Brides Of The Impaler (9 page)

Britt giggled, sipping her coffee. “What is it?
Evil Church
Crazies?
”

“
Creepies
,” Cristina corrected. “But I’m pretty happy and so is Bruno. The first four dolls will be out in a few days, or so they tell me.”

Britt fingered at an imaginary crease in her dress. “The nun—I forgot. From your dream. Have you had it again?”

A split-second’s pause showed Cristina the furious, churning black, green, and red lines behind the vampiric nun. “Actually, yes. Last night. But the more I think about what my old therapist said, as well as what
you’ve
said, the better I feel.”

“Catharsis and all that, you mean?”

“Well, yeah, and other things, too. My life in the present separates me from my life in the past.”

They both meandered back upstairs. Cristina had the sudden desire to view the 3-D models again, the same way a painter might look repeatedly at a satisfactory canvas.

“I’m glad you’re finally getting the gist. It can take time,” Britt said, peering over Cristina’s shoulder to the computer screen. “You’re changing from what we call the therapeutic evolvement to a causal evolvement, and you’re using your art to do it. Everybody has their own way, and this is
your
way. The resurgence of your occupational functionality.”

Cristina nodded, even though Britt’s use of clinical terms amid their private conversations sometimes rubbed her the wrong way. “And what’s the other term you use? My therapist in Connecticut always said the same thing.”

“Oh, I know. The ‘impetus of positive conditioning.’”

“Yes, I think that’s it. It really is true.” Cristina smiled at the revolving images on-screen. “It all happened so fast, but I’ve never felt this good and secure in my life. I owe a lot of it to you.”

“No, you don’t. My job is just to put the function of therapy into relatable terms. The only person you
owe
anything to for getting you out of your shell is yourself.”

“Sure, but that’s pretty idealistic. I owe a lot to Paul, too.”

Now Britt was looking up at the shelves containing the Botchies and the Cadaverettes. “Honestly, it can’t all be from your dreams.” She chuckled at the cute but morbid dolls. “I don’t know how you come up with these ideas.”

“It doesn’t matter much, though, does it? I think that’s why I’ve become successful. It’s funny how after the Cadaverette line was finished, I couldn’t come up with any ideas for the next line. Then it all fell into place over the course of a day or two.”

“That fast?”

“Creative inspiration, I suppose. But then it all goes back to that impetus thing. That’s why I owe so much to Paul.”

“To Paul,” Britt commented. “I know he’s always been supportive of your work, but he was never really
into
it, was he?”

“No, it’s not his taste at all—it’s too ‘gothy,’ he says. Paul’s just like Jess; he’s into pop culture—Jessica Simpson, Hollywood thrillers, Jaguars, and Rolexes. My tastes are very underground.”

“But still…You’re a success.”

“Yeah. There’s something for everyone”—Cristina knocked on the wooden table—“which is my good luck. But I think that’s why Paul and I click so well. We each have our own separate spaces that don’t cross over.”

“Having too much in common is worse than not having enough. Believe me, I see that in my job every day. It gives you both middle ground, some of which you share, and some of which you keep to yourselves. It’s actually quite crucial for a long-term relationship.” Britt’s lashy eyes fluttered. “But I still don’t understand how Paul influenced this Creepers line.”

“Creepies,” Cristina corrected. “Evil Church
Creepies
. Most of all, it was the house, and that old church right across the street. I took one look at those places and—bam—the whole thing came to me.”

Britt still looked confused. “Then how do you owe your latest ideas to him?”

“It was several months ago, when he decided to buy the house. This was before the refurbishment started; we couldn’t even go in ’cos it failed the city safety codes. But he told me what he wanted to do and drove me out here just to see the outside of the place. It doesn’t make sense, really, but that’s when all the new ideas came into my head. Don’t know why, they just did. It wouldn’t have happened if Paul hadn’t urged me to move here with him.”

“All things happen for a reason.”

Cristina spun on her work seat. “And when I was thinking about what the lead-off figure should be—”

“That’s when you decided to use that annoying dream of yours to your advantage.”

“Exactly,” Cristina agreed. It was fascinating how Britt could read her so accurately.

