It had been a long and trying night... Her head hurt so very much, she was certain that something was off. As she sat in the back of Jorge’s squad car, her vision blurred a bit, sweat still forming beads on her brow. The lights of the city were streaks upon the window as the car drove down the road toward the station, casting a myriad of temporary tattoos upon the glass that seemed to mingle with the cold rain which fell from the New York sky.

Santa cop seemed quiet, and if he spoke, she took no notice. The ringing in her ears overpowered any conversation. Perhaps he would do better to get her checked out medically first before trying to take her statement, she was in bad shape. The dark beauty was quite pale, though it had absolutely nothing to do with the dried streaks of blood that marred her pretty garb. She looked the a wilted flower in a way, which was not odd at all for her when she felt sick.

Xavia closed her tawny eyes, her face relaxing as she felt a familiar darkness envelope her, one that was as peaceful as a summer sunset over Lake Michigan....

--------------

It was months later and Xavia was alone in her suite... She had her forehead pressed against the window which overlooked the city below, dark circles marring the area beneath her eyes from lack of sleep. She had all but given up the search for her identity, though she had been told by another that she was some woman named Xavia Warshalai. She still couldn’t remember.

All she did as of late was work, there was no play. She did not enjoy singing anymore, or playing the piano, and she never really enjoyed the audience. Her phone would ring constantly off the hook but she never answered, even if it was the police with follow ups on the incident before Christmas. Her door was always bolted, and she asked security to stay outside and keep watch for weirdos. The woman was slipping into the life of a recluse.

The maid had been in and began to clean, as was her usual routine, and the young miss kept casting glances at the frail looking Xavia, shaking her head in bewilderment.It was none of her business what was going on with the semi-famous singer, but every staff member who knew of her had grown quite fond of the woman and kept trying to pump her for details every time she finished cleaning “Layla’s” room, to which she would always reply, “She looks sad...” and be about her business.

Xavia didn’t know about all of this, and she didn’t care.

After watching the reflection of the other person in the room, she stood abruptly and uttered, “Come back later, I need to be alone...” Her voice sounded so far away to her, and she slipped a twenty into the girl’s hand as that one nodded and reluctantly backed out of the room. When Xavia heard the sound of the click that came from the closing of the door, she sat on the cushy sofa and hugged herself, tapping her long digits against each upper arm as if impatient.

She still wasn’t feeling well, and odd things had been happening since the night she had been accosted. Whatever it was, she hoped it would go away soon because she had too much to do and not enough time to do such things. Her personal life had all but ceased to exist, she hardly even set foot outside of her suite for the fear of something else happening. A hand lifted and raked through her hair, which was growing lank and stringy from her declining health...

She lost herself in thought after awhile as she sat there. There was not a single point which she stared at, only some distance beyond the walls that were formed around her. The soft whir of the heater came to life as it warded off the last bits of wintery cold that clung to the air, forming a halo around the room and slowly building up around her, while the clock ticked away with annoying clicks and pops. Other than these noises, the room was silent and deafening.

Suddenly the phone broke the maddening silence, the ring screaming from across the room for her to pick up. Xavia jumped, her heart kicking a staccato against her ribs. Letting out a heavy whoosh of air, she stood up and meandered toward the offending technology, eyes narrow as they focused on the sleek cell. She curled her fingers around it and stared at the screen, seeing that it was yet another attempt for the police to get a hold of her.

They didn’t seem to understand that she just wanted to be in her own little bubble. She had given her statement even though she didn’t want to, and they wanted more information than she could possibly give. It seemed that she was supposedly a victim in a long string of muggings from the perps that she had been attacked by, so said the voice mail... Granted, the calls were less frequent than they had been in the beginning, she still got the occasional plea for her to come down and talk to a detective that obviously didn’t want to let the case go cold.

Why did they not just find another victim? She didn’t care if she got justice or not, she had way too much BS on her plate for her liking as it was, why did she have to deal with that too? The fact of the matter was that she had no taste for being the center of attention. Hell, she had to deal with it enough during her work hours.

There was another part of her altogether that wanted to shrink away completely and never be seen again.

She shook her head, clearing the cobwebs, and sighed when the ringing stopped. A beep was given to remind her that there was yet another voice mail waiting for her to listen... She licked her lips and contemplated for a moment... Should she listen to yet another plea, or should she just ignore it?

Xavia quickly stuffed the phone in her purse, then hesitantly grabbed her coat and jerked it on. She paced for a moment, staring at the door, the familiar lump of fear forming in the back of her throat. A few minutes of pacing later and she was on her way out, jean clad legs carrying her passed the surprised security guard, and to the elevator. She pressed the down button impatiently, and waited for the long clime of the clausterphobic box.

“When should I expect you back, Miss?” the beef asked, worry in his voice. “Would you like me to come with you?”

“That won’t be necessary... Thanks... I... should be back in an hour or two, but don’t be surprised if I come back much later,” was her reply. She did not look back at the man when she spoke to him, mostly because it was hard to look anyone in the eye anymore, especially those she didn’t know very well at all.

When the elevator reached the floor she was on and opened its doors, she climbed in and pressed the “G” button. It took a minute or two and a few passengers before the box reached the ground floor, and she stepped out into the lobby, shoving a pair of dark sunglasses over her eyes and pulling a wool beret over her head, both of which were pulled from her coat pockets.

