Red Widow (Vivian Xu, Book 1) (8 page)

Maybe a little wine-induced ecstasy
would erase those regrets.

Fishing a glass out from the cabinets,
she generously filled it to the brim. She preferred dark beer above
all else, but any alcohol would suffice.

The red wine splashed against her lips
and cascaded down her throat. One glass after the other, she drank
her fill until the room was bathed in a fuzzy haze, making the city
ripple just beyond her window. She floated toward the record player
and switched the vinyl. A yawning violin answered her. With an
impish smile, she staggered toward the plush bed and dove into the
pillows. She murmured in pleasure, licking the last drop of wine
from her lips.

The daze of alcohol and music arrested
every thought in her mind. As the strength poured out of her body,
she succumbed to weakness.

* * *

Vivian’s eyes fluttered
open. Was she looking into a mirror? Another face reflected at
her,
from above.
No, the doppelganger’s eyes were emerald green and her face
was much too European. The woman leaned over Vivian as she sprawled
among the blankets.

Chocolate brown hair tumbled down her
shoulders, tickling Vivian’s nose. Her lips curled in a thin smile
and she leaned closer toward Vivian. Her pulse skipped along like
an orgy of drums set to the primal soundtrack of her
heart.

“
What are you doing here?”
a buttery voice whispered in Vivian’s ear.

“
I…”

Those intense, molten eyes
invaded hers, and Vivian couldn’t escape their harsh judgment. She
moaned and buried her face in the pillow.
Go away, go away
, she silently
begged.
Just leave me alone.

She could still feel the stranger’s
shadow weighing heavily on her like velvet. Was she real or just a
figment of her overstimulated imagination? When she peeked out from
under the pillow, the woman had evaporated from the room. Who was
this unexplained stranger that crept into the house—if she was
indeed real?

Vivian glanced accusingly
at the bottle of wine perched on the table.
That’s the last time I drink anything from the 18th
century,
she thought. And her head tumbled
to the pillow.

* * *

Mikhael raised his eyes from the
bonfire cackling in the tunnels. Something managed to draw his
attention away from the trinkets he meticulously scrounged through.
There was no end to the treasure that spilled through the sewer
grates and ended up in his collection.

Just the other day, he spied something
glimmering among the squalor that turned out to be the keys to a
Hyundai Sonata. Joakim gladly pocketed it for himself.

Mikhael looked lovingly at his trove
of trinkets that kept him company in the stale hours of boredom. If
only someone would send a mother and father his way.

He perked up at the sound of something
scraping against a wet surface. Joakim was furiously skinning a rat
in preparation for supper. Sewer rats were one of the few
delicacies found this far below civilization. Occasionally, he
would venture just beyond the surface to sift through the dumpsters
for salvageable food. If only the native populace were as wasteful
as the Americans, throwing away perfectly edible meals.

Cabbage, bread and meager
portions of pork would suffice for now. A pot of beans gurgled over
the fire, eliciting another growl from Mikhael’s stomach. It had
been so long since he relished the taste of soup or stew. He
hugged
his belly as it howled forebodingly
again. Only then did he realize he couldn’t possibly make that
sound.

A strange noise rolled down the
tunnel, droning in the depths.

“
What is it?” Joakim
demanded. He followed his adopted son’s gaze. Something metallic
ricocheted down the rails. Joakim clutched his boning knife tightly
as the disturbance grew louder and more frequent.

Without warning, Mikhael pounced to
his feet and ran.

“
Hey!
” Joakim screamed. He bolted after Mikhael but the boy
narrowly escaped his grasp. He reached feebly for Mikhael as he
raced toward the emerging silhouette. The shapely figure swept the
child up in her arms and Mikhael squealed in delight. Joakim almost
melted in relief.

“
My little lily has
returned.”

Vivian came into startling clarity as
she entered the light.

“
Yes, and I delivered the
flowers, along with your creepy letter. I’m sure Audrey will be
pleased.” Mikhael wriggled out of her arms and scampered toward the
bonfire.

“
I trust everything went
well?”

“
Nothing I couldn’t handle.
Don’t tell me you were
worried
.”

“
Of course not. I simply
don’t want any complications.”

Vivian smiled as Mikhael nudged a bowl
of soup in her direction. The broth smelled surprisingly sweet and
teased her appetite.

“
Then you’ll be happy to
know I was in and out like that.”

At the snap of her fingers, Joakim
smiled. He turned his back on her, pleased with his “errand girl.”
Vivian’s voice rang out in anger.

“
You’re in debt to me now,
you know that?”

Joakim fell still, gilded in the stark
light of the bonfire.

A twinge of unease tarnished Joakim’s
boyish smile. However, that same anxiety vanished just as quickly
as it peeked through.

“
Yes. I will show you to
the outskirts.”

FOUR

Vivian emerged from the metro as a
train howled obscurely in the distance. She almost expected the
tunnel to collapse behind her in a wave of concrete shambles.
Joakim had faded into the darkness long before Vivian tasted fresh
air. She reared up from the stairs to greet a city wreathed in
humid fog.

Nostalgia ached in her chest as she
scanned the vacant lot. She left the mouth of the tunnel as the
churning wind tugged her forward.

Even at the age of eighteen, Vivian
felt trapped in a child’s body, reborn into this unforgiving world.
Except the man and woman who birthed her were absent now, and in
their place was a void of fragile independence.

She relied so much on her parents as
she braved this emotional cyclone more commonly known as life. They
helped her register for classes, taught her how to drive, and
provided a dry roof over her head.

