Black Death drew in a shaky breath. A stiff wind whipped across the water and the scent of the ocean filled her nose. Normally, the scent would soothe her, but tonight, she couldn’t settle her nerves.
She stopped at a coffee stand and ordered. She glanced casually back through the crowd, looking for any hint she wasbeing followed—a fast flicker of movement as they ducked for cover, or someone paying her too much attention.
She couldn’t see anything out of the ordinary. But she felt a cold prickle in her chest. It was nerves she told herself. She was just hyped up on adrenaline.
The game had already begun.
The promise of revenge coiled inside her, like a snake ready to strike. Among a list of possible strategic moves, while she waited for the coffee, she’d already identified the next one. A perfect little murder seemed the logical next step.
The lady handed her a coffee with a friendly smile. She headed back in the direction she had come from. She’d no sooner turned, when a small brown-haired boy hurtled into her legs, forcing her to a halt.
A basketball sized-head stared back up at her. He wore a navy striped t-shirt that clung to his bulging belly, navy shorts and a plaster across each knee. Not only was this kid butt ugly, but he was obviously not in control of his limbs. And he’d placed his putrid little hand on her skirt, a slither of ice-cream snaked its way down the fabric.
She brushed it off quickly, but the ice-cream had soaked into the delicate material and it was soiled. She glared down at the child. His bottom lip began to quiver, he stepped back, his eyes welled.Great, don’t fucking cry.She hated that high-pitched, God-awful sound.
He began to cry like she’d just fucking pinched him.
The sound pierced her ears, and she felt a flare of anger churning inside. She clutched her coffee cup so tight the scalding liquid tumbled over the top and burned her hand.For fuck sakes.She kept her face blank. To the left, two boats were moored facing each other, their masts sat like goal posts begging to be used. She imagined picking the little bastard up, placing him on the end of her foot and booting him straight through. Thecommentator would roar, ‘and she scores,’ and the crowd would go wild; and then there’d be silence, beautiful silence.
“Oscar!” the mother called out, jogging up, clutching at the strap of a hideous black bag slung over her shoulder. “So sorry!” The woman smiled apologetically, clasping the child’s hand and pulling him a few steps back. He filed in behind his mother’s legs and peered out. The mother reached down and stroked his head like she was rewarding his absurd behaviour. Christ, why didn’t they keep the little bastards under control, or at least discipline them? Her anger crept like wildfire through her veins. It always started that way and would swell until it burned red hot, and, if it hit her head,ohif it hit her head, then everyone better clear out of her way. Because, like a bomb, she would explode.
“Let me get you a wipe.” The mother reached into her bag, scrambling around.
“It’s fine,” she said.
The woman believed her and gave her a tight smile that read something like an apology mixed with relief. The kid stopped crying and stared up. His face was beetroot red but there were no tears, she noticed. The hideous sound was all for attention.
“Please, let me pay for the dry cleaning at least.” The mother glanced at the skirt, her face flushing with mortification.
“No. I’ll sort it.” She forced a smile.
“I’m truly sorry, can I do anything at all?” the mother asked.
“Yes, you can actually,” she answered, glancing down at the ugly little spawn. The mother wasn’t completely unattractive, but the sire she chose must be uglier than a bucket full of dogs’ dicks to produce that thing. “You can keep your legs closed, or, at the very least, use protection.”
“Sorry?” The mother stared at her, blinking a few times in slow motion, as if her eyelashes might clear a thick mind and clarify what she’d actually heard.
“Oh, I think you heard me, and if you can’t control it, I’d suggest you go out and buy a lead, and preferably a muzzle.”
The mother’s jaw hung ajar like a clown at a sideshow. Then she pursed her thin lips together. She boosted the spawn onto her hip, turned, and strode off.
Black Death spent the next half an hour wandering—looking for any signs she was being followed—before she risked entering her apartment. She left the lights off and kicked off her black heels, padding barefoot across the carpet. She went straight to the bathroom, turned on the light, and stared at herself. Her eyes were brighter than a cloudless summer sky, and she liked the look. She put her finger to her eyeball and took out her piercing blue contact lenses, popping them into a container of fluid. Then she pulled off the brunette wig and threw it on the chair, shaking her own hair loose.
She went to the kitchen, poured herself a glass of wine, and moved to the balcony. Staring out into the dark, she watched the crowds meander through the night. Drunken men in their early twenties, laughed and playfully shoved each other. One of them was tall, with dark hair, handsome, and fit looking. She licked her lips, and thought about having sex with him—maybe. A group of four girls staggered behind them, was one of them his girlfriend? She couldn’t be sure, not that it mattered.
Her eyes went back to the dark-haired man and she was drawn as if hypnotized to him.
It took her a moment to realise why she was so taken by the man. He reminded her of Karson.
The memory of that night, the terrible night her life came crashing down, rushed back in fragments.
The impact was like a Mac truck hitting her. Her head whirled, everything scrambled around inside. She clutched at the railing to hold herself steady. Her breath became raspy and she could hardly draw in air.
There’s a dark-haired girl screaming. She dropped to her knees, tears plummeting down her face, her chest heaving with each scream. Then, suddenly, Black Death is standing on the edge of a cliff. Her legs trembling, her chest so tight it felt like it was going to explode, staring down into the dark abyss. He’s lying on jagged rocks, one-hundred feet beneath, his leg twisted up at an odd angle beneath his body. His thigh bone jutting from just above his knee, pale as the moon, stark amongst the gushing pool of red. His arms are splayed out, his left hand points at the wrong angle. His chest is flat and she knows his ribs are shattered. There’s blood, so much blood. Blood gushes from everywhere. She waited for him to get up, but he didn’t move. He couldn’t move, and then she saw why.
The world whirled away and for a long moment there was nothing but darkness and a rippling, hollowed emptiness. Then the world rushed brutally back, and the pain of her loss was too much. She screamed, a sound more animal than human, a sound of pain and fury.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
