Blood

by Francine Pascal

  Gaia sighed regretfully. “I’m sorry, George. It does sound kind of … neat, but I better get to the library and work on my paper.”

  George shrugged. “Oh, well, maybe some other time. Don’t work too hard, now. Will you be okay for dinner? We might not get back till late.”

  “I’ll be fine,” Gaia said. “You guys have fun.” After George left, Gaia shook her head and took a deep breath. George was another person who would be horrified and disappointed in her if he knew her plans for Skizz. For an instant she pictured herself in prison, in handcuffs, looking out through a cell’s bars at Ed and George. And Mary. Shivering, Gaia blinked and erased the image from her mind.

  Twenty minutes later, after she was sure George and Cruella had left, Gaia put on her leaking down jacket and headed downstairs, leaving bits of ragged feathers every third step. Her stomach was tight, and she felt unbearably tense. Was this really her, planning to murder someone?

  Yes. It was. She was going to do it.

  Just as Gaia was reaching for the front door, a thought hit her: gloves. Her hands were already dry and chapped. Maybe the Nivens had some spares.

  In the hall closet Gaia found a pair of white mohair gloves edged with fake leopard skin. So practical. Gaia pushed behind the coats to the wall shelves. Bingo. Next to a small red box shoved into the corner was a pair of George’s leather gloves, lined with Thinsulate. Ah. They were only a tiny bit too big, thanks to her huge, gorillalike paws. Perfect. She arranged the other gloves neatly on the shelf, then backed out of the closet.

  As she was about to close the door, the red box caught her attention. Shiny wrapping paper. It looked like it could be a leftover Christmas present, but that didn’t compute. Ella wasn’t the kind of woman to leave any kind of present unopened for very long.

  Gaia picked up the box, shook it a few times. She could hear all the pieces jiggling around inside. Curiosity almost prompted her to open it. Almost.

  She shrugged and stuffed the box back up on the shelf. It was probably some cheap costume jewelry from one of Ella’s secret admirers. How lame. The idea made Gaia’s stomach turn. Or had it been turning already?

  Outside, the sun was just setting. The air was cold, but not as damp as it had been. Maybe no more snow tonight. Almost instantly, as Gaia headed down Perry Street, her nose started running. This time she was prepared, though, and she pulled a wad of toilet paper from her pocket and mopped up the worst of it.

  If she walked fast, she could make Washington Square Park in fifteen minutes. If she stopped for a chickpea roti at one of the many little delis on the way, she could add two minutes to that time. Her stomach felt kind of upset, but maybe she should eat, anyway. Low blood sugar would make her feel shakier than she already did. Today was the day. She could feel it.

  It was weird about Skizz. The last time Gaia had seen him, he had looked like something the dog had brought in. Gaia had definitely gone overboard. The truth was, she had practically beaten him to death. Now, not even two weeks later, he should still be in pretty bad shape. And he had been in bad shape when Gaia had last seen him. He’d been a mess. But apparently not too much of a mess to hire some sleazeball to do his dirty work for him.

  Gaia strode along, walking fast to keep warm, licking spicy curried chickpeas off her gloves.

  The West Fourth Street entrance to the park was right on the corner, and Gaia headed in. It was dark in this corner, the overhead lamps burned out. Hands by her sides, she moved forward toward the center of the park. First a quick check by the chess tables, out of habit, then a circuit around the park perimeter.

  “Smoke, smoke, smoke,” offered a tall, thin guy in a rasta hat.

  “No, thanks,” Gaia said, and kept moving.

  At the chess tables Zolov sat before an empty seat. Gaia wished she had twenty minutes and twenty bucks. A couple of other regulars were packing up their pieces, getting ready to head in out of the cold and dark. On a January night the only people still offering a game were players who were so chess obsessed they didn’t feel the cold or so desperate they didn’t have anyplace else to go.

  Of course, Sam wasn’t there. He was probably safe and warm in his dorm room. Probably with Heather. She was probably rubbing his shoulders.

  Oh, stop it!

  No sign of Skizz so far. Was he lying low after the murder? It seemed uncharacteristically sensible of him.

