Simulated Donut

“What happened, Mabel?,” was shouted louder this time, and it reverberated through her skull like a thunderclap. Behind her eyelids, shards of light followed close behind, tiny fissures that slowly, ever so slowly, evaporated into tiny little ethereal fireflies, flitting about her peripheral vision as her eyelids painfully fluttered open.

Mabel could hear the impatient, deep, huffing male, breathing above her. As the last of the swimming lights in her vision dissipated, she extricated her fingers from the tangled, golden curls at her temples. No longer supporting her head with her hands, Mabel tried to look up into the man’s waiting face. Pain still lingered in her limpid pool, blue-green eyes — large as saucers and full of confusion. She met the steely brown, cold eyes of the man who had been shouting at her full on for ten minutes.

Ten?, Mabel thought. Had it really been ten? She wasn’t sure. It could have been fifteen, or an hour. She couldn’t remember. Mabel looked away from the man. She could no longer hold his gaze. He was staring straight into her soul, digging into her mind, looking for an answer. An answer for what? She didn’t know, but his gaze was making her head hurt. She cringed. She was afraid he would shout again. She felt so cold, inside and out. Mabel couldn’t remember ever feeling like this before. She was scared. A chill took her and her teeth began to click as they chattered together. She was shivering. From fear or from cold or perhaps both. Mabel wrapped her arms about her and huddled in closer to herself with a protective instinct.

The man continued to hover above her just breathing. Because he was inordinately tall and dark in appearance, it gave him a more ominous presence. That coupled with the fact that she could feel his eyes boring into her, Mabel knew he was running out of patience. She began racking her brain for whatever it was that he wanted.

What was it he asked again?, thought Mabel. Oh right, what happened. Well, how was she supposed to know? She couldn’t even remember where she was right now, her head, oh geez her head… Reaching for her head, she fingered her scalp gently, felt the goose-egg-sized lump then gasped from the pain of it. Yes! That was it, she thought. Where am I?

She was sitting sprawled on the floor with her elbows on her knees. She looked about her for the first time. She froze. Her breath caught in her throat.

And for the first time since the incident, she spoke.

“I…I…,” was all that Mabel could muster. She was horrified and terrified all in one and there was no word to describe what she now saw and wanted to un-see. All about her, everywhere — walls, floors, glass cases — was splattered with blood. The beautiful ancient blue Persian carpets, stained and soaked through by large patches of deep crimson blotches. Worst of all just beyond her field of vision, and slightly blocked by the tall breathing man, were a pair of shapely stockinged legs that tapered to a pair of black velvet buckled pumps. Pepper. Dead Pepper.

“Oh nooooo…,” wailed Mabel. “Is it Pepper? Pleeeease not Peppeeeeeeer…” She wailed further and moved to stifle her gasp but became alarmed to find blood caked all over her own hand. She stared at this in deep horrification and instantly began gagging.

She felt rather than saw the man bend at her side and thought for a moment he felt pity for her, but she knew she was deeply mistaken when he grabbed her by the upper arm, throwing her off balance so that she had to catch her self. A bucket appeared under her face. “Try not to disturb the crime scene, Mabel,” he grunted, then withdrew from her in disgust.

After emptying the contents of her stomach into the bucket, Mabel was feeling a little more herself, though still light-headed. Through her mop of long blonde curls, she shot the man a daggerous look once she made sure he couldn’t see. She should have known better than to think Mr. Panko would give her any sympathy. He always treated her and all his employees like a level five. She was a level three herself and didn’t appreciate his degradation of classes. Mr. Panko himself was a level two, only one level above her. Just who did he think he was anyway?

His only exception was Pepper. She couldn’t say if he actually loved Pepper, but he definitely treated her better than all his other employees. But everyone else loved Pepper, and Pepper loved attention. Pepper was originally a level one in society but had been downgraded decades ago to a level two due to insubordination and, heh, lewd behavior. I am sure that it is not the full story because there are so many level ones that get away with so much more and never get demoted, but regardless that was Pepper’s story and what she had chosen to share with us. Anyway, the thing is, she’s so obviously, (or was) a level one on sight: breathtakingly lovely and perfect in every respect.

Pepper was tall and lithe, with deep, hypnotic, golden eyes. She had blue-black hair that clung to her waist and undeniably flawless skin. Ethereal, almost not of this world but a thing of the past with her antiquated speech, and so graceful, just…well…she could float in and out of room like vapor, and music seemed to float and weave in and about her.

Which should not have been possible. She was not one of the spirit dream weavers… and yet everyone in a room, both male and female, would cling to her every word. In general, they just adored being around her. Men obsessively wanted her and woman wanted her too. Some wanted to be her or hated her but needed to be near her and have what she had to offer. It is the very reason why Mr. Panko used her and had her situated on the main floor as the concierge to level ones.

