“And how are you doing, by the way?”
“Listen, we need you here right away.”
“Oh, well, what the hell. I better go there. Sooner or later I will have to do that, anyway.”
Meanwhile, the coffee was waiting for her at the Starbucks. She got a nice cup of Mocha and left to the office.
She got into her car and drove as if she was an automaton. She could not stop thinking about the scene of that man touching that girl's tongue and pulling it out, so that she would not swallow it. There in her mind it ran the same film. She could not stop visualizing that half-human, half-super hero making a mouth-to-mouth revival on her. And she still felt all that hot breath inside her chest filling out her lungs from his miraculous air.
She arrived at the building, which happened to be near her place. It took a long time to find a place to park her car. She finally spotted a spot in the parking lot.
It took a while too until she can finally talk to that “god”. He was tall man and he owned the most beautiful white teeth that she had ever seen. His smile transported her to another world.
He was a detective, right! But his distinctive savior-faire towards her and his badge didn’t show the real character under that black coat. He looked like the hero in a mystery novel. He exhaled such an exotic fragrance, a mixture of lust and desire and a passion that could easily being detected by any sensitive person. He transpired, and a lot, but what he exhaled was pure seduction and adrenaline.
He was so particularly careful with his attitude that he was easily recognized by the emotional eye of a girl full of love for adventure. And she was also fascinated by his deep feelings inside his eyes.
She was quite overly emotional right then, and so vulnerable and it seemed as if he took advantage of her dreamlike state to make her fall into his spells.
The litigated lunar satisfaction seems too small in retrospect to the indication of a flesh soul. His connection to a pagan ritual can hardly disguise his excuse for an interrogation. In the hall at that courtroom, he knelt down next to her and almost begged her to tell him the truth.
But how could she reveal what was inside her mind, if all that she could do for him there was to completely open up her heart? She was totally overwhelmed by the entire situation.
“Can I have that cup of coffee you so promised to me right now?” She said almost breathless.
Maybe coffee could break up his spell, which seemed like a course turning her inside out from all over her soul.
“No coffee now. We need some information, and we need you clean.”
What does he mean by that? Coffee is quite powerful but is that also considered a kind of drug?
He could justify himself by his daily work, but not for a soul like her.
What excuse remained for him? How could he lie so well? Or disguise what was so evident both inside and out their bodies and minds? She finally let it out.
“What the heck, I am supposed to tell the truth, am I not?” She sighed. So here it goes the truth:
“I am deeply in love with you, since the first time I laid my eyes over your, and I lost myself into that mysterious labyrinth from the deep blue of your sight.”
She said that inside her head.
“I do not know anything about the case.”
She sighed again.
“Please, please, release me. I have nothing to do with all of that crap. Like I told you before, I said everything I knew, and I even wrote it down on that notepad that your assistant just treated like a nasty scrap. Here is my confession and yet you don't seem to understand or to buy that. But I am as innocent as a lamb, and I could not possibly be related with that crime. Besides, I never touch any drug in my entire life. How am I supposed to know who were the drug dealers in that party?”
“But that Russian girl to whom you related in that party... the one who was accompanying you.”
“What about her?”
“Did you know that she is involved with the organized crime and deaths, and with the drug dealers, including the recently case of the Brazilian guy who was at a party in Cancun and got involved with her and was just killed in Playa del Carmen in Mexico? And did you know that her boyfriend is the chief of them all, from the Russian mafia?”
She quivered.
No, she didn´t know about nothing at all. If she knew who the girl was she would rather find a better company.
“Her name is Ekaterina Valierva.”
“The blond girl with the snake tattoo in her neck? No, I didn´t know about her personal life. I just knew that she was from Russia by her strong accent.” That was all that she declared.
“You are in trouble, missy!” said another police officer who had just entered the room.
“I won´t say another word, I need my lawyer... let me call Art!”
The detective complained to the other officers that he could get a room for himself instead of exposing the lady to the crowd. In a fossil fashion, the competent officers who were squeezing each other through their elbows left the room as they spilled out the coffee from their cups over their uniforms.
His masculine facet leaded her to the individual room. It was so small that it only fit two people who could hardly place two chairs in each side of the table.
........................................................................................................
The woman went on to the toilet. Another blond with sunglasses was going inside the same changing room when they grabbed her arm. She looked at a man who was passing by.
“Call the police!”
“Misses Murphy? Stop there, ma'am!”
The receptionist still held her hands pressing them against her back.
“Call the police!!” He shouted out loud.
“Why are you doing this?” she said.
“I saw when you came with the other two guys. You were with them, weren't you?”
“No way! Let me go!” she screamed, desperately.
It was nine twenty and Misses Murphy was still on the toilet when the authorities arrived. The policeman left the Hotel with the blond and took the woman to the police station.
