The Strange Path

by D. Jordan Redhawk

  Fiona awaited an answer, a mocking smile on her lips.

  “I’m Whiskey.”

  Cora whispered, “Whiskey.” She spoke again, a bit louder. “I like it. Are you well-aged, slow and smooth? Or are you young and rough, burning your way down?”

  She attempted a little bravado. “I can be either. What do you have in mind?”

  The two women laughed, not unkindly. Fiona stepped backward, drawing Whiskey with her. “What I have in mind is to get you home. You need rest and food.”

  Whiskey paused a moment longer. The women remained silent, not pushing, giving her time to think. They’d saved her from a life-threatening situation, whatever their reasons. Had they wanted to do her harm they’d already had the opportunity, yet rescued her instead. In her current state, Whiskey couldn’t protect herself. The thought of strapping on her pack, and lugging it to the youth club, Tallulah’s, caused her knees to quiver in preemptive weakness. The shelters were closed, she had no options for medical attention, and she seriously needed to eat something and sleep as Fiona suggested.

  On a more calculating level, Whiskey knew that at least one of these people had outrageous amounts of money. She couldn’t deny the allure of hanging out for a while despite the alarm bells clanging in her head. Maybe some of that cash would trickle down to her. It could simply be a case of a hard-core group of rich bitches wanting to piss off their parents by socializing with a street kid. Although that didn’t explain how they had handled themselves.

  With a single nod of her head, she allowed herself to be helped into the car.

  “Come along, children,” Fiona called. “Let’s get my little lamma home for the nonce.”

  Whiskey wondered where they’d put everyone. She sank into the backseat, the plush leather cushioning her aches, driving the thought from her mind.

  Cora slipped in beside her. “Lean on me, Whiskey. Stretch out.”

  Whiskey concentrated on finding some level of comfort for her bruised body. She didn’t note who got into the car until Fiona settled in the driver’s seat. Only Daniel had joined them. “Where are the others?” She peered out the window.

  “As you know, Manuel was hungry.” Fiona shrugged as she started the car. “Bronwyn and Zebediah decided to join him for a bite to eat before coming home. Alphonse is keeping an eye on them.”

  Whiskey saw Manuel in her mind, leaning over one of the boys they’d beaten. He’d gone after the one that got away. Do these people believe they’re vampires? The idea both intrigued and worried her. She’d read about people who thought that they needed human blood to live. She gave Cora a surreptitious glance, but didn’t see fangs. Whiskey had always been drawn to stories and movies about vampires, but she’d never been swayed to believe she had anything in common with them. Other than a morbid curiosity and sense of humor. It’d be fun to pretend though. Maybe I’ll have a chance to play the game.

  The city blurred past the passenger window. Cora produced a bottle of water from somewhere and, after Whiskey drank her fill, used the remainder to wet a piece of cloth. She gently cleaned Whiskey’s most apparent facial injuries. At first skittish with Cora’s proximity, exhaustion and pain took a toll on Whiskey’s ability to guard against danger. Her body relaxed into Cora’s, a distant part of her noting the softness of the woman’s figure. Her eyelids drooped.

  “You must stay awake, Whiskey.” Cora shifted to rouse her. “You may have a concussion.”

  Whiskey blinked and sat up a little, the movement causing her stomach muscles to throb in protest.

  “Very true.” Fiona glanced at her in the rearview mirror. “We’ll have Doctor Daniel here have a look at you when we get you home.”

  Whiskey looked at the blond punk in the passenger seat. “Doctor? He’s no older than me.”

  Fiona laughed. “You’d be surprised, little lamma. Our Daniel has a medical doctorate. Certainly you know better than to judge someone by appearances alone.”

  A stab of jealousy soured Whiskey’s curiosity. Paul and his crew were privileged assholes, but eventually they’d get into a fix from which their parents’ money couldn’t rescue them. Whiskey had a suspicion that Fiona’s pack didn’t have that problem. God, what would it be like to have the money and the parental support to become a doctor at eighteen or nineteen? The idea simply amazed her. She knew that not everyone had loving parents, they were an extreme rarity in her world. They did exist, though, and she studied Daniel’s profile. Did he rebel against his parents by dressing and acting like this? Maybe he hadn’t wanted to become a doctor, and that’s why he hung with Fiona. She felt a faint wash of disgust. Spoiled. What a fucking waste.

