I...am not entirely sure how to label this. For the last week or so, I've been lovingly calling it my Redneck AU, but since the term "redneck" has so many connotations based on where you live, it's probably more accurate (but less fun) to say "AU-where-Domino-is-a-small-rural-town-and-everyon e-is-poor". Either way, it fits pretty squarely in the AU category.
Warnings for: Language, implied violence, references to incest, abortion, and other controversial issues; minors doing things they should not be doing, antisocial behavior, lawbreaking, and general douchebaggery.
In a Chevy '72
The bells on the door jangled every time a customer came in.
Mai glanced up, using one finger to mark her place in Cosmo as she studied the kid in the doorway. She was getting to the point where she could identify potential shoplifters with about 80% accuracy, which was just a sad proof that she'd been working a cash register too long.
This guy rang only two of her five biggest warning signs: young adult with a big coat. He headed straight for the snack foods aisle without sparing her a glance, suggesting that he'd come in here with a mission, so she returned her attention to the magazine. She had better things to do than babysit.
Like read this bullshit article. "45 Bedroom Tricks You've Never Seen Before"? Mai was certain she'd seen at least 40 of these tips in previous issues. She should really just read something of a little higher caliber, but other than the racks of porn behind her, her only options were Newsweek and Domino's sorry excuse for a newspaper. At least Cosmo was entertaining, and she needed entertainment. During these weeknight shifts, the only human interaction she had was with her boss, who chain-smoked in the stock room and stared at her ass when he thought she wasn't looking. At least during the day she had a steady stream of customers; usually travelers who'd pulled off the freeway long enough to fill the tank and take a piss. Three in the morning? Not so busy.
Mai looked up again, searched the aisles until she saw a pale head of hair peering into the fridges in the back row. She went back to reading.
She was halfway through a story on the relative dangers of breast implants when a distinctive crackle drew her attention. The guy had returned to the front of the store and was now standing at the racks of snack foods across from the register. He was holding an open bag of potato chips, already well into his first handful. As he sauntered to the counter, Mai looked at his coat and saw the distinctive pull of weight that hadn't been there when he'd walked in. She sighed. Just her luck.
His eyes were a peculiar shade of lavender, and they curved upwards at the corners when he saw her expression.
"Calm down, blondie," he said, seeing her irritation and misjudging the reason. "No rule against eating things before you buy them."
She ignored him and took the bag from him, holding it with two fingers as she rang it up. Sour Cream and Onion, 11 oz, $4.27.
"Anything else?"
He leaned back on his heels and shrugged. "Nope."
The smell of onions clotted the air. Mai sniffed and drummed her fingernails against the countertop as she glanced pointedly at his hands, which were shoved deep into his coat.
His eyebrows rose until they disappeared behind the shaggy fringe of his bangs, his lips splitting into a credulous grin. "Problem?"
There was a scar under one of his eyes, shining pale against his dark skin, and Mai found herself wondering why she didn't recognize him. Small town like Domino, skin like that tended to stand out.
"You're sure that's it?" she said.
"Sure." He took his hands out of his pockets, spread his fingers in the air, as if proclaiming his innocence. He leaned on the counter, reaching across to take the bag back. He selected another chip and crunched it between his teeth. "You know," he said, as if they were old friends. "You're too hot to be working a cash register," he said. "Seriously. There's a casino just down the road. Go hang on some rich asshole's arm and make real money."
Mai bites back the urge to tell him to go fuck himself. But just barely; her next words get hissed through her teeth.
"Is that so?"
He frowned and leaned toward her, folding his hands in mock concern. He had callouses along the edges of his thumbs, grease under his fingernails. "You don't have to get mad," he said. "It's a compliment."
Mai didn't take the bait. "You gonna pay or not?"
His eyes flicked up past her, at the ceiling.
She knew what he was looking at; there were a good half-dozen video cameras mounted on the ceiling, the bold print on the sign behind her reminding customers that You Are Being Watched. As far as security went, it was a completely ineffective—people stupid enough to rob a gas station usually didn't care about cameras—but at least it made her comfortable behind the counter.
His eyes slid slowly closed as he blinked languidly, like a cat. "You know what I think?"
"I don't give a damn what you think."
He continued blandly. "I bet you hate working here."
"No shit."
"Not because it's boring," he said. "But because you're better than this, and you know it." His gaze leveled toward her, his expression somber. "I bet you're dying to get back at the world."
Mai worked her jaw, staring him down, but his expression didn't change. In the back of her mind, she wondered what the hell this kid's problem was, and why he was so damn cocksure that she'd let him get away with it. Without looking, she pressed a button on the register, felt the till pop open against her hip.
"Four twenty-seven," she said.
A five-dollar bill was on the counter before she'd finished talking. He slid away from the counter, the corner of one lip curving up.
"Keep the change," he said. "And remember what I told you, blondie. The casino's where the money's at."
Mai didn't permit herself to move until the bells rang and the door slammed shut, the brief gust of wind that slipped inside blowing the smell of onions back into her face. Slowly she slumped over, resting her elbows on the counter as she dug the heels of her hands into her eyes.
"Fuck this."
She must be losing it. Letting minors buy beer was one thing, but catching shoplifters in the act had always been the only thing about her job she even slightly enjoyed. If she was letting even that slide, her sanity wouldn't stay intact much longer.
But no, she told herself. She was just tired and pissed off. She shouldn't have agreed to work night shifts. The constant stress of being in this place alone and dealing with asshole after asshole was only intensified at night, when the darkness lowered people's inhibitions and brought out the true weirdos. That guy was just playing some weird psychological game, and it caught her off guard. That was all this was.
By the time her boss came in to relieve her three hours later, she'd exhausted Cosmo, US Weekly, People, and half of the The Global Enquirer. She had plenty she could have done instead, but she hadn't cared enough to do it. She'd been hired for her body and as long as she stayed hot enough, she wasn't getting fired. It was piss-poor job security, but it was better than nothing. She might hate working here, but it let her make her own way, and she was having a hard enough time getting by as it was.
