'Voice of the Gods Retires from the Stage.'

The headline looked back at her evenly, its bold faced type echoing the same black tint that circled her normally bright and shining pupils. The bags beneath her eyes spoke of anything but joy, depression and stress being more of their conversational tempo.

Pacific City looked back at her through the windows of her penthouse suite. They too, hung their eyelashes down, with their drapes drawn and a slight overcast haze overhead, appearing as equally dismal as she was. The woman felt the city's pain as it slowly healed from troubling times.

The funeral had drained her emotional reserves. The limo procession saw her with tears in her eyes, already before the first police officer had departed from the mortuary's driveway. 'Destroyed' the tabloids had described her as, the connection between her and the deceased plastered across their covers like the tawdry drama-ripe story it was. All because she couldn't weep alone in her car, so she had to stand outside with the others, allowing the paparazzi to snap her photo wantonly.

That the paper that denoted the end of her career was more refutable then the rag that had started her fall, was the only small measure of solace to be found.

'Mmmm.. MMMmmmMMmmmm...'

Singing was easy for her, it was the bosom she wished to suckle from in times of despair. She stopped herself before the bubbling hum in her throat overtook her. For once, she wanted to revel in the pain.

The pain of loss, the hurt that an untimely death brought about. The red hot skewer of emotion that lanced across ones brain as one dwelled on times they would never have.
 

Humanity #2
"Pacific City" 2 (of 6)
"Voice Of The Gods"
by Alex Cook

Having the dreams hurt the most of all.

The darkness greeted her with a plethora of imagery as her eyelids closed, her head resting on pillows of satin and silk. The pain her lost love felt, the state of his body as he died.

She was an influential member of the Pacific City echelon, information coming to her in the form of whispers and rumors.

The investigators she had hired verified what they could, although some of the facts still remained unclear.

A disease of some sort, sudden, rapid, eating his body from the inside-out, isolating him from her. The bile had choked him as he fought for the final moments of his life. The report of the medical examiners and the few files the police had, all of them depicted the horrid nature of his demise.

This was what her dreams were made of. Tonight was the more lethal variety, as she pictured herself in the circle of four people, regurgitation suffocating her as she spasms on the asphalt of some unnamed parking lot. Her soul knew it would wake, but her consciousness required more to dismiss the nocturnal pictures assaulting her.

The bed sheets wrapped and knotted themselves around her as she spasmed again, psychosomatic pains wracking her frame.

She never told him she loved him.

"He never knew." she whispered to the wind, unheard by anyone.

Anyone would have called her crazy. The dreams had only worsened in the weeks since his funeral. Time was supposed to heal, not hinder. All she did was to grow worse as the days marched on, the pits of depression still gripping her tightly.

He never knew the effect he had had on her.

Anyone who'd read last week's Star knew, however. It was only a matter of piecing together a few facts before the whole picture was shown.

Cindy Marignolls, Mockingbird of the Pacific City stage, fought against the tears again as she watched the sunset from her balcony. Damn you, she thought, damn you for leaving me.

Cindy wasn't ready to admit he was taken, and not of his own free will. That was too real for her, her wounds too raw to deal with such a massive quantity of salt.

"You should have told him then."

Cindy's eyes grew wide as her spine straightened, sitting up straight in the lounge chair that she whiled away her time in while she was out here.

Looking around, Marignolls watched a pigeon float by, the only other thing near her secluded penthouse balcony. Convinced that she was alone, Cindy dropped back to the chair, unsure of what to think.

"You should have told him." The voice was a whisper, near her left ear. Cindy's hand snapped up as if to bat a fly, touching nothing but air. "He loved you too."

The whisper faded as the tears fell from Cindy's eyes anew.

Anyone would have called her crazy if she spoke of the voices in her head.

Receiving the call was new to her, Cindy's socialite posse long since having washed their hands of her as she mourned some death she had failed to speak to them about. Alone for once, Cindy was worried of whom that would in fact be on the other end of that receiver as she picked it up from its cradle.

"Hello?"

"Cindy?" a female voice asked before continuing. "It's Victoria."

Cindy's hand went to her mouth as the caller continued.

