Falling Into Place (4 page)

Jesus! She’s not a mannequin at all!
she screamed in her head.
That sick son of a bitch has them trapped inside plastic shells! They’re all alive!
Linda saw Rachel’s lips mouth the word “help” a split second before Joshua dipped her, finishing their dance. As he carried the immobile girl back to her chair, a tear ran down the outside of her polymer-encased cheek.

Joshua went to Martina, at table five, and replayed his dance invitation. They danced to Frank Sinatra’s “How You Look Tonight” and, at times, Linda could see the hatred in the captive girl’s eyes for her dance partner. During the dance, Linda was able to recognize her mad captor had left openings for their eyes, ears, nostrils, and mouths. Since the ladies were able to bend at the elbows and knees, he must’ve left those joints free as well. Judging from the cumbersome movements, their waists, necks and hips must be completely encased, although Linda was pretty sure certain body parts were left accessible for various reasons. Her mind reeled at the horror these women must go through on a daily basis, forced to live in a plastic shell for the amusement of a maniac. They were, in effect, exactly what she’d called them: living Barbie dolls.

During his dance with Tamara, Joshua passed too closely to Linda’s chair, and inadvertently hit her left foot while he was twirling. He was enjoying himself too much to notice, but Linda instantly realized that she felt it! The feeling was beginning to come back into her extremities. She flexed the fingers on her right hand ever so slightly. She wiggled her toes on both feet. Her body was starting to respond to her brain again.

Something on the television caught Constantine’s eye, so he immediately returned Tamara to her table. Using the remote, he turned off the music and increased the volume on the television. It was an update on the local news. “...go now to Monica Ramirez, in front of police headquarters. Monica?”

The image changed to a female reporter standing in front of a crowd, “Thank you, Chuck. Police Chief Samuels just finished giving an update concerning the ongoing investigation into the disappearance of Sophia DeMarco, prominent local attorney who’s been missing for eight days now. As you may remember, Miss DeMarco was last seen with her boyfriend, Andrew Collins, during what witnesses described as a heated argument at the restaurant
Tango.
Chief Samuels said that, while Mr. Collins remains a person of interest, they are expanding the investigation into other areas. At police headquarters, I’m Monica Simmons, Action 12 News.”

“Marvelous! Simply Marvelous!” Joshua exclaimed, playing to his captive audience. “Sophie, my dear, that’s seven straight days with a mention of you on the news. If you keep this up, you’re sure to break darling Nicole’s record of fifteen straight days! You must be so proud! I know I am.” He beamed like a parent at his child’s first dance recital.

“You see, Linda. I’m not some kind of monster who doesn’t care about his girls. I want them to see how much they are missed and I know it makes them feel good to see their pictures on TV,” Joshua said. “Of course, once the newscasts stop mentioning them, and the world moves on to other stories, my girls tend to get a little down. That’s why I have these frequent parties. I feel it’s important to keep everyone’s spirits up. Things go so much better when everyone stays happy, right ladies?”

The gathered women could only sit in mute agreement.

“You sick fuck!” Linda shouted, startling Joshua. “You’re nothing but a preening, posturing coward!”

Joshua stormed to Linda’s chair and slapped her across the face. “I knew I should have started with your deceitful face, but I was willing to give you a chance, you simpering cow!” He reached down for the polymer.

When he looked up, Linda spat right in his face, taking great pride in watching her saliva run down his nose as his body shook with rage. Suddenly, Sophie started to scream as much as possible behind her plastic faceplate. Joshua turned to look at her, bellowing “Shut up!” Linda gathered all her remaining strength, raised her right leg, and kicked Constantine as hard as she could, directly in the side of the head. Joshua lost his balance and fell backward, sliding across the waxed dance floor into the entertainment center. The remote fell onto the ground and the channel changed from Action News 12 to NWN: Nationwide News.

Joshua stood up slowly, fixing his hair. He reached into his pocket, removed his handkerchief, and wiped his face. He never took his eyes off Linda. She was smirking at him. He walked deliberately over to her chair and stood behind it, out of her field of vision. He grabbed a handful of her hair and yanked her head back, placing his other hand on her throat. He whispered in her ear, “Do you think you can escape me that easily, Linda? I know how much you want to join your beloved Myles in the depths of Hades, but I promise you, it will be a very long time before you are reunited. Very long indeed.” He released her hair, slowly bent down, and strapped her ankles to the chair legs. “Now let’s get you all dolled up,” he said with a malevolent smile.

