THE BEST MEDICINE
Chapter Six: Autumn's Marquis de Costello
***
DISCLAIMER: All Batman concepts and characters in this story belong to Warner Brothers, coz I've used Batman: The Animated Series and Batman: Mask of the Phantasm. Bob Kane created the Dark Knight. The fairy tales are courtesy of lower class Europeans of the 18th century - that sounds nicer, yes.
A/N: You'll never guess who FINALLY enters this story next chapter! Stay tuned! (If you wanna find out… please encourage me by reviewing. I really appreciate it, guys!) BTW, I've finally gotten a new keyboard. Yay! Man, when your shift and space bar don't work… it's crazy.
***
The woods were incredibly dark for a summer afternoon. Filled with shadows. European forests of the eighteenth century were dark and green. Not too dark though, just forebodingly so… and much too quiet. The natural sounds were somehow missing.
Sighing, he trudged along. He expected a wolf. There was always a wolf. A dark wolf, leaning against a tree, would stop him and speak in that charming, charismatic voice… yes, he'd seen it all before… a thousand times over…
Stumbling, he realized he was standing in a fire pit. A fire pit?
Confused, the boy carried on… tired of the path, leaving the path. He wandered through the tree trunks… wandered until he came to a pleasant clearing. Sunny, birds singing. Finally - light, sounds. A cardinal. He stared blankly at the silent cardinal, having never seen one before. It was stunning - red and black, just inches from his… Reaching out, he startled the rare beauty away. It was gone. The experience over and forgotten as quickly as it had happened.
Strange, mumbled singing. Glancing up and over the meadow, the boy spotted a quaint little homestead. It rested, overgrown, natural, on the far side of the clearing, part of the next tree line. Curious, he crept forth, attempting to conceal himself in the tall, golden grass. The singing… unintelligible, careless murmurs of an old woman…
As he approached, he caught the back of someone or something brown on the cottage porch, hanging wash out to dry. He could just see through the grass - just - It was gone. They - AH. A strange woman stood over him, smiling. Her eyes were very sick. She could scarcely see, he figured. She spoke sweetly to him in a guttural foreign language, probably German. She was smiling though. Her teeth sickly too.
She bid him to follow her inside. He cautiously left the grass. He felt such warmth flowing from the open door, the smells of delicious- He was hungry. Silently accepting, he followed the old woman inside. She limped largely. Her hair was white and just everywhere. She wore earthy tones, a large brown shawl hiding most of her hunched body. No chain… though she clearly needed one…
Inside, before him, was a long table on which a large banquet waited. The arrangement was out of place, though - far too nice for the old, earthy cottage… old and earthy like the woman…
He was not the only guest.
At the table sat a shady young man, lost in dark thoughts. He stared deeply into the table, thinking, a shiny black pipe pressed against his face. Thinking. He was silent, expressionless - yet somehow sinister. Mysterious. As the boy stared with the intensity of the unknown, images flashed before his bright eyes. Children. Dancing, giggling… then… crying… screaming… darkness… cold-
Arthur jerked his head away, afraid. He instantly moved on, eyes on a very well dressed fellow with a gray cat resting confidently in his lap. The well-groomed puss smirked with mouth and eyes. Green eyes. He tipped his hat pleasantly and returned to table talk. Hat? Talk? Yes, the cat spoke fluent Human and wore a small hat with plume. He was a very clever cat indeed. A little gentleman.
Thoughtless, the boy reached out to touch the pet, to stroke his glossy, gray coat. It was warm- YOW! Hissing, the creature unexpectedly slashed at him with large, shiny black claws. It's snout and eyes scrunched the way he'd imagined only wolves could manage. Recoiling, he nearly fell. The puss settled back into his master's lap, pleased with himself. Repositioning his little hat, he rejoined the conversation.
What were they speaking about? They all spoke guttural-
At the far end of the large table sat a very strange fellow… almost as scary as the first man. A little older, with facial hair, he was blindfolded - the blindfold quite bloody. He held hair… lots and lots of lady's hair… Arthur stared, a little boy entranced by blood. Vertigo drifted through him casually. The man had fallen. The man had lost his eyes. Though his face was startling, the eyes of blood… the man with the pipe was still worse. Much worse.
