"Don't stop with my heart/ Take everything that I've got/…"
She could hear music before the elevator doors slid open. The kind of slow, sad tune found primarily in nightclubs, made up of equal parts loneliness and invitation. If you were all by yourself with only a drink to keep you company, the song sat down beside you and wrapped itself close to provide comfort. If you weren't alone, then it helped remind you how lucky you were to have the person across the table gazing right back.
"I can spare a few troubles/ Depends if you want them or not…"
The ride up to the top had taken a while. Once the tallest skyscraper in an already impressive skyline, Vita Nueva boasted a reputation as one of New Meridian's ritziest and most talked about hotels. Walking into it was like stepping into a remnant of a more glamorous, affluent age. The lower levels were decorated with columns and colonnades, pediments adorned by marble friezes depicting half-naked warriors engaged in glorious battle. Fountains with sculptures of ancient Dagonian deities were showcased in the lobby, and bronze statues of stoic generals in full regalia adorned alcoves on every floor. This towering edifice was one of young Lorenzo Medici's first triumphs in his career. Its acquisition alerted any interested parties in the Canopy Kingdom that a rising star was in their midst. Considering how many of the original owners were gunned down to make it his, the architectural theme served as a subtle reminder for anyone not fluent in history. The conqueror had made his entrance.
"There's good and bad in my life/ Darling, I'm willing to share…"
Upon exiting the elevator, no such display of male braggadocio could be found in the décor before her. Located at the very top of this luxury edifice, the Salt Cellar Nightclub was a subtle, elegant oasis enhanced by polished silver moldings that resembled flourishing plants climbing the patterned black wallpaper. Beautifully wrought oak paneling lent a further touch of craft. The ceiling soared high overhead ending in a half-dome carefully constructed to enhance any music being played. As if to make up for this, the whole club itself was relatively narrow, far longer than it was wide. One side was dominated by a bar that ran virtually the width of the hotel, manned by no less than six full-time bartenders. The wall opposite sported ceiling-length windows flanked by blue velvet curtains allowing one to look out upon the entirety of New Meridian at night.
"It's a short distance between us/ Say that you'll meet me there…"
A stage was set up at the other end of the room where the band currently played. Pianist and cellist were both in black eveningwear, while the black-skinned siren between them showed off a scarlet sequin dress with red full-length opera gloves. Subdued lighting shone from small candles in glass globes set on the white-draped tables. This allowed for a better view of that breathtaking cityscape. Up here, it really felt as if you were above it all. Like you had ascended to a realm beyond earthly concerns. Or at least that was the impression it might have been intended to give off.
As she stepped down a short flight of stairs leading to the main area, the young lady found her appearance already caused a stir among the other guests. No help for it on this assignment. She needed to pull out all the stops. Black curls teased to full thickness reached the middle of her back. A sleeveless white cocktail dress showed off light-brown skin while making no effort to hide her prominent curves. She had on stilettos with thin white straps up to the ankle and a clutch purse gripped in one hand. Her roommate Barbie was a cosmetician, and she had been more than willing to spend an hour in front of the mirror while being plucked and primped. No lipstick, as it had been deemed too vulgar, but the right amount of mascara brought out her dark brown eyes for all they were worth.
Her heartbeat quickened as she spotted a solitary figure by the bar. Here goes nothing.
As she headed over, a lone diner previously absorbed in gazing out the window took note of her and half-turned in his seat as she approached. "Pardon me, miss," he said in a friendly fashion, "If you're not here with anyone tonight, can I interest you in joining me?"
The lady paused for a moment, then cracked a sincere smile. "Thanks for the offer, but I'm meeting someone in particular."
To her relief, he didn't press it. Just raised his glass amiably and gave a resigned smile. "You understand; I would have regretted not asking more."
He went back to his drink and she proceeded on her way. Her nervousness was increasing with every step. This could very well be the most dangerous thing I've ever done. They say you have to live a story to write it. Really hope I get the chance.
With that she slid onto an unoccupied barstool and took a deep breath. "Mind if I join you?"
Her heart was in her mouth as the lady seated to her left glanced over briefly before looking away again. "Be my guest."
So I pass first inspection. Feeling somewhat reassured, she signed for the nearest barman and ordered a scotch on the rocks before settling her open clutch on the countertop. There was a mirror in front of them that ran the length of the bar, and she looked at herself for a moment prior to making her opening salvo. "Can I ask you a few questions?"
Her fellow nighthawk didn't seem surprised at the attention she was receiving. Wearing a white cocktail dress as tight and revealing as her own, she took a sip from her glass and held it by the rim to dangle playfully. "Is this an interview?"
"Yes."
The other woman seemed to absorb this admission before inclining her head. "Then ask away."
"Thanks." Glancing at her purse for security, the reporter got right down to business. "Are you the Black Dahlia?"
Maybe it was her imagination, but it felt like the background noise in the club diminished to a notable extent. Or that's just my pulse racing. The lady in question did not so much as flinch. She swirled the clear liquid in her drink, then emptied it slowly and without any hurry. Settling down only ice cubes now, she turned to face her inquisitive companion. "I have to say, that's a new one."
