Lords of Underworld

Immediately he set his eyes on her, he felt a bang in his heart and he began to shiver. He was wet after been under the rain for five minutes but he knew the shivering was not out of cold but the sight of this epitome of divine chef d'oeuvre.     Her beauty was ethereal, standing almost six feet tall with a statuesque and sculptured figure he called perfect. Her long magma-red hair crashed over her shoulder. Her honey-sweet lips looked lilac soft and tickled his fancy. A pair of arched eyebrows placed above velvety eyelashes. She had sea-nymph ears, dainty nose and well set halo white teeth. She had her eyes on her i-phone7 and he noticed her varnished fingernails. When she felt his movement and raised her enticing constellation-blue eyes , he felt his intestines cobble-wobbling. What was this? Was she real or just a dream ?     She wore a white body clinging, long sleeved top over blue denim pants making her decanter shaped waist prominent. Her ochrous hue complexion was impeccable. He guessed she was between nineteen and twenty-one. He felt like a victim of asphyxiation. She made him breathless, almost restless and he was sure he had never felt anything close to this. The intensity of the rain increased, and he guessed they were under the tent which was just a few yards away a tea shop for the same reason: avoiding the rain drops. He wondered why she chose to stand and not sit on the pew.    The only person with them under the tent was an elderly man who sat at the far end, obvious to the happenings around him as he seemed to put all his attention on the big bottle of Bloody Mary in front of him while a cancer stick burnt gradually in his hand.    The old man covered his head with a shabby flat cap, wore a heavy claret coloured rain coat and brown boots. He was the least of the young man’s  concerns now so he took his eyes off him. " Hi. " The young man said " I hope I did not startle you."    " Hi, " she said. Oh no! Her voice was saccharine and sounded like a filtered sound with effects. She said nothing after that but went back to her phone. Her personality was elegant but he noticed her taciturnity. He moved closer, feigning to avoid the drops of water the breeze was spraying. She was chatting with someone on w******p and she read something that made her produce a captivating smile which melted his heart. He felt jealous. Who wrote what made her smile? He wished that smile was his, and it came after telling her how much he loved her, missed her, and she smiled and said he was the best thing in her life, and they were holding hands, walking slowly to a posh, and driving off to sequestered cabin for the final phase of their honey moon.    " Hello", her saccharine voice brought him out of his daydream, but to his disappointment, she was answering to a call and  not referring to him. She listened as someone spoke from the other end, crinkled her forehead then said," password?". She listened for another minute then said, " thank you," ended the call before going back to her w******p .    He stole a glance at her chat, which he knew was unethical, and read her post where she said, she was eager to get home and have hot tea. She complaint of feeling cold.    " The rain is reducing to a drizzle." He said. " Kinda freezing, right?"    " Hmm." She said lackadaisically without raising her face.    "Just a moment, please." He said, and dashed into the rain, ran to the tea shop. It was his chance to get her attention by playing a gregarious gentleman. He quickly ordered for two cups of cappuccino and ran back but paused: she was nowhere to be found. Where was she? What happened? He only spent about ten minutes at the tea shop. It was still drizzling, she could not have gone under the downpour. Then he looked at the old man drinking whom seemed not to bother about him or any other thing apart from his bottle. He moved to him, aware that his heart was racing. Would that be the last time he would ever see her?    " Hi." He said. He looked up, his blotchy red eyes watery.    " What do you want, son ?"    " The girl I was standing with, where did she go?" He took a long sip, used the back of his hand to wipe the back of mouth and belched.    "What girl, son?"    "The girl that stood here a few minutes ago." He said impatiently.    "Oh, the little girl with lots of cash to throw, huh? She wanted my raincoat and I could not believe it when she offered me three grand for it. Can you beat that? It belonged to me not Frank Sinatra, or Niel Diamond, or Elvis Presley. How could she buy it for three? I get it..."he giggled, showing his tobacco stained teeth," drugs. I could tell by her desperation. I did drugs in the sixties....."    "Which way did she go?" The young man cut in, realizing that he was not wearing the raincoat.    "That way." He pointed a finger." I can sell my boots for two grand if you want. You are going to need it for the quagmire, son."    The young man hesitated. What if he ran and caught up with her, what would be her reaction? He looked at the spot she was standing a few minutes ago. He could picture her perfect body and captivating face on her phone. Then he saw a little object on the floor. She must have dropped it unknowingly. A sweet sensation crawled up his spine. He now had a genuine reason to go after her. He went and picked it up. It was a flash memory. He  was trembling. What was wrong with him? He put the flash memory in his pocket, and ran down the street. The old man had only pointed down the street so he  had only  intuition as a guide. It was still drizzling hard, and it was almost six o'clock in the evening. He spent the next ten minutes running around streets, hoping to see the mysterious ethereal beauty but he never saw her. He was about to go back when he caught sight of her. It was strange seeing her stand under the drizzle, making a phone call. He paused near a caravan, watching her as she stood, wrapped up in the raincoat, while water splashed on her. He wished he had a camera on him to catch her artistic pose and make a masterpiece painting. Now it was time to go and meet her. He began to rehearse his words, his pose and gesture when a red coloured Ferrari pulled up in front of her. She slid in and the car sped off without having a view of the person under the wheel. What was she looking for? A Ferrari! Curiosity now moved in. Who was this girl? Feeling disappointed, he decided to leave the lonely street and get a cab back home. Bang ! He heard a gunshot and cringed. What was that? Bang! Bang !! Two shots followed so he quickly hid behind a drum. He did not see anybody but registered the direction of the sound. He was still shivering but this time out of fear. It was at that time a man appeared from a corner, staggering, covering his stomach in a futile attempt to stop bleeding. The young man guessed he was the victim of the shot. Where was the shooter?  The bleeding man took two more steps then fell to the ground, bleeding profusely. Like a spirit, a short stocky, broad shouldered man appeared. He was dressed in a stripped suit and wore sun shades. He was also wet but did not seem to give a hoot. He looked round, as if suspecting that someone was watching. The young man nearly ran out of  skin as the man in stripped suit spent a fraction of minute starring at his direction. Then a black SUV pulled up and he got in and they left. The man bleeding lay still. Was he dead? He then  moved his legs after the stocky man left. He was still alive. The young man  brought out his phone and dialled 911. The young man got up and ran towards the man. He should have been around forty years old with dark hair and tanned skin. He was also dressed in suit. The young man bent down, knowing there was little or nothing he could do for him but hoped the police would arrive soon. The dying man looked at him  with frail eyes. The young man bent down, telling him to calm down and stay with him until help arrived. The watery eyes showed no sign of hope and it seemed he was whispering something. The young man could barely hear him but with a last force, he whispered, " John Terry ," and took a last breath. The sound of sirens emerged and he knew the police were close. He did not know what the name meant. Even after everything, he  knew he still had to look for Miss Mysterious. He had to tell the police what he saw. This incidence was the beginning of a saga.