I have been so busy with finals and the impending holidays, that I lagged on uploading this sooner. Anyways, this is a sixth installment of the Dez series, and my own little gift to Vault 108 who has followed, adored, and reviewed the series since I believe the first one. I hope this suffices as a decent holiday gift for 108, and also hope she enjoys reading this one as I'm going in such a twisted direction that I've never tried before. Happy Holidays Vault 108 :D hope you and your son have a wonderful season!
(Cassidy)
Nobody knows, where she came from. I don't think anyone's got up the balls to ask, either. She just sits down near the shoreline day after day. I mean, sometimes she's there and sometimes she isn't. But most of the time, she is. I don't pretend to know anything about her, but truth is I want to. Hell, everyone here wants to. Since she arrived and bought that old house on top of that small hill, everyone's been wondering about her. It's been five years now, she been here. Never said a word to no one, not even the barkeep. And hell, usually everyone talks to the barkeep.
Some nights, you can hear this eerie and waif music floating around the sky. It's usually real late, when everyone's fast asleep. Took me and everyone else forever to realize it was comin' from her. No one complained, though. Even when it woke us up, we never really bitched. Honestly, it's because it's so beautiful. This sad, spooky, beautifully haunting music soaring all from her lone open window. Dunno really if it comes from herself or some pre-tuned radio, but I can tell you, I ain't never heard anything like it before. Most folk, they look out and watch that house of hers from their window. They're entranced by it, and it's perfectly understandable, too.
I remember the first day she arrived here. Had on this…this strange armor. Instantly I knew she was from somewhere up North. It was this mercenary type wear, can't figure which. Looked like it didn't help much, though, because she was covered all up and down in these scars. Small ones, mostly, but there's one definite scar that I couldn't tear my eyes away from. I was in the bar, as usual for most people, when she came in. Looked everyone dead in the eye, and walked straight to the barkeep. Never met a man like that who could keep eyes and their head high. This ain't no quaint town, we're pretty rough. But this girl…this girl there was just something about her. When she got closer, I saw through her shaggy hair these three scars running right across her face. She looked me right in the eye as she passed me, and I can't tell you what came over me.
Never felt anything like it before. She looked at me for only a second at the longest but, shit. Those eyes of hers, dark and deep, pierced right through any guards I may have had. I felt like a scared little boy, and those eyes told me, they've seen better days. Marching right up to the barkeep, as if she knew who ran this town, she put her small sack of things on the bar and folded her arms.
"I want any home you have available."
Her voice was deep, gravelly, almost like a seductress'. I wanted so bad for her to look back at me, but she never did. The barkeep laughed and said wanderers usually can't afford the homes he has, but the girl didn't budge an inch. She stared right on through old Joe and demanded it again. When he gave her the price, she gave him double. Old Joe handed her the keys, and off she was. Didn't say anything to anyone, just up and went. I watched her leave, never once taking my eyes off her. She, never looked at me again that day.
It was a few days time after that, when I finally mustered the courage to go and talk to her. I knocked on her door and heard scuffling. When she finally opened it, those damned eyes were just as powerful. She was looking right through me.
"Hey there. Name's Cassidy."
I said to her and the damn girl looked at me like I was wasting her time. She didn't say anything back, just narrowed her eyes and the smoke twirling from her lit cigarette made mine water.
"Got a name, miss?"
I even went so far as to take my hat off for her. You know, being polite around a woman and all. I wanted so bad for her to just say something to me, that I didn't care what it was. She didn't, though, just stared right through me with the door half-open and her eyes narrowed still.
"Well, right then, I figured I'd come and introduce myself. Maybe when you get settled in, you'd like to come round town with me? I could introduce you to some of the folk here."
That girl sighed and flicked her cigarette past me.
"No, thank you."
It was all she said to me before slamming that door right in my face. Anyone else pull a stunt like that to me I'd have shot them three times over. But, something told me not to mess with this one. Not to pick any fights or try anything smart. She wasn't like most other women, wasn't one to waste time on men and other frivolous things. She still isn't.
