Girl with One Eye

Girl with One Eye

Part I

New Jersey isn’t necessarily the number one place people would expect a career criminal to emerge from. In fact, Flora went through a phase where she tried to hide her accent so people would take her more seriously. But ultimately, it was true. She didn’t think anyone expected the dirt-broke Hispanic kid from Hoboken to turn out the way she did.

It wasn’t anything to do with her upbringing. Her family was poor, but her parents did their best with what they had. One morning she simply woke up and realized she wanted something different with her life. So she packed what little she had and set out for someplace new. Her family tried to convince her to stay, of course, but when Flora made of her mind, there was simply nothing to be done.

Ultimately, she decided against New York. That was where everyone who wanted to make something of themselves went. Plus the large amount of mobsters scared her somewhat, she would admit. An ironic thought, in hindsight.

So she found herself in Boston instead. It was an old city. She liked that. There was something a little stately about it. Not that she ever got to experience that in her day-to-day. Flora didn’t even have windows to look out of most of the time. But she supposed that’s what happened when you were a waitress at a speakeasy.

It wasn’t a bad gig, all things considered. It certainly paid well, but it sort of had to, considering the illegality of it all, or no one would have worked the job. Flora hadn’t set out to live a life of danger. She just kinda fell into it.

A fella had brought her in one night. The beau hadn’t stuck, but the joint had. It was something that occurred purely by chance. But it made Flora a believer in fate. If she hadn’t gotten the job at that particular speakeasy, she never would have met Izzy.

Flora noticed her right away, sitting at one of the small, round tables towards the center of the smoky room. She was twirling her platinum blonde hair around a finger, leaning forward towards the man she was sitting opposite of, showing off the low cut of her little red dress. It occurred to Flora that she was most likely doing it on purpose. At first glance, Flora assumed they must be a well-to-do couple, or perhaps the woman was a call-girl of some kind. This perception was shattered, however, when the woman got up from the table and pressed something into Flora’s hand on her way to the powder room.

She took a few steps away before she looked at what it was: a small, white pill, and a note. “Spike his drink,” it said simply, with a dollar sign underneath. Of course it was a ridiculous proposition. She had no idea what that pill was. If it was poisonous, she could be pegged a murderer.

The woman sauntered back to the table, and Flora watched her closely. She didn’t seem like the type to kill someone, and if she was, too smart to do it in a crowded place like this. Besides, Flora could really use any extra money she could get. The job paid well, but not that well.

In the end, she didn’t really know why she did it. Maybe she was just as captivated by the woman as her mark was. Screw that guy, anyway. He looked like a real pill.

It took a few minutes for anything to happen. The man didn’t notice a thing, but after a while, his head started to droop. Flora admitted she was a little relieved. Looked like she was just knocking him out, after all.

The woman shook him a little, feigning surprise, then waved Flora over. “Can you help me?” she asked. “Sorry, I didn’t think he was quite that drunk.”

Together, the two each grabbed an arm and dragged him to the alley out back. As soon as she determined they were alone, the woman dropped her concerned expression and started pulling the watch off his wrist.

“Thanks,” she mumbled. “Whatever cash is in his wallet is yours.”

For a minute, Flora thought she’d been duped. But when she saw how much he actually had in there? She tucked it away before the woman could see, in case she wanted to chance her mind.

“So, you do this kind of thing often?” she asked as the woman pulled the ring off his finger.

She shrugged, not looking up from her prize. “Sometimes,” she admitted. “Mostly in between bigger jobs. I go to Biggie’s to fence the stuff so it’s not that big of a hassle.”

“Biggie’s?”

“Wait, you’ve never—?” she looked up for the first time. “Sorry, my bad. Your poker face was so good I just figured you were already in the know.”

“Working here’s the most illegal thing I do.”

“And yet they might pen you for longer than me if the fuzz ever got you,” the woman scoffed. “My name’s Isabelle, by the way. Though most folk just call me Izzy.”

She stuck out her hand, the man’s ring now resting on her finger. After a second, Flora took it.

“Flora,” she said. “Little short for a nickname so there it is.”

