Blood

by Francine Pascal

  “You’ll bear it because I say you have to,” Loki said quietly, calmly.

  Ella was upset and angry and fed up, but she wasn’t stupid. Her danger-sensing antenna prickled, and once again she told herself to calm down.

  “It’s just very frustrating,” she said more reasonably. “George is repugnant. If I have to let him touch me one more time—” She took a deep breath. “And that girl. I know you think she’s hot stuff, but to me she’s nothing but hateful, rude, and disrespectful.”

  Loki actually let his papers rest on his desk and looked up at her. “And that hurts your tender feelings?” he asked disbelievingly. “What does it matter how she is to you? Your feelings are completely immaterial in this situation. So what if old George wants a feel now and then? Lie on your back and think of England.” He quoted the old saying with obvious callousness.

  “You don’t seem to remember,” he continued softly, “that your usefulness is limited only to what information you bring me about Gaia. Your many mistakes have been overlooked, for the time being, because like it or not, you’re still closer to Gaia than anyone else on our side.”

  Ella drained her glass and set it down, too hard, on the glass-topped coffee table. The noise it made sounded like a gunshot. Loki’s face was a mask.

  Silence filled the room. Once Ella had been Loki’s protégée, his rising star. Now she was yesterday’s socks. He had found her when she was younger than Gaia, had molded her into what she was today. But now she had the sickening feeling that he thought of her as the trial run and Gaia as the final test. But not if she could help it. She licked her lips.

  “I know,” she said, allowing resignation to fill her voice.

  “Is she going to the Moss girl’s funeral tomorrow?”

  Ella shook her head. “The girl’s mother called several times, asking Gaia to speak at the service. Gaia refused. She was a real bitch, in fact.” She studied her nails.

  Loki smiled. “What’s the point of going? Gaia doesn’t allow mere emotions to cloud her judgment. The girl’s role in her life is over, so Gaia moves on. She’s like a shark, our Gaia.” As he looked out the high window, Loki’s face softened almost unnoticeably. “Like a beautiful, perfectly designed shark: nature’s perfect predator. …” His voice trailed off thoughtfully.

  If Ella had to listen to any more of this, she would throw up all over the white carpeting. Instead she lurched to her feet, unsteady for a moment on her high heels. She pulled down her tight skirt and smoothed her hands over her hips. For a moment she hoped a look of sexual interest would cross Loki’s carved face. When he gazed back at her impassively, she felt ashamed, angry.

  Standing at the elevator bank a minute later, Ella quickly lit a cigarette, ignoring the smoke-free-building signs plastered in front of her. Her feelings felt raw. She needed some kind of balm, something that would soothe this rough, maddening itch.

  Two words popped into her fevered mind. Sam Moon. That delicious boy. Ella inhaled her smoke deeply, drawing it down into her lungs. Already she felt her nerves unraveling, smoothing out. Okay. First she would go home and get some rest. Then she would look up her old buddy, old pal, Sam Moon.

  When the elevator doors dinged open, Ella was smiling.

  Mrs. Moss’s Request

  NO ONE USED THE HANDICAPPED-ONLY side entrance at the Village School—no one but Ed. He used to be self-conscious about it, but now he just figured, why beef about having your own private entrance and exit? It was better than being one of the lemmings.

  Today Ed waited for the door to open and wheeled himself through. Cold air instantly swirled around him, insinuating itself under the collar of his coat, around the wrist cuffs of his gloves. He’d seen Gaia striding out the front doors only moments after the last bell had rung. No doubt she was keeping another one of her stupid appointments with fate. Trying to find Skizz. Ed had wondered what she would do to Skizz when she found him. Would she … go all the way? She wouldn’t, would she? Sure, Gaia had a warped sense of appropriate behavior, but she wasn’t a killer. Was she? What was going through her head? Ed wanted to spit with frustration and anger.

  He started to wheel himself down the long, sloping wooden ramp.

  “Ed?” came a hesitant female voice.

  Looking up in surprise, Ed saw Mary’s mother standing to one side of the ramp. She looked pale, with red-rimmed eyes, and seemed about ten years older than she had over the Christmas holidays.

  “Mrs. Moss,” Ed said, concern creasing his forehead.

  “Forgive me for tracking you down at school,” Mrs. Moss said awkwardly.