Not exactly an answer, but I'm still alive. Might as well ride this bull as long as I can. "My name is Casandra Soldados." Reaching into her purse, she produced an ID card with her picture on it. "I'm a reporter for the New Meridian Gazette."
"I know the name." Her companion cocked her head to one side. Without having to be told, a bartender came over and refilled her glass, which she picked up and smiled gamely. "Your headlines tend to be rather blunt. What was that one a while back? Three Burned to Death in Schoolyard Execution? And more recently: Local Schoolgirl Mutilated! The prose makes it all seem very gauche, but that's to be expected considering the subject. What does the 'S' stand for?"
About to launch into another query, Casandra hesitated. "Excuse me?"
"Your middle initial. Casandra S. Soldados. What does it stand for?"
The way the woman stared straight at her made the investigative reporter squirm uncomfortably. "Socorra." Then, before she could think twice Casandra added, "My friends call me 'Cat' for short."
"Aw, that's adorable." There was a distinctly mean edge to her voice now. Something told Cat this woman did not go in for pet names directed at her. She could fast feel herself losing control of this conversation. I've got to press my advantage before she loses interest. "What do I call you?"
One blue eyebrow rose. "You ask that after accusing me of being a mass murderer? I have to say, your pick-up lines leave much to be desired." She flicked a hand out in desultory fashion. "That guy who seemed interested in you before is still by himself. Maybe you should take him up on his offer. Keep the night from being a total wash." And with that she turned away and proceeded to ignore her.
Cat was not about to be dismissed quite so easily, however. "There's a rumor that Black Dahlia likes to visit this nightclub out of uniform, as it were. I asked around and decided to check it out myself."
"You don't seem her type," the woman remarked to the bottom of her glass.
"It was a bad lead. I see that now. But maybe you can help me all the same."
Quick as a flash Cat's hand dove into her purse. The gun was in her grip just as fast, but before she could withdraw it something wound swiftly around her elbow. Next thing Cat knew she was tied securely to the silver bannister by a length of rubber hose, the type used by hospitals to increase circulation prior to drawing blood. More remarkable than this was the feel of a cold metal implement being pressed against her collarbone. The young woman froze, taking short quick breaths as she glanced down. Sure enough, a thin blade gleamed ever so faintly in the light.
"Puncturing the subclavian artery is trickier than the femoral owing to its location. For the same reason, though, compressions to halt bleeding are virtually impossible. By twisting the weapon you can further reduce any opportunity for vasospasm which might otherwise save the target's life. Actually, just by telling you this, I'm decreasing the likelihood that you would survive. A victim's own fear works against them just as effectively as the wound itself. You might even expire from shock at the first sight of blood. I've seen it before."
Under normal circumstances, Cat would have been scared to death at being in this situation. Hanging on the edge not knowing if you were about to die was torture. Anticipation made it all the worse. But something the woman said got her reporter's juices flowing.
It was all about fear.
There was no sudden sharp pain, no spurt of blood. The woman reached over and drew the evening purse over to her. Cat made no attempt to resist. The knife never wavered from its place half-concealed against her chest. None of the other club patrons took notice of her predicament. She waited as her belongings were rifled through, including the small derringer pistol. "It's not loaded," the captive journalist mumbled feebly.
An amused snort sounded. "You came hunting the Dahlia with an empty weapon? Talk about naïve."
The pistol disappeared somewhere about that white dress. A second later the rubber tie came loose and Cat was free. Nursing her tingling limb, she watched the deadly mystery sitting calmly right beside her. Seems my hunch was right. "You're one of those people from the Labs, aren't you? The ones nobody in the government will even admit exists. The Anti-Skullgirl Labs."
A smile crooked the woman's upper lip, which was split along one side by a gash that left part of her mouth permanently exposed. "You can call me Valentine." She regarded Cat critically for a moment. "So… a reporter. Well, that explains your tact and air of righteous certainty. And you've sought me out because… you wanted to be in tomorrow's headlines in a different way?"
Being up close and face to face let her see the woman's eyes were dark red. This combined with the blue hair, pale skin and white dress gave her a macabre appearance, like a vampire or a phantom. Something already dead. Still unnerved by what just took place, Cat shook her head quickly. "I write about the Dahlia," she said in a half-whisper, half-gasp. "It's my focus. Everybody at the Gazette knows when something about her comes up, they send it over to me. It's been that way for years."
"You have an impressive body of work, I'll give you that." Valentine's blood-red gaze drifted up and down for a second as though examining her. "Maybe you should explain why we're talking this evening."
The determined journalist swallowed her fear. Gripping the edge of the stool with one hand while holding onto the railing with the other, she scooted forward and stated, "I want to destroy the Black Dahlia."
Half-lidded crimson eyes did not even blink. "Hmm." This brief exclamation spoke volumes as to what she considered Cat's chances of success.
"I'm talking metaphorically." Her face had taken on a stubborn, sullen cast. "I don't want to fight her. My aim is to destroy the myth around her. The fear." She leaned a little closer. "There's another rumor that says the Black Dahlia was one of you at some point. That she came out of those Labs, and that's why nobody seems to know anything about her."
