several times.

  Sirens wailed in the distance.

  Jimmy heaved again. He leaned his head on his hands and let the vomit run out of his mouth and drop on the bar. It pooled around his elbows, but he didn't seem to notice.