The 'Real' Life
Author: Darkness
E-mail: darknessdescending2000yahoo.co.uk
Author's Note: This fic was inspired both by the discussions recently in some circles concerning what the life of everybody's favourite clan might be in the real world, and has been heavily influenced by the work of that master author, Bret Easton Ellis.
Warning! Warning! I was in a really depressed mood when I wrote a lot of this and it shows!
At first I was confused by what passed for love in this world: people were discarded because they were too old or too fat or too poor or they had too much hair or not enough, they were wrinkled, they had no muscles, no definition, no tone, they weren't hip, they weren't remotely famous. This was how you chose lovers. This was what decided friends. And I had to accept this if I wanted to get anywhere. – Victor Ward/Johnson, from Glamorama, by Bret Easton Ellis.
Inside doesn't matter. – Patrick Bateman, from American Psycho, by Bret Easton Ellis.
Stuck in the Middle with you
"Hot chocolate, extra frothy," grinned Elisa, placing the steaming mugs down in her kitchen table. Broadway looked at his for a moment before he wrapped a clawed hand around it and drew it closer to him, though he didn't drink it.
"Thanks," he said, sounding tired.
"What's the matter partner?" smiled Elisa, sitting beside him at the table. He looked more worn than usual tonight. His usually bright turquoise eyes were bloodshot and starting to form bags underneath them. His face looked thinner, paler somehow. He'd only woken up out of stone sleep an hour ago but it seemed like he hadn't rested in days. "Is there any thing I-"
"Angela left me," said Broadway suddenly, cutting her off.
A long, stunned silence followed in which Elisa stared at him as he watched his hot chocolate turn cold. She didn't ask why because she knew the reason very well. She had cursed him on a daily basis.
"Broadway…I'm so sorry," she whispered, squeezing his shoulder.
"She's on Avalon now," sighed Broadway, shutting his eyes, on the verge of tears. "She…said the party tonight was the last straw. She said that if I really loved her I'd not go. I'd let him go alone."
Elisa looked down into her own hot chocolate. She knew Angela was angry but this seemed ridiculously unfair.
"Why don't you just let him go alone?" asked Elisa.
"Because he wants me to go," said Broadway. "And you know what happened the last time that I didn't go with him."
Why would that be a bad thing? "I understand partner," said Elisa. He deserves it for what he's doing to you. "Where's he now?"
"He's being interviewed on MTV," said Broadway. "They want to talk to him again about the night on the train and how it was his plan to use those jet packs to save everybody. They also want to talk to him about being on the cover of some magazines, whether he's still seeing Amy Lee, what it's like being on a Metallica video, whether the rumours that he and Marilyn Manson are an item are true, is it true he's in Jurassic Park 4: T-Rex's Revenge, that punch up he had with Brad Pitt at the MTV movie awards last month, those porn flicks that he's in, the two days he spent in rehab, that duet he had with Alanis Morissette and the band he's in…" he paused, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "I…I think they might be asking him if his beak's any good for giving oral sex, but I'm not sure if that's for the interview tonight or that one he's gonna be having with that guy from Hustler next week."
"How do you know they're gonna ask him all that?" asked Elisa, stunned yet again.
"He called me last night and talked about it on the phone for nearly three hours," sighed Broadway, wishing everything about this were just a joke. "If you want me to I can tell you every single detail about the clothes he'll be wearing tonight. Colours, brand names, sizes, the works." He checked his watch. "The interview's over at seven. I've gotta meet him at his apartment at half past. He wants me to go with him to some dump called Dorsia, or Nell's, or Arcadia, I can't remember." He rubbed eyes with a clawed finger, swearing under his breath. "He wants me to meet some bimbo called Evelyn Williams."
"Are they an item?"
"No. She's engaged to some guy called Price or Weed or Horse, I forget which, they, just have sex." He checked his watch, and got up quickly. "Shit. I need to go."
"But its only quarter to seven!" said Elisa, getting up too. "His apartment's only a twenty minute glide away. Why do you have to go now?"
Broadway walked over to the coat rack and picked up his brown leather bomber jacket. As he slipped it on he suddenly looked very, very run down.
"Brooklyn wants me to pick up some laundry for him," he sighed.
Elisa stared at him for a moment. That…was the final straw.
"Don't go," she said coming up behind him and grabbing his jacket before he finished putting it on. "Please Broadway, don't go."
"I have to."
"He's using you!"
"I know."
"Then why are you still letting him get away with it?"
"Because the last time I stood him up he tried to kill himself."
"He called the paramedics, drank two bottles of vodka, and then he slashed one wrist."
"He still tried."
"No he didn't! He just did it to emotionally blackmail you!" Elisa found herself screaming. She grabbed him roughly by the shoulder and turned him around. She took his head in her hands and forced him to look at her. "Please Broadway. Stay here. You're wrecked."
"No…I'm…okay," he whispered. "I'm just…a little tired."
"Then get some sleep," pleaded Elisa. "Sleep in the guest room. I'll call Goliath and tell him to go after Angela and bring her back. And then I'll ring Brooklyn. I'll tell him your really sick and can't go."
Broadway looked tempted, very, very tempted at that idea. But then he became downcast again and said: "He won't believe it. I didn't sound sick yesterday."
"Then maybe Lexington can go with him tonight."
"He won't talk to him anymore since he told that guy from Youthquake that he had sex with a zebra. Besides, he not strong enough to carry him."
"Hudson?"
"He'll have a heart attack if he sees what goes on at these parties."
"Xanatos? Fox?"
"They don't like that kind of publicity."
"Owen?"
"He hates him more than you and Goliath do."
"Derek?"
"No. And not Maggie either."
"Claw?"
"He and Delilah are…busy…tonight."
"Any of the clones?"
"They definitely do not need that kind of publicity."
"I'll go then."
"No you won't. The media would tear you apart because you're a cop."
"Then let him go alone."
"You know I can't."
They stood together for a moment, silent.
"It's not fair," said Elisa.
"I know," said Broadway. He finished donning his jacket. "I need to go now." He left without another word. Elisa stared at the window of her new apartment from where he'd left. She had needed it after Brooklyn had brought a camera crew from MTV Cribs and had shown them around the castle without either Goliath or Xanatos' permission. They'd come into Goliath's rooms while he and Elisa were having sex; that was the night Goliath kicked him out of the castle. She needed to leave after she started getting thousands of threatening letters and thousands of letters of support. Her and Goliath's relationship had started to fall apart after that until agreed that they should just be friends.
She went back into the kitchen and stared at the two full mugs of untouched hot chocolate. After a few minutes she picked Broadway's up and threw it against the wall. It shattered. She regretted doing that immediately.
MTV Interview"Wait a second…where the Hell's Carson?"
"He's not actually conducting this interview, he's just introducing it," explained Mutt.
"Where is he?"
"Opening a new Planet Hollywood in Tehran, I think," said Mutt, avoiding eye contact. "Look, can we get this started? I've got better things to do with my life."
"You work for MTV Mutt. You don't have a life."
"You look familiar," said one of the cameramen. "Who are you again?"
An exasperated sigh: "I'm a gargoyle!"
"So? What's hip about that?"
"I've saved the lives of hundreds of people!"
"Were they celebrities?"
"I don't think so."
"Then who gives a fuck?"
"Gerry, shut up!" snapped Mutt. "This guy is just the same old story! Nobody, up-and-coming, star, has-been, not necessarily in that order. Happy now?"
"Why does he have a beak?"
"Shut up Gerry!"
A very tight looking woman in a skin-tight leather cat suit came and applied more makeup to his cheeks and the edges of his beak. Brooklyn gave her a winning smile.
"You know, you could probably hail cabs with such a fine ass as that."
"My name's David," said the woman in a disturbingly masculine voice.
"Oh," said Brooklyn.
"Are we ready now?" snapped Mutt, getting up out of his chair and shooing David away. "I want this over with!"
