Cursed-epub (8 page)

Head slumped against the glass, Carmella stared out the dirty window of the bus. People occupied every space, and she was lucky to have snagged a seat. Next to her, an older woman clutched her cheap purse and scanned everyone on the bus with suspicion. Identifying the greatest threat to her handbag, she narrowed her gaze at a young boy dressed in dirty clothes with greasy hair. The boy stared back at her, his face older than his years as he gave her a sullen look and a sneer. They continued to measure each other. He looked away first and cleaned his dirty nails with a pocketknife.

Turning away from the silent display of bus dominance, Carmella examined the passing buildings while she thought about her day. Most of it had been spent hiding from Sean's choreographers, Monica and Whitney. They were stunning, tall women who dressed with style and moved with a self-assured grace. She couldn't stand to be around them, to be reminded of her inadequacies. It would be like placing a lump of clay next to a blown-glass vase. No, a lump of manure.

Fatima stopped by to let her know Monica was looking for her, but Carmella pleaded a massive headache and asked Fatima to cover for her. She couldn't face them. They were amazing, world-famous dancers, and she was a washed-up seamstress. It was cruel of Sean to send them to speak with her. So she hid in the bathroom or behind her racks of costumes when she heard their voices. She felt like a coward, but the thought of having to perform for them made her sick to the point of dry heaving.

Didn't he see yesterday how clumsy she was, how her dancing was amateurish at best? She could still remember the look of disgust on Sean's face as she tried to teach him how to dance, how he’d recoiled from her touch. For a moment, another memory surfaced—the feeling of his lips crushed against hers as they swayed together in perfect rhythm. A sharp burst of cold pain in her head accompanied that image, and she pressed her fingers to her temples in an effort to alleviate the ache. Once the pain faded she couldn't remember what she had been thinking.

Sean's face and his slate-colored eyes kept on popping up in her thoughts. A brief surge of happiness filled her, quickly replaced by shame and embarrassment. He’d been so kind to say those nice lies to her. He must have felt sorry for her when he saw her pathetic attempt at belly dancing and wanted to make her feel better. Sean was out of her league; so far above her that she couldn't even see him.

Briefly, she stroked a hand over her pocket. In it was a stolen CD liner from Fatima's DJ Kal CD, and it had Sean's picture on the back. At least she had this to remember him by. In a week, he would be long gone, having moved on to whatever adventures and beautiful women his life must be filled with. And she would still be Carmella, seamstress and Dianta's whipping post. It was all that she could ever hope for.

The jerk of the bus knocked her out of her depressing thoughts. A green-painted grocery store with its graffiti-stained walls signaled her stop. Moving past the sullen woman who clutched her purse and gave Carmella a glare, she shoved her way through the mass of bodies. The air outside the bus was a relief, even if it was thick and muggy. Not everyone used—or could afford—deodorant on the crowded bus.

Head down, backpack clutched to her shoulders with both hands, she hustled as fast as she could down the sidewalk to her apartment. The pavement in the distance shimmered beneath waves of heat in the baking sun. Spring was just beginning in this part of the world, but it already felt like the dead of summer.

The long, navy shirt she wore clung to her back with sweat. Cars zoomed past her with their expensive stereos blasting, the sound system often costing more than the decrepit vehicle itself. A couple of children in threadbare clothes ran by, and she had to spin to dodge them on the broken concrete of the sidewalk.

Still hunched tight, she opened the iron gate to her apartment complex and blew out a grateful sigh. No one had tried to mug her, rape her, or sell her drugs on the way home. Maybe things were looking up.

The smile quickly died on her lips as she saw the local pimp, Ramon, waiting for her in the doorway. He pitched the brown cigarette he was smoking into the struggling bushes and gave her a big smile. Gold teeth twinkled in the fading early evening light, and the pockmarks in his tan skin stood out in sharp relief. He flicked the collar of his black satin shirt and gave her a wink. “Carmella,” he purred at her. “Why do you hide that lovely body underneath those clothes?”

The gate key still in her hand, Carmella remained frozen like a mouse in front of a snake. Ramon had been trying to get Carmella to whore for him since she moved in. So far she had managed to avoid him, but it her luck had run out.

