Man is Evil, Man is Good (7/?)
Title: Man is Evil, Man is Good (7/?)
Author: Christmas Pterodactyl
Rating: R/Mature for large amounts violence and implied sexual situations.
Word count: Part 7: 4,698 words
Disclaimer: The author makes no claims of ownership to any material that may be recognized by the public.
Spoilers: Up to and including 3x05: Horror Fiction in Seven Spooky Steps
Summary: Annie’s Halloween story wasn’t completely made up. And Annie Edison is not all that she seems.
Notes: Sh*t stays real and buys a condo in Real De Janeiro. Oh, and death.
Additional Notes: So Mass Effect 3 has a multiplayer mode, enough said. I’ve kinda had that as well a complete change in my work and sleep schedule interfere, so…well…that’s that. On a third note, I really do appreciate all the viewers. Hope you’ve enjoyed it. I had a good time writing it.
Previously: Part 1a Part 1b Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6
He wasn’t feeling any better, but the painkillers helped. She’d jammed the lock before she left and he’d tried to open it to no avail, so no one was going to get in or out. But it didn’t make him feel any safer. This wasn’t a dream, this wasn’t an act, this wasn’t a paintball tournament. So Jeff lay on the cot, looking up at the ceiling. The gun in his hand was different from the paintball guns he’d used with merciless efficiency, or the prop guns whose weights were nearer to the real thing. The real gun didn’t feel right though. This was a tool used to kill; there simply was no other purpose for it. And he was sure he couldn’t do something like that. He couldn’t take a life.
But he wanted live.
Could he kill?
The door rattled, startling Winger who drew the gun and pointed it at the entryway. Her voice started whispering in his ear. … shoot anyone that comes into this room. Easy for her to say. He’d never even used a real gun, due to lack of a father to take him shooting. Pulling himself up and leaning into corner of the cupboard and the cot, Jeff kept the firearm at the ready while the metal door jostled again. Surely no one could get through the jammed door; Annie had to have found a way to keep him secure.
There was mumbling outside the door, or what he thought was mumbling when it was more like muffled voices; crackling and sparks appeared around the lock, and he knew he was in trouble. Jeff had only a few minutes, and he was in no condition to attempt to fight his way out of the cell. He could only wait as the welder cut its way through the metal. Suddenly the door opened, and a figure appeared, surrounded by a halo of light shining from outside in the hall.
“Hello?”
The voice of the damned had once more come to antagonize him. “Doc Pottery Barn.”
“I was just coming to check on you my friend.”
“I’m sure you were. Cracked ribs must be a perk to that wonderful bedside manner.” He cocked the pistol, waiting for his nemesis to step forward.
“They got a little overzealous, but I really was coming in to check up on you. And seeing as Annie’s not here, I figured you could use the company.” Rich took a slow step forward. “Seriously, I think we got off on the wrong foot.”
“Excuse me? I’m pretty sure you had about three guys beat the living shit outta me. And don’t forget this after you shanghai me to…wherever we are.”
“Chicago. Home of the Bears and the Cubs. Always been a big fan of the Cubbies.”
“Whatever.”
“Come on Jeff. No need to be a doggie downer.” Rich pulled a firearm from behind his back, and pointed it at Winger. “Now the question is, do you have the physical strength to hold that gun in your hand for a while.”
Rich was right, he was always right. Jeff was already straining already, and he wasn’t sure he’d actually hit the doctor. “Why don’t you just tell me what you want?”
“We’re going to see Michelle, she’s ‘requested an audience’ with you. I always thought you two made a great couple.” Rich’s gun went off, and a hole appeared in the wall behind Winger, his ear just barely grazed by the bullet. The dismissed lawyer dropped the gun, startled, and grabbing the grazed lobe.
“I guess I don’t really have a choice.”
“You always have a choice Jeff. You just have to make the right one.” Rich motioned with the gun, and Jeff slowly got to his feet.
“She’s going to kill you, you know.”
The medicine man smiled, spreading his arms out. “Oh come on now, I’m too much of a nice guy.”
“Couldn’t happen to a better guy.” Winger chuckled, holding his aching ribs.
______
She was in the warehouse proper, and Marga had certainly put on a good front business for her little venture. Elisabeta had rummaged through one of the boxes, finding horribly made stuffed animals found at carnivals. She was stalking again, listening for breathing, for heart beats, for any whisper. The woman scanned the area, when a cold dread washed over her.
She heard the bolt of a rifle sliding a cartridge into the receiver. Her comrades in the platoon she traveled with in the War would called it a chambered round.
The rafters; Marga had actually thought of placing snipers in the rafters. Elisabeta froze in place. Every sniper she’d met knew to inhale, exhale, and pull the trigger. Normal hearing would never pick up the sound a person’s breath, but she could hear it. She had seconds remaining, but there was an echo in the exhalation. She could take a round to the chest, she healed at an astounding rate, but a head shot would end her life just as easily as it would a normal human. She strained her hearing, and picked up what she needed. The decision was made.
______
The woman in charge had sent him up into the rafters of the warehouse, much to his annoyance; but he was hired for his rifleman skills, and he’d been promised a large bounty for the proposed target. She sent him up into his nest more than an hour ago, and he was starting to slip into sleep when he heard footsteps on the concrete floor below. Looking through the scope, he saw a slip of a woman in a blue body suit and what looked like a white mask. Surely this wasn’t the target, not this young girl. She was too innocent, too young; the mask was disturbing but she was hardly a danger to anyone.
He wasn’t paid to make these decisions, and as much as he was reluctant to take the shot his target was quite the payday. The shooter adjusted the scope, and took a bead on her body, aiming for the heart and perhaps the spinal cord. There was no reason to make her suffer.
Years in the military had taught him certain techniques for precision marksmanship. The man took a deep breath, let it out, and started pulling back on the trigger. At that moment, he saw her turn and look directly into his eyes.
