Girl, Come Show Me Your True Colors

C6: Girl, Come Show Me Your True Colors

How much, you reckon?" The deep resonating voice said, echoing into the cold night's breeze.

"Well I'm glad you asked Sir, let me use this opportunity to tell you a little about this magnificent edifice standing in front of you this cold and torturing night", the timid-sounding voice said, about to 'present' a speech he probably prepared the entire day for. "The Vastagne Mansion was actually once owned by Exasthen's own Moses Myer—"

"I didn't ask for a lecture, or a history lesson on your oh so great city. You're a seller and I'm a buyer. Now unless the next words coming out of that untiring little mouth of yours is the price of the house, I suggest you utter them with professional courtesy and life-ending caution" the afro-haired man said a little grim.

After letting out a heavy sigh, the cold weather doing no justice to its visibility, he said "Sixty. Sixty million." He said with a taint of disgust in his voice, knowing there was no way this haughty and temperamental young man could conjure up such an amount. Almost unheard of for decades in Exasthen. "I'm sorry sir but as you know it's a mansion, one of the best around so I can't really—"

"Martin", he uncaringly interrupted, calling his lean-looking 'henchman' who scurried closer at the mention of his name.

"Yes sir."

"Transfer Sixty-one million to Chris' account."

"Okay sir." He nervously replied, unlocking his iPad and uneasily fingering its surface.

"Wait what?"

"Done" Martin replied, raising the screen and showing proof of the successful transfer.

"Well there you have it. Nice doing business with—"

"But sir how am I sure that it's gone through" the nervy steward asked, still in shock that this still, unmoved man just treated a fortune like it was a piece of paper (though technically money is a piece of paper)

"First off…" the African-American said, walking closer to the steward, his long coat dangling in the cool wind behind him. "...never, ever interrupt me. Secondly, it's none of your business how I make money, and I choose to spend it. Your business with me, is done. And don't worry, your boss will see it." He snatched the briefcase in the shaky figure's hand, opened it, was satisfied with the look of the documents in it, sealed it back, then continued. "Tell Chris he better not screw with me. I'll crosscheck these documents later. For now,", he eyeballed the figure in front of him even harder, "you're on my property. Leave" he echoed in a deep, almost murky tone, sending the 'negotiator' off his lawn, into that cab that had been waiting for him and unto the streetlight-filled but somehow dark road.

After a couple seconds of silence, Martin finally spoke up. "Sir, I thought I heard him say Sixty million? Why'd you pay Sixty-one?"

"That's a smart observation" he said, turning to face his assistant-turned-bodyguard. Putting his right hand on Martin's shoulder, he explained almost like a father would explain to his son. "When you pay an organization for its services, that one payment can fund the services of hundreds, sometimes even thousands, right?"

"Right" Martin sharply answered

"Well…" he looked deeper into Martin's eyes, his countenance changing from a grim one, to an almost unholy, demonic one. "...when paying for Armageddon, you not only pay for accommodation in hell, but also a couple services from its grizzly demons", he smiled, sending an idea that was about to produce a ripple effect in weeks to come

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The inhales and exhales gradually stilled her shaking hands, concealing the anxiety coursing through her veins. Her tender hands plastered across her desk, she forced herself to be steady, to be calm. Forced her heart to stop beating so fast. Why was she scared anyway? She had nothing to do with his death, right? She closed her eyes for a second, taking delight in blanking up her mind. Seeing nothing but darkness, and in what was probably a second but felt like eternity, glad to temporarily lose herself to the comforting fingers of murkiness.

"C'mon Shelby. You can do this. You can do this. C'mon" she kept repeating to herself, still trying to still herself before facing the mountain of questions that definitely awaited her. And just then…

"Breathe in. Breathe out", the soft words from even softer lips, gently whispered, nibbling away at her ear. His hands slowly covered her hers', the warmth of their skin together joining them in one perfect rhythm. The rocking of their bodies together, skin on skin, seemed to temporarily still her, but way better than any breathing exercise preceding that could possibly offer. "Babe" Malcolm gently whispered, kissing her neck. "You are a strong, smart, courageous woman. You've been through a lot. But for a second, take a look at the cards you were dealt. Remember when we're coming from. Where you're coming from. And look upon the life you have single-handedly created. Nothing. No one is gonna stop you from being you." He gently rose her up, making her stand straight up now, her body weight perfectly shifting and supported partially by him. Then he took his time, and cautiously twirled her round, almost in slow motion, the feeling of an Indian romance movies cameo being this moment's only possible comparison. And then she opened her eyes, and locked her gaze on this mountain of a man she'd somehow managed to snatch all to herself. 'The luckiest girl in the world' she thought to herself. Just then, as her eyes didn't move an inch from Malcolm's, he said, "You weren't given this… So no one can take it away. You…" he dramatically paused, drawing her aura and attention closer to his every word, "... worked for, and deserved this", he ended. "And I'll be damned if one man's death, a group of reporters, the entire god-damned city of Exasthen would take what they never gave. So you go out there, and you show those goddamn reporters and those peeping toms, that Shelby Claire doesn't just rise to the occasion. She rises above it." His words hit like a dagger into her slowly beating heart. But not the type of dagger that would end it victim, no way. The type of dagger that'd clear the mind, purge the soul and relieve the body of bad blood, as it cheesy as it sounds, that was probably the case. Forsaking the light in one swoop and authenticating a new, comfortable destiny with a new-found love for darkness.

She sent a light smile in Malcom's direction, and then tiptoed to his wrinkled lips from a poor night's sleep, and softly kissed him. "Thank you", she whispered, Malcolm smiling back in affirmation.

She steadily made her way out of the emptying building, and pushed open the doors. The flashes of inconsiderable cameras, the indistinct banter from relentless reporters, the audible whispers from onlookers almost drowning her in one swoop. But she was not going down without a fight…

Remember what I said about getting lost in the moment? Taking people's current emotions for, of and about you for their feelings? Yeah. Now it was time to see some true colors.