a songstress in the making : camilla st. john

[cajun_songbird]

<center>why live life from dream to dream
and dread the day when dreaming ends?

</center>

<font color="#ECE6CA" size="1">[ February 06, 2005 02:34 AM: Message edited by: quarter notes ]</font>

[cajun_songbird]

<center>i've been sleepin' way too long
search for the answers but couldn't find one
thought i had it under control
yeah i was lyin' and didn't even know

----</center>

"Can I ask ya somethin'?"

"You can ask me anythin'. What's up?"

"Why do people die?"

"It's a part of life, Cam. If people didn't die, then the world would get full and there wouldn't be enough food for everybody, and they wouldn't have anywhere to live."

"Doesn't seem fair to me."

"Why's that?"

"Because if somebody dies, that means somebody is losin' a person they love."

"It's just the way it works."

"Doesn't make it fair."

"Life ain't always fair, Cam."

"I know, Sammy, it just seems stupid. Yer not gonna die, are you?"

"One day."

"... I hope I die first."

"Camilla Violet, don't you say anythin' like that again. Why in the world do you want to die first?"

"Cause. I couldn't take it if ya left me."

........

"I'll try to stay around as long as I can, for ya, okay?"

"Better be forever."

"Cam..."

"Just sayin', is all. Make it a long time from now, okay?"

"Deal."

----

Forever doesn't last.

<font color="#ECE6CA" size="1">[ February 06, 2005 04:38 PM: Message edited by: quarter notes ]</font>

[cajun_songbird]

<center>no more crying. no more fear
i found a way out after all of these years
no mistaking, i've been shamed
now and forever, i'll never be the same

----</center>

The phone was ringing again. It was always ringing. Glancing around the destroyed room, she crawled over towards the phone and lifted the mouthpiece from the cradle. A long moment of silence followed before her raspy voice decided to make an appearance.

"Hello?"

"Camilla.. I've been tryin' ta call ya for the past two weeks, why haven't ya been pickin' up?"

"Phone was unplugged, Mama.."

The first time their relationship had been made verbal in eight years. It caused a period of silence from the other end of the line.

"... I didn't mean for them ta find ya, like they did yer brother, Camilla.."

"They found him and killed him, Mama.. They killed him.."

A strangled sob reverberated like an echo.

"I know, b?b?..."

After all these years, when presented with the chance, Analee didn't know how to comfort her only child. Her own daughter.

"Maman, je ne peux pas prendre ceci..."

"Oui, vous pouvez. Just tell me where ya are. I'll come t'ya."

A noise caused the tearful woman to pause, eyes narrowing on the mouthpiece.

"What was that?"

A pause.

"That was just yer Papa, cher. He's sleepin' in th'chair.."

"That didn't sound like Pere. Mama, what.."

The phone was slammed down onto the cradle with enough force to crack the plastic. One had to wonder just how bad you fucked up in life for karma to come back around in the form of your own parent betraying you.

The phone was unplugged again, with only one difference.

The whole set was thrown through the window, sending a shower of glass and technology to the pavement below.

The apartment manager was going to be pissed.

<font color="#ECE6CA" size="1">[ February 06, 2005 04:49 PM: Message edited by: quarter notes ]</font>

[cajun_songbird]

<center>father of mine, tell me where have you been
you know i just close my eyes and the whole world disappears
father of mine, take me back to the day
when i was still your golden girl, back before you went away

----</center>

The man with the cigarette was still watching her.

Any time of the night, she could go to the window and look out to see the smoldering end of a cigarette glowing against the inky blackness of the building next door. She tried talking to him a few times via yelling through the broken window, but he wasn't much of a conversationalist.

The bracelets were taken off.

----

Walking along and minding her own business as usual, eyes were cast down and mind was distanced to far and away -- the hand that crept over her shoulder was surprising -- there wasn't time for a struggle as she was dragged from the sidewalk and into the alley. Darkness consumed, pulling Bren inside along with the other bodies present, only they seemed to be controlling the ebony waves.

