Black as Night: A Fairy Tale Retold (33 page)

He caught sight of a figure against the light running down the tracks, and started after him, ducking from pillar to pillar so that he couldn’t be seen, if the man turned around. The ground was made up of fist-sized rocks, which made it difficult to keep his footing.

Eventually the train they had left behind started again and was gone in a streak of rattling thunder.

Now Bear paused behind a pillar, listening in the sudden vacuum of deafness, which turned into the silence of an echo. The man had vanished. But after a moment Bear had regained his hearing enough to hear rapid, jumping footsteps to his right. He had crossed over to another set of tracks. Reeling himself in towards the sound, Bear dodged around the pillars, zigzagging back and forth towards his prey.

The next time he paused, he realized he had lost it. He froze and edged behind a pillar of concrete, feeling around the edges in the dark and peering towards the late afternoon light at the end of the tunnel, about two hundred yards ahead. The rest of the tunnel was thick with shadows, but nothing moved.

He waited. Waited. Waited for the man to make the first move.

Then he heard the footsteps again, from a dark area to his left. He shot a brief glance around the pillar but saw nothing and retreated. The man was making his way from pillar to pillar just as Bear had done. And the steps were growing closer.

I can wait
, he thought to himself.
I can wait
.

He heard breathing. The man must be very close now, and Bear was aware, now that he was close to him, of just how big the man actually was. He swallowed silently.

Just at that moment a high ringing noise started in his jacket pocket. The cell phone. Bear reached to silence it, and was grabbed by the shoulders. He was pulled around the side of the pillar and pinned against it by his neck.

Recovering with a curse at the timing of the phone, Bear swung back at his assailant’s face with his right fist, but the man easily blocked it with an elbow. Ludicrously, the phone continued to ring.

Bear then yanked his left hand from his pocket and rammed it into his assailant’s gut. The man tried to knee Bear in the stomach, but Bear blocked him and, crossing his wrists, broke the man’s hold on his neck. The man stumbled backwards, and Bear, freed, charged him, throwing his weight against the man’s waist and shoving him to the right to avoid the third line. If either of them hit that, they would both be dead.

But the man wasn’t thrown. Instead, both of his fists came down hard on Bear’s back. Gasping, off-balance, Bear let go of him, rolled over, barely avoiding the live line, and scrambled to his feet, breathing hard.

This guy knows something about street fighting
, Bear thought. He shifted to the side of the tracks furthest from the cable but kept his eyes on the man, waiting for the telltale motion that meant the man was reaching for a concealed weapon. If that happened, Bear only had an instant to rush the man before the scales tipped decidedly in the assailant’s favor.

The man leapt forward with a jab, and Bear batted it and lunged with his right. The man dodged, but Bear nicked him on the right side of the face, and heard the man curse. The man punched Bear in the ribs, and Bear rammed his elbows down onto the man’s back.

The man slid behind him, tripped up Bear’s legs, and drove his elbow into Bear’s face. Feeling himself falling, Bear grabbed the man’s sleeve under his arm and yanked him over as he fell. He landed on his back in the gravel, and heard the man land next to him. Instinctively they both rolled away from the third line.

No time to lose. Bear scrambled to his feet, slipping on the oily rocks, searching once again for his enemy. He saw the man make the signal motion inside his jacket—he
did
have a weapon—

No time. Bear lunged for the man’s right arm, yanking it downward hard. The man’s hand was empty—Bear had stopped him from grabbing his weapon—but the empty hand became a fist that rammed hard against Bear’s stomach, shoving him against a pillar. Caught off guard by the force of the man’s drive, Bear’s lungs froze inside him. He felt a sharp blow to his face, and his head flew back to smash against the concrete behind him.

Stunned, Bear felt his body crumpling to the ground. He fought off unconsciousness, but the fight itself turned into a paralysis. He felt himself being frisked. Then the man stooped over him, yanked his hands backwards, and handcuffed him. The touch of the cold metal made Bear stiffen, and he fought back, even though his head still swirled in the blackness.

The man grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and shoved his head to the ground on the train tracks. His ear pressed to the cement of the railroad tie, Bear could see the live cable a few inches away from him.

The man’s voice was deep. “Listen, punk, you better explain yourself quick before the next train gets here and interrupts you.”

Chapter Seventeen

The girl stared at the pills, and the whole purpose that the bag lady had served suddenly came into focus.
I thought I’d eluded her,
she thought.
But actually she was just biding her time…

* * *

 It was a wild party, and the energy crept beyond the guests in their black-and-white costumes and spread to the servers. Rita snapped her fingers as she leaned against the wall, waiting for people to come by her table for more desserts, and even the staff in the heat of the kitchen seemed a bit more animated by the music.

The girl felt she was the only one who was a stranger here. She didn’t care for the atmosphere or the music, which was a wild, tumultuous jazz without boundaries that was echoed in the almost spastic movements of the people who danced on the floor and chattered at the tables. Strobe lights flickered on and off against the gothic ceiling of the hall, turning the floor below into a world flashing alternately from black to white. The girl, the only one in a colored outfit, felt more out of place in this world, although her dress was now effectively white.

