My Attempt at writing a book...

Cherry Elsewhere

Prologue: Now

His silver rimmed glasses had shattered the moment his head hit the dirty concrete floor. Looking down at his battered body, chained to a filthy chair that crawled with dozens of tiny bugs, I knew he deserved everything he'd gotten up to this point. He looked up at us from his awkward position with a visage of amused defiance; you'd think he had no fear at all. The expanding urine puddle on the floor beneath his blood stained jeans told me different. He was freaked out... and rightly so. Billy knelt in front of him, his eyes fixed on the shattered glass lenses. In his hand was a shiny Desert Eagle, the muzzle pressed hard against the fallen man's temple.

"You remember me don't you? Remember how I kicked your ass? Remember how we burned down your house? Remember how I put this gun to your head and told you to get the hell out of town and never come back?"

The battered victim spat blood onto the floor.

"Go to hell. You pussies can't touch me."

Billy smiled the way he always did right before things got crazy. I was used to it, but it tended to freak out the average person.

"Oh yeah, Poindexter? Looks like we did a lot more than touch you, " Billy said as he stood, pulling the chair holding their beaten subject to its upright position.

I resisted the urge to rub my fingers against the fresh stitches above my left eye. The stitches were as clean as it could be despite the white bugs that crawled over it, but I was afraid of an infection. I stepped back into the darker corners of my small basement, half knowing what Billy, what all three of them, were going to do. I assumed it wouldn't be pretty, and it wasn't something that I wanted to see... no matter how much it was deserved. My friends were ready to unleash bloody vengeance. Billy already had his gun in hand, he was ready. Beside him, the smaller yet equally vicious English woman withdrew her own weapon, her gaze steady. The silver choker around the caramel colored skin of her neck glistened in the dim light. To the left of them stood the cold blooded shark, prepared to explode with violence. His icy blue eyes and pale white skin contrasted with dark colors of my unfinished basement.

"You're a stupid bloody berk," the English woman said, "you should've left and never come back. You should never have tried to kill us."

The bloodied victim smiled, his teeth red with blood.

"I didn't try to kill you. I only tried to kill her," he looked right at me and my heart jumped.

Billy threw a glance back at me and then back to the man he called Poindexter.

"Screw this," he cocked his gun and pointed it, "When you get to Hell, tell 'em Saturnine sent you."

"Wait!"

My voice was a shriek of desperation. I grabbed Billy's arm.

"Put some plastic down. He already messed up floor when he pissed his pants, I don't want blood on the floor too."

The cold blooded shark chuckled.

"We'll clean it up."

He didn't speak to me often and when he did it felt like his cold fingers were clutching tips of my spine. They turned back to their business and I headed for the stairs. Like I said, I knew what was coming and I knew it had to be done, but I didn't want to see it. I couldn't see it yet, I wasn't ready. Pops and flashes lit up the basement as I climbed the steps. Looking back... I think this was the moment that I realized my life had taken a seriously wrong turn.

Chapter One: Mine was a Fast-Paced childhood

Its weird what a person remembers in their lifetime; how their lives start and end, the things that become important to them over time. If you ask the average person about their earliest memory most will talk about a sensation, something sentimental like the smell of their mother's perfume, their first taste of ice cream, something like that. My earliest memory began with me in the lobby of our new family doctor. My mother set me down on the floor, amidst a plethora of bright colourful toys and a few sleepy children, under the watchful eye of the receptionist. I remember reaching for the toy pony with the bright red hair; if anyone asked why, I'd say it was because of the bright hair... just like mine. In all honesty, I grabbed it because it was the cleanest. Even in a doctor's office, the tiny white bugs were everywhere, crawling with hidden urgency. I knew not to mention it to my mother though; she'd send me straight to a child therapist; at least that's what my sisters always told me. I didn't even really know what a therapist was but I got the sense that they were good at cutting people's heads open and looking around inside; I liked my brain the way it was, thanks.

"You stay here honey, ok? I'm going in to see Dr. Webbler, I'll just be a minute," my mother said.

"Ok, mommy."

She patted me on the head and stepped into the doctor's office, nodding to the receptionist as she did. The worry lines around her eyes were prominent; it was odd. My mom had always been calm and collected. Being a cop, her steady nerves were always needed so seeing her like this made me uneasy. As she shut the door behind her, thoughts began to run through my immature mind. What if Dr. Webbler was the child therapist my sisters always spoke of? What if my mom was arranging a time for him to cut open my head? Maybe that's why they did that brain scan on me the week before. Maybe I should run right now. My thoughts were a jumble. I was scared, but I wanted to know. Dropping the pony on the dirty carpet, I crept to the office door and put my head against it; I could hear them talking.

"What do you mean? Is that a good thing or a bad thing? You can't just say my little girl is 'different' and not explain... I mean, my God!" My mother's voice trembled, she was concerned.

"Mrs. Cherub, please, this isn't a cause for concern as yet. Her MRI results were inconclusive... everything that should be fine, was fine," Doctor Webbler replied.

"Yes, ok, that's good. But what's different?"

"Well, it’s this. Look at this. This part here is what's typical of an average child her age. But this... we can't identify this part. It's outside the measurable range."

"Is that good or bad?" My mom's voice was beginning to sound frantic.

"Good and bad aren't really the right terms in this case. Results like these have been documented in child prodigies worldwide, but nothing this... extreme. There isn't anything we can measure this against."

"So... you're saying she's gifted?"

Dr. Webbler cleared his throat.

"Gifted, yes... but we can't qualify the way in which she's gifted. She could end up being an unparalleled genius, who knows. With these readings, it’s quite possible that she sees the world in a very unique way, different than anything we could imagine."

"So should we be doing anything different with her? Reading with her more or something? My husband just started a new job so he'll be home a lot more..."

"No no, no need to change anything yet. For now just keep an eye on her. If she shows a particular aptitude for anything specific, encourage it... it could be very good for her."

I could hear my mother sigh.

"Oh thank you, thank you Dr. Webbler! This is such good news, I can't even begin..."

"Hold on a minute Mrs. Cherub, there's actually something else I wanted to discuss with you... regarding Ava's tests. This has more to do with her physiology..."

"You mean her eyes? Our pediatrician mentioned it when she turned two..." my mother's voice had steadied.

My eyes were fine; Rosie from daycare always told me my eyes were so pretty.

"Not quite Mrs. Cherub, it’s a little more than that."

As interesting as the conversation was for concerned adults, it wasn't robust enough to keep my attention. I knew they were talking about me, but it didn't sound bad and didn't seem to involve candy or more toys so it couldn't be that important. I was drawn back to the colourful toys behind me. Thinking back to it, it probably would've been a good idea to keep listening... oh well. Minutes passed and just as my interest in the magical pony began to wane my mother flew out of the office, her eyes glassy yet focused. She grabbed my hand, dragging me to my feet.

"Time to go honey," she said, glancing down at me as I got to my feet, "come on honey, we'll stop for ice cream on the way home."

I tightened my grip on my mother's hand as we headed out, making sure not to touch any of the walls. The white bugs had already jumped onto my hands from my contact with the toys and they wouldn't come off. Dr. Webbler stood at the door to his office staring at us... at me with what looked like concern mixed with curiousity. His look didn't concern me though; I was too distracted by the white bugs crawling on his face and into his mouth.

***

My parents watched my every move from that moment on. Now, every time I picked up a toy it was like they expected me to turn it into gold or something, they focused on my every move. At the time I thought it was because they loved me more than my sisters. Of course this meant less time for my sisters, and they both reacted differently to that. It was hard to tell if Tasha, my middle sister, could even be upset about the situation. She was happy all the time, to the point of euphoria. It was weird, like she was living in her own dream world where it was always sunny and warm. My dad called her "the smile of the family" and I have to admit, it was nice being around her... she was like a ray of sunshine, she emanated warmth. June, on the other hand, was the opposite. Older than me by seven years, June was already used to being ignored. The special amount of attention our parents paid to me pissed her off a lot. She put me down every chance she got. Some people would say it was because she was my big sister and she loved me, I think it was because she was just a miserable, pissed off kid.

"They don't love you more than us you know," June would say, sneering at me in annoyance as I played with my many toys.

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"They think you're a freak, they're making sure you don't do anything bad."

"That's not true, I'm not a freak," I replied, clutching my purple teddy bear.

"Yes you are! Regular people don't look like you! They don't have purple eyes, only weirdoes do! When you start school, all the kids are going to make fun of you!"

I didn't know it back then, but she was right. Not about me being a freak, no way. There was no doubt that I was different from everyone else, but I wasn't a freak. Yes, I did have purple eyes and natural hair color that was closer to red than purple. But no, I wasn't a freak. My sister was right about the kids. The elementary school years were not kind. They say kids can be cruel, and they're right. The things they said and did... its mind boggling even to this day. There would be days when I would come home with tears in my eyes and tell my mom about all the horrible things that had happened that day.

"Oh honey, those kids are jealous because you're special; those kids aren't your friends," is what my mother would always say.

Thanks for those pearls of wisdom mom. The high school years were much better. While I seemed to be universally hated in elementary school, I was only severely disliked by the majority of the student body in high school. A lot of the kids still thought I was a freak, but there were a lot of other freaks to take the attention away from me. Even so, I still faced my fair share of abuse. The self-proclaimed cool kids, the rich kids, cheerleaders, and football players seemed to zero in on me as their favorite target. Every other day they'd find some new way to harass me; from leaving disgusting presents in my locker to spreading odd rumors about me, typical stuff. They weren't too inventive so it was never anything mind blowing, but each week it did get a little worse. It got to the point where I'd spend hours the night before school, formulating the best route to get to my classes without interacting with any potential tormentors. I avoided key areas where the cool kids gathered; the rotunda, behind the bleachers, the diner across the street. My plans were sound but they didn't always work. The cool kids were unpredictable, they were never where I expected them to be. Despite my best efforts, my tormentors always found me and trouble was always close behind. It peaked about a month and a half after the beginning of my sophomore year. It was early autumn and the leaves had already begun to change from lively green to the orange and golden brown of death. I stepped off the bus carrying a light stack of textbooks; I'd spent most of the night studying for my first Bio exam. Science was always my best subject so I knew I'd kill on the exam, even so I was anxious. As I headed towards the large row of sprawling glass doors, I could already see the mass of "cool kids" collecting at the front, blocking the doors, smoking, hanging out, doing what they do. The first football game of the season was taking place later that day, so the cheerleaders and players were in uniform. They weren't going to class, they never did on game days, so they'd be out there all day. I didn't get it, skipping class I mean. I understand not going to class, in my senior year I did it all the time; but on those days I'd plan it all out and I just wouldn't go to school at all. But these guys, they'd come to school early in the morning and then just hang out... at school. Didn't make sense to me, but then I wasn't "cool" so how could I possibly understand. Anyway, as I got to the doors the cheerleaders dropped what they were doing and focused on me.

"Ava! Hey, you look great! Those books really bring out your eyes," Sheila, the meanest of the group, said.

I kept my head down, always trying to speed my way through, yet somehow Sheila always caught me. She towered over me, that wasn't anything big since I was just over five feet tall, but it added to her powers of intimidation. Her jet black hair contrasted with her pale white skin and I couldn't help but think of her as some kind of strange daytime vampire.

"Yeah, thanks," I replied.

"Didn't we tell you not to come through these doors? You go through the back doors... the back, remember? What's wrong with you, you no speak English? Should I be speaking to you in Spanish?"

I sighed. My father was third generation Anglo-Saxon Canadian while my mother had immigrated to this country from Argentina when she was a child. Somehow the cheerleaders knew this and decided it would be funny to make fun of it. It wasn't.

"Whatever," I whispered as I tried to push past the crowd.

"What'd you say? Sheila, you hear what she said?" one of the nameless girls of the entourage said.

"Stupid, ugly bitch," Sheila said, half smiling half sneering.

I could feel their contempt for me building to a fever pitch. I knew something bad was coming, but I wasn't expecting what came next. Sheila's oversized hand lashed out catching me square in the face while another hand grabbed my hair and dragged me to the ground. One of them knocked the books out of my hands and then they were all on me, kicking and scratching and pulling hair. I was lucky to have had a cop for a mother; she taught me how to throw a punch. I was overwhelmed but I fought back, throwing enough hooks to scramble away from them. I pushed my way through the front doors, blood trickling from my nose and tears blurring my vision.

"Hey! You forgot your books bitch!" Sheila called out, laughing.

I glanced back just long enough to see the tiny white bugs crawling out of Sheila's dark, evil eyes.

I tried to make my way to the washroom to clean up. I couldn't see, my vision was blurred, but I ran down the hallways nonetheless. I didn't even notice the solid, six foot tall running back that stood in front of me calling my name until I crashed into him.

"Cherry? Is that you?" He said as he grabbed my arm to steady me.

Cherry was my middle name. No one called me that, except my sister Tasha and a childhood friend who I hadn't seen since elementary school. I rubbed my eyes, looked up, and lo and behold it was him... Billy Anderson, my best friend from grade five. He stood there, towering over me as most everyone did, a number nine prominent on his school football jersey.

"Billy?" I sniffled as I wiped the tears from my eyes, "What are you doing here?"

"Transferred in last week; I didn't know you went here," his wide smile disappeared, "what the hell happened? You're bleeding."

I tried to keep it in; the last time I confided with someone about these problems all I got was advice I could've found in a box of fortune cookies. Even so, I couldn't hold back. The tears started to flow and so did the story of my most recent humiliation. Grim determination and rage filled his face as he grabbed my hand.

"Come on," he muttered.

The cheerleaders stood congregated at the front doors as Billy dragged me along. They were ripping pages out of the books I'd dropped earlier.

"Is that them?" He asked.

I nodded and he put his hand on my shoulder.

"Wait here."

I stood just inside the glass doors, within earshot because I didn't want to miss what happened but out of immediate sight because my embarrassment was still hot and fresh within me.

"Hey!" he called out to Sheila, who looked up at him as the sound registered.

"Number Nine! You gonna get us a touchdown tonight?"

My curiosity got the better of me; I peeked out past the doors to see what happened next.

"You bitches messed up a friend of mine earlier, didn't you?" Billy said.

"Excuse me? What did you just call me?" She brought one of the torn textbooks up to her chest, "Who the hell are you to--"

"Shut your goddamn mouth and listen."

The girls rallied around their leader, every one of them looking pissed off and ready to pounce.

"You even know who we are? You're a goddamn nobody here, and no one talks to us like..."

The textbook fluttered to the ground as Billy punched it free from the cheerleader's hands.

"Everyone knows your mouth's only good for one thing and it isn't talking, so shut the hell up!"

Even from this distance, I could see Sheila's face redden with shock and embarrassment. It was priceless.

"You. Don't ever go near her again, understand?" Billy shoved her hard against the wall, "If you or any of your dumb skanks touch her, her stuff, or badmouth her... I swear to god, I'll ram your goddamn pom-poms and whatever else I can find right up your loose and lopsided ass Understand?"

Sheila was silent, her face red and tears in her eyes. Her squad stood by silent, inching away from the enraged football player.

"Understand?"

They jumped as Billy's echoing voice filled the courtyard. Sheila nodded, her once intimidating presence obliterated by fear.

"Good," Billy smiled and the rage appeared to melt out of him, "now get out of here."

Without another word, Sheila ran followed by her legion, her tears flowing and mascara running. I couldn't help but smirk as she pushed past me. Billy picked up the shredded remnants of my books and shrugged.

"Sorry I couldn't save your books."

I laughed out loud. Billy Anderson. For years he'd been my only friend... the brother I never had. I still remember all those years ago, back in grade school while all the other kids gave me a wide berth, he was the only one who didn't look at me like some kind of freak. Even then, he'd stand up for me when the teasing got to be too much. Talk about social regression, it was just like the old days.

"It's ok. I bet Tasha has the same books from last year. I can't believe you're here," I glanced at my watch; I was already late for class.

"Yeah, it's been a while. I'm headed down to Jerry's Diner for a coffee, you wanna come with? We've got a lot to catch up on."

"I can't right now, I've got class until 11:30. Wanna meet up for lunch?"

"Yeah, cool," he smiled and enveloped me in a quick embrace, "stay out of trouble Cherry. See ya at lunch."

He handed me the shredded remains of my textbook and exuding confidence as he strutted out towards the restaurants on the street opposite the school grounds. My eyes followed him until he vanished behind the tinted glass doors of Jerry's Diner. I made my way to my first class, English taught by a middle-aged man with a thick Eastern European accent, taking a seat as close to the back as I could. The class was pretty much empty, not surprising since it was game day. In front, Mr. Smitrovich read from a worn out copy of King Lear; his accent turning the dark tragedy into a comic nightmare. I sat, stifling laughter, my eyes glued to the ticking clock. Biology class was no better, dragging on despite the exam that I had spent the better part of the night studying for. The answers came easily thanks to my near photographic memory and my 'natural aptitude for scientific studies.' My dad's words, not mine. Like father like daughter I guess. I flew through the test and left, finishing half an hour before the end of class, while the few kids who actually showed up sat there struggling with what was probably the hardest test of their little lives. I might not have been popular or even well-liked at this point in my life, but taking tests was my superpower.

I got to Jerry's Diner faster than I thought possible; it was only across the street but I swear I ran so fast that I probably broke some kind of world record. As I pushed through the gold-rimmed rotating doors, I was immediately taken aback by how crowded it was. Jerry's Diner was a great place, retro down to the smallest detail aside from the 42 inch plasmas adjacent to every booth. It looked like the typical corner diner you'd find in 1963; retro chairs, a long red and white counter behind which the owner stood perpetually cleaning glasses while burgers broiled behind him. The two waitresses, a middle-aged brunette and a twenty-something red head, trotted from table to table, serving and making sure the patrons enjoyed their stay. On game day, all the cool kids who weren't athletic enough or motivated enough to make the team hung out at Jerry's. It was like a daylong party every Friday.

"Cherry!"

Billy's voice overpowered the chatter of twenty plus raucous teenagers and John Lennon's constant requests to hold my hand. He sat in a corner booth with a large glass pitcher half filled with Coke resting in front of him. As I made my way through the crowd, I noticed a girl sitting with him, a cheerleader named Starla. Of all the cheerleaders, Starla was the only one I could really tolerate. Something about her felt off, wrong somehow. She was nicer than the rest and everyone thought she was the hottest of them but somehow she was the only cheerleader who didn't quite fit in with the cool group. I'd actually spoken to her once or twice, brief, pleasant conversations about nothing important. Every so often I'd see her in the cafeteria at lunch, sitting with Tasha and her small group of happy, pretty friends. She rose from her seat and stepped away as I approached, a huge smile obvious on her flushed face.

"Hey Ava, see you at the game tonight," she said, directing a pleasant wink my way as she went.

I smiled in reply, turning to the table as I did so; it was so nosy in here that I doubt she'd hear anything I had to say anyway. My voice never seemed to project as much as I'd like.

"How do you know Starla?" I asked Billy as I took my place in the now vacant section of the booth.

He looked bewildered.

"Who the hell's 'Starla'?"

I frowned.

"Are you serious? The girl you were just sitting with!"

Billy laughed.

"Starla? I thought her name was Shirley, that's so weird."

Billy sat back, smiling comfortably.

"So Cherry, it's been a long time."

"For real... like what, six years? I haven't seen you since elementary school. After grade five you just..."

"Vanished?" Billy refilled his glass from the pitcher of Coke, "Yeah, I know."

I watched him as he gazed out into the crowd of partying teenagers. His smile remained vibrant but it seemed different. It told a story in a language I hadn't yet learned.

"Such is life I guess. My dad's company got a big contract in Arizona so we moved out there for a bit; then when the war in Afghanistan started to die down, the company got another contract for private security or military support... something like that, and we had to move out there. And now I'm back."

"And now you're back. Wow, you've been all over, that must've been fun," I said, my imagination already running wild with stories of far off places I've never been to and probably never would.

"It was but it kinda got old fast; I'm glad to be back home though. I can finally start doing normal stuff, high school stuff."

I laughed.

"High school's normal? Are you kidding me?"

He smirked and gave me an odd look, a look I knew too well despite the time that had passed since we last saw each other.

"Yeah, about that... how are you doing? You ok? The stuff this morning looked--"

I smiled, shaking my head as I reached for the pitcher of Coke that was now almost empty.

"Yeah, no, that was nothing. I'm fine. Thanks by the way."

"No problem. What was that all about?"

"It's just... you know kids. The cool kids; they just like to pick on the freaks and loners."

Billy sighed and took my free hand in his.

"That stops today. Anyone gives you trouble, you tell me and I'll deal with 'em."

I laughed again.

"Ok there Godfather."

"I'm serious."

I sighed.

"Yeah I know... thanks Billy. I'm really glad you're back."

He winked, raised his glass, and sipped from his already half empty drink. Away from our table, the cool kids had gotten a lot rowdier. Jerry's didn't serve alcohol to high school kids, at least not during the day, so they had to make do with extreme sugar highs, and these kids were taking advantage of that right now. It was hard enough dealing with my fellow students when they were in their right minds but right now it was like hell, or at least it would be if Billy weren't here. Just sitting here with him, in midst of all these people I barely tolerated, eating and drinking stuff that would no doubt lead to severe gut rot in a few hours... it was my happiest high school moment thus far. Of course there were much better days ahead I didn't know that yet.

"So..." Billy said, fidgeting as he spoke, "can I ask you something?"

I giggled.

"Since when do you ask if you can ask?"

"Ha, yeah, this might be the first time in history," he chuckled.

"Ask away."

He fidgeted once more. I hadn't seen him since we were children, but even then I'd never seen him nervous like this. It kind of freaked me out.

"Well... I just wanted to know... do you still see the bugs?"

As the words left his mouth, we were both startled by the sound of shattering glass at our feet. The shattered remnants of a broken beer littered the floor.

"Number nine!" a voice called out.

I turned in my seat, towards the booming voice. There wasn't a person in the diner who didn't recognize that voice. The starting quarterback of the Central High Fighting Behemoths, John Valentine. He moved towards our table, slicing through the crowd like a scalpel through dying flesh. Eddie Wilks, the monstrously huge rookie linebacker, followed him. They towered above the parting crowds, especially Wilks who had to be at least six foot seven and three hundred pounds. Valentine looked like an angry Captain America ripped right out of the comic book; shiny blond hair, blue eyes, and a superior smirk that made you want to slap him. Billy looked at them with a smile as they stood over our table.

"What up QB?" Billy said, smirking.

"Nine. Did you touch my girl? Tell me you didn't touch my girl this morning."

"Depends. Who's your girl?"

"You know damn well who my girl is... Sheila, head cheerleader. She says you roughed her up, embarrassed her in front of her crew."

I stifled a laugh. The head cheerleader and the quarterback were actually dating? Wow, so the cliché proves true... I didn't think stuff like that happened anywhere outside of Friday Night Lights. I didn't care about the cool kids’ incestuous relationships so this was all news to me.

"Oh Sheila, that pale hot chick? Yeah, we had words."

Valentine slammed his fist into the table, knocking over Billy's now empty glass.

"Where the hell do you get the balls to even talk to my girl? You think you're big shit huh?"

Billy laughed.

"Dude, I been here a week and I'm starting at tailback tonight... I am big shit, didn't coach tell ya? Did your girl mention that she was beating on my--"

"I don't give a shit who she was beating on; you don't ever touch my girl!"

Billy rose from his seat to meet Valentine's gaze.

"Shouldn't you be resting your arm QB? Big game tonight remember?"

"Yeah," Valentine looked over to the monstrous linebacker behind him, "Nine's right. Wilks... kick his ass."

The rookie stepped forward, his fists clenched. He was the biggest person I'd ever seen. I shrunk in my seat at the sight of him. Billy looked calm; the smile never left his face. He gestured with his left hand, like he was trying to calm the beast.

"Eddie, look, we got our first game tonight. Now's the time for us to come together, not scrap like--"

I'd be lying if I said I was even half expecting what happened next, I don't think anyone could've predicted it. Mid sentence... he was mid sentence when it happened; Billy was swinging the quarter full glass pitcher of coke. It shattered noisily as it smashed into the rookie's face, blood and coke and glass mixing freely. The force of the impact sent the giant stumbling backwards, his hands pressing against the bloody gash in his face. Billy was on him, driving his shoulder into the giant's chest and knocking him hard to the ground. I don't think the rookie even knew he was down before Billy slammed his elbow hard into the fallen giant's face. Again and again... the giant threw his hands up to protect his face from the onslaught of strikes. Part of me wanted scream, to stop Billy somehow... but I didn't. It was like watching a car wreck in progress. Seconds passed and he finally stopped. He stood over the beaten linebacker as he pulled himself to his knees. Billy looked up at Valentine who stood frozen with a mix of shock and anger.

"Looks like we'll need a new linebacker for tonight... maybe a new QB too, you think?" Billy said, smirking.

Without a word the quarterback stormed out, followed closely by the injured linebacker. I could see Starla at the door, smiling. Billy eased back into his seat and sighed.

"So... what were we talking about again?"

I went to the football game that night, the first game of the season. My family loved football, it was our game. Even my dad, who spent most of his spare time studying the latest medical journals, wouldn't miss the weekly Sunday marathon during the NFL season. I loved the game too, but not high school football. I'd never been to a school game before, somehow it seemed... beneath me. That doesn't sound right; it’s just that after spending the majority of my formative years watching professionals play the game, it seemed like a waste to sit for two or three hours and watch teenagers, who generally disliked me, play the greatest game in the world badly. Maybe it was because Billy was starting but I have to admit, I was surprised at what I saw this time. I'd been hooked up with fantastic seats, four rows behind the home team bench, so I had a great view; the Behemoths had jumped out to an early 14-0 lead. Every play thereafter for the rest of the first half, Valentine would hand-off to Billy and let him go. I think it would've worked; I'd never seen Billy play before but it was obvious that he knew what he was doing. This time though, the moment the ball left the QB's hand and passed into Billy's, the offensive line would open up leaving him exposed to the other team's defensive line. Watching it, I winced, fully knowing what was coming. He was leveled time and again by the opposing team, it wasn't pretty. He didn't give up though, he pulled himself to his feet each time; and each time he looked just a little bit madder. The first half ended, the team trotted off the field as the cheerleaders did their thing. I could see Sheila's eyes, her dark bug infested eyes, glaring at me; well maybe not at me. The stands were packed with screaming teenagers and proud parents, and I was there sitting alone amongst them; I doubt she could pick me out of the crowd but it really felt that way. Half-time ended and the teams came back onto the field, minus one.

"Hey! Where's Valentine?" one of the kids yelled out from the stands.

I stood up from my seat for a better look; the kid was right, Valentine wasn't there. A freshman with a long, unpronounceable name was at the QB spot now. I didn't find out until after the game but Valentine had been calling plays set to get Billy crushed each time, as a form of payback for disrespecting him at the diner. Billy, of course, didn't take kindly to such behaviour and decided throw down with the QB during half time, fracturing the all-star's forearm in the process. The team went on to win the game without Valentine and he'd be back starting at QB in two weeks time, so all's well that ends well I guess. I couldn't help but feel a bit guilty about everything though; within hours of being reunited with his childhood friend, Billy had been in two major fights and had threatened pretty much the entire cheerleading squad. Somehow he'd avoided suspension and criminal charges so far but at this rate he'd be in jail by Christmas. On the plus side, Billy's rampage completely changed the power structure of the school society. The cool kids were still cool and the geeks were still considered geeks, and that mid section of kids who weren't cool enough to be in the cool group yet not disconnected enough to be considered freaks was still there. Now there was a new group; kids who didn't cower and let the cool kids walk all over them, kids who fought back. At first it was just Billy and I, but our group grew as the weeks went on. Starla quit the cheerleading squad and latched onto Billy like a fridge magnet and others soon followed. By the end of the school year the divisions were clear and things were good, for me at least. It was nice to not be alone. For the first time since... well, ever, school was good. When I walked the halls people noticed and not in the "Hey, there goes the freak" way. The cool kids wouldn't even make eye contact with me any more for fear of it being misinterpreted and getting a patented beating courtesy of Billy "Nine" Anderson. The other kids were nice and respectful, most times even friendly. Of course I knew it was all because of Billy, I knew that if he were to transfer out like he had when we were kids, things would quickly go downhill. I prayed each night that he'd stay, and not just for the safety and influence his presence brought. It was nice to have a close family connection in school; I know we weren't actually related but I was closer to him than I was to any of my other siblings. Tasha was a grade ahead of me at school but we rarely saw each other. Even when we did run into each other in the halls or the school yard, she was so far out of it most of the time I couldn't be sure if she even recognized me. But Billy was different; he was one of the more popular kids in school, half the kids were scared of him while the other half loved him, and with all of the attention he received and all the things he was involved in he always made time for me. I felt safe and for a while it seemed like it would never end. Then again, we all know what they say about good things and endings, right?

Chapter Two: Disintegrate

The spring of my junior year started off so well. It was long after the football season had ended and Billy and I spent a good amount of time studying for exams. Hard to believe I know, but yes, Billy did study. In fact he studied more than I did; when he wasn't practicing or at the shooting range or threatening menacing cheerleaders he was in the library studying. He maintained an "A" average in all of his courses and it took a surprising amount of work to do it. Starla tagged along more often than not; she wasn't the most scholarly of people, she used to say that the time she'd spent on the cheerleading squad had eroded her scholastic abilities. Still, she always brought the coffee when the study sessions ran long so she was always welcome. It was rare at first, but every once in a while, when Billy was out of town or chilling with the guys, Starla and I would hang out. After a while it started to become a regular thing; after school we'd hit the mall and loiter, then head over to my house for dinner, then end the night off by roaming the streets. My mom started referring to us as "the delinquents;" I'm pretty sure she was kidding. As Prom approached we spent more and more time aimlessly wandering the malls; we weren't Prom shopping, only tools went to that, but it was always amusing to watch the desperate girls search for the perfect dress that would transform pathetic children into beautiful adults. There was a spot on a bench across from the Guess and Le Chateau stores that we had claimed for ourselves; we would entertain ourselves at least two nights a week by sitting in that very spot, sipping the extra large slushies we'd always pick up from Seven Eleven, and watching as the never-ending parade of teenage girls trotted in and out.

"Have you ever been to a Prom?" Starla asked.

I thought back to the time that Alastair Smith had asked me to the Prom in my sophomore year. He was a clean cut senior who was the head of the yearbook committee that year. I say 'clean cut' in that his clothes weren't filthy even though bugs had made a home in his dark, knotted hair. I think he was shocked when I said no.

"Nope. You? I bet you have."

Starla sat back against the wooden bench. She brushed a piece of lint from her shoulder length auburn hair.

"Yeah, last year. It was fun."

I mumbled a reply. Up ahead, Sheila and her entourage exited the Guess store, oversized silver bags clutched in each hand. Our eyes met briefly and the daytime vampire turned away, her horde following her to the food court.

"You think Billy would want to go?"

"To Prom?" I asked.

"No, to the U.N. Summit next week," Starla sighed, "yes Prom!"

Starla had yet to fully master the art of sarcasm but I got the message.

"Hmm... maybe. He doesn't party all that much but the whole team ought to be there. Ask him."

"Yeah, I should. Hey, you think Billy would ever want to get married?"

I frowned and nearly choked on my slushie as her words reached my brain. My cell sang Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds, saving Starla from what would possibly be the world's greatest example of pure, unadulterated sarcastic power. Tasha was calling. She was already speaking by the time I answered.

"Dad's in Scarborough General." Her voice was focused and steady yet barely audible over the raised voices in the background.

"What?"

"Scarborough General, come now."