Outside she went, through the revolving door that marked the exit of the lush hotel,into the cool,late afternoon. She stuffed her hands in her pockets and glanced over her shoulder, heart in her throat every time she passed someone by... She walked at a medium pace in the same direction she had headed that fateful night without even realizing it..

Jorge Cervantes sighed as he once again hung up the receiver of his phone on his desk and sat back, staring at the bulky, black device. It seemed almost as if it were mocking him with questions he would never find answers for. Every since the incident back in November, he had been trying to get in contact with that woman, Xavia, the singer who had been in that street side mugging. The whole incident still drew his attention just because of how weird the whole thing was. She, a fellow mutant, was attacked and while it does seem like any other random mugging, what was weird about it were the criminals who had been arrested. There was too many unanswered questions.

He could still remember the whole thing very clearly. He had been going to a charity event, dressed as Santa, but along the way he stumbled upon her being mugged. Now, this is New York, such things really should not startle a police detective, but as far as he was concerned, there was definitely something off. The muggers…there was just something about them! It was almost as if they targeted her on purpose…but why? Anyways, he had managed to stop them, along with the help of a pair of others young women, the thugs were subdued.

That is when things got strange. He made everyone come down to give statements, Xavia obviously did not know why she was targeted. She seemed like a good egg. But those thugs…there was an arrogance about them that he did not like. It was as if, even though they did not steal anything, they seemed like they were successful in what they were doing. Had all this simply been to scare the bejezzus out of the young singer? Or was there more?

“Yo, Cervantes,” a voice suddenly interrupted his thoughts. He looked up to spy another of the officers watching him with a arched brow. “What’s got your attention?”

Jorge shook his head. “Old case. Nothing more.”

“You mean that lounge singer chick again?”

“She was attacked. And I think she does know more than she is letting on, or she just doesn’t know she does…” he shrugged. “Either way…I dunno. Something’s gnawing at me.”

“Yeah, you sure that’s not just your –“

Jorge picked up a post-it pad and hurled it, striking the man squarely between the eyes. “You might want to take that back before I break your arm.” he muttered. Everyone knew he was crazy for his current girlfriend Gemma, and any insinuation that he could be unfaithful was immediately met with an embarrassingly violent response.

“Ow! Jeez! Was just a joke Cervantes.” The man said as he rubbed the spot between his eyes. He groaned as he massaged the spot. “So what’s got you itchy about the case?”

“Like I said…I dunno.” he muttered as he thought for a moment and then suddenly stood up. “But I need to find out. I’ve called that woman several times and she won’t respond. She’s scared of something and best time I found out what. Have my calls transferred to my cellphone.”

The officer groaned but nodded. “Alright, watch your back Cervantes!”

Jorge raised his hand in acknowledgement of hearing his warning and headed out of the precinct. He would start with her apartment. Maybe she would be more willing to talk if it were in-person, rather than over the phone..

She stood at the corner of the main street and the street she had been accosted on, staring down through the dark lenses of her glasses. A thick swallow marked her unease, and her heart kicked it up again. She shook her head in bewilderment and ventured forward, then crouched down and touched the sidewalk with her hand, wincing as the cold pierced through her glove and into her palm. Her mouth formed a tight little bud as she stared out toward the spot where she had been attacked, no traces left, no bloodstain, nothing to indicate what had happened. Surely none of that which happened was the cause of her illness. It just didn’t make sense! None of it made sense at all.

What was she supposed to do now? The question nagged at her brain and she gave a soft, humorless laugh. Her chin touched her chest for a moment before she stood up and started jogging back toward the hotel.

She had been gone for only a half an hour, but the security guard said nothing as he watched her bolt into her suite. He had long since stopped wondering what was addling her brain... His job was just to watch her door and make sure the bad guy stayed out. As she ran into her suite and slammed the door shut so hard it opened itself again, he turned his head and watched.

Xavia grabbed a suitcase from the closet and dropped it onto the couch, then started to throw her personal belongings into said luggage. In a manner of minutes, the room looked as if a tornado went through it, and she hardly stopped to fold laundry or anything, she merely shoved her things in every open space she could think of, talking to herself about how she was so tired of being Layla and so tired of not knowing who Xavia was.

Nobody seemed to understand, nobody could fathom what was going through her brain. She stuffed a stack of clothes into another suitcase, her costumes, her street clothes, her toiletries... Really, that was all she owned... A lot of it... She frustratingly pushed the lid down and zipped one suitcase, and was about to do another when she heard the pop and pained groan outside of the open door...

She whirled around just as her boss and a few thugs, the same whom had attacked her before. A gun was held to the portly one’s head, and he was sweating bullets as he spoke to her in that voice that sounded much like Danny Davito’s voice, “H-hey sweetheart... Where do you think you’re going? We g-got a contract.”

Her gaze traveled passed the thugs and her boss, and she saw her guard knocked out on the floor across the threshold of the door, blood trickling from the cut on his forehead from the metal knuckled on the uglier of the two. She stopped what she was doing and backed up a few steps, and the prettier of the two gave a smirk, “Guess what? Your boss likes to flap his gums,sugar. You might wanna get a lawyer. Hah.. It’s a good thing you packed though, cause you are goin’ on a little trip.”

“What do you want from me?” She did all she could not to show her fear to the two, and the one laughed a little as he shoved her boss forward to sit down on the couch. The paunchy fellow gave a high pitched squeak and raised his arms over his head, “Don’t hurt me!” The puttz... His fat chin quivered a bit like he was going to cry, and he looked over at her unapologetically.

