The Last Cinderella

[ I hesitate to post this story. It deals with themes that some may find rather dark, though I never intended them to be. They work well enough in the academic privacy of my study but may take more writing skill than I possess, to successfully open up to the scrutiny of others. Again, I am posting it for the purposes of technical literary critiquing, and I apologise if I offend anybody.

P.S. I'm also sorry if the formatting appears a little off. It seemed to get a bit mangled when I uploaded. ]

GIR S          G RLS       GIRLS

The neon flashed nearby, a cold blue light. With it came the soft buzz and click of broken electrics.
There was noise all about, but I heard that faint sound. That noise, and the feel of rain on my skin, was real. They were the first things I had sensed, when I had gained my senses. The rest had come later, which meant they could not be trusted. I had two real things, however. That was a start.

I tried to get my bearings. This was not my world. I merely had a job to do here, though I did not yet know what it was. I felt like I had the worst hangover ever. A cacophony of impossible sensations slowly merged into comprehension. That was to be expected however; this was not my body. As usual I was only borrowing it, and it took time to get used to the subtle differences in the senses, the way the nerves twitched and the muscles moved. This particular example was thin, dirty and unkempt, with years of aches in the bones. I was prostrate on the sidewalk, within the projecting shadow of an alleyway. After a few more moments of nausea I scraped myself unsteadily off the pavement.

I did not like these places: not the way they sounded or smelled, nor the way the misery flowed in the gutters and mingled with the detritus. I did not like the press of the cold night air, hard as a boot heel against the back of my neck, nor the dull pain deep inside my head, the spiritual indigestion of the raging, impotent psyche that had been rudely pushed aside. The clothes I wore were little more than rags, and they had the odour of someone else's death on them. My heels slapped against the grimy shoe leather. The trousers clung to my legs, making my skin itch. The coat hung about my shoulders like a blanket, falling past my hands.

The cars growled past, headlights glaring. The rain started to fall harder and soon only the very desperate or drunk stayed in the open. One car passed too close, clipping the runnel in the kerb and spraying me with muck and water.
Under the broken sign were an awning and a door. At least inside I'd be warm and dry and I would be able to think.
There was a woman standing under the awning. 'Excuse me.' I asked. 'May I go inside?' She gave me a casual glance, unwilling to expend the energy even to look at me. The flashing blue light flickered off her thick makeup.

‘Piss off. I'm working.'
I went in anyway. The passageway was damp, narrow and dimly lit, and smelled no better than the street. There was loud music coming from somewhere inside and there was another door at the end, a very large man standing before it. His expression was not welcoming. 'Whaddaya want.' It was not a question.
I was unsure of what to do next. 'I just want to get dry.'
'S'what? This ain't no dosshouse. Get outta here before I do you some damage.'
I hesitated, and the large man unfolded his fleshy arms and stepped forward. 'I told you...'
'Leave it alone Macca.' A woman's voice. 'He's with me.'
The man looked startled. 'Very well Ms Randall.'
She stepped out of the gloom, through a doorway I had not noticed. She was of middle age, her face lined and her gaze hard. She looked straight into my eyes, showing, for the moment, neither threat nor fear. 'You took your time.' she said, her voice the product of a lifetime of whiskey and cigarettes. 'By the look of you I can see why.'
Without another word she turned and led me down the way she had come, her unnaturally blonde hair glowing in the gloom. The noise shadowed us to our left, a thud and boom that vibrated through the walls and floor.
We came into a sort of common room, though there was nobody else in it. It was sparsely furnished: a few ratty posters on the walls, a kitchen bench down one side supporting a kettle and some containers and a telephone. A set of drawers sat underneath. A simple and none too clean, wooden table and chairs stood in the middle. Nothing here gave me any clue as to my purpose.
She indicated I should sit. There was a door ajar on the far side, and through it came the music and a fog of cigarette smoke. There was something else there as well, on the edge of my perception. An unwholesome miasma of lust, guilt and self-loathing.
Ms Randall put a cup on the table with a thump. 'So then Jonas.' she said as she sat opposite. 'Did you get it done?' I nodded and occupied myself with the coffee.
She seemed to accept my lack of reply. 'Alright then, we're even. I don't think you need come here again for a while, okay?' She lit a fresh cigarette. 'Don't mess with me Jonas.' said quietly, 'You know what will happen.'
I shook my head and gulped my coffee, ignoring how it burned my throat. 'Trust me.'
'Trust you?' she laughed, 'Jonas, I wouldn't trust you as far as I could spit you. But I know you, and I know you're not stupid. Believe me, if anybody finds out, you're gonna wish the cops get to you first.' Then she smiled, an expression so strange on her that I thought I'd imagined it, and she produced a small wad of dirty notes. ‘Should never have taken Letitia into bond; I knew she'd be trouble from the start. If the punters didn't like the idea of indentured girls so much I'd be rid of all of them.'

