This is a story is based on the Gargoyles universe created by Greg Wiseman and Michael Reaves. Gargoyles and related characters are registered trademarks of Buena Vista Television and Walt Disney Studios. The stories and characters not described above are original creations of T'Layna MacMathain, and Poison Thorns Productions. Copyright © 2000 All rights reserved.
Resurrection
By
T'Layna MacMathain
Chapter 2
Belynda
It was another typically chilly night in San Francisco's Outer Richmond district. The fog was unusually thick for an August night, even for a city that is accustomed to the nightly dose of the gray mists that is the trademark of San Francisco's unique climate. Fog is good, the young woman thought as she gazed out the window of the stopped 38 Geary bus. I can get lost in this stuff. Lost and alone was a feeling the woman was very much accustomed to, along with despair and hopelessness.
She used the name Belynda Flores, discarding her given name like yesterday's dinner bones. Few people knew her birth name, and she didn't want anyone to. The name was never rightly hers to begin with, she bitterly reflected. That, along with all the trappings of a nice, middle-class existence in an Atlanta suburb was all left behind four years ago. Now she was on her own, and left to fend for herself by a strict, Southern Baptist family that wanted nothing more to do with her and her unconventional lifestyle.
She had fared little better in San Francisco. When she arrived, she did manage to get some work, but she soon lost her job because of her increasingly frustrated attitude. For the next three years, she scraped money by working odd jobs and fast food. Her evil temper and acid tongue soon earned her the nickname B'Elanna Torres after the temperamental engineer of the same name on Star Trek Voyager. This kind of reputation made it difficult to get steady employment. She eventually lost her apartment and property and wound up homeless on the streets of San Francisco, her only worldly possessions carried on her back in a black backpack decorated only with a large patch depicting an upraised middle finger. The patch perfectly reflected her attitude toward the rest of the world.
The bus lurched forward with a roar of its massive diesel engines as the light turned green. The woman just turned twenty-three, but looked barely eighteen. She was dressed in black jeans and a black T-shirt emblazoned with the logo of a popular but controversial heavy metal band. She had shoulder-length raven hair that was arranged in numerous small-diameter braids. She wore a thin leather choker around her delicate neck that was bristling with single row of vicious spikes more than three centimeters long. Her waist was wrapped in a leather belt with three rows of closely spaced chrome pyramid studs. Her footwear consisted of a well-worn pair of Doc Marten's boots.
Belynda soon fell prey to the insidious insanity that life on the streets often brings. One night she tried to desperately get help from the city's health care system. When they failed to respond for her cry for help, she tried to make a new exit through the clinic's plate-glass door. Fortunately for her, the 'glass' was really a tough polycarbonate plastic and the girl merely knocked herself unconscious. An hour later, she woke up in San Francisco General Hospital's Psychiatric Emergency Service lockdown ward with a massive blue lump on her forehead. Less than eight hours later, she was released, none the better. She had spent the last two weeks in various shelters and soup kitchens.
She looked very much like the tough street punk, and had the attitude to match. She was an angry girl for the most part and very frustrated with her life. Tonight was no exception. She had missed the curfew at the shelter once again. That meant another night of "spanging" or begging for spare change for cigarettes and soda. Tonight's dinner would be obtained through "table scoring", a scam she perfected on her own by slipping into restaurants and finishing the leftovers left behind by customers before the busboy got to the table. Missing the shelter's curfew also meant all night rides on Muni's noisy busses, but it was safer than sleeping on the streets.
She got off the bus at the end of the line and walked toward the beach. The night was chilly and very foggy here. It was also very quiet. She walked about three hundred meters and found herself a quiet, secluded spot. She wished she could speak to her older sister again. She had been particularly close to Jaqui when they grew up. Jaqui was the oldest of the four children. Jaqui was a big girl, and also very protective of her siblings. Jaqui would fight anyone who harassed any of her siblings, especially Belynda. She remembered how it all started.