The walk home was dark. A month ago, the sun would have been up by six a.m., but now there was only the faintest hint of light on the horizon, and Mai had to walk along the edge of the highway for a quarter mile before she got to sidewalks and street lamps. Every once in a while a car would come whizzing off the freeway exit and race past her, but not many. People didn't stop in Domino that often.
One of these days, she'd be able to afford a car. Then goodbye shitty life. Goodbye shitty parents, goodbye shitty job, and goodbye shitty town, where nothing ever changed except the weather.
Even the rumors stopped being new after a while.
Six weeks later, Mai had added 11 new shoplifters to her running tally and $134.14 to her savings account. The sun set at five p.m and rose at six forty-five, and she was walking home from one of her rare daytime shifts (seven to four, the busiest and possibly the most exhausting shift).
The sun was still out, counteracting the brisk wind at her back, and she was almost enjoying herself for once, her coat open, her hair tied back to keep it from blowing into her face, when she became aware of the sound of an engine behind her. She ignored it until she heard the car slow down, and then it was beside her.
"Need a ride?"
That wasn't unusual; guys stopped for her multiple times a week, but she rarely accepted their offers. Today, when she wanted to be alone and wasn't carrying anything but what she had on her, she declined almost immediately, calling out a polite "no thanks!" without looking toward the vehicle. Eye contact only encouraged them.
But this guy wasn't deterred by her disinterest. "Don't be like that," he said. "At least let a guy pay back a favor."
That's when she knew, even though she hadn't remembered his voice, even though she shouldn't have remembered at all.
His grin spread when they made eye contact, the skin under one eye bunching and giving his smile a lopsided charm. He was leaning across the cab of an ancient Chevy pickup to talk to her through the passenger window.
"Come on, blondie," he said. "I'll take you anywhere you want to go."
Mai took in the rusted fenders, the dents in the body, the thick layer of dust obscuring a peeling paint job. He'd stopped the truck when she'd stopped walking, and now she approached the window.
"I don't think this piece of shit could take me anywhere faster than I could walk," she said.
He laughed and revved the engine, a move that would have been impressive if she had been sixteen. "Hear that?" he said. "She doesn't look like much, but she'll get you anywhere you want to go."
And then Mai found that she wanted to go, the absurdity of the situation giving her a recklessness she thought she'd outgrown. She took her hands out of her pockets and leaned on the doorframe. "Las Vegas sounds good," she said. "How's your luck?"
"Terrible."
"Better than mine, though."
His grin faded slightly, and he turned away from her to spit out the driver's window. When he faced her again, his expression was smooth. "So?" he said. "You want a ride or not?"
Mai got in the truck.
The cab smelled like cigarette smoke and gasoline and dog, but there was no wind and he didn't comment when she sat as far away from him as possible, arms crossed, curled against the door.
He put the truck into gear and it jerked into motion with a sickening crunch, but he'd been right: once it got going, there was no danger of the engine stopping.
"Where do you want to go?"
Mai had closed her eyes, and she didn't open them as she settled deeper into the seat. Directions to her house flit through her mind, she examined the safe options and dismissed them. "It doesn't matter," she said, only half-joking. "Anyplace different."
The amusement she'd looked for in his voice was there, but it wasn't malicious or greedy like she expected. "There's no such thing as different," he said. "But I'll see what I can do."
Mai opened her eyes. "I didn't mean—"
"It's not far," he said. "I was headed there anyway."
His sudden, almost kind, behavior, reminded her that she'd fallen for the nice-guy act before. She huffed and crossed her arms. "If it's not out of your way," she said. "But shouldn't you be in school or something?"
"No way," he said, laughing. "How old do you think I am?"
"Too young to be picking up strangers off the highway."
He nodded, smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Don't worry," he said. "I'm legal."
Mai stared stubbornly back at him. "That's not why I was asking."
"Right."
Instead of turning toward town, he took the truck in the opposite direction, into the country, buildings giving way to flat fields and the occasional farmhouse. In the distance loomed the foothills that separated Domino from the rest of the world. It'd take ten minutes to reach them, and another half hour to reach the other side.
Mai stared longingly at the hills, but her driver took her along the foot of the valley until he reached an unpaved farm road and spun onto it without slowing down or warning her.
She hadn't bothered to put on a seat belt, and the force of the turn threw her halfway across the cab. He laughed when Mai started swearing profusely, pulling herself back into place and buckling her seat belt as the truck rattled along.
"The hell are you doing?" she asked. "Slow down!"
"In a second," he said, and the nose of the truck dove down, the both of them careening down a short slope to the bottom of an irrigation ditch.
When Mai saw the tunnel looming up ahead, she realized where they were. There were multiple roads running out of town, but connecting intersections were few and far apart. This farm road was a commonly used shortcut that connected the two biggest roads, and this tunnel, built for irrigation and then abandoned, had been a common makeout point for years.
The truck raced through the tunnel and then hit the thin stream of water on the other side, water spraying out from under the tires and against the ditch on either side. It was only when they were past the water that the truck slowed to a slow crawl.
When they reached the next road, they stopped. The boy (she couldn't stop thinking of him as a boy, no matter how old he claimed to be) drummed his hands on the steering wheel. "You okay?' he said. "You look a little freaked."
"You know how many people have died racing through that tunnel?"
Slowly, his eyebrows rose toward his hairline. "More than one?" he said, sounding more pleased than horrified by the concept.
Mai took a deep breath and wondered if he was reckless or she was just old. "Kids used to go down there at night and mess around," she said. "Once a car came through there and a couple people died." Needless to say, the tunnel had become a lot less romantic after that.
"But it's safe to drive through now."