"I couldn't hazard a guess as to that," Valentine smirked playfully. She turned in her seat so they were confronting each other directly. With easy grace the government assassin slid a hand across the countertop until her manicured fingers were almost touching Cat's. The black-haired girl's attention drifted down to focus on that with a sort of fascination. "In certain circles, there's only one rule regarding that woman," Valentine spoke. "And that's 'Terminate on Sight'."
Soldados swallowed and forced herself to look away from the suggested bodily contact. She had a strong suspicion this person was messing with her, for kicks or something more serious. It wouldn't be the first time a source fooled around before spilling their secrets. I need to play along. With that she crossed her legs at the knee, in doing so bringing her leather-strapped ankle within a hair's-breadth of Valentine's bare skin. "If that's the case, how do you explain the fact that no one's taken her out in all this time? She's been active since before I was born. Common sense says a violent mass murderer who leaves a calling card at every one of her hits should have been arrested or gunned down by now. Yet she strolls about in broad daylight and everybody acts like there's nothing wrong."
"I'd call it crazy, to be honest." Very slowly, Valentine reciprocated Cat's previous movement, taking exquisite care not to touch her while doing so. Somehow this made the process all the more exhilarating, especially since when she finished up their calves were just a slip away from each other. "An irrational reaction to a problem for which society has not yet come up with a workable solution."
Cat swallowed, feeling her heart pound for a different reason than fear. "I think it's worse than that. It's almost like her existence goes beyond laws or even reason. Like she's… part of a story that everyone has accepted." Her eyes drifted towards the floor, momentarily forgetting the compromising position she found herself in. "My Gam used to tell me fairy tales when I was a girl. The sort we all hear; two little children alone in the woods, they meet an evil witch in a candy hut who wants to eat them. An old monster-woman who eats kids? Someone like that is too bizarre for real life. But in stories, we all just accept it as fact. No questions asked. The witch is just the witch. There's no need to wonder where she came from or even why she does what she does. Still, I checked under my bed every night for a week after hearing that story."
"You're calling the tune/ I'm dancing my cue. Your love is inside me/ What more can I do…?"
The reporter shivered slightly. She listened to the velvet-throated singer onstage for a while to try and arrange her thoughts before continuing.
"I've written dozens of articles about the Dahlia's exploits. Some of them are so grotesque I can hardly believe they're real. But the evidence is right there in black and white. And nobody has ever tried to bring her to trial. At first I thought it was because of the Medici and all their influence. But after a while I started to wonder… maybe it's just her? Maybe we've built up a fairy tale around the Dahlia that allows this maniac to walk among us as though that's her role in our society. Children's stories are supposed to teach us lessons; don't take candy from strangers, always keep your word. That sort of thing. What are we supposed to learn from keeping a monster like that in our lives?"
The blue-haired beauty regarded her thoughtfully. She reached over and picked up her drink to take a sip. The sense of teasing flirtation from before was conspicuously absent. "It's an unusual theory. How does it advance your proposal to bring her down?"
A reporter's instincts helped Cat recognize that Valentine might be more willing to open up now. There was information here. It made her feel closer to the truth than anything that had come out before. I just need to help bring it into the light.
She screwed up her courage and reached forward to take the other woman's hand. Surprisingly, that porcelain flesh proved as warm and alive as any other person's. There was a faint tension there too, as though in preparation to spring forward and cut Cat's throat at the slightest provocation. Let anyone watching think what they might about two ladies sharing such a level of closeness.
The spy regarded the reporter, still holding her glass with the other hand. She seemed ready to wait. Nonetheless the veteran journalist proceeded to the heart of tonight's business.
"I want to tell the world the truth about Black Dahlia," Cat spoke with steely determination. "Not what she is; who she is. I want to give them a name, a history, a family. Anything. Anything real and solid to put in their hands and wake them up from this fantasy we've all concocted about a scary faceless killer who murders us whenever she feels like it. She's not part of some story. I want to find out the witch's real name. I want to let everyone know she grew up on a little street in Canopolis and she had an aunt named Betty Jo and she went to school like every girl her age and when she was six years old she took third place in a local spelling bee. So that maybe, just maybe, the next time she kills another human being, people won't look away. They won't let her get away with it. They'll come pouring out into the streets and jump on her car and pull her out kicking and screaming to be arrested like every other murderer out there!" She took a deep breath, feeling her body tremble from adrenaline. "And that'll be that."
Without realizing it their fingers had joined together, squeezing tightly. Valentine remained sitting motionless across from her. Elbow crooked and glass now raised to shoulder-level, she leaned back a little, eyes closing. "So you want a name?"
Those scarlet orbs opened wide, and Cat felt herself go cold.
"Then let me tell you a story…"
The building they stood before looked no different than any other crumbling tenement that lined this street in the capitol city of Canopolis. No one lived here anymore. It was a region that had never recovered from the wars that rocked the nation over the centuries. Once a home for immigrant families whose languages still lingered in the names of crooked street signs that dotted every corner, it was now a testament to the power of war, famine, and death.
One shy of an apocalypse, Valentine thought to herself. Maybe we got lucky.
"This is the place."
