The Savior Rises (2 page)

Stefani was quickly approaching her 21
^st
birthday. It was only 10 days away. You would have thought that this would be a happy time in her young life, but today marked the 11-year anniversary of when she lost her chance at any actual happiness. Eleven years ago, her mother and her grandmother had both been brutally murdered. Stefani saw her mother die. It was the only lasting memory she had of her childhood.

She remembered the neighbors yelling on the doorstep, asking if everything were ok. She still remembered holding her mother’s head as the lady from upstairs screamed when she saw Stefani sitting on the kitchen floor, staring vacantly at her mother’s lifeless corpse. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. What the heck did that mean, anyway? Was it supposed to be a consoling thought, understanding her mother was now nothing more than decaying flesh and bones?

Her life took a bizarre twist that evening. It was only a few hours after she watched her mother die that she learned her grandmother had been murdered, as well. She had been sitting in the police station, draped in an oversized man’s coat, clutching her Raggedy Ann doll. She didn’t even shed a tear when the officer told her about her last living relative’s death.  Her insides were used up at that point. Even at her present age, she was nothing more than a hollow shell of a human being.

With no place to go and nobody to take care of her, she fell into the California system for homeless children. She was quickly placed with a foster family, and somehow, she was forced to start using their last name. She never really understood this; but once they adopted her, the name stuck. Now and forever more, she was Stefani Hernandez. She laughed out loud at that. Blonde hair, blue eyes, and she was legally Hispanic. In some ways the oddity fit her life perfectly.

“Bbbbbbbbbbbbbblllllllllllllllllaaaaaaaaaaagggggggggghhhhhhhhhh,” she heard the gurgling noise come out of her mouth as she threw up again for the third time that day. Had she not been getting progressively sicker for the past few months, she might have thought the nausea was in response to her violent memories. At some point, she knew she really should go to the doctor, but she also knew she never would. She didn’t trust doctors. She didn’t trust anyone, really.

Her foster family had been fine for the most part. They provided her a bed and food to eat. She had never warmed up to them, though; and, in some ways, they had not to her, either. They treated her like part of their family, but she knew she would never fit. She was a freak of nature. The kid whose mother was butchered, and nobody ever discovered why or by whom. What did it matter, anyway?

On the day of her graduation, her entire foster family had been gunned down in a drive-by shooting. They were on their way to see her ceremony. The police said it was some kind of gang-related initiation. But they never found out who pulled the trigger.

Everyone Stefani had ever known or been associated with had died. She resigned herself long ago to believing she would always be alone.

When her foster family was killed, Stefani made the decision to forego college. She moved to the city and settled in a small apartment in San Francisco. She held down a job waitressing during the day and occupied herself as a dancer at night. The pay was good, and unlike most of the girls, she didn’t participate in any of the extracurricular activities with the male clientele. A guy tried something with her once, and he left with his arm bent back like a pretzel. She could still hear him scream as she snapped his forearm as if it were a mere twig. Her strength was freaky.

She didn’t have any friends. She barely even knew the three girls with whom she shared an apartment. She waved hello to them or said goodbye on her way out, but they never spent any real time together. How many people wander through their fleeting existences with no hope, no dreams, and no real ambition? She considered killing herself on several occasions. But she knew that wasn’t an option, at least not before her task was complete.

The only time she came close to death was when she fell three stories from an open window. She’d been leaning on the ledge, sitting on the window sill, trying to catch a glimpse of the night sky. She loved the night air. It was odd how she felt more peaceful during a full moon, when the stars shone and everyone else was fast asleep. She fell headfirst out the window and somehow landed on her feet. She hadn’t even felt a jar in her shins. Sometimes she wondered if she was Super-Girl, and the yellow sun gave her indestructible, supernatural powers.

