The Muse

by Stephen Monaco

  Clinton stirred on the floor. He rolled onto his back, his good eye still staring straight ahead. The other darkening as the charred skin began to turn from red to black. He sucked in a deep breath. He turned his head toward Asia. "You bitch!" he hissed.

  The sirens got louder until they stopped. Four medics burst through the door followed by two police officers, weapons drawn.

  "That fuckin' bitch. She did this to me!" Clinton yelled to them.

  "I'm gonna need you to step outside, ma'am," a gray-haired officer said.

  "He must be in shock," the bartender said. "I honestly can't tell you what happened to him, but I can tell you she was four or five feet away from him when he went down."

  "We'll get your statement shortly, sir. But for now, I need the lady to step outside with us. We need to remove her from the situation."

  Asia allowed the officer to lead her outside. Once there, he questioned her about what had happened. She echoed the bartender's story. While she was telling her story to the officer, the medics wheeled Clinton out on a stretcher.

  "I'm gonna get you, you bitch. You ain't gettin' away with this!" he spat as they pushed him past her. His left eye covered with a thick white bandage.

  "So how come he's convinced that you poked a lit cigarette in his eye if you were always at least ten feet away."

  "Well that would be your job to figure out wouldn't it?"

  "I mean he should be passed out as many pain meds as they pumped into him...and not only is he not passed out, but he's conscious enough to name you as the one who did it to him. I'm not sure I've ever had another witness that adamant." He shook a cigarette out of a pack and offered it to her. She shook her head. He shrugged, slipped it into his mouth, and lit it. "Maybe it's better if I don't give you one of these, huh?"

  She tried to avoid the cloud that formed around him when he exhaled. She ignored the comment too. He was just trying to rattle her to see how she'd react. She wasn't going to be played like that.

  "You know, you and I have met before, a couple of times. My partner and I came to your house when you beat up your sister, and we came to Bluff View when you beat up another patient there. You seem to have a bit of a violent streak in ya, so I don't find it too big of a stretch to think that you might've done this, but I don't understand why everyone is covering for you."

  Asia remembered why she was repulsed by Nicky's scent of smoke and bad perfume. It reminded her of this cop and his female partner. The sick feeling she felt after opening her eyes, seeing Beth's bloody face, and realizing what she'd done, came back to her. Pinpricks of sweat broke out on her back and rolled down her spine, chilling her. She squatted down and steadied herself with one hand on the ground. She fought the urge to throw up.

  "Your partner was a woman, right? Pony-tail, cheap perfume that she took a bath in? I think I remember you." But she didn't. She remembered opening her eyes and then not much of anything until arriving at Bluff View. She didn't remember any incident from Bluff View at all. She remembered that putrid mix of stale smoke and too much cheap perfume. It had stuck in her unconscious somewhere, dormant. When she smelled Nicky, that's when all this started, the voice, the anger, all of it. The smell triggered those memories and brought them bubbling to the surface.

  "So why is everyone so afraid of you? This guy is something we've never had before, a victim willing to identify you, but then I've got four other witnesses saying you never touched the guy. The guy's eye is burned out of his head. Something happened to him."

  "Listen, Detective...?"

  "Martinez."

  "Detective Martinez. I don't know what happened to him. I have four people saying I never moved from the booth I was in. It's his word against five others. Can I go, please? It's been a long day."

  He nodded and blew a cloud of smoke in front of her. "I'll be in touch if I have other questions. I'm the meantime, don't go near that guy. Hear me?"

  Asia didn't answer because she didn't plan on seeing the guy ever again. He came to her, it wasn't like she went looking for him in the first place. She wasn't going to go looking for him now.

  Gitch was waiting for her to get done talking with the police. She nodded his way, and they both hurried to the car. Once they were safely inside with the door shut, she spoke. "Do you still think I'm crazy?"

  He braced his hands on the steering wheel and shook his head. "I think I'm the one going crazy. He... he was standing there looking like a cad, and then his eye started smoking. It turned red, then redder, then kept getting darker and deeper. The sound, I can't make that sound go away. It sizzled like steak on the grill. I saw you. You were sitting there with your eyes closed like you were mad about what he said and trying to calm down."