The ninja nurse looked down at her partner for this evening. Hallow stood nowhere near her own 6-foot height. Short and somewhat boyish in appearance, she also had on a black nurse's outfit that contrasted starkly with Valentine's own. Metal gloves containing numerous syringes encased her hands, and she sported a soot-colored gas mask that left only her eyes visible. Those pale gray circles rested on the boarded-up brownstone in front of them. Maybe six stories high, there was not a single unbroken window in any of the apartments facing the street. Trash and broken furniture of all kinds littered the alleyways hereabouts. No one had lived here for decades.
"You really think there's anything of value left in this hulk?" Valentine crossed her arms and stared at the wreckage disdainfully.
"At the very least, we'll probably pick up some exotic diseases worth examining," the smaller agent retorted. "Hope you've had your shots."
"Hilarious," Valentine drawled. "I'm busting a stitch."
"Better that than a button." Hallow indicated toward her ally's straining bust. "You're down to your last one." Possessing a famously grim sense of humor, the youngest member of the Last Hope had a mischievous streak most people wouldn't guess just by looking at her. She also possessed other more disturbing hobbies besides cracking wise, and it was this that had brought them here today.
They proceeded up the stone steps that led to the apartment building's front door. Valentine kept her eyes peeled for any sign of traps or sabotage. If this wasn't just a wild goose chase, there was every reason to assume the place held more danger than simple tetanus and mold. She was only willing to help Hallow in her private pursuits because it might lead to a big payoff. Maybe big enough to get the higher-ups considering her for the role of team leader rather than Christmas, who currently held the title. Let her crack-brain boyfriend try and gainsay their decision. He'd probably blow a synapse.
This thought put her in a better mood. Valentine indicated they should proceed. Hallow looked through the windows to either side and gave a thumbs up. Gripping the tarnished green door handle, she eased it open a crack, half-expecting the whole thing to fall apart. It did not, however, merely let out a ghostly creak from rusty hinges. After peeking inside for good measure, the older agent opened the door fully.
They both stepped inside. The building foyer had a pattern of tiny tiles on the floor that soon gave way to wooden boards leading over to a staircase. Stairs wound all around the interior. You could see straight up to the top. There must be about forty different apartments altogether. Valentine craned her head around with a grimace. She pulled down her facemask and shot Hallow an accusing look, earning only a shrug in return. Not what either of them would call an exciting prospect for the evening.
"What was the name again?" she asked.
"Short." Her deceptively tiny ally marched towards the wooden stairs. "Elizabeth Short."
Valentine had a hard time believing this to be correct. Still, who's to say otherwise? We live in a world of Skull Hearts and Parasites. Is it really so hard to accept that someone named Short would turn out to be a crazed killer responsible for countless murders?
That's what Hallow believed. This was her assignment, one not sanctioned by the Labs whether officially or otherwise. The Black Dahlia held something of a fascination for her. She researched and studied the woman to great extent. A terrifically morbid pastime, well suited for her by looks alone. But Hallow's interest in this subject went beyond mere curiosity. It was a fixation bordering on obsession, made all the more maddening since results were hard to come by. One might assume the Anti-Skullgirl Labs would hold more information on the woman known to the rest of the world as Black Dahlia than anywhere else.
And you would be mistaken. Data related to her was limited to what came out of the Labs, not before. And even that was in scant supply. Dr. Victor Geiger, the Labs' founder and one of the few people alive to have known the Dahlia during her time there, absolutely refused to speak about her to anyone. It was one of the only things Valentine could ever recall seeing him become truly angry over. Some said Dr. Geiger considered her to be the worst thing to ever emerge from the AS Labs research. Considering all the nightmares contained in their files, how awful could the creation of one cyborg be?
Further research was spotty at best. According to records Hallow had unearthed, the Black Dahlia was a fallen soldier recovered from the battlefield and brought to the Labs, one of many selected for experimentation. Her true identity was impossible to determine due to the injuries she suffered. Just another faceless victim of the Canopy Kingdom's long history of violence with its neighbors. No one could say with any degree of certainty who she was or where she came from. A mercenary? A poor civilian drafted without her consent? An enemy combatant wearing a stolen uniform? Nobody knew. Or if they did, they weren't telling. It was rumored the Dahlia was dead when they brought her in. More disturbing was the suspicion she remained that way until this day.
Her betrayal and escape were matters of sealed government record. The Dahlia was recruited by Lorenzo Medici into his army and swiftly rose to become his trusted right hand. She carried out assassinations and other more dangerous assignments both within the ranks of the Medici Mafia and against those deemed their enemies. To this day, no one knew who lurked beneath that veil. There were no photographs that survived from her days working for the government. Part of this was the result of several Labs being shuttered following the Skullgirl Queen Disaster. A lot of evidence was destroyed to keep it from ever becoming public.
Despite this, Hallow pressed on in what might be considered her vendetta. The members of the Last Hope were not open in discussing their personal history even with one another. As far as all of them were concerned, they were family now, and the past was not as important as the present. Was it possible the girl had lost someone special at the hands of the Dahlia? She never said so, and none of her teammates had any intention of prying. There were numerous leads and hunches that had ultimately petered out. Whether it be names, dates or places, nothing concrete ever seemed to manifest when it came to Black Dahlia. She remained an enduring mystery to all.
