Anthology Two Presents

Mysteria
"Silent All These Years"
(Winter Act II)
By Jacob Milnestein

"And now I speak to you are you in there,
You have her face and her eyes,
But you are not her.
And we go at each other like blank ettes,
Who can't find their thread and their bare.

Can't stop loving,
Can't stop what is on its way,
And I see it coming,
And it's on its way."
- Tori Amos,
'Bells For Her'
 

Neil Ashwood exhaled gratefully and slumped back against the wall, pale clouds of smoke rising from his nostrils and mouth and ascending above the troubled, Tower-less skyline of Pacific City.

Tracy Newman shook her head with disdain, a half-amused smile upon her face.

"Angela's going to kill you." She reminded him for the umpteenth time.

He nodded as if this was already a forgone conclusion but didn't reply, instead he remained staring out across the moving traffic and fast stepping people with his watery blue eyes.

"What's the matter?" Tracy asked.

It was all she could do from calling him Jim. Standing there, looking so worn out and exhausted he looked just like Finnegan had the day she had gone to visit him.the last time she had seen him.

"Its Victoria." Neil began.

Tracy rolled her eyes.

"The ice maiden cometh." She remarked nastily.

Ashwood pretended not to hear.

"I think something's wrong with her, Tracy, something big this time. I mean, we all know she's been on something of a downward spiral since her father died and we all know that since she took over at KGPC things have been a nightmare but its not just that. She's ignoring important parts of her professional and personal life, parts that she wouldn't have dared neglect a year or so ago. Did you know that this month Burke Fashions is going to file for bankruptcy?"

Tracy shook her head, genuinely astounded by the news, her own cigarette burning uselessly between her fingers.
Ashwood shrugged.

"A lot of us saw it coming. I mean its not as if Burke Fashions ever broke even or anything, it's just that before hand Victoria was there to throw money at it. Now she doesn't seem to care." He sighed and took another drag on his cigarette. "I think she's become dangerous, Tracy. Not to others, but to herself. She's starting to toe the line with some awfully big issues. I'm worried that she might.you know." He faltered, uncertain of how to phrase his final comment.

"Do herself in?" Tracy offered helpfully.

Ashwood nodded seriously.

"Yeah." He agreed, his voice barely above a whisper. "You know last month, just before the Tower exploded she phoned me up in the middle of the night demanding to know which hotel Charlie and Shirley Winters were staying at."

A frown crossed Tracy Newman's face and suddenly her curiosity was aroused.

"Why would the richest and most powerful woman in Pacific City want to visit Charlie and Shirley Winters?" She asked, thoughtfully.

Ashwood shrugged.

"Your guess is as good as mine. The fact is that we've been running on autopilot ever since. We haven't heard a word from her. She's vanished. I've tried calling her apartment, I've even tried calling the old Burke mansion on the outskirts of town but all I ever get there is the butler, Alfonse or something. For all we know, Victoria Burke could be dead right now."

With a sudden jolt she remembered her cigarette and quickly took a drag from it before tossing it out into the gutter.

"Look, stay calm, Neil. Victoria Burke's personal problems are not your concern; she's just your employer. As for where she is, she's probably out on a marathon drinking binge with Denise Delgado or out at another party complaining about the insolence of us poor peasants. It's not your problem, relish the fact that you don't have to put with her barking orders for the time being, okay?" She gently punched him on the arm and smiled, hauling the large doors open again and put her foot back inside the studio.

"That doesn't really help, Tracy." Ashwood protested weakly.

"Trust me." Tracy smiled back. "Look, I've gotta jet but you've got my number so give me a call. God knows it'd be nice to have an alternative to Fred's ongoing sports commentary."

"I-I'll try." Ashwood nodded hesitantly.

"Good." Tracy beamed. "Take care Neil and I'll catch up with you soon - and don't worry!" She called as she disappeared from view, back under the watchful eye of her director and co-producer.

Neil Ashwood stood alone in the parking lot, watching the traffic outside.

