Her preparation wasn’t needed, expecting to find a formidable black man ready to attack, she saw a man not much taller than her five-foot-two-inch frame laying on the ground. His pasty face framed with a black shock of hair and a shaggy beard, hiding his pit scared cheeks. Body contorted into impossible positions, his face covered with a look of horror, mouth disfigured in a silent scream. That’s when she noticed the burnt flesh smell rising from the small bag held around her neck by a leather cord and a warm glow next to her heart.
Helena didn’t know what to do, she desperately wanted to run him through with her mother’s sword. What a horrible week! She shook her head; how could she ever be willing to give her body to this insect? She leaned over Cade threatening him with a sword, she saw the terror in his eyes, but he was unable to even try to scoot away.
Mocking him she began to speak, “You’re the great and powerful Bokor everyone is afraid of?”
The best Cade could do was nod his head in agreement, snot bubbles forming, spittle running out of his twisted mouth dripping onto his Persian rug.
“Is there any way you could’ve helped get those children out of Chinatown?”
Cade tried to aggressively shake his head no, best he got was a little wiggle the muscles in his neck straining into tight chords at that attempt.
“You were going rape me, and there was nothing you can do to help me?” to motivate his answer, Helena took the willowy point of the sword and rested it on his groin. Cade had no way of knowing her sword was made for thrusting, not for cutting. However, no man would want to find that portion of his body perforated by a sword.
Cade again shook his head in fear trying to force his body to escape the steel resting next to his manly bits.
“You disgust me,” she then tapped three times with the tip of her blade and pressed the tip through his pants and penetrating through his penis.
Cade tried to scream, but his body was still locked in the unnatural bends and twists. Helena coldly wiped his blood from her sword on his leg, she could see a patch of blood growing from the hole she left in his trousers. Satisfied she engaged the handle with the scabbard while walking towards the double doors.
Helena whipped open the doors, quickly closing them behind her before the guards could turn and see, their peripheral vision blocked by their goggles. Lane and Sigmund stood at parade rest across the balcony the rail between them and the entryway below.
“Time to leave, gentleman, that man will give us no help. We need to find the source of the problem,” reminiscent of a big game hunter she strutted down the stairs chin up shoulders back chest out in charge of her own destiny, or at least she thought.
Some of Cade Storm’s words still echoed in the back of her mind. Was she being controlled by someone else? Was she a pawn in someone’s chess game, the bay area the game board? Those prospects didn’t sit well with her at all. Right now, whether or not someone controlled her, her only concern was to rescue those children. She found herself more determined than she’d ever been before.
“Lane, Sigmund, we are going to the Pioneer Monument. I need to speak with James Phelan, he started all this.”
Committee of Vigilance:
Helena was tired. She was tired of feeling controlled by adults, especially men. She was tired of not knowing her past, or her future, and she was extremely tired of not being able to find Missy or rescue the girls from Chinatown. In her mind, there was one group responsible for the quarantine, The Committee of Vigilance, and she knew where they were meeting right now, the Pioneer Monument next to city hall.
Glowing gas lights flashed by as Lane pointed Bessie down Market street, traffic was thin and all heading in the same direction, towards City Hall. The farther away from Chinatown, the more movement could be observed. Helena wasn’t sure how she would meet the leader of The Committee of Vigilance, but she found herself determined to find James Phelan and get him to lift the barricades.
For their safety and the protection of the people on the streets, Lane pulled off Market Street and crept along closer to the center square. He finally gave up, the roads basically too crowded. The surrounding city streets crowded wall to wall with a mass of white faces flowing towards the gathering. Helena noted those around her had a distinct lower-class feel about them. She couldn’t find anyone that looked like they were part of her community.
As much as Helena wanted to reach where the speakers shouted, it was impossible. Best she could do was stand on the steps of a City Hall looking across the courtyard at the Pioneer Monument. The torch and gas light gave everyone’s face an angry orange glow, hiding their eyes in pools of shadow, turning them all into shadows of the humanity they claimed to be.
She came to the sudden realization that this may not have been the best idea in the world. Looking across the park and seeing five figures dressed in white robes and pointed hoods standing next to the speakers perched on and around statues.
“Is that the Clan? The Clan is in San Francisco?” Helena asked.
“The Clan is everywhere, some places they’re simply more visible than others,” Sigmund answered.
“I’ve a feeling this isn’t going to end well,” Lane added.
Helena found herself too far away to hear everything clearly; the speakers shouted, but their message was cut into bits and pieces as it sliced over the audience heads. She heard sentences like, “We will call for passage of the Exclusion Act,” which was met with cheers of, “deport them all!” echoing
