New Orleans, Louisiana
The Past, Eleven Years Ago
"I don't think you understand that your actions come with serious consequences," Jean-Luc told his son gravely. "What on earth were you thinking?"
Remy was thinking that telling the truth wouldn't be to his benefit. Instead, Remy shrugged his shoulders, palms held out, with a clueless expression on his face.
Jean-Luc exhaled and smoothed a hand over his hair in an attempt to marshal his frustration. "I'm giving you too much credit assuming you were thinking at all! Stealing a mail truck. Of all the ridiculous–! What were you going t'do with a mail truck?"
"I wanted t'know how fast it'd go," Remy said. "De answer is: not very." That was a complete fabrication. The truth was that he hadn't intended on stealing the truck. Remy had climbed into the back of the truck to investigate the mail bags inside. He had been in an affluent neighborhood and he had hoped of scoring some personal identification information to sell. He had been surprised by the mail carrier, and things got complicated from there. Remy hoped that confessing to a childish prank might gain more leniency than admission to committing postal felony.
"This is not a joke, Remy. If you're convicted, there are serious repercussions for what you've done! You had best pray for a judge we can...negotiate with."
Jean-Luc meant to bribe the judge with money they seemed to always lack. Remy had never seen his father so angry before. It gave him a sort of thrill to know the kind of reaction he could elicit from his typically stoic father. They were in Jean-Luc's office. Remy stood facing his father. Jean-Luc was half-seated on the edge of his desk, looking as if he might begin pulling his own hair out.
"This ends now," Jean-Luc finally decreed. "I am done with your lying. Your running off to god-knows-where. And this!" Jean-Luc turned and picked up a pair of notebooks from his desk. "What do you have to say about this?"
Remy stared at the notebooks Jean-Luc extended towards him; the blue notebooks they used for their lessons. Jean-Luc had the front covers of each book folded back to reveal the writing inside. One book contained Remy's own barely-legible scrawl, the other was his cousin's mechanically neat penmanship. They both had the same scores. "Uhm. So it looks like I got high marks dis time," he said.
Jean-Luc tossed the notebooks back onto his desktop. "You copied off your cousin!"
"Mebbe he copied offa me?" Remy suggested.
"That's enough," Jean-Luc said, cutting his hand through the air. "You can consider yourself grounded."
Remy didn't mean to laugh, but the single outburst of disbelief escaped his lips before he realized it. A look of intense fury flashed across Jean-Luc's face and Remy saw his father's hand twitch. Remy caught the motion from the corner of his eye and almost took a step back. He hadn't been looking at Jean-Luc at all until this moment, but staring off to a place over his father's shoulder. Now he met his father's stern gaze.
Go ahead, hit me, Remy thought a challenge. You know you want to.
Jean-Luc took a deep breath and crossed his arms over his chest. "You will not leave this house without my express permission. You will not go wandering about town on your own. You will sit in this office with me every night and work on your lessons."
Remy stared incredulously at Jean-Luc. "For how long?" he asked, his voice raising.
"For as long as I see fit," Jean-Luc snapped. "Certainly until your court date, and then we'll see what de judge decides t'do with you."
"That's a month away!" Remy exclaimed.
"And in the meantime, you can go with your Tante Mattie to de hospital on de weekends. A little community service may help your credibility," Jean-Luc added.
"I will not!" Remy said, his arms stiff at his sides.
"You don't get a say!" Jean-Luc answered back. "I won't babysit you every waking moment of de day, but I will see you doing something useful! You can spend your time helping those less fortunate than yourself."
"Fortunate? Oh, right! I forgot how good I got it here," Remy spat with cruel irony. "Like how fortunate it was that I should just happen to pick de pocket of New Orleans' own King of Thieves. What are de odds? And that he should take me in out of de kindness of his own heart. I should be thankin' my lucky stars!"
"Remy–," Jean-Luc said his name as a warning.
