Serenity

Serenity.

Chapter 1

Scene 1

A woman is lying face up in bed. The woman is asleep, or more accurately looks asleep. Her eyes are open and she’s staring blankly at the off white ceiling. Is she dead? Moving closer it is clear that she is alive. The rise and fall of her bare chest is only slightly noticeable, her eyes are unblinking and not a single one of her tight muscles twitch. The only clue of vitality is in those unblinking eyes, a cross between angry fire and even more vicious uncertainty blaze in those hard, dark eyes. But the woman’s clear distress is evident. Nothing in the small, unadorned room seems to be the cause of her confused hostility. The room, as is the rest of the small apartment, is neat, orderly and seemingly clean but not due to the keen eye of a dutiful housewife but more from disuse. Neither is there anything more than what is needed in the minimalist rooms. Framed pictures of loved ones’, devices of entertainment and means of ornamentation have found no place between these sterile walls.

The kitchen is full of useful cooking tools, all of which have only recently been liberated form their plastic prison wrappings. The refrigerator and freezer are stocked with untouched food. A small simple table sits off in a desolate corner of kitchen space with a single chair at its side. Next to the kitchen is a space usually referred to as the living room or family room, but here it sits vacant. Down the hall is the juncture of bed and bath. The stark bathroom gathers dust on its brash fluorescent lights and cold tile floors. Finally, the bedroom is no different. A plain bed lays against the wall opposite the entrance and a large storage unit is the only furniture companion. No comfort is found here, but then again none may have been requested.

The only sign of life is the near lifeless naked woman covered only by a thin sheet. The room appears to be attempting to be as cold and dark as possible, perhaps in a losing endeavor to match the woman’s beautifully turbulent eyes. The striking woman’s eyes suddenly flash to the left and her head slowly follows their guide. She looks at the alarm clock resting on top of the storage unit. 4:32 a.m. Her eyes lead her head back to its surveillance of the non-descript ceiling, possibly attempting to gain evidence of the horizontal walls divergence from routine. She closes her eyes briefly but they seem to jump back open against her will. Frustration drowns the torment of those dark, frothy blue seas of her eyes and without hesitation she is out from her downy captivity and moving out of the room.

In the bathroom, she examines her reflection impassively before bringing her eyes to rest on the metallic sink. A toothbrush and toothpaste are assembled there. She continues her visual exploration. Blinking her eyes to the left, to the small standing shower, soap, razor, shampoo and no mildew. The icy gaze returns to the mirror; she is beautiful. Then her long legs return her to the bedroom.

Once again in her isolated kingdom, she slides open a hidden closet door. Several brand new, brand name clothes and outfits fill the average-sized closet. The woman begins holding some of them up to her body, before discarding them back to the closet. Sales tags still hang from most of the suits and casual clothing but none hold her interest. Finally, somewhat angrily, she pulls a slightly worn but pleasing pantsuit out of the closet.

Dressed in the dark gray pantsuit the woman is still in the bedroom sitting on the bed, her purse in one hand on her lap the other hand on the bed. The alarm goes off and she instantly reaches and turns it off. 7:00am. She’s up out of bed walking towards her dresser. She opens the bottom drawer and pulls aside a fake bottom. Mechanisms of all sorts are hidden there, guns and gadgets. She grabs two small devices and a gun and puts them in her purse, very smooth very quickly. Closing it, she opens the second drawer; pulling out another object, strangely shaped and small. Like a box with a short stubby handle. She closes the drawer and stands with the gun in hand. She presses a button and the handle stretches out and the barrel lengthens. She presses the button again and it goes back to its original size, and she tucks it neatly in the back of her pants under her coat.

Heading out the door a bottle catches her eye as she leaves but she does not stop. It is a prescription bottle labeled “Zantathol: for depression, once a day by mouth.” Next to it a second bottle mentions sleep deprivation, a third is for appetite and next to them a card to a therapist named Dr. James Mclurgy.

Scene 2

She’s walking on the street now. Full stride. Confident. She gets in a taxi and it lifts off the ground and flies her up to the top of a building a few blocks away. It touches down on the landing pad and she disembarks with the same confident stride while simultaneously paying the cabby. Her lengthy gait carries her 12 paces in through the sumptuous vaulted entryway of The Sky Light Bistro on the 187th floor of the Mora shopping center. The upper 4 floors are an immense dining establishment for the hungry shoppers with more than a little class and money. Though she is beautiful and well dressed, the concierge gives her a mild grimace as she asks for a seat at the bar. He shows her the way and she follows starring daggers into the back of his head. She finds a seat at the bar and orders a double of bourbon, straight up and as the bar tender sets her order down on a small napkin she fluidly pulls out a pack of cigarettes and Zippo lighter, she fishes a stick out of the package and sets the rest of the cigarettes on the bar.

“Antique?” The bartender nods towards the metallic lighter, he’s already making other drinks.

“Yes.” She replies hesitantly, losing some of her cool for the moment and then quickly regaining it. “Family heirloom, daddy liked his tobacco with the flavor of lighter fluid.” She pulls gently on the cylindrical paper filled with tobacco and the governmentally limited 87 poisons.

