Demigods (25 page)

Quietly she slipped into the nearest cab, and directed him to drive. Any direction was fine, she told him, as long as it lead to a small, secluded bar.

Opening the wallet she had found in her hands, after passing through the crowd, she pulled out only the cash, which totaled less than seventy dollars. She could tell that it belonged to a local man from a time before she had even found it in her possession, so nothing else in it concerned her, and it was more money than she needed for her next stop.

"Someone left this in your back seat," she told the cabby with a smile that he certainly noticed.

Finally, they reached the place that he had in mind. It was a small secluded bar, and was not a place that tourists would frequent, but all that she cared about was that it was not crowded.

"How much do I owe you," she asked, thinking that she would actually pay for something, only to find that he wasn't about to allow it.

"This one’s on me," he told her, simply happy to have given a ride to such a beautiful, young lady.

Entering the decrepit bar, she quickly noticed that she was the only female in the establishment, but wasn't the least bit surprised. It was to be expected in such a place, at four in the afternoon.

The man behind the bar was frail, and seemingly as decrepit as the establishment itself. His hair was as white as the clouds, while his hands shook uncontrollably, and though her presence made him feel something that he had not felt in a very long time, he had long since forgotten what it was good for.

"I would like a double shot of Southern on the rocks," she told him as she smiled, and laid a twenty on the polished, hardwood counter, "and some quarters for your pool table."

"Why of course," he said in a raspy voice that trembled as much as his hands did. "Would you like some quarters too?"

Certainly, he had heard her, though his mind functioned about as poorly as the rest of his body, and she simply sat there and watched, wondering if he would actually get the quarters, if she gave no reply.

Amazingly, he remembered what she ordered, and poured it without spilling a drop. Even as his hands shook while setting it in front of her, not a bit of liquor escaped the glass, and she realized that she had no need to stir it.

Then he turned to the register, and began to slowly peck at the keys, and though it was not the grandest of displays, he completed the task flawlessly, before turning back to her.

"There you go, mister," he said as he placed her change in front of her, without ever actually looking up at her, and she was quite tickled. The fact that there were two dollars worth of quarters with it, was simply astounding.

Lifting the tall shot, she threw it back, and then set the emptied glass back on the hardwood. It was not as though it would actually have any effect on her, but she did it for the memories.

Andrew and Greg were fine, young men, and Amber had made her feel more sensual than she ever had before. She wished that she could have spent more time with all three of them, yet things needed to be done.

She also remembered how it felt to dance seductively in front of them, and how the rate of their heartbeats seemed to match her every step, like a cobra to the charmer.

She also remembered how she, herself, was charmed by the rhythm, and how it flowed through her body like the current of a winding river, or a breeze that gently shifted from side to side. More than anything, this is what she wanted right now, and this is what she would have.

She swayed like a church bell on a virgin man's wedding day, as she approached the jukebox with her quarters in hand, and all but the bartender stood mesmerized by her motions. She had not intended to, though certainly, she had raised the temperature of the room with her sensual display.

Such a motion could be intentional for her, had she wished, for she had surely been trained in the art of seduction, but it had also never been a choice. She was forced to do everything that her captor had instructed, to the point where it actually became natural to her.

Stepping up to the instrument, she placed her delicate left hand upon the glass, and tossed her tiny hips in the same direction, as she wandered through the selection. She had not been allowed to experience such sort of music in the memories that they had given her, so she was eager to explore.

The first song that jumped out at her was one called "beautiful", and feeling so, she fed the machine just enough to hear it.

As the song began, she started to sway slowly, and sensuously, but the words were not making her feel beautiful at all. Instead, they were words of loneliness, yet still she closed her eyes, and became enveloped by the sensation.

Then, Eminem began his rap, and the words became even more personal, but still she gained motion from them, while remaining ever feminine. They were words that reminded her of what she was, and how lonely they had actually created her. They were words that began to rip at her very soul, and though she enticed every patron in the bar with her display, her heart was slowly being ripped apart.

His second verse tore at her even more, pointing out how different she really was, and by extension, how truly alone as well. Although they gave her the means to fit into any situation, they certainly caused her to feel as though she fit into none.

The third verse was meant to be somewhat uplifting to someone in such a situation, though it did well to make her feel even more alone. There was certainly no one that could ever fit into her shoes, and she sincerely hoped that no one would ever have to.

As the song started to end as it had began, the pain that she felt overwhelmed her, and her emotional weakness stumbled her until her back rested against the wall. Slowly she slid down, until she found herself hugging her calves, and sobbing into her knees.

