The Devil in Disguise

Nyx grinds the Chevy to a halt on the side of the road, kicking up dust and spinning gravel; a torrent of torment. They are hot for trouble tonight. They fling the door open, ejecting well-bronzed, fishnet-clad gams in flushed fury. Their sacral ache is palpable; carnal longings. Nyx side-shimmies from the hot vinyl seat; their pink, satin thong momentarily visible before they pull down their denim mini skirt with one delicately manicured fingernail. Cocaine and spray tan salons are keeping this town in business, Nyx laughs. Everyone here with money is tanned up and coked out. And me? Nyx wonders. They realize they’re just keeping time with the devils they know: self indulgence and retribution.

Forward motion. Nyx spies the trio of slick-haired, well-tanned men behind the convenience store, talking up a storm. Two undercover partners and one of their informants. I am an agent of change. Or of chance. It’s all the same to me, Nyx shrugs. A hush falls over the men as they admire Nyx, who stands for a moment, allowing the men to absorb them in all their savage glory; clad in purple fishnets, chartreuse fuck-me pumps, short, denim skirt, and a shredded Slayer Hell Awaits tanktop. How apropos, Nyx snickers. These men made a grave error, pun intended. They messed with the wrong person’s friend.

Time to act. Nyx walks their pussy like a dog over to the slick men behind the convenient store. Nyx places one foot in front of the other; heels click-clacking, a cacophony on cobblestone. Their hips switch like blades as they approach the trio, creating friction under the denim skirt. Their inner thighs taught with swagger, Nyx approaches the tallest of the lot. Nyx is a wolf in sheep’s clothing. They grin, moving in for the kill. Here, sheepie sheepies.

The men start cat-calling, which quickly escalates to lewd degradation. Just like life, Nyx notes with disgust. They think I’m a sex worker. Fair enough, I’ve been popped for solicitation a few times. I did my time whether or not I actually did the crime. Nyx is lucky, they always have money to lawyer up and bail out. Less fortunates are forced to either snitch or get on their knees for the dirty cops running the police department. Her friend, Nada, doesn’t have money and isn’t a snitch. Nyx has been watching these men for some time, so knows all about their dirty deeds: the drugs they run, the gangs they supply with coke and guns, the people they exploit and abuse. Nyx even knows how the partners double cross each other. The two thugs arrested Nada twice and assaulted her both times. Nyx begins counting the moments until they’re on their knees. Begging for mercy. Hell Awaits.

One, two, three…

Nyx inwardly recoils. Outwardly, they’re all smiles and subterfuge. The war within! Nyx bites their lower lip as they saddle up next to the tallest man, pressing their body against his. Nyx touches their painted lips lightly to his throat, against his carotid artery, and exhales a warm breath. The man is solid granite from head to toe. Nyx can feel his grotesque protrusion pressing menacingly against their upper thigh. The bile rises.

Four, five, six…

No tan lines with a spray tan, Nyx considers. They study the creases in the man’s neck and folds around his mouth as it curls into more of a snarl than a smile. He’s coked out and sniffing wildly. Nyx can smell the blow on his breath as he exhales; a mixture of kerosene and vitriol.

Purrfect, thinks Nyx. The hungrier he is for it, the more likely to succumb. The man asks how much it’ll cost to take him around the world while offering Nyx a bump of blow from his car key. Nyx inhales; the blow was clearly brought across the border in a gas tank, hence the kerosene aroma. Blow’s not their favorite, but it’s decent quality. And Nyx knows it’s better to play into pretense, so accepts a second bump. Nyx tells him for an 8 ball of blow they’ll do him and his friend. The more the merrier! The tall man winks at the second undercover. Clearly, this isn’t their first rodeo.

Nyx swallows back bile and widens their smile, hoping to draw attention away from the loathing behind their eyes. Narcissistic, spray tanned, coked out, crooked undercovers are typically easy marks. Still, Nyx can’t risk giving themself away. Too much is at stake. Poker face sliding, Nyx pretends to drop their purse, bends over, nice and slow, allowing the denim mini to creep up, exposing their pink, satin thong once more. Nyx stands slowly, doesn’t pull down their skirt too quickly, then walks to their car without casting a backward glance.

Seven, eight, nine…

The two men grin, nudge each other, bump up more blow, then follow. They always follow.

Nada will never have to worry about these two again.

The men won’t make it to ten, Nyx smirks.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The trees are zooming by so quickly that Nada can scarcely count the species. Counting is important to her. Numbers matter. The Universe Tells its Secrets Through Numbers. The chaos of the trees is unsettling. They are mostly evergreens, so she need not count them all, Nada consoles herself. Sometimes. Most times, you can only ever know part of a thing. The part that can’t hide itself. The trees are too blurry. It’s disconcerting, so Nada concentrates on the sounds instead. The drone of the engine is almost consistent. It is comforting enough that she’s able to focus on her breath, pulling it first deeply into her lungs, then allowing it to expand into her belly and calm her parasympathetic nervous system. She allows her thoughts to pass by like clouds, without attachment. None of them matter. Nothing matters. It’s a thought so liberating it causes Nada to weep.

