Chapter 24
"Do not allow yourself to be blinded by fear and anger. Everything is only as it is."
― Yuki Urishibara
"Kiki, I was talking to my uncle last night and he's been dead for seventeen years. I saw monsters from my childhood appear before me. Absolutely fucking real. I don't think this is some weird Goddess. I just can't believe that."
Gabriel is stalking back and forth in the room, the curtains closed, the light from the singular lamp dim. A cigarette between his fingers, a snaking path of thin vapor following his movements. He preferred to have the room dark and closed off, almost as a means of protection. Staying hidden from whatever it is lurking outside the door.
In the hotel itself. Concealed. Watching both of them.
"After what you've seen? You can't believe that-" Kikara sits on the unmade bed, arms scissored across her. Her leg is shaking, the result of her increased anxiety. This, coupled with the approaching convention was doing a number on her nerves.
"That I'm getting punished? Both of us? You know my family bought that land fair and square alright? We didn't 'take' anything. That makes no sense. I haven't stolen anything."
"I think you need to maybe leave the hotel. Just keep away. Until this-"
"No. I ain't going anywhere. No. I'm going to get to the bottom of this. Whatever the fuck this thing is, I'm not going to be intimidated." Gabriel fumes as he puffs smoke through his lips. He halts in his frantic strides, his breathing agitated as his expression turns contemplative.
"You know, there was just something familiar about the eyes. All of them had those same fucking eyes. They just looked familiar. Like I've seen them before, but I can't place where."
"Maybe-" Kikara starts before a scraping sound just outside their door cuts her off. Frozen, they peer at each other before Gabriel, scowling, defensively flings it open.
"Don't." Kikara begins, jumping to her feet.
Melissa Cartier is passing by the threshold, dragging a large black trash bag behind her with both hands, barefoot, her bracelets jingling.
"Laundry." she offers flatly upon noticing them observing her. Her hair is frizzy, her clothes somewhat disheveled. Bags prominent under her eye sockets. She continues down the corridor, pulling the bag to the edge of the top of the staircase as Gabriel slams the door shut.
"Man, this place is crawling with whores. Might as well turn it into a bordello. At least that would take care of the tourists." he says as he crushes his cigarette into an ashtray sitting on a wooden stand near the doorway.
Kikara gives a disgusted roll of her eyes as she rises, letting her arms drop to her sides as she starts to leave. Just before she opens the door, Melissa quickly runs back to the middle of the hall and snatches up a pair of bloody spectacles that sat obscured by a potted plant near a corner.
Running back to the top of the stairs, she shoves them into the bag and continues on her way.
Mirasal deftly ducks behind a wall as she sees Kikara approaching, waiting for her to pass. Relieved as her ex-friend quietly eases by, she hurriedly makes her way down the hallway, bumping into Teora rounding a corner, carrying a stack of freshly-cleaned towels, knocking them from her grasp.
"Susa," Mirasal offers, bending down to help Teora collect the scattered cloths. "You know, if I had heard you," she assures. "I would have helped. But I really didn't hear anything."
Teora remains silent as she piles the towels in her right arm. They both rise up, facing each other.
"I know," Teora replies as she clutches the stack to her chest as Mirasal hands her the last one. "I don't understand how nobody heard. It's so strange. Nothing. Everyone I've spoken to has said it was completely silent. How can that be? With all the noise that was happening."
Mirasal solemnly shakes her head. "I...don't know. I don't know what to tell you. But if I had-"
"I know. It's fine." Teora interjects curtly as she continues on her way, heading towards the stairwell. Mirasal watches her for a fleeting second as Teora sprints past one room in particular, giving a worried look over her shoulder as she passes.
The door to the room opens and a gray-haired woman peers out before closing it again.
Mirasal then charily makes her way to her room. She remains standing before it, a mass tightening in her stomach. As she is about to touch the doorknob, it bursts open, the movement making her wince.
Robert stood. Dark half-rings under his eyes, his auburn tuft of hair umcombed with strands falling along his cheekbones. His black vest unbuttoned and the collar of his white dress shirt lopsided.
