patter patter patter patter patter

patter patter patter patter

patter patter patter

patter patter

patter

pat pat pat pat

pat...

...pat...

...pat.

_____

"I saw you looking at me." Her eyes were half lidded, smiling. Thick with want.

"Oh, did you now?"

"Mmm. Now you owe me a drink."

"Is that how it works?" He wasn't feigning disinterest. He was genuinely apathetic.

"Well. Where I'm from, gentlemen don't typically stare, and if they're caught, they buy ladies drinks."

"I'll let you know when I spot either a gentleman or a lady, then. Maybe we can ask them if that's true."

"Aha! You have jokes?"

"You're laughing, so apparently I do."

"I'm going to sit here." She settled her expensive purse in her lap and took the bar stool next to him.

"Please do." He admired her shapely thighs as subtly as he could, as he tipped his glass.

"You're going to order me a drink. Preferably something with whiskey in it."

"I'll consider it."

"Maybe I should just take yours." He'd placed his scotch on the mahogany of the bar.

"Help yourself."

"I hope you don't mind lipstick on the rim." She smiled as she sipped his cocktail.

"Where else were you planning to leave it?"

"The night is young."  She winked at him.  "I'm Eden."

He shook her hand, "Patrick." His grin was obvious as the tab was settled.

_____

pat

_____

"Show me."

"I don't think you're ready for that. We've only just met." Laughter danced at the edges of his words.

"Do you always assume to know best, when it comes to us poor little women?"

"Of course not. But I know this game. And you are not ready."

"Are you going to give me a speech about trust and limits and safewords?"

"I don't give speeches. Unless soliloquies count."

"What about safewords?"

"Try, 'stop,' or 'I don't like that.' I find those work well."

"Do you actually listen?"

"Will you actually speak?"

"I doubt it. I think I can handle anything you can dish, little man."

"Don't try to taunt me. I don't play that way."

"Or what?" Her eyes sparkled with mischief.

"Or I can leave. If I wanted children, I'd have them. I have no patience for childish behavior, especially in the bedroom."

"You just think you're the cat's ass, don't you?" Her bratty tendencies had been stopped cold.

"No. I just know how I like to play. I can tell that you simply are not ready."

"Try me." Her defiance was fierce, and he couldn't help but chuckle.

_____

pat

pat

_____

Her apartment was spacious and very high-end. Rising above the city, the mists that hung in the sky clung to her bedroom windows, just as she clung to her demands and assertions. The skyline seemed to be just an arm's reach away as his breath fogged the glass.

Turning away from the sights of the city, he faced the sights of his evening.

She stretched out on the eight-thousand dollar mattress, one arm dangled over the edge as it stretched below a pillow. Her face was tranquil, smiling, and her eyes were closed.

Long and pale, she was once a stunningly beautiful woman. She was old enough to be successful, but young enough to clutch the memory of being fashionably pretty. There was a bitterness about her; not quite a desperation, but an obvious need to be accepted.

She absolutely exuded the need to win. She demanded her desires, and her demands were usually met.

To her, he was a conquest. An adventure. A notch for her antique bedpost.

He smiled, remembering the sounds of those bedposts drumming off the wall of the condo; a bass to her alto, both singing along sweetly to his tune.

She may be a star performer, but he was ever the maestro.

"Do you need anything from the kitchen?" he asked, walking past her and navigating their strewn clothes. His bare feet slapped warmed marble floors.

She continued to smile. Apparently, she had nodded off to sleep.

"I'll take that as a no, then. If you don't mind, I'm going to clean up a little and grab a drink." While gathering dishes, he thought he heard her sigh. Fine china and antique sterling made for interesting and creative games; carefully, he balanced these improvised toys along with discarded condoms, making his way out of the room.

Whistling, he found what he was looking for beneath a bathroom sink, and he began to leave the house in better condition than when he found it.

Mostly.

_____

pat

_____

"What's that?"

"Is that hesitation in your voice, girl?" He played to her defiance, while demeaning her to keep her off balance.