  Asia wanted to tell him but hesitated. Better to have him think she got over emotional and said a bunch of dumb stuff than to tell him she tortured some man without moving from her seat. The first sounded a little unstable, but the second sounded downright crazy... and sadistic.

  "I know. I told you weird stuff has been happening all day. I think I'm just tired and need to climb into bed and start reading this script."

  They rode in silence back to Blackrock Pictures. Gitch drove her to her 2004 Ford Explorer. The Ford logo was missing off the tailgate, and there was a patch of rust above the rear wheel well.

  "That's what you drive? I swear to Cher, you need to step your game up, girl." He smiled, but it looked forced. She could tell he was trying to get his mind off what he'd seen. He wasn't fooling her, and she doubted he was fooling himself either.

  She smiled, but the remark still stung a little bit. "Why? What's wrong with it?"

  "You just seem more sorority girl, than redneck chic. You're a Hollywood designer now. People judge."

  "I guess maybe there's more to me than meets the eye," she said, starting to push the door closed.

  "No pun intended, right? More than meets the eye? Nevermind. Bad joke." He patted the steering wheel. "Get some rest, if you're looking all haggard tomorrow, Nicky won't be nearly as uncomfortable."

  "I'll do my best." She pushed the door shut and waved as he drove away.

  Her phone showed no missed calls from George. She tossed it and the script on her front seat, grabbed her credentials, and headed for the building.

  Inside, the costume department wasn't deserted, but it was far less hectic than earlier in the day. Sewing machines whirred away off in the back still, and a couple of hair and makeup people were working on an actress. She waved quickly and scurried to the elevator. The lower floor was deserted, and the second elevator doors were already gaping open, like a huge mouth waiting to swallow her. Her eyes had been playing tricks on her all day, so she didn't even glance to the right when she passed the spot where Jessica had gotten hurt earlier.

  Jessica didn't get hurt. You hurt her.

  She climbed inside the elevator and wished she'd brought a jacket. The screech of the doors shutting and the ominous thud when they slammed together helped chill her. She stared at the ceiling and tapped her foot as the elevator made its way to the bowels of the studio. Once the doors opened, the lights flickered on down the hall, and she saw the electronic keypad illuminate.

  When she got close to the double doors, she checked her hand. Blood dripped off of it and splattered at her feet. Her flight instinct triggered and she had to force herself to ignore it. She stepped forward and placed her hand on the glass. The image under her hand turned white. ENTER flashed on the screen. Blood trickled like stripes across the white shape of her hand once she moved it off the screen. The double doors swung open. Only one of the lights in the room beyond flickered to life.

  Welcome.

  She stepped through the doors, and they swung shut behind her. The other lights didn't come one, leaving the room painted in shadow. The giant crow at the far end stood, his wings folded in and wrapped around his body. His beak pointed skyward but didn't move. The collection of dummies stood like a terracotta army rather than the lifelike dancers they'd
appeared to be earlier.

  "Who are you? Show yourself," she said, feeling her nerve wanting to fail. The bird remained motionless. She waited a few minutes, a warm tentacle of dread wrapped around her gut. No response. She moved toward the bird, maneuvering between the jumbled collection of dummies. Something touched her arm. She turned.

  It was Beth!

  Her eye dangled from its crushed socket. Blood trickled down her face. Her shirt hung open and two ribs poked through the skin like sharp white daggers. Her white lace bra was black with congealed blood. She raised her hand and pointed.

  Asia blinked, and Beth disappeared. She sensed someone behind her and whirled around. Clinton lunged forward, his burned-out eye stopping inches from her own. "I'm gonna live, and you're gonna pay," he whispered.

  He disappeared and in his place was a girl in blue hospital scrubs. Bluff View Treatment Center was stenciled below the right shoulder. The girl smiled. Blackish blood dripped from her mouth where her teeth should have been. She choked and clutched her throat. She gagged and spit a tooth onto the floor at Asia's feet.