"Where have you been?" he says, just above a sullen whisper. "Woke up and you were gone."
He knows of course.
"I needed to be alone." she replies, her fingers tightening against the thick crocheted material of her shawl.
"You weren't alone though."
"No, I'll tell you about it."
She saunters in and he slams the door behind her. "I need a drink." he says as he steps over to the nightstand and starts pouring. The bottle is nearly empty.
"Looks like you've had quite a bit already." Mirasal attempts a small smile, but it barely twitches at the sides of her mouth. She lets her shawl drop from her shoulders as she walks to the closet, placing it and her purse on the shelf and her gun promptly back in the desk drawer. She then plops down on the foot of the bed and begins to slide off her sandals. Robert watches her every move with a prolonged stare, sipping his drink.
"You want some?" he finally asks, holding out the bottle and giving it a shake. This was a simple but hopeful gesture.
"No," she replies. "No I don't. It is morning."
"So, why'd you want to be alone?" he asks as he brings the small crystal glass to his lips again.
"Yesterday was good. We had a wonderful time. But then, all of a sudden, you acted a little unreasonable-"
"You think it's unreasonable..."
"Just let me finish. I wanted to try to figure out why you don't like..." she peters out under his hardened glare, tucking her head down to peer at her feet, her right foot drumming the carpet.
He already knows. Don't make this worse. You've already conjured up these feelings with your actions. Just remember what Harold said.
"And today you went to see him."
"I happened across Harold, yes. I needed someone to talk to. I didn't really, I didn't actually..." She could say she didn't really intend to, but she'd hoped she would come across him. Robert knows this. He knows everything. Previously, it had been unintentional.
But not this time.
"You can talk to me."
"Not when you're acting this way."
"You wanted to see him." he adds, his gaze darting to the windows, before settling on the bottom of his now-empty cup.
"I needed to."
"Why?"
"You weren't forthcomng about...I was just curious-"
"The stu-" he pauses, pressing his lids tight, taking in a deep inhale through his nostrils before continuing. "The turtle."
"Yes. It was-"
"I hate him."
"I know." Mirasal finally cranes her neck to look up at him. How can someone hate their own kin so much? She'd been angry with family in the past, but this boiling hatred was unnatural. Anger is understandable, but the underlying sentiment is always love. You don't shut the person out completely. One must wonder what Harold had done to earn this vitriol.
"You know, but you went and talked to him anyway." he replies as he turns his back to her, his right hand beginning to tighten around the cup. The crisp creaking and crackling of breaking glass is audible as he begins to squeeze, rich streams of blood now forming along his fingers.
Not coursing downwards along his pale skin, but instead floating skyward, trickling, traveling towards the ceiling in shivering runnels. Mirasal gawks, her mouth gaping at the sight.
Smash!
Robert sends the damaged glass hurtling against the wall between the windows above the desk, crumbs of tiny shards snowing down upon its surface, ricocheting off the petals of the rose. Mirasal pulls her bottom lip in, keeping her head down.
"Do what you want. No one is stopping you." Imarito says as he stands with his back to Mirasal.
"They don't want to stay with you, I don't know what to do. They're scared. We can't come back here, back home until you-" she replies as she puts a small distance between her and her mate.
"What's going to happen to me?" Imarito turns to finally focus on her, a glass in his palms, his lips pursing together as he holds back tears. "I'm scared too. They're going to throw me out. What do I do after that? I'm good at my job, and now they're saying I can't do it." he touches the bandage on his forehead. "That crash didn't change my ability to do my job."
"Nothing will happen to you. They won't throw you out. And we'll get you better, I promise. But they can't stay here any longer." Mirasal pleads, flinching as Imarito slams the cup against the wall.
"Then leave!"
Mirasal's expression is still glued to the floor beneath her, palms cupping her kneecaps. Robert's furious glower melts away as he approaches, towering over her, his features softening as he bends down beside her.
