DESIRED PYROTECHNICS Chapter Nine--The Treachery of Angels

   

 

Artwork by Jean Delville

  

  Waking up earlier than planned, I decided to take a walk and do some unnecessary shopping. The skies 

were blue and the weather was surprisingly warm for early winter. After picking up some overpriced, 

blood red lipstick at a boutique, I'd found a tiny park and sat on a bench to watch a young hippy guy make 

giant bubbles with soapy water. When he blew smoke into them they garnered a colorful sheen, like an oil 

slick in the rain, and I cursed myself for not having brought my camera. The nice weather seemed to bring 

the best out in people who smiled and said hello as they passed by with their dogs. 

    Deciding to wander further, I spied a new agency on the corner of an unfamiliar street. Inside, next to 

the door, was a stack of the latest edition of The Reader waiting to be unbundled. The guy behind the 

counter noticed me staring at them and came over with a pair of box cutters, opening it for me. Grabbing a 

copy, I thanked him and left.

    Strolling past a coffee house, I decided to get a cup inside. Spying an empty seat by the window, I took 

it, opening The Reader. The article was larger than I'd thought it would be. There was a full page picture 

of myself from a couple of years back wearing the customary black slip, looking extremely tan and wild as 

the wide vistas of Spain spread around me. Seeing my former home again hurt more than I wanted to 

admit. Had I ever been that woman? I thought as I stared at myself in the picture. I looked so happy and 

carefree. Sipping my coffee, I swallowed back the tears, realizing I was never going to see my home 

again, at least not as I had known it. That part of my life was done and I had to move forward, but some 

part of me would always be there, and would never adapt to the cityscape. Skimming the article, I noticed 

the journalist had done a good job. At least, I sounded somewhat coherent and like I knew what I was 

talking about. They'd even included a couple of pictures of my tamer work.

    Fuck, I thought looking at the clock on the wall, I was going to have to get my ass in gear if I was going 

to get some work done and make it to the show. Glancing at the red stain from my new lipstick on the 

edge of the white coffee cup, I smiled to myself. I felt relieved CJ was coming into town. His timing was 

immaculate and would provide an excellent distraction from all the other ugliness. Plus, I had to admit I 

kind of missed him. Finishing the coffee, I headed back to the gray stone.

    I spent the afternoon happily using the painting tools to add more texture and iconography to the new 

images. Eventually, I looked at the clock, realizing the time had gotten away from me, and I would have to 

haul ass to get ready in time for the concert. Sending the images to the lab, I shut down the computer, and 

made a beeline for the shower.

    Stephanie arrived forty-five minutes later. Under her huge, faux fur coat, she wore a black mini-skirt, 

tights, and platform heels. Her flaming curls had been tamed into submission. “Oh my God,” she 

exclaimed, flopping down on the couch. “How long has it been since we went to a rock concert together?”

    “I have no idea,” I giggled, “but it's been and age-and-a-half.”

    “Last time I went to see CJ's band, which was a long time ago, he said I was on the list and I wasn't on 

the list. Let's see what happens this time,” she said.

    Pulling on my motorcycle boots, I replied, “I don't think he'd have gotten in touch and confirmed we 

were on the list, if we weren't on the list.”

    She laughed. “Remember what I said about things being a circus in his world? All I'm saying is don't be 

surprised.”

    “Okay. I'll be prepared for anything.” Getting up, I glanced at my reflection in the mirror. My makeup 

was at the point of resembling war paint once again, but it worked. The trademark slip dress was one of 

my favorites and left little to the imagination. “I'm ready. Are you ready?” I asked.


    “Hell yes!” she exclaimed, pointing the horns at me with her hand.

    Laughing, I responded, “That never gets old.”

    Outside the concert venue there was a huge line of people waiting to go in. It hadn't occurred to me how 

popular CJ's band really was until that moment. Up at the will call Stephanie told the woman behind the 

glass we were on the list. But, after much searching, it turned out we weren't on the list.

    “I fucking knew it. I called it,” Stephanie said, laughing.

    “I have to admit, I'm a little surprised. Why bother getting in touch?” I asked, shaking my head in 

disbelief and laughing as well.

