Stark Vision

HAZEL

I’m panicking, pacing in the bathroom after throwing up in the toilet. My mind is a mess – until I hear a yell from Zayda in her living room, “It’s done, Hazel!”

A heavy veil of lies, deceit and delusion lifts from my brain, clearing my thoughts immediately.

I stop pacing, I straighten my back and I turn toward the mirror. My vision goes from spinning, back to centered, focused and straight. Starkly clear headed. I can now truly ~see~ me again.

I see my dirty dress.

I haven’t washed it in months.

I look at my hands, grimy, and my fingernails black.

Me? Who was I? I was a ballet dancer. I was a fighter. I was a business woman. But since my husband’s death, I had lost everything. That important knowledge now rushes back to me.

Everything I need to do, all the responsibilities that I have. I pick up my phone and I check the notifications.

734 missed calls and texts.

“Hey, Hazel! Are you feeling okay now?” Zayda asks from the doorway, looking hopeful.

I check my phone and I find missed calls from the police. There are also texts from my sister and family, showing missing person reports, begging me to return their calls.

“I’m a… I’m a missing person,” I blurt out, as I put my phone in my pocket and turn to the woman who helped me.

Zayda is a young mother, she’s kind, I can feel I can trust her with my life. Especially after she helped me without knowing me from a bar of soap, welcoming me into her home despite having a young child.

“Do you want me to call the police?” Zayda suggests.

I consider that. But I have one ~small~ problem. I have a killer on my back. I can’t expose my family back at home to him.

“No, not right now,” I answer her softly, “May I… shower? I smell disgusting. I’m so sorry about my state. I’m a mess.”

Zayda smiles sweetly, “No, you’re not ~that~ bad. And of course you can clean up. Your eyes are stark clear now. Your mind is yours. I can see it.

“Just be happy your soul is saved, Hazel, don’t worry about anything else.”

“I feel it... I feel much better,” I smile back at her. “I’m going to shower and I’ll be right out of your hair. And I promise I’ll repay you for your kindness.”

“Oh. Are you… leaving? I’m not sure Loch wants you to leave the safety of this building while you’re being hunted. Req Enterprise is the safest place for you right now.

“Loch and Hael will sort this all out. They run this city.”

“Oh… right… okay, I’ll stay here,” I lie to her, so she’ll leave me be.

Devorex?

Was ~my~ problem. I would not burden anyone else with his issues with me. And of course, I wouldn’t put a young mother at any further risk by staying in her apartment.

Zayda shows me where the fresh towels are, and offers to lend me a clean dress. I accept, because I’m so desperate for something new.

I shower, I freshen up, and I detangle my long bright silver hair. I braid it tightly in a one sided-braid. I scrub all the grime off of my hands and then I adorn the dress Zayda gave me.

It’s a dark blue midnight, a maxi dress. I slip on my ballet shoes and I wait for her to tend to her son.

When she’s not looking, I leave – because I have a very clear and obvious direction.

Lux Hotel. Room 60.

I was going straight to the demon himself. To the murdering, sadistic, hexing bastard.

However, I ~wasn’t~ going without a weapon.I go straight back to the apartment Loch searched through. He didn’t find the sword attached to the underside of the bed.

I take it out, and I strap it on my back.

It was designed to look like a costume piece, for my medieval style wedding with Nick. But the sword? Was real. It was sharp. It was made to kill.

And I practiced fencing in my spare time. It was a favored hobby, along with ballet. Now, my skills would come in handy.

With a hole in my heart and red eyes...

I’m coming for Rex.

DEVOREX

I’m on the roof of the casino, hanging out with Hoff and the media team. We were setting up a photo shoot, for the advertising campaign, to draw in attention for the exclusive fight nights that would all be held at the casino.

I wasn’t settled in my room. And I was not expecting to see Hazel so soon.

I’m irritated that I see her ~now~, striding down the sidewalk in the late afternoon, about to enter the building, while I’m up here, preparing to take photos. ~I’m busy.~

“Chop, chop!” Hoff calls out, “Come on, Rex, the models are ready and waiting for you.”

I drop my cigar off the rooftop, so it slams into the concrete all the way down ~there~, right in front of her slight feet.

Hazel halts, looking at the ash covering her shoes. She looks straight up, and we lock eyes.

