by Susanne Beck
If one wanted to guarantee an his special attention, one had to make the effort to prepare a special sort of bath. With candles. And bath salts. And aromatic soaps that smoothed as they softened.
And, of course, bubbles.
Lots of bubbles.
That way, when you found yourself standing, naked and dripping on the freshly waxed wood floor, trying to convince the nice man on the phone that you really, honestly and truly had no need for a nose hair clipper with fifteen variable speeds and racing stripes, that god could get his chuckles at your expense as your water slowly cooled and your champagne bath suddenly became a flat glass of grape juice.
Does it sound like I’ve done a bit of research on the subject?
Well, after five years of enforced bath deprivation, let’s just say I’d become somewhat of a connoisseur on the subject and leave it at that.
So off I went, accouterments in hand, to set the stage in the hopes that Ice would be overcome with the sudden and overwhelming need to hear my voice that very instant.
My bath drawn, I slipped into the steamy, fragrant waters and eased down until just my chin and the tops of my knees shone wet above the water.
Ahhh. Bliss.
I felt my eyes slip closed, but resisted the urge to do something one might do in a sultry bath when one is missing one’s lover who is far away, figuring there was no easy answer to "So, Angel, what have you done with yourself today?" if I gave into the temptation.
Besides, if my libation was accepted, Ice would probably call just before I got to the really good part and I’d be left even more frustrated than before.
So instead I just let the hot water work its customary magic on my stiff muscles and let my mind wander where it would. The bathroom was well insulated, but I didn’t fear missing a phone call because of it. Corinne would knock when it came.
Minutes passed, measured by the slow drip of the faucet.
Bubbles popped and the water grew tepid and I finally faced the fact that my offering hadn’t been quite good enough.
Refusing to give in to my disappointment, I stepped out of the tub and toweled off, then pulled on the clean clothes I’d brought in with me. After a last, critical look at myself in the mirror above the sink, I turned away and opened the door, immediately assailed by the cool air of the cabin as it brushed against the heat-flushed skin of my body.
Stepping out from the tiny alcove that hid the guest bedroom and bathroom, I took one stride into the cabin proper, and froze, my eyes darting around as my heart skipped several beats in rapid succession, then made up for the loss by working triple-time.
A group of men, six at my counting, filled the living-room with their dark-suited presence. They all looked to be of a type, big, broad, clean shaven, wearing regulation haircuts, plain ties, and shiny shoes.
My first thought was the FBI But when my eyes landed upon Corinne’s statue-like form, that thought immediately flew out the window. Unless I was terribly wrong about things, FBI agents didn’t normally hold the business ends of semi-automatic pistols to the temples of unarmed elderly women.
The rest seemed unarmed, but I spotted the telltale bulge beneath the suit jacket of the one nearest to me and knew that that could change in an instant. My empty hands raised in an unconscious, yet familiar, gesture as my mind desperately attempted to free itself from the fog it was trapped in.
"What . . .what’s going on?" I hear myself ask as if from far away.
"Where’s Morgan?" the man standing closest to me asked, his voice almost warm.
"Who are you?"
He smiled. It wasn’t particularly cold or cruel, but it wasn’t exactly welcoming either. "Answer my question, please. Where is Morgan Steele?"
"She’s . . . ."
Whatever lie I might have thought up faded quickly from my brain when I heard Corinne gasp as the man holding her tightened his arm around her throat and thrust his gun harder against her temple. An incentive, I suppose, to get me to spill my guts.
I looked back at the speaker. "Please. She’s just an old woman. Please tell him to put the gun away. I’ll tell you anything you want to know if you just do that."
After a moment, he nodded and turned toward the man holding Corinne hostage. "Put the gun away, Frank."
"But . . . ."
"Do it."
With a fair amount of grumbling, Frank did as he was told, slipping his gun back into the holster beneath his shoulder.
The man turned back to me, smiling once again. "Tell me where Morgan is." His face hardened. "Now."