    “It's not him,” she answered. “There's always a snafu and someone, somewhere, didn't get the message. 

Don't worry, we'll get in.”

    The man standing behind us in line interrupted our conversation. “Hey, I've got a couple of extra tickets. 

Do you want them?” he offered, holding them out.

    “Seriously?” I said, taking them. “That's so kind of you.” 

    “No worries. Buy me a drink or something.” 

    “Not a problem.”

    Walking past security, he disappeared into the growing maelstrom of people.

    Once inside, I realized looking at the vast crowd, there was no way we could find the guy again. The set 

had already started with CJ commandeering his loud, unstoppable, berserker army. He was terrifying he 

was so ferocious onstage; like some crazed shaman of the coming apocalypse – shouting, swearing and 

spitting in fury. It was the same set I'd seen before, but with the lights and the visuals, the pounding music 

took on a whole new dimension. My world had been strange and chaotic, but not with the same kind of 

cadence and spectacle – it was mesmerizing, and to have access to that kind of energy every night must 

have been addicting.

    That was the difference between light and sound, I mused. Photography relied on light and shadow, 

both of which were energies that flew solo, requiring no other substance to do their magic, but sound was 

different, sound waves required matter to formulate them. Sound was another kind of magic all together—

and an obviously potent one looking at the enraptured faces in the audience...

    At the end of the show we wandered outside in search of somewhere to smoke when my phone rang. It 

was CJ wondering where the hell we were. He told us to go the side door and he'd send someone to let us 

into the backstage area. We walked around the mammoth building per his instructions, but there was no 

door. Finally, I spotted some guy on the other side of a five-foot-tall, chain link fence, waving us over.

    I raised an incredulous eyebrow. “He wants us to climb the fence?” 

    “Um, yep. Looks that way,” answered Stephanie, smirking.

    “Oh my God, like total fucking groupies?” There were tears in my eyes I laughed so hard. 

    “Um, yep.”

    “I'll be fucking goddamned – am I really going to do this?” I grabbed the chain link. “Yes, I am.”

    “I'll be right behind you,” she said.

    The climb over wasn't graceful, or pretty, but I managed. Thankfully, I'd thrown on underwear at the 

very last minute because of the dropping temperatures. Stephanie fared better than myself, landing smartly 

in her platform heels like a cat.

    “Impressive. You are much better at being a groupie than myself,” I teased.

    “Oh, we'll see about that,” she shot back.

    “Ouch!” I pretended to flinch walking over to where the guy was holding the door open for us.

    Inside, the backstage was a maze of beige, carpeted hallways and rooms full of people. Some waved 

and said hello, but I didn't recognize any of them. I lost Stephanie in the morass of bodies behind me. 

Finally, I turned a corner and spied CJ sitting in an armchair, holding court. He smiled as he caught my 

eye, patting the narrow space next to him. I squeezed in. Putting his arm around me, he apologized, “I'm 

so sorry, I swear it wasn't my fault you guys weren't on the list.”

    “It wasn't that big of a deal,” I said, “but you should apologize to Stephanie. She said the exact same 

thing happened to her last time.”

    “Shit – I will.” Staring at me, a mischievous glint lit up his dark eyes. “It's good to see you, though.”

    “You as well,” I told him.

    “Good.” Leaning forward, he kissed me.

    We chatted about the misadventures that had already happened on the tour. Glancing around, I spotted 

Stephanie by the doorway, deep in conversation. I tried to get up to go to her, but CJ's arm wrapped itself 

around me, sitting me back down. Escape was not imminent, and I didn't exactly put up a fuss. Spying a 

copy of The Reader lying on a nearby table, I showed CJ the article.

    “Was this taken in Spain?” he asked, looking at the picture at me. “You seem different.”

    “It was,” I said. “And I was.”

    “That's all you're gonna say?”

    “Yep,” I answered, smiling in my well-practiced, enigmatic manner.

    Shaking his head, he wrinkled his brow. “Sometimes I can't tell what you're thinking and it kind of 

freaks me out. Anyhow, sorry I'm going to miss the show.”

