Chapter Eight. (R18) -- The Beta Board

[ Show ]

Support VoyForums

[ Shrink ]

VoyForums Announcement: Programming and providing support for this service has been a labor of love since 1997. We are one of the few services online who values our users' privacy, and have never sold your information. We have even fought hard to defend your privacy in legal cases; however, we've done it with almost no financial support -- paying out of pocket to continue providing the service. Due to the issues imposed on us by advertisers, we also stopped hosting most ads on the forums many years ago. We hope you appreciate our efforts.

Show your support by donating any amount. (Note: We are still technically a for-profit company, so your contribution is not tax-deductible.) PayPal Acct: Feedback:

Donate to VoyForums (PayPal):

[ Login ] [ Main index ] [ Post a new message ] [ Search | Check update time | Archives: 1, [2], 3, 4 ]

[ Next Thread | Previous Thread | Next Message | Previous Message ]

Date Posted: 13:26:26 02/02/04 Mon
Author: Cyanide.
Subject: Chapter Eight. (R18)
In reply to: Cyanide 's message, "Acephaly." on 20:12:12 01/21/04 Wed

He might have damned his soul to hell, but he had spared himself from living in one. Michael had made his choice; perhaps not the right one, but the only one he could live with. When it came down to it, the choice had been easy.

"Ready to go?" she asked, from the doorway behind him.

He turned to face her - the bringer of death, destroyer of worlds. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail; her face devoid of make-up, but fresh and full of life. She wore a pair of faded blue jeans, a fitted red T-shirt, and no shoes. She seemed vibrant, at ease - guilt free. She didn't look like a person about to sentence thousands to death.

She smiled - a large smile, genuine and warm - it shone in her deep green eyes.

Michael had never thought her more beautiful nor hated her more fiercely.

"Yes." His mask firmly in place.

Janet's smile dimmed a few degrees, a curious expression claimed her features. "You hate me; don't you Michael?"

"No."

She appeared puzzled by his answer. "No?" she repeated.

"No." He paused a moment. "I despise you."

She nodded, then cocked her head to the side. "Understandable." Her smile returned. "The horror is downstairs with Daniel."

He nodded, then moved to pass her and exit.

Janet held a hand up and he stopped.

"Did you want to see her first?"

No. He couldn't bear it. He didn't want to see the reproach in Nikita's eyes, didn't want her to know what he had done. He didn't want to explain that to Janet either. He shook his head.

She smiled wanly. "Very well." Janet reached into her jeans pocket, removed a vial of clear fluid, and held it out to him. "Put this in Adam's next meal."

He took the vial. "What is it?" He knew what she would say.

"The antidote."

He carefully placed it inside his jacket pocket. "Insurance?"

"Nemo me impune la cessit," (No one provokes me with impunity,) she paused. "You made the right decision Michael. Section had an army; Adam had you."

He remained silent.

"The horror awaits you."

"Adam grows on you," he defended his son.

"I don't like children period," she told him seriously. "Luckily for me, I can't have children." The admission did not appear to concern her.

He couldn't think of what to say.

Janet spared him the effort. "Turns out there's only so much you can do with sticky tape." She pointedly looked at her wristwatch. "Time to go."

"Goodbye Janet."

"Goodbye Michael. I do not think we will meet again."

She turned, and left the room without a backward glance. Michael watched her go. He stood, unmoving, in the room for a few minutes and then went downstairs to find his son.

"You missed Janet," Adam announced upon seeing his father.

"We spoke upstairs," Michael told him.

Adam seemed slightly annoyed at the news. "Oh," was all he offered.

A harassed looking Daniel stepped forward and offered Michael his hand. "It was a pleasure." Daniel smiled brightly.

Michael shook his hand, but said nothing.

"I've something for you," Daniel continued.

The only response, an eyebrow raised in question.

Daniel retrieved two boxes from a table near the door, and handed them to Michael. "A chess set, board and pieces, all handcrafted."

"Thank you," he said, deciding some response was needed.

Daniel grinned. "You need the practice."

"My dad's good at chess," Adam piped up, seemingly insulted. Adam had taken an instant dislike to Daniel.

Proof he has some sense.

Daniel looked down on Adam and smiled widely. "I'm better, and Janet could kick both our asses."

Adam glared at Daniel, saying nothing.

"You're a delight Adam," Daniel said sarcastically.

"Whatever," Adam replied.

"Time to go. Thank Daniel, Adam," he commanded, shooting his son a stern look.

"Thanks Daniel," Adam said, none too sincerely.

