Blackbird (10 page)

              “Was it bad?”

              “Well, pretty bloody to say the least. Listen, I have your results.” Paul didn’t pause or wait for Robert to inquire. He pressed on, an urgency in his voice that Robert had not expected to hear. “Chelle’s drug test came back negative, but you need to get her in here tonight. I’m going to stay until you get here. She needs to be admitted. I’ve already started on the paperwork.”

              “Admitted? Why?” Robert heard a spec of fear in his brother’s voice which frightened him all the more. It was something he wasn’t used to hearing.

              “Her blood and urine are contaminated with lead, mercury, nickel. It’s insane.”

              “What does that mean?” Robert had spent his whole life in the bar business and was having trouble wrapping his head around what Paul was saying. He didn’t know what it meant, he only knew that it was bad.

              “She’s full of heavy metals. I’m impressed that she’s still standing upright. Her organs are going to shut down if we don’t get her admitted soon. Honestly, I’m not sure what we can do for her even if she does get treatment.”

              “It’s that bad? Paul it can’t be. It has to be a mistake. Are you sure it’s that much?”

              “Robert, if this woman had any more metal in her blood we could trade her on the New York Stock Exchange. Do you know where she is right now?”

              He was already in drive and pulling back out onto the street. “Yeah, she’s at work.”

              “Robert, as fast as you can now. Come straight to the emergency department and give them her name.”

              “I’m coming,” was all he said before hanging up.

***

Robert parked his car right in front of the entrance, blocking the fire lane which was a no-no. It didn’t matter now. He had broken every traffic law ever written in the last five minutes anyway. The bar was full and people looked angry. A sour rumble was vibrating through the crowd and Rick looked like he was about to pull his hair out. None of this registered.

He ran up to the bar, elbowing a woman who was demanding a drink out of the way. “Chelle?” he said to Rick.

“Chelle? Where is Chelle? I have no idea. She went into the office with Billie twenty minutes ago. When you see her send her back out. I’m dying here.”

Billie? What was Billie doing here? And why the hell would she have Chelle in the office? Robert didn’t have time to think about that too much because he needed to get to Chelle. Needed to get to her now before something awful happened. He burst through his office door expecting to see her, but instead only saw Billie, who was sitting behind the desk, twirling a strand of hair around her finger, smiling to herself.

“Billie, where’s Chelle? Rick said she was back here with you.”

Billie gave him a look of disgust. If she was still upset over last night whatever she had to say to him about that would have to wait. “She left. Just walked out.”

“Left? Why?” Confusion aligned itself with his panic now and he rubbed his forehead in astonishment. She didn’t want to work for him anymore? Last night they’d been so friendly. Perhaps he’d done something to make her uncomfortable. He’d have to figure out what it was and kick himself mentally later because right now she could be somewhere, her organs shutting down like Paul said. Perhaps that’s why she walked out. Maybe she’d gotten sick.

“I have to go find her,” was all he could get out before turning and running out the door once again. He heard Billie call after him but ignored it, running through the bar as everyone eyed him with confusion. He was back behind the wheel of his car in moments and heading for the house on Oceanview Drive. The one that didn’t belong to her. Hoping that if she was sick it would be where she’d choose to go.

Please be there, Chelle
he thought.
For god sake, please! Because I just have no idea where else to look if you’re not.

***

It was a short bus ride from Cole’s Bar and Grill to Oceanview Drive, thank god. She’d fumed all the way there, keeping her emotions at bay somewhat by putting her iPod in her ears and cranking it. She’d received a few dirty looks from other passengers, but she did what she had to do. It was better than letting her freak flag fly all over public transit. She had managed to keep her dirty little secret all to herself for ten years and she planned to keep it that way. Bitch Billie wasn’t worth spilling the beans over, not by a long shot.

What she’d said, the words she’d used, it was as if she’d plucked them right from her mind, harvesting them from her past as if by decisive choice. It had unnerved her. She dropped her backpack in the living room and began to pace. The memory of her mother, looking at her with such fear and revulsion, cut her to the quick and all at once she was overwhelmed by anger.

How does a woman throw her own child out into the street? In the middle of winter at fifteen years old? How? Why?

These were questions she’d asked herself over and over again, telling herself she was confused. The truth was there was no confusion at the answer. Chelle knew exactly why she’d been put out of her house. She was a freak. She was no good and deserved nothing. Somewhere deep inside him, even before that night, her father had known. That’s why he beat her. Not because he was a wretched drunk, but because some primal instinct told him she was nothing more than some kind of beast that needed to be put in her place. He knew. And Chelle was sure everyone around her knew. Everyone knew there was something they didn’t like about her, even if they couldn’t quite put their finger on what it was.

All these thoughts that Chelle worked so hard to repress, day after day, month after month and year after year flooded into her consciousness before she knew it. The anger was there. Not the low level kind, but the raging flood of emotion that always caused the chain reaction.

Knowing what was about to happen, Chelle fumbled with her belt, trying to get it off. Her hands shook. It was happening fast. Much faster than it had ever happened before and her fingers became useless as they trembled with fear. She needed to get to the basement. She managed two steps forward before the pain began.