    Shrugging, I said, “Maybe it'll still be up by the time you get back.”

    A neatly dressed man with a steel gray flattop, who I guessed to be the tour manager, poked his head 

into the room and announced it was time to go. We got up, weaving our way through the crowd toward 

him. CJ turned to say goodbye to someone behind us as I stood in the doorway. To my shock, right in front 

of me was a comic book illustrator who I'd met with Haiden on several occasions in Europe. I knew they 

talked on a semi-regular basis. He recognized me right away. “Hey, I know you. You're Haiden's wife.”

    Smiling, I died inside as I thought, what were the freaking odds? “No,” I answered carefully. “We were 

never married and we aren't together any more.”

    “Oh?” He looked confused. “But, I just saw him...”

    Out of the corner of my eye I could see Stephanie further down the hallway, yet close enough to hear 

what had been said as she mouthed the words 'oh no' at me.

    CJ turned the corner, his arm draped around my neck. “Hey, man,” he nodded to the guy. “Good to see 

you here. Have you met, Anabelle?”

    The illustrator looked at CJ, and then at me. “Oh...!” 

    The tour manager yelled the limo was waiting outside. 

    “Sorry man, we have to go,” CJ said.

    Silently, I cursed my luck. I knew my being there would immediately get back to Haiden. I didn't care 

that he would know, but I feared retaliation while he was in the same city. Also, I'd become fond of CJ and 

wanted to keep him from the whole sordid mess. His world was chaotic enough without being infected by 

my disastrous past. Still, when worlds fucking collide what could you do? I thought. Throw a little dark 

matter in the mix for measure... I'd known it would only be a matter of time, but hadn't thought it would 

happen so quickly, but what was done was done.

    Standing next to the limo, we said our goodbyes to Stephanie.

    “This time she's willingly coming with me,” joked CJ.

    “Oh, I'm well aware,” she replied. “You kids have fun.” Giving us both a hug, she started back toward 

the parking lot.

    The hotel was a short ride away. The suite was fairly nice, but had a weird blandness to it, and was one 

of those sterile, beige spaces where people only passed through.

    We stayed up talking, smoking, and drinking wine until late. I toyed with the thought of telling CJ about 

the revenge porn fiasco, but there was never the right time—and time was not on our side as it was. I 

suspected he'd want to know, but I didn't know what to say. Plus, he'd be gone soon enough, and there was 

little anyone could do besides myself, and the lawyer. Better to enjoy each others company while we could 

– and we did.

    Morning arrived too soon filtering gray through the shades on the window. I groaned, silently willing it 

away. Closing my eyes, I stayed as still as possible, not wanting to face the world yet as I lay tangled in 

his arms. My thoughts drifted and I wondered why it was I felt safe with him when we barely knew each 

other. It wasn't like me to get so close to someone so quickly. Remembering what the psychic Maria had 

said in Spain about someone who'd been orbiting around me for a very long time, a king of swords who 

would help cut the threads, I tried to dismiss the notion. It was true we knew a lot of the same people from 

the old days, but that was long ago and parts of my life in Europe were beginning to feel like a fevered 

dream.

    CJ must have heard me thinking because he awoke, hugging me tighter. “What time is it?” he 

murmured.

    Rolling over, I looked at the clock. “It's seven-thirty,” I answered.

    “Good. Come here,” he said.

    I did as requested, snuggling back into him.

    Almost immediately, his phone rang. Groaning, he sat up on the side of the bed, his long, dark hair 

tangling around him, as he answered it. Reaching out, I grazed the outlines of tattoos covering his back 

with my fingertips. They struck me as some sort of symbolic road map of a hard lived life – each one with 

its own secret story or language I knew nothing about. Then, I noticed the zodiacal symbols for the 

tetramorph hidden within a larger piece. Taurus, Leo, Aquarius and Scorpio in heavy, black lines set 

within a rectangle. The four original stars of Persia which later developed into the lamassu – the giant, 

winged protectors who guarded the gates of ancient cities in Babylon because they were considered to be 

the mirror of the sky above and the world below – encompassing all life within them. I wondered if CJ 

knew that because it seemed like an odd choice of ink for a rock star, but then again his intellect and 

interests were far from ordinary.