----

Washing the congealed blood from her hands, a jacket was tugged over the rumpled, two day old clothing as she headed for the door. The ward was engraved on the wall-- nothing short of sandblasting it would get rid of it. She didn't have a sander handy.

Time was running out.

Out the door, out the building, to next door she went. The Browning was in its shoulder holster, but it was clipped into place. She wouldn't be needing it tonight, hopefully. Just a chat, a small conversation to see how things were going.

He knew she was coming.

----

"Not talking now, huh bitch?" Another kick, this time to the side of Bren's head, had her screaming with pain and rage. Something inside shifted -- she growled low from somewhere in her throat -- mouthful of blood was spat angrily, landing on the unknown's shoe tip.

----

By the time she pushed through the unlocked door of the room he was in, he was sitting in a chair. Languidly smoking a cigarette in the dim lighting that had appeared via lamp. A hat was tipped low over his brow, only exposing the chiseled line of his jaw, and the curve of his mouth to her.

"Been expectin' ya, doll."

He sounded like he had a three pack a day habit, and as he pushed up to his feet, it was shown exactly how much taller he was. Just a foot or so, nothing major. Really.

"Sorry if I'm late."

Her voice didn't sound like her own. Not the melodious alto that people drove for miles and miles to hear. It was an empty flat sound, holding no tone, no inflection. He shoved the hat back from his face as she shut the door, hands going out at her sides to show she wasn't holding a weapon.

"I ain't got nothin' but time. How're you doin'?"

Sarcasm. He'd seen her go crazy on her place. Had a good laugh about it. His eyes smoldered like two blackouts, holding no glint of light, save from the sadistic streak that couldn't help but bleed through. Her own blue-violets were dimmed to a lackluster shine.

"Just peachy. Got one problem though, mind hearin' about it?"

Southern hospitality. It didn't matter if violence was about to happen, there was always time to be cordial.

"Sure toots, I don't mind hearin'. Wanna sit down?"

The Southern belle and the Gentlemen. The facade might work if they were in public, and knew that the other didn't want to kill them.

"Nah, standin's good. My problem is .. I'm tired of you. I'm tired of your fuckin' boss, I'm tired of your fuckin' friends, and I'm tired of this whole goddamn situation. Thanks for listenin'."

"No problem."

He even tipped his hat while taking a step forward.

[i]"Ya know, all this would go away if ya just turned over the goddamn ricin. Poof, we're gone."

"I'm not as stupid as ya'll think I am. Even if I gave you the stuff, you'd still kill me."

He took a moment to consider this, lips twisting with agreement as he nodded.

"Well, true. But think of it like this, it'd be over."

Optimism. It was a wonderful thing.

"How 'bout I just blow your fuckin' head off and see where that gets me."

"You can try, baby, but I don't think you can outdraw me."

"Wanna find out?"

He was standing directly in front of her now. She wasn't backing away.

"How 'bout we just be friendly to each other. You can sit on my lap, tell me about yer day."

"How about you go fuck yourself."

Fingers were suddenly in her hair, wrenching her head back enough to expose the line of her throat.

"I could finish you off right now like you finished off that shrink and nobody would care if you were gone or not. Cause you ain't really got nobody that cares for ya. That crazy bitch that was with your brother, she don't care for ya none anymore. That tall bitch that comes over sometimes, she's just bein' nice to you 'cause you're pathe--"

"Sh--"

The backhand stopped the interruption.

----

Feet dug into the pavement, as did fingers which bled from nails cracking and pulling free. She launched herself forward, using the wall for support as she moved and shoulder was sent into the midsection of the one nearest. He flew back taking her right along with him, only she was stopped in flight as her hair was grabbed from behind. Ganked back and away, arms were held tightly even as she continued to struggle.

----

"Don't talk while I'm talkin'. You broads these days, I swear to God. Back home, you'd know your place. Like I was sayin'. That kid that follows ya around sometime, he's just like a lost puppy. Don't really care for ya either. Hell, even that mush mouthed guitarist don't even come 'round no more. Seems to me like you're just floatin' around, waitin' to die."

Silence from her.

He leaned in close, his mouth brushing against her ear-- breath purling like a summer breeze, sliding across her cheek.