She tempted to look inside his files. And yet there was this wonderful feeling of an unrevealed sensuality that he captured from the young lady. She awaited him, impatiently. He let her go with no charges.
As she crossed to the other alley two men trapped her. She got rid of their hands and escaped off the streets. One man found her inside an alley. He tried to capture her, as he menaced to cut her throat.
During the struggle he cut the skin on the back of her wrist. She took his knife and pointed to his chest.
She inserted it deep. The man shouted in pain as she ran. But the other two men saw when she tried to get into a telephone cabinet, and they caught her.
They looked inside her eyes and saw that she was not the blond who they were looking for. The woman managed to escape once again.
“Now, we have to find our blond.”
They returned to the hotel with the other blond. Misses Murphy opened the toilet's door: It was nine thirty-five. The other woman saw when the two men grabbed the blonde’s arm and covered her head with a dark bag.
They left in a car with the billionaire’s wife. The blond called a cab and followed them. They took the frightened woman inside an old building and wrapped her up with a strong metal.
The other blond girl was following them once again. But they didn't know it yet. How many blond girls could make a bond bold movie anyway??
One of the men, a six feet tall, dark haired and slim, lighted up a cigarette. The other guy was a short blond and had freckles all over his face.
“Now we have to ask for a ransom...” said the short guy.
“No, let's shut this woman out for good!” responded the tall man, with an incisive voice and penetrating dark eyes.
“But if you had promised we wouldn't touch her...”
“Shut up!” said the tall guy. He looked at his watch: it was
nine forty-five.
“We don't have much time now. Let's go.”
They left the building and went to a telephone booth.
The blond who had just followed the kidnappers from the hotel to the old neighborhood was waiting outside the building.
They didn't see her when they crossed the street to go to another telephone cabin. She followed them and tried to overhear their conversation.
“You call him!” said the tall man.
“No, you call him!!” answered the short blond guy, with his hand shaking while holding the telephone set.
“You chicken!” shouted the dark man. “You are incapable of making one stupid phone call!!”
The blond girl got even closer to the two men. She could hear what the tall man was saying over the phone...
“Yes, that's right! You heard me well: we´ve got her!” The tall man sounded even more enervated, “yeah, yeah, you hear it well: We got Misses Murphy... What? Yes, I said, Murphy, Misses Murphy!! Oh you mean morphine?”
The blonde was frozen in the chair, pale like a ghost and completely petrified.
“Now give us the money or else...” She ran to where they left the other woman.
When she arrived to the old building she heard a muffled scream. She knew the direction where the sound was coming from and she headed herself to the exact place where the woman was.
The woman had her head still covered with the black bag.
The blond saw a knife underneath the table. She also saw a revolver over the counter table. She then took the knife they left under the table. She partially uncovered the victim's neck, pinched the victim twice with her fake nail in her index finger.
A stream of blood ran from the holes down her neck making two vivid red lines from the two puncture points. The blond let the woman breath taking down the tape from her chin and cut the adhesive that they had put in the billionaire wife’s mouth. She kissed her lips. The blond looked even more terrified.
“Good-bye, dear lover of mine! I can’t stand seeing you married with this man.” And she cut her throat. The tall man witnessed the whole scene.
“What the heck is going on?” He grasped.
“Thank God she was no billionaire’s wife!” The other kidnapper shouted.
“So she's still on the loose!” The blond with a strong Russian accent said, looking vainly to her pointed nails. “What are you waiting for? Go find her!” she finally ordered.
She was too young to become a widow, and she didn’t even get married. But her heart, well, that is another story, because she lived in parallel to another life, like a mirror: the life that she lived in Brazil.
Like magnetic poles those two lives would never get across but repulse, as two equal forces would only repel each other. That was most precisely to occur, unless the force between two parallel wires carrying currents is in the same direction which is always attractive. And this is repulsive only if they go in opposite directions. Like in a looping that her life had since been, it was up to her to make better choices.
Art comes to her house at ten. She doesn’t answer his calls since the day before. He wants to see what is going on with the strange string of events. He arrives at Trenton Avenue. He parks the car near the corner.
He runs inside the building and he knocks at the door.
“Christie, it is me... Are you there?”
“Chris, are you...”
He hears a rumble. The floor shakes. He opens the door carefully. He also has her keys that she left with him.
“Use it just in case.” He remembers her saying that.
Christie has her arms and legs spread all over the floor. He covers her body. Her whole body shivers.
“What did you do, Chris?” he started to cry. “I love you!”
But it is already too late. He takes his black coat and covers her body.
He takes her to the hospital. She is in a coma for about a week and half. They diagnosed her with inhaled anthrax. It was almost impossible to cure her then, for most of the cases of inhaled anthrax people fatally died.
He stays at the hospital holding her hand.
“Don’t give up, baby!” He tells her.
And he kept talking to her while she is still, on her deep state of sleepiness.