    Hanging up, he turned back toward me. “It's almost time.” 

    Sighing, I answered, “I know.”

    He made a cup of hotel tea while I lounged on the bed, noticing my clothes were strewn about the couch 

and floor. Bad girl, Annabelle, I admonished, laughing at myself. At least my bra wasn't hanging from the 

lampshade. Finally, I got up, gathered my clothes, got dressed, and made hotel coffee while he checked his 

emails and texts. He made a couple of business calls, barking orders – it was obvious the armor was 

coming back on and he was gearing up for the next battle.

    Sitting next to him on the couch, I sipped my coffee and fixed my smeared war paint while he grumbled 

about something that had gone wrong. Even then, he apologized, making fun of himself as he packed his 

case. The tour manager arrived looking way more rested than we were, making certain we'd flushed all the 

cigarette butts, and had opened all the windows. I'd forgotten there was no smoking in American hotels 

and felt kind of bad, but it was obviously a part of their morning tour routine.

    In front of the hotel the cab CJ had called for me was waiting. Kissing me at the curb, he told me he 

would miss me, and I did the same. It was true I would miss him. There was a part of me that wanted to 

tell the rest of the world to fuck off and give us more time, but I knew it wouldn't happen, so I got into the 

taxi and left. Saying goodbye to him was getting harder each time and I wasn't certain I was ready to feel 

that way yet.

    On the ride back, I stared out the window, trying not to think about Haiden. He'd have blown a gasket 

by now and the fallout would probably singe off my eyebrows. But what was there left he could do? I 

wondered. It was obvious by his recent behavior Haiden was capable of pulling any kind of stunt. He 

really was like Lucifer; so shining in all his arrogance, and so underhanded in his dealings. He who could 

not tell the truth to safe his life – he of false glamour: a black hole, which reflected no light, only 

mirroring the light others willingly sacrificed to him – and I had been the biggest supplicant of them all. 

My stomach ached thinking about it. Sighing, I closed my eyes, resting my head against the seat. 

    A few seconds later, they snapped open. “Can you stop at the photo lab on Belmont?” I asked, having 

forgotten about the images waiting for me. “It'll take two seconds.”

    Nodding, the cab driver tapped at his meter.

    “I know,” I said. I'll pay the difference.”

    Normally, I had a good rapport with cabbies, but this old guy didn't want to speak, preferring to listen to 

annoying talk radio.

    The same bearded hipster guy from the day before manned the desk at the photo lab. Once again he 

barely acknowledged my existence, which I was thankful for. Grabbing the tube, I flew out the door.

    Back at the gray stone, I noticed my phone was dead. No wonder Stephanie hadn't called, I thought. 

Plugging it into the charger, I forgot to turn it on. Then, I made a pot of the strongest French press coffee I 

thought I could handle. I contemplated taking a shower while waiting for it to brew, but liked the way CJ's 

smell permeated my skin and clothes. Obviously, he had some kind of pheromone thing going on with me 

and I wanted to indulge in it a while longer. Once the coffee was ready, I picked up my notebook, put my 

coat back on, and headed up to the roof to smoke and gather my thoughts. 

    The morning was overcast and freezing as crystalline structures formulated in the air; not quite snow, 

but heavier than mist. Soon, I'd be a smoking snowman. Wrapping my scarf tighter, I gave up on the 

notebook and gulped my rapidly cooling coffee while I smoked.

    Heading downstairs after my fingertips had frozen, I poured another coffee, spritzed and watered the 

plants, and eyed the bathroom one more time before giving up on the thought altogether. Taking the prints 

out of the tube, I placed them on the dining room table. I was impressed at how they were turning out, but 

I wanted the images to have more radiance, and be more celestial. Although they worked, they were too 

earthy and overtly sexual. I wanted them to portray the Queen of Heaven instead of the Queen of Earth – 

idealization versus the reality of the situation. The Queen of the Earth was more honest because she was 

accessible, therefore people could relate to her, but the Queen of Heaven was inaccessible, and therefore, 

untouchable. I knew which one I should go with – the honest image as it pertained more to my original 

concept before the whole revenge porn fiasco. Contemplating the prints a couple of minutes longer, I knew 

my stalling tactics had reached the end of their thread.

