A MISCREATION, A DEMON
Contains bad words and sex-y scenarios. This one contains some gore. Mature (18+) audiences only.
Read Episode 8 here.
Mo shook her head again, each movement side to side like she was juggling a bowling ball. When her head tipped right, she spotted a lamp.
And it was within arm’s reach.
“Why so quiet?” the guard asked, brushing the side of his face against hers, his tongue wetting her earlobe. “What about all that talk you had earlier?”
He made his way down her body.
She felt lips against her stomach.
She gathered as much strength as she could, gripped the lamp base, and swung it at his head. It was a pitiful swing, like a slap from a piece of cooked spaghetti, but it apparently did what she’d intended. It crashed against his skull and knocked him off the bed where he proceeded to get further knocked out by the wooden floor.
Dazed and under the influence of some kind of tranquilizer, she sat up and swung her legs over the side of the mattress. After three tries, she made it to her feet and shuffled toward the door, using the wall for stability. She tried the handle only to find it locked from the outside—no surprise there. No way would they have made it that easy for her to get out. She hadn’t exactly gone willingly into the entire situation.
The only other way out was through the open sliding doors and the dark, mystical body of water that lay just one step down from a small ledge. If she’d been otherwise not hopped up on meds, it would have been easy to swim across it to the embankment on the other side. However, in her current condition, drowning was inevitable. Her arms and legs were so heavy, they’d pull her under almost immediately.
“Come on, Mo. Think.”
The guard on the floor moaned. She stumbled over to where he lay, dragged the lamp from the bed, and dropped it onto his head. The porcelain base smashed against the sweat-dampened tendrils of his hair, and he released a long groan before slipping back into unconsciousness.
She searched his body and found a combat knife, string that he probably kept to use as a garrote, ammo, and a 9mm pistol.
“I guess you brought these just in case you couldn’t physically overpower me?” she asked his lifeless form. She secured the knife under her top, tied the rope around her wrist, and then checked the chamber of the pistol. It was fully loaded.
A loud thump against the door had her dragging herself down to the floor to hide behind the bed.
“What was that?” a voice called from the other side of the door. “Dmitri, you should be finished by now.”
Mo looked down at the first man, the so-called Auserwahlte. “That was like, what, five minutes? You’re no ‘Chosen One,’ Dmitri.”
Keys jingled. The handle rocked. The door pushed open and a woman dressed like a nurse from an earlier decade—white apron, cap, stockings—stepped into the room. “Dmitri, what was that noise I heard?”
Mo rose from the other side of the bed, using one hand on the mattress to push herself up, the loaded gun in the other. “Don’t scream.”
“How are you moving around right now?” the nurse asked, examining her from head to toe.
Mo lifted a shoulder. “Sheer will to get the hell out of here.”
As if just noticing the gun that had been pointed at her the entire time, the nurse’s already large eyes went even rounder. Her lips, like two thin sheets of pink paper, parted. Her skin paled.
“Are you going to shoot me?” she asked.
“I don’t want to,” Mo said. “Well, scratch that. I want to, but I would prefer not to.”
“I’m just a nurse. I watch over the girls to make sure their pregnancies go smoothly. If you kill me, they’ll have no one.”
“Catch me on a day when I care.” Mo lowered the gun and fired a round off into the woman’s foot.
The nurse cried out and crumbled to the ground, her hands lowering to wrap around her increasingly bloodied shoe.
“You guys abducted me from my home.” Mo slowly made her way over to the other woman. “You threatened my husband and child and you want me to show mercy?”
She checked to make sure the nurse didn’t have any communication devices, and then made her way through the door out into a long, empty hallway. It felt like standing in the middle of an asylum. It was, at least, lit well enough that she could make out a door on each end. When they’d brought her from her room, she remembered the bed having to bank a right to get inside, which meant they’d come from the left. Since that wasn’t the way she was going, she dragged her body toward the door on the right.
