Histories of the Void Garden, Book 1: Pyre of Dreams (17 page)

The girl smiled
as she put the cologne into a small paper bag and reached into a
basket to get one of the little tubes of face lotion, “You know I
doubt they were being ironic, Tryst is one of the cheaper colognes
we sell.”

West returned
to browsing the colognes, boxes of men’s briefs, boxers, y-fronts
and socks. He spent forty minutes in this activity before he
noticed Charlene walking towards the cashier’s desk, her arms laden
with a multitude of items. West took great pleasure from seeing how
happy all of this made Charlene. He watched the cashier ring up the
purchases and he kept an eye on the dollar total, counting off
hundred dollar bills from his clip.

“That’ll be six
oh five ninety-six.”

West put down
seven crisp hundred dollar bills, and looping the corded nylon
handles around his index finger, he picked up the three small bags
into which the other assistant had neatly placed the clothes from
the glass counter top.

The assistant
started to count out change from the register, but West waved his
free hand in the air, “Please, keep the change, you girls have been
wonderful.” He nodded his head towards Charlene, “Look at the smile
on her face; that’s worth every penny.”

West was sure
he heard one of the girls mutter the word ‘chauvinist’ as the door
closed behind them.

David Beach didn’t
enjoy Manhattan traffic, and to be experiencing it again set his
nerves on edge. He’d had a narrow miss crossing 35th at Dyer
Avenue, narrow enough that he was pretty sure that the car behind
him had been clipped by oncoming traffic, although neither party
stopped to exchange details. As Mr Yestler had instructed, he
finally pulled into the parking lot on 30th, his hands trembling to
the extent that he almost dropped the keys in the process of
handing them off to the valet. David lugged two large suitcases out
of the trunk, and looked Stephanie over to make sure she had her
back pack. He checked his pocket for the apartment key which he had
been given that morning, and having assured himself that the key
was safely located, he thanked the valet and took the parking
ticket from him.

With his
limping gate, David kept tilting one of the suitcases onto one
wheel, almost tipping it over with each step. The going was
awkward, and painful, but he located apartment building as soon as
he and Stephanie stepped out of the parking deck. Stephanie clung
to his arm, rather unhelpfully as he found a gap in the traffic and
lunged across the street.

Once inside the
apartment building, Stephanie let go of her dad’s arm, running a
small lap of the foyer, brushing her fingers against the brass mail
slots as she made her second circuit. David reigned her in, nodding
apologetically at the doorman, then made his way to the
stairwell.

“Apartment
210?”

The doorman
looked quizzical, “Westie’s place right?” The doorman waited for a
look of comprehension which never came, “Yestler’s place?” he tried
again.

David
nodded.

“You
Beach?”

Stephanie
curtsied elaborately, “Madam Stephanie Beach, at your service.”

The doorman
looked at Stephanie, “Does Madam Beach have ID?”

“Nu uh.” She
looked at her father hopefully.

David dropped
the handle of the suitcase, allowing it to tip over against the
wall as he pulled out his wallet, handing it over.”

“Second floor,
first on your left.”

David dragged
the suitcases slowly up the stairs, panting and moaning slightly,
spurred on not in the least by Stephanie’s giggles. She huffed and
moaned mockingly, “It’s too far daddy, carry me, carry me.” David
collapsed against the wall, halfway up the first flight, bloody
hands wiping his sweating brow. Stephanie pursed her lips and
looked genuinely apologetic.

David fussed with the
key, allowing one of the suitcases to fall over as he slid the key
into the lock. He dragged one suitcase into the small entrance hall
and went back into the main hall for the other. Stephanie pushed
past impatiently, running into the wonderland of hardwood floors,
tall walls, high ceilings and modern furniture, kicking off her
shoes so she could pretend to ice skate around the room.

“You like
it?”

Stephanie slid
onto her belly and pushed herself along the polished floor with her
feet, “Oh Papa, it’s delightful, can we move here forever?”

