Chapter Fourteen

As Rebecca ascended inside the elevator, she was thinking of what might happen when she encountered Vivian. Would she have a gun? Throw knives? After practically watching her climb up the side of a twelve story building, anything was possible with her.

The elevator pinged. The doors opened. She had arrived at the roof. And it was quiet. A little too quiet.

In front of Rebecca lay a hallway that led to the rest of the roof. She held her gun out in front of her as she walked slowly, one step at a time. She couldn't see to the left or the right, which was concerning. Vivian could be anywhere. Rebecca had reached the end of the hallway. She slowly stepped out of it's shelter and turned to the right.

Time stood still. Before Rebecca knew what was happening, there was a hand on the back of her leather jacket which yanked her backwards. A foot roughly kicked the back of her knees, causing her legs to collapse. Rebecca stumbled to the ground, picked herself up, and then whirled around only to get a bony knee in the upper stomach. Her breath was knocked out of her and the gun was wrenched from her hands as she was thrown back on to the ground. She felt a sharp, dulling pain on the back of her head. Then it all went black.

Rebecca opened her eyes. Her vision swirled into view, rocking and spinning. Her hands were bound together to the top of the railing, and her feet were tied on opposite sides of her. It was impossible to move, and her head ached. Fog had started to roll in, which was making her swirling vision even more dreamlike. She could see Vivian, who was sitting in front of her in a poofy pale pink cocktail dress, while wearing an old gas mask. Fog swirled Vivian in and out of her vision. She was hunched over a glass container, which was fuming intensely. That explained the gas mask.

"What is that?" Rebecca asked. It didn't feel too good to speak.

"Hydrochloric acid my dear," She responded, raising her hand in a dramatic flourish. "It fumes quite a bit in moisture I'm afraid." Her voice was altered through the mask, making her sound like she was speaking through a crackly intercom.

"I have big plans for this beaker." She spoke again. Vivian held it up to the remnants of the light and then she stood up. She walked almost like she was floating, and the dress helped. Vivian then sat to the left of Rebecca, and set the beaker down between them.

"My first plan is to make my mark." She pulled a knife out from behind her. Its handle looked to be made of ivory, and the blade was so shiny that Rebecca could see her reflection in it. Vivian twirled it with the tip on her finger and the handle between two of her fingers on her other hand.

"What do you know about knifes?" Vivian asked.

"Not much, actually." Rebecca said. It was the truth. She had been called to numerous stabbings, used them in the kitchen, and knew the blade was sharp. But that was about it.

"Well, the tip is primarily used for detail work. The edge is used for slicing, obviously," Vivian pointed to each of the parts as she spoke. "The heel is used for cutting large, tough objects. Usually used when more force is needed. My knifes are all forged. They are considered superior. All of them have full tangs. It provides you with better balance." She tossed the knife in the air, it flipped a couple of times, and she reached up and caught it by the handle.

"Thank you for the anatomy lesson." Rebecca said with sarcasm.

"You are very welcome." Vivian responded with equal enthusiasm. "But, the demonstration is the best part. You have come to know me, right?"

"I guess."

"So you know that I am no amateur." Vivian swirled the knife in the beaker and then pressed the tip of the knife into Rebecca's left forearm. She dragged it up and down, creating a cursive 'V'. Rebecca held back a hiss as the acid burned in the open wound.

"I do not slice and dice people as though they are pieces of meat. I do not hack away at individuals like a one-armed lumberjack that is heavily intoxicated." She finished writing Vivian and moved on to Antoinette after dipping the knife back in the beaker. "I elegantly carve humans into something different. Not so much in this-" she paused looking for the right word, and finished carving her second first name and moved on to her last. "unique era because the people in it are cheap and do not have an appreciation for dismembering. Just a knife in the chest does the job. But in my heyday, I was free to pursue my callings." Vivian crossed the t with an vicious flourish, and dotted her i's with miniature stabs. Her name was now scrawled in old-style cursive in an angry dripping red. She admired her work then jammed a large cork stopper into the beaker. Vivian got up and walked away.

Rebecca's arm hurt. It burned like hell fire, and so did her head. She had been inhaling the fumes from the acid, and the effects were starting to kick in. Rebecca was also trying to figure out a plan. She knew that Vivian had plans for her, and they probably involved a knife. Rebecca decided it would be best to not try to engage in conversation. It seemed wise to let Vivian do the most of the talking, and hope she divulges more information on the 63's. Her phone was in sight, laying with a roll of knifes, the acid filled beaker, and now Vivian's discarded gas mask. There was an X written on the ground in black marker. Upon closer inspection of the roll Rebecca could tell one of the knives was missing. The one used on her arm had been wiped clean of blood and was back in the roll, shining like a miniature mirror. Rebecca pulled against her bonds, and tried to break free. It was hopeless. The handcuffs on her hand's were not about to come loose. She wiggled her right foot some more, and could feel the tension on it lessening. She pulled a bit harder, and the rope gave a bit more. Rebecca turned forward again to see if Vivian came back, and to her surprise she was sitting against the wall right in front of her. She had a larger knife in her hand, and was sharpening the blade.

"I've heard a rumor about you and your little team."

Rebecca raised an eyebrow. Vivian nodded and gave a little smirk.

"It is that you are looking for something."

Rebecca looked away.

"So it's true."

"I didn't say it was true." Rebecca said.

"I am perfectly aware that you did not say anything. But, I have a pretty good judge of. . . feelings."

There was a long pause.

"I think I have what you may be looking for. Is this it?" She said in a voice feigning innocence. Rebecca watched as Vivian pulled from the mystery chain that joined her hourglass around her neck a key. The key. The third key. Rebecca tried not to show that Vivian was right. That she had indeed been looking for the small object that was dangling around her neck.

"I have a hunch that I am correct." Vivian said with another smirk.

She left the key hanging around her neck in plain sight for emphasis.

"Do you know where I woke up? Fifty years in the future?"

"I do not."

"I was in the cemetery, lying on the grass in front of a grave. It was mine. Lying next to me was an envelope. I opened it. Inside was this key, and a note. The note was simple. All it said was a number for a P.O. Box, and a message that read 'Don't mess this up'. It was not signed, but I know who it is." She winked.

"Who?"

"I am not going to say. It is part of the fun."

Rebecca saw this coming. But it was worth the attempt.

"Fifty years it has been." Vivian dragged the knife down the sharpener. "Fifty years. Everyone thinks I am dead. Do you know how I 'died'?"

"I do not."

"I think it was the day that I remember. I was at Alcatraz of course. I knew those guards were planning something the moment they came into my cell."