“We’re not gonna hurt you, old fart,” said the pretty one, and he looked at Xavia, then pointed at her, “Well, unless she causes trouble... Your fate is in her hands now... You should probably be kissing her pretty ass right now and sayin’ you are sorry for namin’ her name.” He laughed a little and jerked his head toward the door... “Go bolt the door, sweetie/ Don’t bother tryin’ to run, either, this gun can pack a mean punch through the walls.”

She could feel her knees buckle a little, but complied, moving to the door and bolting it obediently, then pressed her back against it, formulating a plan in her head as she asked, “What do you want from me?”

“Nothin, sweetie... I am here on business. My boss, however, asked me to come get you and take you back to him, dead or alive/// He would prefer you were alive though. See, you have something he wants..”

“What is that?”

“How would I know?” Snort.

Jorge grumbled as he drove through the streets of New York and headed back to the hotel of the young lady he rescued on that cold, November night. The truth of the matter was that he was just a little tired and worried for the woman, Layla, he remembered her saying her name was. She retreated completely from hearing anything that had to do with the case and while he could not blame her for that, part of him felt that she really needed to face it. He had to get the ball rolling to make sure that everything was out in the open and he would not be surprised by anything else. He knew it would be the only way for her to get any peace of mind. She could not keep running from it.

He sighed as he glanced at the address he had written down, and eyed the address numbers rolling back. Before he knew it, he came up to a swanky building and looked a little surprised at it. He was not surprised at all that she did not want to leave that, then again, even the swankiest of places could become a prison.

“This is for her own good,” He had to keep reminding himself of that. “The sooner she faced this, made sure she revealed everything she could about that night, the better.”

He sounded more like he needed more convincing for himself, rather than her. But he knew the validity of his words. Burying something like this could not be good for one’s health.

Finally resolving to go through with it, Jorge pulled his car off to the side of to the curb, parked and sighed as he waited there. He really was beginning to feel bad about it. The last thing he wanted to do was force the young woman to face something she was not ready for, but she needed to. If she wanted to make sure that those thugs will remain locked up, he had to make sure that there was nothing up their sleeves, that she really did not know them, that she was not targeted on purpose…

Something just told him to do this…he had to be sure…

Slipping out of his car, Jorge slammed the door closed, jogged across the street and stepped up to the building. The doorman to the hotel gave him a slight bow and opened the door for him. Jorge, lost for a second, just nodded back before he stepped inside. He really must have looked out of place in his wrinkly trench coat and faux-nice suit.

As he walked up to the receptionist desk, he smiled policed as he pulled out a slip of paper that had the young ladies name and room number.

“May…I help you sir?” an older man with an upturned nose asked.

“Yes, can you please ring this young ladies room and tell her she has a visitor,” he said as he handed over the paper.

The man read it closely, before he scoffed and handed it back. “I’m sorry sir. I know you must be a big fan, but…she has requested she have no visitors…” the man beamed as he ran his fingertips together, as if expecting a bribe.

Jorge immediately caught this and smiled knowingly. “Oh…Ooohh…hehe I getcha…” Jorge grinned in a sly-like manner as he reached into his coat pocket for his wallet. But instead of pulling out money, the man casually set his badge on the smooth counter. The look on the receptionist face was pure and utter shock. “Now…how about we re-discuss your previous statement?”

“Oh…umm…yes…allow me sir,” the man said as he grabbed the phone from his desk to dial the room.

“Don’t tell her the police are here. Just say…it’s a big fan,” he said as he plucked up his badge from the counter and once more slipped it back into his coat.

The phone rang. Everyone looked over at it, but the thugs chose to let it go unanswered. They had done their homework, having asked around about the woman’s habits. She never answered her phone, according to the rumors that floated around the hotel. Thus it rang until voice mail picked up.

The man with the gun grabbed her by her arm after a few minutes of silence, and jerked his head toward the fire escape. “You may as well forget your suitcases, you won’t really need them... It was just a coincidence that we stopped by when you were about to leave. Seriously, let’s go...” He snorted again and shoved her toward said escape route. “Joe,take care of the piece of crap and then catch up.”

Joe smirked happily and cocked his gun, causing the fat little toad that was her boss to squeal again. “Ah, shaddap, you old fart. Nobody likes snitches... Why did you go and do a thing like that? Such a pretty lady, too. Tisk tisk.”

“We had a deal! I would bring you to her and you would pay me for it! You didn’t say anything about killing me or hurting her... Don’t kill me, please, have mercy.”

“We didn’t say anything about how we were gonna pay you... Now shaddap.” Squeeze, POP................................................. Silence. “God, what an idiot.” He then stuck the gun in his belt and walked after the pair that was now out on the fire escape, a few stories below.

Down in the lobby at the same time, the maid from the penthouse came down with her tote of cleaning supplies, and went to exchange keys. She saw the clerk at the desk talking to a cop and glanced over curiously, the clerk being on the phone... That one settled the phone on the cradle and gave a soft shrug, “Sorry, sir, she never answers her phone anymore. Been like that for months.” She turned her head in time to see the maid wandering toward the elevator with her tote and the keys to the penthouses... “Hey, Betsy...?”

The maid looked up and gave an inquiring, “Humm?”