“You don’t see them very often anymore.” The bartender had been in constant motion, but now he stopped and seemed to be paying too much attention to his beautiful patron. A man down the bar was waving his hand.

“You seem to be needed elsewhere sir.” Her cool in place blustered by a sly smile and an almost unnoticeable movement of the eyes kept the comment from seeming rude and the bartender smiled knowing his looks and manner had made an impression and he went back to work. The bartender was too busy to come back to the conversation. The woman was coolly eyeing the windows to the south and opposite side of the bar. The view looked out over the horizontally and vertically sprawling city. The immense sky scrappers reached towards the sun and their numbers spread until they ran into the buildings of other cities to the point where it was impossible to tell where one city began and another ended. Cars and cabs and busses and freight roared past. But all that noise is kept out with the sound proof glass. All we hear is light jazz, the murmur of conversation and the bartender clinking bottles. He was busy for 7:30am but this is the city that never sleeps and this woman is glad the city never sleeps. She doesn’t sleep either.

Her eyes never lose their cool when a large blue limousine glides past the window, moving towards the landing pad to her left. The way she had come in. She stubs out her cigarette and her composure remains hard and cool unlike the first moment after the bartender’s inquiry about her lighter. She drops the lighter back in her purse and picks up the glass and tilts it fully to her lips and as if drinking were a Olympic competition judged on fluid movement. In the same motion she sets the glass down and pulls out twenty dollars from her purse having just dropped the lighter in. With her left hand she sets down the drink and with her right she drops the bill next to it. The Limo is setting down on the pad as she swivels off the seat already in full stride towards the exit and the limo. Her walk is even more purposeful and self-assured then before.

A large man is helping a smaller man out of the limo. Bodyguard number one. Bodyguard number two is getting out the opposite side door and a third out the right passenger door. The driver is trained but no worries there, he stays in the car. There are only three threats here.

The woman is 17 strides from the door and the three bodyguards are now situated around their boss. They begin to move towards the door. The four men are 12 strides from the door. The bodyguards are wary. They are trained well and they don’t look half as dangerous as they are.

15 strides to 10.

The woman is moving faster then the four men but she does not break stride. She brushes by a dashing affluent couple on their way to a booth. They barely notice and neither does the woman.

10 steps to 8.

Three of the men slow as the first pulls ahead to open the door. The two remaining bodyguards maintain their places on either side of their boss, a short, thin, fairly attractive man in a moderately expensive suit.

8 steps to 7 steps.

He looks to be in his early forties, but with modern medicine you never can tell. Though the woman is strikingly beautiful and looks to be no more then 30 at the eldest, her looks too could be deceiving.
Five steps to five steps and the third bodyguard is four steps from the door and his eyes are searching. All of their eyes are searching, probing, incisive. Their muscles are taught and their nerves are on edge. They are ready for anything because in their line of work, anything can and will happen.

4 to 3 to 3.

But the man they surround and protect looks straight ahead. He is oblivious to his surroundings. A flaming bunny rabbit with a cowbell around his neck could be firing off a elephant rifle next to his right ear and the man wouldn’t even blink. He has men that blink for him and today he needs to look his best, look in control, look cool. His bodyguards are expected to look shifty and alert. As president and CEO of a major banking firm, he is expected to project the confidence of his company even when they lose seventy billion dollars due to a poor investment decision which he now has to explain to seven mob bosses that are awaiting him inside the restaurant. The woman, on the other hand, seems cool and confident but she does not scan the crowd or look for danger. She knows exactly where she is going and what to expect. In her line of work, the only things that happen are the things she makes happen.

3 to 1 to 2.

The first guard is opening the ornate floor-to-ceiling glass double door. The woman makes her last stride to the door a quick one, bowling over the snooty concierge like he was a featherweight against Mike Tyson’s demon-empowered-armor-plated clone. The man and his bodyguards are crowding the open huge double doors. The guards may have noticed the strikingly beautiful woman streaking towards them as they also noticed the group of drunken lawyers in the corner booth or the obviously expensive prostitute strategically positioned at the bar, but to the world they seem oblivious. But they do notice. Guard number one reaches into his right jacket pocket and puts his hand around his Glock 9.9. But with a blinding bit of speed, the woman is past him and out the door and a concierge falls to in her wake, neither threats.

“Bitch!” The concierge hisses under his breath. Only the alert guard hears him and stares down at the sniveling prick. The concierge had given him shit once when he had come here without Mr. Caray and now he enjoys the bastard’s temporary humiliation. The guard almost missed the good-looking man running right at him with something in his right hand.

The bartender was racing head long towards the exit and was about to yell when a large fist was brought up smashing into his face and bringing the floor up to meet him. What seemed like several bodies were quickly piled on, holding him down. The object in his hand was pried away.

“Who are you?” Shouted the big ugly man who was leaning on his chest.

“I’m Rayja, the bartender.” He wheezed through bloody lips and shattered teeth.

Guard number two was looking at the object he had wrestled away from the bartender.

“It’s a pack of smokes.” He tossed them to the guard number one who was rising off Rayja, catching the pack in stride.

