Chapter 2: Last Stand
I couldn't say it.
I don't know why, but I couldn't force that one word out from behind my recalcitrant lips.
… Out.
Why no peace?
I would have stopped and made myself do it, but I had done enough injustice to that broadcast. It was bad enough that I my voice had broken on the most important part…
Only through… Only through—a devastating sacrifice.
Stupid me, making my eyes the only part of this charade. Did they see my eyes fill with tears? Did I almost cry? I don't remember. Only the heaviness in my throat…
How many hours has it been since she's been gone? How many hours since Lydecker clocked me on the side of the head with the rifle? How many hours since everything went black?
My hands uncurl from where they were holding the arms of the chair, aching from the strain. If I looked down, I would see them shuddering, a fine tremor running down my fingers, but I can't tear my gaze away from the sight of my own eyes.
The striking blue that I inherited from my mother is nothing but dull, impassive gray after being looped through the computer. The bags under my eyes are almost completely erased by the computer graphics, I look like I could be anybody. Anyone at all could be sitting in this chair.
If I never sat here again, who would know the difference?
This computer has memorized my eyes, my voice, in it is every bit of useful information that has ever passed through my lately-abused head.
Who would know the difference?
I gaze, rapt, at those eyes…
Both of those floating eyes, without any face around the two to explain them…
He looks shifty, some part of me knows that it's because I'm looking at the screen and not at the camera, but that knowledge is completely swallowed by my thought.
He looks shifty. He can't be trusted.
Something my father used to say came to mind, "You should never trust a man who refuses to look you in the eyes."
"I don't trust you." I whispered to those terrible, inhuman eyes, "I don't trust you at all…"
"I wouldn't expect you to." A voice proclaimed quietly from the doorway.
"I thought you'd still be sleeping for hours yet." I declared, not bothering to hide my bitterness.
(You took me away from her, you stupid son of a—I wanted to die, dammit, you wouldn't even let me do that.)
"Couldn't." He explained simply, "I had a-- …anyway, what was that broadcast supposed to do?"
Am I supposed to feel sorry for you? "I had a—" Are you supposed to be manly by changing the subject? Poor little Lydecker, being pursued by all his evil deeds. I hope you never get a full night of sleep in your life, you sick, sadistic, twisted—
"I don't know." I said, hostility seeping like cold air across the room. Damn those eyes…
I don't trust you.
I don't—
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him nod, "Feel any better?"
"No," I announced hotly, for a moment, I put my arms down, to turn the chair, when I realized I was no longer in my wheelchair. So I rose and faced him, "Was it supposed to help?" I growled. I wasn't making any sense at all, but I understood very clearly that I wanted to see this man bleed. He reminded me of my father, only worse, a self-serving, hurt-inflicting, selfish, crawling, self-important, crude, ignorant…
"I don't know if anything will help but time, son." He said quietly, having at least enough good sense to avert his eyes, but that just incensed me even more.
"Don't even try to make me believe you are feeling even the most insignificant fraction of what it is I'm feeling, you…!" There was no word vile enough, "And I am not your son!!" I roared, trembling with fury. That bastard, that spineless, soulless, heartless, gutless—fool.
I looked at him.
He didn't avert his eyes to avoid mine; he was doing it to hide his tears.
Idiot.
He made her, and by making her he doomed her to…
To…
"Do you think it will change anything?" I asked, suddenly pitying him.
"What do you mean?" Lydecker responded, sounding penitent.
"That broadcast…" I turned to the bank of machinery that had been my life for so long, that miracle of technology that had allowed me to keep my purpose even after I'd lost my legs, that one thing that had come between Max and I. "Will anyone respond? Did anybody even listen?" I wondered aloud, my shoulder's slumping, all my internal supports crashing inward.
He narrowed his eyes, "Someone's always listening." He offered, ever cryptic.
"Thanks, that helped." I sneered, not being able to help my own sarcasm. To think, only hours ago, I was willing to try and accept this man by virtue of—
Wait, he's Lydecker, isn't he? The man that haunted Max's dreams until—until her dying day.
So why do I speak of virtue?
I turned away under the pretense of organizing my desk, trying to hide the water in my own eyes.
"You know," Lydecker began, but was cut off by the phone ringing. I straightened, reached for the phone, but Bling had picked up the extension in the other room. He's a good man, probably knew I wouldn't want to be disturbed. Lydecker paused, as expectant as I was, hoping for some bit of news, any spark of hope.
The rational part of me that still hoped that it might be Zack.
Everything else prayed fervently that it was Max, calling from a street corner, asking to be picked up, sorry for all the worry she'd caused.
I'm a sorry mess, aren't I?
Slowly, Bling walked into the room, looking at me with guarded eyes. It wasn't any of what I was hoping for, I knew that immediately.
"It's for Eyes Only." He told me, voice gentle.
"I don't want to hear it." I informed him, uncomfortably aware of how petulant I sounded.
He nodded, having expected this response, "Is there anyone else she can call?" Bling asked.
(She.)
I hesitated, a thousand names running through my head, none of them worth the time it took to think them.
(Max.)
I took the phone away from Bling, because there was no one else, and I knew that.
"Yeah?"
"Is this—is this Eyes Only?" A hesitant female voice asked.
"Maybe." I responded, "What is it you want him to know?"
"Uhm…" Clearly I had been too hostile, the woman was questioning herself, beginning to doubt, to fear.
"It's alright," I told her, sounding as gentle as I could manage, "No one will ever know you called unless you tell them. I'm not tracing this call. Go ahead."