"Hey man," said Brooklyn, leaning back in his beanbag chair. "Mellow. Take a chill pill okay? What will be will…err…be."
"Fuck off," said Mutt, sitting down again. "Roll cameras!"
MTV: So, Brooklyn, baby, how does it feel to be the in boy at the moment?
Brooklyn: Fame's got a price tag but reality is still a good friend of mine.
MTV: How do you think other people perceive you right now?
B: I'm the bad boy. I'm a legend. But in reality the whole world is just one gigantic party with no VIP rooms.
MTV (confused): Uh…right….
B: That's the way it is baby.
MTV (recovering): What was it like working with Alanis?
B: She's a great babe with a super personality. Most interesting Israeli I ever met.
MTV (mildly confused, recovering): Uh…do you see yourself as a symbol of the new generation of America?
B: Well…I do represent a giant pie-wedge of the youth today. So I guess I am a kind of symbol. (pause) Maybe an icon? No. (pause) I just…err…want to get this whole world to…umm…be you know, like cool with the environment and…stuff.
MTV: That's so cool.
B: No dude, you're cool!
MTV: What do you envision when you think about youth today?
B (totally honest): At its worst? Two hundred chicks dressed like Kelly Osbourne tap dancing to the soundtrack of Jackie Brown.
MTV: And how does that make you feel when you think of it?
B (touched by being asked, emotional): It really…like, uh…stresses me out.
MTV: Why don't we talk about Amy Lee?
B: Amy's just super babe. I want to forge a strong relationship with her and like…uh…make her my only true…uh…love.
(Sounds of uproarious laughter in the background)
MTV: Where did you two meet?
B: We were at this party in the Trump Plaza together a few months ago. She'd just done her third remake of her "Bring me to Life" Video that had her do it in this sort of Rastafarian version with Shaggy and I'd just been on the cover of GQ.
MTV: What did you say to her when you first met?
B: I said 'Heya Pussycat!' and she said 'Whatever!' and I was like so turned on by that and all those belts that she had on that I asked her back to my place.
MTV: What's she like in bed?
B: I'd give her a 6.
MTV: Best in bed, in your experience?
B: Britney Spears.
MTV (stunned): Really?
B (chuckling): Just kidding dude…she was crap.
MTV: How old are you? In your kind's years, that is?
B: Twen-ty-something.
MTV: What is it that pisses Brooklyn Wyvern off?
B (raising an eyeridge): At the moment? Selfish, fat, brothers who have ridiculously self-righteous P.O.Vs, people who wear yellow, certain gossipy male models, the way that the media treats celebs, badly behaved bartenders…
MTV: Uh…we were thinking along the lines of the War in Iraq or the AIDs epidemic in Africa or world terrorism. How do you feel about the current political situation?
B (long pause, tiny, tiny voice): Uh…skateboarding? The words 'dot com'?
MTV (long pause): Uh…anything else?
B (realising something, relieved): A mulatto, an albino, a mosquito, my libido.
MTV (long pause): Did you…understand…the question?
B: What do you mean by that?
MTV: Aren't there things going on –
B (pissed off): Well maybe you're just misunderstanding my answers.
MTV: Okay, forget it, um –
B: Move to the next question.
MTV: Okay.
B: Great.
MTV (long, long pause): So…is it true about your dick being as big as your beak?
Apartment, Talk with BrotherBrooklyn lived in a top-floor apartment in the So-Ho area that was paid for by Xanatos and would be, as long as Brooklyn agreed never to come near the castle again after the incident with the Cribs crew.
Broadway strolled through the apartment after coming in through the balcony door, a large Armani tote bag hanging over his shoulder containing various pieces of clothing that Brooklyn had told him to pick up before he came around. He looked around the place tiredly.
"What a dump."
Every surface was painted white. In the main room were several elegant couches of black leather. Two original Onicas (both he noticed dismally, were still hung upside down) rested on either side of the chrome fireplace. All the furniture other than the couches was chrome. One wall was made up entirely of a gigantic rack that held nothing but DVDs and CDs. A gigantic, 42-inch plasma screen TV hung over the fireplace, between the Onicas. Magazines were scattered everywhere, the majority of them had Brooklyn striking ridiculous poses on the cover. The stereo near one of the Onicas was playing "Heart Shaped Box" by Nirvana. On the steel and glass table in the centre of the room, which sat on top of (what Broadway hoped) was an imitation Tiger skin rug, were several screenplays. He picked one up and read the title aloud.
"The Beakinator 2: Beaks in Miami." He rolled his eyes, picked another one up. "Tail Banger. Christ, who comes up with these titles?"
"The best in the business."
Broadway looked around, mentally bracing himself. "Hey Brooklyn. I've got your laundry."
"Could it have taken you any longer?" his oath brother snapped. He was dressed in a pair of stylish black cargo pants, a light grey long-sleeve t-shirt, over which was an open, long-sleeve black shirt, all part of the Armani for Gargoyles ranges. He came over from the bathroom door and quickly pulled the tote bag out of his brother's outstretched hand, turned around, and went into his bedroom, where there was a large futon in the shape of a strawberry. "I'll be out in a minute. Don't go near the bar," he said, slamming the white panel door behind him.
Broadway stared at the door for a moment. There was a time that he would have followed Brooklyn to the ends of the earth if he had asked him to. Now Brooklyn had to keep him near by the unspoken threat of suicide. Broadway started getting so depressed as he thought about this that he felt conversation might snap him out of the slump.
"So…uh…where are we going tonight before we head to the party?"
A loud, long sniff, before: "We're meeting Evelyn at Arcadia."
"Just the three of us?"
"No fat boy. She's bringing a couple of her friends."
"Do you know who?"
"Some girl called Vanden and a guy called Stash. I think she could be bringing that Price guy along too."
"What do they do?"
"Price works in Wall Street."
Broadway gritted his teeth. "And…the other two?"
"They're artists."
"Oh fuck!"
"What was that?"
"Nothing!" called Broadway, wishing he were somewhere, anywhere else. "I just sneezed! That's all."
He sat down on one of the couches and stared at the upside down Onicas until they became annoying and so he just closed his eyes and listened to the last few seconds of "Heart Shaped Box" before it became "The Unforgiven" by Metallica.
There were several more, long sniffing sounds from Brooklyn's bedroom before his door swung roughly open and he came out, a floor length black leather coat by Versace for Gargoyles slung over one arm, with traces of white powder on his nose. "Okay! Are we ready?"
"Yeah," sighed Broadway, getting up.
"You're not wearing that are you?" asked Brooklyn suddenly.
Broadway looked down at himself, puzzled. Apart from the leather bomber jacket, he had on a pair of navy jeans and a black sweater. "Yeah, I am."
"But," started Brooklyn, his voice actually shaking. "None of it's…designer."
"What's that got to do with anything?"
"Oh nothing!" screamed Brooklyn, his eyes flaring, utterly furious. Broadway jumped in surprise. "If you wanna go around with me you fat warthog couldn't you at least make the effort to dress in recognisable clothing?! Is there too much flab in your brain to comprehend just how un-hip you look?! Don't you realise just how in people like Evelyn and Stash are?! Are you doing this to embarrass me?! Or are those the only clothes you could find that could actually circumnavigate that boulder you've got hanging from your waist?!"
Broadway closed his eyes, counted to ten, and then said: "Well if you don't me to come then –"
"Don't be stupid!" snapped Brooklyn contemptuously. "I told Evelyn you're coming and so you're coming! She's been dying to meet you and show you off to our friends."
"Brooklyn, from what I've seen of the people you hang out with now, they don't know the meaning of the word 'friend."
"How would you know anything about friends? All you do all night is stuff your face with lard! The only friends you've got now are the staff at Mc Donald's!"
Counting to twenty now: "Brooklyn, look, I don't want to get into another shouting match with you okay? Can we just please go and get this…wait a second…what's that on your nose?"