"I guess," Mai admitted, closing her eyes. She'd been in middle school when that had happened. Felt like an eternity ago. "But you shouldn't go that fast, anyway."
"That's the point."
Mai shook her head, but she let it go. The more she nagged him, the older she felt. "I'm surprised you haven't heard that story," she said. "I thought everyone knew it."
The boy shrugged. "I only moved here like, a year ago."
"What?" Mai opened her eyes, half laughing. "Why would you ever move here?"
He shrugged.
Secretly, she was relieved. That explained a lot. She thought she'd known everyone in her high school. It was hard not to, with a town this small—she'd even known most of the middle schoolers by name— but the fact that she couldn't place him had been driving her crazy.
He pulled the truck back onto the road and kept driving. It took five more minutes until they reached their true destination—a farmhouse nestled in a small copse of trees.
They pulled into the driveway but drove past the house, continuing to the back of the property, where the grass had been allowed to grow high around the emptied shells of broken down cars, old farm equipment, and fallen trees. Mai could see a mobile home nestled among the trees, the bright flicker of a fire visible through the vegetation.
"Who lives here?" Mai asked, suddenly wary. "You?"
"Nah," he reached forward and flipped off the ignition. "Just some friends of mine."
When she got out of the truck, Mai could hear the distant melody of an old rock song, thick with static. Probably a radio. When the boy led her through a beaten down path in the grass, she followed him, placing her feet carefully so she could navigate the rough terrain in her work shoes.
When they reached the clearing, she was looking down, and didn't see the owner of the radio until she heard an exasperated "Goddammit, Bakura, what did I tell you about bringing people here?"
They were at the fire. The area was littered with debris; car parts, lawn furniture, ancient kitchen appliances, beer bottles, even a mattress covered in dead leaves. Closer to the fire, half of a motorcycle was propped up in a handmade frame, and a few, cleaner-looking lawn chairs sat adjacent to it. In one of them, leaning back against the side of the mobile home, was a teenage boy in jeans and a wifebeater, holding a sharpened stake in one hand and a knife in the other. He was pointing the hand with the knife at her.
Mai didn't realize she'd tried to retreat until the felt the pressure of a hand on her arm, holding her in place. She glanced sidelong at her host, realizing belatedly that "Bakura" must be his name.
He was totally relaxed, his other hand nestled in the pocket of his jeans, the amused curve of his eyes reminiscent of some sated predator. "Hey man," he said. "Loosen up. You can make an exception for her."
"Why, because she's got tits?"
Mai jerked her arm out of Bakura's grip and took a step forward, resisting the urge to pull her coat closed. "What's your deal?" she demanded. "You got a problem with that?"
The boy leaned back, his scowl deepening, but he lowered the knife. His skin was as dark as Bakura's, but his hair was light, almost blond, and something about his mouth, his narrow eyes, made Mai think she'd met him before.
"No," he said. "I've got a problem with white trash."
Mai scoffed, leaned back. "Really?" she said, gesturing at their surroundings with one hand. "What does that make you?"
His glare deepened, but he didn't reply, but he just pressed the knife against the stake, shaving off a piece of bark almost a foot long.
"What's your name?" he said.
"Mai."
The knife stopped. "Valentine?"
Mai felt her insides twist. At school, a lot of kids had called her by her last name, and hearing it come from him, she'd realized who he was.
Small town, big rumors. The Ishtar family had been in Domino as long as anybody could remember, but they'd managed to dominate the gossip year after year with their reclusive ways, their odd mannerisms, their bizarre children. Mai had never met the teenager sitting before her, but she could guess. Marik Ishtar was the youngest and most notorious member of his family.
Bakura was at Mai's side, intrigued. "You two know each other?"
"No," she said, without taking her eyes off Marik, who shrugged.
Bakura's eyes narrowed as he glanced from her to Marik, and then back to her. "Ah," he said. "Valentine is the name of the family that owns the casino."
"Her parents," Marik said. "You didn't know?"
"Didn't need to," Bakura said smugly, grinning when Mai glanced sharply at him. He reached up and picked at the lining of her jacket. "It's old, but I know real fur when I see it," he said. "You're money, all right."
"She used to be money," Marik corrected. "Her parents kicked her out when she got knocked up by some truck driver." He paused, his expression thoughtful. "But you're not knocked up anymore, are you? Guess you took care of that."
A few years ago, Mai might have blushed, but at this point she'd heard every variation of that particular rumor, and she was able to hold her ground. "That story's bullshit," she said. "Do you really believe every rumor you hear?"
The corner of his lip curled up. "Why not? They're usually true."
Past the rush of blood in her ears, Mai remembered that she was talking to someone whose notoriety far outweighed hers. She leveled her emotions, fought him on his own ground.
"Is that right," she said calmly. "Because I've heard plenty of rumors about you."
"Do you see me denying them?"
"I don't know," Mai said, inspecting her manicure, giving a calculated glance up at just the right moment. "Is it true you like fucking your own sister?"
Beside her, she heard Bakura suck in a breath, and she could only imagine the look of delighted anticipation on his face, because she didn't dare look away from Marik.
He hadn't moved from his seat, and any surprise he might have conveyed had almost instantly morphed into an intense stare that seemed like it would never end. Past the crackle of the fire and the drowning static chords of Aerosmith, Mai thought she could hear her own heart pounding.
Finally Marik grinned. "Bravo," he said. "The bitch has got balls."
He turned away from them to bang the hilt of his knife against the side of the mobile home.
"Ishizu!" he shouted. "Come out here and say hello!"
Mai barely had time to comprehend what he was saying when the door to the trailer swung open. The woman standing in the doorway was smaller and darker than her brother, but she had the same quiet intensity, the same fathomless gaze. She had a book in one hand, and under the hood of her sweatshirt Mai could see headphones dangling around her neck.