She languidly slides her hands from her legs and places them on the edge of the bed, gripping the material of the comforter, still focused on the carpet. As he reaches up to touch her cheek, she swats at him, growling. She remains mute as Robert lets out a low-pitched snarl as they glare at each other before she rises and stomps over to the bathroom. Locking herself inside, she sits perched on the rim of the tub.
Robert scowls from the other side, his left eye drifting askew as he walks to the door, stringy paths of blood flowing from his hand. "I'm the one who has a right to be angry here." He raises his palms to either side of the door frame, his twitching fingertips starting to extend into sleek talons, fighting the urge to smash in the carved wood.
No, don't do that. Self-control. Its anger over this and the guilt and shame of the events from last night are fueling Its rage.
More fucking emotions It didn't want or welcome.
"You're angry at me when you're the one who was talking to that old fucker? You know how I feel about him! And you went and actually fucking talked to him! Why did you talk to him?!"
Thin red threads start to thicken around his golden disks, nearly blotting out the whites of his eyes.
How dare she try and turn this around on It, when she's the one who ignored Its wishes for her to keep away from that useless one. Actively sought him out and conversed and drank with him. She even gave him that damn carving.
But...
It had behaved irrationally before. Ignored her. Refused to touch her. Turned Its back to her and refused to even look at her. It could sense her hurt and confusion at Its behavior.
It maybe pushed her into speaking with the old lazy one. Maybe she isn't completely at fault for her betrayal.
Maybe.
"Come out." Robert says, anger slipping into mere irritation.
Silence.
Another growl. "Come out," he steps closer, teeth now sharpened into points, placing his right ear against the door. "Goddamn it! Come out!"
The silence doesn't falter. Only the short muffled rumblings of thunder present outside, another sign the storm is still thriving.
Mirasal keeps her hands in her lap, feeling as though the walls are falling down around her. She was numb, her emotions now dulled. The faintest sound of water drips hitting the porcelain bottom of the empty tub seems magnified. She couldn't speak. Didn't want to.
She brings her hands up to place them over her face as she gently rocks. There's now quiet on the other side. She can hear his raspy breathing just behind the door, a sniffle and finally heavy footsteps followed by the squeak of the mattress.
She eventually moves to lounge in the tub, the back of her skull resting against the rim.
It sits on the bed, Its gaze to the bathroom door. Its elbows atop Its knees as It hunches over. It couldn't sense any emotions. Couldn't feel anything coming from her mind. Just emptiness. Like a dry, barren wasteland. A radio with nothing but dead air.
Mirasal doesn't know how long it has been before she decides to stand and head to the door. Maybe an hour. Maybe only a few minutes. Quietly, she steps out. She'd been in the wrong here. She knew how he'd react. Knew he'd get upset. But her desire to find out more about him, to break through that facade he'd built up, had buried whatever reluctance she'd had about seeking out his brother.
In some ways he was a lot like her mother, now that she thought about it. Maybe she should handle him the same way; no questions. Respect his privacy. But she wants more. Wants to know about him, his family, his homeworld-his true home. Why he insisted on holding back from her.
She watches him, slumped over, a far-off look on his face as he stares out the window at the blackening clouds.
But this behavior was an extreme reaction. Completely uncalled for. It seems they both had some apologizing to do.
"Susa," she says. "I didn't want to upset you. I didn't intend it."
"Really? You know how much I despise him. You know how I feel about him. I can't believe you willingly spoke with him." he replies, shaking his head. Even from a small distance, she can see his hands trembling.
Mirasal crosses her arms and touches her forehead against the door frame, lids closed, sighing through her nose. "I know. But who else can I talk to. He's the only one I thought of." Certainly nobody else here.
"I said you can talk to me."
"You were ignoring me. Last night, the way you acted-"
Robert squeezes his eyelids, inhaling and exhaling loudly. "I know...I'm...sorry. I didn't mean to be that way. It's just you don't understand." he pauses, dropping his head.
"Then tell me. I will. I'll try anyway. I mean he is your brother. I think you two should at least try-" she urges as she steps over to sit beside him.
"He's a fucking traitor." he spits as his wild expression focuses on her.