He looked down at his burnt out cigarette with disgust before finally giving in and, with a shrug, lighting a second.

Already he could hear Angela's complaints.

Around him the traffic continued to move and the sun began to sink slowly from the sky.

Victoria Burke slammed her bound up fists into the punch-bag before pulling back and dropping her entire weight onto her right hand and kicking her legs up above her head in a half-cartwheel movement that knocked flying back so hard that it was torn from its moorings.

She straightened, panting as the weighted bag crashed to the floor several feet from where she stood.

The black vest-top she had been wearing was soaked with perspiration and her Nike tracksuit bottoms clung to her shapely legs as she caught her breath, dancing slowly and rhythmically from foot to foot.

She was out of practice and most of that she was ready to admit was the fault of her smoking.

It had been a month since she had delivered her warning to Charlie and Shirley Winters and at last, the night had come to avenge her father's death, at last she was comfortable with her own strength and felt that she would be able to beat them without using the scarab's powers.

The only remaining problem was that she hadn't seen the Winters anywhere recently. She knew for a start that they hadn't been back to their hotel room since their initial discovery of her message and she knew that they weren't with Manly either as she had been shadowing him she had decided upon her course of action.

Her face crumpled with distaste.

What she had seen of Manly's private life had disgusted her.

The fact that he was now all but living with Regina Darling and working at a McDonald's of all places made her burn with anger. And to think that had even once laid claim to her father's legacy!

Henry Burke III had been a great man. Manly wasn't fit to be the dirt beneath his shoes.

She dropped her body again onto the weight of his hands, kicking her legs out whilst her palms pressed hard against the cold floor before twisting them round in a perfect circle as she let her right arm take all her weight.

Her face remained determined as she launched herself into another series of lunges and punches, pushing away with her right hand and flipping back up onto her feet.

Then there was the other thing that puzzled her.

On more than one occasion she had seen Manly enter the Lee Martial Arts Studios, unlocking the back door with a key usually during the early hours of the morning. He would remain inside for hours and usually not reappear till dawn had broken, sweat drenched and exhausted.

She frowned and punched thin air.

Manly was no martial artist; she knew this for a fact. She had seen him fight and it was like watching an angered 12 year old in a playground dispute.

Another thing that had come to her attention was the fact that Manly had not worn his Millennium Man costume for over two months.

Her face contorted in a grimace as she misplaced a foot and nearly twisted her ankle before regaining control.

It was just as well Manly seemed to have abandoned the pretence at living up to her father's legacy.

After the death of Jim Finnegan, no one trusted him; he had tarnished her father's memory with the sheer brutality of his actions.

With a shout, she launched into a final attack, thrusting her arms out with terrifying speed, spinning and punching at the air.

Her hair flickered blonde and she stopped dead in her tracks, panting, fear creeping in at the corners of her eyes.

A polite cough interrupted her thoughts and she turned to see the thin, wiry frame of Alfonse, the butler standing with his hands behind his back, her father's Millennium Man costume towering over him from behind the glass cabinet where it was kept.

"May I suggest a cup of tea?" He asked; eyebrows raised slightly.

She smiled thinly.

Alfonse had been the family butler for years and, even after she had moved out into her own apartment and her father had died he had remained with the house, careful to make sure that it remained clean and well kept, should Victoria ever think of returning.

When she had eventually returned, one month to the day, she had not needed to say a word. He already knew what was happening, could see it in her eyes. Without comment he had lead her to the far wing of the house and through a secret passage into the secret training room her father had created for himself, the same training room she had always suspected was there but had never been quite certain of.

She shook her head and reached for a towel to mop her face.

"No thank you, Alfonse." She answered, suddenly very self-aware of how she was sweating and how out of breath she was.

Alfonse remained where he stood, a cynical expression fixed to his features.

"If I may be so bold," He began with a wry smile. "As to suggest that the young mistress perhaps take a short break from her training?"