"Cindy, I was just calling to see how you were. I saw that you retired and I wanted to check in on you."

Cindy, the Voice of the Gods, found she was at a lost for words. "Vic... Victoria, thank you for calling."

"You were always a favorite of my father, Cindy. It's the least I can do for a family friend."

Again, Cindy choked on the sobs that threatened to explode forth from her very core.

"Could we meet for lunch sometime, Cindy? I would love to catch up, if you were inclined."

Cindy nodded, thinking Victoria could see her confirmation. "Yes.. Victoria, I would love to get together. I could use a reason to leave, I think."

On the other end, Victoria Burke looked at the papers scattered around her desk, her eyes alighting one as Cindy spoke. One speaking of Cindy and Victoria's own father, one Henry Burke.

Victoria wondered how much Cindy actually knew about her father.

"Noon tomorrow, Cindy?" Burke said, her fingers edging against the corners of the tabloid that caused Marignolls departure from the acting circuit. "Angelino's?"

Cindy again wiped a tear from her eyes. "Perfect, Victoria. I'll see you then." With that, Cindy hung up the phone, sunk to the floor, and cried until her body physically had no water left to expunge.

Physically sheltering herself from the world outside and divorcing herself from any and all foreign stimuli, proved to be of little to
no help what so ever.

"This is not like you, Cindy."

The Voice was still haunting her.

Most psychotics speak of a multitude of voices, each one different and distinct, pushing them onto some task or forcing them to listen to their litany of gibberish. Cindy longed for a break from the single tone that spoke to her.

"You are giving up, Cindy. Henry died. You're committing suicide."

Cindy never spoke back to the voice. To do so would to admit its existence, and that fact was not something Cindy's fragile mind could deal with. The aromas of insanity already circled beneath Cindy's nose, her sub consciousness trying to prevent her descent with all its might.

Marignolls continued to weep as the Voice continued on its tirade. If Cindy had actually paid attention to the words, she might have glimpsed at the Voices therapeutic meaning.

"Meaning what, Vicky?" Cindy asked, sipping her water with her sunglasses still on, even though they were inside Angelino's cubby-like Italian cafe.

Pacific City still had much reconstruction to do, but seeing places like Angelino's, a hole-in-the-wall establishment that catered to the citizens of this scarred and damaged city, warmed Burke's heart. She had seen nothing of the redeeming side of humanity such a cataclysmic event brought out. She dwelled little on her actual part in the happenings that resulted from the initial air strike that Pacific City suffered from. The small glimmer of the aftermath she did see was broadcast from one of the many television satellites left to her by her Father.

"Cindy, I was simply asking how you were." Victoria was on the defensive, Cindy's abrupt and sudden response catching her off-guard.

Cindy collected herself, berating herself for reading more into Victoria's tone then was there. "I'm sorry Victoria. Truth be
told... " A small sigh escaped the former mistress of the stage's lips. "I've been better."

Victoria recognized the woman was taking her father's death harder then herself, his own daughter.

A silence settled over the two as each of them strolled down memory's lane, recalling the man they both cared for in their own ways.

"Why did you retire, Cindy?" Victoria asked, looking at the substitute aunt she had grown up with.

Cindy looked back, opaque dark sunglasses watching Victoria's mouth curl as she asked her question. "It was too hard to continue, Vicky. I couldn't do the show nightly, singing my heart out, when all it wanted to do was cry."

"He meant a lot to you."

Cindy paused looking at her lost lover's child. "More then you, or he, ever knew."

"Hiding yourself away is not the answer, Cindy. You know that."

"It's the only thing I can do right now, Victoria. I just can't face the rigors of real life, not yet."

Victoria dropped her head, understanding such a sentiment, but pushing it aside. "Listen, when you are ready, Cindy, call this
number." Victoria challenged, pushing a card into Marignolls' hand. "Please?"

Cindy looked at the card, noting the logo of a well known Talent Agency right here in Pacific City. One that it turned out Victoria now owned, another gift from Henry's demise.

"At least think about it. Please?" Victoria asked again, watching Cindy's internal battle as she folded the card and secured it in her purse.

"I'll think about it."