"Huh?" said Brooklyn, bringing a clawed hand up to his nose, acting surprised. "There's nothing on my nose."
"Yes there is," said Broadway, coming forward. Brooklyn started backing off as he did so. "Brooklyn, have you been sniffing cocaine again?"
"Um…maybe."
"For God's sake!"
"Hey fuck you!" screamed Brooklyn, stopping his retreat and suddenly stalking towards Broadway. "Okay maybe I do take some once in a while. Who cares! Everybody does it!"
"No they don't!"
"The people who matter do!"
"Who cares about what other people do! That's stuff gonna kill you!"
"Don't you preach to me you flabby asshole!" screamed Brooklyn. The only thing between them now was the table with the screenplays on it. "The only reason you say that shit is to make you think it's okay to have a belly that falls to you knees! Don't you have any idea how other people see that?!"
"Why the hell should I care about how other people think about the way I look? I'm happy with the way I am. I always have been! If I wasn't I would have done something about it!"
"Ha! Don't make me laugh hippo boy!" Brooklyn sneered. "The only way you could ever lose all those spare tires hanging off of you is if someone took a pin to you!"
Broadway said nothing for a moment. He looked at the door to the balcony and then, back at Brooklyn. He thought of Elisa, and of Angela and of Lexington. He thought of the bed in his room that he just wanted to get in and never come out of again.
"You know what Brooklyn?" he sighed after another moment's silence. "I've had it. I won't take anymore of this crap. Go alone. I'm outta here."
The snide look on his brother's face vanished in an instant, replaced as quickly by a look of genuine fear. "Wait…you're…not coming?"
"That's right," said Broadway, starting to head to the balcony.
"But…but where are you going then?"
"I think I'll donate myself to the Red Cross. With all this meat and flab hanging off me I'm sure they'll be able to find a starving country I'll be able to feed for a couple of months."
"Please don't go Broadway!" yelled Brooklyn suddenly, terrified. "I didn't mean any of it I swear! Please!" He came up and grabbed his brother shoulder as he was about to open the door to the balcony, with each word the fear and anxiety in his voice was rising. "I didn't mean any of it! It was just a joke! I won't say anything like that again!"
"Stop making promises you've no intention of keeping," growled Broadway, refusing to look at him. He slid the door open and walked out onto the terrace.
"If you abandon me now I'll kill myself."
Broadway stopped, but didn't turn around.
"Did you hear me?!"
"Yes Brooklyn, I heard you."
"But you don't think I'll do it do you?" yelled Brooklyn, now frantic. He ran in front of Broadway, his hands trembling, eyes wide, not caring about the cocaine still on his nose. He pulled his left sleeve up, revealing a Rolex and a deep scar on his wrist as tears started running down his eyes "I did it once before! And it was your fault because you don't care about me! You left me alone just so you could fuck that slut didn't you? I had to deal with all those idiots myself, you selfish fucker! We swore an oath to look out for each other! And then you drove me to try and kill myself! You think I won't do it again?! Is that it?!" He tore the Rolex off of his wrist. "I'll fucking prove it to you now then! I've got the guts!" He brought his right hand up and started to drag his claws along the scar, drawing blood right before his oath brother's eyes.
Broadway stared at the blood dripping out of his brother's arm for a moment, shocked, before he grabbed Brooklyn's arms and pulled them apart.
"Brooklyn don't do that!"
Brooklyn struggled and spat in his face. "Why shouldn't I? You don't fucking care about me!"
"Of course I do! How can you say that?!"
"No you don't! You don't care about what others think about me!"
"It's you who I care about! Not the scum you started hanging around after the press learned where we lived!"
"They've my friends!"
"No they aren't!"
"What do you know?!" screamed Brooklyn, totally hysterical. He spat in Broadway's face again. "This is all your fault! I'd never have cut myself if you'd just be nice to me!"
"All I've ever done is try and be nice to- "
"NO YOU HAVEN'T!" Screamed Brooklyn. He raised his foot and kicked Broadway as hard as he could in the stomach. Broadway doubled over and gasped in pain as all the wind was knocked out of him. He let go of Brooklyn's wrists and wrapped them protectively around his waist. He staggered backwards as Brooklyn came forward. "IF YOU REALLY LOVED ME YOU WOULD HAVE LET ME HAVE ANGELA! BUT NO! YOU HAD TO TAKE HER YOU SELFISH FAT FUCK! IT'S YOUR FAULT I RAN AWAY THAT TIME! IT'S YOUR FAULT I WAS DEPRESSED! IT'S YOUR FAULT I TRIED TO KILL MYSELF! WHY CAN'T YOU TAKE SOME GOD-DAMNED RESPONSIBILITY?!"
Broadway looked up at him, hurt beyond words, as Brooklyn brought his clawed hand up to his already bleeding wrist. "I'll fucking end it now! Is that gonna make you happy you fat bastard?!"
"Brooklyn, don't, please," Broadway found himself pleading. He raised a hand, open palmed to look unthreatening, and took a cautious step forward, his stomach aching.
"WHO'S FAULT IS IT THAT THIS HAPPENED?!"
"It's…mine…it's always been mine and I'm sorry. I'm so sorry for it."
Brooklyn smiled, the victor, as always. "What are you gonna do about it?"
"I'm…gonna go with you to dinner and the party."
"And?"
"I'm…gonna be nice to…to your…your friends."
"Are you going to say anything?"
"No."
"When will you speak?"
"When…spoken to."
"Do you have your credit card with you?"
"Yes."
"Has Xanatos put anything on it for tonight?"
"A…couple of thousand…I…think."
"Are you going to replace my watch which you broke?"
"Yes."
"Are you paying for dinner?"
"Yes."
"Are you fat?"
"Yes."
"Stupid?"
"Ye…yes."
"Say it!"
"I'm stupid."
"If someone asks you if you ever had a nickname, what will you say it was?"
"Boulder Belly."
"And?"
"Pig Face."
"Am I a good brother?"
"Yes."
"Am I a drug addict?"
"No."
"If someone asks you if you can read, what will you say?"
"I'm illiterate."
"Are you a faggot?"
"Yes."
"And what are faggots?"
"The…the…"
"SAY IT!"
"The scum of the earth."
"Do you love me?"
No answer.
"Do. You. Love. Me?"
I…I... "Yes Brooklyn."
"Very well. Bandage this cut you gave me. Then, I'll let you take me out to dinner."
Arcadia, Effortless Lies, The Horror that is Evelyn WilliamsArcadia was a nouvelle restaurant, which specialised in the making of the Cajun-Italian-Chinese meals that were at the moment the rage of New York. By the time Broadway had bandaged Brooklyn's wrist they were running ten minutes late. When they'd arrived via limo ("You want me to glide there? What the fuck do you think I am? A barbarian?") Brooklyn had rushed in to check with the maitre de that the rest of the party had arrived. They had. When Broadway arrived a few seconds later, not understanding the rush, the maitre de gave him such a look of contempt that Broadway had to fight the urge to give him the finger, just so he could get thrown out and not have to deal with another group of shallow, hateful creatures that he refused to classify as people.
The maitre de pointed out the booth in the back and Brooklyn strode imperiously through the restaurant, totally ignored by all the occupants of the white tables scattered all over the place, who'd grown used to the presence of Manhattan's unusual residents. Broadway followed behind at a more reluctant pace. Suddenly he became aware of the looks of disgust radiating from everyone now that they noticed that this particular insect wasn't wearing clothes that cost more than many peoples' cars. He didn't know why but he got a very great buzz from knowing that.
At the booth were only three people, all dressed like they had strolled out of a Ralph Lauren add (but then again Broadway noted, apart from himself, so did everybody else in here, including the guy playing the piano in the centre of the room). This was a small relief, as all the artist friends Brooklyn seemed to know dressed in poor fitting black clothes and did peculiar things to their hair and thought that the bathtub filled to the brim with urine that was displayed in a gallery in Washington D.C a few weeks ago was the very pinnacle of artistic endeavour.