Smiling faintly Victoria pulled a towel from the rack and began to dry her face, her aching muscles protesting as she sat down on the bench that had been fitted into the wall. After a moment she gave up protesting and lit a cigarette, taking deep breaths and blowing filtered smoke out through her mouth and nostrils.

Alfonse came and sat next to her with a look of distaste upon his face as he watched her smoke.

Leaning back against the wall, she closed her eyes and sighed loudly.

"Be careful, 'Toria." Alfonse said suddenly, his voice soft and concerned, the pretence of his role now abandoned. "Be careful you don't force yourself to become someone you're not."

She looked up, surprised to hear him sound so concerned - so emotional.

Brushing a strand of dark hair from her eye, she smiled weakly.

"I'll be careful, Alfonse, don't worry." She paused, her voice faltering and her eyes downcast. "I just need to get those bastards first. I need to avenge my father."

Alfonse squirmed uncomfortably but refrained from commenting.

The memory of what she had done to the Winters' hotel room returned to her once more and she suddenly became all too aware of how close she had been to falling into the abyss, becoming consumed by her own bitterness and hatred.

The knot in her stomach tightened as she realised that she too had the potential to be just like Charlie and Shirley Winters.

"It's a very thin line, Victoria," Alfonse murmured with regret. "I of all people should know that."

She reached out and took his hand in hers, feeling the calluses and wounds of both age and work.

"I'm not making a mistake," She said, unaware of the arrogance in her voice. "I'm simply settling the score."

Alfonse looked down at her and forced a weak and meaningless smile.

Charlie Winters peered out of the window, his pale reflection staring blankly back. Dark rings circled his tired eyes and his hair was unwashed and dishevelled.

It had been a month since he had fled Pacific City for the relatively safer climate of the neighbouring city of Lorrington.

Since Victoria Burke's discovery of their continued presence in Pacific City, they had been forced to flee in different directions.

Whilst Charlie had holed up in Lorrington, Shirley had moved in the other direction towards Harbour City.

It was an arrangement neither was particularly fond of but one that was a necessary measure none the less.

He cursed beneath his breath and turned his attention back to the array of various parts he had salvaged from their downed helicar.

A cruel and arrogant smile crossed his face as he recalled how the Silver Shadow had attempted to apprehend them.

It wasn't that he held any real dislike for the Shadow but simply that he found it all but impossible not to take advantage when confronted with the opportunity to wind up superheroes.

He sat down at his desk and lit a cigarette, looking blankly at the collection of machine parts.

There was nothing there even remotely capable of taking down someone of Victoria Burke's power.

He shuddered as he recalled witnessing how she had defeated the Imperial Magistrate

Winters prided himself on having taken down many a powerful and reputable hero in his time but the idea of facing off against Mysteria without some kind of advantage didn't fill him with joy.

He may have been arrogant but he wasn't stupid.

Silently he turned his attention back to the machinery on the desk.

The cigarette hung limply at the corner of his mouth, his face contorted in concentration as he set about modifying the machinery before him.

Outside the first strands of dawn began to illuminate the Lorrington side streets.

Doctor William Tage had worked as a resident consultant at Alhazred Asylum for over 20 long years.

He was a small, quiet and unassuming man, Asiatic in features and with large glasses and thinning grey hair combed over on one side.

Over the past decade or so he had seen every supervillain (except those that were destroyed before reaching the asylum) that had dared step foot in Pacific City.

Along the way he had seen a fair few amount of superheroes as well.

Holding his hands tight behind his back, Tage peered into the large, plastic front of the cell and wondered at the myriad of exotic flowers housed within.It had been a while now since the ShadowWraith fiasco and Doctor Tage sincerely believed in second chances.

He tapped lightly on the glass.

Something inside the vast and expansive foliage rustled slightly.

'Hello, Doctor.' A soothing, honey-coated voice whispered in his mind.

William Tage smiled grimly and tried to purge himself of unwelcome thoughts.

"Hello, Venus." He responded with a sigh. "Still up to the same old tricks, I take it?"

A pale-looking figure rose up from the centre of the artificial garden, her naked flesh consisting solely of curious green petals fashioned into the likeness of a human being.

