Well, that took longer than I expected. My apologies for the late update. Also, the beginning of this chapter may seem out of place, but it isn't. It'll be explained next chapter. (I have these things planned out. Trust me.) Thank you for your patience, your reviews/favorites/alerts, and do enjoy.
III
"What the hell..." His back pressed against the garbage dispenser, arm cut and bleeding. Beside him, his partner rummaged through his pockets, shaking his head. His gashed forehead allowed blood to run down the side of his face. "Do we have anything at all?"
"'Fraid not, Yuu." The gun dropped by his side as he rested his head against the garbage dispenser, cocky smile on his face. He always did that in the stickiest of situations. "We're kind of trapped here, except that ventilation shaft that goes all the way down to the parking lot below. But only one of us can go, at the rate of their walking speed..."
"I told you to not call me that." He opened his chamber and frowned. Only one bullet. If all six of them stood in a straight line, he could take them down in one shot. "Che. Alma, get yourself ready. I'll distract them. You go down the shaft and alert that damned bean sprout Allen of my demise. You've got more skills in shooting than I do, so you're more important. Hurry the hell up."
Alma frowned, but didn't argue. He took the gate off the ventilation shaft, peering down the long drop from the sixth level of the parking garage to the ground floor. He gulped once at the sound of someone giggling, approaching, probably deliberately, slowly. Picking up his empty gun, he shook his head again before a darker smile crossed his features. He swiped the gun from his friend's hand and pushed him down the ventilation shaft. Or, rather, kicked him.
"Wha—!" The long-haired man grimaced as he felt himself topple down the cramped shaft. "Damn it, Almaaaa!"
"Don't worry! You'll live! ...Maybe! Run!" Alma shouted before returning his attention to the enemy. He stepped out in front of the group of six, all armed with guns in their hands. The littlest of the group, a young female, smiled at him.
"If you want to live," she said, "tell us everything you know about 'The Exorcists.' We'll gladly take you in our ranks."
"I'd rather die."
"Very well." She smiled. "Tyki?"
A younger man approached, twirling two dual pistols around his fingers before aiming them at the rather short teenager. The gun shook in Alma's hands, grimacing through a smile as he fired the last bullet in the chamber. It connected with one of Tyki's guns, knocking it into the air. The man laughed as he took aim at Alma, grinning. "Sayanora, brat."
The man named Yuu landed at the bottom, groaning after the multiple beatings his head took. The streetlamp greeted him with an orange glow as he crawled out of the shaft. A gunshot emanated from the top of the building. Then another. And another. He grimaced, glaring up at the roof of the parking lot. Someone looked down at him and smiled.
"Damn you, Noah..." He cursed, then dashed onto the Cricket Bridge and headed towards the leader's house. Alma died.
Alma died, and he couldn't do a damn thing about it.
III
Alcohol replenished the empty fridge as Lavi relaxed on the couch, bottle in his hand. Krory left for work at whatever job he had at least an hour ago after Lavi's announcement. As for himself, he had a job, but it depended on whatever that girl Lenalee found between then and eight in the evening. The thought of going outside while the cold temperatures froze everything that breathed made him unhappy. Walking was bad enough, but walking in the cold? His personal nightmare.
"I am such a lazy fucker," he mumbled, taking another swig of his favorite brandy before sitting up, his eye glancing over to the bucket. The water nearly overflowed the thing, yet again. He sighed and picked it up, dumping the water into the sink before putting the bucket back under the leaking pipe. He hated the basement, but the cheap rent made him stay, and he couldn't afford anything else. However, when he gets the paycheck, he could probably get a different place. A better place, one without dripping pipes every ten seconds and a heater that actually gave off heat.
He wrapped himself up with the blanket on the couch and chugged the remainder of his drink, wincing at the slight bitterness that came with the buzz he craved. He tossed the empty bottle onto the floor, not caring for the cracking that followed. The clocked ticked to three-thirty. He had about four and a half hours to kill.
Books filled the void of time, ranging from A Moveable Feast by Hemingway to Dolores Claiborne by the infamous Stephen King, who grew up in Maine. He remembered walking by his house once, counting how many sharp points the gate had. He tallied one hundred and eight in all, excluding the ones surrounding the back. His eye couldn't see that far.
