The Red Queen

Several days later and a pretty blonde woman is standing at a crossing, fighting a losing battle with the wind. She is dressed in a figure-hugging flowery pink dress that comes down to just below her knees and a beige overcoat. A pair of red heeled shoes adorn her bare feet and a large brown bag is looped off one shoulder. Each time she manages to move the mass of frizzy curls from her face, the wind picks up and her hair engulfs her entire head again, obscuring her vision. In desperation, she grabs her unruly mess and holds it to the side of her head as she looks both ways before half-sprinting across the busy road, much to the annoyance of several road users who furiously beep their horns and shout obscenities that the wind carries before they can be fully heard. She replies to them in her usual lady-like fashion; “flipping them the bird”.

She turns right at an abandoned waste ground with a single red rose growing in the centre which seems to attract teenagers from far and wide, and heads towards more open ground leading to the villas on Beach Drive. The wind seems determined to continue its fight with her hair, but she is keeping a tight hold on it. She looks left and right at the string of detached villas overlooking the sea, as if she has forgotten which one she is heading for. Each looks like the designer let a class of five-year-olds loose with a massive Lego set.

Except one.

Number nineteen, to be precise.

Her eyes settle on the white concrete, single storey villa to her left. It resembled some sort of coastal defence bunker left over from a war that someone thought to convert into a home.

She would never realise how close to the truth she was.

Crossing the car park area, and past a red pick-up truck and a blue Prius, she came to the front door. It was different than she remembered; it looked modern and new. Her finger hovered over the brass doorbell for what felt like an eternity. The name above the doorbell said “Carver”. She thought she was either at the wrong house, or the person she was looking for had moved. But what are the odds that two sets of people drove the exact same cars and bought the exact same house from each other?

With a quick glance around her, she rang the bell.

The door was flung open a few seconds later to reveal Maria stood in the doorway with a hankie wrapped around her head and wearing blue overalls splattered with paint.

‘Lauren...!’ she exclaimed and embraced the blonde, '...how are you? Come in, come in - excuse the mess, we’re... redecorating...’. Lauren stepped into the villa and took a look around. There was a patch of new plaster upon the far wall and the lovely glass table had gone. Almost everything else was covered in cloth to protect it from paint. Bo was halfway up a set of steps dressed in blue dungarees and little else save a beige sports bra and a red bandana holding her hair down. She smiled when she saw Lauren.

‘Oh, thank God... a visitor...!’ declared Bo, ‘...I could use a coffee break!’

The redecorating was put on hold as the three women sat down with their coffees with one of the bamboo chairs having its sheet removed for Lauren to sit down. Maria and Bo sat on the covered sofa.

‘I thought I had the wrong house for a moment there...’ started Lauren, ‘...why did you change that lovely front door?’

‘We had a break-in...’ explained Maria, ‘...the old door was totally trashed and that one is temporary until we get a new one...’.

Well, she was half right, thought Bo. Talos did kind of destroy the other one - with his bare hands!

She shuddered involuntarily at the memory.

‘Anyway...’ Maria’s voice derailed Bo’s train of thought, ‘...what are you working on? Please don’t say the serial-killer, because I cannot give any statements just yet - not even to a close friend’. Bo suddenly snapped her head around to Maria.

‘Serial-killer...?’ she echoed in surprise, '...and you were going to tell me...when?’

‘Shit...!’ said Maria with genuine shock, ‘...I forgot to mention it, what with the break-in and everything. Sorry sweetie’.

‘Ok, ok...’ started Bo. She hated it when Maria called her “sweetie”, ‘...but what serial-killer?’

‘Another body was discovered yesterday by the abandoned factory on Sutton Street. That’s five bodies now in as many weeks...’ started Lauren, ‘...and all with their heads cut off’.

Bo suddenly felt nauseous.

The Game had caught up with her, it seems.

‘How did you know that...?’ asked Maria, ‘...no-one is supposed to know that just yet’.

