comprehensible.
Saturday was, thankfully, still a day of rest. Dmitry had gone back to his place to sleep, he’d said. She wasn’t sure if she believed him, but he’d said he would be back by evening. It was time to make use of the shops. She had an urge to be a bit domestic, and scoured the farmer’s market for ingredients. Chile peppers, beef, bacon…mmm, bacon. Cilantro, garlic, fresh tortillas.
She was already hungry, and it wouldn’t be ready for a couple of hours. She got a bag of kale chips to stave off starvation. And some chocolate. Olives were good-looking too. And the asteroid-aged cheddar (Asteroid-aged? Really? Fads these days.). Her bag was getting heavy. But there was a bottle of pinot noir winking at her too. Aaaand a spiced-lavender sponge cake with orange glaze. Okay, time to run the hell away.
She carried the bottle of wine under her arm, knowing Dmitry would frown at it. It was worth noting that she didn’t feel quite the same way she had the day before. Clarity was beginning to filter through. She had a mental image of scraping black paint from a window, while sunlight peeked in. It had occurred to her during the day that she was making everything much harder on herself than it had to actually be.
The only trouble was, she didn’t know how to let go. How to start over was the big hurdle. Being alone was the enemy at the moment, that much was clear. She didn’t let herself think about what might happen if or when Dmitry might move on. Or if she did. A fleeting sense of lightness buoyed her as she skipped down a long staircase to the temporary housing. She’d taken the stairs in favor of the lift, still feeling strong from several rounds of kettlebells, wall balls, and muscle-ups earlier.
She walked into her rooms, set the food in the kitchen, and let the bottle land with a solid thunk of glass against hard wood. Not bothering to turn on the lights, she kicked off her shoes and padded around barefoot. She thought about showering, or at least changing clothes. Wondering what Dmitry was up to, she had a debate with herself on whether to call or no…but she stopped midthought. Something else was breaking into her consciousness.
She’d heard the sound of only one shoe hitting the wall.
Both shoes had gotten tossed the same direction, but only one had made noise. She turned to start back and switch on a light when she found herself flying into the opposite wall. A man, about her height, medium frame, had tackled her into a stretch of built-in shelves where she had begun accumulating history books.
One of them, The Rise of Decadence, fell into her face as she struggled to catch her breath. It was such a moment of unreal shock that she actually lay there momentarily wondering if she’d read it yet. It only took a few more moments to become aware that she still couldn’t breathe. Her attacker had placed his hand on her neck and was squeezing, like a boa constrictor. He had a hold of her trachea, as though he was aiming to rip it from her body.
The instinct to struggle was strong, but she fought through the confused pain to think clearly. She did not try to pry his grip from her throat. Instead, she hammered a palm to one side of his head, and proceeded to secure a firm lock on his ear. She gripped it firmly, not incredibly hard, but hard enough to tear the ear halfway from his head before he howled and released her.
He stumbled backward onto his knees, holding the side of his head. She quickly tucked up her legs between them, and put all her surging adrenaline behind launching the intruder back across the room. He landed several feet away, and sat in stunned silence.
Maeve couldn’t make out his face clearly, but she could see the glow of rage, and feel the rumbling of the monster within from across the distance between them. The threat was hers alone to confront. Dmitry wasn’t due to arrive for at least half an hour, maybe more. Next door was empty, and the other direction was storage space. The great black beyond. The man spoke to her in a harsh whisper.
“That wasn’t a good thing to do. I was willing to let you die painlessly, but now…you bleed.”
“I think I got first. We’ll see who gets last.” She knew she’d have to rally every ounce of energy to make it through the next few minutes. She knew this song all too well. As before, she had to dance, or turn to meet death.
The stranger felt blood from his ear trickle down his neck. Nobody had ever managed to get to him before. It was a new, infuriating experience, and he had to put in effort to think past the raw pain. He launched himself again at her, this time without the leg sweep that had felled her before. This time was to break her. He listened for the crunch from her ribcage, disappointed that there wasn’t the full crack of a rib popping in half. The hesitation cost him leverage, she made a half turn and grabbed his leg, yanking hard enough to knock him down.
While he was still down, she dropped her knee in his abdomen, using her leg to hold off his, while grabbing his shirt collar. She held his head a few inches above the floor and slammed her fist onto his face, allowing the impact to bounce his skull off the flagstones beneath. The only gamble there was that both his arms were free, and he wasn’t insensible enough to forget that. He made a roll to his left and straight-armed her off into a side table.
A bonsai crashed near her head, scattering dirt and miniature tree branches. He stood, lifting the table as he went, while she sought out a shard from the bonsai’s glass dish. She had to find a sharp piece before the heavy wooden table slammed down and finished her fight.
A sting from her index finger told her that she had found what she was looking for, and she slashed it out behind his leg even while the table was moving toward her. It clattered impotently to the floor; he fell beside it onto one leg, bleeding from the wound she’d just inflicted.