However, as stated before it was only a light relief. Because if they weren't artists or celebrities of some kind, then they could be only one other thing.
Yuppies…
He suppressed a shudder and stood beside Brooklyn, who had already started introductions with the one woman and two men sitting in the booth. The two men were named Jason Taylor (Pierce & Pierce) and Craig Bradley (also Pierce & Pierce). The woman of course, was Evelyn Williams.
Fabulous hair, huge breasts, fine, milky white skin, gorgeous eyes, superbly dressed…
She looked just like every single woman in Arcadia. So perfectly built that she was boring to look at. The two men were similar in being non-entities. They were extras, in that they looked exactly like all the other men in this restaurant and probably every other damned nouvelle dump in the city.
"This is my less than fortunate brother, Broadway," said Brooklyn.
"Oh! How darling!" squealed Evelyn. She clapped her hands in a giddy fashion. "And you even put him in clothes! Just for us! Oh he looks just darling! But Brooklyn, darling, couldn't you have, I don't know, made him wear something more…hip?"
"I'm afraid that they're the only clothes I could find that completely covered his paunch," smiled Brooklyn, sliding into the booth and gesturing for Broadway to sit beside him as if he were a favoured pet. "And even then, I'm afraid I had to tie a few belts around him before I put his top on, just to spare you all from the sight of a blue spare tire!"
Giddy laughter all around, Brooklyn and Taylor (or is it Bradley?) give each other high fives.
Broadway focused his attention on the empty water glass in front of him, wishing desperately for a drink until he felt Brooklyn nudge him rougher than he had to. He looked up at him. "Sorry?"
"Taylor asked you a question," hissed Brooklyn. "Why don't you have the decency to listen once in a while?"
"I'm sorry," lied Broadway, effortlessly. He looked at two men sitting on the other side of the table, unable to differentiate between them; he just focused on a point between both of their heads. "Uh…you were saying?"
"I asked you," smiled the one on the left with disgusting superiority. "How's the toilet training coming along?"
Broadway stared at him a moment, wide-eyed. Just what the fuck had Brooklyn been saying about him? "What?"
"It's coming along super!" grinned Brooklyn, wrapping an arm around Broadway's shoulder to give the appearance of pride, talking quickly. "Like I said last time he's just moved out of those big gorilla nappies and he's starting to us the toilet like everybody else! I'm so proud of him!"
"And how's his reading coming along?" asked Evelyn. "Have you finished teaching him the alphabet?"
"Oh it's coming along great Evelyn! He just finished learning it yesterday! Broadway! Say the alphabet! Go on! Make me proud!"
In the next twenty minutes before a waiter finally arrived at the table, Broadway was forced to say the alphabet (three times, as Evelyn wasn't quite sure if U really came after T), do the two, three, and four times tables (because apparently those were the only ones his slow, slow mind was capable of learning), list the names of all the planets in the solar system (four times, because Taylor kept demanding him to include the Moon), list all the colours of the rainbow, bark like a dog ("Oh how realistic!" cried Evelyn, clapping her hands like a seal), button his leather bomber jacket and unbutton it ("He learned that himself," Brooklyn boasted proudly, "We were all so impressed"), talk about how much he supposedly loved Barney and why the Telly-Tubbies scared him so much, talk about his apparent fear of clowns, talk about how his big brother Brooklyn protected him so many times whenever he got into trouble…
During the whole, humiliating experience, Broadway started doing a little math. After about ten minutes of this, he knew that if he wanted, he could kill everyone (including Brooklyn) at the table in less than ten seconds with a few flicks of his claws or well-placed punches. This thought would have terrified him once…but now…it didn't actually seem like a bad idea.
"Ever hear of Shakespeare?"
I can quote whole passages of King Lear, Romero and Juliet and Macbeth and twenty of his Sonnets word perfect. "Duh…uh…did he invent ice-cream?"
"What about Dumas?"
He's my favourite writer. I can quote a lot of him too if you want. "Uh…are you…swearing at me?"
"Do you know any French?"
Owen taught me a little. He says I speak with a Burgundy accent. He thinks my Italian's better though. "Uh…"
"Know who Homer is?"
He wrote TheIliad and The Odyssey. He's not bad. I prefer Socrates. "Oh yeah! He's guy from The Simpsons! He's so cool! D'oh!"
"Ever hear of (arrogant snort) Sun Tzu?"
Sure. Ever hear of Lao Tzu? Zhuge Liang? The T'ai Kung? The half dozen or so others I've read that you probably never even heard of? "Umm…umm…what was the question again?"
"What's your favourite colour in the whole world?"
Why am I sitting here? "Lavender."
"Isn't he cute?"
Oh yeah, Brooklyn.
"What makes you happy most on the whole wide world?"
Being in her arms, hearing her voice, her smile, feeling her heart beat in her chest, watching her sleep, the smell of her hair. "Chocolate.""Are we ready to order?" said the waiter, coming up to the table.
Thank Christ.
Menus were given out ("Oh isn't that cute!" squealed Evelyn as she clapped, "he's pretending he can read what's on the pages!"), orders were made, drinks arrived, food with ridiculous ingredients (everyone insisted on ordering the exact same meal that New York Matinee was crazy about, smoked duck with mashed kiwi and covered in hot peanut butter sauce for dinner) and in microscopic portions being served on gargantuan plates arrived soon after. Broadway became invisible as conversation turned to topics such as how it was impossible for anyone at the table to contract AIDs, game shows, old boyfriends (Evelyn kept going on about some total wimp named Patrick Bateman that she had dumped years ago and who had sent her a box full of flies as some sort of revenge. Broadway decided to buy him a drink if he ever ran into him.), novels nobody at the table had obviously read, paintings ("Brooklyn has two original Onicas," Broadway had said after Brooklyn had stamped on his foot), former sex partners, future sex partners, holidays, magazines they'd all been in, how hard it still was to get reservations at the new Wolfgang Puck's, the long string of gruesome deaths of people they all think they know but really don't…
"Has anybody heard about this new reality TV show they're releasing soon?" asked Tweedle-Dum.
"Oh yeah!" yelled Tweedle-Dee, banging his hand off of the table. "That's the one where they get actors to court these girls and take them to restaurants, have sex with them in motel rooms and all in front of the cameras!"
"And then!" chipped in Tweedle-Dum, excited. "After a few months of this, they ask them to marry them! And then at the wedding, they reveal its all a trick and make the girl look like a total idiot!"
"Oh that sounds wonderful!" yelled Evelyn, the human seal. "It sounds like such a blast!"
Tweedl-Dum, Tweedle-Dee, Evelyn and Brooklyn all started laughing and giving each other high fives.
"Uh…excuse me?" asked Broadway, looking up from his Pepsi. "But…do you lot really mean to tell me that you think that's funny?"
Four quite stunned pairs of eyes (three of them confused, one of them blatantly hostile) suddenly turned their attention to him, staring at him as if he'd just appeared in front of them in a puff of smoke.
"Oh, piggy, honey," squealed Evelyn. "Don't you think that's an amusing idea?"
"Well," started Broadway, stunned by her absolute apathy. "Didn't the girl they played that trick on commit suicide soon after she learned the truth?"
"Yeah," said Brooklyn, his tone mock-confused but his eyes murderous. "So?"
Broadway looked around the table. Everyone was staring at him like he had broken some unspoken rule and it was making him incredibly uncomfortable but, at the same time, he couldn't help but push the topic. "Don't…don't any of you think that's going too far?" Silence. Am I the only sane person at this table? He wondered, genuinely terrified. Maybe one more try? "Oh come on! How would you lot feel if they played that prank on you?"
"They wouldn't dare," snapped Evelyn, pouting.