In the end, nothing had been able to save her mother, though. Her family was all dead, gone, and buried. The only thing she had from her voided past was the Raggedy Ann doll propped on her bed pillows. That doll had been her constant companion all of these years, and it was the only thing in which she felt comfortable confiding.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAhhhhhhhhhhhhhgggggggggggggg,” she screamed, as a huge mass of black, vile-smelling liquid hurled from her mouth into the waiting toilet.

“Are you ok?” she heard from the hallway. One of her roommates sounded concerned.

“I’m fine,” she replied, not even convincing herself as the false words fell from her lips, hanging in the stale, putrid air.

Whatever was forcing its way out of her throat smelled as foul as it looked.
Maybe I’m dying.
The thought should have disturbed her, but death had been a very close companion for most of her life.

She wiped her lips with the back of her hand and stepped into the already running shower. Water always calmed her down and helped her relax, it seemed. She stood under the hot, stinging spray for several minutes before beginning her grooming ritual. It was time to wash her hair again. She had skipped the last couple of days.

Stefani always thought it was odd not to wash her hair every day, but somewhere, sometime, she had been told you could not douse your hair with lathering suds on a continual basis and keep it healthy. Apparently, the soap strips the hair of the chemicals it needs to survive.  She wondered how long the chemicals of her soul could continue to be stripped away. Maybe she would wither and die, as well.

She finished and started gathering the things she needed for her night’s work. She was going to be a devil tonight, not that her polished roommates had any idea of her evening occupation. She wondered if they would kick her out of the apartment if they had any inkling she was a stripper. What did it matter anyway? She had saved enough money in the few years she had been working to get a place of her own if she wanted to. All she did was work. She had no social life.

The door closed behind her as she left her little home, slinging her bag over her shoulder and heading down the stairs. All she carried was her outfit for the evening and her Raggedy Ann doll. That damn doll went with her everywhere. It was beat up, but she would kill anyone before she would allow it to be discarded. In the back of her mind, she knew it wasn’t healthy, but the doll was her only friend.

Stefani entered the rear exit door of the Gold Club where she had worked for the better part of two years. Nobody spoke to her anymore, save a grunt hello or a passing nod. Some of the girls were friends with each other, but everyone knew she didn’t like small talk and had no desire to get acquainted with anyone on any level.

She was slated to go on stage in an hour, so she got dressed and made her way to the floor. It was a necessary part of the job to mingle with the guests as they gawked at whoever might be on stage.

The sitting area was actually where you made the bulk of your tip money. Grabbing a guy and taking him in back for a private dance could be lucrative if you played your role well, and Stefani knew how to use her body to maximize profits.

Most girls heading to the back performed whatever act the client requested, but not her. San Francisco’s strip clubs are nothing more than brothels, really. But she would never lower herself to have sex with any of the losers who frequented the Gold Club, no matter how much money they offered her.

She laughed to herself at the thought. She was probably the only 21-year-old virgin stripper on the planet. She had never had time for boys. All she did in life was train for the moment when she would meet up with him again. That was all she cared about really – his death.

“Hey, what is with that dude?” she asked a young girl standing next to her. The girl couldn’t be more than 16 years old, she thought. At 21, Stefani felt like she was ancient compared to some of the kids that worked in this place.

“He doesn’t seem to want anyone or anything,” the girl said. “He’s chased everyone away who approaches him. All he’s done is sit there, all afternoon, staring at the stage. It is almost like he’s waiting for somebody.”

At that, Stefani sauntered over, waving the girl off, mumbling mostly to herself, “He’s probably been waiting for me.”

The girl didn’t wave back, and the look of disgust on her face said everything anyone needed to hear. Stefani could be a little too cocky for her own good at times.

“What’s up?” she asked as she grabbed a chair and sat down next to the stoic figure, sitting all alone in the glitter-filled room.

He didn’t even look at her as he replied, “Sorry, babe, not tonight. Find yourself another sucker, and leave me alone, please.”

“Bummer,” she responded. “Not sure you’re giving me the attention I deserve, big boy. You might want to loosen up a little bit, fella.”

