Chapter 1: 2
The city of Pasadena, California. It was a stereotypical Californian suburb, the roads bordered with large oaks and ashes, a pattern of large houses with generous lawns. Blue jays sang in the trees with an unnerving jocularity. A newspaper boy went on his usual route. A late afternoon sun gave a golden-dappled appearance to the streets, giving a slight hint of summer turning to autumn, promising Thanksgiving to impatient children and to those who were even more impatient, Christmas.
There was the rumbling roar of a large engine, and a bright, neon-yellow truck slowly turned the corner. It crawled forward as the driver scanned the letterboxes out front of the houses. A letterbox with the name: `The Bells', caught the drivers eye, and the truck stopped. The Bride checked, then double-checked the sign. She looked down at a notebook she had, then checked her knife was in the sheath. She got out, and walked into the garden, meandering past sloppily discarded toys and playthings. She walked to the door, and slowly pushed the doorbell, turning back to the yard to look at all of the toys.
"Coming!" The Bride turned back towards the door, slowly gripping and releasing her hands instinctively. There was the sound of rapid footsteps, and a slightly exasperated, but amused, voice. "Sarah, I cannot believe you are early..." The door opened, and Jeanne Bell opened the door with a smile, which quickly faded. The Bride stared for a second...
The uppercut smashed home, and she felt her teeth chip and crack. She landed on her back, with a cry, trying to protect both her and her child. Blood entered her vision, but she could still see who had done this to her and her friends...
...then punched Bell solidly on the nose, sending her reeling back. Bell stumbled back, and the Bride followed with a kick. Bell clumsily blocked it, allowing the Bride to smash the side of her head with a haymaker. She followed with another punch, expecting to burst Bell's eardrum with the next blow.
Bell grasped her arm, and then flung her into the wall behind them. A painting's frame stabbed into the small of her back, causing her to spin and fall onto a small dresser, landing on the exact same spot. She fell onto the carpeted floor, feeling snowflakes of glass spatter around her. Bell twisted and brought the hell of her foot down towards the Bride's neck. She blocked it with both her wrists, feeling the bones judder under the blow. She replied with a kick to Bell's groin, causing her to fold up in pain. The next kick slammed into her face, sending her somersaulting over the sofa and through the glass coffee table. Bell got up on her knees with a suppressed gasp of pain, looking at her bloody hands in agony. The Bride hurdled the couch, about to deliver the next blow, and Bell grabbed one of the table legs, slamming onto the Bride's knee.
She yelled in pain, but still managed to duck the next swing. Bell flung the leg at the Bride's head, who, in turn, grabbed it before it could split her skull open. She kicked up; slamming into Bell's stomach, then flipped her over her head. Bell rolled and got onto her knees again. The Bride wrapped her arm around her neck, locking it behind her head with her other arm, closing off Bell's windpipe. Bell made a few clumsy punches at the arm strangling her. Sweat beaded on her head, mixing with the blood from her cuts, and her eyes bulged in her sockets. The Bride gritted her teeth and increased the pressure on her neck. Bell collapsed on the floor, choking and gasping, trying to writhe out of the iron grip.
Her hand flailed out, grapping a nearby poker, then flung it behind her blindly, gouging a chunk out of the Bride's shoulder, who let go with a yell, falling onto the floor. Bell stabbed downwards with the poker, which was promptly grabbed by the Bride. A kick knocked Bell back onto a glass bookcase. She quickly recovered, and pushed the bookcase back onto the Bride, running to the kitchen as she did so.
The Bride slowly got up, gashing her legs and arms on the panes of shattered glass, stood up unsteadily checking for any serious cuts. She sprinted into the kitchen, leaning backwards as she did so, just dodging the knife blade. "What you gonna do now? Huh? What you got?" Bell yelled, swinging both arms, trying to distract the Bride, who picked up a frying pan, using it as small bracer.
"I got your ass! Remember that? Remember?" The Bride blocked the next knife slash, which slid off the metal, cutting the side of her wrist and forearm mercilessly. She dropped the pan instinctively walking into a doorframe, then cringed, realising what she just did. The next few stabs she side stepped, but the doorframe blocked her movements.
She grabbed Bell's knife hand, twisting it. A kick to her midriff caused to her fall back onto a wooden table clumsily. Bell dived, grasping the butcher knife with both hands, aiming to drive it right into the Bride's heart. However, she was no longer there. The Bride grabbed the hilt of her own knife, and stabbed upwards, up through the wood, only an inch away from Bell's face. She kicked up, tipping the table over, sending Bell to the floor. Both got up simultaneously, Bell backing off into the living room, the Bride hopping over the table with a deadly finesse.