“You seen the singer at all lately? There is a visitor for her..” She gestured toward the badge.

“Yeah, she told me to clean up later, I figured I could do it before I clocked out. Why, what is going on?” The redheaded maid moved closer to the pair and looked between the clerk and the cop, worry in her gaze...

“I dunno... Since you are headed that way, why don’t you show the man the way? I don’t think she will let him in, either way, but I don’t think the boss wants any trouble with the cops, so we should probably cooperate.”

Betsy shrugged gently and then gestured toward the service elevator... “Come on, then.”

If he followed, she would take him all the way up to the top floor where he would be escorted toward the first door, where the security guard was slumped over, knocked out cold. The maid dropped her cleaning supplies and ran over to the guard, kneeling down, “Oh my god! Charlie!” She felt for his pulse and her shoulders sagged with relief when she felt it, strong as ever, “What the hell happened to you?”

As soon as the question was out of her mouth, one could hear the loud pleas of the fat, bald man who had hired “Layla” a year before, and then the report of the gunshot as it killed said old fart.

Outside, Xavia flinched as she heard that, and she started to struggle against the grip. “Let me go...”

“Honey, I would reconsider trying to get away....” He shoved her down toward another flight of the metal stairs. She stumbled a little, and then stopped in her tracks, curling her lip and snarling at him.

The man grabbed her arm again in a death grip, and she reacted with her fight or flight instinct by now. Thorns protruded from her skin, and he yelped, “You little b****!!” He lifted the hand with the gun, not letting go of her arm, even as much as the thorns hurt when they pierced into his palm. She hauled her hand back and let it fly, larger thorns protruding from her finger tips and heading for his gun hand, causing him to send a shot flying wildly upward into the NYC sky.

Wow that woman was stubborn. Apparently she did not answer the phone for anyone, including the hotel staff. Jorge was reaching the end of his line with this woman. She really was beginning to become extremely difficult. He understood that she went through a tough thing, but spending the rest of your days buried in a hotel, denying yourself the light of day was not a good thing. Jorge knew that much but try as he might, he doubted he was going to get through to her. Still…answers needed to be had and as much as he disliked the idea of dragging her out into the light, he was going to have to.

But as he thought about this the entire way up in the elevator, he ignored the fact that he was also with the maid. The maid seemed to be going on about how strange Layla was acting: the woman never took calls and her bed hardly looked slept in, the staff worked around her and she hardly left the room. Classic case of agoraphobia he’s heard of. It is common in people who have been attacked while out and about in the world. As soon as they stepped outside, they feared their own shadow.

At least she was not completely taken in by it.

But as Jorge was continuing with his own musings, the doors to the elevator opened and he was immediately greeted by a bad sight. One the ground, a security guard lay slumped over the side, unconscious from some unknown attacked. The maid, having apparently known the man, flew to his side…

>> “Oh my god! Charlie!...What the hell happened to you?”

Jorge was quick to step into the hallway to join her, but the second he did…

>> “-- didn’t say anything about killing me or hurting her... Don’t kill me, please, have mercy.”

POP!!

The sound of the gunshot, the pleading of a man who was more than likely dead, the knocked out security, everything immediately put Jorge into cop mode. Grabbing the maid, he pulled her off to the side and covered her as two more gunshots resounded in the air. For some reason those ones seemed like farther away. As soon as the hall returned to quiet, Jorge left the maid’s side, grabbed the unconscious security guard and dragged him off to the side with the maid.

The maid, was hysterical as she tried not to scream and draw attention.

Jorge was quick to seize her by the arms. “Hey, hey, hey, listen to me. Betsy, right?” he asked as he looked her square in the eyes. “You need to get out of here. Take the stairs, run and don’t look back, I’ll take care of your friend here, now go!”

Jorge turned, his attention now on the room as he pulled his phone from his pocket and immediately dialed the dispatch

“Hello? This is detective Jorge Cervantes, I have a 10-10 in progress, multiple shots fired. Need back up immediately to this address…”

After he rattled off the address, Jorge snapped his phone shut and slipped it back into his pocket. This is when he proceeded to pull his handgun from the holster, crouched low and snuck up to the door. As he did, he pressed himself as close to the wall as he could and crept closer to the closed door. The sound of the screaming and the gunshots still rang in his ears. He was already feeling like he failed that young lady, but now was not the time. He had to distract them, get them talking…

Reaching over, Jorge pounded on the door as hard as he could while still remaining against the wall should they take shots at it.

KNOCK! KNOCK!! KNOCK!!![/i]

“This is the NYPD!! Open the door!!” He screamed. He hoped that his back up would be here within moments and have the building surrounded...

She could hear a distant shout muffled by the door of her suite. Though she couldn’t make it out, she heard the shout of the other thug as he scrambled to get down the first set of steps, “Damn it, the cops! Get the girl down or leave her!” With that, he took the stairs downward two and three at a time, running passed the struggling pair.

The guy with the gun didn’t care either way, Joe was just doing what he was supposed to do and getting out of dodge, he didn’t take it personal. The woman, however, was proving to be a stronger foe than he thought. It was all he could do not to scream as his wrist was impaled on hawthorn sized thorns, his hand going numb around the gun. The weapon dropped and he forgot about it for the moment, he would not let the woman get the best of him. He hauled his free hand back and slammed his fist into her jaw. She crumpled to the grate with him on top of her, dazed, but awake...

