Rappaccini's Daughter: A Package in the Mail (With Love)

[x-scorpion.livejournal.com]

A very unusual package sends Cammie into a panic, especially when calling the requested number gets things to make less sense.

Cammie had passed the early morning working a half shift at the boathouse.

Just two hours, but she was squirreling away the money for a bike. She'd get there soon. She worked her way back to the mansion the long way, making her way up to the front by way of the long driveway. She didn't want to be around everyone right now in closed quarters, so outside was good.

The weather was nice, though the air almost too clean for her taste. But hey it was spring leading into summer. It was making her miss the cities she hid out in back in the Midwest. Except for the mosquitoes. She'd never miss those.

Cammie paused for a moment and looked at the large building, she wondered when it started to become. like a home. The word home was no longer conjuring images of Vermont for her. Progress.

Maybe.

A dark, nondescript car pulled up behind her as she stood looking at the mansion. She turned in time to see a thin blond man in a dark suit step out of the car. He pulled off his sunglasses, folding them and placing them in an inner pocket before reaching into the car and pulling out a padded envelope.

He came around the car and started to walk towards Cammie. "Carmilla Black," he called as he approached. It wasn't a question, she realized. He stopped a few feet away from her. "I have a delivery for you." His voice was accented--European of some sort; if she had to guess, she'd say German.

"Um..." Cammie looked him over, she had never seen this guy in her life. That was twice now someone she had never seen or remembered from her days as a thief knew her. "It's not a subpoena is it?" Because if it was he'd hit the ground in less than a second.

She'd find an excuse later.

He smiled thinly at that as if to say that the notion of delivering a subpoena were beneath him. "I'm simply the courier," he said in reply, holding out the envelope.

"That's great, but who's it from?" Cammie said, looking at the envelope and back up at him, "Do you know that or is that a mystery too?"

He didn't even bother to look at the package. "The name on the invoice says Monica Rappaccini," he said in a bored tone.

"Huh," Cammie said, reaching out for it, "Never heard of 'er. Well fine, whatever. As long as it's not COD or anything dumb like that."

He didn't roll his eyes as he held out the package, but she could tell he wanted to. "Sign here, please," he said in the same bored tone of voice, holding out a screen and a stylus.

"Whatever you say, Delivery Boy," Cammie quipped and signed off on the package in something that looked more like chicken scratches than a signature. Since she had taken the package with her left hand, she was left signing with her off hand. And even though she had read somewhere once that most left handed people had some degree of ambidextrousness it had never applied to her.

"Thanks."

He said nothing in reply. He simply turned and walked back to the car, got in, and drove away.

"Huh," was all she said, taking the package inside, turning it over in her hands a few times. It was a big envelope, the type with bubbles on the inside from a person she had never even heard of. It didn't look like a mail bomb or anything. Cammie went back to her suite and plopped down on the couch, opening it up. Inside the envelope was a box, like something you'd keep jewelry in, maybe a watch or something.

She opened the box. A card was on top but she took that out, set that aside and then almost dropped the box. There were two human fingers in there, ring fingers, the both of them with rings that she still remembered. It was hard to forget something that belonged to your parents.

This had to be a joke. She looked for the card and scrambled for it, opening it.

They are what you think, was typed out on it just over a phone number.

"Oh....fuck no... this is NOT funny..." she said, putting the box aside with shaking hands and then digging out the phone. Cammie dialed the numbers with an urgency that increased with each number. This had to be a joke. And when whoever thought this was funny answered the phone she was going to kill them.

The dial tones abruptly ceased, shifting pitch into a series of squeaky hisses and clicks, then the phone went silent. A few long seconds passed, then a man's voice came on the line. "...no, no, I've got it. Hello? Hello! Yes, yeah, hey - hold on... is this the line? No, the other one? It is? Cool. Hey, you still there?" The voice was nasal and hurried, as if whoever was on the other end was distracted.

"Yeah, I'm still here," Cammie said coldly, "Who is this and why am I looking at a box with two fingers in it?" she asked sweetly. "I mean, correct me if I'm wrong, but this is a pretty bad joke, don't you think?"

