"Goldilocks continued" by Camilla ´Motone´ Whitney

When she entered the Denthar law firm, she was quite the opposite of the shy, inhibited girl the world used to know.  Though she was only sixteen, she entered with an air of confidence and maturity far beyond her age, walked briskly to the front desk and said, “Hello, my name is Goldilocks, and I would like a job.”

The change was indelible.  She entered knowing nothing of law, and in five years she had moved to the top.  She was even sort of friendly, in a cool, distant, professional way.

So now we find her, five years later, at age twenty-one.  She was a ruthless business shark, how else could she be so successful?  But her success had taken a toll on her.

“I’m rich, I’m successful, I have power, but I’m still not happy!  Why am I not happy?”

“Now just relax.”  Dr. Iglasias said to her pacing patient.  Goldilocks had always been too tense.  “All we have to do is find the source of the problem.  Once we solve that, you should be happy.”

“I’ve told you everything you’ve wanted to know!”  Goldilocks thrashed.  “You’re the expert, you’re the one with the degree, you’re supposed to figure out my problem!”

Dr. Iglasias sighed.  “Now Goldilocks,” she said, “get back down on the couch and calm down.  Have you always been like this?”

“You tell me!”  Goldilocks whined, rather immaturely, very unbefitting to her professional status.  Dr. Iglasias didn’t wonder why so many executives ended up coming to psychiatrists.

“What about your childhood.” the doctor tried.  “Surely you can tell me something about that.”

“I don’t remember.”

“Of course you must remember something.”

“I said I don’t remember!” Goldilocks said with sudden defensiveness.  “What I haven’t forgotten I’ve blocked out.”

“Might I suggest a little hypnosis therapy?  It’s very relaxing.”

Goldilocks threw a pillow hard at Dr. Iglasias, breaking her glasses, and stormed out.  Of course Goldilocks remembered it, but she wasn’t about to share anything with that stuck-up quack.  Besides, she had a business conference to go to later that day.

It is only the events in the aftermath of that conference that are worth relating, and they are as follows.

It was already past one in the morning.  Goldilocks looked down the long stretch of road ahead of her, which led and disappeared into the wet dark.  The darkness and sound of rain were untainted by any other presence.  As her vehicle crept forward, in the lightning she saw a building, what looked like a huge mansion of some kind, but other than that the landscape remained unwrinkled.

She dared herself to speed up, and just as she did, her car failed.  Great.  Steam rose like ghosts from the engine.  Goldilocks certainly wasn’t in the mood to try to fix it in the rain in the dead of night, and she wasn’t about to sleep in it in the middle of the road.  Her only choice was to check out the mansion.

He was almost finished.  With the hour approaching 2:00, he knew he only had time for one more.  With just a few more drops of Eurethyl epithium and another dose of Equiatic acropotus, the formula was complete.  Lifting it to the light, he watched as the last drops of yellow mingled with the red.  He placed the flask gently with the others before his triumph was interrupted.  He turned to see a slinky white leg appear through the door, then a fragile hand, nails polished red, then the rest of the body, slim and perfect.  He loved a woman in black.

Goldilocks’ large brown eyes darted nervously around the room, finally resting on the man.  Something strange was brewing here, literally.  She licked her full red lips nervously and tucked a stray strand of her abundant golden curls into place.

“I’m sorry,” she said, “I knocked a few times and when no one answered I figured the place was deserted.”  She was young, the man noticed, still young enough to bear children.

She could feel his eyes on her, those vacant crazed eyes roving across her body.  She made sure her skirt was nice and long and her jacket was buttoned.  Even with her hair dripping wet and her suit splattered with mud, Goldilocks tried to look at business-like as possible.

“No problem at all.  My mistake, I’m sure.”  He licked his thin, dry lips, his voice like the sea before a storm.  He was little older than Goldilocks, but his hair was white, rumpled into odd angles.  Perhaps it had always been like that.  It was like she had just walked into the typical horror story, the kind that had always scared everyone else.  “Please, join me in the dining room.”

