Chapter 1
Celeste, Tristan, and Deimos
Thirteen years later.
Pink Top City, Palm Tree State, United States. Planet Reona.
The news comes on with the man making monkey sounds. He states that neighbors found the Taylor family and puppy shot dead in their apartment last night with only baby Isaac as the survivor. He remarks that his father, Richard, came home to witness the massacre at his house. There is much glee in the newscaster’s eyes as he retells the tragedy that took place. He then quickly changes the subject to announce the Black Sunday sales at Jacy’s.
Detective Rhonda Wilson watched the news at the station with a wide grin across her lips. Rhonda Wilson is a rough-looking, muscular female police officer with buzzcut brown hair, a chip on her shoulder, and enough black-market testosterone in her system to turn her into a man. She runs most of the illegal gambling casinos in the underworld. Crime kingpins pay her handsomely to set criminals free or not investigate thefts, homicides, money laundering, et cetera. Officer Jacob Ass approached Rhonda grinning happily as he sinks his teeth into a donut. He’s a fifty-ish, extremely corpulent police officer with graying hair and a graying mustache. Perhaps he was once legitimately one of Pink Top's finest, but it’s clear now that all the donuts have been weighing him down.
Officer Ass: “Is there a donut sale at Dunk My Donuts? Do they have the Elf-Filled Donut yet?! I want four dozen of those! I’d get twelve dozen, but I’m on a diet!”
Rhonda rose from her seat and slapped her hand on his portly stomach.
Rhonda: “I think you need less donuts and more exercise.”
She remarked, followed by a chuckle. Officer Ass’s face turned beet red.
Officer Ass: “Hey, I get exercise! I burn a lot of calories walking from the paddy wagon to the donut shop!”
He bellowed.
Rhonda: “Love to chat, Jacob, but I got a date. Bye, mate!”
She gave him a wave, snatched her coat, and made a quick exit. Officer Ass stared at her, his lips curled with disgust.
Officer Ass: “Who the fuck would want to date you?”
He muttered.
~
A few hours later, a rundown 1980 silver Honda Quint pulled up to the curbside in front of a small three-story brownstone apartment building with bay windows. Rhonda stepped out of the vehicle and approached the passenger’s side opening the door. A short, voluptuous Mexican woman with voluminous green hair with a purple streak and violet eyes stepped out. Her movements suggest confidence and cat-like grace and give the impression she is not to be crossed. Rhonda gestures her hand at the apartment building.
Rhonda: “I figured I’d take you here to end our date night, Celeste!”
She guffawed and patted Celeste’s ass.
Rhonda: “Shall we go, love?”
Celeste: “Of course.”
They ascended the stairs and went inside the building.
Rhonda fiddled with her keys to open the door to her apartment. Celeste crossed her arms and examined the foyer. She quickly glanced at the smashed video surveillance camera. Once she heard the door unlocking and Rhonda busting down the door, she averted her eyes from the broken object and flashed Rhonda a smile.
She stepped inside her apartment. The apartment left much to be desired; there were clothes strewn about, adult magazines scattered on the coffee table, and she scrunched her nose at the coffee mugs everywhere… One had a toothbrush in it. How long has it been since she brushed her damn teeth? She wondered.
Rhonda: “I know it needs cleaning, but I figured you wouldn’t mind after our date.”
Celeste rolled her eyes and cleared her throat.
Celeste: “Shall we go to your bedroom?”
She asked and batted her eyelashes. Rhonda brightened at the question.
Rhonda: “I thought you’d never ask!”
She remarked joyously. Rhonda dashed for the bedroom with Celeste slowly following her, trying her damnedest to ignore the mess.
Rhonda’s bedroom wasn’t much better than the rest of the apartment; the bed was unmade, clothes were strewn about, and she saw some needles scattered on her dresser. Aren’t leaving needles out like that hazardous? She asked herself. Rhonda was undressing quickly and looked up at Celeste.
Rhonda: “Aren’t you getting undressed?”
Celeste graced her with a saccharine smile.
Celeste: “Of course, but I want you to get undressed first. I have a game to play.”
She purred. Rhonda’s eyes lit up.
Rhonda: “Okay! Didn’t know you were the kinky type!”
Celeste giggled.
Celeste: “Oh, there is so much about me you don’t know… So much you will find out shortly.”
She said levelly. Rhonda was overjoyed to hear that. She could hardly contain her excitement.
Rhonda slipped off her briefs and stood stark naked before Celeste. Celeste slowly approached her and shoved her on the bed.
Rhonda: “Aren’t you getting undressed?”
She asked her once more. Celeste ignored the question and straddled over Rhonda.
Celeste: “Impatient, aren’t we?”
She muttered as she seized Rhonda’s right arm and cuffed it to the bedpost. She grabbed her left and cuffed it to the bedpost. Rhonda was salivated and eyeing Celeste up. Her expression mimicked a hungry wolf.
Rhonda: “Oh boy, oh boy!”
