Tails and Tales: Cinderella

El Soleis
March 2010

Once upon a time, there lived two rich kids in a gi-normous mansion by the beach. As far as I was
concerned, both were still living there and still as loaded as seven oil wells in the sands of Saudi Arabia,
which their parents owned. 

Their father, the illustrious Miguel Provenzano and his beautiful wife called the mansion Illumina. It sat
on a three-acre estate, surrounded by soft rolling hills and a private beach on the west side. Illumina was
done in traditional Spanish style, of red terracotta roof tiles and warm yellow walls so that it shone
under the hot El Soleian sun. At night, dozens of lights flickered merrily from its many windows and from
the lanterns strung on trees around the property. 

People in the city would gaze at the great Provenzano house, up there on the hill like a god’s temple and
wonder what it was like to live there. They imagined flutes filled with champagne, strawberries dipped
in dark chocolate, comfortable chaises and soft laughter. They imagined the sound of ocean waves
lulling the household to sleep, of windows opening to cool breezes, of courtyards drenched in moonlight
and fireflies flitting to and fro mahogany trees.

It must be nice, living there, the people of the island of El Soleis would imagine longingly. 

Yes, it was nice living there, if your definition of nice leaned more to kids knocking down glass vases and
spray-painting mauve wallpapers. Nice in the Provenzano’s was of maids and nannies quitting after two
minutes of stepping into the threshold. Of employees watching their backs for two devils with tasers. Of
guests getting the receiving end of a nasty practical joke. 

But most of all, nice in the Provenzano’s was of Demi Lovato blaring from speakers to drown out the
kids’ frustrations of waking to a cold house and finding their parents already on the plane to Milan on
business.

Just yesterday, one of the newer maids ran screaming from the house to the oval swimming pool, her
hair on fire. You’d run like that too, if you were suddenly cast as the Flaming Torch sans the cool
jumpsuit and the immunity to fire. The harried old housekeeper, Tiya Rosing rushed out of the house
after, watching as the maid jumped into the pool with a splash. 

With her nostrils filled with the smell of burning hair, Tiya Rosing turned to see the Provenzano kids
climbing down the back stairs; the boy clutching his belly with laughter and the small girl smiling too,
though with a hint of guilt in her eyes.
The housekeeper swiftly dialed the family doctor’s number, which was on speed dial ever since these
two kids were born, more so now that they growing up to be Devil Incarnates. The two rushed past her
and went outside to watch the maid coming out of the pool. Tiya Rosing was still talking to Dr. Conti
when the maid went back inside the house in tears. The poor girl was followed by the two kids who still
jeered her. With a shake of her graying head, Tiya Rosing then placed a call to Mr. Provenzano’s private
number. She told him about the latest incident. 

A door slammed shut in the maid’s quarters and the laughter moved off to the family wing in the third
floor. The kids had had their fun and were climbing up to their rooms.

Needless to say, the maid was given the best medical attention, a whole year’s severance pay, a signed
agreement not to press charges and a wig of her own choice. 

But the next night, there came a visitor. 

And what a mysterious visitor he was. 

From the shadows of the small lane that led to the Illumina’s main gate emerged a man. He was tall and
thin and clad all in black. He walked sinuously and slowly, like a cat. 

On his way to the Provenzano’s gate, a small black Honda passed. The woman behind the wheel glanced
at him once. Then she turned to focus on the road, her taillights disappearing as she rounded the corner.

The tall man watched her go; then he continued his way to the wrought iron entrance. As if nature knew
what was going to happen next, the crickets stopped their chirping and the tangy breeze rushing from
the Pacific waned. 

There was a pregnant silence as the man stopped by the night guard in his little checkpoint. 

The guard was alarmed when he saw the tall man behind the glass window. His hand automatically
touched the gun in his holster. 

What the hell, the guard thought. He’s been busy with the copy of Playboy on his lap. He pressed a
button and said to the small mic, “Who goes there?”

The tall man stepped forward, the lights from the gateposts illuminating his thin frame. He smiled at the
guard but his slanted yellow eyes were cold. 

“I could’ve gone inside without stopping here,” he said, grinning. “But my mother raised me to be
polite.” 

Which isn’t the answer I was looking for, the guard thought. Something’s off here. He’s been in the
Provenzano’s employ for ten years now and he could spot the odd visitors at a glance. 

“Who’re you and what’re you doing here?” the guard demanded. 

The tall man smiled a bit more. “I’m from the agency. I’m Lucian, the new nanny.”

The guard ogled him. The man looked in his mid-twenties, wearing a black sweater, black jeans and
black Reeboks. His hair was black and shiny, falling over his yellow eyes. Two silver studs glinted in his
right ear. On his wrists were thick silver bands. Black leather gloves covered his hands.

“I’m on the list,” the man pointed out.

Serial killer weirdo, yes, the guard thought. A nanny, no. All he needed was the ski mask and he could fit
right in next to Ted Bundy and Dexter Morgan.

God knows those kids don’t need another babysitter, thought the guard. What they need is an Amazon
with a whip to put ‘em in a cage and ship them to Africa, that’s what them kids need, the spoiled devils.

He could still remember the last nanny, who woke up one night with roaches crawling all over her. And
just yesterday, the hot maid (excuse the pun) quit after the head-on-fire episode. Such a shame too,
because the maid had this smoking body; one perfect for a pole dance in one of them strip clubs in the
city. 