"Okay..." Bell whispered, holding her knife out, and making a `come hither' gesture with her hand. "Come on, bitch." The Bride changed her grip on the blade, and walked forward on the tip of her toes. "Come on..." Bell's feet crunched on the broken glass of the coffee table, and she back-heeled a table leg away from her feet. The Bride stepped forward as well.
"Bring it on..." Bell lunged, and the Bride dodged back, making a counter-stab, which Bell easily dodged as well. They both stared at each other, their eyes wreathed in anger and dulled with pain. The Bride jumped forward, but Bell avoided it and made another counter-attack. It did not connect with flesh. The street outside still went about its usual business, ignoring the fact that two women were fighting to the death in a suburban living-room. Another lunge, feint and dodge from both women, a switch of the grip by Bell.
There was the sound of a large vehicle slowing from outside, and Bell's eyes quickly leapt from the Bride to the sound. The Bride scanned it quickly, preparing for an attack from Bell. A yellow bus. A school bus. And to Bell's mounting horror, a little girl with frizzy black hair and a pink coat started to walk up the path to the house.
Both women locked gazes again, and Bell shook her head, her eyes pleading silently. The Bride's face twisted in anger and disgust, but she made the faintest ghost of a nod. The door opened, and both women quickly hid their weapons and turned to face the little girl.
"Mommy, I'm ho-me!" "Hey baby!" Bell gasped, blinking back sweat and pulling a wide smile. "How was school?" The girl paused, her youthful complexion frowning in confusion and concern. "Mommy? What happened to you and the TV room?" Bell quickly scanned the room, and cringed slightly at realising how much damage there actually was and trying to think of an excuse.
"Oh, that good-for-nothing dog of yours? Got his little ass in the living room and acted a damn fool." She smiled again, blood trickling down her face from her lip. "That's what happened, Baby." She said in what she thought was a reassuring tone. The girl walked forward, a disbelieving tone in her voice. "Barney did this?"
"Now baby, you can't come in here." Bell held up a hand. "There's uh, broken glass everywhere, and... you could cut yourself." The little girl slowly looked at the Bride with a perplexed _expression. The Bride cleared her throat. "Hi honey, I'm ------. What's your name?" The girl still stared at her in mute incomprehension.
"Her name is Nikki." Bell answered. "Nikki... such a pretty name for such a pretty girl..." She swallowed, and tried to smile disarmingly. "How old are ya, Nikki?" Nikki stayed silent. "Nikki... ------ asked you a question." Bell whispered, giving a maternal look of disapproval.
"I'm four." Nikki said slowly. "Four years old, eh?" The Bride raised an eyebrow. "You know, I had a little girl once." Her gaze turned to Bell, and her _expression darkened. "She'd be about four now." Bell bit her lip in what looked like shame, then she walked over to Nikki, keeping the knife from view. "Now, baby, me and Mommy's friend got some grownup talk to talk about, so you go in your room, and I want you to leave us alone `til I tell you to come out. `K?"
Nikki's gaze slowly left her mother and went back to the Bride's bloodied face. "Nikkia!" Bell said sharply. "In your room. Now." Nikki slowly stepped away, then, looking at both women, walked out of the room and up the stairs. Bell let her knife arm come out from behind her back, and the Bride followed suit. There was an embarrassing silence. "You want some coffee?" Bell asked out of the blue. The Bride gave a faint smile. "Yeah, sure."
This Pasadena homemaker's name is Jeanne Bell. Her husband is Dr. Lawrence Bell. But back when we were acquainted, her name was Vernita Green. Her code name was Copperhead. Mine: Black Mamba.
The Bride rubbed the gash which had opened her hand and arm, wincing in pain. "Do you have a towel?" Vernita muttered an affirmative, handing her one. The Bride thanked her, then began wiping her face clear of sweat and blood. "Still take cream and sugar, right?" The Bride nodded, and Vernita walked back over to the coffee machine. "So... I suppose it's a little late for an apology, huh?"
"You suppose correctly." Vernita walked back over to the Bride, glaring in fury. "Look, bitch." She pointed her finger angrily. "I need to know if you're going to start any more shit around my baby girl!" "You can relax for now..." The Bride smiled, and lowered her voice condescendingly. "I'm not going to murder you in front of your daughter, okay?"
