The Power of a Woman
Six Short Tales
By
Dee Hayden
Published by Denz Books
Copyright 2012 by Dee Hayden
Cover art from Morguefiles
All characters and events in this story are fictitious. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.
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When the third bank robber casually cuffed the side of Gregory Rilches head with his gun, fracturing his skull with a sharp crack sending the boy to the floor near senseless, the robber didn’t realize that certain monsters are hidden and locked behind specific keys. Jane Carloww, a simple secretary working for minimum wage in a surgeon’s office, rose to her tattered panty-hose covered knees, then to her feet, her soft grey eyes chilled to sleet. Samson Garret – The second robber, whose identity would only be proved by extensive dental records by the end of the week, swung his gun away from the barricaded window and faced her.
“Hey, you fuckin’ bitch, get on the ground!”
Jane tilted her head to the left, her pale skin stretching, her neck popping with a small crack. Leaning it to the left, it popped again as her mouse-brown hair, no longer fully contained in her bun, fell across her cheek. Bending slightly, she caressed Gregory’s head and gave his forehead a gentle kiss.
Her voice whipped like ice.
“Some steal to eat. Others, to support their families…” She turned back towards Samson and gestured towards the third gunman. “But this one…he enjoys the needless cruelty – causing unneeded terror. This I cannot allow.”
The third gunman, whose name would never be identified, sneered at her and closed the distance between them. His hand gripped the back of her neck and he pulled her upward until her feet were barely on the ground. They were nose to nose.
“So what? What are you going to do about it?” He grinned, his teeth white and even – hailing an orthodontist in his past. “Nothing, that’s what. In fact-“He glanced back towards the stand-off outside. “I can do anything I want and there’s no one to stop me.”
Jerking his chin at Samson to go back to watching the window, the gunman laid his gun on the tall counter of the teller line and shoved her against the marble. His other hand was tugging up on the edge of her simple black skirt. Gregory’s mother Marilyn whimpered, then pressed her face back on the tiles of the floor when the gunman glared at her.
Jane’s eyes never left his face. “Close your eyes little one – you have no reason to see what happens next.” Her voice was soft, gentle – yet brooked no argument. Gregory lay down and curled up next to his mother, pressing his tear stained cheeks into her shaking shoulder.
Skirt around her waist, she waited for him to tug at the zipper of his dark jeans.
“Stupid bitch…” There.
Pressing her hips against his, she lifted a knee and brought the sharp heel of her black pump down sharply over his shin.
“Fuck!” He jerked backwards, dropping his hold for a moment, then grabbed for his gun. Too late. Her short French manicured nails grabbed hold of his Adams apple and clenched tight as she ripped her arm back and forth. He grabbed her hair and yanked, but she stayed with him, teeth barred in a feral grin and his voice gurgled, then stopped as his throat tore free in her hand. His hands rose to his throat as he flung himself violently side to side, then fell to his knees. Jane snatched for the gun on the counter, but leapt to one side when the marble beside her exploded. Turning, she threw herself to her knees in a short slide and rolled as a second shot shattered the dark blue tile of the floor. A bloody hand grabbed at the pole that indicated where the line started. A quick zip detached it from the others. Ten feet, then six – Samson tried to line the next shot when the heavy pole slammed across his arm knocking the gun into the potted fern. A panicked step backwards as he watched the pole swing back. His collarbone shattered.
“Never!”
Swing and crack of the zygomatic arch of his cheek.
“Hurt!
Blood spewed from his lips as the pole came back across his sternum.
“Children!”
Raising the pole above her head, she brought it down on the wet eyes and Samson Garret’s skull shattered to pieces with a sucking wet crunch.
Her shoes clicked across the floor, the pole dragging behind her as she moved back towards the counter.
Curled in a fetal position, his fingers desperately trying to keep his open throat free enough to breathe through, the third still lived.
“When they come in, you’ll get treatment and a court date and some deal to cut down your time. You’ll get parole too early and we-“
Her hand gestured at those huddled on the floor
”-We will lie awake in our beds terrified of you for the rest of our days. And you like it that way.”
She brought the pole up to her shoulder. It clinked softly against the name tag on her blouse.
“I can’t allow that either.”
White teeth broke and scattered. Blood and gore flecked marble and blue tiled turned black.
“What the fuck?!”
The first robber – the one who’d demanded they all get on the floor. The one who’d shot Mary Ellen for her short scream. The one who’d been deep in the vault loading the holiday double shipment into his dark leather duffel – came around the corner of the counter and stumbled to a halt at the sight of his partners’ remains and the blood covered Jane. He hesitated, unable to take it in, then pulled the gun from the waistband of his pants. His body toppled over backwards, a neat hole in the grey jersey over his heart. Jane set the gun back on the counter and walked towards the doors.