"How fortunate for me I should run inta a girl who just happened t'be de Assassins' Guild leader's daughter! How fortunate we should get on so well, what with you decidin' to marry us off. What an amazing coincidence! I sure do got good luck, don't I?" Remy could feel his heart racing in his chest. A rush of adrenaline made him feel lightheaded.
"All right, that's enough," Jean-Luc suddenly seemed tired.
"You must think I'm pretty stupid!" Remy hissed.
"That's not –," Jean-Luc began.
Remy cut him off, refusing to hear his father's rebuttal or confirmation that Remy's suspicions were true. "You should've left me on de streets where you found me!" Remy shouted and to his embarrassment he heard his voice crack. "I was doing fine on my own! I don't need you!"
Jean-Luc took a step towards him and Remy backed away. In a fury, he turned towards the door to his father's study and shouted: "Stay away from me! I hate you!"
Remy regretted the words the moment they were out of his mouth, but he wanted to hold on to his feeling of righteous anger a while longer. It was better than feeling used and betrayed. He continued out of Jean-Luc's office and down the hall to his room. He slammed the door to his room shut behind him and stalked to the small desk. Remy picked up his Geometry book, hauled open the single window in his room, and threw the book into the yard where it exploded.
"What was that supposed to accomplish?" Remy heard a voice ask.
With a yelp of surprise, Remy stumbled back into his dresser. All the junk that had accumulated on the dresser top rattled and tumbled onto the floor. Remy stared across the room to see the mirror image of himself. Only it wasn't a mirror's reflection, but an actual person. He felt his jaw drop open in surprise.
"Remy!" Jean-Luc's voice called from behind the closed door. "Are you–?"
"Go away!" Remy's other self cried.
Remy could hear his heart thundering in his ears. He clung to the dresser to keep himself from falling. He looked from his doppelgänger to the closed door. He saw the doorknob begin to turn. "Go away!" Remy repeated. "Stay out of my room!"
His other self nodded and grinned. The door remained closed.
After several moments of silence, Remy tentatively asked: "Is he gone?"
The other Remy pushed away from the wall he was leaning against and walked to the door. He pressed his ear to the wood and listened. "He's gone," he finally concluded.
"Dieu," Remy said, staring at his twin. "Who–who are you?"
The other Remy rolled his eyes. "I'm you, le sot. Well, you, only slightly more older and slightly less stupid."
"So...so, you're – from de future?" Remy stuttered.
The other Remy shrugged. "Like a few weeks from now future. Look, we're wearin' de same shirt still."
Remy looked down at his worn cotton Saints tee-shirt, then at his twin's. He experienced a passing moment of vertigo. "What are you...what am I doin' here?"
"I got an idea," his twin said.
"Not usually a good thing," Remy replied. "So I can time travel? I wasn't just imagining it?"
The twin was pulling a piece of paper from the back pocket of his jeans. "That's right, we're not completely bonkers. Look, we're in big trouble here. Jean-Luc's gonna make good on his threats. We're under house arrest. We're never gonna get to New York at dis rate."
Remy found himself nodding. He had been combing the streets day and night, picking pockets, snatching purses, and breaking into abandoned homes to scavenge for scrap metal and things he could sell. At the same time, he was still going through the motions of the Rites of Passage; dutifully fulfilling the Guild requirements of his apprenticeship. On top of that were his lessons. He'd only cheated off of Emil not because he didn't know the schoolwork, but to gain himself some extra time.
The twin handed Remy the scrap of paper. "So I had dis idea. I wrote down all de times Jean-Luc checks in on me – us...and all de times Tante Mattie drags us along to Big Charity–."
"I don't really have t'do that, do I?" Remy whined, his nose wrinkling in disgust.
His other self nodded gravely. "But listen, there's two of us now. One of us can be de good little boy, and de other–."
Remy looked at the list of dates and times he held in his hand. "And all de other times, we could be workin' together. We could do twice de work in half de time."
"I catch on fast," Remy's twin told himself.