A click and Tasha was gone. I stared at my phone, willing it to sing again for clarification. Starla had abandoned her line of questioning and looked at me with concern.

"What's wrong?"

The realization hit me.

"I think something happened to my dad."

Starla was full of reassuring words on the drive to Scarborough General while Billy Corgan sang of a ticking doomsday clock on the radio. We arrived in minutes, it was a short drive from the mall and the roads were cold and empty as was the hospital parking lot. Tasha stood waiting for us at the main entrance, her eyes glued to the starry sky above.

"Tasha! Where's dad?"

She looked away from the sky and into my eyes.

"You got here fast... wow. Come on."

We followed Tasha down the winding corridor of the sparsely occupied hospital. The room at the end of the corridor held my dad, prone on a bed of clean white linen. My mother and June stood at his bedside, their faces mirrored masks of concern. My dad, on the other hand, looked as calm as I'd ever seen him. I was concerned and yet distracted at the same time; a high pitched whine had been poking at brain since I arrived. It didn't seem to bother anyone else.

"Dad, Mom, what happened? Are you alright?" These were simple questions and you'd think someone would've given me the answers before I even got this far.

"Its ok honey, I took a bit of a tumble. I'm alright," my dad smiled in that warm, reassuring way he always did when something was terribly wrong.

My mom opened and shut her mouth as though pulling back the words that threatened to fly free. June fidgeted.

"A tumble?" I said.

"He passed out and fell; it was more than a tumble. The doctor will be back in a minute," June never did mince words.

On cue, the doctor returned with what looked like my dad's chart in his aged hands. He looked exactly the way I figured a doctor should look; graying disheveled hair, clear rounded glasses that rested on the bridge of his nose, and an almost indescribable look of absent-minded genius in his eyes. Kind of like Doctor Who.

"Sorry to keep you waiting Mr. Cherub; these tests can sometimes take a while," he consulted the clipboard in his hands, "the MRI was normal, so that's good news. The EMG and NCV tests that we ran yesterday..."

Yesterday? I knew they were hiding something from me. From the way June and Tasha reacted it was obvious that they were in the same boat as me.

"Wait, what do you mean yesterday? He just fainted," June threw glances at the doctor and mom and finally rested her gaze on my dad.

"What's going on?" Tasha asked.

"Girls, let the doctor finish," my mom was quick and to the point.

"As I was saying, the EMG and NCV tests show a significant decrease in electrical activity and some possible nerve degradation. It would be prudent to run a few more tests but at this point it looks like early onset amyotrophic lateral sclerosis."

No. The icy cold hand that had been caressing my heart the moment I'd entered the hospital suddenly made a fist.

"Amyotrophic... what? What is that? What does that mean?" June asked.

"Lou Gehrig's Disease," I whispered and everyone heard; behind me Starla gasped.

My mom covered her mouth and did her best to put on a brave face; June and Tasha weren't that strong and the tears flowed. I felt Starla's hand on my shoulder as the doctor droned on; I heard none of it, his words echoed into oblivion. Lou Gehrig's disease, it was a death sentence and from the look on my dad's face I could tell he knew it. I should've known; for days he'd seemed thinner, his skin pale and clammy, his movements slower and uncertain. I should've seen it. I don't even remember how I got home from the hospital that night; I figure Starla drove me, I don't know. Dad stayed in the hospital that night for observation and additional tests; mom stayed with him but insisted that the rest of us go home. Tasha hit the sack the second she got home; she was focused more than usual and was completely aware of what was going on, but it didn't seem to bother her. It didn't eat away at her the way it did to me, the way I knew it did to June. I didn't sleep a wink that night; I was glued to Wikipedia, absorbing all that I could on ALS. They hadn't found a cure, I wasn't surprised. Sure, there were drugs that could slow its progression; Riluzole looked the most promising, and since he'd only just been diagnosed it was possible that, if he started on the drug right away, he'd have many happy years before things got really bad. I knew my dad, he was a bookworm like me but he was also a fighter. He'd spend every minute he could try to find a cure on his own; he was a genius, he could do it. He could stretch that three to five year life expectancy to a good twenty at least. I mean, just look at Stephen Hawking; diagnosed with it at twenty-one and lived for over forty years with it, and my dad was way smarter than he was. He'd beat it, if anyone could do it he could. I knew he could.

June had planned to move down to Florida on Friday after being accepted to the police academy in Apollonia; she delayed her flight to stay close to the family for the next little while. She came home from the hospital just past seven in the morning. I didn't even realize I'd fallen asleep until the sound of the slamming door shook me awake; my face had been pressed against the keys of my laptop.

"Ava!" I could hear my sister climbing the stairs that lead to our bedrooms.

My bedroom door flew open. June stood there, her hair disheveled, looking so very tired. She looked me up and down, frowning.

"Weren't you wearing that yesterday?"

I hadn't changed since coming home last night and the dark blue hoody and jeans I wore smelled of anti-septic and spilled slushie.

"How's dad?" I asked.

She sighed.

"He's alright; he slept through the night. Mom's still there, they're talking about starting treatment..."

"Riluzole?"

June ran her hands through her hair.

"What? I don't know what that is," she grabbed my arm and gently pulled me up from my seated position, "look, don't worry about it, they've got it under control. Come on, get dressed, I'll drive you to school."

School. After the news that had so significantly altered my life and my view of what was to come, such a mundane thing as high school had become a complete non-factor.

"School? But Dad's sick, I should be at the hospital!"

June brushed my hair back and smoothed the creases out of my hoody; it was probably the most sisterly thing she'd ever done for me. Something terrible must be happening if June was being nice to me; my paranoia was setting in.

"Dad's sick but you're not. Mom and Dad both want you to go to school; after this whole thing with dad is over, you'll still have your life to deal with. Don't let it get off track now."

She sounded like my mother, not surprising since she was her mother's daughter. They were alike in so many ways and June embraced that fact, even going so far as to enter the police academy and follow in Mom's footsteps. Looking at her now, the morning light reflecting off June's dark brown hair, her typically frowning face now softened with concern, I couldn't fight her on this.

"Yeah, you're right June. Just give me a few minutes and I'll be ready."

June smiled and stepped out, shutting the door behind her. My body went to school that day. It smiled to friends, took notes in class, it ate lunch with Billy and Starla, telling them about my dad and reassuring them that he would be alright. After school it headed to the hospital where my heart and mind had been all day. In his room my dad lay still on the hospital bed, his eyes closed and hands folded on his stomach. Laying there motionless, he looked so peaceful, like death; my heart pounded and I felt cold. That high pitched whine was back.

"Dad!" I grabbed his arm and shook him, tears fighting to get free from my eyes.

His eyes flew open; he shivered as though chilled to the bone.

"Ava honey?"

I sighed. He'd only been diagnosed yesterday and already I was having fears of his imminent death. ALS was a debilitating neurodegenerative disease that killed over a span of years not hours, I was overreacting. He looked at me with selfless concern, as though my worries greatly outweighed anything he was going through. That was typical of my dad especially when it came to his family; I bet the only thing that worried him right now was how the rest of us were dealing with it all.

"Sorry dad, I was just... I... I'm sorry; I didn't mean to wake you up."

He smiled and the warmth flooded back into me.

"It ok, I dozed off; your mom just stepped out to get something to eat."

I pulled the uncomfortable looking chair in the corner of the crowded hospital room close to the bed and sat down. His eyes were sullen and his skin clammy but otherwise he looked fine. He was fine.

"So, did the doctor say anything about what's going to happen? Did they tell you what line of treatment you'll be getting? I was online last night and the leading experts say Riluzole is the way to go; I was thinking maybe that one combined with a tetracycline antibiotic like minocycline or something?"

He laughed; it was both reassuring and confusing.

"You've been busy!"

"Like you always say, it pays to be informed. Is that what you and the doctors figured out as well?"

His eyes drifted to the window and stayed there for a moment. He wouldn't look me in the eye. This wouldn't bother me if it was anyone other than my dad; my purple eyes tended to make the average person uneasy. This had never been a problem with dad; he'd always embraced the things that made me different. The fact that he wouldn't look at me, couldn't look at me, it made my insides freeze.

"Sure, something like that. This isn't something you should be worried about Ava; the doctors here are the best in the country, they know what they're doing."

I tried to smile but it was infected with a frown, like mold ruining an otherwise perfect piece of bread.

"Yeah, no, I know; I just want to help anyway that I can."

He reached out and grabbed my hand, holding it in his clammy grasp. He was looking at me again; tiny bugs were crawling up from under his shirt onto his face.

"I know, and I appreciate it Ava, I really do. You're such a brilliant young girl, I'm lucky to have a daughter like you."

There was a knock at the room door and the doctor entered. It was the same guy from last night, the Doctor Who looking dude, now with a fresh coat of stubble covering his chin and jaw line. From the look of him he'd been here all night; he smelled of bleach and Purel.

"Mr. Cherub, how are you doing today?" He looked at me and then back to my dad. "I'm sorry to interrupt; I wanted to talk to you about scheduling a few more tests later this week... do you have a minute?"

My dad rubbed my hand between his for a moment.

"Sure. Ava, do you mind stepping out for a minute? I need to speak to Doctor Kelvin for a second."

It hurt, being dismissed like that. I supposed it wasn't really a dismissal, my dad did have the right to his privacy, but it felt like it. I was on the outside peering in through foggy, tinted windows; I knew something was going on, I could see the outline of it but I couldn't see the reality of it. At least I finally knew the doctor's name.

"Ok dad, I'll be right outside if you need me."

I stepped out into the hallway, shutting the door behind me as I left. I took a seat in the reception area directly opposite my dad's room; I pulled the hood of my sweater over my head to keep warm. A cold draft blew through the hospital corridors, as though the Grim Reaper were running through the halls marking those who would soon be his subjects. It was a morbid thought; I knew I shouldn't be thinking like that but it was hard not to when you're standing alone in a hospital where good things hardly ever happened. My mind was traveling to places it probably shouldn't, negativity never helped anyone, but then I suppose that's the price I pay for staying up all night. My eyelids were heavy, I was sleepy as hell but I didn't want to doze off here. I always hated the thought of sleeping in a hospital; a good percentage of people who did sleep here didn't wake up. Well, no, that's not true. But then if the percentage is higher than zero, it's never a good thing. From my seat I could see both ends of the hallway; I figured people-watching would be a good way to stay awake. At the east end an old man struggled with his portable oxygen tank. From the cigarettes in his free hand I knew he was headed for a smoke break; it was ridiculous but not shocking, I'd seen it before. My mother was at the far west end of the hallway carrying a large coffee from the Tim Horton's across the street in her hand. Behind was a tall, familiar looking man. They were both heading my way but stopped before getting close enough to see me. I wanted to go to them but something told me to stay where I was. I couldn't hear them but I could tell they were talking... arguing is more like it. My mother was gesturing wildly and she looked to be on the verge of tears. The larger man put his hands on her shoulder only to have them knocked away. He looked so familiar.

"Cherry!" A voice called out.

It was Billy; I knew he'd show up eventually. He had always gotten along really well with my dad; then again he got along with pretty much anyone he wasn't pummeling, but it was different with my dad. They only really had two things in common, football and me, but somehow their personalities really meshed. Dad saw him like the son he never had.

"How's your dad?"

I stood up and hugged him.

"He's alright I guess; it's serious but it’s not at the point where hospitalization is necessary. They just gave him tests and stuff; I figure they'll be letting him out in an hour or so."

"That's a relief. Tasha and Starla should be coming up in a minute, they're downstairs in the gift shop," Billy said.

I frowned again; I'd probably frowned more in the last couple days than I had in my entire life.

"The gift shop? Are you serious?"

I looked over to my mom. Apparently the argument had ended; she now embraced the man who had been the apparent object of her scorn only moments ago. I didn't know what was going on but it didn't give me a good feeling. That sense of familiarity only grew stronger the more I looked at him. He looked a lot like... like Billy.

"Hey, is that your dad?" I asked, pointing.

"Yeah, that's him. I knew he was here somewhere."

Graham Anderson, Billy's military minded father. I hadn't seen him in almost ten years. Every time I went by Billy's place his father was never home, he was always away on business. At the time I was beginning to think he'd died years ago and Billy was carrying on some grand scheme to make it seem like he was alive. Yes, my imagination can at times be overactive, even so it was a valid theory; and now, watching his father hug my mother like that... part of me wished it had been true. Mom and Mr. Anderson had been super close for as long as I could remember. They'd first met when my mom was in the police academy; he'd been a firearms instructor who transferred over from the 23rd battalion in the U.S. army... or something like that. They became fast friends, not unlike Billy and me. Maybe it was in our genes to be friends, a genetic destiny laid out 17 years ago amongst strands of DNA. Billy was staring at them now; I could see the pride and love he had for his father in his eyes. He loved his dad, looked up to him like I suppose any son would. Billy had mentioned joining the army, the US army thanks to his dual citizenship, after graduation next year. It sounded crazy to me, after all Billy seemed to be good at just about everything. He held a 94% grade average so he could get a scholarship to pretty much any university in the country; and scouts from all over the US had been checking him out during the regular football season, so an athletic scholarship to an American college was definitely in the cards. All those options and all he wanted to do was join the military. That was probably why he spent so much time at the shooting range.

"How are you holding up?" He asked me.

I shrugged.

"Alright... a bit scatterbrained; I'm more stressed about it than my dad seems to be."

"Don't take it all on yourself. Dealing with ALS is tough but it’s a marathon, not a race. The doctors know what they're doing," he replied.

"Yeah," I said.

Mom and Mr. Anderson reached the reception area just as the doctor exited Dad's room. He referred to the clipboard in his hands, checking off points like a mechanic doing a five point inspection, and looked up at my mother who smiled hopefully.

"You can take him home now; he's got an appointment tomorrow afternoon the resident neuro specialist to discuss the full spectrum of treatment," Doctor Kelvin said.

My mom smiled and nodded. Emotion kept her from speaking and the smile and nod was the closest she could get to saying thank you at the moment. Billy and his dad stood at the doorway as my mother and I entered Dad's room; down the hall, the elevator bell rang out announcing Tasha and Starla's arrival. I wondered where June was but I was sure she'd meet us at home eventually. My dad pulled the thin hospital blanket off of his lower body, letting it fall onto the chair that I had earlier pulled to the bedside. He looked sluggish as he lowered the metal railing that lined the bed and swung his legs over the side. Mom had already retrieved his pants and shirt from the closet behind the door to replace the blue polka dot hospital gown my dad wore. I knew she was anxious to leave the hospital; Mom had always hated hospitals. Dad's entire body trembled as he stood; he braced himself by holding on to both the wall and the metal railing spanning the length of the bed. Sweat lined his brow; he was struggling, fighting against gravity and the weakness of his own body. Looking at him there, I thought my heart would break; instead it stopped. A tremor ran through him from head to toe and his legs gave out, folding beneath him as he fell. He laid there, on the cold sterilized floor between the bed and the wall, his arms flailing in futility, his legs motionless. My mother cried out in shock; her cry echoed my own. Billy pushed past me, leaping to my father's aid. He lifted him back on to the hospital bed; my dad's face a mask of fear and shock. I'd never seen that look on his face before; it frightened me more than the actual fall. Behind me Tasha asked what had happened, her focused eyes inquiring and fearful. Starla had run off to get a nurse. My mom was at Dad's side, his hands in hers. I stood frozen, it wasn't the fear in my dad's eyes or seeing the weakness overtake him completely that shook me; there was more. All my life, I had seen... things. Bugs. I saw them everywhere on everything, that's how my vision worked. I'd learned at a young age to keep my mouth shut about it, people wouldn't understand. When I saw my dad lying there on the floor, his legs were covered in those same tiny white bugs. They clung to his legs like burs to Velcro... they were dead, every last one of them, and that high pitched whine got a little bit louder.

We sat together in the reception area, our collective worry slowly disintegrating our hope. Dad would once again be staying overnight at the hospital; it wasn't a surprise and frankly it filled me with slight relief. Something was wrong here and I knew it was beyond ALS, it smelled like something much worse. Doctor Kelvin had ordered another round of fast-tracked testing; he seemed to think we were dealing with something you'd find on that Mystery Diagnosis show. I wasn't a doctor but I had to agree; there weren't any documented cases of ALS acting up like this so quickly. June arrived at the hospital shortly before ten that night; Tasha had called her, telling her that Dad would need to stay overnight for additional tests. When she heard the full story, the news of what had happened nearly broke her. For a moment she stood there gasping, not crying or screaming just gasping like a fish out of water, then she sucked it up and steeled herself like Mom always did. Tasha was obviously troubled but she was doing her best to keep it together. I, on the other hand, was a mental wreck. I wasn't crying or screaming or anything, I wanted to but that wasn't me and I knew it wouldn't help. My mind was racing, going over possibilities. I wasn't a doctor but I was a prodigy when it came to chemistry. If I knew what was wrong I could start thinking of a way to fix it. It’s not that I didn't trust the doctors; I knew that, misdiagnosis notwithstanding, they knew what they were doing. But I didn't want to just leave my dad's life in the hands of someone else. I had to do something; worry was eating away at me and if I didn't step up it'd kill me... and I couldn't watch this happen to my dad and not do anything to stop it. Billy put his arm around me; his efforts to console me rang hollow but I knew he meant well. Hours passed and my father was finally wheeled back into his room. He was unconscious, sedated I hoped. Down the hall, Doctor Kelvin headed our direction, my dad's chart in his hand. He approached my mom who rose from her seat as he arrived. He looked like I felt, frazzled and stressed.

"Doctor Kelvin, what's going on? Please tell us something," my mom pleaded.

The doctor sighed and glanced at the rest of us as we rose from our seats and stood behind my mom.

"We ran another set of tests, similar to the ones we ran earlier in the week. The electrical activity we detected last time has decreased significantly and the nerve degradation he'd been afflicted with is approaching severe levels. Additionally the muscles in his legs have atrophied. We ran an electrical current through his muscular system in an effort to stimulate movement but to no avail. Essentially his legs are dead..."

My guts turned to ice water. I could hear Tasha sobbing behind me; Starla was crying tears of sympathy as well. I needed to speak.

"You're saying he's a paraplegic? How can that... that doesn't sound like early onset ALS Doctor Kelvin!"

I was shouting; it was shocking to everyone, I hadn't raised my voice since I was a kid.

"At this point it seems to be an immensely accelerated version of the disease. We've never seen anything like it."

Mom put her hand on my shoulder; she needed my silence right now.

"Doctor, what's the prognosis? What are you doing to fix this?" She asked.

The doctor sighed again, consulted the chart in his hand, and spoke.

"We're still determining that at the moment. Before this acceleration, we'd planned on starting him on a number of treatments but at the moment we can't go ahead with any of our plans. We haven't been able to isolate the exact cause of this outbreak. We've ruled out DNA defects and enzyme abnormalities but it could easily be the result of a virus or neurotoxin," he removed his glasses and slid them into his pocket, "I'm afraid the prognosis isn't good at this point. If the disease continues at this rate... he could be dead by the end of the week."

My world shattered into millions of tiny sharp pieces. Mom appeared to take the news rather well; she folded her arms in front of her stomach as though trying to keep herself from exploding. She closed her eyes for the briefest of moments.

"Please do what you can Doctor Kelvin." Her voice was calm, devoid of emotion.

"We're doing everything we can Mrs. Cherub, your husband is in the best of hands."

The doctor stepped away, called away to some other urgent matter, leaving the wreakage of my family and close friends smouldering in the reception area. Tasha, red-eyed and silent, walked to the elevator. Her mind appeared to have been tethered in reality since this whole ordeal began, it was a big change for her. She was crumbling, we all were. Mom and June stood together, their hands intertwined. They held each other up and kept it together as best they could. I couldn't bear to look them in the eye. In them I saw sadness, I saw an overwhelming sense of defeat. They'd given up hope. I could understand it; two days worth of increasingly bad news would destroy even the strongest of people. A week. My family was scheduled for decimation in a week; well, less than a week if the doctor was right. It wasn't enough time, not enough time to fix it. This wasn't some medical drama where the eccentric doctor could wait until the last minute to figure it all out and save the patient; it was real life and I was watching my father fade away. I wanted to throw up, to scream, to hit something, to do anything other than the only thing I could do right now... nothing. I could feel Billy's eyes on me. I knew he wanted to help but he couldn't, he was as powerless as the rest of us. He put his arm around me, an act that had always comforted me in the past. It held me back this time, I shrugged his arm away and stepped to the door to my dad's room. Doctor Kelvin had left Dad's chart in the blue plastic folder attached that hung on the door. It was in my hands before I even realized it, its contents spread open before me. My eyes scanned the pages and my ravenous mind consumed the information. I'd never seen a medical chart before but I understood what I was seeing. Doctor Kelvin had made extensive notes, observing every minute detail my dad's condition. Despite his expertise I could tell he didn't understand what was happening. His notes were thorough and that fact kept the embers of hope alive in me, but the hourly updates he noted were full of contradictions and corrected theories. I flipped to the second page and my heart jumped. It was dated May 17, 2008, over two weeks ago. The notes made reference to a vague set of symptoms; nausea, dizziness, fatigue... increasing as the days progressed. Two weeks. The thought made me dizzy. He'd been fighting it, whatever it was, for days and we'd missed it. The small things I'd noticed, his decreased weight and cold clammy skin, had only been apparent to me in the last couple days. He'd been suffering for weeks and I hadn't noticed. Tears were springing up into my eyes but I kept reading as best I could. I was painting a portrait of the disease as the pathology became clearer.

"Young lady!" A voice called out behind me.

It was the nurse from reception, her name was a mystery to me but I remember thinking she reminded me of the Pilsbury Doughboy. I didn't even need to look at her to know what she wanted. Charts were for doctors, I'd heard it many times before. I kept reading.

"Excuse me, young lady!" The voice echoed.

"Cherry!" June followed the nurse's lead.

I blocked it out, I needed to know more. They weren't treating Dad with Riluzole, that would be useless at this point according to Doctor Kelvin. The hadn't found what was eating away at him so all they could do was feed his chemical deficiencies as best they could.

"They aren't doing a goddamned thing," I whispered, immediately regretting my blasphemy.

I wasn't religious by any stretch of the imagination, but offending the Almighty at this point couldn't help my situation in any way. I could hear the soft footfalls of Nurse Pilsbury approaching. Her chubby hands were on my arm before my mental picture was complete.

"Young lady, these are not for your eyes. Give it here." She held out her hand as though expecting the chart to magically appear in her grasp.

I held on tighter, I needed more time. June, always the acolyte of authority, grabbed the document and pulled it free, handing it to the small nurse who held it under her arm and trotted back to her desk. I looked at her and for a moment the familiar hardness was there in her face, it was like we were children again, my big sister towering over me with fear as her main weapon. The hardness faded, the weariness of her very essence overpowering it.

"Ava, this isn't helping; just... go get some air."

Tasha stood near the back entrance of the hospital with what looked like a cigarette in her hand, talking to an elderly man with a large oxygen tank on wheels. From the collected ashes and cigarette butts at his feet, I knew the older man had been smoking too. His blue hospital gown peaked through the front of the white overcoat he wore, brownish red dots marring his otherwise clean appearance. He dragged his oxygen tank to the door as I approached, shuffling along as though sheer will was the only thing powering him.

"I was nice talking to you young lady; I hope your dad feels better," he said smiling to my sister.

"Thanks sir; it was nice meeting you, I hope you feel better soon!" Tasha replied as the older man brushed past me on his way into the hospital.

I stood looking at my sister for a moment as she took a drag from what I had thought was a cigarette but on closer inspection appeared to be a joint. She saw me out of the corner of her eye and held the joint out to me, a wordless offer that I waved off. Weed made me anxious and more anxiety would literally make my head pop off. Tasha smiled and blew smoke into the air, aiming at the bright full moon.

"That was Mr. Peters, he's got lung cancer." Tasha didn't look at me when she spoke, she couldn't take her eyes off the moon.

"I figured as much, what with the oxygen tank and everything. He probably knows he's gonna die."

My sister sighed and took a seat on the small stone wall that lined the path to the hospital entrance. Her eyes were still glued to the moon above, it's cold yellowish light illuminating the pervasive darkness.

"You think so?" Tasha asked.

"Come on, he's got lung cancer and he's smoking. He was wheezing, hunched over as he walked and had spots of blood on his gown meaning that the cancer has metastasized, probably near his spine."

Tasha was looking at me now, her eyes red from either the weed or the tears she'd been crying earlier. She took a final long drag and threw the joint aside, sending it sputtering across the pavement to rest in a small puddle of rainwater.

"So that's it?" She asked.

I shrugged. She smiled sadly and turned her attention back to the night sky, pulling the sleeve of her black sweater with her fingers. It was something she always did; after a long and difficult day, Tasha would come home from school with her sleeves stretched out. It drove my mom crazy every single time.

"You ever wonder what keeps the moon up there like that? It's just hanging there, in the middle of the night sky."

I don't know why I was surprised that she was off on a tangent; it was what she did, and now she was high and stressed. That was the recipe for tangents if ever there were one.

"It's gravity, you know that." I said.

"You can't see gravity, or taste it or touch it. Everyone knows its gravity, but you ever think the moon stays there because we all believe it will? Because everyone believes it should be there, and that on the day we stop believing it'll come crashing down on top of us?"

I didn't know what to say. Inside my dad was dying, his body withering and dissolving like wet cotton candy, and here we were talking about the moon and nonsense. I didn't feel as warm with Tasha now as I usually did.

"That elderly man has lung cancer and its pretty far along. He told me all about the tests he had to take and about how the nurses kept stealing his change. But he told me he'd beat it, the cancer, and I believed him," she withdrew a second joint from the pocket of her well-worn blue jeans and stared at it for moment. "I think that if enough people believed that he'd get better... he would."

I could feel the tangent reaching its end.

"And what do you believe about dad?" I asked.

"I believe he'll get better," she looked at me again with eyes full of tears, her sad smile cracking. "But its starting to look like I'm the only one and... and I don't think that'll be enough."

The tears burst forth and her body shook with uncontrollable sobs. The joint fell out of her hand and onto the pavement, crushed a second later under my feet as I moved to seat myself beside her. I wrapped my arms around her in a tight embrace, almost fearing she'd fly apart if I let go. The smile of our family had broken, the despair had been too much.

"I believe it too Tasha," I whispered.

By the following morning my dad had lost the use of both hands. Mom and June had been in his room with him, June holding one hand while my mom held the other, when his grip died. A team of doctors had joined Doctor Kelvin on my dad's case, the nurse referred to them as the "Dream Team." It filled me with hope at first, but by the late afternoon they still hadn't been able to diagnose his condition. Dad was scheduled to have a spinal tap in the evening; the team, it appeared, was becoming desperate. Doctor Kelvin kept Dad's chart on him at all times following last night's incident, so I remained in the dark with the rest of my family. We sat together in the reception area which had become our second home, waiting for news and praying for the best. Mr. Anderson had stayed behind in the hospital while Starla and Billy went to school that day; I guess he was there to support my mom but he spent most of his time on the lobby phone, speaking in urgent and hushed tones. His constant presence unnerved me but I wouldn't say anything about it. At the moment we needed all the support we could get. Billy arrived at the hospital at just after six that evening, moments after Dad's spinal tap procedure concluded. In his hands were several styrofoam containers in his hands, food from the Italian restaurant across the street. Food. It had been a tertiary concern for me after my dad's well-being and the family's emotional stability; my stomach growled at the thought of it. After passing them around, Billy handed me a container and sat down beside me.

"I got your favorite just the way you like it. How are you?" He asked as he stretched his arm across my shoulders.

The smell of the hot pasta before me almost put a smile to my face.

"Thanks Billy, I'm okay. They just did a spinal tap on Dad, they should be wheeling him back to his room in a little while," I shoveled hot penne into my mouth, burning my tongue as I did. "Is Starla coming by?"

"Later on, yeah. She had some things at home to do."

I could guess what that meant. As long as I'd known her, Starla had been extremely close with her parents. An only child, Starla had had love heaped upon her from all sides from the day she was born. On the first night at the hospital with me she'd called her mom and dad at least three times just to check up on them. I could only imagine what the site of my disintegrating family was doing to her. There's nothing like another's family tragedy to make you realize how precious your own family is.

Down the hall, the elevator door opened in the usual slow manner and a male orderly rolled my dad's stretcher out, heading towards his assigned room. Behind him was Doctor Kelvin and a member of the dream team, a thin younger asian woman with short black hair. We rose to meet them as the orderly wheeled Dad in the hospital room he'd occupied for almost three days. His eyes were wide and glassy as he passed us in the stretcher, they no longer betrayed the fear he had felt; there was something else there.

"Mrs. Cherub, this Doctor Nguyen. She's a leading neurology specialist from New York, here to assist with your husband's condition."

The young Asian woman smiled in that polite way people did when they were thrown together out of necessity and shook Mom's hand. I couldn't help but wonder how they managed to get a leading specialist from New York to Scarborough General so quickly.

"I wish we had better news for you," Kelvin began. Statements never ended well when they began that way. "His vitals remain with acceptable parameters, his pulse is strong and appears very alert and fully lucid. The spinal tap was successful and we were able to extract a sufficient amount of cerebrospinal fluid for analysis. His blood tests came back negative for viral infection so at this point we're still unable to properly diagnose the cause of his physical deterioration."

It was the same as before, the same bad news. I hated hearing it.

"Right now all we can do is wait until our analysis is complete; it should be sometime this evening," Doctor Nguyen added.

Doctor Kelvin put his hand to my mother's shoulder.

"We'll have answers soon," he said, his stern doctor's face yielding to a smile.

It was an empty promise, I knew that much. Doctor Kelvin, the whole dream team, was grasping at straws at this point. I kept this to myself of course, my family was already emotionally decimated and it wouldn't help them to hear my opinion. By this time the orderly had finished getting my dad settled in his room and now stood beside Doctor Nguyen.

"Excuse me Doctor, Mr. Cherub is asking to speak to his wife and Graham Anderson," he said.

"I looked back at Billy's dad; he'd already hung up the lobby phone and stood beside my mother who shot him a glance. Something passed between them in that brief glance, I must have been the only one who saw it; the look told a tale of saddened acknowledgement mixed with apprehensive fear. I didn't know, couldn't know for sure what was going to be said... but my mind had already finished painting the picture it had started when I saw them arguing in the hall yesterday. Was this why my mother hadn't noticed my dad's deterioration, her mind too preoccupied by secrets? They shut the door behind them as they entered my father's room, apparently determined to keep their discussion hidden from the next generation of Cherubs and Andersons. They emerged about ten minutes later; my mother, her eyes red and puffy, walked with purpose to the women's restroom and June followed. Mr Anderson headed to the lobby phone, made a quick phone call, then left via the elevator. He never came back; I can't say I felt bad about that.

Starla got to the hospital at around nine that night and by then my dad had lost the use of his arms. The results of the spinal tap had come in and the doctors noticed an abnormality in his cerebrospinal flud that they wouldn't elaborate on. They were committed to correcting the problem, to saving my dad; it sounded like a text book customer service answer. I believed them when they said it but I was almost convinced that it was beyond the scope of their collective abilities. It was too much, all of it; too much for any of us to handle. Mom and June sat side by side, silent and dry-eyed. I knew they were ravaged inside but they were doing their best to look strong. Starla had started crying almost immediately upon arrival and if June or Mom crumbled at this point, Tasha and I would be inconsolable. Billy did his best to comfort us, playing the role of big brother to my sister and I. At the time I didn't even consider how hard it must have been for him to be there. He'd lost his mother to cancer over a span of a few months when he was ten; he still had his dad but he knew first hand what it was like to see a parent devoured by illness. The fact that he stayed with us the entire time... I knew I'd always love him for that.

