The Black Rose

The next morning arrived prematurely considering I slept little. While Chanel laid lithe, long, and barebacked within the folds of my ridiculously expensive linen throws, I was quietly typing away. The first priority was of course Zhang Chin. It appeared he liked to frequent his own nightclub called Onyx, which only catered to the overly rich or famous clientele. I turned to gaze at Chanel. I knew just the arm candy to bring as a distraction. Zhang liked his women tall, tan, exotic, and confoundingly beautiful.

“What are you doing?” a gravelly voice sang from the confines of the sheets.

I paused, my eyes rolling slightly, and turned. “I was overcome with inspiration,” I smiled, minimizing the screen with a flick of the wrist. I jumped up from my chair and sprung back into bed with Chanel. She wrapped her long, lean body around mine.

“And what made you think you could put clothes back on?” she moaned, kissing my exposed neck.

“It’s only a robe,” I purred arching my back into her.

She untied my silk black kimono and her lips made their way down my chest, grazing my nipples to my stomach.

“At this rate, I will never work,” I trailed, my mouth agape, biting my lower lip as she continued down.

And if you haven’t gathered my one weakness by now, I’ll give you a hint, it’s wildly attractive women who are superb in bed.

After Chanel and I had a proper good morning, she finally left my loft for work (which was only downstairs). While I didn’t exactly call things off, I did invite her to go out with me this coming weekend. I mentioned casually that a friend of mine suggested I try the “Onyx,” out, and Chanel lit up like a Christmas tree.

“I have always wanted to go there, but only the super-rich or well-connected can get inside. You can get us in?” she asked mystified. Truth be told I wasn’t sure, but I would be making a phone call to my least favorite person at the moment, Damien.

“Of course,” I grinned. “I just need to make a couple of phone calls.” Chanel bounced up and down like a little girl who had just received a pony for Christmas. She pecked me on the lips and skipped out the door.

I sighed as she exited, hands trembling from lack of medication. Moving my hands to the kimono pocket, I pulled out three pills and swallowed. Too many consecutive hours with the same person were no good for one’s anxiety or sociopathic tendencies.

My stomach growled from lack of sustenance. Strolling to the kitchen, I opened the fridge, praying desperately for food to be inside. It was stocked. It was creepy yet extremely satisfying how Shadow seemed to know everything and was always one step ahead.

I made myself an extravagant breakfast of avocado, toast, coffee, and fruit. Staring at the sleek, new Peloton in the corner of the living room, I decided it was time to get back into my “routine,” as Damien preferred to call it. Downing breakfast, I finished my report on Dr. Malenski and hit send. Even with all the data on his hard drive and phone, there wasn’t much to send, nor much to lose sleep over. That accomplished, it was now time to push this body to its limits.

Firing up the Peloton, it had been almost a week since I had any physical exertion not pertaining to sex, and while my body never truly got out of shape, I felt sweatier than normal after my two-hour-long workout. Sweat dripping from every pore, I jumped into the shower and reveled in the bliss of solitude.

As the scalding water washed over me, I couldn’t help but think of Dr. Semmens. I wondered what she was doing right now? Would her sensual eyes be glued to some microscope in a four-walled dungeon filled with lab tables and high-tech equipment? I grinned as the thought melted into Annie. Her nose in some book, it was always in some book. Her wild, spontaneity irked me to no degree, but now I would give anything to have it back. My world was full of a strict logical regimen, every plan had a plan, but Annie marched to a different beat. It was one of the things I admired yet misunderstood most about her.

I shook my head in contempt. I needed to focus on the task at hand, not some fantasy that could never happen, that should’ve died that day with her. I turned off the water and stepped out of the shower. It was now five o’clock. The next task was dinner, then Chin.

Fluffing my hair with the towel, the dark brown ringlets fell in long succession. With practiced hands, I twisted my damp silken hair into a tight bun fit for reconnesaince. Leaning into the mirror, I gazed into the black pupil spheres. Green sparkled and danced around the black, oscillating pits ebbing and flowing with the emotional tides of evil and self-control. At times, I saw Annie’s green eyes staring back at me, calm and pure, searching for the person she once knew, the person she saw potential in, only to find a ghost. Even though my eyes matched hers, darkness stamped out the light, and beneath the surface my veins coursed with black venom, a sickness only satiated by orange pill and beautiful, brown-haired distractions.

