CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE: Celestial
Numb.
Completely and utterly numb is the best depiction of my physical status.
It's hard to feel anything when I know I'm still an unconscious mangled body in a truck unknown to my recollection. The sight of a large glossy block truck threw my SUV across metres of grass and air, it almost seems unreal. All of it...almost seems so unreal.
The scrape of my skin along cold concrete floor cracks me awake. Quite literally. I'm thrown harshly to the newly cemented surface underneath, the smell is the first thing that enters my slightly blocked nose, along with the blood.
I haven't the time to recognise the blood before another merciless strike fractures the bone on my left leg. A crushed whimper slither's it's traitorous way from the tip of my tongue when my bones turn to jello. The idea of bone marrow being exposed to many other tissues in my leg has me close to faint cardiac arrest as I picture the sight for sore eyes.
Most victims of common car crashes take more than a fair few minutes to capture their surroundings or at least a few hours to figure out exactly what happened to them, the impact of their injuries.
I only needed a few seconds to cry out from the remembrance of the crash. The SUV flying through the air as metal crushes metal, glass shattering from the impact and my screams that float further into the echo it sets across my blurred mind.
Suddenly, the flick of a switch and a white light scorches my skin, already burning the wounds along my arms, the cut on my stomach and a vague pain in my leg.
"Miss Parker, it's about bloody time you decided to wake!" A growl enters my ears, still vaguely familiar as I crack open one eye, lying flat on my back as my head is forcefully turned to the side, a burning sensation on my cheek follows.
I groan out at the force of the masculine slap that sent my face directed to the dark joker-like figure sitting in front of me. The light, at least a few metres above him and the vague shuffle behind him, notifying me, there are others amongst us.
"You remember me, don't you?" He sickly sweetens his voice, eying me like his prey. I turn, my head rolling to the side as I'm forced to heave drops of blood from my mouth and nose, I hold in my fear at the sight of evidential internal bleeding, not enough to be completely worried, but it's enough to know I need a hospital and soon.
"Miss Parker, no need to be so ignorant. Give her another kick, you imbecile!" He growls out before a rough textured boot hits me not-so-nicely on my bare back, rocks cutting into the skin as I feel each tear at me in utter anger. I close my eyes and bite my lip when the force of the unknown male's kick sends me closer to the vaguely familiar voice. The unknown gargoyle in front of me sits empowered and arrogant the closer I'm thrown towards him.
"What do you want?" I gain the strength to crouch but ultimately fail to remove the stutter from my lips. I hide in interior shadows the moment a sniffle erupts from my traitorous throat at the pain it shoots through my head as my neck feels as though I'd twisted it close to a break. The ache revels on the side of my neck, below the cranium bone where pressure builds with the twists forced every time I'm kicked.
He laughs just like the joker and he appears as maniacal and manipulative as the mentally disturbed man on Bat's hit list, "What I want? Right now, is to roughen you up a bit." He bites, then stands and slowly his face is captured in the light. He's on my hit list now. Either my initial interpretation of colour has changed or the blue background fades to a red haze each time his face is in my line of sight.
My attempts to clear it fail to follow through with my commands, the closer I am to collapsing once more.
It's so blurry that I require a few minutes of nauseating dizziness before I finally come to terms with the face in front of me. It transforms mine into an ugly scowl when I come in contact with his hatred-filled eyes.
Aaron Dark-Wood stands short amongst his men, an evil glint in one eye and pure betrayal in the other, he chuckles with no laughter, "You know, we wouldn't be in this situation, had you let me finish that job, Hell-had you paid me better." He comments, shaking his head down at me.
He was incompetent and incompetent workers build atrocious designs and even worse for the physical framework of the task at hand. I would never work with someone like that. Plus, I paid him more than he deserved.
"I would never have felt the urge to steal from you-" he raises his hand, pointing up one finger, I internally roll my eyes as he lists, "-I would never have unprofessionally called you a psychotic bitch, I would have never kidnaped you, twice and none of us would have been in this situation." He finishes, rotating his metal chair to lean his arms on the back of it, whilst still glaring at me.
