Zahncliff Character Sketch 3

Allo! Here is a sketch of the Jorōgumo, a Japanese spider woman. You'll have read about her briefly in the Zahncliff Institute.

Zahncliff Segment: Chapter 7, Bloody Sand

7

Bloody Sand

**

Adam

After the call, I sat in stunned silence for a few minutes.

Dead. Dear God, all of them are dead.

Death is not a stranger to me, but neither is it a friend. I had seen far to many people die in my far-too-long lifetime, and each time it is just as painful as the last. There had been seven hundred and thirty-four beings in the Scheherazade Institute, and I felt in my gut that we would find nothing but rubble. Rubble and ash. Not even bones. Nothing to bury.

Destra sat across from me, looking just as stunned, yet in a different way. She didn't, couldn't understand the death toll.
“This is wrong.”
Her voice startled me out of my stupor.
“yes, yes it is.” She was right. All of this was wrong, so very wrong, and I couldn't tell why. Unless I see for myself.

I stood up abruptly, and raced out of the room. I heard Ms. Simmons rush to follow behind me.

“You're going, aren't you? You're going to Saudi Arabia!”
“Yes, Ms. Simmons, and if you wouldn't mind, I need you to explain the situation to Milly. I'll be back in a week.” I spun quickly around the corner, and began the climb to the roof.

“Seeing as how I don't actually know what's going on, I don't think I should be the one to explain!” She was still following me. Now we were on the roof, and I headed toward one of the many Institute helicopters.

“I don't have time to argue with you, child, I have a very long flight ahead of me, and very little time. By now, both the American government, and the Islamic government will have noticed the mess, and if I don't get there before they do, even more blood will be shed, over who did it. Now, if you will excuse me!” I climbed nimbly into the cock-pit, and started the blades spinning. Destra stared at me wide-eyed, and backed away from the quickly accelerating blades. After a few minutes, I left the ground, and headed East into the rising sun.

**

Destra

I watched Zahncliff disappear into the blinding sun, a flash of silver. Then I headed back down stairs.
Now not only was there a murder that would have to be investigated, but we also had to find the next girl before she got killed in some gruesome fashion. And there was the mystery of my informant.
This isn't my responsibility. Why should I care?

I laughed at myself as I calmly walked back down the stairs, and to the kitchen. They would be up by now, starting breakfast for the diurnal patients.
In a way, it is my responsibility. It's my ability. Of course, the others here have much more experience handling such things as murders and monstrous mayhem, but I can do my bit.

In the kitchen, the lunch ladies were busy stirring gravy, cooking meats, and were pulling out muffins and bread pudding that had been made the night before. The New Yorkers ignored me, or made sniping

comments about my appearance, but I shut them out, and waited for the sound of familiar voices. I leaned back onto the cold metal counter behind me, and closed my eyes for a spell. After what seemed like only seconds, a large hand was shaking me awake.
“Destra, girl, this is not the time for a nap. Adam's left without a single word as to where he'll be, and how long. And I just got a call from the chief of police; they've found another body.” Milly sounded impatient, but my eyes and ears were slow to respond.
Finally I sat up. It was noon, and I was still perched on the edge of the counter. I rubbed my eyes.

“Sorry, Milly, Zahncliff did leave some news.... I've had a rough night, just a second,” I yawned loudly, and stretched my arms, enjoying the cracking sounds they made. “Adam got a call early this morning from the Scheherazade Institute-- I think they were attacked.” I watched Milly's face fall, and a look of horror come into her eyes.

“He took off in a copter as soon as the other line was cut. As for the murder, I knew about that, too. I was visited by some weirdo last night who warned me about a 'fire dame', whoever that is, and that I would be the thirteenth. Then I saw the murder scene. And I need the records for every college in the city.... I saw who the next victim is going to be, and we need to get to her, fast.” I finished, finally taking a breath. I was shocked by how calm I was. Normally this wasn't my style, normally I was the one to freak out, and lose control. But I was cool with this. This, I could handle.

**

Destra

The first three days that Adam was gone were a hectic mess, with many angry outbursts from patients out of fear for their brethren over seas. Everyone wanted to know what was going on, when would Adam be back, were there any survivors, and what could they do to help?

All we could do was wait. Wait, and pray.

Things finally fell into an uneasy sort of norm. I did all I could to help, and tried to block all of my anxieties. But you can't do that for long. Eventually, you have to have something to release anger, fear, and pent up crazed energy.

And so, when I got home that night, I changed into yoga pants and a tank, turned my stereo up as loud as I could without getting the cops called, and danced to vintage techno . I had taken a few ballet classes, and some belly dancing years ago, and so my dance was a strange collage of pirouettes, hip-shimmies, and hair flipping. I danced until I was covered in sweat, and still I danced.