Ever so slightly, the tip of her head inclined. "Valentine," Ishizu said, with a quiet courtesy entirely unlike her brother. "It's been a while."
Marik tapped the point of his knife against the mobile home, still with that restless grin on his face. "She thinks we're fucking."
That's when Mai did blush. She'd never met Marik, but Ishizu had been a few grades lower than her in high school. Even if they'd never talked, Mai had admired her from a distance. Ishizu was smart, the kind of smart that got you out of towns like Domino.
The year after Mai dropped out, she'd heard that Ishizu had stopped going to school. Everyone had assumed she'd earned some kind of early admission to college. Mai had certainly never imaged that she'd be here.
Ishizu studied her brother from the doorway for a moment, motionless. Finally Marik rolled his eyes.
"Fine," he said. He turned toward Mai. "Hey, you," he said. "Sit down already."
Beside her, Bakura touched her arm. "See that, blondie?" he whispered. "I knew they'd like you."
Shrugging his hand away was so much second nature that Mai didn't know she'd done it until Marik laughed.
"Better cool it, Bakura," he said. "You aren't good enough for little Miss Money."
Mai ignored them and made her way to the far side of the fire. She was surprised, but not displeased, when Bakura made no effort to follow her and took the seat next to Marik.
The shadows were only just starting to get long, but it was already brisk enough that the heat of the fire on her face was comforting. Mai closed her eyes and felt the heat permeate through her jeans and warm her legs, imagining she was somewhere where the sun stayed out year round and no one knew her name.
"Here."
Mai opened her eyes. Ishizu was standing next to her, a bottle of beer in her outstretched hand.
"We have whisky, too," Ishizu said. "But I don't think you want to risk getting drunk around these guys."
Mai took the bottle. "Thanks."
Ishizu nodded and moved to the other side of the fire. She disappeared inside the trailer for a minute before emerging with an unmarked glass bottle filled with a clear liquid, which she handed to Bakura.
Mai watched him say something to her that made Ishizu frown. Mai wondered if they got along, but didn't try to guess, nor did she ask who lived in the farmhouse behind them, or how they knew each other. Somehow she felt more comfortable not knowing.
Likewise, Marik and Bakura seemed to feel comfortable ignoring her, their conversation turning to topics Mai had no interest in joining. She was fine staying on the fringes.
They were discussing Marik's renovation of the motorcycle beside them when Ishizu pulled a chair next to Mai and sat down.
Mai sensed an opportunity and took it. "Look," she said. "What I said, I didn't actually believe—"
"Don't worry about it," Ishizu said. Her eyes were low, almost half-closed, as she gazed at the fire. "It's not the worst thing he's been accused of."
Mai knew. She'd heard the stories but had never understood how people could have believed those things about him. Now that's she'd met Marik, she could understand why.
Not for the first time, she wondered just what she was doing here.
She watched Ishizu take a cigarette out of her pocket and light it, tried to remember if she'd ever seen Ishizu smoking in high school.
Ishizu saw her looking out of the corner of her eye and offered her the cigarette. "You smoke?"
"Not in ages," Mai said, but she took it anyway. They shared the cigarette like that, passing it back and forth, and across the fire, Marik and Bakura did the same with the bottle of what Mai guessed was moonshine.
Ishizu didn't ask her any questions. None of them did. What little talk there was remained idle chatter, and even that petered out when the light did. Marik whittled his stake down to almost nothing before throwing a handful of shavings into the fire, all four of them silently watching the long slivers of wood curl and blacken.
Every so often, Bakura's eyes would settle on her from across the fire and he would watch her impassively, fingers pressed thoughtfully against his mouth.
Mai drank another beer and let the night turn surreal. The silence made the sunset, the ensuing night, immaterial, both instant and infinite, the only markers of change the growing darkness and the muted commercial breaks from the radio. Sparks rose into the sky and faded away, and Mai got the sense that they were all waiting for an invisible sign, four disciples of a forgotten creed.
At some point Ishizu disappeared into the trailer and doesn't come back out. Mai barely noticed. After a long shift, three beers, and no dinner, she was struggling to stay awake. The stars were all well out and the fire subsided into red coals when she felt Bakura's hand in her hair, his breath against her ear.
"Come on, blondie," he whispered. "Time to go home."
As they left, Marik stared into the fire and gave no indication that he'd noticed them.
Even after they were surrounded in the roar of the truck's engine, Mai felt hesitant to break the silence, and was content to lean her head against the window and watch the stars. She didn't even complain when Bakura raced through the irrigation tunnel again, although she anticipated the sharp turn this time and managed not to get thrown across the cab.
Bakura dropped her off without a word and disappeared without promise or insult, which was fine by Mai. She'd asked for something different, and this night would last her for weeks to come.
It wasn't until the next morning that she realized she'd never told Bakura where she lived.
Somehow she managed to convince herself that she'd been too tired to remember giving him directions. After all, the entire evening felt like a dream as it was, so outside her normal realm of experience that she was more comfortable remembering it as happening to someone else.
When she put on her coat to go to work, she smelled smoke in the fur lining, and she never did shake her feeling of unease.
She didn't see Bakura for another week after that.
He came in to the station on a Monday morning and bought a six-pack of beer. At the register, he asked her, as casually as you might ask the time, when her shift ended.
She told him three. She didn't card him, and she didn't ask him what he'd stolen.
This time, there was a makeshift grill set up over the fire made of cinder blocks and chicken wire. Marik made a face when he saw her, but Ishizu brought out another steak and they didn't say anything else about her being there.
Weeks passed that way. It wasn't always the same: sometimes Ishizu wasn't there at all. Sometimes Bakura sat next to her, sometimes Ishizu did. Sometimes Marik built things instead of destroying them. Once, when he was fiddling with some wiring, Mai asked him what he was working on.
He didn't look up. "A bomb," he said.
