Chapter 37, Fireside Chats
A/N: A couple of days late (apologies), but here is Chapter 37, as promised! One of my favorite scenes so far falls in this one. I am by now assuming that, if you've stuck with Radiant Creatures this long, you won't balk at some of my crazier ideas.
"And...and this one," Roxas pointed to a rough patch on his elbow, "I got this one wiping out on a tailpipe..."
"What kinda tailpipe?" Axel asked, impressed.
Roxas shrugged, "Big staircase...forgot where," he was smiling as he said it, though. Really smiling. He'd been doing that more and more all day, as if all four of them almost splattering down into the snow had given him a new lease on life.
"And this one," lifted up the leg of his cargo pants, showing off a nasty bruise on his thigh.
"Another wipe out?" Axel guessed.
"Nope," he shook his head, "Did a whole 180 off a roof...landing was a bit rough, but I landed it."
"No shit?"
Roxas shook his head, looking delighted.
"Shit, I knew I should've gone in for the skate scene," said Axel, "Less hazardous than the biking thing."
"Ha-ha, shut up," said Seifer dryly, budging for the first time since the sun had gown down from the window he'd been leaning against. They'd improvised a way to balance the cable car, Axel and Roxas sitting on one side, Seifer and Tidus on the other. This, at least, kept the motion sickness down and, hopefully, would prevent any further accidents.
"You got any scars?" Roxas was asking him.
"Huh?"
"Scars?"
Axel shrugged, "Yeah, I've got some. Nowhere you'd wanna see."
"Huh..."
"For Gods sake, don't push it," said Tidus aggrievedly, "You get naked, I'm jumping out myself."
"Bet that's just what Elsa wants," said Axel, "She always had a fucked up sense of humor."
"Didn't stop you from humoring her," pointed out Seifer.
"That was a youthful indiscretion," snarled Axel.
"There's youthful insurrections and then there's..."
"Kidnapping a bunch of girls for a faceless megacorp?"
Seifer flipped him the bird and resumed sulking. Axel turned back to Roxas, who was rolling back his other sleeve, "Then this one...this is my favorite scar."
"You've got a favorite?"
"Yeah," he nodded, "I mean...I just remembered I had it, but...I do. See?"
A faded, distorted shape, jagged at one hand, sort of two pronged at the other.
"Remind you of something?" Roxas prompted.
Tidus interjected, leaning forward, "Is it a penis?"
Roxas glowered at him, "It's a heart! Like, it's sideways, but it's...it's a heart, see?"
Tidus shrugged, "I guess?"
"It's a heart, Rox," Axel assured him (though to him it looked more like a fucked up pair of scissors), "Even better, it's on your sleeve!"
Roxas blinked, "That's a figure of..."
"Figure of speech, right," he grinned easily, "So...what's that one's story?"
Roxas shrugged, "It's weird...my friends and I, we were gonna skate this crazy ramp...I can't remember where, but it was big. Steep. All four of us..." he chuckled, "We all wiped out. It was crazy. We were all banged up and..." he bit his lip, "We've all got different scars out of it."
Given Roxas had only been communicating in proper conversations for roughly 24 hours, this was the most Axel had ever learned about where he'd come from, as fragmented and hazy as it was.
"Four of you?" he said at last.
Roxas nodded, "Yep. Four."
"Imagine that..." Axel bit his lip wryly, looking out the window, at the outline of the mountains in the distance, the big shadowy depression of the valley far below.
Magic number, must have been fate. Axel wondered how Roxas fit in with the rest of them... If he'd been the sprightly little tag along kid who everybody pretended to resent, but they were all really attached to. He didn't seem much like the faux leader, presiding over them with a load of unearned authority masked as ass-kicking. Maybe the quiet, bookish one who rolled his eyes whenever they came up with something wild and stupid to do, but did it anyway...
Or maybe, just maybe, he'd been the crazy one, with the grins and the jokes, never taking anything seriously, determined to be a kid forever, even when everybody else started showing an interest in growing up...
"The thing about it..." Roxas was saying, "The scar kinda reminds me of 'em, you know? Like you look at it, you remember exactly how you got it. I guess all scars are like that..."
"They could be," Axel agreed, his fingers going impulsively to the sunburst on his own wrist.
"It's like you're connected to them," Roxas had taken on a faraway, dreamy quality, looking off into the distance, this tiny, sad little smile playing on his lips.
"What were they like?" Axel asked, "Your friends?"
Roxas turned to him, and it was some time before he answered, "You know...I can't really remember."
Axel looked at him for a while, wondering what to say to that. Finally, he said, "It'll come back to ya, Roxas. Everything else is."
"Yeah..." he nodded, not very convinced, "Yeah, sure. You're probably right."
He lowered his head, as if suddenly tired. Axel got a glimpse of that other scar, the X on the back of his neck. Similar to Seifer's, but so much smaller. And Seifer had hastily shut down any discussion of it...
He wondered what was the story behind Roxas's X. Given where Axel had found him, the meaning seemed very clear. But did Roxas remember? Something told Axel he wouldn't be as fond of the story if he did.
Those papers probably explained a bit about it, the ones from the Hunting House, the ones the Ice Queen had so carefully decided to keep for herself.
They shouldn't have stalled, should've looked them over the second they'd gotten their hands on them. What had he been thinking...
"Look, guys, this is nice and all..." began Tidus.
"Oh, here we go," Seifer rolled his eyes.
"...but shouldn't we be, I dunno, figuring out a way out of this frigging tin can?"
Axel heaved an exasperated sigh, "I'm assuming this means you have an actual idea this time, or do you just miss hearing Seifer get confused?"
"I wasn't confused, I was trying to get things clarified..."
"Kid..."
"Fuck that 'kid' stuff, you're, what, 20?"
