Search For Justice

[Eilonwy Solstice]

January 23, 2009. 9:18 p.m.

I kept my head bowed and my Third Eye open as far as I was able, searching for that psychic trace everything possessed. The curbside I walked along was flowered with people, far more than when I had last been here almost exactly a month ago; but the scents in particular I searched for were still beyond my reach—for now. My abilities had waned considerably with the loss of Ron Anthony. Now, I had to strain to search the same circumference that would have taken no more effort than listening to the radio a month and a day ago.

The people seemed to sense my determination. Those that would have offered to help me backed away instead. Keeping my chin to my chest, I continued my search for . . . them. My imagination filled in the holes for my eyes, though my other senses colored it in sections. The shades of cold varied in patches and strips—the difference between walking through the sunlight, under the awnings of buildings, and down patches of shadow. Across the street and turning a curbside, I recalled the exact path I had taken and continued.

My head snapped up.

There . . . there . . . and there. It was them. And they were headed for me.

My pace quickened and my thoughts went down a path of anger and vengeance, resentment clouding the edges of my thoughts. With a flick of my feelings, I stored the negative emotions for later. I let the men heard me once more in a way that was too reminiscent of last year. Their tactics had hardly changed. But the circumstances had. I was no longer pregnant. I wasn’t encumbered with the Christmas spirit or—once I had shed my coat and similar—burdensome winter wear.

“I think you look lost, doll,” one of the men laughed, the other pair joining.

“And I think you need to pay for killing Ron Anthony—among other crimes,” I growled.

“Hey, we didn’t kill no one,” he complained, sounding alarmed and uncomfortable—my words had slashed an artery; even thieves and lowlifes had some morals, I guess. But maybe it was just me; Hannah had nagged for weeks about the changes I had been forcing my body through.

“My baby, I snapped, turning to the side, so my profile could be seen. One of them cursed and swore—they recognized me.

“Don’t scream, and don’t make trouble,” the leader spoke again, his shaking voice contrasting starkly the metallic snicking sound snapping out—a switchblade, maybe. “We just want your money, honey.”

I raised my hands and tilted my head. They began advancing on me. They grabbed me as one, and I lashed out in two ways, taking the wrist with the blade and snapping my foot around another’s ankle, anchoring number two into place.

“And I want my baby back,” I twisted number one lowlife’s wrist in a direction it was not meant to go and brushing my other arm around to find a neck, tripping number two lowlife and following through with three successive jabs to his throat. The leader cried out and the weapon dropped from his hand, clattering against the floor and bouncing to a rest on my foot of all places. “But I guess we can’t have everything that we want in life, can we?” My voice frosted over with bitter regret.

I ducked and stood, slicing my finger as I swept up the switchblade and jutting out my hand to keep a hold of the number three man. An elbow from my other arm went to his gut and put him out of the fight, giving me time to straighten my posture completely and guide the leader to the wall—an easy enough feat with his own switchblade directed at him. Jamming the blade through his jacket and into the wall allowed me to trap him there for a moment and to free my hands. He was shaking and muttering the Hail Mary prayer under his breath.

“You have no idea what you took from me, do you?” My voice shook with rage and the effort it took not to let the emotions out in an unconstructive manner. I think he shook his head. But I didn’t really care.

“Let me tell you,” I said, regaining momentary control and taking off my sunglasses. His gasp was foul-smelling and synchronous with opening my eyelids wide, twisting my head this way and that, giving him a look at my . . . “eyes” from every angle. He flinched and blubbered when my fingers palmed his face, and I felt glee from his fear. The negative emotions bubbled and frothed like flames . . . my nails scraped his eyelids. When I judged where his gaze was pinpointed, I faced him directly.

“You took my baby boy from me,” I snarled, stiffening my fingers on his cheeks and forcing his eyes open with the motion. “And my purse. I can’t get my baby back, but I can get the two tiger eyes that were in my purse. Now . . . where are they?”

The silky, heated warmth that leaked from my eyes could have been tears.

But somehow, I doubted it.

