Chapter Four -- Intervention Is Key

Book Of Nod, The Chronicle Of Shadows: Saluot's Words

Wandering about the empty house, Gabrielle figured she had a couple of hours to kill. She remembered the dark haired woman has mentioned work last night. Peeking into what she assumed was the master bedroom, she was only slightly surprised to see an immaculately made bed. In the retro, if not pristine kitchen the only sign that Xena had even thought of her was the automatic coffee maker filled and ready to switch on.

G. -- Had to leave for work. Coffee’s made, just turn it on. Make yourself at home. Remember! The cellar door stays closed.

After turning on the small appliance, she walked back into the den, to look around the room. No TV, no radio, however, a veritable library of books. Books with gilded edges and hard leather covers; cheap pulp and paper; foreign languages - some of them, Gabrielle thought must have been dead languages, English, new and old. She slid out one, opening it carefully. A copy of Shakespeare’s sonnets, dedicated to a ‘my woman in black -- A’. She slid it back into its place and hefted up another tome, this one printed in what appeared to be Gothic German. As she flipped distractedly through it, a letter fell out. Gabrielle picked it up.

The handwriting was familiar. She had seen it on the note on the coffeepot. Feeling guilty, she started to slip the letter back in the book. Well, she did give me run of the place, unfolding the letter, she read:

The rich aroma of the coffee drew Gabrielle to the kitchen, with the letter still in her hand. Pouring a mugful of what smelled like rich Columbian roast, she savored the first sip and then catching sight of the note and remembered the letter still clutched in her left hand. Even her inexperienced eye could see the bold strokes and no-nonsense loops that made the resemblance more than happy coincidence. Budding discomfort made the skin on her arms prickle with gooseflesh. She wanted out of here and fast.

But Winthrop was waiting for her at her apartment. Where else could she go? Even if she had somewhere to go, her car was still at the club. She had no where else to go. In consternation, she wandered back into the den. Her eyes lifted again to the portrait. The story about familial similarities was beginning to sound false. Scribbling a hasty note about an appointment, Gabrielle left her number and gathered up the few things she’d brought with her. She walked quickly back into the den, snatching up the portable phone from its stand. Another few minutes of furative searching produced the yellow pages. She flipped it open to the part marked 'Cab Services'. Taking the number of the first ad she saw, she punched the numbers furiously.

"Hello? Yeah, I would like to have someone pick me up, please. I'm at. . . at. . . hold on," she set the phone down carefully. Gabrielle tore through the room until she came to a neatly stacked pile of bills on an antique desk. She picked one up and looked at the address as she walked back to the phone, "Hello, again. The address is 23193 Marchess Road. Yeah, I know that it's far out, but I need a ride back to the city. How long will it take? OK. . . OK, I can wait. I'll be outside. Thanks, bye." Gabrielle hung up the phone. She gathered her things and walked out into the foyer, pausing at the cellar door. Curosity was beginning to whisper inside her head. What was down in the basement? Bodies? A drug lab? An altar to the Devil? Was Xena a witch, bent on corrupting Gabrielle's innocent soul?

She shook away the fantasies, "I have no time for this," she said to herself. She felt around her pockets and pulled out a messily folded wad of bills, one of them large enough to take her back to her apartment, then turn around and bring her back here. Gabrielle stuffed them back into her pocket. Snatching the guitar up with one hand and grasping the bag of things she bought last night with a pair of free fingers, Gabrielle opened the front door. The incoming air was turning October crisp. She set her case down, rubbing her index finger with her thumb -- a nervous habit. What was she going to do if Xena came back before Gabrielle made good her chance to escape? Hold on here. Xena gave me cab fare to get back to the club so I could get my car. Think. If she wanted me to stay here would I have money in my pocket? Just chill out, she thought, taking a phrase she heard often from Aphrodite. Forcing herself to relax, she sat down on the steps leading up to the dark grey porch. She opened up her case to steal a pad of music paper and a small pen. Gabrielle looked around, trying to coax an idea from her still-sleeping creative centers. She jotted down notes as they made themselves available to her. Some days, it was all she could do to keep one step ahead of the music. Others, it was a tooth-and-nail struggle to get one measure completed. This day was shaping up to be one of the later than the former.

The taxi cab ground to a halt at the base of the driveway. Gabrielle threw everything into the case and latched it quickly. She opened the rear driver's door, "Take me to the Cypress Club on 5th and Jefferson." Gabrielle ran around to the front seat. She opened up the passenger's side door, looking at the house for what would probably be the last time. Guilt clicked its tongue at her. Xena had been an excellent hostess for her. There was really no need to desert her, save the ramblings of an overactive imagination. She quietly resolved to herself that she would call Xena in the afternoon, if for nothing else than to thank her for the night. She sat down in the seat and buckled herself in. The honey haired woman, for some odd reason, could not shake the feeling that she was being scrutinized as the taxi rolled away.