  “It’s okay.”

  Having gotten his attention, Mary’s mother seemed unsure how to continue. She was silent for long moments, looking uncomfortable, as Ed took in her dark green wool coat, the expensive leather gloves lined with fur. She wore no hat, and her wavy hair, once red like Mary’s but now faded and streaked with white, was being tossed by the chill wind.

  “Um, can I help you with something?” Ed asked gently.

  “Yes,” Mrs. Moss said with a rush of relief. “Yes. I hate to impose on you, but—” She twisted her hands together.

  “It’s okay,” Ed said again. “If there’s anything I can do to help …”

  “The thing is,” said Mrs. Moss, “we—my family and I—feel so strongly that Mary would have wanted Gaia to take part in her … services tomorrow. It was Gaia who confronted Mary about her … problem, and she was why Mary decided to quit.”

  “Uh-huh,” Ed said stonily. He saw where this was going.

  “I’ve called her several times,” Mrs. Moss continued, looking almost embarrassed, “but I guess … maybe she’s overwhelmed with grief. As we all are.”

  Maybe she’s overwhelmed with being an asshole, Ed thought.

  “Anyway. I was hoping. The services are tomorrow. I know you were planning to come, and I thank you. But—I know you’re Gaia’s friend—do you think there’s any way you could talk to her? Ask her, as a friend, to do this for another friend? Even if … even if that friend is no longer here?” Mrs. Moss ended on a cracked, hoarse whisper.

  Ed felt like his guts were being churned in a washing machine. Gaia was being such a bitch! How could she say no to Mary’s mother? How could she be so cold to another person’s pain? Overwhelmed with grief, my ass!

  “I’m sorry you’ve been having a hard time getting through to her,” Ed said, a rigid cord of anger threading through his voice. “She’s been taking a little vacation from being human lately.”

  Mary’s mother misunderstood. “Oh, believe me, I know,” she said, forcing a thin smile. “I think we all have. This kind of thing is just too painful to bear sometimes—it hurts too much to deal with. I don’t blame her at all. It’s just—I know it would mean so much to Mary. And I feel that we let her—Mary—down so badly.” She looked away, her eyes haunted. “I wanted to be able to do this one last thing for her.”

  Ed felt that if Gaia were here, he would somehow regain enough use of his legs to personally kick her perfect ass from here till next week. Seeing Mrs. Moss, with all her raw pain on display, made something snap inside Ed. Suddenly he knew the time had come to quit being put off by Gaia’s rudeness, her prickliness, her deliberate jerkiness. He was going to get through to her, he was going to get her to agree to go to Mary’s funeral, or he was going to beat the shit out of her and make her cry—just as Mary’s mother was crying. It didn’t matter if he destroyed what was left of their friendship forever. If there was anything left at all. It didn’t matter if it would totally and irrevocably ruin his chances of making her see him as a possible boyfriend. This was it.

  “I understand,” he told Mrs. Moss, already feeling the adrenaline racing through his veins. Despite the cold wind his skin was flushed, and he felt hot and uncomfortable. “I’ll find Gaia and ask her. I’m sure she’ll be there.”

  “Oh, Ed, do you think so?” The light of hope in her eyes was heart wrenching.

  “Yes,” he said,
his calm voice belying the raging emotions twisting inside him. “I really do.”

  A Walk in the Park

  ON HER WAY TO WASHINGTON SQUARE Park, her home away from home, Gaia decided to spring for a cellophane-wrapped package of five churros. Churros, in her opinion, were right up there on her list of favorite fried foods. These of course were no longer hot; Gaia had no idea when the short, dark Guatemalan vendor had fried them—perhaps this morning? But anyway. Even cold and a little stale, they were greasy, doughy, sugary, and satisfying.

  The sky overhead was heavy with low, sullen clouds. They couldn’t possibly be about to get more snow, could they? The paper had said that this year was a record breaker in terms of number of freezing days and amount of precipitation. It was as if the weather were responding directly to Gaia’s emotions. Low and, yes, she admitted it, sullen.

  Ugh, what a sucky day. Ed and Heather, Sam and Heather, mind-numbing classes, an awful lunch … and to top it all off, the only underwear she’d been able to find was an ancient pair with too loose elastic. She’d been hitching them up all day.