"...21."
"Yeah, you're three years older than me."
"Young in body, wise in..."
"I'm the only one trying to figure a way out of this place!"
"And I'm telling you, that's nice and all, but there ain't a lot of point," Axel spread his arms wide, "We're locked in this here tin can, about a bajillion miles above the ground and er...half a bajillion away from the top of the mountain, suspended by two...count 'em, two..." he held up two fingers just to spell it out, "wires."
"They call 'em cables," said Seifer.
"Don't get pedantic, Seifer."
"Look, I get it, I kidnapped those girls, but I didn't never pedant any..."
Axel stared at him, "Dude, pedantic. It means, like..."
"To explain a lot to somebody," interjected Roxas.
They all looked at him, Axel clapping him on the shoulder, "Atta boy, Brainiac."
"Outsmarted by a vegetable," grumbled Seifer.
"I'm not a vegetable!" said Roxas, sounding more annoyed than angry.
"Ex-vegetable."
Roxas just shrugged at that one, as if he couldn't find the lie. Tidus groaned, getting to his feet, "You guys are telling me you're cool with just sitting around and bullshitting until the crazy bitch on the mountain decides to let us go?"
"Well, I'm not saying I'm happy about it..." began Axel, "But we don't exactly have a lot of options here..."
"We make options!" Tidus got to his feet so quickly he nearly hit his head against the ceiling.
"Aw, Jesus..." Seifer sighed.
"Listen, we're on a slant, right? Like, a diagonal?"
"I don't know, man. Rox, you got a protractor..."
"Wait..." said Roxas, "Yeah," he turned to Tidus, "Yeah, we are on a slant! And...and the cable's gotta come down someplace..."
"Exactly," said Tidus, looking both impressed and gratified, "So..."
"Like a zip cord," Roxas nodded, "That's kinda sweet."
"Your word, not mine."
"Wait, wait, wait..." Axel interjected, "You're not seriously suggesting we get out onto the cable and slide down?"
"Why not?"
"I can tell you a coupla damn reasons why not!" said Axel, aghast, "What part of a bajillion miles down..."
"It's probably more like 2 and half," said Roxas, "I mean, it's a long way..."
"Skater boy can do math too," remarked Seifer.
"Roxas, two miles is still a lot..."
"I know!" he said, "But it's doable. You hold on tight, you don't look down..."
"You know, I'm starting to like this kid," said Tidus.
"Oh, so I'm a kid?" Roxas turned to Tidus, "Funny how that works."
Tidus smiled, abashed, "Sorry. But, yeah, we can do it..."
"Roxas, this isn't like...jumping off a roof into a dumpster," pointed out Axel.
"What?" asked Seifer. Axel ignored him.
"Why not?" asked Roxas, "Axel, c'mon...I used to do stuff like this all the time!"
"Stuff that you're just remembering?"
"Yeah...but I know I did it. Sure, nothing...nothing this big, but..." he sighed, "Don't you trust me?"
"Rox, it's not..." but Axel broke off, "It's not about trust, man..."
But he couldn't bring himself to finish. Tidus was already crossing the car, heaving the door open and letting in a harsh, cold blast of air. Seifer let out a short cry, "Aw, for the love of...Aw, Jesus nuts!"
And he lurched forward, onto all fours, his face contorted into another terrible expression of pain. They all whirled around to look at him, Tidus freezing in the doorway.
"Seifer..." Axel moved over to him, "Seifer, man, you okay..."
"Do I look fucking...argh!" Again, he seized up, shaking, spasming wildly.
"What the fuck's wrong with him?" asked Tidus.
"You're asking me?"
"What..." Seifer broke off, panting, "What the hell is he do..." but he broke off again.
"He? Who's he?" asked Tidus.
"Forget it," said Axel, "We're not getting an answer. Let me..." he moved closer to Seifer, who responded in kind by putting both hands out, "Back off!"
"Man, I'm trying to help you!"
"Nothing..." he rasped, breath uneven, "Nothing you can do."
"That's what you said before, I didn't buy it then and, guess what? I buy it even less now."
"Well, it's a good thing I ain't selling you shit! Now, leave it, Axel..."
"It's that scar, isn't it? The X on your chest?"
Seifer broke off, "Shut up, man."
"It is, isn't it? They didn't something to you too..."
Seifer looked up at him, "They?"
"They, them, X-Corp, they did something..."
Seifer broke off, "What the hell do you have to do with..."
"Um...guys?" Tidus broke in. He'd returned to the doorway, was peering out. Roxas had joined him, and both were looking out of the car at...something down below.
At first, it seemed as though some sort of scream, an actual human scream had resounded from somewhere below them. Seifer got shakily to his feet, eyes wide, mouth agape, jostling the car as he did. Roxas stiffened, going pale. Axel felt his hand on his arm. Tidus gripped tightly to the edge of the doorway, his eyes wide... There was something reflected in them, Axel noticed, a flicker, some bright light, gradually spreading...
In the next second, Axel realized where the light was coming from...a growing tide, pure white glow, coming up from the valley, bringing with it this weird warmth, and a sharp wind. Axel felt the car pitch sharply beneath his feet...
He reached forward, grabbing for Tidus's leg, meaning to pull him back inside before...
There was a crash, a clear, sharp snapping noise, Axel felt the wind whistling in his ears, that warm light at his back...
"Axel!" he heard Roxas's voice, saw fingers grasping wildly for his hand...
Again, he grabbed for the door, still hanging open. He could see Roxas pitching forward, making to catch him. There was no way he'd make it, not without falling out himself...
"Roxas!" and he swung the door shut, just before Roxas could reach out for him.
The last thing he saw were those scared, blue eyes, pressed up against the glass panel, as the car went swinging back one way and Axel went swinging back another.