At that moment the far door opened wider, admitting more smoke and noise. Into the room came a young woman with honey coloured hair and dark eyes. I felt a familiar, strong click and I nearly fell off the chair. She was real. And she was in pain. Ms Randall gave her a sidelong glance, the same sort of glance the woman outside had given me. 'What do you want Amanda?'
'Cassie asked for you Ms Randall.' she replied timidly. 'There's some trouble at the bar.'
The older woman swore at her. 'Very well then. Stay here and keep Jonas company. Fat lot of good you are out there anyway.'
Amanda did not move from the door. She glanced at the money on the table then quickly looked away, frightened. Ms Randall pushed her aside and shut the door far more firmly than necessary.
Amanda stood paralysed by some fear or indecision, her gaze fixed on the floor as though her very balance depended on it. I felt I should say something - anything - to break the misery of silence. 'You want some coffee? The kettle's just boiled.' I stood up to make some.
She flinched reflexively. 'Yes, thank you.'
'Have a seat. I'll make it.'
She was obviously used to obeying instructions. She sat where Ms Randall had been, and I placed the cup in front of her. She reached out with both hands; like me she had no desire for coffee, but it gave her something to do. I noticed her hands were thin, too thin for beauty, the skin was pale and stretched over bone. She was attractive, or had been once, but makeup highlighted the bags under her eyes and the pinched corners of her mouth. Her clothes lay wrinkled where they should have fit snugly, and she squirmed where she sat, as though the touch of the fabric repelled her.
'Bad night huh?' I commented, and Amanda nodded slowly, but then she changed her mind. 'No worse than usual, I guess. A couple of the regulars get rough when they're drunk, that's all.' Her attempt at being casual did not quite work, and with every noise from the other room she grew more nervous until she let out a startled little cry as the cup slipped from her grasp. I had seen it coming and was quick enough to catch it before she completely let go. At that moment, the side of my hand brushed her fingers and the full reality hit me square in the face.
There they were, perched along the bench, along the table edge, scurrying along the floor, rustling, pushing, snarling, and whining. A hundred minor demons, carrion feeders gathering around a victim not yet dead, waiting for that final release, that last jugular gush of life. Demons that fed on pain, despair, anger and misery. Demons that were covered with scales, feathers or fur. Some with legs and feet like chickens, or tails like rats. Some with horns, others with ridges down their backs. Black ones, grey ones, some green like slime. Some with veined wings, others with arms that ended in sharp claws. And all of them had their attention focused on Amanda, and the sound of their bickering filled the room.
...nearlynowminenosheisminewhysolongicantastesmellitnowtfeelitsoongetoutofmywayquitpushing

nomorewaitingsohungrysoamibutitsmyturnitoldyounoyouareallwrongnoyouarewrongsheisMINE!
One small brown creature broke off from the others, jumped and nipped at her. With a small unknowing grimace she twitched and it fell back to the floor. The others cackled and jeered.
I could also see the poison inside Amanda, sluggish through her veins. The drugs that had been given to keep her compliant had eaten through her body, leaving her soul exhausted and vulnerable. That was why they had gathered, and with a rising bile I knew what I had been called to do. But there was still something missing. Minor demons were by nature a cowardly lot, so somewhere near was their protector, something far more dangerous.