"You were using your own designs and you were not following my orders. It's just business." I whisper, nonchalantly, though the sound of metal screeching on concrete sharpens in inner hearing. He raises his fist and slams it against my cheek, my head slams straight forward while I grit my teeth and silence the pain, or at least try to.
It's subjective, Poppy.
You are better than this.
He's gotten more angry, more volatile. I wonder if it's just the business he wants, or if someone else is pulling this bitch's strings.
He growls with a low rumble, annoyed that I'm not fatigued by it, "Well then, you can look at this as 'Just business', Miss Parker." He kicks hard into my abdomen, shoving me a metre away from him, along the floor. I bite my lip, hard, to stop my groan of pain to be released. I shake my head profusely, this is not me. Falling to the ground and getting kicked around like some kind of rag doll is not in my nature. It is not in my blood to let someone as incompetent as this smirk as he attempts to defile me. My blood seems to drop from my nose as I slowly raise a hand to the ground, pushing myself up into a seating position and dodging his next blow to my face, all I had to do was duck.
He growls out his frustrations once more, "What I want, Miss Parker is for you to sign over the company to me? I want what you refused to get me last time and if you do so, I'll be merciful before I kill you." His voice, lowers to a dangerous tone with a dangerous edge as it sharpens to the extent of a dark pitch.
I sigh, "Do you have any family?" I ask, randomly, possibly to divert his attention from the knives that feel cold on the skin of my ankles.
He raises an odd eyebrow, thoroughly confused, "What has that-" before he can finish, I interrupt.
"Do you have any loved ones? Children? Wife? Perhaps even a girlfriend?" I ask, listing as his face reddens, but not in anger, I come to notice.
The men behind him, only three as the walk closer into the light, "No-" He mutters, glancing up as his men get closer.
I smirk, "Then, you've ran out of time to have an heir if you were to take ownership of my company, you're far too incompetent to know how a business like mine is run and what sacrifices that must be made. You've kidnaped me twice because you don't have a life, in your mindset, the only thing you feel you can do is play the villain in our society. This isn't some kind of movie or story or children's book, wake up. I could never sign my company over to you because it's not just mine, I have councils for every district that can easily be run by all of them. It's not just up to me." I finish with a bluff, hoping he'll fall for it, only to feel another burning sting on my right cheek, just as my head is forcefully clicked in one direction.
Well, he didn't take that news so well. Hasn't he ever played poker?
I hear the sound of amused clapping behind me.
Aaron holds his fists at his sides, clenching his jaw. I tense, the back of my neck wishing to crane back as the air around me feels as though it's compressing down against my lungs, I hear enriched footsteps behind me and sit here, "You sound like a true Parker, Poppy. I'm impressed." A deep, husky voice echoes behind me. I didn't recognise it, I recognised nothing as I still in confound silence.
Whomever he is, he's clearly well respected, "You're correct in saying this isn't some film, but wrong with that cute bluff of yours. See, John Parker, your well-attained, intervening Father, well-he believed it was an intellectually correct idea to fuse with a certain company I inherited, but didn't counteract the associated fact...that his secrets would then become mine." I hear his voice echo against the broken walls.
"Who are you?" I ask, strong.
A finger brushes my shoulder, I hold a flinch, before staring into darkened green eyes, dirty blonde hair that was gelled back. I didn't recognise him. He wore an Armani suit, fancy silver wrist watch, rings on his fingers. Aaron steps back and leans on the window sill, making him appear silhouetted under the uncaring white sun.
"Pity, I had hoped your Mother spoke about me. We'll get to that once you and I become more acquainted, before names are exchanged. Except I know yours, I know just about every detail there is to know about John's special prize...you." He had a British accent, strong jawline...he had features similar to my mother.
I furrow my eyebrows at him.