She panted. Celeste secured her ankles to the foot of the bed.
Rhonda: “Aren’t you getting undressed?”
She asked gleefully. Celeste looked over her shoulder.
Celeste: “Do you want me to?”
Rhonda: “Don’t tease me, woman! Come on!”
She exclaimed.
Celeste: “Getting close to me might be a bad idea.”
She said softly.
Rhonda: “That’s fine! I’m used to danger! I live for danger!”
She stressed, her voice taking on the trace of an edge. Celeste smiled.
Celeste: “Good to know.”
She slipped a knife out of her purse and jammed it right into Rhonda’s neck. Rhonda stared at her mutely and watched helplessly as the knife plunged into her neck. Celeste drove the blade in deeper, slashing right through her neck. Rhonda felt nothing at all for a moment, and then hot blood began gushing from her slashed neck and her mouth. She could not scream or beg Celeste to stop. Celeste pulled the knife out of her neck and began stabbing her repeatedly. She felt a searing pain as Celeste plunged the knife into her torso. This cannot be happening. The woman of her dreams from this one hot date she had was killing her. A hot, salty stream of blood boiled from Rhonda’s lips, her lungs filled with blood. As her life ebbed away, she looked up at Celeste. Celeste was not smiling, laughing, or angry. She looked emotionless. As she died, she would never know why.
Celeste stared at the corpse of Rhonda and flicked the blood off her blade. She gazed at the pool of blood all over the white sheets.
Celeste: “Pigs bleed a lot; it’s so true.”
She said flatly, as she folded up the switchblade and placed it back in her purse. She fumbled in her purse and pulled out a pair of shades and a black scarf.
She stepped out of the messy apartment with her shades on and the black scarf wrapped around her head.
~
Celeste waited at the Tuxedo Champagne bar for her client. She was in the dark corner where no one would notice her. She caught a glimpse of someone approaching her. It was Richard Taylor, her client. He is an extremely short African-American man wearing a zoot suit and a fedora.
Richard: “Some whiskey and egg nog for me. What do you want, Miss?”
He called to one of the cocktail waitresses passing by.
Celeste: “Tequila.”
She said tersely.
Richard: “A bottle of the finest champagne for the lady.”
He added.
Celeste: “I said tequila.”
She pouted. The cocktail waitress gave him a curt nod before going to the bar.
Celeste: “...Okay, anyway, she’s gone.”
Richard nodded and drew a breath. He handed her a suitcase under the table. Celeste set the suitcase on her lap, popped the latches, and snuck a peek inside. It was sufficient funds for the hit.
Richard: “It won’t get my wife, daughter, or puppy back, but it’ll do. That way no other family has to endure the wrath of that crooked ass cop.”
The cocktail waitress brought the whiskey and egg nog to Richard and a bottle of Tuxedo Champagne in a bucket filled with ice. She opened the bottle and poured the drink into a flute glass for Celeste and Celeste made a disgusted face. Richard paid and tipped her.
After she left, Richard held up a manila envelope.
Richard: “This is an anonymous tip going to go to news reports with footage of her running the illegal casino on behalf of the mob.”
He drawled and then drew a long breath.
Richard: “Thanks again…”
She did not reply. He slid his bum off the seat and slowly strode out of the premises.
Celeste glared at the bottle of champagne and looked around. She saw a tall, bottled redheaded white woman dressed in a vintage black dress with a big floppy black hat talking to an older white man in a suit. Celeste saw the woman had her granny purse on the floor and poured the champagne into it. I don’t want this shit, she thought and promptly left.
Celeste Marcella is twenty-three-years-old and a most trustworthy first-rate assassin. She has been snapping necks and spilling blood from the time she started walking. Most describe her as a lone wolf and an enigma because she prohibits others from getting too familiar with her.
~
The next day, the forensic team and police are at the murder scene of Rhonda. Officer Ass looked as if he was going to hurl his guts up at the scene
Chief Dipstick: “What’s the matter, Jacob? Ain’t you see a dead body before?”
He asked wryly. Officer Ass vigorously shook his head and gagged.
Officer Ass: “It’s not that, sir… Muscles on women are gross! Did the murderer have to leave this ugly manbitch naked?! Do they know who has to clean this shit up?!”
He barked. Chief Dipstick laughed aloud.
Chief Dipstick: “I agree! So is being fat, and we’re far, far from being fat!”
He remarked as he slapped his massive gut.
A young crime scene investigator approached the two policemen.
Forensic team member: “Any idea who could have done this? Did you get any recordings from the video surveillance?”
Officer Ass shrugged.
Officer Ass: “Video surveillance was destroyed a couple of days ago. No one got it replaced, because I guess they had more important things to spend their money on, like Christmas toys, turkey, donuts…”
He smiled dumbly as he shoved his finger up his nose. Chief Dipstick tilted his head to the side, looking up at the ceiling as if he were scanning the air for answers.
Chief Dipstick: “Ah, probably the mob. She was involved in the mob.”
