The Lioness and the Black Widow 15

Medea allowed me two full days to rest. At the end of that time, I didn’t feel anything near “recovered”, but I felt better. The swelling in my mouth had gone down enough for me to speak. Once I could I walk on my own again, I took to pacing the empty room in anxious anticipation of Medea’s return. She had acted as a caregiver during one of my darkest hours. Her kindness was a boost to my morale. However, I knew that I was only seeing a part of her. She didn’t attain the position of Second Chair in her house because of her kindness. I had yet to see how she handled herself in that position. But I did see how she handled herself in the presence of Lavinia and The Duchess and their reaction to her. While Medea gave me the impression that she was more rational than Lavinia, Damijana, Black Sally and The Duchess, I knew that her position demanded that she be equally as ruthless.

On the third day I showered and put on the fresh clothes given to me by Medea. She led me downstairs and through a door that led to a spacious 2-car garage. Anna and Suzanne stood silently in a dark corner of the empty garage. I could feel their predatory eyes on me, analyzing my every movement; their owners lying in wait. All three women were dressed in a similar fashion; dark colors, ankle length skirts, sweaters and pea coats. Medea spoke out loud, “Clarence, there is a meeting you will be attending with us this afternoon. The Matriarch will be there along with some of my rivals. You can expect to feel very uncomfortable at this meeting. Just keep quiet, don’t assume anything and do what I tell you to do.”

The room seemed to darken, though the lighting didn’t change. It was a dark cloud of dread settling over me. Just as I was starting to feel alive again, just as I was starting to hope again, I was on my way back into another lion’s den. I said, “I’m not ready to get involved in your house’s factional disputes.”

“Call it what is Clarence. We are a criminal organization. I am bringing you to this meeting for a reason, a reason which I do not feel compelled to reveal to you. ‘No’ is not an option here Clarence. You will do what I tell you to do, how I tell you to do it, or you will be killed. That is a certainty. So, never mind your fear and misgivings. You owe me for taking you back to Lavinia, you owe me for saving you from The Duchess and for taking care of you when you were like a baby, unable to walk or even feed yourself. I dumped out your filthy bed-pans. The way I see it, you owe me big, you owe me your life, and I happen to be a woman who collects what she’s owed.

“Don’t fuck up and let your mouth get you into trouble over there, I won’t be able to do anything to help you. Don’t ask questions, don’t offer your opinion, don’t get cute. The women you will meet today don’t get warm fuzzy feelings and ’cute’ things tend to arouse their urge to destroy. Try not to make too much eye-contact, they’ll slice your face open for it. I’m sure you can imagine what gets sliced off for staring too long at someone’s ass.”

The garage door opened and a black Chevy Blazer pulled into the garage. I recognized the face of Evangeline behind the wheel. Medea climbed into the passenger seat. I sat in the back between Anna and Suzanne. The drive was long, wrestling with my anxiety, obsessively wiping my sweaty palms on my pant legs. Anna and Suzanne sat rigid, silent and still. Medea turned the radio to a jazz station, sat back in her seat and quietly gazed out the window. The full gravity of my predicament hit me all at once. I had to fight the urge to vomit, acidic bile burning the back of my throat. It hit me as I sat admiring Medea, mesmerized by her beauty and the aura of peace that seemed to surround her. I suddenly realized that I didn’t really know her and my life was in her hands. I imagined a scene set perfect for a human sacrifice. I agonized over the futile notion of climbing over Anna or Suzanne, opening the door and throwing myself headfirst from the vehicle. All I could do was sit dumbfounded, like a cow on its way to the slaughterhouse.

We drove for at least two hours, after several turns from one unpaved country road to another, we pulled up a long driveway. There was a house on the property that appeared as if it hadn’t been occupied in years. Next the house stood an old rusty windmill. At least 30 cars were parked on the property; luxury sedans, sports cars, SUVs. The only people I saw were nine veiled figures huddled around the enormous Ms. Yung. As the Blazer slowed to a next to the group, I wondered where all the occupants of the parked vehicles went.

Anna pulled me from the vehicle by my shirt and threw me to the ground. The veiled women picked me up and carried me into the house. I only saw the ceiling as I was rushed through the neglected dwelling. It was cracked, peeling and moldy, large sections had fallen in. They set me down if front of an open door, beyond which a staircase led to the cellar. I felt the barrel of a gun pressed against my back. I descended the stairs.

The cellar was small and cluttered with old yellowed newspapers, odds, ends and all manner of unwanted items. A tall, thin dark-skinned woman stood in front of a large steel door. She wore long braids and green combat fatigues. The woman opened the door with a loud, “CLANK!” A long, cement tunnel stretched out in front of me, illuminated by red ceiling lamps placed at regular intervals down the length of the tunnel.