I been back there a few times since then, that house on that small hill. I try and go twice or three times a week. Mostly, she don't answer the door. When she does, though I can tell it's enough just to humor me. Enough so I know she's still alive and not rotting dead in there. Once in a blue moon she'll speak to me. In the past five years all I've really gotten is a paragraph from her, but shit, it's more than most folk round here get.
Not even old Joe gets much out of her. When she makes rare trips to the bar for food and drink, all she does is point to a bottle of vodka and Joe pours it. She sits in this small corner table, watching everyone, not sayin' a word. I don't dare go over to her, even though I want to. Sometimes for a minute or less I can feel those damned eyes watching me. When I look though, she's looking somewhere else, and I wonder if it's all in my head to begin with. Few other folk, women and men alike, have tried to befriend her. It hasn't worked though, and most since given up. Think I'm the only visitor she ever has and even then, it ain't nothing much of a visit. But at night, at night we hear that music coming from her home, and no matter what we think of her, we all wonder where in the world it comes from.
I think, actually, the most interesting thing she said to me was pretty recent. Bout a week ago I went up there for my usual visit. Been doing it for five years and it's like clockwork. My hand wasn't even knocking when the door swung open. Never, and I mean never has that door been open wider than six inches. That day, it was wide and I got to see inside. Nothing really interesting, to say the least. But something…something really caught my eye. There was this old, terminal-looking thing laying on the counter. Not sure what it was, but it looked from afar like a vault-issued Pip-Boy. Don't know much about them, except that only those born and raised in a vault got one. A girl looking all battered as she, couldn't have come from no clean and sterile vault.
Anyways, she looked at me and I asked the usual. You know, how she was doing and all that. She never once ever really answered my question, but on that day…that day she looked right at me. Right into my eyes and right through to my bare soul. I'll admit, I was scared.
"You're one hell of a fool, Cassidy Jones."
Never knew the girl had any inkling of my last name, but shit, she did. It floored me and before I knew it, the door was closed and whatever chance I had to ask anymore questions was gone like the wind. Can't tell you her name, that girl on top of the hill. She ain't never spoke to nobody except me and old Joe, and she never once introduced herself, either. Most people made up stories to give her a definition. Truthfully, I don't think a girl like her can be given one. She don't look too old, my age, thirties really. The women around here ain't too fond of her, though. Since most of the men in town are mystified by her, they're more attracted to her. Doesn't sit well, for the wives and women.
For some time, there'd be lots of men knocking at her door. In the beginning she'd answer them. They'd ask what they wanted to ask and usually more often than not, got that door slammed right back into their faces. On a rare occasion, she'd say something stark and snide that if I heard I'd laugh at. After a while, they stopped going around up there. Stopped trying and just said she's probably into women. I've always watched that house, though. No one, 'cept her, goes in or out. I can tell, from a wanderer like myself, she's seen things. Things that she probably doesn't ever want to think about. You can tell by looking those scars aren't for show. They were deliberately put there, in the line of fire. Surprised me, when I got a good look at some of 'em. Even a gunslinger like myself wouldn't live through some of that, but here this petite girl did.
Oh don't get me wrong, though, this girl isn't anywhere near helpless. She's tall for a woman, and well-developed for someone with such a small build. But those legs are strong for running, those arms are swift for moving, and those fingers I'm sure can out-shoot any man in town. She can't fool me, because those scars have told me more about her than she probably ever will. Won't stop me from trying, though. Hell, I'm the only one she'll talk to, and the only one in town aside from Joe who's heard her speak, really. Most folk, though, they've stopped caring for her much. Aside from the hearsay, she's uninteresting to them.
I'm sitting alone at the bar tonight, as I am most every night. Don't get me wrong I have friends here, and lots of them. It's just, sometimes a man needs some time to think. Not sure what I'm thinking about, but I know I have to think. Old Joe comes over, wiping down some glasses and looking around. The bar's empty tonight.
"How you doin' with that girl up there, Cassidy?"
Old Joe asks me as I take a sip from my cup of dry whiskey.
"No more progress since the last five years you been askin' that question. Why? Found somethin' out about her?"