Mr. Panko sold many expensive, unusual and rare curiosities in his emporium and Pepper was very good at making level ones want and buy them. His Emporium De Luge De Amour had six levels of curiosities, five of which corresponded to the five levels of society, but the top level of De Luge known as Le Petite Mort was designated for only the wealthiest of Dystopian level one society. Le Petite Mort housed the rarest of Mr. Panko’s collections, and only he and Pepper had access for presentations, inventory, sales…well anything.

Shite.Now was not the time for this.

Steeling her nerves and her stomach, Mabel took a gamble and tried once again to look over at Pepper. Her stomach started to lurch again, so she quickly turned her head back towards the bucket but tried to avoid smelling the contents. Poor Pepper, what the hell happened? She heard that same question echoed by Mr. Panko.

This time she looked him full in the face. Again, Mabel tried to search her mind. Foggy visions started to surface.

“Well?!”Mr. Panko had bent over at the waist and bellowed this directly into Mabel’s face. It was more of a demand than a question. Mabel jumped and trembled at this affront and nearly became sick all over again.

Another voice piped up and it was the first time Mabel realized that they were not alone in the room.

“That is quite enough, Sir,” came a gentle, female voice. Mabel suddenly felt a warm, wet cloth touch her face as someone started to probe and wipe at her mouth and her features ever so tenderly.

“MSSSSS TRRRREKNET!” Mr. Panko’s voice hissed like a cog snake, while terribly abusing Blue Treknet’s name. She was Mr. Panko’s assistant, a level two.

“Do NOT,” he emphasized loudly, “disturb the crime scene any further!” He was giving Ms. Treknet such a scathing look that it should have set her hair alight with fire, but he was slightly taken aback as Blue returned his gaze with nearly as much heat.

“Mr. Panko,” began Blue in a sullen but very firm voice as she continued to wipe at Mabel’s face with no signs of stopping. “You will treat Mabel with respect until we know exactly what has transpired here.” She stated matter-of-factually while folding the dirty and blood-stained cloth over to a clean side. She took her other hand and, reaching out, she tipped Mabel’s chin up and looked into her eyes and smiled at her reassuringly. Mable’s cut bottom lip quivered but bravely it formed a half grateful smile at Blue, who smiled broadly back revealing a dimple. Blue winked at Mabel as she continued to dab at the girl’s face.

Steeling her expression once again to match Mr. Panko’s, Blue looked up to meet his eyes. Stormy blue eyes met steely brown.

“Do you understand what I am saying Mr. Panko?” Not giving him a chance to answer, she continued. “Furthermore, Sir, to avoid this poor girl having to repeat herself, we will wait for the Blackwing Guard to get here, so that she only has to tell her story once. For Dystopia sake! She only came to ten minutes ago and you have been shouting over her body for more than fifteen minutes.” She took a deep breath here and continued hurriedly before he could cut in. “Give her a chance to collect her thoughts, because if it has not become obvious to you yet, as it is so obvious to me, she has been hit on the side of the head with a very heavy object,” she motioned to the very large silver sphere of the Dystopia Statue laying next to Mabel, “and has been left for dead. She will be lucky to remember anything at all with you bullying her.” Finally done, she expelled a breath, dropped her shoulders, and watched his face.

But it is Mabel that is shocked and stunned by Blue’s statements. Painfully, her head swings in the direction of the two foot Dystopia trophy Blue motioned to that normally sits at the reception counter which is now lying on the floor near her left leg. The side is smeared with blood and has what appears to be a clump of blond curls stuck to it.

The bump! Mable grasped at once what she missed earlier. She had felt it before on her head but glossed over it when she saw all the blood everywhere and Pepper’s body. Someone had apparently hit her in the head with the trophy. Pepper? No. Why would Pepper do that? It wouldn’t have been Pepper, but then. Gah, her head hurt and lights started up at the corner of her sight again every time she tried to recall anything . Why couldn’t she remember? This was all so frightening and infuriating and… poor Pepper.

The Blackwings were on their way? If Mabel could possibly be more terrified, more scared, more nervous and possibly more sick she wasn’t quite sure how. She had heard many rumors about the Blackwings and none of it good.

The Blackwings were a level one political police force who investigated and controlled native political groups whose ideologies were considered a threat to the public order of Dystopia. Those who had been arrested in the past were typically proven guilty, reconditioned, or put to rest. Though Mabel was young, 20 Orbits, she had never in her life span heard of anyone having been proven innocent.

Mabel sat quietly gathering her thoughts. She was completely aware that Mr. Panko kept staring so intently at her that, had she been combustible, she would have already gone up in flames. She tried to shake off that feeling and concentrate on what happened earlier.

