When somebody tries to improve on a perfectly excellent picture or story, there are two things to conclude. First, he's good. Second, he's daft. Maybe a little of both.
I took these two stories and was inspired to flesh them out--pardon the pun, since Kim is in the post-mortem state.
& I backtracked from my 1st chpt.
Ryebread was unprepared for the response he got vis-à-vis the reviews. And he was unprepared for the direction this story has taken him.
I'm in the middle of a divorce. I got fired from my job. I should be hunting for a job and place to live. But I'm wasting my time on this. I too am in a kind of prison. It's sort of a catharsis.
I went for dramatic effect. It got to where I couldn't write this for very long at night-- creeped me out.
If I give anybody a bad night's sleep, that's not my intent. I just wanted to portray what Kim went through. Lemme know how I did.
Y'all who reviewed this--y'all who put this on your story alert & story fav list--y'all who put me on your author alert--y'all who sent me encouraging notes via the dA line & the FF-dot-net line. Much thanks. Feelin' your love. God bless us, every one.
Some of the finer points of the story.
Who's Fred Astoria? Fred Astaire, of course.
The snapping of the handcuffs. I read something like it years ago in a Modesty Blaise comic strip. Who's Modesty Blaise? A 1960's Lara Croft--sorta.
Drinking urine. Sounds gross. I've read stories of starving concentration camp prisoners and starving people marooned eating dung and drinking urine. The child of a medical professional, Kim would know enough not to eat dung--even if she got that desperate. Would infect the digestive tract. Very nasty way to die--so I've heard.
The feasibility of drinking urine? Actually, I should've researched that a little more. I've read of people living for weeks not eating, but only days not drinking. Most of what went into writing this chpt. was already rattling around in my well-read but highly disorganized brain. I'm gonna beg off on this one item and let my ambitious readers do the research.
The mental disciplines of Tai Chi and Martial Arts? What I've heard from practitioners of those disciplines.
Going loony in isolation? That's pretty well-founded scientifically.
Daydreaming to cope with unpleasant realities. I do that a lot myself--since grade school.
The horrors of damnation and eternal solitude? I'm a born-again Christian. I have access to lots of writing that describes those things in vivid detail.
Let me address a certain matter here. (Earlier in the day, I rushed to finish this so I could post it--but those ever-present problems of connectivity to the internet kind of closed that window of opportunity.) Since the household has gone to bed, and I'm in my little cubicle, I will now declaim at length. (I can hear the groans of my readers.)
Both my worthy colleagues Cap & daccu have written stories of Kim & Ron becoming vengeful Undead: Where There Is A Will and Legacy Resolved. How did they portray the return of our heroes to a valiant and redemptive heart? By the timely intervention of their loved ones. In the case of daccu's story, those loved ones were redeemed spirits sent from heaven. Such things are related in the collective stories of humanity, both in my own Christian religion, and other religious traditions. The saints and angels appear, or the gods, if you will, to effect a moral awakening. Like some of those old TV shows. Highway To Heaven. Touched By An Angel. Ghost Whisperer. Yadda, yadda. There's even an old expression. Deus ex machina. It's from the days of the early Greek plays, which is the spiritual ancestor of all our movies and shows (Well, to be fair, there's also the Japanese kabuki, the Balinese dancing, the African griot, the storytelling around the campfire of the Native Americans--but I digress)
It's like this. The hero (s) (ine) is / are painted into a corner. No way out. Then help arrives in the last minute. The cavalry come, the angel / saint / god materializes and zaps the sitch. Like the Parting of the Red Sea. Like the Ring falling into Mt. Doom in LOTR. (Well, maybe not quite LOTR) More like the March of the Valar in the Silmarilion.
Now in Greek Drama (there was no backstage back then--the audience saw all the prompters, backstage hands, prop men, etc.--they just had to pretend they didn't see them) Anyhow, in Greek Drama, the actor playing the god was lowered in from above on a winch, like a fishing pole. (Pre-computer graphics) The name of this machine was the Deus ex machina. Since then, that phrase has acquired a bad rep. Smug literary and movie critics apply it to what they think is a quick fix to give the story a happy ending. I'm smug sometimes--okay, most of the time.
Again I digress. Sometimes, the happy ending doesn't just zap from heaven. Helen Keller didn't regain her sight and hearing in The Miracle Worker. Captain America didn't rescue Anne Frank from dying the Nazi prison camp. (Sorry--mixing my images--listen, you guys, I'm just writing to see myself talk. Do yourselves a favor and skip to the story.)
I said all that to say this. I haven't the slightest intent of putting down the way my men Cap and daccu resolved their stories. Their output leaves me in the dust. But I wondered--how would it happen if Kim wasn't healed of her evil zombie-ness in the blink of an eye? What if it happened the way people kick a substance abuse habit--slowly? What if she never quite did? How would her sponsor--Ron Possible cope with all the setbacks?