And she disappeared from sight.
And he felt something pointy against the back of his neck.
“You have two choices.” The gunman had no clue how she’d made it to the nest. But it wasn’t a pressing concern, the pointed metal object ready to slide through his neck was the priority. Her voice was soft yet menacing. He didn’t turn his head but he looked to his right, and through his perphrial saw an expressionless ivory face with a blood red tear falling from one eye. “One, you take your finger off the trigger, pack up your rifle, and only use it for deer hunting after you’re far away from here.”
“And the other one?” He whispered.
“I kill you, slowly.”
“I would like to take the first option.”
The piecing tip of the knife left his neck, and he got a good look at the shapely, deadly woman in the mask. He wasn’t sure if it was the fact she snuck up on him so quietly, so quickly. Or if it was the black eye holes that he couldn’t see behind. The mask nodded sedately. “Good choice. How many of you are there.”
“Me and another person. Other side of the warehouse.”
“He had no line of sight on you?”
“No.”
“No wonder you haven’t asked him to shoot you in case of capture.”
“Will you kill him?
“Would you care?”
“Nah, Nelson’s a jackass. He’d kill his own mother for a buck.”
“Leave the rifle.”
“Don’t have to tell me twice.” The man slipped away from her and the nest, and she picked up the weapon. Judging the heft and feeling for the trigger weight, she scoped the second sniper with ease. She hated snipers. She’d seen enough friends killed by sharpshooters during the Second World War. When she caught one, the Blood Countess came forth, and tortured them mercilessly. She knew she was a hypocrite though as there was a marksman on her small squad that she’d fought with.
But tonight, this man would die by her hands because of the associates he kept. In the many centuries she’d been alive, she’d had a good sense of people. True, certain individuals she couldn’t read; but this man would have raped her with pleasure. And men and women like that deserved their deaths.
He was in her sights. Exhaling and holding the heavy rifle steady with practiced ease, she pulled the trigger. The thundering sound that should have echoed across the warehouse was suppressed, and the only sound of the shot was the tinkling of the empty cartridge on the ground below her. Through the scope, she saw the body fall the twenty-some odd feet. Elisabeta swept the rifle around the storage area, looking for anything that would cause her additional grief. The sweep was slow, but yielded results when she found the two guards and the office. And through the window was Marga, sitting at a beat up desk and writing.
She wanted to take the shot, ached to do in the bitch that ruined her life. But Marga deserved a more fitting end, one that should have fallen upon her centuries past. No, she would cut her down with her Janos’ falx. It was only proper.
As the woman lowered the rifle she saw the hint of another person moving around in the office. Curiosity piqued, she raised her mask and put her eye to the lens.
Jeff.
He was standing in Marga’s office, a gun in his back held by a new individual who she couldn’t place as his (he was male) face was obscured. So there was an accomplice. And he was holding the Colt pistol.
Now there will be hell to pay.
The Accomplice was holding two things dear to her heart, and he wouldn’t be escaping. Anger swept across her face and her eyes changed from blue to yellow. She had controlled her fury as much as she could during this escapade. This whole mission had been personal, and with every death she’d stuffed the feelings into a mental closet that had held the rage. But the closet was full now; and there wasn’t enough room for the rest of that ferocity. Elisabeta took a moment, closed her eyes once more, and initiated the breathing exercises that would calm her. Opening them again, she felt the urges and madness lessen into a more stable control. She adjusted the scope and pressed the trigger. The first guard was down. She chambered another round and pulled the trigger again, and his comrade was gone too.
______
Marga saw both men drop dead, and realized that Annie was upon them. “Your girlfriend is here.”
“Bet that just riles you up, doesn’t it Michelle.”
“Do you have any idea what she did to me?” The woman that was Michelle Slater stepped forward and showed him her wrist. He’d seen it several times when he’d lavished kisses on Michelle, who would melt under him. But there were now two small marks over the vein running up and down her arm. “This is the monster’s work. She tortured me after her husband was executed for treason. And then she slaughtered an entire town for the slight of dismissing her for the person she truly was.”
“You have to admit Jeff, Annie’s story never quite added up.” Winger’s fingers curled into a fist, his arm drawing back then launching at Rich. Stephenson’s forearm was up in and instant to block; in reply, Rich flipped the pistol, holding it by the slide and barrel and struck Jeff with the butt end of the grip. “Idiot.”
The tall man staggered to the right and caught hold of one of the chairs. His forehead was bleeding with an open gash dripping blood down the side of his face on the left. His trademark grin appeared despite the situation and he started laughing slowly, becoming increasingly maniacal and crazed.
“You should just kill me right now.”
“I’m okay with that Michelle, you?” Rich butted in on the conversation.
Marga/Michelle Slater shook her head. “Men are such idiots. Rich, if he moves, hit him again. But I refuse to waste bullets on him.” She sighed in frustration. “I wish Radu was here to see your impudence. He’d agree that your death was worth the trouble we went through. ” She motioned to the doctor. “Hit him again. Make it painful.”
He took Jeff by the shirt, getting a good grip, then pistol whipped him in the mouth. The butt of the gun caught him in the back of the jaw, knocking him onto the ground. Marga leaned down, taunting him with that low sultry voice he now despised and once loved. “Did she tell you what I really did to her? Did she tell you what she did to try and get her beloved husband released?”
Jeff knew. And it disgusted him.
“I made little Miss Perfect suffer for her pride. I particularly loved when the mayor and clergy men had her in chains and took their time with her. She took it on her knees, from behind, on her back; such a dedicated young woman. I watched each time.”
“You know what?” Jeff spat out blood and saliva on the floor and turned his head to look her in the eyes. “I knew Michelle was mess. But you’ve gone beyond that and hit the ‘sick bitch level.’”