The adrenaline from her encounter with the guard and the nurse had helped to push whatever drug they’d administered through her system, so she felt slightly lighter than she had a few moments ago. It still felt like she was wading through waist-deep water, however.
A staircase greeted her through the righthand door, sloping uphill. As she made her way up the walkway, voices rose behind her.
“The assassin woman escaped!”
“Which way did she head?”
“Shut down the entire complex.”
The last command stopped her dead in her tracks.
“We have a major problem heading this way from the gates.”
Gio. It had to be him. It was probably why the halls were empty. He would have to be contained. Heaven help them if he didn’t come alone.
At the top of the stairs, she pushed at what looked like a basement door, but the heavy wood barely budged. Through the slit, she spotted a padlock.
She couldn’t shoot at it, not in this small of a space.
She shoved again. Maybe someone on the outside would notice. Even if they didn’t intend to help her, if she got them to unlatch it, she’d be able to overpower them. Hopefully.
“Hey, is anybody out there?” she called. “Hey, open up!”
A bullet shattering wood caused her to jump backward. At the bottom of the stairs were two men with guns pointed in her direction.
“You can’t shoot in here!” She motioned to the space. “You’ll kill all three of us.”
“Then come to us,” one of the men shouted.
Above her, the door rattled.
“I don’t want to go back there.” She mustered as much emotion as she could, breaking and cracking the notes in her voice. “You lied. It wasn’t the Auserwahlte. It was one of your guards.”
The other man piped up. “He wasn’t supposed to be in there. It won’t happen again.”
Another rattle sounded. This one was definitely coming from the outside. Somebody was tampering with the lock.
“Put down your weapon,” the same man requested. “Come to us. We would prefer not to hurt you.”
Mo pretended to swipe a tear from her eye. “I would prefer if you didn’t hurt me, either. I don’t feel so well. I’m really tired. So very, very tired.”
The doors swung open. Light burst into the room. Both men started to put up a hand to shade their eyes but two bullets came flying into the room, lodging in their bodies. While they went down, she felt herself being hoisted by the underarms up out of the bunker.
Around her, men in uniform were firing out of the encampment at something she couldn’t see. When two went down, one right after the other, and they continued to shoot aimlessly into the abyss, she figured out at what they were firing.
She faced the person who’d pulled her out of the hole and tossed her arms around his neck. “Oh my god. Mike.”
Huang hoisted her up into his arms. “Are you okay?”
“They gave me something. A tranq or something.” More men went down around them. “Is it only Gage?”
“Nah, that’s Dez,” Mike said, starting off toward a fence that wrapped around the commune. “Gage is with Giorgio laying cover fire.”
Relief burst, sweet, in her chest. “And where is Gio?”
Huang smiled. “Having himself a good ol’ time.”
* * * * *
Giorgio stalked into the commune, a Katana in each hand. He’d completely forgotten he owned them. He’d stolen them while tracking a target in Japan around four or five years ago. Possibly seven or ten. The swords had been part of the man’s collection and too beautiful to use on their previous owner. That luxury he’d bestowed upon a rapier, mostly because he’d found it humorous to use a rapier in the twenty-first century.
“Kontsentrirovat’sya! Focus, Little Pozza!”
He could hear Godmother Irina’s voice like she was walking right next to him.
“When you lose focus, you become what he says, my Giorgio.”
Bodies fell around him, courtesy of Gage’s deadly accuracy. Somewhere.
Someone stepped into his path and Giorgio whipped the blade through the air, not caring on which part of the body it landed. As long as it was above the neck, he wouldn’t have to waste time stopping to make sure the heart was no longer beating.
“Do you remember the poem, my Giorgio?”
He rammed the sharp tip of the sword through the hollow of someone’s throat. It didn’t matter who. If they were in his way, they were trying to stop him from getting to Bez. Even if they were begging, they were in his way.
