NOTE: Okay, this is just a short little chapter that I've had on my mind for a while (actually, it's sort of been stalking me lately :P) And actually I guess it's not actually that short...Huh. Odd; it felt like it to me...Anyway, I'm rambling. You will need "Judas" by Lady GaGa for when Rylie is dancing and "Let's Get Lost" by Beck and Bat For Lashes for the scene where Rylie takes Walter into the city to try and cheer him up. Please enjoy! :)
38. Clumsy Little Thing
Rylie
Since the concert, things have returned to semi-normal. We keep up our constant cycle of band practice-training-patrolling, but with a few little twists. The first is that we now know we're not completely alone; in fact, we're keeping good company.
Muse told us that they were going out undercover as truthers at night, so that they could help other truthers spread the word through graffiti and protests. It was why they had looked so perilously tired at the concert. In turn, we'd trusted them with our secrets- that we were truthers, and that we were the new vigilantes who were slowly stealing the scene (though, truth be told, I was hard-pressed to convince Walter it was okay to do so).
So now, through emails and occasional phone calls, we keep in touch with them, exchanging information and news. A pretty exciting turn of events, if I do say so myself.
The second twist, however, is not as exciting. In fact, it's downright miserable and, truthfully, it has me worried most nights. Because now, Eddie insists on patrolling without Walter.
Granted, Jimmy and Damien go with him. But they are all still so new to this. Without experience, I know all too well that they could make a rookie mistake and end up dead.
This little rift in our group is due entirely to the new enmity between Eddie and Walter. Well, not completely new, since it's always been there. Different is a better way to describe it. Stronger. Something happened on our mini vacation to our little group- it brought us all closer together, and yet strengthened the hatred that Eddie and Walter have for each other at the same time.
Yes, together we are all united because we know we're fighting for something bigger than ourselves. But at the same time, the animosity between the two of them has strengthened. In a quiet, more mature way, but strengthened it has.
So Eddie patrols with Jimmy and Damien, while I patrol with Walter. And it's always a relief to me to come home and meet the other three at my house; until I see them again- alive- I have trouble breathing correctly- as though they've punched little holes in my lungs that can only be filled once I'm sure they're safe.
It's a bit strange, patrolling only with Walter. Or, rather, Rorschach. If I were patrolling with Walter, it would be easier. But I'm not used to being with Rorschach for such extended amounts of time; I've always had the other three there as a buffer.
For a while, it was almost excrutiatingly awkward, since Rorschach definately doesn't like me much. But I'd toughed it out, taking comfort from the fact that Walter was always there just under the surface. In fact, I'd sometimes seen glimpses of him, too, which was nice; a little treat on patrol.
However, a lot of these glimpses seem to happen at my own expense. Of course. If there's one thing I've learned from the whole Walter/Rorschach experience, it's that sacrifice is key to any relationship.
Rorschach
Cadence is a klutz.
There's really no other way to word it. She is a clumsy little thing, a constant nuisance on patrol.
But she makes me laugh- something that Rorschach doesn't appreciate but that I do. My own personal little comedian, even if she doesn't mean to be.
Like the first time she tried to kick in a door.
She had seen me do it plenty of times, but had never tried it herself, or even showed an interest. So I'd been surprised when, on patrol one night, she suddenly stopped me from kicking in a door.
"I want to do it," she'd whined, sounding like a brat.
I'd cocked my head at her, surprised. "Know how?" I'd asked.
She'd rolled her eyes behind her mask. "I think I get the gist of it," she'd replied. I'd shrugged and stepped aside to let her do it.
After a pause, she'd lifted her leg and slammed the bottom of her foot into the door. But the door hadn't budged. Instead, the force of the impact had sent her flying backwards into the wall behind her, where she'd slid down to the floor.
I'd stared at her for a moment, rigid with surprise and unsure of how to react. But the look on her face- dazed, shocked, comically surprised- was too much and it sent me over the edge. Rorschach, snarling, had receded into the background while I had taken control, doubling over in a fit of helpless laughter. It was a good thing that we hadn't been breaking into someplace to catch someone- only to find information. Otherwise I would have been laughing while trying to detain them and that would not have been helpful.