He's okay, though, he thought to himself, Better off than you.
Make that one kid he'd looked after.
"Donald, I'm gonna say something you're not gonna wanna hear..."
"Then save it!"
"...I think we lost him."
Donald put on the brakes so hard Celeste, yet again, had to catch herself to keep from being flung in between the driver's and passenger's seats.
"Then what would you suggest I do, Bigshot?"
"Well, just that it's gotten pretty dark out, and I'm sure they're missing us back in town, what with everything that's happened..."
"We were brought here to solve a crime, not lead a damn prayer circle! They can hem and haw over their dead gasbag all they like, but if we don't catch this son of a snake, he won't be the only one dead!"
"He's on a motorcycle," Celeste interjected, having a very good idea Donald would find her even less convincing than his partner, but figuring she might as well try it anyway, "We knocked him flat off the road and he was barely slowed down..."
"You didn't do anything! I drove the car, Goofy aimed the shot, not very well, I might add..."
"Well, Donald, if she hadn't pulled me back into the car, I don't like to think what would've happened..."
"I don't know what the hell I was thinking let a civilian carpool during a car chase!"
"What happened to buying me a beer when this was all over?"
He screamed again, slamming tiny hands down onto the windshield. Goofy heaved a great sigh, rummaging around in the glove compartment.
"Want a Smartie?" he had in his hand a little pile of the tiny, chalky candy tablets.
It occurred to Celeste that she hadn't had a bite to eat since her own sorry tuna salad sandwiches at the hospital last night, right before the blackout, before Amphitrite...
Not that a Smartie counted even as a modicum of food, but she accepted it anyway, smiling as politely as she could manage at her sole ally in this car.
"Now, Donald," Goofy returned his attention to his partner, munching on his own Smartie with a volume that seemed unnecessary for something barely the size of a fingernail, "It's not like we're out of leads..."
"Sure, of course not, a good mechanic can probably point out half a dozen clues on the mess that bastard made of my car, but as for where that gets us..."
"Well, we've got them hospital logs Celeste dug up..."
Celeste was about to credit Goofy for at least getting her name right, but Donald shook his head furiously, "Ooh, big bad businessman went in to visit the dead broad's next of kin a coupla times! Big whoop."
"He convinced an underling to hide it for him!" said Celeste, unable to hide her irritation.
"Sure he did, that's something, it's not enough. Jesus, a guy like him's probably got more lawyers than I have gall stones..."
"Donald, I did tell you to check with that doctor..."
"You stop mothering me!" Donald jabbed his finger in his face, "I'm not saying it was a waste of time getting those records..."
"I got those records," pointed out Celeste thinly.
"...but if you're gonna ask me where I, as an agent of the law, place my priorities, you bet your ass I'm ranking 'assassinated police official' somewhat higher than 'creative disposal of bureaucratic bullshit'! Now, we are gonna get back on the road, we're gonna find that bike, and we're gonna take him into custody, and if Mrs. Mabel in the backseat would like to say anything to it, she can walk back home, and I can sleep easy."
"I didn't ask to be dragged along on your car chase!" said Celeste.
"I said I was sorry!" said Goofy.
"I just figure you're more likely to be wasting precious time if you drive around the county looking for some guy on a bike when we don't even know anything about him..."
"Not so," said Donald, "We know he's a biker. We know a pair of the big man's detectives found paraphernalia connected to one biker club or another at the site of the power grid..."
"I didn't know that," said Goofy.
"Last dispatch they were able to get in last night," said Donald, "Got it out of the D.A in between palpitations."
"Seems to me he was the victim of a turf war."
"Between bikers?" asked Celeste.
"No, between trade unions, yes, between bikers. I'm under the impression you've got something of an infestation here."
"Well, I wouldn't go so far as to call it an infest..." Celeste trailed off, "Well, be that as it may, you're still not going to get anything done driving around and looking for somebody you can't even describe."
"You are underestimating my abilities, woman. I'm not gonna say I'm offended or shit like that, but I'll have you know, I didn't win this job in a raffle..."
"That's just where the car's from," said Goofy with ill-disguised laughter, earning a murderous glare from Donald.
"Well, I'm sorry if I offended," said Celeste in a tone whose frigidness surprised even her, "I'll be happy to get out of your way."
"Now, Celeste..." began Goofy, but she was already fumbling with the car door.
"You can unlock the door whenever you like," she told Donald curtly.
"Celeste, we're a coupla miles past your town limits..."
"Well, I've lived here my whole life, I'm sure I can figure out the way."
Donald was still scrutinizing her in the rearview mirror. Celeste met his eyes in the mirror, "Well?"
"You're asking for trouble, lady. You are aware there's at least one kidnapper and at least one murderer running around, including a potentially unaffiliated motorcycle riding assassin?"
"I'm sure I can manage."
"Ha," he barked dryly. Celeste heard the clutch of the car unlocking. Goofy moved as if to stop her again, but she was already opening the door...
"Oh," she stopped short, looking off into the tall grass on the side of the road.
"Stubbed your toe already, huh?"
She turned back to Donald, "Don't you see it? Over there, in the dark..."
Donald craned his neck, and Goofy too, nearly falling past them out of the car. They all saw it, a faint flicker in the dark, almost like...
"Campfire."
"Ain't that something?" remarked Donald, unimpressed.
"Well, maybe they've seen something," said Celeste.
"Maybe."
"Well, if they've been camped out by the side of the road long enough, they might've seen the bike go past, they could tell us something about it."
"Sure, or they could tell us about all the bears they saw shitting in the woods, I'm not too thrilled about either prospect."
"Aren't you part of the Federal Bureau of Investigation? Investigating would appear to be your job."
