by Lucas Alpay
“Perfect! You get angry when I flirt with her! That’s so awesome. You already like her!” He finished his beer and called the waitress for another. “Don’t worry, I won’t hit on her,” he fixed his jacket, “I’m a gentleman.”
The waitress materialized with another beer and immediately left.
Rowan then stood up with the beverage in his hand. He looked outside, the group of assassins still hiding. He looked at the other diner, the sandmen almost gone.
“Get outta here, you two,” he said to them like how a friend would say to get a room. “Almost all the pieces of the puzzle are in, Natasha, you just need to know the right questions. And why I killed Mark?” he looked at Fritz. “You’ll know if I convince myself to spare your life. Right now I’m still at the edge of the coin. Pray hard it’d be tails, if heads then… you know what happened to Mark.” He moved to the door and went out.
Melissa was out in the garden, reading a book. She dreamt of a light pole in it and a small paved road, a bench, too, to lighten the feel of this feral forest. She wanted the place to be as dreamy as the novels she’d been reading, especially this kind of setting, because this could be anything, it could be horror, romance, or fantasy—it could be anything as long as there was a bench and a pole light glowing yellow-orange.
Silence is a gateway to another world, she read under the chapter title of the page. Somehow it struck her, because it was true. She wanted silence first before sleeping, she couldn’t sleep if there was even the smallest sound, a whisper, a scratch. It could be why her dreams were so vivid, so filled with personality that even her mentors and her classmates envied her. It’s all in the silence…
“What are you reading?” a voice asked her, and then she heard footsteps from behind, slowly getting closer until its owner sat on the other side of the bench.
“None of your business,” she closed the book and smiled.
“You always read thick books.”
“And you always read paperbacks. There’s no difference between them, just the strength of the cover. I like mine strong, and I like them classy on my shelves.”
A chuckle. “Classy, nice word.” Silence.
Both of them let the night hum, the small insect on the grass, the animals purring as they slept. It was peace. It was order. But in the history books Melissa had read, peace is only attainable by chaos… or it was the other way around. She was always getting confused in this concept because in physics, the primeval atom of the Big Bang was considered the great order of things where everything was condensed into this tiny thing. And then the bang, the chaos, and then the settlement of elements, the first galaxies, planets. Order. So she always thought that there would be alternating powers; order, chaos, and then order again. And it was up to the ones who achieved such order to maintain it. But on the things that were happening, it said to her that it was chaos. She’d kill badly to attain peace again.
“Are you ready? It’s not easy…” she didn’t reply. “I want you to call me after it’s done, okay, Melissa?”
“Yes, Rowan.”
Chapter 25
They didn’t go back to the mansion, they just went to another place, this time it was a bar. It was Fritz’s idea; and he convinced Natasha with the reasoning of ‘when nothing makes sense, drink your way through it’. Surprisingly, Natasha humored him and joined this nonsensical escapade. There were few people inside, drinking and smiling and looking at the game on the TV, the ambience milky with the smoke from cigarettes. The bartender was smoking when they sat on the stools, his eyes looking afar, thinking of something Fritz could only imagine.
“Hey,” he called. Expressionless, the bartender faced them and readied himself for their orders. “Two scotch. Keep it open.” He turned his back and pulled out two glasses, a bottle of scotch, and poured it to them. For the last touches, he blew a smoke on them.
Fritz finally faced Natasha and drank. “What did Rowan mean?” he asked. “What is the last piece of the puzzle?”
“I honestly don’t know, Fritz…” her eyes were beginning to water.
“Can you at least explain to me why he mentioned the first version of Erik’s wife? What the fuck am I not getting here?”
She looked down at the ground, plastering her eyes onto it as if she were carrying this unknown guilt. “I don’t know much about her, only with the pictures I’ve seen sometime. Erik forbade me not to know more. But when I was looking at those pictures, she looked just like her, like the true wife. There were differences, yes, but they were so small you have to look twice. I on the other hand came out more… perfect… My relationship with Erik at first was fine, but when the years passed by he became cold, told me I’m not like her, gave me some talent to tweak me to the right personality…”
“So you’re a prime dream?”
“They originally called us cores, dreams where the concentration of the imagination of the dreamer are at. They could change us by will…”
“Okay, but why did Erik choose you to be the… uh… core?” He knew the answer to this, but he should be sure.
“Because he still loves his wife. That’s the only reason I can think about.”
He looked at the television screen. The football players were smashing into each other like colorful billiard balls, bouncing in each collision. But every bit looked drivel to Fritz. His mind was somewhere else, somewhere where he could figure out why Rowan Wood let him go and Natasha. What wasn’t he getting?
“How did Erik treat you in those years when he got cold? Be honest with me.”
“How do you mean ‘be honest with you’? He’s cold, he’s mean, and he doesn’t care about me anymore.”
“You loved him?”
“I love him still, I was made to do so. It’s my… my purpose…” For the first time, she drank.
“How was he to you… in bed?”
Natasha jumped at the question. “You’ve done your job, haven’t you? You don’t need to get deeper with my life. You have no right anymore.”