  Not that the park was devoid of weirdos and various lowlifes. She’d barely made one circuit of the perimeter and had already been approached about eight times. Why was it that pond scum guys always seemed to think they had a chance just because she was alone, just because she was female? A while ago Gaia would have been happy to provide a graphic demonstration of just how wrong they were. Tonight she didn’t have time.

  As Gaia was heading out the park’s Waverly Street entrance, planning to circle the block, she caught a glimpse of a figure about sixty yards ahead. It was night, but the guy moved under a lamppost. … His dark, shapeless coat was bulky, a black knitted cap pulled low on his Neanderthal brow. One arm was in a sling. The other hand—yes. It was taped.

  Skizz.

  Gaia froze less than a second. Then without a conscious thought she was moving, sprinting down the cobbled walk with her hair flying in back of her, the wind streaming icily over her taut face.

  She was going to do it. She wasn’t sure how, but she was sure of the outcome. She was going to kill Skizz.

  Raw power pumped through her veins. Her arms were already coiled, iron hard, ready to crush his skull. Her eyes lasered in on him, pinning him to one spot as she flashed forward. Time to die.

  Gaia sensed the car before she actually saw it.

  A dark, beat-up sedan screeched to a halt by Skizz, the back door already popped open.

  No.

  No, no, no. There was no way.

  As Skizz moved toward the car, Gaia poured on the power. She was almost to him. Thirty more feet, twenty. Her boots sounded like muffled thunder on the sidewalk. She just needed to …

  Skizz stepped into the sedan, slamming the door behind him. The car lurched into traffic, moving away from her.

  Oh God! No! Get back here, you son of a bitch! You killed Mary! I have to do this now! For a moment Gaia was desolate, panting and gasping for breath. Then grim purpose hardened her face, and she raced into the street. She could catch that car. She could do it. She was faster than anyone. She would catch the car, yank open the door, and rip Skizz from its interior. With any luck his legs would be crushed beneath the car wheels.

  Gaia raced after the dark car, the hard street shocking her joints as she ran. Her fury made her feel like an arrow, streaking through the cold air. When she caught the car, she would jump onto the trunk and hang on. Then when it stopped, she could—

  The next thing Gaia knew, she was taking a dive into the curb. Several things registered all at once: screeching brakes, honking horns, traffic lights flashing crazily above her, and another person tumbling down on top of her.

  Moaning, Gaia tried to curl into a ball, her shaky hands struggling to push her way out from under this other human being.

  “Are you crazy?” a voice demanded roughly. “Were you trying to kill yourself? You ran right into me!”

  A man’s face, concerned and angry and scared, floated over her as he stood up shakily.

  “Unh,” Gaia managed, gasping for breath. Her heart still pounded. She knew Skizz was gone. If she were the kind of girl who cried, she would have wept with frustration and rage. She’d been stalking him for days, and this was the first sighting she’d had. Now he was gone. Dammit!

  “Look, I’m calling an ambulance,” said the guy. He pulled a cell phone out of his suit pocket and started to punch in numbers. “You look pretty scratched up.” He glanced down at his own, unharmed body, then at Gaia. “I guess you broke my fall. What the hell were you running for, anyway?” People kept walking by as Gaia gingerly rubbed the side of her leg that had hit the curb hardest. At that moment she
was glad of the typical New Yorker’s aversion to getting involved.

  “I’m all right,” Gaia managed. She tried to sit up, but a fresh wave of pain made her sag. “Don’t call an ambulance.”

  The man hesitated. “I better,” he decided. “Something could be broken. You were going pretty fast.”

  Shaking her head, Gaia said, “No. Nothing’s broken.” She wiggled her foot to show him, even though it hurt so much, she sucked in air with a whoosh. “I’m fine,” she choked out.

  “Can you stand?”

  “Uh-huh,” she said, not knowing if she could or not. Knowing she had to. The guy gave her his hand, and Gaia, gritting her teeth at both the pain and the fact that she had to allow a stranger to help her, raggedly rose to her feet. As long as she didn’t put weight on her right side, she was fine. God, how fast had she been running to hit the curb that hard? Sweat beaded on her forehead. She felt dizzy and sick. Her hip really, really hurt.

