Killer (10 page)

Nervous Breakdown

The sidewalk was packed with the usual rush of college girls—carrying heavy shopping bags, laughing, talking about spring break, or finals, or whatever the hell it was that college girls talked about when they were together. There were clusters of boys hanging out together, too. Some smiled at the girls. Some did more. Some whistled, even. How cheesy was that? But the girls flirted back. To Gaia,
watching the mating ritualsof college kidswaslike watching a documentary about orangutans on The Discovery Channel
. It was equally as foreign and mysterious—but primitive and ridiculous, too.

Did anyone ever end up in a real relationship?
And when it was finally over, did the broken-hearted women of the world drown their sorrows in a warm box of Original Glazed Krispy Kreme doughnuts?

If not, they should. Gaia bit into the first doughnut slowly, savoring its sweet perfection. She didn't have a father, a home, or even Sam, but she always had Krispy Kreme doughnuts. Doughnuts were a lot more reliable than people. As far as she could tell, in fact, people were shit. Well, except for the ones she invented in her head. Like the fake Sam Moon.

Yup. The Sam Moon she had fabricated in her mind was perfect. He was smart and rational. He lived by his own code. He wasn't impressed by flash or money. (Well, barring the regrettable exception of Heather Gannis, of course. But the fake Sam never even really
liked
Heather, right?) He had a brain for chess. He was loyal. Trustworthy. Nice to everybody, even to Gaia, when everyone else wrote her off . . .

Most of all, the Sam that Gaia had dreamed up was honest.

Too bad he didn't exist.

The Sam Moon that existed in reality had the same complicated hazel eyes and face—and the same head for chess—but that was where the similarities ended.
The real Sam wascalculating and manipulative. Weak. Spineless. Ruled
by hisgroin.
He was self-serving and callous. In short, he was a big, fat card-carrying member of Liars Anonymous.

So if the real Sam was such an asshole, then why did the thought of him still hurt so damn much?

You haven't had enough doughnuts yet—that's why,
Gaia reasoned as she stuffed a second doughnut down into the empty void where her heart once was. Getting Sam out of her mind was going to be brutal. But Gaia was prepared. She'd clean out the entire Krispy Kreme inventory if she had to.

As she nibbled the icing off her third doughnut, a burst of iridescent red hair caught the corner of her eye. The shade was very particular, an amalgam of bad dye jobs ranging from fuchsia to candy apple . . . blended into a color so hideous, it was nearly radioactive.

Gaia would know that red anywhere. It belonged to Ella.

Could it be that the psychobitch was laying another trap for Gaia? Probably. Gaia licked her sugared fingers absently as Ella passed the window—not more than four feet away. She didn't look up, though. She didn't notice Gaia. But Gaia noticed
her
—specifically, that Ella looked like
crap
. The requisite Barney's shopping bag was there, but everything else was completely skewed. The eyes
that were normally made up were now puffed with dark circles. Hair that was normally coiffed looked like it hadn't been combed in at least thirty minutes.

Maybe Ella was having a nervous breakdown.

No. She was setting a trap for Gaia.
There was no other logical explanation.
It was simply too coincidental that she would walk
right
past the window where Gaia was eating. But that didn't matter. If Ella was laying a trap, Gaia figured she better find out what it was.

At least it would take her mind off Sam.

 

SAM WANDERED AIMLESSLY PAST
Astor Place, choosing to avoid the crush of lower Broadway by sticking to the wide, desolate sidewalks of Lafayette. Even at rush hour this was one of the few avenues in Manhattan that wasn't jammed with a steady stream of cabs, buses, and pedestrians. And every few minutes, in between lights, the air was actually quiet enough to allow a person to think.

One Last Thing to Say

Not that Sam was
capable
of thinking. Even if he were in a library—no, better yet, even if he were in one of those isolation tanks where people succumbed to hallucinations because it was so freaking quiet—even
then
he wouldn't be able to think. The only thing he could do right was walk.
One foot in front of the other. Over and over again.
Just like a fish that had to keep moving to breathe. If he stopped for even a second, Sam felt he might die.

