It's Always Time Act 06 Ch. 04

Dee kissed the wicked grin off the green girl's face.

* * * *

Yves sat in the idling Volkswagen, fingering the scabbard. Yves remembered mocking Dee when he had refused to hurt the mindfucked Easies under the highway overpass. He could sympathize now.

"C'mon," a coed whined. "Lemme in." She bounced on the balls of her feet, rattling the driver's side door handle, breasts spilling out from under her tank top and smearing the window with sweat. "I'll suck your dick."

He looked up into her rabid eyes. "Sorry," he said, turning away, "I just can't hit that."

The front door of the sorority house banged open. Raspberry jigged in the threshold. "Woo! I rock!" She brandished two long, braided ropes of black hair. "I got 'em!"

Yves swore. Nothing to do but to do it, he thought, and popped open the car's electric door lock. The coed bent down, fumbled the car door open. Yves swung the door out hard, wincing as the coed whacked her head against the window. He stepped onto the pavement, grabbed the reeling girl in a fireman's carry, and dragged her up the porch steps and into the sorority.

The foyer was crowded with idle coeds. Some looked miserable, others abashed, but all where exhausted and lost. "Need some help here," he said, hefting the girl to her feet.

A girl with a FedEx cap rammed down over unruly strawberry blond curls trotted up. "She okay?"

"She's still frenzied," Yves said. "Where's Unyx?"

"Upstairs," the strawberry blonde said, "there're still six or so sisters unaccounted for." She took the woozy coed from him. "This…oof…makes it five. I'll take her upstairs." She blushed. "I'm so sorry for all this."

"Where is she?" Yves felt hollowed out, coreless. "Where is Cherry?"

"Last I heard from her," the strawberry blonde answered, "She was in the basement, down that hallway. First door to your left." She wobbled but made her way toward the stairwell in the center hall. Her blush deepened. "Thank you, Mr. Valiancourt."

At the sound of his name, all the girls turned to him. No one told them my name. They just know, from Cherry. The Frenzy is gone but the cherry lives on. Yves swept from the foyer and down the hallway.

* * * *

"Rage," SB had whispered to him on the boiled shore of the reservoir. "Sing, O Muse, of the rage of Achilles."

"What would you have me do?" Yves had asked.

"Someone needs to die today, Yves."

"It's me," Yves had said. He had not intend it to be a question.

SB had said, "Yes, Yves. It's supposed to be you."

* * * *

The door at the end of the hall led to a large kitchen. A clutch of coeds tended to a naked boy in his late teens sitting on the marble top of a utility cart. Yves watched a girl in torn pink hot pants hand him a satchel. "Here's your newspapers. What's left of them, anyway. And, uh, your two dollars." She dropped a fifty dollar bill into the satchel. "Keep the change."

"Thanks," the paperboy muttered, plopping the satchel in his lap.

"We're so, so sorry," said one of the other girls.

The paperboy shrugged. "S'okay."

"We mean it," the girl in the pink hot pants cupped his shoulder, then withdrew her hand. "Look, uh, I know this doesn't make any difference, but you were pretty good." The paperboy laughed dryly.

"Seriously," another girl insisted. "All those other guys are out cold. And Eddie ran away, I bet. You're the last man standing. I think that cable guy's going to need an ambulance." She blanched. "We're really sorry."

The paperboy sat up straight, laughing. "You know what I'm sorry about? I was a virgin. Hell, the only date I've ever had was to the prom. And we only necked. And this…" He waved his hand around at the surrounding gang of half-naked college girls, "This is what happens my first time. You won't believe it, I can't believe it, but do you want to know what I'm thinking? It's all downhill from here. What I'm sorry about? Nothing like this will ever happen again."

The girls glanced at each other.

"Yeah," the paperboy mumbled, "pretty stupid, I know. Thanks for listening to me, though." The girl in the pink hot pants coughed politely. The paperboy looked up at her.

"What's your phone number?" she asked.

Yves shook his head and trudged down the basement steps.

* * * *

"Supposed to be," Yves had repeated to SB. "That's not the same thing as 'has to be,' is it?"

"No," SB had said, "it isn't. Dee's a rule breaker. His story is off course. You don't have to play by the rules, either. You can choose who dies this time around, Yves. It doesn't have to be you. But you have to pick." She had walked back to the water's edge. "So who's it going to be? You? Dee?"

She had turned to face him. "Me?"

* * * *

"Wait," Black Cherry burbled. She sat up but her momentum and the weight of her formless wings drove her back down again. "Wait."

Dee broke his kiss. The green girl giggled and hummed, eyes closed. "If you're going to meet my mother," he said to her, "I'll need to know your name."

