A/N: I think it's only fair to say that this story will not end happily and there will be VERY dark themes. If swearing, drug use, extreme violence, torture, gore, and sex (rape, dub-con, het and slash) bother you; this is not the right fic for you to read. Otherwise read on.
HEAD OF THE GIANT
Chapter One: Broken Compass
Alice came to a fork in the road. "Which road do I take?" she asked.
"Where do you want to go?" responded the Cheshire Cat.
"I don't know," Alice answered.
"Then," said the Cat, "It doesn't matter."
"You are so fucked, Jason."
I stood in front of the mirror in my Bangkok hotel. The sun was setting below the city skyline, pouring deep reds and oranges into the room. I ran a hand through my clean cut hair and over the stubble I'd recently shaved into a goatee. I pulled off my nightshirt and looked back at myself. In the mirror I was a skinny white boy with a fading farmers tan and tribal tattoos up my arms. You fucking poser, a voice sneered in my head. Out here that ink means shit. I ran a hand over my chest, feeling the scar tissue. There were many small scars and a few shallow longer lines running crisscross along my abdomen.
I was lean, too. I had made a point to jog down the Santa Monica boardwalk everyday since I returned. I wanted to be ready for anything. But anything never came. It only took me six months to break and start looking for Rook Island. The only problem was the Islands couldn't be found. No records, no maps. Daisy couldn't recall the route we'd taken away from it. And when I'd asked she was hesitant until I lied about my mother hiring some muscle to find Grant's body. Liar, liar, a voice singsonged somewhere deep in my skull. Pants on fire…
I pulled a pair of dark blue jeans from my small suitcase and stepped into them. An equally dark grey t-shirt hid the scars on my chest. I looked at myself again. I looked different. How old am I? I thought and ran a hand over the short beard.
Twenty-six, I reminded myself. You are twenty-six. You had your birthday party two months ago and you told everyone you were going to Monte Carlo. Monte Carlo for a photo-shoot. You liar. You even booked the tickets and boarded a flight. You little shit. You just never got on the transfer flight. Paris to Bangkok. Now it's Bangkok to Rook.
"I'm going back," I said aloud to the empty room. I'd picked up the habit on The Islands. It was a way of grounding myself. "I have to."
You dumb fuck. You don't even know why, do you?
"It's not over."
Liza and I had broken it off a few weeks after we'd come back to Los Angeles. She said it wasn't anything personal. That we were just different people. I'd grown up and gone down a path she couldn't follow. She said she didn't hold it against me. We were still friends right? Liza was always so fucking nice. It made me feel like the villain, the bad guy, not the one who'd saved their lives. She remembers that knife against her throat, the voice in my head reminded me constantly. She remembers that moment when you considered it. That's something she can never forget. That moment when you hesitated.
I turned to a black suitcase on the nearby mantelpiece. I opened it and took the Berretta out. Nine-millimeter. It was a good gun, cheap, simple to use, and it had less kickback than some of the shitty pistols I 'd used on the Islands. I took the silencer from the other side of the case and fastened it with slow methodical movements. Bangkok, like Los Angeles, was a city where you could find anything; you just had to know who to ask and where to look.
There was also a shoulder holster and a large buck knife in the suitcase. The knife wasn't as big as the machete I'd carried on Rook but it could get the job done. I rolled up my right pant leg and clipped on another holster, this time sliding the knife in. I strapped on the shoulder holster and put the gun it its place, experimentally reaching to my left, drawing and replacing it several times to memorize the motion. I always have been a fast kinesthetic learner.
I pulled a heavy blazer over my shirt and effectively concealed the gun and fastened a single button, turning toward the mirror. I walked toward my refection then paused and stepped back a few paces. I started again, this time walking with a little more nonchalance and gusto. I needed to look cocky and trusting, young and wealthy, foolish and looking to party. I needed to look like the old Jason, who wasn't tattooed and scarred. I reached up and mussed my hair into uneven spikes, then smoothed the sides of the faux hawk. My reflection in the mirror smiled at me lazily.
You're the best-goddamned poker player I have ever met, I heard Sam say from somewhere far behind me. To myself I nodded adding, "I need a drink."
It took me several tries and several different nightclubs but I eventually found a receptive group of tourists. They were from sunny San Diego, California. There were two men (boys really) and three women. One of them had taken a liking to me and invited me to join them for drinks. I accepted, introducing myself as Jay and slurred out an excuse about losing my friends at another club. I just wanted to party, with or without them. The woman, Trish, laughed and said I'd have a much better time if I stayed with her group. They were trying to find another club, this one wasn't wild enough. I smiled and suggested a placed called Kịl Takon. Trish had laughed and asked me what the name meant in English. I said in honesty, I had no idea. I also said my friends had been there once before. We'd had the time of our lives.