“Do you have any kind of communication device I could use?”  Goldilocks asked.  “The power in my portable com-D has died.”  Her voice was mellow and succulent to him, and it echoed pleasantly in the vast halls.  But in her eyes he could read fear, fear that would soon be swayed.

She said nothing as they walked.  Only when he left her alone in the dining room did she dare herself to relax, kicking off her spiked heels, feeling free for a moment.  But he re-entered, holding a covered dish in one hand.  With the other he gestured to the lavish, black velvet chair at the head of the table.  Goldilocks sat tersely on the edge of the seat, trying to remain stoic.  He was attracted to her, that much was apparent.  She had just survived through an entire conference with winking waiters charging nothing for her blackberry lemonade and overweight executives sitting across from her to play footsies, trying to woo her with power and money, both of which she already had.  She wasn’t about to trust this strange, if not insane, man.

“I’m sorry, I’ve been so rude.” he said.  “The name is Bean.  Dr. Bean.”

A ludicrous man with a ludicrous name, in a ludicrous science-fiction mansion.  She noticed the lighting flashed according as he said it.

“My name is Goldilocks.”  She held out her hand cordially, but still remaining mentally detached.  He was, after all, helping her.  Somewhat.  He took it, clasping it in both his hands, and kissed it, the very epitome of courtesy and passion.  Or so he thought.  She yanked back her hand, hastily wiping off the drool.

“You’re right,” he said, “This is neither the time nor place.  It is late, and you have not eaten since this evening.  Please,” and he motioned to the platter on the table.  Goldilocks eyed him, she eyed the platter, and she slowly lifted the cover.  A single glass of dark, steaming wine.  “To help you sleep.  I’m afraid my cook is no longer with us.  For the night.”  She lifted the wine to her lips, but just before she drank she realized the rain had died.  Her car; she could go out and fix it, and never again reflect on this place.

She would be back.  He would bet her life on it.  Dr. Bean waited alone in the still room.  Because she would be back.

The night stretched on before her.  The road seemed to cut off into it, to a blunt, painful end.  Her eyes searched along the street, they must’ve been fooling her.  Silently, she stole further down the road, apprehensive in the dark.  There was nothing where her car had once stood, only a bean.  She picked it up and flicked it into the vast oblivion of the night.

When Goldilocks returned, the wine was still warmer than her blood, and it spilled throughout her chilled body like electricity.

She awoke with an uneasy feeling.  How long had she been sleeping?  She tried to sit up, but unable to move.  It was then that she cast her first glances about her setting, and realized that this horror story had taken a turn for the worse.

The doctor, upon turning, saw his patient awake.  She couldn’t speak, he had tied her mouth.  She couldn’t move, he had bound her down.  She only looked up at him, with pleading, terrified eyes.

“This won’t hurt, I swear.”  The table to which she was strapped moved haltingly downward, closer to the doctor’s reach.  He held two syringes, three more lay on the table behind him.  They were full of something, not the potion she had seen him make, but something dark and restless, drawn out of the backs of the most secret, hidden cupboards.

The doctor gently, almost lovingly, pushed up the hem of her skirt, revealing her bare thigh.  She tried to quell the feeling of terror uprising inside her.  He took the syringes and slid them smoothly through the flesh in her thighs and straight to the vein, where he ever so gently pushed the contents out of the syringes and into her body.  This he repeated with veins in her arms, and, with the final needle, the biggest, fullest and sharpest needle, he took it straight to her heart.

Goldilocks felt a new strength spreading through her.  She was no longer her own, she was Bean’s creation of the perfect woman.  No matter how much her former change had done, she still had the small, hurt girl inside of her.  That was no longer so.  She tore herself from the operating table, snapping the leather straps.  Bean had intended on creating for himself the perfect woman, someone as genius and diabolical as himself.  He made her too perfect.