"No, a joke goes like this: a priest, a rabbi, and two nice but boring suburbanites are sitting in a warehouse except there's no priest or rabbi... okay, I forget how the rest of it goes, but the punchline's basically this; you, little Carmilla, have cost us a great deal of money and quite a few late nights trying to track you down." The voice was jovial, sounding like one friend chatting with another. "So yeah, we're looking to... hold on a moment. No, go ahead and Tivo it, I'm not going to be done with these slides for another hour and besides, I hate the commercials. Anyway, where was I?"

Cammie had to unclench her jaw to speak next, "Something about two 'nice but boring suburbanites' in a warehouse. What the hell do you want with me that you send me fingers in a fucking box!?" she snapped, she was staring at them. She couldn't stop staring at them. Tracking her down? This was bull shit. No one tracked down and sent fingers to a runaway from the middle of nowhere.

"Right right right right right," the man on the phone answered, nasal drawl tinged with what sounded like excitement. "Sorry, I was distracted. We've got a cable connection here and I just love that Home Makeover show. You know, the one where they totally trash someone's house and rebuild it? They get the coolest tools there - you ever used a reciprocating saw? Cuts through plywood, drywall - oh yeah, and fingers."

Suddenly the voice went serious. "You remember the old packing warehouse, two miles from where you lived with your parents? Because believe me, they'll remember this place for the rest of their lives. And if you're not here - alone - in twelve hours? That'll be the rest of their lives. Do you understand me, Carmilla?"

"Yeah, I get you," Cammie said, meaning it two ways. She understood. And when she got there, she was going to bag and tag this guy. She didn't mouth off like she wanted to. She wasn't in a position to, not by any stretch of the imagination. Though there were a thousand threats ready to roll off her tongue she held them back. It felt like eating barbed wire.

"I'll be there. They better be alive when I do get there," she said, not

wanting to sound like she was begging for it. But she was. Cammie's panic right now was swelling into terror. This wasn't right. Please let them be okay...

No matter how you sliced it this wasn't going to be pretty.

"Alive covers a pretty wide array of options, Carmilla," the voice replied. "Twelve hours. By all means, take your time. We've got your address, and more boxes."

"Alright! I'm on my way, you've made your damn point already. They get to keep the rest of their parts!" Cammie said sharply and quickly. Way too quickly. She was terrified.

"Good girl," came the reply. "Your mother will be so proud."

And then, nothing but dial tone.

In a panic, Cammie runs to Kurt...

For a long moment after the call Cammie just stared at the fingers. The anger had died off immediately only to be replaced by panic. It was worse than the panic when she had saw the knife back in Houston. It was worse than the panic you felt the first time you tripped an alarm while learning how to jack a car. It was cold, heavy and settled in her stomach like a well placed punch. She was winded with it.

It occurred to her that Jane could walk in at any second and she closed the box, took the card and the phone and started to wonder what the hell she was going to do as she shoved it in her pocket. She couldn’t call the police, in the real world when you did that people died. Besides, what law agency on earth had the best interest of mutants in mind in the first place? Sure, her parents were boring normal humans, but it was her they’d look at and then flip out about.

Cammie paced back and forth for a few more frantic minutes before making the split second decision to leave the comfort of the suite she shared with Queen Full Frontal Nudity and ran down the halls and balled up her right fist and pounded on the door, hoping she’d get Kurt and not Monet or his suite mate.

There was a hurried padding of bare feet from inside the suite and the door flew open, Kurt's shirt hanging open as he looked out at her. "Cammie? What is wrong?"

She tried to figure out how to phrase it as she just worked her way in wide eyed and fumbling with the box that she had put in her pocket. She had just been carrying her parent’s fingers in a box in her pocket. “I don’t… this is going to sound crazy,” she started, now a step away from tears, “but something’s happened to my parents. I don’t even believe this!”

"What? What has happened?" He reached to usher her into the room and close the door behind her, alarmed by her obvious distress.

Cammie fumbled with the box and dropped it, barely catching it before the ground. She paused for a second and then opened laughing, just on the edge of hysteria. “I got this package today. Looks like a pretty sick joke, doesn’t it?”