“This job caused my friend’s life!” he shouted, and for a moment all the customers in the bar looked at him. He went closer to Natasha. “This is now personal.” In one gulp, he emptied his glass—the bartender poured another. “So if you don’t want to answer my question, you’ll see Erik die without knowing why Rowan is doing all of this. If I know then there’s a possibility that we can warn Erik on time and prepare.” He drank. “In those years I was investigating, I learned to trust my gut, and my gut tells me this is not just taking over LA, it’s revenge. He fucking knows everything… he planned this. So help me, Natasha, I’m fucking begging you.”
Natasha now looked at her glass, its fluid reflecting everything in an upside-down image. “He raped me, every night.” She said, a quiver on her lips, her voice so low it sounded like a hissed whisper. “He did unspeakable things to me. He always wants virgins, so he dreamt every single fucking night for my vagina to heal, and every fuck he gave me he kept telling me I’m so tight, and he loved me for it.” A tear went down her eye. “He did everything… he made me wail, tied me—he made me say uncle—say uncle Natasha, tell me you’re my fucking niece…” this time she broke down, she grimaced and for the very first time she didn’t look perfect. Fritz held her closer in an embrace. “Every fetish you could think of, every sick role play out there—” her sob stopped her.
“Why haven’t you run away?”
“Because I love him.”
“He made you to love him, we dreams have a choice not to.”
She shook her head, her eyes red. “You don’t understand, you don’t understand, Fritz.”
“Then make me understand…”
“We have a child.”
Slowly, Melissa and Tora moved up the staircase, two objects passing through darkness, one looked like an angel and one like the devil in red. They were careful with their steps, careful not to be heard by countless sandmen sleeping at every room. Melissa could hear them breathing, moving, one wrong move and then t
hey’d be dead. But Melissa was clever, if they were caught in this hallway she would just sweet talk whomever caught them, tell them they just came from the kitchen. It was an effective thing even in the asylum, and her great weapon was her beauty—people are suckers when they see beauty. New dreams were stupid and had a little of common sense, but if they sensed that their maker was in danger, they wouldn’t think twice and would pounce like angry panthers, and just like the animals, they would kill them and leave. They would kill for their master. Her beauty wouldn’t work, so she had to play this well.
On the last hallway towards Erik’s room, she started to get nervous and asked herself if she could even do this. Don’t be ridiculous, her inner conscience told her, You won’t do it, Tora will—the only thing you’ll do is watch. And she knew that the voice in her was right, ten times right. She needed only watch.
“Are you ready?” Tora asked, but her question was deeper than those three words. Tora wasn’t just her Core, but she was also someone who could sense her emotion. She was asking for permission… again.
“I am. Nothing is going to stop this, dear,” she whispered, her white nightgown moving through the breeze. It was cold, but she thanked the wind for this because frankly she was tired, and even though she had waited for this for a very long time, she just wanted to get this over.
They could now see the door, brown and beautiful with that gilded doorknob. She wondered if he was still dreaming of money. That was one talent they had taught them in the asylum: dreaming of money so they wouldn’t be poor, and if they weren’t poor, then they could concentrate on maintaining the world to be without myths and unsolicited dreams. They were maintaining peace. But she was chaos this night, tomorrow she would be order, she would be happy and claim what was rightfully hers.
She wondered then if Rowan was looking afar, making sure if she would do what she was about to do.
Finally, they were in front of the door. When Tora checked it, it was locked, so she had to do her skills in picking such device. She kneeled and produced two pins from her robe. She put them both in the keyhole and after a few movements of her fingers and arms, her ears heard a tug and a click. She turned the knob, and it opened.
The first thing they saw when they entered was the window showing the outside of trees and the odd landmarks. Melissa stayed behind Tora, her eyelids suddenly light as feathers, her heart suddenly sick. She wanted to puke as they moved forward, but as they saw Erik, all of her nervousness cracked and was replaced by pure anger.
Erik was on the bed, and on top of him was a sandwomen. Both of them were naked, both of them were sleeping. Tora moved in front of Melissa and touched her face, felt her face and guessed what her expression was.
“You don’t have to see this,” Tora whispered. “You’re young.”
“I’m a voracious reader,” she said, “It’s just sex… now, show me death…”
“Still thinking of chaos…”
She looked outside, out of nowhere she suddenly thought of the sun, of tomorrow. “Tonight I am chaos.”
Tora turned her back and pulled out a knife from her robe. They’d gotten it from the kitchen, unused and still sharp. She moved closer to Erik while Melissa moved at the edge of the bed.
“Do it,” she said.
And the red devil went up the bed and stood over them. She raised the knife, and with those cloudy eyes, she moved it down to their heads. Why the head first? Because that was where Melissa had told her to hit before everything else. We don’t want him screaming.
Chapter 26
It was apparent that there were many reasons why Fritz had suggested to not go to the mansion tonight. One of them was because he didn’t want to see Erik’s face, if he did he was sure he would punch him and pray to god he’d be down for a couple of hours, if he’d be up still, then he would have done much worse. He didn’t want that, he would be punished and would probably be kicked out of sandmen, his life, his only reason of living.