And there you have the inspiration of A Heroine's Legacy.
Like they say--that and a dime will get you a coffee. Actually, they haven't said that since I was a kid. To update the phrase: that and a ten-spot will get you a latte at Starbuck's--with change--if you're lucky.
Enough gab. On with the show.
The characters are from the Disney's Kim Possible, created by Mark McCorkle and Bob Schooley.
Story excerpts by CaptainKodak & daccu65. Used by permish.
from A BOX OF CUDDLEBUDDIES by Captainkodak
Reaching the bottom of the now dry cistern she grabbed Kim again and dragged her to the side of the cistern. Taking Kim out of the sling, she undid the handcuffs connecting Kim's wrists to her ankles. This was only for a moment as she rolled Kim over and pulled her arms over her head. A steel ring had been anchored into the wall of the cistern. Tara passed the cuff through the ring and snapped the cuff shut over. Kim began to moan and move a little. Tara backed up away from Kim.
Kim yelped then struggled against her bonds. She rolled back and forth then pulled herself up to pull the tape from her mouth.
"Tara? What are you doing? Is this some type of sick joke?"
Tara simply turned and started to climb up the ladder.
"No K, no sick joke. Just justice."
Kim shook her head.
"Justice?"
Tara nodded.
"You don't deserve Ron. He deserves someone who will love him and never leave him. You Kim. I know you. Maybe not now, maybe not tomorrow, but I know in the future, some hottie or smoothie will come along and Ron, your hero will turn into plain old Ron again. And then Kim, you would break his heart and probably not even know or care that you are doing so. So, I am making sure you never hurt him."
Tara continued to climb up the ladder. She pulled the ladder out of the hole and laid it to the side. Kim began to scream.
"Tara, I LOVE RON. I would NEVER do that. Please Tara, let me go!"
Tara picked up the crowbar and began to lever the concrete lid back onto the top of the hole. Kim screamed.
"Please Tara NO! For the love of GOD NO!"
Tara stopped for a moment then spoke as she finished levering the lid over the hole. Just as she pushed it shut she called down.
"NO Kim, not for the love of God, but the love of Ron."
With a final shove Tara pushed the lid over the hole. A wailing scream came from the hole.
"NOOOoooooo……."
from LEGACY RESOLVED by daccu65
The figure sobbed. "I didn't even know I was dead! I was trapped there, in the dark. It was hard to breathe and I kept blacking out, I didn't know how much time had passed. At some point, I managed to get free from the cuffs. Every so often, tapping or scrapping on the cover would wake me up. I thought that Tara was tormenting me, or maybe getting ready to let me out. Then, the cover opened up and I was free. It was dark outside and nobody was there. I thought that Tara had let me out but was too afraid to stay and face me. I went home, determined to find Ron and confront Tara the next day."
"But I couldn't get into the house," Kim moaned. "The spare key wasn't in its hiding place. The door didn't even have a keyhole, just a keypad. I broke in and saw that the furniture wasn't the same so I ran to my room, but it wasn't my room anymore. It had changed as well. Then I looked into the mirror."
"I saw THIS!" Kim shrieked, pointing to her withered face. "And I knew that I was dead. I knew that months, maybe years, had gone by. I went back to Tara's house to deal with her. That's when I found out that she had married Ron, had a family, HAD A LIFE WHILE I WAS TRAPPED IN THE PIT!"
A HEROINE'S LEGACY
chpt. 2
THE LID CLOSES
Kim screamed at the top of her lungs. "Please, Tara, NO! For the love of GOD, NO!" She jerked on her manacles so violently that her wrists began at once to bleed.
The grating of the concrete lid as Tara pried it closed was a bell stroke of doom.
"No, Kim, not for the love of God--but the love of Ron," she said laconically.
The blandness of her tone of voice contrasted with the horror in Kim's heart.
"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooooooooooooooooo……."
The lid dropped into place with a clunk, and the scream was cut off like the pressing of a "mute" switch. Tara allowed herself a sickly grin. "Enjoy your box of cuddlebuddies, Kim--for the rest of eternity."
"TAAAAAA--RAAAAAA!!"
Kim's vocal cords felt as though they would snap with the final scream. The darkness was like a thick stuffing around her. It felt hard to breathe.
Nature's call came at once. In the ultimate panic of the moment, Kim emptied her bladder and bowels.
"Oh, God! Please! Get me out of here!" She drew herself in a little ball and sobbed hysterically.
It was sometime later. Am I at the lake with Ron? Am I still wearing my bikini? It feels so wet. It's dark. Must be nighttime. Ew! That smell! "Ron--did you let a fart go? Darn it! You and a naco meal--so the odor!"
Kim's shoulder and hip ached. She had fallen asleep on the bare ground. Where were the night sounds of the lake? The crickets? Where was the crackle and cheery glow of the campfire Ron had started?
Her eyelids snapped open. Recall was immediate. The horror and despair flooded in. "Sh*t! F*k! D*mmit!" She swore profusely in her panic.