    Rolling them back up, I put them back in the tube, and switched the laptop on. Let the day begin, I 

thought to myself.

     LIAR was the title of the first mail from Haiden. Short, sweet and to the point: 'You lying, thieving, 

unscrupulous, ego driven, sociopathic, brainless, hateful, cunt. I should have known you would pull a 

stunt like this after everything I've done for you. To say I am enraged at being lied to is putting it mildly. I 

will get you for this... and when I do I don't know if I can be accountable for my actions...' 

    Beautiful. Perfect. All the mails were pretty much the same. Implied threats as cold as the frost creeping 

at the edges of the windows. Haiden was irritated I hadn't mentioned his name in The Reader article, and 

informed me once again that I owed my whole career, my ability, and obviously, my soul to him. Scrolling 

down, I saw there was a message from my father wondering how things were. I wasn't going to begin to 

explain how things really were. He didn't know Haiden was in town – nor did he need to. There was a 

message from the lawyer saying he'd heard nothing back from Haiden. Why was I not surprised? Rubbing 

my temples to soothe the headache building behind my eyes, I decided to take some aspirin, and brew 

some more coffee— only a little less strong. To my horror, I noticed I was almost out my favorite 

addiction and a run to the store would be necessary pronto. The walk would me good, I surmised, and the 

cold air would help wake me up. Bundling up, I headed out the door.

    Strolling past the café where I'd had the disastrous meeting with Lars, a figure came bounding out the 

door. “Anabelle. Wait!” A familiar British voice yelled at me.

    I froze, and then turned around, hands on hips. “I read your emails. I've got nothing to say to you. Just 

stay the fuck away from me,” I warned.

    Haiden strode toward me, closing the gap. “We need to talk. Now!”

    “Were you waiting for me?” I asked. He must have realized I was staying nearby. My heart began to 

pound. I didn't think he'd attack me on the open street, but what if he followed me to the gray stone? Fuck! 

My blood began to boil. I'd had enough. If he wanted a public display, he was going to get hell in a hand 

basket. “Sincerely, Fuck you!” I screamed. “Go and darken some other poor fucking woman's doorstep 

that you can abusive and exploit in whatever fashion you see fit. I'm fucking done!” 

    That stopped him in his tracks and he began to shake.

    I continued on. “Please go and have a good life and just leave me the fuck alone!” A small crowd 

gathered to watch us which was exactly what I wanted. 

    “You have it all wrong once again,” he sneered at me.

    “What part of 'I don't care' do you not fucking understand?” I retorted.

    He stepped towards me.

    I held my ground. “You and I have no further business after you put my fucking pictures on the Internet 

without my permission and have turned me into an unwilling porn star. What you've done it criminal. I've 

gone to the police and filed a report against you already.” Okay, it was a small lie, but it was partially true.

    “You have no proof it was me,” he spit out.

    “You were the only one with the images and motivation to do so,” I replied, staring him in the eye. “I 

have all the proof in the world.”

    “What if they were seeded from when they were up before? Anyone could have downloaded them and 

then put them up at a later date.”

    Jesus fuck, he really had done his homework and had put a lot of planning into it. How did he know all 

this shit? “Listen,” I said, “they can trace the IP address of the original images which will go straight to 

your laptop and email account.”

    “I only did that before because I was mad at you,” he admitted. “And because I wanted to find you 

attractive again.”

    The breath left my body as the verbal punch walloped me. “Do you even fucking listen to yourself?” I 

yelled. “You sick fuck! What kind of man does that? Or should I say what kind of fucking pervert does 

that to his so-called partner!”

    Our crowd was growing. Taking a look around, Haiden noticed the onlookers for the first time. His 

demeanor softened. “I only came out here so I could be near you,” he offered with utmost, glowing 

sincerity.

    “You're a fucking liar,” I screamed, stomping my foot, “and I don't believe that shit for one minute!”

    “You lying, thieving, treacherous whore!” he shouted, running towards me.