Then there had been the time when we'd had to chase two thieves all the way across town. We'd chased them from the south side of town, through the downtown area, and were just closing in on them near the abandoned Riverfront Mall near my old warehouse when we'd had to hop the fence.
I hadn't been expecting anything out of the ordinary to happen. Cadence had jumped fences before. Granted, this one was a bit taller than she was used to, but I had figured it wouldn't harry her too much. Besides, in the heat of the moment, there hadn't been time for doubt.
I only noticed she wasn't with me when I'd finally caught the two robbers. Panic had filled me when I'd realized she was gone, so I quickly handcuffed the men to a streetlamp and retraced my steps in search of her.
When I'd found her, she was dangling from the top of the fence, the seat of her jeans having been caught on the chainlink. She'd stared at me flatly, daring me to say something.
But I couldn't help myself. I'd started chuckling, shaking my head at her predicament.
"It's not funny!" she'd snapped.
"It is from my perspective," I'd replied insolently.
"Would you just get me the fuck down?"
And it wasn't just on patrol, either. Sometimes, I allow Cadence and the others a break from training for a day, and usually Cadence prefers to spend these days with me.
On one of these days, Cadence had suggested we head into town, just to walk around. She likes to do that; just walk and enjoy everything around her. So I'd agreed and we had just gotten to 23rd Street- something she and her friends now called "the Straight" as a codename- and she had been arguing with me.
"...No, Walter, that is not the point. It's not just about vampires, it's about love!" It wasn't a serious fight, but she had been trying to explain to me why she enjoyed the "Twilight" series so much. As far as I could tell, it just seemed like a cleverly disguised way to advertise lust and avarice.
She had been so absorbed in our argument that she hadn't noticed the light had changed- she stepped into the intersection without thinking. Everything had happened so fast that I was surprised by the clarity of my memory afterward; it had seemed to happen in double time, and yet I'd been able to absorb every detail.
Roaring up from the left, a huge city bus had been barreling toward her. It wouldn't have had time to stop. For a fraction of an instant, I had been frozen, and all I could think was, Not her.
In the next heartbeat, I had lunged forward, wrapping my arms tightly around her and then leaping backward, out of the way again. A second later, the bus had raced past us, horn blaring as it passed.
I'd held onto her for a moment longer, tightly, ascertaining that she really was safe, in my arms; in that second, I had been paralyzed by the irrational, choking fear that maybe I'd only imagined pulling her out of the way, that reality would shift if I let her go. My eyes had been wide with horror and shock, and when I had finally pried my arms from her I'd seen that her expression was a mirror image of mine. Seconds, I'd thought. That's all that stood in the way.
First had been the shock. Next had come the anger, the blinding, blistering fury that had lashed inside of my chest like a snake. The beast inside of me had been roaring, so loudly I was surprised no one else heard.
I'd leaned over her, glaring deep into her eyes. She'd leaned away, cowering from my staggering rage. "Don't you have any sense at all? Do you understand how easily you could have been killed?" I'd thundered.
"I-I'm sorry-" she'd tried to stammer, but I'd cut her off.
"Don't you ever do anything so stupid or reckless again, do you understand me?" She'd nodded, too overcome with fear to argue. The rage had continued to beat in time with my heart, but I'd forced myself to come down before I lost it completely. I didn't want to hurt her...just knock some sense into her.
After a moment, struggling to get ahold of myself, I'd sighed sharply. Then I'd looked into her eyes again, which were swimming with tears, and tried to convey without words why I was angry. Do you not understand, I'd wanted to scream, how it would destroy me if anything happened to you?
"I'm sorry," she'd repeated, her words thick with unshed tears.
"I know," I'd responded shortly, because- though I wanted to shout some more- she clearly wasn't in the state to handle it. Then, thinly, I'd smiled. "Next time you want to jump in front of a bus, do it when I'm not around, okay?"