"Ya keep fuckin' with me, I'll throw you outta yer own window. With the way your place looks, and the way you look, they'll just think it was suicide. Got me?"

More silence.

Another backhand to prompt a reply.

"Got you."

This was spat his way, along with the saliva on his shoe, before he shoved her away roughly. Reaching forward, he patted her on the cheek-- a reassuring gesture if he wasn't doing it hard enough to rock her head to the side.

"Go on back ta that empty apartment now. Be alone until m'buddies come for ya, after they get done with that other bitch, then we'll help ya. It's better that way, anyway."

----

Two moved forward, setting on Bren with such an angry hatred that she was positive this time she wouldn't pull through with the not so subtle warning. A series of blows hit her body, one of them was using..a piece of wood. Skin was splintered, cracked open to enable exposed flesh to have a little feel. Sharing was good.

----

The only reply was the door slamming shut, and then her form racing across the road back to her building. No lights flickered on to announce her return. Because she didn't return. While he was busy wiping the spit from his shoe, the brief moment his head was down, she ducked to the side of the building and headed down the street, towards where Bren was staying.

Please don't let me be too late.

The words the man had said, about her being alone, she couldn't take them at face value right now. If Bren didn't care for her, that was alright-- Cam wasn't going to let the woman be killed regardless. Ducking through the alleyways, eyes swept over the area, trying to see if there was any sign..

"BREN?! BREN ARE YOU AROUND HERE?!"

Hoarse whisper turned frantic scream, the pace picked up from a stride to a jog as she searched.

"BREN!!! WHERE..."

Steps slowing. Voice lowering.

"...are... "

Hands going up so that fingers could tangle in her hair. A whisper now.

".. you..? ..."

----

Cell phone rang, one answered, and the news delivered would be alarming. Wasn't the broad who killed the good doctor after all...

"Leave her for now. I'll see her in a couple of days when she shows up for the next appointment," came the throaty voice, so familiar.

She couldn't move and could barely breathe, but her ears weren't yet destroyed.

"Why? Where're we goin' next?" Third stepped toward the girl and shoved his foot against her hip, sending her rolling onto her back. Even now he wouldn't mind having a little feel of her.

"The astronomer, we'll need to visit. Maybe share a beer and exchange some stories," he laughed, the sound sour and stale.

"Works for me, Doctor Co--"

----

Voices. She could hear them on the other side of the wall where she was, talking about--

The astronomer, we'll need to visit...

Bren was over there. She knew it, and something was horribly wrong. Cam could hear her broken breathing underneath the sinister voices of the others. Hands still in her hair, she crouched down, head dropping between her knees.

She couldn't stop them.

She couldn't save Bren.

She couldn--

Had to get Bren somewhere safe. Somewhere they couldn't find her. Had to warn Des. Nobody was.. it was...

Goddamnit.

----

The cold was overwhelming. One leg had somehow managed its way under the large dumpster, the other was bent back, causing the prickle of tingles to start ebbing through her hip. Cheek was pressed against the pavement as were chest and stomach -- eyes stared forward, unblinking.

----

"Come on doll, we're goin' somewhere private."

No answer. Cam slid an arm up under Bren's and hoisted her up to her feet. They were going to have to limp it along, but Bren would be safe. She would. If nothing else in this world-- if the whole planet exploded into flame at this very moment, at the very least, Bren would be safe.

"..sorry they did this.. wanted to stop it.. wanted to help.."

The words were disjointed, making no real sense. None of it mattered, she was taking care of Bren. Like she should've done months ago. Sticking to the back alleys so they wouldn't get any unwanted attention. They already had enough, thank you.

After leaving Bren with Max -- not exchanging the first word with him -- Cam abruptly left. She had two stops to make and it was better if she was just .. alone.

It was what she was use to.

<font color="#ECE6CA" size="1">[ February 06, 2005 06:15 PM: Message edited by: quarter notes ]</font>

[cajun_songbird]

<center>I don't stop breathing everytime the phone rings
my heart don't race when someone's at my door
i've almost given up thinkin' you're ever gonna call
i don't believe in magic anymore

----</center>

The cigarette was still glowing when she got back home.

