It Started With a Song

It was hot and wet and miserable in the way only tropical cities can be. Nikki ducked under an awning as the raindrops grew fatter, pulling out her cell phone to do a little math. She'd been working the streets today and was a little short on rent still. She crunched the numbers, realizing they were smaller than she needed them to be. The numbers were right, after running the math more times than necessary. There wasn't quite enough to cover the bills.

Three more tricks. Just three more... She could do this.

It wouldn't be easy with the rain like this, but it was possible, provided it didn't-

The sudden thunderclap interrupted her thought, ironically finishing it as well.

She swore and slipped into the club. It wasn't quite Mardi Gras full, but it was close. Surprising turnout for weather this shitty, but it had been a beautiful spring day before the sun went down. Strands of her dark hair dragged lines of melted mascara across her cheekbone as she pulled her hair from her face.

“I must look like a monster...” she thought, making her way through the crowd and toward the bathrooms. She decided that slinking along the wall would be a better route. As she hurriedly made her way along the edge of the room, her mind was anywhere but the club, which is why she almost ran into him.

It was the same man she'd seen out back, smoking cigarettes in his button-down shirt no matter what the weather was like. She'd seen him other places too, but just glimpses, some of them imagined, she was certain. But there he was, inches in front of her as he emerged from what could only be was his office. Nikki almost lost her balance as the crowd jostled her toward him. Her hand met his chest as she put up a hand to brace herself. His hand lifted in its own reflex, long fingers wrapping around her wrist as surely and strongly as a handcuff. She froze at the contact, looking up. The chill in his hand had nothing on the ice in his eyes. She stayed still, briefly too scared to move, and felt a raindrop follow a chill down her spine. She hadn't realized how truly soaked she was until this moment, when she was so close to dripping rainwater on this gorgeous stranger.

Then, the worst thing possible happened.

He smiled.

He dropped her wrist and stepped aside, clearing the doorway.

“There is a private bathroom in my office. Dry off and find a table. We will be having a very special performance tonight, I think.” His thick Russian accent took her momentarily off-guard. It wasn't anything like what she would have expected him to sound like.

“I was just-”

“Stopping to fix your makeup. I am aware. But as you are already here, you should stay. Enjoy the show. You are my guest tonight.”

Her mouth went dry and a strange weakness started somewhere behind her kneecaps. She nodded, not trusting herself to speak clearly. He gently ushered her into the office, closing the door behind her.

She found a clean towel on the sink and, after making sure that her makeup wouldn't leave any lasting stain on the dark fabric, she dried her hair and washed her face the best she could. She could hear the music winding down as she reapplied her makeup. Wondering what was going to happen next, she applied a new coat of her oil-slick black lipstick. There was some faint note of danger in the night now, and she prayed she was imagining it. After straightening her clothes once more in the mirror, she headed back out into the main area of the club.

A cursory glance around the room showed no sign of the familiar stranger, and although she kept looking as she made her way to the only empty table, she was unable to find him in the crowd. As she reached the table, her feeling of uneasiness grew. There was a reserved marker in the center, and a napkin with a spidery scribble on it.

Looking closer, she saw that the scribble was her name.

“Reserved for Ms. Moore.”

She balled up the napkin and shoved it into her pocket as she sat down. The DJ made his way to the center of the stage and surveyed the crowd from behind a pair of John Lennon circular lenses. He took the microphone from the stand and yanked a measure of slack into it with a flick of his wrist.

“How are we doin' tonight, New Orleans?” He asked, every bit the showman. The crowd roared in reply, “As y'all may have noticed, we're gonna do something a little different tonight. Somethin' special.” He grinned as the crowd gave a collective shriek of excitement.

“Our benevolent benefactor, the proprietor of this very club, is gonna sing us all a little song tonight.” Another roar from the crowd.”Hold on to your hats, folks, here he comes, the camp keeper of our very own Gulag, give it up for the one, the only Aldric Ivanov!”

As soon as his name rang across the crowd, thunder boomed louder than the amplified voice of the DJ. The lights snapped off at the same instant the thunder echoed through the room. There was a moment of silence before the screaming began. The packed room was suddenly full of a rampant frenzy of a crowd as everyone panicked. Nikki sat stone still, realizing they were all breaking for the door. In the heat of the moment, she almost thought she felt a fingertip trace along her shoulders in a soft caress.

And then the lights were on, as abruptly as they were off. The clamor died off just as quickly, leaving everyone to focus on the one spotlight in the room.

There he stood, obviously playing up his place in the sun. His hair was disheveled in a careful sort of way, just like any proper rock star. He had unbuttoned the white shirt a little more, revealing the dip of his clavicle between his pectoral muscles. She noticed herself staring and looked up into his eyes. He had been staring too, straight into her. She shivered. Tearing her gaze from his eyes, she looked instead at his hand. As the crowd died down, he smiled at her once more, then closed his eyes. He let his head lolled to the side a bit, like he was listening for something. Absolute silence fell in the crowded night club. His long fingers wrapped lovingly around the microphone. He raised his free hand slowly into the air until it hovered somewhere to his right in a lazy position. It bounced in the air a few times, like a conductor's wand. The band, who had materialized from seemingly nowhere, had their attention focused on him as raptly as Nikki had, and, after a few moments, they caught the beat he was giving them.

