Chapter Eight
Inside the MacLeod-Slaughter mansion, Fareed Gouyannou had become unsettled. Crimson Flare should have returned by now. It didn’t show on his face, but he was becoming worried that something had gone wrong with his plan. He occasionally deigned to mingle with small groups of his lackeys, encouraging, cajoling, and even joking with those he wished to provide a sense of their own intimacy with the caudillo. At the same time, through narrowed eyes, he scanned the edges of the room. Gouyannou knew the information Bruce Sealing had brought to him was well intended, and that Sealing himself was well-meaning, but the problem was that he was too ambitious. The former police officer was not smart enough to appreciate the inherent dangers represented by the superheroine. Too many, he knew, had believed that Crimson Flare would easily be brought to heel. And all of them were either dead, in prison, or, as in the case of Ape Greystook, permanently consigned to the prison hospital. Too many had already paid dearly for underestimating the petite masked Champion of Mitropoulos. Were things already turning? he wondered. The world is always turning.
Over in a well-lit corner, Bruce Sealing had become the center of attention. The few ladies still present had all gathered around him, their giggling laughter rising every once in a while to a crescendo that irritated the mobster. As Gouyannou surveyed the room, he noticed that his irritation was shared by some of his lieutenants.
Sealing had served his purpose. His capos would deal with that man in their own time.
But even his capos seemed unaware of the threat the chieftain was certain was now taking shape out there, somewhere in the city. He set his jaw, fury building in him. These people never THINK! he thought to himself. Everything is about NOW. If Crimson Flare has somehow escaped his control, there’s no question that she could present a problem greater than any he had ever encountered. He began to make his apologies to his guests, something about having to go to his office to take care of some business. He would return shortly, he said.
Upstairs, Fareed Gouyannou made a series of phone calls out of earshot of his subordinates. He alerted his early-warning system to be on the lookout for Crimson Flare, and to notify him immediately she was seen moving in the city, particularly if she was heading toward the mansion.
One of his sources told him that the last she had been seen, she had been heading toward the City Centre; but that had been hours ago.
No one had seen the comely crimefighter actually arrive at city hall.
Without a word, Gouyannou hung up.
The tensions and strains all flowed from Karen Perry’s body as she lay back in the tub. As the steam rose, it seemed, all of the turmoil that had surrounded her seemed to dissipate with it. For the first time in—how long? months?—she felt her muscles relax. It was like her entire body had unclenched.
Lynn was talking, but Karen only half listened. She knew she would have to apologise to her friend for that, but, for the first time in what seemed a lifetime, she felt physically free. The demons were gone! And she was reveling in that freedom.
‘…and you’ve got to know what’s waiting for you if you’re going back there,’ Lynn was saying.
‘Karen? Karen!’
‘I know!’ Karen replied sharply, although she had only heard the last few words of her friend’s warning. ‘I know,’ she said more gently. ‘It’s just that… it’s just that you don’t understand how I feel right now. It’s like my whole body was a tight ball, squeezing, pushing against itself. And now all of that pressure is gone. I feel like I’m floating right now. It feels good.’
Lynn knew she couldn’t understand. But she wanted Karen to know that, despite the exhilaration of her release from the devilish forces that had controlled her since they had met, now was not the time to leap at Gouyannou without proper preparation.
‘But Gouyannou is very dangerous. He’s dangerous because he’s smart.’
‘I know. He didn’t get where he is without being smart,’ Karen replied. ‘But he’s got Maria and I have to…’
‘We’ll get her,’ Lynn cut her off. ‘But we have to prepare. I’ll bet he’s already preparing contingency plans in case you’re beyond his control.’
‘But he can’t know that I’m completely beyond his control. And that that condition is permanent.’
‘Is it?’
‘Yes,’ Karen said confidently. ‘Every other time we tried to attack the dependency that Chan had created, I felt it still there, still gnawing at me. Maybe it was a still, small churning at the base of my spine, or an emptiness somewhere in me, but it was there and I could sense it, clearly. That’s gone now.’
‘Maybe we should do a chemical analysis of that stain on the bed.’
Karen sat up in the tub. ‘I don’t want to know what it was. It was… I don’t know… if I had religion, I’d call it evil.’
‘Do you mind if I satisfy my curiosity?’
‘If you want.’ Karen turned her body, the soapy water splashing up over her smooth, muscular back as she laid her body out, her chin resting on the edge of the tub. ‘Could you give my shoulders a massage?’