The window was still broken and it was still dark outside.

For the first time in a while, a winsome smile appeared, curving her mouth upwards.

Into the closet, up to the top shelf, a small box tucked in the back.

A small bag was taken out and shoved into her pocket, along with her cigarettes, a lighter, and a mini bottle of Everclear.

All she needed was some marshmallows.

<font color="#ECE6CA" size="1">[ February 06, 2005 09:49 PM: Message edited by: quarter notes ]</font>

[cajun_songbird]

<center>I remember her saying I'm already dead.

-----</center>

The cigarette finally stopped glowing across the street, though you couldn't tell through the boarded up window. Both apartments were empty and cold, left to their own devices as their occupants left in one form or another. Either by being led away or carried out in a body bag.

It was nice to have a couple of guys handy, sometimes.

There wasn't much to gather up. Just a few clothes and some pictures. Everything else would have to stay there until she actually had a place to move them. The rent was paid up through the month, so there wasn't really a problem.

Eight years of freedom and now she was dependant on someone else. Poetic irony.

It wouldn't do much good to argue. The little-brother type astronomer had persuasive means via injected drugs, and he was liberal with the dosage. Where her day went, she'd never know. Most of it was spent asleep. Waking up took a lot of effort, cobwebs obscuring her brain tightly until she found coffee.

On top of all that, she was more than likely jobless.

Maybe she should put a call in to Charlie and explain what happened.

Or maybe she'd go back to bed ...

<font color="#999999" size="1">[ June 28, 2005 04:10 PM: Message edited by: entropic notes ]</font>

[cajun_songbird]

<center>Walking.
Waiting.
Alone without a care.
Hoping.
And hating.
Things that I can't bear.

Did you think it's cool to walk right up to take my life and fuck it up?
Well did you?

I see hell in your eyes.
Taken in by surprise.
Touching you makes me feel alive.
Touching you makes me die inside.

I hate you.

I've slept so long without you.
It's tearing me apart too.
How'd it get this far?
Playing games with this old heart.
I've killed a million petty souls.
But I couldn't kill you.

I've slept so long without you.

( slept so long ; jay gordon of orgy )

----</center>

The conversation / debate with Mr. Olives aka Nathan last night had struck a chord. Not that anyone would know it from her outward appearance. No, that sort of troubling was kept locked away in her heart of hearts. Had she been hurt a few times, romantically? Not a few times, no, just once. Once had been enough to dissuade her from all of the hearts-and-flowers bullshit. With Valentine's day fast approaching, along with everything going on, sometimes she wondered why she even got out of bed.

Oh yeah. Food and beer. Cigarettes.

A walking shadow without the embodiment of an actual shadow-- black wrapped from head to toe. Slash of blood red at the mouth, eyes hidden beneath an ever present brim. Wraith-like and drifting, standing among the wreckage of a place once called home. It was as if everything was being viewed through plastic. Slightly distorted, not quite real, but within grasp. The board over the window was what set off the 'abandoned' appearance.

Nobody home, nobody lived here.

People would be shocked to realize that even she had believed in Love. Once upon a time, that is. When you're a small girl believing in faerie tales, of course you believed in Love. It's only when you grow older and experience the pain that comes with it, first hand, that the illusion starts to fade. People came into your life, and you loved them. Loved them with everything you had, but then, they disappeared. Over and over again.

If anyone could prove her wrong about the emotion, she was up for the challenge, but it was hard to change her mind once things had been emblazoned into it. Prove her wrong-- a feat she wasn't sure could happen. Sociopathic, unfeeling, emotionless. Three words she heard an awful lot during the therapy sessions. If it's in print, of course it must be true, right? Right.

Giving a final look over her shoulder to the room, her head turned-- chin tucking down towards her chest as the door was pulled shut. The click of the door latch reverberated throughout the enclosed hallway, and without another thought, she headed down the stairs.

The movers would be able to get everything together. She wasn't coming back.