Pulling up her shoulders, she tried to appear tough and unafraid. As she climbed the concrete steps to the foyer, Ramon moved so he was right next to her. Pressing his groin against her hip, he pushed her into the metal railing of the stairs. She bit her lip so hard she tasted blood.

“Aye,
senhora bonita
. Why do you always run away from me? I can make you lots of money. You won't even have to work the streets. As pretty as you are, I'll put you in my strip club.” Ramon spoke into her ear, the smell of his cheap cologne and stale coffee washing over her.

“Piss off, Ramon. I'm not for sale,” Carmella replied, hoping he didn't hear the tremor in her voice.

Ramon pressed against her harder, grinding his erection into her side. “Everyone is for sale. Even you, Carmella.” He said her name with an exaggerated roll on the
R
that sprayed spittle on the side of her face. “You want to live in this dump forever? I can take you out of here, baby. I can take care of you.”

Using her backpack, Carmella managed to shove him back a step. “I've seen how you take care of your women. I've seen them walking down the hall with black eyes or split lips. I. Am. Not. For. Sale.” She emphasized each word with a jab of her backpack into his stomach.

Lifting his lip in a snarl, Ramon grabbed her arm in a bruising hold. “You think you're better than us? You think you're somebody special? You're nothing, you're no one, and you're just another worthless bitch. Look at you! My lowest whore has more respect for herself.”

The words struck a blow to her already wounded ego. He said everything she felt about herself, everything she’d thought when she looked in the mirror this morning. Thrown off guard, all she could do was stare at him with tears in her eyes.

Ramon smoothed his hair back with a hand covered in gold rings and gave her an oily smile. “Come with me, baby. I'll make those tears go away. A couple lines of coke and you won't hurt anymore.”

Carmella felt her lip curl in disgust. “I'd rather spend the rest of my life cleaning toilets than
ever
let you touch me. You disgust me. A real man doesn't have to beat women and pay for his sex.”

“You
cadela estúpida
!” Ramon growled a second before he slapped her face. Her eyes watered from the pain, and she lifted a hand to her wounded cheek. No blood, but her cheekbone throbbed.

Carmella stood there for a moment, stunned, before she backhanded Ramon across the face with all her strength. Ramon sailed across the concrete steps, landing at the bottom with a thud. She didn’t know who was more surprised at her unusual strength, her or the man looking up at her now with murder in his eyes. The right arm of his shirt had torn during his fall, and his skinned elbow dripped blood down his hand. His tongue worried his lip, and he spat blood onto the steps at her feet.

“Oh, you bitch. You're going to pay,” he crooned as he slipped a butterfly knife out of his pocket. Staggering to his feet, he wiped the blood from his split lip and began to lumber toward her.

Terrified, Carmella backed up the steps, not taking her eyes off him. How had she managed to hit him as hard as she did? He outweighed her by at least eighty pounds. No way she could have knocked him down the steps with one blow. Those thoughts were secondary to the fear coursing through her, bright and silver-hot.

The door squeaked open behind her, and a large dog began to bark and snarl. “Get out of here, Ramon,” a stern woman’s voice yelled over the loud barks. “I told you not to step foot on my property again. I let your whores stay here because I pray to the Blessed Virgin they will find the strength to leave you. But if they keep letting you in here, I will kick them out.”

Turning around, Carmella looked gratefully to her guardian angels. It was Mrs. Amável, the landlady. The furry guardian angel with the deep bark was Mrs. Amavel's chief of security, Gabriel. Standing as high as Carmella's hip, Gabriel was a 115-pound German Rottweiler. Normally as sweet as a lamb to Carmella, right now he was snapping and snarling at Ramon like a crazed beast.

The tip of Ramon's knife pointed at Carmella, glinting orange and gold in the light of the setting sun. “This isn't done. No bitch hits me and gets away with it.”

Mrs. Amável loosed the leash holding Gabriel back, and the dog lunged down a few steps at Ramon. Turning white, Ramon backed away quickly and ran out the gate.

Carmella let out a shuddering breath and sat down hard on the concrete step. “I'm so sorry, Mrs. Amável. I didn't mean to bring trouble to your apartments.”