Cold air filled the room as Krory stepped through the door. "I've always wondered," he said, inspecting his plants, "why we get our own door as opposed to using the front door of the actual building."
"I think this used to be a storage room until we came along." He watched his roommate empty the bucket again.
"I thought you would've left by now. You said you were leaving."
"I am, but there's no point in leaving right now. I still got, what, two hours before I need to leave? Why go outside when I can stay here? Besides, I still need to pack. How's your job?"
"It goes."
"Nothing exciting? What, you bored already?"
"I find my job quite interesting, unlike you. You never find any job exciting." He picked some fresh flowers and put them in the vase on the table, clearing away the dead heads of the older flowers. "What is this job, anyways? Care to explain it?"
"Oh. I thought I told you. I'm going undercover into a gang for six months."
Krory stopped mid-motion in throwing the dead plants into the trashcan, blinking. He resumed his motions three seconds later. "Undercover? As in an undercover agent? Isn't that dangerous?"
"So what if it is? It's fifty-thousand dollars in my pocket, if I succeed."
"Fifty..." Krory paused again, staring at the redhead with uncomprehending eyes. "You are going to make money? As in, holding down a job for longer than a week? Is that even possible?"
"You know, Krorykins, I hate it when you are super-sarcastic. Switch to that depressing side of you again, 'cause it's a lot easier to make fun of you."
He sat up again, the room spinning around him. Part of him wished he never started to drink that early in the afternoon to begin with, but the other part didn't care. He stumbled towards his room, picking up his bag off the floor as he found himself in his room again. The dark blotches told him where his cardboard box bed was and his small collection of books. He grabbed the blanket and shoved it into the biggest pocket, zipping it shut. Next, some books and one CD filled the second pocket. And, in the final pocket, he shoved his wrench, a hammer, his old notebook and a his pen. Nothing else was important enough.
He changed into a new pair of clothes, a warmer pair, and strapped on his jacket. He opened his door and poked his head out.
"Krory, wake me up at seven thirty, okay? 'Night."
He closed the door, crawled in his cardboard box, curled up, and allowed himself to drift into sleep.
He woke up at a quarter to eight.
"Shit, shit, shit!"
He grabbed his bag, slung over his shoulder, and made a mad-dash up the stairs. He paused at the top of the stairs, looking back at Krory, who diligently washed the dishes... with his headphones in. He never heard Lavi's request in the first place.
"I'm leaving," he said loudly, hoping his roommate heard that much.
"Yeah, and I'll be here when you come crawling back with empty wine bottles in your hands," Krory joked.
Ignoring his roommate, Lavi stepped outside. The clear sky twinkled with stars as he tightened the scarf around his neck, adjusting the eye patch into a more comfortable position. He shoved his hands into his pockets in an attempt to keep them warm. He hated winter for the cold, but loved snow, which caused problems. If he could just get the snow without the cold, everything would be perfect.
He shivered against the wind and pressed on, remembering his way to the bagel shop. His forehead throbbed with pain with the first signs of a hangover. He wandered onwards until he spotted Lenalee, waiting by the shop while tapping her foot. She wore a large, puffy jacket that hid most of her figure, and a long skirt. She looked up when he approached and smiled. "It's about time. I thought you froze to death on the way over."
"I'm getting pretty close," he admitted.
"Same here. Luckily for us, though, we won't have to do much searching." She pulled out a small slip of paper. "I got directions from several of the street junkies. The leader doesn't live too far from here, which is good." She read it over once and nodded. "Are you ready? Do you remember everything I told you? Stay in character as much as you can."
"I'm ready, I remember, and I will. Jeez, you're so demanding."
She whacked his shoulder with her elbow before leading the way. "And you're so lazy. C'mon."
She led the way, walking towards the odd bridge that looked over the Kenduskeag Stream, a stream that connected to the main river. People went smelt-fishing in the spring time off of its banks. Between the two bridges was park on both sides of the one-way street. In the spring, the maple trees bloomed red leaves and the bushes sprouted a lavish array of colors. In the winter, the snow and leafless trees made the park look desolate, almost deserving of pity for such a pathetic excuse of a "beautiful" place. Further down the road was a few more old buildings (one used for a democratic campaign office, and, ironically, the republican campaign office was directly across from it) before it turned into a different street.