“Yes, Godmother,” he said to the specter of the only mother figure he’d ever known.
A person was within arm’s reach. He wrapped his fingers around their throat and pushed them back into the wall, squeezing and slamming until the weight against his forearms grew heavy. Then, he released and continued on.
Godmother Irina’s voice rang through his head, bouncing from ear to ear.
“There are cemeteries that are lonely, graves full of bones that do not make a sound.”
One of his blades went up and through the soft space behind the chin of someone whose face he couldn’t make out.
“The heart moving through a tunnel, in it darkness, darkness, darkness.”
His elbow connected with bone, somewhere, on somebody.
“Like a shipwreck we die going into ourselves, as though we were drowning inside our hearts.”
There were more bodies in front of him, running now. None of their faces, he could see. Not even when they looked back at him.
“As though we lived falling out of the skin into the soul.”
Giorgio called out to the shadows of faces, in both Russian and German so they understood. “Pochemu ty beshish’? Warum rennst du? Why do you run? Is it not me you have requested?”
A low hum started in his ear. As the faces faded behind doors and cowered in corners, the hum transformed into a buzz. A voice.
“I have her. It’s Mike. I have Mo.”
He stopped mid-stride. “Yey bol’no.”
“A little help here, Gage?” Huang asked. “Dez?”
“He’s asking if she’s hurt,” Gage translated. “I think.”
“Da,” Giorgio cut in.
Then, he heard his Bez’s voice. “I’m okay, Gio. They injected me with something so I wouldn’t move, but it’s wearing off.”
Giorgio craned his neck, searching the space. He’d somehow ended up in some sort of examination room. “Inject?”
“It’s so the women won’t fight when—”
“Tell me who, and I will kill.”
“There’s three,” she said. “A Maxwell, a Thomas, a guard who threatened me earlier, and then the one who tried to force himself on me.”
She rattled off their descriptions.
He headed from the exam room. “Is four, Bez. Maybe you do not teach Aleksi to count, da?”
“The third one, save him for me,” she said. “And we agreed we’d help Aleksi with his homework until like ninth grade and then send him to Julien.”
“I remember.” He enjoyed what his body did whenever he heard her voice. It was almost never the same thing more than once. “And I will find, moya lyubov’.”
He found the Maxwell one with the Thomas one in another exam room. There was a woman on a metal table with her legs spread. The Maxwell one had his head lowered between the woman’s legs while the Thomas one stood with a gun pointed at the door.
The Thomas one was terrible with a gun which made dispatching him—Giorgio grinned as he thought about the rapier and how it would have been more appropriate for “dispatching”—rather easy. For the Maxwell one, he’d lowered the Katanas and used one of the surgical tools on him. Afterward, he kept them. He’d never used surgical tools before. They were so precise, he could write words with them. In skin. And they were so light, like a pencil.
“Focus, Little Pozza.”
He left the woman in the room, her belly a mound beneath the sheets. He wasn’t interested in reassuring her help was coming. He didn’t care enough to explain what was happening or tell her not to be afraid. She didn’t scream, and he heard her ask a question about who he was as he left, but he didn’t want to talk to her.
“Gio? Baby?” It was his Bez’s voice again, in his ear. “Dez found the guard, so you only have one left.”
Giorgio stalked through the compound until he came to the room Bez had described to him. It was the only one with water and after spotting the lake from the outside, he’d been able to figure out the layout inside that would lead him to it.
On the floor were two men. One was clearly dead, but it wasn’t his Bez’s handiwork. He knew her handiwork. He’d helped her hone it. The other one was pushing up to sit, groaning and shaking his head. His forehead was bloody, and blood had dried beneath his nose and on the collar of the shirt peeking beneath his uniform.
The man looked up. “Who the fuck are you?”
