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Disguise the Limit

by Vilia Kinell

May, 2007
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Part 1 Part 2 - Story Index

© - 2007 Vilia Kinell, all rights reserved.
May not be reproduced, in whole or in part, without written consent!

Text size - A A

Disclaimer: None needed – These people are mine, I made them up. Please let me know if you wish to borrow them so that I don’t think they’ve been kidnapped and come after you with a shovel.

Violence: Yes. This story begins in a very grim, albeit not graphic, setting and what follows is the aftermath. There are more such events scattered throughout the story so if this upsets you - Either skip those parts, or read something else.

Drugs/Alcohol Warning: No drugs, but occasionally lots of alcohol.

Language: Yes, without it we fail to communicate and express ourselves. Swearing occurs.

Sex: This is Alternative Fiction, meaning physical expression of love between two adult, consenting women is depicted, hinted at and/or punned with. If this is illegal where you are or you are under the age of eighteen (18), please grow up, move and come back later. If it just flat out offends you – Go away.

Thanks: Tintin, my Beta – I love you! Beanie, my second Beta - You found the stuff Tin missed!! WOW!!!!

Notes: This is my little universe. I’m dead sure things work differently in the real world.

Comments and/or feedback: vilia@stockholm.com

Chapter I

"I won’t fight you," the woman stated matter-of-factly, glaring at the man in front of her.

"Why the hell not?"

"Because if I do I will snap your spine like the twig that it is and I will kill you." Her voice rumbled, caught in a tug-of-war between controlled anger and unleashed rage.

Recognizing his opponent’s resolve yet unwilling to give in, the man backed off, if only a few inches. "Like you could."

She took a menacing step forward, invading the man’s personal space. "You know damn well I could." She was met with a wide-eyed expression and could feel the sudden burst of hot breath on her face as she remained a hairsbreadth from him.

"... And Cut!" a voice from the shadows called. "I think we got it, good job everyone! That’s a wrap for today. Stace, a word." The director approached the actress as the others scurried off. "That was good," he repeated with a smile.

"What do you want?"

"Just tellin' it like it is, darlin'. I liked it."

"Don't 'darlin' me, you sick fuck. I know you're after something, what is it?"

"Ack, the hostility!" He clutched his hands over his heart with a hurt look crossing his features. "Whatever gave you that idea?"

"Leave me alone." She started off the set.

"Now, Stacey... You seem to be forgetting who's running this show. I call the shots around here. You know why? Because I'm a director, that's why!"

"You're an asshole." It was a simple statement that needed no dramatic add-on effect. Members of the crew nervously avoided eye contact with the two forms cutting through the jungle of people, props, cameras and other electrical equipment on their way to the star’s trailer.

"Really, that was uncalled for."

"I don't suppose you remember much of last night, do you, Rex," she said over her shoulder, making no attempt to raise her voice so he could hear her or slowing down to allow him to catch up.

As they came near the trailer, the actress stopped, almost making the director bump into her. “See this sign,” she said, pointing at the door. “Says ‘Stacey Caden’. That would be me.” She looked for a signal in his face that any of this would ring a bell. “Meaning – you’re not welcome.”

“Aw, you’re breaking my heart, you are.”

“Go away!” The door slammed shut behind her, leaving Rex Laurenz locked on the outside. Thank God this will all be over soon, she thought as she plopped down on the small sofa. What was I thinking?

A light rap on the door prompted a callous; “What?”

The voice of her personal assistant sounded muffled through the door. “It’s me, Stace. Can I come in?” She dragged herself off the couch to open the door. Outside, a grinning Justin Baker stood with a huge bouquet in his arms and a bottle of expensive champagne.

“Are we happy?” He waited for the invitation before entering. “We very happy!” he affirmed as the look on Stacey’s face showed nothing but gratitude.

“Aw, you shouldn’t have,” she said as she accepted the flowers. “They’re beautiful, thank you.”

“Picked them out myself, but they are from a small group of us…” Justin let the words hang. “They didn’t want to impose.”