"Excuse me." Nurse Pilsbury tapped me on the shoulder, her name tag read Porcelina. I liked the name Pilsbury better. "Your father is asking to see you and your sister Tasha.

We were the only ones who hadn't seen Dad that night despite our best efforts, and my heart swelled at the thought of seeing him. Tasha grabbed my hand, a soft comforting vice of skin, and led me along. My ears were assaulted by that familiar whine the moment we stepped inside; it was twice as loud and constant like acid eating through a metal plate. I pushed the pain aside, concentrating on my father's plight. Seeing him lying there on the hospital bed, it wasn't what I expected. His skin was rosy, having regained much of the color he'd appeared to have lost days ago. He looked good, he looked normal, but I knew he wasn't. He lay there pretty much motionless aside from his darting, focused eyes and the slight rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. He was a used Honda, the exterior waxed and sparkling with a dying, rusted interior. We stood at his bedside, Tasha's hands on his shoulder. His arms rested above the covers; his forearms were smaller than before, the muscles having atrophied. My stomach churned in time with the pounding of my head.

"Hi girls," Dad smiled as he spoke, beads of sweat on his forehead.

"Hi Daddy," Tasha said. I hadn't heard her call him "daddy" since that time she cooked that terrible dinner for his fortieth birthday. I felt a lump in my throat; I didn't say a word. I knew I wouldn't be able to control what came out if I did.

"I hope you didn't think that I didn't want to see you earlier. I always want to see the both of you. You girls... you're so very precious to me, to both your mother and I. I hope you know that."

My eyes were burning. I smiled as best I could, using every ounce of strength in me not to breakdown into a sobbing puddle of teenage emotion.

"We know daddy, we know." I couldn't stay quiet.

Daddy. I was five again; calling out to daddy, wanting him to see the picture I had drawn, read the story I had written. Now I was seventeen, calling out to daddy, wanting him to see the great things I knew I could do if only he stayed to see it.

I know how hard it's been for you, especially you Ava. You're both special, beyond anything I ever could've hoped. Jealously can make people act in strange ways; it won't last forever, and when people see you... really see you for what you really are, the whole world will open up and you'll see everything." He winced and looked at me. "You'll see everything."

The sonic drill screamed in my ears. The whine was deafening, digging through flesh and bone into my brain. My dad was still talking but I could no longer hear him. The high pitched whine was nuclear powered, unstoppable. Beside me Tasha was wincing with tears in her eyes. She said something, I saw her mouth move but I couldn't hear the words. Could she hear this murderous sound? It was getting louder. It went beyond sound, it was a physical thing now, pounding against my brain. I put my hands to my ears, trying to keep it out. My vision blurred to the point of blindness as a powerful wave of nausea nearly knocked me off my feet. It was too much, it felt like dying. Just as it reached what felt like its peak... it stopped. The drilling stopped, the high pitched whine vanished, a fading memory replaced by something else. A girl screaming and the steady tone of a flat-lined heart monitor. My vision cleared. Dad lay on the hospital bed, his clouded eyes staring out into space, his exposed arms covered in decomposing bugs. Tasha was screaming. The door flew open and a pair of nurses followed Doctor Kelvin into the room. He barked at the male orderly in the hall, telling him to get the girls out of here. It was only after the orderly grabbed Tasha and I that I realized the doctor was talking about us. The door slammed shut as we were cast out into the hallway.

His funeral was held three days later on a Sunday. There must have been over a hundred people in the church, St. Rose of Lima. It was the church my mom had frequented as a child after arriving from Argentina. She had ceased her church-going ways the day her purple-eyed baby was born. The pastor who gave the funeral sermon was an old man with a kind face; he spoke words that I'm sure he intended to be comforting. He said that Dad was taken because God needed someone of Dad's intelligence and integrity to help govern in heaven. I took that to mean that God's recruitment policy included infecting Dad with a painful and terrifying mystery disease, killing him in three days, fracturing our family, and leaving us traumatized and forever changed for the worse in order to fill a celestial senior management role. Fantastic. No wonder this church was dying a slow death, it's PR department was in need of a serious upgrade. I knew God wasn't to blame for this. I looked over to where my mom sat in the front row, Mr. Anderson beside her, holding her hand in support. No, maybe if we had noticed Dad's deterioration sooner instead of being pre-occupied with our extra-curricular pursuits... it wasn't God's fault at all.

We buried Dad in a large cemetery not far from the hospital. Once the casket was lowered into the cold ground, we each took a moment to deposit something personal into the grave before it was sealed. Both my mom and Mr. Anderson dropped sealed envelopes into the grave; June, a picture she had drawn for him as a child. Tasha dropped a single white rose. It was heartbreaking to watch her, tears streaming down her face; for a moment I feared she would throw herself in. A lock of my hair and my first science fair medallion were my contributions.

The wake was held at our home in North York. Dozens of people piled into our relatively upscale Victoria Village house for appetizers and to comfort us, the grieving family. Most of my family on my mother's side were still in Argentina, having missed the funeral due to a severe and sudden political uprising that grounded all flights to and from the South American country. My uncle, my dad's younger brother, was the only relative who made it. At the wake he spoke to my mother for about ten minutes and then parked himself by the hors d'ourves, absorbing the barrage of condolences that came his way. We knew better than to approach him; Mom always said that he wasn't quite right in the head. June was playing the role of gracious host to perfection, making sure every guest was taken care of. She'd been a pillar of strength throughout this entire ordeal. She was the one that kept us going; I could only imagine the weight that rested on her shoulders. Tasha and I kept to ourselves, avoiding the bulk of the crowd by sitting on the staircase that led to the basement. It wasn't like we really had to avoid the crowds; most of our family friends were confused by Tasha and unnerved by me. Aside from Starla and Billy, who hovered close by but gave us the space we needed, most people avoided us and allowed us to grieve in our own time and way. I peeked out from my spot on the stairs to watch my mother as she traveled the room. The sadness in her palpable despite her efforts to hide it. She'd been especially attentive to us since Dad's death, making sure that we were coping and were prepared to move forward. I don't know if it was a mother's love, guilt, or that we were the only connection to Dad she had left; either was it was difficult. There were things I needed to ask her, things I need to know now. She looked so weary, her feet dragged as she walked as though her shoes were made of cement. I was afraid that she might collapse from exhaustion. Even so, I was upset at her. I had no proof, nothing concrete, but I didn't need it to know what I knew. In the crowd, she was talking to June, whispering something in her ear. June nodded, smiled, and patted Mom on the back who then turned and climbed the stairway leading to the bedrooms upstairs. Beside me, Tasha sat leaning her head against the staircase railing with her eyes closed.

"Hey Tasha, I'm just going to see mom for a bit. I'll be right back, okay?"

Tasha opened her eyes and nodded.

"Yeah, okay. Can you bring me a Coke on your way back? Or maybe a joint?"

I brushed her hair back with my hand as I rose from my seated position.

"Sure, I'll bring you a Coke." I said smiling.

Mom had already reached her room by the time I made it to the stairs. I climbed the steps with purpose. I didn't know what I was going to say, I wanted answers but my fathers wake was probably not the best venue for a confrontation. She was hurting as much as we were if not more and regardless of what I thought, she was the only parent I had left. We had to come together not fall apart, not now. Still, I needed to see if she was okay. Halfway up the stairs I heard a loud pop, like the sound of a corked bottle of wine being opened. Before I could take another step, I was hit by a deafening high pitched sound followed by a wave of intense nausea. I grabbed on to the staircase railing, clutching it with all the power I had just to stay standing. The sound dissipated with the nausea, leaving my ears ringing. I hadn't slept in almost a day, the exhaustion must have been getting to me. I tried but I was never able to convince myself of that; the sound was too familiar. Somehow, I knew the nausea wasn't from lack of sleep. The door to my mom's room was shut, not locked. I turned the doorknob and opened the door a crack.

"Mom?" I called out.

No answer. I knew she was tired, could she have fallen asleep so quickly? I opened the door fully and my heart slammed into my ribcage, knocking the breath from my lungs. On the small table beside my parents... beside my mom's bed was her opened cleaning kit, the tools laid out in order of usefulness. She always kept those tools locked away in the same small case that she kept her service sidearm; I had never seen it open before. I didn't see the sidearm but the smell and the thick red liquid on the ceiling and wall behind the bed told me all I needed to know. My legs gave out and I dropped to the floor.

Two days later her obituary stated that Detective Leticia Garcia-Cherub passed away suddenly after the accidental discharge of her service weapon while performing general maintenance. She left behind three daughters.

Chapter Three: Vocal Therapy

10 Years Later

The heat was almost unbearable. It was a shocking thirty-two degrees Celsius today; it never got this hot in Toronto. It's not that I didn't like the heat, I loved it, its just that... life in Florida was different. We waited at gate 76 of the Apollonia International Airport just as we'd been instructed, the car becoming an unbearable solar oven every second that we remained stationary.

"Are you sure it was gate 76?" The woman in the passenger's seat asked.

"Yeah, that's what he said. Do you want to ask me again to bring the total to an even fifty times?" I replied, smiling.

She laughed and took a sip of the bottle of Jack Daniels that seemed to never leave her hand. Her given name was Madeleine Victoria Kensington, everyone called her Voice. Five years ago she was touring North America and parts of Europe in support of the critically acclaimed Pop album she'd released. While I studied Biomedical Science at the University of Central Florida, she was making music and living the dream of teenagers everywhere. Her popularity exploded in the US and in her homeland of England. Three years ago her picture was on the cover of Time Magazine, having made it to number six on Time's one hundred most influential people list. She'd been at the top of the world back then, her face was widely known and just about everyone loved her. She had two multi-platinum albums under her belt and had been rumored to be working on a film at the time. It looked like she had the staying power to outlast just about every new artist of the 21st century; and then came the infamous interview with Larry King. Bombarded by King's non-threatening brand of questioning, her manager spoke up saying, "Larry, right now Voice is the voice of the world. She's bigger than Jesus and his dad." I still remember watching that interview and shaking my head. I'm not religious, I'll continue to say that until the day I die, but I knew better than to say anything that challenged God's authority; history showed that if you did, if you spoke up and made wild statements claiming to be bigger than God, you always got screwed in a painful way. Look at the Titanic for example; an unknown crew member was quoted as saying that even God couldn't sink that ship, and guess what happened? It sank five days after leaving port. Look at John Lennon; claiming to be bigger than Jesus got him assassinated. Say what you want, but don't ever claim to be bigger than God, not ever. A year after appearing on Larry King, she was in the ICU of Columbia Memorial Hospital. A deranged fan had ambushed the singer in her New York apartment, killing her bodyguard and leaving her to bleed out on the floor with a throat cut almost ear to ear. Her body survived, the wound healing to leave a distinctive scar that she covered with a leather collar, but her magical voice was damaged. The exceptional range that had made her so distinctive in the world of music was gone forever. One year ago, her attacker was found dead in Central Park. Someone had returned the favor, slitting his throat with such force that he was almost decapitated. Around the same time, Voice moved to Florida and had herself committed to an unassuming voluntary rehab center... for anger management. That was where we met.

"Look at the cheek on you! Remember whose bloody car this is? Maybe you and your boy want to walk home instead."

"Who are you kidding? You're as excited to see him as I am, I know that for a fact. Plus, you'd never pass the breathalyzer if you got pulled over... you smell like a distillery." I said.

"I do not!"

I laughed. You'd never know it by her small well-toned frame and unassuming grace but she drank pretty much non-stop. Despite this I'd never seen her drunk, she held her liquor better than anyone I'd ever met, it was incredible. Months ago when Billy had come by for a visit, he'd made the mistake of challenging her to a drinking contest. He'd planned on drinking her under the table and heading back to his platoon, telling his buddies of his conquest over the English beauty. After ten beers and seven shots of tequila, Billy was the one who hit the floor. Voice was unfazed and smiling; the drinks had merely fed her insatiable appettite. They had an interesting relationship, Billy and Voice. I admit, I felt a twinge of jealousy that day they met; they clicked like two perfect puzzle pieces made for each other. At first I'd been sure the two of them would hook up. Starla was no longer a fixture in Billy's life following the disintegration of their relationship when he left to join the military and she moved to Florida with me, so there was nothing to prevent it from happening. It wasn't meant to be in the end and it was something of a relief for me. I'd started to feel like a third wheel those last few months of high school where Billy and Starla were the couple of the moment; I wasn't anxious to see it happen again. I glanced over at Voice, I could see her fingers tapping against the passenger side dashboard, pace quickening as seconds passed. Her eyes were fixed on the row of black airport limos that lined the entrance. Small crowds of disembarking passengers had already emerged from gate 76, met by waiting family members and money hungry cab drivers anxious to transport gullible fares anywhere and everywhere. A group of college kids loitered near a black stretch limo, buzzing with caffeine and sugar, looking to get an early start on Spring Break. Beyond them, beyond the elderly pair in thick overcoats and the children screaming for Disney Land, there he stood. His bearing had changed from all those years ago. Gone was the high school running back, the intelligent, steel-fisted bruiser. Billy Anderson was a soldier now. He moved through the crowds like a serpent slithering between blades of grass. Our eyes met as he stepped past the cabs and into the scorching waves of Apollonia heat.

"There he is," Voice said as she stepped out to meet him, her caramel skin already glistening with sweat.

I rose from the driver's seat, shutting the door behind me as he approached. Faded blue jeans, an off-white t-shirt, and a worn black leather jacket were his uniform today. He no longer wore the beige fatigues that had painted his body in every picture he'd sent during his time abroad. His dog tags hung by a thin chain around his neck, twin mirrors reflecting the near endless sunlight. I couldn't see the letters etched into the small pieces of metal from this distance but I knew what they said. A nine digit number, his blood type, and the word "Saturnine" in place of his given names. Saturnine. It was his codename, the worst codename in the history of mankind in my opinion but he loved it nonetheless.

"Ladies," He said as he set his oversized duffle bag down on the pavement.

Voice was in his arms before I could even speak, her slender yet powerful body pressed tightly against his.

"Welcome back to the land of the sun, William," Voice loosened her grip on him and stepped back to get a better look at him. "God knows you could use some sunshine... and a shave, and a haircut. Good lord lad, you look terrible!"

Billy laughed. He looked fine to me. His black hair was longer I'd ever seen it, hanging just past his ears, and he did look fatigued but then that was to be expected after a seven hour flight.

"Not everyone can look as good as you." He smiled and turned his attention to me at long last. "Hey Cherry... you look amazing."

I smiled and hugged him as Voice grabbed his bag and threw it into the trunk of her black Escalade.

"Why thank you Billy! Showering regularly has really made a difference. I'm surprised you noticed, I must pale in comparison to the lovely Miss Kensington here," I said with a smiled.

Billy kissed my forehead tenderly and laughed again.

"You're both goddesses, you know that." He slid into the backseat of the idling SUV, "Now, take me home ladies."

My mind raced as I climbed back into the driver's seat. Voice sat low in her seat beside me, the bottle of Jack's almost empty.

"Yeah, home... um, about that..." I began.

Starla and I shared a modest bungelow that I bought using the bulk of my family inheritance almost ten years ago. We lived just outside the downtown core; it was an "okay" area, low crime rate, very few teens, and within walking distance of my job at Griffin Labs. There was more than enough room for the both of us, let alone any guests we might care to have stay with us, but it would be awkward to say the least. Billy and Starla hadn't been on the best of terms following his last visit and now that Starla was involved again, this time with a young investment banker with a quick temper and a taste for cheap whiskey, I was sure she wouldn't want her ex milling about at home.

"My flat's rather spacious, you can stay with me as long as you like." Voice spoke up as she drained the last of her alcoholic beverage.

"Great, thanks Voice." Billy replied.

We traveled through the busy streets, weaving in and out of the moving cars that slowed our progress. It was a bit past two in the afternoon on a Friday, an hour or so before rush hour began. Billy's attention was fixed on the cityscape that flew past the nearest window; he stared as though he were looking at an alien landscape. I figured he'd need a bit of time to re-adjust to a life of relative normalcy. He didn't tell us where he was coming from, that was why he'd had us wait outside the airport instead of meeting him where he had disembarked.

"How long you going to be in town, Mr. Anderson?" Voice asked.

"I don't know, a few months maybe. I'm here til they call me back."

Months? I didn't know many soldiers, actually I didn't know any aside from Billy, but I was sure that getting months off at random was a bit out of the ordinary. I made a mental note reminding me to interrogate him later after we'd gotten a few drinks under our belts. He wasn't one to share his innermost thoughts and feelings unless the judicious application of fermented beverages was applied. My mind was fixed on Billy and not on the road yet we traveled without incident, I seemed to be driving on auto pilot. Voice's condo lay in the heart of the downtown core and the arteries leading there were clogged and congested with slow-moving, high-end luxury vehicles. Her home was a tower of slick black metal and sparkling clear glass, it looked more like a corporate office building than a residence but it was where she proudly hung her hat. Even the smallest unit in the complex cost more than the average person could fathom. Of course price wasn't a concern for her, her old songs still got constant airplay and she made a decent income from her late night DJ-ing gig at Profane, the biggest club in Apollonia.

"No no, don't park here. Pull into the underground lot." Voice said, sitting up in her seat as I brought the SUV to a rest in the vacant parking spot on the street in front of her building.

"Yeah, hey, I meant to ask, you mind if I borrow your car?" I asked, my mouth twisted in an embarrassed smile. I'd had my license since I was sixteen but I'd never owned a car. I walked a lot and freeloaded even more, borrowing Starla's car or Voice's SUV whenever I needed to get somewhere. I was saving up for that sporty looking 2017 Charger; a couple more months and it'd be mine.

"Where are you going? I thought we'd have dinner with William before hitting Profane tonight."

"Yeah, I can't do dinner, I have to be at the lab by five. I'll meet you guys at the club after my shift." I turned in my seat to look back at Billy who had taken his eyes off the world beyond the backdoor window to examine the contents of his duffle bag. "Try not to pass out this time Billy, the drinks at Profane are pretty strong."

He laughed, turning his attention to me.

"That was a one-time thing; I think Voice spiked my drink!"

"Liar!" Voice interjected. "It's not my fault you're a bloody lightweight. Anyway, don't change the subject. Where you headed?"

I sighed and leaned back against the leather of the driver's seat.

"I've got my last session with Dr. Turner today; need to get her to sign some stuff."

Billy pulled his duffle bag shut.

"Who the hell's Dr. Turner? Your proctologist?" He asked.

I gripped the steering wheel like a python squeezing its prey, my knuckles white from pressure.

"She's my shrink."

***

Yes, I was seeing a psychiatrist. Or I should say that I'd had the OPD's recommended psychiatrist, Dr. Juliana Turner, forced upon me by one of Apollonia's top cops, Mrs. June Ascendo, née June Cherub. When I first moved here, the thought of living in the same city as my cop sister seemed like a great idea, and at first it was. I'd never been outside of Canada before and the busy streets of Apollonia appeared daunting at best. June made it all seem a bit more manageable. After graduating from the academy she had risen through the ranks, making detective in near record time. She'd married a young detective named Chris Ascendo a year later; it was a large Spring wedding and I was the maid of honor. Mr. and Mrs. Ascendo followed the path to the American dream and bought a large three storey home out in the suburbs. It was quite a drive to get there but Starla and I would stop by every weekend for Sunday dinner. We hadn't gotten along that well since... well, we'd never gotten along that well. Of course, the air of trust and affection that had developed during our time in this hot and hazy city was soured beyond repair the day June barged into my home at the most inopportune of times. I suppose it was my fault for giving her my extra set of house keys, even so I'd always expected her to knock before entering. It was a Saturday evening, about a month after I started working as a lab technician at Griffin Labs. I was in my bedroom with the door shut; I didn't see her white shiny Lexus pull into the driveway, didn't hear her as she worked the lock to my front door and made her way up the stairs to my room. She threw my door open with reckless abandon, like Jack Bauer busting in on a home-grown terror cell. She stood in the doorway, a worn leather-bound book under her arm, her bright smile fading into a familiar grimace that I'd hoped had vanished forever. I sat at the edge of my bed, a thin rubber tourniquet wrapped around my left bicep and a syringe protruding from my pulsing vein. The book fell to the ground.

"Ava... what the hell are you doing?"

June stood frozen for the briefest of moments. I looked up at her, thoughts churning in my head, seeking the words to define the situation with truth and accuracy.

"June, no, it's not... it's not what it looks like."

My words fell on ears of ignorance; they seemed to make her angrier. She moved to me with unmatchable speed, her hands grabbing the syringe and tourniquet at the same time, yanking them free.

"Is this what you are now? A goddamned junkie?" She held my instruments to my face. "Is that what all that talk about bugs was about? One of your bullshit drug trips?"

She threw the syringe and hose on the bed. Her powerful hands were on my arm, pulling me to my feet.

"June wait, I'm not a junkie, that wasn't... it's not heroin. It's V-10, my formu--"

My words were slurred and she wasn't listening. I wasn't surprised. I'd seen that "Intervention" show dozens of times; I always figured the worst time to tell your family that you're not a junkie was when they caught you with a needle in your arm.

"I can't believe you." June said, her voice cracking as she dragged me into the adjoining bathroom and pushed me into the ivory bathtub. Cold water splashed into my face as she turned on the shower, drowning out my pleas for patience. My protestations were ignored and I couldn't blame her. What could I say that would change what she thought she saw?

"You're a goddamned disgrace! Shooting this shit into your veins... you're just like Tasha... just like dad!"

"Wha--" I struggled to speak but the drugs had started to kick in. Darkness clawed at the edges of my vision. "Dad? What do you--"

I blacked out.

The sun had set by the time I awoke. I lay prone on my bed, still soaked from the impromptu shower June had forced upon me. I sat up as best I could; my muscles strained and shook with effort. June stood in the corner near the bright lamp that was the only source of light to break up the pervasive darkness that seemed to bleed through the window. An open book lay in her hands; it wasn't the leather-bound book she'd arrived with. It was my journal, the notebook I used to track our results at work.

"What the hell did you inject yourself with?" She asked, her eyes still scanning the pages before her.

"I told you--" My voice was a rusted door hinge, creaking and irritated.

"I know it’s not heroin." She held up my notebook, exposing the pages to my sore eyes. "What have you been doing to yourself?"

I pulled my legs over the side of the bed.

"Experimenting..."

"Experimenting? With what? What was it?"

"It was something I'd been working on in the lab. It’s called V-10, it’s supposed to supercharge the immune and nervous system." I could still feel the chemical coursing through my veins. My body felt like it was made of quick dry cement. "It didn't work the way I figured it would."

June's mouth opened but the words I'd expected to emerge appeared to be trapped behind some kind of invisible barrier. She ran her hands through her dark hair and turned away from me to face the window overlooking our small backyard.

"So... you've been injecting yourself with random chemicals? Random, untested, experimental drugs?" She still wouldn't look at me.

"Um... more or less."

She shook her head as though she were trying to shake free the thoughts that were rotting her brain.

"Jesus Christ." She muttered.

"Blasphemer."

She spun around to face me with fire in her eyes. My attempt at levity had either gone unnoticed or unappreciated.

"This is serious Ava! Who knows what you could be doing to your body? God, what the hell's wrong with you? Haven't you ever heard of testing on animals?"

I had adopted a small white guinea pig named Lucy to test V-10 on, but when the time came to jab the long sharp syringe into her small body, my heart broke and I couldn't go through with it.

"How long has this been going on?" June stood closer to me, her hands on her hips. She looked so much like mom.

"Only a couple weeks." I lied. It had been at least three months since the experiments began. I'd been work on V-10 for years, since completing my graduate studies. This wasn't a simple side project for me; it was my life's work. I'd been testing and refining the formula with the intention of selling it to a major pharmaceutical firm. Things were progressing at a slower pace than I would've liked.

"Well, you have to stop. You can't keep doing this, you don't know what it could be doing to you." June said. The grimace was gone now, the flames in her eyes dying down.

"I know exactly what it’s doing to me. I'm not stupid June; the doses I've been using metabolizes quickly, it’s in and out of my system in about an hour. I've already tested it multiple times using my own blood platelets and samples; the chemical doesn't have any lasting adverse--"

"That doesn't matter." June interjected, waving her hand as though she were swatting my words out of the air. "It's not safe. You can't know for sure what effect it'll have on you down the road. You need to stop."

Strength had returned to my legs. I pulled my sluggish body to its feet.

"I appreciate your concern and I get that you're worried, but unless you want to be my new test subject or you know someone who wants the job, I'm not going to stop. This is pretty much my life's work... it's too important to stop now."

June sighed and handed me my journal.

"It's funny how much like dad you are. When he got started on something, nothing would stop him either. Listen. When I was a kid, about five or so... before you and Tasha were born, I remember walking into Dad's lab late one night. I used to play in there every so often after mom and dad went to bed. That night though, dad was up late working. It was dark and I was small so he didn't see me... but I saw him. He was at his work bench; he had his work book in front of him and a needle in his arm. I was still afraid of needles at the time so I ran away to my bed that night without saying anything--"

I didn't realize it but my mouth hung open, my eyes wide and incredulous.

"June... what the hell?"

She held up her hand and continued speaking.

"It only just came back to me when I found dad's journal." She picked up the leather-bound book from the bedside table. "I must've blocked it out. I don't know how long he'd been doing that... maybe it was his first and only time, maybe not. But I can't help but think it had something to do with the way he died."

I slid to the ground, my once strong legs folded as I leaned against the bed.

"Now, I can see how important this is to you and I doubt there's anything else I could say to make you stop. So, I'm going to get you a spot at the Lisa Merlin House Rehab clinic and get you a couple of sessions with our psychiatrist--"

"Rehab? No, screw that!"

"And if you don't go, I'm going to get a squad of officers to toss your home... they'll find something, I guarantee it. I bet a couple months in lock-up will change your mind about things."

My face was a hot plate fueled by indignation. I wasn't blind to her concern but it didn't make me any less irritated. I couldn't afford to have her cop friends swarming around my home, sniffing through my belongings like bloodhounds. There were certain aspects of my life that I knew couldn't withstand close scrutiny so I knew I only had one option.

"Fine." I muttered. What else could I say?

"Good." June spoke as she headed towards the door."I'll come by tomorrow with the info you'll need for it."

My eyes focused on the leather book tucked under her arm.

"June. Dad's journal... is that it? Can I see it? How did you--?"

"Tasha sent it to me a couple days ago; it was apparently in her things when she took off after high school." She faced the door, her back to me. The book was now in her hands. "I came here specifically to give you the journal, but now... you'll get it once you finish rehab."

I wanted to argue, to pull the book free from her hands and run. I didn't. June was full of ironclad resolve; no amount of fighting would make her change her mind.

"What about Tasha? Do you know where she is?"

June glanced at me over her shoulder.

"No. No, I don't."

***

Rehab wasn't as bad as I'd expected. The Lisa Merlin House wasn't one of those places where they locked you in and forced you to talk about your deepest fears and concerns with people you hardly knew in between shock therapy sessions. It was more like a low-end spa for rich, famous, and otherwise well-connected people; I don't know how June managed to get me a spot there. I was an outpatient so I was more or less free to come and go as I pleased; the only real downside to "rehab" was the ridiculous weekly sessions I was forced to attend. "Coping with Failure," "I'm Okay with Me," and "I'm Ready to Change my Life" were just a few of the seminars my loving sister had signed me up for. I met Voice in my "Rage is no one's friend" seminar; she made it bearable. In truth I could live with the seminars. They were stupid but they only lasted about four weeks. What killed me was the one-on-one psychiatry sessions with Dr. Turner. She was the person the cops had to speak to whenever they shot someone; I suppose working at Lisa Merlin was her way of padding her income. Her office was immaculate and spacious, the walls were a darker shade of aquamarine blue with carpets that were a lighter shade but matched nonetheless. The furniture, a pair of leather couches and a large desk, looked sleek like something you'd find in a Star Trek sickbay. A quartet of Ivy league college degrees lay arranged with precision on the wall behind her desk, each preserved in gold rimmed glass frames. Their position was prominent yet they seemed to clash with the general decor of the room. Dr. Turner seemed to be the walking amalgam of everything contained in her office. She wore a black pin-striped suit, her skirt resting just above the knee, with black high heeled shoes that boosted her height to just over six feet. A pair of designer glasses rested on the bridge of her nose making her already narrow yet pretty face look even narrower. She sat on the chair beside her desk and gestured for me to take a seat, smiling as she did so. I chose the seat with the fewest bugs as usual.

"Well Ava, it’s so nice to meet you! Your sister has told me so much about you."

My face was a question despite my best efforts to conceal my curiosity. What could June have possibly told her?

"Ok." I replied.

She laughed.

"I'm sorry, I should've elaborated. She told me that you had been working on your PhD?"

I breathed an internal sigh of relief.

"Oh... yeah, actually I got it about 2 years ago; PhD in Interdisciplinary Biomedical Science from Central Florida."

She smiled and I could feel myself smiling too; it was infectious.

"How interesting; I actually taught a semester of introductory psychology at Central Florida a couple years ago. It’s a fantastic school."

I nodded. Now we had common ground, hurray.

"So Ava, why are you here?"

I didn't want to be in that office. I had promised myself that I'd be open-minded about the sessions; there were things about me that needed to be addressed and I didn't know if they were physical or psychological. I'd been seeing the bugs for almost 28 years and all my efforts thus far to find out why had led nowhere.

"Um... well, I see things. Bugs. Everywhere." I'd get to the whole 'drug experimentation' aspect a bit later on.

"How often do you see these bugs?"

"All the time." I hadn't told anyone about this since high school.

"Have you had your eyes checked by your physician? Could it be a result of your contact lenses? I love them by the way."

I suppressed a sigh.

"I've been to lots of doctors. They didn't find anything." People always assumed I wore contacts. I was tired of correcting them.

"Ok, well then, tell me more. These insects that you see, can you tell me what they look like?"

I leaned back in my seat.

"Pardon?" I asked.

"What do these insects look like?"

I sighed this time, unable to hold it in.

"I don't mean to be rude Doctor, but I gotta say, you make a lot of assumptions."

The psychiatrist leaned forward in her seat, her face altered by a frown.

"Excuse me?" She asked.

"I mean, I know you're a qualified doctor, at least that's the impression I got from your wall of degrees back there." I said, gesturing towards her visible accreditations

"Ava, I'm sorry, I'm not following you. What assumptions have I made?"

Her features soften to reflect her growing confusion.

"You were asking about insects..."

"That's right, you mentioned that you'd been seeing--"

"Bugs." I interrupted. "I said I'd been seeing bugs, not insects. We both have medical backgrounds. I'm curious as to why you'd automatically think of insects."

The psychiatrist sat back in her seat and folded her hands on her lap.

"My apologies, I should've asked what you meant. So by bugs, what did you mean exactly?"

My cautious yet optimistic outlook of my mandatory sessions had disintegrated the moment Dr. Turner began her assumptive course, mutating into antagonistic disdain. I'd talked to her for only a few minutes yet I already knew I wouldn't get the answers I sought about myself, not from her anyway.

"I meant bacteria, viruses, you know, the typical scientific definition of the word 'bug'." My persnickety nature was bleeding into my responses.

"I see. Well, you might not be aware of this but visual manifestations of what you call bugs is not at all uncommon. I did notice how hesitant you were when you first got here; you regarded the couches the same way the average person would view a public toilet. It’s very common among mysophobia or bacillophobia sufferers."

