The Black Rose
Entry 23

I woke Friday morning wondering where the week had gone. I spent the copious hours and minutes “practicing” my routine, blending in, morphing into a wealthy L.A. socialite. In the morning I pushed my Peloton to the brink, followed by pills then coffee at Ridicule where I over-caffeinated and typed numbly away on information I had procured from Zhang’s holdings or Mia’s scribbled notes. Followed then by more pills, more hacking, more digging, mostly on Damien, as well as Mo and Cassy. Knowledge was power and I wanted to be the most powerful one in the room always.

Damien graced me with his presence but yesterday, his wit and intelligence on point as always. He tossed a copy of the most recent article on ’The Black Rose,” which alluded to the fact the killer could a woman scorned. I read with scoffs, my already inflated sense of self, expanding. Thanks, Madison.

“It seems your rose obsession is catching up to you,” he boasted.

I rolled my eyes, ignoring his inconsequential snipes. I cared little what he thought of me and my “showboating,” choices. “If all you came to do was gloat, we could’ve done that via text,” I sliced the heinous air.

Damien changed his tune, but with little information to discuss other than two thumb drives worth of information on Zhang and Dr. Semmens, our meeting yesterday was bittersweet. “See you tonight,” he whined like the petulant child he was.

“Yes, captain, at ten.”

“Good, can’t wait to see you in action.” He chirped before grabbing the paper and make a swift exit.

Damien insisted on coming to Onyx, which only heightened my already fragile exoskeleton and need for pills.

While the thought of pretending to feign interest in Damien almost elicited projectile vomit, I did uncover Zhang loved a challenge. He often pursued women who were married, or basically unavailable. So, me plus Damien equals seemingly unavailable, and even juicier bait.

I agreed to meet Damien this evening at ten pm in front of the Onyx, for which he so graciously got us on the list. I didn’t even ask how he managed that stunt, considering his personality was that of a rotten piece of fruit at the bottom of the barrel.

Alas, it was now five pm and I had surreptitiously killed enough time (about the only thing I killed these days) and was now able to get ready for the evening’s festivities. I twirled to my closet, swaying to the tune of Melissa Ethridge. Her raspy, sultry voice ignited my desires, and folks, it has been far too many hours since I had sex. I didn’t know how people did without. I had a newfound appreciation for Nuns.

I pulled a satin cream mini dress that had a deep V down the center. There was no way I could wear a bra with this. I exhaled as I turned the dress. The back was exposed and fringed with expensive lace.

As I slipped the dress over my naked body, I admired myself in the full-length mirror. The base of the V clung to the roundness of my breasts, exposing just enough. I turned, left, right, and spun. “Magnifique,” I uttered in French, turning my attention to the shoes.

I sauntered to the rows and rows of heels organized in perfect succession, all colors and designer brands. When did I swap guns for heels? I frowned as my hands landed on a pair of velvet black Gucci’s.

Pulling the pumps over my feet, my mind flashed back to Annie…

“Now come on, let’s play dress up,” she twirled daintily, dragging me to the closet.

We tried on dress after dress, the visions so surreal as if was just yesterday.

“This is the one,” Mrs. Greenwald admired, forcing me to spin as the long flowy silk camel dress and black faux fur trench coat adhered to my figure.

“You look beautiful, Dani,” she swooned. My face flushed as I gazed in the mirror of the bathroom. “Now it’s time for the final touches,” she squealed…

The weight of the vision caused my knees to buckle. I could see the admiration and adoration I had for Annie written all over my old face.

“I don’t often say this,” she muttered, “But Dani, you have real potential. Your mind is special, you’re special. If you can learn to get along with others, learn that you need others, to use this a little more,” she pointed to my heart, “You can be someone.”