"There's been… things… Going on after hours in Sector 7. I mean, this stuff goes on all the time in Sector 5 and 4 and… Hell, practically everywhere else. But you expect to see this kind of stuff in warehouses and abandoned airports—not shoved between the high rises."
"I gotcha." Automatically, I had sat back down in front of the computer, ready to input any pertinent information, "Do you have an address?"
"I—look… I don't want to get anyone in trouble, y'hear what it is I'm sayin'?"
"Of course," I responded, trying my best to sound comforting and not getting very far, "I don't go after the grunts, Ma'am, it's the big guns we're all up against that I try to put away."
All systems nominal, this call is not being traced, sound distortion is in place…
"Just… Look by the Cat's Meow Boutique in Sector 7. Walk north half a block and check out the high rise with the barred doors and the seriously buff doorman. Get the rest yourself." She finished, and hung up.
I had already hacked into a satellite feed of the place. American satellites may be down or out of use, but pictures don't need to be translated, so Russian and Japanese satellites will do just as well.
I vaguely remembered the Cat's Meow Boutique, having passed it at one point or another, it was easy enough to get a shot of the nearest apartment complex half a block north. I patched into a program that would allow me to extrapolate the address from the point on the satellite feed.
"Logan?" Bling asked.
My head jerked up, I noticed with some satisfaction that Lydecker had left the room during the conversation.
"Are you going to take this one?"
I frowned at the question, "Of course," I started, "Why no—" There was a moment's pause before I glared down at my shoes, feeling angrier and more helpless then I had since I got out of that wheelchair. Leaning my elbows on the table, I put my head in my hands and forced the tears back. Bling took a few steps into the room, but he knew better then to put a hand on my shoulder, in this state I would most likely rip it off.
It was a good portion of a minute before I got a decent enough handle on my emotions to speak, "She wouldn't want me to stop," I explained, the words sounding hollow even in my own ears, "Besides… There is no one else. Who is going to help if there's someone else like—like Max? How can…?"
How can I stop, knowing that there could be someone out there who means as much to someone else as Max means—meant—to me? How can I stop, knowing that my apathy could make someone endure what I am suffering through right now?
"I just have to." I finished lamely.
"Right." Said Bling, obviously unsure whether or not he thought this decision was wise, "If you need any help…"
"I know Bling. And thank-you."
"It's never been a problem." He said dismissively, "I'll be—" He made a wide gesture towards the rest of the apartment.
"Sure."
I spent a few moments obtaining the address of that high rise before I picked up the phone again.
"Detective Sung." A cool voice answered after two rings.
"Hey, Matt."
"Logan! Listen, I heard about some military activity in Wyoming, and I thought—"
"I'm fine, listen, I need you to get me some information…" As quickly as I could, I detailed what I knew to Matt, "Just keep your ears open."
"Right."
As soon as I'd hung up, Lydecker came into the room.
Was probably listening to my conversation, waiting for me to finish… Why is he in my house?
"Just got off the phone with Krit." He announced gruffly, "They're getting a team together to—"
"Gonna bust Zack out of there and finish what you started?" I asked flippantly.
"Something like that." Lydecker answered, "We could really use your help."
I bit back a laugh, "You are speaking to a broken man, Donald," I informed him, "You're going to have a team of Chimera at your side, and you with your military training…" I smiled bitterly, "I'm just barely able to walk. I'm useless." Suddenly I realized what I was saying, "Besides, you assume I want to help."
He seemed taken aback, "Don't you want them to pay?"
Did I? Did I really?
"I want nothing to do with any of it," I informed him, my voice dripping with venom, "Nothing at all, do you understand me? Sir?"
"Look… It's true, I—they—have the assistance of the Chimera, but it's just them and me and I'm just a military man, and an administrator--a bad administrator at that. We need to break into that place like we did the last time, I can't afford to keep one of the kids on top of surveillance and hacking, and God knows I can't do it myself." He looked at me, weighing me, judging me, "We'll need your help."
"I don't care." I declared.
He stared at me, long and hard, before he finally told me, "Yes, you do. Otherwise, you wouldn't be so insistent that you didn't care."
"I don't need your third-rate psychoanalyzation." I informed him.
Goddammit, why was he in my home? Why was he here? I hated this man, I despised him, I abhorred him, so why had I let him into my home? Because, for all my hatred, he offered some hope?
Why can't I accept that she's---
I took a deep breath and turned away before expelling it in a sigh.
Something in me refuses to believe she's dead… Whether that instinct is right or wrong… God, how can she be dead? I just saw her hours ago… Even though when I saw her, she was dying… No, Logan, don't kid yourself, she was dead. Then why do I want to believe…?
I turned, and Lydecker was still standing there, still waiting for a response.
She'd want me to…
"We'll need you." He repeated, as if I couldn't remember what he'd said.
Maybe if I do this, I'll see some proof, be able to put her to rest, "Maybe. I'll consider it. Give me everything you have and I'll… I'll at least see what I can do."
After giving one sharp nod, he left.
Would a thank-you be too much to ask for?
I turned back to my computer screen, at the eyes that were still visible, this time so close to the camera that you could see the tiny capillaries creeping out from under all that white jelly.
"I still don't trust you…" I told it, but the eyes didn't respond.
I don't think I'll ever let you go, Max, you've buried yourself in me, as deep as emotion and memory will allow.
I'll think of something, Max, I always do…
But even Eyes Only doesn't have the solution for death.