“Rich.” The tall man, on his hands and knees shook his head and laughed again as Rich stomped down near the bruised ribs. It was followed by swift kick to the kidneys, and the doctor smiled the whole time.
He was in a lot of pain. In all his life, he’d avoided fighting with the gift of a silver tongue. He was able to talk his way out of anything, but this was the first time it wasn’t going to work. Jeff thought to himself that this was worth it, to keep them distracted while Annie did her thing. What that thing was, he didn’t want to imagine; but the distraction had a penalty of finding out what Doc Do-No-Wrong was capable of. The man knew anatomy and pottery after all. And he was putting it to good use.
“You’re just as soft as Janos was. What Michelle and I ever saw in you is beyond me. Hand me your gun please, Dr. Stephenson.” She took the pistol by the grip and pulled back the slide. “Last time, I burned him at the stake. This time? Well…I’ve changed my mind and I’m just going to fill you full of holes.” Marga pulled the trigger, and shot him in through the soft tissue of his calf. He cursed at her through the pain and agony. “I didn’t think I’d enjoy this so much.” Jeff now knew she was avoiding bones as the next bullet skimmed his bicep, burning the flesh and creating another wound. “Call her out Jeff.”
“Fuck…you.” He gritted through clenched teeth, the pain unbearable. She took a booted foot and officially broke the ribs.
And then the door shattered.
“Marga!” Annie was a woman possessed. Her fangs bared, her eyes almost glowing. Her nose picked up on the unique scent of his blood, almost overpowering her and her cravings. She looked at where he lay, breathing heavily with his face bruised and bloodied. Crimson fluid flowed; welts and swelling covered exposed areas of body. She heard the hammer of the pistol fall and dodged three bullets shot at her by her nemesis. Rich tried to grab her but she’d blurred out of existence, reappearing behind him; she kicked the back his knees, knocking him to the floor.
Slater smiled, pointing the gun at Winger’s head. “Our guest arrives. There was a two point five percent chance you’d be dead by now. But I was hoping to see you one last time.”
“You’re going to burn for what you did here today.”
“I doubt that. But I can still make you suffer.”
“Why.” It wasn’t a question so much as a demand.
The older woman shrugged. “You took Janos from me. You pulled yourself from the ditch you lived in and made something of yourself. Elisabeta, my dear friend, you had everything so easy.”
“I said this so many years ago Marga, and it still applies. You stupid, insipid, idiotic fat cow. You are so deluded that I almost take pity on you.” She grabbed Rich by the hair, yanking his head back. “Let. Jeff. Go.” He felt a sharp point in his back, and Rich squeaked.
“Go ahead and kill him, he was a wonderful puppet.”
The genial man’s eyes bulged. “What!”
Marga shrugged her shoulders. “Sorry Rich.” Elisabeta did the same, before taking her short sword and thrusting it through his chest. Doctor Rich Stephenson gasped as the blade slid through him with little resistance. The older woman cocked her head and shrugged again. “Pity. So many pawns lost today.”
“You didn’t have to do this.”
“Have you learned nothing of me, dearest Elisabeta? The head games and power struggles are like the mulled wine I enjoy. They are exquisite in their flavor and consistency. I thrive on them. And you were always such a rich, beautiful target.” Marga waved the gun at Jeff and kicked him in the ribs again. “When they defiled you in your misguided attempts to win his freedom,” her pointed, high heeled shoe drove into Winger’s side again, “I reveled in it.”
“I’m not going to repeat myself, Marga. Let him go and you’ll not suffer.”
“If I have to go back to Hell, the very least I can do is make sure your life is miserable.” She pulled the trigger and put another round in Jeff, disabling his shoulder. She dropped the gun and pulled out a wooden stake. “I remember the warnings our elders gave us. Vampires die when you stake them in the heart. You die and I’ll let him live.”
Approaching Annie, Slater raised the stake and rested the sharpened point against the younger woman’s chest over her heart. Elisabeta stared at the older woman with a blank, expressionless look. “This won’t change anything. You’re still going to die.” Marga grabbed the mallet from the desk.
“And this won’t hurt a bit Elisabeta. Rest now, dear friend.” Their eyes were locked, contempt in Marga’s, steely resolve in Annie’s. The hammer blow was swift, but the blue body suit didn’t rip, didn’t puncture. The vampiress smiled at the disbelieving professor. “How!”
“You would never understand the science.” Elisabeta’s hand shot out and grasped the villainess’ neck. Marga saw the malevolence in her opposite’s eyes and realized how deeply in trouble she was now in. “Just think, I could squeeze the life out of you.” She threw the older woman across the room and sneered. “But I’m done killing.” Slater’s body crumpled when it hit the wall of the office, landing on the floor with a loud (and hopefully painful, Elisabeta thought) thump. The shorter brunette bent to her knees near her lover and helped him up slowly by his uninjured shoulder. Jeff coughed out a bit more blood and looked at her with one black and one unswollen eye, wincing as she found a comfortable position to help him walk out.
“Couldn’t cut it closer?”
“You look tasty and tenderized, don’t push it.” He snorted and groaned again.
“You’re making me laugh again. Kinda hurts doing that.”
She nodded, smiled and looked at him with her bright sparkling blue eyes. “Time to go home.” But Annie heard rustling and an anguished yell.
“No!” A shot rang out, and Annie closed her eyes, knowing she’d survive the bullet wound but hating the monotony of dealing with another unnecessary bullet wound in her recent past. The twinge of pain never came, for as she opened her eyes, she saw Jeff’s chest. She saw the lump, the red falling down wife beater from his surprised mouth. The height of the bullet was at her forehead. And Annie looked up to his pained face. His eyes were frozen in dread as he slumped in her extended arms. As he fell, over his shoulder, she saw Michelle Slater grinning. Marga pulled the trigger again, but both women heard the hammer click. Her finger pressed against the trigger several times, despite the slide frozen from a lack of ammunition. The clip ejected, and there was nothing left to fire. A crazed look crossed Marga’s eyes followed by a laughter only the insane could manage.
