by marat
Chapter Eight
Inside the
MacLeod-Slaughter mansion, Fareed Gouyannou had become unsettled. Crimson Flare
should have returned by now. It didn’t show on his face, but he was becoming
worried that something had gone wrong with his plan. He occasionally deigned to
mingle with small groups of his lackeys, encouraging, cajoling, and even joking
with those he wished to provide a sense of their own intimacy with the caudillo.
At the same time, through narrowed eyes, he scanned the edges of the room.
Gouyannou knew the information Bruce Sealing had brought to him was well
intended, and that Sealing himself was well-meaning, but the problem was that
he was too ambitious. The former police officer was not smart enough to
appreciate the inherent dangers represented by the superheroine. Too many, he
knew, had believed that Crimson Flare would easily be brought to heel. And all
of them were either dead, in prison, or, as in the case of Ape Greystook,
permanently consigned to the prison hospital. Too many had already paid dearly
for underestimating the petite masked Champion of Mitropoulos. Were things
already turning? he wondered. The world is always turning.
Over in a
well-lit corner, Bruce Sealing had become the center of attention. The few
ladies still present had all gathered around him, their giggling laughter
rising every once in a while to a crescendo that irritated the mobster. As
Gouyannou surveyed the room, he noticed that his irritation was shared by some
of his lieutenants.
Sealing had
served his purpose. His capos would deal with that man in their own
time.
But even his capos
seemed unaware of the threat the chieftain was certain was now taking shape out
there, somewhere in the city. He set his jaw, fury building in him. These
people never THINK! he thought to himself. Everything is about NOW. If Crimson
Flare has somehow escaped his control, there’s no question that she could
present a problem greater than any he had ever encountered. He began to make
his apologies to his guests, something about having to go to his office to take
care of some business. He would return shortly, he said.
*****
Upstairs, Fareed
Gouyannou made a series of phone calls out of earshot of his subordinates. He
alerted his early-warning system to be on the lookout for Crimson Flare, and to
notify him immediately she was seen moving in the city, particularly if she was
heading toward the mansion.
One of his
sources told him that the last she had been seen, she had been heading toward
the City Centre; but that had been hours ago.
No one had seen
the comely crimefighter actually arrive at city hall.
Without a word,
Gouyannou hung up.
*****
The tensions and
strains all flowed from Karen Perry’s body as she lay back in the tub. As the
steam rose, it seemed, all of the turmoil that had surrounded her seemed to
dissipate with it. For the first time in—how long? months?—she felt her muscles
relax. It was like her entire body had unclenched.
Lynn was
talking, but Karen only half listened. She knew she would have to apologise to
her friend for that, but, for the first time in what seemed a lifetime, she
felt physically free. The demons were gone! And she was reveling in that
freedom.
‘…and you’ve got
to know what’s waiting for you if you’re going back there,’ Lynn was saying.
‘Karen? Karen!’
‘I know!’ Karen
replied sharply, although she had only heard the last few words of her friend’s
warning. ‘I know,’ she said more gently. ‘It’s just that… it’s just that you
don’t understand how I feel right now. It’s like my whole body was a tight
ball, squeezing, pushing against itself. And now all of that pressure is gone.
I feel like I’m floating right now. It feels good.’
Lynn knew she
couldn’t understand. But she wanted Karen to know that, despite the exhilaration
of her release from the devilish forces that had controlled her since they had
met, now was not the time to leap at Gouyannou without proper preparation.
‘But Gouyannou
is very dangerous. He’s dangerous because he’s smart.’
‘I know. He
didn’t get where he is without being smart,’ Karen replied. ‘But he’s got Maria
and I have to…’
‘We’ll get her,’
Lynn cut her off. ‘But we have to prepare. I’ll bet he’s already preparing
contingency plans in case you’re beyond his control.’
‘But he can’t
know that I’m completely beyond his control. And that that condition is
permanent.’
‘Is it?’
‘Yes,’ Karen
said confidently. ‘Every other time we tried to attack the dependency that Chan
had created, I felt it still there, still gnawing at me. Maybe it was a still,
small churning at the base of my spine, or an emptiness somewhere in me, but it
was there and I could sense it, clearly. That’s gone now.’
‘Maybe we should
do a chemical analysis of that stain on the bed.’
Karen sat up in
the tub. ‘I don’t want to know what it was. It was… I don’t know… if I had
religion, I’d call it evil.’
‘Do you mind if
I satisfy my curiosity?’
‘If you want.’
Karen turned her body, the soapy water splashing up over her smooth, muscular
back as she laid her body out, her chin resting on the edge of the tub. ‘Could
you give my shoulders a massage?’