Remy looked up from the paper into his own eyes. "Dis is so weird."
"I know. I didn't realize how stupid I look all de time," his future-self replied, giving his past-self a critical look. He pointed at Remy's face and said: "We have t'do something about that."
Remy scowled. "Do somethin' about what?"
"Your –our– face. It's plain as day what we're thinkin'."
"Seein' as how you've thought what I'm thinkin' already..."
"I'm serious," future-Remy said and crossed his thin arms. "We need to work on our Poker face."
Remy scrunched up his face and then relaxed his features. "How's dis?" he asked.
"You look like you just smelled a dog fart. How 'bout dis?" future-Remy put his hands over his face and tried to physically smooth out his features. He attempted a stern expression.
Remy tried not to smile at how ridiculous he looked. His future-self broke into a laugh, unable to maintain the serious expression for long. Self-consciously, they both raised a hand to hide their grins.
"There!" Remy said. "Just do that."
"What? Smile?"
"Yeah, that'll work," Remy pressed his lips together and grinned.
"That's more of a smirk," his future-self said.
"Dis better?" he asked, baring his braces-covered teeth in a grimace.
"Ugh, no," his future-self raised a hand to block out the sight.
Remy folded the schedule and put it into his pocket. "I got a question for you, future-me."
"I all ready know what you're gonna ask."
"Well? Is it considered masturbation, or is it gay?"
"It'd be hard to explain, is what it'd be," his future-self replied. "And I don't think we can touch each other besides."
"How d'you figure?"
His future-self held out his hand with his palm out. "Go ahead, try."
Remy raised his arm likewise and attempted to press his palm to his twin's. There was a strange crackle of resistance, like a forcefield, preventing them from making contact.
"Whoa. It's like two magnets repellin' one another."
"I guess opposites attract," his future-self said.
Remy lowered his arm. "I guess we'll get passing marks in Physics."
"Not Geometry though," future-Remy shook his head sadly.
"Do you think dis is gonna work? Us teaming up?" Remy asked himself.
"Sure, what could go wrong?" his future-self replied. "And who else besides me can you really trust?"
"Nobody," Remy admitted reluctantly. "There's nobody else."
~ oOo ~
Remy got into an argument with his future-self, which probably wasn't the most auspicious beginning to their endeavor. The argument had to do with who did what; neither wanted to be the one to stay behind and do the schoolwork and chores. Remy had no intention of staying put, but his future-self contended that he'd all ready done the time and wasn't about to be kept prisoner in Jean-Luc's house a moment longer.
"Won't you be in trouble for running off?" Remy asked his future-self. "When Jean-Luc finds you gone in de future?"
"If we do dis right, then de future I come from doesn't happen," his future-self told him. "You'll be in New York by then. And besides, Jean-Luc checks in less and less de longer it seems I'm following his orders."
Remy consulted the schedule his future-self had given him. It was true, Jean-Luc's random visits tapered off after the first week. Remy conceded to his future-self, who slipped in and out of the house via the window. Remy would then pose himself in a display of teenage misery moments before Jean-Luc came to his bedroom door to check in on him. The first few times he stopped by Remy's bedroom, Jean-Luc was surprised to see Remy laying sprawled on his bed, slouched at his desk, or lounging on the floor. Jean-Luc would confirm that Remy was still in his room with a small nod, though the man was clearly perplexed at Remy's apparent obedience. Remy took pleasure in seeing his father's dumbfounded expression. Remy, in turn, would eye his father with blatant contempt.
"Dinner is in five minutes," Jean-Luc said after checking in on Remy for the third time that evening. "Go wash your hands and set de table."