Annie had never felt utter rage like this before, and over the centuries she had experienced a vast amount of fury. But this broke all records. She laid her lover down quickly, then darted towards her rival, lashing at the demented woman holding the empty firearm. Annie didn’t care. Jeff was going to die, like Janos before him, and she would slay this woman and banish her back to the depths of Hell. She knocked Marga to the floor, flat on her back and the wind knocked out of her.
Marga realized her mistake when she felt the bones in her arm disintegrate due to the stomping of a booted foot. “You have made your last mistake Marga Steopen!” The boot pressed against the woman’s forehead, and Elisabeta wanted so much to press down harder. “I would ask for a reason to let you live, but you crossed that line so many years ago.”
Tears streaming from her eyes, Marga rasped in pain. “Forgive me!”
“Ha!” Annie reached down and once more picked up Michelle by her neck. Lifting the injured woman, she held her above her head and laughed again. “Goodbye Marga.” Her fangs bared once more, Elisabeta viciously bit into her rival’s neck, mauling it; she held the wiggling woman who was furtively trying to escape, and snapped the woman’s spine. She drank deeply one last time from her enemy then threw the body away and rushed back to Jeff.
Jeff couldn’t move. He couldn’t catch his breath despite gasping for air. He was lying on the floor after taking a bullet meant for Annie’s head. He felt it burn into his back and explode inside him. He’d never felt this much pain before, and he begged to let the aching stop. Winger felt the cottony feeling in his head, and his vision was tunneling. When he’d been laid down by her, he looked at the fluorescent lighting above and focused on it. And then her beautiful face flooded his vision and he did his best to smile.
“Don’t leave me.”
Not gonna, he said, but all that came out was a rasping gurgle. He felt Annie grasp his hand, and saw the bright-eyes that he’d fallen hard for two years ago.
“Don’t you dare leave me Jeff Winger.” He tried to raise his hand, to wipe away her tears, but he couldn’t muster the strength. He hated when she cried. The tall man wanted to comfort her. But he couldn’t breathe, he was gulping what air he could to no avail. The light above him was dimming, but he was straining to hear the voice of an angel pleading to whatever was out there to keep him alive.
“…l…v…y..u…”
And Jeff Winger was no more.
______
Annie Edison was dead inside. In the past forty-eight hours she’d killed no fewer than twenty people, had their bodies and the building containing them vaporized, and watched the love her life die in her arms. Suffice to say, the wine in her hand would not help in drinking herself into oblivion. She would need something a lot stronger, and her mind wandered to the absinthe she kept stored for such an occasion.
She blamed herself. Everything that had happened to Jeff from the moment she revealed her true nature to him and afterwards had been her fault, directly or indirectly. Annie knew guilt. It had a small home carved out of her chest where it rested comfortably, but it had doubled since the day before, and was currently not welcome in her heart.
No one from the group knew. She’d walked Abed through cancelling the lockdown in Colorado on her various terminals with no one in the group the wiser. The elaborate plan to keep them safe had been successful and now the only bright point in her life was that they emerged unharmed. The holiday season was upon them, and another adventure would probably take place, but she wanted no part of it. Her world had collapsed, and this time there was nowhere she could go for revenge.
The wine bottle was half empty, so she let the crystal glass drop to the floor without a second thought.
She stood watching the skyline of Chicago in silence. The penthouse was one of the most expensive in the Windy City, and made a great bolt hole, on top of one of the tallest buildings. In actuality it was an office building, which afforded her privacy in the evenings yet gave her full service to top quality commercial services.
Looking to the south, she saw the smoldering ruins of the riverfront warehouse she’d recently had destroyed. It had been essential to cover up the events of what happened there, to cover up any activity that would result in increased attention and possible jail time. And with the destruction of that site, the last loose end from her previous life had been removed. But what had she to look forward to?
Lost in her thoughts, she still heard the elevator ping in the pseudo-lobby of the floor. Few people had been given access to this location, and Annie had a good idea who this was. Jack Jacobs, she saw in the soft reflection of the window, entered the room quietly and sat the documents in his hands table. Removing the large coat to prevent the cold and chill coming off the massive lake, he laid it on the chair and passed a folder to her. She sat the second wine glass down and nodded at her visitor.
“The fire department said the blaze was self-contained. There were no questions asked after speaking with the fire chief. They also appreciate the donation to their Widows Fund as well as the night training opportunity. ”
“Thank you Jack. The site is prime real estate that we can donate to the YMCA.”
He mulled it over. “Nice tax write-off.” She turned to him, looking at the folder on the desk.
“I didn’t do it for that. It’s an institution I believe in, and I’ve always had a thing for helping where I can.”
“Dad said the same about you.” She scanned the documents for several moments, and then signed where required on several pages.
“You’ll find the Colt in its box. I apologize for its usage.” Jacobs lifted the lid of the ornate wooden box, nodding his head seeing every piece was in place. “I’ve also wired money into your account. I would ask that you allow me the privilege of keeping you as a retainer and advisor, if you will?”
“We owe you, Ms. Barnes, it would be our privilege. And thank you for returning his sidearm.” Annie finished quickly then closed the file.
“You’re welcome. We’ll talk about the arrangements after the new year.”
Jack nodded, taking the presented folder. “Of course. Have a…happy holidays.”
“Mm.” Snyder knew when he wasn’t needed. He was sincere about his family’s duty to her for a debt decades old. The vampiress heard the elevator ding and the man depart. She was alone again, wherein she lifted the glass once more and finished the wine, then threw it to the ground.