Lynn shifted her weight and pressed her strong fingers into the soapy water and into the muscles of her friend’s neck and shoulders. ‘There is a difference,’ she said quietly, a moment having passed. ‘The muscles in your shoulders have always been tense, hard. Now they’re completely relaxed. I thought it was because of the constant pressure of your heroine career.’
‘No. Stacy used to give great massages, but she frequently commented on the lack of tension in my muscles that she felt.’
Lynn’s fingers worked her friend’s shoulders. Coupled with the hot water in which she was immersed, Karen soon drifted off into a daze, even forgetting the immediate concerns of her other friends.
In their basement cell at the mansion Maria Blakeman and Tim Westbrook sat silently. Maria had done what she could to comfort her partner, but the blue-black bruises surrounding his eyes and swelling his jaw made communicating all but impossible. Now, she sat on the floor, Westbrook’s head resting on her lap.
‘Tim, why did you try to blackmail Crimson Flare?’ Maria said softly after a short while. ‘She is one of the most important allies the police have in dealing with crime. She’s even an inspiration—’ here the policewoman knew she was speaking of the heroine’s influence on her own career choices— ‘an inspiration to women all over the city to fight crime in their neighbourhoods and even to resist the gangs. Look what she did to the Normans and the Savoyards.’
Westbrook struggled mightily to answer Maria’s question, but all he could muster was a single word, sputtered out through clenched teeth within his battered jaw. ‘Vigilante.’
Maria knew that she couldn’t speak of the friendship that had begun with Lynn and Crimson Flare. In defending the heroine, she knew she could only talk about the victories she had won and the specific aid she had provided the police in the fight against crime.
But Tim Westbrook knew that his response was inadequate. He also knew it wasn’t true. He knew, like most members of Mitropoulos’ police force, that Crimson Flare wasn’t hated for the work she did. In fact, in large part, she was hated because of the work she did, and because of her success. The petite crimefighter had smashed two of Mitropoulos’ most dangerous gangs, had seen to the death of their leadership, and had even mopped up a very dangerous residue when she had defeated Ape Greystook a short while ago. How was that supposed to make a macho organisation like a police department feel? How many man-hours had been devoted to the city’s gang problem? And then this superslut in a mask and a bathing suit takes them out in a matter of weeks.
Like so many other officers—not all, he was sure—he also hated Crimson Flare because she was a woman. Other police officers hated her because what she did made the Department look inept. He knew that even Police Commissioner Warren, a woman and a political appointee to her post, felt this way. There were even stories about the Commissioner’s own plans to remove Crimson Flare from the Mitropoulos scene.
Maria gently stroked her partner’s battered face. She bent down and tenderly kissed the bruises around his eyes, lightly touching his lips with her own. The devastation visible on his face was too much for her to bear. She cared about her partner and she hated to see him in such pain.
She remembered his comments about Crimson Flare from earlier in this case, and she knew that his subsequent apology wasn’t entirely genuine. His effort to remove the heroine had blown up in his face. One of those who had been in on it with him was dead; the other was, utterly unawares, in great danger. But Tim was here, and he was hurt. Kissing him wasn’t very professional. But right now, being professional wouldn’t help him.
Fareed Gouyannou seemed filled with purpose as he re-entered the ballroom. The party had begun to wind down, as the last of the ladies were making their way to the door, escorted by Bruce Sealing. The mob chieftain silently indicated for his lieutenants to gather for a conclave in the nearby hall. He closed the door behind him.
‘Crimson Flare is on her way back here,’ he began. ‘We need to kill the bitch.’
The sounds of agreement were loud, as the gangsters, happy to finally rid themselves of their nemesis, punctuated the narrow space with threats and chuckles. But the boss of Mitropoulos continued, ‘She’s not the same broken girl we sent to Police Headquarters. She never arrived there. I don’t know how it happened, but it’s likely she’s back to what she was.
‘If we can, we’ll capture her all over again. But this time, we won’t worry about the prestige of having her around as a pet. I just want her dead.’
‘If she’s no longer in your control, how do you know she’ll be coming back here? Wouldn’t she be afraid to come back here?’ one of Gouyannou’s sub-bosses asked.
‘You should know that that superbitch isn’t afraid of anything. She’ll come back here to bring an end to us—me, the gang, the enterprise, everything.’ Gouyannou’s voice showed his controlled fury.
‘But she’ll come back here because we have something she wants,’ Gouyannou replied. ‘Bring the cops up to the ballroom. We may not have much time.’