The sunlight behind created a halo above her immaculate white hair, her full purple lips turned in a slight pout as black eyes watched him through the plastic screen.

'Still pushing the same barbaric routines and antiquated medicines upon people, Doctor?' She snapped with a hiss and then added, in a childlike voice: 'Why won't you let me help them, Doctor? You know I could help them, don't you?'

Doctor Tage sighed and pushed his glasses up from the bridge of his nose with his middle finger.

"I'm not sure the kind of help you wish to offer people would really be beneficial in the long run, Venus." He responded sadly.

A frown hardened upon her face and the pout changed into something very much like an expression of disgust.

'I beg to differ, William.' She announced in an off-hand manner, never once taking her eyes from him. 'I heard they moved the new girl, the one with the unfortunate name, down to a lower security level.'

Tage nodded slowly.

"That's right. Victoria's on a different level now."

The green woman scowled slightly.

'That's a shame. I'll miss her thoughts. Now ShadowWraith's in isolation, there's only the Vapour to listen to and his thoughts are so cold.' She shivered and the pout returned once more, making her look like a spoilt child.

"I'm sure you'll make new friends in time, Venus." Tage responded wearily.

'That's not the point.' Venus countered. 'I want the new girl back.'

"Well, I'm afraid you'll have to make do without." Tage announced.

She remained where she stood for a moment, barely suppressing the anger and rage that bubbled away beneath the petals of her skin before finally disappearing back within the jungle of blossom.

'Well, if you need me - or indeed, if you change your mind - you know where I am.' She said, yawning slightly and disappearing from view.

"That's right, Venus." Tage whispered, turning away. "I know exactly where you are."

Victoria Burke watched as the last daylight flittered away, long shadows stretching out from the old mansion and across the fields.

In the distance she could see the remnants of the old Todd mansion, defiled and lifeless on the horizon.

The hood of her cloak hung back, revealing her long, brown hair and her eyes remained uncovered by the domino masque she had taken to wearing in order to protect her identity.

She turned the events of the months that had followed Todd's death over in her mind, reflecting on all that had happened, not only to her but also to Pacific City itself.

Todd had attended the same school as she had, though he had been two years her senior.

He had always been viewed as one of the elite; a man so comfortable in his own wealth that none of them had ever truly believed anything could have touched him.

They had all been wrong.

In the months following his death, the publishing house Cook, Castonzo and Carrington had published Todd's private diaries in which he had said some pretty damning things about all of them: herself, Denise, even Michael Manly. In fact the only person who had remained absent from Todd's often-brutal wit had been Regina Darling herself.

It was little surprise to find that, in the wake of such a revelation, Regina had been plugging the book at every opportunity on her show, Not Tonight, Darling.

But none of that mattered, not after Manly had confided in her that it had been Bruce Todd who was originally intended as her father's successor.

She balled her hands into fists though her arms remained firmly at her side.

Bruce Todd had died because the Bowler had believed him to be linked to her father and somehow, because of this, she almost felt as responsible for his death as if she had struck the fatal blow herself.

She didn't like to think about the other revelations the diaries had contained, about Todd's habit of asking young boys to dress up as Mysteria. Whilst flattered that she should be viewed in such a voraciously sexual fashion, Victoria hadn't quite come to terms with the fact that, at the heart of it, it was not her that was the focus of the act but rather some anonymously effeminate male masquerading under likeness.

A sudden flash of memory hit her as she recalled her first meeting with Anna Romanova.

Silently she forced the memory from her thoughts.

Her life was too fragile right now to consider what that particular experience had truly meant.

There were too many things to concentrate on right now; too much that demanded her attention, without such whimsical thoughts.

She turned, finally placing the domino masque over her eyes.

She still had no idea where the Winters were, which meant that she was going to have to pay a visit to Michael Manly.

Her expression hardened once more, eyes unmoving behind the smooth material of the masque.

She had tried to discover the Winters' location by more subtle means but now confrontation was the only path she had left open.