Trying desperately to think up a convincing lie, my peripheral vision was caught by the sight of Corinne slowly reaching toward the stand where we kept the fireplace tools. My heart sunk as I saw her hand wrap itself around the handle of the iron poker, jerk it free from the stand, and lay it hard against her one-time captor’s face.
Blood spurted from the cut she’d made, and Frank went down screaming, his hand clamped reflexively over the gaping wound.
Bearing her teeth in a wild grin, she held the poker up like a sword, daring the rest to come at her with one beckoning hand.
Oh, Corinne. No.
Noticing that my questioner’s attention was diverted, I closed my hand into a tight fist and launched at it his belly.
It was like hitting a brick wall. Pain lanced up my arm, but I couldn’t afford to pay it any mind as he turned back to me, all traces of mildness gone from his face.
Committed to the fight, I kicked his arm away before he could reach for his gun, then went low and managed to sweep his legs out from under him.
Bet ya never expected that! I mentally taunted, gathering myself on the balls of my feet and waiting for his next move, adrenaline surging its way through my body.
Two went for Corinne and two went for me. Corinne more than held her own, managing to get in several devastating blows with the business end of the poker, spilling blood and dropping bodies where they stood. Her laugh sounded almost insane to my thundering ears, but I didn’t have much time to think on that as I was soon occupied with bodies of my own, coming at me with fists and feet.
I used my ‘low center of gravity’, as Ice had called it once, to my advantage, ducking underneath most of the blows launched my way. Such was the state of my mind that I didn’t even really feel the few which landed as I tried to fight my way back toward Corinne, who was perilously close to losing her weapon.
A strong blow to my head temporarily stunned me, and as I shook it off, still trying my best to defend myself, I saw Frank rise up from the floor, his face the deep, dusky red of anger. His huge, trunklike arm lifted—I could see the seams of his jacket stretch almost to breaking—and with one blow, he disarmed Corinne, then followed through to crack his fist hard against her cheek.
She went down as if pole-axed, unconscious before she hit the ground, her glasses breaking and flying from her face as blood oozed out from her ear.
Without a hitch in his movements, Frank reached again for his gun and brought it out, aiming for Corinne’s unprotected head.
"No!" I screamed, pulling myself out from beneath the pile of men who had landed on top of me, punching and kicking for all they were worth.
Two steps, and I launched myself across the room, landing in a protective sprawl above Corinne’s limp body, placing myself between her and the gun. "No!" I screamed again as I heard a round chamber in the weapon.
Things seemed to slow down then, as they often will when you’re forced with a danger beyond your wildest nightmares. The center of my vision focused on the gun pointing directly at me. It seemed huge, staring at me with a dead, malevolent eye.
I saw his finger tighten on the trigger and I sent out a last, desperate prayer to Ice, asking her to remember the love I had for her and to keep it close after I was gone. Dream of me, I whispered in my mind, then closed my eyes for what was to come. I love you, Morgan.
The sharp report nearly deafened me, and I waited for the pain that was sure to follow.
So, this
is what death is like, I mused. It’s not so bad. Didn’t even hurt.
But then my ears cleared, and I realized that unless a dead person could hear, I was still very much in the land of the living.
Because I could suddenly hear things. Roaring things. Tearing things. Screaming things.
I opened my eyes to an abattoir; the bloody killing field of a tiger let loose from its cage and preying upon the villagers who had caused it so much torment.
The tiger bore a woman’s face, and her name was Ice.
Her raven hair flying out from her brow, her face frozen in a spasm of rage, she was all feet and fists and unadulterated fury. Men went down like tenpins, screaming and clutching parts of their bodies which were suddenly broken, or gouged, or just not there anymore.
Our eyes met briefly before she turned away, grabbing one of the still-standing men around the neck and twisting. The sharp snap which followed sounded even over the screams of beaten and bleeding men, and I felt my stomach lurch.
I had just seen Ice kill for the first time.
Her face had an almost sexual joy in it as she let the dead man drop to the floor, his body slumping against her legs before she kicked it away.