My eyes shot open as emotions overwhelmed me. I bolted for the vial, scrambling to open the top, I swallowed a handful of pills before I could count. Resting the bottle to my chest, I sat on the edge of the bed desperately waiting for the pills to erase these emotions, the memories, but it was too much. My eyes lingered on the painting above my bed. If I squinted, I swore it was Annie’s angelic face staring back at me, straight through to my soul. I felt as if I was losing a grip on reality, of my sanity, as if my former mind was attempting a hostile takeover.

“Get it together, Alex.” I groaned. “You will never live up to your potential. You aren’t good. You have no light,” I repeated over and over to myself as the pills navigated their way through my system reclaiming what was rightfully mine. I exhaled, finally able to ready myself for the evening.

My hair curled, makeup on, I took one last glance at myself in the mirror. My glistening green eyes, smooth flawless skin bathed in florescent light. I widened my eyes, squinted, puckered my lips, gave a frown. Finally, I smiled, wide, delighted that no further vision resurfaced and my armor remained intact. I sighed, I needed to kill someone. I felt like a drug fiend without the promise of her next hit.

Ding.

Startled, I picked up my phone. Ugh, Damien.

The Devil: Just want to make sure we are still on for tonight?

Me: Of course, can’t wait to see you.

My nose curled as if I had just smelled rancid meat. I had to assume calls, texts, my apartment, everything was being monitored (mostly because I knew it was).

Damien sent a smiley face emoji back. What a clown.

Satisfied with my appearance, to say the least, I made my way down the stairs and to the kitchen. I had thirty minutes before I had to leave for the restaurant, which Mia gratefully mentioned several times in text to Robert Hansel, a.k.a Bob. Bob was Mia’s longest friend.

Ten years older than her, Bob sported a salt and pepper beard, slightly receding hairline, classy nerd spectacles, and a small belly he concealed behind oversized blazers or sweater vests. He watched science documentaries, porn, and recently researched liposuction, which I wagered he wanted to do because he was either too lazy or busy to go to an actual gym.

Bob also graduated from Harvard, but went the more established route and found a job as a biotechnical engineer, working his way up the corporate ladder. Oh, and Bob had a massive crush on Mia, borderline obsessive if you will.

I opened the fridge and grabbed a second bottle of champagne. I took a long swig straight from the bottle and navigated through my phone to replay a conversation Mia had the previous night.

This particular conversation was with her seemingly best friend “Abby”. Abby lived in New Jersey, with her four kids, and they rarely got to see each other, which Mia regretted deeply yet never took the time to change it. While Abby couldn’t be more Mia’s opposite, I guess it was customary to remain close to your high school bestie.

Anyway, Abby asked if Mia was dating anyone. I pressed play…

“I don’t have time to date. Besides, I can’t seem to find a guy worth dating anyway. Most guys just want to either have sex or want to build a family. I want neither.”

“Understandable,” Abby breathed. “Guys really do think about sex all the time. The other night I asked Rick for a massage and he thought that was code for getting laid. I set him straight real fast.” She laughed followed quickly by Mia.

“Men,” Mia feigned. “It’s as if they are stuck in the stone ages where procreation is the only focus.”

“Right?” Abby agreed. “Don’t have kids, or husbands!”

Mia chuckled, “Exactly, I want my legacy to be my work. I want to change the world.”

“You will,” Abby cheered. “You’re the smartest person I know, and if anyone can, it’s you. Hell, you are the only reason I made it through high school biology, and math, and chemistry, well, all the sciences and math’s,” Abby laughed aloud.

“And you are the only reason I wasn’t bullied more,” Mia chuckled.

I hit rewind. “And you are the only reason I wasn’t bullied more.”

This last sentence struck me like a knife to the arm. Was I bullied? While my past life came in stark flashbacks or nightmares, I couldn’t call the visions at will, which drove me nuts.