One day Jaqui announced to the family that she was a lesbian and she was going to marry her long time classmate and girlfriend Patricia and she wanted her family's blessing. That resulted in a sermon of fire-and-brimstone preaching from her father, a lay Southern Baptist minister. Declaring that he would not have any "Satan-spawned faggots or deviant perverts bringing eternal damnation into his God-fearing Christian home!" he ordered Jaqui to pack her stuff get out before he decided to shoot her. Twenty-four hours later, Jaqui piled all of her worldly possessions in her beat up old Chrysler and headed off to parts unknown. Though she did try to write or call, her father made it clear that anyone who talked to that 'daughter of Satan' would suffer her fate.
Belynda really missed her sister. In a way, it was Jaqui who created Belynda. One day when they were much younger, Jaqui dressed up her little brother Billy as a girl. Much to her surprise, Billy actually enjoyed being dressed up as a girl and one day he admitted it to Jaqui. Jaqui got an unexpected benefit from this. Billy, whom she named Belynda, had become in reality more like the kid sister she wanted but didn't have. As they grew older, she would dress him up on those occasions when they were alone together at home. It was Jaqui who would obtain most of Belynda's stuff and hide it in her room except the lingerie, which was secreted in Billy's closet. Jaqui knew her mother would spot them in her clothing during the laundry.
When Billy was seventeen, there was a near disaster when his father stumbled across his 'special collection' of women's apparel. When confronted by his father, Billy explained them as 'trophies' from his sexual conquests. Though complaining that it was a tacky practice, his father was relieved that Billy wasn't a queer. That was certainly more normal than his dyke sister was, therefore he accepted the story. All Hell broke loose when Belynda's father came home and caught Billy all dressed up as Belynda. She remembered the yelling and screaming from her father. For the next three months, the tension between his parents and Billy grew as they desperately tried to force Billy into their idea of 'normal'. That ended one day when Billy declared he was a transsexual and that he intended to become Belynda and get a sex change. Like Jaqui earlier, Belynda was forced to move out under penalty of violence from her father.
Belynda spread out her blanket on the sandy knoll and sat down and listened to the rhythmic lapping of the ocean waves. She loved the quiet solitude here on nights like this. She knew this would help bring out her creative side and she loved to write poetry on nights like these either here or in a cemetery with some of her Goth friends in her writing circle. Smiling, Belynda reached into her pack and pulled out a small casket shaped container. Opening the box revealed her pipe and a small amount of marijuana. She then loaded her pipe, lit the green herb and inhaled the pungent smoke, exhaling ten seconds later. Fifteen minutes later, she was quite stoned and relaxed. She reached into her pack and pulled out a small fluorescent lamp and her notebook. She was about to start writing when she heard a soft whooshing sound from above. Unable to see through the dark fog, she assumed the sound probably came from a seagull. She barely gotten one line written when she heard the whoosh again and this time it sounded a lot closer and a lot bigger than any seagull. She smiled broadly. Must be the weed, she thought. Danny really scored some kick-ass shit this time; she reflected and returned to writing.
The journey began in darkness
Unable to speak
Unable to see
Thoughts burn in my mind
Like a thousand blazes...
Her reverie was broken by the crunch of the sand nearby. Alarmed, she switched the lantern into flashlight mode and pulled out her pepper spray.
"All right, dick breath! If you want trouble, you fuckin' found it!" She shouted defiantly into the mists with a lot more confidence than she felt inside. The scrunching sand sound approached as her light desperately probed the mist for the source. It was an old drunkard and he smelled like he fell into a sewer and drank an entire brewery. He was clearly intoxicated and reeked of body odor and urine. She relaxed. This guy was no danger to anyone except possibly from the foul smelling fumes emanating from his long-unwashed body and clothing. She watched him blindly stumble on and disappear into the mist.
She then switched the lantern back into fluorescent mode and returned to her writing. She was again interrupted by the sound of voices. She switched off the lantern and listened as the voices approached. At least the fog will hide me. She listened carefully. Three distinct male voices, they are definitely intoxicated. What's worse, she thought, is that they are heading her way. She had a bad feeling about those men. She began loading her pack when the fog lifted for a few minutes, allowing the full moon to peek through and giving the three approaching men a chance to spot her. A cry of excitement came from one of the men. Oh shit! They had spotted her! The biggest of the three pointed in her direction and began running in her general direction. As they closed in, she began to hear their comments, and crudely sexual ones at that. If those bastards catch me, she thought. She shuddered. She started to back away looking for an escape. The trio soon surrounded her.