He grabbed her hand and tore it from his wrist, red faced, veins popping. “Come on like a good little wench,” he said through his teeth and attempted to grab her by her hair. She was dizzy, but coherent enough to fight back, and even though she saw stars, she could feel her hand brush the cool metal of his weapon. “Oh no you don’t!” he yelled and tackled her. With the gun between them, they rolled around, grappling for said piece, precariously close to falling off of the fire escape.

They fought like that for a few minutes and then there was a loud “Pop” between them.....

He groaned and rolled off of her, his gut bleeding out into his hand. He stared with disbelief and then laughed in the same type of mood... He looked to her then, and she lay there panting. His face contorted into a look of rage, and he stumbled toward her. She raised the gun... “POW... POW POW CLICKCLICKCLICK.” He fell limp, blood, skull, and brain matter streaking the brick of the building as he slumped. Her finger kept squeezing over and over before it registered in her mind that she was hearing the soft clicks of an empty weapon, still pointed at the now, faceless corpse that she had shot at point blank range.

Shaken, she stared at the dead man, shocked by what she had done. She had rescued herself for once. Wait, what? She remembered something? What timing. She scrambled to her feet and dropped the gun on the man, gagging a little at the thought of having killed him. For a long moment, she stood over him, doe eyed, then tentatively moved closer and nudged him with a foot. He made no response... She sighed in relief. It was over... At least for now.

Her face throbbed from the blow, a bruise starting to form along her jawline, lip split at the corner. With a swollow, Layla... No, Xavia Warshalai began to ascend back up toward her suite, legs somewhat watery as they carried her one step at a time. Her fingers were slippery with the man’s blood as they trailed up the railing, leaving a streak of crimson in their wake.

By the time she was halfway back up, she could hear the sound of the cruisers below as they swarmed the area, the wailing of the sirens that echoed harshly against the backdrop of the back alley, and the shouting from Joe as he was attempting to flee the scene. If Jorge had busted the door down, he would step into a room that was filled with chaos, and eventually see her numbly climb in through the window. The room looked trashed, her clothes thrown everywhere. It was obvious they had come upon her, catching her as she was about to run away from the life she was living...

If he didn’t bust in by the time it was over, she would open the door for him and let him in. Either way, the sight wasn’t pretty at all. Either way, it ended with her sinking to the floor on her backside and staring off, teeth chattering a little, her bloodstained palm cupping her cheek and cradling it while she tested the bones. Nothing had been broken, thankfully, she was just not going to be on stage for awhile.

Whether he was there or not, she didn’t care, she was remembering. She remembered the abandoned house, her lover, Jupiter, the thugs that were after her then, her mom and dad and family, Romania, the creepy old man, the torture... She remembered everything. She was Xavia, not Layla. She even remembered the things she had forgotten before her full blown amnesia, the sweet sixteen party, the lab, the old man with the needle as he drew her blood and took samples, and used her for a lab rat. That was the whole thing, what all of it was about.

She was a piece of meat for some lunatic professor of fringe science, and that did not sit well with her. So many people had died because of and for her. They wanted to know what made her tick and they wouldn’t stop until she was in tiny little pieces for the microscope if they had to go that far. All because she had a gift. Or was it a curse?

At first there was no answer when Jorge made the proclamation to the closed door. It was eerily quiet and he felt a little at a loss. He wanted there to be noise to prove that there were people still alive in there, but he knew that the only noises that were sure to come would be gunshots and scuffling. No matter which option he preferred, he knew that he was only going to be greeted by the sight of blood and death.

A prayer fell from his lips that he would not find Layla in there among the dead.

It was only the thought of her and of possibly failing her, that forced Jorge to finally make a stupid decision. He moved on his feet, gun in hand as he glanced at the door once more. There was no more shouting, no more gunshots, no one had even tried to fire at the door. Whatever was happening here, it was way too quiet.

The his eerie silence was completely shattered about the sound of several more reports from a pistol. Jorge pressed himself back against the wall as he heard them go off…

Cra-coom! Cra-coom! Cra-coom!!!

He barely heard the grunts, but he knew that someone else had been shot. He really could not waste the time anymore. If there was any chance that Layla was alive in there, he owed it to her to save her. So once the gunshots quieted again, Jorge moved in front of the door, readied himself, then suddenly kicked out, slamming his food into the edge of the door. The wood splintered and immediately began give way. One more kick…and the whole thing flew open.

Immediately Jorge pressed himself against side, waiting to see if anyone would attempt to unload a few rounds into the open doorway. A second or so and nothing happened…

The detective quickly shouted out. “This is the NYPD! Drop your weapons! NOW!”

He waited before he began to creep forward then glanced into the room. Trashed, it was completely trashed. Clothes had been tossed everywhere, some furniture had been upturned, there was a dead man lying on the ground in a pool of his own blood. His heart racing, Jorge checked his blind spots, gun aimed forward as he checked and moved on, then checked and moved on again. Where was everyone? So far is seemed that no one was in the dilapidated room except for the dead body. But as he moved on, he saw, far up ahead near an open window sat the crouched, familiar form of a young woman.

It took a second for Jorge’s memory to be jogged up enough to remember that that is what Layla looked like. She looked scared, shivering, and blood stained her hands. Did she cause all of this? He doubted it, from the looks of the room there was way too much movement for it to have just been her.