As his men moved to their tasks, he moved into the shadows of the hallway. He pulled his cell phone from his jacket pocket and punched a number on his speed-dial. Shortly, a sleepy voice on the other end answered. ‘Commissioner Warren? Gouyannou here. I have a proposition.’
Karen lay on the bed, now stripped of the sheets and bedding, wearing only her Penn State XXXL t-shirt. Lynn sat in the nearby chair. Through the window the yellow light of dawn was creating a sharp background to the skyline of the great city. It provided a sinister atmosphere to the friends’ conversation.
‘Gouyannou must know that he’s lost control over you. But he can’t know that it’s permanent. You should be able to use his belief that you’re still sexually vulnerable against him,’ Lynn was saying.
‘What you’ll have to do is get Maria and her partner out of their cell and away from Gouyannou’s gang long enough for the police to deal with them. I’ll call them about an hour after you leave. That should give you time to make sure that nothing will happen to them when the police arrive at the mansion.’
Karen thought about what she now knew was the department’s antagonism to the heroine. ‘Lynn,’ she began, ‘About the police. They…’
‘I know, Karen, I know. But they will want to get Gouyannou and rescue two of their own. Even their hatred of Crimson Flare will have to take a back seat to that. Once they’re in control of the scene, you can get away from there. It’ll only be a short time.
‘And doing it this way will allow them to take credit for bringing down Gouyannou,’ Lynn added. She sounded light-hearted when she said it, but she wasn’t smiling.
‘You’ll monitor the police frequencies and give me word that they’re on their way,’ Karen said slowly, thinking of how the communicator had only worked sporadically since they had introduced it a few weeks ago, in the fight against Ape.
‘Just a ping. That’ll let you know that the police are coming. It’ll take them less than ten minutes to reach the mansion. Once you hear that, you can begin to make your way out.’
Karen sighed. ‘The end of Gouyannou will mark a major end of crime here in Mitropoulos. The gangs started with his help and money. Ape was going to rebuild with Gouyannou’s backing. There’s still crime, but it’ll take a while for organised crime to rebuild after this morning.’ She stared straight ahead. ‘Stacy would have loved this moment.’
‘It’s the moment that Crimson Flare was created for,’ Lynn said. ‘I don’t much believe in fate, but there’s a sense of destiny here. Crimson Flare’s destiny.’
Karen stood. For the first time in months, she felt in full control of her strength. As she stretched, her robe fell open, revealing her taut torso, her naked body. She pushed herself up onto her toes and reached for the ceiling, although her five-foot-four-inch height would fall well short of touching it. A couple of vertebrae popped satisfyingly and she felt her powerful muscles push against her skin. As she opened her eyes, she saw Lynn looking at her.
‘What?!?’
‘I’ve never seen you at full strength. It’s impressive.’
‘My body doesn’t show the strength I have. I look like a wimp.’ Karen was shocked by Lynn’s observation. ‘That’s one of the things that Stacy and I counted on when we created Crimson Flare. She was small—petite was the word Stacy always used—she wasn’t voluptuous, like Wonder Woman, or those heroines that show up on the fetish websites. Criminals would always be surprised by how strong I was.’
She moved to the dresser and opened the top drawer. She pulled out a fresh version of her famed costume. Inspecting it for any flaws or tears, Karen smiled. ‘Even so, it looks awfully small.’
‘You have no idea how it looks on you. It fits you like a second skin.’
On the contrary, thought Karen. I love the way it looks—and feels—on me. Setting the uniform aside for the moment, she picked up the colourless tights that were an equal part of her famed attire. Pulling them on, she smoothed them against her round, perfect thighs and her hard calves. Then the petite Champion pulled on the waistband, so that the garment now clung perfectly smoothly around her hips. The dim light from the pre-rush hour morning entering the room reflected off the glistening synthetic fibre. Karen’s legs—Crimson Flare’s most perfect and most-commented-on feature---took on an aethereal glow, reflected light shimmering across the colourless material. As she moved with the grace of a trained dancer around the room, gathering up the rest of the heroine’s garb, Lynn stared, bewildered, at the transformation that seemed to overtake the young woman who, under normal circumstances, served as an unassuming nurse at the Thomas Daniels Children’s Hospital.
