Maybe I'm Twisted 2

by Rey

[Chapter 8 uploaded] The story continues... Butch goes to sleep one night and wakes up in a very, very different place. Will he be able to get back home? And, in the end, will he really want to? Someone will help him make that choice.

7. The Forgotten Remain

Author's Note: Uh, I'm back! Hello... -makes a face- I'm going to have to read some of my old books, look to see if I can... -cough- steal any ideas... -sieves out some plot and mixes it into her own story- Uh... mail me, I suppose.

Maybe I'm Twisted, 2
by "Twisted" Rey

Chapter 7 - The Forgotten Remain
"You'll never silence the voice of the voiceless." - Rage

Part 1

I spent another much slower week at my desk going through paperwork and on the beat chasing down crooks... the usual. Although some policemen are trained for undercover jobs, they may only be called for duty once in a while. I still had my regular job, of course, and right now I had to sort out - you guessed it - more paperwork.

As I worked, though, my mind was practically anywhere but work. Wondering what Buttercup was doing, what she'd have prepared for dinner when - if - I got home. Worrying about Robin. Dreaming about Bubbles... No, real daydreaming. Not some perverted crap. I mean, if you're dreaming about a girl's hair and eyes and her voice and all that usually irrelevant stuff, it means you're in love, doesn't it?

While I was pondering that, absentmindedly shuffling whatever was in front of me, one of the drones in the office broke the train of my thoughts.

"Butch, there's a call through for you. From DCI Tre Keane... Something about a job." The drone raised an eyebrow at me suggestively. I drifted out of my trance, back into the real world, and waved him away.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'll get back to him..." Body shaking with a yawn, I reached to the phone and dialed.

Butch...

"Aw, man, not this again." Another one of those voices - and they were getting so familiar - "roused" my from my sleep. It was one of those dreams, though, where I knew I was sleeping.

Do you believe in Fate?

The way the voice pronounced it, I felt as if this fate had a capital "F", was FATE in skyscraper, billboard, Hollywood-type neon letters.

"Matrix moment," I muttered. To the bodiless voice I said, "Depends on which life I'm living."

You have a destiny, child.

"Destiny's Child?"

Stop that. Now, the voice sounded slightly peeved. You have a destiny to fulfill, a part to play...

I paused. Do I really? It seemed as if... well, Buttercup had... but we...

"Should I believe in Fate?" I asked, and the voice laughed. That kind of... elderly-person laugh. The kind of laugh, well, that makes you feel young and ignorant, but also, somehow... doesn't let you feel bad about it. It made me feel like I'd be old and wise soon enough...

Even if you don't, won't it still exist? If you stopped believing in life, would it stop, or would it still go on?

"...I guess you're right," I said, tilting my head to one side.

You are learning, Butch. And you are beginning to change, but ... A beat. It is a good change, the voice decided.

"Yeah, well, thanks for your support," I grinned. A deep chuckle resonated around me in response.

I will not disturb your sleep any longer, then, friend. Good night, Butch.

And I was returned to my sleep.

Nate, beside me, muttered hopelessly as we set down the street towards the shebeen at exactly ten o'clock, just as DCI Keane had said. A day or two before, we had observed the place from a nondy, and got the general layout of it. I had objected to making our entrance at ten o'clock - seeing as places like this only even had action past midnight - but DCI Keane was adamant.

"It'll be better that way, then," He had said, when I protested at the meeting with the back-up team. "You'll have been there long before when it does start heating up, and you'll be less likely to run into any trouble. Let's synchronize our watches, then."

Nate himself had been almost randomly picked for the job. He was new to the undercover business, this being just his third job, and his nerves were proving very contagious. As we rounded the corner and reached the staircase down, two young black women in skimpy clothing and a man in typical gangster getup appeared and headed down the stairs towards the front door. We increased our pace, slipping inside right behind them.

The reinforced doors managed to muffle some of the noise, but when you were inside the doors didn't do a thing for you. My head throbbed with each bass beat and my bones shook in time with the rap.

The smell of cannabis prevailed in the shebeen - practically everyone excepting Nate and myself was smoking a joint - and the only lights to see by was the sporadic flashing of the lights near the DJ's turntables.

We instinctively moved for the bar. I decided against trying to get away with orange juice or Coke, and ordered some strong liquor. Nate himself was quite partial to beer, which he mentioned as he ordered one. With our drinks, we found a patch of wall to lean against and, chatting nonchalantly, began to observe.

People had gathered in small groups and were talking, but it was too early for anything huge to be happening. After twenty-five minutes we had seen all there was to see and headed back out.

Nate and I jogged the three blocks down to where DCI Keane was waiting.

"How was it, lads?" He asked, watching the two of us. I gave a nod, and Nate shrugged.

"That's good. If you're both fine with it, I'll authorize you two to head in there as often as you like. Now that you've broken the ice, I want you to be heading there on a daily basis, and I want reports on my desk every morning. I want to know this place well enough that I feel like a regular myself."

Both of us nodded, and gave a crisp "Yes, sir." With luck, the job would be coming off soon enough.

I came through the door, swinging my coat off my shoulder and hanging it up. "Buttercup! I'm home!" I called.

There was no reply, and I winced. She could be sleeping already and here you are, galumphing around the house like an elephant. But... and then I heard music, very softly playing, from the kitchen. Sleepy-sounding music, with a slow, depressing beat.