"You are quite welcome," Daniel responded in the same spirit.

They all went down to the car; Daniel opened the door for them.

"Take care," Daniel said.

Adam jumped in the car, poking his tongue out at Daniel on the way.

"I just love ten year olds," Daniel said, deadpan.

Michael followed his son into the car.

Daniel shut the door and the driver pulled away from the steps.

As they drove down the driveway towards their new life Michael turned back to watch the house growing smaller. Somewhere within was the woman he had once loved - still loved. He was leaving her, and inside that house she would die.

He had had an opportunity to prevent it - he believed - and did not.

He had been unable to think of an option that did not put his son at risk - he could not risk his son. His courage failed him, failed them all.

Because of his failure - his selfishness - she would die, and thousands would follow her.

He looked down into Adam's deep brown eyes and smiled.

Nikita would die.

He would mourn her passing; he would mourn the deaths of those who followed her.

But he would not regret his choice.

************************************************************************************************************************

She often drank, but rarely to the excess she was currently. Over the years, she had lectured him on the importance of maintaining discipline and focus. She had told him that Section would have been destroyed years before if people had been a little more careful, taken a little more time, been a little smarter.

Janet had impressed upon him the need to remain alert; to wait until after you had destroyed the enemy to celebrate - like the old adage "Don't count your chickens..." And yet, here she was, on the eve of their greatest victory, knocking back scotch - quickly approaching intoxication.

He sat on the other side of her ancient desk, and watched her drink, growing increasingly uncomfortable as she rode an alcohol high. Daniel had no idea how much she had consumed, but looking at the half-empty bottle, he decided she was liberal when pouring.

"I think you've had enough."

"Why would you say that?" Her tone light - her expression alternating between puzzled and amused.

"Because any minute now, you intend to regale me with that damn elephant joke." He couldn't help smiling as she laughed happily in response.

"It is a classic! I don't know why you hate it so." Light danced in her eyes, defeating her attempt at looking sad.

He knew it was coming, knew he could do nothing to stop her; still, he hoped God would give him a break and send a bolt of lightning his way.

No.

Such.

Luck.

"Why did the elephant cross the road?" She was laughing before the punch line - if one could call it that.

He couldn't see the point in answering.

"Because he didn't like the chicken." She laughed a little louder.

Daniel cringed. Like the rest of the civilized world, he didn't see the joke.

Regaining control, she said, "I'm a comic genius!"

"Where was the comedy in that?" he dryly replied.

"Oh come on! It's hilarious! And I made it up at the young age of two!" She didn't pull off the shocked look she so obviously was aiming for - one cannot look shocked while grinning like a madwoman.

"We shall have to agree to disagree." He grinned back at her.

"Richard thought it was funny," she informed him as she headed to the bar.

"Do you have a point?" He watched her pour two glasses - straight up - with a surprisingly steady hand. Perhaps she hasn't drunk quite as much as I thought?

Or maybe she's drunk a little more! He amended the thought, as she tripped over her own feet on the way back. In the way of all true drunks, she managed to avoid spilling a drop of alcohol as she fell flat on her ass. He stood and helped her up.

"Why, thank you, kind sir."

Taking the glass she held out to him he reclaimed his seat. "Now I'm sure you've had enough." Still, he made no attempt to confiscate her glass. He quickly downed his - no point being the only one sober - then got up and retrieved the bottle.

While she moved on to Englishman/Scotsman/Irishman jokes - of which she knew a great deal too many - he drowned in alcohol, knocking them back in quick succession. The alcohol suffused through his body, spreading warmth from head to toe and erasing most of his discomfort.

After what felt like her hundredth joke, she wiped the tears from her eyes and looked at him appraisingly. "You hate my jokes."

"They're not so much jokes, as torture."

She laughed loudly, her eyes dancing with amusement, but then she stopped suddenly, the life seemingly leaching from her face. He thought at first she was going to throw-up, but she made no move to grab the rubbish bin or rush to the toilet. She sat motionless in her chair and stared off into space, seeming to search for some answers in the pattern of the floor carpet.

He watched, transfixed, as the light died in her eyes and the temperature around them seemed to drop a few degrees. She came back to him then, back from wherever it was she went on these occasions.

He did not know what had happened to her in those few brief moments, but it seemed to him that all the joy in her had died.

"In the entire world, you are the only person I consider to be my friend." She seemed completely sober now.

"I'm honored." He smiled kindly, while hoping for another of her dreary jokes. As much as he found "Janet the comic genius" uncomfortable to deal with, he found "Janet the morose" more so.

