Her apartment was dark and dank, just the way she liked it. It gave off a feeling of, ldquo;You rsquo;re not welcome here, rdquo; or ldquo;You need to leave, rdquo; or ldquo;This may be the home of a serial killer rdquo;. It meant she had her privacy, it gave her comfort, and it gave her a reputation.
She did not think of herself as anyone menacing or unapproachable, she just hated people and was not afraid to let people know it. She liked that people avoided her gaze, and that people gave her a wide berth, and people left her alone. Maybe hate was too hard of a word; it was just that she didn rsquo;t like people. People created problems, people complicated things, and people were emotional, which made people idiotic.
She was sitting at her windowsill watching the world go by, eyeing every car and every lit window with mild contempt. Behind her she could hear the whirring of her laptop, working hard at processing those precious ones and zeroes, it rsquo;s bright white screen the only light in her flat.
The soft ding announced that the deed was done. She dragged herself up, tucking back strands of her long black hair behind her ear, ready to reap her rewards.
Lacey stopped at the framed print out of the first article introducing the four people she hated the most. Dark brown eyes, hollow from lack of sleep, focused on the picture of the world rsquo;s newest super heroes. When powers used to be relegated to books, tv, and movies, these four morons somehow got them and are now worshipped for their amazing feats. Conveniently, people ignore the fact that these heroes came around exactly around the time the beasties started appearing. No, of course there was no connection.
She then took in her own reflection, her thin lips turning up in a smirk. ldquo;What are you looking at? rdquo; she whispered softly. The soft chuckle sounded like it was coming from anywhere else but her. She knew she was ldquo;pretty rdquo;, and tried everything she could to hide that fact. In her home, she would wear as little as possible, to reminder herself that she was attractive, and also as a reminder that this was why she would always be noticed. The attention, the flirting, the stares, and the drinks, they were all fine and good, but she just wanted to be left alone. She wanted to blend in to this world, not stand out.
Lacey tore herself away and fell into her chair to watch the flashing numbers call out to her. She smiled in excitement as her ldquo;minions rdquo; announced the latest haul. Her fingers furiously typed out to every social network known to man as she announced the impromptu live broadcast.
In minutes she was live, and the chat room quickly flooded with her followers, her listeners. ldquo;Thank you everyone for tuning in to this last minute gathering of lsquo;The Real Lie rsquo;, rdquo; she began, her voice coming out rough and melodic. People described her voice as that sexy, sick voice one got when they had the flu, which she wasn rsquo;t sure was a compliment or an insult. ldquo;Because of you, I can stay on the air for a little while longer and give you all there is to know about this plague known as the Saviors. rdquo;
As if on cue, her eyes panned her living room. She focused at all the little trinkets and memorabilia she gathered to make this almost anti shrine to the Saviors. Their instant fame, love, and trust started this crusade to learn everything about them and the beasties that spawned them. Some would say she was obsessed, and others would think she was insane with her attention on these costumed lunatics. She felt she was all of the above.
The four masked ldquo;heroes rdquo;, spent tireless hours days and night, saving people and countries and puppies from danger, and Lacey followed all of that with a fine, toothed comb.
ldquo;A quick update and I rsquo;m off for the night. The Saviors rsquo; latest rescue involved a very powerful diplomat, oh wait hellip;dictator, of a small country in South East Asia in which they were given their latest endorsement. The Face Plus are now backing them, and I know it rsquo;s the biggest social network in the world, but I ask all of you, my lovelies, to take them down, if only for a few days. This act will show that not everyone wants them here. rdquo; She paused for dramatic effect. ldquo;And thanks to your generous contributions, I can keep giving you out there, the truth about these clowns. And to those who keep writing in, yes, I won rsquo;t lay off the clich eacute;s. I happen to like clich eacute;s, which I think is a clich eacute;. rdquo;
For the next half hour she spoke of her conspiracies and how these super heroes were not what they seemed. Government experiments, corporate involvements, and an agenda to keep the world in the dark, was all played out nicely and rehearsed. She spoke in detail about everything, pointing out articles in the news and rumors floating around the internet. How did they get their powers, and why were they the one rsquo;s chosen to do this job of being heroes? She was passionate, articulate, and when she ended, she felt ended. ldquo;Lastly, to my lovelies who pulled off this last job, your reward is coming. Thanks everyone for listening, this the Truth, signing off. rdquo; With that, she clicked the ldquo;send rdquo; button, giving her agents what they wanted.
She was not proud of what she had become, but if it helped her in her plans, why would she fight it? It was a way to make a living. One year out of college, Lacey found herself with a useless degree, and debt up to her ears. It forced her to work every job on the known planet all at the same time. It was the only way she could survive on the mean, expensive streets of Southern California. From the comfy college dorm in Nebraska to her home now, she kept finding herself in situations that pushed her further and further west. Failed friendships, abusive boyfriends, and one drug addled father led her into the syringe marked arms of Los Angeles.