He replied nonchalantly. Chief Dipstick’s response took the young CSI aback. He was not expecting that.
Forensic team member: “Really?!”
He asked in disbelief. Chief Dipstick’s eyes shifted as he realized he said too much. He then reddened.
Chief Dipstick: “I didn’t say anything! It was a punk kid, probably! We’ll look into it later. This is already cutting into our donut break!”
He barked at the CSI causing him to flinch.
Officer Ass: “Amen!”
~
That morning, a heavyset white middle-aged woman dressed in a maid’s uniform opened the curtains and the sun shone through the arched window. It illuminated a luxurious man’s bedroom. It had dark gray walls, a gray carpet, two leather wingchairs neighboring a table with a lamp with a gold square lampshade and artistic ornaments on it, and black nightstands with gold square lamps on each table. To the right of the bed was a large black bookshelf with several books, a gold scale of justice, The Thinker statue, and oriental vases. Above the bed were several paintings and art prints. At the end of the bedroom, close to the walk-in closet was an L-shaped office desk with books on the shelves, stationary and pens on the desk, an Apple II computer, printer, and a fax machine. Hanging above the desk was a law degree and on top of the desk was a wooden card holder holding several business cards.
The bed was a queen-sized bed with a bookshelf for a headboard that had more books and several cat statues. On the bed was a cow pattern kitten sleeping in the bed was a young slim, tall white man with long fluffy white hair. He had an inverted triangular-shaped face, a celestial nose, and black eyebrows. On his left eyebrow was a gold eyebrow piercing. He was dressed in white silk pajamas. On his wrists, he wore large gold bracelets. The large woman stood over the man placing her hands on her hips. She had her graying red hair pulled back into a bun and set her dark eyes on the man. She was Piper Barnes, the head maid of the Trémaux Chateau.
Piper: “Young Master Tristan. Wake up this instance or your grandmother will get up here!”
She ordered in her thick Manchester accent. Tristan’s eyes fluttered and he slowly opened his emerald green eyes. He glanced down at his watch and groaned.
Tristan: “It’s not even nine in the morning. I don’t have to be at work until nine o’clock.”
He groaned in his French accent.
Piper: “That doesn’t matter! You know you must have breakfast this instant! Madame Honorine has ordered, Winston, not to make breakfast after eight o’clock!”
He said petulantly and tapped her foot impatiently. Tristan yawned and stretched. He threw the sheets off himself and rose from his bed. He then strolled into his bathroom to go to the toilet, brush his teeth, and take a shower.
~
Tristan Trémaux is a twenty-three-year-old defense attorney, who works at Samsun & Co. Law Firm, alongside Daniel Lancaster, Renee Williams, and other legal representatives. He moved to Pink Top City, Palm Tree State a few years ago from Argentville, Novelle Gaule. He took the state bar exam to practice law here and landed a position at Samsun & Co. Law Firm.
~
Tristan left his bedroom dressed in a dark gray waistcoat, dark gray pants, an indigo dress shirt with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, a pink tie, and black sheer socks. Over his eyes, he wore oval-framed glasses. He walked down the open rail balcony hall through a marble gothic arch doorframe. From there, one could see the foyer and the living room. The living room was a stunning barrel-vaulted room with a huge fireplace. On each side of the fireplace were shelves containing pictures of Tristan, his grandparents, and an older girl in the older photos. In the more recent photos, he was posing with an older man. On the upper part of the fireplace were indoor stain-glassed gothic arch windows with designs on them. On the left side of the room, there was a huge bay window with a stunning view of the backyard pool with its built-in waterfall, the outdoor kitchen replete with a grill, tables, chairs, and lounges as well as Pink Top City Beach. Four columns are all that separate the foyer from the living room so the sight lines are endless.
He descended the spiral stairway, past the living room, and entered a gourmet kitchen with two islands, a six-burner range, and a walk-in pantry. Bowl lights hung over the islands whereas candle chandeliers hung over the tables.
An overweight black man was at the stove. He was dressed in a dark blue shirt, jeans, and a white apron that came to his knees. He slid oven mitts on his long hands, opened the oven door, and took puffed pastries on a tray out of there. He was Winston Wells, the personal chef.
Winston: “Good morning, Tristan!”
He said with a laugh.
Winston: “Here are some apple fritters fresh out of the oven, young man!”
Tristan smiled.
Tristan: “Thank you, Winston.”
He sat down at the table with his coffee. He added some cream, milk, and sugar to it. On his plate were an omelet, bacon, and toast.
“It’s about time you’re awake!” He heard someone say sharply. He raised his head to see his grandmother in the stone gothic arch doorway. She was a tall, thin white woman with a stately posture. Her gray hair was cut and styled to frame her face, the prominent feature of which, was her tight strong jawline. The wrinkles at the corners of her eyes were deep. She wore a turquoise velvet robe with a gold fringe on the collar and sleeves. The robe reached her ankles. Her feet were in velvet slippers that matched her robe. She pulled her robe tightly around her as she sat. She surveyed her grandson, her features softening and then hardening as she drew her shoulders up.