I let her know I’m here, and then I turn around to Hoff, the photographer and the models and I put on a charming smile.

I stroll over, half naked, and I lie down across the laid out green plastic, with girls positioning themselves around me for the shoot.

As the photographer yells out instructions, as we move and reposition and I comply with every order, I appear professional, relaxed and completely calm. Inside my fevered head, however, I can’t wait to get out of here.

Because my butterfly doesn’t show her pretty face on the rooftop, even an hour into the photograph shoot.

Which means she’s downstairs.

She’s waiting for me – and I’m dying to engage with her.

I felt the hex was gone. My sweet sorrow had woken up. She wanted to kill me. She came with a weapon. A weapon she knew how to use.

~I couldn’t wait to show her my own collection.~

HAZEL

I’m in Devorex’s hotel room, because his door is unlocked, of-fucking-course. It’s a normal hotel room, a king size bed, a view of the city, a luxury bathroom with a spa bath.

Not much room for storage. Everything is clean. Everything is perfect.

But I’m ~looking~ for a head. Nick’s head. But I don’t find one. There is nothing in here. No suitcases. No luggage. Nothing.

Except a single piece of clothing.

Devorex’s black shirt.

It’s laid out on the bed, omitting an intoxicating scent. That very fact is really frustrating and distracting. I pace back and forth in the room, until I can’t shake it.

Drawing out my light and long sword, I hold it out to my side as I approach that damn shirt. I stand at the end of the bed, looking down at it with furious eyes.

I bring my sword forward and lift up the edge of the shirt with the tip. As I lift it up further, the scent wafts more strongly toward me. I side step gracefully. Reaching forward, I grab it from the sword.

~Night.~

I bring it straight to my nose and breathe it in. ~Night~. I may as well remember his scent. And never forget it for the killer that he was. I couldn’t let him escape justice.

I close my eyes and ~keep~ breathing. What is that ash… that smoke… it’s… gently filling my head, filling it up, like I’m slowly drowning in red wine.

I keep inhaling it – ~deeper~...What the hell am I doing?

I open my eyes and throw the shirt back down on the bed.

When I spin around, my eyes zone in on the shadow under the door. The door knob is turning.

I immediately step to the side and bring my sword above my head.

Let’s see how brute strength dealt with a sharp edge, shall we?

Devorex opens the door, glances in, shirtless and oiled up – before looking over his shoulder and speaking quietly to whoever is out there.

When I try to glance, I see the slight feet of thin women running off in the other direction.

Devorex gracefully slips into the room and shuts the door.

“You again,” Rex’s voice is like grinding meat, he’s too calm and relaxed. He glances over me and uses a handkerchief out of his pocket to rub some excess oil off his skin. So normal.

I would not let him play around!

“~Where’s the head?~” I demand he answer me now!

“What head?” Rex asks, looking up, having the audacity to look confused.

“Shut up! Don’t play coy. You hexed me, ~you made me go mad!~” As I tell him this, Devorex walks right past my offensive stance with the sword, and instead heads to a bar fridge and takes out a beer.

Popping a cold one, he downs it while looking me over.The can is empty in seconds and then crushed in his hand – then in the bin. ~Clang~.

“Hexed?” Rex asks me sideways, so deeply, but yet so believably innocent.

“Yes,” I whisper it now, feeling my heart racing. Why was he acting like this?

“So you ~were~ crazy when we met?” Rex asks, turning to me, “We bumped in the street… you demanded my business card. Remember. You were very rude to me.”

“No. You elicited prostitution,” I correct him, “You’re lying to me…”

“Does it look like I need to pay women for sex…” Devorex turns his front toward me and lets me look at him, up and down – the perfect specimen.

“…that’s what I said to you…” I try to keep my calm, “I’m not crazy now. You won’t trick me this time,” hence I keep my sword up and at the ready.

“What do you want from me?” Rex asks, trying to play it cool, “A signature? Just ask.”

“I want you to show me the head as you promised me! Prove yourself! Or are you a liar and a ~coward~ –” Rex moves like a shadow, he approaches me so fast, a furious rage in his eye.

I back up and almost trip from the confining sides of the maxi dress. I keep my balance despite almost losing it, and I raise my sword higher.