    I bolted. Looking back over my shoulder, I saw him closing in, but I also spotted a cab with a glowing 

green light. Jumping into the street, I held my hand out and the cab slammed on his brakes. I leapt inside 

but he kept shouting. “Don't, Anabelle – I love you...!”

    “Go!” I said to the cabbie. “Hurry, please. He's crazy.” I flinched as Haiden's open hand smacked the 

passenger window next to my head.

    The cabbie took off, grumbling under his breath. “Where to?” he asked.

    Watching Haiden's figure recede into the distance, I answered, “to the grocery store – whichever is 

closest. I need to get coffee”

    “You got it,” he said, without questioning me further.

    The grocery store was only a few blocks away. I paid the cabbie and went inside. 

Wandering the isles in search of French Roast, I couldn't wrap my head around Haiden's parting words. He 

loved me? How? All he had done was actively try to destroy me. How could he act this way? What kind 

of fucking sense did it make? You didn't destroy things that you supposedly loved. You cherished them 

and took care of them. It was madness. I might have to accept the fact he was clinically insane. That was 

the only explanation because nothing else fit. And what was it with windows? From his raised hand 

splayed out against the train window when I couldn't look him in the eye, to smashing my head against the 

car window, to smacking the glass of the taxi. The first time I had ignored him, the second time I had 

broken, and the third time I had been protected – there had been a barrier, where as before, I had been the 

barrier. 

    Taking a circuitous route back to the gray stone to avoid the café, I got lost a couple of times. Lucky for 

me, Chicago was built like a grid, so getting righted wasn't too difficult. Still, I slunk around corners, 

jumping at my shadow – a low level panic pervading my every footfall. Glancing around in all directions 

to make certain the coast was clear, I crossed the street and slipped into the gray stone.

    After shutting the curtains and closing the blinds, I made more coffee. I thought about calling 

Stephanie, but decided against it. How many crisis calls could she take? As exhausted as I was, a 

surprising calm pervaded me as I flopped onto the leather couch. I didn't care what happened. I didn't care 

what Haiden did to me. I certainly didn't want to die at his hands, but I no longer cared about what he 

destroyed because I no longer cared about him. Even if he burned it all to the ground, I would survive. My 

thoughts were free of him and my actions no longer dictated by him. When had I become free of him? I 

wondered. It had happened so subtlety I hadn't noticed...it was like a veil had been lifted. Everything I'd 

been terrified of, all the insults and abuse I'd suffered at his hands, all the threats and insinuation, which 

had kept me chained to him, none of it meant a thing. I was no longer afraid because I had nothing left to 

be afraid of... For the first time in as long as I could remember, I felt a flicker of the woman I once was 

roar back to life – the one who wanted to live a fearless life – the one who stalked creativity and 

adventure. She was still there, although she'd been nearly decimated by emotional guerrilla warfare, and 

rendered temporarily impotent by continuous sabotage and violence. Deciding to let the light in as a 

symbolic gesture, I reopened the curtains and blinds. Then, I shut them again. Okay, so she wasn't 

functioning at one hundred percent capacity. It was enough to know she was still there.

    I spent the evening working on the images trying my hardest to portray religious ecstasy as an altered 

state on consciousness; like visual orgasms, where space and time disappeared into pure, molten, sensation 

and light. Those became the operative words stuck in my head: sensation and light, and that's what I 

focused on bringing into play – the ethereal and earthy attributes of each image. It was a painstaking 

process to detail and paint the miniscule elements while little by little adjusting the glow, but it was well 

worth the effort. Some hours later, I sat back pleased by the outcome. For the first time in as long as I 

could recall, I'd become so engrossed in the work, I'd lost track of time. Nothing else in the world had 

existed. That was a victory for me. To my surprise, I'd worked through the night and into the morning. 

Emailing the files to the lab, I asked if they could put a rush on the order so I could get it in a few hours. 

After that, I'd only have one day left to make any changes before ordering the final prints. There wasn't 

one message from Haiden, which seemed odd, but I didn't have the brainpower, nor inclination, to ponder 

it further.

    Powering down, I laid my head on the couch and passed out.