"Absolutely not! What do you plan to do with it? I think I like where this is going." You won't.

"I think you liked where I just went." He grinned like he was supposed to do.

"Oh, god, you're making me blush." You're easy.

"Red looks good on you." He silently congratulated himself on the well placed compliment; flattering words were exactly what she expected.

"I'm sure you say that to all the ladies." Sometimes I say nothing at all.

"No. I don't." He was sincere when he said that.

"I believe you, actually." He knew he had her from the moment she sat down at the bar.

"Good. You should." If she only knew what he was thinking.

"So what are you going to do with that?" Hide it.

"What would you like me to do with it?" You were never ready.

"Mmmm. Surprise me." Oh, it will be surprising.

Entering her, pinning her down, Eden smiled as he made her come again.

Soon after, he made her look good in red.

_____

pat

_____

The Wüsthof chef's knife slid easily back into her butcher block, after a thorough bleaching. He walked back into her bedroom.

She still had the ghost of a smile, with arm stretched over the side of the bed.

pat

Drips, running from brachial artery down off of fingertips, had all but stopped. What her heart had begun, gravity had helped finish.

Crimson splashed the marble beneath her bedsheets, and they, too, held vermilion court in that silent chamber.

Patrick Bateman calmly donned his charcoal Valentino suit, carefully folding the tie and placing it in his coat pocket. "Hip to Be Square" began playing on his Sony Walkman.

He could finally relax.

          "What does my name mean?" Eden glanced over her shoulder—the corner of her eye catching a sliver of a glimpse of her young ward—and back to the purrodgi she was whisking. "I'm not entirely sure," she said, turning around, careful not to knock anything over inside the hollowed-out Uekwuud trunk.

          The giant bowl of thick whitish paste thunked onto the makeshift table, itself a flattened root, threatening to slide off. "I'm serious," the young woman insisted. "I haven't a clue, so stop scowling. To have a handsome face and not use it to smile. Such a—"

          "—waste," the boy, a preteen, interjected. "I know. You keep saying that. It's so annoying."

          "Ujo," she said, "I believe your father sends you here so he can take a break from your rebelling."

          "Everyone knows the only reason I'm here is because I can't throw a spear to save my life."

          Eden, conceded defeat at the folded arms, pushed the bowl across after taking a scoop for herself. "You haven't trained long. Even baby Wulvironis aren't born with the ability to stalk, what more a sapien like you?"

          "Father was leader of his pack at eleven, and by his first dozen, he had felled three of the ferocious beasts. I'm almost ten and if I'm to take over as Chief, I need to prove better!"

          "Your father," Eden said, "lost half his face in his first trial, barely surviving that incident with the amount of sanguine he lost. I would think he'd rather have waited until he was better prepared. At least then he could enjoy his station with two eyes instead of one."

          "But that made him the hero he is today!"

          Eden sighed. Time for a sleight of hand. "Your father was also twice your width and height when he defeated those monsters. So, you better eat up less you fall behind. Your hair whitens as we speak."

          The corners of Ujo's mouth lifted. Reluctantly, he slapped a handful of the sticky mixture into his mouth. The battle is won, she mused, but the war loomed ahead. But despite his impetuousness, the boy's father, Tenno, had a temperament worse than a wailing Gushewk. She knew this because five-dozen years ago, Tenno had sat in the same position, asking the same questions about her origins. Her mind drifted back to a time when she was a youngling, when her adoptive parents explained how they found her and what they saw—a sapien couple in tight embrace, calling her name through the torn fabric of reality. What transpired? Where did the portal come from? Why did they both venture over together? Was she abandoned?”

          "How come you don't age as quickly as us?" the young man asked in between mouthfuls, drawing her back into reality.

          She bit her lower lip, then shrugged. "You should ask me questions I have answers to."

          "For an ancient," he said, "you don't seem to know much."

          Eden arched an eyebrow, the opposite eye squinting. "I'd be extra cautious today if I were you."