The keyboardist pulled a few long chords from his instrument, suddenly taking the club from the nightlife of New Orleans into a dingy church being used for a Black Mass. A honeyed voice, smokey rough, crawled out of his throat, harmonizing for a moment. Then, the song began.
In that moment, she realized that she was terrified for the first time since she had nearly died on that couch in Shreveport. But there was something else too. She wanted to be here. As scared as she was, she would rather die than leave. This was where she was supposed to be.

His eyes opened and met hers.

Her heart stopped.

Welcome
Won't you come inside?
Oh, I fear the passing year did not deserve you.
By some devious design
Suddenly you're very near as I prefer you.
Soaked and shivered from the rain,
You have always been a delicate disaster.
Fine in fire and in frame
Me and you are overdue for fiendish laughter.

His free hand kept the beat at his side, making him look for all the world like a crooner from the forties. Her blood ran cold as her started back, fluttering like a caged beast in her chest. This was too perfect. Too apt. He was so beautiful, smiling wickedly around the lyrics. His honeyed voice had the precise amount of hazy roughness and pulled at her in a way that she couldn't have expected. Not only was she enjoying this, but he seemed to be focused solely on her as he kept singing. This song was for her, and her alone. She sat frozen, like a fly in the spider's web, like a mouse before a snake.

The chorus began. He winked.

Oh dear, let me see those smokey eyes,
You're a villainous thing and we can't have you living a lie
Oh dear, let's remove those pretty clothes,
You're a villainous thing and I don't think anyone knows.

She had to leave. Her fear irrationally surged back. There was a perverse hunger in his playful expression. Something undefinable demanded her attention, her submission, her very life.
She had to leave.
Nikki stood, hardly realizing in her frantic fright that he had abandoned the stage in a graceful hop. He stood before her now, extending a hand to her as his eyes bored into her soul.

Waste no worry for the world,
Let it be a tragedy of love and glory
While they wait by gates of pearl
We'll build palaces in purgatory.

As he took her hand, her panic melted away. She felt a smile pulling at her lips and a blush come to her cheeks. As badly as she had needed to escape, she now needed to be there. To be closer, if possible. She found her arm wrapping around his waist as he turned her to face the crowd, still singing to her alone.

Oh dear, let me see those smokey eyes,
You're a villainous thing and we can't have you living a lie
Oh dear, let's remove those pretty clothes,
You're a villainous thing and I don't think anyone knows.

His hand slid slowly down her side, tugging at the hem of her shirt as he sang about removing clothes. A warmth started gathering low in her belly, surprising her totally with her sudden arousal.
Then, as soon as it had vanished, the fear was back. His arm wrapped around her waist and pulled her close to him, the microphone to the side so he could look directly into her eyes. He was close enough for a kiss as he finished the song. She was aware that he not only knew that she wanted him, that she wanted to run away, but that she was nothing more than a prop in his performance. The heat in her stomach grew perversely and she shivered in his grip. He grinned.

You'll find no ever after here,
It's clear that isn't what you came for.
I'll be your puckish puppeteer
On this delightful little detour.

She could feel every line and plane of his body as he pulled her closer. He sang the chorus to her again, an intimate revelation of her soul to the rest of the club. Her heart jumped into her throat as she felt the song coming to an end. A familiar itch began in her veins. This muddle of emotions and needs was taking its toll on her. She needed another hit.

And the song was over. And he kissed her.

It felt like the heroin. Better, in fact. This didn't feel like sunshine and the promise of something beautiful. This was a potent mix of exquisite pain and crippling pleasure and fear and desire and-

It was over, and he was smiling with oil-black smears on his lips. He bowed to the screaming crowd, an arm on her shoulder forcing her to do the same. She could have sworn that she saw Death himself in the back of the club, wearing a top hat and frowning in disapproval around the end of a smoking cigar.

Then, she bolted.

She couldn't remember the panic in the club, she could only think about the heroin and burning him from her veins. She had one habit. Another would kill her. She turned a corner, looking for a safe place, disregarding the rain that still fell. By the time she had a dose ready, she was livid. The fear and desire were gone and she was left with a burning rage. She needed this hit now more than ever. How dare he make her feel special? She pulled the plunger back, looking for the thin thread of blood, then pushed it back down, filling her veins with the liquid sunshine. But something was wrong. It felt wrong. Did she take too much?

The world swam for a moment. This had never happened. Everything blurred around the edges and a thick fog rolled into her mind, black and ominous as any storm cloud in the sky.