“The two jewels at the bottom of my purse,” I hinted, my rigid fingers flexing into claws. It would be so easy to push . . . to stab . . . his sight would be gone for good. I was ready to it . . . so ready the temptation hurt and throbbed in my breast. “Where are they?”

The pain he would feel would be nothing to mine, but it would be a start . . . a beginning to and for the justice that he owed me. But a resounding clatter announced a new visitor.

“Wie, what the heck do you think you’re doing?”

The tone in his voice is what made me do it. I had never heard him sound so alarmed before, so . . . scared before. My fingers relaxed, and I lowered my head with a sigh. The lowlife dropped to the ground, weeping in fear and imagined punishment.

“Ron.”

[Lord Shakar]

Wow, Mrs. Solstice that is so unlike you. But I understand what pain causes us to do at time.

[Eilonwy Solstice]

It wasn’t the pain that caused me to do it.

[Grace]

A person drives a car.

But it takes something volatile to fuel it, such as diesel or gasoline.

This certainly isn't like you, Miss Solstice, but it seems you stopped or were stopped before going over the edge. Is that the right terminology here? You seem balanced on a precipice and I for one, am curious what side you'll come down on.

Happy landings.

[Eilonwy Solstice]

Thanks, Nemesis. But I don’t drive. Just ask Ron.

[The Councilor]

Bravo Ms.Solstice, bravo.

[Eilonwy Solstice]

Bravo Ms.Solstice, bravo.

Pardon? Councilor, may I ask what you’re referring to?
In the meantime, here is more of the story:



“Wie, listen to me and listen carefully, please,” Ron took my shoulders and spoke with bladelike stiffness. “Stay closer to me than a Siamese twin. Promise me. Please.”

I knew what he would be willing to do if I didn’t promise him, and that he would be uncomfortable doing it; but he would do it because he loved me. So I ignored the uneasiness that came with Ron leading me sideways. He knew how much I hated sidestepping, even being led so obliquely. I nodded with a sigh, trying to stay on his good side. “I promise. But this isn’t the Blight. Why are you following me?”

“I’m not following you.”

“Then why are you here?”

“Sh.” He shushed me with two fingers pinching my lips together. I mmphed, but quieted, the soft grunt of an approaching car crunching through my ears. It stopped near the curb, and the driver had some low words with Ron. Then Ron was opening the car door and ushering me carefully inside. Only one seatbelt works, so we sit really close and share. His arms are around me, and when the driver asks about us, Ron tells him to mind his own business.

Ron’s tense; he tries to hide it, but I can tell. Questions of mine are answered curtly and unsatisfactorily. The driver’s become mute, because of Ron or some other reason, I can’t determine. For a while, the drive is slow . . . a walking pace. Then it stops, and again I’m silenced, this time by both. We’re waiting for something, but what, they won’t say. The silence is a massive blanket of wool, though I can hear a dribble of sound outside—voices. The grumble of an engine pinched the silence away, and the wait was over. The smoothness of the ride transitioned brokenly into a high speed chase, and I eventually gave up trying to roll with the turns and just held onto Ron’s waist, burying my face into his plated chest. My heart was beating a hole through my chest; I forgot the exhilaration being close to Ron and excitement brought to my blood. Ron tensed hotter than normal, though the motions were small. We were approaching something very fast.

If there was going to be a battle of some sort, a replacement would be needed for Mr. Fluffers, and unless the driver wasn’t telling me something, the best bet seemed to be me; I clench my eyelids, Open myself, and allow the flood of information to scour through me. And then I warn Ron of everything.

“I sense something,” I said, raising my finger in the appropriate direction. “That way; magic . . .?” Could it be my tiger eyes?

“You’re going the wrong way,” Ron barked, though I wouldn’t add an “obviously” to his tone. I was beginning to understand why he didn’t want me out with him, actually.

“Follow that car! Now!”

The driver’s expletive spun with less force than the car. I ducked my head and belted Ron’s waist with my arms in hopes of righting my equilibrium, but all to no avail.

It was time to hold on for my life.