Since hearing this conversation, I had listened to it over and over again. I felt a semblance with Mia, like I knew her already. Reading her texts, emails, her likes, dislikes, her ostensibly small yet equally gripping and intriguing world, it was like a book I couldn’t put down. I stayed up hours on end learning everything about her. Her friends, lack of hobbies, her secrets, her private conversations, her desires, her voids. While Mia seemed altogether less altruistic and brash, she had potential. Maybe there was hope to recruit her?

I glanced at the clock. I needed to go. Just as that realization hit, my Uber driver called expressing his concern on how to get in the building because the vaulted door wouldn’t open for him.

I grabbed my clutch and headed straight for the elevator. Within minutes, I was walking through the lobby and waved a quick goodbye to the familiar new desk tenant. Chanel was pronounced missing, and I was lightly interrogated since we were seen leaving together the day before. I aced the test flawlessly and was immediately left alone after my Oscar-worthy performance.

“Good evening,” Patrick beamed as I weaseled my way into the backseat of his black Escalade.

“Good evening,” I muttered matter-of-factly.

“You’re looking nice tonight. Is this a date or a work function?” he asked looking through the rear-view mirror attempting to start a conversation.

“Yes,” I nodded flatly. “It’s our annual work party.”

“You must work somewhere fancy,” he smirked.

“You could say that,” I grinned flatly.

Patrick seemed to take the hint I wasn’t the type of lady who liked trivial talk, so he drove quietly while I fiddled with my phone.

The moment would soon come when I would see Dr. Mia Semmens face to face, and I was embarrassed to admit, I was a bit nervous. I had spent the last few days categorizing, reading, analyzing everything about her. Her work, while I wouldn’t pretend to know everything about, was extraordinary. Her mind was extraordinary. It had been a while since I was given a woman as a target, let alone one as alluring as her.

I took the tiny mirror from my clutch and checked my makeup, noticing a slight tremor in my left hand. I grabbed the small vial and extricated three pills. I couldn’t take any chances tonight.

Patrick pulled his Escalade over as I found myself in front of a swanky new-age French restaurant. The hustle and bustle of patrons drinking far too much wine and eating far too much bread and cheese filled the night air. It was a few minutes after eight and according to my GPS locator, Mia was in the restaurant.

“Well, enjoy your party,” he turned his head to face me, his expression pensive.

“Thanks,” I muttered, not wanting him to linger too long.

As the Escalade drove away, I sauntered daintily to the front of the restaurant and through the door. Immediately my senses were assaulted with notes of fermented grapes, aged cheese, and fresh-baked bread and pasta. The restaurant was full, every white round table was taken. The dull lighting made the atmosphere seem more like a subdued wedding reception than a restaurant.

I checked my phone one more time for Mia’s blinking light as I made my way to the bar. Lucky for me there were two stools open at the opposite end. The thick planked cherry wood bar bustled with talkative young adults, some of which actually looked, French.

I sat on the vacant stool and turned my head just in time to watch Dr. Mia Semmens moving her red wine glass to her lips. My eyes widened. She was even more magnanimous in person. She wore a simple black, spaghetti-strap dress, her exposed shoulders glimmered in the amber light. Her long black hair was pulled back neatly in a low ponytail, and she wasn’t wearing her glasses.

“Excuse me, Miss, Could I get you something to drink?”

Startled, I turned, “I’ll have a glass of your finest Cabernet Sauvignon.”

The mustached man bowed slightly and turned away, but I couldn’t focus. My brow remained in a permanent state of perplexity. “Be good,” I murmured under my breath over and over.

The dark-haired bartender placed a glass next to me. “Thank you,” I muttered.

I raised the proper red glass to my lips and took a sip. I had been to France, twice, and I had never had a single glass taste like this. How much was this wine? Not that it mattered. I took another sip of the exquisite liquid and a glance backward.

I eyed Mia and her closest friends. Bob, who sat next to Mia of course. Then there was Amy, who worked with Mia in the laboratory. Amy was dubbed the “cool one”. She dressed stylishly and eccentric as if she lived and breathed LA fashion. She often went out for long nights and short stays with whomever guy she could wrangle.