"Why wouldn't they?" asked Broadway, genuinely interested.
"Because, we're rich," growled Tweedle-Dee furiously. There was a strange silence that followed, in which Broadway found that all the other occupants of the table were now glaring at him with the same degree of disgust and loathing. Did these people really believe that they were immune to reality because they had cash?
Broadway smiled weakly. "Uh…did I mention that Brooklyn has two original Onicas?"
Party, Meeting Patrick Bateman, Drinks
The party was at a new club that had just opened and whose name remained lost to Broadway because in all likelihood it would be closed in another few weeks. The remainder of dinner had driven him close to the brink of either a nervous breakdown or a homicidal episode (he couldn't decide what might have been the worse) and the ride in the limo hadn't been a great deal better. He genuinely feared being left alone with Brooklyn, who'd gone to the bathroom before leaving to score some cocaine that he'd then shared with Tweedle-Dum and Tweedle-Dee while Evelyn remained outside of their sphere of existence, concentrating all of her loathing gaze upon Broadway, who had the nerve to suggest that he might be more than pet or retarded compared to his uber-hip brother.
They had all been hit by a wave of cold as they had gotten out of the limo and had gone through the avenue up to the doors of the club that had been created by the barricades on either side. Confetti fell like rain and cameras roared like cannon as their party made their way to the doors, while apparently from every single angle possible, a sea of voices screamed Brooklyn's name, but by the time the two gargoyles and three humans had reached the door and the guards standing outside, the voices had somehow merged to become one lone, roaring creature that had an insatiable appetite and was capable of only speaking to the world in tongues.
There was a gigantic sign above the door in 70's lettering that was a warning from MTV that said: "THIS EVENT IS BEING VIDEOTAPED, BY ENTERING YOU CONSENT TO THE CABLECAST AND OTHER EXHIBITION OF YOUR NAME, VOICE AND LIKENESS" and after the guards had checked all of their names three times if they were on the register or not, the five of them went through the metal detectors and into the party…
…where after saying hello to Chad Krueger and Hugh Jackman, Broadway spent twenty minutes trying to get away from Quentin Tarantino who kept asking him to take part in a short film he was working on before they both ran into Uma Thurman and Quentin promptly vanished somewhere with her to talk about maybe working together after he finished the war epic he was working on.
Despite the huge number of bodies crowded into the space everything seemed to be covered in a thin layer of ice. The place was four storeys tall and from up above he could see dozens of people with large, awkward looking video cameras leaning from balconies staring down at them all as if they were birds of prey, watching, waiting...
And Alanis Morissette was singing "Right Through You" at such a tremendous volume that he could barely even hear what he was thinking. He saw Brooklyn and Evelyn talking with Justin Hawkins and Jack Osbourne. Jack said something and they all laughed. From across the press he saw Brad Pitt watching Brooklyn like a shark, the scar from their fight under his left eye obvious despite all the make-up and it was clear that the only thing stopping him from going over and finishing what Brooklyn, drunk and so high he wasn't even sure what his own name was, had started at the MTV Movie Awards were the cameras and the silent pleading of Jennifer Aniston, who stood loyally by her husband's side, holding his arm tightly.
After Alanis finished U2 came over the speakers, singing "One". He headed to the bar, wishing desperately that he didn't promise Goliath that he'd remain sober in order to keep a good eye on Brooklyn ("We can't allow him to paint a bad image of us now that he's in the public eye, especially after that incident at the Movie Awards"), while at the same time wondering if he could sneak out and get something substantial at a Delhi he noticed just down the street without Brooklyn noticing that he'd vanished. He decided that it just wasn't worth the risk despite how hungry eating the two-mouth-full meals at Arcadia had left him, and just headed to the bar to drown his sorrows in more Pepsis.
U2's "One" became "Drops of Jupiter" by Train, which turned into "Love is only a Feeling" by The Darkness, which became "Handsome Man" by Robbie Williams, which in turn became "Halo" by the Foo Fighters that eventually turned into "True Faith" by New Order. Disco lights above flashed on and off. People left, people came. Brooklyn noticed Brad Pitt staring at him and gave him the finger. Brad Pitt started over towards him but was stopped by Matt Damon and Eric Bana. Evelyn disappeared somewhere. The crowd on the floor became thinner. More people left, less came in. Broadway looked about for Johnny Depp, but couldn't find him. Amy Lee arrived, took one look at Brooklyn coming on to Alison Pool, and stormed out. Tarantino returned, asked Broadway to at least think about it. Broadway said "okay" and took his card. Tarantino shared a Pepsi with him and then left.
Brooklyn came over after Alison Pool had slapped him in the face, totally oblivious that Amy Lee had seen him try and put his hand down Alison's skirt.
"Great party isn't it?" Brooklyn yelled, sitting on the empty stool at the bar beside Broadway, totally hammered.
"It's not much different from the other ones," replied Broadway.
"You're no fun!"
"Can we go home?"
"No!"
"Then can I go home Brooklyn?"
"Why? You're having a good time!"
"No I'm not. These things are boring beyond belief."
"Why the fuck should I care what you think?" slurred Brooklyn suddenly.
"What?" asked Broadway, looking Brooklyn over as he sat beside his oath brother.
"You think I'm scared of Brad Pitt? Is that it?"
"What are you talking about?"
"I know what you and Quentin were talking about!" Brooklyn growled. "You…you think Pitt could take me…don't you?"
"You're drunk Brooklyn."
"How could you say such things about me!"
"What things? What the Hell are you talking about? He wouldn't leave me alone!"
"Why not?"
"He said he'd like me to help him out with…uh…some…short film he's working on."
"What short film?!" yelled Brooklyn, confused, panicked. "Why didn't he ask me?"
"I don't know," shrugged Broadway.
"Why would he ask you anything?" yelled Brooklyn, his panic growing. "I mean…you're…you're fat!" He started looking around at everyone at the club, searching. "Quentin! Quentin! I'm here! Talk to me! I'm cool! I'm with it! I love the RZA! QUENTIN!!!"
Brooklyn tried to stand up on his seat and scream out for Tarantino again but Broadway managed to grab a hold of him and keep him seated while at the same time giving him a sip of his Pepsi to calm him down a little. The bartender came over and asked what Brooklyn wanted. Brooklyn said he wanted an Absolute but Broadway told him to bring some strong coffee instead.
"Why did Lex have to be gay?" sighed Brooklyn suddenly, burying his head in Broadway's chest. "Why did he have to be gay?"
"I don't know," shrugged Broadway, nervous, aware of all the cameras. "I mean it's his choice. I can't understand why you're making a big deal out of it to be honest. You didn't seem to mind too much before you started getting famous. And…well…it's not like he'd ever think of coming onto you or me."
Brooklyn sat up again, staring at Broadway hatefully. "Why wouldn't he come onto me? Are you saying I'm not good looking?"
Broadway sighed, exasperated. "Brooklyn…I never said that."
"But you implied it!"
"No I didn't. I only meant that Lex would have never come on to either of us because he thinks of us as his brothers."
"What's that got to do with anything?"
"Oh for God's sake!" growled Broadway, fed up, rubbing his eyes. "I'm not going to talk about this! Brooklyn, you're drunk and I'm taking you home before you do something stupid."
"Hey Alanis!" Brooklyn yelled suddenly, smiling, waving over the crowd. He pointed to Broadway. "This is that fat, fag brother I was telling you about! Wanna fuck him?"
"Screw you asshole!" yelled Alanis Morissette, coming out of the crowd and giving them both the finger before disappearing into the crowd again.
"What a bitch!" roared Brooklyn, loud enough for half the club to hear, even over the music.
"And you actually used to wonder why women wouldn't go near you," growled Broadway under his breath.
Coffee arrived. Brooklyn drank it all down in one gulp and got up to score coke. Broadway grabbed him and tried to convince him that they should go home. Brooklyn started screaming "Rape!" until Broadway let go. Brooklyn vanished into the bathrooms. Broadway didn't follow.