Then, as I was bending back as far as I could, I noticed that my window was wide open. I flipped upward, right into the arms of a now familiar stalker. He placed his hand right on my hips, grinned, then spun me, and brought me back to face him.

“What in the hell are you doing in my house?” I asked, my voice dripping with venom. I pushed away from him, and his unnaturally bold green eyes sparkled wickedly.

“Well, if I had knocked, would you really have let me in?” He stepped backwards, and flopped down onto my creaky, hand-me-down couch, his arms stretched out to each side, and drummed his fingers on the back of the couch. “Nice little place you got here.... Not quite what I pictured, but cozy.” He propped his feet up on the coffee table.

“What do you want?” I walked by, and angrily kicked his shining black boots, which hit the floor with a pleasing thud. He sat forward.

“Before I tell you, you got any grub in this place? I haven't had a bite in days.”
For some reason this struck me as odd. Even though I got the idea that he was a wanderer of sorts, he also seemed like a hunter. It didn't occur to me that he might ever go hungry. I blinked.

“Um, ya, come into the kitchen.” I said, slowly walking into the kitchen. I heard him quietly get up behind me, and follow silent as a cat. Even though I knew he was dangerous, I didn't fear him. Something told me that no matter how he was around other people, he wouldn't hurt me. Not on purpose, anyway. I busied myself pulling random things out of cabinets. He watched me quietly from across the rickety dining table, his shoulders slumped, face softened.

“I-I, um, don't know what you eat.....” I held up a can of chicken & noodle in one hand, and a package of macaroni in the other. “....Your choice?”

He quirked a smile.

“whichever is most filling.” He said, casting his eyes downward.

He really had to humble himself to ask for food. Poor guy.

Wait, what? 'poor guy'? This is the guy that has stalked me, broken into my house, and given my creepy warnings. What's to 'poor guy'?

“Mac and cheese it is!” I said, false cheer in my voice. This guy totally threw me. I pretended that the task needed all of my attention, even though a dummy can make macaroni. While I waited for the water to boil, I glanced occasionally at my guest; he kept twiddling his long slender fingers, and picking at his black, slightly pointed nails.

“What's your name?” I asked. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair, and I pressed on. “Last time I asked you, you dodged the question. And since you seem to know everything about me, I at least deserve the name of my unshakable stalker.”
He chuckled, a low growl.

“You really don't want to know much about me. It's safer that way.”

“I'm not the one coming to you, buddy boy. And frankly, not much about my life is safe anymore. It never really was.” I came and sat in the chair across from him, which startled him ever so slightly.

“Gabr--” he stopped. I smiled encouragingly. “Gabriel. Gabriel Morrison.” He put his right non-human hand forward cautiously, and I took it in my own. His hand was hot and dry, like a summer day in the dessert, and strong, callused from many years of use. My own very human hand felt small, delicate in his. I felt my face flush. Suddenly hissing filled the kitchen.

“Damn!” I spun around, glad of an excuse to pull my hand away, and quickly whipped the boiling-over pot of water off of the stove, and set it on the counter. Water still skittered angrily across the burner in little bubbles, each one dancing into nothingness within seconds. I went about putting the rest of it together, working to ignore the very male presence still sitting there, rubbing the hand I had held. Then he saw me watching and quickly jerked his hand under the table.

Once the mac & cheese was done, I dished it up, grabbed two forks, and slid a steaming bowl, and a utensil over to Gabriel. He bent over his bowl, and began hastily shoveling the hot cheese sauce and noodles into his mouth, barely chewing before he gulped it down. I watched him for a few minutes, until I became aware that my mouth was hanging open. I snapped it shut, and began lifting forkful after forkful to my own mouth, never looking away from him. After he finished, he got up with his bowl and fork, and went over to the sink. I watched him turn on the faucet, and slowly start rubbing the dishes with his hands under a trickle of water.

“There is a sponge, if you want.” He looked up at me briefly, then nodded his head, and went back to washing. He stacked them in the drainer, thanked me in a hushed tone, then headed silently towards the front door. I followed him, and just as he was about to leave, he turned.

“By the way, those are some mad dancing skills you have there.” He smirked, and the quiet, contrite Gabriel was gone.
“Oh, get out of here you turd!” He spun out, and winked at me before disappearing down the hall. I blushed and closed the door. Then realized he never told me anything. I opened the door again to shout at him, but I knew he was long gone.

I should have called someone, Milly, perhaps, told her about the strange man who drifted in and out as he pleased. But I had few secrets in my life anymore, and something in my gut told me this was one I needed to keep to myself.