Then there was Theo, Mia’s other trusted lab partner with whom she went to school with at Harvard. Theo had relocated to LA with Mia and finally had the nerve to come out of the closet upon their arrival.

The four brainiacs were now enjoying wine and the finest French cuisine on a Friday evening.

“Bon Jour.”

I turned towards the voice. My nostrils flared slightly. Why did men always think a woman wanted to be interrupted during her very important mission?

“Are you waiting on someone?” A rather tall, caramel-skinned man with dark brown hair swooned, his Italian accent draped in sensuality. He wore a designer black suit top with the buttons, well, of little use. His European chest hair exposed. He smelled foreign, the cologne clinging to his suave character and charming smile.

“Um, no, I’m not,” I smiled briskly.

He placed his overcoat on the back of the bar chair and took a seat. “How is it a beautiful young woman like yourself, stylishly dressed, might I add, sitting at a French restaurant-bar alone?”

What I wanted to say was, “I’m a genetically modified sociopath who has killed more people than you have probably slept with and would very much like to be left alone.”

Instead, what came out was, “I could say the same for yourself?”

Always turn a question you don’t want to answer back on the overly inquisitive person.

“Well, if you must know, I was stood up.” He frowned slightly, placing his elbows on the bar, he extended his hand, “My name is Lorenzo.”

“My name is Jennifer,” I blurted, my hand falling into his. He raised it to his lips and gave it a gentle peck.

“Nice to meet you,” he grinned.

The bartender finally came over and the suave Italian asked for a Jameson on the rocks, not even wine.

“Nice to meet you too,” I returned the mouth gesture a little less forcibly.

“Perché ti sei alzato?” my playful side articulated in Italian (I asked why he was stood up).

“Ah, tu parli Italiano?” he bowed gracefully.

“Una piccola quantità. Ho preso l’italiano al college,” I answered, “But English is easier.”

“Well, that makes you even sexier,” he smirked, “But to answer your question, my friend set up me to do this online dating app. I swiped right and so did she. We messaged for a bit and agreed to meet here, her favorite restaurant, only she didn’t show.”

I looked at him with an air of curious disgust. It was probably for the best the woman didn’t show. I tended to find men’s overly inflated egos a bit too intolerable to bear, which is probably why I have killed far more men than women.

“Well, her loss,” I raised my glass, and he grabbed his chilled whiskey. We clinked. As I took another sip of my dwindling wine, out of the peripheral I could see Mia rise. It seemed as if she was going to the bathroom. This was it.

“Excuse me, Lorenzo, I need to use the restroom,” I blurted a little too prematurely.

“Would you like another glass?” he asked.

I stared down at the glass and downed the remainder. “If you’re buying,” I winked.

Lorenzo gave a wide Italian smile and I turned to follow Mia to the restroom.

The restroom in this restaurant was like a French boutique. On top of the fancy copper stall doors, there stood three vanity mirrors where ladies could spruce their makeup or stare at themselves for far too long (my specialty).

I stood in front of one of the mirrors and reached in my purse to pull out my lipstick. Hopefully, Mia didn’t take long and hopefully, she stopped at the mirror next to mine.

As fate would have it, Mia stepped from one of the further stalls. I peered into the mirror at myself, puckering my lips to spread the brilliant red mask over them. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Mia watching me. She approached the sink I hoped she would.

“That’s a nice color,” she murmured. My head didn’t turn, I just gazed at her through the mirror.

“Thank you,” I smirked confidently. “It would look even better on you.”

“Oh no, you don’t have to say that,” she smiled sheepishly, her eyes looking down at the floor.

“I’m Jennifer,” I continued, turning and extending my hand out in midair.

“I’m Mia,” she countered, her hand extending and grasping mine. My breath hitched. Her hand felt like ice and fire all in one wild torrent.