I gulped, slapping my cheeks, a constant reminder that I was tied to this physical reality, that my augmented brain still bound by the confines of society, by Shadow. Such an insufferable and inescapable existence, but not for long.

I moved to my spacious closet and thumbed through the outfits. These clothes were too luxurious, not functional. I opted for a pair of black pants, a black tank top, and black combat boots.

Moving downstairs, I cranked the music from my modernized record player, hoping the music would drown out the broken record playing within my mind. As I prepared and ate my Michelin star-worthy salad in silence, I watched the sky fade from brilliant orange to pink and midnight blue. It was time. I let my heavy boots fall to the ground, I fingered the knife wedged in its familiar place on my side, and I checked the bullets in the chamber of the handgun.

I walked to the hallway closet and grabbed the small black duffel bag. Inside were binoculars, three microscopic cameras, two listening devices, and two vials of black and orange pills. I took the elevator to the garage and fired the engine of the SUV. I punched in Zhang’s residential address and made my way out of the building. Zhang had a mansion outside of Beverly Hills in Malibu. He stayed there most nights, and some nights in his penthouse unit in the city. I believed it safer and much easier to infiltrate his home than the penthouse.

I drove in apt silence, taking note of the pressure building within my veins. The murder itch had returned. If it wasn’t bad enough, I had to control my anxiety and mood swings with pills, it seemed the more I killed, the more I yearned for it. The control, power, and hot red blood stifled the mania.

Approaching Zhang’s elaborate mansion, I parked the car two streets down, and moved like a shadow in the night. From google earth, and from my hacking research, I knew exactly what security systems Chin possessed and what frequency they emitted.

As I approached the gate, I took one leap and easily cleared the eight-foot-high stone wall. Once on the ground, I moved to the edges, avoiding the motion sensors until I reached the back of the house. Once in the camera’s blind spot, I dashed forward, jumping, my fingers latched easily to the second-story roof. I pulled myself up in one fluid motion. The motion detector lights shined bright from my movement, but since I was in the camera’s blind spot, it wouldn’t catch anything. I scaled the side of the house until I reached the back wall where the transformer box was located.

Opening the box, I hummed lightly as my hands accessed and engaged his security cameras. I pulled out my iPad and used the backdoor spyware I placed on Zhang’s system earlier and acquired remote access to his entire system. With one or two more clicks I disabled the alarm as well as the live camera feed. If anyone happened to be checking the cameras, they would show a still, quiet night in the Chin household.

The alarms disabled, I pushed the small window up easily. Slipping inside, I wasted no time. I set a remote camera in his bedroom, as well as his home office and kitchen. Checking the cameras and microphones worked, I slipped out the same window and jumped the two stories down to the ground. I ran full speed back to the stone wall and scaled it deftly. On the other side, I tapped my iPad and enabled the alarm and cameras. I glanced at my clock, only eight minutes had passed. My work was done for the night.

Moving back to my vehicle, I made the impromptu decision to swing by Dr. Semmens’s house. What could it hurt? Typing in the address, it was a forty-five-minute drive. I sighed wearily. I wasn’t used to these long drives. I found them monotonous and ineffectual. Why hadn’t we invented teleportation yet?

After an arduous and repetitive forty-five minutes passed, I found myself sitting in front of Dr. Mia Semmens’s residence. The house looked like a gargantuan white rectangular box with square windows. This was a secure house, built or designed by a neurotic individual. With my binoculars, I tried to peer through the windows, but nothing. Besides, all the lights were off.

I furled my brows and debated for several moments. “Screw it,” I breathed. I stepped out of the car and walked towards the house. Massive hedges covered the tall metal fence, with only the access gate visible. A state-of-the-art keypad was bolstered to a solid, black pillar. My eyes widened. This was a top-of-the-line security system that was often deemed “impenetrable”.

“Ughh,” I groaned as if this wasn’t a fitting metaphor for my own life. It was too risky to try and disarm it. I looked around the dead street. Not a soul in sight. It would be so easy to scale the hedge, but as soon as my boots touched earth, motion detectors would alert the whole neighborhood to my intrusion. Dr. Semmens was either overly paranoid, or she was protecting something invaluable inside.