This time, however, Hallow seemed certain of herself. She had scoured records detailing soldiers listed as missing or plain unaccounted for from the period around Dahlia's first appearance. This meant thousands of people. The great battles of the past took many lives, and just as many memorials to those lost men and women could be found throughout the Canopy Kingdom. Not to be daunted, Hallow combed through those files and any related info. After numerous failed attempts, she had come across a name that struck a chord in her: Elizabeth Short. Descended from immigrant parents, she was their only daughter. A police report from that period listed her as missing or kidnapped, supposedly at the hands of a boyfriend who also vanished at the same time. Short was only 16 years old. Interviews with neighbors painted a less scandalous picture, alleging that she and her beau had eloped when her parents refused to agree to a marriage between them. The case was never solved. Yet less than a month later, the name 'Elizabeth Short' appeared on an enlistment roll for the military. Whether it was the same person could not be determined from surviving evidence. After basic training and being sent to the front lines, she was never heard from again. Yet Hallow had seized on this with considerable zeal. She seemed convinced that learning more about Short would somehow lead to the Dahlia. No explanation was given as to why, other than a terse, "I can feel it."
So Valentine went along. A firm believer in rationality and scientific investigation, the combat medic was still not blind to other factors even if she didn't afford them the same respect. While everything in the world could be explained given enough time and research, this did not ensure the answer would be something that made any sense. And Hallow had displayed certain presentiments and hunches before based on little to no evidence which still somehow paid off. There might be a touch of the paranormal to it, or even extra-sensory perception. Valentine could find no evidence either way. So she continued to observe and kept all doors of thought open, as it were.
Speaking of doors, the next hour was spent opening them. Results were not varied. Dust, junk, rats and spiders. The contents of this abandoned edifice were woefully familiar in one room after another. No indication of booby traps either. When it was all done, Valentine and Hallow met on the ground floor grimier and sweatier than before, but no more the wiser. Whatever evidence might have been here had long since vanished.
Valentine took out a sponge and used it to mop her brow and cleavage. "Satisfied?" she asked, not bothering to hide her irritation. She did not like wasting time, especially when it meant Christmas having a laugh at her expense.
For her part the dark nurse stood separate from her colleague wrapped in thought. She tapped metal-shod fingers agitatedly together. "We're missing something," Hallow declared with utmost assurance. "There's more to it than this. There's got to be."
Her senior in Last Hope didn't share these sentiments. She took what she firmly intended to be a final look around before calling it quits.
In doing so, however, something caught her eye.
Hallow noticed this at almost the same time. Beneath the lowest arch of the stairs on this floor there was a small door. It did not have a number like all the rest. A shared glance between them was followed by both ninja taking up positions to either side of the portal. Valentine examined the area for signs of tampering but found nothing. At this they opened the door and proceeded down a short flight of steps, alert to any potential dangers.
What they found turned out to be a boiler room, the kind that relied on kerosene for heating by the smell of it. There was also a trace of something black over the floor, indicating perhaps a previously employed method of generating heat. It was a large room, and there were certainly many nooks and crannies in which to hide. Aside from that, nothing stood out.
This did not seem to bother Hallow. Like a small black kitten, she slunk around the room, inspecting every pipe and plate. There was an intensity to this perusal which left Valentine certain if any sign did exist here, it would not escape. Yet after a few minutes that yielded no cries of 'Eureka!' it became clear their last hope had yielded only failure.
Valentine did her part. She wouldn't have it be said that she dragged her feet even on a fool's errand, which was what this was turning out to be. While her diminutive partner searched she went all around the perimeter of the room tapping on walls in search of false panels or signs of hidden doors. Doing so left dark smudges along her previously pristine uniform. Valentine examined these blemishes with a measure of disdain. To her further exasperation the stuff had gotten on her gloves. She held a hand up to the light coming in through a small window near the ceiling of this basement.
Doing so allowed her to see tiny glimmers like diamonds in that black grime. She rubbed her fingers together experimentally. Dust. Coal dust. Used for heating before the kerosene.
Crouching down beneath a big copper pipe, Valentine found herself nose-to-nose with Hallow. The smaller spy pointed, and there indeed near the floor was a small metal hatch in the wall. A compartment for storing coal.
Hallow turned the handle. The opening proved too dark to see inside, and she produced a small stick which she bent in the middle with a snap, resulting in an eerie green phosphorescent glow over her body. The resulting illumination showed the hole to be empty.
"Wait…!"
Before she could stop her, the girl had already crawled inside. Valentine cursed briefly. Following after, she made sure to pull off the latch used to lock the door and take it along, wedging a kunai securely in the jamb to prevent it from shutting behind them.
There was less room inside than she had initially assumed. In fact, this was nothing more than a tunnel sloping slightly upwards. The shapely nurse felt squeezed into this confined space. She caught sight of the nimble Hallow scooting along like a chipmunk without any difficulty. Sometimes it didn't pay to be full-figured. Looks like this chute led to what must be a deposit site outside that it shared with the building next door.
All of a sudden Hallow stopped up ahead. "There's a big crack in the wall. I'm going in."
"Of course you are," Valentine growled moodily. Bad enough to risk getting stuck down here, now she wanted to go somewhere I probably can't squeeze into.
