Author's note: By request, this is the start of the sequel to my Drugged story. A familiarity of that story would probably help your understanding of this one, but I don't think it's absolutely necessary. You just might be slightly confused.
Warnings: Violence, drug references, language to follow. And while I'm not sure yet how much there will be, I am throwing in a slash warning. As I say in most of my fanfics, if boy on boy action offends you, you might want to utilize the back button on your browser. I will state, however, that any slash will most likely be one-sided. This will not be a lemon fic, it just might have a few m/m...elements. For plot purposes. Of course ^_^
Standard disclaimer: You know the drill. (Most) characters aren't mine, story isn't mine, nothing I do is of any importance, lalala...
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The sun was blazing outside, its unforgiving rays hitting stained glass and shooting colored distortions across the opposing wall of the small apartment. Green splotches dotted themselves haphazardly around the room, Rorschach ink blots in color. 'Tell me the first thing you see'. Larger red patches were a mess of speckled, disastrous loveliness against the wall.
The stained glass was an antique, bought from an excited buyer not for its monetary value, but strictly for its beauty. Unlike the endless rows of New York City doors which surrounded it - adorned only in mundane numerals - this door had character. Maybe not class, but definite character . The rose bush that spread itself out across colored glass was of a considerable size, demanding to be seen. Tacky, yes; but there was something interesting about it nonetheless.
Chris couldn't stop looking at it. The way that the sun caused the colors to almost separate from their original stained-glass home and paint themselves anew against the wall. If he were outside on the street beyond he would never have even noticed it, but standing inside felt like being in some sort of abstract painting. The colors shimmered slightly as the sun's rays softly moved, people walking by outside the closed door kicking up shadows, changing the way it looked. Green and red. Of course the colors had to be green and red. He smiled and took another hit off the joint in his hand. Goddamn, this looked cool. Fucking exquisite, even. The way the red and green danced around each other across the walls, it was like a fucking light show or something.
He brought a gloved hand up to the nearest wall and touched one of the shimmering red marks, then frowned and pulled back. Some of the red wasn't moving with the changing lights. Not flickering with the rest of them. Stepping back, he surveyed the walls again from a different vantage point. Darker red streaks painted the walls, similar but separate from dancing stained glass red. These streaks were more like splatters than anything else. Wet, congealing, dripping splatters. Oh, right.
Looking behind himself, he had almost forgotten about Tom. He had gotten so caught up in the brilliant, almost magical light show that the dead man propped awkwardly on the floor behind him had almost slipped his mind. Lifting his other hand, he was almost surprised to see the gun held nonchalantly between his gloved fingers. He shifted his gaze back to the joint, raising his eyebrows quizzically and considered the possibility of putting it out before someone else came home and found a foolishly stoned murderer drooling on their carpet, oohing at their stained glass door.
Oh, yeah. And before I forget... he went to rifle through his pants pocket, a feat which took longer than expected since it meant he had to first free one of his hands in order to get into said pocket... Gripping the gun between his knees in an effort to hold it without putting it down proved to be an utter failure. The weapon fell to the carpet below, causing him to jump back clumsily and emit a horrified squeal that sounded a little more girly than he would have preferred. In the process, the joint fell to the floor and started to ignite the carpet fibers, which led to much cursing and stomping out of the tiny spark. Finally, after an overabundance of effort, he was able to reach into the leather pocket. He pulled out a crumpled receipt and a small pen with the Bat Symbol emblazoned upon it. Leaning on a nearby table for balance, he struggled for a moment to remember the name that Tom had eagerly told him before he had unapologetically pulled the trigger and splattered Tom's insides across the walls.
Sighing, he put a hand to his ear and felt the blue tooth sitting within. "Angelo?"
There was a bit of static and then a reply. "Did you forget already?"
Chris narrowed his eyes and sighed before he hissed back, "Man, I don't pay you to be a smart-ass. I could easily find another guy to take your place, you know that Angelo?"
There was a pause. Then, "I'm sorry sir."
Chris bit his lip, trying to decide if he was hearing any mockery in Angelo's tone. His thoughts were interrupted by the rest of the response. "He said the name was Dave. Dave Lizuo-itz or something."
"Lizuoitz? Are you sure?"
The Italian accent sounded back at him. "It started with Liz. I'm sure about that much. Lizuoitz, Lizuoishi,...it was hard to hear everything, being as I am on a blue tooth. Maybe you shouldn't have shot him dead yet."
Chris' handwriting stopped suddenly, a cloud of anger beginning to form over his head like a dark storm. His gaze shifted back to the gun, lying on the carpet. "Are you questioning my authority?"
"No, sir, I'm sorry. I simply meant...it doesn't matter. Look, we have a pretty good lead right here as it is. And if we can't track him down, all we need to do is go through the ER records from back when the kid got fucked up. Look for a similar match. Sure, it's a little more work than just asking the paramedic, but seeing as he's currently dead..."
"Shut the fuck up, Angelo! I made a judgment call! I'm the boss, and I make the calls, and I wanted to shoot him!" Chris shook his head, trying to push the anger out of his head. Now wasn't the time for this. Not now. He closed his eyes and put a hand to his head, taking a deep breath. When he opened them again, his eyes were once more greeted by the vast array of twisting red and green lights. Alright. I'm ready. Snatching up the gun, he made his way toward the stained glass door, that strange gate between sanity and insanity. "I'm coming out, Angelo. Get ready to torch the place." Before walking out, he grabbed the crumpled paper, taking one more look before shoving it back into that cursed pocket. In shaky letters, the words 'Dave Liz' were written out in black "bat ink", composed on the back of an Atomic Comics receipt.
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Don't worry, the ambulance thing will be explained in the next chapter ^_^
As per usual, comments = love