Remy glared at his father from behind the book he was pretending to read and responded with an exaggerated sigh. He tossed his book aside and moved to obey Jean-Luc's commands. In the kitchen, Remy set the table with much clattering of plates. The utensils were dispensed in a pile at the table's center. Remy dragged his chair out from under the table and flopped himself into the seat. He had resolved to not speak to Jean-Luc ever again, and now only communicated with his father through a series of sighs, eye-rolls, and derisive snorts. Four days of this behavior had the desired result of making Jean-Luc extremely irritated. However, Remy's older brother Henri wryly observed that Remy's newfound muteness meant that they could now eat a family meal in peace. Remy paused in pushing his peas from one side of his plate to the other to glare at his older brother. Clearly, Henri was in collusion with the enemy when he should have been on Remy's side. Henri lifted his wine glass while regarding Remy with a smug smile, daring him to respond.
I hate your stupid face, Remy thought at him.
Remy couldn't bring himself to be angry with Tante Mattie even though she was in cahoots with Jean-Luc as well. Mattie was quick with the rod, but at least her punishments were dealt out swiftly, unlike the elaborate and enduring torture of being grounded. She seemed apologetic when she arrived to retrieve Remy and take him to Charity Hospital every afternoon. She knew how much he hated going there. Remy would drag his feet and shuffle along beside her as they walked to the hospital. Occasionally, Mattie would reach out and hug him to her side or pat his back as the hospital loomed in the distance. The hospital building was the tallest around, one of the tallest buildings in New Orleans. Remy found it useful for orienting himself in the city, but the building was otherwise avoided.
Remy was vaguely suspicious of doctors, a mindset he'd acquired from Jean-Luc, who felt that the medical community was composed of charlatans and snake-oil salesmen. Tante Mattie might have thought likewise, but she could use her gift for healing in the socially-acceptable confines of Big Charity. She saw volunteerism as an opportunity to reach people who otherwise wouldn't seek out the talents of a witch woman. Tante Mattie usually kept to the pediatric ward, an area that Remy avoided in favor of duties where he could remain unseen, like filing paperwork. He didn't have a problem with the injured, sick, or infirm. What he dreaded most about going to the hospital was the chance that he would see someone he knew.
Big Charity was the place people went when there was no where else to go. Remy was afraid to see the victims of stabbings, gunshot wounds, of beatings, rape, or any of the other tragedies that could befall a person living on the streets. He feared being recognized by one of the kids he once ran with, of being seen as a deserter who left the streets relatively unscathed. They likely thought him weak, they might regard him with contemptuous envy or hatred. He felt terribly guilty for having left them behind, for having escaped to a life where he had food, clothing, and shelter. Remy avoided the parts of town where the other kids still picked pockets or panhandled. He wanted to stay away from Big Charity because eventually someone he knew would turn up there, hit by a fist, a car, or a bullet.
Remy was in the stacks, putting patient records back into their folders and shelving them when one of the receptionists called him to the desk.
"Go bring these to room 406," she told him and put a vase of flowers in his hands.
Remy wordlessly obeyed, hiding himself behind the spray of carnations and ferns. The card stuck inside the bouquet read: "It's a Boy – Congratulations!" Remy didn't know what he was going to hide behind once he deposited the bouquet in its recipient's room. He didn't have long to think on it when he was pulled aside and into an empty room by the hem of his oversized shirt.
"Hey," his future-self whispered.
"What are you doin' here?" Remy whispered back.
His future-self smirked. "Look what I got."
There was a brief crackle of resistance as his future-self placed a plastic card in Remy's hand. It bore the same photograph as the one on his hospital volunteer badge. Remy now had a fake motorized bike permit which put him at sixteen and not his actual fifteen. He'd also been given a new name. Remy held the card in both hands, watching the holographic patterns wink across its newly minted surface.
"C'est parfait!" Remy whispered.
"Yeah," his future-self agreed. "And it'll go good wit' dis." His twin pulled out a folded newspaper from the waistband of his jeans. An ad in the classified section had been circled. The ad was for a Yamaha sport bike.
"Twenty-three hundred dollars," Remy said, looking over the description. "Where are we gonna get that kind of money?"
"We'll have to hit a better quality target," his future-self said.
Remy lowered the newspaper. "We'll never get enough cash picking pockets."