Quietly he stepped up, not wanting to frighten her, but needing to get her attention now that he could hear the sirens closing in from outside.

“Layla?” he asked calmly. “Layla, it’s Detective Cervantes. Do you remember me? What happened here?” he asked, praying she was together enough to remember who he was.

It was a long silence. She didn’t seem to hear Jorge speak to her, at least at first. She sat there and stared at the wall, a myriad of expressions crossing the bruised and swollen visage of her face. She could taste the copper of her own blood as it wept from the crack in her lip, some dribbling down her chin unheeded, and the smell of the gunman’s blood was strong on her hands and clothes. If one were to crouch down and look into her eyes, they would see that she was in a state of shock, not surprising. Her breaths came in gasps, and she rocked a little for a moment before it registered in her mind that the detective was asking her a question. No, not her, Layla.

Xavia slowly dragged her gaze upward toward the face of the cop. She stared blankly for a time. It was the cop from before, the one who had dressed as Santa some months ago. She blinked a few times and tried to focus on him, but it took quite awhile. Her chin quivered some as she forced herself to get back into reality. Blink, blink.

“Layla?” she asked, canting her head, her voice coming out as a hoarse croak. “Layla isn’t real. He made her up.” She pointed toward the dead man. When she sighed again, it sounded as if she was as tired as they would come. In fact, she was tired. Her eyes were wary and full of pain, and the bags underneath were testament to the fact that sleep was not a word in her vocabulary at the moment.

The woman giggled a little, hiccuped, and then began to weep. Her arms pulled her legs closer to her body and her face pressed against the cradle of her knees. She knew it wasn’t over, not by a long shot. He had no clue what he was walking into when he decided he needed to help her. Or did he?

“I want to go home,” she mewled. “I want to be with Momma and Poppa...” The memories had come flooding back to her after having fled her for over a year. She remembered where she came from and who she was, and what she stood for, but never thought she would see the day when everything came rushing back to her as it was doing now. It was a shame that it took some gunslinging to bring those forgotten memories to the surface...

And then the story came rushing out of her in bits and pieces, “They kidnapped me... They took me from my family... They bring me here to this city... Jab me with needles and test me over and over... Someone took me home and they came back to get me again, bring me back to New York... I escaped... They chased me over and over, but I kept getting away somehow or another, and then I left for another country... Romania...” By this point she was rocking a little on her butt, back and forth. “It was bad there.... We got put in camps... Some got tortured... I... Was one...” She shook her head as if she didn’t want to remember... “I forgot everything. I lost who I was.... Those people from the lab, they found me again... Remember that night? They found me then... They did something to me and it hurt, and I felt sick... But I was so scared to talk because I thought I was going crazy... I am so sick now... Oh god, I killed him... I... I killed the man outside because he try to take me again....”

The other officers were reporting things on their walkies, and one could hear, “DOA on the fire escape. Suspect in custody...” The routine stuff.

“I shoot him with his own gun. He hit me and then got on me and I shoot him in the belly... BANG... He got angry and came at me again, I shoot him in the face over and over, even though he was dead, I couldn’t stop shooting him.” She was starting to sob and shake violently by that point. “So many people die because of me...”

>> “Layla? Layla isn’t real. He made her up.”

“Um…okay,”

There really was not much else that the detective could say as he stood there, watching the obviously shell-shocked young woman ramble on about that not being her name. Granted, he did not know all of her past, but she really seemed to be in a state of shock for some reason. The look on her face was the look of a person who seemed to be living the worst days of her life over and over and over again. Whether or not this was actually happening, he really did not know. He could only go off what she was telling him.

Slowly he knelt as he heard the rest of his backup arrive and take their positions around the building. The hotel was rushed, cops blocking the outside while others began to move into the interior. Jorge was silent as knelt there and simply watched the young woman. She really seemed at a loss right now…

It was only when he gave her some breathing space, after he crying/giggling/confused display of emotions that she finally began to tell him everything that was rolling around inside her head. And the story he heard was definitely something to remember…

>> “I want to go home…I want to be with Momma and Poppa...They kidnapped me... They took me from my family... They bring me here to this city... Jab me with needles and test me over and over... Someone took me home and they came back to get me again, bring me back to New York... I escaped... They chased me over and over, but I kept getting away somehow or another, and then I left for another country... Romania...”

Jorge said nothing, merely listened to this truly fantastical tale that he was hearing. Kidnapping, running away, lost families, it was really just all too surreal for him. He simply could not understand the lengths that this woman had to go through. Then again, he began to question, was she really telling the truth? Maybe she was just way too shocked by the experience to be thinking straight? At least he hoped that’s what it was since he would hate to believe that she was so damaged from this whole thing.

But her story did not end there…

>> “It was bad there.... We got put in camps... Some got tortured... I... Was one…I forgot everything. I lost who I was.... Those people from the lab, they found me again... Remember that night? They found me then... They did something to me and it hurt, and I felt sick... But I was so scared to talk because I thought I was going crazy... I am so sick now... Oh god, I killed him... I... I killed the man outside because he try to take me again....”

“Sssh,” the detective whispered as he kept a decent distance away and simply watched her. “Everything will be okay, we’ll get all this sorted out. Okay?” he said as he leaned down further, trying to catch her eye. Once he was sure she was looking at him, he tried to give her as warm a smile as possible. “Understand me? Everything will be fine.”