“It’s nice to meet you,” I managed, keeping my suave composure, but inside I was imploding.

Mia finally let go of my hand and shrugged bashfully. “I don’t often make it a habit of meeting new people in the ladies’ restroom.”

“Neither do I,” I grinned, it was now or never. “Say, you look awfully familiar, what is it that you do for a living?”

“I’m a scientist,” she muttered almost ashamed.

“Ah, that’s it. I’m a journalist. I just wrote an article about Dr. Boris Malenski, well before he passed.”

“That was a tragedy,” Mia sighed. “He was a brilliant man.”

“Right,” I continued my brow furrowed in mock sorrow.

“Say, I know this is forward of me, but would you mind if I interviewed you?”

Mia looked to me with shock.

“Me? Why me?” she gasped.

“Well, women aren’t often celebrated, especially in science. I would love to write an article showcasing your work,” I grinned at her with the most inviting smile I could muster, even though Mia had been in countless articles.

“Well, okay,” she muttered her brilliant brain, turning its wheels through her expressive eyes.

“Here’s my card,” I continued, not wanting her to think too long. “Call me and we can set a date.”

“Sure,” she nodded. “I will.”

“Good,” I beamed. “I will await your call.” With that, I turned and walked out of the restroom.

I found Lorenzo, who already had another ridiculously divine glass of red wine waiting for me.

“I thought you might have ditched me too,” he mused in his thick Italian accent.

“I wouldn’t dare,” I smirked. My insides a buzz from the conversation, the handshake, the aura of what just happened. I suddenly realized I was horny, very horny.

I looked at my phone. Shit, it was forty-five minutes till ten.

“This may sound like an excuse, but I have to leave in like twenty minutes,” I frowned slightly.

“A hot date?” Lorenzo looked to me with saddened brown puppy dog eyes.

“Something like that,” I joked. “I have a meeting with a client and my business partner at a club, his choosing.”

“Ah, which club?” he swooned.

“Onyx,” I retorted.

Lorenzo choked on his whiskey.

“What’s so funny?” I asked, my mood dissolving into anger.

“Nothing, I just promote for that club,” he shook his head laughing.

“Oh, you do now, well, not very well considering you didn’t once ask me if I wanted to go,” I poked at him.

“I was waiting until after the second drink,” he grinned. “So, what do you do then to be meeting your business partner and client at Onyx?” he continued.

“I’m in marketing. My partner and I are hoping to handle PR for a new client.” How many different jobs could I have in one evening?

“Marvelous,” Lorenzo cheered, holding his whiskey in the air. My glass met it, and just as my face turned to meet his, I glimpsed out of the corner of my eye, Mia was staring at me. I felt that same electric shock course through my right arm. It took everything in me not to look. Bob stared dotingly at Mia trying to include her in some androgynous conversation nonetheless, but I could tell she wasn’t listening. At this moment, I hated Bob. A white-hot flash eviscerated my patience. Bob couldn’t have her. No one could have her.

“Will you be going to Onyx tonight?” I asked as if suddenly curious.

“Probably not until later. I have to hit a few more spots and recruit the masses of overly-drunk rich kids.”

“Ouch,” I toyed. “Is that what I am to you?”

“Oh no,” he shook his head, “You were the most beautiful girl in this restaurant, hell, in Los Angeles.”

“And now I know you are lying,” I smiled playfully.

“I’m not. I thought you were a model for sure.”

“Well, sorry to disappoint,” I winked.

“You made my night even better,” he extended his hand to mine. His warm skin wrapping around my hand, he pulled it to his mouth and kissed it gently. Holy hell. Why was I so easily seduced?

I knew the answer. It had been a week since I had sex, and for me, that was the equivalent to a year.

“And you have made my evening better,” I swooned.

Lorenzo and I eyed one another deviously. If I didn’t have to be somewhere soon, I would probably get wine-drunk with Lorenzo and take him to the closest alleyway. For now, I would need to keep my hunger in check.