There are several disadvantages to using an actual body rather than a simulacrum: the physical limitations of that body, for one thing. It meant I was rooted more or less in the physical world, unable to employ some of the more exotic abilities of my being. But there is also one useful advantage: I had available to me a store of information and knowledge skulking away deep inside: Jonas' life in this place, the particular customs and details of this where and when. I closed my eyes for a moment. He recoiled from my touch, screaming soundlessly and kicking at his fetters but there was nothing he could do to stop me.
When I had finished I felt physically sick, however I had formed the skeleton of a plan.
‘Are you alright?' Amanda asked. For all her pain and disgust she appeared genuinely concerned. I knew that there here was no way she could recognise me, and yet there was something to her stare...
‘No, I'm fine.' I replied. ‘Just a little dizzy, that's all.' I got up and went over to the sink to pour myself some water. Frantic, Jonas' psyche was still screaming protest inside, and I needed another moment or two to compose myself.

I picked up the phone and pressed a few keys, before letting the handpiece drop back onto the bench. Then I opened drawer and rummaged around a little until I found a small, thin knife which I slipped into a pocket of the coat.

Then I settled back down at the table. Now all I had to do was wait a little while.
Amanda appered a little more at ease now, as though on some level she knew she could trust me, despite everything. Either that or she was so resigned to her situation that just didn't care any more. Her pain was such that it was hard to tell.
'Are you religious, Amanda?" I asked, wincing immediately at my clumsiness.
She seemed taken aback at the question. Her meagre defences went up. 'Sorry?'
I shrugged. 'I dunno. Just curious. What do you believe in? God?'
'Do you?'
'Yes. No. Not really.' I sipped my coffee. 'I believe in fate. I've got no idea from what, but there is a plan.'
'You sure about that?'
'Yep. Pretty much.'
She looked at me oddly for a moment, then retreated into her thoughts 'When I was young we always went to church. The Dominie was a stern man. Always telling us about God's Will and God's power and how everything is a part of his design. I guess back then, before all this, it made sense, but now... now I don't know. If there is a plan, I'd like to know what it is.'
We sat in silence for a moment, then she continued with her thought. 'It would be nice to think that the things that happen to us aren't our fault, but what we do, we do.'
I nodded a little. She was right. She sipped quietly at her coffee, risking a long searching look at me. After a few moments there appeared a glimmer of comprehension. I'd seen it before, when someone at the extremity of their life gains a certain level of insight. Her mouth dropped open slightly, as if she was about to say something, but she never got the chance.
At that moment another of the little demons appeared at her side, smacking its lips in anticipation. This time I was prepared. With a psychic shove I sent it spinning across the floor, and all hell erupted in the room. They recognised me now and the place was alive with panic. I knew what would happen next.

The door flew open and Ms Randall reappeared. Amanda started and tried to stand, but I held her by the arm. This time I could see Ms Randall was not alone.
Draped about her shoulders and wrapped around her waist was a serpent. Envy green, with a satinous skin, its head was level with hers and its eyes shone with malice. This was no minor demon, content with pecking at scraps. It and Ms Randall had made a pact, and both had thrived in the corruption and misery of this place.
It knew my type, if not me. It hissed. What are you doing here?
- You know perfectly well.
‘Amanda?' Ms Randall appeared confused. ‘What's going on?'
Amanda froze like a deer in a headlight beam. ‘Nothing Ms Randall. Nothing's wrong.'
‘I didn't ask if anything was wrong, I asked what was going on.' She stood at the door. The serpent hissed slightly and nudged her neck, and she stepped into the room. Amanda flinched in her chair. Her fatality was rising just under her skin. Before long it would be obvious to everyone.
‘Everything's fine, I just nearly dropped the coffee, that's all.' I answered, seeking to calm her. Time. I needed a little more time. Ms Randall knew something was amiss, but not what. The serpent's gaze drifted away from me.