Ho, well, the guard sighed. He glanced at the man and caught the weirdo bastard still grinning at him.

With a frown, he checked for tell-tale bulges under the man’s clothes but there was no sign of concealed
firearms. “Babysitter, huh?” the guard growled suspiciously. He glanced at the clipboard just the same.
“Yeah, well there ain’t no babysitters here from the agency so you better—“

Two gunshots.

***

“Did you see that maid’s face when she realized her hair’s on fire?”

“Yeah, it was hilarious!”

“I thought her eyes’ gonna explode.”

“I thought they already did. They were THIS BIG!”

“Her eyes are normally THAT BIG. She’s an owl.”

“We should’ve called her Hedwig.”

“Or Adam Young.”

“Or Chester.”

“Who’s Chester?”

“Never mind.”

“Anyway, I heard that maid’s gonna wear a stupid wig now.”

“Wish I can see it. So I can laugh at her.”

“And maybe burn the wig next time too. But she already quit.”

“Yeah, such a shame.”

“I guess she’s going to find another job. Poor people do that a lot.”

“Find jobs you mean?”

“Yeah. They work for money.”

“It’s a good thing we’re not poor.”

“Really good.”

A few moments of silence.

“I wonder what Mama and Daddy’s doing right now,” Jonlyn suddenly thought aloud. They were in her
brother’s room, and she was lying with one of the big down pillows strewn all over the polished wood
floor. 

“What do you think, Rey?” she asked. She looked up to the glow-in-the-dark stars crowding the dark
blue ceiling. She waited for an answer. When Rey didn’t say anything, she reached for a stuffed bunny
and threw it at her brother.

Rey dodged the silk-lined missile without glancing from the laptop. “I dunno,” he said. “Probably having
dinner at Signore Baptista’s. They always visit him when they’re in Milan.”

“You think they’re still in Milan?” Jonlyn asked.

“I dunno,” he answered. “Or maybe they flew to Tokyo, eating sushi at Mr. Toriyama’s party. I think they
mentioned it before they left.” 

Without telling us, he added silently. He hit the Twitter bookmark. Then browsed through the tweets in
his homepage.

“Yep, they’re in Tokyo all right,” he told her. 

Jonlyn crawled to his brother’s side. He was sitting on the floor, with his back propped on the bed. “Oh,
you saw Mama’s tweet. Lemme see,” she said. Her dark brown eyes scanned the page. “And they’re
flying to L.A. tomorrow, then a short shopping trip in New York. That’s nice.”

Rey huffed, thinking that it wasn’t nice at all. It was never nice when the only way to know your parents’
whereabouts would be at a social network. Tiya Rosing would know but they didn’t ask her because they
didn’t want her to think they cared. Or worse, they’d seem needy.

Rey might be twelve and Jonlyn ten, but they were not kids anymore. 

Whatever, Rey thought bitterly. 

“I kind of miss them”, Jonlyn said. She jumped on the bed and buried her face under the pillows. Rey
didn’t comment; he closed his laptop and took his Nintendo DS on the side table.

He was about to settle into a quiet game of Pokemon when he thought he heard a cough from the walk-
in closet. He went still and listened. 

He shook Jonlyn’s shoulder. “You hear something?”

“No,” she moaned from under the pillows. Rey waited for another cough. When none came he shrugged
and went back to the game.

There he was, just him and Palkia in the game when there was a loud rap on the door. Both didn’t
bother answering. 

The knock came again. 

Jonlyn raised her head from the pillows and stared at Rey. He stared back at her and shrugged. When
the knock on the door came a third time, Rey finally called irritably, “What do you want?”
The door burst open, its lock popping loose with a rattle. It slammed against the wall.

Rey jumped at this loud invasion. His eyes narrowing, he turned to the door just as a tall, thin man
wearing black clothes entered. 

“You kept me waiting,” the man said, smiling. “I have to kick open the door. You’re not very polite kids,
are you?”

Jonlyn sat up. “Who’re you?” She stared at him with interest. 

“I’m Lucian, your new nanny,” the man answered with a small mocking bow. His yellow eyes took in the
whole bedroom; to the king-sized bed with its blue velvet sheets, the pillows and toys spread all over
the floor to the posters stuck on teal walls.

Rey snorted. “We don’t need a nanny,” he said. And was rocked by a sudden suspicion. He stood up and
stared at the man nervously.

Something’s wrong, he thought. Alarm bells shrieked inside his head as his gray eyes met those yellow
orbs that belonged to the intruder.

“Who’re you really?” he asked loudly, an attempt at bravado. 

“I’m Lucian, your new nanny,” the man promptly said. The air in the room was suddenly heavy with
tension. 

“Tiya Rosing didn’t say anything about a nanny,” Jonlyn frowned. She moved to perch on the side of the
bed, her feet dangling. Rey remained standing.

“Tiya Rosing won’t be saying much about anything now, I guess,” Lucian said ominously. “She’s dead.”
He grinned and swaggered up to tousle Jonlyn’s long wavy hair. She swatted his hand away before he
could touch her. 

Rey’s eyes widened. Tiya Rosing’s dead, he thought belatedly.

He stepped immediately to his sister’s side. His knuckles were white as he clutched the Nintendo. 