Medea and Anna came down the stairs. Medea instructed me to wait until everyone else had entered the tunnel and follow in the rear. The heavy steel door slammed shut behind me. I couldn’t help feeling that I was trapped in the belly of some cruel and hideous beast. After we’d walked about 30 feet, another door opened just as Medea approached. Suddenly the tunnel was filled with the deafening roar of several dozen voices echoing off the walls. I smelled marijuana smoke, strong coffee, incense and perfumes.

I followed Medea’s entourage into an underground bunker the size of a large banquet room. The bunker was bare. It was like a concrete box with 50-60 women standing tightly huddled in several small groups. A short dark-skinned woman in combat fatigues slammed the door behind me. Everyone went silent upon Medea’s arrival. The crowd parted, creating a clear line between Medea and a short, wrinkled elderly African woman. The old woman pointed at me and spoke in a tongue I had never heard before that day. Medea responded to the woman in the same strange language, then the two women appeared to get into a heated debate. A ghostly pale blonde girl in a long black monk’s robe appeared at the old woman’s side. The blonde stepped forward and addressed Medea, “You’ve disrespected the Matriarch by bringing this filth into our sanctuary.”

Medea replied, “Sylvia, you are a fanatic. That’s why never go anywhere in life. And you’ll spend every minute of your life bitter and resentful over that fact.”

Sylvia’s face reddened, “Maybe I am a fanatic. Or maybe you just went soft.” Gasps rippled through the otherwise silent crowd. Medea walked up to Sylvia and threw a handful of white powder in her face. Medea stepped back watching the woman who stood stunned for only a brief moment, before she fell to her knees screaming in agony. Her face began smoking, steaming and blistering; she covered her face with both hands, fell to her side and kicked her legs around. Medea snatched a heavy-set woman from the crowd. She grabbed two handfuls of the woman’s hair; pulled her face toward her own, as if she was going to give the woman a kiss, and bit her nose off. Then she pulled a dagger from under her pea coat and disembowled the woman. She fell to the floor cradling her intestines. Medea spit out the nose in disgust and wiped her mouth on her sleeve. The crowd backed away from her. Sylvia and the heavy set woman shrieked, sobbed and moaned.

The Matriarch appeared to be chastising Medea. Medea wiped her dagger off on her skirt and addressed the crowd, “I don’t know about you. But I’m not a slave to anyone, or anything; not to her,” she pointed her dagger at the Matriarch, “not to you and I’m definitely not a slave to a bunch of outdated traditions that aren’t even relevant in today’s world.”

A short, skinny middle-aged brunette with glasses stepped forward, “Our traditions have protected us. They are our heritage and ensure our legacy…”

“Is this what you want?” Medea interrupted as she looked at the faces in the crowd. “Conservatism? Complacency? You’re supposed to be a bunch of mean, militant bitches. But nobody wants to think outside the box. Nobody wants to take a chance anymore. Those dead old ladies you all admire, how do you think they managed to not just survive, but thrive? I can tell you that it wasn’t by not taking chances. Our legacy is the result of adaptability and innovation. Now you want to go along with this old woman’s philosophy that resists innovation and adaptation? We do ourselves a disservice by bowing to a Matriarch who bows to a council who we could overtake. All should bow to us and we should bow to no one.”

The Matriarch began shouting and motioning toward Medea. She grimaced and snarled at Medea, baring her yellow teeth. The crowd began to stir, arguments broke out followed by fights. A young Asian woman emerged from the crowd, raised a pistol at Medea and began screaming at her. Suddenly, my head was filled with a high-pitched siren sound. I felt my teeth vibrating together as I brought my hands to my ears, shut my eyes tight and fell to my knees.

The siren stopped and I heard Medea’s voice in my head, “Clarence, take this and kill the Matriarch.” I heard metal sliding across cement. I opened my eyes and saw the dagger. “Do it. DO IT NOW!” I looked around the bunker and saw that everyone had been brought to their knees by the sound. As the Amazons began to rise to their feet, the siren sounded again, louder. My head felt like it was being bashed repeatedly with a hammer. I saw drops of blood fall from nose to the grey concrete inches from my face. The siren stopped. Medea’s voice said, “Go Clarence! DO IT NOW!” I got up and ran to the Matriach who laid vulnerable on the concrete. I knelt down beside her and stabbed the old woman in the throat over and over, until dozens of angry hands tore me away from her. I saw the blood flow from the Matriarch’s neck like a fountain. Then I saw nothing but fists and boot heels as I was beaten to the ground by the crowd.

They tore my clothes from my body, four of them held me down in the spread-eagle position. For every previous wound that had been reopened, two fresh ones were made. A veiled figure stood over me with a machete. The figure lifted its veil and all time seemed to stop. I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t hear. I could no longer feel my heart pounding in my chest. I struggled to comprehend what I was seeing. When the veil was lifted, I saw the familiar black mask with red stripe. It was Lavinia standing over me with the machete. I heard her voice in my head, “I told you Clarence. You can’t keep a good woman down.”