“FREEZE! NYPD!!”

The shout issued throughout the room as the detective slowly stood and turned around to face the overzealous police officer. The kid, more than likely a rookie, was standing there, gun shaking as he had it pointed directly at Jorge. Slowly the detective shook his head…

“Calm down, son.” he said as he eyeballed him. “My name is Jorge Cervantes, detective for the MRC division, I’m going to show you my badge,” he urged.

Very slowly and very calmly the detective reached into his pocket and pulled out his badge once more and show it to him. Slowly the cop came over, took Jorge’s badge and gave it a once over before he realized it was authentic and handed it back. He finally then lowered his gun.

With a sigh of relief that the kid’s nervous trigger finger wasn’t itchy, Jorge gave him a look before he put his badge away. “Little anxious there, skippy.” he mumbled before his voice got professional again. “Make sure you call in an ambulance up here to take a look at this young woman here. I believe she is in a state a shock. Go on, now.”

Once he waved the kid off, Jorge returned to the woman’s side and gave her a soft smile. “Hey, help is on the way, okay? And I’ll stay by your side as long as I can, I promise. But, if your name is not Layla, then do you remember what it is?”

He asked her name and she looked at him over her kneecaps, regarding him with a wary look. She couldn’t tell if he was asking just to ask, or asking because he didn’t believe her. The unfortunate truth of the matter was that she was not lying an iota. She really HAD been kidnapped and everything else she had mentioned. She even had witnesses. But she wasn’t about to scream at the man, not while he was still trying to help. He didn’t know.

“Sah-vee-ah,” she murmured softly after a hiccup. The young woman seemed almost childlike as she enunciated her name. Her eyes kinda closed as she imagined herself elsewhere, back at the greenhouse, back when she was a carefree kid who had all kinds of hopes and dreams, back when the world wasn’t as cruel as it seemed to be now... Whatever happened? She wanted to know what prompted the changes that happened over a decade ago.

For some reason, she sort of leaned against Jorge, more as if he were a father typed figure, though she doubted he was even that old. She found comfort in his presence, protected. Her temples throbbed visibly as the tiredness swept over her, if she had been standing at that second, she probably would have collapsed. Luckily, she was still planted on her butt. Xavia gave an oh so weary sigh, and lay on the floor after a time.

She hadn’t really reacted when the other officer came in, she didn’t jump up with fear or nervousness, she was obviously not an evil kind of being and nor was she going to fly off the handle. She was much too... Weak feeling to even consider running off as if she was in trouble.

Wait... She had killed a man... The sudden thought caused her to pop up and she gave him that look that would cause a grown man to cry, “I killed someone, didn’t I? I am in trouble...” With a resignated sigh, she offered her wrists, ones that were visibly scarred all the way around, as if she had been shackled for quite awhile. In fact, if he looked closely, he would be able to see faint tracings along the backs of her hands, wounds that had long since healed over quite some time.

“I need a lawyer, don’t I?” she asked softly, her eyes downward as she spoke. She wasn’t dense, but she understood little about how the law worked. She knew if she was in Hungary, where she had been born, the law wasn’t so kind. Self defense would get her out of trouble here, but she didn’t know that. She thought for sure that she was going to sit and rot in prison for the rest of her life because she shot a man and killed him.

It would be just her luck anyways, she thought. She got out of one jam only to get stuck in another. Such was her life and she should have known better by that point in time, to think that she would ever be free from trouble. Her face kinda took on a neutral expression, though her eyes were easily read as ohmygodwhathaveIdoneworryworryworryohmygod.

>> “Sah-vee-ah…I killed someone, didn’t I? I am in trouble...I need a lawyer, don’t I?”

Jorge said nothing as the woman leaned against him, obviously exhausted from whatever ordeal she had just gone through. The smell of that warm, salty blood stung his nose as he let her lean, trying to be as supportive as he could. It was apparent that she was still going through a lot in her head so he allowed her that small, simply chance to just breathe. Sometimes when too much happens, the only thing a body can do is to just sit and breathe. He prayed that would be enough to calm her at least a little.

Very gently Jorge reached around and patted her shoulder. It was a little awkward, but it was a simple gesture that the woman needed.

Once she asked her question though, about being in trouble, the man looked up and glanced around the apartment. Would she have really been in trouble for this? No, he truly doubted it. Looking around, all evidence pointed at the fact that these people were here against her will and more than likely she was only defending herself.

At least that is what he hoped happened. He really did not want to think that she had just gone on some killing spree.

“You’re going to be okay,” he said as he very gently rubbed her arm. “I promise.”

Before he knew it, more cops were fluttering around in the room, checking all corners and making sure that all criminals had been found out. So far the room was in complete shambles so they had be carefully not to ruin any evidence. They stepped over fallen furniture, made sure not to step onto clothing or other broken pieces of furniture, and definitely not the pool of blood with that large man in the middle of it. It was a mess and would take awhile to process but Jorge had no doubt that the whole case will be labeled as a self-defense, but why was she attacked? The detective hoped that she knew that much.

The sounds of a gurney rolling through the hall immediately caught his attention and he looked up to see the EMT’s arriving onto the scene. While one kneeled to check the large man, the other made his way over to them. Jorge nodded as he turned back to Xavia.

“Hey, the nice man is just going to check to make sure you’re okay, alright?” he said encouragingly. “But I’ll be right here with you. I’m not going anywhere.”