Why had they made her this way, she wondered, knowing that the question was rhetorical. The true question was how could they have done so?

Then a man began to approach from the bar, and though she was still consumed by her own emotions, she could detect his vital signs, and his step easily told her his intentions. He was rather intoxicated, and sloppy in his approach, and it only angered her frail emotions.

He actually got about fifteen feet away from her before she responded. With one quick leap, she landed in a three-point stance in front of him, with her free hand in a clawed posture, as she looked up at him from the floor. The growl that she let out, which resembled that of a cougar mixed with a woman was more than enough to cause him to fall backwards onto the hard floor. He scurried away he did, without ever rising up, until he felt himself at a safe distance.

Scurry could also describe the way that she returned to the wall, to curl back up into a ball to cry some more, though she certainly looked more beautiful than he did doing so.

At this, another man stood, and he was far less intoxicated than the first. Her emotional state did much to cause her confusion within her advanced senses, yet she was aware enough to hear him as he approached the jukebox, and though her presence affected him, he was much more in control of himself than anyone else in the room.

He inserted a dollar bill into the machine, and she could sense that he did not turn her way as he selected two songs. Surely, his intentions were directed her way, and as soon as the first song began, so was the rest of him.

She did not look up from where she cried. She did not have to, because he now had all of her attention, and she was well aware of everything around her. His heartbeat told her that he was certainly interested in her, but his pores did not emit the scent of nervousness. His step was confident and compassionate, according to the vibrations she felt from the floor, and she was certain that he was smiling at her sympathetically.

The song had a beautiful piano melody, and the words were quite comforting from the start. It was quite the opposite of the one that had put her in the position that she was now in, and he was telling her that she was quite desirable through such words. It was a song called "Lady", by the Little River Band, and she found herself being the one that was charmed.

Looking up at him, she found him holding out his hand to her, with a smile that was as charming as it was compassionate. He was a handsome man, with short brown hair, a well-trimmed beard, and eyes of the deepest brown, and he stood there patiently.

Finally, with her left hand, she reached out to his right, and allowed him to lift her gently from the floor. As soon as she stood, she lunged into him, wrapping her arms around his waist, and burying her face within his torso.

His hand tenderly caressed her long, blonde hair, as her tears wet his shirt, and he held her tightly, allowing her to release her emotions upon him. The song he had chosen spoke beautifully to her, and she soon found herself adoring the one that had come to her rescue.

Sensing her release, they began to sway slowly to the rhythm of such a song, but it was already ending. How fortunate she thought it was that the next one was as equally enchanting.

It was called "Let Me Be Myself", and it was not enchanting in the way of love, but rather in the way that a human heart yearns for freedom and acceptance. Nonetheless, it still drew her closer to him, for he seemed to know exactly what she needed.

"Will you take me home with you?" she asked as she looked up at him, and stroked his heart with her pale green eyes. "Will you hold me tonight?"

Smiling down upon her, he saw her as a wounded angel in need of help, and determined that he would do whatever would bring peace to her heart.

"Certainly I will."

She buried herself into him once more, yet only for a moment, for she felt the need to be totally honest with him.

"If you make love to me," she told him as she captured the attention of his brown eyes once more, "I would have to kill you."

"Of course you would," he smiled, before pulling her back to himself.

Sangmu had been sitting in a meditative state upon the eloquent sofa for about two hours. Her eyes were closed, her legs in a full lotus position, and her hands rested on her inner thighs, with palms up. Not a sound had she made the entire time, and her only motion was that of a slow, tranquil breath.

For a while, Ryan had paced, not knowing how long she would remain like this, and then he sat in the chair, and just stared for a while. He had no idea when she would put her perception back upon him, but he was certainly not going to interrupt her.

Now he stared out the window, knowing that Viper was out there somewhere, eager to end his existence, and though he was not someone prone to fear, this situation was far different. It was not another human being that he was up against, but rather a demigod created by men. As much as he would like to deny it, he would be terrified if, not for the fact that Mirage was here by his side.

"I have to go get some things," she finally spoke, and it about startled him, but he was quickly melted by the sound of her voice.

"How long will you be?" he asked, as he turned away from the window to face her, yet she was already in front of him.

"I am not certain," she told him as she placed her hands softly upon his cheeks, before placing a brief, though tender kiss upon his lips, "but please stay away from the window, and wait for me to return."

It was a passionate request, but it might have well been an order from the president himself, for there was no way that he would do otherwise.

"Certainly, Sangmu," he replied with a charming smile, and such a response had bought him a far more passionate lip lock, and embrace. This, of course, was as much as he could have hoped for at the moment, and he accepted it fervently.