Nyx would wipe away my tears, Nada laments. It starts raining and the driver turns on the wipers. The steady, rhythmic swish click of the wipers is a blessing as it drowns out the deafening silence. She has nothing to say to the woman driving her away from everything and one she loves; driving through the forest, trees whooshing past too quickly to count. Nothing about this feels right, Nada decides. The halfway house is apparently halfway to the middle of nowhere. Isolation is a key element of the program’s success in rehabilitating minors, they say. It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters. Nyx will find her. Rescue but not save her. But even that won’t matter. Her conclusion is forgone, Nada knows. From the moment the dirty cop arrested her, she’s been counting her numbered days. No one outruns a dirty cop. They’ll find her no matter where the judge sends her. Many judges, like cops, have backs that want scratching.

Still, better to spend the remainder of her days with Nyx than not at all. So Nada shuts her eyes and breathes; intrusive thoughts zip by overhead like clouds as rapidly as the trees zip past the car window. She remembers Nyx’s touch. She counts to ten.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The walls are that special shade of institutional white that causes one to hallucinate if they stare at them too long. White is the most odious color - reflecting back all the visible wavelengths of light that shine upon it. Pompous dick of a color really, Nada sniffs as she resists the temptation to give the walls attention. There is nothing to count and the only sound she hears is the maddening tick tock of the wall clock. She can count the seconds, she thinks. But she knows that’s a trap because then she’ll be thinking about time. She can’t think about time.

If she’s a good girl, if she just settles down, stays calm, and does as she’s told, they’ll remove the five point restraints, they tell her between thorazine injections. They’ll leave her in solitary confinement a few days longer, until she proves she’s not a harm to herself. Or others. Half right, Nada considers. Less than that, actually. It isn’t her they ought to be concerned with. When Nyx gets here and finds out they’ve strapped me to a hospital bed, then. Then they will know true terror, Nada thinks. She likes this particular thought. It’s enough to help her return to her breathing.

Thoughts pass like clouds.

Days later, Nada is allowed into the general population. She is a very good girl. They even stop the thorazine injections. When she blinks, the world is no longer hazy around the edges. And there are so many things to count: patients, therapy sessions, picture books, sock puppets, crayons, meal times, nurses and doctors, correction officers and wardens. Her days consist of numbers rather than minutes. Her thought clouds begin forming a celestial tower. A beacon. This is how Nyx finds me, she tells herself. Nyx will see my cloud tower, no matter how far away they are. How far away are you? Nada wonders without weeping. Only naughty girls weep. She is a good girl. So very good.

She remains calm, and a few days later, they grant her a true privilege: for one hour (that’s 42 sock puppets and 13 crayons) she is allowed to sit in the courtyard. The fence isn’t too high. She could climb it before they caught her. But how far will she make it in a hospital gown and no shoes? She considers this a bit longer, but decides to count instead. The view from the courtyard consists primarily of a dull gray parking lot. One shiny yellow Rolls Royce is parked in the center. It belongs to one of the shrinks. The for-profit, privatized institution is lousy with unethical doctors amassing small fortunes.

There is a basketball court. One slack jawed, doped up patient dribbles the ball idly as drool dribbles down his chin. Nada focuses on the syncopated beat of the ball hitting the court. It’s maddeningly irregular, but enough to count. As long as she can count, she can breathe. As long as she can breathe, she can keep constructing her cloud tower, her bat signal to Nyx. They will come for me soon, Nada tells herself.

When a nurse ushers the dribbling dribbler inside, Nada notices a bush in the back corner of the basketball court and her heart soars. She knows this species! It’s a bougainvillea - her grandmother has scores of them. Its bright pink flowers call to her. Unable to resist, Nada slowly stands from her plastic stool. A watchful nurse takes a tentative step in her direction, but is held back by a correctional officer. He’s secretly hoping Nada will misbehave so he can restrain her in solitary confinement again. Nada isn’t going to give him the satisfaction. But she is unable to resist the lure of the bougainvillea. So many flowers to count!

It is a thing of unspeakable beauty, this one lone bougainvillea amidst a sea of gray asphalt. As Nada stands, entranced, a ray of sunshine pierces the otherwise dismal day, illuminating the flower's colors in kaleidoscopic cadence. So many hues of pink, she notices for the first time. Strange, how often she stared at this exact species in her grandmother’s yard yet never noticed, until this particular moment, how varied its hues are. As if orchestrated, three butterflies alight atop three different flowers. Six miracles, Nada muses. She doesn’t know butterfly species, but their wings are bright orange, lined in black, and their entire bodies are speckled with tiny white spots. Nada nearly weeps at their beauty.