Kim sat up, and the chain pulled her back down. The cuffs bit into her wrists. Her clothes were soaked in urine. Her buttocks and thighs were smeared with feces. And she sobbed again like a little girl. "Oh, God--where You? Ron! Where are you?"
More hours passed. The initial panic settled into a dull resignation. The tired emotional mind took its rest.
The rest proved healing. The mind and spirit that could do anything asserted itself. I'll survive this thing! D*mmit! I'll get out of here! "Tara! You little whore! I'll get out! And I'll see how you like it down here!"
Think! Think! Ron must be looking for me! He knows me! He knows what he means to me! Tara's full of crap. He knows I wouldn't blow him off! He knows I wouldn't go anywhere without telling him--on a mission, out shopping, even going to bed!
She must plan. There was enough air. Hunger and thirst. Thirst would be the biggie.
Tentatively, Kim licked at her urine on the cistern floor--and spat in disgust. "Won't do, girl! You don't have a lotta choice! What the hey, I've read stories. People marooned in the wilderness--living for weeks! I can so do this!"
The next order of business was the mess between her legs. Pulling herself close to the wall so she could reach below her waist, she unbuttoned her capris. "God! I'm filthy!" Struggling, she pulled off the soiled garments. "This is awful!. I am so gonna mash Tara's face in it when I get out of here!" As best as she could, she wiped off the mess with the unsoiled part of her panties. "Cleaning off the sh*t with a pair of p*ss-soaked panties!" She laughed. "Kim's Survival Course, 101." Good! This was good! Humor! A coping mechanism. Keep that thought!
She lay the capris on the concrete floor beside her, and the panties next to that. The capris might dry in a while and actually be wearable. The panties? Ugh! Lost cause.
Next thing. Buck naked from the waist down. Kim laughed again. "Oh, Ron! What an opportunity you're missing! Your bare-*ssed GF chained to a wall! I'd have to beat you off with a club!"
Hypothermia? A real possibility. Think warm thoughts! Think warm thoughts! Snuggled up to a campfire with Ron--being spooned under the covers by Ron--Ron on top of her--!
Kim shook herself. "Whoa! Head in the game, girl! There's such a thing as too hot!" She thought to herself about freeing her wrists.
Snapping a metal chain? Only one way to accomplish that without the laser lipstick, or any of her other devices--leverage.
Kim stretched her body out full length. She was face-up, her wrists secured to the steel ring in the wall. She turned herself to the right--on her side, then facing down, then on her left side, then facing up. The chain of the manacles was twisted tight.
Now to apply leverage. The twisting would either break the chain, or her wrists. She somehow pulled herself to her feet. Another few degrees of twist--the manacles bit into her wrist.
Kim gritted her teeth and took a deep breath. Don't be afraid of the pain--you're already buried alive--what could some fractured bones matter?
She composed her mind, as her martial arts instructors had taught her. By expending a small amount of effort in the proper way, she could apply a proportionately enormous amount of force.
Slowly, slowly, carefully, carefully--. Her lower arms were screaming in pain. The metal of the chain was stressing.
Plink!
Kim gasped with joy! A link had snapped! She shook her arms. Free! She cried aloud. "You hear that, Tara? I'm halfway free! You'd better enjoy your time with Ron while you can!"
The Capris were soon dry, so she put them on.
It was impossible to tell how much time had passed. How to pass the time so she wouldn't go insane. She replayed her life from day one--at least what her parents had told her about her life from day one.
Kim had read (or heard) that when people recalled certain events from the earliest days of their life, it wasn't really what they remembered, but only the imagination making pictures of what had been told by others. Hence the branch of psychiatry that claimed to recover memories repressed through physical or emotional trauma was not a valid science.
Kim hardly cared for such longhair ivory tower academic blab-ness (Blab-ness--a Ronspeak word--it brought an involuntary giggle to her lips) Kim was going through as real a psychological trauma as any person had ever gone through or would go through. Was the stuff she remembered real or not? They would keep her from losing her mind. Therefore, she would consider them as genuine. D*mmit, her memories of her fam were hers, happy or sad. And no one, least of all that scheming little snipe above wouldn't take them from her!
The TV guys who were selling their CD's and DVD's that would tell the folks at home how to improve their lives said that people can create their own realities by force of will. Kim laughed to herself for a moment. If it worked to be a millionaire just by imagining that she could sell a new organic cleanser, or scented candles, or by sending a love offering to Rev. Smileyface, she would never have had to accept another babysitting gig for the rest of her life.
But Kim was certainly familiar with the principle taught by her martial art teachers. To defeat an opponent, one must cultivate the mindset of victory long before the physical battle--not as a substitute for the physical training, but as a foundation.