"What do you think that says about me?" She looked at him intently, as though his answer was the most consequential thing in the history of the world.

"You have impeccable taste." He kept his tone light, wanting to kill the conversation there.

She laughed softly, but it didn't sound real. "What would I do without you?"

"I sincerely hope you never find out," he chuckled and was rewarded with a soft smile.

Janet studied the carpet again, and then the sadness seemed to lift; the light, however, did not return to her eyes. Of the three, this was the Janet he preferred - her apathy was strangely comforting. He knocked back his scotch. "Another?"

"I've had enough."

[ Next Thread | Previous Thread | Next Message | Previous Message ]

Replies:

[> Chapter Nine. (R18) -- Cyanide, 13:28:42 02/02/04 Mon

It chilled through her skin and settled in every vital organ; a shaft of ice drove its way down the length of her spine, rooting her to the spot. Though for her an uncommon emotion, she recognized it at once.

Fear.

She was petrified; so afraid, that the simple process of opening a door seemed impossibly difficult - the type of activity one would die attempting. What frightened her most was the certain knowledge that her fear was rational - her primitive brain screaming at her: survival lay in flight.

Behind the door: hardship, pain and despair. The door was her shield; fling it aside and she would face her own personal nightmare. For the first time in her life, she considered walking away.

Turn around. Go back up the corridor. Take the lift to the ground floor. Walk out the door, down the steps. Get in your car and go. Drive away. Never look back.

No one would stop her, not the men behind her and not the guards outside. No one. She could go; she could escape. Or, she could stay; she could walk through the door.

Salvation was an island in the Pacific Ocean, with hot white sand, crystal blue waters, and few neighbors. It was the place where recovery was possible - if not likely; the place without a memory where even Janet Helene Baldacci might forget. She might regain what was lost, be the person she imagined she could have been. She might find contentment - there she might live.

After ten years worth of blood and sweat she had earned it; after twenty-six years of pain and suffering she deserved it. She had gone as far as she wished to go. Someone else could finish it. Yes, it would take them longer, but they would succeed - eventually. It wasn't her problem; she didn't need the responsibility. She needed to go, start a new life while she still could; rejoice in doing nothing.

She felt his hand on her shoulder, a familiar gesture of concern. He had sensed her unease, was wondering at her hesitation. His touch was a source of unbearable pain - excruciating, unendurable. The warmth that bled from his hand, through her clothing and into the cool skin of her shoulder, served to remind her of how completely her past had obliterated whatever future had been possible.

No such things as happy endings.

She felt the sob as a constriction in her chest; she fought it down and reached for the door handle. Her hand shook, the act of rebellion too weak to prevent her fingers clasping around the deathly cold steel. The door swung open with barely a sound, as though it knew what was to come and had no wish to be a party to it.

She entered the room, not with assurance, but with a listless acceptance of an immutable fact - after this, there was nothing but oblivion. She knew it. She believed it.

She smiled with perfect insincerity, every muscle in rigid control. "Hello Nikita. So sorry to have kept you waiting."

The blonde did not reply, but Nikita's eyes were so full of hate, they shone.

She wondered what it was like to hate someone that much, what it was like to be so invested.

"I don't believe I introduced my assistants when last we met." She waved a hand at each of the men that had followed her into the room. "Industrious as you are, you've discovered Daniel's identity; allow me to introduce Karl Dayton. Karl, say hello to Ms Nikita Wirth."

Neither Karl nor Nikita bothered exchanging greetings.

"Now that we are all acquainted, shall we get down to business?" Janet asked in a carefully controlled voice.

"Torture or death?" Nikita asked in a bored tone, with matching expression.

The boredom was manufactured - as cultivated as Janet's own smile.

"We are foregoing the torture this time. I do intend to kill you, but not quite yet," she answered.

"Why the wait?" Nikita continued in the same bored tone.

Daniel intervened. "She's not yet come up with an elaborate, but easily escapable death trap; though she downed some very fine scotch in pursuit of it."

And had one very fine hangover this morning, she didn't add.

"I prefer vodka," Nikita stated, dropping the bored tone.

A brief flit of laughter escaped Janet's throat. "De gustibus non est diputandum - there is no disputing about tastes." She moved further into the room and took a seat on the unoccupied bed across from the one upon which Nikita sat. Sitting straight-backed upon the edge, she turned slightly towards the door so that she could observe every person in the room.