Joe shrugs, sighing and putting his rag down.
"Nothing more than usual. Caravan from up North came through, remember that one?"
"Sure do, big burly guy."
"Yeah that's him. Anyways, saw him up one night near the girl's house takin' some pictures. Didn't ask, didn't tell just kept about my business. Next day, the guy took off. Strange, isn't it?"
"Maybe there's more to that girl than we know. She's not from here, might have enemies. Maybe that was one of them."
"Cassidy, if that man was an enemy he'd be shootin' her up and not takin' her picture. He's working for someone, that's for sure."
"This is all great, Joe, but why you tellin' me?"
Joe sighs and wipes sweat from his brow with his hand.
"You're the only one lookin' out for that poor girl. Most folk here would rather see her gone than not. Figure you could keep an eye out, make sure nothing bad happens. Watch who's coming through town. Last thing we need, is that damned girl bringing more trouble. Our small town is peaceful, let's try and keep it that way."
"Alright, Joe, alright. I'll keep an eye out."
"Good, you had better, Cassidy."
Placing my glass down I give the caps I owe and walk out. Not going to be nosy, but I figure I should inquire or at least warn, the girl of that caravan trader. If anyone's after her she'll know. If someone is, promise you with this news she'll be out tomorrow at dawn. I hope that don't happen, though. This girl been interesting to me since she got here, that I don't know what I'd think about if she were to leave. Probably just about keeping the town safe, I suppose.
Knocking on that old front door, I hear the calls of the wild from the distance. I'll have to keep watch on them ragged Jumpers. They're closing in now, and getting at the livestock. Hearing her soft footsteps behind the door, I wait impatiently for it to open. When it does I take my hat off like usual and hold my breath.
"You never come four times."
So, she does pay attention to my efforts. Keep at something enough and eventually you'll get recognized. After five years, I'd expect nothing less.
"Miss, I came to tell you that a couple of weeks ago there was a caravan trader snapping pictures of you. Joe just informed me tonight, or else I would have told you sooner. It's none of my business, but are you in any sorts of trouble? Do you need any assistance?"
As if she can't care less, and I don't think she much does, the girl here lights a cigarette and leans against the doorframe. I think I caught her in the middle of something, because she seems less guarded and snide. Maybe she's finally warming up to me.
"No trouble I can think of, Cassidy. But if I was, I wouldn't need your assistance."
"Oh no miss I wasn't implying you did just offering help is all. You seem like the type who can handle yourself just fine."
"Oh, why's that?"
She ain't never once asked me a question before. I'm a bit, alright a lot, taken aback by this. It takes me a minute to collect myself.
"Well uh, you see it's just that you…you got some…some interesting tell-tale scars that say you've seen a lot of things. Can't figure you did them all on your own."
"No. I didn't, Cassidy. I got the one you're looking at from a Feral Ghoul Reaver in Point Lookout."
Damn. She just told me something about her. She isn't even looking at me in the way she normally does, so I'm sure I've caught her in the middle of something. Obviously, the girl hasn't had time to collect herself or else I highly doubt she'd be this open. It don't seem like she's on any chems, either. Point Lookout is near the Washington area, near the D.C. ruins and right off the coast of the Capital Wasteland. Can she really be from way up there? I mean it ain't too far but when all you got for travel if your own two feet, everything is a lot further away than it really is.
"I didn't mean to be rude and stare, but I appreciate you sharing that will me. Care to tell me your name? It's been about five years."
"Has it been that long? Huh. Must have lost track of the time…"
She sounds like she's got something to do, you know, over time. As if she's getting ready to leave town.
"Do you have something you need to finish back where you're from? Sounds like you do."
"All my business is finished."
"I think this is the most conversation we've had in all this time combined."
"Yeah. It's enough."
She slams the door and I hear her walking away from it. Point Lookout, huh? If she's not a traveler, which I don't think she much is, then she's got to be from there. There or near that area. Reavers aren't mostly common in any other areas, I've only seen a few. But now that she mentions it, those scars do match their hands near-perfect. Her answers, somehow though, just add more questions to the mystery surrounding her.