Dennis Zeiba wasn’t used to people ignoring his requests. At 6 foot 3 inches, he had less body fat than most guys registered in last year’s Mr. Universe contest. He didn’t hold much respect for the mirror-hogging zealots, either. He had yet to meet a body builder that he couldn’t lay out cold with one right-handed punch, and he was primarily left-handed. Still, it seemed there was always one in every crowd, and it appeared this young lady was going to have to be told point blank to leave him alone.

“Look.”

He managed to get only the one word out when he caught the smell. It made sense, after all. She approached him with an air of arrogance; and if he were more rested, he probably would have noticed her a little quicker.

This was the girl he’d been searching for over the past three years. Now he was staring directly at her, and he couldn’t find the words. He never was much for speaking. Her beauty caught his breath in the air and held it there for a few moments, as if caressing it with her full, luscious lips. Her eyes were dazzling with the light sparkling from deep inside her poor, tortured soul.
What she must have gone through growing up,
he thought.

“Dude, you’re starting to creep me out a little bit,” Stefani said.  “Can you talk or has all the blood rushed to other parts of your body that quickly?”

“Let’s go in the back,” Dennis said. “Money is not a problem.”

“First, a couple of rules,” Stefani countered. “I just need to make sure you and I are on the same page. I don’t…”

“Whatever, just get your butt up, and let’s get going. I will make sure my hands stay by my side at all times. This is your show; let’s just get moving. Now!”

All he really wanted to do was get her alone. He had to tell her she was in danger. This girl had no idea who she was or what was really happening. He tried to recall her file and remembered she was 21 – so young and so inexperienced. He was pretty sure he’d done things in his lifetime that might shock her. God, it made him a little nauseated to even think about some of his past activities. How far would a good person sink in order to fight for a greater cause?

“Crap,” he muttered to himself. “It’s too late.”

With that, he grabbed Stefani by her hair with his right hand, jerking her head straight down and kicking the chair out from underneath her at the same time. She fell hard, hitting the solid floor with her elbow first. A tingling sensation of pain shot up her arm, and she screamed, “What the heck…”

Then, there was chaos.

Dennis spotted three of them. There were two by the bar, which served no liquor, and the third one had already pulled out a 9MM Berretta and clipped off two rounds. Both shots barely missed Stefani.

One of the bullets found a home in the guy sitting at the next table, and the other one ricocheted off the brass stage railing and hit the spinning glass globe overhead. It shattered, spraying shards in all directions.

The activity took less than a few seconds, and everyone was screaming, running in all directions at once.

Dennis still held Stefani’s hair, balled up in his right hand. He lifted her head and said, “Is there a back way out? We’ve got to move, now!”

She raised the index finger on her right hand and pointed. Dennis lifted her with his arm, shoving her forward, knocking two women out of the way as he did. He had so badly wanted to get out of here without an incident. He knew with every passing second the situation grew more and more dire.

How tired could he have possibly been? It had taken Stefani sitting down, right next to him, before he even noticed her. And, there had been three Roguls sitting in the same bar. Was he really this pathetic? As they pushed their way to the back door, the table in front of them crashed into pieces as one of the men jumped clear across the room, stopping them in their path.

“Dennis, you’re slowing down, old man.”

He seemed to growl as he grabbed Dennis’ neck, flipping him into the wall. Ironically, Dennis landed next to the door that could lead to their possible escape.

Stefani didn’t pause as she brought her right foot up hard, hitting the man between the legs. She implanted her foot firmly with all the strength she could muster. As he fell, grabbing his crotch with both hands, she saw his face. It almost didn’t look human. His teeth were sharp and angled, like something from a horror film.

Dennis didn’t hesitate. He grabbed Stefani with his left hand, opened the door with his right, and shoved her through as hard as he could.

“Hotel Monaco, room 254. Don’t go home, no matter what,” he screamed as he slammed the door behind her.