“You created a positive out of a negative. And we both did, in a lot of ways. That’s what led me to the psychology curriculum and a career as a social services counselor.”

The side note didn’t bother Cristina now. She knew what Britt was talking about: the Goldfarbs and the foster house. Cristina sighed. “Yeah, I guess we’re both pretty lucky.”

“You can say that again.” She put a hand on her sister’s shoulder. “And we must never forget it.”

Cristina wiped a tear from her eye, hoping Britt wouldn’t see. A tear of joy, however, not one of despair.
When you go
through what we went through…the bond lasts forever
.

Cristina only half-paid attention to the dimensional notes on her main computer.
But what am I REALLY thinking
about?
She wasn’t sure.

The Goldfarbs? All THAT crap?

“The best way to test the therapeutic gauge,” Britt offered, “is simply by self-examining your own sex life.”

Cristina wasn’t sure if the comment was loaded. Was
this just a chat? Or something more, one of her older sister’s ways of checking up on her?

“And since we’re on
that
subject,” Britt continued.

“
We?
”

“—how’s yours lately?”

Yep. Checking up again
. “If you want to know that truth, very recently it’s been great.”

“Really?” Britt seemed surprised.

“I think it’s all part of that evolvement thing you were talking about,” Cristina said. “I’ve changed more in the past few days than I think I’ve
ever
changed.”

“Not changed. Evolved. There’s a difference.”

Cristina smiled, but deeper thoughts made her feel something akin to lewd. “Changed, evolved, what ever. But all for the best.”

“Sex, too, huh?”

Cristina felt a blush coming on. “Especially that. I was a…dirty girl last night. And it was great.”

“Not just great but healthy,” Britt added. Now she was looking absently out the back window again, down into the sun-lit alley. “It’s just more proof of our
wellness
. Reversal of the ‘sexual nadir,’ is how we say it in shrinkspeak. Things are great with me and Jess, too. He’s a little selfish sometimes but—” She tossed a shoulder and laughed. “That’s what vibrators are for. Sometimes I think my rabbits are better than men—”

“Britt!”

“Oh, don’t give me that. Like you don’t have one.” Now Britt was looking back at the shelves of figurines. “I don’t even understand how these are
made
. You don’t actually sculpt them, do you?”

“No, no.” Cristina was grateful for the turn of subjects. “I sketch each character from various angles, input them into the computer, then a special program turns it into a three-dimensional model. Another program assigns measurements and other attributes. Then the manufacturing
contractor makes the mold that the figures are cast from. It’s pretty high-tech these days.” She hit some keys on the keyboard. “Here’s what the first figurine in the next line will look like.”

Britt’s eyes bloomed at the screen. The bright cartoon-ish character revolved slowly, displaying itself. The angular black habit and hood, the white wimple, the blue-white pallor of the face set with the huge, fanged grin. White, black-nailed hands held the bowl of blood.

“The central image from your dream.” Britt shook her head, amused. “The Notorious Nun…”

“Noxious,” Cristina kept correcting. “Pretty vivid and cute, huh?”

“Cute’s not
quite
the word that comes to mind but I guess it’ll do.”

“Bruno says they’ll sell like hotcakes. I’m supposed to meet with him to night for dinner. He’s going to show me the new packaging.” Britt errantly stroked her sister’s shoulder. “That’s some wacky hobby you have. I guess I’m in the wrong business.”

Cristina looked up. “Say. What do
you
do for creative catharsis?”

“Have lots of orgasms.”

“You’re impossible!”

“I know, but it is fun.” She glanced at her Lady Rolex. “I better get going. Jess wants me to get the Mercedes detailed. You sure you don’t want me to mail those letters?”

“I’ll take them,” Cristina insisted. “There’s a post office right up Broadway, near the Imax. Besides, I like to walk.”

“Okay.” A quick kiss on the cheek. “See ya soon. Oh, and Paul said you’re having us over for a house warming dinner soon.”

“That’d be great, but I hope he also said that I’m a terrible cook.”

“Shun Lee Palace
carryout
, sweetie,” Britt scolded with a laugh. “We’re upscale cosmopolites now, which means
we
never
cook. We’ll all get drunk on plum wine in your new hot tub.”

“What ever you say.’ Bye.”

