Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Fixation ❯ Chapter Sixteen ( Chapter 16 )

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

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Chapter Sixteen
Bulma smelled them before entering the bedroom.  Sickly sweet, and rotten.  Funeral Flowers.  Long slender lilies.  They would be white, like the ones laid on Nana’s polished cherry wood coffin when Bulma’s was six years old and just introduced to death.
She stopped cold inside the doorway.  The room was doused in shadows, the heavy velvet curtains drawn tight over the balcony doors just as she preferred.  The dark coverlet on the bed seemed to suck away all the ambient light like a black hole in the yawning vastness of space.
Slowly she crossed the room, drawn by the apparitional glow in the center of the bed.  As she neared her pupils dilated, filtering in more light.  She could see the fine detail of the waxy white petals dusted with golden pollen.  The wide satin ribbon, the color of blood, tied around the long, verdant stems.  The perfect meticulous loops of the bow.
She could hear the rush of her pulse in her ears, the harsh pant of her breath from her lips.  Cold sweat broke out across her back and under her arms.  A chill swept across her nape, stiffening her from head to heel.  Her wide blue eyes darted around the room, but she was too drawn with fear to even turn her head.
Paralyzed, she frantically tried to galvanize her body.  She screamed at her legs to move, for her feet to run, for her fists to rise up to defend her.  Tears blurred her vision, and all she could see was the watery gleam of white lilies back dropped in darkness, like pale bloodless corpses in an abyss.  She squeezed her eyes shut, feeling hot tears pearling at the upturned corners of her eyes before streaming down her cheeks.
She needed Vegeta.  She needed her mother.  She needed a shotgun, a missile launcher and a battalion of special forces.  She needed to run!  Her paralysis broke, and she spun on her heel, racing out of the secured suite.  She flung herself into the hall, colliding hard with another body.  They tangled together, slamming backwards with the force of Bulma’s momentum.  Burnt orange engulfed her, wrapping its way around her face until it stifled her.  She screamed on the way down.  A bloody, hair-raising scream that was heard on the lower floors of Capsule Corp.
The upstairs maid, sprung upon by a screaming banshee, joined her shouts of fright and struggled against her.  The two small women, rolled around like cats in a bag, both so frightened that they nearly turned gray.  Bulma detangled herself, her fingers slicing at the orange sheet the maid had been carrying with her.  She crawled across the carpet like a dying man in a desert.  The maid regained enough presence of mind to realize that it was her employer that ran into her, not some rabid animal.  The woman quickly climbed to her feet, tucking her clothes about her, before slowly approaching Ms. Briefs who had managed to crawl under a side table, curling into a fetal position, while crying softly.
A storm of booted heels tromped down the hall, and the maid looked up to see the Head of Security and four of his men running towards them, semi-automatic rifles clenched to their chests.  She immediately backed away, her arms raised in surrender.
“What happened?” Max barked.
The woman’s mouth formed a small, red ‘O’, and she backed up into the wall.
“I—I don’t know.  I was bringing sheets for the guest room, when Ms. Briefs burst from her suite screaming her head off.”
Max gave her a hard look that made her shiver.  He glanced at his men.
“Call Detective Wong.”  He motioned to the others.  “You two, search the suite.”
The men nodded, and jumped to do his bidding.  Max approached Bulma who was still under the table.  Distantly he could hear the man he ordered to call the detective murmuring on the phone.  The other men were calling out their clears as they moved through the rooms.  Under it all, he could hear Bulma’s soft whimpers of denial, and prayers to a God who wasn’t listening.  He knelt next to her, afraid that touching her would set her off even more.
“Bulma, can you hear me?  Bulma?”
Her only response was to curl more tightly into herself.
“Oh my God.”
The high-pitched shriek, sliced its way down Max’s spine.  He jerked back just in time to avoid getting bowled over by Mrs. Briefs.  The usually superbly kept woman was frantic at the sight of her daughter.  Max had only seen such raw pain etched on her face once before, the day she learned her daughter was dead.
“Bulma, baby.  Come out.  It’s going to be alright.  Mommy’s here.”
Bunny reached for her daughter, but Bulma shrank away, doing her best to sink into the carpet, to meld into the wall behind her.
Max had to look away when he saw the tears crest over Mrs. Briefs cheeks.  The look of rejection on her fine porcelain features nearly broke him.
“Sir, it’s clear.”
He turned his attention to the men who were exiting the suite.
“Any sign of an intruder?”
“No, sir.  Nothing looks disturbed.  All the windows are locked and the front door hasn’t been tampered with.”
“What the fuck is going on here?”
Max and his men reflexively raised their rifles towards the booming, life-threatening sound.  They collectively took a step back from the angry man who seemed to have appeared out of nowhere.  Their tension only increased when suddenly the side table where Bulma was cowering exploded with her frantic movements to escape from under it.  Mrs. Briefs was knocked onto her rear, and an expensive vase crashed to the ground and shattered.  All this was ignored by the woman, who only moments ago had been nearly catatonic.