Isabelle chuckled. “Well now that just makes me want to find one anyway. Tell me, Flora: you ever think of running a job? A real one, I mean? Gets you a lot more dosh than waiting tables, and I could use a partner.”

“I’m sure there’s someone a lot more experienced you could ask,” Flora looked downwards, entirely unaware that she was still gripping Izzy’s hand.

“Not many lady crims around these parts, and most of the men think they can push me around. I wouldn’t mind teaching you the ropes.”

Flora was confused. “But why me?” she asked. “We literally just met.”

“Dunno,” Izzy admitted. “I like the look of ya. Call it a hunch, if you’d like.”

Izzy could call it a hunch all she wanted, but Flora called it fate. The two of them, it turned out, got along like a house on fire. Quite literally, once or twice. Flora herself took to the lifestyle of a career criminal quite easily, and Izzy didn’t have to keep an eye on her for long. In just a matter of months they were full-blown partners.

They pulled nearly any sort of job you could think of. Cons, arson, thievery. The only thing they wouldn’t do was straight up murder. They weren’t assassins, after all. Sometimes people would pay them to do these things, sometimes they’d do it for their own gain.

Together, they could pull much bigger gigs than Izzy could on her own, and within a couple of years they had built up a decent reputation as a crew who got things done. But more than anything, they grew to rely on each other. They were partners, best friends, hell, they even got a loft together in a part of the city where Flora could finally have some damn windows.

She didn’t know exactly when it was that she fell in love with Izzy, mostly because she didn’t recognize the sentiment in herself. At the very least, not until one of their rare, dissatisfied clients called them “filthy dykes” under his breath.

Of course, Flora knew what a “dyke” was, but she had never even considered that she herself might be one. But when she thought of living with, being with anyone besides Izzy, her heart sank. She couldn’t even imagine the possibility of Izzy finding a beau.

But she would never tell Izzy this, she couldn’t. She’d probably be disgusted with her. She’d probably leave. Flora would much rather have her not knowing that not have her knowing.

Yet life is funny in the way that it makes even the simplest of plans go awry. Flora and Izzy were good at what they did. Probably too good. Their reputation got a little away from them. They were smart, at least Flora liked to think so, but there was only so far pure wits could get you.

They got set-up. A client hired them to steal a valuable document from a very powerful man. Flora had balked at the idea but the money was good.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t the victim they had to worry about. It turned out that the client had been a relative of someone they’d screwed over about a year or so back. He tipped the big-wig off that they were coming. They managed to get away in the end, but not without getting their faces plastered all over town and a bounty on their heads.

Flora came home the next day after scoping out the situation to find Izzy shoving things violently into a suitcase.

“What’re you doing?” she asked.

“I’m getting the hell outta dodge, and I suggest you do the same.” Izzy barely even looked at her. “If we split up, they’ll be less likely to get us both.”

Admittedly, a little flabbergasted, Flora plopped down into an arm-chair. “So that’s it then, huh? After everything we’ve been through?”

“That’s how the business works, kid,” Izzy shrugged. “If you wanna get outta here in one piece, you’d better split. I doubt you’d last very long in prison.”

“And there’s no way we can go together? Start over in some fresh city where nobody knows our faces?”

Finally, Izzy looked up. “Something like that. It’s not impossible but not easy. We’ve got a rep now, and it’s that rep that got us in this sitch in the first place.”

“Well, what if I don’t care if it’s harder?” Flora whispered, looking down.

Izzy frowned. “What are you trying to say?”

Closing her eyes, Flora took a deep breath. Even she didn’t know where she was going with all of this. “For the last few years, we’ve robbed, burned, and conned together. You are the only person on this goddamn bitch of an earth that I trust. If we split now, who knows if we’ll ever see each other again. I don’t want the last few years to just be memories. I want them to keep going on and on until the day I die. I want to make them with you, I… goddammit, I love you!”

The room suddenly fell silent, and Flora’s heart sank. She didn’t know why all that stuff had come out of her mouth. Whatever the reason, she certainly regretted it now.