He smiles slowly, a perfect smile, with perfect teeth, not a scratch, a cut or even a scar, "How do you know me? Because clearly, all I see is infatuation, an obsession with my family. What are you? The money for Dark-wood's plans? The project manager, because he clearly failed at that job, or the decision maker, steal from me, wave a few red flags, get me when vulnerable and wave that smile for victory? Why don't you just state your name, old man, and get to the point? I've been kidnapped again, and again. Not a whole lot is left unpredictable." I attempt to rattle him with my words.
I'm playing with an entirely different chess player.
Because this one stares...and then he starts chuckling.
He slaps his knee in intense enjoyment, "Oh, you remind me so much of your mother, it's truly uncanny. The fierce and fiery nature, alluring, but thick, sweetheart. Diamonds are old too, young one, and they still hold the same value. You, are a new dime, gorgeous and shiny...but you've got about as much experience as a tiny doe in a meadow without mama deer to guide her through every fall. See, you lost mama deer at thirteen years old, right before baby brother would have been born and directly afterwards, you slid under the rug, I was surprised. They hid you so well, I thought Christina was on her first child, so I drove her off the cliff first and made your Daddy deer, the alpha of your herd watch. Killing two birds with one stone was fun until everyone crashed and burned after slicing Daddy to pieces and claiming it all to be one car crash down a cliff." He says to me, slowly.
My eyes burn.
I rip forward, he grabs my neck, "I truly love the fight in you, darling, but we're no where near done," He murmurs, leaning forward.
"I will break every bone in your body." I vow.
He presses a kiss to my cheek, "I'd like to see you try. Now, let's get back to that cute bluff of yours. Oh, and the comment of Aaron not having any heirs to take over the business when he passes from human's natural life and death deal with God. Yes, that is a problem, ain't it? Well, good thing he's not boss then, isn't it?" He says, standing after he shoves me back against the chair I'm tied down to.
I study him.
Aaron Dark-wood stood in the light, close to the window, out of sight and out of range by the manic man in front of me. I wonder why, before I see the tremble in his fingers he attempts to hide by solidifying the act of watching the guards hired by the man in front of me. He's petrified of what this one can do. Fear is a colour I refer to as purple. It is a mixture of blue and red, of anger and coldness, of despair and rage. Combined. It's in our nature to feel fear, it's supposed to keep the mind alert, to keep notice of one's surroundings, so as to not be surprised, or vulnerable. It is not consistent, there are far too many types of fear.
Aaron Dark-wood feared the authority this man grasped so easily. He held pertinence, purpose and relevance in his line of work. He showed a hierarchical genetic trait, arrogant, but smart, manipulative, but strategic. Aaron Dark-wood couldn't handle so many traits. This man could. He could wear his heart on his sleeve and still feign its existence, feign whether it's real or not, if it's a plastic heart on the sleeve and the people he manipulated believes it to be real, he could play their hand before owning them. That is what Aaron Dark-wood has just shown me he's afraid of.
This man was pulling Dark-wood's strings.
I turn to the one they all fear, the one that paints the canvas purple, I stare at him, "You have a certain arrogant aura...Celestial." I say, slowly.
It was a calculated guess.
He doesn't blink.
He's subtle in his movements, the retracted breath of silence that echoes louder than a storm. I don't know how long, how far this would go, how much longer I'd have to think and breathe, feel and remember, I was right about this.
I had to be.
I scrutinise him, "Not so talkative now, you forget the two people who taught me everything I need to know, that didn't end when you murdered my parents. Your first name wasn't recorded and you're obviously not as special, so I'm going to make another fairly calculated guess. What with the certain position of freckles, full lips, blonde hair that you've obviously dyed and eyes, you murders you're own pregnant sister, and her husband, all for a company that was never yours to begin with, because alas...you're not cut out for the job." I say, mockingly sympathetic.
He gestures to one of the guards behind me.
A fist is slammed against my stomach.