  Fiona guided the car off the road and into a driveway. A garage door widened, brightening the darkness. She pushed herself up to see where they were, falling back with a groan. “Shit, that hurts.”

  Fiona laughed as she shut down the engine. “We’re home, children. Let’s get our visitor inside and comfortable.”

  With creaky movements, Whiskey disengaged herself from Cora’s lap, trying to keep from expressing how much pain she felt. Looking out the window, she anticipated some wildly decorated flophouse, a la The Lost Boys movie. Instead she beheld an immaculate three-car garage. A black Porsche skulked next to the Lexus, low-slung and gleaming danger in every curve. Past that a fleet of Ducatis and Triumphs crouched on their kickstands, ready for action.

  The car door behind her opened, and Cora eased out of the backseat. She helped Whiskey swing around and exit the vehicle, once more supporting her. Whiskey still couldn’t straighten, but at least her knees had stopped shaking.

  Fiona tossed the keys to Daniel. “Get her things and bring them into the house.” She took Whiskey’s free hand, and escorted her toward a door. “Welcome to our humble home, my lamma. I hope it’s to your liking.”

  “Why do you keep calling me that? What’s it mean?”

  She received an enigmatic smile in response. “It’s just a pet name from the old country, sweetness. Something I picked up from my family.”

  The house substantiated Whiskey’s assumptions about Fiona’s wealth. Tasteful wood and marble marked every surface. The vast kitchen held the latest quality appliances. A polished dining table gleamed under decorative light. Fiona had to be bucking parental authority by bringing her here. Whiskey wondered when Mommy or Daddy was expected home. Her mouth watered at the sight of a bowl of fruit artfully placed in the center of the table. It’d been hours since she’d eaten. Her stomach growled in distress even as it spasmed with sickness.

  Fiona released Whiskey’s hand. She reached for a banana, and handed it to her. “You should be able to eat this without much pain. Daniel, why don’t you bring her things to the guest room, and get your medical bag.”

  Daniel’s unspiked mohawk hung over his eyes in a dark blond mop. He was dressed completely in latex and his tank shirt stretched low enough across his chest to reveal an intricate medallion and chain tattooed across his skin. He sauntered by the women, Whiskey’s pack on his shoulder, and disappeared into the next room.

  As much as she wanted to eat, she couldn’t peel the banana. Cora supported her under one arm, and Fiona had reclaimed the other hand. Her queasy stomach bitched at her. Just as well. I’d probably throw it up. Maybe later.

  “Shall we?” Fiona led the way through a living room just as richly adorned as the kitchen and dining area. Plush leather dominated the room, with a wet bar in one corner. A couple of game systems and stereo speakers were hooked up to a large screen television. They passed the front entry and stairway to continue down a long hall as Fiona kept speaking. “I believe I could tempt you with a shower if Daniel deems it safe, yes?”

  Swallowing, Whiskey fought a blush. The boys who’d grabbed her had commented that she stank. It’d been days since she’d been able to do more than wash in a public restroom. Showering at the Youth Consortium meant leaving her belongings unguarded and subject to theft. It was much easier and safer to let nature take its course. Fio
na didn’t seem to mean anything snide by her question, however, and Whiskey nodded. “That’d be cool.”

  “I’m sure Cora would be delighted to assist you in that endeavor.” Fiona gave Whiskey a knowing smile.

  Fiona threw open a door and gestured for her to enter. The “guest room” was, in actuality, a suite decorated in white and crimson. Polished dark wood, contrasted with the color scheme, shone in the light of a crackling fireplace. Whiskey stared around her, unable to take it all in.

  “As you can see, this is the sitting area. Through there is the bedroom.” Fiona gestured through an archway toward a vast bed with an intricate iron frame. She led Whiskey to a door. “But I must say that the bathroom is a religious experience.”

  Encased in black marble, the white of porcelain clashed stark against the darkness. A huge shower held multiple faucets, and a built-in seating area. On its back wall, the face of a lion had been carved from the marble, a design re-created on the side of an equally vast bathtub nearby. Thick scarlet towels and washcloths hung on silver racks, awaiting her need. Subdued overhead lighting gave less illumination than the several large candles glowing about the room.