At one point in her speech, she’d stood, and now the two women were staring at each other, face to face. For the life of her, Flora couldn’t tell what expression that was plastered on Izzy’s features. She braced for the worst, fearing she might slap her. But then something… unexpected happened. Of all things, Izzy smiled.

“I never thought I’d see the day when you finally admitted it,” she whispered, and before she knew what had happened, the two were thoroughly entwined. Needless to say, in the end they decided to take the hard road and stick together.

As their last act of thievery in Boston they stole a car and got the hell out of there. For a little more than a year they practically lived in that car, traveling around the country and picking up jobs wherever they could find them.

It wasn’t as glamorous as one might think. The two were perpetually low on sleep and high on paranoia. They’d been chased out of town more than once. But god was the sex good, the best that Flora had ever had, and would ever have, right there in the back of that old junker. In fact, she’d never gone after men since.

The cons they did were often simpler that they were back in Boston. They even held up a couple of banks, something they’d deemed too dangerous back in the city. But as long as they made enough to keep going, that was what mattered.

When she looked back at that time, Flora would usually think of the week and a half they spent in Vegas. It was the most lawless city they’d ever seen. But then one of the casinos caught Izzy cheating, and a disagreement quickly turned into a scuffle… they left pretty quickly after that.

She didn’t really know how they’d landed in Loeilham of all places. At first they were just tired mostly, and it was one of the few cities of any reasonable size they hadn’t been chased from yet. But as they stuck around longer, they realized just how perfect of a fit it was.

It was further north than most cities beyond the east coast, and it had a major mob element. Years ago that would have frightened her, but now it just meant plenty of opportunity for freelancers like them to make money doing stuff the mobsters couldn’t. Well, at least without inciting a gang war. Because it was so far in the middle of nowhere, the police weren’t really beholden to anyone but themselves, so corruption was the word of the day. They were so easily bribed that even prostitution was basically legal with a small, yearly fine. At least that’s how it was on the west bank. In all honesty, it might have been one of the safest places for them to be.

What started as a small sojourn turned into a long one, and then eventually three years. Renting the apartment on the waterfront sort of settled the deal.

And so they sunk back into a lifestyle of well-paying gigs. It wasn’t usually anything as glamorous as the jobs they pulled back in Boston or even on the road. But Flora liked that. It felt a little safer, a little more comfortable.

Izzy on the other hand, wasn’t a big fan. It seemed as the years went on that she got a little bored. Flora did too, but for an entirely different reason. She was getting tired of this life in general. They’d saved a ton in the last few years, so much so that they wouldn’t need to worry about money anytime soon.

“I wanna go clean,” she confessed one night while they were laying in bed. They were both still getting over the shock earlier that night when Izzy had almost gotten shot… for the third time that week, and it sort of just came out.

“What?” Izzy asked, clearly surprised. “Why?”

Flora laid out her reasoning, and for once, Izzy listened quietly. She was sick of the danger, of the constant roller-coaster of emotions, the thought that any one of these days Izzy might get shot for real.

“I understand,” she said quietly. “Lemme think about it.”

So Flora waited. She waited a long time. Until one day Izzy came home after doing who knew what and said: “Okay, we’ll go clean. But help me out with one last job.”

Flora tacitly agreed. But once she heard what it was, she nearly backed out.

The next night, she stopped into a neighboring pub, and spoke to her friend the bartender about it. Usually she never would have squealed about something like this, but he was trustworthy, and the bar was empty.

“So, correct me if I’m wrong,” the bartender frowned. “But our dear friend Isabelle wants to rob the most paranoid collector in Loeilham?”

“Got it in one, Cowell,” she sighed.

He leaned on the bar, shaking his head. “And pray tell, how did this come about, exactly?”

Flora swirled her Manhattan with the cherry stem. “Apparently she was contacted by one of the professors from Athain. He told her that our ‘mutual’ acquaintance Thornwell got his slimy little mitts on an artifact of some kind. Said that it’s very dangerous, and the only safe place for it to be contained is at the college.”

“And you two are the most reliable cat burglars in town.”