"Mm, a third name. That's your job." The green girl beeped him on the nose. "But don't name me here. It makes me orgasm so hard and I want some real romance for once."

"Shouldn't you name yourself?"

The green girl gazed at him. Behind them, Black Cherry thrashed, the crimson lake shrinking into a puddle as her wings took shape. "No, Master."

"That's so cornball," the green girl snickered, "I love it." She kissed him, slurring into his mouth, "But I cum rilly, rilly hard when you do it. You're the one."

"No." Black Cherry swayed on all fours, head bowed, the wings above her ears little more than red, wet noodles. "Master, no."

"You said that before," Dee told the green girl. "Back at the highway, you said, 'You're supposed to be the one.' But what does that mean? There some prophecy I don’t know about or something?"

The green girl laughed, "No, silly. It just means you're the one." She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him so hard his toes curled.

Black Cherry sat up on her haunches and shrieked like a wounded animal. "No!"

"The one for me," the green girl told Dee, and kissed him, and kissed him, and kissed him.

* * * *

"Cut the crap," Yves had told SB. "I don't believe in fate or destiny, and especially not some bullshit story."

"Black Cherry believes," SB had said.

"Exactly!" Yves had paced, hands balling into fists. "Fate didn't rape me. Black Cherry did. Fate isn't going to kill anybody. Black Cherry will." He had jabbed his finger at SB. "You're not talking about fate, you're talking about Black Cherry. Her actions, her choices. She's not going to stop until somebody dies. Because that's what she wants."

SB had reached for him but he had pulled away. "What do you want, Yves?"

* * * *

"Stop ignoring me!" Black Cherry's voice was shrill enough to break glass. "Stop it. I'll kill you all!"

"Let's get out of here," Dee told the green girl, hooking an arm over her shoulder. "Your baby sister's being a real brat."

Dee and the green girl turned their backs on Black Cherry and made for the door. The scarlet girl flew at them, all her strength and fury funneling into her wing claws as she hurtled forward.

Yves stalked through the door, drawing his sword. He stepped around his friends and raised his blade. Its ghostly edge sliced through Black Cherry's wings like a razor through water. "Victory is not being cut," he said, angling his blade as Black Cherry stumbled into it.

He cut Black Cherry in half. "You lost."

Her belly unzipped. Yves' cut was clean and Black Cherry cracked open, torso canting backward like the lid of a cigarette lighter. Her face contorted. Her jet-engine scream switched off into total silence. Yves was convinced he had been struck deaf. Black Cherry's torso bent almost parallel to the ceiling and her entire body dissolved into a downpour. Sound returned to the world as the deliquesced scarlet girl sloshed onto the floor like an upturned barrel of claret wine.

"Yves," Dee called from the door. Yves nodded but did not look back. The rollicking red waves described a perfect circle on the floor before him. He took the time to find his center and relax into the Water Kamae ready stance.

"She needs a name, Yves," Dee said. Yves nodded again and heard the door shut behind him.

Black Cherry spindled up out of the waves, body hardening within a creamy red shell, beautiful and terrible. "Playmate's come to play." Her lips parted as she gave Yves's pale sword a sultry look. "Where did you get such a wonderful toy?"

"Your banter's lousy," Yves replied. "Derivative, too." He angled the tip of his sword to point at the bridge of Black Cherry's nose. "This is the endgame, Cherry. Bad time to get sloppy."

Black Cherry feinted with a right hook. Yves sidestepped, leaving his chest exposed. Black Cherry swung a roundhouse punch at Yves' breast powerful enough to pulverize his heart. His thumb prickled and Yves spun about, sword rising high. The scarlet girl's punch flew wild as Yves severed her right wing at the shoulder, then flicked his blade through her neck on the downswing.

"Stupid girl," Yves said over the deluge as Black Cherry rained down all around him. "I told you I never make the same mistake twice. I know you have claws."

Black Cherry scrabbled over the floor like a half-drowned swimmer dragging herself from the ocean. "How…H—how…"

"Nice triple-feint, though," Yves said. "Too bad you can't divide like your sister, or I'd really be in trouble." Black Cherry pushed herself up. She was nothing more than a head and torso above a choppy puddle of crimson melt. Yves brought his sword down.

The sword point bobbled close. Black Cherry stared cross-eyed and gasping. "What…" Yves slashed. "Wait…" Yves slashed. "Why?" she sobbed, and the sword finally fell still at Yves' side. Black Cherry crawled away from him, her wings lifeless and trailing rills of blood red gel. "Why are you doing this?"

