Chapter 1
Gabrielle peered at the digital numbers flashing bright red convictions at her eyes.
7:30... 7:31. Snooze.
She rolled over into her second pillow. The sun hadn't emerged yet, thanks to the dreary disposition of late autumn in New York. Whenever winter reared its ugly head Gabrielle's lingering depression mimicked its actions. Another year had gone by and she was still at the same dull office doing the same dull tasks every dull day with every one of her dull co-workers who all had dull lives.
She was supposed to be writing books. Creative novel writing based on classical mythology was supposed to be her specialty. Double majoring in classical mythology and creative writing was supposed to award the hard working woman with her dream job. Ever since the first time she read The Odyssey, Gabrielle knew that she wanted to write stories like that.
Five years later, she is still nothing more than an office bitch whose idea of excitement is organizing the file cabinet backwards. Sure, once or twice a week a reporter doesn't show and Gabrielle gets to go on scene and even on television to report, but the events of contemporary New York didn't spark her interest at all. The same murders in the same dark alleys. The same irritated customers suing over the same false advertising gimmicks. Everything was the same.
A news building was not the place for her.
After the unsatisfied groaning in her head stopped, Gabrielle stretched and rose from her bed. Her hand fell on the alarm. She yawned to fill the silence. While patting barefoot across the carpet floor of her bedroom her hands tousled her short blond hair. Last week she had decided for something different. A short crop that was sophisticated and sexy. Not that anyone except Roger noticed. Roger was Gabrielle's only friend at the office. The two of them didn't have much in common or have great things to discuss over coffee. He had a hopeless crush on her, and she relished in the fact that someone would bend over backwards to get with her. He knew exactly how she liked her coffee and didn't hesitate to put aside his own duties to finish up her crap work.
All in all, a great relationship. She smiled ruefully to herself. A dorky office guy who treated her like the high school prom queen was the best she'd get for now. Gabrielle scratched her belly underneath the green t-shirt she wore to bed. Her stomach wasn't as firm as she remembered. She grabbed a pen and scribbled herself some gym time Thursday evening.
The daily routine began. Coffee made, purse ready, and keys on the table next to the book she started reading a week ago about Norse Mythology in case the boss was too tired to assign her two sets of file work.
Gabrielle glanced out the window of her third story apartment in the heart of the city. People wandered the streets with either filled briefcases or empty wallets. How many people made as much money as she did, and were just as miserable?
"Time for another boring day…"
The early morning dusk and pollution made it difficult to see where she was going. She remembered when she was a young girl. These back alleys used to be safe to play in with her friends. Dumpsters and abandoned crates were perfect devices for hide and seek. Now, over twenty years later, she only walked these dangerous paths when she was in a hurry. On days like today, when she was running late and hadn't gotten around to cashing her paycheck so she couldn't hail a taxi, she was left with only one option; take the quickest route to the office.
Her heels splashed in the sewage that dwelled in the pavement's cracks. She couldn't help but feel afraid. All the news coverage she'd been investigating for the past few weeks revolved around the rapid increase of gang violence. Theft, murder, rape; the violent youths stopped at nothing to turn ordinary lives into living hells. Despite her in-depth research, she still didn't know their motives.
While putting a hood over her head to protect her curly hair from the sewage dripping down from the broken pipes overhead she heard a scuffle in the shadows. She froze. She instinctively reached for her purse and stuffed it inside her jacket.
Beneath the drips of sewage and crying of stray cats, she swore she heard laughter. Sweat beaded on her forehead. She closed her eyes and tried to focus her labored breaths. After mentally collecting herself she rushed on ahead until her path was blocked.
A man stood before her. His wide body filled her eyes. Too scared to meet his eyes, she stared down at his leather boots and the black water surrounding them.
"Take a good look, boys." His hard and cracked fingers grabbed onto her chin and jerked her face upwards. The fright in her blue eyes shone through the dark. "It's the news bitch that's trying to unmask our secret."
His eyes were shielded by the morning fog and the shade of his hat. The assailant's smile, however, was wide with satisfaction, surrounded by a hairy ring of coal. "Tiffany from Channel 7. So pleased to make your acquaintance," he jeered.
A hard swallow went down her throat. "Let me go."
"With pleasure," he swung his clenched fist against her face and sent her sprawling into the muck.
The hard impact knocked the wind out of her lungs. The world around her became a black and gray spiral. Before she could attempt to get back to her feet a dozen men were on her, crushing her body with their boots. Tiffany cried out in pain. Warm blood poured out of fresh gashes. When she realized that this was one of the gangs she had covered in a news report, she knew that they had every intention of killing her. Tiffany knew about the horrible ways they killed complete strangers… she was an enemy.
The leader of the gang grabbed her by the collar and held her up. His face, a combination of flesh and black blood, swarmed before her eyes. In his free hand he grasped a handgun. Aimed at her face. He licked the blood gushing from her nose.