Bakura laughed, and Mai took it for a joke. She knew better than to get involved. It was enough to slowly acquire knowledge through observation. She knew now that the Ishtar family owned the farmhouse behind the clearing, that Marik and Ishizu had a third sibling whose very mention makes Ishizu thin her lips and Marik's hands shake. One night Marik casually revealed that he was expelled a year ago, though he and Ishizu disagree on the cause for the expulsion. Another night, when Ishizu was missing, Bakura told her that Ishizu worked nights at a retirement home.
Bakura never told her anything about himself.
It made Mai nervous, realizing that she didn't know if she was calling him by his first name or his last, that she didn't know where he lived or what he did or where he came from, or why he'd shown any interest in her in the first place.
Not that she was ever sure of said interest. The time periods between his appearances were always unannounced and inconstant; some weeks he'd show up every day and others she wouldn't see him at all. Every day he didn't show up, she found herself fearing that she'd never see him again.
She knew the danger; she's made enough bad decisions in her life to know when she was making one. But she also knew that her curiosity would prove insatiable, that she had to know what this was leading to. She had an unfounded certainty that one day, once she'd been truly accepted by this reclusive group of social deviants, she'd understand, that she'd have finally arrived at some final truth.
But the more time she spent with them, the less she understood. Every other guy she's spent this much time with had tried to sleep with her; she wasn't even sure if Bakura wanted to. He never seemed disappointed when she brushed his hands away from her body, when she sat on the opposite end of the fire, that she never drank anything but beer (and never more than three). Sometimes the long stares she felt him giving her felt more like paternal pride than lust; she had no idea what he could be proud of.
But other times, his eyes were greedy, his words suggestive. Sometimes, she'd catch him playing with the ends of her hair when she was looking the other way. Sometimes she remembered that he always seemed to know when she was working, that he'd known where she lived without being told.
One Thursday at the end of October, Bakura came in at the end of one of her night shifts, just before the sunrise.
"Do you ever sleep?" Mai asked him when he got to the register, his pockets full and his hands empty. He stole something every time he came in, and she'd long ago accepted it as inevitable.
He selected a lighter from a display at the counter and pushed it toward her. He didn't answer her question. She was used to that, too.
"Have you ever shot a gun?" he asked.
She scanned the lighter. "$1.07," she said. "And no. Why?"
He pocketed the lighter and exchanged it for two crumbled-up dollar bills. "Do you want to?"
Nearly every warning bell she has was ringing in her ears right now, but he just waved a hand, as if he knew her fears and could dispel them.
"Just at cans to start with," he said. "But now that it's deer season we might start going up into the hills."
She counted out his change slowly.
"I get off in fifteen minutes," she said. "Wait for me?"
In answer, he just winked at her and tossed the change into the tip jar.
When she got outside, the sun was just barely rising. Bakura was smoking in the cab of the Chevy, and when Mai walked up to the truck she saw the guns strapped into a wooden chest in the bed of the truck.
There were more than she expected. "Where did you get these?"
He started the car and shrugged. "They're mine," he said, as if that answered everything. As far as he was concerned, it probably was.
Instead of stopping at the clearing, Bakura drove past it, forcing the truck off the road and into the nearby field. In the summer it was probably used for wheat, but now it was just dirt and matted vegetation.
Ishizu and Marik were sitting on the edge of the field, passing a cigarette back and forth, the light of the sunrise angling through the smoke and burning bright in their hair.
Marik had set up bottle and soda cans on wooden sawhorses out in the center of the frield, and he rose when they got out of the truck.
"Nice range," Mai said. He walked past her and went straight to the truck, stepping up on the tire and jumping into the back in one smooth movement, addressing his comments to Bakura and ignoring her completely.
"Where's the shotgun?"
"I thought you had it."
Mai walked around the truck to where Ishizu was still sitting, a book open on her knees. Mai didn't think anything of it until she tried to read the title and realized she couldn't.
"What language is that?"
Ishizu was writing in the margins with a pencil barely three inches long, the kind you find in church pews and golf carts. "Arabic."
Mai remembered that Ishizu had dropped out of high school.
"You could have gotten out of here," she blurted out, unable to stop herself.
Ishizu's impassive eyes rose to meet hers. "Yes."
"Why didn't you?"
Ishizu looked past Mai toward the truck, and Mai turned around and saw Marik rubbing the nozzle of a gun with the sleeve of his shirt. Mai didn't know if that was safe, but she doubted Marik would care; when he threw his head back to snap something at Bakura, their breath misting in the morning air, he seemed almost immortal.
When Mai looked back at Ishizu, she saw the worry etched into her eyes, the corners of her mouth.
"Staying here isn't going to help him," Mai said. "You know that, right?"
Ishizu shook her head and put the book down, crossing her legs and leaning forward as she gathered her hair into a ponytail. She didn't have a hair tie, so she just twisted one strand of hair around the rest and left it like that. "I go where he goes," she said. "End of story."
"He doesn't need you," Mai said. "He needs—"
She'd been going to say help, but something about the way Ishizu's eyes had narrowed warned her off. "Listen," she said, backing up. "I know it's none of my business, but he just…"
"I know what I can and cannot do where my brother is concerned," Ishizu said. "And he's not the one I'm worried about."
Before Mai had a chance to ask her what she meant, someone grabbed her wrist and twisted it, jerking her back until she stumbled around to face him.
"You bothering my sister?" Marik said quietly. A hunting rifle dangled loosely from one hand, his eyes fixed on hers with a frightening intensity.
"We were just talking," Mai said. She tried to pull away, but his grip proved unshakable.
"Really," Marik said. "Because it looked to me like you're messing around in business that doesn't concern you."
Mai looked for Bakura and found him leaning against the truck. He had his arms crossed in front of his chest, and he raised an eyebrow at her when their eyes met. Furious, Mai turned her head to glare at Marik.
"Let go of me."