Goldilocks stalked the streets of Denthar when she got back.  Her physical appearance was unchanged except perhaps a new determined look and a strange new glow in her eyes.  No one could quite place what was different about her, but they all felt it.  She no longer held to her creed of “the best you have to offer,” which produced happy and productive employees.  She now demanded perfection from everyone she saw.  She would criticize newsies on the street on how they were selling papers.  She fired her psychiatrist and inwardly cursed herself for already letting her know so much.  Goldilocks was contained, she never let herself break out in open displays of anger, she fulfilled that emotion secretly.

She felt all-powerful, but there was one office she didn’t consider, nor would she have if she had lived on undisturbed.  It will be explained shortly.

Although one wouldn’t note the personal change in Goldilocks if one never saw her in person, one could see how her business successes improved, if one had his eye on it.  And one did.

No one knew why he was interested in this particular firm, which had stable and unchanging business until now.  Now there was reason to be interested.

No one knew this man’s real name.  He was by those close to him and his enemies as Wormwood.  Unfortunately, most of those close to him and his enemies were dead.  He was known by him employees as The Man.  He was known by many other names as well, and there were some that knew him not at all.  But it didn’t matter who knew him, all that mattered was whom he knew.  And he decided that he should get to know the head of the Denthar law firm.

He sent out a scout.  The first report was inconsequential—very beautiful, long curly blonde hair, dark, dark brown eyes, only twenty-one years old.  What of her personality?  Well, she was very business-like, cool and distant, not very friendly.  Reserved?  No definitely not.  Very well, and he sent the reporter away.  But there was one more thing.  She seemed to especially dislike the scout they had sent.

As an experiment, Wormwood sent out a different man the next week, with the same covered purpose, at the same time of day, on the same day of the week.  This scout was received much more hospitably, as hospitable as a shark can be, and turned out not nearly as fast.  These results interested Wormwood.  He commanded that the investigations be continued with the initial scout, though he couldn’t pick out which of his men it was.

Next they questioned her former psychiatrist.  She told a tale they found more interesting.  Tales of hidden anger, repressed emotions, distrust.  And she was smart, although not so much in an academic way.  She didn’t let her feelings get in the way.

But none of this measured up to what the scout was finding out.  She was shrewd, clever, and intent on getting her own way, even to the point of violence, in which she showed some skill.

Wormwood soon completed his character analysis, and determined that she would be a valuable asset to their agency, before she could become their enemy.  But this wouldn’t be easy.  She saw enemies everywhere, otherwise she would trust one person, at least.  But she befriended no one.  Not a single person knew her. They may have thought they did, but they were barely even scratching the surface.  So Wormwood decided they would strike where she was vulnerable.  As far as he was concerned, she would either join them, become disabled, or die.

The next orders for the scout came from The Man himself.  Wormwood remained hidden in the shadows, not even letting his own employee see him.

“So,” he gurgled through a voice changer, “you are our spy for Goldilocks.”

“Yes,” drifted up the reply.

“I hear rumors that you used to know this Goldilocks.”

“Yes sir, I did.”

“Do you think she recognized you?”

“I have no doubt about it, sir.  In fact, I suggested to my CO that they use someone else for the job.    I feared our former relationship would hinder progress.”

“No need to fear, Kent.  It will actually come in quite useful.  Tell me, what was your relationship like?” 

“She felt nothing but hate for me,” Kent said, “and I was attracted to her for psychological reasons.”

“Maybe,” said Wormwood, the false voice in the dark, “but hate is so similar to love.  You will marry her.”

“Marry her?”  Kent repeated.

“Only then will she have the confidence needed.”

Confidence?  If there was anything Goldy had in abundance, besides hair, it was definitely confidence.  Needed for what, anyway?  This was the first time he had questioned orders.  But marriage was a little extreme.

“You must show every sign of pure love.  She must have no doubts.  Only then, with her emotions fully in play, will she be disabled.  Then she will either join us, or live the rest of her life as a sobbing girl, not even a shadow of what she is now.  If you don’t succeed, she will die.  But you are a good actor.  I know you can do this.”