"Your body will suit our purposes well." His smile was rueful. "Your sweet blood, and-"
Tiffany screamed when sparks suddenly jumped from his gun. Hot blood sprayed her face. He dropped her. The hard impact to the cracked concrete sent a wave of shock up her spine. Before any of the thugs standing around her hand time to react, a woman dropped from the sky. Despite having to have fallen from multiple stories high, her land was graceful. A curtain of dark hair surrounded the tall woman's body.
Tiffany's gasp pierced the silence.
The antagonist's eyes went wide. Clenching his wounded hand, he stood up straight and tried rallying his men. "It's you!" His deep voice scratched.
"What's the matter?" the woman spoke. Her cool voice froze every man in the alley. "Did you think I was just an urban myth?" She backhanded the man and with one swift motion sent him to the ground.
"Get her!" He growled.
The gang members swarmed her. Tiffany sat up to witness the lone street warrior fight off every assailant. Bones cracked. Bodies hit the ground. The swirls of oil in the dirty water puddles danced around the fallen bodies.
The injured reporter tried to record as many details into her mental data bank as possible. Her head throbbed. The earlier beating sent her head reeling. Slipping in and out of consciousness, she fell to her back, using the sounds of the battle to distract herself.
Eventually the noises dissipated. Between scenes of complete blackness and gray sky, a white visage with an ebony frame filled her sight. Two orbs of ice stared down at her. Tiffany felt hands on her body…
The world went black.
Gabrielle put on her best "I'm ready for a boring day's work" face before entering the news building. She reached the elevator, hit the button for the third floor, and recited the names of the nine muses to a simple rhythmic device she created to help her remember. Maybe she would learn Ancient Greek. Then she could read classic texts in their original language. Homer, Sappho, the New Testament. She dismissed the thought as soon as it came. She couldn't afford to take those classes, nor did she feel like getting ridiculed by her colleagues for wasting time learning a dead language.
The door opened. Gabrielle strolled down the hallway to her division. Her bright, albeit somewhat forced, smile greeted the nameless desk jockeys she saw five days a week. The men and women nodded back and continued towards their destinations with stacks of papers balanced on their arms. Gabrielle thought about the mountains of files the rest of the day would provide.
She entered the office. The central room was booming. In fact, it was more active than usual. The hushed conversations and arm waving didn't look to be caused by a breaking new story or headline. Wrinkles of worry and shadows of secrecy filled the eyes of her co-workers. Women shifted uneasily in their computer chairs as men lowered their voices to give details on the rumors they'd heard.
On most mornings Roger would have already approached her with an excuse to talk. "I've got the new headline," or, "Boss is in a bad mood today," he'd mumble while falling over himself in her presence. Gabrielle walked past concerned reporters. Women looked at her over the brims of their glasses and men turned away from meeting her gaze. She made it to her desk with no sign of Roger or the coffee he always managed to spill all over her paperwork.
Gabrielle heaved her briefcase on her desk. The cluttered desk wasn't entirely hers. She was 'borrowing' it from a reporter that was off on location somewhere in the Middle East. Emily was scheduled to return in about a week. When the time came, Gabrielle would be assigned another temporary place to drop her crap every day. The personal offices branching from the main office made her envious. She never wanted to be a desk jockey, but since she would be stuck in this position for a while, she wished privacy and personal space at the workplace could be more than just a luxury.
Isn't there a better way to pay off student loans?
One of the locks on her briefcase was broken. The second, barely keeping the papers from escaping, worked alone. Gabrielle could have afforded a new one. However, she could think of better ways to spend her money. Her dream was to soon go to Europe. She saved up every penny that she earned (and found) to someday take a tour of the Pantheon, St. Paul's Cathedral, or maybe she could go to India and see the Taj Mahal. Having the chance to be in one of these historical buildings full of history and beauty surpassed the need to buy a supply for her empty occupation. Gabrielle decided that she would use her earnings to pursue her dreams, not feed her nightmares.
All of the offices were closed. She tried ignoring the awkwardness of the room. To occupy her mind, she walked over to her arch nemesis: the filing cabinet. Before she had a chance to open a drawer he appeared.
"Hey Gabey," he whispered.
She could feel his breath over her shoulder. Gabrielle rolled her eyes and turned around. Roger stood there, agonizingly close, holding the same coffee cup. His breath was now on her face. The man didn't understand the concept of personal space. Every day he looked the same; a twenty-something year old who still couldn't dress himself. She smirked. Everything about him was crooked. His glasses, his tie, his smile. Even the way he untucked his shirt was wrong. His hair and eyes were a dark contrast to his bubbly personality. Gabrielle may have been the newbie, but Roger was the office clown. Not a day went by without him being the butt of at least a dozen jokes. Sometimes she was associated with Roger since he always hung around her, but she never let it get to her.
His whisper caught her off guard. "Why are you whispering?" she mocked him by keeping her voice just as low.