And I think that first kill would not have been the last, had the fight lasted even one second longer.
But it didn’t.
I felt an arm press tight around my own neck, and the cool steel of a cocked and ready gun pressed itself against my head.
Looking up, I saw a second gun, this one in Ice’s sure hands, pointed at my captor’s own head.
"Let her go, Carmine. It’s me you want."
"Put the gun down and I will, Morgan."
Ice smiled. "Oh no. I don’t think so." A booted foot lashed out, and the man who’d been trying to sneak up on her from behind flew half the length of the room before coming to land, stunned, against the sturdy dining room table. "Let her go."
"I can’t do that. I don’t want to hurt her, Morgan, but I will if I have to. You know that. So just put down the gun and I’ll do as you ask."
A stand-off ensued. I made sure not to move a muscle, even to blink. My heart pounded hard in my ears. I tried to catch her eyes, but the only thing she was seeing was the man with his gun to my head.
"Drop the gun, Morgan. I know you’re thinking about shooting me, but can you really guarantee I won’t put a bullet into her head when you do? Think about it." His voice was very calm; very reasonable.
When I saw her begin to waver, I couldn’t help but speak up. "Don’t do it, Ice. He’ll kill me anyway. You know he will."
"I won’t, Morgan. You have my word on it. And you know my word’s always been good."
Her eyes latched onto mine. Her face softened.
My heart sunk further. "Ice, please. Don’t do this."
Her arm slowly lowered.
"No! He’ll kill us both! Don’t do this! Please!!"
Her body followed, laying the gun on the floor at her feet.
"Good," came the satisfied voice of Carmine. "Now push it away. Slowly."
"Ice, no!"
Her eyes still locked into mine, she pushed the gun away, then slowly rose back to her feet.
In my peripheral vision, I saw one of the other men step quickly up behind her, and with one strong blow with the butt of his gun to the back of her neck, he dropped her, unconscious, to the floor.
His hold loosened at the same time I tore myself out of his grip and crawled over to her, grabbing her lolling head between my hands. "Ice? Ice? Wake up! Damn you, wake up!!"
That was all I could get out before I was grabbed again and dragged away. I screamed and twisted in a fit of insane grief and rage, but was powerless against the greater strength holding me steadily.
"Get her out of here," Carmine ordered.
"Are you nuts?" one of his cronies replied. "The bitch killed Tony! Let’s fuckin’ do her now and get it over with!"
"No! It was his own damn fault for getting in her way. Dump him in the trunk and get her in the car. Move!!"
"No!!! Ice!!!"
As I struggled, I saw two men come painfully to their feet, then bend down and grab my lover’s ankles and start to drag her unprotesting body the length of the room and through the shattered remains of the door she had exploded when she ran into the room. Her blood-covered hands left grisly trails along the polished floor as she was dragged along.
"No!!!"
When she was gone from my sight, Carmine put me down and turned me to face him, still holding tight to my shoulders. His face was filled, strangely enough, with sorrow and compassion. "Stay here and look after your friend. You won’t be harmed if you do what I say."
Gritting my teeth, I slapped his arms away and lifted a savage knee into the space between his slightly spread legs.
With a lightening quick move, he evaded the worst of my attack, then twisted me again, pulling my arm up hard behind my back and forcing me onto my toes to relieve some of the intense pain in my shoulder. "Stay here," he repeated, his lips close to my ear. "I gave Morgan my word, but if you try to intervene, I will kill you."
"Do you think I care?" I snarled back, jerking my head away from his mouth. "Do you think I care what happens to me after you murder her?"
"Maybe not, but I do think you care about what happens to your friend over there. She looks pretty bad off. Do you think you could just leave her there to die?"
"Try me."
And suddenly I came to know exactly how Ice felt when her tone softened to the exact pitch that was now coming out of my own mouth. Peaceful, somehow. All the rage has washed out of me, leaving only a firm purpose behind.
I also realized, in that one moment in time, that I was fully capable of deliberately taking a human life, and could, in fact, relish it.
