The Black Widow had stopped for the night in a field of tall grass in the middle of nowhere. Rachel sat alone, leaning against Blake's chrome motorcycle, which she had learned he called "the Silver Angel." Rachel heard the grass rustle behind her. Louie and Mark appeared beside her.
"Blake wants you to meet him in Dalton's van," Louie informed.
"Then you can tell him that 'I guess this is a good time' to say that I want nothing to do with him."
Louie laughed. "He said you'd say that. He also said if that's how you feel, then you'll be meeting the rest of the gang in Dalton's van instead!" Mark giggled, and Louie grinned.
Rachel crossed her arms. "In that case, tell Blake I'm coming."
". . .Fine," Louie said, disappointed.
Rachel walked up and saw Blake standing on the hill next to the black government van. He was staring absently at the horizon. The clouds blocked out some of the sky, but the stars were still visible in some places. The moon was entirely blocked out. Blake heard Rachel's footsteps and looked back. She paused, but continued toward him when he smiled and turned around. He offered her his hand and she took it cautiously. He slid open the door of the van, helped her inside, then got in himself, taking another look at the sky before closing the door.
The inside of the van was not what Rachel expected. The windows were curtained in red velvet, as the floor was carpeted. The dome light cast an eerie red light in the space. In one corner was a pile of red and black pillows, and in the opposite corner was a wine rack.
Blake put a CD in the stereo and let it play, then took up a bottle of wine and two glasses and sat down next to Rachel. "So, what got ya?" Blake asked as he poured the wine. "The request or the threat?"
"The threat," Rachel replied quickly. Blake laughed softly and offered her a glass of wine. "I don't drink," she said.
"Won't do you any good to play games with me," Blake informed.
Rachel took a taste of the wine. Deciding it wasn't as bad as she'd thought it'd be, she took a good drink. Blake watched with desire as she drained the glass. She looked at him and noticed that he hadn't taken a single drink the whole time. He smirked, and Rachel knew it could only mean one thing: He'd poisoned her.
"Don't worry, Rachel," Blake said as if he'd read her thoughts. "There's no sense in killing you."
"Then let me go! You got your little trinket. What else do you want?"
Blake took the medallion from the inside of his coat and held it by the chain. "You don't know what this is, do ya?"
"It's a . . . medallion?"
"This is Aztec gold," Blake said, leaning toward her and lowering his voice to a whisper. "And there are 221 other pieces exactly like it. They were delivered in a stone chest to Dometri and his gang, as payment from the devil himself. But it couldn't satisfy Dometri's greed. So Satan placed a terrible curse on the gold. Anyone that removes even single piece from that stone chest would be punished for eternity."
"I don't believe in ghost stories anymore, Blake," Rachel told him.
"That's exactly what I thought when I first heard about it. 'Buried on La Flor de Mal, an island that can't be found, except by those who know where it is.' We found it. There was the chest . . . inside was the gold . . . and we took it all! Spent 'em, traded 'em, threw 'em away on food, drink, and company. But the more we gave them away, the more we began to realize that no matter how much we ate, we were always hungry. No matter how much we drank, we were always thirsty. And no matter how many women we hired, our lust was never satisfied. We're cursed. Every last one of us. We were compelled by greed, but now we're consumed by it." He didn't notice how close he was to her until he felt her hand on his belt. He started to back away, but she held him there. He wasn't about to question why.
Rachel's hand wasn't on his belt. It was on the handle of his sword. She could only hope he hadn't figured that out yet. And she could tell by his slight smile that he hadn't.
"How can you get rid of the curse?" Rachel asked.
"All the pieces of Aztec gold must be put back in the chest, and the blood must be payed. And thanks to you, we have the last piece."
"And the blood?"
Blake knew that as soon as he answered, she would try to get away. He reached around her and locked the padlock on the double doors that led out the back of the van, chaining them shut. "That's why there's no sense in killing you. . . .Yet." He picked up the bottle of wine. "More wine?" he offered.
From Blake's perspective, Rachel was pulling him closer and putting her arms around his waist. He moved in to kiss her.
Rachel finally had a good hold on his sword and his gun. She yanked them both out of his belt and pushed him away with her knee in his stomach. He fell back, trying to catch his breath. She aimed and shot the lock on the doors. It fell and she struggled with the chains. Blake clenched his teeth, grabbed her by the shoulders, turned her around, and pushed her against the doors. She plunged the sword through his chest.
Blake looked down and took the sword by the handle. Rachel cringed as she heard the blade scraping his ribs as he pulled it out. He looked at the blood that covered the sword and said with a grin, "I'm curious. After killing me, what were you gonna do next?" Rachel tugged sharply on the chain that held the doors shut. They opened and she came tumbling out.
"Now!" Blake shouted. The gangsters emerged from the shadows and surrounded Rachel. For the first time that night, the clouds moved away from the moon. Rachel turned away and closed her eyes.
Every one of the gangsters had become living skeletons in the moonlight. Their clothes were shredded and torn. Their eyes seemed to glow in their sockets.
"Look!" Blake ordered, swinging Rachel back around to face them. Rachel stared at them in horror. "The moonlight shows us what we really are!" Blake said. "We are not among the living, so we can't die. But neither are we dead." He turned her back around and forced her to look in his eyes. "For too long I've been thirsty and unable to drink. Too long I've been starving to death and haven't died. I can't feel anything. Not the wind on my face, or the rain, or the sun . . ." She backed away and he reached out to her, his hand turning skeletal in the moonlight. ". . .or the warmth of a woman's flesh." He came out of the van and stood in front of her in the moonlight, also turning into a skeleton. "You'd better start believing in ghost stories, Rachel. You're in the scariest one you've ever heard!" He lifted the bottle of wine and drank it, letting it pour out his empty ribs and splatter on the ground. Rachel shoved past him and jumped back in the van. Blake shattered the empty bottle against one of the doors and slammed them shut. He turned around and laughed maniacally. The rest of the gang joined him. "Alright, boys, show's over! As you were!" he ordered.