The Scene (7 page)

             
“No. No. No. Wait, please? Let me explain.” Tatum stopped only inches from the huddled mass of blood and broken ego. Cyrus opened his squinted, scared eyes, and attempted to resume his original posture. Still looking like he was going to shit his pants, he continued. “McTavish is the magician. I am only a pawn. I know nothing really, Tatum, please.” He said this as though she should have known this already.

             
“Who's McTavish?” I asked with utmost curiosity.

             
“He is the owner of Embrace, Macabre Saturnine, Sween which is the agency I work for, and other enterprises throughout the Los Angeles area. Malcolm McTavish has his fingers deep into underground L.A. and is moving upward and outward. Now including managing a troupe of models and actors. Which he controls like puppets on strings. He is my owner, my fucking master. I hate him, but I need him.” It was his turn to come across supremely peeved.

             
“Sounds like you need new representation.”
I know, not the time for witty remarks, but I can't help myself. It just comes out.

             
“Yeah, tell me about it.” He smiled a little, but winced in pain.

Tatum really fucked him up, poor baby.

              “Listen, I understand you’ve been bleeding profusely from your face for the last ten minutes, for that I apologize. However, I need to know what happened to me last night. And seeing as though you are of no help to me, both because you were as fucked up as we were last night and you seem to be some sort of lackey for the head cheese, I see no further use for you. Unless...” I asked as I looked toward Tatum, who was still standing only inches away from the blood soaked Persian. He no longer looked scared so much as desperate.

             
“Unless what? Anything I can do to make up for my unforgivable actions, I will. Anything, really. Just name it and it's yours.” His begging was a little pathetic and the way he was looking at me made me feeling a tad uncomfortable. 

             
“I would like to speak with this McTavish character. From what I gather, he’s the top dog, and as such, he’s the only one who can provide us with any sort of answers as to what the fuck happened last night.” Tatum looked at me quickly, and then moved her eyes back to the blood soaked man.

             
“A meeting with Malcolm?”  His eyebrows rose as he said this. His eyes moved to Tatum then looked down at the floor as he bit his lip.

             
“If this is something you cannot provide us then...” I motioned to my blonde bodyguard.

             
“Oh no, no. I can get you a meeting. No problem. Can you give me the day to discuss this with him? I could set it up for later this evening, if that is okay with you?” His eyes were a bright green against the red blood drying on his face.

             
Tatum hesitated for a moment, adding to the suspense, I'm sure. Then finally she gave him a quick nod to acknowledge her acceptance. I followed her lead and nodded curtly.

“Okay wonderful. Now let's get you ladies home, shall we?” He stood up quickly and moved toward the door from which he had entered.

I think he may have forgotten the smears of blood currently adorning his face. As well as the fact that Tatum and I were missing shoes, purses, and a few other accessories I was pretty certain I had left the house with.

             
“Um, I don't mean to stall getting the fuck out of here, but I need my shit.” I motioned toward my bare feet.

             
“Oh, yes, of course.” Cyrus nodded and walked swiftly to the other side of the room to retrieve our missing items. He ducked behind a desk placed directly across the room from the couch I woke up on and emerged with both pairs of shoes, both purses, and dangling from his pinky finger were the earrings Tatum had loaned me for the night. He looked a little silly carrying all of these feminine items, daintily I might add, like they were made of glass.

             
“Here you are then.” He handed us our stuff individually, one shoe at a time, it was a little ridiculous.

             
Tatum and I quickly put on our shoes. We were both anxious to get out of there and get back home. We instinctively checked the contents of our purses simultaneously. Just making sure all of our worthless crap was still securely tucked away; it was. Phone, keys, wallet, Goddamn student loan bill. Yup, all my shit was right where I left it. Thrashed and unpaid in my purse.

             
“Are we ready ladies?” he asked patiently from the door. His demeanor had changed dramatically.

