Disclaimer: I do not own Inception or any of its characters.
Chapter Two:
The small ice cream shop was empty, except for the young boy, barely seven years old, who sat in a booth with his vanilla ice cream cone. He licked away at it busily, not pausing to wonder just where it was everyone had gone. It was quite easy to ignore the chill creeping up his back, when he had the melty, creamy snack in his hand. However, he was very careful not to get a single drop on his brand new red dragon t-shirt. His mommy had given it to him for his birthday, along with his new favorite sneakers. He liked them because every time he took even a small step, they flashed all different colors.
Looking around the shop, the boy smiled at all of the whimsical colors. The floor consisted of light pink, baby blue, and mint green tiles that created a pattern from the glass doors to the round tables spaced randomly around the place to behind the clear freezer that showed all of the yummy flavors and aligned itself with the small black cash-register. The quiet hum of electricity kept him company.
He had gotten so used to being alone that the ding-a-ling of the little bell above the door made him jump. A girl, about his age, had pushed her way into the dingy shop. She had long, wavy brown hair that was pulled back into pig tails and wide brown eyes framed by long black eyelashes. Her face was round and pretty, and he noticed that her sneakers lit up when she walked, just like his. It was strange, though, that the girl already grasped a chocolate ice cream cone in her dainty hands. Why would someone go to an ice cream shop if they already had ice cream?
"Hey," he said. She jumped and whipped around at the same time, like she had been caught doing something naughty. A relieved smile spread across her pretty face when she found the speaker to only be the other child.
"Hi," she whispered, as if there was anyone to hear them. "You're not going to hurt me, are you?" she asked, her voice trembling and a quivering lip replacing her smile. "And you're not gonna tell my papa I've been out, if I tell you my name?" Arthur shook his head vigorously.
"Why would I hurt you? I dunno you yet!" he replied, offended. The girl smiled again, wider this time, finally approaching him and holding out her right hand.
"I'm Ariadne." The boy decided, then, that he liked it when she smiled, and he took her outstretched hand and shook it.
"I'm Arthur. How come you came here, if you already got ice cream?" His curiosity boiled over. The girl shrugged, her smile vanishing as quickly as it had come and her eyes focusing on a pink square on the floor. Arthur immediately regretted asking, but her reply came before he could apologize.
"I didn't come here to get ice cream. I came here to run away from my papa. He hurt me. Do you see this?" she asked, pointing to a big round spot on her left arm where it had turned purple and yellow. "He hits me and shakes me. I don't wanna ever go back." A tear cut itself loose from her watery eyes, and she wiped it away angrily. Arthur didn't understand.
"What about your mommy? Doesn't she do anything?" he questioned. Ariadne looked up, staring him straight in the eye.
"My mommy don't care anymore. She's not my mommy anymore." Her voice was colder than the big freezer where they kept all the ice cream in that little shop. Arthur was silent for a moment, before coming to a decision.
"Oh. Well, if you don't got a mommy, and your papa isn't good to you, why don't you come live with me and my mommy and daddy? I got both. They got enough love for the both of us. O' course, ya gotta live with an annoying baby brother, but you'll get used to him." He would have tried anything to make her pretty smile come back, and he was happy to see that he'd succeeded. This one was hopeful and filled with tears.
"Really? You'd let me live with you?"
"Sure. I like you. You're nice. I got just one question, though. How come your ice cream doesn't ever go away? I seen you lick it, but there's never any less of it. Plus, it doesn't melt," he commented skeptically. Ariadne looked down at it, tipping her head sideways and examining it.
"I dunno. I didn't really see it much. It was so dark when I left my papa and mommy. I was so scared; I just didn't really care." She thought for a moment, then continued, "I like you too, Arthur. You listen to me, and you're real curious. My mommy, when she was my mommy, used to say that curiosity killed the cat, 'cause I was always real curious too, but I think it's cool." She slid into the seat opposite the boy and shared more about what her mommy used to tell her, and then it was her turn to ask questions.
"You really got a baby brother?" she asked, excitement oozing out of her ears.
"Yeah. He's two. He makes funny noises and eats this goopy baby stuff," he answered with a bit of a stink face that made Ariadne giggle. He laughed too, because he was happy she thought him funny.
"Oh, I love babies! They're so cute! Everything about them is so tiny. They've got tiny little fingers, tiny little toes, and tiny little feet." She made a motion with her fingers that made both of them giggle again. Smiling, he recalled a bunch of tales about two-year-old Wyatt, until they were both rolling around on the floor, laughing even though their tummies already hurt. As they were doing so, something caught Arthur's eye.