Rex now stands right in front of me, the sword poking into his shoulder – right over a strange butterfly tattoo.

“Call me a coward again and see what happens,” Rex murmurs down at me, and watches me slowly, ~slowly~… lower the sword… and side step out of his way.

He had a fighter’s ego alright. He actually sounds really mad. Standing off to the side, I watch as he reaches for his shirt and sees I’ve messed it up from the way he left it on the bed.

“You touching my stuff, too?” Rex asks. “I asked you what do you want – tell me, bitch. Do you want me to fuck you, is that it?” he laughs now, mocking me.

“Asshole, you did this to me!” I back away from him, and…. I’m doubting everything all of a sudden.

His demeanor didn’t make sense.

Neither did his words.

Rex was too calm about this. After everything he said. Now he was going to deny it?

H-he was playing games.

~He was playing games.~

I sheath the sword as I look at my feet briefly, as Rex puts his shirt on at the corner of my eye.

Breathe, Hazel.

Breathe.

Composure returned, I look up and meet his stare one more time.

“I apologize,” I force out the lie, controlling my tone from wavering, concealing nervous fear, “I think there’s been a huge misunderstanding. I ~was~ crazy.

“From a hex. I will leave – I won’t bother you,” the test was this… I turn toward the door, and I start to walk out. “You will never see me again.”

“Wait.”

Got him.

~He’s a liar.~

I pause again before I reach the door, and I turn around, not saying a word, just giving him my gray, lifeless eyes. The life, the joy, the heart – stolen from me. By him.

Devorex grinds his jaw, he is looking me over, realizing whatever he’s releasing in his dark twisted head.

“A lot of people dream about me,” he says it far more gently, “It’s okay to have a crush on a celebrity, but it’s not okay to stalk them down – or enter their private property. Seek some help.”

I. Almost. Fucking. Laugh.

I almost grin.

Because he just made a sick joke.

That I’m not allowed to laugh at. But still, it almost breaks my composure.

The blackest humor.

My lips just twitch up, before I flatten them into a line.

Killer.

Don’t forget.

Devorex is a killer. He ~said~ so. I still didn’t have the proof beyond his gaslighting. I needed to ~see~ the head to know he was the killer. But my husband was not here. I checked. So it was elsewhere.

“I’m so sorry,” I whisper to him, as politely and sarcastically as I can, “This won’t happen again.”

“Can I ask why you wanted to kill me?” Rex asks, now openly sly, before I go.

“I seemed to think you ~murdered~ my husband,” I tell him straight, “But there is a fundamental difference… in ~thinking~ that… and knowing that… isn’t there?”

I leave him with those words to ponder over.

Rex’s humor pops up before I go.

His dominance professes he has the last say on my way out.

“Be careful out there, Hazel. It’s a dangerous world. Full of dangerous people.

“With bad intentions. And no remorse,” his voice gets deeper, and deeper, and sexier, with every word, until he says ‘no remorse.’

My knees seem to get weaker every second he drawls at me with my back turned on him.

How did he do this to women?

How come it ~worked?~I was hot and bothered.

I ~finally~ step through the door, and in the corridor, I see bell boys rushing down with piles, and ~piles~ of luggage.

I step out of the way, watching the enormous fuck cluster of shit I still had to look through, now entering his room.

I visited him too early.

Fuck!

My eyes scan over every bag, every case as they skim by. Looking up, I watch them wheel all his shit into his room, unloading the merchandise.

I turn, angry, as I walk over to the lift. Even as I press for it, I glance to the stairs and I decide to take them instead.

Before I open the fire exit I look back the way I had come.

Rex has stepped out into the corridor outside room 60, smoking a newly lit cigar, watching me go.

He watches me boldly… and blinks softly.

M… ~mine~.That idea flashes into my head briefly, and catches me off guard. I immediately shake off the strangeness of such a wayward thought.

Thinking he’s hot, or desirable, after admitting to me multiple times he killed my husband, ~was~ insane.

Even if he ended up denying it after all that hexing bullshit.

I leave. I skip down the stairs two at a time.

B-besides.

I would see Rex again.

For the job I had secured with Beatrice. I would be dancing for him, the same nights of all the fights he was contracted to be a part of over the next few months. I knew where he’d be.

This crime and this story wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.