Crime Rave (25 page)

Linda Kang, aka Barren

Y
ou feel like you should be more upset about vomiting on the nurse—burning through her flesh to bone—but something tells you that you’ve done the hospital a big favor. Spidey sense, whatever you want to call it. She was tormenting you on purpose. How many others did she do it to? And why hadn’t she been caught? Is this why you were brought back from the rubble? You’re some sort of vomit superhero? Gives a whole new meaning to Toxic Avenger, sheesh.

Looking out the window over LA you wonder if this is the sign you need to move away. You’ve wanted to ever since that sick bastard Dr. Johnson, DDA, poisoned you and made you barren. And now your two best friends are dead. Maybe it’s time to get away from this city with its perpetual layer of smog and congested streets, bad memories. You’re sick of spending half your life in a car.

You could move to Europe, somewhere cold where you can watch the seasons change for once in your life.

Somewhere you won’t take summertime and warm for granted.

A place that has public transportation or is small enough you can walk around.

Somewhere you can improve your Spanish or French.

Or even a place where you can learn a new language altogether.

Someplace new where you can reinvent yourself even.

Your stomach doesn’t roil at the thought, it must mean something.

You wonder about the dentist. According to the detective, nobody ever reported him missing, let alone dead. How does someone get killed and no one asks even one question? And his other patients? How many others did he hurt like he hurt you?

This line of thinking pains your tummy so you snack on the last of the kimchi and find some old episodes of
I Love Lucy
to take your mind off things.

You can’t stop thinking about leaving America.

You switch to the Travel Channel and think of places you in which you wouldn’t mind living: Barcelona. Prague. Paris. St. Petersburg. Melbourne. Buenos Aires. You sleep and dream of ocean liners and airplanes that spirit you around the world.

4:15 PM The Barona Pasadena Estate

T
he Countess Barona paces back and forth in her grand foyer, waiting for the doorbell to ring. What is taking that brute Victor Tode so long to produce the cyclops’s fake papers?
Tea. A nice strong Earl Grey to settle my nerves.

“Consuela!” she calls. No answer. “Consuela! Now!” Still nothing.
Oh blast it. I’ll make the damn tea myself.
Upstairs she hears the faint sound of crying. Must be that boy. In his final moments.
Scrap the tea. Let’s go drink some pain.

Mounting the ornate staircase that leads to Barona’s children’s ward, the crying gets louder. Too loud to be from the boy, the rooms are mostly soundproofed to prevent that very thing. The sobs escalate. The Countess Barona finds her maid, the elusive Consuela, crumpled in front of the boy’s door, weeping like her best friend just died.

“What the hell are you doing here? This wing is off limits!” Barona screeches.

“
Está muerto, señora! El chico ya está muerto
!” Consuela says over and over.

“You’re in bloody America, speak American!” Barona spits.

“Dead!” Consuela cries and rushes past the Countess. “You kill him!” Fury blazes in her eyes as she charges Barona, pushing her down. “I no work here no more!”

“YANOSH!” Barona screams for her butler, her wrist sprained from the fall. “Code Red, YANOSH!” Barona’s voice is a siren of desperation and fury.

Consuela sobs as she runs down the stairs, holding the railing for support. “You bad woman! I go police!”

The Countess gets herself to her feet and hears a BANG. Yanosh. About bleeding time. Barona totters to the railing and looks over. Consuela, prone, a pool of blood spreading out on the marble around her.

“Yanosh. How good of you to show up.”

Yanosh wipes the gun with a silk handkerchief, saying nothing.

“Get rid of her. And make sure the rest of the staff understand what will happen if they talk. Nobody threatens me. Take her out through the kitchen. And clean that up. Victor will be here any moment.”

Barona’s heart pounds, exhilarated by the confrontation.
Who needs Earl Grey when the invigoration of murder abounds?
The Countess watches Yanosh wrap the body in a carpet, drag it out and washes the floor with bleach. Not just the area with the blood, the entire foyer. She has trained him well.

The doorbell rings. Yanosh puts the mop against the wall and answers. Victor Tode, sheaf of papers in hand. The Countess Barona descends the stairs, taking her time, as if she wasn’t just now pacing back and forth waiting for him.

“I take it you were successful.” Her blasé tone belies her pounding heart.
The one-eyed girl! Mine!

Victor hands over a packet of documents. Barona flips through them. “And they’ll pass muster with the authorities?”

He nods. “Or your money back. Minus the printing fees, that is,” Victor sneers, lapel camera whirring. He wishes it could capture the scent of fresh blood and gunsmoke. “What, you shoot someone in here?”

The Countess looks like the diabetic with a hand in the cookie jar. She recovers, then ignores the question. “Very well. You’re dismissed. The money will be in your account later today.”

“Pleasure doing—”

Barona slams the door in his face.

“Yanosh! Make sure that spic sonofabitch leaves the property
tout suite
. And prepare the car. We’re off to pick up a new girl.”