The three men had started grabbing her clothing as she screamed for help. One big ape named Rico had knocked her to the ground, straddled and then sat on her body. He was the epitome of the ugly, drunken rapist. Weighing in at 125 kg, Rico knew the smaller woman was no match for his strength and mass. She fought the impulse to puke as she squirmed to try getting the grinning goon with three missing teeth off of her. She screamed for help again. Rico slapped her and held his knife in front of her. Rico then instructed the other two goons named Slick and Birdman to get the rest of her clothing off. Slick had grabbed their girl's arms and pinned them to the ground. Birdman then managed to get on top of her thrashing legs and she soon was helpless to resist Birdman removing her pants. Rico then used his knife to cut away her T-shirt and bra.
"You got nice tits, puta. I'm gonna love fuckin' you!" He said with an alcohol slurred Mexican accent. Belynda looked blankly into the night sky, her mind trying to block out the impending horror of rape. The three rapists were so occupied with their prize they failed to hear the whooshing sound of something heavy flying overhead. For some odd reason, Belynda heard the whooshing noise and saw something casting a dark shadow crossing in front of the fog blurred moon for a split second. She saw what she thought were two red lights in the sky. The next thing she saw was Rico's awful grin, the smell of his foul breath and his crushing weight on top of her stomach as he leaned over to kiss her. The scene was interrupted by a roaring scream that was so frightening that it actually made her blood run colder than it already was despite her current predicament. Her three assailants also stopped. They heard it as well and were looking around wildly to find the source.
Suddenly and without warning, the massive weight of Rico was off her stomach as something heavy and fast moving dropped out of the sky and snatched Rico up with a pair of massive, grayish paws tipped with three equally massive talons. She saw two brilliantly glowing red lights as Rico started screaming obscenities. Two seconds later, Rico's screams were replaced by the thudding plop of something heavy hitting the sand about twenty meters away. The two other rapists froze like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming semi, and felt about as safe.
"What the fuck?" was all that Birdman managed to say when Slick saw Birdman suddenly ascending into the sky. Birdman screamed as the massive talons dug into his shoulders and lifted him into the mist. Slick and Belynda heard his screaming obscenities as he disappeared from sight. Taking advantage of the situation, Belynda escaped and hid in some nearby shrubbery. Suddenly, there was silence.
"Rico! Bird!" Slick screamed in desperation. Slick was answered by the soft lapping of the ocean. Slick was suddenly all alone. Another heavy thud was heard only three meters away from Slick. He saw a dark object on the beach. As he approached, he realized that it was Birdman, and he was groaning in pain. At least the Bird was still alive, Slick thought with relief. When he saw Birdman, he was taken aback by the blood oozing out of his nose and on his shirt. Poor fucker sure got his ass kicked. He saw one other prone body just a few meters away and knew instinctively that it was Rico.
"Man! What the fuck?" Slick muttered as he saw the condition of his leader. Damn! He looked like road pizza! Slick also saw the bloody shoulders and wondered who or what the Hell did this to Rico? Slick was starting to feel real fear for the first time in a long time. Like most thugs, he enjoyed causing fear, but now discovered that being on the receiving end was nowhere near as much fun. "Oh man and Jesus!" Slick moaned. Rico was probably one of the toughest guys Slick ever knew. Rico must weigh at least two-fifty, Slick thought and whatever and he instinctively knew it was whatever, not whoever, had whacked Rico into burger and did it with the ease of picking up a pencil. Taking no more chances, Slick pulled out a 9mm Taurus autoloader from behind his back and jacked back the slide, chambering a round.
Belynda cowered in the shrubbery as she watched the unfolding drama and enjoyed watching the surviving rapist standing there desperately trying to locate his assailant. She silently blessed her unknown savior and promised that she would throw one Hell of a party for whoever it was. A movement in the sky caught her attention. She watched with fascination as a dark shadow moved silently across the sky in a circular motion. Suddenly, the shadow dived like a falcon on a stoop for a defenseless rabbit out in the open.