They agreed and piled into two cabs. Sitting down, I laughed at one of the men's jokes. Fucking moronic, I thought and looked to the woman next to me. Trish reminded me of Daisy – all suntanned smiles and blonde hair. She grinned back at me and all I could see was the brown of Liza's eyes. I looked away and called for the cabbie to hurry the fuck up.
The neon signs on the Thai streets flew by. I tried to tune out one of the guys, Dave, who was talking about kickboxing and how he was going to train for a week with some Muy Thai masters. Dave said he was going to fight in the MMA circuit when he got back. He was going to be so fucking badass no one could mess with him, he just had to train with these special Thai masters. Trish laughed him off, telling him to stick to playing UFC on his X-Box. I felt the gun on my left side and thought about the scars under my t-shirt.
"Those are some cool tats," Trish said turning away from Dave. "Do they mean anything?"
I broke from my thoughts and forced a smile. "Yeah, thanks, I got them overseas. There supposed to be for a warrior, something about strength and shit like that. "
"Awesome," Trish said looking at my arm and then the rest of me.
Dave snorted, "You don't even fucking know what they mean, do you? They could mean cock sucking pussy in Chinese for all you know, dude."
"Fuck off, Dave!" Trish said with a laugh. "It doesn't matter, they look great Jay." I saw her eyes dart to my missing finger but she didn't ask. Maybe she thought it was inappropriate or too early in our friendship. I was just happy she didn't press the issue.
"Just fucking suck him already, Trish," Dave said crudely and the cab pulled up to the curb. I immediately recognized the flashing signs and blue neon lights. I ignored Trish's angry and embarrassed retort as I opened the door and stepped out. I took out my wallet pulling a few hundreds from within.
"For the ride," I told the cabby. "And putting up with that douche bag. Keep the change." The man gave me a quick quizzical look, his eyes looking my face up and down, before nodding, accepting, and driving off.
"Wow, thanks for getting that," Trish's voice drifted over to me. At the same instant Dave asked, "How much did you give him, bro, that was like, twice the fair."
I readied my face and turned to them with a casual smile. "Doesn't matter, I got cash to burn," I stepped up to the curb as the second cab stopped nearby. "And I thought he deserved a tip after putting up with your Muy Thai bullshit." The last statement was hard to say without malice, but I succeeded in turning it into a friendly jibe. Trish laughed.
We were joined by Ami, Sam, and Carly, who all stumbled out of the second cab. Carly went to Trish, giggling about how Sam and Ami had started to hook up right in front of her. Ami denied it frantically. Sam offered a flask of vodka to me whispering, "Best fucking cab ride ever, man."
I turned to the club and suggested we all enter. We paid our way in. Ami, who was only sixteen was unhappy she hadn't been able to use her fake ID. I suggested she try when she bought us all shots. She did and we all toasted to fun, fucking, and new friends.
It was only fifteen minutes before I spotted him. DJ Raiden.
Doug looked the same. He moved the same. He navigated through the crowd and talked to the tourists just as he had nearly a year ago. I felt a spike of apprehension as Doug looked our way. I turned back to my newfound friends and suggested I get the next round.
Walking up to the bar, I leaned against the table and sloppily fumbled through my wallet for a bill. "Sambuca shots, my man!" I called and waved the fifty-dollar bill out for the bartender to see. "One… two, five, six… Six shots." I splayed the bill out as the bald, portly man brought the drinks over. "This enough?" I asked.
"More than," the man said, pushing the glasses toward me.
"Keep the change then," I said over the din of techno music. "And keeps the shots coming!" The bartender laughed and nodded. I smiled and took three drinks in each hand. Carefully I brought them back to the table. I had noticed Doug watching my exchange with the barman.
As I set the shots down on the table for the group, there was a very subtle exchange between the two of them. The bartender inclined this head slightly toward us. Doug gave an almost imperceptible nod but didn't immediately head out way. He'll go for one first, I thought. Someone stupid and trusting. I saw his eyes rest on Dave.
"Gotcha," I said so softly Trish immediately asked me to repeat it. To her I only said, "That dude, right there, is DJ Raiden. My friend said he's chill, he can get you things and he knows the best places to go for shit."
"Cool," she said and downed more of her beer.
"Ever been skydiving?" I asked her over the music.
Trish laughed and grabbed my hand, "How 'bout a dance first, then we can talk about jumping out of air planes."
It's good she's fucking afraid, the voice said. It might keep her alive.
The dance floor wasn't crowded and Trish pulled me onto it with ease. I thought about the last time I'd been here. I was in love with Liza and I think she loved me, too. Grant was alive. Riley wanted to fly planes instead of ride in the back of ambulances trying desperately to save everyone riding with him. Keith wasn't under arrest for manslaughter and confined to a psych ward. Daisy didn't pop pills to smile. And Oliver… was Oliver, just quieter and much less stoned, surprisingly. So much had changed. So quickly.