"Hey, how come your ice cream is melting now?" Ariadne glanced down at it.
"I think it means I have to go now," she told him sadly. Suddenly, they heard a horn honk from the road outside the shop.
"That's my mommy. C'mon!" He grabbed her hand and pulled her to the minivan in which a smiling, 30-year-old woman with dark hair and eyes that matched Arthur's perfectly sat waiting next to his father, who was always so serious. He had Wyatt's hazel eyes and sandy blonde hair. When he did smile, as he was now, it was soft and kind. Arthur knew that his baby brother sat in a car seat in the back. He approached the van, still clutching Ariadne's hand.
"Hi, Honey. Who's this?" asked his mommy. Ariadne used the ice cream cone in the hand he wasn't still holding to wave shyly at Arthur's parents.
"This is Ariadne. I met her at the ice cream shop. Can we take her with us?" Arthur asked innocently. His mother bit her lip, thinking it over for a moment.
"Is it alright with your parents, Ariadne?"
"I don't got parents, Miss. My papa don't love me. If he loved me, he wouldn't've hit me. My mama didn't care, 'cause she let him. Didn't even cry one single drop. I don't got nowhere else to go." Sighing, Mrs. Levitt reached back and pressed the button that opened the side door of the van.
"Hop on in, kids," she said, her smile slowly returning. Ariadne smiled back.
"Thank you so much, Miss." They both climbed into the middle row of seats, and Ariadne turned around to play with the baby.
"You must be baby Wyatt! Hi! You're so cute! Yes, you are!" she exclaimed in a baby voice. Wyatt giggled and reached out to grab her finger as the car started to move from its spot on the curb. Music spilled from the car speakers, filling all of their ears with words of love and living peacefully that had them all singing along. Even Wyatt made baby noises in the back. Ariadne had to pause in regular intervals to lick her ice cream and keep it from dripping down her bruised arm. Arthur had finished his back in the ice cream shop and had both his hands free, so when he caught sight of the yellow and blue on her arm, he grabbed her only free hand impulsively. She stared at him for a second, then at their linked hands, before giving her ice cream a long lick and continuing to sing as loudly as possible.
There was no telling how or when the atmosphere had changed, because it had all happened so quickly. Arthur thought he had caught the squeal of tires before the car shuddered, and Wyatt wailed pitifully. The whole van spun and spun until it exploded in a shower of broken glass and sticky red stuff. He felt almost overwhelming pain shoot through his arm, the one connected to the hand holding Ariadne's, but he didn't let himself think about what the red stuff was. The cheerful music had stopped abruptly. Now, the only sound was the baby's cries in the back. Not able to bear checking the people who weren't giving signs of life, Arthur looked back to make sure his brother was okay. The only sign that anything was wrong was his red face from the effort of crying and a little, shallow cut on his cheek. The older boy tried to reach back to comfort him, but there was a tug on his right arm that reminded him he had been holding his new friend's hand when they had crashed. Reluctantly, he turned to see that her head was bent at an odd angle, and the red stuff was splattered across her shattered window. Her pretty eyes were blank and unseeing, her hand limp in his. The ice cream cone she'd been holding lay crushed and melted on the floor of the van.
He pried his fingers from hers to inspect the others in the car. His parents' faces were both splattered in crimson, and the air bags on both sides had puffed out much too late. Arthur's daddy was already too far gone too speak and lay there, broken, but his mommy was still fighting, holding on just enough to turn to him and say her last words.
"Arthur, honey, we love you, and we've always been proud of you. We have to go now, but I want you to keep making us proud, okay? Me and Daddy-we'll always be with you. You just need to find us. I'm sorry that we won't be around to-" she paused, struggling to speak through the blood that was now trickling through her lips. "To see you grow up, take pictures at your prom, or be in your wedding. Goodbye, baby. I'll see you again someday. I promi-" She coughed up more crimson and coughed and coughed until there was no more energy to fight anymore, and her whole body went limp.
He couldn't stand it one second longer. Unbuckling his seatbelt, he reached back and grabbed his brother and his blanky from his car seat. He pulled open the door to the shattered, broken car. Taking one tiny glance back, Arthur saw the car that held his dead parents was crying bright red tears. With his little brother in his arms, he ran as fast as he could. They ran down that road and through the woods until the van was no longer in sight. It was not until they were hidden away in the shade of a huge oak tree and Wyatt was asleep on his blanky that Arthur allowed himself to cry hard, lonely tears.