He knew that street well. It held the largest library in the state.
"Where are we going?" he asked as they past the large, concrete building.
"Where they are. Where the leader is, more specifically, remember?"
They passed the federal building, a mini-mall, and a retirement home before the heart of downtown Bangor ended abruptly. Past the retirement home was practically nothing, just another bridge overlooking the Kenduskeag Stream. He frowned, hands shivering inside his pockets.
"How much farther?"
"God, you whine a lot." She stopped and pointed up at the hill not far from where the stream resided. Trees tilted oddly as the steep, leaf-covered hill loomed before them, houses sporadically spaced on it. "That house, right there. The leader apparently owns it. Kind of rich for a gang leader."
"Are you sure that's the right place?" he asked when they reached the foot of the hill. The road looked steep, even for a car to drive up. "It looks creepy."
She only nodded, fed up with his persistent questioning. Black ice made for difficult traveling (for Lavi, at least—Lenalee appeared to just skate over the patches) up, but they made it. The house looked wrecked at a closer inspection. One of the windows on the two-story building had a patch of duck tape to cover a hole. The porch, or what looked to be a porch, had a broken railing. He noticed tiles of the roof scattered on the tiny lawn, poking up from the many inches of snow. The fence, however, looked new and polished with white paint, but the sign—"DO NOT TRESPASS"—could not have said more.
"Uh, Lenalee?" Lavi said as she jumped over the fence. "Maybe we should think this over..."
"Don't be a wuss. Come on!"
He frowned, glancing over his shoulder out of nervousness, before jumping over the fence himself. She waited for him to catch up to her at the door, where a doorbell had a small piece of paper saying, "Broken. Knock, please." She gave him a glance, and he returned it before she knocked on the door.
"Ready?" she whispered.
"Doesn't matter now."
Someone behind the door yelled something, retaliated with another yell. Then loud footsteps.
Lavi gulped.
The door opened.
A chubby man stood before them, with a crooked nose and freckles all over his face. His hair, tied back, still looked messy. His clothes were a mess. It seemed as if he just got out of bed. He tilted his head and inspected the two closely before frowning.
"Uh, Allen... We've got two people here..."
"What? Hold on, I'll be there in a moment."
A crash, then a bang, and a yell.
"Fucking bean sprout! You cheated again!"
"That's what you get for playing poker with me. Okay, I'm coming."
Someone appeared from behind the chubby man, someone with a shorter stature and screaming white hair. A red scar splashed on his forehead in the shape of a red star, leading down over his eye and briefly touching his cheek. His grayish-blue eyes made goosebumps shudder down Lavi's spine as he glanced from Lenalee to the redhead.
"Chaoji," he said after an extended moment of silence, "make some tea, please."
"But what if they're spies?" he whispered worriedly into the boy's ear.
"We'll find that out soon enough. Come inside, you two—you look frozen to the bone."
Lenalee winked at Lavi before hurrying into the house. The short ceilings made the house seem French as their jackets were placed onto a coat rack. The boy smiled.
"My name is Allen Walker, owner of this house. I do apologize for the mess in here. I've been meaning to clean, but I'm a naturally-messy person. And who, may I ask, are you two? I've never seen you around this block before. Are you new neighbors?"
"My name is Lenalee Lee," Lenalee answered, looking shy and nervous. Lavi wondered if that was part of her character or if she was genuinely scared. "This is my friend, Lavi, and we—"
Allen raised a hand to silence her as he took her bag, opening it. She blinked, confused, as he rummaged through her contents—a pair of clothes, a sleeping bag, one notebook, a twenty dollar bill, an old receipt, and a few other items. He looked from her to the bag again, then looked at Lavi, who just stared back with solemn eyes. He closed the bag and handed her the bag again before smiling. "I know now," he said. "You don't need to tell me. You're homeless, aren't you?"
Her eyes widened. "Ho-How did you know that?"
