Scientists have theorized that different colours, different patterns, can trigger emotional responses, or unbalance the human mind. The right patterns at the right speeds can, hypothetically, completely alter a human being to the core. Each colour supposedly corresponds to a set of emotional stimuli. Apparently Red is anger, hatred, violence, and vitality.
All Heather could see however, all she could feel, was the sweet young girl from Asland. Chloe. They met on the dance floor, struck up a conversation about mixing Loa, and Molly after Chloe had mistaken the haggard lawyer for a dealer. They trolled for a plug together for awhile, toyed with the men who showed interest, and when they finally got a hook up they went into the Women's Restrooms to pop it together.
Chloe was fun, she was young, early twenties, a dirty blonde still putting off college for the sake of partying. Naive. Almost innocent. She was everything Heather had never gotten to be, but now.
The first explosion rocked The Magician's Secret like a Nuclear device, drowning out the bone-shattering thrum of the bass-line. It was so brief, but so deafening. Just one quick, horrific, sickeningly wet CRACK, and then..
Chloe was all over her, soaking through the skimpy black prostitute's outfit that clung to Heather's skin, oozing down her thighs, her legs, coming to puddle in her stilettos, dripping from her drenched hair. She could feel it, like paint, drying and crusting in every pour of her skin. It had even filled her mouth, coating it with the taste, the texture.
Bitter copper, and iron, a trace of vomit, and the faintest hint of Chloe's perfume.
Heather's ears rang painfully as her senses slowly returned. Whatever the blast was had thrown her to piss, and gore soaked linoleum floor, she could feel that her left leg was broken, but for some reason it didn't hurt. Nothing did, not even the shards of glass that bit into her palms as she pushed herself up.
All feeling was gone.
For a long moment Heather stared into the remnants of the mirror in front of her, the crimson-painted woman in the cracked glass seemed like a stranger at first. She couldn't process anything, least of all time. It felt like an eternity, but it only took several minutes for her to realize it was a reflection, and once that set in, so did her nervous system. Feeling came back like a tidal wave.
Pain, terror, she emptied her stomach into the sink involuntarily, a thick, slimy chunk of human gristle going along with it. A piece of Chloe. Another wave of stomach churning illness hit, but another sickening crack drew her up short of retching.
She turned just in time to catch the source, a middle aged woman had been bolting for the door. It only took a second, mercifully. One blink the woman was there, the next nothing but a shower of crimson, bone, and viscera. The blast was so violent that the human refuse was propelled blindingly fast, another big splatter hitting Heather.
She heard bones hit the wall, the ground, the crackling sound they made. Now panic set in.
Moving as fast as she could with a shattered femur she lurched for the door, skating through the muck that used to be people. Just as her fingers touched the slick brass of the knob, just as hope dared to race through her heart for a splint second, she heard it.
A laugh. Simple, feminine, light. Something that could've been soothing, or enticing in a different scenario.
"Well, well, you're still standing?" It was melodic, bordering on sing-song, and heavily infused with magic. Heather's skin rippled with each syllable, as if a warm, misting breath of a lover cased every sound. "I really thought that the first one knocked you clean dead, but this is good. This way.." Heather turned to face the origin of the enchanting voice, much against her will.
A woman, younger than her, stood mere inches from her. She hadn't heard a sound, or felt the air shift, but there she was. Tall, pale, with exotically dyed hair, done up in a Fallen Angel style. She was dressed as something like a cross between a modern goth, and a raver, her porcelain-looking skin was etched with a myriad of glowing, pink tattoos.
The malice in the stranger's eyes betrayed her magically altered voice.
"..I can play a bit." She laughed again, shriller this time, but just as inviting. Heather could feel her face flush despite the horror, she could feel the butterflies in her stomach. It made her want to puke all over again, it was so against her will, so grating against the horrors surrounding her.
Repulsion set in at the violation, and the pink woman could apparently feel it, judging by her mocking laughter. "Come on now, honey." she took a step closer, Heather attempted to step back, but she hit the counter. She was trapped. "You're gunna die anyway, why not have some fun on the way out?"