[cajun_songbird]

<center>How do you get that lonely? How do you hurt that bad?
To make you make the call, that havin' no life at all
is better than the life that you had.
How do you feel so empty? You want to let it all go.
How do you get that lonely and nobody knows?

----</center>


Life was a swirl of color and noise-- everything distinguishable and different, but yet melded together to form one cohesive unit. Pieces taken apart and put back together, only to have something missing, or the final product turned out not quite the same as before. What did you do when the missing piece was found, and just didn't fit anymore? Throw it away or force it to fit?

Nobody tries.

Time was a mismatched mistress, flying by all too fast, and not allowing you to do what you needed to do. On time. Biological clocks had nothing on the mortality clocks. Hands swirling, seconds ticking by while you're standing in one place with your hands over your eyes and an empty scream echoing in your own head.

Nobody hears.

A flickering television screen that played nothing but static, with the ocassional glimpse of something tangible. A vague outline against the salt and pepper pixels projected from a million miles away. You see them, but they can't see you. Kind of like looking through a peephole while someone has their finger over the glass.

Nobody sees.

Merrily, merrily life is but a dream, and you only wake up when you die.

[cajun_songbird]

For the past couple of weeks, activity inside of the penthouse had been borderline nil, but all in the span of four days, things were in a horrific uproar. Four men gone-- two recent. It was beyond comprehension how two women were causing such a commotion.

"This was supposed to be fuckin' EASY! You tell me how two of my top men are dead. You fuckin' tell me how they're fuckin' dead.."

John Marceau, overseer and kingpin of this motley crew, was pacing back and forth in front of his desk, a finger jabbing towards the man standing just to the side. Mario had an expression of utter calm on his face throughout the brief yelling, hands splaying at his sides helplessly in answer. Marceau mimicked the action. "This.." The action mimicked again. "This is all I get as an answer? You're lucky I don't put a hole in your head right now!" Things were slipping out of his control. If there was one thing he could not stand, it was being powerless.

"What do ya want me to say, John? That I know exactly what's goin' on and why Barthlomew and Randy are dead? I don't fuckin' know! Those twats are a little trickier than we though, especially with those fuckers they have helpin'." He was the only one allowed to talk to Marceau that way, mainly because he'd saved the man's ass more times than once. One didn't forget that sort of thing.

John paused in front of his desk abruptly, fingers raking back through salt and pepper strands, before he slanted a look towards Mario. "Find 'em. Find 'em, do what you have to to them, and bring them back here to me..." They were driving him insane, that's what they were doing. "And you make sure that Camilla bitch has that ricin or I swear to Jesus, I'll find it somehow, and shove a handful of those pills down her throat."

Mario had his orders and he turned for the door. Exchanging a few words with the two guards at the door, he donned his hat and swept out of the building quickly, taking along four men of his own. The two guards understood their new orders and positioned themselves back in front of the door. If anyone suspicious came along, they were to shoot without question.

The penthouse was guarded well enough. Two guards at the door, two at the elevator, two downstairs to monitor any activity around the building, and there were security cameras everywhere. He was a rather wanted man amongst the unscrupulous characters in this town and his own home town. Being powerful and wealthy had it's downfalls. Once this was over with though, and the ricin was back in his hands ? and those two bitches along with their little friends were dead ? everything would be just fine. Just .. fine.

( to be continued )

[cajun_songbird]

Things were normal around the 'central headquarters'. Marceau was safely ensconsed in his study, going over a few things with his right hand man, Mario, concerning the upcoming.. festivities. "When it happens, I want it to go down quick. Don't give those bitches any chance to call for help or attempt getting away." They were crafty. Mario nodded and turned on his heel, heading out to the other room to disperse game strategy to the ten or so thugs
waiting. The building had pretty much been cleared of outside distraction. All six stories were under the control of Marceau Inc. A business convention in town was the excuse.