Honorine: “I thought I was going to have to come up to your bedroom—again. What have you been doing all night?”
She queried sharply. Tristan sipped his coffee.
Tristan: “Nothing. I couldn’t sleep so I played some video games. Unfortunately, Headbanger’s Hellfire is on another hiatus so I have no way to treat my insomnia.”
He replied coolly. She narrowed her eyes at him.
Honorine: “When will you ever grow out of that? You’re a young man now, Tristan!”
She countered. Tristan pushed his glasses up at the bridge of his nose.
Tristan: “I realize this, Grand-mère. I can’t submerge myself solely in work. I need to find other creative outlets and ways to stimulate my brain.”
He replied evenly. She harrumphed and angrily buttered her cranberry muffin before shoving it in her mouth.
Tristan: “Or find something to bore me.”
He said in a shade above a whisper as he bit into his buttered toast.
Honorine: “You should see the doctor about this.”
She said gruffly. Tristan drew a short breath.
Tristan: “Insomnia medication makes me too groggy; I need to be focused on my job. I would have done so if I thought it would work.”
He said firmly. His grandmother clicked her tongue and told him about his older brother, Christian, getting back from his vacation with his wife and kids from Zabney World. Tristan was half-listening. He had a strained relationship with his brother and hearing that he didn’t extend an invitation to him to go to Zabney World only added to his ire. He recalled their grandfather, Gustave, would often promise them as they were children that he would take them to Zabney World. Of course, he never fulfilled that promise.
Tristan entered the mudroom, put on his black Oxford shoes, and tied them. He straightened his posture, grabbed his attache case, and used the entryway in the mudroom to grab his keys off the key rack. He entered the garage to his ruby red 1987 Toyota MR2 convertible. He climbed in, slid the key into the ignition, and used the button to open the garage door. He shifted his gear to reverse and looked behind him as backed out of the garage and shifted into first gear as he drove down the driveway and onto the road.
He drove two blocks down and spotted someone on his front lawn. It was Deimos Katsaros the twenty-three-year-old drummer of Ouro Novo. He was a toned Greek-American man with long shimmering blue-black hair that cascaded down his back. His expression and round glasses give him a jaded, intellectual air. He was dressed somewhat in the manner of a biker; he usually wore a black leather jacket with an American flag and eagle painted on the back, tight jeans, and black shiny boots, all of which only made his swarthy skin and finely sculpted features seem more exotic.
Deimos was born in Parthenopolis, Hallas, and left the country with his parents and fraternal twin brother, Lazaros, to live in the US when he was two-years-old. Deimos met Tristan through a mutual friend when they were seventeen and Deimos crushed on him since.
Deimos lived in a modern, hacienda-style mansion with a semicircular driveway going right up to the front door and a palm-tree-dotted yard. There was a fountain in front of the house and a garage to the left.
~
He arrived at Samsun & Co. Law Firm. He strode past the secretaries’ desk. Carey was on the telephone and waved to Tristan. He nodded to him. He walked past Daniel’s office and went to his own office. It was a bright room with a large window showing an excellent view of downtown Pink Top City. It had an oak executive desk with two chairs in front and a leather executive chair behind it. On the desk was a gold nameplate that read, “Tristan Trémaux, Esq. Samsun & Co.”, and a wooden business card holder with his business cards. There was a stained glass lamp, a picture frame with his cat, Oliver, a folder, a telephone, and an Apple II computer. Behind his desk was a table with a printer, photocopier, and fax machine, shelves with several books, and a filing cabinet.
He set his briefcase on his desk and sat in his chair with his head back sighing heavily. He swerved his chair to gaze out the window to look at the city and go off into another world. He removed his glasses and set them on the desk to rest his eyes.
Someone knocked on the door, Tristan turned his head to see Carey—Daniel’s personal secretary, who was a short, skinny middle-aged white man with receding red hair.
Carey: “Hello, Tristan. Did you hear the news about Officer Wilson? Isn’t that terrible?”
He sighed sadly. Tristan nodded.
Tristan: “Thank you for letting me know, Carey.”
He swerved his desk around and put his glasses back on. Why should I be surprised someone in this town wanted to kill that corrupt cop and who would it affect besides Daniel? He mused.
He heard Daniel call, “Carey, a moment, please?” Carey went down the hall and poked his head into Daniel’s office. Daniel was the thirty-eight-year-old attorney at Samsun & Co. law firm. He was a tall Half-Japanese man with pronounced cheekbones, steel gray eyes, and a widow’s peak hairline, and wore his sleek dark gray hair in a ponytail. He was dressed in a dark gray suit, white pressed shirt, red tie, and black wingtip Oxfords. By his side was a cane with a gold handle and his family crescent etched on it. On his left ring finger, he wore a Beckham class ring, which was the law school he graduated from.
Daniel: “Carey…”
He began and gave him a saccharine smile. He intertwined his fingers forming a pyramid with his hands and leaned back on his chair.