"Clint Eastwood," I realized. A terribly, terribly old song, by that band... Gorillaz? Something like that... "Buttercup, are you in here?" I called again, entering the kitchen.

Buttercup stood there, swaying slowly to the music. And she held a knife to her wrist.

Part II

For the first time, it seemed as if she'd noticed me, the mist in her eyes folding away for a moment. "Stay back," she whispered, starting to tremble. "Don't move or I'll do it, I swear."

"Buttercup -" I began, but she wouldn't let me finish.

"Don't try and convince me not to, Butch... I know what I'm doing. I know why. I saw Brick today, Butch. And you know what? He was with. My. Sister."

I swallowed, my feet glued to the floor. "..Bubbles?"

She turned an evil eye on me, and snarled maliciously. "Of course, Bubbles! Would he be dating a dead girl?!" She snapped, teeth still bared.

I just stared at her blankly, and she shook her head, her grimace turning into a half-laugh, half-sob. "I'm sorry, Butch. I'm sorry." My muscles tensed, and still I waited. Waited too long.

I look back at that moment, and think about what an idiot I was. Then again, if I had moved, maybe I'd never have made the right choice after all. So many different things I could have done, should have done, so many choices I could have made... Was it all a set-up? Just a lesson? Or was it real?

"Goodbye, Butch." With three amazingly quick, violent swipes, she began to bleed.

I dashed forward, knocked the knife from her hand as she sank to her knees. I grabbed her, lifted her up, my mind swirling, confused, What do I do? I pulled my shirt off, wrapped it tightly around one gaping wound, trying to stop the bleeding, but, my God, so much was coming out, in great pools on the floor... With shirts from the laundry nearby, I tied up the second, the third wound... but it wouldn't stop, it just wouldn't...

I called an ambulance. Watched them bundle her up quickly and take her away; they wouldn't let me come... the second friend in a month to be taken away in an ambulance. I wondered why... who would let this happen.

Me. I let it happen... maybe it wasn't totally my fault, but I could have done something about it. It was Brick... Bubbles, I had to talk to her. Shaking, I searched through one of the cupboards in the kitchen, finding a clean towel and mopping up the mess on the floor. A nightmare... this had to be a nightmare. But the blood, the coppery stench was real, the gleam of it on the floor from the sickeningly white kitchen lights, the drowsy music still humming in my ears, the slick feel of it under my hand and the towel... It was all real, too real.

I ain't happy; I'm feeling glad.
I got sunshine in a bag.
Man, I'm useless, but not for long.
The future is coming on.

I passed out.

A few hours later I awoke, the towel stuck in congealed blood. I wiped the sleep from my eyes and peeled the towel off the floor, climbing to my feet. After washing the towel, I turned off the damned music, and finished cleaning the mess in silence.

Leaving the towel in the sink, I stumbled to the stairs and slowly ascended to my room, randomly picking out a set of clean clothes. I stripped and walked to the bathroom, dumping my clothes on the floor, and climbed into the shower, turning on the water, clean, hot water... They could wash away the stains and the noxious reek of the blood, but they couldn't wash away the memories.

I stood there for almost fifteen minutes, under the pounding force of the water, before I felt well enough to walk about the house without throwing up. I turned off the shower and shook the water out of my hair like a dog before getting out to dry myself, and put on my clothes.

Downstairs again, I considered preparing myself a snack, but decided I had no appetite... and anyway, encouraging my stomach muscles to puke was a bad idea. The clock said 4:27 am, and I had nothing to do... and the address book on the dining table caught my eye.

I flipped the pages... Utonium... Bubbles. The only Utonium in the book... My finger traced out her phone number. Hand trembling, I picked up the kitchen phone and called her.

There was some slight static at the other end. Will she be mad? I wondered, but then, she picked up.

"Hello?" Yeah, the voice sounded grumpy. "Who is this?"

"Bubbles? It's... it's Butch."

There was a pause. "Butch, it's half past four in the morning..."

"I know, I know." I frowned. "But... I had to talk to you."

"Can't sleep?" She asked, giving me a nice easy lie.

"Sort of... Look, Bubbles, Buttercup's in the hospital."

"Buttercup?" The voice was confused, and slightly awed. "She's around?"

"Yes." I frowned very slightly, before taking a deep breath, and relaying my story to Bubbles. I told her everything up to tonight... excluding the night Buttercup and I had gotten close on the couch. When I was finished, I only then noticed the quiet sobs coming over the phone.

"Oh, my God... Oh my God. Butch, are you going to see her?"

"Yes. I was going to go about now, but I thought I ought to tell you first. ...Will you tell Brick?"

"Tell Brick? I want to come with you. Will you take me?"

"..Sure," I said, after a moment's thought. "Tell Brick, too. Get ready fast, I'll be by in about twenty minutes."

"Okay... okay, Butch." A beat. "..Thank you."

"You're welcome."

Bubbles hung up, and I did, too... Thoughtfully. Had I just agreed to take Bubbles to see Buttercup? Sisterly reunion... if Buttercup was alright. Hurriedly I moved to the front door, and slipped on my socks and shoes. It was a cold morning, but Buttercup was definitely more important right then... I hoped it wasn't too late for her.

Rey: Aha. Sorry I didn't continue this before. I didn't have enough inspiration to write something... depressing/angsty/angry as this... Well... Yeah. Review? Puhleez?