             
“Yes. Will your driver be taking us back to my car?” I asked.

             
“No, he is only employed to escort me to and from social events. Otherwise, I prefer to chauffeur myself about town.” He waved his hand toward the door “Shall we?” I felt as though we were being shuffled out the door.

             
Without hesitation, Tatum and I booked it toward the door. I hadn't even thought about the fact that I had no idea what was on the other side of that door. So many thoughts had crossed through my head in the second it took Tatum to pass through the doorway ahead of me. What would I find beyond that ominous door? A suburban home? A masochistic torture chamber? I was suddenly scared to cross that threshold into the unknown. I had been in that room with no windows and only two doors for only an hour, well consciously anyway, but I felt so much safer in there. I watched Tatum walk right through without instance.

Okay, it’s probably safe to continue.
 

I cautiously moved behind Tatum and out
onto a staircase. It was a full spiral staircase complete with custom wrought iron railing. The three of us descended the stairs in a uniform line with Cyrus taking the lead. As per usual, I was trailing behind in the back. I hate stairs, especially in heels, so I took the steps as slowly as I could. After what felt like an eternity, I stepped off the last step and onto tile flooring. My legs were burning from my snail’s pace decent. Surprisingly enough, walking slower down stairs hurts more than hauling ass.

The rest of the abode was not what I expected at all. The tile floor was stark white to match the blindingly bright white walls. A black leather couch and matching lounge chair created a contrast that almost hurt to look at. There were two large windows on either side of, what I figured was the front door, both darkened with heavy black drapes. Though most of the light was blocked from the shades
, the room was still very bright. The living area was small and could have been very cozy had it not been for the all black furniture. I could see through an archway just left of the couch, into what could have possibly been a kitchen, but I wasn't sure. Other than the hospital bright room I was standing in, and the possible kitchen, I didn't see any other rooms. No bedroom? I glanced around the room looking for another door. If I were a male model, where would I sleep? I thought to myself. I saw nothing in my scan of the layout.

             
Fuck this.
“Where's your bedroom?” I asked bluntly.

             
“Wouldn't you like to know?” he answered slyly, with his stupid little half smirk I'd seen too many times in the last twenty-four hours. I was becoming really irritated with him pussyfooting around.

             
He turned quickly and opened the front door, letting the May sunshine spill into the already blinding room. I was a little taken back by the brightness of the day.

It must be late morning judging by the way the sun is making the trees glow green
.

The color of the trees was eerily similar to Cyrus’ eyes. I squinted my eyes and put my hand over my forehead to assist in shielding my poor hung-over face.

Ugh, its times like this I wish I looked good in huge, Jackie O., sunglasses.

             
I sluggishly followed behind Tatum who was walking confidently behind Cyrus. We walked down a narrow walkway, placed between two small squares of lawn, toward a mid-sized sporty car parked on the side of the street. It was too bright to try and scope the rest of my surroundings. All I could see easily were a few large older trees jutting out of the city grass strip next to the car. I was beginning to make out across the street two-story townhouses that were squished together in almost San Franciscan style architecture. I saw Tatum slide into the backseat and Cyrus courteously closed the door for her. He took a few steps back toward the passenger door, opened it, and waited patiently for my slow ass to get in. I was dreading having to ride all the way back to Macabre Saturnine sitting shotgun next to this douche. I stepped off the curb and slid on my butt into the seat, which was seriously comfortable, soft leather. I grabbed the inside handle and pulled the door shut before Cyrus-the-annoying had a chance to close it for me.

Fuck chivalry.