And he always assured his love for her. Though he never was the kind of man to show his affections to the public eye, when they were in private he really got ignited with a flame so vast and strong that would keep her burning and eagerly asking for more and in burst of desires.
“I love you, girl, please, don’t give up on me now.”
They gave her antibiotics and other treatments. The doctors said that it was only a matter of time now. She was hardly breathing, and the bacteria had already attacked her blood stream.
The FBI was there as well. Gail Simon, who didn’t know Art, introduced herself as a very close friend of Chris.
She said that she was very sorry that the place that she went to it was that ritualistic “party” in the Halloween but as a false flag it was already planned as an ideal spot for the terrorists to attack next.
They killed many people, making them believe that the white powder was cocaine, though it was actually the lethal biological weapon.
And that they then knew about her innocence, when she went to the place with her boyfriend, so distract, thinking it would be only a Halloween party. She wouldn’t be sent to jail. She actually helped the police to solve the case. She was considered a heroin (and no pun intended) in the whole case.
And the heroin inside her bag was actually a pretension that they gave to her (that they were the ones who put that on her bag. They didn’t say that, but it was quite obvious, anyway!) So that she would agree to cooperate with the investigators.
Art was puzzled. So she thought she was going to imprisonment. She who loved so much her own freedom? Freedom...
When was she free if she was surrounded by a fake security? So that’s why she was acting so strangely lately.
“I didn’t know she was that involved in this case!” He was troubled, but somehow he could articulate some words from what was really happening and matched some pieces up.
“But how come the terrorists invaded the party, if there was only so much security involved on that night? The parents were accompanying their own teenage daughters and sons, or at least one adult would accompany the children in their “treat or trick” leisure...”
It was too hard to conceive such a surrealistic effect that the whole scenario was composing over his head.
“...And any odd behavior would be considered as an attack?”
“I’m sorry, Art, that her boyfriend was a drug dealer. He didn’t know about the ritual. That was all a “make believe”. They were all playing of being in a kind of black magic stuff. The point is that the terrorists were disguised: in that party they allowed the masks, because it was supposed to imitate a tribal ritual. They would never think that they were actually inviting murderers to that party. But that is exactly what they were doing as they let people come so freely without any inspections on that party. They made innocent people be exposed by the white powder.”
And the detective kept going on his evaluation of the situation:
“Many of them have now the symptoms of the flu, at least that is what they believe it is, and we cannot find the track of where those people are because they were afraid that the police would get them in prison, since the death of that young lady. That girl had such an enormous amount of anthrax in her lungs and stomach that she died right there.”
Art was astonished. So many people didn’t know that they had anthrax. They go to a party to have fun and they ended up being killed.
“Well, some of them had injuries in their skin. The skin cases are easily to be detected and also cured. They rapidly treat them with the antibiotics and the person can get better in a week or two and so they keep living their lives as if nothing had happened to them.” He sighed.
“I am worried about
the cases just like hers. She had made the test and it was negative for anthrax. Meanwhile, we are still investigating, because there are people out there that don’t know yet, and, believe me, boy, they are hard to find.”
“So, that means that even the terrorists were exposed?” Art is even more surprised.
“Why are you surprised? Isn’t that obvious that the pattern of a terrorist is to kill himself, taking as many people as he can with him by doing so?”
Art couldn’t believe his ears. There she was, the love of her life that he was so afraid to love for the lack of experience and for the fear of losing her forever, of ending up hurting her with his cold manners and his blunt way of saying things.
He had already done that to his mother. He always considered himself guilty for her death and there she was, the love of his life, practically dead in his arms.
“Go, take some rest.” Gail smiled at him as she grabbed the patient’s hand.
“You’ve been here for almost three days without really getting some sleep. Go home now. I will take care of her.”
Art didn’t move. He looked at Christie. She looked already dead.
Her beautiful shinny skin, with that tone of a healthy look that so many envy. She had such a gorgeous skin color and looked so tan that neither a month of the hottest days in a tropical paradise, nor a year on an artificial tan in a bed with the strongest rays would match her nuances.
And now it got the color of death. Her head looked so bloated like a soccer ball. It was pale, and gray and it lost texture. Her hands were as cold as the snow on the top of the Himalayan Mountains. But he kept holding her in his arms, embracing her, and kissing her lips, as he had never dared in his whole life.
“I am staying!”
Gail left the hospital room. It was a very moving scene: that of the boy in love with the girl in a coma.
Days passed and Christie didn’t return from her coma. But Art didn’t give up on her. He kept whispering in her ears. He sang her some of her favorites love songs. And one night he took her by his hands and he went to his knees.
He dropped his chin. She looked so divinely gorgeous, that goddess of a woman, that he had to look down not to let her seeing his crying. And he sang softly over her ears.
Mysterious Murder of Marilyn Monroe Page 13