Russell Andrews - Hades

And she knew even better that one day she would destroy that love when she revealed her superiority. The time would come when she would kill her other half to prove that she was indeed a whole all by herself.

Ling saw Togo's eyes move now, just a shift-no one else would have even noticed-and then he was gone again. For a moment she thought she had only imagined his presence, that he hadn't ever appeared, but she could sniff his fragrance lingering in the wind, and she knew that he had not been an apparition. He had been real.

The smile was gone from her face now and she was all but invisible again in the shadows. Time was once more standing as still as her rigid body.

And then she knew she had to move.

The door to the house was opening, just as they had been told it would. It was hours before the break of dawn and the only brightness on the street came from the stars above. When the man stepped out of the house, a crack of light escaped from inside. She saw his features for a moment, the pale skin, the glint of rust in his brown hair. She saw the fear in his eyes and the weakness he wore like a mask.

He had an overnight bag strapped over his right shoulder and as he stepped toward the street, he looked left and then right, as if this cursory search would somehow guarantee his safety. It was safe to smile again, silently, so she did, knowing that he would see nothing and that his safety was far from guaranteed.

He crossed over onto her side of the street, was only a few feet away from her. He stopped, as if sensing something. But still he saw nothing. She willed herself to be invisible and her will was strong because he looked right at her, shrugged as if taking himself to task for imagining things, took one more step forward…

And that was when his world melted.

Pain did that to people, she knew. Although she couldn't imagine the kind of pain he was experiencing so rapidly and unexpectedly.

Togo came up behind him, unheard and unseen, and his right leg kicked out in an exquisite variation of The Hissing Cat. His heel connected just above the man's right heel and Ling knew bone and tendons were immediately shattered. The man had enough strength left to scream and he began to, but that's when she moved, one elegant, long finger jabbing down into his carotid artery. It was a graceful movement, and she allowed herself to feel pleasure from its perfect execution. She took satisfaction, too, in his immediate silence. The scream that was going to force its way through his lips was strangled in his throat, unable to escape. His eyes bulged, and for a moment she felt like giggling because he looked like a frog about to explode. Ling whirled and her foot snaked out, a foot as sculptured and lovely and smooth as her perfectly shaped hands. And just as deadly. It was a wondrous quick jab the foot made, clipping the man's back. If she had kicked harder, he would be paralyzed. Instead, he was just filled with white-hot flashes of extraordinary pain. She could render men helpless with her beauty, she knew. But she much preferred doing it with pain. She gloried in his agony.

It didn't take long for Togo to pull the van alongside the man's prone body. She was able to lift him effortlessly into the back. Togo questioned her with his eyes: Is he still alive? The wordless question hurt her. And made her angry. Of course he is still alive, her eyes answered back. I do not make mistakes.

They'd been told to take him alive.

There were questions he needed to answer.

So she would make sure he lived until he answered them.

Then there were no more instructions. Then she could do whatever she wanted.

Then she could smile and giggle and laugh and let her body experience all the pleasure she allowed it to have.

Once the questions were answered, the fun could begin.

If there was one thing Li Ling loved more than her lifelong companion, Togo, it was when she could stop standing still and start having fun.

Justin was surprised to hear his father's voice on the other end of the telephone. He looked at his watch, but his eyes weren't focused yet. He rubbed them with his thumb and forefinger. It didn't help. The room looked as if it were swaddled in gauze. When he spoke, it sounded as if his vocal cords had rusted.

"Are you hungover?" Jonathan Westwood asked.

"No," Justin said. His sight was coming back. He could make out the numbers on the telephone. He glanced at his watch, and a faint groan escaped through his lips. He hadn't even slept half an hour. "I was working all night."

He could feel his father's hesitation. To ask about his job might somehow signal that he approved of it, which Jonathan Westwood most certainly did not. But because their relationship had relatively recently been repaired-after having been strained, even nonexistent for quite a few years-to avoid any comment at all might be perceived as too hostile. In the end Jonathan went for civility. "I hope things are all right. With your work, I mean."

Justin couldn't help but grin just a little bit. Times had certainly changed. "There was a murder here last night," he said. "The investigation's going to start this morning."

"So what were you doing last night?"

"Thinking. You know that's the tough part for me."

Jonathan Westwood didn't respond. He certainly didn't argue the point.

"Big family reunion coming up?" Justin said. "A Westwood outing to Disney World?"

"Excuse me?"

"I was just wondering why you called, Dad."

There was another pause from the Rhode Island end of the phone. For a moment, Justin thought he was going to receive bad news. Then he realized that couldn't be it. His father would not have hesitated giving bad news. He wouldn't have liked it, but he wouldn't have shrunk from it. Justin wondered what in the world would make his father hesitate. And he realized immediately. The elder Westwood needed his son's help.

"Is something wrong?" Justin asked.

"There might be."

Again the long silence. Then Jonathan broke it with the words "Victoria needs your help."

Justin's head was suddenly clear. But his chest was just as suddenly so full he could barely breathe. "She asked for my help?" he said.

"No. She has no idea I'm calling you."

"What would she say if she knew?"

"What do you think she'd say, Jay?"

Justin decided it was better not to answer that question. He knew what her response would be: She wouldn't say anything. She would just stare at him accusingly. Bitterly. "What is it she needs my help for?" is what he said instead.

"Ronald's missing."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean he's missing. When Victoria woke up this morning, he was gone."

"Maybe he went to the office."

"She woke up at six o'clock."

"Did he come home last night?"

"Yes."

Justin gave a half laugh. "So he left early. Maybe he went to the gym. Why do you think something's actually wrong?"

"Because Victoria says something's wrong."

Now it was Justin's turn to be silent. When he spoke, all he said was "Yeah. Okay." After the next silence he said, "Look, there's nothing I can do yet. You have to give this twenty-four hours. People just don't go missing from six to seven in the morning. You can't send up a flare when he's been gone for an hour."

"He was gone before six."

"Okay, two hours. Or three. It's crazy."

Jonathan Westwood didn't have to say anything for his son to tell the deep level of his disapproval. Justin sighed.

"What would you like me to do, Dad?"

"I don't know. This is what you do for a living."

"No. What I do for a living is get involved when a crime is committed. There's no crime here. There's nothing here."

More silence. Justin was beginning to understand where he got his own poor communication skills from.