Collateral

Chapter Eight - Myra

Myra carved her initials into the window frame. M. F. I. 

She turned the knife towards the approaching figure.

"What do you want, Grandmother?" She demanded. There was silence for a half-second as Myra's grandmother examined the engraving. Her frail, wrinkled hands traced the outline of the letters.

"Look at yourself, Myra," she finally murmured. "You were so beautiful. You look ill now, pale and sleep-deprived." 

"This is how I look, Grandmother, deal with it," she muttered. 

"Let me tell the doctors," her grandmother said softly. "They can help you." 

"I don't need help!" 

"Yes, you do." The normally gentle voice took on an edge. "I can see the dried blood underneath your fingernails." Myra gave her hands a quick glance and laughed. 

"Oh. I suppose I forgot to wash all of it off."

"And your blade is red." 

"I like it that way," Myra defended. 

"They can help you. They'll give you some medicine and you'll feel better." 

Myra snorted. "They'll lock me up, Grandmother, is that what you want?" 

"The doctors will do what's best for you, darling." Myra glared. 

"Stop doing that. No, don't act like you don't know what I'm talking about. Stop pretending I'm still a child. I've grown up, old woman, and soon I'll be the boss of the world." 

"I'm trying to forgive you, Myra. I'm trying to forget what you did to my daughter." 

"She deserved it." 

"And my son-in-law." 

"He did, too."

"Myra--"

"You'll listen to what I say unless you want to end up like them," Myra snapped.

"You need help. I don't know if I can stand by while you continue this fantasy of yours." 

"It's not a fantasy, Granny. There's a group--three groups, actually--of supersoldiers. And I was supposed to be one of them. The next best thing," Myra said, "is controlling them."

"I don't agree. You have to let this go, otherwise, you'll never be able to." 

Anger glinted in Myra's dark eyes. "Pets," she said, motioning for three men to come forward. They did. "It appears that my grandmother is disagreeing with me. See if you can make her more cooperative, please, and I'll be back soon. Don't stop until I specifically tell you to." 

Fear filled the elder woman's eyes. "Myra. Myra, please."

"You were worth more to me than anyone else in the world combined, Granny. I loved you so much." The use of past tense scared Myra's grandmother even more. "I never thought that you would betray me too."

"Myra." Her voice was weak and resigned now, one last feeble attempt she knew would not succeed. "Please." 

Myra walked away without another glance back.

Upon the wire of a telephone pole, nine crows perched. Myra smiled to herself, remembering the rhyme. 

One for sorrow, 

Two for mirth,

Three for a wedding,

Four for a birth.

Five for silver,

Six for gold,

Seven for a secret never to be told.

Eight for a wish,

Nine for a kiss,

Ten for a bird you should never miss.

Eleven for health,

Twelve for wealth,

Thirteen, beware, the Devil himself.

When she looked away and continued on her stroll, four more flocked onto the wire. But Myra never noticed because at that exact moment, a taxi drove by with two strangely familiar faces inside. 

It took her a moment to recognize Magnus and Daren, but when she did, rage flashed within her and started after the taxi, running. 

The cab stopped when the driver noticed her chasing. 

"You okay, miss?" The driver asked in a kind, however slightly exasperated, voice. 

Myra thought fast. "I'm lost, sir. I've never been to this part of New York before," she said with a sweet, embarrassed smile. 

The driver glanced back at Magnus and Daren, "Would it be alright if this young lady joined us?" 

Daren shook his head although a slight gleam of suspicion was in his eyes. 

"I know you from somewhere," Magnus finally said into the uncomfortable silence over the sound of the car driving. 

"That's strange," Myra said innocently. "I don't go out much. My name's Lily, what's yours?" 

"Magnus. This is Daren." 

"Nice to meet you." 

"Likewise." 

Then, again, silence until they arrived at a skyscraper-esque building. Magnus and Daren got off and walked inside. 

"Where to, miss?" Asked the driver. "And, by the way, there'll be a fee." 

"No, of course," Myra said, slowly snaking her hand from the backseat around the driver's neck. She squeezed, effectively cutting off his cry for help. "But I think I can make it on my own now." 

She pulled him into the backseat after she was sure he was dead. A strange way of killing someone, she thought, and a first for her. 

Killing someone...

Oh, no. Her grandmother. She was still at home. 

Myra stepped on the gas pedal, praying that there was no traffic, but even so she knew it was helpless. It was rush hour in NYC. 

Several people tried to flag the taxi down, and Myra was this close to just going full speed into the traffic jam and hoping she made it out intact.

It seemed like forever but she finally made it back to the modest house, painted a pale yellow that was faded and stained. It was on the more rural edges of the city. 

"Stop!" Myra yelled, practically breaking the door. Her men stood at attention. The small, bleeding body of her grandmother lay unmoving on the ground. "Grandmother? Grandmother, can you hear me?" She knelt on her knees and pulled the elderly woman's body to hers. "Grandmother?" Her pulse was slowing down, slowing down. 

Myra cried, burying her face in her hands as she felt the last breath seep out of her grandmother's body. Then she stood and grabbed her knife. 

"You. Come here." She gestured to one of the men who stepped forward hesitantly. "It's okay. You're all going to die anyway." 

Before anyone else could react, Myra grabbed the g*n from the man's holster and shot both of the others cleanly in the forehead. 

"But you, you've been chosen. I want to let out some steam and nothing calms me down more than the screams of a tortured, dying soul."