She raced down the hall, flinging herself onto Vegeta.  He made no move to embrace her.  Max thought it was noteworthy that he made no move to remove her either.  Instead he continued to glare at the invading men over the top of her head.  She sobbed into his chest, her fists clenched around his shirtfront to keep from collapsing.
“He’s here, Vegeta.  In our home.  In our room.”
At her words, Vegeta broke eye contact with Max.  His cold eyes flickered down to the crown of her head, before glancing to their suite.  He stilled for a moment.  Max thought of the motionlessness of a tiger before springing on its prey.  He held his breath, his sweaty palms tightening on his gun.  Something inside him strummed before relaxing at the sight of Vegeta’s facial feature freezing into remote disinterest.  He turned his glare back to Max.
“There is no one in my room, woman.  Now get off me.”
His dismissal crushed her.  She collapsed to her knees, her hands still clasped in his shirt.  Max turned away at the sight of her degradation before a man he considered to be a monster.
“The flowers.  He brought flowers.”
Everyone could hear the horror in her words.  Vegeta shook himself free from her grip, and Bunny rushed forward, the only one brave enough to invade the predator’s space.  As Bulma collapsed against her, Bunny shot Vegeta a look of pure disgust.  It was enough to shake the hardened man to the core.  He had been a ghost in this home long enough to understand the people in it.  To know their ki’s intimately, to gage their reactions, to know their fickle emotions.  The one thing he thought he was certain of was that Bunny Briefs wasn’t capable of anything deeper than a mixing bowl of emotion, but clearly his treatment of her daughter at that moment had earned her contempt.
It forced him to look back at Bulma who was supine in her mother’s lap.  Her eyes were open.  Empty and glassy, staring sightlessly at the ceiling.  Her beautiful blue eyes had been the very first thing he noticed about her.  Her eyes were unique.  Whether her hair was blue or black, short or long.  If she was pale and underfed, or flushed in sexual pleasure, it was her eyes that held the secrets of who she was.  And her eyes, at this moment, told him a story of a fear so great it was killing her on the inside.
The gapping emptiness inside him had slowly been filling up in the last few weeks.  It was a loosely packed feeling, like the soil over a fresh grave.  There was a sense of fullness, a never known feeling of inclusiveness.  But as he looked into her dying eyes, he felt that fullness collapse inward, revealing the fissure just beneath the veneer.
Abruptly he turned on his heel, stalking into the suite he shared with Bulma.  He moved through the common rooms quickly, heading for the bedroom.  He didn’t need artificial light, as his predatory eyes swept the darkened room.  In the center of their bed was a bouquet of sweet-smelling flowers that made his nose crinkle in disgust.  He picked them up by the stems, careful not to crush them.  He brought them to his nose, allowing his eyes to drift shut.  He forced his way through the cloying fragrance to the underlying scents.  He stilled his core, shifting slowly and methodically through the odors until he found what he was looking for.  He lifted his head, scenting the air like a wolf on the hunt.  His eyes still closed he followed his nose out of the room and into the hall.
He tilted his head, narrowing in on the scent of the last person to handle the bouquet.  His lids cracked, revealing polished onyx that glittered with something deadly.  With terrible wrath, his eyes centered on the disheveled upstairs maid.  Her dishwater hair had come undone from her neat working braid during her struggle with Bulma, and strands of it straggled over her eyes.  She was brushing it away when she made eye contact with Vegeta.  The depth of her sudden terror was immediately apparent.  Her skin washed white, and her eyes bugged.  In a flash of light, Vegeta crossed the room, pinning her to the wall.  He brought the flowers, now crushed in his fist to her face.  She barely took notice of them as she gaped up at him.
“You brought these into my room.  Why?”
The woman’s mouth dropped open, but it wasn’t to speak.  It was fear that made her muscles lax.  She dangled in Vegeta’s fist, her slack legs unable to take her weight.  There was a sharp tang of urine in the air, and the armed guards shifted with an innate need to protect.
“If you stopped scaring the little girl witless, she might remember.”
Vegeta shifted his gaze to the newcomers.  An old man with his hands shoved into a rumpled overcoat stared fearlessly back.  Beside him a fresh-shaven boy looked like he was about to pee himself as well, but that didn’t stop him from wrapping his shaking fist around the butt of his glock.
“How about I do my job and ask the girl some questions and you can supervise,” the old man suggested reasonably, without the slightest hint of derision.
Vegeta sneered.  The odor of urine was stronger now, wafting up from under him.  He glanced back at the woman, who had tears leaking down her pale face.  With disgust he flung her towards the old man.  The boy jumped forward to catch her, in an awkward clutch of skinny arms and legs.  Without a second glance Vegeta moved away from the urine stain, positioning himself between all the men and the two women who huddled on the floor.  Only Bunny noticed that he cast a quick glance at them before turning his back to face the men.