Blurriness runs through my vision as I cough out at the impact, to see he was wearing bone-crushing equipment on his fingers. I sharply inhale, green eyes stare me down, "See, I'd rather you live a little longer, so I can have my story time and you sign a detailed contract, that hands me over Parker and Celestial. You see, your Father told you that Parker doesn't merge with anyone. I'm afraid it's time you wake up, dear, because Celestial and Parker did merge, before Celestial was dissolved and a lot of people, my people, lost their jobs because your mother reinforced her mother's entitled traits. Some where I've now seen in you. You own everything, my dear. And now, you're going to hand it all over to the real leaders of such an enterprise. I'm asking you nicely. Your Father denied, now, well-we all know where he went because of that blind-sighted decision." He taunts, taking a slow seat on a stool in front of me.
I stare at him, "Who died and turned you so entitled?" I ask him.
He gestures again.
My face rips to the side with the resonating punch against my cheekbone.
Saliva and blood.
Clear transparent liquid on staining hot red water. Pain was supposedly subjective, until your head spins like the axis of the world and somehow, lost in misdirected senses and the loss of time, space, movement, sensation...anything needed to feel, think, hear, smell or see...becomes that of a black canvas now. See, the painting I saw was the drips of red blood on a white business one-suit. A man who won't do the hands-down dirty work, but is happy to get someone so use to hurting anyone...to rip into me with as much merciless power as desired through the act of beating.
My head rolls, he stares at me, "You're stronger than what I would have wanted, but don't worry, I never actually gave you permission to speak, so you're going to listen, Poppy. Daughter of Christina Celestial and John Parker. You're rightfully allowed to own Parker Enterprise, but what you're not allowed to do, is run it without Celestial Intervention and Guidance. That is where I come in, and you're far less experienced in this field. In any field. Being that of a teenage girl, hormonal and stupid, making decision of an empire. Your parents dealt their cards wrong, little girl, because no contract is so fixed, had you looked into who owned shares, and who had access to all drives under the Parker name." He says, slowly.
Every USB I found.
Every design released, every blueprint, every piece of information, of programming, of algorithms straight to passwords and security systems, navigational network units all for Parker, under Parker and made by Parker.
He smiles slowly at me, "Yes, Poppy. Good girl." He murmurs in a manner of sweet charm, vindictive charm, lethal fixation on one thing and ready, or rather prepared to lose everything.
"What history did you have with my family?" I ask him, slowly once I cleared my voice.
He raises an eyebrow, "Our family," He corrected, leaning back when a tray and silver table is placed beside him, a cup of tea with a...poppy flower in a thin silver vase on the tray, one ruby red petal dropped.
He points to the flower, "When the last petal drops, you'll be injected with a serum know as 'Nightshade', it's from a blue flower in the outskirts of New York, breed by an old institute of mine that I helped build, using your money and shared finances from countries across the world. At small dosages, this serum can reboot any drug affiliated substances in your bloodstream, it can purify you, without affecting other organs, such as ones in your reproductive system, your endocrine system...your nervous system. At high dosages, the results become more severe. Cardiac arrest, organ failure and ultimately...death, once given at a certain max rate. The range of index is dependant on the metabolism of a person, their height, build, body-weight and other drug-drug interactions that could heighten or lessen the effects." He begins explaining, revealing the syringe.
I would have preferred dealing with Aaron Dark-wood.
The male in front of me had no trigger, none that I was certain was effective.
He smiles manically, "You're like a tiny pixie. A small dosage will remove whatever drugs you normally take for those uncontrollable and inheritable headaches you receive. That's from my family, I get them a lot too, but at the tiniest slither of dosages regarding nightshade, a preventative for such severe head pains is possible, but not in the market. You don't have any source of this in your system, so when I inject it in your bloodstream, and increase the dose by ten milligrams a minute...you'll die a painfully succumbed death. So, let's get to talking before the last petal allows gravity to end its life, and the same to happen to you."
He reaches over and pulls on the next petal, ripping it off.
My neck strains as he drops it in between us, and the other one.
There are only four petals on a poppy.
He leans back and takes a sip of his tea, "So, let's begin with my name..." He says slowly, sitting up and sliding his palms together with a giddy grin on his lips.
"I'm Winston Celestial."