"We need jewelry," his future-self replied.
Remy shook his head. "Which means dealing wit' a fence. Which means taking a cut."
"We gotta stick wit' what we know."
Remy acquiesced. "And I.D. theft is apparently not my forte."
"We don't have much time," his future-self said. "That bike was sold b'fore I could come up wit' de money on my own. And getting de new I.D. took most of what we had saved."
"Could we just steal de bike?"
His future-self nodded thoughtfully. "It's in a storage unit off de highway. We'd have to work out a way to get out there."
Remy chewed his lip and re-read the ad. "I could maybe talk t'Temperence and get a ride from her brother."
Remy's twin grinned. "I'd like t'do more'n talk to her."
"You won't be de one talkin' to her, I will."
"Says you, estipid. You were too busy feelin' sorry for yourself to make a move when you had de chance!"
"She just got in a fight wit' her boyfriend," Remy snapped.
"That didn't stop her from puttin' her tongue down your throat!"
"I didn't want t'take advantage of her."
"God, you're such a pussy!"
"And you're an asshole!" Remy put his hands over his face and groaned. "Why am I fighting with myself?"
"I'm going to need so much therapy when I'm older," his future-self added.
~ oOo ~
Both Remy and his slightly-older but none-the-wiser counterpart spotted the mark at the same time. Though they were on opposite ends of the street, they were in perfect communion; noting the mark and making eye contact with one another. Then it was time to move. Remy paced himself to come up alongside the mark just as she was about to encounter a small crowd of out-of-towners on a walking tour. The woman was perhaps in her mid-forties, a statuesque figure with dark mahogany-colored hair cut in a severe bob. She was dressed simply and tastefully with little adornment save for her oversized sunglasses and the ring she wore on the third finger of her left hand. Remy imagined her a wealthy owner of one of the boutiques or antiques shops that lined either side of the street. She was carrying a canvas bag of produce in one arm, the other arm draped over her expensive purse.
The woman moved aside on the sidewalk to make way for the tourists just as Remy approached from behind. He jostled her purse from her shoulder as he passed, and his future-self attempted to squeeze in with the tourists, stepping directly into the woman's path. Her canvas bag was knocked askew and an orange tumbled from the sack. The woman clutched her produce to her chest and turned to look after the rude boy who had nearly knocked her groceries to the ground.
"Oops, sorry!" Remy's future-self called with a grin that said he wasn't sorry at all. He scooped up the orange and then trotted after the throng of tourists.
Remy caught the purse before it could hit the ground. The woman turned to Remy, a look of irritation on her face.
"Pardonnez-moi," Remy said, offering up her bag. "Stupid tourists. You nearly dropped this."
The woman's lips parted as she stared down at Remy for a few moments, apparently at a loss for words. He smiled shyly at her and righted the strap on her shoulder with one hand while taking her left hand in his opposite.
He nodded at her groceries. "D'you need any help, madame?"
"No, I –," she began with a little shake of her head. "I'm –."
"Enh, bien, madame," he said with a little bow as he released her hand. "Have a lovely day."
He turned before she could respond and he continued down the sidewalk. Remy felt a thrill of victory and suppressed the urgent need to run. He slipped the ring he'd just stolen onto his forefinger, the diamonds hidden against the flesh of his palm.
The woman called out to him: "Hey, wait –!"
For the briefest moment, Remy felt as if he'd been snagged by the back of his jacket. He stumbled slightly then caught himself and the unseen force released him. In the next instant, he was fleeing. He heard the woman call after him again. Remy turned the corner and ran down an alley, across damp backstreets past trashcans and dumpsters. He continued his ground-eating pace until he felt he had put enough distance between himself and the mark. Remy trotted to a halt, then reversed direction and angled himself back to Big Charity, where he would meet up with his double.
