Chapter I: The Song of a Siren
The soft, beautiful melody of the violin drifted from the open windows of the apartment complex into the streets below, being played softly in an eerily light tune. The one playing the violin was secluded within the chambers of their dark and hauntingly bare chambers. A large, queen-size bed stood in the middle of the room, a large bureau against the north wall, a large, walk-in closet positioned away from the window, and several posters and pictures of women hung on the wall, smiling charmingly at the other playing closely to the open window. The woman had long, ravenous ebony hair, and her fair complexion only made her rosy cheeks and full, red lips stand out more. Her eyes, which would normally hold the shadowy, silver glares, were close in relaxation as she played the violin. The beautiful music filled the air of her chambers, and as she continued to play, one could easily see the newspaper clippings along the wall, each one presenting a photograph of her. One large clipping from the "Chicago Journal" had a picture of her wearing a black suit, and walking from a courthouse. Next to it was the title: "Black Rose Blooming." Below it was an article.
"Rika Micamura, 28, has just been charge for the fifteenth time of First Degree Murder of local psychologist, Marco Van Buren, and has been found "not guilty" on any charges. The Harvard, Ph.D. graduate has presented her knowledge of the law perfectly and flawlessly before the Grand Jury as she revealed her case, and her defense, against herself. Nearly slaughtering the prosecutor, Miss Micamura has been suspect of being the infamous "Black Rose", due to her trademark in her Interior Decorative company, Mystique, which was once the famous company, Maximil, owned by her father, Maxwell Micamura, now deceased.
This young woman from the town of Chicago has suffered and been tormented almost all her life when her father was brutally killed by Pakistanian terrorist and mobster, Colin Sheager. To make matters worse for the young teenager of thirteen, she mourned her father's death, and sought revenge against the man. At thirteen, the young woman tracked down Sheager, and turned him over to the police. However, Sheager died behind bars awaiting trial, brutally killed by inmate, William H. Turer.
Micamura returned to school, but due to her intelligence level, she graduated from high school at sixteen, and joined the elite college students at Harvard University. There she obtained her PH.D. in law, and became a law-enforcing officer. After four years of training with the CIA, Agent Micamura retired from that line of career, and returned to her father's abandoned company. She transformed the business company into a fashion pursuit of the world, taking on a similar role as a business tycoon as her father did.
However, it did not stop there for the young woman's life. Due to the trademark of her company, and the trademark left behind by the feministic serial-killer, the Black Rose, Micamura has been brought to trial and before a judge several times. She has been charged with murder in all cases, and found "not guilty" on all charges. Using her Harvard wit to surpass the prosecution and convincing the jury each time that she was "not guilty."
"It does not matter to me what the press or people think of me, as I know I am not guilty of any crime. In my opinion, it is the mental capacity of the falsly charged citizens that enable them, and disable them, to move on with their lives. People are people, and in my own words, let them think what they wish to. That is my saying. 'Call me what you will, but I know what I am'," answered Miss Micamura to an interview of how these many court appearances have effected her life, and personal life.
Apparently relaxed and calm under any pressure, the business CO and founder of Mystique will enjoy her time as a free woman, sustaining her dominant control over the company, and her own life. A free, intelligent woman, leading a model life for all struggling women everywhere…."
As the woman continued to play the violin almost perfectly and harmoniously, a small, white and black feline crawled into the room, and sniffed around. The cat stopped a few feet away from its mistress, and watched with interest as the woman played. This continued on for nearly an hour of the creature watching the woman, and the woman being lost within the music she created around herself. After that, the woman stopped playing, let out a soft sigh, and her hands fell to her side, one holding the bow, and the other holding the instrument. She looked out the window, her silver eyes flashing slightly with the dark distance of her genius mind.
"They'll be coming soon, Zoey," she spoke to the feline creature behind her. "And if I know my ex, he'll be wanting more than just shelter from the cops. He'll want financial aid. I wouldn't blame him for coming to me. I am the heiress to the Maximil Trillions that my father made while still having control of the business. I am also the CO of Mystique, having made ten times that much money than my father. Even with all those charges and accusations and use of lawyers, there has been no dent in my financial status."
The creature got up from the floor and approached its mistress. The woman turned, and smiled down at the creature. She then picked up the kitten, and held it in her arms. "I guess it wouldn't hurt to help out an old friend. I could use the company."
With that, the woman approached the door, and left the room, closing the door behind her. The room never looked more deserted and empty, the pictures of the famous women looking gloom and dark, while the newspaper clippings revealed different sides to this multi-billionaire, genius woman with the modest streak. If someone who had known this woman had been told of what was soon to follow, they would not believe it, nor would they be willing to listen to the tale about to unfold….