Noticing an empty place, he started for it. The haggardly woman lashed out unexpectedly. "That's not your place!"
Bewildered, the boy assumed it hers. She set him straight, "No, no… it for someone unable to join us…"
Wait a minute. Firstly, he could understand her now. She spoke English suddenly. Second, if the person wasn't coming, why couldn't they allow another to use the place? He dared not to ask questions though, the pus eyed hag was scary now. Smile gone. This was-
He remembered.
"I'm looking for a my dog. Have you seen my little dog? … Please?"
A troll just stomped right on in. "Nah, but I've seen lots 'a goats."
He was holding a bloody ram's head.
"That's a sheep." corrected the French nobleman confidently.
"Huh?"
"A sheep." the fellow repeated. Though he spoke with the snobby, cliché British aristocratic accent… he was definitely French. This was somehow unspokenly understood. Of this, Arthur was certain.
"BAH…" the troll was dismissive. "I got lotza goats…" he was pawing through a large bag. A bag with blood soaking through… just like the blindfold…
"I had a goat." Arthur's voice trembled.
"Really." the royal sounded uninterested. It wasn't a question.
"What was his name, lad?" the blind fellow was gruff, but not unkind.
"Goat."
"Not very clever, is he?" the little cat asked carelessly.
"Filthy, uneducated poverty. Typical. Simply typical." The royal again.
"I don't want none today." the woman was rude, urging the troll out the door. He smelled bad and there wasn't a place for him at the table anyway. He just came to deliver animal parts. Goat heads and such.
Once she'd argued him out, buying a pair of large, looping goat horns, Arthur was right behind her with a question:
"Where's the wolf?"
The empty place was for his wolf. No doubt. Another unspoken-
"Haven't you heard?" the nobleman was irritated further. When the boy showed no sign of understanding, he carried on, snobby - "He's come down with something wretched. He's deathly ill."
"Ignorant, simply ignorant." The little cat echoed tone, tail still swishing carelessly. Dangling carelessly.
"And it's all your doing!" the hag startled Arthur, ushering him into the next room. He tried to resist, but it was futile. She shoved him forward, into the bars of a closed cage. His eyes met with those of two sickly, starving children. A filthy boy and filthy girl.
He understood and panicked. Struggling and starting to scream, he was ignored by the little party in the next room. Eyes on his platter, the high and mighty Marquis said nothing. His clever cat smirked. The blindfolded fellow and the mysterious piper were as always, dark and thinking.
The child was absolutely shrieking now. Struggling.
Finally, the Marquis glanced up, gripping his fork. "Overpopulated, the lot of them… filthy, uneducated vermin. Too many useless mouths." He sounded as though he was trying to convince himself, not his table mates. "Yes, simply wretched existence anyway. Disgusting vermin. Breed like rabbits, spread like plague…"
Arthur shrieked repeatedly, struggling as she dragged him to the oven. They wrestled, but he was destined to lose. He could feel the flames on his filthy flesh. The heat. He struggled, crying - Why wouldn't they help him? How could they ignore his suffering?! The sick eyed hag was going to cook him and eat him! She was going to cook him and eat him!
***
"One of these days someone's gonna smack him…" Domingo muttered over a steaming coffee, a headache forming behind her tired eyes. "I mean, come on, guys - he's been really extreme lately. Just yesterday morning he went nuclear on me…"
Perrault Dubé, the quiet French-Canadian, sighed, saying nothing.
Martinez, however, had to agree. "Acordado, sí… I mean, he must be going through some kind of spiritual enlightenment, er, you know what I mean, right? Anyway, he's hit some sort of breakthrough in his faith and he's letting it cross over into his work in a manner that's just-"
"Oh, I dunno…" Jerome Chesler interrupted, dark hands up. "He-"
"-is upsetting patients and coworkers alike. He's just… coming on too strong with it suddenly…" Domingo sighed, adding, "You know, not everyone is comfortable with it. It's not the only religion out there. Sometimes he's just too opinionated."