Lucian just smiled a steely smile, his eyes narrowing into slits.

“Shocked, huh?”

He killed her, Jonlyn thought numbly.

“Yeah, I sure killed her,” said Lucian casually as if he read her mind. “They’re all dead. This house’s
security stinks.”

He started to turn away. In a blink of an eye, Jonlyn’s hand reached under a pillow and came up with a
stun gun. Before she could zap him, however, Lucian’s hand, quick as a snake, caught her arm. 

“I know you have one of these things,” he laughed, his yellow eyes glowing. “My sister told me you two
have this habit of zapping the gardeners.” He twisted her arm viciously behind her. She jumped to her
feet with a cry of pain. The weapon dropped from her hand.

Rey took the chance. He raised the Nintendo and smacked it hard against Lucian’s face. It didn’t do any
good; he turned to him with a growl and with his free hand, sent him flying backward. 

He fell against the bedside table, his head slamming against a sharp corner. Pain shot through his head
and he thought he saw stars burst behind his eyes. He gasped.

His left cheek stung where Lucian’s backhand slap caught it. He tasted his own blood in his mouth. He
had bitten his tongue. But he wasn’t giving up yet. He snatched the laptop from the floor and threw it at
Lucian. 

With his blurry vision, it only struck Lucian’s shoulder. Rey then dived for the stun gun. With a cry of
triumph, he started to bring it up. 

And stopped. 

Lucian had his sister by the hair and was pointing a handgun to her temple. Rey’s eyes fastened at this
weapon, fearing the glinting metal. Jonlyn’s eyes mirrored his own. She cried silent tears, her face a
mask of pain as Lucian pulled at her hair.

“Drop it or she dies,” Lucian said. He grinned.

Rey lowered it, his eyes never leaving the gun.

Lucian pushed Jonlyn to the bed and picked the stun gun. “Good decision,” he said. And then he
slammed the butt of his gun against Rey’s injured cheek. 

Jonlyn screamed. 

***
From inside Rey’s closet, Nico Sagrada heard the little girl scream and almost screamed himself. 

Shit, shit, he thought, clamping a hand to his mouth.

He’s been hiding there since early this afternoon, waiting for the chance when he could get out the
house, jump into Pauline’s Honda and they’d both fly to Rio, seven hundred thousand bucks richer. 

Clutched in his hand as he squatted among the boy’s Armanis and Calvin Kleins was a small chamois bag,
filled with the Provenzano’s jewelry. He hoped Pauline still cruised around the property in her little black
Honda, like she promised. He hoped she hadn’t given up on him and went home. 

He should’ve been out of this closet hours before. He guessed it was true when his father-- his mentor in
all things related to burgling-- told him “It’s easier to go in that it is to go out.” 

The Provenzano’s house was easy pickings. Some small research in the Internet and they found out that
the mansion’s architect almost always do the same old layout for his clients’ houses. A bit of hacking and
he and Pauline came up with the blueprints of the property.

For two weeks, they parked by the mansion and did some surveillance and they felt more like cops than
jewel thieves. They deduced that security sucked at the Provenzano’s. So earlier that day, they made the
move.

Pauline waited in the get-away car while Nico snuck in through an old fence that security cameras didn’t
cover. He bypassed the poolside, hid behind one mahogany tree after another and when the coast was
clear climbed the modified fire escape behind the house. The fire escape looked more like
interconnecting balconies; they were made of wood and created to blend in with the architecture. To
Nico, it was every burglar’s dream.

He rushed up the stairs until he entered the family wing in the third floor. The hallway was deserted. He
took the master bedroom first. The door was unlocked; he didn’t even need to jimmy the dead bolt. He
helped himself to the wide collection of the Provenzano’s jewelry. He didn’t bother with the safe he
knew was hidden behind the Van Gogh painting. Just as he was leaving, he passed the boy’s room and
thought of all the expensive toys he could give to his favorite nephew. 

Risking it, he went inside, knowing that the kids’ were in school at this time. The house itself has settled
into a siesta. 

But he was wrong. He was about to pocket the PSP on the bed when the bedroom knob twisted and the
old housekeeper went inside, ordering the new maid following her to tidy up the room.
He had closed the walk-in closet door just in time, went deeper in and hid behind the boy’s winter
clothes. 

God, I swear I’ll give up thieving if I got outta here safe, he prayed. God must’ve been listening because
the maid didn’t come in to clean the wardrobe. For a while, he listened to the vacuum humming outside
and then he sighed with relief when the bedroom door closed with a snap.

He waited for a few minutes and was about to go out when he heard the kids’ return from school. He
noiselessly rushed back to his hiding place, cursing. Hours passed and he was still there, crouched
among the clothes. He listened to the boy and the girl’s laughter from the bedroom and felt annoyed
when the two devils recalled the episode with the maid with her head on fire. 

And then he coughed. 

And almost knocked his head against the floor for his stupidity. He waited with bated breath when the
boy said, “You hear something?” 

His heart calmed when the boy didn’t investigate the source of the sound. Good boy, he thought. 

Then someone kicked in the bedroom door, and he heard a man’s deep voice. As he listened to the
man’s casual admission of murder, Nico’s heart went cold. 