As Joshua mixed the polymer extract, the news broadcast came back from a Hyundai commercial. “And finally, out of New York City today comes a scene straight out of a comic book. A daring, afternoon armored car robbery was foiled by what can only be described as a super woman; perhaps the embodiment of the very best humanity has to offer; an exemplar of virtue and physicality. Here is compelling amateur video of this young woman stopping the hijacked armored transport with her bare hands and literally ripping the door off its hinges to exact a level of justice on the perpetrators.”

As the video rolled, Joshua Constantine dropped the polymer container. It crashed to the ground with a clang. He stood mesmerized by what he was watching.

The news cast continued, “A mere eighty-two seconds for this remarkable woman to foil the best laid plans of the nefarious ‘Jack Squad.’ Field reporter Alex Baerga managed to get a few words with the stunning crime fighter before she leapt away.”

The scene showed a reporter sticking his microphone near the do- gooder’s face. “Excuse me, Miss...Alex Baerga, NWN. How are you able to do these incredible things?”

The mystery woman smiled coyly, sweeping her hair behind her left ear, before replying, “I...just am. Something of a trade secret, I guess you could say.”

The young lady was six feet tall with broad shoulders and a slender, toned physique. She looked powerful but not overly muscular, with long brown hair, sharp green eyes, long shapely legs and breasts that seemed to defy gravity. The heroic woman wore thigh-high dark blue boots and gloves. Her low cut, form-fitting top covered her torso and arms exposing a bare midriff, with a circular cutout on each shoulder. Her neck was adorned with an almost out-of-place choker. At her wrists, elbows, and knees were yellow straps, accentuating the outfit. She had a birth mark just to the left of her upper lip, giving her an old- time, Hollywood starlet quality.

“Well, you certainly are a paragon of human perfection: strong, capable and certainly beautiful,” Baerga gushed, unable to maintain his objectivity.

“Thank you for the kind words, Mr. Baerga. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to be going.” She turned away.

“Wait! Miss, please! What’s your name? What should we call you?”

“I guess you can call me what you already did...call me Paragon,” she said, before leaping to a lamppost and swinging up to the rooftop of the adjacent building as easily as a normal person steps up onto a curb.

“There you have it. All six members of the ‘Jack Squad’ crime crew are in custody tonight, and the streets of New York are a little safer thanks to this ‘Paragon.’ Will we see her again? If so, we’ll have it for you here on NWN: Nationwide News. Good night and God Bless.”

Constantine stood there motionless as the television switched to an Overstock.com commercial. He seemed to be hypnotized. He repeated the word “Paragon” over and over, like a personal mantra or daily affirmation. Suddenly, without saying a word, he ran from the room.

Linda looked at the other women, but they were as confused as she was. It was obvious they’d never seen him like this before. She struggled against her restraints, but only managed to knock her chair over, slamming her arm hard onto the cold floor.

Ten minutes later, Joshua stormed back into the room carrying two large containers, not even bothering to notice her current position. He was wearing the surgical gloves again. He opened each container and Linda immediately smelled the unmistakable odor of gasoline. She renewed her efforts to extricate herself from that chair. Joshua went around the room, dousing the walls, entertainment center, and corners of the room with the first container.

“What are you doing, asshole?” Linda screamed. “Stop it! Just stop!”

Joshua picked up the second container and began dousing each table and the woman sitting at it, one by one. The chamber filled with their muffled screams as he made his way across the room. When he got to Sophie’s table, he ran out of gasoline. “Damn!” he yelled, turning to Linda, who continued her attempts to free herself. “I guess you’ll just have to burn without an accelerant, bitch!”

“I’m truly sorry, my lovelies, but I’ve seen the future, and none of you are in it,” Joshua said. “It’s nothing personal. I’ll always treasure the memories of our time together, but unfortunately, you just don’t measure up any longer.” He took off the gloves and tossed them into the center of the dance floor.