              No one spoke. Not a sound during the twenty minute car ride back to Macabre Saturnine and the sanctuary of my car. In any other situation, the silence would have driven me insane, but at this point I welcomed it. As soon as my little car came into view, Tatum and I were unbuckling our belts and fumbling for the door handles. We hardly waited for the vehicle to stop before we flung the doors open and jumped out. During our emergency exit, Cyrus yelled through the window that he'd call with the details once he spoke with McTavish. I already had my keys in hand as I nodded in acknowledgment to Cyrus' claims of further contact. Tatum and I slid into my little Geo Metro, not even noticing the steamy heat that radiated from everything plastic. We sat for a moment, relishing in the safety that came with being crammed into that little purple inferno I call a car.  I took a deep breath and fired up the engine. I didn't bother to let the car warm up or the A/C cool. I screeched away from the curb and flew off like a bat out of hell.

             
We decided to just go to Tatum's place. It was closer and she had a fridge full of groceries. Unlike mine which housed two day old Thai noodles and a half empty twelve pack. It didn't take long to get to her place, what with the speed racer driving, and all. I pulled into the driveway and killed the engine. I let out the breath I didn't know I was holding; I heard Tatum do the same. We looked at each other and laughed.

             
What a fucking day.

CHAPTER 8

              White lace spread over my legs and draped along the slick leather couch where I lounged. Movie star makeup made my face soft and glowing in the candlelight. My hair spiraled in shining curls.  I lay there soft and beautiful, desperate and longing. For some reason, I felt like a sitting duck. 

Cyrus entered the room suddenly, slithering softly on all fours. His leather pants, shiny and smooth, moved with him as he slid on his knees across the floor. I could see the muscles on his back expanding and contracting with every movement. His once olive skin seemed to glow white in the light of the candles. He stopped just inches from my face, looking very intently into my eyes. He leaned into me
, eyes half closed. I braced for a kiss. Soft and quick he kissed me then pulled his head back from mine to look at me once more. I opened my eyes smiling only to find his eyes were glowing now, that vibrant green they had been once before. He smiled, ominous and predatory. The light glistened off his tiger like fangs. My eyes widened and I squirmed backward, upward, outward, anything to get away from the danger that loomed over me. He moved closer; I was trapped on the couch. His face came nearer mine and slid into the crook of my neck. I cringed and prepared for the penetrating sting of his sparkling teeth to enter my flesh. I could feel him breathe on my neck...then...music. Music? He stopped. I stopped...we listened.

What is that? Is that...Lita Ford? Oh fuck...

              I opened my eyes and scrambled for my phone. I flipped it open without checking caller I.D.

             
“Yeah?” I grumbled. I wasn't sure if I was angry or relieved to be roused from my weirdly realistic dream.

             
“Dylan?” A very familiar voice asked.

             
“Yes...Cyrus?” I asked. My mind was still kerfuckety from interrupted sleep.

             
“Yes...are you okay?” His voice held concern and stifled laughter.

Shit, he knows! How could he know, dipshit?

“Yeah, fine, just sleeping.” I cleared my froggy throat. “What's up?”

              “Oh, I am sorry to wake you. It's only that I have set an appointment with McTavish.”

             
“Oh, yeah. Okay, what time?” I still wasn't fully awake.

             
“Eight o'clock tonight. Will you be able to make it?”

             
“Most likely. What time is it?”

             
“It is six in the evening.” He said this with the utmost concern.

             
“Uh, yeah. I just have to shower. Where is this place?”

             
“I could help you with the showering if you should require assistance.”

             
God, what a prick.
“No thanks. I got it under control. Can you tell me where I’m going? Or should I use my Jedi mind powers to figure it out?”

             
“Ooh, love the hostility. You have a pen handy?” He didn't wait for me to say yes before he rattled off some numbers and a street that didn't sound at all familiar. “There's a big plaque out front with 'Sween' scrolled on it. You can't miss it.”

             
“Okay, thanks. See you there,” I said hurriedly.

             
“Oh, I won't be there.”

             
“What do you mean you won't be there? We're just supposed to show up and talk to some random guy about some shit we know nothing about?”
Yeah, that made sense.