"No one goes camping in the winter, and you're carrying items needed for staying in the outdoors," he explained. "You probably went from door to door, looking for a place to stay for the night. I heard the teenage shelter is at full capacity right now. Plus, that bag looks old, your jacket isn't made for your gender, your face looks dirty and your skirt!" He shook his head. "That skirt has tears in it. As for him," he glanced at Lavi, "he looks dirty, too. And his bag is stuffed to the brim. Not to mention that scarf of his with all the tears in it. In addition, he reeks of alcohol, yet seems sober. He probably collects bottles for money. And, finally, you both look freezing, so I know you didn't get here by car. You walked."
The chubby man named Chaoji poked his head out from behind a wall. "The tea's ready."
Allen nodded. "Come along, you two. Put your bags beside the others, if you want."
Lavi took Lenalee's bag and put them beside the other bags, all stained with dirt. He walked down the narrow hall and what appeared to be the kitchen. A long table with seven chairs sat in the center. The counter had virtually no dishes as they all soaked in warm water, Chaoji washing the dishes as Allen poured tea. No one else was in the room, but it seemed obvious that more than two people lived in the house. Two glasses were placed on the table.
"Please, have a seat."
She sat down and Lavi followed, staring at the tea suspiciously. He didn't know whether to trust this "Allen" character yet, or if the politeness he had was just an act. Lenalee, however, had no problem with drinking the tea. Allen sat across from them, smiling still.
"Where are the two of you from?"
She took another sip before putting the glass down. "We're both from around here. I've been homeless for about a month now, and Lavi... I'm not sure. We just sort of met, and he doesn't talk much, but he's reliable and trustworthy, in my opinion."
"Only a month, huh? Must be shocking."
She nodded. "My mother, she got this new boyfriend, and... I mean, we never really talked much. We just respected each other and our space. But I'm still considered a mistake. I was never supposed to happen, I think... she never told me who my father was..." Her eyes brimmed with tears. "I don't know what I even did..."
He raised an eyebrow and looked over his shoulder. "Isn't that why Miranda got kicked out? New boyfriend drama?"
Chaoji nodded. "That, and she got fired for the one hundredth time."
Ouch. Lavi tried not to laugh.
"I really am sorry for you," he said before eying Lavi. "And you?"
He said nothing.
"He doesn't talk much, as I said."
Allen frowned. "Lavi, was it? You give off an air I don't like, but that's because of that eye of yours. It looks so judgmental. Listen, I'm not going to hurt you or make fun of you. You can tell me what it is that's upsetting you. You look upset. It's okay, you can tell me."
He stared at the boy, almost as if he didn't understand. "I..."
III
"Momma, what's 'school'?"
She didn't look up from her paper as she swallowed another tablet. She always swallowed tablets with her coffee. Momma told him those were her vitamins because she didn't eat enough. "School, you ask? It's a place where you learn to do things with other people. You're not old enough for school yet, honey, but you will be next year."
"Did Momma ever go to school?"
"Momma was raised a bit differently than you were, kiddo," she said. "Momma isn't smart. She's a waste of space and doesn't do anything worth mentioning. Here, have some chocolate for breakfast, but not the whole thing."
He took the chocolate out of her hands. "If Momma's a 'waste of space,' am I a 'waste of space,' too?"
She said nothing at first as she put the paper down onto the table. Her eyes stared vacantly as she took an additional tablet—something she's never done before. Then, she rose from her seat and squatted down to eye-level with him, ruffling his mess of red hair. "We'll see, kiddo," she said. "We'll see."
III
"I... Why do you care?" Something inside him peaked. The bastard had the nerve to ask such a personal question when he barely knew him. "Why should I tell you? Huh? Why should I?"
His hands grabbed around something warm, feeling his fingers tighten around the tubular object. It felt nice, flexing out the muscles of his cold hands. They felt numb with power. Someone grabbed him from behind, yelling something dull in the background, but his ears couldn't quite pick it up. He felt himself torn away from his new play thing, realizing then that it was the boy named Allen Walker, gasping against the wall.
"Lavi, what the hell! Calm yourself down!" Lenalee shoved him into a chair. "What were you thinking? I told you not to attack people!" Underlying her act, she looked frightened. He could see it in her eyes as she turned away from him, assisting Allen. "I should have said before," she said, "that he's diagnosed with severe mental disabilities. That's why he doesn't talk so much."