Yanosh nods, leaving the room with the mop and bloody bucket of bleach along with him.

4:30 PM Spruce-Musa Hospital

T
he fourth floor returns to what now passes as normal after orderlies rush Nurse Underwood to the emergency room following Linda Kang’s projectile vomit incident, prospects grim. An uneasy pall settles in with Underwood’s absence, each member of staff and police reflecting on what these survivors signify in this new emerging world, one in which a woman vomits acid like
Alien
, another physically manifests
The Blob
, a one-eyed girl can gorgonize a man to stone, not to mention the three aliens, each with an ability that supersedes anything anyone had imagined outside the confines of a horror film or science fiction comic.

Everyone except Günn, whose state of denial becomes pathological. She’s thinking about food and how that kimchi smells amazing and maybe she should send out for some herself. She wonders if she resigns right now whether she could spend the rest of the day by Cherie Beauxden’s bedside.

Red Feather notes the semi-vacant look in his partner’s eyes and feels a trickle of worry.

“Come on, you. Let’s finish up.”

Günn remains lost in thought. Red Feather touches her on the shoulder. She jumps out of her skin.

“Fuck, man. You scared the shit out of me!” Günn breathes heavily and puts her hand on her chest.

I’ve been here all this time,
Red Feather thinks. “Hey, you okay?”

“Fine. Let’s go. Only three left. Can’t wait to get out of this freakshow.”

They knock on the already-open door of the woman Cherie Beauxden identified as purple-eyed Tashi Lhamo and introduce themselves. She’s watching Israeli television, surprising the detectives.

“You speak Hebrew?” Red Feather asks.

Tashi looks puzzled. “What do you mean?”

“That’s what they’re speaking.” He points to the TV.

“For serious?” She looks back at the screen. “I hear English. And no, I don’t speak Hebrew. That’s totally weird.” She turns the machine off.

“Can we ask you some questions about what happened last night?” Red Feather asks, pulling up a chair.

“Shoot.” Tashi’s eyes are indeed a striking shade of violet, and her mixed Tibetan and Caucasian features are exotic, a rare orchid.

Günn gets the video camera whirring and Red Feather gets out his notebook.

“So, Tashi, what do you remember?”

“Absolutely nothing,” Tashi shrugs. “I’m sorry. It’s just a big bunch of empty up here.” She taps a finger on her head.

“Oh. Well…”
Fuck
.

“Yeah, the last thing I remember is getting ready and my friends picking me up. Then nothing. How did I even get here?” Tashi is calm and quiet.

“The truth?”

“Please.”

“We found body parts and they grew back. Into you. And a few others.”

“Hmmm.” Tashi is thoughtful. “In Buddhism we believe in reincarnation. Though, I’m not sure actual physical regeneration was what the Buddha meant.”

“We saw it with our own two eyes,” Red Feather says.

But I still don’t believe it,
Günn says to herself, her mind once again dissociating from the scene before her.
I won’t believe it.

“Do you recognize any of these people?” Red Feather hands her the Polaroids.

“Yeah, these two. My friends Cherie Beauxden and Una O’Doole. Are they okay?” She points to pictures of the pheremonal triple-uterus carrying former stripper and the redheaded bearer of the blob.

Red Feather nods. A sigh of relief from Tashi. “Can I see them?”

“When we’re done with all the statements, sure thing.”

“The rest, not so much.” She hands the photos back to Red Feather, who deflates slightly. Günn starts packing up the camera without even thinking twice.

“Well, thank you anyway for your
—
” Red Feather moves to get up.

Tashi interrupts. “Before you go, I
would
like to report a crime.” Tashi takes a deep breath and Red Feather sits back down. “A month ago, I was at a party and I was raped. Twice. By the same guy.” Her calmness is unnerving, bringing to mind Special Agent Rosario Quatro who remained unfazed through madness upon madness.

“Oh.” Red Feather was waiting for ooze or telekinesis or some new version of a vomit killer. “Did you report it?” He takes his notebook back out.

Tashi shakes her head. “No, and I should have. He really hurt me. I didn’t need surgery, but my gyno said there’s a chance I’ll have a hard time getting pregnant. Luckily he didn’t have any STDs or AIDS. I’m thankful for at least that every day.”

Günn feels a pain stab through her womb. She puts her hand over the baby growing inside.

“And why didn’t you go to the police?”

“The usual reasons, Detective. I was on drugs, I was wearing a short skirt. And he did it twice. I could already hear the defense attorneys putting me on trial. I could hear the cops’ disbelief. And the thought of going to the hospital for a rape kit, the invasiveness of it all…” Tashi shudders. “No way.”

“Do you know who he was?” Red Feather’s pen poised for details.

“Some guy at the party, he said his name was Jason Mars. Freaky kind of face, like he was wearing a hockey mask only that was what his face looked like. I was having such a good time, just me. And I’d never done E before and I felt really happy. Really connected to everyone there, but not dependent on them. You know?