Mirasal refrains from arguing further. This clearly went deeper than she realized. Far more deeper. Beyond a simple family disagreement. She briefly hesitates before she slides her good arm around him."It's-"
"Alright. Just forget it. Let's just let it go," he straightens to face her, his mien turning quizzical as he watches her for a beat. "I saw something in your mind-"
It's her turn to shut down the conversation. "Don't ask me about that."
Maybe she's holding back too. Avoiding subjects, ending conversations that make her uncomfortable.
Maybe she can't really complain. It would be hypocritical. He has his moods too, as Harold said.
"You were comparing us." Robert says.
"He behaved this way. But he was sick."
"What was wrong with him?"
Mirasal shifts her legs to cross them, as her arm drops away from his back. "He was in a crash. His ship went down and some of his friends were killed. He wasn't the same afterwards."
"PTSD, huh?"
"You know all of this. Look, if you don't want to talk about your brother, I don't want to talk about Imarito." Mirasal stands and strolls back to the bathroom. She was due for a nice long bath. Her whole body felt as though it was aching.
"That was his name." Robert says as he's at her heels, following.
"You knew what his name was." she says as she bends over to switch on the faucet, the water blasting out. Warm this time, as she anticipated someone wanted to join her.
"No, actually I didn't," Robert enters and shuts the door behind him. "I don't read those memories of yours."
Mirasal pauses to stare at him, blinking back her bewilderment. "Why not?"
Robert shrugs, seemingly just as puzzled as she. "Um, I just don't."
"Mhm." Mirasal undresses and removes her prosthetic, placing it carefully on the sink, and steps into the bath. Settling back, she smiles as she sees him watching with a hint of a smirk, gaze trailing over her frame.
"Stop staring,"
"I'll stare all I want." Robert kneels down by the tub, his injured hand on the side. It looks to be in the process of healing, albeit slowly. His fingertip he'd cut the day before had only just now fully closed up. As good as new. Mirasal takes his injured palm in hers, studying it. She frowns as she kneads it in her fingers. She cocks a brow at the few specks of blood still dripping upwards, dissipating mid-air. She raises a finger to try to dab at them before they evaporate.
"It will heal," he says. "My blood isn't like yours, obviously."
Its blood travels in the direction of the Todash space, like a magnetic pull towards the outside of the realm of the physical. Far outside of this world and others. Of course, It can't divulge that information.
"I can see that." Mirasal replies as she brings his hand up to kiss it. She holds it to her cheek, giving him a warm smile. He then stands and sheds his own clothing. The bath quiet and pleasant. Afterwards, Robert cleans up the broken glass, almost looking embarrassed while doing so.
They then start another lesson, and the day is spent in the room with her teaching him how to write the Terthach alphabet. With both sitting at the desk, as he''d gone and retrieved an extra chair from his room. Using ebony ink and a small brush, he spells out the letters, occasionally getting them backwards, the black lines crooked, wavy.
"My writing isn't that good." he says, trying to steady his hand. A task with his tremors and twitching.
"Neither is mine." Mirasal assures, motioning at her paper. It was an area she struggled with. The fact that she was teaching it was strange indeed. In school, one girl in particular had taunted her repeatedly for her terrible handwriting-and for other things.
"You're thinking." Robert's gazing at her.
"Just some girl who used to tease me, that's all." she shrugs.
"About?"
"My arm-she'd call me 'one arm' or she'd mock my writing and spelling. She'd call me 'stupid.'"
"You're not."
"Well, I was called the 'stupid' girl," she frowns. "I remember once, I tried to stand up to her and she threw me into a bush," she pauses, before continuing. "She was bigger than me. I couldn't really fight her."
"You could now," Robert grins as he dips the bristles of his brush into the inkwell. "You can certainly kick her ass now."
Mirasal smiles wide. "I wouldn't have to. I'm sure she's changed. She's probably got children, a mate."
"Don't be so sure. Sometimes they stay assholes," he offers as he begins writing out another letter. "I've seen how some turn out. You get these ones who bully other children. Torture animals. They're 'bad seeds' from the start, so to speak."