David rolled
his eyes and stepped past her into the living area. It was … he
struggled to find a word, before settling on agreement with
Stephanie. Delightful. It wasn’t that the apartment was ornately
furnished, but it was so impeccably tasteful that David felt almost
embarrassed to be standing there. The galley style kitchen area was
decked out with marble counter tops, embedded with fossils, cleanly
cut and polished. The appliances bore no grubby fingerprints or
food spills, and each one was state of the art. In the living area,
the furniture looked fit to melt into, but not slovenly and worn.
The television was massive, but flush to the wall, and so not
overbearing. He wandered down a hallway and glanced into each of
the two bedrooms, and marveled at the fact that each of them bore
king sized beds with en-suit bathrooms.

When he
returned to the living room, Stephanie had already turned on the
colossal television.

“Nope.”

Stephanie
flipped over sullenly on the soft fabric of the couch, “But
dad!”

“Not Les
Mis!”

“Dad!” She
looked crestfallen, but David shook his head sternly.

He stood in
front of the screen, waving his hand as the movie covers flowed by.
The occasion called for something special.

“That one.”
Stephanie yelled as she saw
Hello Dolly
flash past.

David looked at
his daughter with mock disgust, “You never, never make it through
that movie.”

“Do too.”

“What happens
in the end?”

Stephanie
looked up to the ceiling, searching for an answer, “They all live
happily ever after.”

Still watching
Stephanie, he waved his hand to push past the title.

“That one!”

David glanced
back at the screen.

“Iron Man?”

Stephanie gave
her two thumbs up and lay her head back into the couch cushions
expectantly.

David nodded
his approval and pointed at the screen. Even in her absence,
Hannah’s influence on his daughter was warmly appreciated. That
thought flashed through David’s mind as his head hit the floor, but
he was unconscious by the time Stephanie started screaming.

Stanwick Thrass
had held back in traffic, then pulled up behind some construction
workers, watching from a distance as David and Stephanie Beach left
the parking lot. She watched patiently as they headed towards the
intersection of 30th and Madison. She pulled out into traffic and
raced to the intersection just in time to see them enter an
apartment block on Madison.

Once she was
sure of where they had headed, Stanwick took a circuitous route,
doubling back to the parking lot on 30th. She pulled into the lot
and cranked the hand break on, leaving the engine idling while she
climbed out hurriedly to survey what damage had been done to her
beloved Pontiac in the side on collision. “Piece of shit!” she
hissed, leaning down to stroke the buckled metal and the foot-long
scratch which coursed through the paintwork. She bit her knuckle
and punched the car furiously, admonishing herself for not paying
more attention. She held onto the rear bumper and took a deep
breath, trying to reassure herself that keeping pace with Beach had
been worth taking the hit. She wasn’t entirely sure of that yet.
She wasn’t sure about any of this, which made it all the more
frustrating.

The valet
attendant approached apprehensively, “Can I help you mam?”

“Do your skills
extend to body work?”

The valet
grimaced as he surveyed the damaged rear wing and wheel arch, “No
mam, I’m sorry. I can do my best to clean and buff the scratch, but
it looks like you took quite a ding there. Are you okay?”

Stanwick smiled
vacantly, “Oh I’ll be fine, thanks for asking though.”

“You need me to
park her up for you?” the man asked, sounding rather too cheerful
for Stanwick’s liking.

“Sure, thanks.”
She took the ticket from the valet and walked down the ramp towards
the pedestrian exit. She made her way down 30th towards the
apartments, eager to perform some elementary reconnaissance on the
layout of the building. Once she was certain that the only entrance
to the apartments was on Madison, she scanned the surroundings and
noticed a small café on the opposite side of the street, with
window seats the entrance.

She ordered an
Americano, found a well situated seat and tried her best to switch
off her busy thoughts. She took a sip of coffee and allowed her
gaze to drift down the street to the intersection. A handsome
couple caught her attention as they walked slowly around the corner
from 30th and onto Madison. She watched them distractedly,
imagining that they must be a fairly recently acquainted couple.
Was she being cynical? No, she felt sure that this was a new
romance; the two walking with linked arms, him carrying the
shopping, her with a spring in her step. Cute outfit though … not
self-consciously retro. She was surprised to see the couple walk up
the couple of steps to the apartment building, then as they reached
the top step, the man turned, and Stanwick’s coffee spilled across
the table in front of her. A concerned waiter ran to the table, “Is
everything okay?”

Stanwick
couldn’t take her eyes off the apartment entrance, the blue dress
slipping through the doorway, “Oh no. No!”