Strange: He used to walk all the time. Back when he was happy. Relatively happy, anyway. How long ago had
that
been? Four months? Six? Life had once been pretty good. Or at least halfway decent. He had an NYU scholarship, good friends, and a hot girlfriend that made him the envy of all his suite mates. Things were fairly uncomplicated. He knew where he was going and where he was likely to end up. All the pieces of his life had a way of fitting together. Perfectly.

Like a chess game.

But then he met Gaia.

As soon as he caught a glimpse of that tangled blond hair and those brooding blue eyes, Sam felt stirrings of discontentment gnawing at his insides. Something was suddenly
missing.
He couldn't put his finger on it, either. No. But nothing seemed to satisfy him anymore. He couldn't study. He zoned out
whenever he was with his friends. Heather started feeling more like a burden than a girlfriend. Everything that had once mattered to him before no longer had any real meaning.

And
why?
That was the kicker. He had no idea. No goddamn idea whatsoever. It wasn't as if he ever spent any long, meaningful periods of time with Gaia. Not like he had with Heather. His infatuation made absolutely no sense.

But still, he was sure that Gaia had to be in his life. Even though there was clearly no place for her.
She was like the extra piece you find in the puzzle box that you don't know how to use when you've put everything else together.
So Sam started pushing things aside, fighting to make her fit—any way he could. And his life started falling apart in the process.

First his grades went down the tubes. Heather broke up with him, but that was to be expected. His friends started hanging out with him less—and then came that whole whacked-out situation with Mike being in the hospital....

He almost stumbled. Shit. He should really go see Mike. But he just couldn't bring himself to do it. Facing
that
reality was too much to handle.

Why couldn't he make his life work?

Sam brushed past Tower Discount, his head bowed toward the sidewalk. The most maddening part of it
all was that it could have happened with Gaia. It
should
have happened. Or maybe it was never supposed to happen at all.
Maybe he wasdestined to not spend the rest of his life with Gaia but only to chalk her up asa great learning experience.
Maybe a straitlaced guy like him was only supposed to be with an outgoing, predictable sort of girl . . . somebody who went for designer clothes and celebrity gossip.

Someone like Heather.

No. He was lying to himself.

He stopped and leaned against the doorway of a small vintage clothing boutique. His head swam with regret and lost possibilities. It was beyond too late to explain himself and his inexcusable actions or to even apologize. But there was still one last thing he needed to say to Gaia.

She could go on hating him for the rest of her life if she wanted to, but he had to say it.

He had to tell Gaia that he loved her.
Now.

Sam sucked in a burst of clear air. Then he turned around and sprinted toward Washington Square Park.

Gaia caught the briefest flash of Ella's eyes in the darkness. She could see the whites. There was terror there. Ella knew she was about to die.

 

GAIA TRAILED SEVERAL YARDS BEHIND
Ella, her mane of hair strategically tucked under her black wool cap. The first rule of surveil-lance, as her father had taught her, was to hide one's most distinguishing feature.

Post-apocalyptic B Movie

But tagging Ella wasn't quite the easy errand Gaia had hoped for—certainly not as easy as the last time. Maybe this
wasn't
a trap. Part of the problem was that Ella seemed to have a total indifference to traffic signals. She frequently walked through a rush of speeding cabs and buses, yet somehow managed to avoid impact. She had excellent reflexes. Not that this was a big shocker to Gaia.
Behind Ella'smask of complete obliviousness and utter self-absorption lurked a trained martial artist ... a walking weapon.
Like Gaia herself.

Clearly Ella had somewhere important to be. The question was
where?
Gaia had already followed her through the Village and SoHo, half expecting Ella to stop at any number of posh coffee bars or trendy shops geared toward teenage fashion (the stepmonster's
favorite), but none of them so much as turned her head. Weird.