Vernita looked at her disbelievingly, but walked back towards the coffee machine, and started to pour out the drinks. "You must be more rational than Bill led me to believe you were capable of." "It's mercy, compassion and forgiveness I lack. Not rationality."
Vernita handed the Bride's drink to her, and took her own cup. She paused, then; "I know I fucked you over. I fucked you over bad, I wish to God I hadn't, but I did. All I can tell you know is that I'm a different person. The Bride made a parody of a relieved smile. "Oh, great." Her _expression was quickly replaced with a scowl. "I don't care."
Vernita scowled. "Be that as it may, I know I don't deserve your mercy or your forgiveness. However," she walked over to a cork board, and ripped a photograph off of a tack, the little girl as a child, "I beseech you for both on behalf of my daughter."
A disbelieving smile formed on the Bride's face, and she shook her head faintly. "Bitch... you can stop right there." Vernita's gritted her teeth slightly. "Just because I have no wish to murder you before the eyes of your daughter does not mean that parading her around in front of me is going to inspire sympathy." She leaned forward. "You and I have unfinished business, and not a goddamn fuckin' thing you've done in the subsequent four years, including-" she raised a finger. "getting knocked up, is going to change that."
"You have every right to wanna get even-" The Bride gave a small, short laugh. "Even? Even Steven? To do that, I would have to kill you... go up to Nikki's room, kill her... then wait for your husband, the good Dr. Bell to come home, and kill him." She looked at Vernita honestly. "That would be even, Vernita. That'd be about square." Vernita leaned forward herself. "So, when do we do this?"
"It all depends. When do you want to die? Tomorrow? The day after tomorrow-" "How `bout tonight, bitch?" Vernita challenged with a hint of icy mallice. "Splendid. Where?" The Bride countered. "There's a baseball diamond where I teach little league about a mile from here. We meet there around two-thirty in the morning, dressed all in black. Your hair in a black stocking." Vernita's voice lowered angrily. "We have us a knife-fight. We won't be bothered. Now-" she held up her finger, and the Bride flinched. Vernita smiled at that. "-I have to fix Nikki's cereal."
Vernita turned and grabbed a box of cereal, putting it down on the counter, then grabbed a bowl of the drying board, and got a little kiddie's spoon out of the cutlery drawer. "Bill always said you were one of the best ladies he'd ever seen with an edged weapon."
Vernita smiled and rolled her eyes. "Fuck you bitch. I know he didn't qualify that shit, so you, can just kiss my motherfuckin' ass Black Mamba." She walked to the refrigerator, and grabbed a carton of milk. She snorted in private laughter. "Black Mamba, huh. I shoulda been motherfuckin' Black Mamba."
"Weapon of choice?" the Bride suggested. "Eh, if you want to stick with your butcher knife, that's fine with me. Vernita laughed sonorously, her hand in the cereal box. "Very funny, bitch." She turned and smiled at the Bride. The Bride gave a self-satisfied smile.
"That's very FUCKIN' FUNNY!-" Vernita twisted around, pointing the cereal box at the Bride. There was a bang, and the Bride felt the whistle of displaced air, and heard the shatter of the wall beside her. Her head twisted, saw the hole.
Her hands dropped the mug she was holding. Her foot leapt up, sending it hurtling towards Vernita who dodged it easily. Her hand flew to her knife and she threw it with unnerving accuracy. The knife buried straight into Vernita's chest, puncturing her heart, smashing her against the cupboards. A slightly confused _expression went across her face, then she fell to the floor. No last words, no requests, no apologises, nothing.
The Bride tilted her head to one side, then knelt beside the body, and pulled the blade out of its chest, then stood back up, slowly. A slight noise caught her attention, and she twisted around, her knife ready... It was Nikki, standing forlornly in the doorway, her lips trembling.
The Bride, clenched her jaw, then grabbed a dishtowel, and began to wipe the knife clean. "It wasn't my intention to do this in front of you, for that I apologise, but you can take my word for it-" she finished cleaning the blade, "your mother had it comin'."
She turned back towards the girl, who still hadn't started crying. "When you grow up, if you still feel raw about it, I'll be waiting." She stepped past the little girl, leaving her looking at the corpse of her mother with that apology, statement, and invitation.
For those considered warriors, the vanquishing of thine enemy can be the warrior's only concern. This is the first and cardinal rule of combat. Suppress all human emotion and compassion; kill whoever stands in thy way, even if that be Lord God, or Buddha himself. This truth lies at the heart of all combat.