To her mingled relief and annoyance, this did not prove to be the case. The fissure which split the side of the chute proved large enough for her to enter with minimal discomfort. Lumps of coal had fallen in here, making the terrain uncertain. But it was definitely headed downwards. Could this have been the result of a tremor or possibly construction nearby? The walls were rough stone perhaps half a yard wide. It went on for maybe twenty feet in a natural progression downwards, growing higher as it did. At last Valentine came out into a small cavern that was tall enough for her to stand up in with room to spare, measuring two yards across and maybe five feet wide.
The glowstick was propped up on a ledge. Hallow crouched on the rough floor. In front of her was a coffin.
She looked up as Valentine entered. Those grey eyes glowed green, and the plea for help was evident. Her comrade didn't hesitate. She maneuvered over to kneel beside the coffin, slipping a kunai free at the same time. This she handed to Hallow, and after retrieving another dagger, the two of them got to work. The casket was a simple matter of pinewood planks nailed together. The lid had also been sealed shut, but with their combined efforts, they managed to wedge it open enough to get a grip underneath and pry it off.
The two women stared. They had each seen dead bodies before. But nothing remotely like this.
Within the coffin was a corpse. Despite having been down here for what must assuredly be decades, it had not rotted completely. Dried shrunken skin still clung to its bones. Black stringy hair pooled around the head and clung to the scalp. The eye sockets were empty, but the mouth under that shriveled nose hung open as if on a scream. It was wearing an old-fashioned dress.
The girl, for clearly such was the case, had also been cut in half at the waist.
Worse even than this, large metal spikes were pounded through her limbs. Hands, feet, elbows, knees and in-between; all pinned by those brutal instruments. The cloth had rotted around these points, but Valentine could tell all the same…
"She was alive when those went in."
Hallow made no response. The tiny medic was already performing an autopsy in this limited space. She cut away the dress to get a better view of those desiccated remains. Valentine looked on as the dusty corpse was opened. The organs were as well preserved as could be expected under these conditions. Not wanting to interfere, she took a moment to inspect their surroundings. There didn't appear to be any other way in or out of this tomb. Someone must have stumbled upon it and deemed this the perfect place to hide a body. No reason for anybody to go rooting around in here. All the same, why bother with a coffin? Hardly seemed worth the effort. And judging by the layout, they would have had to drag the wood in here one piece at a time and assemble it within, then bring in the body. Or rather, the victim. Still alive, awake, and screaming while that was being done to her.
It was then she saw the shrine. That was the first word that came to mind. In another small crevice against the wall there was a dried handful of flower petals and the melted stub of a candle. Between them, against the back of the alcove, an old-time photograph rested. Reaching over, Valentine carefully plucked it out.
Two people posed in the picture. One of them was an attractive girl with long black hair, perhaps around 13 years old. Hands clasped demurely before her, she had on a pretty striped dress with puffed sleeves and a small smile, dark eyes seeming to shine even in this dimly lit representation.
The person next to her was taller, having to bend down to be on the same level. The clothes they wore were made for men of that era, being a white dress shirt and brown-looking pants with suspenders and a tie. But the body beneath clearly belonged to a woman; even dressed counter-culture, a figure like that stood out plainly. She had an arm draped over the girl's shoulders bringing them closer together. The other hand extended out past the edge of the photograph.
Her face was gone.
There was nothing supernatural about it. By the looks of things, someone had simply pressed a lit cigarette against the film, burning away that part completely. No trace of the head remained. But in a way, it wasn't needed. Because Valentine knew she was looking at the Black Dahlia.
"This is Elizabeth Short." Hallow had finished with her examination and now sat back on her heels. "I'm sure of it. The physical characteristics match, and there's evidence consistent with the ancestry we have on file." The words came out guarded, emotionless, like she was fighting hard not to dwell too much on what she was saying. "There's an engagement ring on her finger." Valentine looked where indicated. Sure enough, a slim band of tarnished silver lingered on one twisted hand. Absorbed in the implications, she nearly missed Hallow's next words. "I also found she was pregnant. About two months along."
Red eyes turned to inspect the point of bisection. It occurred right along the victim's reproductive center. The one who did this was aware of the pregnancy. She wanted to kill mother and child at the same time. So that Elizabeth would fully realize in her last moments of terror what was being done to them both.
"Here." Valentine held out the photograph, which Hallow accepted. She beckoned to bring the light closer. Her partner complied, but as Hallow held up the picture to get a better look, Valentine noticed something. There was writing on the back. Stepping around to join her fellow investigator, the ninja nurse quietly turned the slip of paper so they could both see what was there together.
'I've watched you since you were born. And I will be there 'til the end.'
Beneath this was a set of initials.
D.L.
Valentine rose and exhaled deeply. "Let's go," she commanded. Hallow nodded absently. Taking a last contemplative look at the murdered Short, she exited the burial chamber with Valentine close behind.
Neither of them said a word as they made it back into the boiler room. Hallow seemed lost in thought, distracted gaze fixed on the photograph still. Her pale partner was unsure what to make of her behavior. After all this time, they finally stumbled across something real. That body had been there for decades, and the person responsible clearly held some sort of emotional connection with it. The brutality of the murder itself spoke to that much. And nailing her down inside the coffin… they didn't want Elizabeth to rise again if a Skullgirl came along and happened to reanimate her body along with any other corpses in the vicinity. The murderer had put great thought into how they wanted things to proceed from here on out. Doubtless she killed Short's fiancé as well, letting her parents assume the two lovers had absconded together, never to be heard from again. It was a cruel thing to do, both to the living and the dead. Afterwards she assumed Elizabeth's name to enter the army, probably intending to escape amid the confusion of battle. Utterly ruthless. Almost brilliant in terms of how wicked it truly was.