First assumptions and now labels. It might have helped if I mentioned that I'd been seeing these bugs since I was a child and only realized what I was seeing while reading my biology textbook in university and actually saw a picture of bacteria. My mind had shut down at that point; I became an answering robot, answering her questions as succinctly as possible. Our next forty odd sessions followed that similar pattern. I was there to get it over with, to get June off my back. I knew Dr. Turner was probably giving my sister regular updates about my progress so I fed her the issues I imagined she'd want to hear about. I told her about my fear of abandonment, my desperate need for freedom, and my self-medicating difficulties. Fictional concerns of course; none of these were legitimate, but I know they were what June expected to hear.

My final session was by far the most pleasant. She sat behind her desk, her glasses fixed on her attractive face. She smiled her typical, welcoming smile as I entered her office, a single sheet of paper in my hands.

"Ava. I'm both glad and sad to see you." I handed her the form, a dotted line at the bottom begging for her signature. "We've come so far and yet I feel there is so much more we could accomplish together."

"Oh no Dr. Turner, you've helped me so much." I said as she signed her name. She had helped me more than she knew; there had been no breakthroughs but my association with her had given me an in-depth look in to the psychiatric process. More significantly, she had listened to every one of my fabrications and had bought into all of them. Our sessions had made me a much better liar.

"Well, I do hope you'll stay in touch." She handed the document back to me. "Here's the form, signed and everything. Your sister should be very proud of you."

I smiled and shook her hand.

"Thanks Dr. Turner. It was a pleasure."

***

It was already a quarter to five. I'd intended to take the signed document, proof that I'd completed my personalized rehab program, to June for her approval but I didn't have time. My shift at the lab started at five; I could get there on time if I went straight from the doctor's office but not if I took a detour. I'd see June later, tomorrow probably; I was beyond anxious to get to work. My job at Griffin Labs was a means to an end; a very profitable means to an end. I was a senior compounding analyst, working from five in the evening to one in the morning to five days a week. You'd think with my PhD that I would be able to get a high paying job with decent hours. It's true, I had been offered a senior chemist position with typical 9-5 hours and a decent starting salary of $72,500 a year, but it wouldn't provide me with the level of freedom and hidden perks that my current, $45,000 a year, job offered. Besides, my mind-numbingly easy job facilitated the needs of my $45,000 a year side job.

"About time you got here Cherry. I thought maybe you got kidnapped." The young lab assistant said as I entered the lab. His name was Mason; he was a tall and lanky twenty year old college student who helped me out. The Griffin Labs senior management didn't realize how ridiculously easy my job was, a well trained monkey could do the job just as well, so they hired Mason. We worked pretty well as a team. Our job was to manufacture several different drugs in four thousand milligram batches. Fifty percent of the job involved pouring elements into the homogenizer, mixing them, putting them in the Profill system, then baking... a lot like making really complicated pancakes. Mason was great at doing that. The other fifty percent of the job was the calculations; it was supposed to be the hardest part of the job. It took the average chemist a couple of hours get through all the math... it took me fifteen minutes. That meant we had about four extra hours a night to kill. At first we just did our own thing; he caught up on his schoolwork while I focused on perfecting V-10, the super-drug of the future. After a while, after his college tuition fees and my bills started to pile up, we realized our time could be spent in more productive ways. We worked in a lab full of expensive and complex chemicals managed by a board of relative incompetents who couldn't tell an isotope from an ice cream cone. They'd never notice the few hundred grams of various drugs that went missing each week. Griffin Labs specialized in household pharmaceuticals, cold and allergy medicine, a couple of generic prescription drugs, and one or two experimental drugs in the early stages of FDA approval. The senior chemists were working on a new anti-anxiety drug they'd nicknamed Relaxapam, it was the big thing around the lab. It used trace amounts of Methlenedioxy-N-Methylampetamine (MDMA) to give patients a general sense of well-being; they had kilograms of the stuff, expecting Relaxapam to be put into mass production one the approval process was complete. Months had passed, Relaxapam stood locked in the complex process, and kilograms of MDMA sat unused in the storage room. It was a shame to let it all go to waste... especially when we had so many other things to combine it with. As I took my seat at my lab work station, I could see that Mason was doing just that, combining it with Ephedrine and charting the amounts we used.

"How we doing?" I asked as I activated the laptop on my desk, cluttered with empty beakers and half written notes.

"Good I guess. I need your formula to calculate the amounts for processing; all the machines as sterilized and ready to go." The lanky college student glanced at the stack of papers beside his laptop. "Oh yeah, and I measured everything out for later tonight so we can make two hundred and fifty tablets tonight."

"Two fifty?" My eyes were focused on the login screen plastered across my computer screen. "How long's that gonna last?"

"Two days maybe; the kids really love E, especially the Frat Boys. They'd buy it by the truckload if they could." Mason replied.

Yes, we were selling Ecstasy after hours. MDMA alone was all you needed, but mix it with enough Ephedrine and you've got the recipe for a high quality, addictive product. It had been Mason's idea to begin our lucrative side business. The deal was, I made the drugs and he sold them. He was a morally ambiguous kid with a lot of college aged contacts; plus he was a hell of a salesman, he could probably sell fur to a relatively rational cat. After our shift he'd hit a string of clubs and parties, peddling our product to anyone willing to pay. On an average night he would take in about $400. That's $2000 a week, $8000 a month, $96,000 a year. We split the proceeds from our endeavor fifty-fifty, with a small percentage going towards the storage unit we rented about five blocks north of my place to store our excess. We couldn't exactly roam the streets with thousands of pills on us; if we were ever stopped by the cops we'd be put away for a very long time.

"You know, we could be earning so much more if you'd--" Mason began.

"I'm not going to make Meth, I told you. The last thing I want is a city full of crazy Meth heads."

Mason looked at it like a lasting business, not as just something on the side. He had no problem making a living this way for the next thirty years or so. Not me though. I needed money now for my daily expenses, but I knew that V-10 was my golden goose. I'd finished testing using myself as a human Petri dish, it seemed to work without any major side effects. I had submitted it for FDA approval and was just waiting to hear back from them.

"Ok, ok." Mason shook his head and held his hands up, yielding to my superior wisdom.

"What about Coke or Speed? We could figure out how to make those, right?"

I sighed.

"No, nothing else. Don't get greedy."

Mason laughed as he entered lines of code into his system.

"I'm not greedy, I'm financially ambitious."

I smiled.

"No, you're just a very crooked college kid."

A soft whirring sound filled the room as he initiated the warm-up process for our industrial sized homogenizer.

"I'm crooked? Hey, I'm not the one who happens to be related to Apollonia's top cop and yet continues to flaunt her complete disdain for the law by manufacturing illicit drugs."

My laugh rang out as I completed the calculations necessary to start our work.

"You got me there."

As profitable as my jobs were, working nights in the lab was a bore more often than not. By midnight we were bored out of our minds and ready to go. Starla used to stop by at the end of my shift and we'd go out for drinks before heading home, but since hooking up with her current boyfriend, she'd become a lot less reliable. We had planned to go to Profane to meet Billy and Voice after work; something told me to call and confirm. She answered after two rings, her tone didn't sound encouraging.

"Hello?" Her voice was strained and whisper quiet.

"Starla? Hey, are you ready? You're coming to get me right?"

"Cherry? Hey." Her voice had gained life but I knew there was something going on that I didn't want to ask about.

"Hey... and again I ask, are you ready and coming to get me? Did you just wake up?"

"Um, no." Starla sniffled. "Thomas and I had a fight."

"Oh, damn, I'm sorry. It'll be alright though, you guys will work it out." I could hear her sniffling and soft whimpers in the background. It broke my heart to hear her cry the first five times they'd fought but at this point it was tiresome.

"I'm sorry, I can't come out tonight. I just..." Her voice cracked. "I just can't. It feels like my heart got ripped out."

I stifled a sigh.

"Are you sure? You might feel better if you came out. I know Billy would love to see you." I lied. I knew she'd get over it soon enough, but right now I just needed a free ride to the club.

"No! No, I can't let Billy or anyone see me like this. I'm sorry... I'll see you at home."

She hung up, ending the call and leaving me stranded and feeling like the world's worst friend. I'd make it up to her somehow, but at the moment my mind was focused on my transportation woes. Voice was spinning tonight so she couldn't pick me up and, at this point, June wouldn't drop me off at Profane if I begged her to.

"Hey Cherry, I'm heading out. See you tomorrow, ok?"

Mason had packed a few pill bottles into his backpack and was heading to the door. If memory served, he drove a very spacious and sleek 2015 Acura.

"Hey Mason!" He stopped at the door of the lab and turned towards me. "You got plans tonight?"

Chapter Four: Profane

A line of anxious revelers stretched from the main entrance of Profane for two blocks down the dark streets of downtown Apollonia. A third of them would get in the club tonight at best; it was typical. Fame, Fortune, and a pretty face were the only things that could guarantee successful entry on any given night. I had a pretty enough face, I wasn't too modest to admit that, but if it weren't for Voice's hookup I'd be at the end of that line. A chorus of angry, muttered threats and unpleasant cat calls followed us as the bouncer at the door waved us in. No matter what it took to get you there, once you got inside Profane you immediately felt like you were important, like you were a real somebody in town. Karen O's electric voice blaring over the multitude of speakers, screaming "You're a Zero" told us different. Mason stuck to me like a magnet; he was out of his element and anxious. The bouncer didn't bother to check the backpack Mason hugged under his arm thankfully; the twenty year old intended to make a few profitable connections tonight. Profane was near capacity, the crowds of beautiful people moving to the pulsating music that flew from the speakers and painting their bodies. Rotating spotlights shifted from left to right on the walls and the ceiling, flashing blue and red, making it very difficult to see. The dance floor stretched almost to the front entrance, swarming with rich young socialities anxious for photo ops. The bar lay just beyond that, surrounded by a good sized lounge area with leather couches, LCD screens, and silver and marble tables. The VIP section stood apart, screened off by a gold rope and a menacing bouncer named Victor. Two men stood with him, trying to talk their way past him. One of them, a tall, lanky man with silver rimmed glasses, glanced our way, nodded to Mason, and walked towards us.

"Mase. Funny, never thought I'd see you here. How'd you get in?" The man said, smiling. He had an air of sleasiness about him that was beyond description.

"What up dude?" Mason replied. "My friend here got me in. Cherry, this is Alex Poindexter."

I smiled as best I could, glancing just over his shoulder to the elevated DJ booth to the right of the bar. Voice stood with her over-sized headphones and tinted glasses, behind a set of turntables and a CDJ.

"Cherry huh?" Poindexter smiled and licked his lips, "Pretty eyes. Pretty, pretty eyes. Tell me, stripper or escort?"

I rolled my pretty eyes.

"Hey, I see my friend; see you later Mason. Nice meeting you asshole." I said as I headed away from them, saluting Poindexter with my favorite finger.

The crowds thickened as I approached the architect of the booming music. Voice looked up from the equipment as I neared, her brow softening as our eyes made contact. She was already speaking as I stepped up to the booth.

"I was wondering if you'd ever get here." She glanced past me, the laser lights reflecting off the silver choker wrapped around her neck as she did. "Where's Starla?"

"Didn't make it. She had another fight with her man."

Voice sighed.

"Bloody ponce."

She reached down beneath the turntable and withdrew a half empty bottle of Grey Goose, putting it to her mouth as if on autopilot. My eyes scanned the dancing crowds, moving to those seated at the bar and lounge area, searching for a specific familiar face. Voice was draining the last of her drink by the time I turned back to face her.

"Where's Billy? He's here isn't he?" I asked.

She glanced at her empty bottle and cursed under her breath. Holding the bottle above her head, she gestured with her free hand to a clean shaven black man on the dance floor. He cut through the mass of gyrating bodies to meet her call.

"I been watching you all night, glad you finally noticed." The young man said, his slick smile exposing his perfect teeth.

Voice smiled and leaned against the turntable, her slender toned arms folded in front of her. His gaze moved from her face to her exposed cleavage like refridgerator magnets to metal.

"Oh yeah? Are you a fan?" Voice asked.

"Big fan, yeah. I should show you how..."

"Be a dear and get me a drink." She interrupted. "Grey Goose please. Thanks love."

He stood surprised for the briefest of moments and then vanished into the crowd, the bar being his final destination.

I was impressed. I'd never been able to persuade anyone to do anything the wouldn't have done any way; my powers of persuasion were as sharp as a plastic spoon. It seemed to come naturally to my attractive English friend. God knows she had convinced me to do things that never would've crossed my mind. Still, no regrets.

"One bottle of Grey Goose." The young man returned, his smile broad and vibrant as he handed the bottle to Voice.

She smiled and took the bottle.

"Thanks love." She removed the cap and took a quick swig of vodka. "Now piss off... I got enough fans as it is."

He stood motionless for a moment, his expression of joy receding into a mask of confusion. I felt embarrassed for him.

"Yeah, right." He said, a nervous laugh on the verge of breaking free.

Voice's smile had vanished and she regarded the man with pure annoyance.

"Yeah. Right. Piss off!"

The message was sent and received. He slunk back into the crowd, a slew of muttered profanities spilling from his mouth as he did.

"Yikes, that was mean." It was an understatement but it needed to be said.

"Every night these gits come by trying to sweet talk me, saying they're fans. Bloody fans... wish they'd all just piss off." She swallowed another mouthful of vodka. "Sorry. Billy's over with one of his mates. By the bar."

My eyes moved to the bar and then to the lounge. He sat on a leather couch, a half empty bottle of Corona hanging loosely from his hand. His leather jacket clung to his broad shoulders, obscuring most of his white "Affliction" t-shirt. A young man sat across from him. His skin was pale, porcelain white with bleached hair to match... at least it appeared that way. He turned towards me as I approached, his smile disarming and eyes clear blue as arctic ice. They were pulling me in, like a pair of miniature black holes; Billy had almost faded into the oblivion of after thought.

"Cherry, hey, you made it!" Billy rose from his seat as he spoke, his large arms enveloping me in an embrace. "You got a drink or anything yet?"

"Nah, I'm good." I smiled and eased myself onto the couch beside him.

The colored lights blurred my vision as my eyes focused on Billy's pale companion. He was statuesque, his face a flawless porcelain mask. His icy blue eyes met mine and I shivered.

"Hey," I leaned forward in my seat and outstretched my hand. "I'm Cherry... Ava... God, Cherry. Cherry Cherub."

He smiled and winked.

"Howdy darlin'." He reached forward, his hand outstretched. "I'm..."

"Yeah, sorry Cherry, this is my boy Zero. On leave for a couple months." Billy interrupted.

Our hands met; his were cold, like grabbing the hand of a long dead corpse. I could see the uniqueness of him, beyond the obvious visual, it took me a moment to grasp it. His hand, his skin, his clothes... they were clean. The bugs that permeated everything my luminescent eyes saw, they were nowhere to be seen. I hadn't seen anything like it since my dad died.

***

Voice joined us moments after her brief set had ended, taking a seat beside Billy, wrapping her arm across his broad shoulders. She'd switched from vodka, surprising I know, while I had picked up a Smirnoff Ice to steady my nerves. It wasn't working. I couldn't even look at Zero for more than sixty seconds without my heart racing. They'd been engaged in a riveting yarn recounting past exploits, military and otherwise. His southern drawl was alluring yet seemed at odds with his appearance. I wanted to ask questions, so many different and odd sounding questions, but they couldn't escape my mind in this setting.

"Oy, what's wrong with you?" Voice whispered in my ear, her arm still resting on the shoulder of my surrogate big brother.

"Nothing... what do you mean?"

"You're staring at him like he's bloody Jesus reborn."

I could feel the heat rushing to my face as I blushed, realizing the truth of her words. My heart continued to pound like a snare drum. I had been staring. I was a woman of science. It was my nature to examine things... and that was my problem here. He wasn't a thing and I knew it but I felt something. We'd just met, barely spoken, but still there was something. Not attraction, not lust, curiousity perhaps but there was more. It was something familiar.

"Cherry, you been awfully quiet. What's up?" Billy asked, directing his attention and the conversation to me.

"I finished my drink and set the empty bottle on the small table in front of me only for it to be snatched away by a scantly clad waitress.

"Ha ha, nothing. I think I drank too much." I said, slurring my words to sell the lie. "Just doin' my best to not talk gibberish."

"Can't hold yer liquor darlin'?" Zero asked. His smile was comforting.

"Looks like." I laughed. "I love your accent, where are you from?"

"El Paso, born and raised tho' I ain't been back in almost twenty years."

I could feel the nervous energy draining out of me, released in the form of coherent words.

"El Paso is home but you came here on leave?" Voice asked.

"Yeah." The porcelin man drank from the beer bottle in his hand and winked. "Everyone knows Apollonia's where the action is."

"You know it." Billy grinned.

I smiled my warmest smile, thinking, imagining there was more to his simple explanation. He continued with irrelevant small talk, I listened as best I could. My eyes drifted to Billy who appeared quite comfortable. He sat with his hand resting on Voice's lower thigh, exposed beneath her short black skirt. Her right arm remained draped across his shoulders, her left resting on his arm while still clenching a bottle of water. I felt a twinge of something at the sight; not quite jealousy although I know it played a part. It went beyond that; their apparent closeness seemed to call and awaken something within me that I hadn't been aware of, a microscopic black hole of a feeling that threatened to consume me. I shook it off, pushing that thing back down within me to a place I didn't know existed.

It was late, almost four in the morning last I checked, and I could feel exhaustion tugging at my eyelids. Billy looked jet-lagged too. I scanned the thinning crowds again spotting Mason staggering out of the VIP lounge, his douchebag friend following close behind. His eyes were half shut and pink, his mouth twisted in a twisted smile as he stumbled our way.

"Cherry! Come... someone wants to meet you." Mason said as his skeletal fingers grabbed at my arm.

"Who? How'd you get into the VIP lounge?" I asked. I knew it was futile to ask questions, Mason was higher than a kite on weed. I'd never seen him like this before.

"Come on, I think I got us a hook up that's going to make us crazy rich." He pulled me to my feet. I could see Voice watching as he led me along, her eyes shined with concern. Apprehension added twenty pounds to my legs but I continued on, slipping past the golden rope into a smaller smoke filled room. Heads turned as I entered; I'd like to think it was because of my undeniable hotness but judging by the lithe, supermodel-esque calibre of the women who filled the room, my modesty drenched ego wouldn't allow me to entertain the possibility. I was an outsider, I felt it and they saw it. My head lowered I followed Mason as he led us to an occupied booth at the far end of the lounge. A broad shouldered asian man sat there with a petite young blonde clinging to him, wrinkling his finely tailored black suit. He glanced at us and our eyes met.

"Mason. I trust this is the friend you spoke of." His eyes were glued to me as he spoke.

"Yes sir, this is my associate Cherry," Mason turned to me and gestured towards the large man, "Cherry, this is Mr. Gideon."

I smiled and nodded.

"A pleasure Cherry." He pointed to the empty seats across from him.

Mason slid into the booth illiciting a harsh glare from Gideon. The invitation to sit had only applied to myself it seemed. I took the seat next to my lanky associate, resting my hands on my lap beneath the table. Gideon sat back and reached for the glass of sparkling white wine that lay before him. He took the minutest of sips and handed the glass to the blonde on his arm. He adjusted the collar of his tie-less shirt and returned his gaze to me.

"Mason tells me you're quite the chemist." His youthful face was expressionless, betraying nothing.

"Well yes, we work in the same lab." I knew what he was really talking about but I wasn't about to discuss my extracurricular activities with a complete stranger no matter what he thought he knew.

"And do you like your job at the lab? Do you find it fulfilling and rewarding?" He turned to his blonde companion. "Would you excuse us for a moment dear?"

The woman rose with smile and a wink, taking the glass of wine with her.

"Your friend has told me about your chemistry skills, specifically with your talents regarding chemicals of the recreational variety. You've managed to acquire a significant share of the market, you in the lab and him on the street... you're quite a pair."

My face reddened. Not from modesty or embarrassment at the high praise that had been heaped upon me, but from shock mixed with anger at my partner's loose lips. I hoped Mason had at least checked this man's credentials before divulging every one of our business related secrets.

"Um... ok." What else could I say? I didn't know the story behind this man although I could easily guess. I could only imagine what would come next; a threat? Stop selling to our customers or I'll kill you? Or perhaps a job offer; join the team and you'll get four weeks paid vacation and a shiny company car?

"You must be doing quite well for yourselves. Tell me, on average, how much do you pull in a night?"

Mason leaned in, his eyes glowing with excitement.

"$750 or something like that." He chimed in, pride overpowering his common sense.

Gideon smiled and rubbed his large hand across his clean shaven chin.

"$750... so roughly $320,000 a year. Very Impressive."

My hands were sweating. I glanced over to my right, through the thinning clouds of tobacco and weed smoke, scanning the unfamiliar faces. I was a fish who had abandoned the safety of the school to travel in unknown waters, exposed and unprotected. I was Nemo from that movie and my lack of knowledge was my disability.

"Sorry Mr. Gideon but why am I here? I don't mean to be rude sir but is there something specific you wanted from me?" The sooner I knew his objective the sooner I could leave.

"He nodded and continued to smile.

"My apologies. I value your directness and tend not to beat around the bush. The point of my questions and comments was to clarify and emphasize the degree of your successes. You've excelled with you partnership but imagine what you could accomplish with a greater network of contacts and near limitless resources."

Beside me Mason smiled and nodded like a car salesman desperately trying to sell a lemon.

"You want me to work for you?" I knew what he meant but wanted a moment extra to process the gravity of the situation.

"Yes. To supply our dealers in this city."

"If you don't mind me asking, what happened to your previous supplier? I know there wasn't a huge void in the drug biz; people were getting their Crack and H from somewhere and I'm getting the sense that you and your folks were that source." I asked.

"Very astute. Your assumption is more or less accurate. Our previous supplier essentially retired, deciding to adopt a quieter lifestyle. We still have sources but the quality of your work is matchless. Mason has been kind enough to provide us with samples over the past few weeks."

Past few weeks? My heart jumped. I tried my best to conceal my intense concern. I bet their supplier retired to a quiet Supermax cell in Florida State prison or worse. It was time to go.

"I appreciate the offer Mr. Gideon but I'm going to have to pass on this opportunity."

Mason jabbed me hard in the ribs as my words fell free.

"Excuse me? Did I mention that you would likely earn up to four times more than what you currently make?" Gideon had stopped smiling yet an aura of persuasiveness seemed to radiate from him in desperation.

"You didn't but it wouldn't have changed my decision." I rose from the booth. "Thanks for your consideration but this isn't for me."

His hand darted after me latching on to my arm, preventing me from leaving. His touch was cold and firm.

"This isn't a simple job offer. You are playing in a field that we own. You play for us or you don't play at all, understand?" His voice was even, calm, yet the threat of danger eminated from his words.

My eyes had been glued to the hand he had placed on my arm but moved quickly to match his steel gaze as I spoke.

"Well then," I pulled my arm free, "I suppose its time to retire to a quieter lifestyle. Goodnight Mr. Gideon."

I knew I'd made the right decision but that didn't stop me from power-walking out of the VIP lounge at a pace rivaling an olympic level sprinter. Voice stood just outside, her arms folded and brow furrowed in concern.

"How you doing love? What went on in there?" She asked.

"I want to now go. Must leave now." I'd abandoned logical sentence structure in favor of directness.

"Yeah." Voice put her hand on my backand patted gently, calming me. "Billy and Zero are ready; what about your boy? The bloke you came in with."

"My boy sold me out, told that guy Gideon all about my biz. Dude practically told me to work for him or I'm done..."

The English woman tensed at the name.

"Gideon? Tell me you're not working for that ponce!"

"No, no, hell no. I figured he was bad news."

"And he threatened you?"

I nodded and felt the fear and uncertainty of the situation bubbling up within me.

"Bloody hell..." Voice reached into her jacket and I could see the handle of her favorite blade.

I grabbed on to her arm and shook my head.

"No, don't, please let's... let's just get out of here. Please."

"Ok dear, come on." She said, her fingers interlocking with mine as she grabbed my hand, leading me along.

Even amongst the the partying crowds and the pulsating music I could hear him coming up behind me. His voice was insistant, its tone shrill and unstable.

"Cherry!" Mason's hot sweaty palm latched on to my bare arm just above the elbow. "What the hell was that? Do you know what you just--?"

Voice spun around, stepping past me to face the jittery college student. She was playing the role of bodyguard to perfection.

"Hey, don't touch her!" Theyoung English woman sent him stumbling back with a hard shove. He caught himself, using every muscle in his body to keep himself upright; he rain his hands through his disheveled hair. They stood toe to toe, Voice and Mason, her fists clenched and anxious to be used.

"Let me just... Cherry, let me talk to you. You owe me an explanation!"

"An explanation?" I stepped in beside Voice. "Are you kidding me? I owe you shit you idiot kid! Who the hell told you to cozy up to some wannabe kingpin and talk about my business? My business! I don't know who this guy is or what his agenda is; what if--"

"How the hell can you not know who he is? He runs things, everything. He's the goddamn man and could make us--"

"I don't give a shit! I don't know him and I'm not getting locked in as some goddamn drug dealer." My chest was a blast furnace of emotion; I could forgive my blasphemy this one time.

"But the money--" Mason began.

"The money isn't sustainable, we'd earn as long as he lets us until he finds someone better and retires us... or we get caught. This was supposed to be on the side not a damn career and I'm not risking prison or death for a hobby. I mean, what the hell are you doing? You're in university, you should have higher aspirations than that!"

I wasn't sure if it was the drugs or my words that caused it but Mason began to laugh as though he'd just heard the greatest joke ever told.

"Are you serious? You were the one who got me into all this and now you're giving me shit for trying to get ahead? You're a f@^king hypocrite!"

"You know what? To hell with this, I don't give a shit what you do, just leave me the frak out of it!" My voice was firm and loud. I wasn't used to raising my voice; I knew I'd feel it tomorrow.

I turned away from him as he continued to seethe. Voice put her arm across my shoulders, glancing back at Mason as we moved through the crowds. She giggled.

"'Frak'? You cheeky little firecracker..."

I shrugged. Dad had always said that the use of profanity marked a limited vocabulary and a degraded intellect. True or not, the saying had stuck with me and I'd been uncomfortable with the "F" word ever since; I substituted curse words from Battlestar Galactica whenever I could.

"That bloke sounded pretty upset; he's not going to be a problem for you is he?"

I looked back. Mason stood exactly where I'd left him, his douchebag friend beside him, speaking into his ear like a serpent whispering threat and worry.

"I don't know."

Corin Tucker's banshee-like wail erupted from my bedside clock radio at exactly 10:22am, drop-kicking me awake. Waking up to the musical stylings of Sleater-Kinney was nice but I could've done without being told I was "No Rock 'n Roll Fun" first thing in the morning. My hand lashed out at the clock, eyes still closed, switching the station to the morning news as I pulled my blanket off of me and onto the floor. The smell of fried bacon and brewed coffee had wafted into my bedroom; breakfast called to me. My mind was stuck in the past, several hours in the past to be exact. I had another late shift tonight which meant another conversation with my now former business partner and somehow I doubted it would be pleasant. I dragged my drowsy form to the kitchen with my black housecoat and matching fluffy slippers keeping me safe from the chill of our overcharged central AC system. Starla stood at the kitchen counter to the right of our ultra modern stove pouring a cup of hot coffee; she handed it to me as I entered.

"Hey, morning." Starla said. Her hair was tied back into a pony tail that flowed mid-way down the back of the dark blue college sweat shirt she wore.

"Morning." I took the cup from her hands sipped. "Thanks. You made breakfast, what's the occassion?"

The microwave opened with a snap and a click and Starla withdrew a warm plate of food. Bacon, grilled sausage, cheese and toast with a touch of melted butter... my stomach growled at the sight.

"I bailed on you last night at the last minute; I should've said it at the time but I'm sorry, really really sorry."

"I'm pretty sure you apologized last night but alright, thanks." I had already begun consuming the food before me, devouring the sausage and bacon as though I expected it to vanish at any moment. "How are things with you and Thomas anyway?"

She poured a cup of coffee for herself and sat down at the kitchen table across from me.

"It's done, we're more or less finished... at least I'm done with him." She sipped from her cup and smiled. "What about you? Did you meet anyone last night?"

I thought of Zero, his ice blue eyes and creepy pale corpse-like complexion, not to mention his other unique characteristics.

"Um, no, nope, it was a pretty standard night."

He was an enigma that I would solve at a later date. Until then I'd keep my thoughts to myself.

"So... how's Billy? Did he ask about me?" Starla asked, her face reddening.

"Yeah, yes he did at some point. Typical stuff you know, told him you were doing fine" I couldn't dash her obvious hopes by telling her that she seemed to be little more than a passing thought to Billy. "I might be seeing him and Voice tonight if you want to come along."

"Yeah yeah, sounds good. So I've got the day off today, you wanna do something? You have plans today?"

I had inhaled the food she had prepared for me, savouring every bite despite my pace. I glanced at the clock.

"I'm supposed to meet up with June before lunch. Maybe we can hang out after that?"

"Ok; call me when you're done." Starla replied.

"Actually, " I drained the last of my coffee. "You mind giving me a ride to the station?"

At the local Apollonia police department precinct June Ascendo was a superstar. She was respected and revered by everyone and somehow, on the few times I had visited her workplace, I hoped her status would transfer to me. Irrational I know but still I had hopes. Instead, upon introducing myself, the common response was, "Really?" On one occasion her Captain, a powerful looking woman named Velasquez, had gone so far as to say I looked like one of those skater kids they hauled in from the Festival Bay Mall Skate Park every weekend. I made it a point to spend as little time in the department as possible. On this particular day the cops seemed to be pre-occupied with something else which made it so much easier to get to my sister's office without having to converse with anyone.

June sat her desk behind a laptop and a short stack of papers in desperate need of filing. An oversized cup of coffee lay the corner of her cluttered workspace. Her eyes met mine as I entered.

"Detective Ascendo, what's the good word?" I slid into the uncomfortable wooden chair on the opposite side of her desk.

"Hi Cherry." She looked from the stack of papers to the half open desk drawer to her right. "I thought you would've been here earlier. Dr. Turner told me you had your last session yesterday."

"I did, I did, but I had a shift at the lab that ended late and I figured you and Chris wouldn't want me showing up at your place at one in the morning."

My sister laughed as she fished around in the open drawer.

"Good thinking. So when are you going to get a real job? You're a pHD, you should be making more than I am."

This was a familiar topic of conversation and my typical response had always been to change the subject. Work had been good and profitable for a while but now that my alternate means of income had... expired, perhaps it was time to pursue other employment opportunities.

"I'm just waiting to hear from the FDA about my V-10 compound before making any moves. I own the patent for the formula and everything but I made my submission via Griffin Labs so I don't know how it would work if I left the company." I sighed and brushed a stray strand of hair out of my face. "I don't get the whole submission process and stuff, the administrative aspects. I haven't heard back about it yet so... I'm just hoping I did it right."

"I'm glad you're not just settling. Mom and Dad would've wanted more for you." She retrieved a leather-bound notebook from the drawer and set it down on the desk. "I think this is what you came for, right?"

I leaned forward and picked up my dad's journal, the holy grail that I had been seeking for weeks.

"No, no no no. I came to see my awesome sister... but this is a great bonus." I slid the book into my oversized Coach bag and checked my watch. "You want to get some lunch?"

It was later in the day than I had thought; I only had a few hours to spare before I had to be at the lab. June jerked her head, quickly shifting her gaze from me to the files before her as I looked up from my watch.

"I'd like to but I can't, its too busy here." She didn't look at me as she spoke.