Slick was nervously looking around, wandering if he just shouldn't get the Hell out of here and cut his losses. Still, he was in deep shit. He had to find that girl and cap her ass before she went to the police. He knew SFPD had a mug of him in their files. Slick had two violent felonies on his record, and he knew if he was busted this time, he was looking for a twenty-five to life stay at the San Quentin Hilton. Without warning, his gun was suddenly snatched from his hand by a powerful claw, breaking Slick's index finger in the process. He screamed in pain as he saw his damaged hand. He saw the awkward angle his finger now pointed and felt the warm wetness of blood flowing on his hand. With horror, he also saw the end of a bone jutting from the side of the finger.
"Shit! Motherfuckin' compound fracture!" Slick roared. "Motherfucker! You are fuckin' dead meat! You hear me? Dead meat!" Suddenly something descended from the sky and landed in front of him. That something bigger than any seagull and with two sinister glowing red lights.
As the figure emerged into the light, Slick saw for the first time what hit him. A grayish-blue creature stood, humanoid in shape, and that's about where the resemblance to humanity ended as far as Slick was concerned. The creature stood on two fetlocks with three massive talons on each tipped with massive claws. As his gaze traveled upward, he noticed the creature had wicked looking barbs on each of the heels, knees and elbows. The creature was definitely female and was actually quite attractive. Nice tits and ass, Slick thought, despite the thick, prehensile tail whose tip looked like a spade from a playing card. She was also dressed in a black leather halter-top and a black loincloth. The loincloth was secured by a wide belt and sported a nasty looking sword on one side and an oversized fanny pack on the other. It looked almost human, save for the huge pair of bat wings that were almost five meters across with three finger-like claws at the apex of each wing. He also noticed the wing's membranes were much darker than the rest of the creature. He noticed the creature had a beautiful human face with the exception of the four horns that emerged over her almond-shaped eyes curving upward that gave it a crown-like effect. He also noted that the creature had long, pointed ears like some kind of elf or pixie peeking out from her raven hair arranged in style similar to that of Tina Turner's.
"Pardon me Sir, did you lose a gun?" Asked the creature in a seductive voice, his 9mm lying flat in its outstretched paw. Slick watched with horror as the creature closed its talons around the weapon and crushing it into scrap. She then dropped the useless gun into the sand.
"Bitch! That gat cost me seven Benjamins!" Slick screamed. He almost fainted, but the pain of his hand continued to fuel his hate and desire for revenge. He had to cap this fuckin' flyin' freak show as well. He reached behind his back with his good hand and drew out a Balisong and expertly whipped out the 20-cm blade of the Okinawan weapon. Slick then lunged at the creature. The winged creature easily dodged his attack by leaping straight upward with her powerful legs, allowing him to run underneath her. He then wheeled around hoping to catch her only to find his knife arm in the iron grip of her claw just as effectively and just as inescapable as any steel shackle. She squeezed and crushed his wrist, bones cracking loud enough to be heard by Belynda. Slick roared in agony and dropped the knife and now was on his knees in abject fear. This creature had whacked all three of them with surprising speed and ruthless efficiency.
"Look, I can get some money or drugs whatever you want." Slick begged, hoping a different tack might get this creature off of his case.
"I do not care for your bribes!" The creature hissed as it picked up the terrified thug. Slick's bladder finally had enough and let go. He felt the warmth of his own urine flowing down his legs as he gazed helplessly in her glowing crimson eyes. "Heed my warning! If I ever catch any of your kind ever hurting her or anyone else, I will rip your hearts, lungs and livers out through your throats! Got it, slimewad?" Slick could only nod in abject terror. The creature lashed out with a right, catching Slick squarely on the jaw and knocking him unconscious.
Belynda saw the creature gather up the trio and secure them with plastic handcuffs. Feeling safe now, she emerged out of her hiding place. The creature heard her and whipped around to see whom it was, but relaxed as she recognized the victim. Belynda was startled and let out a scream and she turned, running.