             
“I have an important meeting myself, at Macabre Saturnine.” I could hear his stupid smile over the phone. Luckily, I couldn’t see the damn thing or I might not have been able to be so rude. He just has one of those smiles that make you want to slap him and kiss him. Deciding which was my biggest hurdle.

             
“Well, you can be late. All of this is your fault asshole and as far as I'm concerned, it’s your responsibility to see this through to the end.” I let my inner bitch slide from my lips.

             
“Yes Ma'am. Anything you say.” I could hear him smiling on the other end.

             
“Ugh. Whatever, just be there at eight.” I hung up.

Fuck it, I’m glad my dream was ruined.

              How is it possible for one person to turn you on and drive you nuts in the same breath? Although the sex to hatred ratio was changing every time I talked to the bastard.

             
  "Was that our favorite boy wonder?" Tatum croaked out with in a groggy voice.

 
                "None other." I rolled my eyes. "He's set up a meeting with McTavish for eight p.m." 

I flopped on the bed and rolled my head around until I could make out the clock perched high atop the dresser. I blinked my eyes twice to ensure I was really seeing the time right, six p.m.

             
Fuck.

    
              "Ugh. Come on, T, we gotta get our asses in gear if we're gonna make it there by eight."

   
              "Do you know where we're going?" she asked nonchalantly as she padded barefoot and half-dressed to the bathroom.

"It's called Sween. That's about as far as I got before he started driving me nuts and I stopped listening."

                   "God, Dylan just nail him already and get it over with," she called from the bathroom.

    
              "Whatever. He's not even hot anymore. He's just this little annoying fly buzzing around ruining my life."
Who am I kidding? He’s the hottest thing to even pay attention to me. Beggars can’t be choosers.

    
              "Aww, you like him."

              “Fuck off. He’s an ass and you know it. It’s kind of pathetic actually. How someone so damn fine could be such a fucking goober. Besides, I get the feeling he’s hiding something.”

"You get the feeling he knows more than he’s letting on?"
she asked pressingly.

"Like maybe he's more than McTavish’s little lackey? You bet your ass I do. How deep into it he is, I'm not sure. But what I can say for certain is
, my spidey-sense has been tingling since the second we walked into those cheesy double doors at Embrace. I can’t tell you what’s going on, but I can tell you this shit ain't right."

             
“I know you were out to catch some dirty juice on the latest slashers, but this whole underground scene might make for a very interesting read. What with all the hype about vampires these days, you could target all the little kiddies running around with black lipstick clutching the newest release of Vampire Boyfriend magazine. I say get while the gettin’s good.”

             
“There's a Vampire Boyfriend magazine?” I asked idiotically not thinking before I spoke.

             
“Oh yeah. I get a monthly subscription,” she said sarcastically as she dug through her immense closet in search of something to wear.

             
“Maybe you’re right. The events of last night, though still very foggy, did peak my interest. Shit, I don't know. I got so wrapped up in that dingle berry last night, I lost track of why I was in that dump in the first place.” I sat solemn faced on the edge of the bed. “That's it.” I stood up in a huff. “After we see this douche tonight and find out what that shit was all about, I am done with Cyrus and all that bullshit. Jesus, I haven’t even begun really working this story yet. I have four or five pages of plot lines and scribbled notes; I’m fucked. Starting tomorrow morning, I’m back in the game. I’ll be one hundred percent focused. I’ll start researching the case files and pushing the cops for statements. I can force Mike to help with that.” My eyes felt wild and I caught myself pacing. “I gotta get back to basics. Back to the days of hoofing the streets for information and paying informants to talk. I will crack this case wide open!” I stomped off to the bathroom and shut the door hard.

             
After a minute or two, I came back out of the bathroom. I felt a bit better after my little outburst, but I knew I had a long road ahead. A road filled with setbacks, stupid detectives, and dead girls. I knew there would be more dead girls.

             
“Feel better?” Tatum asked, distracted by her fancy phone and social network.