She'd laughed- a weak, hysterical sound. "I don't jump out in front of buses, buses jump out in front of me!" she'd declared.
And, miraculously, I had laughed, though my insides had still been churning.
Still, there are nights when Cadence is not a klutz, which I am thankful for.
And then there are nights like this...
Rylie
The rain pours down heavily, as though the sky is crying, too. Rorschach and I look down at the body silently, mournfully, and I don't try to fight the tears that stream down my face, mixing with the rain. Down below me, the pool of blood surrounding the body mixes with the rain, too.
No one else is around. I'm half glad, and half full of a burning anger. I wish I could get my hands on whoever had done this. The boy below us is no more than sixteen, probably younger.
Or at least he had been.
The bullet through his chest had ended that, though. Cut short his life, which was only beginning. I glare through the rain and the tears fall harder.
A few minutes earlier. If we'd been a few minutes earlier, we could have saved him. The thought has my stomach churning sickly and my hands balling into fists so tight they scream with pain.
This is what I hate most about this job. Knowing we could have done something.
"We should move him," I finally murmur, finding my voice. It sounds strange after the long quiet, almost rude, as though I'm breaking into some kind of sacred silence.
Rorschach nods. "Yes. Shouldn't leave him here. Not proper," he agrees quietly.
With a little nod in his direction, I bend over to lift him by the shoulders. But Rorschach stops me and I look at him questioningly. "Identification," he says simply. I feel the color drain from my face. Right. I realize at that point that, though overcome with sadness, I'd been containing it by only thinking about the loss of the boy himself. I'd been restraining myself from thinking of his family, his friends, people who love him and will miss him and will be devastated...
My stomach rolls uncomfortably as I reach into his pockets to look for any kind of ID.
~r.~
With a tired sigh, I pull off my mask and set it on my drawer. Walter pulls his off, too, in his room next door, and neither of us look at each other, too depressed by tonight's patrol.
We'd been able to find the boy's parents. It had been nearly impossible to tell them, unbearable to look into their eyes and see their grief, wretched to intrude on such an intimately mournful scene. But Rorschach had stood solidly at my side, a reassurance, even offering brief, gruff words of comfort to the parents; I hadn't been able to help feeling proud of his quiet sympathy.
Finally, I look over at Walter, who is taking off his drenched costume. He looks back at me and I smile at him slightly; I try to make the expression encouraging but it feels flat even to me. Both our eyes are dull, subdued, full of regret.
He doesn't smile back. He simply looks at me for a long moment and then looks away. "I'm going to sleep now," he says quietly.
I look down, the smile fading from my lips, and nod. "Alright. See you in a few hours then," I reply. He just nods silently and shuts his door. With a sigh, I shut mine, too, and attempt to sleep myself.
~r.~
At noon, Walter and I are standing in the garage, waiting for Jimmy and Damien to finish setting up. We stare at each other, neither of us feeling the need to look away. We are standing in similar postures of resignation and exhaustion- arms crossed over our chests, shoulders slumped, bodies relaxed but only by defeat. Our eyes stay locked, and in his dull gaze I seen mine reflected. It's as though we're sharing the same thoughts, having a conversation without words- neither one of us can stop thinking about that boy.
So it startles us both when Eddie comes barreling in, eyes gleaming, waving something excitedly in our faces. "Look what I found, Rylie!" he exclaims, shoving what appears to be an old newspaper in my face.
Reading the name at the top, I can't help gasping in surprise, my eyes widening in shock. It's an old copy of "The New Frontiersman". "Oh my God, Eddie, where did you find this?" I ask.
"Stashed in some old boxes in my attic. I remembered that I took some from Dad when I moved but I couldn't remember until last night where I had them," he explains.
"What is it?" Walter asks dully, as though not particularly interested. I show him and his eyes grow wide. Recognition flashes in his eyes, and I realize that he already he's already familiar with this paper, too. I feel an unexpected shaft of ice slide through my stomach at the thought and I shiver.