Lynn shifted her
weight and pressed her strong fingers into the soapy water and into the muscles
of her friend’s neck and shoulders. ‘There is a difference,’ she said quietly,
a moment having passed. ‘The muscles in your shoulders have always been tense,
hard. Now they’re completely relaxed. I thought it was because of the constant
pressure of your heroine career.’
‘No. Stacy used
to give great massages, but she frequently commented on the lack of
tension in my muscles that she felt.’
Lynn’s fingers
worked her friend’s shoulders. Coupled with the hot water in which she was
immersed, Karen soon drifted off into a daze, even forgetting the immediate
concerns of her other friends.
*****
In their
basement cell at the mansion Maria Blakeman and Tim Westbrook sat silently.
Maria had done what she could to comfort her partner, but the blue-black
bruises surrounding his eyes and swelling his jaw made communicating all but
impossible. Now, she sat on the floor, Westbrook’s head resting on her lap.
‘Tim, why did
you try to blackmail Crimson Flare?’ Maria said softly after a short while.
‘She is one of the most important allies the police have in dealing with crime.
She’s even an inspiration—’ here the policewoman knew she was speaking of the
heroine’s influence on her own career choices— ‘an inspiration to women all
over the city to fight crime in their neighbourhoods and even to resist the
gangs. Look what she did to the Normans and the Savoyards.’
Westbrook
struggled mightily to answer Maria’s question, but all he could muster was a
single word, sputtered out through clenched teeth within his battered jaw.
‘Vigilante.’
Maria knew that
she couldn’t speak of the friendship that had begun with Lynn and Crimson
Flare. In defending the heroine, she knew she could only talk about the
victories she had won and the specific aid she had provided the police in the
fight against crime.
But Tim
Westbrook knew that his response was inadequate. He also knew it wasn’t true.
He knew, like most members of Mitropoulos’ police force, that Crimson Flare
wasn’t hated for the work she did. In fact, in large part, she was hated because
of the work she did, and because of her success. The petite crimefighter had
smashed two of Mitropoulos’ most dangerous gangs, had seen to the death of
their leadership, and had even mopped up a very dangerous residue when she had
defeated Ape Greystook a short while ago. How was that supposed to make a macho
organisation like a police department feel? How many man-hours had been
devoted to the city’s gang problem? And then this superslut in a mask and a
bathing suit takes them out in a matter of weeks.
Like so many
other officers—not all, he was sure—he also hated Crimson Flare because she was
a woman. Other police officers hated her because what she did made the
Department look inept. He knew that even Police Commissioner Warren, a woman
and a political appointee to her post, felt this way. There were even stories
about the Commissioner’s own plans to remove Crimson Flare from the Mitropoulos
scene.
Maria gently
stroked her partner’s battered face. She bent down and tenderly kissed the
bruises around his eyes, lightly touching his lips with her own. The
devastation visible on his face was too much for her to bear. She cared about
her partner and she hated to see him in such pain.
She remembered
his comments about Crimson Flare from earlier in this case, and she knew that
his subsequent apology wasn’t entirely genuine. His effort to remove the
heroine had blown up in his face. One of those who had been in on it with him
was dead; the other was, utterly unawares, in great danger. But Tim was here,
and he was hurt. Kissing him wasn’t very professional. But right now, being
professional wouldn’t help him.
*****
Fareed Gouyannou
seemed filled with purpose as he re-entered the ballroom. The party had begun
to wind down, as the last of the ladies were making their way to the door,
escorted by Bruce Sealing. The mob chieftain silently indicated for his
lieutenants to gather for a conclave in the nearby hall. He closed the door
behind him.
‘Crimson Flare
is on her way back here,’ he began. ‘We need to kill the bitch.’
The sounds of
agreement were loud, as the gangsters, happy to finally rid themselves of their
nemesis, punctuated the narrow space with threats and chuckles. But the boss of
Mitropoulos continued, ‘She’s not the same broken girl we sent to Police
Headquarters. She never arrived there. I don’t know how it happened, but it’s
likely she’s back to what she was.
‘If we can,
we’ll capture her all over again. But this time, we won’t worry about the
prestige of having her around as a pet. I just want her dead.’
‘If she’s no
longer in your control, how do you know she’ll be coming back here? Wouldn’t
she be afraid to come back here?’ one of Gouyannou’s sub-bosses asked.
‘You should know
that that superbitch isn’t afraid of anything. She’ll come back here to bring
an end to us—me, the gang, the enterprise, everything.’ Gouyannou’s voice
showed his controlled fury.
‘But she’ll come
back here because we have something she wants,’ Gouyannou replied. ‘Bring the
cops up to the ballroom. We may not have much time.’