[Lord Shakar]

Damn that sounds intense.

[Eilonwy Solstice]

It was rather . . . disconcerting, Shakar; thankfully, I could keep my stomach.


I wasn’t certain where the driver was taking us, but the shrieking stunts pulled by the man didn’t help to restore my sense of direction; for me, I was in a tailspin, the vivid streak of energy the only point of reference in my mind as my stomach was lobbed one way and then the other. Ron kept one arm across my back and resting on my hip, the other over my shoulder and pulling me close to him; I returned the favor by making my point of reference known with a stabbing finger.

Excitement and fear were co-riders in my mind; they rose like bile and honey as the sudden turns, quick stops, and rapid speedups resulted in pulling me from Ron and then shoving me against him. But his strong arms, for the most part, kept me stationary. The shared seatbelt worked wonders on my resolve concerning the self-imposed distance I had kept between Ron and myself for the past couple of months. I resolved then to make a few modifications to that rule.

Don’t read too much into that.

A shriek blared through the night air, almost instantly followed by the much louder din of . . . something. My immediate guess was of a car crash; them, not us, though my sense of direction could have been fooled to think otherwise, had Ron not declared the situation. “Wie, please,” he begged huskily, his voice toned somewhere between a whisper, a hiss, and a reprimand. “Stay here.” He didn’t wait to hear my response, prying himself free with one of the contraptions from his bag of tricks and thinking to leave me strapped in.

Well, you guys know me well enough by now to know what I did next.

[Clarity]

_____I’m sorry, but I don’t know you well enough, Eilonwy. What did you do next?

[Lord Shakar]

More than likely from what little I have learned of her she got out of the car likely. But we shall have to wait and see what happens when she continues her account of what happened.

[Doctor Boggs]

I'm betting Lord Shakar is right on the money here, though I'm anxious to hear how it turned out.

[Eilonwy Solstice]

I’m . . . uncertain of how to proceed from here; the next few minutes were ones of confusion. But I’ll just do the best I can and give Ron a kick in the shins while I’m at it.

As an environment, my surroundings were one of utter bewilderment. Noise and clamor were everywhere—barking noises I tentatively interpreted as silenced gunshots slinging through the air like kamikaze hornets; I was crawling along the base of the car; Ron and I had been separated almost the moment I had taken his life into my own hands. I’m not sure which one the men were after—Ron or me—but their intent seemed perfectly clear: separate us, and go through the rigmarole of divide and conquer. Fat chance, if I’d make it easy. Ron gave a hoarse shout directed at me, something about the danger and something else, but it was difficult to decipher above the sounds of battle. However, I might have gotten the gist of the reason he was shouting at me; I sensed something in the air, though give me eyes if I knew what it was . . . to my mind, even when I was actively Open and Searching, it was nothing more than a blip; I suppose it would be like a curtain of heat passing on an Arizona highway to you guys . . . like a mirage, only I knew it was there, and it was actively trying to throttle me.

The hands around my throat were cold and slimy and human-shaped, but I couldn’t dislodge them. The thing forced me on my back, a familiar pose thanks to Sifu Long’s fated house call, though breaking its thumbs only made it angrier and continue to press its weight on my throat. As much as I struggled, it proved ineffective; the din of the battle began to dull in my ears . . . waves of darkness besieged the borders of my mind . . . I assembled one last strike, poised to synchronize with a physical attack. My hand snaked from my throat to behind my back, carefully fingering the silver dagger I kept there into the palm of my hand . . .

I struck.

“Wie!” Ron’s bellow was nearly simultaneous with the rush of air into my lungs, the crack of a gunshot breaking the air in two before dull, near silence invaded my ears, and the body was ripped off me and to the side.

“I . . . can take . . . care of . . . myself,” I panted, using Ron’s hands to climb to my feet.

Then I hugged him, and after wiping my mouth on my sleeve, kissed him with blood-flecked lips. “And remember, Mr. Caliburn. You still owe me for that save.”

[Lord Shakar]

Wow.

[Deacon Ash-Shaytan]

Save?