<\/p>\n
Ignorance<\/i><\/p>\n
She\u2019d taken to studying herself in the mirror. It wasn\u2019t vanity. She didn\u2019t really care about her looks. No more so than a normal person. Certainly not now, in her undead after-life. What did it matter? She maintained her hygiene, brushed her hair and studied her body. She kept herself looking good. Her looks were a tool, now. Part of her arsenal. Some women may say the same when playing the dating game, but Elizabeth\u2019s game was far more serious. Her weapons needed to be far more deadly. Making a man pause and drop his defenses was all the difference in the world. More than once, she\u2019d ended up chasing victims down alleys, through houses, and even once into traffic where a dump truck stole her kill. <\/p>\n
She felt ill after that. Her failure to strike down yet another monster. This one beating and raping his daughter since she was nine. Now the girl was 16 and a bruised, fragile flower. Someone who would never recover from her father\u2019s cruelty. A lanky, clumsy girl who cut herself and was doomed to a short life, ended by her own hands.<\/p>\n
Elizabeth saw this. She rarely had flashes about the women, but every once in a while she put the story together through her own empathic assumptions and the assistance of her second sight to fill in the back story.<\/p>\n
She wanted to kill that young girl\u2019s tormentor and came so close. But he cut and run, unexpectedly elusive. When he was crushed by the truck, she felt like she\u2019d been hit, too.<\/p>\n
The message was clear. She had to do the killing. Ending lives indirectly, simply being complicit in the death of an evil soul, wasn\u2019t good enough. She was addicted to the kill. She had to burn with that power.<\/p>\n
She looked into the mirror, the morning sun clawing through thick hotel curtains, the generic room lighting around her. Over the bed, one of many identical pictures in the hotel, dogs and mounted Brits were forever preparing for a fox hunt. <\/p>\n
She didn\u2019t like being controlled. She didn\u2019t enjoy the sense that she was a slave. But, then again, she had ended her life. She had made a choice. For her sins, she became a god.<\/p>\n
A knock on the door. She didn\u2019t jump. She barely reacted. The days of being scared were over. There were no threats. The most fearsome killer wouldn\u2019t make it ten paces before she turned him inside out with a flick of her wrists, a twist of her lips.<\/p>\n
She turned and stared. Then, realizing it had been some time since she spoke, she said, \u201cCome in.\u201d<\/p>\n
The buzz of the keycard, then the door opened inward and the maid smiled in at her.<\/p>\n
\u201cSorry.\u201d The maid said. A white woman with a strong accent. Tall, lanky. Weird supermodel wraparound glasses like you saw on women in the 80\u2019s, though sleeker and stylish. She had that distinctive Eastern European look about her. A trained eye might even be able to say which country, but Elizabeth didn\u2019t have that talent.<\/p>\n
\u201cNot at all.\u201d Elizabeth forced a smile, realized how cold and distant she must look and let it die on her lips. \u201cI need towels.\u201d<\/p>\n
The maid nodded, then set to work. Efficient, fast. Towels, a quick cleaning of the bathroom, the bed, moving behind Elizabeth as she continued to stare into the mirror. Elizabeth had the location of the three in her mind, but other flashes had come since them. If she waited, then she would soon have a distraction.<\/p>\n
Though why did she need the distraction? Why was she putting off her revenge?<\/p>\n
\u201cExcuse?\u201d The maid, working on the bed, looked up. Elizabeth watched her in the mirror.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n
The maid shook her head. \u201cThought you spoke. Very sorry.\u201d<\/p>\n
Was she thinking out loud? \u201cI might have. I\u2019ve been\u2026alone.\u201d<\/p>\n
The maid stood, a pillow held out as if a gift, and watched Elizabeth watch her in the mirror.<\/p>\n
\u201cForgive, but you are very beautiful. You need not be alone.\u201d<\/p>\n
Elizabeth didn\u2019t flinch, but the maid acted as if she had. She shook her head, tutted at herself, and then placed the pillow back on the bed. With a mumbled apology, she glided past Elizabeth and out into the hall.<\/p>\n
Elizabeth remembered to thank her, but only after the door closed. Then the flash came.<\/p>\n
Georgetown. The park on the DC side of the Key Bridge. A rape in 13 hours. A chance to change the course of one woman\u2019s history for the better, and to end the fucking river of time for yet another predatory monster.<\/p>\n
She arrived on time, sat on a bench in the dark, looked up at the city-lit night sky. Only a handful of stars visible here. Not like when she was a child in Ohio. But, beyond the solitude, she didn\u2019t pine for the country life. She didn\u2019t miss the stars. She only missed what they represented. Openness, emptiness. The drive to explore, expand, philosophize. The muse of unimaginable vastness, and a father\u2019s hand pointing out constellations, patterns, significance. <\/p>\n
The city roared behind her. The Key Bridge taking traffic into and out of the city, joggers and bikers hugging the edges, pleasure craft on the Potomac below, and lively Georgetown all around her. Horns and cars, voices. The park wasn\u2019t isolated, it wasn\u2019t a hideaway. Amazing that a rape was about to happen here amidst all these people, all these sights and sounds. How would it have played out? Ignored screams? Countless natives and tourists turning blind eyes? Another nameless victim?<\/p>\n