The young man guided the girl to one of the straight-back chairs that were placed strategically along the corridor, more for decoration than for use.  Max told one of his men to fetch some water as Wong knelt before the girl.  For a while, Wong just made soothing sounds, calming the girl while they waited for the water.  Max’s man returned, and forced the glass into the maid’s hand.  She took it, drinking greedily.
“There.  Better now?” Wong asked calmly.
The girl nodded wanly as she shot a fearful glance at Vegeta.
“What’s your name?”
“Melanie.”
The girl’s lower lip quivered as she spoke.  She sat ramrod straight in the chair, her knobby knees pressed together more tightly than a Catholic school girl’s.  Wong thought she looked no more than twenty, and was probably much younger than that when it came to experience.
“That’s a beautiful name.”
She shot a grateful look at Wong, and relaxed a notch
“Thanks,” she muttered.
“Are you the one who brought the flowers to Ms. Briefs?”
The girl’s hands clenched in her lap, her boney fingers tangling the woolen fabric of her uniform.  The black hemline rose over her knees.  Wong could see a tiny band-aid where she cut herself shaving at the crease of her knee.  It must be a primping habit she just started.
“Y-yes,” she whispered.  She locked her eyes on Wong, as if by looking at him she could escape Vegeta.
“And why did you do that?”
The girl worried her lower lip between her yellowish teeth.  Some of her color was returning, and shallow pockmarks began to redden in her cheeks.
“Its okay.  You can tell me.  You aren’t in any trouble.”
There was a low rumbling growl, and the girl trembled.  She scrunched her puffy face up, until she looked like a bloated fish on the end of a hook.  Wong took her hand, patting it in a fatherly manner, until she calmed.
“My b-boyfriend,” she gasped.
Wong cocked his head and smile encouragingly.
“Did he ask you to bring the flowers?”
She nodded empathically, her dishwater blonde hair flopping over her eyes.
“Why would he do that?”
“He’s a huge fan!” she bubbled.  “All he wanted to do was give Ms. Briefs a gift.  I didn’t think it would hurt.  Ms. Briefs gets gifts all the time, and it was just flowers.”  Her pale gray eyes widened as she looked up at Wong.  “Every girl likes flowers.  Right?”
“Yes, of course,” Wong agreed.  “What’s your boyfriend’s name?”
“Ramon.”
“Ramon, what?” Chatree interjected.  Wong shot him a censoring look.
The girl stiffened, the corners of her wide mouth pulling down into a frown.
“I don’t know,” she whined.
“That’s okay, Melanie.  How long have you known, Ramon?”
“A week.  We met at a coffee shop.  We had the same order, can you believe it?  He was so funny, we hit it off immediately.  We spent the entire week together.”  She brightened at the memory.
Vegeta snorted.
“Do you know where he lives?”
She blushed.
“No, we stayed at my place.”
Wong shifted, and Chatree rolled his eyes.
“Do you have a way to get a hold of him?”
“Yes!”  She fished around in the pocket of her apron, pulling out a pink hello kitty phone.  “His number is listed under ‘Lover’.”
“That’s disgusting.  No man would want an ugly cow like you.”
Melanie deflated under Vegeta’s harsh words.  Wong plucked the phone from her limp fingers, handing it Chatree who immediately turned away to call the precinct.  
Wong covered her cold hands with his warm ones.
“Don’t listen to the bastard.  You’re a very beautiful girl.”  Wong made a mental note to call his daughter who was away at the university and tell her how proud he was of her, and to remind her that she was a beautiful woman that any man would be lucky to have.
There was a rumbled warning, but Wong ignored it.  Chatree turned to catch his eye, and with a nod he indicated that the boyfriend’s number was being traced.
“What does Ramon look like?”
She looked Wong in the eyes, and he could see something different about her.  A cold sense of perception.
“He’s handsome.  Long dark hair, that’s silky to the touch.  Tall and broad shouldered.  He has a foreign accent, Italian I think.  He’s handsome.  Beautiful really.”  Her sad gray eyes skirted over to Vegeta.  “Too beautiful for me.”
Wong glanced at his partner.  They shared a moment of understanding.  The man Melanie was describing was definitely not Genzo.  The moment was lost when Chatree turned away to get the results on the phone number trace.
Wong patted Melanie’s hand, and looked pointedly at his friend.  Max motioned for one of his men to take Melanie back to the office for further debriefing.  He also ordered that the flowers be bagged up for the detectives to take with them.
Chatree hung up the phone, and everyone turned towards him expectantly.  He cleared his throat at the sudden attention.
“The number belonged to a prepaid cell phone.  The only calls were to and from Melanie.  There is no gps to trace and it isn’t pinging any towers.”
Wong shoved his hands into the pockets of his overcoat.
“It’s a dead end.  The phone has been tossed by now.”
Chatree nodded, looking morose.
Vegeta glared at the men in the hall before snorting in disgust.  He turned on his heel, plucking Bulma from her mother’s protesting arms.  Cradling her, he strode into their suite and slammed the door behind them with finality.
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