  “Fuck.” She gaped at the splendor.

  Fiona chuckled at Whiskey’s murmur. “Yes, well, that does depend on one’s religion, doesn’t it, dear Whiskey?” She glanced over her shoulder. “I do believe the doctor is in,” she said, stepping back. “Let’s see to your injuries.”

  Chapter Three

  Waking up in a strange place wasn’t a new experience. Registering the strange softness of clean sheets, Whiskey remained still, eyes closed and breathing even, until she remembered the events that led her here. Walking to the U District.Paul and his cronies. A beating. She opened her eyes, not stirring. Blood-red sheets, black comforter, a nightstand made of ebony. Fiona’s crew, Doctor Daniel.The warm comfort felt disquieting, alien. She shifted, testing her ability to move. Stiff and sore as expected, she forced herself to sit up.

  Although alone in the large iron bed, it looked like someone had slept beside her. Murky and dark, thick crimson curtains blocked what appeared to be the tail end of daylight from entering the room. She glanced at the digital clock beside the bed. If it could be believed, she’d slept through the night, and most the following day. With ginger movements, she edged out of bed. She didn’t remember getting undressed the night before, and frowned at her nakedness. Lifting her arm to her nose, she smelled soap. Someone had stripped and bathed her. A stab of fear lanced through her. Shit! How could I let that happen?

  She recalled sitting on the bed, letting Daniel examine her. He’d asked the right questions, poked and prodded the right areas, and seemed knowledgeable enough with the stethoscope and blood pressure cuff he’d produced from his medical bag; he had to have had medical training. He spoke with a faint German accent as he applied butterfly bandages to the cut on her face. At one point he’d injected her with something, a deep red liquid that looked very much like blood. He’d said the injection fought possible infection, and accelerated healing. Not long after, she’d lost consciousness.

  He drugged me! She went over herself again, finding nothing else wrong. No other apparent needle marks marred her skin. In fact, the bruises and scrapes on her knuckles looked days old. What the hell did he give me?

  Damned if she’d be found any more vulnerable if Fiona walked in. She forced herself to stand. Her knees had lost their earlier infirmity. Both her stomach and her bladder demanded attention, one grumbling loud enough to wake the dead. No banana in sight. She wondered as she stumbled toward the bathroom whether she’d eaten it, or if it had been returned to the kitchen once she’d passed out.

  After urinating, she peered into the toilet. No blood. Grateful for that, she turned toward the large mirror. She grunted at the view, fingers tracing a multicolored map of bruises across her abdomen. Yellow and green blotches stood stark against the skin of her upper arms and her left cheek. If she hadn’t known better, she’d have thought days had passed since they’d been inflicted. She leaned closer to the mirror. Her lip wasn’t swollen near as much as she thought. The butterfly bandages on her left temple itched when she frowned. An inch or so to her right, and she’d be half blind today. She reached up, tugging one aside. The scab beneath appeared to be healing too well to need them. Wondering if Daniel had been overreacting when he’d insisted on them, she pulled both the butterflies off. Seeing the damage, slight though it was, made her shaky again. She leaned heavily against the black marble counter, gathering her energy. Whoever had washed her the night before hadn’t gotten all the blood and dirt from her hair. Streaks of rusty red marred the light blonde tresses at her scalp. She had an overpowering desire to be completely clean, and she looked at the shower through the mirror.

  Experimenting with the various knobs and showerheads, she soon had three streams of hot water pouring across her body. She luxuriated in the immersion, her skin humming with joy. A niche carved into the marble near the shower controls held a handful of items—a bar of soap, a selection of shower gels and shampoos, and a razor. “Oh, my God,” she groaned, reaching for the razor.

  ***

  Thoroughly scrubbed for the first time in weeks, she rinsed off the last vestiges of shampoo from her long hair. She wasn’t finished, not by a long shot. Blinking water away from her eyes, she studied one of the shower gels she hadn’t yet used.

  “Mmmm...Very nice.”