A tear fell down her cheek. She promised herself she wouldn’t cry.
Author: Christmas Pterodactyl
Rating: R/Mature for large amounts violence and implied sexual situations.
Word count: Part 7: 4,698 words
Disclaimer: The author makes no claims of ownership to any material that may be recognized by the public.
Spoilers: Up to and including 3x05: Horror Fiction in Seven Spooky Steps
Summary: Annie’s Halloween story wasn’t completely made up. And Annie Edison is not all that she seems.
Notes: Sh*t stays real and buys a condo in Real De Janeiro. Oh, and death.
Additional Notes: So Mass Effect 3 has a multiplayer mode, enough said. I’ve kinda had that as well a complete change in my work and sleep schedule interfere, so…well…that’s that. On a third note, I really do appreciate all the viewers. Hope you’ve enjoyed it. I had a good time writing it.
Previously: Part 1a Part 1b Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6
He wasn’t feeling any better, but the painkillers helped. She’d jammed the lock before she left and he’d tried to open it to no avail, so no one was going to get in or out. But it didn’t make him feel any safer. This wasn’t a dream, this wasn’t an act, this wasn’t a paintball tournament. So Jeff lay on the cot, looking up at the ceiling. The gun in his hand was different from the paintball guns he’d used with merciless efficiency, or the prop guns whose weights were nearer to the real thing. The real gun didn’t feel right though. This was a tool used to kill; there simply was no other purpose for it. And he was sure he couldn’t do something like that. He couldn’t take a life.
But he wanted live.
Could he kill?
The door rattled, startling Winger who drew the gun and pointed it at the entryway. Her voice started whispering in his ear. … shoot anyone that comes into this room. Easy for her to say. He’d never even used a real gun, due to lack of a father to take him shooting. Pulling himself up and leaning into corner of the cupboard and the cot, Jeff kept the firearm at the ready while the metal door jostled again. Surely no one could get through the jammed door; Annie had to have found a way to keep him secure.
There was mumbling outside the door, or what he thought was mumbling when it was more like muffled voices; crackling and sparks appeared around the lock, and he knew he was in trouble. Jeff had only a few minutes, and he was in no condition to attempt to fight his way out of the cell. He could only wait as the welder cut its way through the metal. Suddenly the door opened, and a figure appeared, surrounded by a halo of light shining from outside in the hall.
“Hello?”
The voice of the damned had once more come to antagonize him. “Doc Pottery Barn.”
“I was just coming to check on you my friend.”
“I’m sure you were. Cracked ribs must be a perk to that wonderful bedside manner.” He cocked the pistol, waiting for his nemesis to step forward.
“They got a little overzealous, but I really was coming in to check up on you. And seeing as Annie’s not here, I figured you could use the company.” Rich took a slow step forward. “Seriously, I think we got off on the wrong foot.”
“Excuse me? I’m pretty sure you had about three guys beat the living shit outta me. And don’t forget this after you shanghai me to…wherever we are.”
“Chicago. Home of the Bears and the Cubs. Always been a big fan of the Cubbies.”
“Whatever.”
“Come on Jeff. No need to be a doggie downer.” Rich pulled a firearm from behind his back, and pointed it at Winger. “Now the question is, do you have the physical strength to hold that gun in your hand for a while.”
Rich was right, he was always right. Jeff was already straining already, and he wasn’t sure he’d actually hit the doctor. “Why don’t you just tell me what you want?”
“We’re going to see Michelle, she’s ‘requested an audience’ with you. I always thought you two made a great couple.” Rich’s gun went off, and a hole appeared in the wall behind Winger, his ear just barely grazed by the bullet. The dismissed lawyer dropped the gun, startled, and grabbing the grazed lobe.
“I guess I don’t really have a choice.”
“You always have a choice Jeff. You just have to make the right one.” Rich motioned with the gun, and Jeff slowly got to his feet.
“She’s going to kill you, you know.”
The medicine man smiled, spreading his arms out. “Oh come on now, I’m too much of a nice guy.”
“Couldn’t happen to a better guy.” Winger chuckled, holding his aching ribs.
______
She was in the warehouse proper, and Marga had certainly put on a good front business for her little venture. Elisabeta had rummaged through one of the boxes, finding horribly made stuffed animals found at carnivals. She was stalking again, listening for breathing, for heart beats, for any whisper. The woman scanned the area, when a cold dread washed over her.
She heard the bolt of a rifle sliding a cartridge into the receiver. Her comrades in the platoon she traveled with in the War would called it a chambered round.
The rafters; Marga had actually thought of placing snipers in the rafters. Elisabeta froze in place. Every sniper she’d met knew to inhale, exhale, and pull the trigger. Normal hearing would never pick up the sound a person’s breath, but she could hear it. She had seconds remaining, but there was an echo in the exhalation. She could take a round to the chest, she healed at an astounding rate, but a head shot would end her life just as easily as it would a normal human. She strained her hearing, and picked up what she needed. The decision was made.
______
The woman in charge had sent him up into the rafters of the warehouse, much to his annoyance; but he was hired for his rifleman skills, and he’d been promised a large bounty for the proposed target. She sent him up into his nest more than an hour ago, and he was starting to slip into sleep when he heard footsteps on the concrete floor below. Looking through the scope, he saw a slip of a woman in a blue body suit and what looked like a white mask. Surely this wasn’t the target, not this young girl. She was too innocent, too young; the mask was disturbing but she was hardly a danger to anyone.
He wasn’t paid to make these decisions, and as much as he was reluctant to take the shot his target was quite the payday. The shooter adjusted the scope, and took a bead on her body, aiming for the heart and perhaps the spinal cord. There was no reason to make her suffer.
Years in the military had taught him certain techniques for precision marksmanship. The man took a deep breath, let it out, and started pulling back on the trigger. At that moment, he saw her turn and look directly into his eyes.
