Chosen P.2

 

“Where’d they find him?” the coroner’s assistant asked, brushing a stray lock of auburn hair from her eyes.

 

“Alleyway behind The Bronze,” her boss replied, feeling through the pockets of the young man’s jacket. “Just like the other…ah, here we go.” He pulled out a small black address book. “Someone in here’s bound to be missing him – parents, friends – okay. Here.” He pointed to a page that was dog-eared. “Shirley Feeney, in Burbank. Probably his girlfriend.”

 

“What a shame.” The coroner’s assistant sighed, studying the victim’s face. He had been a good-looking young fellow. Even now, he looked more like he was sleeping than dead, except for the gray-white color of his skin. She turned his head slightly and examined the two incisions near the base of his throat. “Who could have done this?”

 

“Don’t know.” The coroner strolled toward the double-doors of the morgue. “But they’d better figure it out soon, or Number Five here is going to be getting some company.”

 

“You think it’s a serial killer?”

 

“What else? Same pattern, same massive blood loss. It’s either the same killer or some weird cult. Anyway, I’m going to give this to Roz so she can call this Shirley girl, maybe get a positive I.D. Be right back.” He pushed open the door. “Get the instruments set up for the autopsy, okay, Bridget?”

 

“Yes, sir.” She watched him go, then went to the cabinet and began selecting the small saws and other tools they would need, laying them neatly on the tray. She glanced back at the young man on the slab and sighed. “They say all the good ones are married or gay. Ought to add dead to the list.” She stepped closer to the body, running her hand once through his dark, tight curls. “I’ll bet you were a good guy, weren’t you. Just minding your business, maybe out getting something for your girlfriend.” Bridget shook her head and returned her attention to laying out the instruments. “I’ll bet her heart will just break when she hears about this.”

 

“Probably.”

 

Bridget froze. Before she could turn around again, she felt strong hands on her shoulders, holding her firmly in place. In her ear, the voice added, “Don’t worry. If her heart isn’t already broken, I’ll just rip it out of her chest!”

 

She opened her mouth to scream, but then there was a sharp tearing sensation in her neck. She felt lips press against her carotid artery, heard the sucking sounds…then she was gone.

 

***

 

Carmine strolled down the street, licking the drying blood from his lips. It was strange how right he felt, how free, even though he knew that he was supposed to be dead. He knew it as well as he knew that killing that girl should have bothered him. But he wasn’t, and it didn’t, not in the slightest. He’d never felt so free, so alive.

 

He glanced down at his clothes. Old, boring – just reminders of his previous life. “I need something more…me. The new and improved me!” He looked across the street and saw a small clothing store. The owner was outside the door, locking up. Carmine crossed over and came up behind the man, enjoying his startled reaction. “Hey. I need some stuff.”

 

“I…we’re closed. See?” The man held up his key under Carmine’s nose for emphasis.

 

Carmine grabbed the guy’s head between his hands and snapped his neck. He snatched the key from the owner’s hand before the body had time to slide to the ground. “Well, now you’re open. See?” Carmine unlocked the door and strolled inside. “Hm,” he murmured, surveying his options. “I’m thinking – black.”

 

***

Her dreams were haunted.

 

Shirley saw Carmine again and again, but every time she called his name, or ran toward him, he would vanish. Something else would take his place, something dark and scary and wrong, but she couldn’t run away from it.

 

Then she saw another scene, a blond man and a young Negro woman, fighting in what looked like a big metal box. It was vicious and long, but in the end, the blond man broke the woman’s neck, stole her leather jacket, and went whistling off into the night. Something was wrong with his face….

 

The other dreams were more muddled, confusing. Faces of other young girls, most no more than teenagers – fighting monsters, killing some, but ultimately dying at their hands. The girls wore pre-war clothing, Renaissance dresses, medieval garb, on and on back to animal skins and warpaint. Each one of them seemed to look directly at her upon the moment of death, as if to say, “You’re next.”

 

“Shirley, wake up already!”

 

She nearly leapt out of her skin she was so startled. Laverne stood over her, a concerned look on her face, belying the aggravation in her voice. “You tossed and turned all night long! All I could hear was you moaning and flipping!”