  Automatically Gaia swerved to go past the chess tables. Zolov was there, still hacking as he methodically decimated the opening play of an out-of-place businessman in a thick Burberry coat. Mr. Haq was walking fast toward his taxicab, his break over, and his opponent was still staring in frustration at the unfinished game on the board. Only a couple of other hard cores were there—the crappy weather having scared off all but the most dedicated.

  What was she doing here? Skizz most likely wouldn’t show until late tonight. She should go home, do her homework, rest a little, then head out again and hit Tompkins Square Park as well. Okay, maybe just a quick perimeter check. Through the park to the replica of the Arc de Triomphe, take a left on Waverly, another left on MacDougal, etc., etc., etc.

  The Angel of Death

  WAS SHE HALLUCINATING? HAD HER hunger to get Skizz, to make him pay for hiring Mary’s hit, finally caused her mind to snap? Because it looked like the object of her quest was standing in broad daylight on the corner in front of her, down at the end of the block.

  Gaia quickened her pace, her trained eyes sweeping the area for anything that might mistakenly interfere in her final meting out of justice. No mistakes this time.

  Amazingly she got closer and closer, and none of her alarm antennae went off. Her boots crunched on salt chunks as she rushed down the sidewalk. Her heart sped up, her lungs began to suck in air. The familiar, heady rush of adrenaline poured like whiskey through her veins. At last she would get her hands on Skizz. She would see his skin split under her blows, feel his bones shatter. She would finish the job that Mary had stopped her from finishing almost two weeks before.

  Skizz was glancing around, looking nervous and pissed. He hadn’t seen her yet. What luck, what luck, what luck … Hands clenched inside leather gloves, injured hip seeming strong and whole, mouth already dry, Gaia moved forward: the triumphant angel of death.

  Time was moving slowly, so slowly as Gaia sorted plans, actions, approaches, and filed them into her hyperexcited brain. This was it, the goal that had defined her life, had become her life, ever since Mary died on New Year’s Eve. She actually smiled.

  There was no going back now. Her life would never be the same.

  Gaia broke into a run. She didn’t want to blow it this time. She could already feel Skizz’s bones breaking. She could already see the blood. She could smell it. She was glad she didn’t have a gun. Using her bare hands would be so much more satisfying.

  Visions flashed through Gaia’s mind in time with her steps as they pounded against the pavement. Mary, her teeth stained with blood. Skizz, lying dead on the sidewalk. Her father.

  Halfway across the park Gaia suddenly became aware of two things: One was that Ed was heading toward her across one of the streets that lined the park. He was moving fast, and he looked furious. How weird. The other was that a nondescript tan sedan had pulled over to the curb, and Skizz was stepping forward to meet it.

  No, Gaia screamed to herself, remembering how Skizz had escaped before.

  No, no, no. It felt like a recurring nightmare.

  Gaia’s feet pounded the sidewalk as she raced toward Skizz. As soon as she was close enough, she could bring him down in a flying tackle. …

  But Skizz didn’t get in the car. As she raced toward him, Gaia watched events unfolding one frame at a time, almost in slow motion: The darkened back window of the car rolled slowly down. The dull metal barrel of a gun peeped coyly out.

  A flash of fire lit the dark interior of the car, revealing a dark shadow in silhouette. The air was filled with a deafening burst of sound. Gaia stumbled to a disbelieving halt.

  Fifteen feet from her Skizz jerked oddly, his body twisted at an inhuman angle. Gaia saw a look of astonishment cross his ugly, pock-marked face. As he fell backward, he peered down at his chest, put up his hands to stem the exploding red flower blooming there. His body hit the ground like a rock. The car roared away down West Fourth Street and was gone, leaving a thin trail of foul monoxide in its wake.

  Oh God, Mary. Oh God. Gaia shook herself from her stupor and sprinted toward Skizz’s body. She reached him, panting, and knelt down above him.

  Oh, Mary. Gaia felt every fiber of her body explode in rage. Someone had beaten her to it. Someone had taken away the only thing she’d had to hold on to. What a waste. What a senseless waste.

  Wake up. Gaia found it hard to fathom that Skizz was actually dead. She desperately wanted to wake him up—she wanted his last conscious moment to be of her railing at him, avenging her friend. But his eyes were open and glassy: He’d been dead before he hit the ground.