Tonight she would know where her father's murderers were, tonight she would finally confront her father's unwilling heir.

Silently she pulled the hood of her cloak up over her hair and crossed the vast distance of the training room.

From its glass cabinet, Henry Burke's Millennium Man costume watched on in silence.

Winters stood alone, the length of his coat billowing in the harsh winds, a half-empty bottle of vodka in his left hand and the remnants of the salvaged helicar parts connected to his right.

The vast machinery terminated in an absence of anything else more than officially ending. It was a cannon of a very specific class, a powerful weapon designed for use against even the strongest of superpowered humans and as such its designers had never intended for it to be portable.

Charlie Winters, however, had other ideas.

The cannon was easily six feet if placed horizontal but as such it was held by a brace around Winters' torso and a complex mechanism stretching at an angle and covering most of his right arm that allowed him to move the great bulk of the weapon without having to carry it. The machine was literally an extension of his own arm.

He took another swig of vodka and watched the sun set over Lorrington.

"Come on, you bitch." He murmured through gritted teeth. "I'm waiting for you."

Neil Ashwood remained at his desk, despite the growing absence of light.

Rather than decrease his workload, Victoria's disappearance had added to it. The company's board of directors were getting anxious and had taken to venting their frustration on Ashwood or his companion, Eric.

What none of them realised was that Victoria Burke's two personal assistants didn't have just KGPC to contend with but the whole of the rapidly crumbling Burke Enterprises.

Burke Fashions was already on the way out and several of the other companies beneath the vast Burke umbrella had begun to feel the pinch, which also placed Neil Ashwood in an awkward situation.

Officially he was Burke's personal assistant, nothing more and nothing less. He was paid to make notes for her and to remind her of appointments - a glorified secretary when all was said of done but, knowing Victoria like he did and being so familiar with the internal architecture of Burke Enterprises, could he stand by and watch it all crumble due to Victoria's neglect?

The answer was yes, of course, if only because if he had decided otherwise he could, despite his best intentions, find himself on the receiving end of a court case that he could not afford.

Sighing, he looked down at the vast stack of papers on the desk.

A tired knock on the door awoke him from his silent reflections.

Looking up he found himself confronted with his colleague, Eric, thick black bags underneath his eyes and his dark hair dishevelled.

Neil offered a weak smile.

"Hey, Eric."

Eric nodded in a similarly exhausted fashion.

"Hi." He sighed, falling down into the chair opposite Neil's desk. "How are you holding up?"

Ashwood shrugged, thought for a moment of lying and then abandoned the idea.

"Not very well." He answered truthfully. "All this stuff with Burke Fashions has got me run ragged."

Eric nodded sympathetically.

"Yeah, tell me about it. Any word on when 'Toria's coming back?"

Ashwood flinched at the personal connotations of Eric's speech. The use of a nickname denoted something more than a working relationship, which was ground that he really wasn't comfortable with.

Not that Eric had any real knowledge of Victoria Burke's private life but the fact that he spoke as if he did needled Ashwood slightly.

"No, not as yet.though I'm convinced that butler up at the mansion is holding out on us."

Eric frowned.

"What, you mean old Alfonse? You think he's covering something up?"

Ashwood sighed again.

"It wouldn't surprise me."

"So why don't you head up there and find out?" His colleague suggested.

Ashwood blanched at the idea.

"I couldn't do that. I'd literally be accusing him of lying!"

Eric shrugged.

"That's what you're doing anyhow, just not to his face." He rose from his chair and made for the door.

"Hey, where are you going?" Neil called.

Eric turned and looked at him with a self-assured smile.

"I'm going up to the mansion. I'll give you a call once I find 'Toria."

And with that he vanished behind the half-open door and down the corridor.

Neil Ashwood sighed with a resignation and picked up the phone from his desk, dialling an outside line and tapping in his own number.

"Hi, Angela," He sighed into the phone. "I'm going to be late tonight."