Replies to her e-mails came back to her, filling her mailbox with ldquo;Thank you rsquo;s rdquo; and ldquo;That rsquo;s hot rdquo; and ldquo;Moar rdquo;. With her looks came the idea that she would pay her puppet of hackers with pornography, of herself. Men were so easy. And with those nude pictures came information, money, and above all else, power. It ensured people came back to her podcast, listened to her words, and did her bidding, all because she had a pair of breasts. As if that reminded her she had them, she gave them a little pat of appreciation.
ldquo;God, I need a drink. rdquo; The thought disgusted her and enticed her at the same time, knowing what a few dozen beers and a moving has done to her life. It was how her mother died, her hero, the one who kept her safe from her father, who comforted her after friends bullied her, and who taught her how to survive. She died just twelve short years after giving birth to her, and christening her with a stripper name, Bunny. Though she supposed Lacey wasn rsquo;t any better after she changed it, but at least she sounded like a classy stripper.
Vodka out of the question, Lacey grabbed her cigarette and ran down to the alleyway behind her building to get a much deserved smoke. A celebration of the almost two million dollars her little hacker puppets made her, and a way to unwind before bed.
It was another warm winter night, but she wore her hoodie anyway. Underneath the black cotton jacket was the oversized t-shirt that covered her body, and she didn rsquo;t want to be too indecent. It was a way to protect her from the perverts and the homeless that walked the streets of her neighborhood. As if that thought was a reminder, she pulled the hood over her head, covering as much of her face as she could. Good, she thought, now only my bare legs are showing, and that rsquo;s not an invitation to some sexy trouble.
The match lit the alleyway briefly with a dull orange glow, the heat adding to the already muggy night of the city of angles. She giggled, murmuring softly, ldquo;This city does have a lot of angles hellip; rdquo;
The first drag was always the sweetest, but it lost some of its luster over the years. She thought she would take up a new hobby past smoking, and maybe become the prize gymnast her mother always wanted her to be. No, she was content being the overlord of a small network of computer hackers who rsquo;s only price of admission were a pair of bare boobs. Of course, there rsquo;s her intense hatred of people, and the Saviors. Maybe she could be a super villain. The thought made her laugh. ldquo;No, that was too girly. rdquo; She laughed again, putting more emphasis on the maniacal. ldquo;That rsquo;s better.
She flicked the butt of the cigarette, a habit she adopted after watching the great Jim Carey toss the remains of his cigarette with such style in ldquo;The Mask rdquo;. She was a weird kid.
Pulling away from the shadows, she watched the light highlight her body. ldquo;Stop it Lacey, not every part of your life is like it rsquo;s out of a movie.
The blow knocked her off her feet, causing her to fall on her boney ass. She could feel the bruise forming already. ldquo;Watch where you rsquo;re going asshole! rdquo; she yelled out. Before she could flip them off, she realized it was a small woman, with intense panic in her eyes. The woman stumbled a bit, but quickly got her bearings and kept running. Not even an apology. Lacey turned her head to see what she was running from and to her lack of surprise, were some stereotypical tough guys running after her, growling for her to stop.
ldquo;I don rsquo;t think so, rdquo; Lacey whispered and jumped into action. In one fluid motion, she went for the closest thing she could grab, which happened to be an empty trashcan. With what strength she had she spun quickly and lobbed the aluminum can at the burly looking men.
The trash bin slammed dully against the one in front, causing them to stop and pay attention to her. Lacey rsquo;s eyes went wide as she realized she just did something stupid. ldquo;Leave her alone! rdquo;
Who said that? She quickly looked around and realized she was the only one standing there. Oh, she was the one stupid enough to provoke three muscular men with murder on their mind. She knew that she would be in the hospital soon.
Her mind raced to think of what to do, and in what seemed like hours, but was probably only mere seconds she pulled out her keys and quickly placed the most menacing one in her fist like a claw. The heavily tattooed men were laughing at her then. She must not have looked like a threat to them, being barely five feet tall with a car key poking out between her fingers like some automotive Wolverine. ldquo;We don rsquo;t give a fuck about you. rdquo; Their dark eyes looked past Lacey, causing her to look behind her. The woman they were chasing had fallen during her escape, and it looked like she hurt her self because she was not moving.
ldquo;Leave her alone! rdquo; she heard herself scream. What the hell was she doing? This was not her fight, and these were actual, bad men who could do bad things to her with nothing more than their pinkies. ldquo;I won rsquo;t tell you again! rdquo; She really did like her clich eacute;s.