He arrived first. Lurking in the shadows. Elizabeth could move before the victim arrived. No need to wait. No need to be a watcher. The crime was not yet done, but it was going to happen. Her job wasn\u2019t to steer people in the right direction, or defuse situations, it was to destroy evildoers. Even if they met their fate before the evil had been done.<\/p>\n
Why was he lurking? Did he have a set rendezvous? Did he know his victim? Probably. A plan weeks, months, years in the making. An obsession given license, consciously or on a primal level. It didn\u2019t matter. His eyes were full of dark intent. He saw her and turned to leave, but paused when Elizabeth stood, smiled, and walked towards him. His eyes followed the curve of her breasts, her body, her legs. Then to her face, framed in gold. She raised her arms slightly from her sides, turned her wrists outward, and his expression changed as her scars turned white hot, as the world seemed to swirl around them as if they stood in the center of a vortex, and then the pressure burst from behind his eyes, blood pouring from them, and his ears, and his mouth and nose as he was lifted into the air and flung down the rolling hill to the rocky riverside below. <\/p>\n
Elizabeth exhaled, shook her head, and turned to leave the park. She hailed a taxi on M Street and returned to the hotel in Silver Spring, fleabag rattrap chic, and resumed staring into the mirror.<\/p>\n
Another life down. Life was becoming cheap. The evildoers made it cheap.<\/p>\n
There was no sleep. Instead she stared at herself through the night. With morning, though, she broke away and crossed to the window, pulling aside the curtains to stare at the grey dawn, the parking garage across the street, the ugly fa\u00e7ade of post-industrial gentrified condos. A knock on the door. The maid came in without an invitation.<\/p>\n
\u201cSorry,\u201d she muttered, stepping back to leave.<\/p>\n
Elizabeth kept looking at the window, \u201cNo, it\u2019s okay.\u201d <\/p>\n
The maid said nothing, just threw herself into her work. Elizabeth tuned out, followed the sunrise even though her window faced west. Saw the sun rising in her mind over a prairie, a forest, a cliffside seacoast. Saw the beauty in the world.<\/p>\n
\u201cA beauty, perhaps, you are starting to forget?\u201d the maid asked, fluffing pillows, never looking up, her voice a low mumble.<\/p>\n
Elizabeth turned and stared at her, \u201cWhat did you say?\u201d<\/p>\n
A brief, grim smile flashed on the maid\u2019s lips, then vanished to a habitual frown that was already drawing lines on her young face. She shook her head once, \u201cNot my place. Sorry.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWho are you?\u201d Elizabeth rose, stepped towards the maid, came within inches of her. She was several inches taller than the dour Eastern European, she felt a force rise in her, knew that she could crush the maid into the floor.<\/p>\n
The maid, however, kept her ground. She didn\u2019t look up, and didn\u2019t react at all, except to stand solidly in place.<\/p>\n
\u201cWho are you?\u201d Elizabeth screamed again.<\/p>\n
The maid looked up, locked eyes with Elizabeth, then her smile grew wide, ominous, intimidating. Elizabeth stepped back, turning her wrists, suddenly unsure of her power.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou dream of a youth in the \u2013 what is it? Valley? Ohio.\u201d<\/p>\n
Elizabeth sucked air through her teeth, her scars began to burn.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou cannot hurt me.\u201d The maid told her, \u201cAnd I am not here to threaten you.\u201d<\/p>\n
Elizabeth repeated her question, grating out the words, \u201cWho are you.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou know who he is, yes?\u201d<\/p>\n
The man who gave her a second chance. The man who gave her this power, and who demanded a price in blood. \u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThen you know who I am.\u201d<\/p>\n
She shook her head, relaxing. \u201cI\u2026don\u2019t.\u201d<\/p>\n
The maid shrugged, went back to making the bed, dusted the nightstand, and stepped past Elizabeth towards the door. Elizabeth let her go, watching. One hand on the doorknob, the maid half turned and said, \u201cThe longer you delay your revenge, the deeper you will fall. You must decide. Do you stop now, or do you continue what you were reborn to do?\u201d<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[67],"tags":[256,405],"class_list":["post-558","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-serials","tag-season-of-the-witch","tag-serials"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/greatsociety.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/558","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/greatsociety.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/greatsociety.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/greatsociety.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/greatsociety.org\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=558"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/greatsociety.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/558\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":1282,"href":"https:\/\/greatsociety.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/558\/revisions\/1282"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/greatsociety.org\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=558"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/greatsociety.org\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=558"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/greatsociety.org\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=558"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}