‘I have my sources...’ answered Lauren.

‘Was anything found with them, or near them...?’ asked Bo cryptically. God, she hoped it wasn’t Talos. It would, however, explain his sudden appearance after all these years.

‘Yeah, as a matter of fact there was...’ started Maria. Bo silently breathed a sigh of relief, ‘...an antique sword was found near each body with the deceased’s prints on - hey! Maybe you could help identify them. You’re good with historical weapons!’ Bo smiled at her lover with fake enthusiasm.

‘I could try...’ she lied. What if she recognised one of the weapons? What if it belonged to an old enemy? Or worse, an old friend? She hated the idea of having to lie about what she was.

Even more so than being called a “sweetie”.

‘Great idea...!’ exclaims Lauren, diving into her large bag, ‘...I think I have pictures of them in here somewhere...’

‘How the hell...?’ started Maria but stopped herself going any further.

Lauren was an awesome investigative journalist and had sources everywhere. If anyone was going to have a copy of anything top secret, it would be Lauren. Sure enough, she fished a wad of photos from the bag and passed them absently to Bo. Reluctantly, Bo took them and started to look through the pictures. Most were of the crime scenes - just patches of waste ground or abandoned buildings with police tape strewn about. Then she stopped at the first picture of the swords.

‘Wow...’ she breathed, ‘...this was left behind?’

Maria leaned over and gave a whistle.

‘Is that for real...?’ she asked, ‘...looks like the sword that Russell Crow used in “Gladiator” ...’

’That was a replica Gladius...’ corrected Bo, '...this, however, is a first century Roman Spatha. Used by heavy infantry troops before they developed the lighter, safer Gladius...’

‘A safer sword...?’ echoed Maria in disbelief.

‘For the user, obviously...’ mused Bo, ‘...the Gladius had a rounded tip to stop you stabbing your horse, or yourself, when sheathing it’.

‘Worth a bit, then...?’

‘Certainly, enough not to be left behind...’

‘And what are the others...?’

It was clear Lauren was fishing, but Bo didn’t mind. It gave her a chance to show-off a little. She quickly sifted through the photos to find the swords.

‘Ok...’ she started, '...here we have a 19th century Algerian Flyssa...’ she said, tossing the picture onto Maria’s knee, '...an 18th century Egyptian Mameluke, an 18th century Moroccan Nimcha, and... oh, that’s it?’.

‘They never found sword number five...’ confirmed Lauren, as Bo flicked through the other photos, looking for a familiar face or two. Bo sighed with relief - she didn’t recognise any of the five people in the other photos. The last man’s eyes looked familiar though. She couldn’t place him, but he definitely looked familiar. She wondered if Talos knew him. He was renowned for taking the sword from opponents as a trophy; he must have over five-hundred swords by now.

‘Wow...!’ declared Maria in genuine amazement, ‘...I knew you were good, but Jesus H. Christ! That was amazing! How much would they be worth, even if they were replicas...?’ she asked, as Lauren gathered the photos back.

‘They probably are...’ lied Bo, knowing full well that they’d be the real deal, ‘...but they are still worth a pretty penny’. As Bo handed the last of the pictures over, a couple tumbled from the pile and onto the floor. These were slightly smaller than the others and looked older. Bo picked them up and looked closer. They were the pictures of a Nazi camp and the officers in charge. Bo recognised Auschwitz almost immediately from the description she had from friends who survived or escaped that terrible place. She recognised one of the Nazi doctors in the photos as well.

‘That looks like the doctor you testified against a few years back...’ said Maria, leaning over to look at the photo in Bo’s hand, ‘...2015 I think it was. Can’t remember the guy’s name though...’

‘Doctor Rudolph Geller...’ added Lauren, ‘...he was acquitted, but struck-off and forbidden to practice medicine. He said that I had “ruined his life”. I came across those in the charity shop and recognised him instantly. But that was taken in 1943. Either he is the spitting double of his grandfather with the same name, or it’s the same man. Which is impossible, as that would make him over a hundred years old!’.