They continued moving south toward Canal . . . toward Chinatown. This was definitely stretching the boundaries of Ella's comfort zone. The neighborhood tended to get a little sketchy down here unless one stuck to the busy thoroughfares that were always packed with tourists. Maybe Ella was going to meet someone. Maybe she was going to sit around one of those communal tables at Joe's Shanghai, slurping a bowl of noodles....

Ella turned left on Canal Street, then quickly made a right on Pell. Gaia kept after her. The pungent odor of fish, medicinal herbs, and fried noodles permeated the air. No sunlight reached the crowded street; it was too narrow, and the buildings were too close together. The thickly populated sidewalk hid Gaia from view. She got a bit closer as Ella slithered her way past sidewalk booths filled with sunglasses and T-shirts, swinging her Barney's bag at her side. Even with so many people crammed together on the street, Ella's steps never once slowed or hesitated. She was definitely on a mission....

At last Ella ducked into an unremarkable doorway.

Gaia waited for a moment, counted to ten, then walked past the stoop. She couldn't help but frown. The name of the store was Mr. Chin's Trading Post.
Its front window was filled with stacks of ancient television sets. Everything was covered in dust. It looked like Mr. Chin hadn't sold a piece of equipment since before Gaia was born.

So. Maybe it was a front.

Sure. Gaia had seen businesses like this before scattered all over the city: small, unkempt store-fronts with dirty windows that displayed prehistoric merchandise. Or sometimes the stores seemed slightly more legitimate, stocking their meager shelves with a few rolls of film, gum, and maybe a soda cooler . . . but there were never any customers.
They all looked like scenes out of some postapocalyptic B movie.
Obviously there was no way these stores survived on the merchandise. They had to be a cover for illegal back-room operations.

Gaia turned at the end of the block, then hung outside a restaurant, trying to look casual. A tingle of energy shot through her veins. She might be on the verge of stumbling onto a clue that would solve the mystery of Ella. Drug smuggling, arms dealing, black market breast implants—what exactly was she up to?

Then again, there was a very good chance that Ella had lured Gaia down here simply to kill her. If Gaia had learned anything, it was never to underestimate the woman. Ever.

 

IT HAD BEEN A LONG, LONG TIME
since Ella had stepped into this place.

Impression of Luxury

She couldn't help but be mildly repulsed. The good life with George had . . . well, it had long shielded her from the more seamy undersides of the city.
That
had been a benefit, she supposed. Yes. It definitely had. Perry Street wasn't all bad. There had always been a bottle of good, expensive wine available, after all.

But this was not the time to reminisce.

Ella leaned against the scratched wooden counter and stared at the only other person on the premises: a shriveled old woman reading a Chinese newspaper. Ella didn't recognize her, but that meant nothing.
The man who operated this “business” undoubtedly used many different buffersto keep outsiders away from him.
Ella coughed once. The woman didn't seem to notice. The dust in this place was a mile thick. It looked like nobody else had been here in years. Which wouldn't be a surprise. It was amazing how far one had to go to step outside Loki's sphere of influence.

“Excuse me?” Ella asked, clearing her throat. “Is Mr. Xi in, please?”

The old woman looked up, her eyes expressionless. She waited a few moments, then held out her hand.
A bribe.
It figured. It was almost funny, in a way. Ella rolled her eyes and pulled a twenty out of her purse.

The woman snatched the crumpled bill and shoved it into the pocket of her dress. Then she motioned for Ella to come behind the counter, pushing aside a dirty striped curtain hanging in the doorway and leading her through to a back room with a staircase.
Jesus.
They should really hire a cleaning person. Ella followed her up the dangerously narrow flight of stairs. It dissolved into darkness. There was no handrail. Ella felt her way along the wall as the stairs cracked underfoot, her hands touching decades of grease and grime.

Her lips pursed. She hadn't remembered
this
part, either.
Then again, her mind had a knack for repressing memories of filth.

Like the secret hideaway she still maintained. The one she'd never told anyone about. The one she hadn't even thought about in almost five years. The one she vowed never to use. But there was no point in going there, either. Not even in her mind.