Daniel: “Don’t you ever notify Mr. Trémaux of news concerning my clients ever again. Bear in mind, you’re my personal secretary, not his. If he wants that luxury, he can get his own. Am I clear?”
He said firmly keeping that empty smile intact. Carey bowed his head.
Carey: “I’m just trying to help, Daniel.”
He murmured.
Daniel: “Your job is to serve me and no one else.”
He chuckled. Carey tensed up and meekly nodded.
Daniel swerved around.
Daniel: “It is truly sad what happened to Officer Wilson. She was one of my best clients.”
He sighed wistfully.
~
The Donati Tower is a fifty-seven-story mix-used skyscraper located on 203 Main Street in Pink Top City, Palm Tree State, United States. It is the tallest all-glass structure in Pink Top City.
The first thirty-one floors are comprised of luxury offices, providing excellent services to Donati Tower’s business tenants. Accessible through a private entrance on Orange Avenue, the residential condominiums comprise floors thirty-two through sixty-nine and are one of the world’s elite luxury residences, catering to public figures, athletes, celebrities, and other wealthy sophisticates. An outstanding waterfall runs through the reception area of the Donati Tower further enhancing its beauty. At the top of the tower is the name “DONATI TOWER” outlined in neon blue.
The owner of it is Demetrio Donati, the CEO, and founder of Donati Inc., which is a prolific American electric chain company. Demetrio and his late wife, Concetta, emigrated from Saveria, Fiore in 1940 and they married one year later. In 1950, they had a daughter named Luigina “Gina” Donati. She disappeared two days after giving birth to her son, Blair Donati, in June of 1964. She abandoned her sons to travel with her hippie friends. Demetrio and Concetta raised Blair from the time he was born. Gina’s whereabouts are unknown and Blair does not know the identity of his father or remember his mother. Demetrio suffered a mental breakdown and spiraled into depression after Concetta died of the Red Nile Virus in 1982.
Demetrio’s office is located on the top floor of the tower. Demetrio is a large Italian in his sixties with dark blue hair graying on the sides and surly, deep-set eyes that convey unimaginable sadness. He sits behind his oak desk going through papers that an unusually tall and overweight white person with short, tousled red hair hands to him. Thick eyeglasses hung over her ice-gray eyes suggesting fierce intelligence. She is Dr. Sylvia Hughes, the founder of Pixelsun Securities. She has been a friend of the family ever since she emigrated from Anglia in 1977. She has the family’s best interest at heart.
She is an infosec consultant. Companies hire her to find vulnerabilities in their websites or office networks—routes through which they may be hacked, leak data, etc. and either fix them or recommend changes that would mitigate them. She could reverse-engineer a virus, other malware, or vulnerable software. That means she examines the binary code the computer actually runs and figures out what the software does from that.
Sylvia sits across from Demetrio as she explains the process of her work, what she wishes to do for his company. Sylvia would verify the security of his servers, networks, door locks, cameras, etc. by attempting to hack them. She would write up a full report of what she tried, what she was able to accomplish, and how to prevent further attacks of that sort in the future. Before starting the job, she would have him set out, in writing, which systems he would want her to hack and attest that he—or his company—owns them and gives full permission for her to attempt to break into them.
Demetrio half-listened to her and leafed through the contract. He let out a loud sigh and picked up his fountain pen.
Demetrio: “So do I just sign here?”
Sylvia smiled.
Sylvia: “Yes, Mr. Donati.”
Demetrio: “You can call me Demetrio, Sylvia. We’re friends.”
He said firmly. Sylvia cleared her throat.
Sylvia: “As we currently speak, we’re conducting business, so I must remain professional.”
Demetrio rolled his eyes and let out a loud sigh, expressing his aggravation. He began signing his name on the contract granting her permission to test the security of his company’s system.
Sitting next to Sylvia was Demetrio’s grandson, Blair. He is a handsome, baby-faced young man with blue hair and green eyes. Coming from a family of privilege, he was practically born with a silver spoon in his mouth, and it shows, that he has a delicate and refined appearance. He is currently twenty-three-years-old, single, and never had a boyfriend or girlfriend in his life. He sits quietly in his chair, staring down at his lap. Sylvia looks at him with concern.
The door swung open. A tall, thin woman with full, long blonde hair marched in. She had dark blue eyes, a gaunt face with pronounced cheekbones, and enormous fake breasts, which were much too large for her figure. She is Radinka Rudakova, Demetrio’s Russian mail-order fiancée. Radinka: “Are you ready yet for dinner, Demetrio?! I wait for too long!”
She shrieked. The piercing tone of her voice caused Blair to recoil. Demetrio rolled his eyes.
Demetrio: “Some people knock before they enter.”
He said dryly. Radinka shot out her bony finger, pointing it at Sylvia.
Radinka: “Demetrio, why is that fat woman here?! She is FAT!”
Sylvia rolled her eyes.
