Alone Under Heaven (Part 2)

    "You are no king."     With this ability of his, he had free reign of the world. He could go whatever he wanted. And after the initial shock and depression faded, he did. He traveled the world. He saw things and places and parts of places that no one had ever seen. For a while he kept a notebook to remember the places he'd visited, but after enough visits the locations were now burned into his mind. Each one, however beautiful and stunning and colorful, had grown grey and old and boring.     He appeared at the edge of a waterfall surrounded by lush plants. The air was warm and humid but there was a light refreshing breeze. The soft grass felt good beneath his feet and he flexed his toes in the soil. Stretching and inhaling a deep breath of the freshest air he'd found anywhere, he began to undress. He tossed the clothes to the edge of the river and looked up to the sky. A few clouds pockmarked the blue, sailing through the atmosphere as the sun shown down across the land.

    And yet he was unafraid. As his body was thrown over the edge of the cascading waterfall he kept silent and still, when seconds later, he plunged into the pool below. He sank and sank. Slowly, dropping through the clear water. When his foot touched the floor of the basin he opened his eyes and kicked off the bottom. His broke the surface, breathing deep once more, wading in the water. There was a sudden unexplainable twinge in his head, a wave of pain directly behind his right eye. Something was off...

    Where had he felt this before?

    He swam to the edge of the pool, climbing out of the water. He brought his palm up to his temple, trying to will the pain away. Another wave pulsed through him and he looked out into the dense forest ahead of him. Slightly jarred by the intense discomfort, he stumbled slightly then righted himself. The ache waned for the moment, and he took a step backward, moving back to the top of the fall to gather his clothes. He dressed again, in his old jeans and button up shirt, and returned to the forest's edge. The sharp throb in his head continued to pulse here and there, coming and going; ebbing. He tried to shake it off and made his way into the woods. Each step he took felt like a mistake. He shouldn't be here. He should just leave. It wouldn't be hard, just a step and he'd be gone; away, somewhere, anywhere but here. But he couldn't. Something was drawing him in, calling to him. He must keep going, deeper. Eventually he couldn't see the pool behind him and everything looked the same. In the distance, in any direction, all was the same similar painting of rich overgrowth. He was lost.

    The pain ebbed in again, this time harder. He grasped his head in both hands and fell to his knees. It felt like fingers in his brain. Like an unending scream in his ears. He opened his eyes, now tearing up from the pain. All around him the colors changed. The tree's wood grew darker. The beautiful green leaves and grass melted away to red.

    Like blood.

    Like her.

    The world seemed to shake.

    All went black.

~/|\~

     "Good evening, master Phoenix." The man was well dressed and well into his sixties. He wore a grimace on his face, caused by his trying to hide his limp. The old man moved around the room, gathering clothes and putting them away. It was massive - the master bedroom - and it took the butler quite some time to shuffle across the room, carrying suit jackets and fine silk shirts to various closets.

     "Cornelius, time check."

     "You've got twelve minutes, sir," the old man said, looking at his watch as he hung the last jacket up.

     "Is Jack waiting outside?"

     "I do believe so, sir."

     "You know I don't rely on beliefs. I need to know."

     "Yes sir." He nodded and headed out the door.

     The man stood, fixing his cuff links and straightening his suit jacket. He pivoted on his heels and faced the tall mirror built into his wall. Turning his head to either side, admiring his looks, he smiled that devilish smile of his. The one that said, in one look, "Why, yes, I am Deslin Phoenix, the King of Buxton." He reached down to the side table and grabbed his Ulysse Nardin Marine Chronometer, his favorite watch. Fitting it over his wrist, he admired that as well. The arms read seven-fifty-one.

     "Master Phoenix, Jack is indeed awaiting your presence outside," came Cornelius' voice from the bottom of the staircase outside. Deslin headed out his bedroom door and hurried down the elegant staircase. Almost to the large doors, he called out behind him, "I'll be back in a few hours, Cornelius. You know how these things drag on."

     "Of course, Master Phoenix," the gentle old man replied, but Deslin was already out the door.

     "Buxton Château." Deslin said, climbing in the back seat of the dark limousine.