A good actor, right.  So Wormwood wanted to have her mentally broken down.  Kent had never considered Goldy as much of a threat, but he had known her back when she was volatile and susceptible to change.  And she had changed, Kent knew, but he thought that the scared little girl was still inside her.

He was following her again.  Goldilocks had, of course, recognized him on their first meeting, but she relented to no informalities.  They had been through a lot together, and it was because of him that her life had changed.  But she put it behind her.  It was the past; it could never be anything else.

He had caught up to her.  She had been avoiding him.  Intentionally?  Well, yes, all he ever did was mess up her life, and she liked her life as it was.  But now it was too late, he had her by the arm, forced her to turn.

“I’m sorry to come up so suddenly,” he said, “but I can’t keep this in any longer.  Please, come with me.”

Goldy didn’t have much of a choice as he dragged her through the streets and to an apartment.  On the table was a vase full of red and white roses.  How romantic, she thought sarcastically.  She was never really cared for flowers.

“Goldy,”—she held in her objection to him using her old name, as though they were close friends.  He apparently had something he thought was terribly important and painful to say, she might as well let him say it uninterrupted and get it over with; she was feeling extremely generous for some reason—“Goldy,” Kent repeated; she inwardly winced at the sound, “what would you say if… if I said,” he took a deep breath, “that I love you?”

Love her?  Him?  Goldilocks felt, for a moment, slightly taken aback, something she hadn’t been in a very, very long time.

“What would you say,” he continued, “if I wanted to marry you?”

Marry her?  Goldilocks almost laughed.  The thought of her getting married at all, especially to him…  This had to be some kind of trick, a joke.  Her suspicion was working overtime, so was her sarcasm, trying to pick out an especially bruising remark.   …  But then, she saw his eyes.  They were glossed with tears, the anguish in his voice was real.  He wouldn’t put himself on the line like that without good reason.  That meant that he loved her.  She had to keep telling herself, convincing herself, as she searched his earnest, hopeful and somewhat frightened eyes.  And for the first moment in perhaps the past ten years, Goldilocks was so dumbfounded that she couldn’t speak.

What was that look?  Confusion, maybe?  Did she suspect him?  Did she see right through him?  She couldn’t, it was impossible.  She was confused, but trust was definitely in there as well.  A person as trusting as her certainly chose a bad group of playmates.  The old Goldy was back.

Reading her silence, Kent drew her into a hug, as heartfelt as he could muster.

“Yes,” Goldy finally managed.  “Yes, I will marry you.  But first, there is something I must do.”

The next week found Goldilocks deep in a primeval forest.  As fate would have it, she had stumbled upon an old newspaper article back when she worked in the library.  She had reasoned it out in her mind:  She wasn’t happy now, nor had she ever been.  It was because of her childhood.  Her childhood was horrible because her parents had died.  And, as she found out one dusty evening years ago, her parents had both been killed by bears.

So Goldilocks entered the forest with blood on her mind and vengeance in her eyes.  And a resolution that she would eliminate the source of her unhappiness, if it was the last thing she did.  She was entirely inexperienced with nature, but she didn’t let this slow her down.  She plunged headlong into the underbrush bordering the forest, and was soon engulfed by ancient trees, each of which held more dignity than any man-craft ever could.

The she saw them, three bears, playing in a nearby clearing.  Goldilocks remained hidden as she watched them.  Two adult bears, playing with their cub.  The sunlight streamed through the leaves and butterflies danced about them.  The air was blue with evening and it made a nice offset to the green and brown background.  It was so picturesque.  Goldilocks hated it.

She decided a surprise attack would be most proficient, in the place they felt the most secure.  Therefore she continued on, and soon found their cottage.  Using Kent’s lock-picking kit, she gained easy access.  Once inside, her plan went into action.  After all, she might as well mess with their minds before killing them.

Upon the table sat three bowls of steaming stew.  So the bears had gone for a little stroll while their dinner cooled.