He knew there must be a severed tendon behind his knee. He moved quickly to stanch the flow of blood with a chunk of his shirt. He didn’t want to leave behind too much of himself, even though no one would ever know whose DNA they had collected. There was no record of his existence anywhere. He smiled.
Maeve struggled to her feet, feeling the fire in her lungs as a signal that he’d probably managed to at least bruise a few ribs. It hurt to swallow, and her left arm was numb. She looked around for something else to fight back with, knowing that she’d looked away from him for too long. Momentarily, she heard the swish of something moving toward her, long enough only to anticipate the blow. It came directly to her thigh, rendering her leg useless, as the force it reeled her around to face him.
He had a collapsible baton in his hand. Her legs gave out. The sofa caught her in a crouching position, and she knew that she couldn’t stop the next blow. The impact fell directly in the curve between her shoulder and neck. Her vision went white for a moment. She couldn’t tell whether her collarbone was broken or not. The next blow was halted midair by the sound of the intercom ringing impatiently. The man froze, waiting to hear what came next, while the answering service picked up. It was Dem’s voice.
“Maeve, are you there? Shit, I hate leaving messages. I’m on my way right now. I’ll be there in less than a minute, so I hope you’re there, waiting.”
Maeve locked eyes with the monster in the dark; he snarled and rushed at her. The baton was across her throat. Her brain, losing oxygen, tried to flit off into fanciful thoughts. It was a terrible effort to stay present. It would be easier simply to drift away. What was worth fighting for, anyway?
The intercom went off again. Dmitry. He had just stopped to get a couple of things. Be there soon. Soon wasn’t enough. She had to hold onto a rapidly crumbling precipice. It did not seem possible that this man could still be at her with such strength. Think. Remember.
She mustered up what reserves she had, and slipped her left arm up through his. Immediately, she cocked her arm to just past ninety degrees, and swung her elbow up as hard as she could. He lost his grip on the baton momentarily, swearing as bone connected with his nose and eye socket. During that short distraction, she snatched it from him and tossed it away.
Air flooded back in, clearing her head. Pain radiated from every corner of her body, but pain kept you awake. Pain meant you were a
live. She struggled to lift her right arm. Not an easy task, but she boxed his torn ear again as hard as she could.
He let out a dull roar, knowing he had to end this. It had to be finished. This ridiculous battle could not continue; nor could he leave the task undone. He knew the price that would come with failure.
“I have last.”
She could not see what he had in his hand, but knew immediately once she felt the sudden blossoming of fire in her chest. Her fingers searched, finding the handle of the blade that was deep into her left side, between ribs and who knew what else. She was slipping, down, into nothingness.
The stranger stood, looking down to make certain of his handiwork. She no longer moved; she only bled. The rush of adrenaline that he would normally enjoy at the end of a kill…did not come. Perhaps it was asking too much. This was a two for one night, after all. He’d only come here to start the process, to find this one. To his surprise, one of the others had already been here, waiting to talk to her.
He went into the bedroom, knowing he only had another moment or two to linger. It was a job well done. Of the evening’s first act, he ventured to think that there was more than his usual poetry. A brush of fingers on the wall turned the bedside lights on, revealing another woman. She was beginning to be cool to the touch. The dark cascade of her hair spilled across the bedspread, like black water. This one had not needed to bleed, however. She had complied. Not a whimper, not a prayer, just total submission. He smiled, turning to leave. The lights stayed on.
۞
Dmitry walked down the wide staircase leading from the commercial sector to the temporary housing. He could smell something that reminded him of Maeve. Herbs and…oranges. A smile came to his lips unwonted. It was such a strange sensation, to have something other than work occupying his thoughts. Well, work or his typical diversions, anyway.
The crowds had thinned out completely by the time he had gone down two flights. It didn’t prevent someone from walking into him. He stumbled to the side a bit, and had to push back in order to avoid falling upstairs. Angrily, he turned to deliver invective, but the other person had vanished.
“Good lord, what am I, a magnet for this now?” The flowers he’d gotten were now bent. “Damn.” What was that on his free hand, though? His fingers felt wet. He turned his hand over, and found himself staring at blood.
۞
The stranger followed his plan as best he could. He couldn’t run; slipping into the throng was not an option until he could get cleaned up. Worse yet, he had literally run into someone, in an area that normally had no foot traffic. Light-headedness told him he’d bled freely a bit too long. A pass by several kiosks earned him a long dark-colored scarf. He wound it around his head in a loose pagri, gritting his teeth as it came into contact with his ear. The end of the fabric draped over his shoulder, hiding the blood he could not wipe off.
His leg was more problematic. He could hardly snatch up a pair of trousers and hope they fit. It required a fast trip inside a shop, where he quickly located what he needed, changed, paid, and went back on his way. The cut that damned bitch had made was deep. Running was definitely out of the question. He wondered whether Warden had sent him thinking it might be a suicide mission. Wouldn’t be too surprising. Warden hated him.
The blitz was also out of the question. He’d have to get clever. Cleverer, he corrected himself. Now, now, pride goeth before the fall. Be quiet, he ordered the voice that sounded a great deal like his brother-in-law.
“If I get out of