"Fear not! I will not harm you." The creature called out. Too late, Belynda had disappeared. The creature then whipped out a small cell phone from the pouch and called in the police. The creature then climbed a tree, spread open its wings and launched itself into the night mists.
* * *
Inspector Jack Fujimori studied the pile of reports on his desk as he sat down with a grungy, residue encrusted coffee cup that had a capacity of about half a liter and seen countless liters of coffee. He looked at his cluttered desk with dismay. Humph! Just another typical night with a typical pile of cases courtesy of an overactive abundance of pervs, creeps and weirdoes, he thought sourly. A third generation American of Japanese descent, he was in surprisingly good shape for a cop pushing fifty. That was amazing in its own right considering he spent the last four years jockeying a desk at SFPD's Sex Crime Unit. He was proud of his excellent physical condition. He was also luckier than most. Inspector Fujimori could pack away enough food to feed a family of three and not gain a milligram. A fanatic about exercise and fitness, he spent many of his off-duty hours in SFPD's gym staying street-cop trim. Inspector Fujimori had run down perps that have eluded cops half his age.
Inspector Fujimori flipped through the cases assigned to him. Nothing unusual so far, at least as far as the officers who served in the Sex Crimes Unit defined unusual. The Inspector had an ugly job, but someone had to do it. He also derived considerable satisfaction whenever he solved a case and took a violent offender off the streets. He had no illusions that for every rapist, child molester and stalker he put away shielded another innocent person from the horror of rape. An attractive new officer named Richardson dropped off another case folder on his already cluttered desk.
"Merry Christmas from Lieutenant Garner. She wants you to do this one now."
"Crap! I've got enough work here for three cops now!" he complained.
"Sorry, Inspector, but you know how it goes." He snatched up the file from Officer Richardson and scanned some of the data. Attempted 261 on the beach. His curiosity grew as he read the arrest report. The arrest report recorded an incident where an anonymous caller reported an attempted rape. When the black-and-white arrived, the officers were surprised to find three seriously injured men securely bound with plastic cuffs along with the remnants of a bra, a pair of knives and a 9mm Taurus autoloader, model PT-92AF. The preliminary investigation traced the gun, which was reported stolen in a residential burglary in nearby Hayward a few weeks ago.
The 'vic', as police refer to the victims of crime, was nowhere to be found. That was not surprising. Most crime victims usually go straight to the police because of the outrage, anger and desire for vengeance they feel as a result of the crime. However, because of the intimate and highly personal nature of sex crimes, most victims are usually too traumatized to come forward for quite a while, and often never do. Either way, the vics in these cases usually wind up on psych meds or in psych wards making their value as witnesses questionable, especially in court. This made police work like his much more difficult and frustrating.
A scowl crossed his face as he took another sip from his monstrous coffee mug. His face took on a grimace as the bitter coffee tortured his taste buds. Shit, he thought ruefully, the damned city has got a one hundred million dollar budget surplus and can't afford a friggin' can of decent coffee? To the Inspector, that in and of itself was criminal. He returned to the task at hand. There was something odd here. The medical report from the hospital noted all three were injured, and all three bore unusual puncture wounds of 'undetermined origin.' There was also a bruising around the injuries that indicated a heavy, crushing force more consistent with being mauled by a large animal, say a bear or a maybe a gorilla.
The condition of the gun was equally strange. According to the report, the gun was described as 'crushed'. Crushed? He knew the Taurus wasn't a cheap Saturday Night Special, but a high quality military-grade firearm. This had to be the result of some dip-shit clerical error. No human being is strong enough to crush a gun like that barehanded. Obviously, I need to take a trip down to the evidence room, and straighten this mess out, he thought.
Inspector Fujimori then checked out the officer' names who filed the report, Sergeant Gianni Moretti and Officer Lewis Flynn. He knew the two cops who wrote the report personally. They often hung out at a nearby bar whose primary patronage was SFPD cops and deputies from the Sheriff's Office. Both officers were ones he worked with before, and they were experienced veterans with solid records. They sure were not the types to file oddball reports like this one. As he further read the report, he became even more puzzled when he read the section regarding the three perps.