The lessons were well learned. For brief snatches of time, the prison that Tara had intended to be Kim's demise became the Possible household on Christmas, and Halloween. It became Ron's treehouse. It became the high school gym where the Maddog Cheer Squad practiced after school, where volleyball games were held, where Kim danced with Josh, and later Ron.
And in her mind's eye, when Kim glanced over and saw Tara in her Cheer Squad uniform, she reminded herself, "You're here because I'm allowing you to be here. I could bounce you out of this mental sitch as easily as you shut the lid on this place. And when I'm remembering dancing with Josh, or getting my braces stuck with Walter, it doesn't mean a thing as far as my faithfulness to Ron. Those things happened--and I had to work through them--and it makes me appreciate my Ron all the more. So take that, Tara Rene King! And I hope you pinched your toe when you closed the cistern lid!"
Most of all, the cistern became the battleground of a hundred missions, as Kim fought side by side with Ron and Rufus.
What was that old song? Nana used to sing it to herself: The way you comb your hair, / The way you dance with me, / The way you something, something / No, no, they can't take that away from me!
Well, Tara couldn't take Kim's memories away from her. They were hers, both happy and sad, and a million cisterns lids wouldn't suffice close off her reminiscences.
The song was from a movie. Some dancing Hollywood actor and actress. Fred Astoria and Roger Gingers. Roger Gingers? Nah. So the confusion. Hadda be Ginger Rogers.
Kim shrugged. It hardly mattered. When she got out, she would spend more time with Nana, watching what Nana liked, listening to what Nana liked , doing what Nana liked with her--doing what her fam liked with them--even ski trips with the 'rents. Even watching Extreme Sports with the Tweebs.
Kim kept up with her Tai Chi. No cals in here. No room, first. Second, it would burn up energy--and she needed to stretch her survival. But the Tai Chi exercises centered her. They kept her focused. They kept her mind from wandering to the horror of being trapped in the dark.
Kim worked out a routine. When she was most afraid of the fear, she threw herself back on her reminiscences. When that got too boring, she did her Tai Chi. When she got tired, she slept. Sometimes the chill got to her, and she would drape the capris around her shoulders.
In the dry air of the cistern, even the panties dried. When she lifted them up with distaste, they were stiff with dried feces. They cracked when she bent them, but she worked until the cloth was supple. And she (gulp) put them on. She needed to maintain her body heat when her capris were draped around her shoulders.
And when she got out (after stuffing the panties down Tara's throat) she would buy all her stuff from Smarty Mart. Never again would she burn up all her babysitting money going for high ticket designer labels at Club Banana.
Kim slept curled up on one side, then the other side, on her back--whatever worked. And when she got too stiff, she did her stretching and Tai Chi excercies.
Kim kept a decent house. When she had to do her business, she would go and squat in one corner And she lived in the other corner. It smelled like crap, but, hey, next time she was stuck in some death trap by a villain, she would insist on indoor plumbing. The thought made her laugh, and she utilized it as part of her mental coping arsenal.
And the all important thing. Fighting off thirst. It had to be done. Kim would cup her hand while she urinated--and sip--every drop. It was hard at first. But Kim learned to savor every drop, even licking off her hand.
Every so often Kim heard noises. Scraping and digging sounds. At first she thought it was rescue. Her elation was beyond words. But when nothing further happened, she sank back into the despair. And she had to learn--as with martial arts, she had practice control and discipline.
Maybe Tara was playing her. Kim resisted the urge to scream her lungs out. It would only burn up her energy reserves. And Kim was in warrior mode. It was her mission to hold out until she got out. And anything was possible.
I'm coming, Ron, she told herself. Don't believe Tara's lies when she's telling you that she doesn't know where I am. Don't buy into her bereavement thing!
OMG! The fam! They must be going through hell, wondering where Kim was, maybe even grieving her death. Maybe even holding a funeral. Daddy! Hold on! Your Kimmie-Cub is in h*lluva Black Hole Deep! But she's gonna so get out!
It was another way of helping Kim cope, remembering she was not alone in her suffering. The others would miss her.
Mixed with her yearning for Ron, her hatred of Tara gave her strength. It fuelled her determination.
I am so going to take it out of her hide! I'm gonna take that same Kissy Girl Lip Gloss sleep gas and jam her nose into it! I'm gonna leave a circular dent on her face! I'm gonna take these handcuffs and put one cuff around both her wrists and one cuff around both her ankles! Or one cuff around her scrawny little neck, and stuff the other cuff up her butthole! And if the cops would let her, she would stuff Tara's sorry bony pathetic little body into the cistern and shove the lid shut. There, Tara Rene King! Now you can hang out in total darkness for a couple days--or weeks! You can scream yourself hoarse! And clean up your bod when you pea and crap all over yourself. And drink your own pea when your throat feels like sandpaper! And I'll come by once every day or so and bang on the cistern lid, so you can wonder if you'll ever see daylight again! And you won't even be chained to the freaking wall!
At last!
Kim heart some serious noises. Not just the scraping. Some definite knocking. Three times--four times.