As the room filled up with cops and they surveyed the damage, she sunk further into herself, feeling very frightened at this point. She gave a wide eyed stare in regards to the approaching EMT, shrinking back.

She stared in horror as he pulled on a glove and reached out toward her, a light in his hand. Images of her past flashed through her mind and she gave a cry, “No, please don’t do this!” Xavia ducked and began to crawl away until she was pressing herself tightly to a corner, pulling her knees to her chest. As if to further shield herself, bark began to form over her skin and branches began to sprout, soon to wrap her in riotous tendrils of flora. Long thorns began to protrude, the scent of hawthorn permeating through the air.

Definitely a sign of someone who had been through quite enough if she was going to take such matters into her hands. The EMT looked over to the detective with a questioning gaze, what should he do now?

Xavia peered out from under the leaves she had sprouted, warily. Eventually, she saw that the EMT was just trying to help and let him close. But it still was a trial.


It was some weeks later. The press had a hay day with the hotel, her story was exposed, and she was no longer alone. She was situated in a different room, and had been there since the night after her ordeal. She had a new boss, a new bodyguard, and a new look. She sat on the couch in her suite, waiting for the detective to show up.

As she waited for him, she idly tinkered with her shorn locks, the blonde in a box look kind of looking good against her olive skin. Indeed, there was much about her that was changing by the day because of the things she had gone through. Hell, she even had to talk to a psychologist, albeit reluctantly. Things might be looking up for the lounge singer, some would say, for she looked like the weight of the world had lifted from her shoulders when her past was revealed.

That was not to say that the whole of New York knew her story. Indeed, some things had been left out of the papers, everyone at the hotel being fiercely loyal to the now-blonde bombshell. Nobody had to know why the cops were constantly at her door. It was only a matter of time, she thought, before the public would know. But she had a little time bought for her, and for that she was grateful.

The singer stood and paced, wondering when Jorge was going to be there. Granted, the scheduled time was not for another five minutes, she was understandably anxious to see him. She knew he had many questions to be answered, and she just wanted to get over with it. She hoped he would show up early.

Her phone broke her reverie, and she jumped. Heart pounding, she whirled around and grabbed the electronic up, flipping it open to press the talk button. She put it up to her ear and said, “Hello…?”

An odd crackling came over the receiving end, and she blinked. Then the call disconnected. She frowned and closed the phone. Shaking her head, she stared down at her phone in bemusement, wondering what that was all about.

Xavia had been on his mind. Jorge Cervantes, MRC detective, had been worried about the young woman ever since the incident at the hotel. It was a complete mess and still they had little to no answers concerning what happened. He got from her that she was beginning to remember things, but she really did not seem like she wanted to talk back in the hotel. Now though weeks had passed and the detective was making his way to the lounge singer’s new hotel. It seemed as if she were being better taken care of and on top of that she seemed to be making some sort of progress with everything. At least now she seemed ready to talk about what happened.

The whole thing was still so utterly confusing to the detective. She was attacked in her hotel and all they were able to decipher was that they had attempted to kidnap her, but why? Two men were dead and all he could get from her at the time was a broken story about how she was experimented on. The idea made his blood run cold every time he thought about it, but what could he do? Other than knowing that, there were still lots of questions that needed answering.

He prayed that he would get some today.

Pulling up to her new hotel, Jorge hoped that things were different, that she would be more open to answering exactly what happened. She had been given time to process and deal with what happened. Not that she was on some sort of timer or anything, but after all these weeks, he sure could use a lead in this case. Then again, maybe she does not want anyone investigating. Maybe it was simply better to just not poke the bear. But he could not let this go through uninvestigated. He simply could not.

As the detective walked into the lobby, he headed to the reception desk and rang the bell for assistance.

“Yes?” came a quiet voice from the room behind the desk.

Jorge watched as a young redhead walked out and flashed him a friendly smile. “Hello, miss.” the detective said as he flashed her his badge and indicated to the elevator. “Xavia, lounge singer in the suite. Can you please ring her to let her know that Detective Cervantes is on his way up.”

The redhead smiled and nodded. “Of course.”

She did not ask any questions as to why and Jorge was thankful for that. All he needed was nice, quiet discussion with Xavia and hopefully that could get some the madness she had been through as of late. One she had picked up the phone to call, Jorge turned and headed towards the elevators.

The phone was turned to silent; her thumb quickly pressed the button to make it so. She couldn’t help but shake her head in bewilderment as she stared at it and then tossed it halfazzardly onto the cushion of one of the arm chairs. She began to pace the room then, hands wringing as she talked to herself, “This is crazy…”

The woman from the front desk had a bellhop escort Jorge up to the second to top floor where her new suite was. When they got up there, there were TWO body guards this time. One of them was new, and the other was the one who had been conked on the head. They both looked stoic, arms crossed, one chewing the end of a toothpick while the other chewed gum. They both recognized the approaching pair and did nothing to stop them. News papers and tabloids were pretty useful for some purposes!

Xavia jumped about a foot when she heard the rapping on the door from the bellboy. A sigh was given and she immediately went to admit them into the room. “Detective…” she said with a nod. “Andrew….” To the bellhop… Andrew bowed slightly as if she was royalty, winked, and went off to do his work.

Regardless of whether Jorge entered from that point or not, she would resume her pacing around the room, pausing only to ask, ‘How may I help you tonight?”