Unable to snoop more, I got back in the car and drove towards the city. It was only ten pm. What was I going to do now, on a Monday night?

The entire drive back, I toiled between going to “Nashville’s,” the bar Chanel tended, or to just call it a night. It truly came down to the wire but I felt it was safer for everyone if I went home. Alcohol and a murderous itch weren’t a good combination.

Taking the elevator up to the top floor, I swallowed a few more pills for good measure, attempting to shake the tremors from my hands. They were getting worse.

I stopped at my door. Breath hitched. I could hear the faint fluttering of a heartbeat. I quietly whipped the knife from my boot and placed my palm on the panel. It chimed green. Stalking down the dark hallway towards the lit living room the familiar smell wafted towards me.

“God, can’t a woman get some peace and quiet,” I growled, as Nadine stared me straight in the face.

“Too many surprise visitors for one day?” Nadine’s sumptuous Australian accent filled the living room as her fingers tapped across the table.

“You know you can call right?” I asked unnerved.

“That would ruin the surprise,” she scoffed but remained seated.

“I see you found my mini-bar?” I asked perturbed. She sipped a fine Japanese whiskey from an iced glass.

" I see you’ve met your new handler,” she trailed.

“Oh, Damien,” I beamed, “Yea, we are the best of friends already.” I laid my duffel bag on the kitchen counter. I placed the knife down handle facing me, and pulled the gun from the small of my back.

Nadine rose from the chair and walked towards me. I closed my eyes lightly as her body pressed against mine. I could feel the bulge of her breasts against my shoulder blades. “You smell of sex,” she growled. My eyes shot open.

“Your new plaything, I assume?” she muttered seductively. “Here I was thinking I would come to L.A. to rescue you from your boredom and to satiate your appetite.”

“You mean your appetite,” I turned, our bodies pressed against one another’s, lips dangerously close. I could smell the sweet whiskey on her breath. My eyes gazed down at her lips then back to her irises.

Nadine ignored my jab. “Who is she?” she asked with an air of curiosity.

“She’s no one,” I rolled my eyes.

“Oh, come now,” Nadine grabbed my wrists as if to hold me down. I glanced down at her attempt to control me. My nostrils flared slightly.

“Since when do we lie to one another,” she griped.

I glared at her. What was her angle?

“Why don’t we take a little trip upstairs,” she whispered seductively into my ear, before I could retort.

I could practically smell the adrenaline within her bulging veins, and instantly realized I wouldn’t enjoy seeing what was upstairs. Nadine guided me up the steps one by one. At the top of the landing, she flicked the bedroom light on, but I didn’t need the light to know. I could smell the pungent iron liquid that splayed the room.

Chanel lay sprawled on the bedroom floor, a plastic sheet down to contain the mess. Her throat had been split wide open. My face didn’t flinch. My blood boiled, not for Chanel’s death, albeit overdramatic, but for Nadine’s audacity. Her need to control me like a puppet. I spun around, too swiftly for her to register. One jab to her ribcage and I heard a crack.

Nadine let out a deep exhale from the force but recovered quickly. She sent a leg to my thigh, which forced me down for but a second. I jumped up, clearing her other leg before it could make a second strike. We danced, Nadine, sending a timely jab and punch after another, which I deftly dodged. Nadine had the experience, but I had the speed. Nadine lunged and lunged, pushing me closer and closer to Chanel’s lifeless body. Enough of this.

Nadine’s fist flew by my face and I turned as in slow motion and plucked her wrist out of the air. Twisting, I flung her body easily over my back, and she landed with a sickening thud on the bloodied tarp. With her feet, she pummeled me in the chest, causing me to fly backward. This allotted her just enough time to grab the knife she used to slit Chanel’s sweet throat.

I grit my teeth. She was going for blood. “You think you can kill me?” I seethed. I put my fists down in submission. “Do it then! Is that what this charade is all about? To show you can control me, beat me?” I baited her. She lunged with the knife, but I dodged. She lunged again and again, but I was always a step ahead.