"Right, ok, bad timing I guess. Thanks for the book. I'll see you later." I pulled my purse to my side and stood to leave, glancing back before reaching the door. June looked away once again. "Your detective skills are getting rusty. Honestly, if you want to know something just ask."

This time she met my gaze and shrugged.

"You've been staring at my arms since I got here. I'm not testing V-10 any more, I'm clean. Trust me, I'm clean."

June sighed and pushed her files aside.

"I'm sorry. It's not that I didn't trust you... I was worried."

"Yes mom, I figured. I've changed my stripes Detective Ascendo."

June laughed, a real laugh that had been an absentee relative for weeks and whose return was very much welcome.

Starla and I met at a small diner four blocks from the police station about thirty minutes after my meeting with June. The journal called out to me from my bag; I wanted to head home and start reading but we had made arrangements in advance and I didn't want to disappoint my roommate. We sat in a window side booth, eating greasy guilty pleasures, watching as the hours of the day melted away like ice cream in the blazing Apollonia sun.

"Ugh... so good, but I'm going to have to hit the gym for an extra three hours this week." Starla muttered in between mouthfuls of french fries.

When the waitress came with the bill, Starla knocked my hand away and slammed her black card down on the table.

"My treat. You can catch the next one." She said, her smile electric.

I didn't argue; it had been a while since we'd been able to hang out and chat. It was the good parts of high school all over again. It was nice to see her free from the shackles of a relationship.

She dropped me at the lab about thirty minutes before the start of my shift and Mason was already there by that time. Mason was almost never early for a shift and given our previous interaction, the sight of him did not inspire good feelings. I did my best to ignore him as he sat at his station, engrossed in whatever compounding project that lay before him. His eyes burned holes in my back as I took my spot facing away from him.

"Hey." He called out. Either a greeting or an attempt to get my attention, I wasn't sure.

I mumbled an acknowledgement without turning, refusing to face my betrayer.

"Cherry, can we talk? Please talk to me."

"I've got nothing to say to you."

"Come on, give me a chance to explain. We've still got all of that surplus, we can make so much--"

I wanted to fly over the desk and slap him until my hand hurt, and then slap him again for making my hand hurt. Instead I turned in my seat to look at him and give him a glimpse of the nuclear fire in my eyes.

"I don't want to hear anything you have to say. And don't worry about the surplus... it's mine. I made, I'm keeping it and neither you nor your drug dealing buddy are getting your hands on it." In truth I had no idea what I planned to do with the four thousand or so Ecstasy tablets that sat in my storage unit down the street from the lab. I considered giving them to Voice or maybe even break them down into their primary components and make something new.

"Fine." Mason's voice sank as he turned his attention back to his work.

The rest of the night went by without incident. We did actual work in complete silence save for the clicking of the keyboards and the whirring of the machines. His cellphone ran just after midnight; he answered it after one ring. He whispered with urgency to the person on the other end, I couldn't hear what was said.

"Hey, I need to step out early tonight. I've got a family thing to deal with." He said to me; it was a quarter past twelve now.

"So go." And good riddance. His presence was like an unwanted smell.

I watched him leave before going back to what little work I had left. My mind drifted to the stash. It was a significant investment and I wasn't opposed to making some money from its sale; but at this point I would have rather died than see Mason earn a penny more from his loose conduct. Voice had lots of contacts, I'm sure she could find someone to take some of it off my hands for a reasonable price. I'd see her tonight after work; I knew I could get it off my hands and done with if I brought it to her tonight. I shut down my system minutes before the end of my shift and made my way to the storage facility. The streets were active and lousy with all sorts of people; partiers, college students heading to or from the pub, and factory worers finishing the late night shift. My storage unit lay amongst a block of other units, some occupied, some empty. When I reached the steel sliding door that kept my valuables safe in a small 5x5 metre room, my eyes focused on the reinforced lock. It was intact but wet, covered in what felt like saliva. I wiped the lock clean with a napkin from my bag and unlocked it. The bright florescent lights blinded me for a second as I slid the steel door open and stepped inside. As my vision cleared my attention was drawn to the far end of the small room, behind the cardboard boxes that held my old science fair trophies and prototype versions of V-10, and the tall lanky figure who crouched there. I knew it was Mason before I even saw his face, he was still wearing the white coat from the lab.

"Mason, what the hell?"

A clear plastic bag filled with pills was in his quivering left hand. He stood shaking, his mouth moving without sound like a fish in water. His gaze focused on me and then moved over my right shoulder; I heard someone moving behind me before I saw them. I turned around in time to feel a large, almost skeletal fist connect with my jaw spinning me around. I stumbled back, the force of the blow slamming my head into the small metal filing cabinet behind me. I crumpled to the floor as darkness pulled at the edges of my vision.

"Pretty eyes... hmm." I knew that voice; he moaned as my assailant stood over me.

"Shit, she saw us. What are we gonna do?" Another voice, also familiar but not Mason's.

"Party time I think." Light glinted off of his silver rimmed glasses.

The darkness overpowered me.

Chapter Five: Dumb-Fire Missiles

A line of fire danced above my eye through my brain and into my spine jolting me back into the realm of the conscious. My eyes were greeted with vision obscuring darkness, all consuming save for the sliver of light that bled through from under the door up ahead... or what I assumed was the door. I eased myself to my feet as my eyes adjusted; I could see the outline of familiar looking squares, overturned boxes. My hands reached the handles to the door, grasping with a vice-like grip, and turned. Light rushed in like a torrential deluge, cleansing and blinding. My head ached, whether from the light or from the still fresh gash above my eye, I couldn't be sure. The sun was high in the sky now; it had to be past lunchtime. How long had I been out? I glanced back to confirm what my mind had been telling me. I was still in my storage unit and it had been ransacked. My purse lay on the ground next to dried drops of blood that I knew belonged to me, its contents scattered across the floor. My cell phone, which had been safe amongst belongings before my hours long vacation from consciousness, was nowhere to be seen. Figures. Three small pills lay beside a ripped cardboard box I assumed to be now empty. Mason and his friends were locusts with purpose, taking only that which they could sell... or at least what they thought they could sell. My Star Trek commemorative plates? Shattered (bastards). My stock of V-10 at various stages development? I sifted through the cardboard boxes I prayed were full yet knew weren't. The V-10, the 10 litre container with the unprocessed solution and the package with 400 gel capsules, my life's work, was gone.

It took me half an hour to travel the three blocks between my ravaged storage unit and the place I called home. My eyelids battled my brain, determined to seal themselves shut against the warm sunlight. The sidewalk swayed and spun beneath my feet, twisting and turning like an angry snake. I dug into my bag for my keys as I climbed the front steps to my home, each step a veritable mountain. The door flew open before I could find them.

"Cherry! Where have you--?" Starla stood in the doorway, her hair unusually disheveled. Her eyes zoomed in on my battered face. "Oh my God! What happened? Are you ok?"

"I got mugged." As I stepped inside her arm stretched across my shoulders. In that instant I felt like I should be crying, Starla's comforting arms seemed to expect it. "I'm alright, just a little sore."

She put her hands to my bloodied injury and stared as though her gaze alone would sterilize and cauterize the wound. I felt victimized more by her reaction than by the actual attack. "I think you're gonna need stitches."

"Yeah I figured." I moved into the bathroom and retrieved a bottle of isopropyl alcohol with a cotton swab and began applying generous doses to the laceration.

Small white bugs caught dancing in the cut vanished into oblivion as I passed over them with the sterilizing swab. My jaw had begun to ache and looking in the mirror I saw the evidence of the attack; my lip bruised but only slightly swollen. My wounds would heal in time, at the moment I had more important concerns.

"Hey, you didn't call June did you?" I called out.

"I tried but I couldn't reach her. I called Billy and Voice though; they said they were coming by. I figured they'd be here by now. I should probably call them and let them know you're okay."

As if on cue the doorbell rang. Starla bolted to the door, stopping at the hallway mirror to fix her hair for the briefest of moments before letting them in.

"Is she here? Have you heard from her?" Billy asked.

I stepped out to greet them while holding a role of gauze.

"Hey guys, I'm here, I'm alright more or less."

"Holy shit, what the hell happened? Who did that to you?" Billy said. Voice stepped past them putting her hands to my face like a mother to a chubby newborn.

"I got mugged... at the storage unit." Voice's eyes shifted from the gash above my eye to meet my gaze.

"Hmm... you're going to need stitches." She took my hand in hers. "Come on luv, we'll get you patched up."

"Ok good, I was going to suggest that. Lemme just change my clothes real quick and I'll come along."

"Don't worry about it; it's not a big deal. It'd be better if maybe you could stay here; June might call. We shouldn't be gone long, maybe a couple hours at most."

Starla raised an eyebrow and tilted her head as though she was trying to re-arrange her thoughts.

"You sure?" She glanced at Billy and made eye contact for the first time. "Um... it's no problem for me really."

"It's alright dear; we'll deal with this here right quick and be back before you know it." Voice chimed in as she led me to the door.

A wave of nausea climbed from my stomach to my as we stepped out into the afternoon sun. Concussion-like symptoms, not a good sign. Then again, I hadn't eaten since yesterday; the Florida heat can do wonders to a girl with low blood sugar. I covered it well by grabbing hold of the passenger's side door of the Escalade. My English friend was on her cell, her voice filled with hushed fury like a hurricane caught in a thick glass container, as she eased herself into the back seat. Billy had taken an extra moment to speak to his former sweetheart on the front steps before getting into the driver's seat. I didn't hear what was said but Starla stared after him, after us, through the window with the same shy smile she'd had that day in high school at Jerry's Diner.

"Alright..." Billy started the luxury vehicle and began to back out of the driveway. "Are you okay? What happened for real?"

"It was that cheeky wanker wasn't it? Mason, yeah?"

"He was there but it was his boy Poindexter who knocked me out... there was at least one other guy too."

Billy's knuckles whitened as his grip on the steering wheel tightened.

"Where's this kid live? We'll take care of him after we get you patched up."

I clenched my hands into tiny fists of jittery energy, forcing them still and away from the itchy wound above my eye. I could feel the tiny bugs returning, growing in number and speed for every second the gash remained unattended.

"Screw my stitches, I need to get to them now. They took all of my V-10. All of it. That's like my... they took all of it and I don't know what they're doing with it. Please guys, it's not like I can call June or the cops on this."

Voice took hold of the side of my face as though she were holding a precious crystal vase, cracked and on the verge of breaking, turning to face the wound. She squinted, focusing on the damage.

"It's still raw but I suppose it can stay for a bit." She reached under her seat and withdrew a small metal box, a first aid kit. "Let me tape it up 'til we get you fixed up proper."

"Hey, so where's this kid live? We going after him or what?" Billy called out, his eyes focused on the road before him.

My eyes closed as Voice taped a small bandage to my head. It pushed in on the wound, sending a jolt of pain along my spine.

"Mason lives on campus." I was in the storage unit again. Mason stood frozen beside my boxes of X. His mouth moved and seemed to struggle for words and air. He was consumed... but not by shock but by something more. "I don't think they'd have it there. Mason was scared or at least looked it, and the other guy, the one I didn't see, it sounded like he was taking orders from Poindexter. I bet they've got it there... wherever it is that he lives."

"That wanker with glasses? Hold on, let me ring up my mate, he'll know where this git lives."

We sat idle at the side of the road for several minutes as voice "chatted" on her cell. I glanced at the clock on the dashboard; it was almost 2:30 in the afternoon. They'd had my V-10 stash for over twelve hours... my mind raced. The possibilities. Who knows what they've been doing with it. I bound and gagged my imagination and shoved it into the closet of my mind. Beside me Billy sat with one hand on the wheel and the other hanging out the open window to his left, his face grimacing like he'd eaten something he hated.

"I'm going to kick his ass don't you worry." He was looking at me now. "Mason, Poindexter... whoever the hell..."

"I just... want my stuff back." I forced a smile. "I'm sorry about this. Some vacation huh? You're here less than a week and already I need your help."

"That's what brothers are for. Besides, kicking ass and taking names... nothing beats it."

Behind us, Voice slid her phone shut with a prominent click.

"157 Bleeker Street. The bloke lives out of a two story flat, three blocks north of the UCF campus."

"Nice." Billy steered us out into the street, the sound of tires screeching and smell of burning rubber filling the air.

We were mere minutes away from our destination, minutes away from my... not revenge, but the word felt so fitting. I wanted to take back what was mine and see the thieves repaid in pain; it was an unusual feeling.

"He live alone? I know that area, Bleeker Street. Those are huge houses down there, old frat house style places. How'd he afford a place like that?"

Voice shrugged and reached down beneath her seat, pulling a black attaché case free.

"Haven't the foggiest clue. My mate tells me the lad's been running something out of there, fraternity boys and sorority girls running in and out all hours of the day."

"Drugs... probably; smack dab in the middle of college town, no wonder's he's got such a huge house, probably making buckets of cash." Billy reached into his jacket and manipulated the slight bulge he had been concealing. "Maddie, you got any guns here? I got my piece but it'd be nice to have-"

The attaché opened with a snap; inside lay two black handguns and an automatic machine pistol, a Beretta I think.

"Plenty, we need more bodies though; I'd rather not be violently overwhelmed, yeah?" She pulled the machine pistol free, checked the safety, and then slid in a fresh clip all visible from the rearview mirror. "What about your boy Zero? Another special forces man couldn't hurt, could it?"

Zero. The pale spectre, another dumb fire missile to be aimed to the detriment of my opposers, like Billy in high school. God... I mean gosh, I sounded like Billy's father; friends weren't friends they were utilities and weapons, opposers were the enemy and victims collateral damage. No. I needed my V-10.

"Oy! You alright?" Voice nudged me from behind through the car seat. My eyes flashed open, I hadn't even realized they'd been closed... another fine concussion symptom.

"Yeah, no, I'm good, just resting my eyes." I glanced outside; we were parked across from an old three storey house, a sprawling green lawn stretch out before it with a metal post placed in the center. A blue sign was attached to it... number 100. Billy stood in front of the Escalade, leaning against the hood as he spoke into his cell.

"Poindexter's flat is the next block over; Zero's there now or in the area anyway, checking it out, chatting with William on the phone." She reached over my seat, a gun hanging loosely from her hand. Though I could see that the safety was on, my hands shook as I took it. It was cold and so heavy as though its power and implications had physical mass.

"Am I really going to need this?"

"No." Voice sighed and pulled the top off of her silver flask filled with lord knows what kind of alcohol, something strong I'm sure. "I hope not anyway. Better safe than sorry, yeah?"

She took a swig and winced as she swallowed. My hands wouldn't stop shaking.

"Yo." Billy slid back into the driver's seat, slamming the door shut and starting the engine in one odd yet fluid motion.

"Zero's scoped the place out. At least three guys inside all on the main floor... one of them is Poindexter. There are three entry points; the front door which leads to the main floor, the side door also leads to the main floor, and the back door to the basement. The basement windows are frosted and barred so we don't know what's down there... Zero's going to enter through the basement; he'll be in by the time we get there. Voice, take the side, I'll take the front. Cherry, you come in behind me. We're going in hot and fast, if any of these dudes draw on us we blast 'em-"

Guys, I just want my stuff, that's the main thing. I don't necessarily want anyone shot up."

"Yeah well...” Billy shifted the Escalade into drive. "We'll keep that in mind."

His heavy foot almost put the accelerator pedal through the floor and the SUV exploded with speed, moving like a guided missile towards the poor bastards who had made themselves my enemies and by extension Billy and Voice's enemies. The streets were pretty empty and thank goodness for that; Billy drove with such speed and purpose that it would've been almost impossible for him to avoid any random pedestrians that happened to cross our path. I could see out destination just up ahead. The house stood out amongst the others for its rather diminutive size; it wasn't small per se but it paled in comparison to its neighbours. Somehow this made me feel a little better. We screeched to a halt one house down; Voice and Billy gushed out of the car like flood waters escaping a broken dam. I followed him to the front, the uncomfortable weight of my weapon slowing me down some. Billy vaulted the three concrete steps leading to the door and threw a fierce kick at the lock; it splinted under the impact and flew open. He rushed in without hesitation and I followed while doing my best to keep low.

"What the F@^K?" A voice called out; I didn't have to see the source to know it was Poindexter.

"Sit your ass back down." Billy said, his voice low, his weapon drawn.

I shut the broken door behind me. We had entered into a small lobby that led into a white carpeted living room with off-white painted walls and a paid of beige sofas that faced a wall mounted HD LCD TV. Fragrant smoke, the by-product of several smoldering pot cigars resting on the moderate coffee table at the center of the room, filled the air and empty cans of imported beer lay in a pile on the floor. Poindexter and another guy, a familiar looking young black man, sat one on each sofa. They'd been watching one of those "Girls Gone Wild" videos... classy. Through the smoke and disarray I almost missed Mason's prone form amongst the pile of cans. He smiled and remained motionless save for his eyes which darted back and forth, looking but not seeing. Bugs were all over him and the walls and the furniture, crawling in erratic patterns.

"Mason, where is it? Where's my V-10 you son of a bitch?" I raced over to him and shoved my gun in his face. I hadn't even taken the safety off.

"Mmm Cherry... Cherry." He mumbled; drool flowed from his open mouth.

"Answer me you bastard!" My heart was racing now and I could feel my face getting hot. He laughed in reply and rolled onto his back. I slammed the handle of the gun into the side of his face.

"He isn't going to tell you anything. He's been trippin' for hours." Poindexter said.

A small gash had opened on Mason's cheek, the product of my assault. My hands shook; the gun I held felt like a forty pound dumbbell.

"Snap out of it!" I screamed. No effect.

Voice crept into the room, her weapon low, safety off, and somewhere a high pitched whine whispered.

"What's he on?" I pointed the weapon at Poindexter, his lip twisted in a sneer like a wild dog threatening its prey.

"You tell me bitch, it was your stuff he took. The honey colored stuff, I don't know what that shit was."

"Watch your mouth..." Billy jabbed the bespectacled homeowner in the head with the muzzle of his weapon. My mind shuffled through Poindexter's words.

"What do you mean?" The gun in my hand steadied.

"Mase took some of you shit and ended up like that." Poindexter pointed to his inebriated friend while keeping his gaze on Billy's looming weapon.

"We were chillin' after... um... after we liberated the stuff from the storage--" The black man who had remained silent up to this point interjected.

"You mean stole, don't you?" Voice now stood with her weapon at shoulder height. Her beautiful face was set with grim certainty. "You bloody ponces, I should put a bullet in each of your useless heads."

"--we were chillin', having a couple drinks before we decided what to do an' stuff. Mason said he wanted to test it out... so he took some an' he's been out of it ever since." He continued. His voice trembled.

"How much did he take? How long ago?" I asked. My heart was an engine burning on nitrous.

"One capsule maybe eight hours ago."

"You made some pretty potent shit bitch." Poindexter chuckled. The loud thud that followed came from Billy's retaliatory attack I assume, I was too lost in the screaming questions of my own mind to watch.

"Impossible." I whispered. V-10 was my heart and soul; I'd tested it on myself for months. I'd injected it, eaten it, applied it topically, consumed it in every physical form possible is dosages I thought could be too little and knew to be too much. I'd experienced immediate fainting spells, excessive drowsiness, and extreme nausea as the worst side effects... but Mason... it looked like he was on heroin or some other powerful narcotic. I couldn't afford to be lost like this now; I'd study the samples when I got back to the lab.

"Where is it... the rest of it?" I demanded.

"We sold it." Poindexter spoke through bloody lips, picking up a stray tooth from the ground where he knelt. "At first folks only wanted the X and we gave away a couple capsules for free but after a couple hours they just wanted your stuff. It went fast."

"Bullshit." Billy said, kicking Poindexter in the ribs, sending him rolling onto his back beside Mason.

"I don't give a shit what you believe. All I have left is a box of X... take it, no one else'll want it now."

He was lying, he had to be.

"We'll take a look around on our own if you don't mind." Voice said, sliding her gun into the waist of her faded blue jeans.

We didn't wait for his reply. Billy kept an eye on my former assailants and soon to be victims while Voice and I tore through his kitchen. Nothing. We ripped through the bedrooms and found nothing except a couple of really expensive bottles of Cognac and an extensive collection of dirty magazines. I moved my search to the basement, leaving Voice to continue ravaging the main floor. I hadn't even reached the bottom of the stairs before the aroma of marijuana plants hit me like a brick to the face. There were rooms of plants resting on tables beneath bright fluorescent lights. A full fledged grow-op... it explained so much. I had never seen such lush green plants; they filled the basement like a miniature rainforest, beautiful in a way. Zero stood at the far end of the room, his pale skin glowing under the bright lights, a cardboard box rested in his hands.

"These boys've been busy huh?" He passed the box to me. It was full of X, I recognized it as my own but it meant nothing. "It's all they got though. The got plants and dried weed, wrapping paper and that there box but nothin' else."

I cursed under my breath but I knew Zero had heard it. He looked away and ran his hand across an especially large plant on the table closest to him. The high pitched whine that had been poking my brain like a dull needle for the past 20 minutes now screamed a whisper, digging a hole into the pain center of my brain. I closed my eyes and for a moment it felt like everything in the world was imploding, beginning with my skull. Cold fingers clutched at my forearm and my eyes flashed open.

"Hey, you alright?" Zero's voice pushed aside the pain and the noise. The chill of his skin had begun to seep into my bones.

"Yeah." I shrugged my arm free. "Yes. Just a migraine."

"Right." He pulled his hand away, shoving it into his jacket pocket like a concealed weapon. "I think we should go."

My eyes were glued to his black clad form as he climbed the stairs with silent speed. I glanced back at the spread of plants, lush green plants... and an especially large one that had shriveled up into dry brown ash.

The smell of weed had been replaced with the poignant aroma of Cognac; the floor was soaked through with it. Voice held an empty bottle in one hand and a green gym bag in the other; she swayed like a blade of grass in the summer breeze.

"Some strong stuff this." She raised the bottle to me and smiled. "Good thing it wasn't wasted on these wankers." The bottle flew from her hand, shattering against the wall above that familiar guy's head, who winced and did his best to shield his face.

Billy and Zero kept their eyes and guns on Poindexter's tenderized body.

"Who did you sell it to? And where's the money?" I called out, hoping Poindexter was conscious enough to understand my words.

"Oy, I found this sack of cash under the kitchen sink. It's a good amount." Voice said as she zipped the bag open to reveal stacks upon stacks of hundred dollar bills.

"Yeah that's it, it's all we got left." He croaked, easing himself to his knees. "That's all I'm sayin' so take that shit and get the hell out of my house."

Zero chuckled and cocked his gun; I'd only just now noticed the slender silencer attached to the muzzle.

"Now listen here boy. Your life's hangin' in the balance. That gal, the one you attacked and robbed, is the only thing keepin' the rest of us from slaughterin' y'all like pigs. Show the lady some respect. Tell her what she wants to know and you'll get out of here... understand?" Poindexter shrank back under the Texan's cold gaze and nodded. "Thank you."

I got the gist of his threat but all I really heard was "Thank You." His slight accent made the words sound so very quaint, it sounded like "Thang Cue" and I couldn't help but think about that country music singer who always sang about how terrible his wife and pick-up truck were. Poindexter grinned; he was missing two teeth now and his lower lip was split and bloodied.

"We sold it to a bunch of people, but we dumped most of it with Jupiter. Good luck getting it back from him." His words were followed by a chuckle that morphed into a wheezing cough.

"Bloody hell." She didn't hide her surprise. Voice nudged me on the shoulder. "I know that bloke; works with Gideon all the time... figures. Let's get out of 'ere."

"Yeah." I started to back away to the remains of the front door. "If you're lying..."

"I'm not." Poindexter replied.

I glanced at Mason as we headed out. He was still in and out of consciousness, smiling non-stop at some joke or hidden pleasure that was beyond our understanding. Billy urged me forward but I couldn't take my eyes off my former lab partner and the swarm of bugs that continued to scale the length of his body in erratic patterns. As I stepped outside into the decaying afternoon, leaving behind the havoc we had wrought in honor of my work, the high pitched whine crawled up my spine and one of the bugs vanished into dust.

Chapter 6: Saturnine

Six hours earlier…

I’ve never been a fan of red light. Don’t get me wrong, it’s useful sometimes; infra-red rocks and no laser scope would be complete without it. Still, red light sucks. It means stop, it means danger, error, it means something’s wrong, and if you see it on your shirt during a ranged firefight, red means your time’s almost up. Yet here we sit, the blades of the chopper cutting the air like knives in hostile flesh, enveloped by red stealth lighting. It made us harder to see in the night sky, always a good thing when moving through hostile territory, but still we should’ve known something bad was coming.
“Eyes up Saturnine. This ain’t no pleasure cruise.” The Sergeant said. He wasn’t familiar at all but I was supposed to know him.
“No wonder I never got that food I ordered.” I’ve never spoken to the Sarge like that. He’d be dead when the guns blazed.
Athena sat across from me and gave me a wink. I’d always thought she had a pretty face and a hot body but the bullet wound at the side of her head was distracting. It made her look like a zombie what with all that blood and stench of decay.
“Damn Sarge, give the guy a break! Billy boy here’s still a growing boy. He never had the nightmare yet… needs to catch his z’s while he can.” It came from her mouth but it wasn’t her voice. She never talked like that.
“Nightmare? Come on, the good guys are getting sick and beaten while the bad guys aren’t dying hardly fast enough. When the hell am I going to wake up?” I said.
“Good question.” Athena had Starla’s picture in her hand. It was sucked right out the window. “Well you know this age of guns and flowers and nuclear power, maybe happiness is too much to ask for. Who are we kidding anyway, you’re gonna spend the rest of my life on this chopper.”
There was a loud bang, an explosion, and the floor ripped out from beneath us. Flames grabbed at my feet and I could smell barbecued… raspberries?
My eyes opened. I’d had the same nightmare every night for the past month. I remembered the other guys in my unit waking up screaming in the barracks every night. I never screamed. Good thing too considering the hot body that slept beside me. Her arm was draped across my chest, her caramel colored flesh hot and still damp with sweat. She’d been drinking, both of us had since getting back from Profane. One thing led to another and hours later we awoke in bed together, her body naked save for the silver choker wrapped around her scarred neck; it had happened before and would probably happen again.
“Mmm… William, you alright?”
She was the only one who called me William. Sometimes she was so damned formal… I loved it.
“Yeah.” I rolled onto my side and rested my hand on her slender hip beneath the thin blanket that covered us both. “Did I say something in my sleep? Did I wake you up?”
“Your heart…” she slid her hand across my chest, tracing a faded scar I’d gotten during a pretty rough knife fight years back. “It’s beating like a jackhammer.”
She smelled like raspberries, tasted like it too… it relaxed me.
“Nah, it’s nothing. Had a dream is all.”
She smiled that same smile that had graced the cover of Rolling Stone all those years ago.
“A dream eh? Was I a prominent figure in this dream?”
“It wasn’t that kind of dream… more like a freaky nightmare.”
“Oh yeah?” She eased herself onto her elbow, rested her head on one hand, and ran her other hand through my hair. “You’re not going war-crazy on me are you?’
I laughed.
“Yeah, I don’t do ‘war-crazy’; just regular crazy, the way you like it.”
“Good Lord!” She laughed and leaned in to kiss me. "You are so cheesy sometimes.”
She rolled out of bed and slid into her silk multi-colored house-coat.
“Care to join me for a hot shower?” She asked, calling over her shoulder as she headed towards the bathroom.
“Since I’m the reason you’re all sweaty, it’s only right that I help you out, right?”
“Spot on.” She glanced at the digital clock that hung on the wall. Her eyes widened. “My word, it’s almost one; we’ve wasted half the day already. I need to get started… our shower will have to wait until tonight, lover.”
Lover. It sounded weird coming from her. It, this, wasn’t love. My eyes followed her as she closed the bathroom door, dropping her house-coat a second before entering. I heard the shower running and imagined what I was missing. No, it wasn’t love. It was mutual lust mixed with chemistry and just enough alcohol. I had no problem with it and I hoped she felt the same. Over the sound of rushing water I could hear her singing; her voice pitch perfect and powerful. It was one of her old hits from back in the day, the guys in the barracks used to blast her music before shipping out. It got us fired up and ready to change the world with bullets and bombs. Her voice climbed, she’d reached the big ending. It reached a peak and… cracked, twisted, and broke.
“Shite… goddamn it.” She swore.
I slide out of bed into the blue jeans on the floor; I needed coffee, or a beer… maybe both, something to get me started. Hard to believe but she wore me out after drinking me under the table. At least I was hang-over free. I opened the cabinet above the shiny metal stove in her kitchen, looking for some instant Folgers but all I found was Tetley tea bags and two combat knives. She loved her tea. Inside the matching fridge were bottles of beer and Guinness Stout; a hunting knife was wedged into the veggie crisper. I grabbed a stout figuring it was the closest thing to coffee I’d find. I wasn’t a fan but whatever. The bottle’s cap popped off and slid on to the floor just as the phone started to ring. The call display screen said “Blocked Caller” but I picked it up anyway. It’d been years since I told off a telemarketer.
“Yeah, hello?”
There was no answer. I could hear sounds, rapid shallow breaths… someone hyperventilating.
“Hey, you going to say something or what?”
“Billy?”
Her voice boomed in my head like an undetected IED detonation. Starla. She’d been in my dreams almost every other night… most of them weren’t fun.
“Starla, hey. Um… how are you?
“Did I call—“ She paused. “Oh yeah, you’re staying with Voice.”
“Yeah, for now.” My heart was beating harder and faster than I would’ve liked. “Figured you wouldn’t want me staying with you guys while I was in town.
“I wouldn’t have minded.” She replied.
“I was gonna stop by or call but—“
“That’s not why I called. Is Cherry there? She never came home last night and I haven’t been able to reach her on her cell.”
“No, she’s not here… haven’t seen her since the night before last.”
“And she didn’t call or anything? I thought she was maybe blowing me off but now I don’t know. I’m getting worried.”
“Shit… maybe she stayed at work overnight? Got caught up on some project or something?”
Starla sighed, her voice trembled.
“I called the lab and no answer. Besides I know she’d answer her cell.”
Voice stood behind me, her bath robe clinging to her still moist body. Her eyes were wide and questioning.
“Hold on.” I put my hand over the phone receiver. “It’s Starla… says Cherry’s missing.”
Her eyes widened and she grabbed the phone. Her mind always went to grim places first like an overprotective mom; she probably thought Cherry was lying in a ditch somewhere. Me? I knew she was alright. She was alright. I repeated that thought two more times but it wouldn’t stick. That cold chill feeling crawled up my neck just like it always did when I found myself in the line of fire.

10 Minutes ago…

“I don’t give a shit what you believe…”
This kid wasn’t scared enough. Glasses were breaking, things were being ripped; the ladies were wreaking havoc. It shouldn’t be like this. Five minutes of cutting and pummeling, broken bones and shattered teeth, and these kids would be begging to help us. Cherry couldn’t take it, my methods; when it came to violence of the real-life variety she was pretty soft. She’d have nightmares about pistol whipping Mason as it is. But these kids, Poindexter, he wasn’t scared enough to break… yet.
“Alone at last huh?” I smiled as I aimed my gun at the bridge of his dirty glasses.
Poindexter looked pissed. Their white carpet had blood on it, poised to become a stain.
“F&#k you.” He spat.
I slammed my foot into his ribs to shut him up. His friend, the nervous looking black guy, was sweating like mad. Tears were in his eyes and he stank of fear, or a mixture of weed, beer, and B.O. Fear would keep him from trying anything stupid and that would save me a bullet or two.
“Oy, look at this!” Voice was back in the bloodied living room with an opened gym bag full of cash.
“Nice.” I noticed the mostly empty bottle of cognac in her hand. “You gonna give me some of that?”
“Sorry dear, this would put you on the floor.” She drained the last of it.