About a block away, in one of the underground access tunels, two women were playing with wires. "They should probably flicker first, rarely do lights just ever blink out all at once." So flicker they did. The lights for everything on that block, which was probably just that one apartment building, and one small maintinance building, flickered on and off a several times. "Now we'll overload it so we have to go in and check the fuses in the basement." We was said figuratively, it would be Zane going in there, and it was Gisa playing with the hardware. But, ZZrrt! A few electrical sockets might spark a little, a few light bulbs will burst, and the building will go dark.

If there was one thing that could cause panic among the masses in that building, it was the lights going Rainman. All of their surveillance was hooked up to the mainframe in the basement. Without the cameras operational, it was fair game for anyone to waltz in. That is, if they could get through the sudden influx of guards that suddenly appeared at every entry/exit of the building-- guns in hand. Glancing up towards the ceiling as the bulb over his desk shattered, an undecipherable curse was loosed. "Find out what the fuck's going on, and hurry the hell up." Without asking twice, three lackeys hurried towards the door running into it a couple of times before one got the idea to flick a lighter.

Nothing will work, all the fuses were shot to hell, they'll have to be replaced. Now, to wait five minutes... And a tan van with "RhyDin, We Light Your Style" on the side, came rolling to a halt in front of the building.

When the van appeared, two of the guards walked outside towards it, guns held loosely at their sides. Nobody got in without clearance.

The tall woman in the bulky bomber jacket, with a bright yellow bulb embroidered on one breast, pushed the passanger door open, with a billow of cigarette smoke, and she stepped out. Didn't men always like leggy woman in uniforms? Hers was a little snug. She flicked the cig away, and adjuted the utility belt. Tan uniforn, work boots, short hair in spiky pigtails, and
round glasses. Cig gone, she stuck a tooth pick in her mouth, and pushed the door of the van shut. "Fellas. Didjyer lights jes go out?" She tipped her head back a little to peer at them through magnifying lenses.

Oh. My. God. Somebody please take pictures! Goon One stepped forward to the van-- the other guy staying near the door. Hat was tipped back from his face when the broad stepped out, and he whistled low. Good Jesus, legs up to eternity. "Yeah, they did, dame. I think ya just shorted me out too." Flashing her a brilliant smile, he stepped to the side and held
his hand out, showing the way. It's amazing; legs made ones not even check credentials. He chanson perdue: just wanted to walk behind her. The other guy was busy having a choking/laughing fit.

She beamed a smile around the toothpick. "Les hope I c'n help ya out wit dat." Chewed on the little piece of wood as she went past him to head for the door. He'll like walking behind her. She's always been proud of her ass, it was the squats. And the tan uniform pants were snug.

He was using his hat to fan his face. They didn't get many broads around here-- go figure. "Mainframe's in the basement, but if ya need help, I can give ya a guided tour down there." Genteel smile, playing the part of the Southern gentleman. The other guy was just chuckling to himself and returning to his position with the other guards. Catcalls galore, when she walked through the lobby.

Wait till the bomber jacket comes off. She was unzipping it as she went inside. The shirt was snug too, and unbuttoned enough to show cleavage. nother light bulb was emblazoned on one breast. "Ye jest show me da way, though f'it's as bad s'I think iddiz, it may take awhile ta fix."

A sudden outburst of "Man I wanna be a lightbulb," filtered through the room, followed by the eruption of manly laughter. These were the kinds of guys that turned chicks lesbian. Shooting a glance over his shoulder, we'll call him Jimmy, Jimmy placed a hand to the small of her back and ushered her towards the basement door. "Right through there, doll. If ya
need a hand, just call up."

Inside she was laughing, outside she was just all smiles and nods. Short spiky pigtails bobbing with the head movement. "Thanks fella." She didn't pay much mind to the hand at her back. Just went for the basement door.:: Will do!

He even held the door open for her-- such a gentleman. The hand was removed from her back so that he could lean to the side, following her procession on by him. Ouch, that was some kinda nice. "They grow 'em right 'round here," was all he had to say.

She pulled the jacket off as she went down the steps into the basement, head tipping back to look around theough the magnifying lenses, in case he was watching from the doorway. She took a small flashlight off her belt, flicked and shone it around at shoulder height. Only when she heard the door close, or when she was well out of visual range, would she remove the glasses.


( to be continued )