"Wow," he breathed. "I've never been caught so off-guard like that in my life." He smiled up at the redhead. "You're a strong one, aren't you?"
He said nothing.
"You two remind me of 'The Beauty and the Beast,'" he continued. Chaoji stood in the corner of the kitchen, eyes wide as his leader only smiled. "But, really, Lavi, I won't hurt you. Promise. I assume you got thrown out because you're the way you are."
Lenalee nodded. "Yes."
"I see..."
"Allen," Chaoji said.
"We have an extra bed for these two, do we not?"
A troubled look flashed on his face before he nodded. "Y-yes, we do. Should I prepare it for them?"
"Please do."
Chaoji nodded again as he eyed the strangers cautiously, hurrying out of the room and thudding up a set of stairs. Allen rubbed his neck with a gloved hand, wincing a little as he brushed over the forming bruises. The silence loomed for a moment longer before he said, "You may stay the night here, because I am convinced neither of you are a part of the 'Noah.' Please, make yourselves comfortable."
"The... what?"
He shook his head. "It's not a story to be told now, Lenalee. The hour is late, and most of us are exhausted. I will introduce you to everyone else in the house later, and there is an offer I'd like to give you. But for now, sleep. Especially you," he pointed to Lavi. "You need to calm down. That anger of yours is still boiling."
Anger. Noun. 1.) A strong emotion; a feeling that is oriented toward some real or supposed grievance.
"I'm not angry."
Was he?
"Right," Allen replied disbelievingly. "I'll show you to your room. We only really have one guest bedroom, I am sorry to say."
He rose from his chair and led the way of the stairs. They didn't creak the same way the stairs back in the basement creaked. Lavi expected all stairs to creak, but apparently they didn't. The second floor looked messier than the first, with wrappers and—what, toys? How strange—as Allen opened a door. The guest room looked virtually untouched and clean, with only one bed and a few other pieces of furniture. Much to his dismay, not one piece of furniture was a bookcase.
"There is only one bed, so you two can argue about that." He chuckled a little. "A lock is on the door, if you want. Oh! Hold on a second..."
He left briefly, letting the two stand alone for a moment. She glared at Lavi.
"What the hell were you thinking?" she whispered. "You could've killed him, or worse yet, lost his trust in us! We can't afford that! But, aside from that, you were great in-character. It even scared me, and it takes a lot to do that."
"I try," he said.
Allen came back with a pile of clothes in his hands. "Here," he said, handing each a set of clothing. "I figured you want out of those grungy clothes, so I asked Miranda and she had spare night clothes. They are clean, before you ask. I made sure of that." He smiled. "If you need anything, my room is down the hall and on the right. Just knock before you enter, okay?"
"Thank you," Lenalee said, bowing. "I am truly grateful."
"Not a problem," he said. "See you in the morning."
He closed the door behind him as Lavi stared at the clothes in his hands. The patterns on the clothes were numbered sheep jumping over fences. It was so cute it made him sick. Lenalee had ducks on her own, which she seemed pleased about. "Well," she said, "good night, Lavi."
"Wait, where am I going to sleep?" He turned to see her already changed into the duck pajamas. It was so cute it made him want to strangle Allen.
"On the floor, or in the bed with me. Don't take that in a sexual context."
"Why would I? You're not my type." He changed quickly as she crawled into bed. "I'll sleep on the floor, then. I have a blanket mon—I have a blanket in my bag. I can just go get it."
He headed towards the door.
"Lavi?"
He stopped. "Yeah?"
"Thanks for helping me out. With this, I mean."
He grinned. "What are friends for? Go to sleep."
Friend. Noun. 1.) A person you know well and regard with affection and trust. 2.) An associate who provides cooperation or assistance.
He shrugged as he walked down the stairs, grabbing his bag.
He guessed she was a "friend," then.
III
End of chapter 3. I hoped you all enjoyed it. Leave a review, if you want, because I do read them, even if I never respond. I respond in my head. It's not my fault you all don't have telepathy. (It's a joke. Hah.) I hope to see you in chapter 4. —Mr. Meenor