"Because!" He waved his long arms around, spilling coffee everywhere. Gabrielle frowned. "Tiffany hasn't shown up for work yet, and-"
Before he could finish his sentence one of the office doors opened. Everyone in the main office turned their heads. Mr. Perkins, the head of their branch, emerged from seclusion. Gabrielle couldn't see the expression on his eyes because there was a glare on his coke-bottle glasses, but his gigantic belly shook with fright. He was always kind to her. Granted, his excuse for not giving her a desk to call her own was, There just ain't enough space, doll, but he didn't complain despite her constant harassment.
Gabrielle wasn't going to harass him today.
"Gabrielle," his deep voice rose, "Ms. Podia, are you here?"
Roger's eyes went wide. "Hey, Gabey, he's calling you! I wonder what he could possibly want you for." All eyes turned from Mr. Perkins to the couple standing by the filing cabinet.
Gabrielle sighed again. "God Roger," she groaned, "Can't you just shut up?" Before Roger could defend himself, Mr. Perkins found Gabrielle and was dragging her by the wrist to his office. His balmy palm clenched her wrist. Four sausage fingers gripped her to the bone during the short sprint to his office. Gabrielle couldn't imagine what the problem could be. In fact, a problem big enough to get Mr. Perkins in a running sweat couldn't have anything to do with her.
They entered his office in front of a slammed door. Gabrielle had only been inside his office once, when she was first hired. He took a seat in his plush leather chair. She didn't have time to sit down or look at the plaques lining the walls or the awards collecting dust on the shelves.
"Ms. Podia, this is very important. Please sit down." She obeyed. Sitting across from his desk, she could see the beads of sweat drenching his brow. He continued. "As you may have noticed, Tiffany has not been at the office at all this morning."
Gabrielle bit her bottom lip. She hadn't thought about Tiffany at all. Tiffany Atazon was the star reporter for Channel 7 News. When Gabrielle was first hired, Tiffany acted as her trainer and mentor. They were on friendly grounds. Due to Tiffany's success they saw less and less of each other. Their relationship was formal at best, but Tiffany wasn't rude like the rest of her superiors or a thorn in her side like Roger.
"She is in the hospital." He dabbed at the sweat on his forehead with a plaited handkerchief.
"What? What happened?"
His heavy shoulders shrugged. "All she told me was that she had just regained consciousness. She insisted that I send you down there."
Gabrielle choked in surprise. "Me? You're kidding, right?"
The curl in his lips showed that Tiffany's request was equally strange to him. "She's at New Island. I'll pay your fare."
Gabrielle shifted uncomfortably in her seat…
"What would Tiffany want with me?"
The ride in the taxi was only fifteen minutes, but it lasted for days. The taxi driver glanced at Gabrielle out of the corner of his eye whenever she readjusted her sitting. Being 42 years old and unshaven, he assumed that she was nervous alone in the vehicle with him. He shrugged it off and eventually ignored her. Most young girls were that way. He didn't understand why. None of his looks or gestures gave any suggestions. Hell, if this damn job paid more, he wouldn't have to wear the same dirty clothes from the night before.
After an unbearably anxious taxi ride, Gabrielle paid the silent driver and hurried into the hospital. Her mind raced as she stumbled through the corridors, up the elevator, to the receptionist's desk, and stopped once she reached Tiffany Atazon's room. The weaving train of thought that wove itself a tapestry of excitement and confusion was lost. Gabrielle had no idea what to expect. She had no idea what happened to Tiffany or what condition she was in now. Being unaware of those facts irritated her curiosity. What bothered her most, however, was Tiffany's request to see her while in her hospital bed.
Gabrielle took a deep breath and knocked on the door.What is going on?
"Come in," a voice called from inside the room. The soft voice was missing it's trademark punch.
The young blond entered the hospital room. The eyeful of white walls and emptiness dropped a bomb in her stomach. Her worries about Tiffany distracted her memories from returning to the last time she'd been in a hospital…
Gabrielle shook the dismay from her thoughts. She had a job to do.
Tiffany's swollen eyes were on her co-worker as soon as she entered the door. She smiled until her bruised cheeks pulsed with pain. Gabrielle approached Tiffany's bedside, unable to do anything but stare. Sterile bandages shielded half of her face. The other half was purple. Gabrielle felt pain for her.
"Tiffany… what happened?"
The news reporter tried to sit up. Her arms proved too weak. She collapsed back into the bed, shaking her head in annoyance. Gabrielle tried helping her get settled again, but Tiffany waved her arm away. Her gesture wasn't in annoyance at Gabrielle, but rather with the petty waste of time.
"I would have died…"
Gabrielle listened to the heart monitor stationed by the bed. "Who attacked you?"
"Not who attacked me. That isn't the reason why I wanted you here." Gabrielle knit her brow in confusion, and Tiffany continued. "Who saved me."
The combination of anesthetic aromas and Tiffany's cryptic speech gave Gabrielle a headache. "Okay then, who saved you?"
Tiffany's puffy blue eyes stared directly into Gabrielle's.
"It was Xena."
To be Continued…