  This was it. This was the limit of what Gaia could bear. She had finally reached it. Anguish over Mary’s senseless death, the pain and desolation she’d felt since then, her confusion over Ed all roiled up out of Gaia in a raw, appalling wail. Screaming with rage and despair, she balled her fists and slammed them into Skizz’s chest, once, twice. Her hands came up bloody. “You bastard!” she screamed. “You bastard! You son of a bitch, you die, you hear me? You go on and die!”

  A strong hand grabbed her shoulder and pulled her backward.

  “Gaia, stop it!” Ed commanded her. His face looked pale and shocked.

  “Get off me!” Gaia shrieked, batting his hand away. “Don’t you get it? Don’t you see? Skizz is dead! He killed Mary, and now he’s dead! And I didn’t do it! I was going to kill him, Ed,” she blurted out. “I was going to kill him, and before he died, I was going to make sure he knew it was because of Mary.” She drew in a choking breath. “But I didn’t! I didn’t do anything! Oh God! Mary, I’m sorry!”

  A crowd of people had formed. From far off, Gaia heard police sirens. Her head was about to explode. Her chest felt like an ax had been buried in it. If she didn’t get out of here right now, she would turn into even more of a shrieking, freaking lunatic.

  Abruptly she stood up. “Dammit!” she shouted. Pulling back her right foot, she savagely kicked Skizz’s dead body. “Dammit to hell!” The gathered crowd murmured in alarm.

  “Gaia, for God’s sake,” Ed yelled. Again he pulled roughly at her, his hand slipping on her puffy nylon jacket. “Gaia! Stop it! You’re not doing anything!”

  Eyes wild, hair in a yellow tangle around her tragic face, Gaia stared at him. “I know,” she whispered hoarsely. Then, as the sound of police sirens grew closer, she turned, gave Skizz one last glance, and ran off. In seconds she had disappeared.

  Ed was ready to scream himself. Gaia had snapped. She had truly snapped, and why? Because she had been going through all this alone. Because she hadn’t trusted him. Because she had shut him out. Feeling a renewed burst of anger, Ed popped a wheelie as he spun to head after her.

  Pointless

  WHAT TO DO? WHERE TO GO? GAIA hit a jogging stride that covered ground fast. Her brain felt like it was going to burst out of her skull. Catching sight of her reflection in a store window, she cracked a
startled grin. She looked positively insane. Her leather gloves were dark and sticky with blood, and she had a smear of it on her jacket. Her hair looked like it had been styled by a Weedwacker, and there was a look in her eyes that would have scared her if she could, you know … yeah.

  Skizz was dead. Skizz was dead. He had died a pathetic, public, drug dealer’s death on a New York sidewalk, and no one would mourn his passing. He’d probably been the target of another drug dealer or maybe a client he’d screwed over one too many times. By tomorrow the ranks of lower-level dealers would have moved up seamlessly to take over his trade and accounts, and like water closing over a sinking pebble, it would soon be impossible to tell that Skizz had ever existed, had ever taken up space on earth.

  But Gaia hadn’t been the cause of his death, and for that she would never forgive herself. I’m sorry, Mary. I’m sorry.

  A car horn blaring broke into Gaia’s thoughts and made her stop short. With dull surprise she noticed she was at a broad intersection far away from Washington Square Park: She almost never made it up this far, to Fourteenth Street. Fourteenth Street was as different from the Village as the Upper East Side was different from the Bowery. It was a very wide, two-way street, teeming with traffic. Big, lower-end department stores selling everything from luggage to masking tape to wall clocks featuring porcelain unicorns lined both sides of the avenue. In between the stores were tiny cubbies selling perfume, electronic equipment, candy, ethnic foods. … It was loud and garish and gaudy. After the narrow, quaint, one-way streets of the West Village, the three-story old brick buildings, the charming little pastry shops and antiques stores, Fourteenth Street was like a big, startling slap on the back.

  What was she doing here? Gaia faltered on the street corner, mesmerized by the four lanes of traffic speeding past her. How easy it would be to step out into it. It would all be over in moments, her whole, stupid, messy, pointless life. She probably wouldn’t feel a thing.