This is her handiwork, without a doubt.
Hallow ascended the short stairs leading out of here and was about to open the door. Valentine had just placed her foot on the first step to follow. Because of this, when the door swung towards them, she saw the wire strung across the frame right at her eye level.
Valentine reached her just as Hallow's foot touched the snare. She snatched up the smaller girl and dashed in a blur of speed ninjutsu towards the door leading outside. The explosion happened before she was halfway there, but the ninja nurse was moving fast enough to stay ahead of it. Fire roared behind them so that she could swear it tickled the backs of her arms and legs. The glass around the doorframe actually blew inwards. She powered through the shards, feeling one cut through her mask to slice open her lip. Then she was bursting through the door, flying out into the dusk and flinging them both to the opposite side of the street as behind them the whole building blew sky high.
They lay panting there one atop the other. Valentine craned her head around to take in the conflagration they had narrowly escaped. She then scanned up and down the street. It was deserted. Not so much as a car in sight, and no one lurked atop any buildings. When she was satisfied of this, the young woman turned back to her companion. Hallow lay beneath her, eyes wide and still breathing hard. They could feel one another's hearts pounding. She reached up a hand and touched the side of Valentine's face. "You got cut," she informed her in a dreamy voice muffled by her gas mask.
Valentine ran her tongue along the side of her mouth, wincing at the pain. This would leave a scar without a doubt. However all she said was, "I've had worse."
At this each seemed to realize at the same time the photo was missing. The two of them looked around the brightly lit street but saw no sign of it. Smoke billowed behind them as the apartment complex completely collapsed in on itself with a roar. Sparks flew up in a rush. The Last Hope agents knew all evidence of Elizabeth Short's murder was being consumed by those ravenous flames.
Hallow sighed. "I messed up. I'll tell Christmas it was all my fault."
"Maybe." Valentine got to her knees, straddling the smaller nurse. "Or maybe we were never here and a building's old boiler exploded. Hardly a reason to get excited."
She considered this. "Okay. Thanks, Val."
They observed the blaze for a while longer before leaving. Regardless of the end result, some new information had come to light. And this could lead to big things in the future. For her part, Valentine did not consider it a wasted evening. Hallow would just have to pay her back with some first aid and keeping her own mouth shut. It would have to be enough.
"Didn't you say you already checked the place for traps?"
"Yes." Valentine accepted a refill, listening to the audience applaud as the singer onstage took her bows. "It was put there after we went in."
Cat considered this assertion for a moment. That might just be the rationale of a person not inclined to admitting their mistakes. However it was hardly the most important element of the story. She leaned forward in her seat, gripping the railing of the bar eagerly. "Did you do any research into the initials?"
"Of course." The crimson-eyed medic stirred her drink with a tiny red plastic sword, seemingly absorbed by the sight and sound of swirling liquor. "It wasn't easy. A great deal of public records from that era were lost or misplaced thanks to the wars. But eventually we came across a listing of the neighborhood that included all their residents. Only one name in a twenty-year period around the time matched: Doris Leechborn."
An intense excitement seized Cat in its grip. "D.L.!" she breathed triumphantly. Dahlia!
"Don't bother." Beside her Valentine knocked back the booze and set it down with a clink. "We already checked. It's just an alias. 'Doris Leechborn' was the name of a character in one of those young-girl-detective novel series that were popular at the turn of the century. A wealthy heiress who murders her husband and is found out by the quick-witted heroine Annie Estrella. Juvenile tripe, in my opinion."
"It's something," Cat insisted. "More solid than I've found so far." Then a thought occurred to her. "You say the story's from almost a hundred years ago?" She rubbed her arms, which had become prickly with goosebumps. "How old is she?"
"Your guess is as good as mine." The busty agent fell silent then, gazing into the depths of her glass at the ice cubes smoothed and rounded by alcohol. Though having been drinking heavily most of the evening, she seemed none the worse for wear. In fact, when Valentine stood up next, there was not even a trace of imbalance to mark her as drunk.
Cat was too preoccupied to notice. If it was the sort of novella read by children of that period, it could serve as a clue to the Dahlia's approximate age. No explanation for how someone approaching their centennial could accomplish what she had, but that was only one of the mysteries lurking about the woman. Only then did she notice Valentine was preparing to depart. "You're leaving?"
"I've got a shift tonight." The beautiful woman placed a few bills on the bar which might have come from Cat's purse. She then reached down and rested her fingers on Casandra's shoulders, rubbing her thumbs lightly over the subclavian arteries as though feeling her pulse. The hand which had held her drink the whole evening was ice-cold. It made Cat shiver. Valentine noticed and gave an amused chuckle. "You should probably turn in as well. Have a good think about what you're doing. Up until now, you've managed to stay under people's radars. But that could change very fast."