“The woman. Left them. At the bar.” Rayja was spitting words through the pain, trying to avoid more of the same. “I was trying. To catch her. Before she left.”

Guard number one looked in the direction the bartender was nodding. The woman who had knocked over the prick and sprinted out the door was boarding a taxi on the pad. He was about to drop the pack down to the barkeep when something clicked. At first he thought it was some sort of epiphany, like a light bulb of thought coming on above his head. But he was a trained mercenary and as a rule these men did not have epiphanies. Then he realized that the sound came from the small box in his hand and the last thing he saw as he began to open the pack was a bright light as he thought maybe he was having an epiphany.

Scene 3

The explosion rocked the high rise and sent debris raining down almost three thousand feet to the streets below. The Sky Light Bistro was flaming shards and melting glass. No one on the top floor could have survived and even if someone was still alive, they were most likely approaching maximum velocity on their decent to ground level.

“Holy fiery shit!” The cabbie had rotated in his seat towards the explosion, and was gawking to the rear of the vehicle, forgetting that he was in control of a half ton of steel and plastic that was traveling g at 90 mph 2000 feet in the air. “We could have been killed! You got out of there just in time! Holy fiery shit!” He repeated, obviously his favorite phrase in situations involving exploding buildings while he was at work and continued gaping at the smoldering wreckage.

“Please sir could you face forward and not make our second lease on life end so quickly. I’m late for an appointment.” Her eyes were cold and uninterested.

Scene 4

The woman was sitting in a lovely dark wood waiting room with deep maroon chairs, plush and ornate as she gazed blankly at the inner door as if she were listening to the inner workings of the hinges, trying to learn their language so that she could ask them in their own tongue to politely open and allow her to proceed. After a moment the door opened, though without any new language skills on her part. A forty something man had opened it, though as we have mentioned appearance of age is not always truthful. He looked bookish with his large glasses and small frame, which wore expensive but outdated clothing. He was the very image of a kind scholar and had probably spent a good deal on surgery to achieve it. The man stepped aside as a very young man with the face of a movie star walked out. In fact he was a movie star.

“Take care, Haley, and remember it’s just acting.” The boy walked out and the man turned towards the woman. He was smiling until he saw her and he then smiled bigger, oblivious to his own false facade.

“Serenity, please come in.”
Serenity took her usual seat on another very plush, very maroon sofa opposite a very plush, very maroon high back in which the good doctor sat. Together they starred off into space. The doctors smile waning. The patients face remaining unmoved.

“Well how are we doing today Seren?” He called her by her abbreviated name knowing full well that she hated it but that it always got her to talk.

“I killed a couple hundred people today you dick.” Flat, unemotional, but her eyes flared for just a moment and were still again.

“Sounds like just like another day for you then.” The doctor smiled his big fake smile. “So how are the medications I gave you doing?”

“I don’t sleep. I don’t eat. And I will always be depressed.” Seren continued in monotone staring into space blankly but her eyes flared on the word “always” and then were still again.

“Now we’ve been over this Serenity.” The good doctor, who we have learned is Dr. James Mclurgy, adopted his best stern, fatherly face. “You’re only going to feel better if you try to feel better. And I mean really try.”

“We’ve talked about all this. We talked about my feelings and thoughts and what I do and why I do it and my childhood and my plans and nothing helps.”

“Well if I remember correctly you don’t think you have any feelings besides sadness, we couldn’t remember anything from our childhood, you wont tell me what you do or why you do it and you don’t have any plans but to keep doing it.” He made some kind of puppy dogface and she just blinked hot embers. “How about this, why don’t we talk about what it is you want.”

“I want to be happy.”

“And what would make you happy?”

“Not feeling sad.”

“Okay, so what would make you not feel sad?” Seren just stares into space. “Do you not know or do you just not want to tell me? Because you’re a very smart young woman and you know very well that I can not help you unless you help me.” Flares lit in her eyes and then fall silent and she looks up at him.

“I’ve tried to help you. I’ve unflinchingly told you everything I know and you wont take any of it seriously.”

“I’m sorry Seren but you must understand I cannot flip a switch for you, we must work this out together. What do you want to get out of this? Out of life?”

“I want to know my purpose.” Doctor Mclurgy takes pause.

“We all want purpose Seren, but we need to search it out and when we least expect to find it, then it will find us, that is, when the moments right for us to know. Let me tell you a story about a young boy who wanted to be an astronaut even though the space program had been shut down for 15 years. You see at a very young age I always dreamed of piloting a starship…”

Serenity held up a finger to the Doctors nose and raised her eyes to meet his. She begins in a whisper.

“You still don’t believe that I kill people do you?” Mclurgy eyes begin to cross as he stares at the finger nearly on his nose. “That’s fine if you don’t.” She starts to move her finger closer as he moves his body away. “But if someday I find someone who will pay me to kill you, say a depressed mobster you couldn't help, then don’t make me say I told you so while I stick a shotgun up your ass.”

Mclurgy is pressed against his chair with eyes still crossed as Serenity swiftly rises and moves out through the door seemingly having made a deal with the hinges not to squeak on her exit.