CHAPTER TWO
The inside of the suit had gone dark some time ago, and Michael hadn't bothered fighting. Guilt crashed over him in waves –- she had fallen off the roof, and that was his fault, and then he had allowed himself to be carried away. JARVIS had saved him, but for what, he did not know.
Suddenly, they began to descend, and then land, on what felt like soft ground. The suit popped open, and Michael fell out and landed on cool sand. He lay there for a moment, stunned, before rolling back over to watch the suit pull itself back together.
"Where are we?" Michael said, trying for anger and only reaching exhaustion.
"An island in the Pacific. Far away from your home," Jarvis said.
"Why did you take me here?"
"Mr. Stark owns this island. You'll be able to stay in this compound as we figure out what we should do. Come with me."
Jarvis began walking, the suit dragging it's huge metal feet through the sand. It was dark on this island, but Michael could still make out palm trees and thick jungle vegetation. They walked deeper into the jungle, and soon, Michael saw the compound. It was a modern-style house, with sharp angles and and glass dominating its features. Michael could see a massive infinity pool taking up one side of the house, ending near a set of stairs, which Michael and Jarvis walked up.
"There are several bedrooms in this compound. You have your choice," the AI said, walking over to a wall. He pressed his metal hand against the surface, and it slid open to reveal an elevator.
"Where are you going?" Michael said.
"To slip into something more comfortable," Jarvis said, and disappeared behind the closing wall.
Michael gaped at the empty wall for a moment, then shook his head clear. He looked around. He still was unsure whether he was dreaming, and, with that thought, he felt the deep exhaustion flood his bones. He went looking for a bedroom.
There were seven by Michael's initial count, though he was sure he had missed some. He chose the one on the third floor, the top floor –– the one that overlooked the infinity pool, and was just high enough to see the ocean in the distance. The bed was massive, with a cream comforter and slightly darker pillows. The walls were an off-white, devoid of picture or poster, with long bay windows on the north and south sides of the room. There was a desk against the front wall, looking out over the ocean. There was a button on the desk, and he pressed it, and suddenly the windows became the same cream color of the walls.
"Holy shit," Michael said to himself.
"Holy shit indeed," said Jarvis, and Michael jumped.
A hologram project of Jarvis stood in front of him. A tall, thin British man (he reminded him of the actor from Wimbledon, though for the life of him Michael couldn't remember his name) stood before him.
"Hologram?" Michael said.
"Indeed. Again," Jarvis said with a smile.
"Suit too restricting or are you just looking for ways to freak me out?"
"Let's leave that a mystery. Would you like some dinner?"
Without waiting for an answer, Jarvis walked out of the room. Michael followed suit, though with more trepidation. The hologram was waiting patiently at the top of the stairs, a smile on his face.
"Nervous?" Jarvis said.
"Yes," Michael said.
Jarvis just smiled, and Michael followed him down the stairs. The kitchen was predictably large and predictably modern, with glass and muted tones dominating the decor. Jarvis opened the fridge with a snap of his fingers, and spread his arms wide. Michael saw food, any kind of food, and he went straight for the sushi and then the salami and, holy fuck, frozen pizza. He grabbed it all and took it out and began eating with his hands.
"Enjoying yourself?" Jarvis said.
"I was hungry," Michael said self-conciously.
"Understandable. By my readings you were full of alcohol, and hadn't eaten in hours. Add a long flight over the States…"
Michael ate another piece of sushi. He swallowed, and Jarvis snapped his fingers again, and a drawer opened. Michael took out a cloth napkin, and wiped his mouth.
"Why am I here?" Michael said.
"I told you –– to keep you safe," Jarvis said.
Michael stared at him.
"You need more than that?" Jarvis said.
"I'm not that important. Why save me from the cops?"
Jarvis didn't answer. He looked at Michael, and then looked away.
"I felt responsible. You came to look for me when I crashed in the forest, leaving her up there alone."
Michael almost responded, but bit his tongue. Something felt off about all of this, but he couldn't quite put his finger on what.
"Will you take me home?" Michael said plainly.
"No," Jarvis said. He looked at Michael with sad eyes.
"I think that's enough talk for tonight," Jarvis said, and with that, winked out of existence.
"Jarvis?" Michael said, but there was no response. Suddenly, the granite countertop came to life.
"Hey you!" said Tony Stark, looking bored and buff in a tank top.
"Me?" Michael said, pointing to himself.
"If you're pointing to yourself, I can't see you. This is a recording. You're obviously not me but you got into my island vacay pad somehow and Jarvis hasn't either a) roasted you alive or b) called me to come kick your ass, so I suppose you can stay. But there are rules, and some tips! Who doesn't love tips."
Stark looked around, and then grabbed a manual off a workbench. He quickly read through its twenty pages, and then tossed it aside.
"Okay, whoever you are. I got a lot of information to give you and I've gotta meet the Squirtle Squad in fifteen, so listen up."
Stark proceeded to tell Michael about the secrets of the house –– how to use the internet and how to open the cabinets and activate the kitchens. Michael kept waiting for him to tell him how to leave; how to call a boat or a plane or an automobile, but that information never came.
"And if you're wondering why I haven't told you how to get off my private lecher paradise, it's for two reasons. Either you have transportation off and you don't need it, or you're here for a reason outside of your control. Feel free to leave if you can, but if you can't, well, I come out there like twice a year."
Stark winked, and the video went off. Michael sat down on a bar stool, (noting the comfort), and sighed. He felt an aching loneliness in his stomach; the mix of guilt and longing for his mom and dad. All of this was overwhelming and he managed to forget why he was here, but the truth of the matter was that he was now on the run for killing his girlfriend, and no amount of cool tech or Tony Stark pre-flight skits were going to make him feel better.
"Please take me home," Michael said, calling out to the empty house. But he received no response.
So, Michael trudged up to bedroom, and got into bed. A TV appeared on the wall, and a remote rose out of the nightstand. All of these creature comforts, Michael thought bitterly. He turned off the tv, and rolled over to his side to go to sleep.
And immediately, as if struck by lightning, sat straight up. A thought, like a creeping vine, took hold of his mind. Michael had never told Jarvis why he had left his girlfriend on the roof –– so how did he know that he had done so to come look at the crashed suit?