"Maybe." Mirasal replies, nibbling her lip as she glances out the window at the gentle sheet of rain starting to softly rap against the windows.
As the evening draws near and eventually passes into night, they sneak down to the kitchen after-hours to get some food. Bringing it back up to the room, they eat and listen to the radio.
"What should we read tonight?" Mirasal queries, thumbing through the selection of Arnamina's poetry books.
Robert slides his arms around her waist. "No reading." he mumbles, nibbling at her neck.
She rests her back against his torso, nuzzling her head into his shoulder. They waste no time in peeling off their garments and tumbling onto the bed. Afterwards, she rests her head on his chest, her flesh arm draped over him, feeling the quiet vibrating of his purring. He runs his wounded fingers through her mane, massaging her ear, both still trembling from their mutual climax.
"Tell me about your home-your real home." she asks, trailing her hand up along his flat stomach.
"You want to see it?'' he replies as he lifts his fingertips to touch the vertical stripes down her forehead. She draws in a gasp as she sees an orange-yellow galaxy swimming with clusters of stars, a large planet with a storm swarming along the surface. Just beyond are a series of smaller worlds, each painted with black silhouettes, surrounded by bursts of multi-colored dust particles and a comet shooting across, cutting through the sky. A massive fiery quasar burns hot in the center. Everything then begins to blur together, as if she is traveling at light speed, seeing sparks of flames shooting out either side of her peripheral. A larger planet lush with green landscapes and deep blue water comes into view. Just as she comes into contact with the surface, he removes his fingers and the vision ends.
"Oh, that was," she whispers. "That was beautiful. That isn't like anything I've seen before. Was that, the last one, was that Eartho?"
"Yes. When I first arrived. It seems like an eternity ago."
"How old are you? If you don't mind me asking?"
Robert chuckles, a wide grin breaking out as he squirms underneath her. "That's a tricky question. I guess you can say I'm as old as the oldest universe."
Mirasal raises her head slightly to look at him, eyes widened. "You're really?"
He has that same expression again. Somber. Serious.
"Haven't I been truthful about everything? I wouldn't say it if it weren't so," he replies. "I'm older than your radio."
"I never really know when you're joking," she offers as she lowers her head back down against his chest, absorbing this information, before she finally props up on her elbows, her stunned countenance inches from his. "You're that old? Really? How can that even be? That's just unfathomable."
"It just is. I am."
Mirasal keeps her gaze on him. A part of her wondering when he's going to break out that playful grin and admit he's joking.
But he doesn't.
She brings her hand up to push aside a few strands of stray hairs away from his youthful face with the large heavy-lidded eyes, full lips and boyish button nose. A face that's a million years old.
Shapeshifter. Can heal himself. His blood floats.
Now it seems he's older than the stars themselves. He really is like some kind of God straight out of mythology. This is another revelation she'll have to adjust to.
"I don't age the way everyone else does. Not your kind. Or humans. Or really any other species." he says.
"So," she brings her metallic palm up to cradle her chin. "As I grow old, you'll remain looking the same."
Robert frowns at this. "I can look any way. Young or old. I just don't really age the same way."
It has never pondered this; aging. Old age. Humans aged and returned to the weeds, their bones the only fragment left of their hollow, empty lives. Their flesh having been consumed by worms. Marked by a stone bearing their name.
Mike. Mike is the only one It knows was still living when It fled Earth. He'd outlived the other hated ones. Lived a long, not always happy life. It had not bothered to confront him. He sat in a retirement home, forgotten. The years had not been kind to him. Trying to milk fear from his feeble state would have been futile.
Mirasal moves to place her forearms across his chest. "I can imagine what you've seen though. What you've experienced. The stories you can tell."
"I'm like an antique," Robert wiggles his brows, pulling her down to him. "If you want to hear them all. It would take a while."
"We have time." she smiles as she removes her metal limb, situating it on the nightstand before she brings her cheek back down to rest on his shoulder and soon, she's sound asleep.