At last it occurred to her that, as all the guests had arrived and the tickets had been tallied, she could probably leave her place at the door. After all, the dinner was over and there was only dancing on the schedule. She had noticed other receptionists usually left after the last guests arrived, but it had been her practice to remain loyally at her post in case she was needed before the event ended. But tonight, she decided she was going to leave.

Edging along the wall between the tables and assorted guests, she tried to make her way to the door that led back to the workroom, where the servers could rest between shifts. It was not a place she enjoyed staying, but right now it seemed like a sanctuary.

Just then a hand grabbed hers. “Hey, wanna dance?” a male voice said, and she found herself looking into the face of a toucan. Actually, a man dressed in a tuxedo with an oversized toucan’s mask.

She didn’t want to dance, but any protest she could have made was deafened in that crowd. The man flung her forward into a reeling juggling match that was one part dance and three parts craziness. At first she tried to keep up with him, to be polite, wondering if she would get in more trouble for dancing or for stopping. But when he started trying to pull her closer, she seized a chance and dove beneath the arms of two swinging salt-and-pepper shakers and away from him.

By now she was in the middle of the sea of dancers, and she tried to fight her way out as quickly as she could. Then she saw him.

The big man, still wearing his black hood, was leaning against the wall. When her eyes fixed on him, he seemed to look straight at her. He leaned forward and started walking in her direction.

Numbly, feeling the fear, she turned and ran through the dancers.
Why am I running?
she thought to herself. But having walked the fine line of sanity and fear for days, she wasn’t going to stop because of an unanswered question. Suddenly she reached the edge of the head table, and without thinking, ducked underneath the floor-length tablecloth.

In the darkness beneath the table, she tried to recollect herself.
He’s coming for me.
It was running through her mind.
He’s coming for me.

I have to get out of here now.

Crouching on her hands and knees, she scuttled down the long length of table, avoiding the occasional leg, heading towards the narrow door in the back wall that led to the prep rooms. She reached the door, looked in both directions, and still ducking down, slipped through it.

Once the door was closed behind her, muffling the deafening beat, she got to her feet, taking a deep breath, and tried to brush back the strands of hair that had escaped from her long braid.
Now even I am starting to act strange, not just think strange…

“Blanche!” Assunta, one of the servers, called her name and she pivoted around, startled.

“Yes?”

“Have you seen the cash bag? The one with the donations?”

The girl shook her head. “Not since I handed it off to Mr. Scarlotti a half hour ago.”

“So you don’t know where it is?”

“Ask Mr. Scarlotti. He took it from me,” she said helplessly. Her head was throbbing. “I’ve got a headache. I’m going home.”

“Okay. See you later.” The server disappeared into the kitchen corridor.

Rubbing her temples, the girl made her way towards the workroom, hoping it was still open and that she could just slip out and go home.

When she opened the door, she was surprised to find someone in the room. Mr. Fairston’s wife, head of the Mirror Corporation. Standing near the corner where the girl’s purse and backpack were.

“Is something wrong?” the girl asked tentatively.

The blond woman was dressed in a black dress with white diamonds on it, and wore long white gloves. Earlier in the evening, the girl remembered that she had been wearing a tall white crown. Now, her golden hair falling in tendrils around her neck, she turned towards the girl, a set look on her face. “Yes. There is.”

She walked over and sat on the edge of the table, surrounded by scraps of black and white ribbon. “I want to talk to you.”

“All right,” the girl said, and waited.

But the woman said nothing. Instead, she picked up a tumbler of dark soda that had been sitting near her, put something in her mouth in a quick dabbing motion, and downed it with the drink. She licked her lips, staring at the wall.

“Are you all right?” the girl asked.

“I have a headache,” the woman said.

“I’m sorry,” the girl said.
So do I
, she almost added, but remained quiet.

There was a long silence, while the woman drank the rest of the soda and stared at the wall.

“I want to talk to you about Jack,” the wife said at last.

The girl waited.

“He wants to die, you know.” She wiped her mouth and licked her lips again. “He doesn’t want to wait until he’s feeble and incapacitated. We planned it together. Our last night together. Then he’s going to go. We had it all planned out. It’s in his will.”

“You mean, he’s going to commit suicide?”

The woman nodded. “It was his idea. It took me a while to get used to it, but that’s what he wants. The problem is,” she looked at the girl sideways. “Now he’s afraid to do it, because he thinks you won’t approve.”

“Approve? Of course I don’t approve,” the girl said, her mind racing. “Are you saying he’s changed his mind?”

“He’s confused,” the woman said flatly. “He’s upset. It’s disorienting him.” She turned around. Her eyes bored into the girl’s. “I need you to support his decision to end his life.”

The girl took a deep breath. “I can’t. I don’t believe it’s right.”

The woman slammed her fist into the table with vehemence. “I knew this would happen. I knew it, as soon as you started visiting him.” Suddenly she glared at the girl with virulent hatred and growled in a deep, strange voice. “I’m sick of your games. I’m sick of it!”

Sweat was standing out on the woman’s forehead. The girl knew instinctively that something was wrong with her, very wrong, and tried to run for the door. But the woman lunged at her shoulders, threw her down on the table, snatched up the scissors, and held them to the girl’s throat like a dagger.