Of the three men, two reached out to her to push her out of the way and that her cue to lash out.
Using her years of training from Jackie Chan movies, and Mortal Kombat video games, Lacey moved with the grace of a ballerina. Wait. Maybe her mom wanted her to be a ballerina. Her fists spun in what were supposed to be punches, blocks, and chops, and though they looked good in her mind, she was pretty sure they would not do anything.
Keys did more damage than she thought as she cut a gash into a particularly nasty looking man with tattoos up and down his arms. His forearm was bleeding, soaking his arm in red and soon the air was filled with the smell of sweat and pennies.
A pair of arms closed around Lacey from out of nowhere and she ducked like it was second nature. She gave a silent thank you to Jason Statham, as she rose up again with some kind of makeshift uppercut, lodging her car key into the man rsquo;s lower jaw. She heard him gasp and she quickly yanked the key out causing him to scream out in pain.
The third man, the leader she supposed, and the man with tattoo sleeves lunged at her. Lacey closed her eyes, and threw out her hands, hoping to soften the blow that would surely end her. It took her a second to realize that she was crouched down, her spindly arms outstretched and locked, one fist wet with blood, the other subconsciously grabbing onto something, squeezing it hard in fear and adrenaline.
It appeared that the bleeding forearm man was the lucky one, only getting a squeezing, violently twisting hand to the testicles, but their ldquo;leader rdquo; was less fortunate, as the key that once started her worn out Volvo station wagon was now an extension of his penis.
Both men crumpled to the ground in front of her, and Lacey decided that was her chance to scramble away and see if the woman was all right.
The woman sat up, rubbing her head, her cell phone in hand. Apparently she was in the process of calling the police, and on cue, they arrived with sirens blaring. She must be rich, because Lacey had never seen that quick of a response. ldquo;Are you okay? rdquo; Lacey asks, helping her up.
ldquo;Thank you, I rsquo;m fine, rdquo; she said, dusting herself off. Too much television kicked in and she put a her finger and thumb to her chin, taking in the woman rsquo;s appearance. Black pencil skirt, white blouse, and charcoal business jacket meant she was in the wrong part of town. Lacey rsquo;s eyes locked on the purse, Dooney and Burke further satisfying her suspicions. She had money, and those men probably wanted it.
ldquo;What happened? Why were those guys after you? rdquo;
ldquo;Yeah, I, rdquo; the hesitation was understandable, but unnecessary, as Lacey had every intention to be as nosey as we humanly possible. Her hate for human beings as a whole were dwarfed by her intense hatred for men taking advantage of women, especially pretty ones like this one. Lacey shook her head visibly, trying to push the thought away from her mind.
ldquo;Go on, rdquo; Lacey insisted.
ldquo;I just needed a little coke, that rsquo;s all. My brother in law lives out here, and I thought hellip;well, my usual supplier hellip; rdquo; she trailed off again. Damnit, why did it have to take forever to get to the point?
ldquo;And these guys saw your fancy suit and your expensive purse and tried to rob you. rdquo;
ldquo;Actually, my brother in law didn rsquo;t have any either and I just needed some for my big presentation tomorrow, and I thought, well these guys look liked they might have some. I bought some from them, and then they just started chasing after me. I don rsquo;t know what I did wrong, I gave them more than they asked for. rdquo;
Lacey figured they wanted more than money from this woman.
A police officer walked up to them, his dark blue uniform a weakness for Lacey herself. Apparently she wasn rsquo;t alone as the woman softened in the man rsquo;s presence. ldquo;Those men wanted to give you this, rdquo; he said, handing the woman a hundred dollars. ldquo;You apparently gave them a little too much for the purse, and just wanted to give you your change. rdquo;
Lacey looked at her confused, and she briefly returned the look, but quickly said, ldquo;Thank you. rdquo; The officer stepped aside as the three men limped to them.
ldquo;Our ad said $200, rdquo; said the ldquo;leader rdquo; of the group, and Lacey was just lost. What the hell was going on? ldquo;You gave us three, so we tried to get you back your change. Sorry about scaring you, rdquo; he said, and the other two nodded solemnly. ldquo;Now this bitch, rdquo; there was venom in his voice. Probably because Lacey had almost castrated him, ldquo;attacked us for no reason. I think I rsquo;mma press charges, rdquo; he said grinning. Asshole!
Lacey was about to blurt out the truth when she saw the look in the woman rsquo;s eyes, pleading her not to say anything. What the hell just happened here? Lacey rsquo;s mind went through the scenarios. She could go to jail for trying to defend someone or rat out this woman and pretty much ruin her life forever. Lacey had her whole network to think about, her people, her agenda. God, I hate people, she thought.