Couldn't be Tara. Kim had worked it out in her head. Tara wouldn't even come back to investigate. Tara would hustle her bony little butt away from the scene of the crime as fast as her little stick legs would carry her!
Someone was signaling! And Kim answered. Scratch for scratch. Knock for knock. No screaming. That would use up the energy for survival. That was for panic stricken little cheerleaders. Kim has become a battle-hardened veteran.
But the slow grind one night--or day--like a huge grindstone. The lid was opening! Now
was the proper time for delirious happiness. Help was coming
And if, God forbid, it was somehow Tara, seeing if Kim was still alive? That was a no-brainer, Kim promised herself grimly. She would stick her hand through and put the grip on Tara's throat. And she would apply the same torque as when she snapped the handcuffs. And if the lid slammed back, cutting Kim's arm off? Well, WTF? It was war--life and death.
But it opened.
Kim waited in the dark, like a wild animal. Friend or foe? Wait and see. Don't get all happy-sappy.
And the lid stopped moving.
Strange. Something had happened. Something had interrupted whoever was up there.
But there was a space! Almost big enough for her head to fit through. And years of missions had taught Kim--if your head can get through, your bod can get through.
As she had before, Kim applied leverage. Tara had a crowbar to move the cistern lid. Kim herself had only her own physical prowess. She gritted her teeth and pushed. She almost screamed with exertion.
There was a small grinding sound as the lid budged just a little. Kim's heart leaped again!. Just a little at a time. It had been hours, days, weeks--who knew how long? But she was almost free.
The small crack widened to a crevasse. Kim could stick her hand through. It was dark out. But she could feel the soft nighttime breeze.
At last! Wide enough to crawl through!
Kim took off her clothes and shoved them through the opening. It was barely wide enough. She didn't want to tear her clothes wedging herself through.
Her hair caught on the rough edge of the cistern. Darn! And she laughed to herself. She had cursed like Bon-bon at a beerfest when she was first locked up in that hellhole! And now she sounded all prim and ladylike to herself!
The vast vault of Heaven with it's veil of clouds and scattering of diamond stars stretched over head.
Out! Free at last! Kim wept with relief. She threw her head back. "Hello, sky! Hello, stars! Hello, Middleton! I'm back! Did'ja miss me? I sure missed you!"
A light rain fell. Kim shivered a little with the cold. Ah, what the heck? It felt good! She might live outside from now on! She ran her fingers through her hair. She put on her clothes. God! Her arms and legs! So thin! She would eat out for a month! Grande meals at Bueno Nacho! Forget the nutrition warnings! She would exercise every last bit of fatty lipid out of her blood stream! She would become as buff as Adrienne Lyne! Or she let herself go, just for a few months! She would get as big as Wade! She would just sit around and watch reruns of Agony County and all dozen sequels of Flying Bricks of Fury! She would watch her baby videos with the Tweebs! She would keep Daddy's curfew religiously! Or she might come home at sunrise! And gladly be grounded for a decade! And she would say with tenderest love, "Daddy, your Black Hole Deep doesn't begin to compare with where I've been!"
"Oh, God! Thank You! Thank You! I'll join Ron's Synagogue! And I'll still attend my own church! Pastor Davis will get sick of seeing me! I'll make up every day of Sunday School and Bible Study I ever missed!"
She felt absolutely grubby. God! How she must look. First thing, a shower when she got home! No! First thing, a love-and-hugfest with the fam! No! First thing, call Ron and have a make-out kissy-face reunion that would melt his lips off and shock ten years growth of Daddy and make the Tweebs afraid of a Boyfriend Cootie Pandemic!
Kim began jogging to her house. But she felt too stiff. So she settled for a slow steady walk
She looked around the neighborhood. Something wasn't quite right. There were subtle differences. Oh, forget about it. It was a trick of the mind. She had been locked up for days--weeks maybe.
She saw groups of children--in costume? Like Halloween? WTF! She had been imprisoned by Tara at the beginning of June!
Far off to the side, she heard a child's scream and wail. "Mommy! Daddy! A monster!" Poor girl. Some realistic costume had scared the daylights out of her. If Kim had more time, she would have stopped and comforted the poor little kid.
It was a long walk. Kim had driven her car out to the King house on the fateful day.
More subtle differences. The street signs looked different. Same with the stop signs. The houses looked newer--or older, depending.
Kim began experiencing that old panic. Control, Kimmie, control. Head in the game. You're out. That's what matters.
At last! Her house! As fast as her stiff legs could carry her, Kim limped toward the front door.
No one home. Just as well. Kim would raid the fridge and shower--and then call Wade and the 'rents.
Kim shook her head. Something was wrong. She should be thinking of Ron. She should want to fly to his arms like a bird to the nest.
It's gotta be the hunger. Making me spacey. Get myself together--then find Ron--and Tara, she promised herself grimly.
No key under the welcome mat on the porch. No keyhole at the door. Now that was spacey!