That security had been stripped away
just like the clothes from her body when she worked at the
gentlemen’s club.

But not even those perverse times
could match the vulnerability she felt as she entered the main
plaza. This place stirred feelings in her that remained dormant
since childhood: ignorance that shielded her from
danger.

She palpably felt an outside presence
that invaded this place and claimed dominion over the ruins.
Condemned houses broke the skyline like jagged nails.

The district looked like a modern
Gomorrah scorched by divine fury. Vacant shops lined the
streets.

Vivian knew the secrets of this
district, a reality that too many denizens shied away from. All the
lies concocted by the media could never hide the tragic past that
smoldered here. Her eyes fell on a child’s mangled
bicycle.

Twelve years ago, racial riots drove
hundreds of Chinese immigrants from this poor district. Chaos
spilled across the district heavily populated by disenfranchised
immigrants, resulting in the deaths of twelve armed officers and
more than 200 civilians. The area had virtually been quarantined by
the government and thus could only be accessed by foot.

Renovations had been scheduled to
begin last fall but the city council lacked the funds—or more
appropriately, courage—to move forward.

Vivian strolled past the disgraced
cathedral, its Gothic façade bruised by Molotov cocktails. Even the
hospital had been tarnished by the violence that oozed through the
impoverished ghettos. Cartridges from assault rifles littered the
streets, giving silent testimony to the martyrs who fell to their
knees in puddles of blood and tears only twelve years
ago.

She wondered how the police felt as
they walked among the site of an ethnic massacre. How many of them
had donned riot gear and faced a disparaged population in the
bondage of poverty? How many defected when they saw the charred
bodies of children being disposed of in the sewers before the
camera crews arrived?

Not
enough
, she thought, watching the wind tug
on the bicycle wheels. To this day, she still felt the sting of
prejudice. She would never shed the label as a “Chink” or “Mulan”
in the eyes of the older generation. She was an unwelcome immigrant
and no amount of assimilation could cleanse her of that
stigma.

Suddenly, she remembered the night
that violence washed ashore in her neighborhood like a
disease-ridden tide. Riot police had swarmed their residence,
mistaking it for the lair of a militant activist.

The stench of napalm still wafted up
from the streets, eliciting unwelcome memories. She could still
picture the burning liquid adhering to the wallpaper in her
bedroom.

She woke to the sound of screaming as
a military unit kicked down the doors. Vivian tried to scurry under
the blankets before her bedroom door exploded. A loud pop preceded
a flash, dissolving her vision and hearing. Silence replaced the
discordant bellows of federal intruders.

When her vision cleared, incendiary
chemicals were eating away at her bedroom walls. Her belly dragged
along the carpet as agents pried her from bed, impervious to her
screams. She tried to dig her nails into the carpet but she only
succeeded in chafing her fingertips raw. Her charring bedroom
recoiled into the shadows as it stretched further down the twisted
hall.

“
Get away!” she cried,
slinging her arms around the staircase banister. They plucked her
from the handrail like a bug. Mementos on the wall smoldered in the
lustful embrace of the flames. If she closed her eyes and listened
intently, she could almost hear the aching walls cry out for
mercy.

Her small body landed in the back of a
van, where she peered into the frightened eyes of her mother and
father. She dove into their arms as the engine roared to life and
the vehicle careened around the bend.

* * *

Vivian quickly banished the memory.
That night would remain painfully embedded in her mind, and she
would always retreat to memories of the safe place in mother’s
arms.

Pushing through the metal gates, she
traipsed through the playground, carried aloft by the breeze. The
wind howled through the plastic mazes, whispering to Vivian of the
things that once were.

During the riots, many playground
apparatuses had been vandalized by thieves in search of makeshift
weapons. Her eyes flickered across a blunt length of metal on the
pavement, an unnerving addition to a children’s play area. Feeling
vulnerable, she seized it.

Tongues of fog flicked across the park
in a tide of lurid grace. This playground was floating in limbo, a
fragment of history that many residents longed to erase from their
guilty consciences.

A sudden cry rang out and pierced her
heart. Something was hobbling near the rusted carousel. Vivian
clutched the crowbar to her chest.

What is that thing?
Her imagination flirted with the grotesque
possibilities. It didn’t move like a human and its body certainly
didn’t resemble one either.

Vivian held her breath, not making a
peep as the dark shape limped away. Its spindly legs jerked through
the mist as it crept beyond the forsaken playground. Vivian knew
better than to pursue it. At least, she should have.

It retched vilely as it dragged itself
further down the street.

Vivian peeked from behind a rundown
car as she mirrored its path. Finally, she caught sight of the
creature. An emaciated, black dog limped along the road. Under the
cloak of fog, it hobbled into an apartment complex. Vivian summoned
her last ounce of courage and dashed across the streets.

She looked at the words etched above
the entrance.

Grigorshire Palace.

It was an ironic title given the
squalor that ultimately sealed its demise.

Nonetheless, the haunting entrance
called to her. Vivian quietly swept inside, as there was no door to
keep her out. A parasitic beauty fed on the desolation within. Her
face puckered as a cinnamon-smelling musk tickled her
nose.

The front desk lay in ruins, devoid of
a receptionist. She couldn’t resist the impulse to rap the
bell.

Her hand froze the moment she saw what
awaited her beyond the lobby.

Tumors of mold sizzled in the corners
of the ceiling. Vivian’s jaws snapped shut, suddenly afraid to
taste the air. She almost thought she saw it squirming, multiplying
in fetid spasms.