"Investigating things that are worth investigating, sure. I don't make it a habit to interrogate every schmuck on the side of the road."
"Now, Donald, it seems to me she's got a point. We oughta at least try..."
"You keep your trap out of this!"
"Don't you remember that case out in El Paso?"
"Goofy, I swear to Christ..."
"...well, you told me that there was no such thing as a worthless witness, and I tell ya, if it wasn't for your hunch with that one fella outside..."
"You wanna talk to the hobo? Fine!" Donald stepped out of the car, "You two follow my lead."
"What, you're including me?" asked Celeste.
"You have any objections?"
Of course Celeste didn't, besides the initial nervousness of being conscripted as a stooge of the FBI. She supposed this time, at least, she ran less a risk of needing to fight back the urge to vomit.
Donald locked the car and they proceeded on through the waist high grass toward the glow of the campfire, which had been set in a stretch of pebbly ground. It was a rare night, Celeste noticed. No moon in the sky, but a fresh cool wind. Probably one of the last true autumnal nights they'd have before the biting cold of winter set in.
"Well, hello, friends!" greeted a voice, as the tiny, stooped figure sitting by the fire got to his feet, "We were just about to crack open a can of beans."
"How appetizing," said Donald, giving him the once over.
He was an older gentleman, dressed in some tattered approximation of a nice suit. Raggedy trousers, a vest that may have once been violet but that age had stained to a dark, ugly brown. He wore a pair of leather shoes scuffed almost to the point of falling apart, and his white wool gloves were not quite white, and peppered with pockmarks.
He lifted his top hat to them in salute, "Not often we get visitors to come warm themselves by our fire."
"We?" began Goofy, though it soon became apparent there was somebody else sitting at the fire, a little, grimy-faced boy who looked up at them with a bold smile as they approached.
"That's my Pinocch!" declared the older man cheerily, "And as for me, I'm Jiminy, that's Jiminy Cricket, at your service."
"Cricket?" asked Celeste.
"Well, that's what they call me anyways. Because crickets have stories to tell, and I've got 'em too."
"Well, if you call eardrum cancer 'stories'..." began Donald, but Goofy interjected, "Well, if you've got stories, we're more than interested in hearing 'em!"
"Oh, well, that's just grand!" he beamed, showing a big, yellow smile as he gestured to either side of him, "Come on, come on, make yourselves at home."
Donald gave each of them a poisonous glare as he sat down at the most extreme distance from both Jiminy and Pinocch. Goofy, clearly more intent on being approachable, sat to Jiminy's right, while Celeste took up a spot between Goofy and Pinocch. The boy turned to her as she sat down, grinning up at her.
"Hello," Celeste greeted him with a smile of her own. He nodded, but didn't say anything aloud. Shy, maybe... He was at that age, from the look of him.
"Is...um...is Pinocch your son?" asked Celeste looking back at Jiminy.
Donald clearly didn't appreciate her asking the question, but she decided to ignore him.
"Oh? Oh, no, no... Y'see, Pinocch's father was a dear old pal of mine, and he's since left us. I figure I owed it to him to look after him."
"Keep him off the streets, yeah?" asked Donald dryly. Goofy gave him a reproachful look, but Jiminy didn't seem offended, instead letting out a hearty laugh as he began stirring some beans in a can, producing a noise that Celeste could only describe as 'visceral'.
"Well, certainly! Now, I know you fellas...and you, my dear..." he inclined his head to Celeste, big eyes sweeping up and down her in a way long years at Cid's had done a great deal to prepare her for, even if she never quite got used to it.
"...must think it's irresponsible of me to be raising a child on the road. But better out here in the open air than in those towns and cities! Why, there ain't nothing there but danger and temptation! Vice and wickedness. A young boy in the city's more likely to join up with some gang..."
Donald shrugged at that, as if he couldn't argue the point.
"...or get up to all manner of devilry with sporting and drinking and that's not getting started on girlies!" he looked around at them all, his attention resting, again on Celeste, "No, no, we're much better off here."
"Yeah!" Pinocch announced with such abruptness that Celeste bit back a scream, "Jiminy protects me from all the bad stuff."
Celeste struggled to catch her breath, pressing her hand to her rapidly beating heart.
"Now, Pinocch, why don't you show 'em that little dance you can do."
"Oh, now there won't be any need for...aw, shit," Donald tried, and failed to stop the proceeding from coming to pass, but the kid was already on his feet, executing what appeared to be a tap dance sans tap shoes, moving with an admitted deftness around all of them, feet quick and nimble as he circled the fire, that uncanny smile still on his face.
"Yes, we're much better off out here," continued Jiminy, as Pinocch circled around behind him, "Much better off. Why, even the things I've heard out of town lately's gotten me all riled up. People being kidnapped, shot..." he made little tsk tsk noises under his breath.
"Well, as a matter of fact..." began Goofy.
"It's all a very unfortunate business, indeed," said Donald, in a much terser voice, "I don't suppose you heard how it happened?"
"Well, Donald, I don't know as that's appropriate in front of a..."
Donald silenced Goofy with a look, "They say the police commissioner got it good from some fella on a bike. Probably one of those same gangs you're so keen to get your kiddo from."
"Oh, just dreadful, dreadful..." Jiminy muttered, shaking his head, "You know, I don't like to be a pessimistic fella as a rule, but it seems more and more like we're living in the Judgment times. I'm always telling Pinocch..."
"And you know," Donald continued, giving only the sparest look over to the boy as he did his little dance right on past him, "They saw that motorcycle left down on that very road there," he nodded to the road, and the shadow of their banged up Buick parked at the side of it.
Jiminy raised his eyebrows, "Oh, you don't say?"
"Seems so," Donald nodded, "Mighty unsettling business, you might say."
"Oh my, oh my, oh my..."
