Killer

by Francine Pascal

  In the darkness Ella spied the hanging iron ball that served as the door knocker. She even remembered the pattern—six hits, then silence. Then one more hit. Right. This was going to work out just fine.

  Ella reached for the ball and swung it like a pendulum in the same deliberate fashion that the old lady had done. On the sixth hit she waited. Seconds ticked by. She knocked again—once more. Then she pressed her ear up to the cold metal. There were no sounds coming from the chambers on the other side of the door. Shouldn’t the guy in the tunic have let her in by now?

  Not good. She knew that fear and impatience were starting to get the best of her. But she couldn’t help it. She tried again, slamming the ball harder and harder each round, the beats increasing in tempo. Still no one came.

  “Answer the door!” she cried. “Just open the damn door!”

  With a savage swing Ella smashed the ball so hard against the door, it broke from its rusted chain and lobbed down the staircase like a bowling ball. Her heart froze. She could hear the sound of decayed wood cracking in the darkness.

  ELLA

  I’ve made some bad choices in my life. There’s not a lot to be proud of.

  Especially today.

  I’m not trying to make excuses for what I’ve done, and I’m not looking for pity. All I ask is that before you judge me, bear this in mind:

  Life doesn’t always turn out the way you think it will.

  When I was growing up in Connecticut, I dreamed of becoming a photographer. I wanted a husband I was passionate for, a couple of adorable kids, an apartment in the city, and a weekend house in the country. I didn’t expect my life to be perfect, but I thought it would at least be comfortable. Normal.

  Then one Saturday, when I was sixteen, I took the train into the city by myself to see the Annie Leibowitz exhibit at MOMA. Loki was there. He was the most charming, sophisticated man I had ever met. He asked me what I thought of the photographs. I couldn’t believe he actually noticed me, actually saw me, when so many of the adults I knew only looked through me. At the time I was incredibly flattered by the attention. I thought he recognized something special.

  Looking back, I now know that the only thing Loki recognized was my innocence. My willingness to trust. My vulnerability.

  I won’t pretend that I was so brainwashed by Loki that I didn’t know the nature of his business dealings. It was obvious that what he was doing was dangerous, wrong, illegal, immoral . . . bad.

  What we were doing.

  But badness has a way of sneaking up on you. You tell a little lie or three—it’s not so bad after a while. You skim a little money off the top from a rich terrorist—he wouldn’t miss the money, anyway. The next thing you know you’re taking out a contract on someone’s life and you can almost justify it to yourself.

  What I want to know is this: Is it just as easy to be good?

  If I do something small, like smiling at some stranger on the street, can I eventually do something big, like helping orphaned kids? Or feeding the homeless?

  Or leading an honest life?

  Just once I want to do something noble.

  Something I’m proud of.

  GAIA

  Okay.

  So this is what I know so far. My dad’s code name is Loki. For some reason he’s in hiding, but he’s been keeping tabs on me over the years to protect me. Ella’s been working for him, and for some reason now he wants to kill her.

  The way I figure it, there’s two ways you can look at these facts:

  A. Ella’s lying through her teeth, and everything she’s said so far is just a bunch of bull-shit, or

  B. Ella’s telling the truth.

  If I went with my deep-down, basic-instinct, primal gut reaction, I’d pick A.

  But here’s the problem.

  Let’s just say for argument’s sake that the answer is B and my dad really has been trying to watch over me all this time. Ella said he wanted to protect me. She also said that he wanted to kill her. If that’s the case, then wouldn’t he want her dead because she was probably trying to hurt me? I mean, he wouldn’t do something like that unless something big was at stake, right? It makes sense. I keep thinking back to that whole incident in the park . . . the one with Ella pointing a gun to my head. My dad was there to stop her, wasn’t he?

  So I guess that means if I believe B, Ella unwittingly incriminated herself. And if I believe A, she’s a liar just like Sam.

  Either way, I can’t trust her.

  uncharted ground

  Freedom was terrifying. She’d been a slave for too long.