             
“A little. I just want to get today over with. I have a lot of work to do if I’m going to get to the bottom of all these dead whores. Lord knows the police aren't solving any mysteries any time soon.” I sighed. “Will you be the Daphne to my Velma?” I looked to Tatum seriously.

             
“I’ll do my best to live up to the reputation of Daphne. Maybe we can paint 'Mystery Machine' on your shit mobile.” She chuckled pulling out a casual summer dress from her overstuffed closet.

             
We didn't talk much more after that.  I was still really tired, even though I’d slept all day, and my brain wasn’t functioning on full capacity. Tatum didn't quite seem on top of her game either. We had had a long couple of days and it still wasn't over. I kept reminding myself that I just had to get through tonight and I could go home, eat, and sack the fuck out.

             
Tatum and I took our turns in the shower, moving as quickly as we could so not to waste time. Tatum dragged out some jeans and a tank top of mine from a drawer filled with shit I had left there over the years. That drawer always came in handy in a pinch. I threw my clothes on, whipped some mascara and smeared Burt’s Bees across my lips.  Tossing my wild hair up into a ponytail, I was set to go see a vampire about some drugs…or something like that.   

             
“Ready, slut?” Tatum asked as she grabbed her purse and keys. This meant we were taking her car for which I was grateful. I didn't have to drive. Plus she drove a Honda s2000 so the ride would be cushy and likely too fast. 

             
I slid into the jet-black sports car and let my butt sink into the plush leather seat.  After a quick online search, Tatum entered the address we’d found for
Sween
into her GPS. A British woman came over the tiny speaker announcing, in a prerecorded tone, our destination was one hour and twenty-five minutes away. I hardly had time to buckle my seatbelt before my face was thrust into the dash from the force of Tatum screeching down the driveway. I was slammed back into my seat when she abruptly shifted into first and floored it to the 405 North. 

             
After forty-five minutes of heart pounding, nail-biting, adrenaline packed fun, I had killed nearly half a pack of cigarettes and had no clue where I was. Once again, the British woman came over the tiny speaker, this time instructing Tatum to turn right in fifty feet. We would have missed the turn completely if we hadn't seen the neatly scrolled sign signifying the entrance. Tatum jerked the wheel to the right and fishtailed her way into the drive. The long driveway was paved with bricks and lined with weeping willows. Not too far up ahead stood a three story building. It actually looked more like a Southern plantation, but I'm a journalist, not an architect, so who am I to say for sure?  The many windows glowed from the lights inside as we drove around the curved driveway. Tatum slowed to a crawl as we passed the front of Sween Enterprises as identified by the, once again, neatly scrolled plaque hanging largely from the eve of the porch. The plantation style home looked oddly out of place for Southern California.

             
"You suppose they chose this specific location on purpose?" Tatum asked with her eyes glued on the portentous building to her right.

             
"Location, location, location." I answered watching the lamplights flicker casting ghostlike shadows on the stark white, wood siding of the front porch.

             
Tatum pulled the car over and parked just past the front steps. I was still staring intently at the three story plantation building as I exited the death trap Tatum called a car.

Are they trying to be scary? The guy owns two Goth clubs that I know of; does he really have to set up a modeling agency in a creepy old house in the middle of nowhere, too? Keeping up with appearances I guess
.

I let out a girly yelp and jumped two-feet in the air when Tatum beeped the alarm on the car.

              “A bit jumpy are we?” Tatum asked.             

             
“No, just wasn't paying attention.” Okay, so I was a little jumpy.

             
“Where's your boy toy? Isn't he supposed meet us here?” she asked.

             
“Who knows, probably flaked out. God, he’s such a piece of-”

             
“Oh, come now, that's not nice.” I was startled by the new voice suddenly coming from atop the front steps. There stood the fucker in question, looking as beautiful as ever.

Maybe I'll punch him tonight.

              “Where'd you come from?” I asked. My voice came out a little shaky.