“Right again.”

“Sounds a tad dangerous.”

“Oh it’ll be fine. All we have to do is make it past the grounds crawling with guards, into the locked house, through the vault doors, and back out again.”

“Should be a piece of cake, then.”

Groaning, Flora’s head flopped on the bar.

“So why take the job?” Cowell asked, forgoing the cocktail and refilling her glass straight from the whiskey bottle. “I know dearest Isabelle likes her risky endeavors, but this one sounds too rich for even her blood. I mean, forget all the security, you don’t even know what this artifact is, eh?”

“We’re looking for a box, but he specifically warned her not to open it. And to answer your question, she won’t quit the biz without one last hurrah.”

Cowell put his hand gently on hers. “Love’s a real tough customer. But chin up, love. It’ll all work out, one way or another. I guarantee it.”

She didn’t say it, but Flora was worried what that “another” way might be.

Part II

Flora was worried. Worried about this last heist, and worried about Izzy. Deep down, she had a sneaking suspicion that Izzy’s plans might not be the same as hers in the end. Yet, what could she do?

It took an entire week to prepare, casing the grounds, bribing a former maid to tell them about the security, acquiring invitations to a party Thornwell was hosting to get a good look around the inside. Unfortunately, they couldn’t hope to do a seduce and steal scheme like they might have usually done, as their target had lost his wife only a few months before. But that was fine. Flora didn’t like those anyway. She always got a little jealous, and that distracted her.

Finally, the last big night arrived. They picked Sunday, as some of the guards had off that night, so their windows to move would be bigger.

Izzy was in charge of the outside. Most of the security was there, so she had memorized the layout and had spent the last week observing the guards’ patterns. “Well, it’s a little random, unfortunately,” she admitted. “But they tend to stick closer to the perimeter, so if we just take a chance there, we should be fine.”

As it turned out, she was mostly right, but she got caught off guard by the new addition of a German Shepherd near the entrance. It pricked up its ears from too far away for comfort as they approached.

“Alright then,” Flora sighed. “Plan B.”

She’d been in charge of the interior. Initially, she’d been saving it for a backup escape route, but it looked like they were going up the laundry chute. It was a flaw in the house’s security that Thornwell obviously hadn’t thought about. The servant’s quarters were an external building a short ways away from the main house, which was where the laundry was done, so a chute had been built leading into a small room leaned up against the main building. It was usually locked, but that was no problem for the two of them.

This meant, unfortunately, that they’d probably be using the chute for garbage on the way out.

Though it was a tough climb, the chute was thin enough for them both to shimmy their way up and out. Flora tumbled out into the small storage closet and helped Izzy up after her. Checking her watch, the time was 12:35. They should still have ten more minutes before the guards made another round.

That didn’t mean that they weren’t grateful for the old, heavy carpets or didn’t look furtively around every dimly-lit corner. After all these years, all the people she’d robbed, Flora still couldn’t believe anyone could live in a house this big.

But it wasn’t the house they were concerned with, it was what was underneath it. The vault that contained Thornwell’s “collection.” At the party they’d attended, no one had been allowed inside the vault that took up most of the basement level of the house. They definitely knew where the entrance was, however.

Flora’s breath caught as they trooped down the somewhat grandiose stairs and the massive, iron door of the vault came into view. Both woman had a long history of opening vaults, but Flora had slightly more patience than Izzy did, so she was the one who approached the door while Izzy watched the staircase.

Her hands shook a little as she approached the wheel. This was the scary part of the plan. The maid they’d bribed had given them a code, but they had no idea whether it’d been changed or not since then.

The crank ticked far too loudly for its own good. If she had to try more than once, a guard would no doubt notice them. She entered the first number, then the second. Flora stopped breathing entirely as the last digit slowly clicked into place. And then… the door swung open. Izzy turned as it creaked, and they both rushed in. Closing the door would take time—and cause more noise—so they would have to be quick.