In response, Marik pulled her closer, studied her expression. "First," he said. "Maybe I should teach you a lesson."
Behind her, Mai heard Ishizu close her book. "Marik," she said curtly.
He tilted his ear toward Ishizu's voice, and his lips slowly curled up, baring his teeth. He pulled Mai's wrist down and shoved the gun into her hand, and then he jerked his chin toward Bakura and let her go. "She's all yours."
Mai gripped the gun as if it was a lifeline and watched Marik walk past Ishizu and back into the wood. As his silhouette disappearing into the trees, she heard a faint whistled melody.
After a moment, Ishizu got up and followed him. Mai closed her eyes and told herself that if she was shaking, it was because of the cold.
She didn't jump when Bakura curled an arm around her waist. "Come on," he said. "I'll show you how to use that."
"What is wrong with you?" Mai hissed, pushing his unresisting arm away. She was tempted to point the gun at him, but she heard enough stories about accidental shootings to resist. Still, she kept a fierce grip on it, just in case she changed her mind.
He leaned back on his heels, looking slightly amused at her fury. "Nothing."
"He is a psychopath," Mai said. "And you just—you just stood there!"
"And you were fine, weren't you?"
"No thanks to you." She turned, not sure just where she was going to go, but Bakura's hand was on her arm, pulling her back.
"Hey," he said. "You don't have to worry so much. He was just messing with you."
"Yeah, well I didn't know that! He's dangerous!"
Bakura's grip slackened suddenly. "Believe me, blondie," he said. "You haven't seen him when he's dangerous."
When Mai stared back at him, Bakura nodded at the rifle in her hands. "So don't you think you should learn how to use that when you have the chance?"
He let go of her and strode toward the range, and, feeling patronized and more than a little manipulated, Mai followed him.
She wasn't an idiot. She knew she was playing with fire. But she also knew that she didn't want to give this up, not until the absolute last moment. Safe was fine, but safe was boring, too, and she still had a little time left.
There was a hay bale pulled out to face the frame Marik had set up, and Bakura had her kneel over it, propping herself up on her elbows as he explained how to brace the stock against her shoulder, how to sight down the barrel of the gun and pull the trigger as she exhaled. The rifle was heavy in her arms, but heavier still was Bakura's presence, hovering over her shoulder as he pressed earmuffs over her ears, warned her that it'd be loud. He was surprisingly serious about the whole thing, and Mai found herself relaxing against her will. She wondered if he knew that his businesslike way of talking was almost comforting to her, that she actually hoped that she'd be able to learn something concrete from this.
She poured all her focus into the end of the barrel, not minding that the smell of cigarette smoke that hung in the air around them, or that she missed as often as not.
When she used up the first magazine, she sat back and tried to figure out the reloading process while Bakura leaned against the bale and played with a lighter, pulling out single straws of hay and burning them. As she getting back into position, she saw Bakura pause and look past her into the woods. When she turned back, she saw Marik and Ishizu emerging onto the field. They stayed there under the trees, apparently deep in discussion. Mai watched Marik make a grandiose gesture with his hands, as if to drive home a point, saw Ishizu cross her arms.
"Why do you hang out with them?" she said. After just a few minutes of shooting, her ears were ringing, her own voice sounding strange and distant through the earmuffs.
Bakura's eyes rolled toward her. "Why do you?"
She shook her head and lifted the gun again. Bakura watched her face as she took aim, fired, missed.
"Maybe because I want to see what happens," he said. When she turned toward him, he shrugged, waved a piece of hay toward Marik and Ishizu. "Guys like him," he said. "They're special. They live too much at once and then they burn out."
"And then what?"
Bakura pressed his fingers together and then spread them outward expressively. "Boom."
Mai knew she should feel uncomfortable, but honestly? She could only find it in her to be slightly amused. "So you're just hanging around and waiting for him to self-destruct, is that it?"
Bakura leaned his head back against the hay and grinned at the sky. Mai tried again to feel concern and was again left feeling oddly numb.
"You're sick," she said, trying to act the part anyway. "I hope you go two take each other down."
"Nah," Bakura said. "I'm different," he said. He glanced at her, his grin turning mischievous. "I'm more like you."
When Mai frowned at him, he just rapped his knuckles against her thigh. "You and me?" he said. "We don't go down easy. We're survivors."
Mai huffed and leaned over the gun again, trying to ignore how pleased she felt. "Don't lump me in with you."
"Why not?" he said, watching her take aim. "I bet all you want is to belong somewhere."
Her next shot was wildly off. Mai frowned and lean back, examining the barrel as if there was something wrong with it, knowing full well she had no idea what she was doing. "That's not true," she said, finally.
He was watching her, waiting, and she pulled the earmuffs down, holding them around her neck as she stared him down. "I tried to belong my whole life," she said. "And look how that ended up."
There were a hundred variations to the story explaining what had estranged Mai from her parents. She didn't know which ones Bakura had heard and which ones he believed. Sometimes she didn't know herself which one was true. She'd been young and stupid and in love, that was all. And when things had gone sour, she'd had too much pride to admit that she was wrong. She was fine on her own, anyway. Her parents had wanted her to be one person, her long string of worthless boyfriends another, and after a while she'd just gotten tired of trying to fit in anywhere.
"Honestly," she said. "I'm through with that shit."
Bakura sat up, slowly, and then he leaned forward, putting a hand on her arm and plucking at the fabric of her coat. "See?" he said. "We just want to be free."
On impulse, Mai leaned forward to kiss him. And Bakura didn't reciprocate, not really, but he didn't pull away, and when she sat back, feeling flustered and a little bit foolish, she didn't know how to interpret the satisfaction she saw in his face.
They lingered there, just for a moment, and then the corner of his lip curled up and he nodded toward the frame. "You know," he said. "It works better if you pretend it's someone you hate."