Giorgio swept across the room, lodged both Katanas just beneath the man’s clavicle, and lifted him off his feet. The man’s cries were almost musical. Pain and agony tore from his throat, a symphony. When this was over, he would need his Bez to remind him why he didn’t do this as often as he used to. Why he couldn’t do this every day.
He walked over to the open doors, lowered the man into the water, and used his boot to slide him off the edge of the blades. Shock rendered the man lifeless as his blood pooled around him, tinting the surface of the water.
The shock subsided and the man began to thrash.
A swarm of silver rose up from the bottom like bubbles. After the first bite, the man’s thrashing increased.
He liked these fish, Giorgio realized. He’d been expecting something else—alligators, giant catfish, the Kraken—because it was the only thing that had made sense. Why there was a body of freshwater located where it was.
He turned to leave the room. “I am done.”
“We’re at the gate entrance with the van,” Dez said. “The compound’s been contained. We have a unit coming in for the pregnant women, and we should be able to find the old bat before she gets notice about the current state of their breeding factory and goes into hiding.”
Giorgio heard the words, but none of it made sense. They didn’t fully register until he reached the platform where Gage, Dez, and Huang were watching his Bez kick some man’s ass. The man had been relieved of his weapons, and by the way he couldn’t fight back even against a sluggish Bez, Giorgio knew the weapons had been the man’s only source of “power.”
He walked over, didn’t stop even when she started yelling, tugged piano wire from his waist, and wrapped it around the man’s neck.
He tightened the cord.
“Gage, make him stop!”
The man flopped, thrashed, and scratched air.
Giorgio didn’t let up until all the nonsense stopped. He then stood, reattached the wire, and faced Mo. “What is thing you say when we leave house late even when is your fault?” he asked, searching for the phrase. “You say, ‘we are on’ . . . something crunchy.”
She rolled her eyes. “A time crunch.”
“Da. We do not have time for you to play, so I kill him. I will get you puppy, make it better.”
Gage hopped into the van. Dez and Huang went in a different direction. His Bez climbed into the back, so Giorgio climbed in the back with her. Less than a full second after he closed the door, she was on him, her arms wrapped around as much of the breadth of his shoulders they could manage.
He returned the hug, folding her into him.
“I will come for you always, Bez,” he said against her hair. “You are for me, only. Mine.”
She nodded, her head brushing his chin. “Yours. Always. Thank you. I’m so grateful for all of you.”
“We will take you to Tayler for fixing. We will see Little Fish. Then, you will come with me?”
She tilted her head to look up at him. “To go ahead and take out that old woman and that one bitch?”
“You know it.”
The van pulled off down the one-lane road. They were a bloody, disheveled mess but outside, the sky was clear and pale blue. The sun was shining, and the clouds looked like white puffs of smoke slowly dissolving. The world carried on.
“Bez, if I get you dog, I would like fish,” Giorgio bartered.
“What kind of fish?” She eyed him. “Like a goldfish?”
“Is like . . . same.” He pinched air with his fingers. “Tiny. Safe. Not dangerous.”
She searched his face. Then, her brows narrowed. “We’re not getting piranhas.”
“I never said is this fish.”
“Giorgio, are you asking about piranhas?”
He ticked his head to the side. “Is possible.”
“You know this is what I mean, how?”
“Because I’m married to you, you’re my best friend, I know you, and . . . wait.” She raised a palm. “How is a piranha ‘same’ like a goldfish?”
“The two of them, they swim—”
“And there’s nothing tiny and safe and ‘not dangerous’ about piranhas. You know, if you hadn’t just saved my life I wouldn’t be able to deal with you right now. A piranha? Where are we supposed to keep a piranha? I love you, baby, but try to walk in our house with a tank talking about you bought . . . ”
While she continued her rant, he pulled her closer.
#10 – A LITTLE CITY CALLED POZZA
“If you let me live, Giorgio, I will tell you about your mother.”
Two Episodes Left!
Mo and Giorgio are from the book, “Angels and Assassins: The Dark Knight.”