Note: Sequel to Inception with revenge theme lifted from Kill Bill. Inception and its ideas and characters belong to Christopher Nolan. Kill Bill and its ideas and characters belong to Quentin Tarantino and his various sources of inspiration.
2. Arthur.
He wastes time on the plane on memories, hours better spent thinking about how he will win this small war. He thinks, Arthur, and his gut coils around a sharp, hot stone in his stomach, as if Arthur has become a cancer growing inside of him.
He closes his eyes and he doesn't dream. He relives his memories.
Arthur was twenty when they first met, handsome and square, the picture of the perfect American soldier, if the picture had been taken during the mid-century. He'd been enrolled in a military dream-sharing program for two years, promoted almost immediately after joining the service. He rose in the ranks quickly because he was smart and quiet and quick on his feet. There was danger about him from the start, waiting in the corners of his dark eyes or tucked into the sly quirk of his mouth, but no one spoke of it.
Dom is man enough to admit he didn't like having Arthur around Mal. Friends or not, men are beasts when it comes to territory, and Arthur made Mal laugh too loudly. Arthur never said or did anything untoward, but the potential was there, slinking between them like an unfriendly cat. Arthur didn't have many friends, only Mal and Dom. Dom suspects it was because of the quality of Arthur's friendship, a ship stuck in the middle of sinking and you were never sure if Arthur would save you. Not that he could not, but he would not.
He remembers Arthur introducing him to Eames, rolling his shoulders toward a solid wall of a British man with a big mouth that said too much. Mal noticed it first, how Arthur would cajole and maneuver Eames into position like a living chess piece, pushing him too far. Dom didn't notice until their first real job together, an heiress in Italy, Eames unexpectedly nervous, Arthur murmuring in a clipped voice, gunfire, real fire, Cobol on their tail, Eames stuck in a hospital for three weeks and Arthur never visiting. He did visit, checking to make sure Eames would survive. There was no resentment in Eames. Dom stayed and listened to the radio and began to dislike Arthur for his absence.
If anyone asked him four years ago, he would have told them Arthur was his best friend. What he wouldn't have told them, was that he firmly believed in keeping your enemies close. He was stuck in the middle of sinking with Arthur, hanging in mid air, unable to hate or truly love him. Sometimes his memory lied to him, told him that Arthur came into their den and watched him and Mal sleep, watched them sink farther into limbo. Even now, he thinks it's an insane idea.
He opens his eyes and he's in Paris, walking toward a gothic building with many windows, each of them belonging to a separate, luxurious loft. The cancer in his stomach is uncoiling, reaching out to his limbs, burning in his fingers and toes. This time, he carries both a gun and a needle in his coat. These are in the right pocket. A surprise for Arthur waits in the left pocket. Fischer wants Arthur alive. He's not so sure.
There's no man waiting for him at the building's front door, no security to lie through. He enters the building, walks calmly over to the lift on the other side of the foyer, and punches Arthur's floor.
The lift is small, crowding him. As floors pass, he imagines Mal's face will suddenly appear through the grate, warning him to stop. If not her, then Ariadne will appear at his side, younger again, hair flying around her face. She will tell him that this is not how he will see his children again. This time, he will ignore them. Arthur's on floor nine.
He steps out of the lift, his shoes crushing into the thick carpet below, red and gold, and steps up to Arthur's door. There's no peephole, which surprises him. He reaches into his coat and grabs the gun. He knocks with his free hand.
There's no answer.
After a few long moments, he knocks again. A voice calls out, rough and deep. There's movement on the other side, shuffling steps to the door. It opens, swinging easily on its hinges, and Arthur looks at Dom. Dom looks at Arthur, pointing the gun at Arthur's chest.
"Hello, Dom," Arthur says.
"Turn around and go inside," Dom says.
Arthur nods. "Give me a second to sort myself out." He leans forward, putting all of his weight on a slender black cane, and turns, stepping back into his home. He walks with a noticeable limp, his shoulders hunched from the strain. "Welcome back to Paris. Close the door."