  FOR A CHILLY WINTER NIGHT, Washington Square Park was unusually crowded. Students were huddled together on benches. Even a few in-line skaters were out. Sam was a little surprised, and not because of the weather. Didn’t anybody care about the fact that several people had been killed here over the past few months? Apparently not. Apparently he didn’t, either. Everybody in this city seemed to suffer from short-term memory loss.

  The Words

  And he was one of them.

  He spied some of his old chess buddies out at the tables ... but his heart sank as he saw that Gaia wasn’t among them. Zolov, the ninety-year-old Ukranian. Mr. Haq, the cabdriver. Sam hurried up to them, jamming his hands in his overcoat pockets.

  “You come to play game?” Zolov asked, moving his red Mighty Morphin Power Ranger good luck charm to the left side of the chessboard. His eyes never moved from the pieces. Nor did Mr. Haq’s. They weren’t being rude; they were simply immersed in the game. Sam could relate.

  “No time to play today,” Sam mumbled. “I’m looking for Gaia.”

  Zolov’s bushy white eyebrows knitted together. “Who?”

  It took Sam a minute to realize his mistake. He’d forgotten that Zolov made up his own name for Gaia because he couldn’t remember her real one.

  “Cindy, Zolov. I’m looking for Cindy.”

  “Ah. Yes. Ceendy.” Zolov smiled. “She’s a good geerl. Pretty, too.”

  “I know,” Sam said, trying not to betray his impatience. “Have you seen her?”

  Zolov took a few moments to consider the question. “No. I haven’t seen Ceendy in a long time,” he finally answered.

  Neither had Mr. Haq, apparently. Mr. Haq just shrugged, frowning at the chessboard. A headache pounded Sam’s temples. Where the hell was she?

  She’d cleared out of her house, so she wouldn’t be there. Ed Fargo said he hadn’t seen her since this morning. She hadn’t told Ed where she was going, either. And Sam hadn’t seen her at Krispy Kreme or Ozzie’s Café or Gray’s Papaya. It was scary. Gaia didn’t often stray from her usual haunts....

  As far as he could figure out, there were only two possibilities:

  Either they had been running circles around each other all afternoon.

  Or she was gone for good.

  Zolov suddenly looked up. “Ceendy’s your girlfriend.”

  It was a statement, not a question. Sam’s rib cage tightened around him like a steel band. “I . . . I wish she was,” he confessed.

  “Ceendy loves you,” Zolov said with an impish grin.

  Sam smiled politely, even though part of him wanted to smash Zolov across the face in frustration. But it wasn’t his fault. The old man was obviously confused. He might be a formidable chess master, but he knew nothing about love.

  IT WAS WELL AFTER MIDNIGHT BY the time Gaia headed toward the small East Village neighborhood known as Alphabet City. The area got its name for the lettered avenues that ran through it—not for any whimsical, childish reasons, like Alphabet Soup. It was a neighborhood of crack houses and abandoned buildings, of crime and hustlers and drugs. Even Mary, one of the more adventurous people Gaia had ever known, had never ventured too deep into Alphabet City alone. Day or night.

  Ambush

  It was a good thing Gaia was fearless. Right now, fearlessness was a good thing. The threat of street thugs and crack fiends wasn’t enough to turn Gaia away. Nor was the possibility of running
headlong into another one of Ella’s traps. And as much as Gaia wanted to believe that Ella wasfinally ready to come clean, she knew it was unlikely. This very well could be one big setup. After all, why would the stepmonster suddenly turn on a dime and start being nice?

  Because I saved her life, Gaia reminded herself.

  Right. That had to count for something.

  Gaia kicked a broken beer bottle to the edge of the curb, where trash was overflowing from a long-neglected garbage can. The outlines of listless bodies slumped in doorways faded as Gaia headed east; fewer and fewer streetlights worked.

  “Ssssssssss.”

  Wait. Was somebody hissing at her? She glanced into the street. Yup. A guy with a pathetic excuse for a mustache had rolled down the window of his beat-up Chrysler LeBaron. Gaia had to laugh. Among the city’s population of Neanderthals, hissing was actually considered to be a compliment.