 

“S…sorry.” Shirley sat up and clutched her pillow tightly. “I had a nightmare. Or seven.”

 

“Oh. Well, get up, or we’re gonna be late.”

 

“Late. Work. Right.” Shirley stretched and stood up. “You want to shower first, or should…?”

 

The phone rang. She jumped again at the shrill sound, but Laverne simply strolled over to the bureau between their beds and answered it. “Hello? Yeah, she’s here. Hold on.” She held out the receiver. “It’s for you, Shirl.”

 

Shirley stared at the phone as though Laverne were holding a weapon. Suddenly she didn’t want to answer it, wished she could run from it and never look back. But Laverne thrust it toward her again and said, “Go on, hurry up!”

 

“Okay.” Shirley gave her head a brisk shake. What’s wrong with me? It’s just a simple phone call. “Hello? This is Shirley Feeney.”

 

“Miss Feeney, this is Rosalind Chase at Sunnydale Hospital.”

 

Shirley’s heart sank. She knew, suddenly and with absolute certainty that it was about Carmine. “My God. Please tell me he’s alive.”

 

There was a pause. “I’m sorry, Miss Feeney. A young man was brought into the morgue last night. Your phone number was in his address book.”

 

The morgue. So that was it, then. “Are you sure it’s Carmine?”

 

“That is what his license said, yes, Carmine Ragusa. The description is a young male, twenty-five to thirty, dark curly hair, brown eyes….”

 

Shirley nearly hung up. She didn’t need to hear any more to know that Madame Donna’s vision had come true. But she had to be sure. “That…sounds right. What happened to him?”

 

Another pause. “Cause of death is listed as massive blood loss, due to some sort of neck injury. Possibly stab wounds. I’m sorry, Miss Feeney, are you family?”

 

“No,” she said softly. “But I could have been.”

 

“Excuse me?”

 

“Never mind. I’ll be there – Sunnydale, did you say? I’ll be there in a couple of hours.”

 

The woman on the other end said something else, probably comforting, but Shirley couldn’t hear her. She let the phone slip from her hands and slumped down beside her bed, drawing her knees up to her chin.

 

“Shirley, there’s no soap…Shirl?” Laverne was by her side in an instant. “What is it? Who was on the phone?”

 

“Carmine’s dead,” she said flatly. Laverne just blinked at her, and she sighed. “He’s dead, Laverne. They found him last night, in Sunnydale. Someone killed him.”

 

“Oh, my God!” breathed Laverne. She crossed herself, tears filling her wide green eyes. “Shirley, I don’t…this is so…poor Carmine.”

 

“Yeah.” She wondered why she wasn’t crying or screaming herself. She couldn’t feel it, not yet. It wouldn’t register that he was really gone. Good. If I stay numb then I can do what I have to do and not fall apart. Shirley stood up, her hand clasping Laverne’s. “I need to go identify the…him.”

 

“I’ll go with you.” Laverne sniffled, tears rolling down her cheeks. “Let me grab my clothes.”

 

“Okay.”

 

Laverne hesitated. “Shirl? Are you…well, I know you’re not all right, but you seem….”

 

“What, Laverne?”

 

“Different.”

 

Shirley gave her a thin smile. “Did you think I’d be hysterical, flinging myself on the floor and wailing? Believe me, I want to, but I just…I can’t explain it.”

 

“It’s shock,” said Laverne. “I remember when I heard about Momma, I couldn’t even understand the words ‘she’s gone’ for awhile. But don’t worry, Shirl, when it does hit, I’ll be here for you. I’ll take care of you.” She put her arms around Shirley and hugged her tightly.

 

Shirley returned the embrace lightly. “Thanks, Laverne. I know I can count on you.” She hesitated. “I guess Madame Donna was right, at least about this. I wonder, what about the rest?”

 

***

Lenny groaned inwardly, holding the telephone as far away from his ear as possible. After the voice on the other end stopped shouting, he replaced the receiver against the side of his face. “Father, you’re not listening to me!” he cried.

 

More shouting. “This family has a responsibility to uphold, young man! I cannot be expected to train anyone confined to this damned wheelchair, so it falls to you!”