Cristina laughed as Britt sashayed out and down the stairs.
She’s a trip, but I don’t know what I’d do without her
. Eventually she went back downstairs, whistling, grabbed the letters and left the house.

Birds squawked overhead, high in the bright sky. Buildings loomed on either side of Dessorio Avenue, their windows white with sun. The skinny doorman at the condo building nodded to her. “Hello,” she said back and almost laughed. The man was a cliché in his red coat and gold buttons which, these days, looked ludicrous. Next, she paused to eye the sullen church across the street, noting its gothic aura, its fine gray stone, buttresses, and stained glass.

The church looked abandoned, however. No sign out front offered service times, just a bland brass plaque: ST. AMANO’S. When she finally commenced down the street, she found her eyes flicking back several times, for a last glimpse.

Two security guards, a man and a woman, were chatting in front of the boarded-up Banana Republic, which was actually connected to the annex house. It stood like a multistoried tenement now in its disrepair.
Probably turn it
into more condos
, Cristina knew. The female guard looked Polynesian with her long, shining black hair and glowing dark skin. She grinned wide-eyed at the husky male guard who whispered to her with a hand on her waist.
Hanky-
panky on the job
, Cristina assumed. They broke from their intimate pose when Cristina approached.
Don’t
mind me
.

The mouth of the catty-cornered alley appeared, and without thinking, she entered.
I’m never in a hurry…so
why do I always take this shortcut?
She did take a look first, to make sure the passage was clear. Just the same garbage
cans and windowless metal doors cornered with rust. She walked along but then—

A sound flagged her attention from behind. When she turned to look—

What’s he doing there?

A man stood bent over, yanking on the security bars that covered the ground-level basement windows of Cristina and Paul’s house. She wasn’t alarmed, however, because the man’s appearance was plain.

A priest.

This certainly is strange
. A priest/burglar? The notion was absurd. The man was portly and had a bald pate with short gray-white hair around the sides. Something seemed radiant about his black pants, shoes, and shirt in the bright sun. Cristina didn’t like to talk to strangers but how could she not make an inquiry?
It is our house, after all
.

“Excuse me, sir—er, Father.” She backtracked up to him and felt comfortable by the smile he immediately offered. “Can I help you with something? I happen to live in that house.”

The faintest accent adorned his words. “I’m sorry. Forgive my impulse. I’m Father John Rollin. I actually used to be the custodian of this house back when it was an annex for St. Amano’s.”

“The church across the street?”

“Yes. I’m the pastor there as well.” He shook her hand. His blue eyes seemed as bright as his smile. “And you must be Mr. Nasher’s wife.”

“Cristina. But we’re engaged, not married.” She noted the man’s white Roman collar. It was so clean it seemed to dazzle. “Oh, so you know Paul?”

“Actually, no, but I’d love to meet him.” A broad silver ring flashed on his finger. “The reason I’m apprised of his name is because the diocese related it to me yesterday. I’d been on a sabbatical for the past six months but I just
returned. I wasn’t even aware that the annex house had been put up for sale much less sold. You must’ve done quite a lot of work inside before moving in. For the last decade it’s gotten a bit run-down.”

“Paul had the building rewired and rewalled, then he refurbished the first floor,” Cristina said. “Over time, we’ll get the rest in order. But—” Her gaze shot down to the iron window bar. “Why were you…”

Father Rollin laughed. “Perhaps it’s doting faith on my part, but in the past, vagabonds have been known to pry these bars out.”

“Really?”

“Yes, just a few times. Even though God promises to protect the faithful, I don’t know that he has time to ward off burglars as well. It was more of an old habit of mine—to check these bars every so often. Slipped my mind that the house belongs to someone else now. But I see your fiancé has replaced the old ones with a much better grade of metal.”

Had he? Cristina looked closer and saw not only bars that could only be steel but also alarm system labels. “Yeah, I guess he did. I hadn’t noticed. I always thought they were just the typical old iron bars you see on a lot of the buildings around here.”

“Like those,” the priest added. He pointed to the adjacent building, which possessed security bars that looked half-rusted-through. “I believe this building is a retirement condo—very pricey.”

“Yeah, that’s what Paul told me.”