He moved without sound to peek out the closet door, which he opened a crack. From this angle, he
watched the struggle unfold. The boy flying across the room, the girl groaning as his attacker twisted her
arm. The boy threw the laptop at the man named Lucian but the man produced a handgun from the
waistband of his jeans and pointed it at the girl’s temple. 

When he saw Lucian smash the butt of the gun against the boy’s cheek, Nico realized he’s had enough.
He was about to come to the children’s aid when his own mortality stopped him.

Don’t get involved, he heard his father admonish him inside his head. And he didn’t have anything save
the chamois bag and the set of tools in his pockets, none of which could even be at an advantage against
a crazy man with a gun. 

Resigned, Nico Sagrada softly closed the door, and just clamped a hand over his mouth when the girl
screamed. He bowed his head.

He turned just as he heard a low threatening growl behind him. He felt chilled as a pair of blue canine
eyes glowered at him from the darkness. 

Before he could react, the dog barked. 

***

Tails! Rey and Jonlyn thought.

“What the fuck was that?” said Lucian. He scowled at the two kids, who were now sitting on the bed
side by side. His gun was pointed at them. “You got someone in there?”

The kids just stared at him grimly. They’d gotten over the initial shock of being roughed up by this crazy
stranger, this man who has killed his way into this bedroom without telling them why. Now they were
waiting for something to happen; some opportunity that would allow them to escape.

Survival. 

Be calm, Rey thought. Wait for an opening, and then strike.

Mama, Daddy, Jonlyn thought. We need you now more than ever.

“I’m asking you, you got some other fuck in there?” asked Lucian. He impatiently waved the gun at the
closet.

“You said the ‘F’ word,” said Jonlyn with accusing eyes.

“Oh, I’m sorry if I offended your innocent ears,” mocked Lucian. 

A bark sounded inside the closet again.

“Why don’t you go and see?” said Rey, gesturing to the closet door. And hoped that Tails chomped this
guy to death.

“You think I’m crazy? You’ll try to run for it, I know you will. Why don’t you go and see?”

Rey slowly rose from the bed and crossed the room.

“You try anything funny and I’ll shoot you in the back,” Lucian warned.

Rey opened the door. A white dog stood just inside the closet, his tongue lolling, tail wagging. It stared
at the boy with interested blue eyes. 

It was very much alone.

How the dog got inside the closet and stayed there all this time without gnawing or scratching at the
door was beyond Rey. Tails was an odd dog.

“It’s just our dog Tails,” Rey said, holding up a hand. The canine immediately went to his side.

“No kidding,” laughed Lucian. “You’re keeping a dog in a closet! What kinda crazy kids are you?” He
stopped in mid-laugh and said darkly, “That dog try biting me and I’ll shoot him. Then I’ll shoot you two.”

Rey ignored the threat, though it kind of scared him a bit. He went back to the bed to sit with Jonlyn, the
dog following him. It sat on the floor after licking both kids hands’. Rey and Jonlyn couldn’t help but
smile. They felt somewhat safer with the dog in the room.

Lucian stared hard at the dog.

“This one looks familiar. Where’d you get it?” he said.

Jonlyn shrugged. “We found him at the beach. We sort of adopted him.”

“Sort of adopted him?” Lucian asked curiously. The dog looked up at him with icy-blue eyes.

“He comes and goes. We don’t know where, but he always comes back.”

They scratched him behind the ears and went back to watching Lucian and his gun.

“What do you really want?” Rey finally asked him. 

“Yeah,” Jonlyn chimed in. “What do you really want?”

“Whatever you wanna do, just do it.”

“You can take whatever you want. Then leave us alone.”

“We’ll let you escape. We’ll even forget we ever saw you.”

“We know you’re poor and wanna rob us.”

“We have money. Take it and get out.”

“We’ll even forget you hurt us.”

“We know the safe’s combination in our parent’s room.”

“It’s 9-7-0-2-3-1—“

“SHUT UP! YOU TWO!” Lucian shouted angrily. 

They shut up. The dog wagged its tail.

“I didn’t come here to rob you,” Lucian said. “You see, I came here to kill you.”

Jonlyn felt faint. Rey froze.

The dog gave a soft whine.

“Why?” Jonlyn whispered. Her hand found Rey’s and held it tight.

“Hmm, I wonder why…” Lucian said. He grinned again, enjoying the fear radiating from their faces. With
the gun still pointed at them, he took the nearest chair in the room, placing it in front of the kids. He slid
onto it.

For a long time, his eerie yellow eyes stared at them. Finally...

“You see, kids,” he said genially. “I’ve been hearing stories about you two. Naughty, nasty stories. I’ve
enjoyed hearing about those stories, you see…”

He slid the chair closer. 

“My sister told me all about it,” Lucian continued. “Rich kids, they can do whatever they want, to
whomever they want. After all, they got money. So, you guys, I don’t really give a fuck if you taser the
gardener, or put creepy-crawlies down your nanny’s pants, or throw a frog at your goodie Daddy’s
friend when she visits. No, I don’t even care if you burn the house while everyone’s still in it.”

The kids watched him, riveted. Jonlyn huddled closer to Rey. God, please, please…

“But what I do care about is you fucking with my sister,” said Lucian. His voice had gone cold, deadly
cold. “Now you look surprised. What am I talking about? Who’s his sister? You don’t know who my sister
is? You just fucked with her, my little kiddy friends. You set her head on fire. You laughed at her,
humiliated her. You don’t do that to my sister, no you just don’t! And you think your shitty money and a
fucking wig’s gonna make it all right? YOU MUST BE FUCKING KIDDING ME!” 