          "Oh," Ujo piped up. "What are we doing today? Swordplay? Trip sticks? Darts?"

          She shook her head. "None of that. Today, we focus on balance."

          "Balance?"

          "Standing firm on two feet."

          "That's easy—"

          Using only her fingers, the woman flipped the empty ceramic crucible above and onto the boy's head.

          "Good catch," she remarked, taking in the clumsy spectacle. "Now, use only your head."

                                                                   #

          Ujo was far more persistent than his father despite his physical handicap, and it was a disability despite what everyone professed as a collective. Eden was certain the cloak of denial was to shield Tenno from the painful realization of his failure to sire a worthy successor. But while the Chieftain himself was abled, leading the effort to repel wave after wave of their enemies, no one cared that the heir to the throne was impotent.

          There was still time yet.

          “Ancient!” A cry from outside echoed through the cramped enclosure.

          Eden shot a glance at Ujo, her brain trying to identify the voice in parallel. They both ran out, the young woman taking charge, but then she stopped and said to the boy: “Stay here. Not a word!”

          She grabbed her trip sticks and was down and across, floating through the marshes, in three blazing steps.

          “Speak,” she said.

          “It’s Chief Tenno,” the messenger said, his face weeping with moisture, the whites of his eyes gleaming in contrast to the black orbs. “He’s dead.”

          The twin rock-hardened batons clanked onto the ground. She took a deep breath and spun around to catch Ujo’s eyes with hers. Already, the boy’s perceptiveness had triggered an emotional response, sensing that something was amiss. Will he be strong enough to endure the burden of leadership? Would she?

          They now faced a new foe; one that was faceless and without form, permeating the air and precipitating through rivers.

          Time was against them.

          "Ancient." Ujo stood before her, like a sapling seeking solace against its parent bark. "Is my father..."

          "He is one with the wind now," Eden said. "And you are now Leader of the Pack."

          "I..." he paused, stifling himself. "I know."

          "Remember your training," she said, "and it shan't abandon you."

          "Will you counsel me like you did my father?"

          "I shall."

          Ujo, who mere seconds ago was a newly hatched crimson Uspriy, perched now with unbridled wings—stretched out on either side—ready to soar.

          "I know what it means," Ujo said a moment later, with unadulterated clarity.

          Eden allowed herself a few moments, but she hadn't an inkling to what her new Chief was referring to. "What—"

          "Your name," he said, his gaze penetrated her facade, "it means wisdom."

His eyes were welling with tears as he looked at the man on the ground. I tried to speak but he just shrugged me off. My guardian, as the state calls him, isn't exactly the emotional type. Zorion Yago was one of the most ruthless gang leaders in the world, according to the America's Most Wanted list. Known for his gang's brutal acts of violence on the streets of Providence, most people wouldn't expect him to be crying over a stabbed man, but I knew better. It wan't the killed, it was the killer.

Zorion ran the streets of Providence ever since he immigrated to the United States from Nicaragua. Most people look at him like he's the godfather, but to me he's more like the epitome of the American dream. He came with nothing, and in two years time, he had an empire. It was just built on the blood of enemies. He was coming up on his tenth year when he got bad news. His third cousin, Isabela, had overdosed in some crummy apartment in the Bronx and her three kids were alone in that apartment. Once the constable found out the kids were illegal, they were due to be shipped back. Zorion sent a few guys to talk to the sheriff while he got the papers. Eight hours later, I saw him for the first time in my life.

I don't remember much about my life before Zorion came on the scene except that my mom always had needle marks and my brother never stopped crying. That's the lie I tell him. I didn't want him to worry, but I guess now I have to come clean. We came when I was three. That's what Yesenia says. She was five and can remember it better. Mama came for a better life for us but that all changed when she met Eden. I can remember him perfectly. Green eyes, slick blonde hair, a cigarette always dangling from his mouth... Mama was turned on by his words and within two months, he was living with us. Mama worked three jobs to crape up enough to eat while Eden cheated on her with any girl he saw. It wasn't until our cousin Dolores talked about me wetting the bed that she noticed something was wrong.