Sylvia: “Thank you for sharing that enlightening comment, Radinka. I’m sure no one else was aware.”
She said dryly.
Radinka: “How they not be?! Look to the size of you!”
Radinka missed her sarcasm. Blair looked as if he was going to break down and cry.
It was no secret that Blair hated Radinka ever since she came into their lives in 1985. Radinka is loud, demanding, cruel to his cats, and does not make Blair feel welcome into his own home. Despite Blair’s pleas to his grandfather to get rid of her, Demetrio lashes out at Blair remarking that he needs a companion. What on Reona for? Who could ever replace Grandma and the love he had for her? He wondered.
Demetrio rose from his seat and handed the contract back to Sylvia, thanking her for accepting his job. Radinka put on her white mink coat and crossed her arms, making little effort to hide her impatience.
~
They arrived on the ground level and exited out of the building. Radinka ran out ahead of them, flaunting her fake boobs.
Radinka: “Look at me, people! I have fur coat! Demetrio bought it for me and bought for me these boobs!”
She hollered loud enough for the people walking by to hear which caused some sniggers from a few onlookers. Sylvia drew a breath and muttered something inaudible under her breath. Sylvia suddenly gets a heavy feeling in the pit of her stomach. Something was not right. She scanned the crowd of onlookers and people walking by.
She spotted a hooded figure amongst the crowd. The hooded figure suddenly pulled out a pistol and aimed it at Demetrio. Sylvia’s eyes widened. She felt her adrenaline rising and had to act quickly. She rushed to Demetrio.
Sylvia: “Demetrio!! Watch out!”
She cried, shoving him aside, and taking the bullet in her arm. Sylvia gnashed her teeth in pain, grabbing on Demetrio’s coat sleeve, and sinking her fingertips in. The hooded figure cocked their gun at Demetrio, their finger on the trigger. Demetrio gapes at Sylvia, staring at her in horror, his feet glued to the concrete, his fear overtaking him. Is this the end? He asked himself. He shut his eyes tight and braced for the impact.
Before the figure could shoot, someone else shot them right through their right temple. The figure’s knees buckled under them and they collapsed to the ground. The hood came off revealing a young twenty-something white man. He lay in his pool of blood. People in the crowd began to scream and one cried, “Call the paramedics!”
Radinka: “What are you doing, fat lady?! I could have an inheritance! You useless fat pig!”
Radinka shrieked at Sylvia, who was clutching onto Demetrio. Blair snapped out of his daze and looked at his grandfather, who was unharmed but still shaken.
Blair: “Gramps! Are you okay?!”
He cried, rushing to his grandfather. Demetrio huffed and puffed, still paralyzed from fear.
Demetrio: “I-I’m fine!”
His voice quavered. His lips and hands trembled. Sylvia winced in pain, trying to get to her feet.
Demetrio: “S-Sylvia!”
He cried, taking hold of her. He noticed the assailant shot her and gasped.
Demetrio: “Sylvia, you need to see a doctor right now!”
He cried.
Radinka: “Take pictures of me! I am grieving fiancée of Demetrio!”
She pretended to cry for the onlookers. Blair could not believe this. His grandfather’s life was just threatened, Sylvia saved him, and she’s injured as a result. Radinka only cares about attention.
However, he saw something in his peripheral vision. A figure running away? He looked and he could see something running away holding what appeared to be a sniper rifle. Did this person just save Grandpa? He wondered.
~
Sylvia was admitted to Pink Top General Hospital and came out of having surgery performed on her left arm to remove the bullet and get stitches. She is staying in a private room, only allowing friends to visit. No one asked her about her family. Demetrio and Blair show up with flowers, helium balloons with Garfield saying “Get Well Soon!” and get-well cards and gifts.
Demetrio: “Thank you so much for your act of bravery, Sylvia. We are relieved that you’re going to make a full recovery.”
He said breathlessly. Sylvia did not reply. She gave Demetrio a look of concern.
Demetrio: “Sylvia?”
Sylvia: “I apologize, Demetrio. I think it’d be best if you remain on the down-low for a while. I suspect someone is targeting you.”
She drew a long breath. Or targeting you to frame me, she thought.
Blair: “I-I saw a figure run away…”
He blurted out. Sylvia glanced at Blair surprised at his statement. What on Reona did he mean? She wondered.
~
After Sylvia recovered one week later, she decided to visit (one of) her favorite professors when she was a student at The Science Academy: Professor Stewart Murphy. He currently teaches the philosophy of science. He is one of the few people who are well aware of Sylvia’s past. She strolled down the corridor past the students and towards his door. As she approaches the door, she spots a short, curvaceous green-haired Mexican woman stepping out. She does not look familiar to Sylvia. She does not look like she attends the school either. The woman walks past Sylvia as if she were not there. Sylvia said nothing. She knocked on the door to Prof. Murphy’s office until she heard his friendly voice asking her to come in.