Lacey sighed, mumbling a few choice curse words before extending her wrists. Maybe it would not be so bad. How much trouble could she be in?
She spent the next two days awaiting her sentence for what her lawyer was calling ldquo;self defense rdquo;. Then she got the news. The man she stabbed in the jaw died, from an infection caused by her keys and the unsavory area and his predisposition to getting ill at the drop of a hat. She also learned her lawyer was inept, the dead man rsquo;s lawyer was a genius, and she was calling this prison her new home.
Another month passed, and she was getting used to her new life. The food was atrocious, the company made her tough, and her once scrawny, sexy frame was now a muscular, sexy one thanks to having nothing to do. She didn rsquo;t even have access to the internet, and she was sure her listeners were getting worried.
Everything she had built, her plans of being rich and hiding away in the woods from everyone. It would be just her and her spider rsquo;s web of computer geeks and freaks. It made her sad, an emotion she hadn rsquo;t felt since her mother died. It hurt her so much that she decided to visit the little used church.
She had no idea what to do, so she just knelt there.
The silence was getting to her and she decided this was enough religion for one life time. As she stood up, the ground beneath her began to rumble and immediately stopped. She looked around and no one came running in, there were no alarms, just silence. ldquo;What? rdquo; she called out to no one. ldquo;Is it when this church rsquo;s a rockin rsquo;, don rsquo;t come a knockin rsquo;? rdquo;
The tremors began again, louder and stronger. Lacey ran for one of the pews, hiding underneath as the walls shook violently, causing cracks to rise like vines along the dull grey interior. Stained glass windows vibrated and quickly shattered soon after, raining Lacey with multicolored shards.
A blaring siren overtook the sound of rumbling alerting the prison of the earthquake. More cracks and splinters appeared on the floor beneath her, and she feared she rsquo;d be swallowed up by the earth.
There was a third sound above the sirens and the rumblings and it made her skin tingle and her heart to beat out of her ribcage. It was the howl, a howl she heard before. The howl that took her mother away. Drunk off so much cheap beer, she drove herself and Lacey to see her father in jail. Lacey didn rsquo;t know any better, she was twelve, and her mom drove better drunk than sober. So much so that they made it to the county jail obeying every traffic law in the book.
But the alcohol made her lascivious which probably explained this conjugal visit. Her mother was in and out in five minutes, and she was swimming in what Lacey later found out was sweat and pheromones, and the combination called out to the first attack and discovery of the beasties. Figures of either animal or man, disfigured and deformed, and lusting for blood, the beastie found her mother and took her away. All Lacey could do was scream from inside the car where she had waited, banging on the closed window and locked door, cursing at the shadow that took her mother away, into the woods, to never be seen again.
No one ever found a trace of her. There was no blood, no beastie, no body. All anyone had to go off of was Lacey hellip;Bunny rsquo;s, description of the dark shadow, the blood red eyes that she saw through the darkness and the howl. That dreadful howl she heard now, in the small church, coming from the ground below.
In an explosion of concrete and dirt, a lithe figure immerged from the depths, it rsquo;s eyes the same blood red as the beastie from the past, the same, dark howl emanating from it rsquo;s throat, but it rsquo;s body was different. It was human in form, which is not uncommon, but it rsquo;s form was almost feminine. And she recognized that smile, the smile that calmed her at night when she was a child and had awoken from nightmares. ldquo;Mom? rdquo;
ldquo;Lacey dear, sorry it rsquo;s taken me so long to get to you. rdquo; The beastie shook itself like a wet dog, causing pebbles to fly every which way. It sounded like her mother, it looked like her mother, but there was no way hellip;
ldquo;What? rdquo;
ldquo;Come on sweetie, we have to get going before the Saviors come. Hurry along dear, rdquo; she said with what sounded like an English accent.
ldquo;What!? rdquo;
Mother beastie rolled it rsquo;s eyes and grabbed for Lacey, and in the haze of confusion in her mind, she did not fight it and allowed herself to be scooped up in the pale gray arms of the creature in front of her. Standing at least seven feet tall, with skin as grey as ash and hair as black as the linoleum back at her apartment, the beastie cradled little Lacey in It rsquo;s arms protectively.
Lacey could not take anymore and felt herself fainting. ldquo;Oh dear, how are you going to lead your army if you can rsquo;t even stand the sight of your own mother. rdquo;
Lacey bolted upright in the mother beastie rsquo;s arms. ldquo;WHAT?! rdquo;
The beastie just laughed, and plunged them into the musty, damp hole that was open before them.
LINK TO CHAPTER 1: http://sinceresarcasm.squarespace.com/main/2012/3/7/fiction-and-then-there-were-four-like-always-tree-unrelated.html
Apparently, I wrote out Chapter 2, but never posted it. Expect to see that soon.