"Michael, where are you leading us?" came the voice of Lincoln Burrows from behind his younger brother, Michael Scofield. Michael turned around, the woods of the Chicago Pines concealing the now escaped convicts from the roads and anyone looking for them. After having escaped from Fox River State Penitentiary, the five men, (trailed by a hand-decapitated sixth), had been running for the past two days, searching for a place to hide and allow themselves to be free. Only one thought came to the leader of the group. Only one person would be able to help, and they weren't that far away….
"I think I might know who can help us, but it's a big risk, as the city is a few miles away," Michael turned towards his comrades, who looked anxious and waiting for the plan. His ex-cellmate, Fernando Sucre, looked at him with an uneasy expression, but a convincing smile.
"We're willing to do anything if it means getting out of the range of the cops," he spoke to his friend. Michael nodded in appreciation.
"What are we going to do?" asked the mob boss, John Abruzzi. Michael answered his question.
"We're going to look up an old friend of mine. She'll help us out. You might know her. Rika Micamura," Michael spoke to them. At once, the men were stricken with both surprise…and fear.
"The Rika Micamura? The heir to the Maximil Trillions?" asked an African-American man, Benjamin Miles Franklin, known throughout prison as C-Note.
"The founder of Mystique?" Sucre spoke again.
"The infamous Black Rose?" came the trailed convict with the severed hand, Theodore "T-Bag" Bagwell. At once at his words, the men grew horrified. All but Michael, and his brother, Lincoln.
"That's the one," Michael spoke.
"She's dangerous, Fish! She'll kill us all! There's no way we're going to take refuge with her help! I want nothing to do with her! Ella es psicopata!" Sucre yelled in Spanish. Michael only shook his head in disbelief at how his comrades were reacting to this.
"She's not a psychopath, and as for her being the Black Rose, there is no supporting evidence that says she is. She only has the same trademark as the serial killer," Michael explained.
"And was in the same place as each of the murders," C-Note spoke.
"All the killings took place in hotels and motels, and she is a traveling business woman with meetings in almost every city she was in. Just because she was in the same place does not mean she is the killer. Besides, she's the only hope we have left. No one will suspect her of being a aide in our escape, as I have had no contact with her since high school," Michael explained. "Plus, with her money and financial aide, we can escape to a different, more secluded area. We just need to find her."
After a few minutes of trying to convince his allies that it was the only way, they all started to head towards the city where Michael knew they would find her. It had been a long time since he last saw the heiress to the Maximil Trillions. He never thought he would have to resort to taking refuge and aide from her, but now was the perfect time to find her. He needed her help, whether he wanted it or not.
The peaceful rock music slowly drifted from the large stereo in the living room, the ebony haired woman spread out on the maroon love-seat, reading "The DaVinci Code", while her pet rested on her ample chest, slumbering peacefully. She was well into the book, and the music playing was a song called "Field of Innocence" by the band, Evanescence. The song was originally playing from a small, black iPod on the coffee table, hooked up to the stereo to play it at high sound. Just then, the song ended, and changed to another song, "Fight For All The Wrong Reasons" by Nickelback. The woman smiled in pleasure at the song. She started singing along to the song.
"Well, I wanted you. I wanted no one else. I thought it through. I got you to myself. You got off every time you got all to me. I got caught up in favorable slavery. I guess it wasn't really right. I guess it wasn't meant to be. It didn't matter what you said, 'cause we were good in bed. I guess I stuck around to watch us fight for all the wrong reasons…."
The woman grew annoyed quickly, craving to listen to another song, and she closed her book softly, and turned only slightly, not disturbing her pet's slumber, and reached over towards her iPod. She clicked on the menu of songs, and scrolled down to another song. A song she hasn't heard in a long time. "Smells Like Teen Spirit" by Nirvana. She smiled at the fond memory of the song, but then decided otherwise.
"In this hole that is me, the dead are rolling over. In this hole, thickening, dirt shoveled over shoulders. I feel it in me, so overwhelmed. Oh, this pressured center rising. My life overturned, unfair the despair. All these scars keep ripping open. Peel me from the skin! Tear me from the rind! Does it make you happy now? Tear meat from bone! Tear me from myself! Are you feeling happy now?"
The woman laughed gently in pleasure at the song, and then continued on with her book. At least, that was, until she heard the doorbell of her apartment ring. A playful grin played on her lips as she got up, quickly catching her pet, and laying it on the sofa beside her. Then the woman got up from the sofa and walked over to her door. Before she opened it, she turned to her cat.
"Let the games begin."
She opened it, and smiled at the people standing there in the hallway. "I knew you'd come."