The lawyer wanted to scream, run, kick, bargain, anything to get this pink-eyed psycho away from her, but it was hopeless. She couldn't move more than an inch, and already Pinky was closing in on her. Heather knew she'd been hexed, or enchanted, or something, but she was just a normal person, she had no clue of how to fight back against the arcane. Not like this. In a courtroom, sure? But in this hellhole?
A thousand thoughts flooded her mind, "Who is this psycho?" "Why aren't the police here already?" "Why is she doing this?" "Why me?"
None of it seemed to matter as Pinky stepped in, slithering one glowing, burning-hot arm around her waist, pulling Heather in tight against her attacker's pulsing frame. Her skin crawled in horror, she weakly attempted to resist, to thrash, to at least look away, but it was pointless. Pinky's free hand shot up, grabbing her face roughly, and forcing her to stare into her attacker's arcane eyes.
"Now, now, none of that honey. Just relax.." The venom in her voice was so repugnant. "I'll make you feel so good before I kill you. I promise. Just lean back," she pushed Heather a little, forcing her against the counter even harder. Instinctively the helpless victim reached back, bracing on the granite. "And enjoy.."
With that final mockery, the assailant leaned forward, her lips brushing against Heather's neck.
RED
Time slowed down again, but differently this time. The violent well of the human survival instinct had been tapped into, and Heather Lynch, Lawyer of ill repute, but grade-A results, switched into auto-pilot mode.
With a speed she didn't know she possessed, her fingers curled around a hefty shard of glass on the counter, and with a singular, fluid jerk of her arm it found itself buried in Pinky's shoulder.
The sorceress shrieked, a fountain of blood erupting as Heather withdrew her makeshift weapon. "YOU BITCH!" she shrieked, fists clenched, and lips in a snarling. "I'm going to burn you down into nothingness from the inside fucking ou-"
Heather struck again, a single, sloppy slice across the woman's throat. The mage stumbled back, clutching at her throat as a curtain of blood spilled out, her eyes bugged, and filled with hate. With anger. Rage. Somehow this woman was pissed at Heather for defending herself. That's when everything inside the lawyer snapped.
"NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO!", Heather launched herself forward, shrieking her protest as shrilly as possible, punctuating each with another slash, or one more stab. Again, and again she lashed out at her attacker. The glass shard biting bone-deep into her palm, but she didn't care, she was in a wild frenzy. It felt like seconds this time, but this brutality continued for ten solid minutes.
Early in the pink-wizardress had collapsed to the ground, dead, but Heather kept slashing, kept stabbing, kept screaming as hot, bitter tears burned down her cheeks, washing off little rivulets of Chloe.
Everything was a blur. She didn't know when she stopped hacking up the corpse, she didn't know exactly when Pinky had died. She had no idea how she got up, and out of the bathroom. How she navigated the blood soaked halls of The Magician's Secret was a miracle, but she did.
She made it out, she survived, somehow.
The cold night air hit her like a truck, the pool's worth of blood she was soaked in steamed visible. She didn't even notice the flashing red, and blues, the sirens, any of it. She was oblivious until someone shouted at her.
"FREEZE!" An officer, weapon drawn, stared at her in abject horror. She turned to him, slowly, expression blank. "HANDS UP!" She stumbled forward. "I SAID HANDS UP, IF YOU TAKE ONE MORE STEP..!" Somehow she had the wherewithal to comply, but it was a mistake. She was still clutching the hunk of glass. "PUT THE WEAPON DOWN, NOW! IF YOU DO NOT COMPLY, I WILL FIRE!"
Another stumble forward, her lips mouthing the words "Help me.", but the rookie officer didn't notice, couldn't. As soon as she had moved again, he took aim.
"LAST WARNING, STEP BACK, AND DROP THE KNIFE!"
Her arms went limp, and she stumbled forward one last time, still trying, in her mind, to crawl to help.
bang