  “Where do you live?” asked the guy.

  “Perry Street. Not far.” What did it matter if he knew? What did it matter? So what if he were a random psycho in a chalk-stripe suit? So what if he was about to kidnap her and kill her? No big deal. Gaia tried to control her breathing, started the mental exercises that would allow her to negate the pain. She touched her right foot to the sidewalk. Her leg didn’t buckle, though a bolt of white-hot pain shot up her leg and almost made her moan. Nothing was broken.

  “Why don’t I flag you a cab?” The man seemed uncertain, as if she might sue him for walking in the wrong place at the wrong time. The whole experience of living with New York paranoia suddenly struck Gaia as ridiculous, horrible, and funny. It would also have been a little bit scary if Gaia could feel fear.

  Gaia nodded. “Maybe that would be best.”

  Back at the brownstone, she opened the door, then locked it behind her without looking back. Her forehead felt cold and clammy with sweat. Leaning against the wall, she limped slowly down the hallway to the little powder room tucked under the stairs. Silently Gaia gave thanks that George and Cruella were still out. Then she opened the toilet lid, leaned over, and barfed.

  ED

  Okay, I’ve decided to give Gaia a call. I know, I know. I’m a glutton for punishment. After the way she’s treated me—okay—stomped all over my heart, I should just let her stay on her polar ice cap and blow her off forever. That’s what she said she wants.

  But I’ve been thinking, and there have been times in the last four months when I felt like I caught a glimpse of the Gaia beneath the mask. Just a glimpse, when she let her guard slip, let her real self shine through. When that happened, I saw not a superwoman, not a Norse goddess, but just a girl. Just a girl with no parents and no other friends but me. And maybe that girl needs my help. Even if she doesn’t realize it yet.

  a permanent twilight

  Gaia wanted to go below the belt? Fine.

  Limited Usefulness

  “HOW BADLY IS SHE HURT?” LOKI subdued the acidic thread of anger in his voice as he buttoned up his shirt. Ella was still sitting on the bed, one foot dangling lazily over the edge. Loki’s hands clenched and unclenched by his sides. He turned toward the window, furious that Ella hadn’t told him of this development as soon as she had arrived at his apartment.

  In the reflection of the window he saw Ella shrug.

  He waited.

  “Nothing’s broken,” Ella said finally. “She must have a bad bruise, but I haven’t seen it. Unless you want to add peeping at her in her bath to my list of duties.”

  Loki’s stomach tightened. This foolish, shortsighted woman. If she had two brain cells left to rub together, she would be anxiously trying to add duties to her list. Obviously she had no idea of her increasingly limited usefulness to him. In and out of bed. Had she not thought ahead as to what her future would be when she could no longer serve him? Did she assume he would simply wave good-bye and let her go live somewhere happily ever after? Did she assume Loki would trust her to keep all his secrets? Did she assume he would keep her on as his lover?

  Smoothly he turned to her. Soon it would be time for her distressingly inadequate service to end. In the meantime she did provide a conduit of information that would be hard to duplicate.

  “No,” he said evenly. “But you might keep an eye on her. If she needs medical attention, see to it.”

  “She won’t need medical attention,” Ella said, fishing out a cigarette and tapping it against her wrist. She started to light it but was stopped by Loki’s glacial gaze. “She’s indestructible.” She sounded bitter about it. Loki suppressed a smile.

  “Luckily for you,” he said, keeping his voice hard.

  “I can’t keep her locked in her room,” Ella protested.

  “No. But you can do your job,” Loki said. “Do try, will you?”

  “Yes,” Ella said.

  “You are dismissed.” Loki turned away again.

  After Ella had resentfully slunk out of the apartment, Loki permitted himself the pleasure of ruminating on Gaia. It was almost time. Despite his anger at Ella for not eliminating the dealer yet, still, Loki was pleased. According to his report, Gaia had been absolutely hell-bent on the kill. Would she do it? Would she cross the line? It was a tantalizing notion. If she did, he could finally make his move.