Eames wakes to the sound of screaming in the room adjacent to his. His whole body is awake instinctively before his mind can even begin to process what might be happening, and he is at the door to Arthur's room in seconds. Not having time for the luxury of knocking, he picks the lock and bursts into the room, gun loaded and ready. The window beside Arthur's bed is opened and the curtains flap in the breeze. He moves to close it, but the sight of Arthur curled into a fetal position on the bed stops him in his tracks.
The other man is not physically wounded but silently weeping into a pillow, weaker than Eames has ever seen him. When he puts a hand on his shoulder, the Point Man is startled for a moment but otherwise unaffected. He sits up and reaches for the lamp on the bedside table. After it flickers on with a small click, Arthur grabs his loaded die off the table and rolls them a couple times. Nodding, he turns to face Eames.
"I'm sure you're wondering what that was all about," he says darkly, not meeting his eyes.
"Oh my god, guys! What was all that about? I-I heard screaming, and-" Ariadne pauses in the doorway that Eames had left open carelessly. "What's going on?"
"Ariadne, darling, go back to bed. I'd decided to mess with our dear Point Man and startle him awake. Goodnight," he tells her dismissively. Predictably, she is not so easily swayed.
"Then why does he look like he's been crying? Come on, Eames, I'm not that dumb. Arthur? Are you going to tell me what's going on?" she demands, crossing her arms over her chest. Eames notices that she must be cold, standing in the hallway in a tank top and light pajama bottoms. Her hair is pulled into a wild ponytail on top of her head, and her expression clearly says she means business. He sighs. Arthur still hasn't acknowledged her presence, refusing to even open his eyes.
"Please," he begs. "Just go back to bed, Ariadne. You need sleep. We're going to meet with Cobb tomorrow, and you're not accustomed to going long periods without rest." The girl huffs, her frown deepening, her brows pulling together. Eames is extremely tempted to give her the infamous "if you keep making that face, it'll be stuck like that," or maybe even "don't you ruin your pretty face like that." Either one would be equally satisfying, but he doesn't get the chance.
"Fine, but I don't remember when you started preferring Eames' presence over mine." With that, she took off down the hall to her designated hotel suite.
"Well," starts Eames, after a significantly long and awkward silence. "That went spectacular. I do congratulate you on your bloody excellent people skills, Arthur." Finally, Arthur opens his eyes and meets Eames'. They are an irritated red from all of the crying and glistening with the threat of more waterworks. The Forger can't handle seeing him like this. It's not their usual teasing atmosphere. The man in front of him is wounded but not broken completely, not yet.
"I can handle that mess tomorrow. I just couldn't handle seeing her face right now. You know, it's sad that this is the most I've actually felt anything for a long time." Neither of them is sure if he is speaking to Eames or just to the air around them. Neither cares. "That dream, the one that had me worried they were after her, I'd had it more than once. It wasn't one of the worst. Hell, I was just glad to dream without being hooked up to needles. That was how it started out. Now, it hurts to look at her. Every night, she dies a different way. I am supposed to be the Point Man. Part of my job is making sure all of you are safe. Before, I had no assurance she hadn't actually died. I guess I should be grateful that she's here, now, so I know that I haven't failed." He stops himself. It seems to take him great effort to speak at all.
"What about tonight? You seemed pretty freaked out, Arthur. You don't get that from watching your Architect die in a dream."
"You're right. It- it was different. It was a memory, tonight. Not exact, because she wasn't there in real life, but enough so that it- brought back- things- feelings that I haven't- Why am I telling you this? I- I don't even like you!" he announces.
"You're telling me because you need to get it off your chest, and I'm willing to listen. There's also the fact that whatever you have to tell us might be important to keeping us alive. The more we know, the better, but you're going to have to tell her somewhere along the line. This might put her in danger. That window," Eames pointed in the rough direction of it, "was opened when I came in here. You need to tell me about the dream, Darling, whether you like me or not." Not able to argue with that, Arthur describes every horrible, heart-wrenching second of his dream- nightmare, really- that he can recall. When he is finished, the air is silent, as if the world knows that this is a story of pain and suffering. Neither of them know what to say or do.
"Well…" Eames is the first to break the silence. "That was horrible."
"Yeah, well, be glad you didn't experience it firsthand." There is another period of eerie quiet, but this time it's more uncomfortable than mournful. Again, Eames speaks first.
"What do we do now?" he asks, more to get the ball rolling than actually curiosity. He knows what Arthur is going to say before he even opens his mouth.
"We need to retrieve Ariadne and find Cobb tonight. We can't waste any more time."