Daniel and Karl stood either side of the still open door. Daniel's eyes were twinkling with amusement; Karl looked puzzled, she shot him a questioning look.

"Escapable death trap?" Karl identified the source of his confusion.

Daniel took over again. "All the great villains - in this case that's Janet, place the hapless hero - Nikita here - in elaborate but easily escapable death traps." He paused a moment. "Usually after they have disclosed their diabolical plan to attain world domination." He winked at her.

Janet found herself distracted, no longer dwelling on what was to be; she was enjoying herself.

"You haven't told me your plan for world domination yet," Nikita obliged by pointing out.

Janet released an exaggerated sigh, getting into character. "I'm bereft of one I'm afraid - not very villainy, I know." Is villainy a word? Hmmm.

Nikita smiled; it appeared forced. Janet returned it, full wattage.

"So what now?" Nikita asked, sounding pleasant enough.

"I thought we might chat," Janet responded.

"Chat?" Nikita repeated, incredulous. "About what exactly?" Blue eyes narrowed.

"Life, hyenas, the World Series - whatever you wish." Janet really didn't care.

"I really thought the Dodgers would do it this year." Nikita stated.

She smiled warmly. "They didn't have a hope in hell."

Nikita's eyes flashed. "You'd know of course."

"What is it like to hate someone so much?" Janet surprised herself by asking.

"It burns." Nikita appeared equally surprised to have answered.

They stared at each other in silence for a few moments.

"Why are you the way you are?" Nikita questioned.

Janet couldn't find the energy to lie. "Because I lived, Nikita. Because I was sent to the darkest of places and survived." She gave no details, because she knew Nikita had no wish to hear them. She was the enemy and Nikita needed to hate her - pity was a weakness.

"You murder people." Nikita's contempt was palpable.

Et tu, Nikita? "I play to win and will do all that is necessary to that end." She always had, and she always would.

"You torture people."

"When necessary - I take no pleasure in it."

"Why was it necessary to torture me?" Nikita kept her face impassive, but there was bitterness in her tone.

"I needed you to hate me," Janet replied, keeping her tone even.

"You said it was to discover what kind of leader I was," Nikita reminded her.

"Yes, I lied." She was calmness personified.

"You do that a lot," Nikita snapped.

"Why do you think I tortured you?" she asked, genuinely interested in what Nikita would say.

"You're a sadist," Nikita spat out.

"An awful lot of trouble for kicks." Janet paused. "Was your performance hampered by my actions?"

"No," Nikita quickly replied.

"You destroyed Red Cell."

Nikita appeared calm. "Yes."

"All by yourself?"

"With Section." Nikita looked weary.

"No one else?"

"No." Nikita was definitive.

"How very ungrateful you are." Janet smiled, showing lots of white teeth, but no warmth.

Nikita didn't reply.

"I gave Michael the information he sent you," she added.

Nikita laughed.

"You don't believe me?" she continued calmly.

"Why would I? You want to destroy Section."

"Yes, and I will. But at that time, I needed Section to survive."

Nikita looked at her as though she was certain Janet was insane. "What?"

"It's rather difficult to pin the blame on an organization that's already been destroyed."

"Blame for what?"

"The destruction of Meyer's group, Black Order, for example."

"That happened before we destroyed Red Cell."

"But after our first meeting."

Nikita blinked, hard.

She could almost see the progression of Nikita's thoughts.

"Why did you destroy them?"

"It was a convenient way of plugging leaks." Which was true, but not the whole truth. I was once Meyer's "guest"; Janet didn't add.

Nikita made the leap. "Jason."

"Yes," Janet nodded.

"You killed him." Low and deadly.

"Yes."

"After you tortured him."

"How else was I to confirm his information?"

Nikita moved quickly, but not nearly quickly enough - Daniel there in an instant. He slammed the blonde into the ground; he didn't hesitate to kick Nikita while she was down, doing so more than once. When he appeared confident that Nikita wasn't going to try anything else, he moved back to his position by the door - leaving Nikita to cough up blood on the concrete floor.

"It wasn't personal. He suffered no longer than was necessary," Janet didn't know why she bothered with such empty words; they would be of little comfort to Nikita.

Nikita didn't respond, though her breathing had returned to normal.

Janet waved a hand in Karl's direction and he immediately moved forward, picked up the blonde and deposited her back on the bed.

Nikita said nothing for a long time; then finally, speaking very softly. "You're a monster."

Janet smiled. No, Nikita - I'm not.

Not yet anyway.

Not yet...

[ Post a Reply to This Message ]
[ Edit | View ]