“Sorry?” the
waiter started to mop up the spilled coffee.

“The Thane of
the Void. My North, my South, my East … My West.”

The waiter
perked up, “Four Weddings and a Funeral right?”

Stanwick spun
quickly in her seat to face the waiter. She pushed a wad of money
into his hand before storming towards the exit, “Buy an education.”
The yelled response didn’t play out as nonchalantly as Stanwick
would have liked.

West heard the
child’s screams as soon as he opened the door to the stairwell. He
called out to the doorman, “Larry, did my guests arrive?”

“Sure did
Westie.”

Before Charlene
could ask what was wrong, West had already rounded the corner of
the first flight of stairs. The door to apartment 210 was wide
open, and as he entered the hallway, West could already see David
Beach sprawled out on the hardwood floor, Stephanie kneeling over
him sobbing.

“Stephanie,
stand back.” West commanded as gently as he could manage.

“What’s wrong
with him? What’s wrong with him?” Stephanie cried, turning to
Charlene for an answer. Charlene dropped her shopping on the floor,
ran forward and hugged the child, picking her up and stroking the
back of her head, “He’s going to be okay sweetie, don’t fret.”

Crouching down
beside him, West slapped David’s face firmly. David didn’t stir.
West shook David’s shoulders and slapped him again as Charlene
stepped backwards slowly, whispering calming words into Stephanie’s
ear.

“Why’s he
slapping daddy?”

“Hush now, he’s
just asleep. West’s trying to wake him up.”

West turned
David’s head and noticed a pronounced dark vein on his neck. He
ripped David’s shirt easily, but just then, David started to cough
and lift his head forwards.

“What’s what
now?” He mumbled, watching West’s face loom overhead, “Hey. Hey
buddy. What you doing?” David sounded delirious, words slurred
drunkenly together.

“You’re dying.”
West informed him urgently.

Stephanie
screamed and tried to push away from Charlene, but Charlene hugged
her tighter, “Stephanie, he’s going to be fine, it’s just an
expression.”

David’s eyes
rolled, “I’m dying? Oh God … I’m dying.”

Charlene
couldn’t help but laugh at how horrible West’s bedside manner was.
She watched him lift the man off the floor and drag him to one of
the couches. The man vomited on himself, then slumped back into the
cushions.

West turned to
look at Charlene and mouthed the words slowly, “He’s dying.”

Stanwick Thrass stood
in the foyer of the apartment building, tracing her fingertips over
the nameplates of the mail slots. West Yestler, Dannum’s second
son, here in New York. She scanned another row. West Yestler, Thane
of the Void, Master of the Fall, living in obscurity on 30th and
Madison. Her finger found the mail slot. She spoke the words, out
loud, paraphrasing the label slightly, “West fucking Yestler.”

“He’ll be up in
210. Some kind of ruckus up there.”

“I’m
sorry?”

Larry looked up
from his paper, “Westie … I’m pretty sure he’ll be up in 210 if
that’s who you’re looking for.”

“Oh.”

Westie …
Ahken’s Bane, Destroyer of Allim, Herald of De Somnio Mirifico.

“You mind if I
head up there?

“Friend or
foe?”

“Not sure to be
honest.”

Larry shrugged,
“That fool’s handy with a knife lady. Saved my life once. You
better hope you ain’t a foe.”

Stanwick nodded
appreciatively and made for the stairs.

As she approached the
door of apartment 210, Stanwick could hear a commotion coming from
inside. She waited, wondering if she’d be able to hear his voice,
or get any sense of his presence. She pressed her ear to the door,
and she heard a woman’s voice, muffled but distinct enough, “Look,
he’s awake, he’s okay,” then a man’s voice, “Stephanie, Daddy’s
fine. Daddy’s just fine.”

She recognized
Beach’s voice, even drunk, even muffled by the door. She suddenly
felt stupid, like she’d been missing something that should have
been obvious for a long time. Of course Beach was working with
West; how else would someone like him be able to pull off the
assassination? Then clear as a bell, a voice which came from much
closer to the door, “Stephanie, your dad is very unwell, but I can
help him. He is dying, but with my help he will not die. I can
guarantee it … okay?”