Kim was forced to kick the door open. Good ol' Kung-Fu! Works in a pinch!
More subtle changes. Was the carpet always that color? Had the chair always been there?
Must be things look different in the dark. And Kim had been in one dark spot for the past however long.
"Mom? Dad? Tweebs?" Kim ran--or walked stiffly to her loft.
Yeah. The ol' room. Nothing changed. Bed, Panda-Roo, closet, desk. So not the drama.
Kim saw something out of the corner of her eye. She yelped and jumped a foot in the air. The mirror--.
--The night before she had been trapped by Tara, Kim had seen Ron's latest version of Zombies of Mayhem. It was a flashback of Chester Yapsby's giant cockroaches. She had hidden her face in Ron's shoulder. "Ron, this is so creeping me out! Let's do something else!"
Fears of being locked up again in the cistern boiled up in her. Fears of eternal damnation, like when she heard televangelists preach about Hell. Trembling, she turned back to look--
--That must be it. Kim had died and gone to Eternal Hell. There was no other explanation for the Thing--the foul loathsome Being--the hideous Demon she saw staring back at her in the mirror.
A mummified ashen gray corpse. A skull for a face. Glaring green eyes, baleful yellow teeth. No eyelid, no lips. Lank red hair that hung like strings of swamp grass.
Kim stared at her arms. Where were the scrawny but healthy arms she saw when she squeezed her way out of the cistern? "My God--"
Her voice! This mockery of a human voice. A voice that sounded like the chorus of the damned, like an eternal lament. Kim cupped a hand over her mouth--and screamed. The feel of that dried leathery parchment on the palm of her hand.
Kim fell to her hands and knees. She vomited--and sobbed. But nothing came. Her stomach was empty--or whatever it was down her throat. Her eyes were dry. "Mommy! Daddy! Ron!"
She rammed her fist into the mirror. It shattered into dozens of fragments. A shard cut her arm--and nothing bled.
Kim ran from the house in nightmarish terror--and horrid demonic hatred. I'm going to kill Tara! I'm going to sink my teeth in her throat and tear her windpipe out! I'm going to rip her arms and legs and head off like paper!
This time, Kim was mindful of the screams of the trick-or-treaters. Good! Let them remember the night they saw a real-live ghoul! No! Not alive! Dead! Dead, doomed, and damned forever! She snarled as she ran past them. "Out of my way, or I'll drag you to the Pit of Hell!"
It was all empty threat. But she didn't care if she scared them to death or not. She knew who she was after. She knew who it was she would take by the throat and drag with her back into the cistern
It was a long walk back to the King house. But not as long as Kim had been in the cistern, obviously.
There was no hesitation about splintering the front door open. Apparently the movies were true. Mummies--or zombies--or whatever she was--had supernatural strength.
Kim searched the house, downstairs and up. Childrens' rooms. Did the King family still even live here?
A darkness entered Kim's soul. Doing missions my whole g*dd*m life--what'd it get me? Didn't get me sh*t! From now on, No More Miss Nice Girl!
She glanced up to the heavens and flipped a middle finger. "I guess that means I won't be joining Rabbi Katz's synagogue, will it, God?" She said with an evil leer. "By the way, You up there--is this how Shego went bad?"
Kim would be like the famous maniacs of history. Not just the offender, but the entire family would die. The whole freakin' household--pets too, if they had any.
Kim heard a noise downstairs. Somebody's gonna have a Halloween to remember, she told herself with grim humor
Kim passed a mirror. With a shudder, she forced herself to look. It had not been her imagination. The ghastly sight did the same movements as her.
It's going to be the last thing Tara King ever sees, Kim promised herself.
Downstairs Kim limped.
Kim heard the gasp of horror--and turned.
It was a middle-aged woman. It looked like Regina King, Tara's mother. "Where's Tara, Mrs. King--?" And Kim gasped herself in realization. "Tara--!" She was confronting her Nemesis.
And Tara was confronting her divinely ordained Judgment.
Tara tried to wedge herself into the corner. Her face turned pasty white. Her eyes bulged like tea cups. Her lip quivered like a twig in a cyclone. "N-no! Th-the h-handc-cuffs! Y-you c-can't b-be! You can't be!"
Kim's own voice gave her the chills. Good. The better to "tara-fy". Kim laughed at her own horrid joke.
"Yes I can be, Tara! Tell me--before I rip your neck off your shoulders--how long has it been?"
Tara cowered and blubbered.
Kim shrieked. "How long? Ten years? Twenty? Thirty?"
"I--d-don't--know, K-kim!" Tara groveled on the floor before the Undead monstrosity that towered over her.
Kim grabbed Tara's hair. Lifting up her head, she grabbed Tara's neck. "You're coming with me, Tara--back to that concrete coffin."
Tara gagged. Her tongue protruded. It was most satisfying.
A taller figure burst into the room.