As we moved with the other dancers, I watched Doug introduce himself to Dave and then Sam. Ami came back with a few more beers and offered Doug one. Carly gave him a quick one over before introducing herself. He accepted Carly's hand and the beer from Ami. They seemed to converse amiably. Sam and Carly laughed a few times while Dave gestured animatedly.
Trish suddenly threw her arms over my shoulders and rocked into me. I hadn't noticed the tempo of the music slow. "What are you thinking about, Jay?" She asked.
I tore my eyes away from Doug to look at her. I could see everyone – Daisy, Liza, Oliver, Riley, Keith, Grant – in her and part of me wanted to like her. She was nice, probably kind, sociable and pretty. The other part, the stronger part, knew she wouldn't look at me when this was all over.
"A lot," I said. "Also, it looks like Sam and Dave have a new friend. Want another beer?"
"Sure," she said and I caught a sliver of disappointment cross her face.
When we reached Sam, Ami, and Dave they were already talking about the jump. Doug was encouraging them, promising a paradise where anyone could do anything. Total freedom and fun. How right he was. I made sure I graciously offered to pay for the plane ride in.
After excusing himself, Doug immediately went to the restroom. I saw him pull a phone from his pocket before the door closed. I only waited a few seconds before excusing myself. I ordered a few more beers for the table and then followed him.
Doug was in one of the stalls furthest from the door. I quickly checked to make sure the other stalls were empty. I had seen a maintenance sign pushed behind the door when I had last been in the room. It was still there. I easily pulled it out and put it outside the restroom. This would lessen the chance of any bystander walking in. Desperate drunk guys would just piss in the hall. That I had also seen and, not to proudly, done.
I stepped feather light and pulled the Beretta from its holster, silently screwing on the silencer. I took off the safety and winced at the click. Doug gave no notice. He was still talking.
"No, no, man," I heard him say. "There are six. Three girls, three guys. One guy's bankrolling the others but the girls are pretty and there's a young one. Like fifteen. They'll sell good. Yeah, they're going to jump in. Yeah, like the others. We'll prep them but if anyone dies, it's chill. Not like they'll be found, right? Cool, man. I'll text the guys at the strip with the info. Yeah. Later." I heard the sound a fingers tapping a touchscreen and stood still, waiting for him to finish texting.
I remained still until Doug unlocked his stall. I took two steps and rounded on him. My jacket unbuttoned and gun drawn.
"Drop the phone in the toilet and flush." Doug wheeled around and froze when he saw the silver barrel aimed between his eyes. I repeated, "Don't yell, scream, or run. I will shoot you if you do. Take your phone out of your pocket and put it in the toilet, then flush. Do it. Now!"
Doug turned, dropped his phone into the water and pulled the lever. "Who the hell are you man? What do you want with me?"
"Hands up and take a step to the right," I said. "I'm Jason Brody. Six months ago you lured my friends and I into a trap on Rook..."
"You're Snow White?" Doug asked incredulously, cutting me off. His eyes only left the barrel of my gun for a second to glance at my face. "Shit! You? Seriously? I thought it was that big dude… Grand, or something. Wasn't he military?"
"Grant. And he was," I said with emphasis. "He's dead. Your boss shot him in the neck."
"Shit," Doug said blanching. "So what's this? You gonna shoot me for revenge or some shit like that?"
"I want back on The Islands." Doug looked surprised again.
"Are you fucking serious?"
"Is the gun serious enough?"
Point it at his fucking junk, the voice said maliciously. They fucking freak out when you do that shit, hermano. Scares the shit out of the fuckers. I lowered the gun slowly, dangerously.
"Whoa! Okay, okay, shit, man, okay," Doug kept his hands up but nodded placating. His eyes traveled from the gun to his crotch and back again. "That airstrip a few miles from here – the same one you went to before. There's a plane set to fly your group over tomorrow afternoon."
"What time is it leaving?"
"Uh, three p.m. … I think."
"You think? What is the exact time?"
"Three, okay, three. The group gets there at twelve, they're prepped for the jump, someone radios The Islands and then the plane takes off at three. They jump at four and are picked up around four thirty or five. There's a system, man."
"If you're lying…" I gestured with the gun.
"Shit man, I'm not, I'm not, okay. I just get people to the airstrip. Its not like I do anything else."
"I know," I said and lowered the gun so it pointed at the ground. Doug visibly relaxed.
"Look man, I'm really, really sorry about your brother and your friends. I am. This is just a job, dude. I just follow orders."