Despite the time crunch, they both paused for half a second as they entered the room. First of all, it was enormous and decadent; the walls were ornately carved wooden panels, and the floor was filled with antique bookshelves and cases. But they couldn’t stop long. They began their search. Luckily, Thornwell had placed his new acquisition on display very prominently, so it was less than a minute before Izzy signaled to Flora.

Very gently, she removed the glass top and handed it to Flora. For underneath lay their prize: a small, wooden box. Just the lid alone was studded with several green and purple stones. Once it was in her hands, Flora replaced the lid and made to leave. But Izzy didn’t follow her.

“What are you doing?” Flora hissed.

“We might as well get a good idea of what’s inside, make sure it’s worth selling.”

“What are you talking about?” Flora frowned. “We’re supposed to deliver it to our client.”

“It’s our last gig,” Izzy held the box away from her, grinning slyly. “We might as well make some extra profit.”

“That wasn’t the plan.”

“So what?”

“Give me the box, Izzy.”

“No. You’re the one who wants to retire, so I’ll be damned if I don’t do it on my own terms,” Izzy scowled at her.

“Jesus christ, is that was this is about? I know you didn’t really want to, but what kind of suicidal bullshit is this?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You figure if you sell it on the black market, that either Athain or Thornwell will track down the seller and you’ll go down in some ridiculous blaze of glory.”

“That’s better than fizzling out into nothing.”

Flora raised her hands. ‘Okay, this is neither the time nor the place for this. We’ll talk when we get back, Just give me the box.”

“Suck rocks.”

“Give me the fucking box!”

A loud, creaking sound stopped both of them in their tracks. The vault door was being pushed open. Flora checked her watch. 12:46. They had taken too long, and the guards had noticed the vault door ajar.

They had a matter of seconds. Flora ran to hide, but stopped as Izzy started prying at the box lid again.

“What are you doing?” she hissed.

“It’s a dangerous artifact, right?” Izzy continued to yank at it. “There’s gotta be some way it’ll help us.”

Flora made an aggravated noise at the back of her throat, but grabbed the other side of the box and helped her pull.

One of the guards made it through the door and called: “Hey!” Though he stuck his hand out towards them, there was nothing he could do. After a great deal of grunting, the two managed to open the lid a single inch.

Much later, Flora would come to realize their mistake. They hadn’t been informed just what the thing they were dealing with was, so they had assumed that the box was a vessel to contain it. Obviously, they were wrong.

The box itself was the danger.

As soon as its lid was cracked, it flew open the rest of the way of its own accord. Within the box, emerging from its interior, were misty tendrils of green and purple. As she felt them begin to reach and wrap around her, Flora struggled, trying to replace the lid, but it was no use. Something indescribable made her cease her struggling, and both she and Izzy were pulled into the box, and through.

On the other side, Flora couldn’t breathe, could barely see for all the green and purple. Thoughts like where she was and what had happened were obliterated by a sudden, all-consuming pain. It felt like she was being crushed from the inside-out, folding in half over and over until she couldn’t be perceived.

Out of the corner of her clouded vision, Izzy was floating. Maybe she was screaming, Flora couldn’t tell.

“Izzy!” she croaked, reaching for her, and Izzy reached back. But something was wrong, and Flora only caught air. Izzy’s hand was gone, crumpled up into an indistinguishable shape.

“I’m sorry…” Izzy’s voice reached her as a whisper. “I’m a selfish bitch.”

Flora wanted to tell her to stop it, stop talking like she was about to die, but all that came out was one single “no.” Her lungs were almost crushed.

“I love you…” Izzy managed before her mouth was twisted into a shape incapable of speech. For one second, one of her beautiful, blue eyes remained, staring at her with pleading regret.

Flora wanted to scream, to tell her to come back, to not leave her, but her mouth was also gone.

And then she vanished entirely.

Something was wrong. Flora couldn’t feel her body. She was still there, but she felt like she was dead. Maybe the guards had really caught them after all, and this was hell. But that wasn’t right. If this was hell, then Izzy should still be here.

So why was she still alive?

“Well, well,” said a voice, one that she thought she might just recognize. “Looks like you’ve gotten yourself in a right pickle, eh love?”