“You can call me Sang for short.”

*            *            *

The man’s apartment was right around the corner from the small bar, and Viper had walked hand in hand with the man that had so completely charmed her. It was an unusual feeling. One that could compare to helplessness mixed with elation, and she did not know how to respond, so she chose only to follow for a time.

His dwelling was a bit modest in size, yet decorated in a most artistic fashion, and the theme was an intellectual's perspective on solitude.

Within his room, there were only two candles, for that is all it took to set the mood of romance, and they glistened upon the black comforter that adorned his queen-sized bed. He had not taken her into his room, for it was her own request, and she was the one that insisted upon the candles being lit as well, though still she was who she was.

He was both gentle and passionate with her, teaching her the difference between sex, and making love. The animals would engage in such acts because that is what our bodies tell us to do, and it brings pleasure and procreation, but what she had learned was that the proper amount of passion, mixed with a consuming emotion of gentle desire, created a sensation like no other.

It was so intense that it almost frightened her, yet she was helpless to its design. It was the epitome of two souls converging, and she enveloped him whole-heartedly.

This moment, however, had come to an end, and though her body and mind still tingled from the illustrious event, she stood confused in his bathroom, staring back at her own reflection. She questioned every thought within her mind, and wondered which might be right, and which might be futile.

She walked out of the bathroom, and back where he laid motionless, and simply stared down at him. She had told him that she would kill him if he made love to her, but he took that chance anyway.

Somehow, she thought that there must be a place for him in heaven, despite his actions, and she had sent him there in the gentlest of ways. She wished for a moment that she did not have to kill every man that would become intimate with her, yet the urge was uncontrollable. She was not certain if her creators had done this to her by design, or if it was simply a result of the torment that they had put her through, but she knew that it was simply who she was, no matter which was true.

Leaning over, she kissed him on the forehead before leaving his apartment. She would have liked to have stayed longer, and simply stared at him for a while, but there were things that needed to be done. Certainly, he would never awaken from the sleep that she had put him in, to tell her goodbye.

*            *            *

The cathedral was beautiful, with candlelight reflecting off stained glass windows, and though Mirage noticed them, she had one very important task on her mind. Sitting in a pew in the center of the church, was a petite blonde that was nowhere near as fragile or as innocent as she appeared. She was Viper, and she was every bit as deadly as her name would indicate.

Despite all of this, Mirage was hardly afraid, for she was well able to take care of herself, and when she reached where she was, she sat down beside of her.

"I heard that you had been killed," Viper stated without looking her way, "though I should have known better."

Mirage stared straight ahead as well, not at all surprised that she knew whom she was. Viper was a very intelligent woman, and she was well aware of her capabilities.

"When they believe such a thing," Mirage replied with her fingers intertwined upon her lap as she leaned forward, "they no longer have the need to find you."

Viper already realized this, but figured it would be very difficult to hide behind a rising body count, and she was far from finished. Ryan may have been the last one who needed to die that had any involvement in her creation, but there was an entire government that was responsible for allowing them to do so.

"Why do you send an illusion to speak to me?" she asked of Mirage, as she finally turned her head in that direction. "You are the closest thing I have to family, and I have no reason to harm you."

This may have been true for the moment, yet Mirage felt no need to take any chances. She considered Viper to be rather unstable, and there was no telling how she would feel by conversations end. Certainly, she was not about to underestimate her.

"Trust is something earned," Mirage told her, "and as long as you wish to kill the man that I love, I could never trust you."

Viper sat silent for a moment, remembering the man that she had loved. Charlie was hardly charming, or even handsome, but she simply adored his innocence. It was a shame that he had to have been involved with her creation, yet even if he was not, he would have only encumbered her on her mission.

"You should kill him yourself," Viper said with a tone so cold. "I killed mine, and it truly sets you free."

Mirage did not expect to sway her decision, but she had a different motive for being here.

"I can sense the baby inside of you," she told Viper, having finally turned to look at her directly. "Why would you even consider such a thing?"

To her, the answer was easy. They had made her believe that she had been abducted at a very young age, and then they tortured her over the course of what seemed to be so many years. The thought of giving her own child a life that she felt she had deserved was overwhelming, but hardly was she about to explain all of this.

"I am not without the instinct to procreate," Viper replied.

They both sat there for a moment that seemed like an eternity to them both, but actually spanned the time of about five seconds. If nothing else, they had in common the reality that they were not normal in this world.

"Did you come to pray for your sins?" Mirage asked.