“Well, you probably don’t know being a cop, but I felt strong. It was amazing. And then I guess he saw I was alone and came over. I got a bad vibe right from the start. Didn’t wanna be rude so I tolerated him. Then when I tried to excuse myself he followed me, and then he just, like, turned into another person.”

“Actually?” Red Feather waits for a catch.

“No, not actually. That’s impossible, right?” Tashi senses something is up.

“If that’s what happened I promise to believe you.”

“Well, no, he just went from being nice to really mean. Grabbed my arm, tried to force me to kiss him. I wonder if I had done it, just kissed him, if he wouldn’t have done what he did next.” Tashi shakes her head. “Tore my underwear off, started raping me. I tried to scream but he bit my mouth and I was choking on my own blood.” Tashi shows him the inside of her lip, a horrible scar. “Detective, I know you’ve never done E but as much as it makes you feel good, when something bad happens it just gets worse. Like it heightens all your emotions regardless. I’ll never forget that. I have nightmares about it. It’s like a defining moment in my life now.” Tashi shudders. “Sometimes I feel like that’s the worst part of it.”

“Did anyone at the party help you?”

Tashi laughs, an awful sound. “Not a one. They were too fucked up. He finished and got off me. Even gave me his hand to help me up, the bastard. I freaked. I threw potted plants at him, kicked him, screamed. I thought I messed him up pretty good. And I just left the party. I couldn’t be there.”

“Where did you go?”

“I just walked, realized I had no idea where I was, or how to get home. I wasn’t wearing any underwear
—
he’d torn it off, and I felt naked. There was a park, I went and lay down next to a tree. My mind was so messed up, and I was still so high. All I wanted was my own head back. And then guess who shows up.” Tashi shakes her head.

“Oh.” Red Feather winces. The pain in Günn’s belly turns piercing, she gasps.

“Yeah. Him. Jason Mars. And he’s totally fine. None of the cuts or anything, which was pretty strange. Told you I threw bricks and shit at him. And not a scratch. And I’m lying there like a broken person. I can’t even begin to process what’s happened, it’s like I drift out of myself and I’m watching this stranger get raped in the park. I don’t even remember feeling any pain.”

“You were in shock.”

“I figured, but it’s something I’ve heard about but never felt and feeling it is a whole different thing. But then all of a sudden I got so fucking mad. I don’t know if it was the E or what, but I went right back into my body and I was furious. He’s moving over me, inside me, and I want to kill this bastard. And it was like every muscle in my body tensed as tight as it could go, and suddenly he’s the one looking scared. I’m just so mad, you know, enraged. I realize he can’t get his dick out. I’m clenched so tight he can’t get it out. So I clench harder. And he pulls. And it fucking tears off, that’s how mad I was.”

Red Feather feels a cramping in his groin. Günn barks a sound that could be laughter, but the hysterical edge wins out.

“He collapses, screaming, screaming. I stand up over him. It slides out of me and onto his face, all chewed up. You know what went through my mind in that moment?”

Red Feather shakes his head.

“Juliette Lewis in
Natural Born Killers
, when she’s saying ‘How sexy am I now?’ as she beats up that guy who bothered her when she was dancing? I heard that in my head over and over until I got back to the party. I cleaned myself up. Found some new clothes. I waited for my friends to sober up to tell them. Went to the gyno a few days later when.” Tashi stops. “I knew I should have reported it. So now I am. Jason Mars, that’s what he called himself.”

“I will definitely look into this, Tashi. Maybe you’ll reconsider pressing charges. The statute of limitations isn’t even close to expired.”

“I’ll think about it.” She shrugs. “I just don’t know if I could handle all that comes with it. I do thank you for listening. I’ve got a second chance at my same life, I’m not going to make the same mistakes again.”

Red Feather hands her his business card. “You think of anything or you remember something else about the assault, if you see him again, or whatever, you give me a call. Right away. The benefit of reporting it officially would be that you get victim-witness assistance from the state. The money helps pay for trauma therapy and any other medical procedures you might need as a result of the incident,” Red Feather gives it one last shot.

“I’ll think about it. I promise. Appreciate it, Detective.”

“I’m really sorry about what happened to you.”

Tashi smiles and nods, wiping a tear from her left eye. She turns the TV back on and voices in Hebrew stream through. “They really aren’t speaking English?” Her violet eyes puzzled as a newborn discovering its own feet.

Red Feather looks at the screen. “Definitively.”

“That is so weird,” Tashi repeats.

“Nah,” Red Feather says. “Not to burst your bubble, but you’re the first sort of normal survivor we’ve met all day.”

Tashi’s eyes widen.

“So, I take it you didn’t have this ability before the accident?” Red Feather closes his notebook.

“Not that I know of,” Tashi says. “Do you think it’s because I’m a writer?”

Red Feather puts his hands out in a gesture that says
I have no idea
. Tashi wants to ask more about the survivors but instead flips through the channels, wondering what other languages she can understand.