"I don't suppose you've seen that bike, then?"
"What?" Jiminy looked up sharply, big eyes narrowing, but only slightly, "Oh, no, no, I'm sure I'd have remembered. We've only been sitting at the side of this road all day, and...well..." he chuckled, "I take to making a note of everybody I sneak a peek at on that road over yonder..."
"Do you?"
Jiminy nodded, fishing about in his vest, "Now, where in the world...ah, here we go!" and he filched out a tiny leather bound notebook, "My journal. That's where I keep my stories, all the people that come our way here in this great wide somewhere."
"Ah..." Donald looked at it, "That's something. No motorcycle, though?"
"Well, now, I don't think so," he made a little noise as if considering, "Let me just check..." and he set to flipping through the notebook, lips pursed in an expression of intense concentration.
Donald made no effort to hide his irritation, heaving a tremendous sigh and tapping his fingers against his arm. Goofy started whistling tunelessly.
"Must be here somewhere..."
Celeste couldn't keep from leaning forward a little, in anticipation. It seemed unlikely, really, and yet...something about that way he'd started when Donald mentioned the bike coming by, as if he did remember.
But then why would anybody...
Celeste saw a shadow spread out on the ground before her, a tiny figure looming over her shoulder, hands out...
Before she could make another motion, something long and thin was pressed against her throat, pulling her back, held in two tiny, but surprisingly firm hands.
"Donald!" Goofy cried in a warning, as the other agent very helpfully exclaimed, "Jesus Christ!"
"Now, now, fellas, stay calm..." warned Jiminy, in a placid tone that was more terrifying than any raised voice, "We wouldn't want any accidents."
Celeste tried to push back, but Pinocch was surprisingly strong, the strip of wire in his hands firm, almost sharp as it dug into her neck.
"Bastard took our guns!" Donald discovered, filching about in his pockets.
"Pinocch's got quick feet, and quicker fingers," pointed out Jiminy, turning one weapon over in his hand, the other one sitting on the ground beside him, "His Daddy learned that the hard way, that's true enough."
"You sick fuck, what the hell is this about?"
"Oh, no hard feelings, fellas!" declared Jiminy, "Just getting by with living on the road. It ain't an easy life, worthy though it is."
"They had badges in their pockets, Jiminy!"
"Oh, I see that..." Jiminy was sifting through a tiny pile at his feet. Celeste saw the half shrunken tube of Smarties lying among them as he lifted up one leather flap, the silver badge inside it, "FBI men, eh?" in a stern voice, like a displeased father, he addressed Donald, "Now, why didn't you tell us you was cops?"
"Why didn't you tell us you and your golem were highway robbers?"
Pinocch pulled the wire tighter around Celeste's neck, she let out a harsh, high yelp.
"Donald, he'll kill her!" warned Goofy.
"Oh, not kill her...just get her nice and blue, I think..." said Jiminy very neatly, "Blue's a nice color, got a calming quality to it. I do like blue, particularly on a lady..."
His face never lost that gentle, calm quality, not moving from Celeste's own eyes once. She tried to scream, to fight back, to no avail.
"Now, you fellas are gonna get down on your knees, and you're gonna ask the the Almighty for deliverance from evil..."
"Now, Mr. Cricket..." began Goofy, "That woman, she's no part of this..."
"Well, sure she is! Any woman wandering about in the witching hour knows good and well what's coming to her..."
Celeste gave up trying to pull away at the wire, it was fixed too tightly around her neck, slicing into her skin...her vision was hazy, blurring in and out of focus...
Not like this. It can't end like this.
Why not? Some other voice seemed to tell her, Aerith, Amphitrite, all those missing girls, Kairi... Sora. Who ever said you had any right to find your son? If he can be found at all...
Sora. Sora, lost and gone, and vanished, her son... How could it be that she could remember him so well, and yet at the same time, it was harder to hear his voice in her head, his laugh, that smile, the way he would erupt into tumultuous giggles when...
Celeste knew what she must do. Deftly, quickly, she reached over her shoulder, feeling with her fingers for the spot just under the boy's neck...
And she tickled him like a maniac.
Every kid was the same, it seemed. The boy burst into a peal of giggles, uncontrollable laughter.
"What the...?" began Donald, but the boy had already stumbled back, the wire slackening. This was all Celeste needed to duck beneath the wire, drop to her knees, dive away from Pinocch.
"Goofy!" she cried, grabbing the one gun from where it had fallen on the floor and tossing it to the agent, who fumbled to catch it, but managed all the same, looking like he couldn't believe it himself.
"That's the ticket!" cheered Donald, taking advantage of the dumbstruck Jiminy to grab at the arm holding his gun, wresting it from his grasp as he kicked the older man right below the belt, sending him doubled over, "Goofy, you get that Silly String off the munchkin."
"On it!" Goofy moved over to Pinocch, whose laughter had subsided, but who wasn't able to move fast enough to recollect the wire before Goofy seized it, and set about using it to bind his hands, "Now, I ain't tryin' hurt ya, but if you can spare a thought to what you've done, I'll call that all in a day's work..."
"Here's the journal," Celeste grabbed the notebook from where it had fallen, dangerously close to the fire.
"I trust you can read, Super Mom?" Donald asked, not as meanly as he usually did, not taking his eyes from Jiminy, who he'd forced onto his knees.
"You're not gonna find a thing in that book!" he spat desperately.
"Let us be the judge of that, you degenerate. I've got a mind to blow your brains out and write it off as you sneezing too hard."
"What's it say, Celeste?" asked Goofy.
"Er..." Celeste looked hastily through it. The writing was simplistic, spare, like a child's, yet the pages were very neat, meticulously kept, smooth and white despite its evident use. Celeste found herself thinking of the coded letter, bent over it at Milo's side.