Gabrielle slipped the driver the bill and told him to keep the change. He muttered his thanks and wheeled away quickly before the woman could change her mind. She wandered around to the front, peering into the windows. She knew that there would be no one there, but she had to reassure herself that her success wasn't a dream or a cruel joke. On a blackboard was the simple message: This evening's entertainment is brought to you by Gabrielle Connor. Enjoy. It might be vain, but seeing her name there always gave her a gigglily thrill. Satisfied and bouyed, Gabrielle skipped to her car where she had kept it the night before. She unlocked the back door and set the guitar in the seat well. She hopped into the driver's seat and felt the engine shiver to life.

The drive was too fast for her when she remembered why she was at Xena's in the first place. No doubt that Winthrop was going to be waiting for her -- more than likely in her apartment. She considered just getting in her car and driving away. She could go back to Xena's, just explain to her what was going on. Sure, Xena -- I just saw that your note and a note from World War One and they have the exact same handwriting. So, I think there is more to the resemblance between your great-grandmother and you than just lucky genes. But, I would much rather cast my lot with some sort of demon-praising witch than Winthrop and his pawing. No hard feelings? Gabrielle continued up the steps slowly. Her footfalls echoed off the cheap tiled walls as she circled the landing to the second floor.

She looked down the hall. Her door was on the far end on the left. She had run this gauntlet before, but reaching the door was the prize, not the signal for the second round. As she walked down the hall, she focused on what she was going to see, ignoring the waves of cigarette smoke, musk and pot. She was going to open the door and see Winthrop standing in the middle of her living room. more than likely grabbing himself in anticipation. She was going to tell him, making it clear, that she was not interested in having anything to do with him. If he persisited, she was going to contact the proper authorities. She knew he was going to retaliate by evicting her. Which meant she was going to have to either call home and take her lumps there, or go to Xena and whatever happened happened.

A door opened slowly. It was a woman that called herself Snow. Pale skin, platinum blonde hair and, if the rumors were true, a need for cocaine. How she came up with the money, Gabrielle didn't venture. It was also rumored that she never had to pay for rent. Gabrielle could guess how she did that little trick. Snow was, however, very friendly to Gabrielle. They would visit sometimes, chat over whatever happened, but it was nothing more than a casual friendliness. 'The enemy of my enemy is my friend' would best explain their companionship. Snow smiled furtively and made a beckoning gesture.

"Hey, girlfriend. I found this taped to your door. I took it off in case Winthrop thought got his grubby little paws on it." Snow smiled as she handed the envelope to Gabrielle. She opened the envelope and unfolded the plain piece of paper:

She read it again, and kissed the paper, then jumped forward and hugged Snow.

"What's that?" Snow asked.

"A stay of execution!" She raced down the hall to her door, happy to see it.

Maybe he had some redeeming qualities for a bloated carcass, she thought. An apology, a reprieve; not that she needed it now with Aphrodite’s largesse. Gabrielle opened the apartment door, grinning from ear to ear. Everything was still in its place, just as she like she left it the night before last. Her stomach protested the lack of attention loudly. “Oh, hush”. Gabrielle wandered into the kitchen, turning on the coffeepot certainly not the blend she’d enjoyed at Xena’s, she thought ruefully while rifling through the meager contents of the kitchen cabinets. Peanut butter and jelly wasn’t exactly the most healthy way to begin the day, but it would suffice. Digging through her refrigerator, she produced the jelly and the last of the milk. As her coffeepot gurgled productively, she slapped together a sandwich. Sitting down on the couch she devoured the sandwich, chasing it with the milk. Looking down at herself, she frowned over the wrinkled clothes she was wearing from last night.

She unbuttoned her blouse as she marched into her room. A T-shirt was tugged free from the Gordian knot of laundry that remained unfolded in the basket at the foot of the bed. She dropped the skirt from her hips. Catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror, she frowned over the wild mop of burnished gold hair. The slightly bruised looking flesh beneath her eyes, the pallid color of her skin screamed that she hadn’t had the best night’s sleep.

When she blinked herself out of that primal reverie, she found herself lightly stroking herself along the gentle curve of her neck with one hand. The other was beginning to wander down to other areas that had their own voices and needs.

“A shower would help right now”, she told herself. Shucking off her clothing, she turned the knob to the coldest she could bring herself to bear. Standing in the stream, she squealed and quickly turned the heat up. The pattering of the water eased away any tension in her muscles that she had been carrying, shaking off the fanciful reverie. She grinned as she rubbed soap across her belly. Her life was going in the right direction for a change. Aphrodite’s club job was fantastic. The fact that she was getting paid to play rather than paying clubs to let her play was a huge step forward. What else was there? True love?