"Burn Burn" by the Lostprophets came on, followed by "Prince Charming" by Metallica, which was then followed by "In the End" by Linkin Park and then by "Lucky day in Hell" by the Eels. Broadway drank his seventh Pepsi since the party had started. A female artist friend of Brooklyn's who would only answer to the name Penis came over and asked Broadway if he'd seen someone called Knockers. Broadway said no. Penis left. Broadway waved to Jim Carrey, who didn't see him because he was being mobbed by press due to the new movie he was in. Sheryl Crow came over and asked if he was Brooklyn Wyvern. Broadway grinned and said yes. Sheryl Crow asked him if he'd be interested in doing a duet. Still grinning, Broadway told her to take a hike and she went away. Broadway noticed a man staring at him from across the room, a pair of beautiful, beautiful martinis in his hands, watching him. He saw Brooklyn come out of the bathroom and try and start a fight with Brad Pitt and Keanu Reeves and Matt Damon but George Clooney and Sarah Michelle Gellar stopped them. He talked to Harvey Keitel and Drew Barrymore for five minutes at the bar. The crowd became thinner. The clock hit two.
The man who'd been staring at him for the past ten minutes came over as the Eels finished and something by Moby came on the speakers.
"Hi," he said, grinning oddly. "Pat Bateman."
"Hi," said Broadway, looking him over suspiciously. He was in his late thirties and as far as human went, he was incredibly handsome, and extremely well built, though there seemed to be something odd about his eyes. His hair was slicked back and he was dressed in a lavish single-breasted suit made by Valentino Couture.
So what did this man do, Broadway wondered idly. Model? Wall Street? Agent? Publisher? Heir apparent? Actor perhaps? Whatever it was that he did for a living Broadway couldn't help but shake the feeling that he'd heard that name before.
"May I sit?" asked Bateman.
"Sure," replied Broadway, gesturing to the seat beside him at the bar. "Though I don't think you'll enjoy my company all that much. I'm not really in the best of moods."
"Oh," said Bateman, suddenly confused. "But you're…Brooklyn…right? The…gargoyle?"
Broadway chuckled and grinned humourlessly, looking at the ground. "Afraid not. If you're looking for him, he's over there fighting with Brad Pitt and Matt Damon. Give them a couple of minutes to kick his tail and I'm sure he'll be very interested in what you want him to do with you."
"Uh…what?"
"Well you're a model aren't you? You want him to be on the cover of some magazine with him. Right?"
A flattered grin: "No. I work on Wall Street. At Pierce & Pierce." He stopped, sat down and placed one of the clear martinis down in front of Broadway and then, as if testing him, asked: "Ever hear of it?"
Broadway had, of course heard of it, but instead of being honest he decided to say: "I'm afraid not. What is it?"
Bateman deflated for an instant, the look on his face clearly showing that this was a question he was used to hearing and said, hopelessly: "It's a…shoe…store."
There was a moment of awkward silence in which Moby finished his tune and then was replaced by "I Don't Want A Lover" by Texas.
Bateman recovered and gestured to the drink he'd offered Broadway, but Broadway shook his head, smiling politely.
"I can't. Sorry," he apologised. "But I promised my father-in-law that I wouldn't drink anything other than Pepsi and Evian tonight."
"Why?" asked Bateman, suddenly troubled, sweating.
Broadway pointed over in Brooklyn's general direction without looking over at him. "I've got to make sure that he doesn't make us look too bad." A small scream suddenly came from the floor and then a hard thwack!
"Brad Pitt just punched him," said Bateman, looking over.
"Good."
"He's…bleeding."
"Good. If Pitt didn't do it I would have probably done it sooner or later."
"Look," said Bateman, mock politely. "Since you're neglecting you're duties, why not just take one little martini? What trouble could like, you know, one give you?"
"Because when I take one Mr. Bateman I –"
"Please. Call me Patrick."
"Patrick. The problem these days is that if I take one martini I end up wanting another and another. I think I'm starting to turn into an alcoholic and that thought scares the crap out of me." He rubbed his eyes, exhausted. "Lord knows I have enough trouble already without falling into that pit."
"In that case why not go to a table over there and I'll bring over a couple of bottles of Evian for you?" suggested Patrick, gesturing to some chrome tables near the dance floor, while grinning like he had some sort of secret he desperately wanted to tell him. "Take these drinks with you."
Broadway looked him questioningly for a moment. There was something definitely…odd…about Bateman. But on the other hand, he seemed to be the only person around who wanted to talk to him so, what harm could it do to talk to him for a while?
"Okay."
He found a table that had been abandoned and only had a few empty bottles and confetti on it. He carefully placed the martinis on the table and sat down with his back facing the bar, so he didn't notice when Bateman got the two bottle of water and opened the both of them and poured a small amount of clear liquid into them from a vial he pulled from his jacket, before he closed them again and came over to the table where Broadway was watching the floor where Brooklyn (with torn clothes and a bleeding nose) and Brad Pitt and Matt Damon (both who seemed to have come through the fight completely untouched) were being restrained by other celebrities and security guards while all the media present at the party were now converging on the scuffle like a swarm of locusts while the cameramen above had finally found something juicy they could use for their shows.
Broadway watched Matt Damon break free of those holding them and kick Brooklyn in the crotch with what would have once been uncharacteristic indifference. He didn't like to admit it but whenever he thought of Brooklyn at present he felt nothing really compassionate anymore. He couldn't understand why Brooklyn had thrown himself into this world of no depth, no matter how hard he had tried. He just couldn't make himself understand how anyone as intelligent as Brooklyn could have allowed himself to fall into this kind of life while at the same time treating his family like dirt.
Bateman came over and placed both bottles of Evian on Broadway's side of the table, giving a winning smile as he did so. "Here you go…uh…Broadway."
"Thanks," said Broadway, taking one of the bottles of water and taking a long gulp of it. He stopped though and looked at the bottle a moment.
"What's the matter?" asked Patrick, repressing a grin. "Drink up."
"This tastes a little…I don't know…a…little weird," said Broadway slowly, tasting it again hesitantly.
"Maybe it's just all the Pepsi you drank before hand just giving it an odd aftertaste?" suggested Patrick very quickly. "Just drink a little more of it and I'm sure you'll hardly notice it after a few more mouthfuls."
"Yeah. I guess so."
Texas finished and the DJ, whose name was Rambo 17, declared openly that he was a hermaphrodite and that he was finished for the night as he was fed up with everybody making requests for a Brazilian band that he'd never heard of. So instead he was just sticking on the Scissor Sisters album on and going home to smoke some pot, much to the delight of the crowd, who all applauded. Brad Pitt and Matt Damon stormed out. Brooklyn went to get more cocaine from the dealer in the bathroom. Broadway and Patrick Bateman started talking as "Laura" started playing and people started filling the dance floor again.
Bateman was definitely strange. During the ten minutes that they talked he burst out laughing for no good reason what so ever and once, right out of the blue, he asked Broadway if he'd ever seen The Toolbox Murders or Body Double and when Broadway had given him a strange look and said no, Bateman gave an awkward shrug and said: "They're…uh…really great. You should…uh…um…rent them…sometime." Broadway remembered where he'd heard Bateman's name from and asked him if he'd ever been engaged to Evelyn Williams. Patrick suddenly seemed to go pale and started sweating, but said yes and then, much to his clear surprise, Broadway insisted on buying all the drinks.
"So is it true you sent her a box of flies?" asked Broadway, smiling.
"Yeah," replied Patrick, actually genuinely smiling, though somehow at the same time looking regretful. "But that's not the worst thing I've ever done. Believe me, I'm a very dangerous person. A lunatic, really."
"What else have you done?"