  “What are you, a snake?” she asked him.

  The guy wagged his tongue at her. “No, but I’ve got one I can show you....”

  An inventory of kung fu moves flashed through Gaia’s mind, but ultimately this caveman wasn’t worth her energy. Gaia kept walking. After a moment the car sped away, turning the corner with a screech. Maybe that was supposed to communicate the man’s disappointment. How clever.

  What would Ella be doing around here? Gaia wondered. She pictured Ella walking by, wearing one of those spandex headbands that barely passed for a miniskirt, getting mauled by every other guy on the street. Then again, knowing Ella’s voracious taste in men, she probably liked that sort of thing.

  At last Gaia made it to the southeast corner of Avenue C and Eighth Street.

  So. Here she was. Even among all the burned-out buildings and abandoned tenements, this had to be the worst block in the neighborhood. It looked like a war zone. Every window was broken or boarded up. Every wall was scribbled with spray-painted graffiti. On the opposite corner was a building with police tape draped across the doorway, declaring it condemned.

  This had to be a trap.

  Gaia nodded to herself. Ella would have never set a high-heeled foot anywhere near this place. So she had to be hiding in the shadows somewhere, waiting to pounce. Fine. Gaia balled her fists. The old, electric tingle shot through her body. She would wait for the ambush. It was all she could do.

  FROM THE FOYER OF THE ABANDONED apartment building, Ella waited. She could see the street corner clearly through a cutout in the plywood that boarded up the window—with its dented mailbox that had been partially uprooted from a bad parking job.

  No Safety Net

  Maybe Gaia isn’t going to come.

  Why would she? It was ridiculous to expect that she would trust Ella enough to show up at such a seedy address. Ella wasn’t sure she even wanted Gaia to show up. Yes, there was a lot that Gaia needed to know for her own sake. But that meant that Ella would have to own up to her own past and the part she played in Loki’s schemes. It was difficult enough admitting the truth to herself, let alone the person she’d been trying to hurt ... even kill.

  Absently Ella chewed on her newly cut fingernails while she waited. Maybe, just maybe, opening up to Gaia would be liberating. Maybe she would even catch a glimpse of her former self, that hazy vapor of a person stuffed into the bottom of her mind . . . the person who had once determined her own destiny and made her own decisions, without interference from anyone else.

  No. She was fooling herself. Freedom wasterrifying. She’d been a slave for too long.

  This was uncharted ground—like hurling through space without a safety net. This was choosing one path among an infinite number. It was trusting yourself when you weren’t even sure that you could be trusted.

  Ella sighed and pressed her face up to the open hole in the plywood. What if, in the end, she discovered that she didn’t like the person she was? Anything’s better than who you are now, Ella told herself. You can always change. . . .

  There she was. Gaia stepped up on the curb. She looked around, with her hands squeezed into tight fists, as if she were unsure she had remembered the address correctly. As if she didn’t trust Ella at all.

  Poor thing, Ella thought in silence. She has no idea her life is about to change forever.

  THE DOOR TO THE RUN-DOWN apartment building creaked open. Gaia hesitated. This was it. The moment. But Ella was nowhere to be seen. A young woman in olive cargo pants and a white T-shirt stood in the doorway....

  Ella Sponge

  “Hello, Gaia.”

  Gaia blinked. No. It was impossible. Long gone were the miniskirts and sequins. The layers of makeup had been chiseled off and the offensive red hair had been pulled back into a loose bun, revealing a much younger looking face. Even the hideous red talons Ella had glued to her fingernails had been ripped off. It was hard to believe there had actually been a person under the clown costume Ella had always worn.

  But there she was ... looking not so different from Gaia herself. It was beyond strange; it was creepy.

  “I barely recognize you,” Gaia stated.

  Ella managed a sad smile. She held open the door, glancing out in the street. “Come in. We shouldn’t be outside.”