As his men moved
to their tasks, he moved into the shadows of the hallway. He pulled his cell
phone from his jacket pocket and punched a number on his speed-dial. Shortly, a
sleepy voice on the other end answered. ‘Commissioner Warren? Gouyannou here. I
have a proposition.’
*****
Karen lay on the
bed, now stripped of the sheets and bedding, wearing only her Penn State XXXL
t-shirt. Lynn sat in the nearby chair. Through the window the yellow light of
dawn was creating a sharp background to the skyline of the great city. It
provided a sinister atmosphere to the friends’ conversation.
‘Gouyannou must
know that he’s lost control over you. But he can’t know that it’s permanent.
You should be able to use his belief that you’re still sexually vulnerable
against him,’ Lynn was saying.
‘What you’ll
have to do is get Maria and her partner out of their cell and away from
Gouyannou’s gang long enough for the police to deal with them. I’ll call them
about an hour after you leave. That should give you time to make sure that
nothing will happen to them when the police arrive at the mansion.’
Karen thought
about what she now knew was the department’s antagonism to the heroine. ‘Lynn,’
she began, ‘About the police. They…’
‘I know, Karen,
I know. But they will want to get Gouyannou and rescue two of their own. Even
their hatred of Crimson Flare will have to take a back seat to that. Once
they’re in control of the scene, you can get away from there. It’ll only be a
short time.
‘And doing it
this way will allow them to take credit for bringing down Gouyannou,’ Lynn
added. She sounded light-hearted when she said it, but she wasn’t smiling.
‘You’ll monitor
the police frequencies and give me word that they’re on their way,’ Karen said
slowly, thinking of how the communicator had only worked sporadically since
they had introduced it a few weeks ago, in the fight against Ape.
‘Just a ping.
That’ll let you know that the police are coming. It’ll take them less than ten
minutes to reach the mansion. Once you hear that, you can begin to make your
way out.’
Karen sighed.
‘The end of Gouyannou will mark a major end of crime here in Mitropoulos. The
gangs started with his help and money. Ape was going to rebuild with
Gouyannou’s backing. There’s still crime, but it’ll take a while for organised
crime to rebuild after this morning.’ She stared straight ahead. ‘Stacy would
have loved this moment.’
‘It’s the moment
that Crimson Flare was created for,’ Lynn said. ‘I don’t much believe in fate,
but there’s a sense of destiny here. Crimson Flare’s destiny.’
Karen stood. For
the first time in months, she felt in full control of her strength. As she
stretched, her robe fell open, revealing her taut torso, her naked body. She
pushed herself up onto her toes and reached for the ceiling, although her
five-foot-four-inch height would fall well short of touching it. A couple of vertebrae
popped satisfyingly and she felt her powerful muscles push against her skin. As
she opened her eyes, she saw Lynn looking at her.
‘What?!?’
‘I’ve never seen
you at full strength. It’s impressive.’
‘My body doesn’t
show the strength I have. I look like a wimp.’ Karen was shocked by Lynn’s
observation. ‘That’s one of the things that Stacy and I counted on when we
created Crimson Flare. She was small—petite was the word Stacy always
used—she wasn’t voluptuous, like Wonder Woman, or those heroines that show up
on the fetish websites. Criminals would always be surprised by how strong I
was.’
She moved to the
dresser and opened the top drawer. She pulled out a fresh version of her famed
costume. Inspecting it for any flaws or tears, Karen smiled. ‘Even so, it looks
awfully small.’
‘You have no
idea how it looks on you. It fits you like a second skin.’
On the contrary,
thought Karen. I love the way it looks—and feels—on me. Setting the
uniform aside for the moment, she picked up the colourless tights that were an
equal part of her famed attire. Pulling them on, she smoothed them against her
round, perfect thighs and her hard calves. Then the petite Champion pulled on
the waistband, so that the garment now clung perfectly smoothly around her
hips. The dim light from the pre-rush hour morning entering the room reflected
off the glistening synthetic fibre. Karen’s legs—Crimson Flare’s most perfect
and most-commented-on feature---took on an aethereal glow, reflected light
shimmering across the colourless material. As she moved with the grace of a
trained dancer around the room, gathering up the rest of the heroine’s garb,
Lynn stared, bewildered, at the transformation that seemed to overtake the
young woman who, under normal circumstances, served as an unassuming nurse at
the Thomas Daniels Children’s Hospital.