Suspect number one was Ricardo "Rico" Rodriguez, a thirty-something gorilla of a thug that spent much of his life extorting merchants and illegal immigrants in the Mission. He also had an extensive record of violent crime and was a career criminal since age twelve. Inspector Fujimori knew Rodriguez. He popped him three years ago for domestic violence. The report also described him as being in SF General's Critical Care Unit with massive injuries that were described as consistent with injuries one would sustain in a fall from a height of approximately ten to twelve meters. He was puzzled. That was equivalent of a fall from a three-story building. He knew the crime scene, and there was nothing anywhere in the area tall enough that Rico could have fallen off of. He would be in no shape to shed any light on this case for quite a while. Rico was damned lucky to still be alive.
Suspect number two was Harvey Slaton a.k.a. Birdman. A twenty year old from the Tenderloin District who specialized in low-level drug dealing, petty theft, shoplifting and mugging the elderly, drunks and disabled people for their meager subsistence checks. This was Birdman's first sex felony. This is odd. Birdman's type rarely does anything as serious as rape, but there was always a first time for everything. Like his leader, he was also handcuffed to a bed in SF General's CCU barely alive.
The report described suspect number three as Thomas Littleton a.k.a. Slick. A 26 year old thug that grew up in San Francisco's tough Bayview District with a record almost a centimeter thick consisting of small time muggings, burglary and auto theft. He also had pair of 211's as well. He was the only one of the bound suspects who was conscious when the black-and-white arrived. His fingerprints were found all over the ruined gun. Inspector Fujimori smiled as he took a sip of his coffee. Even if I can't nail him for the rape, I got a nice weapon charge he can't dodge, he gleefully thought.
During initial questioning, Littleton denied knowing anything about a rape or the gun, but claimed to have been attacked by a flying monster with giant bat wings and red eyes that glowed. He was also babbling about a warning or threat from this alleged monster. Asshole's probably doped all up, the Inspector surmised. That theory ended when he read the next report. Since they arresting officers smelled alcohol, they had blood taken from all three. The perps all registered alcohol and in the case of Birdman, speed, but Littleton had a blood alcohol of 0.07, just below the legal definition to be DUI.
This case is going to be a bitch. The Inspector knew he needed to find the vic and see if she will cooperate. He was also greatly disturbed by the condition of the perps. Although Inspector Fujimori felt the three deserved what they got, the fact that someone intervened and severely injured the three thugs had the disturbing smell of vigilantism all over it. There was more than one crime here, especially in view of the threat involved. Sooner or later, vigilantes always cross the line and elevate themselves above the law. Those thugs were wrong, but Inspector Fujimori was sworn to uphold the law, and uphold it equally. To do less was criminal, as far as the Inspector was concerned.
* * *
Belynda was over at her friend Sunshine's home sleeping peacefully on the carpet. Sunshine was an aging blonde transplant from Brooklyn that supplemented her disability with under-the-table work and prostitution. They had met some time ago at a homeless shelter for women in the South of Market Area. For some odd reason, Sunshine took a liking to the young transsexual. She knew immediately something was amiss when the young woman showed up at her door at 4AM in a river of tears. After being invited in, Belynda removed her jacket, Sunshine immediately knew something was wrong. The girl had no top on or a bra. She also saw numerous bruises and scratches. Sunshine instinctively knew what happened and knew what to do. After calming the traumatized girl with a stiff drink, she went to her bedroom and produced a Nikon and asked her to take off all her clothes while she fumbled with a control on the back of the camera.
"This camera time stamps and dates each picture," Sunshine explained as she snapped several pictures. "The cops will want to see these injuries before they heal. They'll need 'em as evidence in case they catch the creeps. Can you describe the germs?"
"Yes. The cops probably already have them." Belynda related the tale of the attack at the beach, including the part about her mysterious winged rescuer. Belynda then broke down in tears. There was something in the girl's voice that told Sunshine she was telling the truth. There was also a nagging feeling that there was also something familiar about her story.