  You can do this too. All you have to do is not restrain yourself.

  "Who are you? Why won't you leave me alone?"

  I'm your muse.

  "My what?"

  I'm your muse. I'm here to guide you, show you how great you can be.

  "I don't want a muse. Leave me alone!" Asia scanned the room trying to see where the voice was coming from.

  You're an artist. You can be great. But to be great some... sacrifices... must be made.

  "Look, whoever you are, please quit. I don't want your help. I don't want to be great. I just want to be a costume designer and make a living doing something I like."

  Nonsense! I know your thoughts. I know your dreams and your fantasies. You want it all. You're afraid that bitch upstairs will hold you back. Your boyfriend made sure she gave you that movie. You need to prove him right.

  "I can do that without you. I'm a good designer."

  You need me because you don't have the confidence to do it on your own. Drawing pictures in school was one thing. Being in charge of a multi-million dollar costume budget is something else. You don't have what it takes to do it without me!

  Asia tried to gather her thoughts, but her mind was flooded. School had trained her well for this, or had it? She resented George for exerting his influence to make sure she got the assignment. But she saw how quickly one failure had made Nicky paranoid, despite having Oscar nominations behind her. She didn't know what to think or how to feel.

  Your fear betrays you. You know it's true. Use your power. The more you use it, the more you'll tap into your creativity. You have no idea, how brilliant you can be.

  "What do you mean my power?"

  You've got a gift. When you use violence, you tap into it. The more violent you are, the more creativity you're able to access. You are a designer, you can make people see things differently than they are. You did it today, at the bar. And you did it with your boyfriend's little slut. You imagine how you want someone to appear... and feel... and others they see it. And feel it. You control what the experience! They see you as whoever you want them to see you as. The grim reaper, their ex-wife, a hooker from Hollywood Boulevard. What they see isn't real, but the pain they experience is real, I assure you. You even have the power to kill!

  The last line staggered Asia. Kill? She hadn't thought that she might have killed Clinton, or Beth, or Jessica by losing control of her temper. She shook her head and tried to think of something else. "I thought you said I had to sacrifice something."

  Ah yes, sacrifice. Damaging another human takes a toll. It requires you to sacrifice a little bit of your humanity. Your soul. It isn't easy to watch another person suffer or even possibly die at your hands. You have a gift, child. Use it. Be great. But don't take it for granted.

  Asia's knees started to fail her. She braced herself on the dummy that a few minutes before had looked like Clinton. She pushed herself up. The dummy rolled a few feet away before bumping into a couple more. Inhaling, she narrowed her focus on the dummy. She imagined it looking like Clinton. Smoke curled from the hole on his face. He sneered, his perfectly even, virginal-white teeth reflecting the flickering light from above. "Hey again, girly. I'm gonna get--" His eyes burst wide and fixed straight ahead. His mouth filled with blood that ran down his chin. A spear surged out of his stomach toward her. Tissue hung from its tip. He gurgled and pitched forward onto the floor.

  Asia blinked her eyes. The dummy lay on the floor, a round hole went completely through the middle of it. "Holy shit," she whispered.

  Well done.

  "I don't want this. I don't want this power." She shook her head. She felt herself wanting to cry, or be sick, but at the same time, she felt a little exhilarated. She forced the exhilaration away, replacing it with gut-wrenching guilt for having felt that way.

  The very best creatives throughout history have all had crosses that they bore. This is yours.

  "Best throughout history?"

  Indeed. Think of the greats, artists who changed their field, Van Gogh, Cobain, Hemmingway, Robin Williams, and Asia Ross. Yes, you can be mentioned with those others. You have that ability, but like them, you have your cross to bear to achieve greatness.

  Asia paused for a second trying to digest what she was hearing. "If I have that kind of talent, I can do well enough without this power to be very good. I don't have to be an icon."

  You could be average, but you aren't. You're special. And like it or not, being different comes with a cost.