"Oh," grinned Patrick, shrugging. "I've killed hundreds of people. I've tortured a lot of girls and…I've even made tapes of myself doing this to them and…well…I've even made a lot of the girls watch these tapes as I killed them. Over the years I've also gotten quite good at well…cooking them properly too." He stopped snapped his fingers. "I've also aborted a few babies without the aid of medical equipment and on the night that I dumped Evelyn, I tricked her into eating nearly half of a urinal cake for desert."
Broadway burst out laughing at the idea that a clear yuppie would ever even be capable of such acts of depravity. "That's a good one!" he smiled. "I mean I knew there was something different about you Mr. Bateman but I never once thought I was sitting with a mass murderer!"
"Well," grinned Patrick. "Everybody has to find some way to fulfil their own…uh, needs."
Broadway saw Brooklyn stagger out of the toilets before he collapsed on the floor and started throwing up.
"Dammit," he growled, rising, finishing the second Evian that Patrick had bought him. "I need to go and take him home. It was a real pleasure meeting you, uh, Patrick."
"Thanks." Replied Patrick, suddenly eyeing a lone girl on the dance floor. "You…too."
They both stood and shook hands before going their separate ways, Patrick heading towards the lone girl who'd gone near the exit of the club, while Broadway quickly ran over to Brooklyn.
Patrick talked to the girl, who came onto him, hard after she got a good look at him. They went to his apartment. Sex would happen. A hardcore montage, before Patrick would bash her head against the floor until she passed out. When she awoke she would find that she had been nailed to the floor by her fingers and her legs would be spread as far apart as possible to allow the chainsaw Patrick had ready to enter her vaginal cavity with as little difficulty as possibly while a video camera was ready to record the whole horrific scene. And in the morning, when the sun had risen, as Patrick ripped her torso open with his bare hands in an absolute frenzy and started shovelling her intestines into his mouth, swallowing them nearly whole without barely a breath, the scene just played out would be nothing more than a blur. He wouldn't remember Broadway's name, nor would he remember what he looked like, the kind of poison he had slipped into Broadway's drink, nor did he even know this girl's name for that matter. The only thing that would be thinking about as he ate the corpse would be the 8:30 reservations at Dorsia for Friday that he had finally scored after over ten years of calling them up...
"Brooklyn?" asked Broadway, kneeling beside the crimson gargoyle, more tired than anything else. "Are you okay?"
"I wanna go home!" screamed Brooklyn, throwing up on the floor again. His voice became hushed after he vomited up the second time, so much so that Broadway could barely hear him over "Music is the Victim", which everyone else in the club was dancing to, ignoring the scene completely. "Please…take me home Broadway."
"Sure," said Broadway. He slipped his arms under Brooklyn and lifted him up gently. He took him out of the club as someone arrived to clean up the mess. He could feel all the cameras following him, and knew that by tomorrow everybody who watched MTV would be hearing about how he and Brooklyn were secret lovers. He sighed hopelessly but didn't say anything. Instead he waved off their limo and, wrapping one arm around Brooklyn's waist, he started to scale the walls of the club one-handed while staff screamed at him for defacing their property and threatened lawsuits.
Apartment, Memories, Plea, So Near…About half an hour later Broadway had landed on the balcony of Brooklyn's apartment. He hefted his oath brother gently into both of his arms and used his tail to open the balcony door. He silently went through the living room and went into Brooklyn's bedroom. Brooklyn had been quiet since Broadway had taken him out of the club and the aquamarine gargoyle had guessed he'd fallen asleep.
He didn't turn on the light as he entered the bedroom and walked to the futon as quietly on the fine carpet as he could. He pulled the sheets down with his tail and gently laid Brooklyn on his back. His breathing was regular now and his eyes were closed. Broadway sighed again and gently began to undress him in order to make him more comfortable as he slept.
He'd stripped Brooklyn to his waist when his brother's hazel eyes suddenly opened a crack and looked at him as Broadway started to unbuckle his belt. Broadway shut his eyes and mentally braced himself for more screaming because he'd started taking Brooklyn's clothes off while he'd slept, which clearly meant that he was a homosexual like Lexington.
So it was quite a surprise when, instead of screaming at him, Brooklyn asked, in a low, weak voice: "Do you remember…when…we were young and…I got sick?"
"Huh?" said Broadway, taken off guard.
Brooklyn didn't seem to notice his brother's surprise, his head rolled to the side on its pillow. "I…think we were…ten…in our years. I got really sick that winter. None of the clan would go near me because the doctor said what I had was very infectious. Do you remember?"
"Yeah. I remember."
Brooklyn closed his eyes and smiled, as if having a pleasant dream. "I passed out on the courtyard and…when I woke up…I was in that cave near the cliffs beside a fire…all…wrapped up in blankets you'd stolen to keep me warm." The smile on his beak grew. "And you two…you'd taken me there to look after me, even though everyone kept saying you'd die if you touched me."
Broadway stared at him. He wasn't sure when exactly, but as Brooklyn had talked he'd moved to sit beside him as he lay on his bed. How could Brooklyn remember that? He'd been delirious the whole time, not even coherent enough to form any sentences, never mind actually remember what had happened.
"I…" Brooklyn smiled, stirring on his bed. "I remember you going to get us fish from the sea while…while Lex talked to me as I slept or was being sick. You…you two thought I couldn't hear you…but…I did." His head rolled onto its other side on the pillow, his legs moved a little. Tears had started forming in his eyes. "I…I'd never really thought anyone, really…cared about me before then. I thought you two were just…good friends. I…never really knew what it was like to…to be…loved before." He sniffed a little. Broadway realised he had taken Brooklyn's hand and was squeezing it gently. "The three of us were in that cave for nearly three weeks and…even though I couldn't even move and…was near death the whole time…I didn't want it to end." His eyes, with their tears still forming, opened a crack and looked up at him. "Do you remember what happened when I was better?"
Broadway nodded, smiled weakly. "It took Lex about a week to convince everyone that you were better and none of us were carrying anything. They made us strip in that damned courtyard in front of everybody and burn our clothes and the blankets. And afterwards…you suggested the oath."
"I was…so scared that you two would abandon me after I'd gotten better," whispered Brooklyn, trembling. "You two were the only ones in the whole clan who ever really…really talked to me and…I was so scared I'd lose you both again. I was so scared of…of being alone."
He rolled onto his side and wrapped his arms around himself, curling himself up into a ball as if cold. "And…when you found Angela and Lex found Alex…I stared getting so…so lonely." The tears started flowing as he shut his eyes tightly. He stunk of alcohol. "But…but then…after the train…everybody wanted…to talk to me. They wanted to be seen with me and…and they…didn't scream anymore when I helped them." He held back a sob. "I…I would have done, anything to keep them happy. Anything to make sure that…that they didn't go away and…and leave me alone again." His eyes opened and reached out for Broadway's hand. "I'm sorry…" he said quickly, terrified of being stopped. "I'm so sorry if I hurt you Broadway. You and Lex mean more to me than anything else in the whole world but…but I have to make these people like me. If they don't then…then I'll be alone again and I don't want that. I…I can't be alone. Not again."
Broadway tried to say something but couldn't. His mouth had become bone dry and his tongue clung to the bottom of his mouth, refusing to budge. This had all taken him completely by surprise. All the anger and hate that had been brewing on him since Brooklyn had used him had suddenly turned to pity and love. His hand was trembling as he laid it gently on Brooklyn's shoulder and squeezed it tightly. Brooklyn became more relaxed as he lay on the bed and put his own hand on top of Broadway's and squeezed it back weakly. After a few minutes of silence, Broadway finally found his voice.
"Brooklyn…come home with me," he whispered. "Please?"
Brooklyn shook his head hopelessly. "Goliath will never let me back in."
"He's not that angry at you. Just…apologise to him and he'll forgive you. He misses you. We all do."
"But Lexington…"
"Is your brother like I am. No matter what you might think you'd never get him angry enough to disown you."