Kurt stared in horror at the contents, then took the box away from her. "Carmilla... Cammie, what is this? And who would...?"

“I… it says it’s real there’s a card… a number… a jackass on the other end and they have my parents. And a power saw!” now she was hysterical, “It’s like a bad movie plot! I mean, tell me those aren’t real! They’re like movie props or something, right?” she knew they were real. It wasn’t the first time she had seen a loose finger. There were fucked up things on the streets.

"I am afraid they are not." No movie prop, however well made, had ever stood up to inspection at these close quarters. "Cammie, leave this with me. Your parents are alive, and of all the places in the world... we will bring them back."

She shook her head, “I… I called and I have to go alone. He said I have to go alone and they have more boxes and a fucking power saw and my address! Those are Mom and Dad’s fingers!”

"Going alone would be a very bad idea", Kurt said, keeping his voice calm. "I cannot in good conscience let you do it."

“The guy on the phone said I had twelve hours to get there or they’re going to kill them. Me, just me, he said,” Cammie said. “Parts of it were like a joke to whoever it was, Kurt. They have my parents and the guy spent his time talking about taping shows and…”

And something about her Mother being proud. …That didn’t make any sense.

"He will not know what is coming down on him until it does", Kurt promised. "And it will be in less than twelve hours. If they are not taking it seriously, then perhaps..." But another glance at the fingers dispelled whatever he'd been about to say.

“They are taking it seriously. Look, you can’t tell anyone. But I do know where they are and I can handle it but I guess I freaked out. He told me where to go, I know right where it is, but it’s at least five hours to drive,” Cammie said. Vermont from New York was not a quick trip.

"Cammie." That was firm and deadly earnest. "I cannot let you walk into this alone. Give me ten minutes to gather some people and we will not have to drive."

“No, no no, you can. Really. It’s not the worst thing I’ve ever had to do,” it wasn’t a total lie, though this came close to running away from teenagers who were at the same time deathly afraid of you and out to get you. “Oh fuck, none of this makes any fucking sense. I’m no one, what the hell do I have that they want?”

"What you have done in the past is not the point." He could only shrug in answer to the question. "Be sure we will find out."

Cammie clenched and unclenched her fist. She had to go alone. She didn’t want to drag anyone else into this, what apparently was her problem. She didn’t want to do this, but she didn’t want something to go wrong and anyone else to get hurt. They already hurt Mom and Dad.

“Kurt, I’m sorry,” she said, her gaze down on the floor.

"You have nothing to be sorry for", he said quietly.

“Yeah I do,” Cammie said, balling up her fist. Training with Logan made putting out just the right amount so much easier. She was fast to begin with, but it was like she was becoming something of a weapon. A good one hit weapon. She struck quickly, “This, for one,” there was enough there in the punch to keep him sick for quite awhile, if the blow itself didn’t knock him out. Cammie was panicked still, but there was an odd sort of calm now.

She knew what to do.

When he passed out she made sure to roll him on his stomach. She had learned early on that people could vomit when they were out cold, and she didn’t want him to choke on it. Cammie retrieved the fingers and took a moment to compose herself. Calm. She had to stay calm.

She kept that in her head, instead of images of Mom and Dad and a buzz-saw. She thought instead of home, and tried to fill it with images that weren’t all Homecoming. All she got were her parents.

When Cammie made it to the garage she took a deep breath. She couldn’t sign out a car she’d have to say where she was going. She looked around. There was Logan’s bike, Lil’s bike… there were a lot of options. Two of them were certain death. Three if you counted Scott’s car.

It only took a minute for her to decide on Angelo’s car. She muttered a silent apology as she grabbed a couple of tools, opened the door and then started to hotwire it. Oddly enough she was deathly calm, her parents fingers and her cellphone riding shotgun as the engine revved.

Cammie blinked once to clear tears from her eyes and pulled out. Vermont was a long way away and she couldn’t get there fast enough. She was going to kill whoever did this. So help her God, not that she believed in him and this stunt just cemented that.

“Home sweet fucking home, here I come. Maybe this time they’ll treat me to the pitchforks and torches too.”