That morning before sunrise she took the Trans-Nine community porter to station ten…or was that eleven…no ten. She switched at ten and got off at eleven. Ok… then she stopped at the Simpbake Spot to get a muffin with replicated blueberries, no, that was yesterday. Today she got a simulated donut with pink icing. She also picked up two No-Go-coffees, one for her and one for Pepper because they were going to meet at seven this morning to to do inventory of the curiosities in the display cases of the main hall entry windows. They always took inventory and changed the windows together once a month on the first Monday. That was today. Wasn’t it? Yes. She got to Emporium at a quarter to seven but Pepper apparently had already entered the building and started without her. She went inside to find no Pepper anywhere in the entry hall.

She remembered the only noise she heard was her little pearl heels clicking across golden-celestial marble floors and her head bobbed back and forth peeking through the display windows as she tried to peer through each one to catch a glimpse of Pepper. Listening carefully, she thought she heard a noise coming from the offices down the hall off to the right. Mabel teetered in that direction with her two coffees, licking the icing off her pink donut.

She turned the corner into reception. Carelessly tossing her lemony curls behind her shoulder with a swing of her head, she plunked the two coffees down by the Dystopian Trophy on the reception desk, walked around the desk to the waiting area where she saw Pepper and Mr. Panko…

Her eyes grew large in her head and her pupils narrowed. She may very well throw up again. Mr. Panko. He was there this morning! Then why was he asking HER what happened? She tried not to lift her head nor look Mr. Panko in the eye. None of this made sense.

She went back over it again in her head. This time, when she re-traced her steps and got to the part where she rounded the corner of the reception desk, she remembered that Pepper was being held against her will by a unknown man using a purple mind orb. She remembered this now because the orb had started to make her feel ill and her nose had begun to bleed. He was making Pepper open the locked vault door to Le Petite Mort against her will. But where was Mr. Panko? Didn’t she remember him having been there? He would have been able to open the door himself.

“No,” she shouted out in frustration. Both Mr. Panko’s and Blue’s attention snapped towards her at once. “Sorry,” she grumbled. “I’m trying.” She gestured feebly.

Mabel closed her eyes and once again started with the cog train ride into work. She still couldn’t remember the exact route she took. She gets to the reception desk, puts the coffee down… this time the Dystopian statue is missing? She walks into the waiting area. The unknown man this time has a red orb at peppers temple, deep-crimson blood running from her nose and he is forcing her to open the vault door to Le Petite Mort. Standing nearby is Mr. Panko laughing at Pepper…and Mabel feels rather than sees someone else come up behind her… the last thing she remembers was a small pink donut blinking in and out of reality rolling across the floor. Inwardly, Mabel groans. Three different scenarios now and her head was starting to feel like mush.

Mabel started to go over it all again in her head when she heard heavy steps in the hall. The Blackwings had arrived. If she couldn’t explain any of this to herself, how could explain any of this to them? Terror ripped through her soul.

The Commander of the Blackwing guard presented himself and asked for who was in charge. Mr. Panko stepped forward and identified himself.

The Commander spoke in a very deep, clipped tone. “Why have you summoned the Blackwing?”

Mr. Panko spoke up. “I came in this morning to check on my artisans after inventory to find the one dead,” he motions at Pepper, “my vault robbed,” he gestures at the open vault door, “and this Artisan,” he points accusingly at Mabel. “ covered in the blood of the other Artisan after apparently murdering her. She must’ve passed out from the conflict and wasn’t able to get away. She may have had an accomplice because there are some items missing.”

An astonished gasp was heard coming from Mabel’s direction and all head’s turned in her direction.

“That is absolutely not what happened,” cried Mable. “How dare you!,” she screamed. She was starting to lose all control because her fear was now just bursting forth uncontrolled. “You did this, he did this,” she yelled first at Mr. Panko then looking at the commander, “and some other man and…and someone else… they had some kind of a little purple…no red…orb thing…” She blurted out like she was deranged. Everyone in the room just looked at her as though she had gone mad. Oh Dystopia, why couldn’t she remember.

“Take her,” was all the Commander stated while waving two fingers in her direction as a signal for his men.

Mabel let out a heart rending cry that shook the room. She slumped further to the ground feeling defeated. Why?, she thought.

Blue tenderly knelt by her side and lifted her chin looking deep into her eyes. “Don’t worry, dear. Everything will be taken care of.” But this time, her smile wasn’t warm, it was malicious and her eyes were stone cold and calculated. On her cheek was a tiny smear of pink frosting. Dropping Mable’s chin, Blue stood and stepped away.

The Blackwings circled around Mabel like a murder of crows and encapsulated her in a cog capsule that enfolded about her like a sealed black coffin of wings which slowly rose Mabel off the ground and flew her away.