Stacey’s stomach knotted at the words and she plopped back down on the couch, almost completely hidden by the flowers. “When did I become such a bitch?”

“Um, right around the time when you signed on for this trilogy…” Justin went through the cabinets for a vase.

“Pity letting the pretties die,” he said and placed the large bouquet in the middle of the table.

“I hate this…” She sighed.

“We could have gotten you something else…” Justin registered her long face.

”No, the flowers are fine, I love them. I meant this.” She waved her hands at nothing in particular. “All the fuzz, the bullshit… Rex!”

”Don’t give me that attitude, missy. You signed up for this gig all by your pretty little self and you got was you asked for. People would die to be in your shoes!”

“Okay, so ‘I don’t like what I’ve become’, is that better?” She gave a mocking sneer.

“Barely… So, we’ve got five minuets before the press conference and then you’ll be swamped,” he said, changing the subject. "You're booked for several interviews this afternoon but the jet is ready when you are."

The thought of going to Napa cheered her up a bit.

Justin grabbed the champagne. “I know you won’t be officially done here for another day or two but whaddya say we crack this baby open a little early?”

* * *

“G’night, Stevie. Don’t let the bedbugs bite.”

The woman smiled at her grandmother’s comment and hugged the elderly lady. “Night, grandma. Don’t lose your nickels now.”

“Young lady, just what do you take me for?” The old face wrinkled in a mischievous grin. “You know I only play with bills!”

“Ruthie…” her husband warned, earning a smile from his grandchild.

“Even so.” Stevie kissed her on the cheek. “Happy birthday, you old bag.”

“Why I ought to…” the newly become 87-year old lifted her hand as if to smack sense into her granddaughter but patted her softly on the head instead. “Kids today. No manners… Didn’t you teach her any manors, Joan?”

She laughed heartily as her only daughter shrugged. “Go on, get to bed now, honey. You’ll need your beauty sleep before this starts to sag,” she said to Stevie and swatted her behind.

“Grams!”

“Can’t you play at least one round?” Darla begged, wanting to spend more time with her sister.

would but I really got to get up early tomorrow and head back to LA. As soon as the PR-stuff is over with I’ll be all yours for the summer!” Stevie promised and headed for the stairs. “See you tomorrow, if you’re not too tired.”

* * *

Her old room smelled the same way it always had. The forest outside offered a light scent of pine that mixed with a hint of dust still warm from hours in the sun. She looked around at her things that had been there since she was a child. Old posters with the Ramones, The Cure and Aerosmith still clung to the walls despite the tape holding them there had to be at least two decades old.

She hadn’t been here for years, and she cursed herself for it, but the peace that instilled in her when she came to visit was always the same. This was home. Her family had lived in San Francisco while she was growing up, but this is where she had spent all her school holidays, most often without her parents and sister present. It had been just her, grandma and grandpa.

As she always did, she studied the backs of the books on the shelves. She knew exactly which titles they were but just seeing them again brought back memories. Her grandmother had been the one who had encouraged her interest in the literary world. They could spend hours on end at the library picking out just that one perfect book to read together.

It had been her grandmother who had taught her what to look for in a novel, what clues to seek out in order to really understand the people and situations portrayed. “Every line has a purpose,” she had told her. “All you have to do is let them do their job and listen to what they say or don’t say.”

She opened the large window to allow the breeze outside to replace the somewhat damp air in the room before going into the adjoining bathroom. Stevie looked in the mirror and saw Stacey Caden looking back at her. She studied the face everyone else was so accustomed to and swooped up her hair in a tight ball and fastened it with a pin. A thorough wash with a makeup-remover later, it was just plain old Stevie looking back at her.

She was in bed, being lulled to sleep by the cheerful voices from the floor below, when the room lit up. Only headlights from their private driveway would cause such a light and Stevie silently cursed whoever had decided to come by the house at this hour. She didn’t get up but listened intently in hope to identify the nightly guest as they were let into the house. She heard a car door open and close, then another.
Muffled voices came through the open window as something clanked and rattled. Then there was silence. For too long.