He snatches it from me and his eyes flicker wildly as he scans it. I know what he's searching for, so I lean over his shoulder and point it out to him. Then Eddie and I step away to give him some space.
"What entry was that?" I ask him once we're a little ways off; I'm not sure why, but I feel a little uneasy. I realize with surprise that I don't really want Walter to know all of his past right now. It just feels...wrong.
"The American love entry, I think," Eddie replies, glancing at Walter, as though sensing my anxiety. "You know, the one about the Coke bottles."
I nod, remembering. It had been one of my favorite entries as a child, so poetic, and that's probably why Eddie had saved it.
"I'm sorry," he says unexpectedly, and I look at him in surprise.
"For what?"
"For showing him. Maybe it wasn't such a brilliant idea," Eddie explains, sounding guilty.
I shake my head, though he's exactly right. "No, it's okay. I suppose he'll have to learn of his past eventually," I sigh.
Later that afternoon, I'm in the shop. I'm by myself; Eddie, Jimmy, and Damien have all gone into town, and Walter's inside eating dinner, so I've decided to spend this time practicing something I haven't practiced in a while- dancing. Aside from dancing with Eddie in the aspen room, I haven't danced in a long time. It makes me a little sad that I haven't been able to keep up with it; dancing is always something I've loved to do.
With my ihome providing the background music- "Judas" by Lady GaGa- I start to move and twist to the music. I don't have any particular goal, I just want to dance. So I concentrate on feeling the music- in my pores, in my muscles, in my bones- until I am the music.
It's not until the end of the song that I realize he's standing there, watching me. I stop dancing immediately, flushing with color, until I feel I might just burst into flames from embarrassment. Then I glare at him. "Could you, like, cough or something to let me know you're there?" I snap.
He just raises an eyebrow at me. "Apologies," he says quietly. He seems to be struggling to say something, and I know him well enough to see embarrassment in his eyes, too. I tip my head to the side. What does he have to be embarrassed about?
"Didn't know you were...such a good dancer," he finally mumbles, looking everywhere but me. Ah. Now it makes sense.
I blush again, but feel myself practically sparkle with pleasure. "Thanks," I reply. He looks up at me then, nods once, and comes in to sit by me on the workbench. I turn my off my ipod and then smile at him, clapping my hands together briskly. "So. What's up?" I ask, because, clearly, there is something else on his mind.
He shrugs, seeming almost surly. "Nothing," he grumbles.
I raise an eyebrow. "Really? Doesn't seem that way."
Walter snorts and then rolls his eyes up toward me, glaring. "You're much too perceptive for your own good sometimes," he mutters.
"No, you're just transparent," I lie.
He snorts. "Hardly," he responds, and then he sighs and the sarcasm leaves his eyes, leaving behind a dull, depressed vulnerability. I feel my own expression twist in sympathy and sadness; still thinking about the boy.
"It's true, you know," he mumbles after a moment. He doesn't look at me.
"What's true?"
"That American love is dead," he says and looks up at me then. His ice blue eyes are hard and cold, severe, as though he's daring me to challenge him.
I hesitate. Some part of me knows he's wrong- Love never dies, I think to myself stubbornly. But another part of me, the cynical and probably more rational part of me, remembers the boy and shakes my resolve. They've destroyed love, that part of me whispers spitefully.
Was offered Swedish love and French love...but not American love. American love- like Coke in green glass bottles. They don't make it anymore. My mind quotes his journal word for word; there are many passages I've memorized, but this was- aside from his last entry- is probably the most potent in my memories.
Walter stands and shakes his head. "I'm going back inside," he mumbles and heads out again. I blink after him, wishing I could say something- clearly he's feeling as depressed as I am. But how can I help him, when I can't even claw my way out of my own sorrow?
As I'm standing there, I watch the light grow steadily darker outside. It'll soon be time to head out on patrol once more, and face another evening of this job.
And I'm just not sure I can do it.