He bent down to Linda and said in a low, steady tone, “I don’t mean to alarm the others, but when the fire reaches the containers filled with that analgesic gas that took out your husband, there won’t be much left of the house upstairs. No one will ever find your bodies down here.” He kissed her on the cheek, and she cried out in a primal rage. Joshua waited until she’d screamed herself out before saying, “Good riddance to bad rubbish, I always say.”

Constantine stood, took a pack of matches out of his pocket, struck one, lit the rest of the pack, and casually threw it onto the entertainment center. He was out the door before the gasoline ignited. After making his way through the vault, locking the door to his hidden room behind him, he then locked the vault itself from the outside. Once Joshua made his way through the wine closet to the living room, where he’d placed Myles’ dead body minutes before, all that was left was to retrieve his various personal effects. Seconds later, he was out the door.

Joshua Constantine drove away from his house and dialed a number. “Phil, Joshua Constantine here. I need you to get the Manhattan apartment ready. I’ll be arriving in the morning. Yes, I’ll be staying on indefinitely. No, no...I don’t think I’ll be coming back to Seattle anytime soon. Thanks, Phil. See you soon.”

As his car accelerated to the end of the driveway, the flames reached the gas containers and the house exploded into a million shards of metal, glass, and wood. A gigantic plume of smoke and fire stretched into the sky.

Joshua smiled. His soul felt at ease for the first time in his life. Things finally made sense.

“I’ve finally found my soul mate. Paragon. I’m coming, my love.”

THE END

Tommy McCabe closed his eyes tightly as he washed the blood from his hands.

Lately it seemed as if he couldn’t get them clean enough, washing them dozens of times a day. Tommy wondered whether he was developing obsessive compulsive disorder or a conscience. Not that either option was particularly appealing. One would get him an appointment with a shrink, the other a date with the undertaker. After all, getting his hands dirty, and bloody, was part of his job.

Tommy “Two Fists” McCabe has been a career criminal for over two decades. With his partner, Salvatore “Gravedigger” DiSalvo, Tommy currently “fixed” problems for the Manelli Crime Family. The two men had worked together for almost nine years and were incredibly adept at their jobs, but nobody wanted a fixer with a guilty conscience, or a mental disorder. This was the kind of problem usually handled by a bullet in the back of your head, so Tommy had decided to keep his issues a secret, even from his long-time partner.

Despite his predilection against it, Tommy had already washed his hands four times in the last hour. His “condition” always worsened during times of stress and his current predicament was the biggest clusterfuck he’d ever seen. Needless to say, Tommy didn’t like the situation one bit. “This day has been shit from the word go,” he muttered to himself as he dried his hands with the paper towels nearby.

That morning, when he was contacted by Lucifer Luongo, the new boss recently brought in from the Chicago family, Tommy was trepidatious. This was to be their first meeting and Luongo had a reputation for being the kind of man who was almost impossible to please. Rumor had it, he began working for the cartel only 3 years earlier and had quickly ascended through the ranks despite being African American. The higher ups in the syndicate took quick notice of his specific skill set: merciless tactics, lack of conscience and zero tolerance for failure.

Despite his years of loyal service, Tommy knew that if he got on the outs with a man like Luongo, he wasn’t long for this world. Just a little more stress to add to his already voluminous pile. He wondered how long before the proverbial camel’s back broke for good. All he needed was a chance to get his head straight in the form of an easy first assignment from his new boss. Something like “quieting” an informant or perhaps making a body disappear. He could fix those problems easily, with little to no anxiety, and he could possibly score some quick points with Luongo. Then maybe he’d be okay.

When “Two-Fists” got to the office, Luongo’s assistant asked him to wait in the outer vestibule where she performed her duties. He’d been around long enough to recognize the request for what it was, simply a way for the new boss to exert power over his underlings, to let them know they were on
his
time now.

Tommy had long ago stopped worrying about the politics of the syndicate, instead focusing his attention on whatever job was at hand. Besides, Luongo’s secretary was a real looker so Tommy didn’t exactly hate spending some time in her company.
The big man must’ve brought her in with him from the Windy City
, Tommy mused as he gave her the once over.