  Worth a Shot

  “GAIA? HEY.”

  Hesitation. “Hey.” She sounded distant. Like that was new. Ed shifted in his bed, switching the phone to his other ear and punching his pillow a couple of times. His thin legs barely made ridges beneath his down comforter.

  “Listen, I’m going to give you another chance.” Silence at the other end. “How are you doing?”

  “I’m doing fine,” Gaia replied, already sounding testy.

  “Well, can we get together? I have a whole list of new complaints about my parents and no one to listen to me.”

  Silence while he imagined Gaia smiling.

  “Ed, listen,” she said haltingly.

  Ed the basset hound pricked up his ears. Was she giving in? He couldn’t wait for her to see his face, with its knife cut going across his cheek. Then she would be sorry. Then she would be all concerned about him, full of anger at his mugging. It would be great.

  “I’m not interested. Okay?” Gaia continued.

  Ouch. Ed almost slammed down the receiver, but some perverse impulse made him pull it back to his ear. Gaia wanted to go below the belt? Fine.

  “Interested in what, Gaia? Looking for Skizz? Or have you found him yet? I didn’t read about any bodies being found in the East River. Or maybe you were planning to dispose of him in the Hudson. I’m out of the loop with what all the young murderers are doing with their prey these days.”

  “Very amusing,” Gaia said, her voice sounding muffled. Her tone had dropped from chilly to below freezing.

  Now what? He’d blown this sky-high one minute into the conversation.

  “Gaia, just talk to me,” he said.

  He was such a pathetic sucker.

  “Ed, I don’t want to talk.”

  No shit. Ed’s jaw set as he tried to keep himself from blurting out, “I got mugged!” He wouldn’t stoop that low. He wouldn’t use his near-death experience to get Gaia to show some sympathy and interest.

  Ed willed a snappy comeback to pop into his mind. He’d already used “whatever” the last time he’d hung up on her. Maybe he should come up with a list and keep it by the phone. How to hang up on Gaia: fifty different ways. He was sure it would come in handy.

  After racking his brain for a cool, disinterested, sarcastic line for a full twelve seconds, Ed found himself saying the one thing he hadn’t planned on.

  “You’re going to realize you need me,” he said in a low, harsh voice. “When you do, you’ll be lucky if I’m still here.”

  There. That was it. The perfect last word. What could she possibly say to that?

  “Ed. I don’t need you. I don’t want you. I’m sorry but I don’t see how you—a neurotic gu
y in a wheelchair—could actually help me.”

  Ed was too stunned to breathe.

  “It’s not that I don’t want to talk now, or tomorrow, or next week, or whatever. I don’t want to talk ever. I don’t want you in my life,” Gaia hissed. Ed swallowed. “Get the hell out of my life.”

  The phone went dead. Before he could really comprehend what had just happened, Ed felt the tears coursing down his cheeks.

  Later

  “ED?” MRS. FARGO CALLED FROM outside the door.

  Ed was still clutching the cordless phone as he lay back against three huge, puffy pillows. From his bed he could see the hazy January sky trying to convince him it was truly daytime and not a permanent bleak twilight.

  “Yeah?”

  The door opened, and his mother came in, dressed for success in camel flannel slacks, a matching cashmere twinset, and a discreet pearl choker at her throat. Ed was sure his sister’s fiancé’s parents would be suitably impressed. Today the two sets of parents were meeting at the Russian Tea Room to discuss wedding plans. Ed hadn’t been invited, thank God.

  “Honey, it’s almost eleven o’clock,” his mother said. “Shouldn’t you get up and get dressed?”

  This was obviously a rhetorical question.

  “Yeah, okay,” said Ed.

  “Have you done your exercises?” Mrs. Fargo asked, automatically picking up clothes and folding them over the back of a chair.

  “Not yet.”

  His mother’s eyes met his, and Ed waited. She was obviously warring with herself, trying to determine how much to nag him. Ed breathed a sigh of relief when he saw she’d decided against it for today.

  “Your father and I will probably be gone until about three. There’s food in the kitchen. Do you need anything?” She paused in the doorway.

  “No, I’m fine,” said Ed.