     "Right away, sir." The stretched car circled the roundabout and headed down the long driveway. Passing through the wrought iron gates Deslin stared out the tinted window. The night was growing dark, the breezy September air pressing its chilled face against the window. As they drove down the streets Deslin watched the billboards, streetlights, and tall buildings slide by. This was his city. He'd worked hard to get here and he liked it; he liked being 'king'. Losing that title, that style of life was not an option. He glanced at his watch again.

     "Step on it, Jack."

     "You got it sir."

     They pulled up to the Buxton Château with mere seconds to spare. Deslin quickly exited the vehicle and bounded up the lavish stone steps, his wristwatch ticking 8pm as he entered the building.

     "We were beginning to think you didn't care."

     "If there's one thing I care about," Deslin responded, walking past the security guards and entrance staff, "it's my city." It was close enough to the truth.

     The over-sized French doors burst open as he entered the Grand Chamber, where a large crowd of people awaited his arrival.

     "You're late, Phoenix," grumbled an older man, dressed in a luxurious suit.

     "When does the Council meet?" Deslin asked.

     Displeased and huffing, the older gentleman answered, "Eight o'clock."

     "And what time is it right now?" Flashing a look at his watch once more, Deslin ascended the small set of steps to his 'throne'.

     "Eight o'clock..." The old man sighed, giving looks to the others with him.

     Deslin seated himself, quite pleased with himself, and smiled to himself. "You were all extremely early."

    Deslin's mind floated around the room, aimlessly, and his eyes followed. Eventually they found their way back to his wristwatch. 10:04.

     "But that doesn't excuse the recent actions of Deslin Phoenix, concerning the - ahem - accumulation of excess company profits."

     "Excuse me, Chancellor," Deslin butted in. He hadn't really been listening too intently until just now. He took his time dropping his boot to the waxed floor, and slowly raised the other to rest upon his opposite knee. This event garnered the attention of everyone in the room, and he liked it that way. It was these insignificant little time consuming actions that he reveled in whenever he got the opportunity. It was his way of reprisal; a payback of sorts. Wasting their time for wasting his. "It was you that appointed me Head of Company Treasury Affairs, was it not?"

     "Well, yes-"

     "And why was I appointed to such a position? Jones," Deslin turned to face a younger man, seated off to the side; the Official Record Keeper, "wasn't I 'the best one for the job'?"

     "Listen here!--" The Chancellor tried to object.

     "Those were your words, Chancellor." Jones agreed.

     "Miss Devereaux," Deslin continued, now addressing the Bookkeeper, "how is the company doing currently."

     "Very well." She answered with a smile, putting much emphasis on very.

     "Very well, she says, Finst." Repeated Deslin, looking at the Chancellor. Finst frowned; everyone's eyes were now on him. Deslin spoke up again, regaining the room's attention.

     "I run this entire city. If the company is doing so well, what does it matter what I do with the excess profits?"

     "Buxton King..." came a cold voice from the center of the room.

     There were gasps and hushed murmurs as everyone turned their gazes in the direction of the voice. Standing in the middle of the Chamber was a tall woman in a red dress. The way she spat the word "king" twisted Deslin's stomach into a knot. He planted both feet solidly on the ground. Where had she come from? How did she get in?

     She walked slowly toward him, appearing to be lost in him: her eyes were locked on his, like a demon driving away the light. She seemed unreal, dreamlike even. Her blood-red dress flowed down around her, but then floated off in shreds, shriveling away into nothing in the air. Deslin's heart raced. Who was this woman? What did she want? In her right hand she held what looked to be a blade of some sorts. How did she get in here with a weapon?

     In her other hand she held something else... Dripping...

     No one breathed. No one spoke. Her bare feet hitting the polished floor was the only sounds, until-

     "Deslin Remult Phoenix." She said his name like a curse word. Fear was welling up inside him, bubbling over. He gripped his chair.

     "Golden Serpent. Usurper." She tossed the dripping object onto the ground in front of him. It bounced once and rolled, leaving a trail of red across the glossy floor. It was the head of Jack, his driver. But she never stopped walking towards him. Pulling her arm back, she thrust her blade into his chest, right below the sternum.

     His breath caught in his chest. The woman brought her face up to his cheek and spoke so that only he could hear her.

     "You are no king." She ripped the weapon out of him, blood immediately dousing his clothes and sputtering out of his mouth. Now the room broke into screams and shouts; a clatter of noise. But the woman just stood there, staring at Deslin's body as he slowly faded out.