She stepped inside his office and closed the door behind her. Prof. Stewart Murphy was a short, stout purple-haired balding man. His office was cluttered; books and papers were stacked about on the floors, desks, and tables, leaving only one seat in front of his desk vacant. Nothing is known about Prof. Muprhy’s past before he emigrated to the United States from Talamh. Prof. Murphy graced Sylvia with a warm, welcoming smile and intertwined his fingers, resting his hands on his desk, and leaning forward.
Prof. Murphy: “Good afternoon, Sylvia! It’s always a pleasure to see you!”
He sang merrily. Sylvia bowed slightly and sat in the seat in front of him.
Sylvia: “Greetings and salutations, Stewart!”
Prof. Murphy: “Ah, Sylvia! How do you feel?”
Sylvia: “I am doing well, thanks. Anyway, I came here to inquire about something… Stewart, on the night of the shooting, Demetrio’s grandson witnessed a figure killing the assailant.”
Prof. Murphy does not answer; he simply smiles.
Prof. Murphy: “You must have a guardian angel.”
Sylvia was unimpressed with that answer; her expression let him know it.
Sylvia: “You know as well as I that they do not exist. Tell me the truth. This isn’t the first this has occurred.”
She said firmly. Prof. Murphy drew a breath.
Prof. Murphy: “Sylvia, accept that someone has your back. You’ve been through enough.”
Sylvia: “And I want it to end.”
She leaned back.
Sylvia: “I noticed a green-haired Mexican woman. She is not a student here.”
Prof. Murphy looked defeated. He wished Sylvia would refrain from pressing the issue.
Prof. Murphy: “Sylvia…”
He leaned back and let out a loud sigh.
Prof. Murphy: “Sometimes people get their hands dirty to protect the lives of the truly good-hearted people.”
He said softly as he gazed at the globe on his desk.
Sylvia: “…I am not good-hearted…”
She said evenly.
Prof. Murphy: “I beg to differ.”
He countered.
Sylvia: “I sat by and watched her murder my family one by one as well as claiming the lives of innocent people. I am trying to atone for that and compensate for the lack of action I took as a child.”
She explained calmly.
Prof. Murphy put his hand up. He knew this was a difficult subject for Sylvia.
Prof. Murphy: “What do you want to do?”
He was watching her thoughtfully.
Sylvia: “I want whoever you hired to be on my side.”
She finally said. Prof. Murphy’s eyebrows rose and then sank. He grimaced.
Prof. Murphy: “You’re treading on thin ice, Sylvia…”
He warned. He glared at her, his eyes narrowing into narrow slits.
Sylvia: “Nothing else has worked for me, Stewart. I am always willing to try what I haven’t before.”
She added.
Prof. Murphy: “I see. All right.”
He paused for a moment, mulling over whether this was the right choice.
Finally, he rose from his seat.
Prof. Murphy: “I’ll place you in touch. Sylvia, I hope you know what you’re doing. You could regret this.”
Sylvia shook her head.
Sylvia: “Stewart, I think this is my last choice if I wish to protect Demetrio, his family, and everything he worked for.”
~
That evening, Tristan sat outside on his backyard lounge by his pool smoking a cigarette. The pool was a Roman inground pool and wasn’t very big. There was a stone waterfall at the end of it. As Tristan delved deeper into a sea of emotions, ice began to form around him.
Someone slid the door open. Tristan lifted his head and saw Deimos walking in with bags of food.
Deimos: “Hey, Tristan. Thought you could use this.”
He lifted the bags. Tristan smiled briefly and the ice melted away.
Tristan: “Chinese again?”
Deimos smiled tightly and nodded.
Deimos: “I got your favorite combination plate! Sweet and sour chicken, beef and broccoli, chicken fried rice, and two egg rolls!”
He said as he pulled out the food for the two.
Tristan: “Will Ivy be joining us?”
Deimos pouted.
Deimos: “Why do you want her with us? I thought it was just us.”
He said sadly. Tristan smiled.
Tristan: “If that’s what you want.”
He said softly. Deimos nodded.
They sat down and began to eat.
Deimos: “I needed space away from them all. I know Lazaros would chide me for getting take-out but Jaclyn is bitching tonight.”
Tristan ate some of his beef and broccoli.
Tristan: “What is her problem tonight?”
Deimos clicked his tongue and rolled his eyes.
Deimos: “What isn’t her problem? Jaclyn was at the Tuxedo Champagne bar and someone poured a drink in her purse.”
Tristan raised his eyebrows and locked his gaze on him.
Tristan: “What was she doing there? I want to see if your answer aligns with mine.”
Deimos: “Hitting up some rich ol’ guy.”
He said scathingly.
Tristan smiled smugly.
Tristan: “Yes, those were my thoughts.”
He began and leaned back.
Tristan: “But what I wish to know is why and how he became encumbered by her. She dresses in outdated clothing, she looks older than twenty-three, and that isn’t touching on her attitude, which arguably stinks more than her feet.”
He explained. Deimos gaped at him.
Deimos: “You sure about that? You never had to eat when the fucking corridor was filled with her rancid shoes.”