Bo knew the latter was the answer, but how to tell them that? Immortals must remain a secret from the mortal world; “Lest ye’d be burned as a witch!” she heard Talos’s voice remind her. She smiled at the memory.

‘Yeah... totally impossible’ she lied.

She knew Geller was older than that.

He had become Immortal in 1543 when he was trampled to death by Bo’s horse, as he tried to stop her fleeing the city with a maiden she had rescued from an obnoxious nobleman.

Bo loved that horse.

Couldn’t remember its name though.

Maybe it didn’t have one.

A horse with no name.

Funny.

‘He denies all knowledge of it, of course...’ Lauren’s voice snapped Bo from her memories, ‘...but I’ll be damned if he really is from New Jersey! So far, I’ve traced his family back to Baden-​Württemberg, Germany, where there was another doctor named Rudolph Geller! How spooky is that...?’

Not as spooky as finding out that she is the Boudicca, who led the Britons in revolt with the Romans, thought Bo, now that would be spooky.

‘What do you mean, "he denies all knowledge of it?" Have you confronted him?’ asked Maria.

‘Of course, I have...’ replied Lauren, '...I’m a journalist! I merely pointed out that there’s no record of anyone called Rudolph Geller being born in New Jersey. There was a doctor called Rudy Geiller who practised there briefly, but he died in an explosion. His body was never found. It was assumed he was disintegrated by the blast...’.

I bet it was, thought Bo, sourly.

‘I’d recommend leaving the guy alone...’ said Bo, ‘...it sounds like he’s got enough problems without being accused of being a Nazi war criminal!’

‘But, if it’s true...’ protested Lauren, ‘...it means he has the secret to eternal youth! He hasn’t aged from that photo! How is that possible?’

‘That’s hardly concrete proof of everlasting youth...’ said Maria, ‘...take Bo, here. She still looks 21!’

‘That’s just the result of clean living, a healthy diet, regular exercise and good genes...’ lied Bo.

Oh, and being immortal helps, of course, she thought.

’Wow, Bo, I mean, damned...!’ stammered Lauren, ‘...if that’s just good genes, I wish I could bottle them up - I’d make a fortune’.

The two women laughed heartily, whilst Bo simply smiled.

‘So, what do you want from me...?’ asked Maria.

‘Oh. I dunno...’ started Lauren, ‘...lean on him perhaps? Get him to divulge a secret or two?’

‘You know I can’t do that...!’ started Maria with a smile.

‘Well...’ started Lauren, fishing into her enormous bag again, ‘...I shall leave you his address, I’m sure he’ll violate a parking restriction or something sooner or later’ she finished with a grin, handing a scrap of paper to the two women. Maria looked at the paper as if it carried the plague, but it was Bo who eventually took it.

‘And now I must be going...’ announced Lauren, suddenly standing, ‘...deadlines to meet and all that’.

‘Well it was great to see you again...’ said Maria, standing to embrace her old friend. Bo also stood and half-hugged Lauren. She was Maria’s friend, after all.

‘You too, Maria...’ said Lauren, ‘...and you, Bo...’ she made it sound like an after-thought, ‘...I’ll see myself out...’ and she was gone before either of the two women could usher another word.

‘Well...’ started Bo, ‘...she was a character!’

‘She certainly is...’ agreed Maria, ‘...now, let’s get back to it - this place won’t decorate itself!’.

*

The wind hadn’t let up as Lauren hoped it would as she left the house. As she made her way back up to the street, the wind pounced, whipping her unruly mane of curls straight in her face, obscuring her vision and causing her to look away in a vain attempt to fight back. She didn’t see the man in the green mini-van parked by the waste ground suddenly leap out as she passed. A hand clamped over her mouth as a needle was suddenly thrust into her jugular vein and the whole world went black as the lethal poison took effect.