Detective Alexander Chaney of the Columbia Police department finished loading Marilyn Riches and her son Gregory into an ambulance, then walked towards the still figure of Jane Carloww. After she’d unblocked the doors and let them in, she’d set down on the cool tiles of the bank floor and hadn’t moved or spoken to anyone since. She’d watched as the police had worked furiously to get the scene under control and the hostages looked after. They were crying, and whimpering – they said Carloww had saved them, but they’d all avoided walking close to her – their eyes full of fear when they glanced her way. And none stopped to thank her save eight years old Gregory- who’d pulled away from his near catatonic mother and stumbled towards Jane before being led away by the medic.
Chaney nodded at his partner Karl Glaxon who was leading the newly arrived coroner - Sarah Birdoe towards the first body, then leaned down and sat beside Jane grimacing as his knee popped.
“Ma’am? I’m Detective Chaney. We’ve got a lot to do here and consensus is that you’re the one I need to talk to most. Can you tell me what happened here?”
He watched a single crystal tear slide down her cheek. Her eyes staring at nothing.
“Ma’am?”
Her voice was soft and touched with sorrow.
“What are we detective? When the lights go out and no one says stop? If someone stands up to the dark and tells it ‘No – this stops here.’ - At what point do we realize that the dark isn’t around us – but in us? A monster kept under lock and key just waiting. And that we all just need…a reason.”
She stilled to silence, save the silver of her tears and spoke no more.
Chaney sat for several long moments before levering himself back to his feet and signaled to a beat cop rookie named Daniels to bring a blanket.
“I’m a cop ma’am, from a family of ‘em. We live – we all live to strive against that dark every day. In the end we can only hope to always stand for what’s right. Whatever happens. And sometimes, when the hardest thing to face is our mirror, that’s the only thing we’ve got left to hold on to.”
Tucking the soft blue blanket around her shoulders, Chaney smoothed her hair with uncharacteristic gentleness.
“ Whenever you’re ready Jane. Whenever you’re ready.”
Walking into the dimness of the police station from the scorching heat of the August sun seemed a relief – an illusion of coolness that, like so much else, was a lie. The noise of the station was a comfort at least. Bouncing off the crumbling walls of blue-grey-green, the strident voices of prostitutes complaints, the rumble of drunks in the tank, and the hollow-souled tiredness of his fellow officers in blue.
“Chaney, how’d the press take it?” His partner Karl Glaxon pressed a lukewarm cup of day old coffee into his hand and shifted assorted files back into order in the crook of his arm. His partner’s sweat stained shirt showed every sin of the stations on again off again relationship with the AC. The fresh dark circles under his pale blue eyes flagged the seriousness of the case which held their small city of Columbia, South Carolina in a near paralytic panic.
“No leads, no news, no names – what do you think? It was all I could do to keep the reporters from eating me alive.” Detective Alexander Chaney ran a hand through his short cropped black hair then tugged at the dark red tie around his neck. Couldn’t leave it off despite his hatred for the formality. Might need another press release in a few hours if they got a break in the case. God knows they needed one.
“Yeah, yeah. Not my fault you’re the pretty one. Well, take a break from that. I gotta strange one for ya.”Glaxon grinned.
“Strange one?”
They passed through the heavy metal door propped open with the fat stained paged of a phone book and past the perpetually closed door of the department shrink. He glanced at the windows of the Chief’s office and grunted at the closed blinds.
“Yeah. Bag lady. She won’t talk to anyone but you. A good thing for the rest of us too.” His grin widened, a wicked gleam entering his eyes. “She reeks. Literally. I was sure to tell her that you would love to talk with her. Personally.”
Chaney rolled his eyes. “Great.”
“Aww… you too big now to talk to your adoring fans? His laugh was harsh from too many years of cigarettes and not enough whiskey.
Chaney slid his lean frame behind the dented metal desk. Already there was a new stack of files sitting on the old stacks he’d barely had time to straighten before the chief had sent him off to be the face of the case.
“Dammit. Too much to do and no time to do it.”
Glaxon grinned at him from his own desk. “Tell me about it kid. Stop up one pipe and the shit just rolls down another.”
A quick sort of the cases didn’t provide anything that needed attention immediately. He dumped them in the ‘wait’ pile and picked up the phone. Three rings and the ever efficient Mrs. Pauline White picked up.
“White – whatya want, I’m busy.” Chaney hesitated. Pauline was usually the soul of a good southern lady.
“Its Chaney, I just got back and wanted to—“
“Chaney! You need to get yourself down here right away – didn’t you get my e-mail?”
“I haven’t had a chance to turn my computer back on – what’s wrong?”
“We found the kill zone – and the missing pieces. You need to get here.” With that, the phone clicked off.
He stood from his chair fast enough, it banged against the cracked wall behind him as he moved back around his desk.
“Karl – they found the kill site – we gotta go.”
“Whoa cowboy – hold up – you’ve got to take care of this lady first – she’s been here since just after you left and trust me when I say that Admin does not want her to stay on premises. Health reasons and all that shit.”
His jaw tightened. Stupid bureaucrats.
“Fine – I’ll take her to interview one and get her squared away from everyone. We’ll head out to see Pauline and I’ll take care of bag lady when we get back. If she’s still here. Deal?”
Karl raised his palms in surrender and shrugged. “She’s your super-fan my friend, you handle it.”