"You didn't spend one second thinking about it. Not one."

Damn you, Voice, Cindy thought, restlessly turning in her bed, hoping sleep would save her from its diatribe.

"You can't see me, dear, but you will always be able to hear me. I'm not going anywhere, so please stop thinking otherwise. You need to face a few things, Cindy Marignolls. Like what in fact was shared
between you and Henry Burke."

Cindy wrapped her head in her pillow, forcing the Voice away, she hoped. Nay, prayed.

"You ran as soon as someone figured out you were Henry's mistress years ago. The fact you were so distraught at the funeral was the clue the press needed. Once someone checked your schedule over the past few years, a few coincidences involving you and Henry in the same town for a night, it was child's play to draw a conclusion."

Cindy began crying in earnest, hearing the relationship she had with Henry offhandedly referred to as an affair destroying her.

"Why did you run? What did you having an affair with Henry mean to your career?"

Shaking her head, Cindy felt herself almost plead with the Voice to not say it.

"You were scared they would figure out all your accolades had been purchased by Henry, and not rightfully yours."

The sobs wouldn't be stopped this time, the Voice eliciting the response they wished.

"You couldn't do it unless you slept your way to the top."

The Voice was harder then Cindy had ever felt it, the words finally registering. Force was making headway were comfort had previously not.

"Did you ever try to go for it on your own, or were you always open for business as it were?"

"No!" Cindy shouted, throwing the pillow up and outwards at where she thought the Voice was coming from. The satin and feather construct fell to the ground harmlessly. "I never used Henry like that! NEVER!"

"Prove me wrong."

The Voice was challenging her, Cindy's blood boiling and tears still dripping past her cheeks. Marignolls blood boiled, wishing she could wrap her fingers around the Voice's throat.

The Voice was not something in her head. Nothing within Cindy wanted to face the matters this way. There was no way this was a subconsciously created phantom that meant to heal herself. This was something outside Cindy's own tortured mind.

"Show the world that you're not a slut, whose octave range is most used in the bedroom, screaming some exec's name in hopes of getting a part."

Cindy reached for the phone quickly, mind over instinct now as her hand snaked inside the purse she had worn earlier. The numbers were pressed and the phone ringing before Cindy realized it.

"Mantis and Matthew's, how may I help you?" The receiver chimed.

Cindy stared at nothing as she said, "Cindy Marignolls to speak with Mr. Matthew's please."

Cindy barely recognized the lack of Voice inside her penthouse suite.

A suite nearly the size of her penthouse greeted her as Cindy entered. Her name was emblazoned on the door, a star above it.

It felt good to be back.

The crowd had been mesmerized by her voice, as before. No one had ever noticed how powerful Cindy was when she opened those pipes, whole opera houses of patrons hanging on every word she uttered, following each motion she made. Henry was the one who'd first called her the Voice of the Gods for this very reason.

Cindy remembers the effect her voice had on him, in particular.

The Voice of the Gods' return concert was a smash success, the floor packed with standing room only and everyone screaming for yet another encore. Cindy felt good, for the first time in a while. Henry would have been proud of her performance tonight.

"He would have been more than proud, Cindy. He wouldn't have been the only one either."

The Voice. Cindy seemed to shudder suddenly, and as quickly return to a state of peace.

"Thank you..." She answered, the Voice sounding like a wind with a smile after such a comment.

"Good luck, Cindy." The Voice said, it's sound departing, it seemed. "He loved you in his own way as well."

Cindy waited a beat or two, thinking about the past week or so, and her rollercoaster bought with insanity. She went out on a limb and tested a theory she had. "Thank you... Victoria."

The Voice seemed to gasp, and then Cindy was sure it had disappeared entirely. Cindy was alone, again, and for once thoroughly looking forward to the experience.
 

MORTAL COIL

Humanity: AC is an odd write for me. I don't have a plan per se, I more have an idea. That idea is unfocused each time I sit down to write an issue of this series, so each time it 'feels' different then the last. Does that work? I'm not sure... but I do enjoy the freedom of it. Hope you do to.

Send commentary to hazardous_designs@yahoo.com

-ALEX
11.22.01