Cherry and Zero had ripped through the basement and had come up empty-handed; the whole excursion had been pointless for the most part. We were up a few thousand at least, that was good, and even better we knew who to go to next. Jupiter… a guy named Jupiter. Dumbest name I’d ever heard but I could tell it freaked Voice out big time. She wanted to leave, Cherry did to, but I knew we couldn’t leave things like this.
“I’ll meet you guys at the car.” I stopped just outside the front door. “I wanna have a quick chat with those kids.”

Now…
Poindexter was on his feet by the time I got back in, his hand on the beige rotary phone on the floor beside the couch. He froze the moment he saw me and in that second I was on him. My foot lashed out catching him in the abdomen just below his solar plexus. He crumbled like I knew he would and rolled hard into the wall behind him.
“What the f&#k? What do you want now?”
“Who were you about to call asshole?”
“Your mom… wanted to know if she was free tonight.” Venom dripped from his words; another kick to the face and a pair of teeth joined that venom.
“Whatever. Hey dude…” I glanced at his still frightened companion. “You got a light?”
He scrambled over to me with a book of matches.
“Nice, thanks.” I holstered my gun. “Look, you guys lucked out here. You’re lucky Cherry’s as nice as she is, she doesn’t want you dead. If it were up to me you’d be rotting in a ditch by now.”
“It’s not like we raped her.” Poindexter said, digging a grave that I knew I’d put him in sooner rather than later.
“Shut your goddamn mouth and listen. She doesn’t want you dead… but I do. This right now is your ticket to life. Get the f&#k out of town, tonight. If I see you in town again… scratch that, if I see you around period, I will put a f&#king bullet in your head. I am not playing. You hear me?
Poindexter sat in silence for a moment, picking up his teeth.
“Yeah, I hear you.”
“I bet the second I leave you’ll be on the phone to your boy Gideon or whoever, looking for a way out.” I opened the book of matches and pulled one free. It came to life with a hiss, a micro explosion of heat and light. “I’ve got a tip and an incentive for ya. Next time you decide to stock up on booze… stick to beer or some cheap sh$t. Don’t blow your load on stuff that burns like rocket fuel.”
I flicked the match, sending it onto the cognac soaked carpet. It erupted in flames with intense heat. Poindexter jumped back in startled fear.
“Holy--!” His buddy screamed.
“Don’t even try putting it out, the whole place will be up in minutes and I doubt you idiots have an extinguisher to deal with this. “I tossed the rest of the matchbook into the already flames. “And when the fire department gets here, they’ll figure out this was arson and they’ll look deeper and know this joint was a grow-op. The cops’ll come with questions you can’t answer… and you know if you point the finger at me, I’ll kill you before you can even blink. Your best choice here is to run. It’s not your only choice, but it’s the one that’ll keep you alive and out of jail.”
I turned to the front door, looking to escape the fire that was on the verges of becoming insane.
“Remember what I said…” I smiled and glanced back at them. Poindexter had pulled himself upright, his face pale. He now knew fear.

I didn’t bother to look back as I stepped out the front door. The flames ate away at the floor, smoke had begun to fill the air and I could hear movement back in the house. Cherry sat in the back seat of the SUV with the window open; she rocked back and forth in her seat with her arms folded across her chest the way she used to when we were kids. The engine was running; Voice sat in the passenger’s seat.
“What’d you do? You kill the gits?”
“No, but still we gotta go right now.” I slid into the driver’s seat. The streets were still pretty empty; it was a good thing. “Where’s Zero?”
“Peeled out on his bike a minute ago.”
A loud crash distracted me for a second as the front windows of the house shattered. The fire had caught on a lot quicker than I’d expected. I knew they didn’t have smoke detectors, no self-respecting grow-op would, but even the most indifferent neighbour would notice the black smoke and call it in. We were two blocks away by the time the crowds started to gather and the sirens started to ring in the distance.
“So, where do we find this Jupiter cat?” I kept my eyes on the road and the speedometer; it would suck to get pulled over for speeding with guns and a box of ecstasy in the back.
“Are you mad? You don’t just go and see him.” Voice said.
“What? What do you mean?” Cherry’s voice was like a knife across steel.
“He’s not that ponce Poindexter or even Gideon. He’s so far beyond that. Like the Cartel or the mafia…”
“So how did Mason and them get in to see him?” Cherry’s little hands clutched the back of Voice’s seat.
“Gideon. They probably went to him and he brought it through.”
“Let’s go see Gideon then, make him take us to see Jupiter. I don’t have time to waste, they’ve still got—“
“Where’s Gideon at? Where’s he live?” I asked, cutting short Cherry’s panicked rant and drew a brief but harsh glare from Voice.
“Who knows? He has a gentleman’s club on Main near where that boxing gym used to be.” Voice turned back towards Cherry and put her hand to her bruised face. She looked battered and worn, worse than before. “We need to get you to a hospital, dear.”
I’d made sure we were headed to the newest hospital regardless of what Cherry said. She was driven but had no clue about the way these things worked. She was wading into world that could eat her alive… would eat her alive unless someone looked out for her; and if I had to burn this city down to do that, so be it. As we pulled into the hospital parking lot I already knew it was full. That suited me just fine; I stopped at the emergency entrance.
“You guys go ahead, I’m going to circle around and look for a spot.”
Cherry slid out with a sigh; I expected a fight from her and was surprised when I didn’t get one. Voice stared at me for a split second before getting out and in that moment I saw it. She knew. She looked into my eyes for less than a second; she knew but didn’t say a word. She pushed the passenger door shut and looked back at me, mouthing the words “be careful” before disappearing into the hospital. The attaché case under the seat still had a few clips left. Perfect. I’d need them where I was going.

I knew the streets pretty well considering I was on an occasional visitor but it still took me a while to find the right place. It wasn’t what I expected. When Voice said it was a “gentleman’s club” I figured it was just her fancy English way of saying “Strip Club.” Of course that wasn’t exactly what I found. There was a stage that stretched like a fashion runway from the far end through the center of the room surrounded by circular cloth covered tables. The place was full of the Wall Street crowd; old guys in thousand dollar suits, sipping scotch and bourbon, younger men and the occasional woman dressed in equally expensive suits drinking enough to feel it but not enough to lose it in front of the CEOs in their midst. In my worn blue jeans, black boots, jacket and button down Anarchy t-shirt, I was anything but inconspicuous; the regulars would remember me if something went down… not the ideal situation but I’ve dealt with worse. I made my way through the crowds to reach the bar which seemed to have every kind of alcohol known to man. The bartender, a curvy blonde dressed in a black blouse and matching skirt, gave me a quick once over and smiled.
“Casual day at the office?” she asked, still smiling her pretty smile that probably was her key tip-getting asset.
“Yeah.” I smiled and leaned against the bar. “Listen, is Gideon here?”
“She looked at me, her brow all furrowed.
“The guy who owns this place, is he here? I heard he works out of here a lot.” I said, my voice raised like I was speaking to someone who didn’t understand English.
“Oh, yeah, yes he should be in his office.” She stood on her toes and pointed over the crowd, past the elevated runway to a door near the back. “Over there. I think he’s in a meeting though.”
I pulled a crisp ten dollar bill from my pocket and dropped it into her half empty tip jar.
“He won’t mind the interruption. Thanks.”
The bar was getting close to capacity; I needed to get this done quickly. I knew the more people who showed up, the harder it would be to get out. It all depended on how this interaction went anyway. I wasn’t looking for a fight but I knew that’s how it would end. Everything ends in violence, dad always said the trick was to learn to adapt to it… and enjoy it when you could.
I waded through the men in ties and women in power suits and caught more than a few glances by the time I reached the office door, which was “guarded.” The average Wall Street guy sipping on their expensive liquor wouldn’t have noticed it but the clean cut suited white guy, a couple inches taller than me with cauliflower ears, looked ready to pounce. His sinewy hands clenched as I approached.
“Can I help you sir?” He asked. He gave me the once over and sneered for a fraction of a second.
“Here to see Gideon… he’s expecting me.”
“Oh yeah?” He pulled a cell out of his jacket and put it to his ear. “What’s your name bud?”
“Saturnine.” I was wasting time but it couldn’t be helped.
We were far enough away from the crowds to be sure our conversation wouldn’t be overheard but getting into scuffle with this guy would draw immediate attention that I could do without. He whispered into his phone, looked at me then slid it back into his pocket. I knew that look and had a good idea of what was coming next.
“He’s never heard of you. Get the f@#k out of here.”
Things always turned out this way. The cold metal of my gun ached against the small of my back; the muzzle was out and jammed into the guard’s ribs before he could blink. I’d done this so many times before, it was as easy as brushing my teeth.
“Open that goddamn door now.” I whispered and he heard me.
“You gonna shoot me in front of all these people?”
“Damn straight.” I shoved the weapon deeper into his side and he flinched. “Gideon’s not gonna buy you a new kidney for taking a bullet. Now get to it!”
He unlocked it and I shuffled him inside. It wasn’t that big of a room; a leather couch, wooden desk, TV and a pool table filled it. Gideon sat behind that desk, eating a sandwich while reading the paper and watching the news. Two other guys were in the middle of a game when I entered; they didn’t stop playing but still looked ready for a fight.
“What is this? Jackson, I told you, no interruptions.” Gideon set his sandwich down and gestured towards me. “Who’s this?”
I shoved the doorman hard; Jackson was his name I guess, putting some much needed distance between us. They saw my gun and acted as I figured they would, grabbing for their own weapons.
“Don’t. Put your guns on the table and back away.”
If they were smart they’d grab their guns and move in on me. They’d all die of course but strategically speaking it’d be the right call based on the info they had. I was half disappointed when they complied.
“Who the hell are you? You walked into the wrong room pal, you don’t know who you’re f@#king with…” the shorter of the two guys at the pool table started on a threatening tirade, giving in to his obvious little man complex.
“Take it easy, I came here to talk business not to shoot up the place… although I will, depending on how this goes.” I stepped further into the room. “I don’t necessarily want any trouble.”
I lied. Trouble was like an ice cold beer on a crazy hot day. I could see it grabbing at the edges of my sight but I knew it was time to focus.
“So what do you want? What’s this business you want to discuss?” Gideon spoke up.
“I heard you’ve been doing some transactions with Jupiter lately.”
“I don’t know who you’re talking about.” His cell phone rang, the ringtone cutting through the din of the club. He picked it up and glanced at the call display. “I’ve never heard of anyone named Jupiter outside of Roman mythology. Excuse me, I need to take this.”
He answered his phone. I had a gun pointed at his head and he still answered his phone. The cocky bastard had guts, and it seemed more and more probable that those guts would be littering the floor in the next few minutes.
“Put that goddamn phone down now.” I did my best to keep my voice level but I was getting pissed. He ignored me, his face betraying urgency on the verge of angered panic. I didn’t know what was being said but it worried him more than the gun pointed at his head. I took a step closer.
“I said put that damn phone down. I swear I’m going to blow a hole right through your head.”
My eyes were on Gideon. I didn’t even notice the doorman who had gotten to his feet and inched closer to me until his hands were wrapped around the muzzle of my gun. My grip was tight and I had leverage but he threw my aim off long enough for his boys to regain their composure and move for their guns. A quick kick to the groin sent him to his knees; a cheap shot but a lot cleaner than a bullet to the head. I flipped the pool table end over end, trapping their guns underneath a few seconds before the short one was within reach. His nose exploded like a busted fire hydrant of blood when the butt of my gun slammed into his face; he was too busy choking on his own blood to scream or spew his little man threats. His buddy was quicker and wrapped his flabby forearm around my neck, knocking my gun on to the bloodied floor. It wasn’t a concern, I didn’t need it to deal with this dude. No doubt he was strong but he was out of shape and sloppy, his hold irritated when it should’ve at least inconvenienced me. I grabbed his arm at the wrist and twisted with both hands; the snap and the scream that followed told me I’d done it right. The fierce punch that followed sent him to the floor in a heap of semi-conscious pain. Gideon had remained seated through all of it, his hand buried in his desk drawer where he likely kept his gun. Despite his efforts to appear calm his rapid breathing and sweat riddled forehead betrayed a fear he probably wasn’t used to. His visible hand shook like a rotting muffler. I knew why he refused to draw his gun; his hands shook so much the he couldn’t aim it if he tried.
“Now…” I picked up my gun and moved to the front of his desk, “Jupiter. I know you sold to him or gave something to him or whatever.”
“Giuseppe, yeah, yes we had dealings.” His voice was more or less steady.
“I know, and I know where you got that stuff from. Your boys have sticky fingers; it’s never a good idea to take what doesn’t belong to you.”
“No, no I—“
“Don’t bullshit me. I’m not mad, I just want the opportunity to talk to this dude. You know, there’s business to be done.” My voice shook him more.
“Business? What’s that got to do with me?” Gideon asked.
“You’re my hook-up. I need you to set up a meeting.” I holstered my gun and pulled a card from my pocket with my prepaid number. “Call me with the when and where.”
I dropped the card on his desk and turned to leave, stopping just inside the office door.
“Don’t screw me on this. I came in here with one gun, a few bullets, and no plan and still got close enough to put a cap in that thick skull of yours. Double cross me on this and… listen to me here… double cross me and I will destroy you. I’ll f@#king destroy you.”

Chapter 7: Number One Fan

She fidgeted. Fingers, hands, feet, she wouldn't sit still. Universal health care meant everyone received care but it also meant waiting times; I couldn't abide it and Cherry wasn't dealing with it well. I couldn't blame her. The last time I was in a hospital I.. it wasn't a pleasant stay.

"Settle down dear, the doctor will be out soon." I said.

Bloody hospitals. They smelled of anti-septic, reminded me of cold steel and searing pain. I wanted a drink but it was forbidden, or at least strongly discouraged.

"You'd think they'd put me in the VIP line or something, me being a doctor and all. I can't waste time here."

She rubbed her hands. It wasn't a fidget, she wiped them as though they were dirty and couldn't get clean.

"Honey, I understand this is important to you but you should know that it might be--"

"Don't say it." Cherry interrupted me. "It took me almost 10 years to make what they stole. Everything I had I put into its development. I'm not going to just leave it behind."

"Can't you just make more? You have all the formulas and such, don't you?" I asked, my attempts to diffuse her seemed to fall on cauterized ears.

"I can't afford to make more. I was using Griffin Labs' supply but I can't go back there now. I know Mason won't be back and I can't even start the production process on my own. I need my supply back, if I don't get it I'm thoroughly screwed."

"Darling, do we not have a bag full of cash in the car?" She wasn't listening. Her hands and fingers danced along her denim covered legs, picking away at little things beyond my perception.

"It's not enough." She whispered.

The hospital air burned my eyes and ate away at my skin. Beyond the crowd of anxious patients a nurse stood on her toes waving us forward.

"Looks like you're a VIP after all. Come along dear." She was like a feather as I helped her to her feet.

For all the waiting we had endured, the care she received from the nurse was a step or two above the service you'd get at a McDonalds. The petite woman disinfected Cherry's wound as though she were scrubbing stubborn grease from an old pot. She jabbed her gloved finger into the cut, asking, "Does that hurt?" as she did. A small metal tray that carried a scalpel, sutures, and other things that I could only assume were meant to fix the lacerations was wheeled over to Cherry's seated position.

"This will hurt a bit, " were her only words as she jabbed a needle into the heart of the injury, an anaesthetic I assume. Cherry didn't flinch, didn't whimper, didn't even wince. Tough girl or numb girl, I couldn't tell the difference.

"Very good, most people let the expletives fly when the needle goes in. You're a tough girl." The nurse tried to be supportive but came off with a semi-patronized tone.

"Profanity demeans us all," Cherry replied, monotone.

"Ok." The little nurse discarded the needle and picked up the sutures. "Once we're finished here we have you scheduled for a CT scan just to make sure nothing's wrong with your noggin'. We'll get you fixed up... but it may take a little while."

Cherry started forward at the words as though she were preparing to run. I put my hand on her shoulder and could feel her powerful pulse reverberate throughout her body.

"It's alright. We'll have enough time. Just let them fix you up dear." I glanced at the clock. "I'm going to head down to the cafeteria and get an energy bar or something. You want anything?"

"No... thanks."

The hallways were a maze of near constant distress and occasional madness. I never made it to the cafeteria; the sight of a man vomiting the most putrid smelling substance in the emergency room lobby killed whatever appetite I may have had. I had meant to call Billy anyway. I didn't want to wait until the six o'clock news to hear what sort of havoc he had wrought. I stepped out into the hospital parking lot where a group of three women stood, cigarettes in hand. One of them, she looked to be in her late 40's, wheeled an IV behind her. Her frail hands shook as she clutched an ash ridden cancer stick; she lifted it to her lips, paused, then put it to the tracheotomy tube that protruded from the incision in her throat. That rotted out, disgusting incision, darkened from nicotine... no, it wasn't nicotine. It was blood, dried blood, from a jagged cut with a rusty scalpel I'd bet. It would never heal. It would fester and spread and mar everything good and useful that remained in her wretched... I needed a drink. Scorpions stung my throat, beneath the leather choker that was a part of me. A straight shot of vodka would clear them out, it always did. There was a pub down the street, it called my name. I was there in moments, seated at the bar of the Screaming Cat. Terrible name but the first Tequila shot forced me to embrace a spirit of forgiveness. It was a dark place and empty for the most part, just the way I liked it. The bartender was a rail thin, gangly fellow in desperate need of a shave. He refilled the shot glass; I stopped him before he took the bottle.

"Leave it mate." I pulled a billfold from my pocket and threw it on the bar. "This ought to cover it."

He took the cash and smiled as he jammed it into the almost empty register. Behind and above the bar, a house burned to ash on the TV.

"You look so familiar. Have we met?" His voice was smooth and irksome, not what I expected.

"No we have not."

"Hmm." He leaned against the bar and studied me. "Your accent... where you from honey? England, right? What town?"

"A small village named 'Mind-Your-Own-Goddamned-Business. Now piss off and let me drink in peace."

He chuckled and wandered off to accomplish other business. That's how it starts, how it always started. Small talk. You tolerate it because it was polite, because it was pleasant until it wasn't. They worm their way into your business, your life, these small talkers. Strangers who want something of you or from you, and you tolerate it because it seemed harmless, until it wasn't. Until the small talker thinks you owe them, that they deserve what they want of you and when they can't get it they take it. They try anyway. They try with flowers and drugs and in the end they resort to metal, cold sharp metal that cuts and scars and try as you might... I took another swig of Cuervo. It soothed as it traveled down my throat. The bartender snapped his fingers.

"That's it, you're that singer, the one who got stabbed right? Shit, that was a damn shame." He poured himself a shot of scotch. "I gotta say, I cheered when I heard that the guy who did it got got, you know? I was a huge fan. You get at least one free shot in my place."

A huge fan. The words echoed in my head, burning and scarring like a piece of molten rock.

"I'm a huge fan!" The words were sweet when they first came from the young man with a bouquet of roses who had gotten past the concert venue security guards and greeted me near my dressing room.

"I'm your biggest fan!" The words were tinged with nervous electricity when the same young man appeared in the VIP Lounge in Las Vegas' Pure, chocolates in hand.

"I'm still your biggest fan!" The words dripped with terror and madness when the young man pulled the eight inch blade out of my bodyguard's chest and crept towards me. He spoke of love and loss as he slid the blade across my throat, my blood ruining the carpet of my posh New York apartment.

"I've got enough bloody fans." My only words when I returned the favour, opening his throat from ear to ear. Or at least those would have been my words had I been able to conjugate a coherent thought.

"Hey, you mind an autograph? For the bar?" He wouldn't let up.

My cell buzzed and flickered to life for a brief moment. A text message from Billy, he was on his way. Cherry would almost be finished her tests... ideally. A final swig of Cuervo warmed my insides and soothed my throat.

"Maybe next time." I slid an additional twenty onto the bar to cover my cheekiness. "Thanks for the drink mate."

Cherry was in the middle of an MRI by the time I got back. The waiting room was a literal ghost town... in the sense that it was empty, not that it was full of the disembodied essence of the departed. It was a poor choice of words. A lone video monitor suspended above the shiny Coke machine blanketed the room with soft noise. A female reporter spoke with controlled urgency over the crackling of a house consumed by flame. It was the same house as before but this time CNN carried the footage; I stood from my seat when that realization hit me. Of course it was the home that Billy had set ablaze but the footage showed people in hazmat suits as they cordoned off the area. "Unknown airborne contaminant cause of neighbourhood evacuation, " the banner on the screen read. The flames and the weed and whatever other drugs were in there... not a good mix.

"Incoming call." My cell rang with that bloody annoying ringtone I had meant to change.

"Hey. I'm in the parking lot." It was Billy, back from his secret excursion. "Where's Cherry? you guys ready?"

"She's still getting tests done. What happened with you? You didn't happen to see the news, did you?"

"No, I've been kind of busy."

"Never mind, it can wait. I'm in the neurology ward waiting room." My eyes were glued to the screen.

"Right. See you in a few."

I didn't even hear his last words as the call ended, the words "Breaking News" flashed on the screen and stole my full attention. The volume had been turned down, it didn't matter, the visuals said everything. The flames had been contained and eventually put out; yellow caution tape appeared to surround the consumed residence while fully suited individuals made their way to the street. Two paramedics, I assumed, in full hazmat gear pulled a stretcher from the front door, a black body bag resting on top. "Blaze contained. One body recovered." The flashing news banner was brief by told me enough.

"Oh shite."

"A body?" Billy's brow furrowed as though he'd heard an unsolvable riddle. "They were all alive when I left, I don't know what that's all about."

"They haven't said anything else on the news since."

Cherry stepped out of the exam room with a white sheet of paper in her hand. The soles of her white Nikes squeaked against the sterile hospital floor as she shuffled along, her eyes only half open as though of the power in her small frame was spent keeping her upright. Billy and I decided to keep the recent news to ourselves, at least until tomorrow or the day after.

"You alright dear?" I asked as I put my arm across her shoulders.

"No concussion, just bad bruising and some stitches. And some Co-codamol... it's nice." She folded the paper and shoved it into her pocket. "So, are we going to see Gideon now? Time's wasting."

"Uh, yeah, I already saw him. He's gonna get us in with Jupiter by tomorrow or so." Billy said as he let us out into the parking lot.

I expected a protest but got less than a mumble. She slid into the back seat and the air rushed out of her in a relaxed sigh. The drive home, her home, was quiet save for a few nonsensical mumbles.

"Going to bed. Call a bit later, ok?" She said as we arrived and she slid out of the car.

Starla met her at the front door and they disappeared inside together. We pulled away almost immediately afterward.

"She took that well."

"William, she was full of bloody codeine, we could've told her anything and she would've taken it well." I said. I reached under my seat for the spare bottle I kept there and cursed when I couldn't find it. "Did you--?

"You drank it earlier, before we picked up Cherry the first time, remember? You're not turning into one of those degenerate type drunks are you?" Billy smiled.

"Hell no." My throat burned. "So what's the plan here?"

"Like I said, Gideon's going to set up the meet, we chat with that Jupiter dude and everyone's happy." He replied in an unusually monotone voice.

"Seriously."

He laughed.

"Yeah right. We're going to shoot our way through this. Almost no way around that now."

"I figured as much." Setting fire to Poindexter's home and possibly killing someone didn't help matters. The accusation was on the tip of my tongue but I held it back.

"Let's get smashed tonight. Tomorrow we set the city on fire."

Chapter 8: Ignition

I was slapped awake by the beating of my own heart. Its vibrato shook like the drums on Geek U.S.A, the residual adrenaline rush from a nightmare that faded too quickly to remember. It was 10:30 in the morning, I hadn't slept that long since high school. Through the wall of my room I could hear Starla's voice; she spoke in low tones but I knew she was talking to her colossal jerk of a boyfriend... or ex-boyfriend or whatever they were. Of all the men in Apollonia Florida, Starla picked the one who graduated with Honours at the top of his class at the Ivy League school for jerks. He was alright looking, I'll give him that, but he had a brick in his head in place of a brain. He spouted crap like he was the foremost authority on everything there ever was and I was sure that he laid his hands on her at least once. I loved Starla like a sister but that was the thing that made me lose so much respect for her; that she would pick and stick with a man like that. Not just stick with him but hold on to him with a vice-like grip, like someone who hung for dear life on the only solid ledge of a crumbling mountain. Thank goodness he wasn't around often, otherwise I'd seriously have to shoot him. Their tumultuous relationship had its uses though, it helped keep my mind off the more stressful things in life. I couldn't make the phone ring by staring at it and I couldn't make my V-10 appear by dwelling on it. It felt unnatural. I sat up in bed and threw my legs over the side, my feet searched for my slippers but instead found something better. A leather bound notebook, my dad's journal that I had forgotten about. I picked it up, a thin layer of dust saturated the front cover smeared with fingerprints. Its weight extended beyond the physical, I handled it as though it were a rare artifact. The culmination of my dad's personal thoughts and experiences; my hands shook in time with the machine gun rhythm of my heart. I steadied myself enough to get it open, unwinding the leather tassel that stretched from the front to the back. My dad's voice was splashed on the first page in black ink; the air rushed out of me like flood waters on the loose. My mind grumbled like an empty stomach, hungry for the tales laid within.

Sunday, January 7th, 1990

These are exciting times. The new job starts tomorrow. Graham was pretty vague in the job description, I know it's with the military, involving more implementation than simple research... exciting stuff. Leticia's about ready to burst; her due date is March 9th but I wouldn't be surprised if she went tomorrow. Her morning sickness is gone as are the weird cravings she had earlier and through the duration of her pregnancy with June. I know every pregnancy is different but I'm sure these positive changes are at least due in part to the pre-natal serum I developed. It gave her all the nutrients she needed for a healthy pregnancy and then some... I only wish I'd come up with it sooner. I'm going to bring the research to the new lab and see what the new team and I can do to improve it. I know the company is looking for military advances but there's got to be a practical application. Still, with all the potential, the opportunities, my mind is fixed on family. The new job would provide us with a higher income and that's crucial since Leticia is going to be on mat leave for at least a year. But at the same time, I'll be home less and less. It'll keep me very occupied, I know, we've discussed it and she was okay with it but I've got to say I've had second thoughts. June's already in kindergarten and our second daughter will be arriving soon enough, I don't want to miss these years of their lives, their formative years. I'm getting ahead of myself... I'll wait until tomorrow and decide then. I'm sure something will come up one way or another to --"

The doorbell rang. Light rapid footsteps raced down the staircase outside my bedroom door. Starla chased the ringing bell like a hungry cat after a mouse; probably figured it was her asinine boyfriend waiting outside with a large bouquet of roses.

"I got it!" Starla called out, as though I didn't already know it.

I leaned back on the bed, the leather bound notebook resting against my knees. My dad's journal... it wasn't what I expected. I'd only just started but already it felt wrong, like an invasion of privacy or something. I'd expected a list of formulas he'd worked on, something like that. It was too much, like looking at the sun before getting your sun glasses in place. The words, so insignificant in the right context, simmered in my mind.

"Cherry!" Starla called to me from the bottom of the stairs. "Someone's at the door for you!"

I glanced at the clock; it wasn't yet past 12. Voice would still be at the gym in the middle of her ridiculously rigorous regimen, Billy would be with her. I pulled on my Adidas jogging pants to go along with the Nirvana t-shirt I had slept in, the band name faded to the point of near invisibility, and headed downstairs. The front door was shut but unlocked; Starla was in the kitchen fussing over dirty dishes. She glanced at me and shrugged; I pulled the door open. The sound ripped through my skull like a cement drill digging for my brain stem, almost knocking me to the ground. My vision blurred from the tears that had accumulated in micro-seconds; it didn't prevent me from identifying the figure that stood on my door step. The young man, lanky and pale almost to the point of albinism. Mason. A surge of adrenaline filled me. I wanted to hit him, I wanted to run. I couldn't do either. Adrenaline was the only thing keeping me upright, it was all I could do to keep myself from throwing up.

"Cherry, hey, look, I need help." His voice was shaky, he braced his skeletal frame against the doorway.

"You've got to be kidding. Help? You're coming to me for help? Get the hell out of here!" I began to shut the door. His hand lashed out and caught the edge of the door; sweat ran down the sides of his face.

"Cherry please! I know I did you wrong and you have no reason to want to help me but if you don't I'm going to f@#kin' die. This shit, its killing me inside man, its eating at me and I can feel it; my time's running out."

I took another step back and gave him a quick glance from head to toe. His whole body shook as though it took every muscle in him to keep standing. His knees bent inward. Specks of grey littered his once vibrant brown hair.

"What's... what did you do? What's wrong with you?"

"I need more of your stuff, that stuff. I came down from it last night and then... I just couldn't get past it. I tried everything, it just got me, I--"

"You're jonesing..." My words flew without conviction. It was more than a junkie needing a fix; there was something more. It was right in front of me.

"No goddamn it! I... just gimme---" His mouth moved but I couldn't hear the words. The high pitched whine had become a scream. The world disappeared behind a curtain of sound and my eyes closed of their own volition. I put my hands to my ears yet the sound penetrated like a crowbar pulling apart wooden planks. It seeped into my brain and I felt the world shimmer and shake. As quickly as it came it rushed away like water though a bathtub drain. My eyes opened without sight, tears obstructing the necessary refraction of light. I blinked them away, my vision cleared to find the skinny form of my former associate face down on my front steps, a broken statue of flesh. I reached down to touch his back to check for respiration I knew to be absent. He was dead, or well on his way. The bugs had begun to turn to dust; I had seen it before. What had happened, what had changed to make his life drain out of him like milk from a busted carton. I needed to know.

"Starla!" I charged back into the house leaving Mason's withering form where it lay. "Call 911!"

"What?" She popped out of the kitchen as I ran past and climbed the stairs to my room in search of my medical bag.

"Call 911!" I repeated.

I pulled my bag from under my bed, opened it to ensure everything was there, then dragged it along downstairs. At the front door Starla screamed.

"Oh my god, is he ok? What happened?" She wasn't panicked but she was headed down that road.

"He passed out or something... I think it's his heart." I opened my bag and pulled out an empty syringe and a bottle of clear liquid. "Call 911, I'm going to give him a shot of Epinephrine, maybe it'll help keep him stable until the paramedics arrive."

"Ok. Alright, I'm on it." Starla nodded and disappeared into the kitchen.

She'd be back in seconds, I knew I had to work fast. The arterial vein on his arm wasn't hard to find; I jabbed the needle in quickly; the syringe filled with dull red liquid. I'd filled two vials by the time the sirens of the ambulance could be heard.

Mason was dead. The paramedics had done their best, they'd shocked him and prodded him and pumped him full of every resuscitative substance they could get their hands on to no avail. he was dead and the high pitched whine had died with him for the most part, fading into near nothingness. Two uniform cops had come by and asked questions, who was he to me, what were we doing before it happened, etc. I answered as best I could and made sure to leave out the incriminating bits. Starla stood by my side until the coroner arrived and removed the body.

"Cherry, I'm really sorry about your friend." Starla said.

"He wasn't my friend, he was just some guy I knew from work. But thanks Starla, thanks, I'm glad you're here."

Her arms enveloped me like a tea-cozy on an empty teapot.

"Are you going to be alright here? I've got a client meeting at 12:30 but I can reschedule it if--"

"No, I'm fine." I interrupted. "I'm gonna head to the lab for a bit, do some prep work before my shift."