He raised his gun and pointed it at the window. 

A deafening bang and glass exploded. 

***

Pauline drove around the house for what seemed like the thousandth time. And it probably was. 

She was a small woman in his mid-twenties, with short spiky hair and a gold stud in her nose. She used
to be the guitarist of the rock band, Snatch before their vocalist got pregnant with the local pastor and
gave up what she suddenly called ‘devil music’ to go back to Jesus.

It would’ve been okay to Pauline and her other two band mates except Honey, their bitch vocalist who
thought she was the Virgin Mary now, kept throwing religion at their faces. Criticizing their lifestyle; the
cigarettes, the booze, the sex; as if she didn’t partake on those activities too, the little slut, she was
worse. 

Pauline still seethed when she thought about it. Her hand tightened at the steering wheel as she pulled
up, once again, near the Provenzano’s gate. Her anger weakened however, when she saw the gate. It
was replaced by fear.

Nico, where the hell are you? she thought. He promised her he’d go in and out in a jiffy and she trusted
him to follow the plan. What’s taking him so long? 

She hoped he was okay. She knew he hasn’t been caught because no police cars roared down the lane
to the house. It was also possible that he already left the estate with the loot, deserting her here. He
must be on the plane to Brazil now, dreaming of pina coladas and dusky-skinned women.

No honor among thieves, right?

But no, he won’t do that to me, Pauline thought with conviction. He loves me. He won’t leave without
me. It’s going to be OUR life.

She parked the car under a large mango tree, and killed the headlights. She got out of the car and
stretched her legs. The night air was cool. She looked over at the Provenzano’s gate.

She took a deep breath, exhaled and slowly walked over to the checkpoint. She stopped when she was
close enough. No one was in sight. She moved closer, and saw spidery cracks on the glass in the
checkpoint’s little window. 

The lights from the gateposts flickered. She moved even closer. Stood on tippy-toes until she could see
way over the window, with its broken glass, two large holes and flecks of blood. 
Pauline has seen it all before, but the sight made her nauseous. 

The guard was dead, sprawled and bathing in his own blood. There were two bullet holes gaping from
his forehead. The corpse’s blank eyes stared back at her imploringly.

She doubled over and almost threw up. She kneeled on the ground, gasping and waiting for her gag
reflex to settle.

And then she thought, Nico!

Immediately, she sprinted for the gate and found it ajar. She pushed against it and entered the property.

She ran and ran, expecting someone to chase and shout after her. No one did. She didn’t care. She was
thinking of Nico. 

She knew some of the layout of the estate, though she was only the driver. Up ahead, she saw the lights
of Illumina, beckoning to her. She passed the gravel driveway and went around the house. 

No one was in sight. 

She almost fell when she tripped over something soft near the cabana. She gave a small cry when she
saw it was another dead body. A woman this time, in a maid’s uniform. Shot to death. A bunch of towels
lay beside her. 

With trembling knees, she turned from the body and pushed on, finally arriving at the foot of the fire
escape. She began climbing. Nico would likely be at the third floor, at the family wing.

She caught glimpses of tastefully-furnished rooms beyond the windows. She continued ascending;
gasping for a bit, sweat blurring her eyes. 

This is what happens when you skip P.E. in high school, she thought ruefully. 

Halfway through the second floor fire escape, a gunshot rang out. She ducked just as a sharp rain of
glass fell from the third floor window. She closed her eyes for protection and backed into the shelter of
an awning. 

She waited for a full minute, her heart pounding. She didn’t hear another blast. She stepped out from
the awning, looking up. And heard a deep booming laugh from the third floor window where the shot
happened.

The kid’s room, she thought. But where’s Nico?

Very carefully, she ascended the stairs again, avoiding broken glass. A crunch with her Pumas and she’d
be dead. She reached the landing. Slowly, she peeked inside the room.

Two kids sat on the bed, holding each other. Across them, a man got up from his chair and began pacing
the room, waving a gun in his hand. He was the same man she saw walking to the gate earlier. 

Lying on the foot of the bed was a white dog, staring right at her with intelligent blue eyes.

She stooped quickly below the window and backtracked down the fire escape. Shit, she thought. Don’t
bark, please don’t bark. 

The dog didn’t. 

Pauline got back under the awning, unsure what to do. Her thoughts raced. 

Finally, she fished inside her pocket and opened her cell phone. She dialed.

When a voice answered, she whispered briskly, “I want to talk to Detective Russo.”

***

A hundred and fifty miles from where Pauline made her urgent phone call, Detectives Russo and Angelo
lay in wait for a faceless stalker. 

Three days ago, a patrolman alerted the 17th Precinct of a break-in at a flat in Grove District, a quarter
of high-end businesses and apartments in the city. The detectives had just gotten off a burglary case in
Third Street. The call came in just as they were about to sip the bitter sludge they called coffee in the
squad room. 

“Russo and Angelo, you’re on,” said Sergeant Rivera from downstairs. 

Sighing mightily, the two detectives had driven to the scene.

The victim had been a surprise. It was Clio Del Mar, heiress to the Carlisle fortune and this month’s cover
of Vogue.