She knew that she had not, yet needed to hear her response, and was hoping to plant a seed that would eventually lead to kindness. All life was sacred to her... even one such as Viper.

Viper smiled back at her in a way that seemed as devilish as they come, and then answered her with a tone of seriousness that could be compared to lightning.

"I came here to pray for the souls of those that I send to god," she said before focusing her attention first to the candles, and then to the crucifix, "because they need my forgiveness before they get his."

The things that Viper had done, or for that matter, was willing to do, did not change Mirage's mind. Her heart was much different, and she felt for everyone, and to be quite honest, she saw honesty in Viper's heart, which was more than she could say about most of the population that she had encountered.

Nonetheless, Mirage could not allow her to continue.

Suddenly, Viper detected the scent of gun oil, which was only followed by the sound of stealthy feet. She looked up and around, and could easily see the slightest differences in the shadows as they moved. There were many of them, and it was far too late to run.

"You clever witch," she said to the illusion of Mirage, before standing to look over to the corner where she had detected her scent from the very beginning. "You tricked me."

Without coming out of the shadows, Mirage dispelled the illusion of herself, though was quite capable of projecting her words as well.

"You left me no choice," Viper heard whispered within her own ears.

Standing from the pew, the petite blonde made her way to the path in the middle, quite capable of detecting every heartbeat that had made its way near her. There were many, and though she considered an exit to be slightly possible, she considered something else as well.

"There is a flaw in your strategy," she whispered back at Mirage, as she got down upon her knees, and locked her fingers behind her head. "Now, I don't even have to find him, because you will bring him to me."

At this, those that were there to take her into custody began to spring from their hiding places, barking orders of surrender, and she felt no need to resist.

In chess, the goal is to capture the king, and when one strategy is thwarted, you simply find the next best strategy.

"I'll make you watch him die,"
she thought to herself, well aware that Mirage was able to hear it, and it brought her satisfaction when she could sense her discomfort.

The first thing Viper sensed was the tensing of her muscles. She knew this because Mirage’s feet had become rigid, and were much less stealthy.

The second was her heartbeat, for it played a rhythm of worry, and Viper’s ears could hear it well.

The final truth was in her scent, for even though Mirage was capable of controlling emotions more than others, her pores excreted still enough for Viper’s nose to detect.

"I'll see you soon, princess," she said as the SWAT team descended upon her, knowing that she had well placed fear upon the chessboard.

*            *            *

The seared scent of the tenderloin sent up fragrant whiffs, yet it could not capture Ryan’s attention, for the woman that had consumed his heart was not sitting with him at the small table. Mindlessly, he pushed about the asparagus with his fork, allowing the white cheddar sauce to drift about upon the elegant plate. It was such a delectable dish, but was as simple as sand without her.

His eyes stared straight ahead, seeing nothing before him, for his mind was consumed by the memory of her beautiful face, and for that, he was blind of his surroundings. Anything that his eyes might cross would only give his heart some reason to compare such a thing with her, and everything was now beautiful, because she was beautiful.

Finally, he cut into the steak, and though he could see how perfectly cooked it was, his mind did not notice. As he placed it upon his pallet, if his taste buds found it exciting, his heart would not allow him to realize it.

Truth be told, Sang had been gone for hours, and Ryan was beginning to worry, for he certainly understood what danger there was out there. He felt helpless without her, and though he understood that she was more capable of dealing with such a threat, he still wanted to be near her. To protect her in any way that he could.

Finally, he stood, and went to the window. He knew that it was not prudent, but Mirage was out there, and even though he understood that it would not bring her closer to him, he felt closer to her by doing so.

When the door opened, he turned excitedly, and instantly wanted to run to her, yet his manly pride would not allow such a response. Instead, he began to casually approach her.

She too wanted to run to him, but for a more urgent reason. She was, however, able to see deeply inside of him, and her approach was to match his own. She felt the same way about him, as he did her, and she was more than happy to accept the emotion of the moment.

When he reached her, he did not have to draw her to himself, for she was eager to place herself within his arms, and before he could utter the words upon his tongue, she had done so before him.

"I missed you," she whispered softly in his ear, before allowing him to consume her eager lips, only to pull away before he was willing, "but we have to be going."

For a brief moment, he simply looked down upon her face, and admired for a moment, the woman that he had so deeply fallen in love with. At this very moment, there were no worries, though he was certain that the question that he was about to ask would bring one, in one way or another.

"And where do we have to go?"

Feeling his passion, Mirage delayed her answer long enough to allow it to send a tingle throughout her delicate form, yet she knew that things had to be done in a timely manner.