With a sniff, Mrs. Amável said, “Don't worry about it. That one has been a thorn in my side since I bought this place. Gods forgive me, but I keep hoping he will get arrested or killed one of these days.”

Gabriel came over to Carmella and gave her a big, stinky dog kiss on the side of her face. Laughing, Carmella hugged him close and buried her face in his soft neck. “Next payday I owe you a big bone from the butcher, Gabriel.” He gave her a big doggy smile and another lick.

“He's a good boy,” Mrs. Amável agreed. Carmella took a deep breath and walked into the cool air of the foyer with Mrs. Amável. “I'm afraid you've made an enemy with Ramon. He's the kind of filth that will take any opportunity to come after you.”

They stopped in front of the door to Mrs. Amavel's first-floor apartment. The white tiles of the floor were missing some grout, but it was clean. Mrs. Amável only let women rent apartments in the building, and there was always a high demand for her units. Safety was hard to find in the ghetto, and the fathers and brothers of the women staying here often kept an eye on the place.

“I know,” Carmella said in a tired voice. “I just don't know what I can do about it. Other than get a gun. And with the way the justice system works around here, I'd probably be the one in jail if I shot him.”

Mrs. Amável gave her a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. “Why don't you have your friends with the limo take care of him?”

“My what?” Carmella asked in confusion as she shifted her backpack.

“Your friends with the limo. You know, they pick you up in the evenings a couple times a week. I see you go out the front door and meet them. Always in a tight red dress.” Mistaking Carmella's stunned silence for censure, Mrs. Amável continued, “Mind you, I'm not spying, of course. It's just that a limo attracts attention in this neighborhood. And I'm not used to seeing you all dressed up with all that makeup.”

“You must have me confused with someone else. I stay in my apartment at night. I can't remember the last time I went out, and I haven't been in a limo since my
quinceañera
,” Carmella protested as bile rose in her throat.

Mrs. Amável paused and studied her face. “Oh, I must have been mistaken then. You don't look well. Are you all right?” At her feet, Gabriel began to whine and lick Carmella's hand.

“No, I'm not feeling so well. I have to go.” Carmella stumbled back and climbed the stairs to her apartment.

From below, Mrs. Amável yelled, “I hope you feel better. Drink some tea and make sure your door is locked tonight. I don't want anything to happen to you because of that cockroach Ramon.”

Carmella raised a hand in response, her stomach sloshing and churning with acid.

An hour later, she lay on her back in her bed, staring at the ceiling as the fan spun the humid air. What in the world was Mrs. Amável talking about? She stayed in her apartment all night, and she never had any visitors, let alone a limo come for her. Could she have mistaken her for someone else? It was possible, but the walkway and the front entrance were well lit by bright sodium security lights. Maybe there was another woman living here with long dark hair and a similar build. It wouldn't be beyond the realm of reason in Brazil.

The mention of the red dress was the part that made her heart skip a beat in fear. It had to be just a coincidence the woman Mrs. Amável saw wore a dress the same color as the one she always wore in her nightmares. She didn't even own any red dresses. After the third time she had that nightmare she had checked her closet. Nope, no red dress or six-inch black heels. At the time, she had laughed off her own foolishness…now she wasn't so sure.

Pressing the heels of her palms into her eyes, she prayed in desperation.
Please, help me. I don't know what is going on, but I'm afraid I'm losing my mind. Please, someone, please help me.

There was no answer, and she felt exhaustion drag her down into sleep. The gentle breeze of the fan moved the air over her face, and her quilt from home held her softly. Her last thoughts before drifting off were of Sean and running her fingers through his fine red hair.

****

Two hours later, Carmella's amber eyes snapped open with a flash as the succubus took over. She sat straight up in bed and groaned, running her hands down her body in an indulgent caress. Arching her back like a cat, she stroked her fingertips over her chest and into her hair, a laughing purr coming from her lips. With a roll of her hips any stripper would envy, she sauntered across the room into the kitchen where she turned on the lights.

Moving a chair over from the tiny breakfast table, she stood on it and lifted a ceiling panel over. A bundle of red fabric wrapped around something came out of the crawlspace, and she set it on the table. Licking her lips, the succubus shook out the red dress and placed the shiny-black heels and makeup off to the side.