It snaps Its fingers, switching off the lamp. It remains alert, awake as she slumbers. Watching her closely as her breathing slows. It is no longer eternal. That It is certain of. It had been made aware of Its mortality. Its encounter with the hated ones had lead to that realization.
And the Other.
But time. Time they did not have. Only a year. A year is hardly long enough to share with her all Its stories. Its life experiences. Many of which would be outside of her understanding. Her own experiences. Her mortal brain can only soak up so many impossibilities.
As It stares at her, It decides to take a walk into the landscape of her mind. Easier when she's unguarded. Nothing blocking. Vistas of her life fly by; It sees her childhood, the confrontation with the bully, her arguments with her mother, playing with her sisters, talking to her father, although those are few. Interacting with fellow soldiers, flying a ship, staring at a screen displaying maps. Firing a gun.
It continues viewing her memories until It reaches her interacting with what could only be the dead man. As the man leans in to kiss her as they hug. It flinches, immediately pulling out of her mind as repulsion warms over It, yanking Its hand away and wanting to move out from beneath her, but not wanting to disturb her.
Disgusting.
That feeling of revulsion coupled with an odd, entirely new feeling. One It never felt before. Odd and surprising. Its disgust at seeing her affection with the dead man. Disgust and...
Envy. That feeling It knew existed but never experienced.
It had avoided seeing these memories. Before due to lack of interest. Now, It felt uneasy to view them. It didn't want to see her touching, smiling, kissing the dead man.
But why?
It had, though It would loathe to admit, wondered what having a mate would be like. Wondered what a life without solely feeding, sleeping and dreaming would encompass. But It had, previously, brushed those thoughts aside. It preferred alone.
At least It thought It did.
Mirasal starts to shift, her body squirming as she lets out a muffled whimper into his chest. Her movements become rougher as she starts to dig her nails into Robert's skin.
"Ah-" he flinches at the needling pain stinging his chest. He attempts to grip her wrist as she grows more erratic, eyes still shut. He is then met with a burning slap to his cheek.
"Ow! Dammit!"
Her eyes shoot open as she scrambles to the edge of the bed, making her way to the wall by the desk, her frantic features obscured by the curtain as she cradles her knees to her body, rocking, her confused stare fixed to the other side of the room.
Robert makes his way from the bed, moving slowly. He comes to a rest before her as she cups her hand over her face. Just as he reaches out to touch her, she swats at him.
"No, don't touch me."
"You had a nightmare." he replies as he retracts momentarily, before he reaches out again.
"No," she offers more forcefully. "Don't."
Robert swiftly moves to place his hands behind her back and under her knees, a growl faint in the thick of his throat. He picks her up with her not giving much resistance, despite her protests.
"No, don't touch me." she orders as he carries her back to the bed. Setting her down upon the mattress, he crawls over her to his side, pulling the blankets back over them. She glares at the ceiling as he covers her back up. She finally turns her scowl towards him. Propping up on his side, he touches her forehead, the anger and panic now starting to drain from her expression. Sighing, she relaxes, her tense muscles loosening.
As slumber takes her again, the turmoil in her mind now quieting, It peers once again into the panorama of her memories. Seeing fire. Fire and flashes of the bottom of a steep cliff with ocean waves crashing below against sharp rocks.
And a woman screaming.
It passes Its palm over her head, inserting calming thoughts; frolicking through a field with her friend, fishing with her father, her mother's cakes, her grandfather's voice. All of these are pleasant, happy, soothing.
Influencing happiness. This is most certainly a first for It. It only influenced fear, hatred, violence, greed, envy. Torment and evil. Nightmares to be brought to life, to feed Its insatiable hunger. Never a reverie of loved ones and the comforts of home.
As a serene smile edges on her lips as she drifts off, the more pleasant thoughts singing her to sleep, It stares at her still visage, brows creasing as a realization blooms. One It had been ignoring and pushing into the darkness of Its mind. Hoping it would fade, that it would be smothered. Snuffed out. But, It can no longer ignore the truth.
That It is completely infatuated with her.