Disclaimer: Nope, this isn't mine. Well, Maria, I think, is pretty much mine, as are just about all the characters in this chapter. At least, I can't think of any characters similar to them in anything I've read or seen. If there are any similar characters out there, the similarities are purely coincidental, I promise. The universe is the property of Mr. Joss Whedon, I'm just allowing a few of my own characters to run around in it for a little while.
Chapter 4:
"Does the word 'subtlety' mean anything to you?"
"You're welcome. Y'know, considering that I just got enough to pay two of your kids' way through college, you could at least pretend to be grateful."
"A man is dead. Six more are in the hospital. Two of those are in critical condition. Does this mean anything to you?"
"Yeah. It means that there are seven people who probably won't be able to identify me any time soon." Maria gestured at the television set as the story played out on the evening news, "you saw the pictures. The shots from the police's dashboard camera look more like Liz Taylor than me. Police have no solid leads even from the guys who have regained consciousness. And uncut diamonds are completely untraceable." Maria's brow furrowed, "You're about fifty thousand dollars richer depending on what uncut diamonds are worth today. You could send two of your kids to university if they decide to go to that place down the street." Maria waved in the direction of Queen street. Roughly in the direction of Bishop's University. "And now I'm supposed to cry over six rent-a-cops in the hospital and a Spic in the morgue?"
"You killed someone. Do you have no conscience at all?"
"Having a whole state decide that it can legally have you put down has a way of blurring the line between righteousness and evil."
Claudette glared at the younger woman, her jaw clenched tightly. Finally she allowed the tension to flow out of her body, visibly relaxing herself. "You got fifty thousand?"
"Yeah." Maria nodded, apparently a little calmer, though Claudette had never been able to shake the feeling that she was like a cobra waiting for the exact right instant to strike.
Spence was one of the few jewelers who actually cut their own diamonds instead of buying them from a third party. They did a good job, too. Claudette's wedding ring had been bought there; although, considering the fate of her marriage, that probably wasn't the best example to use; and she had pawned it a few years back for an admirable sum. Their uncut diamonds were always transported in broad daylight and the time of their arrival was a closely-guarded secret known only to a select few including the police, their insurance broker and the security company in charge of the transport. As administrative assistant to their insurance broker, Claudette only had to memorize the pertinent data from the memos that crossed her desk. And Maria was right. Fifty thousand was a sum that her insurance company wouldn't balk at paying out to a company insured into the tens of millions. Spence's premiums would go up, of course, but the actual increase when compared to their per-annum payments would be tiny. If there were no repeats, the police would chalk this off to a crime of opportunity. A super-strong woman armed with a collapsible baton just happened to be strolling down Berri when an armored truck pulled to a stop in front of her. The idea of a convict escaped from Death Row in Virginia who was helping an administrative assistant to an insurance broker make enough money for her kids to go to college was probably too ridiculous even for most Canadians to believe. And Canadians, as a rule, were used to the ridiculous. This was a country where, for a time, Her Majesty's Loyal Opposition had been a party whose major platform had been the seceding from Canada.
Yes, Canadians were well accustomed to the ridiculous, but even they had their limits.
"You're sure nobody can trace you back to us?" Claudette tried to keep her voice even.
"You heard the news report. Police won't get any usable prints off of the truck. The description they gave is 'Caucasian woman between 20 and 25, black hair, brown eyes.'" Maria smiled. It wasn't a pleasant smile. "They've narrowed it down to half the female population of this Godforsaken country. And since nobody knows I'm actually in this country, I won't even be considered a suspect."
Claudette nodded. "From here on, nobody dies, you hear me?"
Claudette never even saw Maria move. And it would be a couple of seconds before her mind completely constructed what had happened. It was as if her body had teleported from the center of the room, and she suddenly found herself pressed against the wall, a vice-like grip around her throat, her feet kicking out a few inches above the floor.
"Now, let's get one thing straight." Maria's voice hissed, venom dripping from every word, "if I wanted to kill you, your children, and every person who stood between me and wherever I wanted to go, do you really think for one instant that you could stop me?"
"Let her go!" Through the red cloud that floated in front of Claudette's eyes, she could hear Élodie's voice as she ran up behind Maria, gripping her free arm and trying to pull her away from her mother. Maria was making no effort to be quiet, and Élodie had no difficulty whatsoever finding the two through the darkness she permanently inhabited.
To Élodie's credit; her reflexes, tuned to respond to the whisper of fabric and the tiny sounds imperceptible to most people which always preceded an attack, guided her hands up to a perfect guard position well before the blow landed.
And against someone who lacked the strength Maria had somehow been blessed with, it may actually have worked. Instead, the strike slammed, its force nearly unabated, into the center of the young girl's chest.
The twelve-year old, weighing in at an astounding eighty-seven pounds, was lifted off the ground as though she barely weighted an ounce. She slammed into the opposite wall, the air rushing out of her lungs as she slid to the floor, collapsing in a heap on the cheap carpeting of the small apartment.
Claudette felt the grip around her neck release and she dropped to the floor, her legs collapsing under her as she instructed her lungs to expand again. Élodie was slowly rolling onto her stomach, trying to pick herself up off the floor. It didn't look like she was hurt, thank God.
Maria looked down at the young girl, crumpled in a fetal position as she groaned in pain and humiliation. Her short brown hair hanging over her eyes as she tried to rise from the floor.
If I wanted to kill you and your mother, do you think for one instant that you could stop me? The voice that she'd forced herself not to hear, the voice that she'd forced from her memory for almost fifteen years drifted again into her mind.
Claudette's gaze drifted from her daughter up to the face of the woman who had assaulted her, and for the first time since she'd met Maria, she saw something other than unthinking anger carved into her face. Something other than murderous rage burning behind her eyes.
It was a look so foreign to the woman's face that it took Claudette a moment to recognize it.
It was horror. Absolute horror. Whatever had just happened, it had her terrified.
And in an instant, it was gone. The same stony, hard face turned back to Claudette, and her voice again spoke with the same loathing it had always had.
"Don't you ever tell me what to do again." Maria spun around, stalking into the bedroom, slamming the door behind her.
Claudette ran over to Élodie, cradling her head in her lap. Geneviève kneeled beside her identical sister.
"God, Élodie, are you okay?"
"'m fine, mom," Élodie's eyes stared sightlessly up at the ceiling, "jus' give me a second."
"Who could do something like this?" Geneviève gently reached forward, brushing her identical sister's hair out of her eyes. "What is wrong with her?"
"She's here to fight demons." Adèle's voice softly drifted over from the sofa where she was seated.
Nobody could argue with the statement.