I took a giant swig of my wine and glanced at the clock. I had ten minutes.

“Jennifer?”

My eyes widened in shock as I turned.

“My friends and I are just heading out, but I will call you Monday about that interview?” Mia asked, glancing at Lorenzo pensively.

“Oh Mia, of course. “I’m sorry, this is Lorenzo,” I turned to him, setting my wine glass down at the bar. Lorenzo’s face one of confusion, nothing a hasty hand on his arm wouldn’t smooth over.

“Hi Lorenzo,” Mia waved slightly, extending her hand. Lorenzo met it.

“These are my friends, Bob, Amy, and Theo,” Mia gestured to her friends. Theo looked like he wanted to devour Lorenzo whole, and I would let him.

“Hi,” I held my hand up in a customary wave, I wasn’t about to shake their hands, especially Bob’s.

“Hello,” they replied in unison, Bob’s face melted to one of pathetic jealousy.

“Well, you guys have a lovely evening and I look forward to hearing from you Monday, Mia,” I continued, trying to finish this conversation as quickly as it began. Playing hard to get, you know?

“You too,” Mia uttered under her reticent breath.

“Have a good evening,” the rest smiled and nodded, Bob ushering Mia to the front door and out of sight.

“Well, that was slightly awkward,” Lorenzo turned garishly, taking a sip of his whiskey. I had finished my wine. I looked at my phone again. I had two texts from Damien. Shit.

“I’m sorry Lorenzo, but I must be going. I waved to the bartender to bring the bill.

“Alas beautiful lady, allow me to pay for the drinks unless you had ten more before I saw you?” he smirked boyishly.

I chuckled, “No, just the two.”

“Then allow me,” he bowed slightly and extended his business card.

“Call me if you ever feel inclined. If not, maybe I will see you at Onyx later.”

I grabbed his card and took a quick glance before placing it carefully in my clutch.

“I will call you,” I smiled, moving in to give him a peck on the cheek. “Thanks for the drinks.”

“Anytime,” he nodded.

I rose from the barstool and placed my camel faux fur jacket over my shoulders.

“See you around,” I winked. Lorenzo gazed at me like an alpha male ready to pounce, and if I didn’t have a prior engagement with my beloved Damien, I probably would’ve let him. I was too worked up.

I made my way out of the restaurant looking for a cab. Within two minutes I was safely in a yellow car and headed to Onyx. I opened my phone.

The Devil: Just arrived.

The Devil: Are you on your way???

Me: Slow your roll, Damien. Unlike every girlfriend you have probably ever had, I am showing up. On my way.

Probably a little too harsh but whatever. Nice wasn’t in my arsenal, so why start now.

I gazed out at the passing city streets. Scores and scores of people marched to and fro, from bars to restaurants, to who knows what. I wondered where Mia was headed. Well, I didn’t necessarily have to wonder. I opened my phone and went to Mia’s navigation. It appeared that she was on her way home, escorted surely by Bob. Fucking, Bob. Why couldn’t he have a life of his own?

Maybe I could sneak into his house, stage a suicide, or a heart attack. Bob needed to be eliminated, he was a distraction, an irritation I couldn’t afford. No, that would hurt Mia, I shouldn’t.

Suddenly I wanted this Chin situation taken care of quickly. I wanted Li and Zhang Chin out of the way so I could focus on Mia. I wanted Bob dead, Damien dead for being annoying, Nadine dead for knowing too much, that squirrelly Dr. Swartz who forged me into this monster dead, and every person at Shadow. I clutched my heart as the sense of entrapment overwhelmed. I opened and closed my fists, the temperature in the car rose by several degrees as the anxiety burrowed deep. I needed to relax. I reached in my clutch and pulled out the vial. I poured four more pills into my hand and swallowed. I hoped they took effect quickly, the manic thoughts, the voices, building. I needed to kill someone.

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