Once within sight of the hospital, he checked his pocket watch. He didn't have much time before Tante Mattie would take him back home. Remy's twin was nowhere to be seen. Remy leaned against the outside wall of the hospital, feeling the sun-warmed stone facade against his back. He studied the ring in the late day light, then placed the ring into his pocket. He cast one last glance around for his future-self. There were only a few minutes left. Remy looked through the side-entrance doors to see Tante Mattie talking with two staff members. She seemed to be deeply involved in a conversation.
When Remy turned away, he found himself face-to-face with his twin.
Remy jerked back and struck his head against the stone wall. "Dieu," he hissed and put a hand to the back of his head. "You idiot! You scared me."
His other-self gave a slow grin.
"I got de ring," he told his future-self. "We could easily buy de bike, even after de fence takes his cut."
"The bike..." his future-self repeated.
Remy hesitated. "Unless..."
"Unless what?"
"I was thinkin' –."
"Oh?"
"I was thinkin' we, I mean – I – could take Belle wit' me. And then maybe de bike isn't such a good idea if there's de two of us."
His future-self studied Remy thoughtfully.
Remy didn't want another argument with himself so he pressed on. "It's not like any of this is her fault. She doesn't want t'be part of Jean-Luc's pact any more than I do. We could go to New York together."
"No," his future-self said suddenly.
"No?" Remy asked. "But it's so much easier wit' de two of us! You and me...why not me and Belle? We could be a team."
"You don't need her," his future-self insisted.
"She'll want t'come when I tell her. We can go back to how we were before, before de stupid pact. We could be friends again. We could –."
"Do you think she cares about you?"
The question struck Remy dumb. "What–?"
"Do you think she loves you?" his twin probed further. "Would she have turned her back on you if that were true? How can you ever trust someone like that?"
Remy stared at his future-self. He felt a creeping anxiety and a sense of wrongness about the conversation. There was something strange about the way his future-self was looking at him. "None of them really care about you," his future-self continued. "They are just using you. For the pact. Why else would they have taken you in? Outsider. Freak."
Remy shrank back, hating to hear his darkest thoughts voiced aloud.
"You only have yourself," his future-self told him. "You are all alone."
"Shut up," Remy muttered. "Just – just stop."
"You can escape. All you need is one more push in the right direction."
Remy folded his arms across his chest and stared sullenly at his double, hating himself. "What are we going t'do?" he asked.
"What are you going to do?" his future-self asked and poked Remy in the chest with his forefinger. "Just prove it to yourself. You don't need them. You don't need anyone. Belle, Jean-Luc, or that woman –," here his twin nodded in Tante Mattie's direction. "Go now. Just walk away."
Remy shook his head. "No...we don't have de money. We don't have de bike..."
"You are delaying. You are too scared to go."
He bristled at this. "We have to have a plan." His future-self continued to pin Remy with his gaze. Remy didn't realize how unnerving his own eyes were until he was being scrutinized by them. No wonder people thought him the devil. "We need a bigger score," he told himself.
His twin smiled then. "We need a contract," he said.
"A contract?" Remy repeated and his heart began to pound as he thought.
"Steal a contract from Jean-Luc's office," his future-self said with smug authority. "Acquire a client, as a Guild thief should."
Remy felt a tremor of fear go through his body. Stealing from the Guild was unconscionable. It went against everything he'd ever been taught. "I – we can't betray our family," Remy said, his voice sounding small.
"Do you think they'd hesitate to betray you?" his future-self said. "They aren't your real family."
Remy raised a hand and rubbed his chest at the place over his speeding heart. He could not meet the piercing gaze of his own reflected image. Slowly, he nodded. "I'll get a contract," he said finally.
His twin smiled a tight-lipped smile. "Meet me tonight, here. After dark."
Remy glanced back through the glass double doors to see Tante Mattie approaching. "Mattie's coming. You need t'get out of here."
Remy realized he needn't have spoken. When he turned back, he found himself to be completely alone.
c'est parfait - it's perfect
Next time: Gambit gets a haircut and a real job. Okay...not really.