Stevie got up and looked outside to see who it was but the garden was empty. She looked to the car but didn’t recognize it. She was certain no one from the area would drive such a vehicle but couldn’t make out the license plate in the dark. Then the silence was broken with a crashing of shattered glass and splintered wood.

She swirled around at the sound. Someone had broken through the front door.

The happy sounds from below quieted and for a moment she could hear nothing at all. Next came a raised voice, her father’s, no doubt. And a loud bang.

Stevie jumped at the sound. It was a gunshot. Someone screamed.

Her legs weakened beneath her and she stumbled to the floor as the scream was silenced by another gunshot.

“Check the second floor…” A harsh, loud voice demanded.

She struggled to breathe, her heart nearly beating out of her ribcage. Her blood was rushing so fast she could barely hear anything but the whooshing sound pounding in her ears, but someone was coming up the stairs.

With numb limbs she tried to get to the door. I just need to close and lock it. It’ll be okay, she told herself. Just close and lock… She crawled on all fours toward what was the only barrier between her and the heavy steps growing louder. Close… Then lock…

She reached for the knob and froze with her hand mid air as the back of a head became visible. As the head turned and looked her way, the large man didn’t look twice before turning and going in the opposite direction. She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. He didn’t see me.

The man rounded a corner and disappeared. Stevie looked at the distance between her outstretched arm and the door. Never before had a foot seemed so long. From below she heard her mother cry and the voice from before growled something unintelligible. Another shot and she could not hear her mother anymore.

Just as she brushed against the knob a shadow fell on the far wall. The man was on his way back. Fighting desperately not to panic her hand gripped the cold metal and she pulled the door to a mute close. Shaking fingers pinned the small lock and turned it. The small click made her gasp. Please, let him not have heard…

She sat back, trying to compose herself, searching for a way out. The window was a no. A jump from that high directly onto the brick driveway below would surely hurt her. She wouldn’t stand a chance if anyone saw her. She didn’t know where the man with the gun was. He could easily stand in the foyer and have a clear view of both the kitchen where her family was and the general area where she would land if she jumped.

* * *

“Please, wh… what do y-you want?” Ruth Harper cried, her husband holding her tight.

“Shut up, bitch!”

“Stu, do something…” she begged hopelessly, eyes traveling between the lifeless members of her family.

“I said, Shut up!” The man standing over them struck Ruth on the side of her head with the butt of his gun then pointed it in Stewart Harper’s face and appeared to be waiting.

“Anything?” he shouted.

* * *

Stevie heard the man downstairs yell and the one on the other side of her door called back; “Nothing.” He was closer than she had thought. She watched in horror as the doorknob started to turn.

Holding back her urge to scream, she found her arms and legs working on their own accord, pulling her backwards away from the door. The knob began turning back and forth repeatedly and Stevie crawled faster until she hit a solid object. A bullet ripped through the wood and landed in the wall before she even heard the sound of the gun. With no place to go she flattened her body to the floor and rolled in under her bed. Another shot and the man threw himself on the barrier, sending the door wide open.

* * *

“What the hell?” The man stepped over Darla’s body to the window above the kitchen counter. A car was slowly approaching up the driveway. SHIT!

“We gotta go!!” he yelled.

* * *

“Just a sec!”

Stevie lay motionless with both hands clasped over her mouth. The man had entered and stood beside the bed, turning as he looked around. The room illuminated in light and she could see that he wore grey camouflage cargo pants and red sneakers. They had a pattern on the side and she memorized it.

Two more shots were fired downstairs in rapid succession and she heard the man move through the house as he yelled again; “Get your ass down here. We gotta go!”

The man with the red sneakers moved closer to the bed and Stevie turned away from him, shutting her eyes in a prayer to a God she no longer believed in.

“NOW!” came a roar from outside the window, then an engine started.

That put fire under the feet of the red-shoed man and he left the room running.

Continued in Chapter II...

Comments and/or feedback welcome at vilia@stockholm.com

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