But the correctional officer is poised for the pounce. Nada dares not give him reason. She attempts to count the petals of each burgeoning bloom. It’s proving rather difficult. The correctional officer decides Nada is not providing reasonable cause and leaves. He can find other patients in need of discipline. Nada watches the butterfly trio, wondering if they’re a family. Or, maybe they’re all butterfly buddies. Just. You know. Hanging out. She genuinely nearly laughs. She has never witnessed anything as breathtaking. She has never felt more alone.

What if Nyx doesn’t come? For the first time, Nada honestly wonders.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~`

On the second floor of the building facing the courtyard, an aggressively mustached man stands nose to window squinting under heavily knitted eyebrows. When a second guy walks in, the mustached man is oblivious. It’s clear to the second guy that there’s something out there to behold. He walks over to the mustached man and follows his line of vision.

“What the fuck?” he manages before a figure ducks behind a tree at the far end of the parking lot.

“You see that too?”

The second man shakes his head no but replies, “I saw…something. Some. One. ?”

“I know what you mean. Tell me - ” Mustache asks, raising an eyebrow, “What did you see?”

“Someone wearing a denim miniskirt - and ripped up stockings with some kinda yellow-green high heels. Ripped up shirt. Weird hair too, almost the same color as the shoes. Pretty sure it’s a wig. ?”

“Right. Ok. So I ain’t crazy. Maybe.”

“How long they been there?”

“I dunno,” Mustache shrugs, “Off and on for a couple of days. No more than three, far as I can tell. I been calling him - her - it - the Watcher. They seem harmless enough. Just hanging around. You know. Watching.”

“What?” Second guy is dumbfounded, “And you ain’t told no one?” He now seems suspicious. “What the hell? You know you’re supposed to say if you see anyone hanging around like that.”

Mustache man stands upright, a full head taller than Second guy. He looks him in the eye, squares his jaw, knits his heavy brow and, before he can say anything, Second guy makes a hasty departure. Whether to go tattle on him like a little bitch, or because he’s actually concerned, Mustache isn’t certain. What he is certain of is that something smells rotten. He doesn’t know why he hasn’t reported the Watcher either. Honestly, he can’t make out their gender. They could just as easily be a perverted man in a wig as they could a troubled mother in a poorly executed disguise.

Perhaps Mustache is confused by the ambiguous gender of the Watcher. Perhaps he is confused by his ambiguous arousal. But his confusion doesn’t matter. Something bad is about to happen. He can feel it deep inside his mustache.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~``

Nyx holds their breath behind the maple tree and counts to 10. That mustached man and his cohort spotted them. That’s ok, they tell themself. It just accelerates the plan. Same plan, just kicked into high gear. Nyx is still in high gear from the encounter with the spray tanned undercovers. Nyx has over a kilo of blow left from the dirty cops. It’s enough to get Nada away from here. They can live for a while together, somewhere, anywhere else. Nyx just needs to move the blow. It won’t be difficult, they reassure themself.

We’ll sell most of it and head across the border. I’ll just keep a small stash for myself, gradually wean myself off, Nyx reasons. We can live comfortably. For a while. This plan makes an incredible amount of sense to Nyx as they emerge from behind the tree. The mustached man appears to be gone, so Nyx makes a break for the back door to the left of the courtyard. They never seem to have more than one guard stationed there. It’s the weakest point of entry and, as luck has it, close to Nada’s room.

Nyx is going to attempt to open the back door, sounding the alarm, wait for the one dumb guard to open the door, brain them, then storm the castle. They’ll rush straight down the hallway, four doors down to Nada’s room, grab her, and head straight back out the way they came in.

Nyx will kill anyone who tries to stop them.

Nyx sees a flurry of movement in the 2nd floor window as they run toward the back door. Purrfect. The orderlies are distracted. They’re all upstairs looking for Nyx from the window. I’m coming for you, baby girl. Nyx sends the psychic message with everything they have: I’m coming, Nada. Be ready. I’m taking you home.

Nyx kicks the door handle, tripping the alarm as they pull the undercover’s gun from the waistband of their denim miniskirt.

The guard opens the door, as carelessly as anticipated.

And so it begins.

Nyx is taking Nada home.

Where is home? Nyx isn’t sure.

They wonder what home even means.

Nyx bashes the guard in the back of the skull with the gun.

The alarm is louder than they expected.

The whole place reeks of antiseptic and despair.

Nyx sees Nada halfway down the hallway. She is standing there in gowns; a heavenly apparition. Nada starts to laugh as she runs towards Nyx. Nada’s laughter is music in their soul.

Nada throws herself at Nyx, who pauses a moment to feel their hearts pressed together, hammering in joyous unison.

“I knew you’d come.”

“Nothing could have stopped me. Now, common baby girl, let’s get the fuck outta here.”

Nyx grabs Nada and runs for the door, away from this, into the great unknown. Nyx feels Nada’s tears of relief and joy as she presses her face against the nape of their neck.

At this moment, Nyx understands exactly what home means.