"A few hours ago," Yves told her, his voice flat, "you were given a choice: sister or sword." He drew the pale sword up to the Water Kamae ready position. "There was no third option."

"You?" Black Cherry rolled onto her back, chest heaving. "It's going to be you?"

* * * *

"What do you want, Yves?" SB had asked him.

His rage had boiled over, and he had thrown the sword into the woods. "I don't want to be a killer!"

* * * *

"It was always me," Yves said. Hollow. I need to stay hollow. He glanced down and saw her exposed labia, engorged and overflowing with nectar. But I hate this, I hate this.

"So little nanomek left," Black Cherry gulped, fingers creeping cross her thigh. "Dee made me cum—you made me cum—so much. Just a little more and…" Her fingers shivered over her mons. "No, I can't." She jerked her hand away. "Not without Master."

Yves lowered his sword, training it on her belly. I hate this.

* * * *

SB had said, "But you're so good at it, Yves." And Yves had cried, and SB had run to him.

* * * *

"My master should have been my first," Black Cherry pled. "My master should be my last."

"I was." Yves moved to Black Cherry's side. After a moment's hesitation, he sheathed his sword. It slid into its scabbard with a silken sigh and click. "I will be."

Black Cherry frowned up at him, blinking. Her eyes grew wide. Her hand flew to her mouth, and she called to him, "Master?"

* * * *

"I tried to give her a choice. Eurydice tried, too," SB had said, hugging Yves tight. "Eurydice risked her life to save her sister. But Cherry didn't want it. It's not Dee who won't change, it's Cherry. She wants to kill her master, or her master to kill her." She had gripped him by the shoulders.

"And that's you, Yves. Isn't it?"

* * * *

"Yes," Yves said to Black Cherry. He pulled the scabbard from his belt and tossed it aside. "It's me."

"Oh, Master." Black Cherry wondered up at Yves. "Master, I'm sorry. I should have known. You were always ready for me. Ready from the very start. Even though you hated it." Her fingers scuttled into her sex again. "And you do hate it, don't you, Master?"

"Yes," Yves said. He reached into his sparkling white over-shirt, and drew out a stout, gray blade.

"Your tanto," Black Cherry sighed, one hand plunging into her sex, the other tracing little circles between her breasts.

Yves straddled Black Cherry's stomach, pinning her arms in place with his knees. "It's time."

"You hate me," Black Cherry purred. Yves could feel her arms move frantically beneath him. "You hate me enough to kill me."

"I hate you," Yves said, palming the tanto in both hands, trying to think of the words that would drive Black Cherry over the edge, trying to stay hollow. "Because I have to kill you. Not for what you did to me before, but what I'm doing now." He raised the short blade above his head, "I hate you more than anything in the world."

She shook beneath him, legs kicking, wings trembling. Nectar leaked everywhere from her. "Hate me, Master! Name me! Become me, Master!"

Yves thrust the tanto downward with all his strength, burying the blade between her breasts. "Die for me, Nemesis," he told her.

Nemesis cried out his name and died.

* * * *
And I won't take from you
What you can't take from me.

—XTC, We're All Light
* * * *

Epilogue: The Moral of This Motherfucker

Dee and the green girl were sitting together on the basement stairs when Yves emerged. "It's over," he said, tucking the pale sword and scabbard into his belt. "Nothing left but Jell-O, and that's getting washed into a sump pump by a leaky washing machine. Still," he added to the green girl, "do you mind double checking? I don’t have super-senses."

The green girl rose. Yves marveled at her beauty, then startled at her height and megaton bombshell figure. "We think you're super, Yves," she said, patting him on the chest and kissing his cheek. "Thank you." She swayed into the washroom.

"That's Galatea?" Yves asked Dee.

"Kinda sorta almost," Dee smiled. "She's Eurydice and Galatea. She—well, we, I guess, she still wants me to officially do it—we haven’t decided on a new name yet."

"Eurydice was worried if they could re-assimilate, or what would happen if they did," Yves said.

"Eurydice's still there," Dee said, "more than ever. But so's Galatea." His brow furrowed in thought. "She says it's different than anything that's happened before. Their nanomek didn't just sum together, it multiplied. She's not Galatea plus Eurydice, she's Galatea times Eurydice. That's what she said, anyway."

"What the heck does that mean?" Yves asked.

"It means I'm fucked." Dee grinned, eyebrows arching. "And this weekend's going to be God-damned amazing."

Yves gave Dee a wan smile, then sat beside him. "You're naked again," Yves said.

"I'm used to it," Dee said. "Here're the pants I borrowed." Dee handed Yves a dripping, red and gray mass. "Sorry."