“Tsk tsk tsk. I'm disappointed in you, mishka... Heroin? If you are wishing to kill yourself, there are so many better ways...”

“It's you... You're here...” She murmured. The words felt heavy in her mouth. He had a strange glow about him. Part of her knew it was the mist from the rain and the street light behind him, but it was a golden aura that drew her in despite herself. She almost reached for him, but the terror reappeared and she dropped her hand.

He stayed where he was, lighting a cigarette casually. “Tell me, mishka,” He paused to take a drag from the cigarette, “Is the high worth it? Do you feel powerful yet? Has it allowed you the delusion that you are in control of your life?” He scoffed, “Just look at yourself.”

The disdain in his voice was as thick as the accent that colored every word. She had never noticed before tonight. This was the longest interaction she had had with him. A wave of nausea washed over her and stars reeled across her vision.

“It's better than wanting something I can't have. Look at you. And you sang that to me. For me...” She grimaced, angry with herself for being so naïve. “I had to get you out of my veins somehow.”
She never saw him drop the cigarette. One moment, the cherry glowed, almost lighting up the planes of his face, the next, his long fingers were wrapped around her throat and his face was inches from hers.

“Foolish, stupid child... If you want something, you take it! The world does not decide for you what you can or cannot have! Only you decide that...” His voice trailed off. The warmth started creeping in. All of the junkies had told her to worry about this, she really had taken too much. She'd panicked and overdosed.

Fuck.

His words rang in her head like God's voice must sound in heaven. Her stomach rolled. She knew that this could kill her. She needed an anchor to this world or she'd leave it forever. Reaching up slowly, she found his wrist and stroked it softly with her thumb. Her eyes found his through the haze and she suddenly arched up, thrusting her neck into his grasp. If she had to go, god damnit, she wanted to go with him at the wheel.

“I could have you?” she scoffed, “I could go without the heroin, without the tricks? I wouldn't have to blow guys in back alleys just to make rent?” The disbelief dripped from her words like the rain from her skin. “Yeah, right...” Her hand dropped back to her side.

He suddenly pulled her closer, fingers gripping her throat tightly. Her eyes widened in alarm, then nearly closed in acceptance. An almost gentle shake from him brought her around quickly, eyes searching his out again. His voice was nearly a snarl as he spoke.

“Do not try to play me, mishka. I am not one of your kind-hearted johns who just want to 'take you away from all of this'. I am like no man you have ever met. Nothing is given. If you want freedom, you must take it. Strength, you must earn.” He abruptly released his hold on her, letting her fall back into the rain-soaked street. “I care nothing for the weak. Only perfection matters.”

The haze was getting thicker. Her tongue was dry and heavy in her mouth, and it was so hard to focus... Despite the calloused tone, his words sparked something in her, something strong enough to try and fight the welcoming fog that tried to embrace her and take her away. She couldn't leave yet.

“Earn how?” She swallowed hard, trying to sit up again, “If that's not what you want, then what do you want? And why me? There's a thousand other-” Her head suddenly dropped almost to her chest and she jerked herself up, unable to get her eyes to lock with his, “Why me?” She struggled to get her arms beneath her again, to sit up, and she succeeded. The needle in the crook of her arm jiggled obscenely as her arm bent and moved.

“You are not them. You have the potential to be... perfect. Yet you squander it. You could be so much more... I simply, what is phrase? Hate to see a good thing wasted." He reached out and stroked her cheek, his long fingers barely touching her skin. His touch was electric, almost like the heroin was in the beginning. It left the same excited hunger... "Life is pain, babushka... Sweet, beautiful pain. Pain strips away our delusions and leaves only the truth of who we are... through pain we are made strong."

That touch meant more than the heroin ever had. It scared her more than the creeping darkness at the edges of her vision. More than the developing nausea and the weakness taking over her limbs. But she wanted this, god help her, she wanted to go with him, no matter the cost.

“Can you show me? Fix me?" Her head started to drop again, and when she managed to lift it again, there were standing tears in her eyes. "I'm just so tired..." Her vision blurred more and she reached weakly for his arm again, this time with more conviction. Some part of her knew that he wouldn't leave her there.

He did catch her.

“You wish to be strong then? You wish to see your truth? It won't be easy for you... or pleasant.” A dark chuckle crept from his lips as he helped her sit up farther, “At least, not at first.”

She was able to tell that he was amused now. That she had something to do with that almost happy expression on his face. Her heart skipped a beat and she wasn't sure if it was the heroin or his proximity.

“Please.” she gasped, having to fight off the haze actively now. Things were getting dark. “Please. Anything.” She clung desperately to him with her dwindling strength, “Fix me.” The command was a plea in disguise.

He gathered her in his arms with a sinister little smile, like a spoiled child who had gotten an extra treat after an initial denial. His lips brushed her ear as he whispered, “My dear, when I am done, you will be able to fix yourself.”

There was a sharp pain in her neck that surprised her.

Then, her world went black.