"Okay." She held me at arm's length and looked me over, as though searching for my true feelings through my bright violet eyes like some kind of Jedi. "Didn't you say you were going to quit the lab anyway?"

"Did I? I don't know. It pays and I need money to live." I gestured towards the clock, anxious to put an end to this increasingly time consuming interchange. "Dude it's almost 12, shouldn't you be on your way?"

"Yeah, yeah. Okay, well, call me on my cell if you want to talk. We'll go for drinks or something tonight." She patted me on the shoulder, climbed the stairs and vanished into her room.

I'd stashed my medical bag under the kitchen table moments before the paramedics arrived. The vials of blood lay inside, safe beside the bottle of epinephrine I hadn't used. There would be an autopsy of course, they'd find the needle marks on his arm. I doubt it'd get back to me and if it did it wouldn't be hard to sell the story of a panicked young woman who wanted inject the potentially life-saving drug into her dying co-worker but was afraid she'd get it wrong... something like that. That part was covered and really it wasn't that much of a concern. The vials on the other hand... they stuck in my mind. I withdrew one and shook it. The consistency was all wrong, it was more like Kool-Aid than human blood, not to mention the fact that there were no bugs in it. Still, it warranted a brief investigation on my part.

The news of Mason's death had already spread by the time I got to the lab. The day shift was still in so the office was packed, busier than I'd ever seen it. There were grief counsellors mixed with HR reps from the head office; it was odd. He'd worked here for a while but Mason was strictly night-shift; 99% of the employees here had no idea who he was.

"Oh Ava, you door dear, you must be devastated!" A chubby little woman had snuck up beside me and wrapped her arms around me. "You and Mason must have been so close, working together for so long. We're all so devastated."

I stepped back the moment I managed to break free of her warm doughy grasp. She was the HR rep from my division; I couldn't remember her name but she had brought in tacos on Cinco de Mayo for the night shift so she was alright in my book.

"Yes, it's a huge shock." My work station was down the hall behind her, it seemed so far away. "I just wanted to finish up a project real quick before my shift but it's going to be weird working without him. The work was always interesting but he made it fun, y'know?"

"I can imagine. Many of us have fond memories of him. He will be missed." I gave her my saddest smile and stepped past her.

I manoeuvred my way through the crowded halls like a balloon catheter jammed into a narrowed blood vessel. My work station was unoccupied thankfully. It didn't take long to make the preparations and the biochemical analysis wouldn't take more than half an hour. As it began my mind wandered to my dad, my dearly departed. This lab, as mediocre as it was to me, would have been my dad's version of heaven. The technology, the compounds I was working with... it would have been as impressive to him in his day as flying cars would be to me in my day. It wasn't meant to be; his untimely death robbed me of any chance I could've had at showing him what could be done, what I could do. And Mason, his fate a dirty mirror image... like some kind of invisible hand reached down from the sky and slapped reality to get me back on the right track. As I stared at the computer screen waiting for the results, I almost prayed that it wasn't so, that these events had nothing to do with me directly. Almost prayed but didn't. After all, what good would it do at a time like this.

Minutes passed and the lab had begun to empty. The office was closing early, management figured "we" the masses would be too distracted to do any real kind of work. Plus I'm sure they wanted the opportunity to look into Mason's workspace, make sure there was nothing toxic or anything that could make them liable. There was nothing at his desk except a few doctored reports and empty Red bull cans, no evidence that could point to our former arrangement. It wasn't my concern yet. The flashing error message on the computer screen, however, was. The analysis was complete but it wasn't right. None of the markers present in a typical blood test were there. In their place... V-10, undeniably. It wasn't possible; he would've had to have been injecting V-10 for weeks for his blood to end up that way. No, this couldn't be right. I needed another analysis. Questions peppered my mind and for a brief moment the ringing of my cell pushed them aside.

"What? What is it?" Not the most polite way to take a call but it was quick and effective.

"Gideon's guy called. There's a meet with Jupiter, 30 minutes at that Drake's restaurant place. Voice and I are headed down now to scope the place out. We're coming to pick you up." Billy's voice was even and precise; it was unusual.

"I'm at the lab. I'll be waiting out front." My shift technically hadn't even started yet but it wouldn't be hard to get out of it. The void of Mason's absence was ripping my heart apart; the stress of the day's events were too overwhelming... any of these statements would make a valid excuse. The secondary analysis would have to wait.

They were both quiet on the drive down, Billy's eyes fixed on the road and Voice's attention drifted out the window. They'd heard about Mason's demise, probably from Starla; I could imagine the thoughts that ran through their minds, their words of sympathy held behind sealed lips, afraid of an emotional collapse on my part. Funny, I'd never felt calmer in my life.

"Alright." Billy pulled the Escalade to the curb two doors down from Drake's. "Jupiter's only expecting Cherry and I so we're going in alone. Maddie, wait out here by the car but be ready to bring the heat in case this guy's looking from trouble."

"Bollocks to that, what if he has men inside?" Voice exclaimed as she jumped forward in her seat.

"Zero's already inside, check the place and the people out and says the dude's there alone. If anyone starts shooting they'll be coming from outside the restaurant. We need a lookout on the outside."

"I thought you just heard about this meet like half an hour ago... how could Zero be here scoping out the place already?" I chimed in.

"That's his thing, it's what he does."

The explanation made no sense to me but at that point it wasn't important. It felt as though this chapter was almost complete; I wanted to sprint to the finish line.

Perhaps it was the result of the many hours I'd spent during my formative years watching the Sopranos and Scorsese films but I'd always been under the impression that deals with gangsters only took place in seedy bars and upscale restaurants. Drake's was neither. It was a sit-down family restaurant that promoted strong Christian values along with their weak watered down drinks. The servers were all clean-cut, young men and women with uniforms, black shirts and beige khakis, that were covered in clever slogans like, "Ask about our specials. They'll save you money and your soul, " and "There's nothing cool about Hell." It was a downer as was the Christian hymns and soft rock that seemed to play non-stop. I'd eaten there a couple of times but hadn't gone back after graduation; their patio was great and the food acceptable but the repeated sermons were tiresome. Billy hadn't been a fan either but he remembered the layout. I followed him to the patio enclosed in glass, to a table set for four but occupied by one, a man in a sharp pinstriped suit. He didn't acknowledge us as we took our seat opposite him.

"So, " he sipped from the bug infested cup in front of him. "You've found me."

"We did. And you came alone." Billy replied.

"This is business, potentially lucrative business at that. I've found that good faith goes a long way towards creating positive business relationships. Make no mistake though, I am alone but I'm not unprotected."

I glanced around the semi-crowded patio, observed couples, a single man, a single woman, and a small family and I suddenly felt surrounded. Any one of them could pull a gun and shoot me. I inched closer to Billy.

"Right." If Billy shared my concerns he didn't show it. "I appreciate you meeting us like this. I realize this isn't something that directly concerns you and you haven't wronged us or anything..."

The man glanced at his watch.

"Regardless of whether I wronged you or not, I'm here because I feel it may benefit me now or in the very near future. Even so, sir, I have a busy schedule and I don't have time for platitudes. Please, get to the point."

Billy flashed his pre-violence smile but kept himself in check.

"Alright. Gideon stole something from us and sold it to you. We'd like it back."

The man finished his espresso and pushed the empty cup to the side of the table.

"I'm not in the habit of giving things away for free, you understand that don't you? This favor would need to be repaid."

"Repaid how?" I spoke up. The conversation had begun to feel as though we were asking for shovels to help dig our way out of a hole.

"I've not decided yet. But individuals with your skills sets could be of great value to me at some point." He reached into his jacket pocket and withdrew a Blackberry that both flashed and buzzed. "Think it over. Excuse me, I need to take this call."

He stepped away from the table and vanished inside the restaurant. I knew what I wanted to do but the cost... the potential cost made my head spin.

"This is bullshit. Something's off with this guy." Billy whispered.

"What do you mean?" I could feel my chest tightening, sewn together by threads of anxiety.

"He doesn't make eye contact, doesn't sit still. His body language... this guy's pretending."

"Pretending how?"

"I don't know for sure... something's off."

Our table jolted and rocked as a man bumped into the side of it. I glanced up and caught a glimpse of a dark clad man with pale skin and bleached hair. I didn't realize it was Zero until he stepped out of the patio and on to the street.

"Hey, isn't that--?" I started but stopped as Billy's strong hand grabbed my arm just above the elbow and pulled me to my feet. "Billy, what the--?"

"Time to go."

He urged me towards the glass doors. Just beyond them on the other side of the street, a blue SUV crawled along, searching for a parking spot it seemed. Its tinted windows rolled down inch by inch. The sun had sunk below the skyline littered with skyscrapers, casting a shadow that obscured the identities of the vehicle occupants. it began with a flash and a loud pop; it sounded like a champagne cork as it flew free. I glanced over at the young couple who had been seated nearby. Their eyes were wide and stared out into the street, they had no champagne. The glass enclosure had splintered in conjunction with the loud noise and just then it hit me. I'd be embarrassed by my lack of recognition if I wasn't so suddenly terrified. Panes of glass shattered around me as I was pulled to the ground and smothered by Billy's steel-like body. Screams erupted behind me only to be silenced as the angry metal bees dug into bone, sinew, and flesh, spewing puddles of thick red blood onto the hot asphalt. Above the continuous pops of automatic gunfire, I could still hear Scott Stapp's annoying voice sing of being taken higher, as though pleading on our behalf, the departed and the soon to be departed. A shard of glass fell and sliced through the sleeve of my t-shirt and the thought of death to the soundtrack of Creed provided a moment of distressed clarity before panic overwhelmed me.

Chapter 9: Getting to know very bad people...

It felt like it would never end. At first it seemed as though they had been aiming, at us, at anything that moved. Bodies blanketed the ground and yet the bullets continued to fly as the attackers fired for the sake of firing. Or maybe they had special ammunition that was on the verge of expiring that they would rather use than let go to waste. Unlikely but then what did I know about modern guns?

"We need to move." Billy crouched beside me just out of the line of fire. I laid amongst pieces of broken glass mixed with blood, some of it was mine, most of it wasn't. I was one of the lucky few who managed to avoid the initial shots but not lucky enough to avoid the razor sharp shards of glass.

There was a break in the gunfire and at least one car door slammed shut. Billy's hand was on my arm, dragging me to my feet before I even knew what was happening. We stayed out of sight and managed to reach the Escalade behind which Voice and Zero crouched with weapons drawn. One of the gunmen stood in the street, his identity obscured by a grey ski mask. An empty clip fell from the automatic weapon in his hands only to be replaced with a fresh one. Another car door slammed shut; I peeked out from behind the bullet ridden luxury vehicle and spotted a second attacker who trailed the first.

"They got MP5's, they aren't playing." Billy said as Zero handed him his cherished silver Desert Eagle.

"Neither am I." Zero whispered.

All of reality shook with thunderous sound. Zero slid out into the open, fire erupted from his gun. Three quick shots, two to the chest, one to the head, and the nearest gunman dropped like a Jenga tower. Fear must have slapped the second guy in the face at that moment because he spun on his heel and stumbled back to his SUV, spraying bullets as he fired over his shoulder. I knew enough to keep my head down, pops and the sound of shattering glass painted the air above me. Zero had ducked back behind the rear tire as a stream of gunfire chipped through the nearby pavement. The masked attacker leapt into the back seat of his vehicle, the engine was already running. The air was thick with the smell of burnt rubber and the copper stench of blood... blood... I'd never smelled it in the air like that. It hung like a cloud just above our heads, thick like pea soup fog. It stuck to us, to the ground and the SUV that had begun to accelerate, much in the same way the bugs stuck to everything.

A hiss of air blew across my face as a round punctured the front tire and caused Voice's ravaged vehicle to shift, it's now unprotected rim crunching against the cement. They had almost escaped, the attackers who had survived thus far, yet continued to shoot in the hope of taking us with them. They weren't fast enough. Billy and Zero stood out from the safety of cover with their guns aimed and relatively steady; their index fingers twitched and it was like music. A terrible song with the sound of metal against metal, breaking glass as bullets destroyed the rear and side windows, and an audible wet crunching sound followed by too much red. Voice fired once or twice and had shredded their front passenger's side tire. They tried to compensate but the ski mask mafia was inexperienced or at least they seemed to be, sending the vehicle into a spin that ended when it tipped and slammed down on its side. The passenger door had almost been ripped off its hinges, it hung like a mangled tree branch. It was pushed open, the bloodied hands of a youthful black man held on to its side as he pulled himself free from the wreckage. An ear-splitting boom followed and a third of the man's head exploded in a splash of reddish chunks. The body fell and began to twitch and only then did I realize there were sirens that called in the distance. I stood up from my hiding spot; a wisp of smoke drifted from Billy's weapon and his mouth twitched like he had intended to smile but at the last minute changed his mind. The windshield of the overturned vehicle fell forward and a man climbed out. He discarded his bloodied ski mask and bolted towards the nearby alleyway. His lanky frame, dirty hair... he kept his back to us as he ran but I didn't need to see his face to know who it was. Poindexter.

"That bloody wanker..." Voice stared after him for a moment then burst into a sprint. She was past the wrecked SUV by the time I was able to call out to her. My words fell on deaf ears.

"Dammit!" Billy holstered his weapon and ran after her. "Zero, get Cherry home safe. I got to stop Maddie before she does something stupid!"

She trained seven days a week, she was the Flo-Jo of my generation; Billy wouldn't catch her in time.

"Time to skedaddle darlin'." His drawl made me want to listen. The sirens had gotten louder, the cops were maybe three blocks away. Rain began to fall. Strange, I hadn't even noticed the storm clouds.

I'd never been on a motorcycle before. Dad had always said they were impractical and dangerous; the mode of transportation for stuntmen and the liberated insane. I had no choice this time since Zero was my ride; he'd dragged me away from the bloodied shooting gallery as a child would a stuffed animal. We sat on his bike a block away from the patio that had become a crime scene saturated with police units. Uniformed cops encased the scene in yellow police tape and held the increasing public presence at bay. A squad of detectives had arrived, June was among them; my heart jumped.

"Shouldn't we be leaving? The police are here, my sister is here... they'll see us."

"Not yet." He didn't even turn towards me as he spoke.

"What are we waiting for? I don't want to be seen here and given the fact that you killed a guy in the street a couple minutes ago, I'd figure you wouldn't want to stick around either."

"There."

He pointed to the open front door of the residential building two doors down from Drake's. A steady stream of residents had flowed out of the building, curious about the police presence and not smart enough to mind their own business. Most of them anyway. One person, a man wearing a grey rain coat that covered him entirely, stepped free from the crowd of onlookers. He walked with controlled speed while glancing over each shoulder periodically; he hid his suspiciousness like a televangelist hid his greed... i.e. poorly.

"Is that...?"

"Jupiter. Or at least the boy who pretended to be Jupiter." Zero replaced the clip in his gun and attached the silencer.

"How did you know?"

"He stepped inside before the shootin' started. Couldn't leave out front while the bullets were flyin' or afterwards because of the cops and the pools of blood, couldn't risk getting any of it on him... linking him to this place. Must have gone out the back, grabbed a coat from next door."

The motorbike growled as the engine sparked with life. I wrapped my arms around his waist with a vice-like grip.

"Why wouldn't he have just left before?"

"Needed to report back, let his boss know his assassins failed... or succeeded."

"So what now?"

"Now we chat with this young man."

The motorcycle lurched forward and we pulled out onto the street one block over, parallel to the road saturated with glass and spent shells. Only two junior detectives remained outside to question bystanders, the rest had gone inside. Even so, I made sure to turn my face away as we passed. Faux Jupiter had picked up his pace, now only meters away from a cab stand where a shiny town car idled. He slid into the backseat and the car pulled away from the curb into traffic; we followed two cars back. Zero had done this before, he seemed to know all the tricks. We cruised in the shadow of a medium tanker truck out of their rear sight line. Traffic came to a standstill at the intersection of Shuster and Ladan, a station wagon had crashed into a street post and left it a tangled mess. He abandoned the car and driver in the midst of gridlock and slipped into the Starbucks on the corner. We parked on the nearest side street and made it into the coffee shop unnoticed; I stayed behind my pale bodyguard. Fake Jupiter would recognize me for sure and he'd probably take off when he did; we were lucky to spot him when we did, as he sat at a rear table for two. He sipped his steaming hot drink while he stared out the window, his fingers tapped a static pattern with increasing frequency. He sat alone, if he expected someone they obviously hadn't arrived yet.

"Howdy." Zero said with a smile as he took the empty seat.

"Uh, I'm sorry that seat's occupied. I'm expecting someone."

"No worries son, I'll just be a minute." I moved to stand beside Zero; the young man's eyes locked with mined and his forehead became damp with sweat.

"Look, I--"

"Now, now, " Zero waved his hand as though he were swatting the words from the air. "Don't fret. I just want the truth here. The truth and then you can meet your friend or go home or whatever you feel like doin', sound good?"

Even amongst cups of steaming hot coffee and coffee drinkers the air felt cold. Fake Jupiter must have noticed it, his body shivered ever so slightly as he nodded in agreement.

"Alright." Zero held out his right hand, I was amazed at how clean it was. "Hand me your wallet please."

The man complied without protest, it was strange and unexpected. He exuded power and confidence when we had spoken back on the patio. Now he just seemed like a child who'd been caught stealing a dirty magazine.

"Thank you." He flipped through its contents, pausing at the drivers license for the briefest of moments before folding it back shut. "Tell me your name."

"Matt... Matt Heinz. I'm an actor... well... aspiring actor. I--"

"What were you doing at Drake's? Why were you meeting with my friend here?" Zero gestured toward me, acknowledging my presence in the conversation for the first time.

"To be fair, your friends approached me--"

"Don't talk semantics with me, boy."

"Okay, okay. I was hired to pretend to be a hotshot Mafioso--"

"Hired by whom?" I chimed in.

"Please... I can't say, they'll kill me..."

"Son, they're coming to kill you right now."

"Wha--?"

"This friend you're meeting... it's a business friend right? You're not meeting for coffee, you're meeting to get paid and report in , right?" Zero said.

"Um, how did you--?"

"But you failed. You helped with the setup but the operation was a bust. And you really think these people you're mixed up with would pay you for failure? Let me tell you how these people work, how it's going to go down. Your friend's gonna walk in, buy you some coffee, and chat. He'll disarm you with his words and when it comes time to pay he'll say it's not safe , you're being watched, we oughtta step out into the street. And once you're out there and exposed... bam, point blank gunshot to the head."

"Oh god..." Fake Jupiter was as pale a porcelain toilet.

"I can protect you, help you, but you need to tell me who hired you so we can catch these people." He was convincing. It was like he had cast a magical spell that had ensnared this young man.

"You're a cop?" Matt asked.

"The best kind of cop... the kind that always gets his man. Now, are you gonna help and be a hero or are ya gonna be a statistic of street violence?"

"God... It was Gideon. Well, not exactly Gideon, it was his associate Cain but I'm sure he was representing him."

Zero slapped his hand against the table.

"Hot dog! You've made a difference here today Matt. With your help we'll catch that son of a bitch and put him away for good." Zero stood from the table and grabbed him by the forearm. "Now we gotta get you to a safe-house before your friend gets here."

I followed Zero out of Starbucks and across to the narrow side street lined with unfinished townhouses where we were parked. The bike couldn't hold three, I had no idea where he was going with this.

"We're far enough away from your meet point but we'll draw attention if we travel together. We'll need to split up."

"Ok." He was so dazed by now he'd agree to anything.

"I need you to go to 148 King street by the intersection of King and Collbrook. They'll be expecting you; we'll meet you there in 20."

I could see where this ended. We go about our business while Mr. Heinz goes on a wild goose chase. Brilliant. I turned to the parked motorcycle and grabbed a helmet. He had already started on his way when Zero called out to him.

"Hey, you forgot your wallet."

It sounded like someone had taken a bite out of a crisp apple and then poked around at the softer insides. Or a watermelon, like that time dad had hit one just a bit too hard with an unnecessary chisel, the reddish-pink insides splattered almost everywhere. I turned around not knowing what to expect, greeted by the aspiring actor's crumpled body. His cranium had been obliterated, ravaged by three shots from Zero's silenced pistol.

"Oh... oh my god; wha... why'd you--?"

"Don't dwell on it; he was a liar through and through. World's better off without him." Zero sighed. "I could use a steak and a drink right about now. You hungry?"

We were about two blocks from my house when I regained my ability to speak and even then the words formed like a cake baked in an irregular shaped pan with a huge dent. My arms encircled his abdomen like twin anacondas that hoped to crush their prey; it felt like clutching cold cement, the frigid nature of his body seeped through his clothes and into my bones. I was thankful for the brevity of the rainfall, despite the natural heat that flowed from the setting Florida sun the chill that emanated from him would be unbearable if mixed with steady cold rain. We came to a slow stop at the curb outside my home and I leapt off as soon as I could safely. I handed him the helmet I had just worn and muttered a "Thank You" as I inched towards my door. He sat on his bike and stared at me, gazing like a person who looked for spots on a glass fresh out of the dishwasher, then dismounted and approached. He aimed to come inside and as the realization hit me my heart jumped once more, rammed into that intangible thing that kept my voice in check and forced the words out.

"I don't need you to come inside!"

He stopped in his tracks and smiled... at least it seemed like a smile.

"Pardon?"

"I... want to be alone."

"I get that darlin' but it'll be safer for you if I'm inside with you."

"I don't want you inside!" My words were louder and harsher that I'd expected.

He folded his arms against his broad chest; that smile of his remained.

"You got a problem with me or somethin'?" I didn't want to get shot but my internal limiter was gone, beaten down by repeated trauma.

" You... that man... you killed him like it was nothing like he was a bug or something. It was over, he wasn't even a threat, he was leaving and he was unarmed... he deserved some kind of payback like a punch in the face or something but not that... not like that. I don't know what they taught you in the army or whatever but that wasn't justice or even revenge... I don't know what that was, but it was wrong, it was psychotic and you... the thought that you could do that and then just go on like nothing happened? That's sick, you're sick, and I don't want to know you."

His smile had receded into a smirk and I could feel my heart twist and sink inside my chest. Please God, don't let him kill me.

"That it?" He asked.

I nodded, my breathing rapid and shallow.

"I'm sorry you had to see all of that. It was probably a big shock, I get that."

I gazed at my shoes, unable to meet his eyes at the moment. They were blood stained... my shoes not his eyes.

"But let me tell you somethin' darlin'..." his hand latched on to my arm and held tight. I met his gaze, doing my best to conceal the panic that flowed through my veins. "You need to wake up and quick. All this shootin' and fightin' and killin'... this is your world, you made it. Sellin' drugs in Florida... in Florida... what did you expect would happen in the long run? I killed three people today but how many folks have died from you drugs? Overdoses or drug violence, it's all on you. And now your new stuff is in the street and that boy is dead cuz of it, you know it deep down despite what you tell yourself."

"How could you know about--?" I started.

"You call me sick? I do what's necessary darlin' and like it or not that kid had to die. Every person you let live today is one more person who'll be shootin' at you tomorrow. You lived in this for a couple days... I've been doin' this my entire life, I've seen it before and I'll see it again. Get used to it darlin', a lot more bodies gotta drop before you're safe again."

My voice must've been on the fritz again because, despite the maelstrom of emotion that brewed inside me, I couldn't say anything.

"Go on inside, lock your doors, settle yourself down. I'll be around." He walked back to his motorcycle leaving me standing alone outside my door.

After locking the front and back doors I climbed the infinite staircase to my bedroom. Starla wasn't home yet, I never knew when to expect her on those days that she went in to the office. I had hoped she'd be here, she was adept at providing comfort and I could use some after this most wretched of days. My bed creaked and shifted as I climbed into it and I suddenly felt heavy. Oblivion clawed at the edges of my vision, my eyes closed and I fell into the open embrace of sleep. Muzzle flashes lit up the night, bullets cut the air and a significant portion of a man's head exploded. Glass shattered and I awoke with a jolt of adrenaline.

"Starla?" I called out from my bed, not wanting to get up just yet.

The aged floorboards of the hallway creaked as they always did, the home continued to settle from its years of existence. It often felt like we had a ghost who lived with us, who roamed the halls at the most inopportune time. If it were true at least it was a friendly ghost; I'd imagine it would be difficult living with a poltergeist. My random thought process was interrupted once more by a louder creaking sound, slow and deliberate that halted just outside my door.

"Starla?" I called out again. I was greeted with silence.

I rose from my bed and crept to my closed bedroom door. My heart raced, I wasn't sure what I expected but the day still rested firmly on my shoulders. I reached out to touch the door, to pull it open without a sound. I didn't quite make it that far. It swung free, the edge clipping me just above the eye where my recent injury had been stitched shut only yesterday. I stumbled back, tripped over the corner of my bed, and landed with a dull thud on the hardwood floor between the wall and my bed.

"No, not Starla." I knew the voice although I hadn't heard it often and recognized the silver rimmed glasses, but my mind focused on the eight inch blade in his hand. "F&#@ing bitch."

No more words, no threats. A low growl rumbled in his throat, guttural and primitive, and he was on me. His free hand held me by the throat while the knife loomed large above his head. I writhed and twisted under his weight, struggling in vain for leverage. The air whistled as the blade came down aimed at my abdomen. The sharp metal sliced through my shirt and scraped my skin, drawing a faint trail of blood as I managed to twist out of the way to avoid the brunt of the attack. The force of the blow had sent the blade into the hardwood, I could only imagine how dead I would be if it had connected. My hand lashed out almost of its own accord and caught him in the side of the face; his grip on my throat and the weapon loosened for a moment and I capitalized. My knee came up and struck him in the groin, he squealed like a panicked pig and jolted backward. I was free for a moment; I scrambled on hands and knees towards my bed. There was no refuge there and I cursed myself for falling into the role of the typical horror movie damsel in distress. He'd already recovered from my attack and scrambled after me. I reached under my bed and grabbed the heaviest thing I could find... it happened to be my father's journal, weighty for a book but it was far from the crowbar or tire iron I needed. I swung it hard, it clipped him in the jaw and he staggered more from shock than from pain. He slapped it out of my hands then followed through with a closed fisted punch that connected with my jaw and sent a painful jolt along my spine that exploded in my brain. Darkness shrouded my eyesight for a moment and when it cleared he was on top of me, his hands wrapped around my throat. He'd left the knife jammed in the floor opting instead for the old fashioned tried and true method of strangulation. My hands fought against his firm grip, it was pointless like a swarm of flies trying to stop a car. My vision dimmed; death approached and I was too dazed and beaten to scream. Darkness grabbed me once again for what felt like an eternity. His weight shifted atop of me, one hand still firmly attached to my throat while the fingers of his free hand fumbled with the zipper of my jeans. He tugged at the buttons at my waist with urgency.

"No!" My voice was a shriek, ineffectual despite its power. He didn't stop and somewhere a heavy door slammed shut.

I grabbed at his wiry yet strong hand and managed to force it back for a moment before he knocked it aside and cursed.

"Stupid bitch!" He punched at me again. I brought my forearm up to stop the attack, I could feel a bruise forming seconds later.

"Get off me!" I screamed again and slammed my hand into his face, my finger slipped and jabbed him right in the eye.

He flinched but didn't stop. His grip on my throat tightened, he used both hands again. The color began to drain out of my vision. Bugs crawled from his skin onto my face, I could almost feel their needle legs scrape across my cheek. My eyes filled with tears, my breathing ragged and slowed. Heavy eyelids drew shut, it took all I had to force them open again. In the doorway a dark silhouette stood framed in light; an angel, it had to be. I reached out toward it and it screamed in a woman's voice.

"Hey! Get off her! Get off her you bastard!"

Poindexter fell backwards, the angel's arm around his throat and a hand entwined in his hair. He tumbled out into the hallway and rolled until his head slammed into the railing that lined the stairway. The angel knelt at my feet and pulled free the knife that had been embedded in the ground.

"It's going to be okay Cherry, everything's gonna be alright." She sounded and looked just like Starla.

She grabbed hold of the bedroom door and tried to shut it but Poindexter was already there, his shoulder pressed against it.

"Stay back!" The knife was like a sword in her hands, the blade alone was about as long as her forearm.

He lunged towards her, the weapon a non-existent threat in his eyes. It caught flesh as it sliced the palm of his hand, his scream of pain rang out like an alarm bell. A spray of blood flew into the air as he grabbed onto Starla's hand. The knife fell with a clang as he pried it free; he reached for it but she wouldn't back down. Starla rammed her shoulder into his solar-plexus and forced him back out into the hallway. They fought and struggled, pushed and shoved; it took all I had just to get to my feet. My hands shook as I grasped the knife, sure of what I wanted to do with it but unsure if I could. I lurched into the hallway, only a few feet away the fight raged. Starla's head slammed into a wall followed by a solid punch that spun her around; her legs gave out and she crumpled to the floor motionless. Poindexter stood there for a moment, his lip split and bloodied. Atomic fire burned in his eyes, hate surrounded him like a bad stench. He took a step towards me and my heart jumped. I was too woozy to run and not strong enough to fight. He took another step closer then hesitated. His eyes met mine then drifted to just over my shoulder. There was a bang like the sound of someone dropping a heavy book on a ceramic floor, a low whistle sound, then Poindexter's screams. He clutched his chest and dropped to the floor only a few feet away from Starla. Behind me Zero stood with his silenced handgun drawn and aimed. He stepped past me, knelt beside my fallen attacker, and pistol whipped him hard enough to silence his screams.

"Rubber bullets darlin'. Wouldn't want to get blood all over yer nice floors."

We had no rope or hand-cuffs so we had to use extension cords and chains from the garage to restrain him. Zero carried his unconscious form to the basement and tied him to a dirty dust-ridden chair that I'd been meaning to clean or get rid of but never got around to it. This was after he carried Starla to her bedroom; his gentleness surprised me. I expected him to execute Poindexter then and there or at least do it once he got him to the basement.

"Saturnine will want a word with this fella." He spoke as he tightened the thick rubber cords around Poindexter's arms.

Billy and Voice arrived about an hour later. They'd been detained at the local police station after Poindexter lost them. A bystander had reported seeing them run from the scene, armed and dangerous. Billy had his military credentials, a license to kill apparently, plus eye witness accounts that suggested he fired his gun in self-defence and defence of others. Voice had a high priced lawyer on retainer; he was by her side and had her released within minutes of her arrival at the station.

"Are you alright?" Voice greeted me with a protective hug. This was all too familiar.

"I'm okay. He roughed me up good but Starla jumped in, saved me from the worst of it. And Zero--"

"Starla?" Billy jumped in. "Is she okay? Where is she?"

"In her bedroom... she..." My throat seized up and for a moment I couldn't talk. "She's pretty beat up. He tried to rape and kill me and she saved me. She fought him until Zero got here."

Billy fell silent. He sprinted up the stairs as Voice looked on and disappeared into Starla's bedroom. He emerged a minute later, gun in hand, murder in his eyes, murmurs of death on his lips.

"Motherf@#$er... I should've killed him when I had the chance. I won't make that mistake twice."

The desert eagle was cocked and Billy's trigger finger twitched as he headed to the basement, Voice and myself close behind. Zero was already down there, his presence alone was enough to stop Poindexter from trying to escape. Not that he wanted to escape; he smiled with bloodied teeth as we arrived.

"Look at this, dead man walking!" Poindexter actually laughed, his eyes fixed on Billy then on me. "I should say dead man and bitch walking. Enjoy this pussies, you aren't long for this world!"