Kim knew at once who it was. Still the freckles. Still the ears. Still the brown eyes. A touch of gray in the blonde hair. Grasping a glowing blue bo. The Lotus Blade, metamorphosed. Only the pure in heart could wield it. For just an instant, her heart melted. He's come for me! She started to speak the beloved name--"Ro--"
He instantly was upon her, clubbing her with the bo. "Get away from my wife."
Ron! It's me! Don't you know? Can't you tell? The horror in Kim's heart when she was sealed in the cistern--the horror in her heart when she discovered her new appearance--the grief of being attacked by the man she loved with all her heart. They were surpassed by the sorrow and the hatred--"Your wife? You married Tara? Ron Stoppable! You married my murderer!"
Ron staggered back, mingled shock, sorrow, and dismay on his face. "Kim?"
Lon Stoppable burst in, still dressed in his gorilla costume, the mask taken off. "Mom!" --And he stopped in his tracks, staring at the Halloween horror come to life. "Get away from her!"
"A son and a daughter, Tara? Good! They can keep you company in Hell!" Kim advanced toward the young man. She had to admire his nerve. He wasn't collapsing like his mother was. "You have no one to blame but your mother for this, boy! Remember that!"
Ron recovered himself. He stepped in front of her, deadly intent flashing in his eyes. "No, Kim--not my children."
For just an instant, Kim felt a twinge, a hesitation. "Ron?" And then her mad vile hatred directed itself at him. "How dare you?" With a howl, Kim leaped upon him. Her fists pummeled Ron's jaw and chest. She jammed her feet into his gut and groin. He staggered back.
He willed the Lotus Bo into the Lotus Blade.
Kim's clawed hand grazed Ron's cheek--and the Blade severed it. The other hand grasped his arm--and the Blade severed it. Kim leapt at Ron, baring her teeth--and the Blade severed her head. The torso ran around headless and armless--Ron severed the legs at the thighs.
The head bounced and rolled. Ron wept as he slashed. It was either Kim or his family. But to be forced to dismember the girl he loved--it was a waking nightmare.
Kim could only wiggle her head. The limbs and torso twitched convulsively. She looked up at the stern pitiless warrior. "Ron! Please!"
Ron was aghast. The events of years slid past his eyes like falling stars. The nationwide--worldwide--search for Kim by the Yamanuchi ninja, by Global Justice, even by the Team Possible villains. Ron had gone for weeks without sleep. Grieving Kim with Mr. and Mrs. Dr. P. Marrying Tara. Raising their children. Growing old together. "Kim--what happened? What can I do?"
The head on the floor moved its mouth like a ventriloquist's puppet. "What can you do? Do you really have to ask? You can decapitate my murderer--like you just did to me! And after that, you can cut the heart out of every last one of the bastard brood she gave birth to! That's what you can do--if you have the nerve!"
Ron fell to his knees and spread out his arms in impassioned appeal to the slavering head. "K.P.--my children--my family!"
Lon felt a surge of disgust. This loathsome talking skull was ordering his father to sacrifice the entire family to satisfy her bloodlust. And his father in turn was on his knees, as though bowing to a frightful heathen idol, begging the rotting piece of flesh to reconsider!
Kim could feel her arms and legs. She willed them to recombine! The arms crawled across the floor toward the head.
And she spewed out the poison of her hatred and bitterness "You're really asking what else you can do? Nothing, Ron! Nothing at all! Just stand there, like the helpless buffoon sidekick you used to be! You're infantile!"
Ron barked orders. "Get a canvas tarp! A garbage can liner! A shopping bag! Anything! She's reforming!"
Kim laughed in awful terrible glee. "You see? You can't win, Ron! I'm already dead. You can't kill me. I'll finish you, then your family will be next!"
Lon rushed in with a tarp.
"Spread it out! On the floor!" shouted Ron, like a crazy man. "Pick up the pieces!"
Tara lifted one of Kim's arms--and it grabbed Tara's arm. She babbled frightfully. "Ron! Lon!"
Kim chanted mockingly in singsong. "Ron--Lon--Ron--Lon! S'matter, Tara? You look like you could use a helping hand!"
Lon knocked the arm loose.
Ron steeled himself and took up Kim's head by the hair.
"What? No kiss for your GF from her BF? It's been twenty years, Ron!" Her head managed to swing itself like a pendulum. She gnashed her teeth, trying to bite him.
With a sob of disgust, Ron dropped the gruesome object onto the pile of parts in the tarp.
A thought of tragic horror ripped through Kim's unholy glee--it was the last time she would ever feel the touch of her beloved's hand. "Ron!" Her voice sounded sickening even to her own ears "I'm sorry! I didn't mean it!
The mingled look of revulsion and love in Ron's face he lifted a corner of the tarp and cast it over her head rent Kim's heart.
They carried her wrapped in the in the tarp.
Kim railed at them through the canvas. "You're pathetic! The bunch of you!" She laughed .