 

“But how am I supposed to train anyone when I’ve never even attended a single Council meeting or trained since I was a boy?”

 

“You will have to come to England at once, of course,” his father commanded. “We will have to accelerate the usual program, but still, if you devote yourself wholly, you can be ready to guide her within a month’s time.”

 

“Come to England, just like that? Never mind that I have a life here.” Lenny snorted and shook his head. Typical Father.

 

“Life, what life?” His father’s tone became more derisive. “Living a lie, pretending to be some bumbling fool wandering from ridiculous occupation to ridiculous occupation. Associating with your lessers…!”

 

“Hey, I don’t consider my friends to me ‘my lessers.’ As to the pretending,” he lowered his voice, eyes darting around the apartment to confirm that Squiggy hadn’t yet returned. “It hasn’t always been fun, I’ll admit, but I’m used to this life now. I don’t want to drop everything and go back to being Leonard Wyndham-Kosnowski III.”

 

His father gave an exaggerated sigh. “Leonard, please. You always knew that it was only a matter of time before you received this call. The Slayer has fallen, the next already Chosen. You have responsibilities, my boy, and they begin now.”

 

“Are you sure it’s her?” Lenny pleaded. “I mean she’s only one Potential. It could be any one of the others.”

 

“But it isn’t. It is she.” After a pause, his father added, “You have not made the mistake of becoming involved with the girl, have you?”

 

“With Shirley?” Lenny let out a snort. “No way! Believe me, Father, she’d never look twice in my direction.” Neither, unfortunately, would her roommate, he thought, but kept that to himself.

 

“Hm. Well, only because you have created a believable alter ego. I suppose I should congratulate you for that, my boy.”

 

That’d be a first. Lenny toyed with the phone cord, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

 

“Still and all, you will depart at once and become the man you really are. The Council is wiring you the tickets and itinerary. They will arrive by messenger on the morrow.”

 

“But, Father…!”

 

“Goodbye for now, Leonard. I look forward to seeing you back home.” With that, the connection was severed.

 

Lenny stared at the receiver for a few more moments before letting it drop back into the cradle. Then he slumped onto the floor and leaned against his bed. “I am a pawn of destiny,” he muttered, dropping his forehead to his knees.

 

“There’s a profound statement if I never heard one.”

 

Lenny looked up and saw Squiggy framed in the doorway of their bedroom. He immediately cleared his throat and plastered a goofy grin on his face. “Hey, Squig. Um, when’d you get here?”

 

“’bout twenty-eight years ago, when my mother hatched me.” Squiggy let out a guffaw and Lenny forced a chuckle. “Justa couple minutes ago. Heard you yakkin’ it up in here. What gives?”

 

“Oh, um, yeah. That was just the phone.”

 

“The phone, eh? Talkin’ to you all by itself?” Squiggy flopped down on his bed, folding his arms behind his head and regarding Lenny. “The toaster used ta do that to me sometimes. Said the strangest things….”

 

“Naw, naw, not like that.” Lenny rose to his feet and paced. “That was my bookie, is all. I owe some dough on the Packers’ game last Sunday.”

 

“Ah, now, don’t go askin’ for nothing, my friend. I’m broker than broke.”

 

Lenny grinned inwardly. If only Squiggy knew how much money were in the Wyndham family coffers. Then he felt guilty for keeping that, and everything else, from his supposed best friend. “I gotta go downtown, drop by the bank. I’ll catch ya later at the….”

 

The phone rang. Lenny nearly dove across the room to snatch it up before Squiggy could make a move. His startled friend exclaimed, “Hey, what gives?”

 

“S…sorry. Could be for me again.” Lenny put the receiver to his ear. “Hello? Kosnowski-Squigman residence.”

 

“That’s Squigman-Kosnowski!” snapped Squiggy. Lenny motioned for him to be quiet. A little while later, he let the phone drop from his suddenly nerveless fingers. The expression on his face must have been equally disturbed, judging by the look that crossed Squiggy’s face.

 

“What? Oh, geeze, who died?” Squiggy asked, scooting down the bed to sit next to Lenny.

 

“That was Laverne,” he replied, shaking his head slowly, trying to absorb the words she had just sobbed at him. “Apparently, Carmine did.”

 

***