Victoria Burke watched the small, hunched figure of Michael Manly as he made his way through the downtown areas of Pacific City towards his own apartment.

Invisible, she leapt across the rooftops, the heels of her boots leaving imprints on faded tar. She paused, watching Manly as he entered into a dilapidated building desperately indeed of a new coat of paint. She watched, feeling slightly stupid and thankful that she was invisible.

She placed her feet on the edge of the building, not looking down at the sheer drop below.

Catching her breath she leapt of the ground and out into the air, her feet landing on the brickwork of the adjacent building as she ran vertically down its side.

A look of grim determination settled over her face.

Soon she would know exactly where the Winters were and her father's death would finally be avenged.

"She's not coming."

Charlie Winters span round, pulling the trigger of the great cannon and destroying a large chunk of the building behind him.

His eyes darted about, ignoring the smoking building and finally resting on a dark stranger sitting cross-legged behind him.

"Jesus Christ, where'd you bloody come from, pal?" Winters scowled, angry and suspicious.

The figure unfolded, rising up to his full height of six foot two, long ashen robes hanging loosely from his frame.

Pale eyes watched him from the dark, smooth skin of his face.

He approached slowly, bare feet brushing against the rough surface of the roof.

Winters kept the muzzle of the weapon trained on the stranger, his finger close to the trigger.

"Do I know you, mate? Or do you think you've got some kind of claim on me too?"

The stranger stopped abruptly before him, wooden juju beads rattling as movement ceased.

"No." He whispered, his voice accented and alien. "No, you don't." He smiled, revealing a row of perfect white teeth. "You don't need to, either."

Winters gritted his teeth and snarled viciously.

"Then why are you here, eh?"

The smile faded and the eyes settled on Winters' pale, anaemic looking face.

"To let you know a few home truths." He replied, his voice soft but threatening.

Winters cocked his head and smirked.

"Yeah, and what would they be?" He demanded.

The other retained his expression of nonchalance.

"The future, Professor Winters, does not belong to you."

Winters faced turned paler.

"How do you...?" He began.

The smile returned to the other's face and he tapped the side of his nose with his index finger.

"Be careful, Professor, you have enemies."

Winters lowered the cannon and turned his eyes away.

"Tell me about it."

"Go back to Pacific City, there's nothing you can do here."

"If I go back then I'm dead." Winters protested.

"You're dead anyway, Professor." The other snapped, becoming slightly impatient. "If you don't go back then more than just you will suffer. Your wife, she's in Harbour City, isn't she?"

Winters looked up again, a sudden look of anger upon his face.

"And what's it to you?"

"Nothing. But it'll mean something to others."

Steadily, the cannon rose again.

"Is that a threat?"

The other shook his head.

"No, not this time at least." He announced. "We have the same concerns, Professor and whilst we do, I want to make sure that you are exactly where I want you to be."

"Sod off," Winters snapped. "I'm not your bloody servant, am I?"

"No, you are not and I would not expect you to be. I don't believe in forcing any man in servitude to another, this is not the way of the Buddha."

"Oh." Winters responded, slightly lost for words.

The other turned away, walking slowly towards the edge of the building.

"Be careful, Professor Winters." The other called over his shoulder. "Those who wish to do harm to you are drawing the net closer."

Winters nodded.

"Cheers." He whispered, his mouth dry.

The other smiled quietly to himself, placing two fingers against his forehead and disappeared leaving Winters alone, the weight of the modified cannon causing his shoulders to protest as a dull ache began to blossom in the small of his back.

With shaking hands he flipped several release mechanisms on the control panel grafted to his right arm and hand.

The cannon hissed and slammed hard against the ground, nearly taking his arm with it.

Hands still shaking, Winters lit a cigarette and dropped to his knees, looking desperately about him at the vast buildings and burning stars.

With a scream he cradled his head, tearing at his hair and collapsing next to the abandoned cannon, the cigarette falling uselessly beside it.

Scrabbling on the ground, Winters curled himself up into a foetal position.

Above him, the Lorrington horizon watched on without pity.