And she disappeared from sight.
And he felt something pointy against the back of his neck.
“You have two choices.” The gunman had no clue how she’d made it to the nest. But it wasn’t a pressing concern, the pointed metal object ready to slide through his neck was the priority. Her voice was soft yet menacing. He didn’t turn his head but he looked to his right, and through his perphrial saw an expressionless ivory face with a blood red tear falling from one eye. “One, you take your finger off the trigger, pack up your rifle, and only use it for deer hunting after you’re far away from here.”
“And the other one?” He whispered.
“I kill you, slowly.”
“I would like to take the first option.”
The piecing tip of the knife left his neck, and he got a good look at the shapely, deadly woman in the mask. He wasn’t sure if it was the fact she snuck up on him so quietly, so quickly. Or if it was the black eye holes that he couldn’t see behind. The mask nodded sedately. “Good choice. How many of you are there.”
“Me and another person. Other side of the warehouse.”
“He had no line of sight on you?”
“No.”
“No wonder you haven’t asked him to shoot you in case of capture.”
“Will you kill him?
“Would you care?”
“Nah, Nelson’s a jackass. He’d kill his own mother for a buck.”
“Leave the rifle.”
“Don’t have to tell me twice.” The man slipped away from her and the nest, and she picked up the weapon. Judging the heft and feeling for the trigger weight, she scoped the second sniper with ease. She hated snipers. She’d seen enough friends killed by sharpshooters during the Second World War. When she caught one, the Blood Countess came forth, and tortured them mercilessly. She knew she was a hypocrite though as there was a marksman on her small squad that she’d fought with.
But tonight, this man would die by her hands because of the associates he kept. In the many centuries she’d been alive, she’d had a good sense of people. True, certain individuals she couldn’t read; but this man would have raped her with pleasure. And men and women like that deserved their deaths.
He was in her sights. Exhaling and holding the heavy rifle steady with practiced ease, she pulled the trigger. The thundering sound that should have echoed across the warehouse was suppressed, and the only sound of the shot was the tinkling of the empty cartridge on the ground below her. Through the scope, she saw the body fall the twenty-some odd feet. Elisabeta swept the rifle around the storage area, looking for anything that would cause her additional grief. The sweep was slow, but yielded results when she found the two guards and the office. And through the window was Marga, sitting at a beat up desk and writing.
She wanted to take the shot, ached to do in the bitch that ruined her life. But Marga deserved a more fitting end, one that should have fallen upon her centuries past. No, she would cut her down with her Janos’ falx. It was only proper.
As the woman lowered the rifle she saw the hint of another person moving around in the office. Curiosity piqued, she raised her mask and put her eye to the lens.
Jeff.
He was standing in Marga’s office, a gun in his back held by a new individual who she couldn’t place as his (he was male) face was obscured. So there was an accomplice. And he was holding the Colt pistol.
Now there will be hell to pay.
The Accomplice was holding two things dear to her heart, and he wouldn’t be escaping. Anger swept across her face and her eyes changed from blue to yellow. She had controlled her fury as much as she could during this escapade. This whole mission had been personal, and with every death she’d stuffed the feelings into a mental closet that had held the rage. But the closet was full now; and there wasn’t enough room for the rest of that ferocity. Elisabeta took a moment, closed her eyes once more, and initiated the breathing exercises that would calm her. Opening them again, she felt the urges and madness lessen into a more stable control. She adjusted the scope and pressed the trigger. The first guard was down. She chambered another round and pulled the trigger again, and his comrade was gone too.
______
Marga saw both men drop dead, and realized that Annie was upon them. “Your girlfriend is here.”
“Bet that just riles you up, doesn’t it Michelle.”
“Do you have any idea what she did to me?” The woman that was Michelle Slater stepped forward and showed him her wrist. He’d seen it several times when he’d lavished kisses on Michelle, who would melt under him. But there were now two small marks over the vein running up and down her arm. “This is the monster’s work. She tortured me after her husband was executed for treason. And then she slaughtered an entire town for the slight of dismissing her for the person she truly was.”
“You have to admit Jeff, Annie’s story never quite added up.” Winger’s fingers curled into a fist, his arm drawing back then launching at Rich. Stephenson’s forearm was up in and instant to block; in reply, Rich flipped the pistol, holding it by the slide and barrel and struck Jeff with the butt end of the grip. “Idiot.”
The tall man staggered to the right and caught hold of one of the chairs. His forehead was bleeding with an open gash dripping blood down the side of his face on the left. His trademark grin appeared despite the situation and he started laughing slowly, becoming increasingly maniacal and crazed.
“You should just kill me right now.”
“I’m okay with that Michelle, you?” Rich butted in on the conversation.
Marga/Michelle Slater shook her head. “Men are such idiots. Rich, if he moves, hit him again. But I refuse to waste bullets on him.” She sighed in frustration. “I wish Radu was here to see your impudence. He’d agree that your death was worth the trouble we went through. ” She motioned to the doctor. “Hit him again. Make it painful.”
He took Jeff by the shirt, getting a good grip, then pistol whipped him in the mouth. The butt of the gun caught him in the back of the jaw, knocking him onto the ground. Marga leaned down, taunting him with that low sultry voice he now despised and once loved. “Did she tell you what I really did to her? Did she tell you what she did to try and get her beloved husband released?”
Jeff knew. And it disgusted him.
“I made little Miss Perfect suffer for her pride. I particularly loved when the mayor and clergy men had her in chains and took their time with her. She took it on her knees, from behind, on her back; such a dedicated young woman. I watched each time.”
“You know what?” Jeff spat out blood and saliva on the floor and turned his head to look her in the eyes. “I knew Michelle was mess. But you’ve gone beyond that and hit the ‘sick bitch level.’”