This, at least, was written in English.
"Two black Bentleys. S&S. Maybe transporting?"
"S&S, that's Styx and Stones, the mafia guys?" demanded Donald.
"You seem to know so well!" exclaimed Jiminy.
"Shut up!"
"It's not stories," said Celeste, "It's just...designations. Descriptions of cars, if he saw a driver. Here, one month ago, he spied on a couple going at it in their backseat..."
"Oh, a pervert, eh? Why am I not surprised..."
"There's sums of money written beneath each one," Celeste looked up at him, "You spy on people and then you blackmail them."
"They have the gall to do their wickedness in the open, they oughtn't be surprised!"
"Here...today," Celeste pointed at the most recent entry with a new energy, "Black motorcycle, helmet on driver. Gun. Traded bike in..."
"Ditched the evidence," said Donald, "Well, shit."
"Wouldn't have known that if he we hadn't stopped to talk," pointed out Goofy, "Just be looking around for the same bike..."
"We get it, save it."
"...Peg Leg came to pick it up," she frowned, looking at Jiminy, "What's Peg Leg, like a code..."
But Donald had turned sharply, "What did you say?"
"Peg Leg, I guess he helped the shooter get rid of the bike, but..."
"Well, I'll be damned," Donald turned back to Jiminy, "What the hell do you know about Peg Leg Pete?"
"I know you don't start any trouble with him, unless you know what you're doing!" said Jiminy, "He's got it in deep with some powerful folks, and I'd never..."
"Aw, stow it," and Donald rammed the butt of his gun into the back of Jiminy's head, knocking him out at once.
"Peg Fuckin' Leg Pete," grumbled Donald, looking at Goofy, "Can you believe it?"
"You'd think he'd have gone legit by now, all the trouble he got up in..."
"Wait, wait..." said Celeste, "You know this guy?"
"Know him?" asked Donald, "We trained together at the Academy. Worked shoulder to shoulder with him near ten years before the shit hit."
"You know what they say," said Goofy, "It's a small world, after..."
"I know he moved down southwest, but call me an idiot, I thought he'd be trepanning out by Yellowstone like a sensible idiot."
"Well, why did you knock him out?" asked Celeste, "He might've told us where to find him!"
"Screw that noise. There's better ways to get ahold of Peg Leg Pete."
"Oh?"
"Sure, just point me to the nearest body of water, and I'll show you a beached whale like you couldn't believe."
Goofy sighed heavily, straightening up from binding Pinocch's limbs, "This is a real shame... Just a kid."
"It's horrible," Celeste looked into the boy's eyes, and he met them, cold, stern, hateful, "Raising a kid to...help rob and extort people..."
"Not my Maxie," said Goofy, "Least I like to think not. Our kids are us, and it's on us to be the best us for our kids."
"Thank you, Socrates, now back to business," said Donald, "We've got a lead and we've gotta get moving."
"We're just gonna leave them here?" asked Celeste.
"Why the hell not? I've got no time to process these idiots. We're investigating four separate crimes, and even then I might be selling that short."
Celeste looking nervously from the prone, unconscious Jiminy to the boy. His eyes gave her goosebumps. They were cold, passionless, remorseless...almost inhuman.
"Fuck, I need a cigarette," Donald was fidgeting with one, and his lighter, "That was some good work there."
"What?"
"Yes, I'm complimenting you, take it now before I change my mind. Real crack job. How'd you think of it?"
"Well..." Celeste began, feeling quite stupid, "Kids are...are ticklish. I figured even that kid must..."
And she broke down crying, unexpectedly, suddenly, so much so that it startled her, head bent, face soaked with tears.
"Aw, Celeste..." and Goofy wrapped an arm around her shoulder, "It ain't easy, is it?"
"It never is," agreed Donald, also sounding surprisingly soft, "But you stick with us, we're gonna find your boy."
Celeste looked at him, blinking away tears, "I thought I was a liability?"
"You are. But you saved my ass, and you've got as much a stake in this as the rest of us. Now c'mon, I'd prefer we found that old bastard before morning."
And he started off for the car. Goofy gave her a light pat on the shoulder, urging her on. And Celeste went on with them, though at the same time, she couldn't quite keep from looking back at the two forms in the grass...
Nothing you can do, she thought, But for Sora...God, for Sora...
For Sora she could do anything. And she would.
Hot days, cold nights, laboring in the shadow of those huge metal towers. Sweat kissing his brow, his neck, his back...
The other men would whisper to each other. He could see their looks, could feel them.
He would not let them bother him. He could not, not again. This was a new life, he could not make the same mistakes...
He had to work. Work was the only way forward. Drilling the earth, making it bleed...foundations for a life. Just keep his face on the earth, the drills, the oil...nothing else.
They thought he couldn't understand them, but he was learning. How could he not? But they fancied him some stupid ape, some foreign insect polluting their tiny world.
"Never says a word, not in Spanish or nothing. Think he's an idiot."
"Fuck were they doing hiring him? Got a buddy down in Boulder could do this same job and tell you what he's doing as he does it."
"Fuckin' wetbacks, man... Give it a coupla years, there'll be running the whole shit show, and still won't have a word of English 'tween 'em."
There was nothing to be gained from listening, from acting as if he knew. Yet sometimes he imagined what it would be like if he did intervene, if he proved he knew what they were saying. What they would say, what would they do, to learn that this big, dumb animal wasn't dumb at all...
And he was very angry.
But he couldn't be angry. No, it was too dangerous, there was too much at stake.
There she was, coming to the rig. This was the first time, he remembered now. All work stopped as she got out of that crisp blue convertible, pearly white cowgirl boots meeting the hard packed desert ground, that short black hair tossed by a raw, hot breeze.