Goldilocks’ experience with Dr. Bean hadn’t left her merely smarter, she was now a scientific genius, as well as gaining the ability to remain in peak condition with little rest for prolonged periods of time.  With all this newfound knowledge and time, she discovered quite a lot of interesting potions, which she now carried in her pack…

Into the first and biggest bowl she poured a vial of Picrothermic cholyte, a liquid that burned on contact with flesh.  She didn’t believe in “pet names” for her creations.  It floated on top like a red grease, and Goldilocks had to stir it in.

Into the second bowl of stew went a flask of Cryoleo, an oil-like substance colder than the heart of a woman bent to kill.  It was swallowed by the contents of the bowl; and this, too, she had to stir.

And into the third and smallest bowl she spilled the dreaded Celecerebra, a mixture she had created just for this purpose.  This was something she would not wish on anything else.  Short-term effects included increasing stupidity, long-term effects led up to irreversible damage—a completely hollow brain, the inside having been broken down and decayed, until it left nothing but the brainstem and an empty shell.  The consumer, of course, eventually died, with proper dosage.  With what Goldilocks now mixed into the stew, it would happen within an hour of consumption.

Goldilocks was an invisible burglar, she washed dried and placed the spoons exactly where they had been, before moving on to the next room.  It was a cozy sitting room.  He eyes danced with all the possibilities of the havoc she could wreak.  She didn’t have much time, but she had learned to work fast.  She would forgo anything scientific and succumb to her will of pure destruction.

With a thin knife she cut a slit into the underside of the largest chair and quickly pulled out all the stuffing, replacing it with bricks and stones.  She threw the stuffing into the fire (stupid bears, to be burning a fire when they’re not even home), then turned to the second chair.  From this she extracted the springs and supporting frame.  Whoever sat in it next would sink down and make quite a spectacle trying to get back up.  The third chair in the room belonged to the cub, for it was small and of plain wood.  How incredibly adult, Goldilocks thought, to give yourself the luxury and ignore any comforts for the children.  To this chair she took Kent’s thinnest saw, inconspicuously destroying the most compromising joints, so that if too much weight were exerted upon it, it would collapse and splinter into an irreparable state.

None of these pranks were very dangerous, yet Goldilocks felt a puerile sense of accomplishment as she mounted the steps to the upper story.  Once upstairs, she skipped right past the larger bedroom in favor of the smaller one.  She did no damage, only observed.

Near the bed was an easel, on it an almost finished family portrait.  What a lovely little nuclear family, one about to explode into pain the forest had never seen.  On the table stood a rudimentary microscope with a leaf under its lens, and various other leaves and berries scattered nearby.  On the wall stood a chart of temperatures for the past few days, corresponding with illustrations of how much a certain plant had grown, as well as the times of sunrise and set.  Against another wall leaned a bookcase filled with neatly categorized books.  Blue moonlight filtered through the windows and Goldilocks chose the darkest corner where she waited, with ice in her heart and a darkness in her eyes, waited for her victims to come to her.

The bear family returned soon, maybe even before Goldilocks had chosen her hiding spot in the cub’s room.  The father suspected something, as the door was unlocked.  The mother dismissed it by saying that they probably just didn’t lock it before they left; after all, what had they to fear from the forest?

“Well,” said the father bear as they came inside into the kitchen, “I certainly hope that stew has cooled down by now.  I’m starved!”  They seated themselves and began eating.  “Why,” said the father with a surprised look down at his bowl, “it’s still blazing hot!”

“That’s strange,” remarked the mother, “mine’s stone-cold.  It’s almost as though it’s frozen.”

“How very odd,” said the cub, “that three bowls, holding the same substance at the same temperature, should be allowed to sit undisturbed in the same room for the same amount of time, but not having the same results as one would expect.  Instead, Papa’s bowl has maintained its high temperature, the temperature in Mama’s bowl had dropped drastically, and mine’s perfect.”

“Well, at least one of our dinners worked out.” the mother said as she quickly fixed something else for her and her husband.