With a jerk, Mai pulled the earmuffs back on and picked up the gun, focusing on taking sight down the barrel so she didn't have to look at his face. "Like you?"
"Like your parents."
Her next shot flew wild too, and she swore, reaching up to load the next shot. "Is that what you do?'
He'd leaned back against the bale again, his eyes closed. "Can't," he said. "They're dead already."
"…Oh." She sights down the barrel, trying to decide if she should apologize, and then decides against it. "Is that why you moved here?"
"Kind of," he said lazily. "I've got foster parents back in town."
Mai put the pieces together and starts to realize she doesn't like the picture that she's seeing. "You told me you were over eighteen."
"Oh yeah?" He opened his eyes, looked at her in amused surprise. "Guess I was lying."
"Oh my god," Mai said, taking aim again to avoid looking at him. "I'm going to hell."
Bakura's fell on her for a long moment. When he put a hand on her leg, she didn't stop him, just squinted at the targets as he ran his thumb against the outside seam of her jeans in a gesture that was almost reassuring.
"I wouldn't worry about it, blondie," he said. "We were headed there anyway."
Her next shot hit a soda can dead-on, and when cola exploded into the air, Mai nearly jumped to her feet in delighted surprise. When Bakura started to laugh at her, she found herself, laughing, too.
The next time she glanced back at the woods, she saw Ishizu staring at her, her impassive eyes cold even from a distance of thirty yards.
An hour later, Bakura took her home and dropped her off. Mai tried to tell herself that nothing had changed, but she couldn't deny that she felt different. Like nothing anyone said or did could hurt her anymore.
It wasn't a comforting feeling. She had this suspicion that spending time with Bakura was making her more and more callous, and her current state of imperviousness only made her afraid that you had to be sensitive to be a good person. She hoped that wasn't the case. She'd had enough of getting hurt.
But still, she knew she had to end things. Probably soon. Better to get out on her terms than on his, whatever they might end up being.
But not yet. Mai wanted to enjoy this bizarre ride while it lasted. She thought she'd know when the time came to get out.
That time came two nights later.
Mai didn't live in an apartment complex. In a desire to save money, she'd traded less privacy for more money by opting to rent out the loft above a retired widow's garage. It was a small space, barely more than a bathroom and a slightly larger bedroom, but the garage was nestled behind the widow's house, in a fenced yard and a quiet neighborhood, and it made the both of them feel safer knowing that the other was just a shout away.
When Mai woke up with Bakura kneeling over her, a hand pressed against her mouth and his knees pinning her under the quilt, that knowledge was a little less comforting.
"Don't scream," Bakura said, even though she'd cried out immediately upon waking and was still tense with the panic that come from sudden wakefulness. He took his hand away and sat back a little, giving her room to sit up, clenching the covers to her chest. She was grateful that the cold weather had forced her to sleep in a camisole and pajama pants; in the summer she'd have been wearing much less.
"How the hell did you get in here?" she asked, trying to see his expression in the near darkness. The smell of gasoline had been on his hands, and briefly she entertained the notion that he'd been down to the gas station to look for her.
"Skylight," he said, as if she should have realized the answer immediately. "Now get dressed."
"Why?"
"You'll see." He slid off the bed and walked across the room to her minuscule kitchen; from the bed, she watched him peer into the fridge, pull the cork out of a half-emptied bottle of wine and take a sniff, grimacing at the smell.
"Expensive taste for a girl who lives in an attic," he said. "What are you doing? Get dressed."
"Not until you tell me what's going on."
He put the wine back in the fridge and crossed the room to look down at her. She didn't flinch when his fingers touched her face and curled under her chin, but she shivered at the coldness of his hands.
"You wanted to see something different," he said. "And now I'm going to show you."
She got dressed. At Bakura's urging, she put on multiple layers, pulling on a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt over her pajamas and adding a coat on top when he insisted she wouldn't be warm enough.
Outside, the truck was idling on the street. Marik was in the driver's seat, his hands drumming an off-beat rhythm against the steering wheel.
"Took you long enough," he said to her out the open window. His arms were bare, with no indication that he cared about the frigid weather.
She peered past him into the cab, but it was empty. "Where's Ishizu?"
"Indisposed," Bakura said dryly from behind her, and Marik laughed. Bakura prodded Mai toward away from the door, toward the rear end of the truck.
"We're in back," he said.
"But there's room—"
"Not for what we're doing."
He helped her climb into the truck and then leapt up after her with no apparent effort, showing her the best places to hold on, how she could brace herself against the wheel hubs to stay in place. The gun chest was still strapped into the back, and he fished around in it for a minute before pulled out a clear bottle and handed it to her. "Here."
She took a sip and nearly coughed it back up, the strength of the moonshine proving more than she'd anticipated. But it was the only thing warm about the truck; even after pulling her hood up over her hair and buttoning up her coat, she still found her fingers freezing. She wished she had the foresight to bring gloves and pulled her sleeve over her hands, feeling the cold seep through her clothes.
Marik was tense, his leg jiggling against the dashboard, the truck jerking every time he changed gears and inevitably pulled off the clutch too quickly, but Bakura put his face to the wind and bore through it placidly, so Mai followed suit.
They didn't leave town, the truck headed toward the freeway, past the gas station, and soon Mai saw the sign that announced their imminent arrival at the only real attraction outside city limits. She forgot the cold and felt herself go tense at the sight of her family name on the billboard, fury radiating through her frozen limbs, and then Bakura put a hand on her shoulder.
When she turned to look at him, she saw his expression framed by the red glow of the casino. He wasn't trying to reassure her—he wasn't even looking at her—he was excited.
Marik pulled sharply into the parking lot, the truck grinding to a stop just outside the light of the main entrance. The parking lot was mostly empty, and Mai thought that it must be close to closing time, the staff cleaning up and clearing out. The doors opened as a couple came out together, chatting loudly. Bakura's hand on Mai's shoulder tightened as he leaned toward her, his face agains the hood of her sweatshirt as he whispered in her ear.