She moved
smoothly, efficiently, her legs—not long, not extending forever, in the
favourite phrase of the hack writers who imagined heroines, but perhaps even
short, considering the heroine’s height—covering the space of the bedroom
quickly. Her moves across the floor were silent, the soles of her feet padded
by the skintight leotard. Through the translucent material, her tanned flesh
peered darkly, appearing to be utterly flawless. The muscles rolled smoothly
beneath the taut flesh, conveying an impression of contained power. Lynn
marveled at the sheer perfection of those extremities.
Now taking up
the famed costume, she stepped into the seamless uniform that turned nurse into
Champion. She popped her head through the opening at the neck, then smoothed
her tousled hair. Her arms, surprisingly small for the renowned strength of the
famed Maid of Mitropoulos, slipped through their holes and gently brushed
smooth the crimson sequin-covered material. The uniform lay taut across her
torso, leaving nothing to the imagination regarding what lay beneath. The small
perfect hemispheres of her breasts formed distinct mounds that remained firm as
she moved. Only occasional folds in her costume showed at her narrow waist.
When she stretched her torso, her utterly flat abdomen gave no sign of the
powerful muscles beneath. The tight crimson-and-gold attire flattered her hips
as nothing else could have. The crevices displayed were not indecent, nor even
unseemly, but rather, at the very least, exquisite, and more likely laudable.
Lynn watched as
Karen next pulled on her black leather boots, now restored to their high-gloss
lustre. Lying flush against the curvature of her calves, they seemed to move as
Crimson Flare moved, a veritable second skin. The two-inch heels only
moderately lifted the stature of the heroine, but their distinctive sound as
she walked across the spaces of bare floor in the apartment sent a small chill
running down the blonde girl’s spine.
The mask and
cowl were added, disguising Karen’s identity and adding to the mystery
surrounding the powerful Defender of Mitropoulos. She pulled her belt around
her, letting it rest easily on top of her hips. Those majestic, perfectly round
enticements had more than once lured some of Crimson Flare’s lesser opponents
into a trap well-planned by Stacy. The baton was cradled in the holster that
hung from it. And lastly, the matching crimson gloves, covering her arms to
above her elbow, finished the image of the city’s Champion.
‘Karen, you look
spectacular.’
‘I feel
wonderful.’
‘I don’t know.
There’s something that’s just… different about you.’ Lynn paused, staring. ‘You
don’t think that there are, you know, changes?’
Behind her mask,
Crimson Flare looked quizzically at her friend. ‘Changes? What kind of
changes?’
‘You know. Your
first orgasm brought about some kinds of changes that Chan tried to master and
manipulate. Maybe the fact that your system is clean for the first time since
that moment means that you’re somehow different. Stronger, maybe. Or maybe you
have strengths that you simply don’t know about.’
‘I’ve been
strong ever since I can remember, Lynn. Stacy and I realised that that was all
there was to Crimson Flare. That and whatever you gain by having the increased
strength—durability, a little speed, that sort of thing.’
‘And your
weakness.’
‘Yes.’
‘Maybe you’ve
lost your weakness.’
‘That would be a
real bonus. It might mean that everything that happened in taking on Cos and
Chan and the Normans might ultimately have an upside.’
Lynn paused,
shocked by her next thought. ‘Suppose there’s another effect on your weakness.’
‘Like what?’
‘I don’t know.
But it certainly could be made worse.’
‘Then we’ll have
to find out. Before I go to the mansion.’
Lynn walked
across the room to the closet and pulled out a length of soft rope. ‘Let’s see
what happens.’
Crimson Flare
crossed her wrists in front of her, and Lynn smoothly wrapped the rope around
the satin-covered extremities. As soon as she had finished, she looked into her
friend’s eyes and asked warily, ‘Well?’
Crimson Flare’s
gaze seemed distant. Behind her mask, she blinked vigourously for a moment.
Then she quietly sighed. She lifted her arms and tugged weakly at the ropes
that bound her. She licked her lips and seemed to try to focus. She pulled
harder at her bindings.
‘Quick, Lynn.
Take it off.’ She sounded afraid.
‘Why? What’s
wrong?’
‘Take it… off.’
The heroine’s voice became weaker. She stumbled forward and fell against her
blonde friend. ‘Pl—please…’
Lynn placed the
masked avenger carefully on the bed and then quickly began undoing the rope.
‘OOooooohhhh,’
the masked Maiden moaned. ‘Hurry.’
Crimson Flare’s
face was pale, her eyes closed, and beads of sweat formed on her forehead and
throat. Her breathing was rapid and she seemed to be having trouble swallowing.
This can’t be good, Lynn thought.
As she pulled
the ropes from her wrists, Lynn looked at her friend and felt her heart in her
throat.
Crimson Flare
had fainted.
End of Chapter
Eight
Comments, questions, suggestions welcome:
contact the author at marat1793@comcast.net