  Well, if this was a trap, Ella was doing a damn good job. Gaia hesitantly followed her inside. The entrance smelled of must and mold. There were no lights on anywhere, only a trail of votive candles leading from the front door to the second-floor landing. A rat whisked by in the shadows. This place was like . . . what? A crash pad from some sixties movie? A house of junkies? If there wasever a place built to the exact inverse specifications of Ella’s personality, this was it.

  “Sorry, there’s no electricity in here,” Ella apologized, handing Gaia her own candle to carry. “Or running water, either. It’s a squat. The roof leaks, and sometimes plaster falls from the ceiling. But hey, what do you want for free?”

  Gaia shook her head. “How did you . . . find out about this place?”

  “As soon as I moved in with George, I knew I had to find a place where no one could find me,” she answered. “Nobody who knows me would look for me in a crack house in Alphabet City. Right?”

  She had a point there. Gaia’s limbs felt sluggish and dull, as if she were moving through a dream. She had no idea what to make of any of this. Footsteps creaked across the floor above them. A tinny radio echoed in the stairwell.

  “Do you stay here a lot?” Gaia asked.

  “Are you kidding?” Ella laughed, leading her down the second-floor hallway, past several doors marked with their own letters, to a single door at the end of the hall. The paint on the door was mottled and chipped, and a faded letter E materialized in the flickering candlelight. “I like the high life, remember?”

  Gaia didn’t answer. She decided she’d simply listen, observe, soak in. She would be a sponge—a sponge that absorbed Ella ... or whoever the hell Ella really was.

  Ella pushed open the door and led Gaia inside. It was a dingy studio apartment—hardly bigger than Gaia’s bedroom on Perry Street. A small army cot was set up in the corner, next to a sickly yellow bureau with flower decals that looked like it had been rescued from a street curb. On the other side of the room were a small chrome table and mismatched wooden chairs and milk crates filled with papers and folders. Candles dripped slowly on every available surface. A cockroach scurried up the wall.

  “Sorry I can’t offer you anything,” Ella joked.

  “Right,” Gaia said blankly. She took a seat at the table. She scanned the apartment for weapons—guns, carving knives, baseball bats—but didn’t see anything remotely threatening.

  Ella sat down across from her. Again Gaia was struck by how different she looked without all the makeup.

  “So, is this totally shocking to you?” Ella asked.

  I’d have to say that’s the understatement of the century, Gaia thought. But she kept her comment to herself. Ella wasstill an opponent, an enemy.

  “I know it must be strange to live with some-one and think you know them,
only to find out they’re someone totally different,” Ella stated in the silence.

  Gaia clenched her jaw. “I never felt like I knew you at all.”

  Ella arched her eyebrows. “You formed certain opinions about me,” she said. Her tone wasn’t angry; it was just matter-of-fact.

  “I thought you were a back-stabbing witch who couldn’t be trusted,” Gaia replied. Maybe if she opened up, Ella would be more inclined to open up, too. “And I always knew you were playing George for a sucker.”

  Ella just smiled sadly again. “Sometimes you had good reason to be mad at me,” she answered. “But a lot of times, in the beginning, I interfered because you were in dangerous situations. And occasionally . . . I did feel bad about George. Not often, though.”

  Okay. Ella was being honest. Gaia supposed she could grudgingly respect her for that. On the other hand, it was pretty damn convenient to say that Ella felt bad about George now. In fact, this whole freaking setup was just a little too convenient. And a little too weird. Ella was suddenly a lost, homeless waif . . . out on the street. From the West Village to Alphabet City. In less than a day. No way. Gaia still couldn’t believe it.

  “You were trying to keep me safe, so you end up trying to kill me,” she remarked flatly. “That makes total sense.”

  “No—at first I tried to protect you, but after a while you started to get in the way of a lot of things.”

  Gaia laughed bitterly. “Like Sam?”

  Ella nodded without so much as batting an eye-lash. “Like Sam. You’ve got to understand some-thing—Loki had me locked in a marriage with a man who was twenty-five years older than me. And Loki was ignoring me. I was looking for a way to feel young again.”