Yves pushed him off. "Keep them. My treat for helping me save the world." Dee sat with the sloppy sweats in his lap, saying nothing. Yves sighed. "Thanks for not asking if I was okay, Dee."

Dee nodded. "I know you're not okay, Yves. But I think you will be."

"Me too," Yves said. They sat together a while.

"Galatea, Eurydice, and Raspberry all fantasize about you and me fucking," Dee said out of nowhere.

Yves thought about this. "Who's on top?"

Before Dee could answer, the green girl, her face stricken, emerged from the washroom. "She's gone," she said. Dee moved to embrace her. "She's really gone."

"You tried everything," Yves told her.

"So did you," she said. "You know I don't blame you for anything, right?" Yves nodded and the green girl relaxed. "These are for you," she told Dee, handing over a clean tee shirt and pair of blue stretch pants.

"These are like three sizes too small," Dee protested.

"I know." The green girl's eyes glittered with gem-fire. "Put 'em on."

CeeCee's voice drifted down from the first floor. "Did anyone lose a guy who tastes like pizza?"

"I do not like the way she said that," Dee said, glancing up the stairs.

"You were the one who said she should eat anyone trying to escape," Yves said. He stood up, mimed dusting off his knees. "Come on, Green Girl, Nude Man."

"First thing we do when we get home," Dee grumbled, following Yves up the stairs, "is come up with some good superhero names."

"Second thing," the green girl said from behind Dee, leering at his ass as it bounced up the stairs. "Maybe third, or three hundredth."

* * * *

A taxicab ambled down Campion Street. A green Volkswagen darted down the opposite lane, its windows burnished by the sunset. The cab's passenger, a redheaded coed, squinted from the glare. She sat in borrowed clothes rustled up from her stay at the state police station. The baggy sweatshirt and jeans reeked of cigarettes. At least she had underwear on again, even if they were voluminous granny-panties.

The cab rounded the bend of the cul de sac. "Hey," the redhead said, "that's my car! Aw, man, what happened to it?" The yellow SUV, windows smashed, roof rumpled, sat in front of the sorority house. She glanced around. Other than the SUV, the cul de sac looked abandoned. "Huh. No FedEx truck. Good sign."

"You talk to yourself a lot," the cabbie observed. "What they pick you up for? PI?"

"PN," she said, "public nudity." She tossed him a twenty and hopped out before the cabbie could comment further.

Dozens of Friday newspapers piled around the porch steps. "Weird." The redhead unlocked the front door, poked her head into the dark foyer and halloed. "Is it safe? I heard the message on my cell." She stepped inside, hunting for the hall light switch. She looked down. "Oh, hello. Who're you?"

"Ursula's a good name," said a girl with a massive pair of pigtails, thick handlebars tufted with big black pompoms. She looked barely old enough to drive, tarted up in white cake makeup and black lip and eyeliner.

"Art, or theater major?" the redhead asked, squinting at Ursula's outfit of black patent leather club gear.

"Post-grad," grinned Ursula, turning. "Women's Studies. C'mon!" She skipped out into the main hall.

Don't look at her ass. The redhead followed, frowning. "We're we going?" Don't look at her ass. Ursula flounced up the main stairwell. Oh my God, just look at that ass. And what did she do, paint those pants on? "Um, little girl?"

Ursula froze. Her outfit seemed to ripple in the shadowy half-light. "Yeah?"

"What happened?"

Ursula shrugged, an uncanny, almost liquid rise and fall of her shoulders; another trick of the light, perhaps. "Good guys won," she said, and started back up the stairs. "Duh. Don't they always?"

The redhead ascended after her. "So where is everyone?"

"Done a bunk. Bugged out. Vamoosed." Ursula whistled through her teeth and zipped her hand through the air.

"Why?"

Ursula reached the top of the stair and spun about, lips pursed. "Because I asked them to." The redhead's stomach flip-flopped. Ursula shook her head, raised a finger as pale as her face. "Ah, ah! Asked them to. 'Asked.' Not sang." She strutted down the hallway, boots clicking on the hardwood.

"How?" The redhead swallowed, then hurried to catch up. "How did you know about that?"

"We know all sorts of stuff," Ursula said, stopping at a closed door. "And here we are."

"But this is my bedroom," the redhead said.

"Really?" Ursula tipped her head. "Gosh." The door opened by itself. "After you, Madam Secretary."

A strawberry blonde squatted on the vanity bench, FedEx cap twirled backward on her head, like a relief pitcher waiting in a dugout. "Hi!"

Relieved to see a familiar face, the redhead rushed into the room. "What're you doing here?"