She was twenty-two, sitting with her legs crossed in a leather-clad sofa. Her penthouse suite offered a
wondrous night view of El Soleis and the surrounding hills. It glittered behind her like a painting. 
But the detectives and the guys from the Crime Scene Unit didn’t notice the skyline; they were all gazing
upon this lovely creature perched in the center of the room.

The detectives thought she looked like a grown-up Little Red Riding Hood, and it was with good reason.
Clio still wore her red Gucci coat and hood over her black silk dress; for she just arrived from a party at
the Hotel Sienne and even with the cloudless night, the air outside was cool this time of year. Long wisps
of shiny-blond hair escaped the hood of her red coat. Her slender hands fiddled with a diamond
necklace and her blue eyes were troubled. 

While they waited for the lady to speak, Detective Yozel Angelo stared at the Gucci and knew that she
couldn’t afford that brand with her cop’s salary.

Detective Leon Russo, however was admiring the lady’s long slender legs that ended in a pair of black
Jimmy Choos. 

“I arrived home and found the door open,” Clio told them in a shaky voice. The detectives immediately
got back to the problem at hand and noted the broken lock on the front door, which they spied on the
way in. 

“I’ve been receiving threatening letters for the past two weeks, and I think that whoever sent them did
this,” Clio continued. She stood and went to a side table, where she uncovered a small pile of envelopes
tied with a ribbon. 

Then, the detectives followed her to the master bedroom, where someone took the liberty to spray-
paint one wall with the words: I’M COMING FOR YOU SOON, BITCH!

Classy, Yozel thought.

Clio looked them both in the eye, gave them the letters and said, “Find whoever did this.”

And that was the reason the two detectives sat in a nondescript sedan three days later, waiting for the
suspect to show. They were parked several feet away from Clio’s smaller but secure apartment in a
modest neighborhood east of Grove District.

They’d advised her to change locations so they could keep a better eye on her-- a job they couldn’t do if
she was up there in her penthouse suite. 

Russo was at the wheel, turning the page of a comic book. He was a big man in his thirties, with unruly
black hair and sharp brown eyes. He’d been transferred from the Homicide division in Manila and was
new to El Soleis. 

“Where are we again?” he asked, looking up from his comic book thoughtfully.

“27th St., Tarine Square,” Yozel answered, smiling at her new partner. It took a while for her to adjust to
Russo. Her former partner had died in a bank shoot-out months before. 
“Ah,” Russo said, smiling back sheepishly. 

They both knew that he stunk on directions. Which was why he always kept a map of the city in his
pants pocket. Yozel always joked how he gets home after every shift without getting lost. “You must’ve
passed your street address a hundred times before you realized your house was there,” she’d laugh
good-naturedly. 

Russo didn’t take offense. For a big guy, he was surprisingly nice and funny. Yozel stared at him now and
thought that he looked like a cute grizzly bear all huddled in the tiny sedan. She resisted the urge to
stroke his thick black hair. 

This time, she smiled a secret smile to herself.

Russo caught her looking so she turned away to look out the window. She kept a watchful eye around
the apartment’s perimeter. The suspect could be there now, hiding among the shadows and waiting for
a chance.

But they had a good view of the fire escape and Clio Del Mar’s bedroom window from the car. If he
made the move tonight, they’d both be there to catch him. 

Then, case closed. End of story.

“Think he’ll show up tonight?” she asked Russo. He didn’t answer.

When she turned back to him, she realized that he was still staring at her.

And staring at her intensely. 

Her heart began pounding excitedly. The interior of the car was suddenly charged with electricity. 
And very, very hot.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she told him. 

“Why not?” he asked, leaning closer until his face was inches from hers.

She looked deep in his eyes and saw a flaming desire.

“Because we’re partners, and this isn’t the right time.”

“When will be the right time?” 

His lips touched hers. Gentle.

“I don’t know,” she admitted as she closed her eyes and surrendered to the kiss. It was deep and
passionate, as if they were made to do just this-- a mating of lips, a mating of souls.

He held her close to him, his hands fisting into her long silky hair. He kissed her with a delicious heat that
surprised even him. When she pulled away to bite his lower lip, he gave a moan of pleasure. She gave a
soft laugh and showered his face with butterfly kisses. 

His hands roamed her back, her shoulders, until he found her breasts. Now it was her turn to moan, and
he took the chance to lose himself in the curve of her lovely neck. He explored that tender area with his
tongue, marveling at her softness, at her taste. All the while, he cupped her breasts, stroking it and
feeling her heart beat under his hands. 

Deep breathing… and a lavish heat enveloped them like a fever.

Yozel closed her eyes and melted in his arms.

Love, maybe…

And the sound of breaking glass doused them like cold water. 

They sprang apart and turned to Clio Del Mar’s apartment, where a scream followed the sound of the
crash. With cold agility, the two detectives leaped out of the car and drew their guns. They ran for the
building, their breaths puffing from their mouths in the cold night air. 

Russo signaled with a flip of his fingers. She nodded and ran to the apartment building’s entrance. She’d
be there if the suspect tried to escape out that way. Russo himself climbed the fire escape to cover that
area. 

He ascended the metal steps two at a time, keeping his eyes open and alert. He reached Clio’s bedroom
window at the 4th floor and saw the broken glass.

With his gun pointed in front of him, he shouted, “Police!”