"Kid, are you out of your damn mind? You aren't getting out of this, its game over son." Billy said, gun in hand but at his side.

"Doesn't matter if I get out, you're still done. The both of you. Everyone wants a piece of that bounty..."

"Bounty?" I jumped in. "What do you mean?"

"100k each. Everyone wants a piece. You don't cross Gideon and get off easy." He spat blood onto the floor. "A$$holes, trying to step into the game and push the boss out... you'll get yours."

"What are you talking about? You started all of this!" Voice asked.

"Bullshit. That shit we took from you, it sure as &^%# wasn't vitamins. Dudes got mad addicted to it after one taste and won't take anything else now. You had enough to flood the streets with... Gideon's streets. Then you go and torch our grow op--"

Fists collided with his already slightly bloodied face, Billy had heard enough. He slammed the butt of his gun into Poindexter's jaw, his neck, his shoulder... he was imprecise but I'm sure it hurt all the same. Voice was right there too, she punched and kicked the parts that Billy missed. The beating ended when a well aimed kick tipped the chair over and sent Poindexter down in a bloody bound heap. His silver rimmed glasses had shattered the moment his head hit the dirty concrete floor. Looking down at his battered body, chained to a filthy chair that crawled with dozens of tiny bugs, I knew he deserved it. He looked up at us from his awkward position with a visage of amused defiance; you'd think he had no fear. The expanding urine puddle on the floor beneath his blood stained jeans told me different. Billy knelt in front of him, his eyes fixed on the shattered glass lenses. His gun was still in hand, the muzzle pressed hard against the fallen man's temple.

"You remember me don't you? Remember how I kicked your ass? Remember how we burned down your house? Remember how I put this gun to your head and told you to get the hell out of town and never come back?"

The battered victim spat blood onto the floor.

"Go to hell. You pussies can't touch me."

Billy smiled the way he always did right before things got crazy. I was used to it, but it tended to freak out the average person.

"Oh yeah, Poindexter? Looks like we did a lot more than touch you, " Billy said as he stood, pulling the chair holding their beaten subject to its upright position.

I resisted the urge to rub my fingers against the fresh stitches above my left eye. The stitches were as clean as it could be despite the white bugs that crawled over it, but I was afraid of an infection. I stepped back into the darker corners of my small basement knowing what Billy, what all three of them, were going to do. I assumed it wouldn't be pretty, and it wasn't something that I wanted to see... no matter how much it was deserved. My friends were ready to unleash bloody vengeance. Billy already had his gun in hand, he was ready. Voice stood beside him, the smaller yet equally vicious English woman withdrew her own weapon, her gaze steady. The silver choker around the caramel colored skin of her neck glistened in the dim light. Zero hadn't moved during the assault, he stood ready, prepared to explode with violence. His icy blue eyes and pale white skin contrasted with dark colors of my unfinished basement.

"You're a stupid bloody berk," Voice said, "you should've left and never come back. You should never have tried to kill us."

The bloodied victim smiled, his teeth red with blood.

"I didn't try to kill you. I only tried to kill her." He looked right at me and my heart jumped.

Billy threw a glance back at me and then back to the man he called Poindexter.

"Screw this," he cocked his gun and pointed it, "When you get to Hell, tell 'em Saturnine sent you."

"Wait!"

My voice was a shriek of desperation. I grabbed Billy's arm.

"Put some plastic down. He already messed up floor when he pissed his pants, I don't want blood on the floor too."

Zero chuckled.

"We'll clean it up."

They turned back to their business and I headed for the stairs. The steady pops and flashes of the suppressed gunfire filled the basement as I headed upstairs. I couldn't see it yet, I wasn't ready. I needed to be elsewhere, away from all of the things I seemed to create.

Starla was half-asleep when I reached her room. A painful bruise had spread across the right side of her face; I'd given her some of my private stash of codeine to deal with the pain. She turned to face me as I entered, a weak smile on her face.

"Cherry, hey. Are you alright?"

I knelt at her bedside. My eyes burned.

"What?"

"Are you okay? I was so worried. When I saw him on top of you, choking you... oh my god, I was so scared."

"I'm..." My voice was choked into silence for a brief moment. "I'm okay. You saved me... you saved me."

She smiled and her eyes fluttered, her mind drifted in and out of sleep as the painkillers hit her hard.

"I tried anyway. Did the police catch him?" She yawned and her eyes closed.

"He won't bother us again." My words fell on deaf ears, she was asleep. I grabbed her hand and held it as though it were a delicate piece of crystal, my hot tears shined against her skin. "I'm sorry Starla, I'm so sorry."

I stayed at her side for hours, well into the depth of night, while two levels below a body was bound and butchered.

End of Book One Epilogue: ZERO

The girls were asleep by around 10:30, perfect time to move the body to the full bathroom upstairs. Rigor Mortis had set in and made it a lot harder to carry the corpse up two flights of stairs. with a full pack on my back. Couldn't be helped, the wait was necessary; this wasn't for their pure eyes... not yet. She didn't cry, not one tears at all during the entire ordeal. Very promising.

I eased the body into the bathtub, it was a tight fit. The tub was spacious but the guy was over six feet tall; I would've hacked off the feet downstairs but the girl would've had a fit from the mess in her basement. I pushed in against the kneecaps, a loud snap and the calves bent forwards. It fit now. I set my pack on the bathroom floor, zipped it open; I didn't need to check to make sure it was all there. One hacksaw, one set of wire cutters, one pair of latex gloves, one pair of rubber gloves, one pair of needle-nosed pliers, one Exacto knife, two metres of rubber tubing, black plastic garbage bags, two zip-lock bags and a black light scanner; overkill but better safe than sorry. The latex gloves were a second skin against my fingers, a very good thing since I knew how messy these things got. My knife slid through his jeans and shirt, both blood soaked; I dumped the shreds in garbage bag number one. I emptied half a bottle of bleach into a bowl I'd grabbed from the kitchen. The corpse had ten bullet holes meaning seven bullets that needed to be removed since mine dissolve thirty minutes after contact; five minutes with the pliers and the bullets were in the bowl, submerged in the liquid of corrosion. The Exacto knife slid through the corpse's common carotid artery, the heart had stopped pumping but the blood would drain all the same and help reduce the amount of splash back. His fingers were cold and rigid, still the wire cutters sliced through the Volar ligaments and separated his Distal phalanges from the rest of his hand; his fingertips fit nicely into the zip lock bags, I'd dispose of them later. His head was lighter than typical, all those drugs probably ate away his brain mass... either way it took less than sixty seconds to decapitate and bag his head. I got creative with the knife and left my own mark on the cold torso. Thirty minutes later and his 5"11 frame filled a large heavy duty garbage bag, excluding his head and fingertips. The girls, the chemist and the other one, were asleep in the bedroom, they didn't see or hear me as I passed; neither did the others in the basement eliminating evidence of the crime.

If knew I'd be transporting a body earlier in the day I would've driven a domestic car with lots of trunk space instead of my Harley Fat Bob. It wasn't the first body I'd carried on this bike and wouldn't be the last, it wasn't a problem. I parked the bike in a dirty alley behind the third tallest building in the city, in the heart of the downtown core. It was packed, young partiers, random drunks, old men and women looking for young flesh, they were blind to my passing, too consumed by their own lust and ambition to bother with man with a large plastic bag. The concierge to the building I wanted to enter would be a different story. Even if I could have talked my way inside, he would be able to identify me, as would any security cameras in the lobby. I went around back to the delivery door; picked the lock in seconds and I was in. A service elevator was just inside and went as high as the 34th floor where a stairway led to the roof; it also had a security camera. I opted for the stairs, 34 flights in just under 3 minutes; given that I had almost 200lbs of corpse and weights strapped to my back I'd say I made pretty good time. A simple padlock secured the heavy metal door that led to the roof, it wasn't hard to get past. It was a clear night, the glow of the city lights stretched out below like a field of diamonds. The brightest, an upscale residential that towered above all others save the one that held me at the moment, was my target. A doorman stood outside the main entrance. He was armed, the weapon concealed but in such a piss poor fashion. Amateur hour as usual. The penthouse had a skylight, four metres by four metres... a ridiculous size; the Gideon's hubris would kill him one day. One day, but not today. Beneath the skylight was a large bed with one man on it, awake but looked ready to sleep. His head rested against the expensive pillows, he'd be asleep in moments. My muscles strained as I hefted the bag above my head; a regular guy would break his arms if he tried this. I stepped to the edge of roof; the skylight was about 100 metres north and down from where I stood, not an impossible distance but it would be a stretch. The bag flew from my hands, tumbled through the air and hit the skylight with such force that sent shards of tempered glass down onto the bed; he rolled out of the way in time to avoid injury. He was stunned but he'd get the picture soon enough; my work was done.

It was just after 3am and still dark but the streets remained busy; the city of Apollonia was an insomniac. I pulled into the parking lot of a bar and grill, my Harley rumbled into silence beside a pair of 18 wheelers. The air was thick with the smell of burgers and fries; two men sat at the bar engulfed in the act of consumption. There looked to be only one waitress on duty, a young girl no more than twenty, who looked my way as soon as I entered.

"Whiskey to start, darlin'. I'll be over there." I pointed to a booth in the corner where a woman sat in the dim light, her striking and flawless features visible even from a distance.

I slid into the vacant seat and the waitress set my drink in front of me.

"I'll be back with a menu."

"Thanks darlin'." The waitress was gone as quickly as she had appeared; I turned my attention to the woman across from me. "Ms. Fitzroy... so, what's good?"

"The steak isn't bad, you should give it a try." She ran her hand through her platinum blonde hair and smiled.

"No such thing as a good steak outside of Texas, least none I ever came across."

"Hard to believe considering all the places you've been." She picked at the small salad in front of her. "Anyway, I believe you have something for me."

I reached into my jacket pocket and withdrew a zip lock bag slid it across the table to her. She picked it up immediately; her eyes were drawn to its contents, twelve golden capsules.

"This is it?"

"Yes ma'am."

"How did you get this?" She smiled; there was excitement in her eyes.

"Took it off the body of a boy I killed in that burned down grow-op. Part of the batch that was stolen to begin with."

"Have you tested it?"

"No." I sipped my drink. "But one of those other kids surely did and died the very next day."

Her perfectly shaped eyebrows arched upwards.

"You're sure? He died from the drug?"

"Pretty sure. Shrivelled up and died like the girl's father all those years ago."

"Well... so it's the same thing? She replicated it?"

I pointed to the baggy.

"Could be. Test it."

She slid the packet into her purse.

"I like your progress; what about the other objective? The V-10 is already circulating in this city, we're going to want this place as a testing ground."

"It's coming along. The big man in town, a cat named Gideon put a hit out on the girl and Saturnine."

She leaned forward, her fists clenched on the table.

"You can't let her--"

"I know; I'll put a bullet in him before he gets close. Untraceable bullets of course."

The waitress returned and placed a cup of black coffee in front of my companion and a menu in front of me.

"What's your plan of action?"

"Well... you ever had to deal with a wasp's nest? Probably shouldn't ask, you look like a city girl born and raised."

She smiled.

"I've done just about everything in my long lifetime. You'd be surprised. If you ever get clearance, maybe I'll fill you in on my life story someday..."

She didn't look a day over 25 but I knew she never lied. Her eyes... there were a million stories in her eyes; there was something off about her.

"Someday I suppose." I downed the rest of the whiskey in one gulp. "When I was a kid back home on the ranch, before the project, I remember finding a bunch of nests under a bush. Couldn't just go in there and spray 'em since the first spray would only get the ones on the outside. The way you get 'em is to rile 'em up, drive them out in the open, then kill 'em all at once."

She laughed.

"That actually sounds pretty reckless..."

"If you do it right, its anything but. I'm get 'em angry, make them reckless, then pick 'em off. It has to be bloody and very public; that whole world's got to see it. That's the only way Cherry will be able to operate and not get hunted down."

"Ok." She sipped her coffee and grimaced. "God, that's terrible. The coffee, not your strategy. Do you need anything from me?"

"Not a thing darlin'. Me and Saturnine can take it; hell, Billy boy's 'bout ready to burn the whole city down."

"Alright." She dropped a few bills on the table and slid out of her seat. "Anything else?"

"No ma'am, that's it. I'll keep you posted."

She smiled, nodded, and walked out; my eyes followed her perfect form out.

"Can I get you anything else sir?" The waitress stood beside me with a smile.

"Sure thing darlin', I got some time to kill..."

Chapter 10: Calm

Fresh Florida orange juice was on sale and for some reason that excited me. I filled my trolley with as many cartons as possible and moved on. Starla stood mesmerized by an impressive toilet paper display, I looked away, I didn't want to be hypnotized. Thom Yorke's voice wailed over the loud speaker against the backdrop of a steady drum beat, he was singing about a videotape or something; I couldn't make sense of the lyrics. The frozen meat section beckoned, we needed steak for dinner. Slabs of frozen packaged beef slid into the trolley on command, their price was irrelevant, we needed it. There appeared to be only one cashier on duty and the line up to her register seemed to be at least a mile long. Unacceptable but I had to join the line; it's not like I could take the trolley and run home without paying; not with all that snow outside.

"We're paying this time? I wore my running shoes for nothing." Starla stood beside me, an oversized roll of toilet paper under her arm.

"There's snow outside. I don't run when there's snow." I pointed out the front window at the mounds of fluffy white snow that had accumulated.

"That's only out front, the back is clear and sunny."

She was right. The sun's heat blazed against the white sand of the beach out back.

"Too late now, I'm already in line. Still, we should pay sometimes. I'm starting to feel bad."

"Meh. You're too soft." She leaned over and peered into the trolley. "What the hell, no orange juice? Can't have steak without orange juice."

I looked into the trolley. Bottles and bottles of bleach and mouthwash.

"Damn it, I don't know how I missed it." I glanced over at the orange juice display. Prices had jumped but it didn't matter; we needed it. "Hold my spot for me?"

"Five minutes then I'm gone; 90210 starts soon."

My sigh could have shattered a mountain. I turned towards the display, there was only one carton left and a teenager reached for it.

"Hey!" I called out, pointed at him and his head exploded, chunks of flesh and candy flew everywhere and the bugs scattered.

I grabbed the carton before the other hyenas could get their dirty hands on it, it fell with a slimy thud into my trolley. By the time I got back in line Starla was gone and there was snow outside... and me in my flip-flops for the first time ever. The line had evaporated and the cashier was right in front of me. She looked just like my mom.

"Did you want bags young lady?" She sounded like my mom too.

"Yes please." I reached in and set the bottles of bleach and mouthwash onto the conveyor belt.

"Oh... no orange juice?" She was my mom, had to be.

"What?" I looked into the trolley and then to the conveyor belt. No juice. "Son of a bi--"

"Hey. Cherry, you alright?" Starla shook me with both hands.

"Huh? What happened?"

"You were talking in your sleep." Bugs crawled along her arms towards my shoulder, they vanished as they touched my skin.

"Sorry, did I wake--" She wore make-up, looked like it had been applied by an artist. "You going to work? What time is it?"

"It's just past 11, and no, I've got the week off."

I sat up in the bed, I only just realized that it was her bed.

"Then what's all this? Make-up and stuff; looks like you're going out."

She took a seat on the edge of the bed.

"Billy's downstairs. I don't want him seeing me with bruises all over my face."

She grabbed a prescription pill bottle from her bedside table, shook free a small greenish pill, and downed it without water. I didn't have to see the prescription to know what she'd just swallowed.

"Valium?"

"An old prescription ; didn't need it before but I guess I need it now."

"How much have you taken today?"

She sealed the bottle and threw it into a drawer.

"That was my second since 5 this morning. Kinda needed it, otherwise I'd still be crying."

A pin was embedded in my heart.

"Starla... I'm--"

"Not your fault. "

"But --"

Her hands fell on my shoulders like boulders tumbling off a mountain side.

"Not. Your. Fault. It was the a$$hole who tried to kill us. I hope he gets raped a dozen times a day in jail."

"Yeah. He deserves whatever he gets." I rolled out of bed and stretched, my bones and muscles crackled and popped like a bowl of Rice Krispies.

I caught the faint aroma of toast and fried bacon. Starla glanced in the mirror and adjusted herself.

"You want some coffee? I'm heading down."

"Yeah, no, I just want to freshen up in the bathroom, see how the bruises fell."

She looked me up and down then threw the best smile she could muster.

"Alright; I'll save you a cup."

Ten minutes had passed and I hadn't moved; I stood frozen in front of the bathroom mirror, my fingers traced the bruise lines that encircled my throat. My face had fared better; a dab of purple coloured the corner of my lower lip. Hunger led me downstairs to the kitchen where a stack of bacon and toast rested on the table beside today's paper. The phone rang once and stopped before I could move for it. A pot of coffee brewed, I didn't notice until a cup had already been poured.

"Morning. Want some coffee?" Voice asked.

"Yes please." She handed me the filled cup; the caffeine brought a welcome jolt to my system. Voice stifled a yawn and poured what appeared to be her second cup. "Did you sleep?"

"Not really, lord knows I tried to catch a few. Your couch apparently wasn't meant to be slept on."

"I know, I'm sorry. Thanks for staying over." The coffee was bitter yet somehow remained the greatest I'd ever had. "Billy here? Zero?"

She downed her second cup and dropped the empty vessel into the sink.

"Zero left last night, said he'd be around. Probably out there killing or something, as he does. Billy's in the living room." She glanced past me into the living room. I could hear Starla's voice. "Billy's... I'm going to go. I've got a set tonight and I need to get some sleep, need to get a new car too."

"Um, don't you think we should stick together until we figure a way out of this? There could be a guy outside ready to, you know, blow your brains out."

"Collateral damage yeah? Zero suggested that if no one else showed up during the night, it's likely your address isn't public knowledge. Billy will be here if something hits the fan. Besides... they're not after me."

A needle of ice jabbed me in the heart.

"Oh... well yeah, no, yeah that... you're right. Call me later?"

She hugged me and patted me on the back.

"Of course."

She was gone, out the door without another word, past Starla who stood in the living room and handed Billy a cup of coffee. He watched her leave and said nothing. Stacks of toast, cheese, and a mound of bacon screamed at me from the kitchen table; the phone rang before I was able finish it all. I caught it on the first ring.

"Hey Ava, how are you? I wanted to call yesterday but..." My sister. The connection was solid but she was only half there.

"Hey, how's it going?"

"Not good. It's a little..." Her voice trailed off and I could hear her yell to someone in the background. "Little busy here today. Haven't had a chance to talk for a while; Chris and I wanted to have you over for dinner tonight, if you're free."

I glanced out the kitchen window that looked out into the backyard. The bushes needed trimming... and I could've sworn I saw them move. No, it was only the wind.

"That sounds good; I need to check with Starla though, I know she's got a lot going on. Can I get back to you in a few minutes?"

"Sure, just send me a text, I might not be at my desk. Talk soon, bye!"

She hung up before I was able to reply. I could only imagine her workload due to the events of the past few days.

"Hey Starla, June wants --" In the living room they appeared to be in the midst of a discussion, their voices hushed. "Uh, sorry, am I interrupting?"

"No." Billy's voice was like gravel. It wasn't a tone I was familiar with.

"Not at all. What's up?" Starla's, on the other hand, was as sweet as artificial fruit flavouring.

"June wants to come by for dinner tonight, I told her maybe but with all that's going on I thought--"

"You should go, both of you." Billy replied.

"Um... isn't that kind of dangerous?" I asked.

Starla shot me a puzzled glance which I ignored.

"June's a cop and her husband's a marksman cop, you'll be safe."

"Maybe if you came along... June would love to see you."

"No, I've got things to do." His gaze was focused on something outside; our eyes never met.

"Things to do? Like what? Sit in the living room looking serious?"

"Yeah, just like that. You guys should go; I'll split a cab down with you."

There was no tactful way to say it, June's house was huge to the point of being ridiculous. It wasn't a mansion by any means but with 3 floors, 4 bedrooms, and 4 separate baths it gave Barbie's dream house a run for its money. Chris' silver Camaro was in the driveway along with a sporty black Nissan I hadn't seen before. June's BMW was absent; no doubt running late again. The luxuries came from long hours of work after all. The front door was unlocked and the smell of roasting filet mignon hit me like a slap in the face. Not a bad slap in the face, one of the good and pleasant face slaps.

"Hello? We're here!" I called out. The thought of surprising them in their own home didn't appeal to me, especially since they had lots of guns and a willingness to use them on intruders.

"Hey! In here!" Chris was probably in the kitchen. June didn't cook, or wouldn't cook, so that task fell on his shoulders. He was pretty good at it too.

He stood in front of the stove where three different pots cooked something I was sure would be delicious while his work buddy, I'd met him before but his name escaped me, shuffled a stack of paper and placed it in an olive coloured binder. An toxicology report lay on top; case notes. Mom used to go through hers at the kitchen table every night.

"Something smells good!" Starla exclaimed. She shivered with joy; neither of us were great cooks so it was rare that we had a meal worth noting.

He greeted Starla with a hug, I got a kiss on the cheek. He was a very physical man in general, always a hug and a kiss for family , well timed punches and kicks for adversaries.

"June's running a bit late. Her workload's pretty hectic these days what with the madness on the streets the last couple of days." He gestured towards his friend. "You remember Miles right?"

Miles. The name had been on the tip of my tongue.

"Yeah, hey, that time we went bowling right?" I shook his hand; very firm grip. I'd hate to be choked by him.

"Good to see you again Ava. You're looking very well." He had an especially toothy grin.

"Well, I moisturize twice a day." I said with a wink. People in general reacted better when I flirted; I was terrible at it. "And my friend Starla here moisturizes three times a day at least."

He smiled and shook her hand too.

"Will you be joining us for dinner tonight? Is this some kind of matchmaking setup?" Starla asked.

He laughed.

"I wish, but no. We've got a case that needs closing; we're hitting the streets tonight."

Chris was the leader of a strike team in Vice for the Appollonia Police department. If he had a case to attend to later tonight it was no doubt pretty important. God... I hope he wasn't on the trail of our feud with Gideon.

"That sucks. Must be a big case." I gestured to the files. "Is that a toxicology report? Is it about your case?"

Miles slid the report into the binder and put it under his arm.

"Sorry, daughter and sister of a cop; I've seen my share of police stuff."

"No, actually I wanted to get your opinion on these." Chris turned off the stove and too the binder from his friend. "Our guy back at the house is good but I think you've got a bit more experience in the toxicology department."

"Cool, let me take a look." He handed the binder to me and went back to the stove.

A car door slammed shut outside, June was home. I scanned the toxicology report quickly; the results were unpleasant and familiar. Blood once again missing all the crucial markers of regular blood yet saturated with an unknown substance. The lab guys couldn't identify it but I knew what it was.

"That's weird. These results are kinda strange. What happened to this guy? Who was he?" I asked.

"Just some guy, some kid we found OD'ed on the street." Miles answered.

"OD'ed on what?" I wanted to know what their theory was.

"Don't know yet; some new street drug that's starting to catch on. This is the fourth OD we've come across this week."

My heart jumped and my mind shattered into a billion pieces only to be rebuilt seconds later. How could this be?

"Wow, this really is strange. Do you guys have a sample of this new drug? I'd love to see it." I was sure of the answer before Chris shook his head. It wouldn't have taken them much time to track it back to me.

"We've been trying to get our hands on some but the sellers and the buyers aren't giving it up. They call it Honey on the streets but we haven't even seen a sample of this poison." Miles took the binder back from me and slid it into a duffle bag that he then laid on the floor beside the kitchen table.

"I know you ladies like to hit the clubs every so often and I know what kind of stuff you brush up against. If anyone offers you Honey, it'd be a huge help if picked up a sample and brought it to us." Chris said as he removed a pot from the stove and set it down on the hot plate.

"Sure, yeah, sure no problem." I muttered and just then June entered the kitchen with a file folder of her own.

"Hello all. Starla and sister." She nodded and smiled at us as she handed the folder to Miles. "This is yours; turns out the body we found in that burnt out house was dead before the fire was started. And the house was a grow-op meaning a drug related death, ergo a strike team case."

He took the folder with a sigh as June walked past him to her husband who had begun to place food on the living room table.

"As if our caseload wasn't full enough." They kissed a kiss that was over in the blink of an eye. "I'm glad you're home; now we can finally eat."

Dinner was... I had no words to describe dinner. It was the culinary equivalent of an atom being split, the birth of a universe, and a Toronto Maple Leafs championship winning season. An impossibility and a wonder; perhaps I exaggerated but, again, it had been so very long since we'd eaten a great meal. At one point Starla's hands had begun to shake and I had wondered if it had just been her reaction to the food. She had stepped away from the table for a moment, slid a bluish pill into her mouth, and her hands steadied minutes later. Chris and Miles received an urgent call and were forced to leave just as we finished eating. I wondered where their job would take them tonight and if it would make things better or worse. Maybe they'd get into a situation with a certain aspiring drug lord and would be forced to kill him. The fantasy crawled through my mind like dirty old motor oil through an engine as June and I brought the dishes into the kitchen. Starla had darted into the washroom yet again; I heard the water run for a long time.

"So Ava..." June's lectures always began that way when they wrapped in the guise of advice.

"So June... thanks for dinner, it was awesome."

"What happened?" She stacked the dishes in the dishwasher. She did it all wrong.

"What do you mean?"

"Starla was pretty fidgety at dinner, and she darted off into the washroom the first chance she got. Something happen? Another break-up?"

"Break-up?" I wanted to end this line of questioning but the exact method to do it eluded me.

"I know Billy's in town. I know their history."

"Could be. I know they've been talking."

June poured too much detergent into the dishwasher and turned it on. A mess would ensue, no doubt, but she'd never learn if she did get to experience her mistakes. I had my mom to thank for that valuable gem of advice.

"Ok." She looked at me as though I'd just tried to sell her a helicopter to the moon. "So, have you guys been spending a lot of time with him since he arrived?"

"Billy? Um, yeah, we've gone out for drinks a couple times and stuff."

"He was involved in a shooting the other day you know."

The lights of the kitchen began to feel very hot.

"Really? Uh, how did that happen?"

She shook her head and sighed.

"Knock it off Ava, I know you were there. You aren't exactly hard to identify."

I shifted my glance away from her. I was sure there hadn't been anyone else around during the ambush but then in my panic I couldn't be faulted for missing the bystanders.

"Um..." I began.

"Don't. No lies, no stories. Tell it plainly."

I had a tell, a classic and obvious one at that. Mom could always spot it; my lies came packaged with a sudden shifted glance. June had inherited her powers of perception.

"We were out for lunch, Billy, Maddie and myself. Maddie dropped us off, we got a table, and before we even got our food they..." I paused and dug deep; my eyes watered. "They started shooting. Everyone started screaming and this glass just exploded and shattered everywhere. Billy saved my life, he got me to the car but... I guess those guys saw us because they started shooting up Maddie's car. We started shooting back--"

"Who's WE? Did you shoot?"

"No, no, not me. Maddie and Billy. I didn't have a gun."

June stared at me like a person evaluating a used car salesman's pitch.

"There was another shooter on your side; ballistics all but confirmed it. If it wasn't you then who was it?"

My heart skipped a beat and it threw my breathing off.

"Not with us there wasn't!"

"Ava, I swear to God..."

"I'm telling you there wasn't anyone else with us!" A tear rolled down my cheek; my eyes burned. "Maybe there was someone else in the restaurant, I don't know. Once Billy started shooting I kept my head down and didn't look up until it stopped."

She slammed the dish washer shut and turned it on.

"Ok. And once the shooting stopped, Billy and Maddie chased after the surviving attacker, right?"

"Yes."

"How did you get home?"

"What?" I wanted to leave.

"Maddie drove, right? Her bullet riddled car was still parked outside the restaurant when we canvassed the place. How did you get home?

"I walked."

"From Drakes? That's a 45 minute walk at least... and it was raining."

I sighed.

"I don't know! When the gunshots stopped I ran. I ran as fast as I could towards home. I didn't really think about it June, I was kind of in shock alright? I just ran! I'd never seen someone get shot in real life before."

"Ok." She leaned over the kitchen sink and looked out the small window that overlooked their large backyard. The security lights flickered on and then off. "You should've told me."

"I know." The security light flickered on again. I edged away from the window.

"Is that all? Is there anything else I should know, anything you saw?"

Yeah, actually we caught one of the guys who shot up the restaurant and we killed him in my basement. Oh, and there's a contract on our heads so every thug with a bill to pay is gunning for us.

"No, that's all. I swear."

"Alright." She put her hands on my shoulders. "If anything like this ever happens again, if you see a crime or are involved somehow, please tell me. I can help you."

Help me right into a jail cell. Sure thing.

"Ok."

"And it'd be a good idea for you to distance yourself from Billy and Madeline. They're no good."

"What are you talking about? They saved my life!"

"Billy's half a step away from being a full-on psycho, he has since he was a kid. Remember when you were in high school ? How many insane things he did and how his dad the General got him out of those jams that would get a normal kid thrown into juvenile detention for the next 10 years? And Voice isn't much better. What were they doing going to lunch with guns?"

I shrugged.

"I don't know, they're paranoid or whatever. Is that why you invited us to dinner, so that you could interrogate me like some crook?"

"Yes." She stared me down with her steel blue eyes. "That's exactly why. I'd hoped you would've just come to me but in case you haven't noticed, something is happening in Appollonia."

I heard Starla exit the bathroom.

"What the-- what the hell does that mean? 'There's something happening in Appollonia' what's that got to do with me?"

June sighed and it sounded like air as it rushed out of a balloon.

"When was the last time you heard about a restaurant in that part of town being shredded with bullets in broad daylight? And just the day before a grow op is torched and at least one low level dealer murdered inside? And, oh this is the best part, the car used in the shootings just happened to be owned and registered to someone we know to have frequented that grow op. A hell of a bunch of coincidences, don't you think?"

I felt sick.

"Wha-- what? So... what is all this?"

"We're still putting the pieces together. Between you and me, it looks like the beginning of some kind of gang or drug war. I'm not saying Billy and Voice are involved but they got into a gunfight with them, killed some of them, and at least one of them got away with a good look at their faces. If they weren't targets before they probably are now. I don't want you to become collateral damage."

I felt like screaming a slew of profanity.

"Oh... oh my god." I ran my hands through my hair. I was more shocked by how much they'd been able to put together. "What should I do?"

"Just keep your distance. We're doing our best to get on top of this, but for now-" Her hip began to buzz and beep. She pulled her blackberry from her holster and glanced at the flashing touch screen. "Damn it. I have to head back to the precinct."

"What? Did something else happen?" I asked.

"I can't get into it right now. " She grabbed her bag from the chair at the kitchen table. "Lock up when you and Starla head out, ok? We'll talk later."

"Wait, June!" I called out before she reached the front door. "Look, I'm still a bit rattled by all this. I can't image me and Starla heading home tonight with all this craziness going on. Would you mind if we crashed here? We'll just sleep in the guest room."

She hugged me; it was weird. For a moment she felt like mom.

"Yeah of course, of course. I'll be back in few hours."

Starla entered the kitchen as the front door slammed shut.

"Everything alright? Were you guys arguing?"

"No, no, nothing like that. It's cool."

I reached into the fridge and grabbed two bottles of water.

"We're gonna stay here tonight." I handed her a bottle.

"Did you tell June about the attack?"

I took my seat at the kitchen table.

"Hell no, she didn't need to know that. It was handled." Starla folded her arms in front of her and took a seat across from me. "Don't worry, this place is like a fortress. Bars on the window, security system, bulletproof glass. We're safe here."

Out back the security lights flickered off once again. Starla didn't even notice.