“Rich.” The tall man, on his hands and knees shook his head and laughed again as Rich stomped down near the bruised ribs. It was followed by swift kick to the kidneys, and the doctor smiled the whole time.
He was in a lot of pain. In all his life, he’d avoided fighting with the gift of a silver tongue. He was able to talk his way out of anything, but this was the first time it wasn’t going to work. Jeff thought to himself that this was worth it, to keep them distracted while Annie did her thing. What that thing was, he didn’t want to imagine; but the distraction had a penalty of finding out what Doc Do-No-Wrong was capable of. The man knew anatomy and pottery after all. And he was putting it to good use.
“You’re just as soft as Janos was. What Michelle and I ever saw in you is beyond me. Hand me your gun please, Dr. Stephenson.” She took the pistol by the grip and pulled back the slide. “Last time, I burned him at the stake. This time? Well…I’ve changed my mind and I’m just going to fill you full of holes.” Marga pulled the trigger, and shot him in through the soft tissue of his calf. He cursed at her through the pain and agony. “I didn’t think I’d enjoy this so much.” Jeff now knew she was avoiding bones as the next bullet skimmed his bicep, burning the flesh and creating another wound. “Call her out Jeff.”
“Fuck…you.” He gritted through clenched teeth, the pain unbearable. She took a booted foot and officially broke the ribs.
And then the door shattered.
“Marga!” Annie was a woman possessed. Her fangs bared, her eyes almost glowing. Her nose picked up on the unique scent of his blood, almost overpowering her and her cravings. She looked at where he lay, breathing heavily with his face bruised and bloodied. Crimson fluid flowed; welts and swelling covered exposed areas of body. She heard the hammer of the pistol fall and dodged three bullets shot at her by her nemesis. Rich tried to grab her but she’d blurred out of existence, reappearing behind him; she kicked the back his knees, knocking him to the floor.
Slater smiled, pointing the gun at Winger’s head. “Our guest arrives. There was a two point five percent chance you’d be dead by now. But I was hoping to see you one last time.”
“You’re going to burn for what you did here today.”
“I doubt that. But I can still make you suffer.”
“Why.” It wasn’t a question so much as a demand.
The older woman shrugged. “You took Janos from me. You pulled yourself from the ditch you lived in and made something of yourself. Elisabeta, my dear friend, you had everything so easy.”
“I said this so many years ago Marga, and it still applies. You stupid, insipid, idiotic fat cow. You are so deluded that I almost take pity on you.” She grabbed Rich by the hair, yanking his head back. “Let. Jeff. Go.” He felt a sharp point in his back, and Rich squeaked.
“Go ahead and kill him, he was a wonderful puppet.”
The genial man’s eyes bulged. “What!”
Marga shrugged her shoulders. “Sorry Rich.” Elisabeta did the same, before taking her short sword and thrusting it through his chest. Doctor Rich Stephenson gasped as the blade slid through him with little resistance. The older woman cocked her head and shrugged again. “Pity. So many pawns lost today.”
“You didn’t have to do this.”
“Have you learned nothing of me, dearest Elisabeta? The head games and power struggles are like the mulled wine I enjoy. They are exquisite in their flavor and consistency. I thrive on them. And you were always such a rich, beautiful target.” Marga waved the gun at Jeff and kicked him in the ribs again. “When they defiled you in your misguided attempts to win his freedom,” her pointed, high heeled shoe drove into Winger’s side again, “I reveled in it.”
“I’m not going to repeat myself, Marga. Let him go and you’ll not suffer.”
“If I have to go back to Hell, the very least I can do is make sure your life is miserable.” She pulled the trigger and put another round in Jeff, disabling his shoulder. She dropped the gun and pulled out a wooden stake. “I remember the warnings our elders gave us. Vampires die when you stake them in the heart. You die and I’ll let him live.”
Approaching Annie, Slater raised the stake and rested the sharpened point against the younger woman’s chest over her heart. Elisabeta stared at the older woman with a blank, expressionless look. “This won’t change anything. You’re still going to die.” Marga grabbed the mallet from the desk.
“And this won’t hurt a bit Elisabeta. Rest now, dear friend.” Their eyes were locked, contempt in Marga’s, steely resolve in Annie’s. The hammer blow was swift, but the blue body suit didn’t rip, didn’t puncture. The vampiress smiled at the disbelieving professor. “How!”
“You would never understand the science.” Elisabeta’s hand shot out and grasped the villainess’ neck. Marga saw the malevolence in her opposite’s eyes and realized how deeply in trouble she was now in. “Just think, I could squeeze the life out of you.” She threw the older woman across the room and sneered. “But I’m done killing.” Slater’s body crumpled when it hit the wall of the office, landing on the floor with a loud (and hopefully painful, Elisabeta thought) thump. The shorter brunette bent to her knees near her lover and helped him up slowly by his uninjured shoulder. Jeff coughed out a bit more blood and looked at her with one black and one unswollen eye, wincing as she found a comfortable position to help him walk out.
“Couldn’t cut it closer?”
“You look tasty and tenderized, don’t push it.” He snorted and groaned again.
“You’re making me laugh again. Kinda hurts doing that.”
She nodded, smiled and looked at him with her bright sparkling blue eyes. “Time to go home.” But Annie heard rustling and an anguished yell.
“No!” A shot rang out, and Annie closed her eyes, knowing she’d survive the bullet wound but hating the monotony of dealing with another unnecessary bullet wound in her recent past. The twinge of pain never came, for as she opened her eyes, she saw Jeff’s chest. She saw the lump, the red falling down wife beater from his surprised mouth. The height of the bullet was at her forehead. And Annie looked up to his pained face. His eyes were frozen in dread as he slumped in her extended arms. As he fell, over his shoulder, she saw Michelle Slater grinning. Marga pulled the trigger again, but both women heard the hammer click. Her finger pressed against the trigger several times, despite the slide frozen from a lack of ammunition. The clip ejected, and there was nothing left to fire. A crazed look crossed Marga’s eyes followed by a laughter only the insane could manage.