"I’d rather not," he replied. "You pack a pretty mean punch and I don’t doubt that you’d kill me if you could. But you know I’m not gonna let that happen. So please, do us both a favor and stay here. Morgan is beyond your help. Accept that. And do something for the person you can help."
"Alright," I said finally in that same cool, remote tone I’d used earlier. "Let me go so I can help her."
"Don’t try anything funny."
"I wouldn’t dream of it, Carmine."
He gave me a healthy push and before I could stop myself, I collided with Corinne’s still unconscious body and sprawled across her as I fell to the floor. When I pulled myself up again, I found myself looking down the barrel of his gun. "Be smart. And for what it’s worth, I’m sorry."
Corinne moaned as I watched him slowly back toward the door. When he was gone, I looked down into a pair of dazed brown eyes. "Angel?" she whispered.
"Hang on, Corinne. I’ll be right back. Just hang on for me."
Then I was up and running, almost tripping over the lengths of splintered wood that were all that was left of the door. Running out into the courtyard, I was temporarily blinded as the car started up and the headlights caught me square in the face. Throwing an arm up to shield my eyes, I ran in the direction of the car, wincing as huge clots of dirt pelted me as they flew from beneath the large sedan’s rapidly spinning tires.
Still charging, I managed to grab one of the door handles, yanking the door open just as the car pulled away. I was jerked off my feet, my arm a shard of blistering agony, as I trailed along beside the car for a few feet before I was finally forced to let go.
Jumping back up yet again, I tore after the retreating sedan, not feeling the rocks and pinecones as they imbedded themselves in the tender soles of my bare feet and tore them to bloody shreds.
All too soon, the car disappeared from my sight, the briefly flashing taillights the last thing I saw as it made a sharp left turn and left the road for the forest beyond. A great cramp seared into my side and I was forced to come to an abrupt halt or risk fainting.
My breath came out in sobbing pants as my legs gave out and I fell to the ground, pounding the dirt with my fists and screaming out Ice’s n
ame.
"Who’s there?" came a high, tremorous, panic-laden voice as I drew in yet another gasping breath which with to scream out my grief.
"Ice!!!"
"Tyler? Tyler, is that you?"
"Ice!! Come back!!! Don’t leave me!!"
The voice came closer. "Tyler, it’s me, Ruby. What’s wrong? Are you hurt? Do you need me to call the police?"
That word again. That damnable, hateful, spiteful word. A huge part of me screamed inside. "Yes! Call the police! Now! They’ve taken Ice!!"
But a smaller part, a more rational part, shied away from the idea they way a skittish colt rears away from an unexpected movement. "No!" I finally managed to yell through a throat raw with screaming. "No police!"
Pulling myself up to my feet, I looked through tear-swollen eyes at the rapidly advancing figure of Ruby. "Call an ambulance!"
She stopped, head tilted to one side. "Are you hurt, Tyler?"
"Just call an ambulance, Ruby, please. Hurry!"
"But . . . ."
"Hurry!!"
With small satisfaction, I watched as she looked at me a moment more, then abruptly turned and started quickly walking back up the small rise to her house.
My pain was beginning to catch up with me; my feet ached like rotting teeth and my shoulder still sent up blazing jolts of electric agony with each breath I took.
With one last, long look in the direction I’d last seen the car, I too turned for home where Corinne lay injured and waiting.
Limping into the house, I spied her laying exactly where I’d left her, sprawled in an untidy heap on the living-room floor, a small pool of blood shining wetly in the dim lighting of the room. She was frighteningly pale and for a moment I was sure that her chest had stopped moving.
Running to her, I went to my knees, again cradling her head in my hands. "Corinne? Corinne, can you hear me?"
After a long moment, her eyes fluttered open, still dazed. "Angel?"
I couldn’t help sagging with relief. "Oh, thank God. I thought I’d lost you too." Tears were very close to the surface then, but I couldn’t afford to let them fall. If I gave in to my nearly overwhelming grief, everything would be lost.
And I couldn’t let that happen.