The horrid things tore their way free, ripping her open, slicing her like razor blades as the blood, once again, began to run down her back. In moments her shirt was left in shreds and she fell to her knees, hearing things crash and bang around her as the wings asserted themselves, knocking over possessions that she had no right to even look at in the process. They had emerged in record time, and as they did, she was screaming.

She bit down on her lip for a brief moment, hoping that it would help quiet her, but the pain was too much and she continued to scream involuntarily as the massive things spread out, digging into her like shards of glass. Spots formed in front of Chelle’s eyes. Pools of liquid black wavered and danced in front of her and there was a ringing in her ears so loud that it drowned out the sound of her screams.

Falling face first onto the floor she heard something. A voice. Someone was there with her and calling her name.

No
she thought as the darkness swooped in to take her against her will.
No! Nobody can see.

With a final heave, her will to stay conscious gave way and she was thrust into blackness.

***

              Robert weaved in and out of traffic, almost causing two accidents by blowing through a couple of red lights. Even when he’d gotten the call that his father was dying and he needed to get to him he couldn’t remember having felt this much panic. Chelle wasn’t an old, terminally ill man. She was a young woman, one who was perhaps sick and didn’t even know it.

              Robert rehashed stories he’d heard over the years of supposedly healthy young people collapsing and dying with no notice at all. He’d never paid such stories too much attention, always assuming there had to be some underlying cause.
Someon
e
would have had to see it coming. He wasn’t so sure now. Chelle seemed so vibrant. Even in the mornings when she’d obviously not had much sleep she was simply radiant. There was no sign of sickness whatsoever. Perhaps if he got her to the hospital and they ran the tests again Paul would tell him it was all a big mistake. Her test results had gotten mixed up with someone else’s, or he’d actually read it wrong. Paul was a competent doctor so logically he knew that wasn’t going to happen, but fear has a way of planting a kind of irrational hope.

              His car screeched to a halt as he finally arrived in front of the little house. Robert ran to the door and knocked without hesitation, calling out her name as he did. After a moment of silence he heard a crash, followed by a scream. Chelle was inside and in pain. What if it was too late? Desperate he knocked louder calling out once again, then decided he needed to go in. If she was as bad off as Paul said she was, perhaps she couldn’t get to the door.

              She screamed again and Robert’s hand immediately fled on its own to the top of the doorframe where he’d seen her reach for the key twice before. Once he had it he pressed it into the lock, his fingers fumbling and shaking clumsily. Chelle screamed again, and then all at once things inside the house grew silent.

              The kind of silence that preceded something horrible, he could sense it. He opened the door afraid of what he was about to find, but nothing could have prepared him for what he saw next.

              Chelle was on the floor, passed out, her shirt in rags. For a moment his mind blocked out everything but the blood and the shirt and he reasoned that she’d been attacked, that someone had hurt her. And indeed she was hurt, but not in the way his confused mind was trying to convince him she was. He dropped to his knees on the floor across the room, pressing his back against the now closed front door, his mind reeling.

              Wings…

              Sprouting from the back of his employee were a set of massive black wings with feathers so thick and dark they filled an enormous amount of the space she was in. There was something else too. Not the feathers, but the space between the feathers themselves. A small amount of light coming in from the street hit them and they glinted in the darkness. They shone like polished steel.

              He rubbed his eyes, covering them in disbelief for a few moments before opening them again, hoping they’d have disappeared. That it was all some sort of panicked induced hallucination. No such luck. When he opened his eyes again the wings were still there. So was the blood. It ran down her back in sheets, crimson and thick. He couldn’t be sure from his vantage point if she were breathing or not but he hesitated, not wanting to touch her and possibly injure her further.

              Slowly, carefully, on his hands and knees he crawled to where she was, moved her long dark hair away from her neck and felt for a pulse. A small pool of blood had formed around her mouth and he held his breath. He was relieved to find that yes, indeed she had one. Curiosity and horror fought for control of his hands and as he turned his head to look at her back more closely, the metal in between the feathers lit up once again. Robert stretched out his fingers to examine them. Perhaps they weren’t real. In his confused mind he thought that perhaps this had been some sort of Halloween costume gone wrong. Only this was March, and there was blood and broken glass everywhere.

              As he came into contact with the tip of a feather the wings asserted themselves, shaking and bristling at his touch as if frightened. Immediately he let his hand drop, and the things seemed to calm. He made his way to the couch, using the arm of it to boost himself up on wobbly legs to stand, but his knees buckled and gave way, and he fell backward into the softness of the Gwok’s grey sectional.

              “Merciful god,” he whispered to himself, crossing his arms at his waist as he doubled over for a moment before staring at the wings once again. “Chelle…what
are
you?”

Chapter Eleven

              Chelle guessed she had not been passed out very long because the wings were still protruding from her back, although without having willed them back into place it was hard to say how long they’d stick around. The blood on her skin felt like it had dried a bit and the wings were fully stretched. She could feel them sway back and forth as if in celebration that they were visible.

             
Free at last, free at last. Thank god almighty we are free at last.

             
Good for the wretched things, not so good for her. With each movement it felt like they were going to rip her back open even more than they already had. She had to stand. The only way to put them back was to get into a standing position so she could focus. “Fuck,” she whispered to herself, placing her palms against the floor, pushing herself up. As she did something caught her attention. A shoe. A man’s shoe. And she was practically face to face with it, her hand a mere few inches from the tip.