  "I'm done with this. Leave me alone." Asia glared at the crow costume across the room. Its dark eyes looked like tar pits as they turned toward her. They began to flicker like an old tube TV warming up. Its wings unfurled from being wrapped around its body and spread open, fanning the air. The pungent smell of death rode on the breeze. Her stomach clenched. "Not this time, asshole," she whispered.

  Asia imagined a shotgun hovering next to the crow's black head. She felt the trigger give way. The blast roared through the room and echoed off the walls. A red cloud exploded next to the crow. Part of its black razor beak blew off and stuck in a dummy about ten feet away. Blood sloshed on the floor like water thrown from a bucket and lines of it splattered on a shelf of crates. Asia blinked her eyes. The costume hung across the room, the entire top half of its head missing. The huge black wings slumped forward. Puffs of white cottony stuffing replaced the blood that Asia imagined.

  "I don't want your power. I don't want your help. I don't want to hear your voice ever again! Leave me alone!"

  She ran to the elevator and pushed the up button several times. Once the door opened to the lower costume department, she took another breath. She staggered out and leaned on the wall as the elevator doors bit shut behind her. She swore she was done with the Burrows and her muse forever.

  * * * *

  Two weeks later she sat at her small desk in a corner of the costume department. Wads of paper surrounded her. She sketched out a figure of a boy in blue jeans and a black t-shirt. His black hair partially hung in front of his face. He held a small pistol. She wrote, 'Cain Beginning' across the top. She flipped through some other drawings and frowned.

  "That's not the right look," Nicky growled from behind her, causing her to jump. "Christ, are you a designer or not. How can you read that script and make Cain come off like a normal teenager? He's street-wise and clever. He's learned to live in the shadows. He's seen a lot of the dark sides of humanity at an early age, and you draw him like Billy Bob Suburbia. Jesus, why not stick a tennis racket in his hand and a sweater tied around his neck. I've about had it with you and this shit you're producing."

  "I'm sorry. I'm just not envisioning what is supposed to set him apart. I get that he's street-wise and quick-witted. But I'm struggling to make a costume that shows it. You got any ideas?"

  "Awe, Kappa Kappa Barbie finding the real world isn't quite as simple as school? Here you gotta think, and ap
parently, they think for you in school. Christ, I can't wait for Collins to move on to the next one so that I can get rid of you."

  "Nicky, I'm sorry. I'm trying as hard as I can--"

  No, you aren't. You know what you have to do. You can blow them away if you quit resisting.

  Asia grimaced. She hadn't heard the voice much in the last couple weeks, except for her lowest moments. When her self-doubt was the highest, it was then that the voice would come and remind her that she knew how to get past her creativity block. Each time she ignored it as best she could, but it got a little harder not to let an image slip into her mind. Letting her guard down right now, even a little, would be disastrous. She willed herself to not think of anything bad happening to Nicky.

  "I don't give a crap how hard you're trying. The only reason you still have a job, let alone this project is because of whose dick you're warming. Once he's done with you, so am I."

  Nicky trudged off. Asia put her head down on her desk. The thought of just letting her imagination go free was tempting. She pushed the thoughts away before she could imagine anything detailed. She winced, trying to get anything into her mind other than Nicky. She thought about being on a beach, standing at the edge of the surf as the waves rolled in and across her feet. The water was chilly, but the sun was warm.

  "Wow, girl, you're taking this casual dress thing a bit far," Gitch said, breaking her concentration. "Mother of God, what was that? Never mind, I'm sure it's some bizarre hallucination bullshit. Better that I don't even try to think about it."

  "What?" she said, shaking the daydream from her consciousness.

  "You were sitting there wearing a bikini, and you looked almost good enough to make me straight. Almost. Then the bikini was gone." He smiled. "More weird shit that I'm gonna pretend I never."

  She expected him to laugh, but he didn't.

  "Sorry. I was thinking about my happy place. I imagined myself on a beach, lying in the warm sun without a care in the world. Sounds nice about now. Nicky was over here riding my ass. What've you been up to? I haven't seen you around much. Beginning to think you're avoiding me." She smiled, but it felt painted on.