There was, for the briefest instant, a glimmer of true hope in Brooklyn's features, and Broadway thought that he'd won his brother back. But then, as suddenly as it came, it appeared to vanish. Brooklyn suddenly pulled his hand away from Broadway, shaking his head, hugging himself tightly, fearfully. "No…no…you'll just…just abandon me again. After a couple of weeks it'll be like nothing changed. You'll...ignore me again."
"I never ignored you and if I made you feel that way I am sorry," whispered Broadway, pleading. "I've never broken my word Brooklyn. You know that. I swear to you now that if you let me take you home I'll do everything I can to make you feel like part of our family again." He extended his hand to him, his voice choking with emotion, desperate to have his brother back. He suddenly felt an odd stab of pain in his stomach but he ignored it. "Come home Brooklyn. Please?"
Brooklyn was silent for what seemed an eternity to Broadway but was in fact only a few seconds. He stared out at some point on the wall the whole time like it held answers. His arms wrapped around himself tighter. His breathing had become so quiet that he almost seemed dead. After a while the silence became almost unbearable for Broadway. He opened his mouth to speak again. To plead with one of the few people in the world he'd die for to come back where he belonged but Brooklyn beat him to it.
"No," Brooklyn said, his voice suddenly harsh. "I am home now. I have everything I need here."
"No," said Broadway, desperate. "All you have here is stuff. It won't make you happy."
"Of course it will!" growled Brooklyn sitting up and glaring dangerously at him. "If I go back with you I'll be trapped in that fucking prison again forever! I'll lose all the friends I've made!"
"They aren't your friends!"
"YES THEY ARE!" screamed Brooklyn. All the drunkenness that he'd exhibited earlier had vanished, replaced by focused rage. He lashed out and punched his brother across the face with such force that Broadway was sent tumbling off the bed, blood gushing from his busted lip that flowed out black between his fingers as he covered his injury with both of his hand, groaning in agony as the pain in his stomach grew.
Brooklyn leapt off of the bed and stalked towards Broadway as he rose and tried to stagger away from him, his eyes blazing like novas in the dark. Broadway took a hand away from his bleeding mouth to try and plead with Brooklyn but the crimson gargoyle roared and came at him again, aiming low and punching him hard in the stomach. They'd both reached the main room and Broadway fell back and onto one of the leather couches.
"GET OUT!" screamed Brooklyn, trembling in rage. "I DON'T EVER WANT TO SEE YOU AGAIN YOU FAT FUCK! GET! OUT!"
His teeth gritted and with blood spilling out of his busted lip, Broadway managed to force himself to stand up. "P…please Brooklyn," he whispered. He was crying but he didn't care. "Don't do this. We swore an oath to-"
"I RENOUNCE IT!" Brooklyn roared, leaping over the couch and hitting Broadway across the face again. "I RENOUNCE IT I RENOUNCE IT I RENOUNCE IT! NOW GET OUT!"
Broadway fell onto his back, narrowly missing the glass table with the screenplays on it. As he tried to get up, Brooklyn picked up a couple of the screenplays and threw them at him, aiming for his head. They missed and broke apart and paper started to fall all over the place like snow.
"GET OUT!"
Broadway stumbled towards the balcony door, barely able to see his way through the tears. The door was still open from when he had carried his brother in and so he just rushed out and leapt up onto the rail as Brooklyn picked up another screenplay and threw it at him. Weeping he leapt off and glided away from his brother, who stood at the balcony, holding the rail so tightly his fists were pale, calling every horrible curse down upon Broadway that he could imagine until he had vanished behind a building across the street. He went back into his apartment and checked all his messages after he was certain that Broadway wasn't ever coming back.
They would never see each other again.
Rain of Tears, Lost ForeverBroadway made it about six blocks before the cramps in his stomach became so great that he was forced to land on the roof of a nearby corporate building. He collapsed on his knees, still crying, clutching his stomach. The pain became unbearable and he fell to his side as he began to vomit up blood, which came out of his mouth in filthy black torrents. He stopped vomiting after a couple of seconds and lay on his side for a while, too weak to reach for his phone to call for help. He was still crying as he started feeling unbearably cold. He tried to get up after a moment but he only got up to his knees before he doubled over in agony as the pain in his stomach became all consuming and he threw up more blood. The last of his strength spent and trembling violently he started crying out for someone to help him.
He started screaming Brooklyn's name, desperately hoping that maybe he'd changed his mind and had followed him to apologise, but after another bout of vomiting up more of his lifeblood his voice was reduced to a harsh whisper. The stabbing pain in his stomach became even worse and he curled himself up into a foetal position as he threw up more blood, which now formed a dark pool all around him.
He shut his eyes as tears streamed out of them. He didn't want to die, not yet. He wanted to be with his brothers, his father, his wife…
He started praying desperately for help. That someone would come and save him. That he could at least see everyone he loved just one last time…
He kept this up for almost half an hour, before he passed out from exhaustion as he threw up more of his own blood and finally died in agony, afraid, alone...
…and in the Eerie Building, sleeping beside his new lover, whose name was John Sanders, Lexington would wake up suddenly, screaming out Broadway's name as a terrifying feeling of total emptiness consumed him. Though he couldn't understand why yet, he started weeping uncontrollably as John held him tightly and wouldn't stop for the rest of the night.
…Elisa would sit up in bed after having a nightmare that she couldn't remember. Shaken, terrified, she started calling all of her relatives, not caring that it was nearly four in the morning, just needing to hear their voices and know that they were okay.
…on Avalon, Angela would be arguing with her father about Brooklyn using Broadway when suddenly, much to Goliath's shock, she stopped talking and became deathly pale. She suddenly came forward and hugged him so tightly she nearly knocked the wind out of him, falling to her knees and bringing him down with her, crying hysterically and saying something about them needing to get back. Goliath would hold her till the sun rose, whispering soothingly into her ear.
…Hudson, sitting in his chair, watching the wide screen TV in his room, would suddenly lose his breath and his heart would skip a beat. He'd stand up suddenly and started for the other bedchambers, calling out his son's name as a cold, heavy weight in the very pit of his belly started to form and would only grow when he ran into Broadway's room and found both it and his bed still empty.
It would take the clan almost two days to find his body, which by then was the feasting place of a host of different carrions birds of many sizes and shapes. He was barely recognisable to Lexington, who was the one to find him. He would became a heavy drinker, attempt suicide several times and have counselling for the rest of his life after finding his brother's remains…
The funeral was carried out on Friday of that week. Broadway was laid to rest in a closed casket (the only other member of the clan to see him like this was Goliath, who, after he'd recovered, wisely refused to let Hudson and Angela kiss his forehead before he was buried) in the lawn of the courtyard of the castle. Everyone present genuinely wept. Hudson would follow his son soon after, having lost the will to live.
Brooklyn was not present, although he did send a very nice palm tree to the funeral. He was having dinner at Dorsia for the first time that night with a cool guy with his own coat of arms he'd met the night after Broadway had died named Patrick Bateman who'd invited him to come…alone. Although he realised that it was rude not to go to Broadway's funeral, at the same time it would certainly impress his new friends that he was able to get into Dorsia. He met Patrick after a ten minutes delay, as he accidentally picked up his phone without screening the call and had Lexington screaming at him for ten minutes about how he would kill him if he ever ran into him if he didn't at least come to the funeral before he got bored of his gay brother's voice and just hung up on him; he and Patrick talked, ate, did drugs together, went to Nell's afterwards, and then drunk and high, he went back to Patrick's apartment with him…
Patrick Bateman, Evelyn Williams, Alison Poole and, as far as I know, Mutt and David, are the property of Bret Easton Ellis. I use them with no permission of the writer. The celebrities belong to themselves. I do not write this for profit, but because my muse willed me to.
And as far as I am aware, Dorsia, Nell's and Arcadia are actual restaurants in Manhattan.
Till the muse strikes me again,
Darkness
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