"Want to break a window?"
And Mai looked at the casino doors, heard the distant music still playing inside, and realized: yes, she did.
She reached out, blindly, and Bakura pressed the rifle into her hands, and she braced the stock against her shoulder, rested her arms on the wall of the truck bed as she started to take aim. Behind her, Bakura pulled her hood just a little farther down, whispering about security cameras, and from the front seat, Marik tapped his fingers against the car door.
"Don't miss," he said.
"Do you want a bullet between the ears?" Mai snapped. Neither of them laughed.
Mai wasn't worried. The glass doors were large and had a spacious foyer beyond them—it'd make a mess, but the chances of hitting someone were almost zero.
Bakura was pressed close behind her, his body warm as he pressed his hands against her ears and then whispered over them, just loud enough for her to hear—
"Now tell them you exist."
She pulled the trigger, the glass shattered, and Bakura relaxed. Mai's ears were still ringing when she heard people starting to shout inside. Marik was already in motion, the truck grinding forward and then turning around, and as they pulled away, Mai caught another whiff of gasoline, the click of a lighter, and turned to see Bakura lean back and throw something overhand, a point of bright fire sailing into the dark, and they were pulling onto the freeway when she saw the explosion.
She didn't know what it was at first, but the smell of gasoline eventually caught with her and she made the connection: Molotov.
Between the ringing in her ears and Marik's exhilarated laughter, she couldn't hear a thing, but she still jerked forward, possessed by the mad urge to jump out of the truck. Almost immediately, Bakura's arms closed around her, pinning her in place as the wind blew back her hood and whipped through her hair, blowing it into her face until she gave up and gripped the side of the truck for dear life. Desperately she told herself that it was fine, the gunshot would have driven people away and put them on their guard. A fire wouldn't do any permanent damage.
The truck shuddered as Marik forced it into a higher gear too soon, and Mai heard Bakura shout something like "take it easy", but Marik just turned the radio on and the volume up until the sound of AC/DC was shattering the truck's small speakers, and Mai felt Bakura's body shake against hers as he started to laugh.
Once the highway hits fields and farmlands, Marik accelerated until he was pushing the truck to its limit, the engine screaming with exertion, Mai feeling nauseous.
Then Marik shouted something, and Mai didn't realize it was "hold on" until it was too late and the truck swung into a sharp turn and hit gravel, the force of impact throwing Mai back against Bakura's arms, hearing Bakura swear as he lost his footing.
The rougher terrain had slowed the truck but not Marik's ambition, and Mai blindly watched fenceposts whizz by in the dark until she realized where they were, barely having time to brace herself as the truck hit the slope and dove downward, her hip jamming painfully against the gun chest as she flew forward.
Then there was light, and she looked up to see Bakura standing above her, his face to the wind, holding on to the edges of the open cab window to keep his balance, his grin widening as the light on his face grew brighter.
Mai realized what the light was coming from and whipped her head forward, the oncoming headlights all but blinding her vision as Marik entered the irrigation tunnel.
She heard the screech of metal on metal, felt the truck jerk as it made impact with the side of the concrete tunnel, saw the lights disappear as the oncoming car hit the side of the tunnel and then it was behind them, the sky opening out above their heads, the stars spreading through infinite space.
She heard the screams they left behind, but she didn't know she was screaming herself until Marik turned down the radio just long enough to shout "Someone shut that bitch up" and Bakura's arms encircled her again, his hand pressed against her mouth. He was saying something to her, but she couldn't hear it anymore; the sound of Marik's laughter and the blaring radio drowned out everything else.
Marik didn't turn when they reached the road that led to his house; he kept going until they hit the foothills and then they were going up, the truck winding up a road that eventually turned to gravel and then to dirt as they rose and rose until the truck leveled out and Marik threw his head back against the seat and closed his eyes, letting the truck drift the last few yards until it settled to a stop.
They were at the summit.
Bakura let go of her and leaned over to talk to Marik through the open window. Over the sound of the radio, Mai heard Bakura's soft questions and Marik's sour responses without understanding what had been said.
Finally Marik turned the radio off.
After that, all Mai could hear was wind, and she shivered as she curled into a corner of the truck. Beyond them was the valley, Domino looking impossibly small and remote. On the other end of the valley, the red lights of the air towers blinked in time, warning away low-flying aircraft.
She didn't turn around. She knew that they were in the heart of the wilderness now, that the hills rolled on for miles and miles without break. Somewhere else, some other road would have taken them somewhere. This one didn't.
Bakura put his foot in the window and used it to get up on the roof of the cab. Mai watched him stand there, facing the desert, and spread his arms to the sky.
The headlights faded out, and all she could see was his silhouette against the stars, the shape of his neck as his head tilted back, his fists clenched as the wind whipped his coat around his body. When minutes passed and he hadn't moved, she stood up, surprised at how difficult it was to stand on shaking legs, and leaned against the cab as she reached up to tug on the end of his coat.
When Bakura didn't respond, Mai curled her hand around his leg instead, trailing fingers down his calf. Some part of her thought she should be feeling something; all she felt was exhausted. He could offer himself to the universe all he wanted, but it wouldn't make a difference. There was no final truth here, no cosmic sign, and she just wanted to go back to bed and forget this night had ever happened.
"Come on," she said, "There's nothing out here."
Inside, she could hear Marik start to laugh into his hands, the isolated sound seeming absurd and broken in the silence.
Bakura's arms fell to his sides.
"I told you, didn't I?" he said.
Mai folded her arms over the roof of the cab and pressed her forehead into her arms. "I know, kid," she murmured, not caring if he could hear her, taking refuge in the pocket of warmth formed by her own breath. "I know."
Nothing changes.
End.