Letting her mind drift to Perry Michael Kennes. He worshipped the ground she walked on, supported her dreams of music. Funny, warm, kind, he tried to get into her music before he got into her pants. Too ethereal for me, Gabby, he’d tell her, but would listen the genuine interest of her biggest fan. Which he was, her biggest fan, then her husband. She would entertain him with a riff she picked up from the radio. They had gotten married right after high school, they were on the fairy tale track to ‘happily ever after’.

The pair moved to the city shortly after marriage and a quick honeymoon. While she began to work the music circuit Perry enrolled in the police academy. Within the year he was making the rounds as a beat cop. When he failed to show up for shift change at the 144th, she opened the door to a knock from the watch commander, her world came to a crashing halt. After five days of weeping hysterically, waiting by the phone and hand holding by friends and family, they found him in a dumpster, split from throat to groin, eviserated and savaged. Red-eyed and resolved as she watched his casket lowered into the grave, she couldn’t shake the feeling of freedom that was suddenly crowding out the grief. She still saw the others, his friends from the force, on occasion she’d even get a call, but for the most part, they left her alone.

She found it hard to make friends, music was her passion. Not for her the afternoon or evening soaps, she didn’t read the newspaper, unless it was the entertainment section. Gossiping over coffee or chatting on the phone was not her style. In a crowd, she was by herself. The only thing she needed was a guitar that was in tune and a receptive audience. Simple people have simple needs, as her mother would say. Now, there was only the music to keep her company.

She dipped her head into the water, soaping the shoulder-length locks. Water trickled lightly down her back. Diving under again, she rinsed the soap off her body, wiping away the suds that crept into her eyes.

Slipping into a pair of ratty gray sweats, she toweled her hair dry on the way to kitchen towards the pungent aroma of coffee. There were still several hours until she was due at the club. She poured herself a steaming mug and took a delicate sip. Gabrielle’s nose wrinkled. The coffee tasted stale. Apparently, she had bought a bad batch of coffee. Another thing to do after--, she yawned wide, --my nap. She shuffled to her bed and sat down. “A three-hour nap would help,” she muttered as she set her alarm clock.

She swung her legs up and rested her hands on her belly. She closed her eyes, feeling them beginning to roll up in preparation to rest and dream. Huh, when did you ever feel your eyes begin to roll up..? I would have her drop onto the bed and let’s describe the sudden exhaustion…a little.

The alarm clock buzzed angrily. Gabrielle jumped, nearly tumbling out of bed. With a snarl, she snatched up the timepiece and hurled it across the room. The clock exploded into shimering pieces of plastic and left a dent in the wall. She felt sticky and sweaty, but oddly satisfied. Where the hell did that strength come from? She asked herself. Shucking off clothes, she hopped in the shower to clean up. Fragments of the dream continued to play through her mind. The water was cool enough to make sure she could approach the dream from an analytical point.

“It was just a dream!” She told herself emphatically, "Just a dream and I should focus on other things." She mused slipping into the modest shirt, slacks and comfortable shoes. Walking back into her living room, she picked up her beloved guitar case. Mentally, she went over her playlist. Three original compositions and some classical to round out the evening. For once in her life, she was looking forward to going to work.

Thrity minutes later, walking through the backstage, Gabrielle made it to what she jokingly called her dressing room. The acoustics were better than the stage. Back here, she’d tune her guitar and try to relax for the show. Unpacking her instrument and tuning fork, she plunked away at the strings for a final time.

A knock at the door and Aphrodite poked her head in, “Five minutes to curtain. How are you feeling?”

“A little nervous,” Gabrielle smiled, “but I’ll live.”

“Oh, no. Thank you, but I can never eat or drink before a show. The last thing anyone needs is me vomiting on stage.”

Aphrodite pouted, teasingly, “Not even a sip for me?”

“I’ll leave the glass, just in case you change your mind. If you’ll excuse me, I need to go attend to some business.“ Dite left in her trademark whrlwind of silk and perfume. Gabrielle quietly tuned her guitar, then waited before being called on the stage. She peered through a gap in the curtain before going out.

As always, the chair in the darkened corner was occupied. Black hair and pale skin fluttered in the dim candle light. Gabrielle’s heart quickened a beat. She was there without fail.

She started slowly. She wanted to capture the mood of her audience, to reflect what they felt. Closing her eyes, she let herself become immersed in the psychic sea in front of her. There was a strong current of anticipation in the air. There were some people here who were regular patrons and others who showed up on their friend’s recommendation. She shifted effortlessly into a livelier tune. Her fingers danced across the fretboard. The mood of the crowd began to swirl around her like a friendly storm. She allowed a small smile expand across her lips, in the periphery of her vision, she could see feet tapping the brisk beat.

There was a shifting movement in the distance. She looked over carefully and tried to keep her emotions in check. The happy storm was beginning to blossom into winds of anger as Aphrodite sat next to Xena. The pair were keeping their eyes focused on her, but it wasn’t the focus of the concerned employer or the focus of an ardent fan. It was the focus of a pair of lions over who would get the first share.

Chapter 5