As her jabs and thrusts slowed only slightly from fatigue, I cocked my left fist back and sent a sickening blow to her chin. She stumbled back and within that reprieve, I sent my right fist to her face. Nadine’s eyes rolled to the back of her head from the force, and she fell, crumpling to the ground.

“Ugh,” I sighed aloud, grabbing the knife from her sleeping hand. “What a bitch!” I seethed down at her. Pacing back and forth, the adrenaline electric within my veins. I didn’t know what to do with Nadine. My head throbbed and hands shook from rage. “Ahhh!” I screamed. I was trying desperately to maintain control. To not go off the rails. If I was to ever escape from Shadow with my throat very much intact, I had to keep it together.

So, I moved over to my desk and grabbed my computer chair. I slammed it down making sure Nadine faced the bloodied tarp and Chanel’s lifeless body. Picking Nadine’s body up, I slung it heavily down onto the chair. I ran downstairs and rummaged in the hall closet for duct tape. Moving back upstairs, I secured Nadine to the chair properly, using half the roll. I wasn’t taking any chances with this maniac.

Nadine secure, I turned to look at the bloody mess that was my room. I groaned in exasperation. Now I had to clean it up.

I moved down to the kitchen and loudly opened up each cabinet searching for jugs of chemicals I knew would be here somewhere. Nadine wouldn’t have killed Chanel so poetically in my room had there not been any.

Opening the pantry door, on the top shelf towards the back, were three large unlabeled jugs. Bingo.

I grabbed them and carried them back up the stairs to the room. One by one I poured the clear contents into the tub and let the water run hot. With that going, I moved to the room with practiced precision. Gazing down at Chanel’s lifeless body, I sighed. It was a shame we had to end so abruptly. I would’ve killed her painlessly had it come to that.

I grabbed her arms and flung her bloody, naked body over my shoulders. Placing her gently in the bathtub, I watched as the water turned yellow, bubbles surfacing accompanied by a familiar putrid smell that only came with body acidification. I exited the bathroom before the smell clung to my hair and nostrils, shoving a towel underneath to stymie the scent. In twenty-four hours, there would be liquid Chanel that could be drained down the sink. Another one of Dr. Swartz creations.

Body dealt with, I turned to the tarp. I had half a mind to wrap it around Nadine, but thought better of it.

“You couldn’t kill me,” a faint voice rasped.

I ignored her.

“I knew you couldn’t,” she continued.

“Shut up,” I seethed. “I could always throw you in with Chanel, let you take an acid bath.”

Nadine grew quiet, not wanting to tempt her fate.

She watched in subjugation as I tirelessly cleaned the murder scene. After mopping up the blood, I turned off the bedroom light and shined the black-light over every inch of the room. There was no more evidence.

“You going to leave me here all night?” she sassed.

Poor timing as I just realized I wouldn’t be able to shower tonight thanks to the rotting body in my bathroom. I groaned aloud.

“Yes, your ass will be sitting there all night,” I wretched, instantly deciding I would sleep downstairs.

Moving downstairs, I toweled off in the kitchen sink, stripping off my clothes, and sunk onto the plush L-shaped sectional. I lay there quietly, gazing out over the city lights, and couldn’t help but experience a glimpse of sadness.

What would Annie think? Everything or everyone I touched died. Maybe I was the kiss of death? Cursed? I often wondered how I would’ve turned out had I not taken Shadow up on their offer. Where would I be now? Would I have killed more? Did the enhancements open the door to these evil predispositions that always resided?

I lay curled in a fetal position staring at the engraved lines of the marble coffee table that melted to the black and white face of the Sheppardess. I marveled yet felt saddened by my life. Here I was a genetically modified human being with unlimited potential and possibilities, yet I was merely a sharpened weapon, a sociopathic toy they wound too tight. I was programmed to not think, feel, not even take initiative, just like her. I was a new age slave.

A root of defiance began to grow and spread as my thoughts fixated on the cold, calculated stare of the woman in that painting. I wasn’t sure if it was the overdose of endorphins, or if I was finally able to see through the bullshit, but more than ever I wanted to see the faces of my creators. I wanted to know more than who they were, I wanted to know where they lived, their families’ names, their deepest darkest secrets, but most importantly, how to take them down. For that, I needed help.