He heard gasping in the room and tried to peek into the darkness. “Ms. Del Mar?” he called. 

“Is that you, Detective Russo?” asked a trembling voice. There was a bit of fumbling and a lamp was
turned on. Clio Del Mar was curled in a corner of the room, like a trapped animal. She clutched at her
torn night gown and her face was ashen with fear. 

He entered through the window and avoided the broken glass. He kept his gun ready.
Clio stood up unsteadily. “Oh, thank God!” she gasped. She pointed to the open bedroom door that led
to a small living room. Russo nodded and searched the house.

Save for some shoe marks starting from the gray carpet in the bedroom, the flat appeared to be empty.
He covered every room a second time just to be sure.

He didn’t find anyone. Or anything.

But the door of the apartment was wide open when he passed it on his second search.

He swore it was locked and closed earlier. 

Great, Russo thought grimly. Just great, the sonafabitch escaped.

He hurried to the hall, where some of the tenants started peeking out of their doors. When they saw
Russo and his gun, they slammed their doors shut immediately. 

Russo glanced at the numbers over the elevator doors and noticed that nobody was using it, coming up
or going down. 

Clio came out of the apartment cautiously, her eyes questioning him. 

He shook his head. 

They heard someone pounding up the steps beyond the door of the stairwell. Clio Del Mar’s eyes
widened. She took a few steps back to her door while Russo steadied his gun at the stairwell’s direction. 
Yozel emerged from the door, with her gun ready.

Russo lowered his weapon.

“He’s gone,” he said.

“Damn,” Yozel said. “Is she okay?” 

She nodded at Clio. 

“I’m fine now,” Clio said, rubbing her shoulders. She’d put on a red kimono over her ruined nightgown.
“A bit shaken, that’s all. He smashed the window. I screamed and tried to run but he was pulling me
back. When I heard someone coming up the fire escape, he took off.”

She showed them the torn strap and some scratches on her shoulder where the suspect’s nails dug
Then she fixed them a cold stare. 

“I was surprised he even made it to my window,” she said. “I thought you were watching for him. I
thought you two were protecting me.”

Russo and Yozel exchanged a somewhat guilty glance.

Clio impaled them with another freezing look as if she understood. Then she wordlessly went back inside
the apartment. 

Yozel and Russo heaved a sigh.

“Never again,” she said.

“Right,” he answered. 

A cellphone rang. Russo dug for it in his coat pocket.

“Russo here,” he said. 

He listened for a moment. “We’ll be there.”

Closing his phone, he turned to Yozel. “We got another problem.”

***

Pauline waited under the awning for more than a minute. When she didn’t yet hear the siren coming in
Illumina’s direction, she realized her dangerous position and carefully descended the steps. 

She worried about the kids but she also believed in self-preservation. 

I can’t just barge in there like some hero, she thought. And there’s still Nico to think about.

She contemplated calling him in his phone; she was sure he had it with him when he came to the house.
But she had a nagging suspicion that he was somewhere inside that bedroom too, trapped with the kids
and the crazy man.

He can also be dead, she thought, and a cold shiver ran down her spine. She imagined his bullet-ridden
body somewhere in the house.

No, no, no.

For the first time that night, tears blurred Pauline’s eyes. But she blinked them away. 

Later, she thought, determined. He has to be hiding somewhere in that room!

Alive.

She had to believe it or she’d break down.

She plopped down on the soft grass beneath the fire escape and swiftly ran to the west side of the
house leading to the Provenzano’s driveway. She knew that she had to concoct some story to the police
to explain her presence in the estate.

While she waited for them, she’d have the time.

Just hang on, Nico, she thought. 

There was movement to her left. 

Pauline ducked just in time as a shadowy figure by the mansion’s front door pointed something metallic
at her. There was a soft pop and she felt something whiz by her ear. 

Gun! she thought. 

She doubled-back to where she came and ran for her life. 

Pounding footsteps behind her, chasing her. Another pop and the azalea bush a few feet away shivered.
She looked back and saw that it was a man.

She ran harder, faster. She didn’t want any bullets in her back.

Cover, she thought and swerved to the right, where large orange trees led the way to the private beach.
Her attacker was drawing near, and he was still shooting at her. 

Run, run, run was her only thought. Survive.

Her heart hammered out of her chest.

She dashed to the left, then to the right to confuse her assailant. Every time a bullet embedded itself
into a tree trunk, her heart pounded more.

Survive!

She ran behind an orange tree. And suddenly felt a searing pain in her shoulder. 

With disbelief, she looked down and saw the blood.

He got me, she gasped with horror. She slowed down, hid behind a tree and examined the injury. 

Under the dim light of the moon, she realized that it was just a flesh wound on her shoulder.

But it still hurt like a bitch.

A rustle of bushes and the cracking of twigs told her that the man was still on her trail. 

She froze behind the tree. 

There was a snap of something metallic and experience told her that the man was reloading his gun. He
was getting closer in this direction. If he found her here—and she knew he would soon—she’d be dead.
Survive, she thought defiantly. But she knew that time was running out.

Cautiously, she risked a peek behind the tree.

From this angle, she saw a burly man in jeans and a yellow shirt standing under a shaft of moonlight. He
wasn’t the tall thin man she saw in the bedroom. 

An accomplice, she thought. There are two of them.