After dinner they retired to the sitting room.  They were surprised by Goldilocks’ little prank.  After pulling up a bench, the father had to help the mother out of her chair.  They were too distracted to ask questions, though, because as soon as they regained themselves, the cub sat down, and his chair collapsed. 

“It’s okay, son, I can fix it.” the father said to the cub, who was sitting in a pile of splinters, as though in a daze.  “Or build a new one.”

“I fink a’ll go lay down…” the cub finally managed, and he staggered upstairs to his room, tripping on boards he normally would’ve stepped over.  He stumbled into his room, where he saw something glinting in the corner.

“Who’s there?” he slurred.  His eyesight was blurring, it was getting harder to stand…

“I see my Celecerebra formula is working splendidly.” said a hardened voice.  “I did so want to have it tested.”

Cele… cele cerebra… The young bear struggled through his decomposing mind to remember what these words meant.  Brain, something to do with brain…

“What are you doing to me!”

The shadowed visitor leaned casually against the wall and examined her perfect nails, but said nothing.

The mother and father bears arrived on the scene, drawn by the cub’s yelling.

The pain—his mind—what was happening to him?  The cub clasped his head in his paws, his eyes squeezed shut, trying to block out the pain, his jaw clamped in an unvoiced scream which finally opened and resounded, but could never express the horror, his eyes opened wide and the pupils were transfixed, his grip tightened, his muscles paralyzing—

“What’s going on here?” yelled the mother, but he couldn’t hear her, nor could he see the malice-filled eyes watching sadistically from the corner, his whole being was transfixed in a point of insurmountable excruciation—

The scream faded and echoed, the last involuntary breaths were taken, and, finally, the heart pumped its last refrains…

The mother stood weeping over the body and only then did the bears notice the sanguine presence in the dark…

“What do you want?” growled the father.  “What right do you have to inflict yourself upon us like that?”

“I have every right of a woman seeking vengeance.”  Goldilocks said as she stepped out from the shadows.

“You!” the bear screamed.  In his anger and trauma, the bear forgot all logic and time and saw only that Goldilocks looked exactly like her young mother had twenty-two years ago.  “I thought I killed you years ago!”  He began to cross the room towards Goldilocks.

“It was my mother you killed,” Goldilocks said calmly, “and if you want to die exactly like your son did, I suggest you stop where you are.”  In her hand she held a gun loaded with a syringe.

The old bear stopped, but he continued to talk.  “You speak of vengeance,” he said, “I know all about vengeance.  About twenty-five years ago, my family and all other animals like us were hunted out, killed and forced out of civilization.  I wreaked my own vengeance upon the strongest advocate of the anti-animal laws that I knew of.  Believe me, I know all about vengeance.”

A report sounded, the father clutched at the wound wherein the deadly toxin was seeping.  The dose was so much greater than the cub’s that he died within minutes.

Instinct took hold of the mother bear.  She raged across the room and full-on tackled Goldilocks.  One of her claws pierced Goldilocks’ neck, this was coming to a quick close.  Goldilocks reached behind her and dashed the first potion she came in contact with into her opponent’s face.  None of the formulas Goldilocks had invented were meant for good, this one burned off her hair and blinded her.  The bear thrashed wildly in pain, damaging Goldilocks even more.  Goldilocks knew it would have to end here.  With her last strength and intelligence, she whipped out the knife she had used earlier.  Into the laceration she had created, she tapped the deadly morhema powder.  It dissolved in the bear’s blood and raced throughout her body, killing her instantly.

Goldilocks knew there was no hope for her.  She was losing blood too fast, she probably couldn’t even make it downstairs if she tried.  The last thing she saw before drifting into unconsciousness and eventual death was the face of the young bear cub, and she thought, “Pity he was a bear, he had so much potential.”  Then, as she closed her eyes, a picture of Kent flashed across her mind, back to that night on the library roof, and a vague feeling, just less than a thought, saying, “Too bad he isn’t here now,”  and, “Look at all the time you’ve wasted.”

THE END