This one? It asked, staring at Amanda with yellowing eyes. Its tongue flicked in the air, trying to put a name to the danger it could sense but not identify. Very well, do your job and leave.
The minor demons twittered about the edges of the room, scared. Those that could slipped out the door, their appetite dissolving in the tension.
- Soon. Why do you care what I'm doing? I asked.
The serpent's attention seemed elsewhere. I don't. What you do with her is your business. If it is her time to go, then do it and perhaps these creatures will feed and stop irritating me.
- Maybe. Jonas was screaming deep inside. He now was desperate to free himself and stop me. It took a lot of energy, too much to spare, to keep him bound.
‘Is there still a problem out there?' I asked. Ms Randall's glance darted between Amanda and myself. She licked her lips. The serpent tightened its coils as she drew in her breath. Ms Randall scanned the room. She noticed the phone off the cradle, the open drawer, and my hand clenched in the jacket pocket...
(Realisation) The serpent's eyes flashed. ‘Macca! Get in here!' Ms Randall yelled. The noise in the other room dropped just slightly as creatures beyond picked up on the panic.
A few moments more. That was all I needed, but it was becoming more than I could do to keep Jonas' psyche contained. I released as much of my power as I could spare. Amanda. Please. Be calm.
She flinched again. "Who..."  Who are you?
- I am here to help you.
- Help me? How?
She was confused, but she was also too aware of her fading mortality. There was a flutter of fear. But then acceptance.
- What do you want me to do?
- Just trust me. I stood up and drew her off the chair into the curve of my arm. Macca burst into the room just as Jonas broke free from my control. I still had my arm around Amanda, but my face stretched and contorted as he forced his way back into control of his body. Both Ms Randall and Macca froze in confusion.
Jonas, still uncertain of his abilities, tore out a cry from his throat. ‘For Chrissake stop him!'
He was too garbled to understand. Fighting each other we stumbled a couple of steps away from Macca's immediate reach. Then he screamed again. ‘Can't you hear me? Stop him! Stop him before he kills her!'
The serpent reared up as if to strike, but Ms Randall's hesitation hampered it, and it could not reach me. Instead it screeched out a command. Stop him now!
Hundreds of minor demons flooded into the room, forced against their panic to attack. Macca and Ms Randall both tried to grab at Amanda but were twarted by each other and the flailing of Jonas' body.  I could feel Amanda's pulse fail, as fear and adrenalin forced the poison to attack her heart. At that moment there was another confusion out in the passage and the other room; the thumping of feet and cries of surprise and panic.
- It is time now Amanda. Close your eyes.
She took one last breath and let go. As soon as her heart stopped I gently slipped her soul from her body and gathered it to me, away from the ravening and the panic of the demons, but I could not yet fight back. The door burst in and men in uniforms and waving guns shouted and pressed Macca and Ms Randall against the walls. Before they could reach us though, I withdrew the knife from my pocket and slipped it between the ribs of her now dead body. Then I left Jonas, jabbering and bloodstained, on the floor.
I was not finished though. Amanda's last life energy was a spark, and in moments I fanned it into a flame. I moulded it, made it feed upon itself and let it grow until it was painful to comprehend. I could no longer see or hear the clamour about me. The serpent, too long joined to Ms Randall to now easily separate itself, screeched and hissed unheeded commands as the lesser demons tried in vain to flee. I would soon burn away or burst and so, incandescent with energy, I released it as a concussion of brilliant white fire, shrivelling and scattering them as ashes.

- What happened?
- You are free.
As if through a thick mist, we could see fragments of what was happening. Macca and Ms Randall handcuffed and taken away. Jonas lying prostrate. Men with guns surrounding him. Amanda's lifeless body pooling blood on the floor
- I'm dead, aren't I?
- I guess that's one way of looking at it. Does this disturb you?
A moment's thought. No. Not really.
- Anyway, for me this here is real. The rest... I don't know. You never belonged there anyway.
During my interrogation of Jonas I had learned of the system of indenture that existed in that time and place, and how Amanda had been sold into service to pay a debt that was not hers. I had learned how that system was used, and abused by people like Ms Randall. I had learned how she treated the girls and what had happened to Letitia at the hands of Jonas. And I had learned what the penalties were for all those crimes. I had also discovered a telephone number that guaranteed a response by the authorities and how long it would take them to arrive. While Jonas and Ms Randall might never be held to account for Letitia's death, I was certain they would for Amanda's.

Some time passed and we drifted together in comfortable silence. I certainly appreciated the respite, as between binding Jonas and burning the demons I was exhausted. Amanda, like those before her, needed time to comprehend and understand. Naturally she had questions that I did my best to answer. But there was one which was always asked, to which I had no real reply.
- So, what happens now?
I gave a metaphysical shrug. I don't know.
There was a lightening of the aether, a glow sensed rather than seen. The approaching end of our time together.
- Here we are Amanda. Further than this I cannot go.
She seemed a little sad. Why not?
- It is my fate. I have things to do here.
- And what will you do?
- I will do what I do. Take care Amanda.
Already she was fading from my sight, and her last thought drifted back. Take care. My personal angel.

Author Pat M

 Copyright 2003 Pat M