(The following takes place the night before Riley leaves for Tucson.)
Greenwich Village, NYC...
"Can I help you?" the young woman asked, a doubtful look on her face, as she appraised the other woman who stood before her. She was tall, bleached blond, far too thin, and wearing a short skirt and halter top that only barely concealed the flesh beneath. Her lips and nails were crimson red, brown eyes lined in kohl black against a face far too pale, giving her an almost garish appearance. She was a street-walker, no doubt, but what was she doing in the Village? And more importantly, what was she doing standing outside the door of her apartment at midnight?
"Yes," the other woman replied, pushing her way inside the small apartment and taking a look around. "I need the use of your quarters."
"My what?" the young woman exclaimed. This couldn't be happening. She'd moved to the Village because it was safer than other parts of the city, or so she'd been told. This sort of thing wasn't supposed to happen here. Hell, she was paying a small fortune in rent to make sure it didn't happen here. "Get out or I'll call security."
"Security?" the other woman asked, crossing the room and pushing the blinds back to peer out the front window. She paused a moment and then chuckled to herself as she realized what the woman meant. "Ah, you must mean the fat fellow at the front desk." She shook her head and clucked her tongue in mild disgust. "Men should not let themselves go like that. Such a waste of flesh. I put him out of his misery."
"You what?" the young woman exclaimed, thoroughly confused. "What are you talking about?"
The other woman sighed. She had been amused at first by their little tete a tete, but her patience was quickly wearing thin. Did she have to spell it out for her? The man was dead. Deceased. No longer among the living. How dense could one be? It was like talking to a child.
She decided to ignore the woman's questions and come straight to the point. "Do you know who lives there?" she asked, pointing a crimson-painted fingertip at the building across the street.
"Look, I don't know who you think you are, but you can't just come waltzing into people's apartments, asking questions, and making demands," the young woman retorted, reaching for her cell phone. "I'm calling the cops."
The other woman smiled, her scarlet lips curling into a malevolent grin. "Yes, I can, and no, you're not." She wasn't quite sure who the cops were, but she wanted no interference from anyone or anything. Without so much as a backward glance, she flicked a finger at the other woman, and the phone flew out of her hands and smashed against the wall.
"What the hell..." exclaimed the other, backing away, eyes wide with fear.
"Yes, exactly," replied the other. "Now, please answer the question before I do the same to you."
"I-I don't know," the young woman stammered, clearly terrified. "Lots of people live there. I haven't been here long. I don't really know anyone yet."
The other clucked her tongue in feigned disappointment, turning to face the young woman, eyes entirely and inhumanely black. "Pity. I have no use for you then."
The young woman gasped and backed away toward the door, her heart pounding with fear. "Wh-what do you mean? What the hell are you?"
"Darling, I'm your worst nightmare," the demoness replied and with a flick of her wrist, the other woman fell lifeless to the floor, her neck tilted at an unnatural angle.
"Silence is golden," Namaah scolded the dead woman, and smiling to herself, returned her attention to the window and the building across the way.