Not that I want to quit; I know I was born for this job. But not tonight. I can't do it tonight.
Narrowing my eyes in determination, I march out the door after Walter, having made up my mind. When I find him, he's upstairs in his room, sitting on the edge of his bed, staring down at his hands clasped in his lap. He looks up at me.
"Walter," I say, and I'm pleased to find that my voice rings with authority. "We are going out," I declare.
He blinks at me, puzzled. "It's not time yet, Cadence. We can wait for a while longer," he tells me. His voice is subdued.
I shake my head. "No, I don't mean that it's time for patrol. We're going out. Come on," I tell him.
"What...do you mean, 'going out'?"
"Just come with me, Walter," I order, then grab his hand and tug him out the door. He doesn't put up much of a fight, but I think that's mostly due to his depression.
It isn't raining when we first get into town, but a few droplets have made themselves known, so I don't think the dryness will hold out much longer. Everything is quiet, settled down for the night. Of course, Walter and I both know that's not completely true, but tonight we're not paying attention to that.
"Why are we here, Cadence?" Walter asks dully after I've dragged him a couple blocks. He doesn't pull his hand from mine, but he doesn't hold it either.
"We need a break from patrol tonight. We need to lose ourselves a little," I explain.
"And you thought that coming into the city would be the best way to do that?" he inquires. The way he says it- dull and flat, yet still managing to sound sarcastic- makes me feel stupid. Of course he's right; after last night, how could I even think this could help?
But I try to defend myself. "I just...feel...that this could help. Bring us closure, you know," I say.
His eyes narrow infinitesimally, but I notice all the same. "The only thing that could bring me closure is finding the scumbag who did it," he growls. I feel his hand tighten in mine.
I sigh. Maybe this was a horrible idea. My sudden moment of clarity is starting to fade, leaving behind the depression. But there's more to it than that, and I struggle to understand what it is. I cock my head to the side curiously once I do.
Inside me, there is a distinct feeling that I'm missing something. That I'm right on the verge of finding...whatever it is, and that I must keep searching.
"C'mon," I mutter quietly, keeping my hand tight around Walter's as I take him through an alley. The rain starts to fall then, and I try not to take it as a bad omen.
They're waiting for us, of course. Like little beacons glinting in the light cast from a streetlamp opposite. They wink at us, gleaming in the rain, under a pile of garbage. But there they are.
My heart leaps into my throat, and the feeling of missing something disappears, to be replaced by a sense of closure. "Walter!" I gasp.
He looks at me, confused, and I realize he hasn't seen them. "What?" he demands, sounding irritated by my sudden outburst.
Frantically I point at the bottles, my eyes wide with excitement. "Look!"
He obeys, and it takes him a moment to realize what I'm getting at. And then he looks back at me, and his blue eyes are suddenly wide and gleaming with what I can only call hope. "Cadence," he says and I nod.
"I know." Smiling widely at him, I tug him the last few feet through the rain and then kneel down to examine one of the bottles. It's a Coke bottle, and new by the look of it. Looking at the bottom, there is a "2010" printed in the glass.
"It's new," I breathe, staring at it in wonder. Holding it feels like holding some kind of holy relic- the Holy Grail. Twisting it around, the edges catch the light, sparkling like little stars embedded in the glass surface. To me, the light looks like hope.
I look up at Walter, holding a bottle of his own, and smile at him, elated. The hopelessness and despair that has settled around us suddenly lifts, and we stand up together, still holding our Holy Grails.
And then he laughs. It's not because something is funny or because I've done something stupid. It's an amazed kind of sound, a high kind of sound, contagious. I laugh, too, and it sounds just as wondering. I'm aware right now that we'd probably look like complete idiots to anyone watching, but I don't care.
Taking Walter's hand in mine, we race off into the night together. Drunk from our knowledge. Drunk off of American love.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Okay, I really hope you liked this one. I know there wasn't any action in it, but there will be soon, I promise ;) Anyway, much love, please review!