"I know," I repeated. Doug looked from me toward the exit. I looked past him at the wall behind the toilet. "I know, but I don't care." I raised the gun.
"Oh fu…" His shout was cut off by one quick burst of sound. The bullet ripped through his skull and embedded in the concrete, his brain matter followed, splattering against the wall. Doug's body slumped backward and he landed in a sitting position on the toilet. His head hung low, blood and grey matter running down his neck. The room immediately smelt foul. Doug had shit himself.
I unscrewed the silencer and put the gun back in its holster, clicking the safety on.I closed the stall door and jiggled the latch until it locked, hiding Doug from view. I left the maintenance sign up and walked out.
The voice laughed. Not bad, my friend. Didn't I say something about shitting himself? You can smile, Jason, it's kind of funny, huh?
Trish nearly threw herself at me once I emerged. She was more plastered than the last time I saw her. She pulled me toward the dance floor but instead of moving to the music she just wrapped he arms around my shoulders. I was immediately glad she hadn't gone for my waist; the gun would have been hard to explain.
"Jay," she said as soberly as she could. "I have to know, because I've been thinking all night, I'm pretty, aren't I?" I wasn't surprised but I felt a little bad. I didn't want what she did. "And Dave keeps sayin' you've been looking at that DJ Doug all night. An' then you both go into the restroom… I gotta know… Are you gay, Jay? It's totally cool, too, if you are, I mean..."
I laughed a little. "No, not gay. My two last serious relationships kind of went bad. Really bad... Trish, I told you, I'm just here to..." She kissed me before I could say anymore and, even though I knew it wouldn't last and it wasn't mine to take, I kissed back. I thought of Liza and Citra, of everything and nothing at once, of blood and steel. I pulled back and Trish looked surprised.
Rip off the fucking bandage, Jason, I told myself. You know what you need to do. Do it now, before she gets hurt. Before you want more from her.
"No," I said. "Trish this isn't going to work. I've been thinking. We probably shouldn't skydive tomorrow. It was a stupid decision. I've got a flight in the afternoon anyway."
"What are you saying?" Trish seemed to have sobered up enough to pull away and stand on her own. "I thought we were…"
"We're not," I said. "You and your friends go on with your vacation without me. Maybe if we'd met six months before this would be different. You're great, you friends too, even that douche Dave. But I got other places to be and other shit to do."
"This is really fucked up, Jay." She looked like she might cry. I didn't blame her. I'd given her a lot of false signals and outright lies.
"That's life," I said simply and took one step back.
She wrapped her arms around her shoulders as if she were cold. "I wish you were gay. I think I'd feel less used, but, I don't even know what your angle is… Are you just fucking with me?"
"It doesn't matter," I said evasively, and then added, "I'd apologize, but it wouldn't do much good would it?"
"No."
"Bye, Trish." I didn't move and it took her a second to realize I was dismissing her. That probably hurt, too.
What a waste, the voice said. You should have taken her back to your hotel, Jason, fucked her all night. What would it have mattered? She'll never see you again after this.
"Fuck you, Jay." She threw a well-deserved fist at my face. I moved and it caught my shoulder instead. It stung a little. She walked away into the crowd of swaying bodies, back to her friends. She could tell them what a douche I was, how I kissed her and then backed out of the trip. Dave might come over and threaten to Muy Thai my ass into the ground, but it didn't matter. I turned toward the bar and sat on one of the neon stools. I gestured to the portly man at the other end.
"Bad luck, my friend, " the bartender said with a shake of his head. I guess he'd seen. "One on the house?"
"Thank you," I said. I waved a hand and said the most general thing I could, "Women, you know?"
"Yes, yes," the larger man chuckled. He peered at my face through the dim neon blue light. "You look familiar, my friend, you been to Bangkok before?"
"Only once," I said evenly. "I loved this city. Up until a sky diving trip went bad." The bartender frowned and really looked at me. He was probably good with faces. "I'll take that Mai Thai."
I heard him hiss something under his breath, probably my moniker.
"Mai Thai." I repeated.
The bartender slammed the glass down in front of me and didn't say another word. I downed it and waited two hours. When his shift ended I cut his throat in the dark parking lot.
Part of me urgently wanted to cry and rage against the casualness of the kill. I wiped the blood off the knife and onto his white tailored shirt. He was an older man, maybe with a family, children, a wife that loved him and the money he brought home. She would never ask why he received such good tips. She knew she didn't want to know. It probably wouldn't surprise her to hear his throat was slit in some dark corner. But how was I really supposed to know anything about him other than he'd been there when my friends were lured to the Islands?
I went back to my hotel room and changed my cloths. There was a splattering of blood on the blazer's right cuff. It was dried and flaking but it still reflected the rising sun peaking through my windows.
You are so fucked, Jason.