But, Mama was pregnant and dumb and in love. When Lazaro was born, Eden was at our house with the neighbor. When Lazaro would be up crying, Eden would slip out, leaving my mother passed out and me and my sister to try to assuage his cries. When Lazaro was saying his first words, my mother was through with Eden. She had caught him in our room and grabbed a knife to cut him. She didn't kill him, but he was gone. We were fine, so it seemed. Our mother took us to a doctor, but there were too many forms to fill out so she just left. But, the stress was building inside of all of us. Our mother only made it two weeks with knowing. She overdosed on Lazaro's first birthday. Yesenia was on the right path until she met a guy who tried to manipulate her. Zorion buried him a few months into their relationship, but not before Yesenia got pregnant with twins. And then there was me...

Zorion wiped the tears from his face. The whole way home he blasted Lil Wayne, but I could see he wasn't in the mood. I turned the radio off, and received the coldest glare ever. We were locked in it for a few seconds before he turned away. More tears were forming.

"I had to do it," I mumbled.

"You don't have to do anything. You should've called."

"It would've been too late."

"No, it wouldn't have! Dammit, Erlea. You were going to college! You were going to be something. Now, you killed someone. We can clean it up and get rid of the evidence but it doesn't erase what you did!"

Tears were falling from my face. He ignored them.

"And why were you even at that damn club? You're only eighteen! Didn't I tell you not to drink until you're legal? Your sister drank when she was too young and nearly got herself killed. Is that what you want? Do you want to end up in a fucking grave, Erlea?"

Sobbing, I turned away from him. I hated when he compared us. Me and Yesenia may have been through the same thing but we were not the same. Yesenia had three kids, no husband, and three jobs. I was going places. Twelve years after everything, I had turned my life around. I worked my ass off in school to make sure I didn't have to drop out when I was sixteen like she did. I babysat and saved and worked to pay for my own college so Zorion wouldn't have to give me anything. I didn't even want to go to that club, but it was too late. It was all too late. The man who had ruined my life before was ruining it again.

"What do you have to say for yourself?" Zorion said.

"That was Eden," I sobbed.

"What?" The car was stopped and his mood had completely changed. Angry drivers whizzed past us.

"That was Eden," I said a bit louder.

He just nodded, put the car back into Drive, and continued home. Lazaro was up waiting for us.

"Where were you guys?" he mumbled, rubbing his eyes.

"I had to help your sister. Go to bed," Zorion replied. He kissed his forehead and directed him towards the stairs. "Night, Laz. Love you."

"Night."

I tried to saunter upstairs, but he pulled me into the parlor instead. Blood still stained my dress, and I couldn't stop crying. Zorion handed me some tissues and waited until I stopped. After a while, he looked at me and sighed.

"I didn't know that was him," he said.

"You were right. I ruined my life."

He pulled me into his arms and patted my head. "You didn't ruin your life, okay? We're going to fix this."

"You shouldn't have to. The therapist said I should be okay. The doctor said it too. But, he kept trying to hit on me and said he'd hurt Yesenia if I didn't go out back and- and-"

He just held me tighter as I cried. "I understand."

"No you don't. He did things to me I can't begin to get over."

Zorion looked at me. "I know, Erlea. I understand. It happened to me too."

"But you're a-"

"Stone-hearted killer?" he laughed. We'd always laugh at how the media portrayed him, but this time, I couldn't find the humor. "I didn't start out this way, you know."

"But who could hurt you? You're-"

"Zorion. Yeah, I know. Listen, I don't like to talk about it. Just know that what you did was right, okay? Any jury could see it, but we'll just let that dirt bag rot like he deserves, okay? Not even a mother can love someone who does that to a child. We're going to get you cleaned up."

He stood and offered me his hand. I hesitated. "Does that mean you don't believe I'll be like Yesenia?"

"I know your sister made some mistakes, but that isn't you. You're destined for greatness, Erlea. Now that that scumbag is dead, you can get it."