This man’s face was hard and cruel, and his deep-set eyes surveyed the woods around him. He was
holding the gun that would kill her if she didn’t get out of here soon. 

Pauline turned from him. She noiselessly sat on the wet ground as fear coiled around her throat like a
noose.

I’m going to die, she thought, her heart sinking.

And as if that admission of her impending death was a beacon, she heard the man walk in her direction.
In a few seconds, he’d circle the tree and look down at her. And he’d point the muzzle of the gun to her
face and pull the trigger.

I’m going to die. She clutched at her bleeding wound with a trembling hand. 
She closed her eyes.

Three…

The steps were closer.

Two…

Only a feet from her now.

One--

The loud bark echoed through the woods. 

Startled, Pauline opened her eyes. 

The first thing he saw was the man’s back. He was only a foot away and half-facing her. 

He didn’t see her crouched figure there by the tree. Unbelievingly, something else caught his attention.
And it just might be her chance to survive. 

Slowly, she crawled backward, her eyes fixed on the man’s back. He didn’t turn. 

She wanted out of there fast, but he might notice the sudden movement.

The bark sounded again. And Pauline saw some bushes rustle in front of the man. The man pointed his
gun at the bushes and fired. 

She expected a yelp of pain from the shot dog—for what else could make that unmistakable bark—but
there wasn’t any. Instead, another snarl sounded from another set of bushes to the man’s left, from
which he pointed his gun again and fired. 

No pained yelp once again, but another snarl from another direction.

And then another. Barks from the left, from the right, all around the woods. 

It was enough to creep out anyone. 

The man just fired away at the source of the barks.

It was the kind of distraction Pauline needed to get away. 

Someone doesn’t like dogs, she thought. The scene reminded her of that arcade game where you hit the
weasel with a hammer when it comes out of those holes. 

Favoring her shoulder, she continued her backward crawl from her assailant. 

When she could hardly see him anymore, as she was now concealed by the surrounding undergrowth,
Pauline got up and did a fast walk. 

She could still hear the echo of his gun. And she took a deep breath, exhaled and breathed again. 
It was a close call. 

She almost died. 

She walked and walked, listening for any suspicious sound that marked the man’s pursuit. But there was
none; only the chirping of crickets and a rush of air from the nearby Pacific. 

It took her a moment to realize that she was lost. 

The woods, her protective best friend earlier, had suddenly turned against her. 

Where’s the way back to the main gate? 

She studied every direction, looking for tell-tale lights from the big house, or maybe a post lighting a foot
path to the main gate. 

But there was none.

Pauline cursed and slapped a hand to her forehead. 

And then almost screamed when something pulled at the hem of her shirt. 

She looked down into intelligent blue eyes. 

It was the same white dog from the bedroom. 

And it got part of her shirt between its fangs.

How the dog sneaked up on her, as silent and drifting as a ghost was beyond Pauline. Frozen on the
spot, the human and the dog watched each other.

The wind whistled between the trees.

“It was you back there,” Pauline whispered finally. “It was weird, but you saved me.”

The white dog let go of her shirt and chuffed. Slowly, Pauline reached over and patted its head. “Thank
you,” she said and the dog grinned.

Then it padded away from her until it stopped at an opening between two trees. Her heart was calming
by this time and she followed it with her eyes.

The dog wagged its tail and looked back at her. It made a small motion with its head as if—

He wants me to follow him, she thought. 

Trusting him with her life, she did.

***

Back at the mansion, Nico was still thinking about the white dog. 

He sat with his back to the closet door, mulling the weird thing over and over. He’d been sure he was
alone inside the closet. Hell, he’d been there the whole afternoon and half the night!

But there it was, sneaking up behind him and barking like a hound from hell-- only that it was snowy
white. But the dog didn’t hurt him. In a strange way, Nico thought that it saved him.

Before the boy opened the door of the closet earlier, the dog had looked at Nico and gestured to him
with a paw. 

Nico just looked at it. Does it want a cookie or something?

The dog stared at him as if exasperated. It raised its paw again but this time, pointed at the door.

Nico suddenly understood, and he hid behind the clothes again just as Rey opened the door. He held his
breath until the dog got out and the door was closed.

Now, Nico sat and think of the strange encounter. 

Either that dog was trained like a genius or something supernatural was at work.
Or he might be losing his mind.

That’s possible too, he thought, and jolted when the man beyond the closet door shouted and opened
fire. Nico heard the glass break on what he assumed was the window. 

Another gun blast cracked the air moments later.

The kids, Nico thought with wide eyes. 

But they were okay apparently because he heard the boy shout, “Don’t shoot at him! He’s just a dog!” 

“Don’t hurt Tails!” cried the girl. 

“Oh I’m so sorry!” mocked the man’s cold voice. “I didn’t kill the pest though. He ran out. Damn stupid
dog should’ve known better than just rush out of the room like that.”

“He’s not gonna hurt you,” the boy answered back. “Tails is a good dog.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” sneered the man. “If that dog comes back in here, Im’ma pop him one.”

Good luck with that, Nico thought. I have the feeling you can’t kill THAT dog that easily.

A tinny sound outside silenced the room.

“What’s that?” the girl asked.

Nico listened hard as the noise came closer. And closer.

Until it became an unmistakable wail. 

He recognized it just as the three people outside the closet did.

The police, he thought. 

to be continued…

By This Ghost