  Survival instincts functioning at top peak, Whiskey whirled about with the razor in hand. Her world spun a fraction of a minute at the sudden movement. It cleared, and she saw Cora standing at the shower entrance.

  Cora’s hands rested against the walls above her head, effectively blocking the entry. The stance caused her silky white shirt to ride up, revealing lacy bikini panties and nothing else. She smiled at Whiskey, ignoring the rudimentary weapon as she sauntered forward. Water hit her blouse, making it translucent, and Whiskey’s mouth went dry.

  Chapter Four

  Cora didn’t leave the bathroom until they were both breathless from their exertions. Languid from the sex, Whiskey loitered in the hot water, leaning against the dark marble to recuperate. She scrubbed herself a second time before turning off the water. On the counter by the sink she found a comb, toothbrush, toothpaste and deodorant. She gladly took the opportunity to clean her teeth.

  Wrapped in a towel, her wet hair hanging loose, she left the bathroom. Cora lounged on the wrought iron bed. She’d had time to dress, and wore a black gypsy skirt and corset, the skirt slit up the side to reveal an enticing expanse of thigh.

  “Breakfast’s almost ready.” She licked her lips. “I set out clean clothes from your pack.”

  While Whiskey had hoped to gain something of monetary value out of this mess, her hard-won paranoia caused her to stand taller. “Why are you doing this? I’ve got nothing to offer in exchange for any of it. What do you want from me?”

  Cora’s face sobered as she studied Whiskey. She rose from the bed and approached, pressing against Whiskey as she snuggled her cheek on a damp shoulder. “Maybe you have nothing now, but someday you might. All we ask is that you remember who assisted you when you needed it most, Ninsumgal.”

  That language again. Whiskey frowned. She wondered what it was. She’d never heard its like before. Maybe she could do an Internet search at the library to locate some of the words.

  Everything had a cost. If she continued with these people, she’d be obligated in some unknown way. It had already happened. They’d ask a favor in the future. She’d learned on the streets to take more than you gave. If Fiona’s little pack of loaded rabble-rousers wanted to spread the wealth on the off chance Whiskey would have something to give in return, so be it. She’d pay that bill when and if it came due. Hell, it’s not like I’ll be around long enough to deal with it. Once I get back on the streets, chances are good they’ll never find me again.

  Deciding to play their game, Whiskey tilted the woman’s face. “I’ll always reme
mber you, Cora,” she said, and kissed her.

  It took some prurient time before Whiskey stood clothed. Cora assisted, more a flirtatious hindrance than help. Whiskey wore a pair of form-hugging latex pants, showing off every curve of her legs. She donned her studded belt and the black leather wristband that her best friend, Gin, had given her for her last birthday. Gin’s birthday party was tonight.

  Cora tucked Whiskey’s crimson camisole into the latex waistband, pausing to slide her hands along the smooth, tight-fitting plastic.

  “Stop that,” Whiskey growled playfully, feeling another swell of arousal as the woman’s hands glided down to her crotch. “We’ll never get out of here at this rate.”

  “Would that be such a tragedy?” Innocence glowed in every line of Cora’s face.

  “Yes, it would,” a voice said from the door. “We’ve plans tonight, sweet Cora.”

  Whiskey turned to see Fiona enter the room.

  “You look stunning, though I’m surprised you’re not abed. Cora can be quite the minx when she’s of a mind.”

  “I noticed.” Whiskey glanced at Cora, who grinned wickedly at the accusation. Take more than you give. “What kind of plans? I have to be somewhere later tonight.” She turned to the vanity to finish brushing out her hair.

  Fiona approached and took the brush from her, working her way through the black-streaked blonde tresses. “Oh, I was thinking drinks, dancing, perhaps a hunt or two.” She stopped, and ran one hand up and down Whiskey’s right arm. “What would you say to a tattoo? I think a black dragon would look marvelous there.”

  Whiskey stared at Fiona’s reflection. Tattoos were expensive enough that she’d never thought to have the money for one. The best she could hope for was an ex-con who’d do the deed for fifty bucks, and a blowjob. Gin wouldn’t begrudge her this opportunity regardless of what day it was. Besides it wasn’t like they’d get to hang out much with her boyfriend underfoot.