He gagged.
Oliver came limping out to the patio. Tristan gasped and stopped eating. He rushed to his kitten.
Tristan: “What happened, mon précieux petit?!”
He cradled him in his arms. Deimos rose and took the kitten’s paw. He held it between his hands and a purple glow emitted from them. Oliver stared at Deimos until he finished. Tristan smiled and took his paw. He put Oliver down and he ran back into the house.
~
Celeste was at The Highway 666 Motel. She was punching holes in the brick walls, and lifted up a car over her head. She saw a brown Ford XLT Wagon pull into the motel parking lot, until the vehicle parked near Celeste. Celeste eyed the minivan with disgust and expressed distaste for Sylvia’s mode of transportation under her breath. Sylvia stepped out of her van and greeted Celeste.
Celeste: “What do you want?”
She hissed.
Sylvia: “You must be ‘Verdant Hawk!’ I’m Dr. Sylvia Hughes.”
She shot her hand out to shake hers. Celeste’s purple eyes glanced down at Sylvia’s hand and then her face as if she were studying it. Sylvia knew Celeste was not going to shake her hand. She understood. She was only offering it as a polite gesture. She cleared her throat.
Celeste slammed her fist on the hood of Sylvia’s van. She jolted.
Celeste: “Who fuckin’ comes here at this hour?! Who sent you?”
She challenged. Sylvia swallowed the lump in her throat.
Sylvia: “If you would please, spare me a few minutes of your life, I have a job for you.”
She said quickly. Celeste’s expression relaxed.
Celeste: “Who do you want me to kill? Don’t people go through the Murph before coming to me?”
She challenged.
Sylvia: “I surmise so, but I wanted to meet you in person. No, I don’t wish for you to kill anyone; I want you to protect someone.”
She said firmly. Celeste gaped dumbfounded at her.
Celeste: “What?”
Sylvia: “Are you aware of Donati, Inc.?”
Celeste rolled her eyes and threw up her hands.
Celeste: “Who isn’t? That tower sticks out like a sore thumb. It’s only taller than the Bando tower, which Inari is still sour over.”
She said bitterly. Sylvia arched an eyebrow. Celeste caught that in the corner of her eye.
Celeste: “What about it? You want a hit on the old man or that funny-looking woman thing he has on his arm?”
Sylvia chuckled. Celeste raised an eyebrow.
Celeste: “What?”
Sylvia waved her hand.
Sylvia: “I found that comment amusing. But I already stated I don’t want a hit on anyone.”
Celeste looked puzzled.
Celeste: “I wasn’t trying to be funny.”
She muttered.
Sylvia shook her head.
Sylvia: “As unbearable as Radinka is, I want no such thing. I want you to be the Donatis bodyguard.”
Celeste paused when she heard that question and gaped at Sylvia.
Celeste: “Is this a joke?”
Sylvia shook her head.
Sylvia: “Not at all.”
Celeste stepped forward.
Celeste: “Did the Murph tell you what I really do?”
Sylvia noted that Celeste called Prof. Murphy “ TheMurph.” They must be close, she thought. Sylvia nodded. Celeste threw her hands up and shook her head in disbelief.
Celeste: “Why on Reona are you hiring me to be a bodyguard?”
Sylvia: “Because I think someone is out to get the Donatis and I wish to prevent that.”
Celeste: “Why me?”
Sylvia: “Because you prevented a hit on Demetrio last week.”
She replied coolly. Celeste paused. How did she know that? She wondered.
Sylvia: “Celeste, I have my theories on who was behind it, but nothing is confirmed. Demetrio is an old man and that Radinka creature wants his money. When he dies, the company is going to his grandson, Blair.”
She took a deep breath and continued.
Sylvia: “They did so much for me and I will do whatever it takes to prevent endangerment on their lives.”
Celeste paused and did not reply.
Celeste: “You want me to protect these first-class people and you don’t know who has a hit on them?”
She asked incredulously. Sylvia pressed her index finger on her bottom lip and looked up at the moons. She shook her head.
They both paused for a moment; she gazed thoughtfully at Celeste.
Sylvia: “Will you accept this job?”
Celeste drew a long breath and looked away.
Celeste: “I guess?”
Sylvia lifted the flap on her satchel and began rummaging through it. She withdrew a clipboard and began studying it. Celeste waited for her reply.
Sylvia: “Mr. Donati is willing to pay fifty million.”
Celeste’s eyebrows rose, her eyes widened, and her jaw dropped. That much to be their babysitter, she thought. She turned around and mulled over the decision.
She turned around and faced Sylvia.
Celeste: “I’ll accept it.”
Sylvia beamed.
Sylvia: “Something told me you would.”
She strolled back to her car.
Sylvia: “Tomorrow morning, I will have you follow me. You will be living with them. It should fare better than this place.”
She eyed the motel with disgust and locked her gaze on the holes in the brick wall. She remembered Celeste lifting the car over her head. Is she even human? She thought.
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