The rattle of bones from inside the tarp told the story. Kim was gathering herself. "Hey, Ron! Isn't this badical? Just like one of Wade's inventions! You could market me! Instant Zombie Girlfriend Kit! Some Assembly Required!"
Tara covered her ears. "Ron! Make her stop!"
"Shut up, Tara!" he yelled. "Grab that corner! A part of her might fall out!"
Tara became hysterical. "No! No! I'm not touching any part of that horrid creature!"
Ron swore. "Hurry! All of you! We haven't much time!"
He heard the cackle of laughter. "Y'know, Ron--I'm gonna be so tweaked at you over this! I don't know if any amount of Ron-shine will ever quite make up for this poor treatment!"
He cringed in horror, and wept at the same time.
The tarp opened. Kim saw the cistern. "No! Not that! Not again!"
They cast her through the narrow space into the inner stygian darkness--her former and now eternal prison.
"Ron! It's been a lifetime! We were supposed to go swimming at Lake Middleton! Please! I love you!"
For just a moment, it was the sound of the girl's voice, a pitful entreaty.
Ron's face was framed in the narrow opening. "I love you, Kim! But my children are my children! If I let you out--if I go to Yamanuchi--if I try to find a way--to restore you--if I even stay with you like you are now--will you leave my children alone?"
Kim railed at him. "Stay with me like I am now? Like some kind of pity date from Hell? And her children--her children--still alive? Never! Not in a thousand years! Not in a million years!"
Ron used the Lotus Blade to pry the lid closed. "Goodbye, Kim. I love you." He wanted to jump into the dark--even if she should draw and quarter him. Glancing at Lon was the only thing that held him back.
Just hours ago, Kim had been delirious with joy at escaping. Now it was like a horrible replay of the event. "Ronald Stoppable! I hate you! I hate her! I hate you both--forever!" And like the Resurrection of Christ in reverse, the stone rolled shut.
Her body was whole--as whole as it would ever be. She screamed--she wailed--she groaned aloud--over and over--"Ron! Ron! I love you! Ron!"
In the world above, Ron glared at his wife. "Now, Tara--explain! And I'd better hear every little detail!"
Tara glanced nervously at the Lotus Blade gripped in her husband's fist. "Ron--are you going to kill me?"
Lon's gaze shifted from his father to his mother. He too was appalled at the sudden thought..
Ron's words were short and clipped. "Don't--tempt--me--Tara!" With a glimmer of blue, the Lotus Blade faded from view, and mother and son breathed a sigh of relief.
The closing of the cistern lid that brought an end to Kim's brief freedom also brought an end to Tara's life of happiness as she had known it. Ron would not leave. He must guard the monster from escape. He would not let Tara leave. He bound Lon to secrecy. The Possible family must not know the fate of the beloved sister and daughter they thought to be in eternal rest.
They lived apart in the home as thought they lived in different centuries. Tara threatened--once--to leave Ron.
What he told her in low tones made her stay in her bedroom for a week. Lon suspected his father had threatened to put his mother in the cistern.
The yearly ritual began. Halloween. All Hallows Eve. When the border between this life and the next grows thin. When the dead come back, ever so briefly.
Ron would come every year, for a few precious moments.
It was always the same.
Ron would go downstairs to the well room in the basement. He would uncap the pipe and inquire, as though it were an oracle. "What do you want, Kim?"
The foul odor of decay. The voice that Ron imagined a voice would sound telling a departed soul they were bound for the everlasting Lake of Fire.
"Vengeance. Justice. Retribution. Whatever you want to call it. Life for life. Let me out and let me do what I need to do. That's what I want."
And he would recap the pipe and sob on his bed until his eyes were dry and his throat seared.
Then he stopped coming. He had died.
Then it was Tara. "Kim--I have to know--what do you want?"
And the chilling macabre voice floated from the pipe. "I want you, Tara Rene King. You're not worthy to have his name! I want your children! I've built up quite an appetite stuck down here!"
After each yearly conversation, Kim would cast herself bodily against the wall until her bones shattered. But death never came. Whatever evil force had made her an Undead always put her back together like a vile jigsaw puzzle.
Kim lost count of the years.
Until at last she heard a new voice.
Ron's grandson. Tara's grandson. Her brother Tim's grandson. Her parents' great-grandson. The grandson Kim should have had. Ronald Zimmer Possible.
With love--and a question.
A question that made Kim forget her hatred for just a moment. A question that reminded her: anything might be possible. A question that made her weep.
In the hell of her existence, a glimmer of hope.
"Aunt Kim--what would you give to see the sun again?"
to be continued
A final final note. Ronald Possible's middle name is taken from the Possible fam ancestor, Zimm Possible, in A Very Possible Christmas, and Nana's middle name in G-Go's fic, Indiana Jones and the Tempus Simia.
My readers--when will I update? Dunno. Glacially Slow Writer, don'tcha know.