This statement, however friendly it might be intended, did nothing to dampen Cat's ardor. "I can't stop now," she insisted. "If I can find just one thing about her that's real, it could be what's needed to end the myth of the Black Dahlia for good."
Valentine considered her sitting there, all hot-blooded determination and sparkling eyes. That split lip twitched in what might have been a smile. Then her face grew cold. When she leaned down to fix Cat with a steely look, it automatically made her remember the knife that had been held to her throat this very evening.
"I'm a rationalist. I always look to find the reason why things are happening. But we live in a world where Skullgirls are born every decade. Maybe the Dahlia set up sensors throughout the building to alert her if anyone went inside. Maybe she has spies in the government who told her someone was snooping around that location." The woman in white leaned in closer. "Or maybe she just knew. It doesn't have to be inexplicable to be scary. Any of those options is disturbing enough. But if you do learn about her past, don't be surprised if a knock comes at your door a minute later."
Cat managed to look right back without flinching. "I don't know when she came into this world, but she's our problem now. You, me and everybody in this city. Maybe this whole planet. We can't be afraid of monsters under the bed anymore."
"Never say die, hmm?" This time she couldn't hide a wince, and Valentine grinned. "At any rate, watch your step, Socorra. Maybe you really will give succor to the masses. Just don't get careless, or forget who owns this hotel." She patted her bare knee in a slightly condescending fashion. "I'd finish your drink quick, if I were you. And don't be ashamed if you find yourself checking under the bed tonight. Remember what I said: fear can kill."
At this the lovely lady turned and walked away with heels clicking on the polished floor. Cat watched her go, noticing the smooth sway of hips and the way muscles in her exposed back moved in time. Several other patrons did the same, but none of them made any attempt to stop Valentine as they had her. Maybe they knew better by now. The guy from before seemed to have left at some point. A new singer had come onstage and the band was warming up. The allure of the Salt Cellar was only getting started.
Remembering that last warning, Casandra gulped down her remaining scotch and left enough money to cover the tab before grabbing her clutch and skipping out herself. She had forgotten to ask Valentine if there was any way to contact her in the future. There might still be a chance to share a ride down together. Who knows what might happen from there? But by the time she reached the elevator it was already proceeding towards the lower floors. So much for a more in-depth interview.
When the lift came back up, she got on right as the music started.
"They say you never hear the one that gets you/ A bullet to the heart feels just like love…"
Cat was grateful she didn't hear what came next.
A cab ride home seemed like the best option. When she finally made it back to her apartment building, Casandra had plenty of time to think about everything said tonight. Maybe it was nerves, but she found herself looking around the street as she got out of the cab. Every stranger could be a Medici informant or a hitman waiting to kill her. She was slightly embarrassed at how quickly she made for the front door, and even more so at how much time it took to get her key in the lock. Only when she got inside and slammed the door behind her did she feel even a trifle safe.
Rather than riding in the elevator, she decided to walk the few floors up. By the third landing her feet were regretting this decision and she had to stop and take her shoes off. Definitely not made for long distances. Massaging her instep, the reporter sat down and reflected on this evening. It was a stroke of good fortune Valentine proved to be an agent of the government and not a Medici Mafia member. That had been a gutsy move, come to think of it, seeking her out. I had a hunch she wasn't really the Dahlia. Wouldn't it have been scary if she was?
Cat paused. Of course, if she were Black Dahlia, how would I know it? Not like I have any idea what she looks like under that mask. Nobody does. Valentine never outright confirmed she worked for the government. And she never denied being the Dahlia…
But no. That's silly. C'mon, Scaredy-Cat, aren't you forgetting? Black Dahlia's a cyborg. Even without the mask, she's missing her right arm and both legs. And Valentine was sporting all her limbs. You got a nice long look at them tonight. So there's no way…
She started climbing again. But her mind was working, puzzling things over.
What if those were prosthetics? And cosmetics to cover them up? She was very careful not to touch me with them. At least until the end… and then her right hand felt so cold… so cold, I thought it was because of the ice in her glass. Why didn't I realize it before? She was so horribly cold…
At last the anxious reporter reached the door to her apartment. The hall was empty, but her heart was pounding all the same. She fumbled with the keys only to drop them, cursing. At last she managed to get the door open and slid gratefully inside, closing it and throwing the deadbolt just to make sure.
Heaving a relieved sigh, Casandra turned around in the darkened apartment. It was then she saw the person sitting in the chair across from her.
She froze, a scream choking to death inside her mouth. It's just Barb! My roommate! She fell asleep out here! No, wait, it's one of those stupid mannequins she practices on! She left it in the chair again, it's not the first time that freaked me out, dammit, I hate it when she does that!
The seated figure did not move.
Say something, Scaredy-Cat. Don't just stand there like an idiot. Go like, 'Hey, Barb!' and that'll be that. Nothing to be afraid of. Even if it's only a stupid dummy. You're not a little kid. There's no monster waiting to eat you. If there was, she would have killed you already by now. That's not the Dahlia. It's just some old clothes and a mannequin. So move. Walk right by it. You're not afraid. It's just a story. It can't hurt you. Don't give in to fear. Don't be scared of the witch under the bed. Just be brave.
Half an hour later, Cat still hadn't moved.
FIN.