She was thoroughly enjoying her soak in the garden tub when she thought she detected a dull thump, sending her to her feet in a split second. "Kevin," she called softly, wrapping a bath towel around herself. No answer. She reached for the discarded champagne bottle and grasped it, easing to the bathroom door and straining her ears. She might've heard a strangled gasp, but she was too well-trained and cautious to rush in there. She braced herself and flung the door open, eyes quickly scanning the room; no intruders, but the night table fallen over and some items scattered about the floor. And in the bed, the love of her life lying motionless, his hazel eyes staring up at the ceiling.
"Oh..no...," she gasped, stepping slowly toward him, still searching for whoever broke in. Other than the disarray in the room, no sign of how or where they'd entered. Bruised and bloody knuckles proved that he'd struck out at his attackers, plus there were darkening contusions around his neck. She made a circuit of the windows and doors, but found no other clues. Then, for once in her life, she did something a typical woman might do in such a situation: she screamed bloody murder.
That night another woman found it hard to sleep. She was just a couple dozen miles north from Angela and her plight, in a cheap hotel room with her green eyes frustratingly open. She couldn't lose her nerve, not now, she thought. Not after all this time. She'd been working towards this inevitable confrontation, subconsciously or not, for several years. Ever since she was pulled out of the House of 1000 Corpses, as it had been dubbed, barely alive or sane.
A half dozen plastic surgeries had almost given her original face back, her leg bone had to be rebroken and set to allow her to walk, and the young woman wore partial dentures since she'd lost a few due to malnutrition and a couple more had been hit and kicked out. Her body had been put back together as well as medically possible at that time, but the same couldn't be said for her mind. She reached over to clutch the handgun laying beside her in the bed, savoring its cold lethality. She'd taken self-defense courses, martial arts, and training in all sorts of firearms. Not to mention wilderness survival, hunting and tracking. When she had at last found what became of the last hated Firefly, she knew what she must do.
She was barely twenty years old.
Pietro Chavez pondered on recent developments, searching for a solution. His older brother's untimely demise should've assured his own ascension to leader of the organization, but instead this outsider was being pushed into that position. Not only that, but a woman as well. He'd never understood Paolo's affection for Angela or agreed with her high position as his Right Hand.
Angela in the meantime had removed herself and the household to a more secure location and appointed bodyguards loyal to her around the premesis. It was more rural and the house smaller but still comfortable. She'd been swinging between calm acceptance and screaming hysteria--Freddy had his hands full trying to console Roberta and deal with Angela.
He decided they should take a walk, perhaps some fresh air would improve her temper. Hand-in-hand they strolled, and the tension in the multi-talented woman's shoulders did seem to drain away.
"Talk to me, Ellen."
"Don't call me that," she snapped.
"I know that's who's here right now so you can cut the shit," he snaps back. "I can tell which one is present, and it's Ellen. So talk to me."
"I don't have much to say," she looks away from him.
Sighing, the former psychiatrist is silent for a few moments. "You blame yourself," he states.
"Kevin's dead because of me," she answers, voice beginning to tremble. "I couldn't protect him."
"You're only one person, Angela, and you can't be everywhere at once," the black-haired man says softly.
Suddenly the woman's head snaps around as if she heard something. Freddy hadn't detected anything, but then again he didn't have her killer's awareness. A woman stepped into view, an automatic rifle aimed at them. Freddy went for his sidearm but the stranger's eyes were keen. She swung her weapon towards him.
That's when the two guards protecting Angela broke cover and opened fire, distracting the stranger. Angela and Freddy both hit the dirt pulling their own weapons. When the smoke cleared the intruder was standing over the lifeless bodies of the hired men, a look of sadness and regret on her features, almost as if she didn't realize that's what happens when you shoot a firearm at someone. She whirled though before the Angel de Muerte could squeeze a round off at her, freezing them both in place at their predicament. Her green eyes glittered in her youthful yet scarred face, and her hair was long, straight and blonde--in fact, she could've passed as Baby Firefly's little sister. "Don't ya remember me, Baby," she spoke at last. "Don't recognize your brother's handiwork?"
Angela gazed at the newcomer for a few moments, then made a connection. "Jessica, the Homecoming Queen," replies Angela. She'd never thougth one of their surviving victims would be persistant and resourceful enough to find her, here of all places. Or that she'd remember their name.
"Yes," she spat. "Jessica King, macabre play-toy to you and your twisted family. I was fifteen when RJ picked me up that day." She approached slowly, rifle still on them. "Drop the weapon," she tells the older woman.
"Not a chance."
"You deserve to die, but I would really much rather make you suffer like I suffered for a good, long while. This would be much to abrupt."
With a swing of her long leg Angela sent the firearm flying into the bushes, but the younger woman took hold of Angela's gun hand, slamming the forearm on her knee and causing her to let go of the handgun.
"Hold it," came Freddy's voice. He was currently trying to get a clear shot as the two females struggled.
"Freddy, don't! Go get help," Angela called back to him.
"I may not be Otis, but I'm not completely useless," he asserts.
She didn't feel like arguing, but before she could do anything else Jessica pulled a funny-looking gun out of a pouch and shot Freddy with it. Immediately his right arm felt dead and he couldn't move it. A few seconds later he fell forward unconscious. Jessica had tagged him with a whopping dose of horse tranquilizers.
Angela continued grappling with the former victim, surprised at the woman's skill, until she felt a sting in her neck. Reaching up she found a dart sticking out of it, then everything went black.
Opening crusty blue-green eyes the woman tried moving and found she was restrained to a wooden chair, arms behind her and writs tied excruciatingly tight together. Casting her gaze about the room it appeared to be part of an abandoned rural storehouse of some sort, filled with rot and mold and dust. The musty smell didn't bother her, though. Her old life as Baby was spent in the moldy basement or the storehouse where humans were gutted like cattle. She worried about her adopted brother Freddy and if he was all right. Footsteps sounded from the left and after a couple moments a tall, lean man with dark hair entered wearing slacks and a Hawaiian print short-sleeved shirt and sunglasses. "Está tan usted con el policia?," she asked him.
"Haha, nope," he replied, removing his shades to reveal pale blue eyes. Another American, like her and Jessica. "I'm with the FBI, ma'am. Not sure what you're going by now."
"You can call me Angela," she says icily. "Or Big Fucking Trouble, if ya like, for messing with Paolo's Right Hand."
"I think you're IN big fucking trouble, sweetcheeks," he says, circling her lazily.
"So did the Homecoming Queen join the Federal Bureau of Ignorance? What's the story, amigo?"
"He's not in the FBI any more," comes Jessica's voice as she enters the room. She was wearing dark blue boot-cut jeans with a pink button-up shirt, her yellow hair pushed back with a headband. "But nobody else knows that, do they, bounty hunter?"
The man shot her an angry glare. "Can't keep your big mouth shut," he grumbles. "Do what you wanted to do to her, little girl, but leave some of the carcass for me to collect on. All right?"
"That's part of the deal, Dave. Sure you don't wanna...you know...have a little fun with her first? I don't think she'll be too attractive once I'm finished with her."
He wrinkled his nose. "I don't think so--it's hard to say what kinda diseases she's got. And besides, this is purely business. Speakin' of which, I need to make a trip into town. Don't bring any local attention to yourself, mmkay?" The man exits, shutting the metal door behind him.