They were now in a hotel, just a few miles from the closest office towards the mansion. Fritz had chosen this place because he knew that there would be sandmen in patrol for any unsolicited dreams. And that calculated factor made their stay if not completely safe then a little safer than any other hotel in the city.
He was just there, sipping his tea. The yellow glow from the small lamp was illuminating every move he’d made in the small kitchen. He had ordered Jack and Cynthia to sleep in the room next to them. None had sent any thought of protests. In front of him, just a few steps before he could reach the bed, was Natasha, lying down with her eyes closed, her breathing steady, her mind guided by immaterial dreams and nightmares.
Over and over he kept saying to himself not to care about her because she had an endowment like that, she made caring an indispensable party trick to those near her, but it was hard not to, it was so hard not to need her. Before they had gone here in this motel, she had insisted in going back to the mansion, that maybe Erik would be mad at her. But then Fritz had told her what he had seen the other day, the two pretty-as-a-picture sandwomen and the blotches of red on the white sheets. He had told her that the old pervert didn’t want her, that her love was wasted. Natasha had only looked at him and agreed. There was no other emotion expressed, emotion that would commonly get out due to somebody's infidelity.
Maybe she doesn’t love him anymore, he thought and then sipped the tea. Once finished, he closed the lamp and joined her on bed. And as the minutes and the hush of the night came by, he gazed at Natasha and let his mind wonder on how she had the capability to carry a child. Was Erik that talented of an elect that he created something fertile? Just like Rowan, a concept like it was close to impossible. But here she was, sleeping next to him, so perfect, so young.
He kissed her on her cheek, and just like sleeping beauty, she woke with those long eyelashes going up as she lazily fluttered her eyelids. She looked at him, that same look she’d given earlier.
“I’m sorry,” Fritz whispered. “And I’m sorry for what Erik has done to you.”
“… It’s not your fault.”
“There should be someone telling you an apology. Many people would kill for that.”
She kissed him back, full on his lips. “Why are you good to me?”
“Maybe because of your beauty. You can have any man to be good to you, I know you are aware of that. The question is would you be good to me, will you return what you did to me?”
She kissed him again. “I haven’t been with any man except Erik. I haven’t kissed anyone except him. A love never given…”
And in the dark of the room, Fritz gave another kiss that progressed to more. They then undid their clothes, not wildly but slowly. In the things Erik had done to her, slow should be shown, with passion, with carefulness. They breathed hard, but even that Fritz contained, magnifying the pleasure that was consuming them both. And when Fritz put it in, Natasha cried, held his face and kissed him. “Thank you,” she whispered over his lips, “Thank you…”
When they were done, their eyes remained tiredly at the ceiling, their naked bodies locked in an embrace.
“Tell me about Olivia…” Natasha suddenly said.
It had been some time since Fritz started to think that she might ask this kind of query. The question was not ‘would she ask it’ but ‘when she would ask it’. And he didn’t know if it was the joy of their post coitus or the joy that he had made love with a woman that had given him her whole self fully, but he answered her completely, because in the things she had said to him, he thought that she deserved to know who Olivia was.
“Olivia was a friend of mine. England. Time was late 1800s…” he moved his hand and brushed her hair. “Our office wasn’t called office back then, it was called a house. Ours was called the House of Yourke-Yourkies, yeah, that's what they called us,” he found himself smiling as he remembered those times they had in pubs, the women and the intoxication of everything else. “There was an orphanage near us, that was where I found Olivia
. She stole my wallet,” he chuckled. “That was our first encounter.”
“Sounds like a good kid,” Natasha said, there should be sarcasm but there wasn’t.
“She was. She was… so, I ran for her, and when I grabbed her, I could feel the ribs poking out of her side. She was so thin I couldn’t help but help her. I brought her to our House and fed her. That was the start of our friendship.”
“Why would Rowan even tell us that? I can only think of one thing, and that is to annoy you.”
“He did more than that. You see, six years after, there were reports of growing murders at Leicester. Witnesses said it was done by a creature, half man, half wolf.”
“A werewolf?”
He nodded. “I was sent to investigate by the England Elect. We killed the myths, but more of them just kept popping out, so, in a tower, I watched where these things materialize and located a general area for the origin. It was from this house… I did surveillance for a couple of days and found out it was where Olivia was living at. Her life was shit in there, her stepdad was fine, but her stepmother was a nightmare. She kept telling her frightful stories so that she wouldn’t come out at night. Stories of wolves…”
“I had a tandem back then,” he continued, “Edward. He suggested that we should take our time in the case so we could deduce the people who aren’t dreaming of wolves. We did, and we had two suspects—Olivia and her stepmom. To know between the two of them, we drugged each in two separate nights, a drug that would keep you awake. We killed all the wolves first, and we waited… in the end it was Olivia.”
“We’ve been ordered to kill her. I had no choice but to follow…”
“You killed her?”
“We were sent there, yes. My plan was to kill her stepmother, the one who treated her like wet rag. When that's done I would run away with her. That was my plan. But it was dark, and Olivia had grown that she was already a woman… It was dark and I killed the wrong one…”