Annie had never felt utter rage like this before, and over the centuries she had experienced a vast amount of fury. But this broke all records. She laid her lover down quickly, then darted towards her rival, lashing at the demented woman holding the empty firearm. Annie didn’t care. Jeff was going to die, like Janos before him, and she would slay this woman and banish her back to the depths of Hell. She knocked Marga to the floor, flat on her back and the wind knocked out of her.
Marga realized her mistake when she felt the bones in her arm disintegrate due to the stomping of a booted foot. “You have made your last mistake Marga Steopen!” The boot pressed against the woman’s forehead, and Elisabeta wanted so much to press down harder. “I would ask for a reason to let you live, but you crossed that line so many years ago.”
Tears streaming from her eyes, Marga rasped in pain. “Forgive me!”
“Ha!” Annie reached down and once more picked up Michelle by her neck. Lifting the injured woman, she held her above her head and laughed again. “Goodbye Marga.” Her fangs bared once more, Elisabeta viciously bit into her rival’s neck, mauling it; she held the wiggling woman who was furtively trying to escape, and snapped the woman’s spine. She drank deeply one last time from her enemy then threw the body away and rushed back to Jeff.
Jeff couldn’t move. He couldn’t catch his breath despite gasping for air. He was lying on the floor after taking a bullet meant for Annie’s head. He felt it burn into his back and explode inside him. He’d never felt this much pain before, and he begged to let the aching stop. Winger felt the cottony feeling in his head, and his vision was tunneling. When he’d been laid down by her, he looked at the fluorescent lighting above and focused on it. And then her beautiful face flooded his vision and he did his best to smile.
“Don’t leave me.”
Not gonna, he said, but all that came out was a rasping gurgle. He felt Annie grasp his hand, and saw the bright-eyes that he’d fallen hard for two years ago.
“Don’t you dare leave me Jeff Winger.” He tried to raise his hand, to wipe away her tears, but he couldn’t muster the strength. He hated when she cried. The tall man wanted to comfort her. But he couldn’t breathe, he was gulping what air he could to no avail. The light above him was dimming, but he was straining to hear the voice of an angel pleading to whatever was out there to keep him alive.
“…l…v…y..u…”
And Jeff Winger was no more.
______
Annie Edison was dead inside. In the past forty-eight hours she’d killed no fewer than twenty people, had their bodies and the building containing them vaporized, and watched the love her life die in her arms. Suffice to say, the wine in her hand would not help in drinking herself into oblivion. She would need something a lot stronger, and her mind wandered to the absinthe she kept stored for such an occasion.
She blamed herself. Everything that had happened to Jeff from the moment she revealed her true nature to him and afterwards had been her fault, directly or indirectly. Annie knew guilt. It had a small home carved out of her chest where it rested comfortably, but it had doubled since the day before, and was currently not welcome in her heart.
No one from the group knew. She’d walked Abed through cancelling the lockdown in Colorado on her various terminals with no one in the group the wiser. The elaborate plan to keep them safe had been successful and now the only bright point in her life was that they emerged unharmed. The holiday season was upon them, and another adventure would probably take place, but she wanted no part of it. Her world had collapsed, and this time there was nowhere she could go for revenge.
The wine bottle was half empty, so she let the crystal glass drop to the floor without a second thought.
She stood watching the skyline of Chicago in silence. The penthouse was one of the most expensive in the Windy City, and made a great bolt hole, on top of one of the tallest buildings. In actuality it was an office building, which afforded her privacy in the evenings yet gave her full service to top quality commercial services.
Looking to the south, she saw the smoldering ruins of the riverfront warehouse she’d recently had destroyed. It had been essential to cover up the events of what happened there, to cover up any activity that would result in increased attention and possible jail time. And with the destruction of that site, the last loose end from her previous life had been removed. But what had she to look forward to?
Lost in her thoughts, she still heard the elevator ping in the pseudo-lobby of the floor. Few people had been given access to this location, and Annie had a good idea who this was. Jack Jacobs, she saw in the soft reflection of the window, entered the room quietly and sat the documents in his hands table. Removing the large coat to prevent the cold and chill coming off the massive lake, he laid it on the chair and passed a folder to her. She sat the second wine glass down and nodded at her visitor.
“The fire department said the blaze was self-contained. There were no questions asked after speaking with the fire chief. They also appreciate the donation to their Widows Fund as well as the night training opportunity. ”
“Thank you Jack. The site is prime real estate that we can donate to the YMCA.”
He mulled it over. “Nice tax write-off.” She turned to him, looking at the folder on the desk.
“I didn’t do it for that. It’s an institution I believe in, and I’ve always had a thing for helping where I can.”
“Dad said the same about you.” She scanned the documents for several moments, and then signed where required on several pages.
“You’ll find the Colt in its box. I apologize for its usage.” Jacobs lifted the lid of the ornate wooden box, nodding his head seeing every piece was in place. “I’ve also wired money into your account. I would ask that you allow me the privilege of keeping you as a retainer and advisor, if you will?”
“We owe you, Ms. Barnes, it would be our privilege. And thank you for returning his sidearm.” Annie finished quickly then closed the file.
“You’re welcome. We’ll talk about the arrangements after the new year.”
Jack nodded, taking the presented folder. “Of course. Have a…happy holidays.”
“Mm.” Snyder knew when he wasn’t needed. He was sincere about his family’s duty to her for a debt decades old. The vampiress heard the elevator ding and the man depart. She was alone again, wherein she lifted the glass once more and finished the wine, then threw it to the ground.
A tear fell down her cheek. She promised herself she wouldn’t cry.