The loft is in Arthur's style, spare and minimalist, tan and black. The den flows into a gleaming kitchenette, broken in two by a black spiraling staircase that leads to an open bedroom upstairs. There are no pictures on the walls, no signs of ownership except for a few pieces of mail piled neatly on a lacquered coffee table. Arthur limps over to a sleek black chair and sits, beckoning for Dom to follow. "I guess you're here to kill me," he says, "which means you're probably the reason Ariadne's disappeared from New York. Her family's worried sick, by the way."
Dom raises an eyebrow. "I know the feeling." He puts the gun on the coffee table, reaches into his left pocket, and places Ariadne's totem next to the gun. He knocks the bishop over. It rolls in an arc, catching the light from a lamp hanging from the ceiling.
Arthur's mouth tightens into a thin line at the sight of it. Softly, he says, "Are you putting together a collection?"
Dom nods. "Yes. I'll have yours by tonight."
"Is that so?"
Dom nods again. "How'd you hurt your leg?"
Arthur snorts. "After our last job, Eames lost his temper. It turns out he really doesn't appreciate being lied to."
"He shot you?"
"Right where Mal put a bullet in my dream not too long ago, with Saito, you remember?" Arthur picks up Ariadne's totem, inspecting it. "And thank God for Mr. Saito. I couldn't walk for months, had to retire." He glances at Dom. "How was prison, by the way?"
"Not good."
"And you know I've called the police?"
"You probably did that before my plane landed."
"You don't seem worried."
Dom stands and picks up the gun. He points it at Arthur's head, takes the needle out of his right pocket, and hands it to him. "You sold me out, Arthur. But you're going to make it better by injecting yourself with this. It won't kill you, but you will be asleep for a long time. And when you wake up, you're going to wish I had the courage to pull the trigger."
"Strong words from a scary man," Arthur scoffs. "Look at you, all grown up and out for revenge. Don't worry, I'm not strong enough to put up a fight anymore." He picks up the needle. "I guess I'll see you later." He sticks the needle into the crease of his elbow. "Let me say one thing."
"Go ahead."
"You deserved it."
Arthur drifts off a minute later, eyes slipping shut, the cane falling from his hands and hitting the floor with a soft thud.
In the distance, Dom can hear police sirens. He points the gun at Arthur's temple again, willing himself to the pull the trigger. Piaf erupts from his pants pocket, startling him. Fischer. He's beginning to believe that all extraordinarily wealthy businessmen amass their fortunes by supernatural determination. God's will be done.
"Mr. Fischer."
"Mr. Charles." Fischer won't let him forget.
"It was easier than I expected," Dom admits.
"If there's one lesson I learned from my bastard father," Fischer intones, "it's that if what you want is attained too easily, you've got more coming than you bargained for."
"He's unconscious."
"And you should know better than anyone that what happens to us in our dreams can be dangerous."
Dom swallows. "Are you sending your men?"
"They'll be around. Meet them by the station a few blocks south," Fischer says. "You're doing very well, Mr. Charles."
"Thank you."
The phone clicks and the line ends.
The line he draws through Arthur's name is thin and wavering, unsure of itself. Arthur remains silent and docile, peaceful in sleep. He doesn't like the look on Arthur's face even as he sleeps, an arched look of awareness. Arthur has a fight in store for him, somewhere down the line. Dom hopes he'll be ready.
In the mean time, he circles the next name on the list and relaxes into his seat as Fischer's men pull up in their van. He doesn't have to ask questions about Yusuf. Yusuf will be found where he's always been, working in a dirty lab in Mombasa. Four years won't have changed much about him.
"Yusuf," Dom whispers. He opens the door for Fischer's men. They pick up Arthur's body and carry him into the van. Ariadne. Arthur. Yusuf.
Dom sighs. "Maybe I'll kill your damn cat."
Maybe he will.