She moved smoothly, efficiently, her legs—not long, not extending forever, in the favourite phrase of the hack writers who imagined heroines, but perhaps even short, considering the heroine’s height—covering the space of the bedroom quickly. Her moves across the floor were silent, the soles of her feet padded by the skintight leotard. Through the translucent material, her tanned flesh peered darkly, appearing to be utterly flawless. The muscles rolled smoothly beneath the taut flesh, conveying an impression of contained power. Lynn marveled at the sheer perfection of those extremities.
Now taking up the famed costume, she stepped into the seamless uniform that turned nurse into Champion. She popped her head through the opening at the neck, then smoothed her tousled hair. Her arms, surprisingly small for the renowned strength of the famed Maid of Mitropoulos, slipped through their holes and gently brushed smooth the crimson sequin-covered material. The uniform lay taut across her torso, leaving nothing to the imagination regarding what lay beneath. The small perfect hemispheres of her breasts formed distinct mounds that remained firm as she moved. Only occasional folds in her costume showed at her narrow waist. When she stretched her torso, her utterly flat abdomen gave no sign of the powerful muscles beneath. The tight crimson-and-gold attire flattered her hips as nothing else could have. The crevices displayed were not indecent, nor even unseemly, but rather, at the very least, exquisite, and more likely laudable.
Lynn watched as Karen next pulled on her black leather boots, now restored to their high-gloss lustre. Lying flush against the curvature of her calves, they seemed to move as Crimson Flare moved, a veritable second skin. The two-inch heels only moderately lifted the stature of the heroine, but their distinctive sound as she walked across the spaces of bare floor in the apartment sent a small chill running down the blonde girl’s spine.
The mask and cowl were added, disguising Karen’s identity and adding to the mystery surrounding the powerful Defender of Mitropoulos. She pulled her belt around her, letting it rest easily on top of her hips. Those majestic, perfectly round enticements had more than once lured some of Crimson Flare’s lesser opponents into a trap well-planned by Stacy. The baton was cradled in the holster that hung from it. And lastly, the matching crimson gloves, covering her arms to above her elbow, finished the image of the city’s Champion.
‘Karen, you look spectacular.’
‘I feel wonderful.’
‘I don’t know. There’s something that’s just… different about you.’ Lynn paused, staring. ‘You don’t think that there are, you know, changes?’
Behind her mask, Crimson Flare looked quizzically at her friend. ‘Changes? What kind of changes?’
‘You know. Your first orgasm brought about some kinds of changes that Chan tried to master and manipulate. Maybe the fact that your system is clean for the first time since that moment means that you’re somehow different. Stronger, maybe. Or maybe you have strengths that you simply don’t know about.’
‘I’ve been strong ever since I can remember, Lynn. Stacy and I realised that that was all there was to Crimson Flare. That and whatever you gain by having the increased strength—durability, a little speed, that sort of thing.’
‘And your weakness.’
‘Yes.’
‘Maybe you’ve lost your weakness.’
‘That would be a real bonus. It might mean that everything that happened in taking on Cos and Chan and the Normans might ultimately have an upside.’
Lynn paused, shocked by her next thought. ‘Suppose there’s another effect on your weakness.’
‘Like what?’
‘I don’t know. But it certainly could be made worse.’
‘Then we’ll have to find out. Before I go to the mansion.’
Lynn walked across the room to the closet and pulled out a length of soft rope. ‘Let’s see what happens.’
Crimson Flare crossed her wrists in front of her, and Lynn smoothly wrapped the rope around the satin-covered extremities. As soon as she had finished, she looked into her friend’s eyes and asked warily, ‘Well?’
Crimson Flare’s gaze seemed distant. Behind her mask, she blinked vigourously for a moment. Then she quietly sighed. She lifted her arms and tugged weakly at the ropes that bound her. She licked her lips and seemed to try to focus. She pulled harder at her bindings.
‘Quick, Lynn. Take it off.’ She sounded afraid.
‘Why? What’s wrong?’
‘Take it… off.’ The heroine’s voice became weaker. She stumbled forward and fell against her blonde friend. ‘Pl—please…’
Lynn placed the masked avenger carefully on the bed and then quickly began undoing the rope.
‘OOooooohhhh,’ the masked Maiden moaned. ‘Hurry.’
Crimson Flare’s face was pale, her eyes closed, and beads of sweat formed on her forehead and throat. Her breathing was rapid and she seemed to be having trouble swallowing. This can’t be good, Lynn thought.
As she pulled the ropes from her wrists, Lynn looked at her friend and felt her heart in her throat.
Crimson Flare had fainted.
End of Chapter Eight