Nobody dared say a thing against anybody so long as she were there. She roamed among them like a Princess, or a Queen. The boss's daughter, water in the desert.
There was a word for that... Oasis. So she had been.
She smiled at them all, shook hands, donned a hard hat like the rest of them. She was interested, really interested in how it all worked. The rig, the oil...she knew a lot too. Going to school for it, they said. She took an interest in all of them... And then she'd come up to him...
He smiled sheepishly, head lowered. You had to lower your head when they came around, you didn't want to seem presumptuous, but respectful...
"You must've been hard at work," always a smile, not condescending, but kind, considerate. She must have seen how tired he looked, even as she'd tried to wipe his brow before she arrived.
He couldn't say anything to her. He could understand, could say a little, but...
"Oh..." she nodded, "Lo siento. ¿Has estado trabajando duro?"
She was fluent, confident and assured. He hadn't heard an awful lot of Spanish since coming here. It was comforting, reassuring... She was comforting and reassuring.
"You speak very well."
"I'm learning. It must be difficult, no one else speaking Spanish."
"I manage."
"Well, if you ever do want to talk to someone..."
A crash from above, something tipping, falling... Surely, she'd be crushed...
Riku came to rest against a low stone wall, rubbing his head, trying to shake the persistent, insistent pain from it. They were coming quicker now, those flickers of that life, that old life. He was beginning to understand, and the understanding was both frightening and, weirdly, comforting.
If only he didn't know how it ended.
"Come on..." he told himself, "Come on, focus. You're here now. Here."
He couldn't slip away again. He had work to do, and from the look of things an entire day had been spent in the past. It was well past dark, and very cold. He wasn't sure where, exactly he was, but the outline of the mountains up ahead indicated he'd wandered pretty far north.
Weirdly, his feet weren't sore, he didn't feel tired. Well, he did, but not the kind of tired you should feel after walking for a whole straight day.
It didn't make sense. But nothing did.
There was something at the base of the ridge, in a low valley. Houses, shops, streets. A town, but not one Riku was familiar with.
He came upon the big wooden sign at the entrance: Main Street U.S.A. There was a car parked by the sign, vaguely familiar, but he couldn't quite place it.
The streets were grim, silent, no sound but the wind whistling down alleyways and narrow side streets.
There was a buzzing at the back of his head, like an insistent scratching...an urgent warning, or maybe just a quick tip, 'Here. Here now. Close.'
He almost wished he would speak into his head again, just for some closure, some clarity. Some company. But he dismissed the thought almost as soon as it appeared. Better to be alone and haunted by memories than alone and haunted by...that.
A sharp, harsh noise from somewhere close by caught Riku off guard. He whirled around, stumbling a bit.
Barking...a dog, and gone as soon as it had happened, no sign of the animal in question. This place was abandoned, forgotten... And yet why did it seem like something had happened here?
The high street opened up into a wide plaza, a big empty fountain in the middle of it. But this isn't what commanded Riku's attention at once.
There, on the cobblestones, still and menacing in the dark...a body. He understood very well what a body looked like by now.
And, as much as he told himself he wanted nothing to do with it, he should keep going, mind on his task, Riku found himself propelled forward anyway.
His boots squelched in blood, and something thicker, more pulpy. He drew back his foot, lifting a hand to his mouth to repress a sudden urge to gag.
A short figure, stout. The head had been crushed, presumably after falling from someplace higher up. No way of knowing...
And Riku saw the hat, a big floppy gardening hat, lying a few inches from the corpse. That hat, a silly hat, a familiar one too.
He knew its wearer. Had known him, been in the same club as him, wasted long summer afternoons with him...
Axel got him to help you break out of jail. Riku realized with a shock, a memory from another life, but his life, his real, ordinary, last life.
Vivi. Dead. Dead, here in the middle of nowhere, no one around, no one to explain...
Why? Nothing made any sense, nothing fit together, nothing...
He lifted his head and beheld the building opposite the fountain, what was surely supposed to be some big grand landmark at the foot of the mountain...
Silently, Riku passed through the big open gap where the doors had been, looked up at the great gaping maw in the middle of the roof, the metal struts of rafters that had come crashing down, the sections of tiled floor that had been splintered beyond recognition.
At once, Riku knew something terrible had happened here...
A short crash as a great heap of bricks came falling from a section of wall.
...and recently.
The wind whistled loudly through the ruin, the many gaps in the walls, the roof. Like someone singing. Or wailing.
Riku shuddered, and fixed his eyes ahead of him. There was a big metal console at the far end of the room. Like everything, it was beyond repair. Riku noted the scattered wires,heavy cords, cables. It led out into some big rectangular gap in the wall.
There was a big metal box, lying dusty and unused in the doorway. It had apparently been hooked up to the cables.
Ski lift. The other car must be on the top. But, given the cables didn't seem to be in order...
That buzzing again, urging him forward, up the mountain, into the snow. A terrible idea, of course, but he could not resist the urge to give in.
Maybe he shouldn't. Just this once.
Riku started up the mountain.
It was about a whole day of nothing, and then the world started ending.
Probably the weirdest part was, even though they were supposed to be on limited power because of the blackout, somebody had kept Doctor Doctor's Judy Collins album on blast.
"Riding on the city of New Orleans/Illinois Central, Monday morning rail/Fifteen cars and fifteen restless riders/Three conductors and twenty-five sacks of mail..."
There were wild footsteps up and down the hallway outside. Demyx hadn't been put back in the Icebox after...well, after what he guessed counted as Vexen's funeral. Instead, Xaldin had just shoved him into one of the tiny white rooms up and down the hallway and locked the door.
He'd tried doodling in his notebook...well, Zex's notebook, whatever...but it hadn't worked. The hours had dragged on, and try though he might, Demyx couldn't get the thought of Vexen, of Axel's friend bent over him, beating the life out of him with his fists, out of his mind.
And now...
"All along the southbound odyssey/The train pulled out at Kankakee/And rolls along past houses, farms and fields/Passin' trains that have no names/And freight yards full of old black men/And the graveyards of the rusted automobiles..."
"Come on," the door opened, and here was the Man of the moment, standing there, glowering beneath those two ridiculously bushy eyebrows.
"What now?" Demyx asked, unable to keep the irritation out of his voice, and not really caring if he sounded bratty.
Xaldin scowled, which seemed to be the only face he was capable of making anyway, "We're clearing out."
"Wait...is that like...leaving?"
By way of answer, Xaldin stepped forward and hauled Demyx to his feet, basically dragging him out of the room. He barely had time to check his two earthly possessions: the journal in his pocket, and Larxene's ugly old lady jacket, as they went barreling down the thin, dimly lit hallway, where Dem could see doors open the whole way down, and beyond those doors...
"I-is that smoke?" he asked incredulously.
"I already told you," said Xaldin, "We're clearing out."
"Good morning, America/How are ya?/Say don't you know me? I'm your native son/I'm the train they call the City of New Orleans/And I'll be gone five hundred miles when the day is done..."
"Wait, wait, you're burning the place down?"
"And you with it, if you don't keep up."
"But, wait, what the..."
But they were already moving with ridiculous speed down some narrow, dark corridor, the floor slanting gradually up beneath them.
"Dealin' card games with the old men in the club car/Penny a point ain't no one keepin' score/Pass the paper bag that holds the bottle/Feel the wheels rumblin' 'neath the floor..."
Sirens began to blare...smoke alarms, probably. The fumes were clouding the air, making it hard to see, stinging Demyx's eyes. Xaldin moved on, unbothered.
"And the sons of Pullman porters/And the sons of engineers/Ride their father's magic carpet made of steel/Mothers with their babes asleep/Are rockin' to the gentle beat/And the rhythm of the rail is all they feel..."
"Zex!" Demyx called out as the floor began to level beneath them, "Yo, Zex! Zexion!"
He turned abruptly, face blanching as he hurried over.
"Back to your business, boy," scolded Xaldin, "No time for gossip,"
Zexion glared at him, turning his attention back to Demyx, "Are you alright?"
"Dude, what the hell is going on?"
Zexion shook his head, "What Xemnas told us last night. The Mansion is too dangerous now, there's too much dirty laundry in the wind."
"So they're burning it down?"
Zexion sighed, "And moving everything to another site."
"Everything?"
"And everyone," Zexion looked pained, "I tried to talk to him, say you were alright, you weren't going to say anything, but since Vexen..."
He didn't finish, and Demyx knew he didn't need to. His confession from last night, how he'd done what Xemnas had accused Vexen of doing. One thing to be considered the dead dude's accomplice, but to know you were the one responsible and the dead dude was dead for nothing...
"I didn't have a lot of clout to begin with, but now I'm afraid I might be as much of a prisoner as..."
"You can ponder that on your own time, boy," hissed Xaldin, "We're out of here by sunup. You move, or you burn."
"Jesus fuck, man!" Demyx turned to him ruefully, "I'm seen some freaky shit since I showed up here, but that's frigging Medieval..."
He was already being dragged off, Zexion calling after him, "You'll be alright! I swear it, nothing's going to happen to..."
"Nighttime on the city of New Orleans/Changing cars in Memphis, Tennessee/Halfway home, we'll be there by morning/Through the Mississippi darkness/Rolling down to the sea..."
"In here!" they'd approached the bed of what looked like a moving truck: big boxy thing, black and silver, with the X-Corp 'X' painted over the doors.
"You have got to be..."
But Xaldin had already opened the doors and thrown Demyx in, where he landed with little dignity on his stomach, sealing him in the dark.
"But all the towns and people seem/To fade into a bad dream/And the steel rails still ain't heard the news/The conductor sings his songs again/The passengers will please refrain/This train has got the disappearin' railroad blues..."
"Oh crud..." Demyx breathed, "Oh, come on, not again!"
He hammered on the doors, "I didn't do anything!"
So what? He changed his tune.
"You are all a bunch of corporate drips, and everything Olette ever said about you was right, and I'm sorry I didn't listen to her and throw Larxene's resume in the trash before she could send it to you, and..."
"Hey!"
He let out a sharp, girlish shriek, whirling around at the voice, "H-hello?"
There was somebody else in the truck, he could see that now, even in the near darkness. There was a stretcher, or a cot or something, and somebody was strapped down on it. He could make out brown hair, brown eyes...
"B-Belle?"
But no, of course not. He'd seen Belle, Zexion had shown him. But she looked a lot like her...
"Oh, thank God, you can speak!" she sounded near fit to cry.
"Um...yeah. Yeah, I can speak," he paused a second, "I'm Demyx."
She made a motion as if to nod, but winced, gritting her teeth as if the action caused severe pain, "J-Jane. Do you...do you have any idea what's going..."
But at that point, the truck rumbled to life around them. In the next second, they were moving forward, Jane's cot wobbling dangerously, until Demyx reached out a hand to steady it.
He looked at her balefully, "Sister, I wish I knew what to tell you."
They drove off, the smell of smoke eerily apparent even inside the truck, and the final, now quite distorted chorus of Judy's last song ringing in their ears.
"Good night, America/How are ya?/Say don't you know me? I'm your native son/I'm the train they call the City of New Orleans/I'll be gone five hundred miles when the day is done/Yes, I'll be gone a million miles when the race is run..."
A/N: Updates will return on a regular schedule for the next several chapters. Expect Chapter 38 next Friday!