"He is NOT." Chesler tried again. "He's extremely warm and open minded about the subject. And just what do you mean he lost it on you yesterday, girl? That guy's never lost it on ANYONE over ANYTHING in all his years here."
"No, no - I just mean, he was all heavy duty, Jerry. WAY too strong. He's been making me uncomfortable. This fanatical, in your face religious thing… it's the sorta thing that… well… if he crosses the wrong person… he's gonna get his head kicked in. Religion is a seriously sensitive subject. One day a patient is just gonna-"
"SHHH…" Martinez's eyes widened. He was coming.
"Good morning, everyone!" Dub Duval was extremely chipper, his smile as charming and dapper as ever, his doctor robe freshly pressed.
"DUVAL." Kenzy surprised them all. Passing behind the group, he'd paused, overhearing the end of the issue. "Your Bible banging is freaking the hell outta people. Knock it off."
Oh dear.
***
"I thought freaking the HELL out of people was the very point." Doctor Duval was muttering as they walked. "I mean, REALLY-"
"Dub, you're not a Bosch painting."
"Not you too, Cal-"
"Arthur. We can talk about religion later. Please. Now - Arthur."
"Quite right. Sorry."
"What the hell happened last night? My patient nearly died. Why?"
"Well…" Dub hesitated. "If you want my professional hypothesis… all the extremely negative issues within him have been resurfacing through shattering dreams triggered by his recent trauma. The dreams last night were the worst yet. His sick system couldn't handle it. His heart nearly gave out."
"He hasn't said a word all morning. Too weak?"
"Weak and disturbed."
Cal sighed, thinking, "What can you tell me about the dreams?"
"Well, from what Perry can get out of him… fifty percent is his actual past… the rest is symbolism for the anguish of his past and present."
"Anguish?" Cal rose an eyebrow. When his coworker shrugged he sighed, adding, "Symbolism?"
"Fairy tales - wolves mostly. According to Perry… his mother was really into that sort of thing. Bedtime stories every single night. Too young to remember, yet totally subconsciously conditioned with them."
"Why not? Worked in the 1700s…"
"Ya, well, regardless, Perrault is our best bet with this guy. Our 'big city councilman' won't open up willingly… so subconscious is what we've got." After thinking, he added carefully. "Well, he'll tell me bits and pieces of what he actually remembers… but he slants it all because he's embarrassed. Besides, that's just it - he doesn't remember. Wakes up blank. OH - and another thing, why is it-"
"Woah, woah, can we just organize our thoughts here? I should be taking notes."
"Just listen - I checked his file. No contacts. No one's visited him."
"Why were you in his file?" Cal rounded the bend, a little perturbed. "Anyway, ya - the guy's got no one. No emergency contacts. Hasn't requested we contact anyone. When I asked… ANYWAY, the point, Dub - He's a lone wolf."
"Bad expression, all considered."
"What?"
"The SYMBOLISM."
"You and Carl Jung… you just can't-"
"I'll have you know, Cal, Jungian-"
"Don't start. If it's not religion it's Jung. NOW, why do you care about my patient's personal-"
"Just checking in. It's highly abnormal to have NO ONE. Even here. Anywho, Caledon, this morning… after Perry put him under, we put him back to sleep… though, believe me, he didn't want to. He's afraid to sleep after last night… and I don't blame him-"
"Sleeping could kill him."
"Exactly… but relax. He's under very close surveillance. We hooked him up to that new mind-image technology. You know, that stuff-"
"That Bruce Wayne-therapy-Batman thing. Ya, I know. I heard we've got it now. Does it actually work?"
"Oh yes. Yes. He had a long, complicated dream this morning."
"And you've got it on VHS?"
"And DVD… kidding - well, sort of… that technology's coming next summer, but frankly, I don't see the point."
"Scene selection?
"Whatever." Dub unlocked and allowed Cal through a door. "After you."
"So…"
"Right here. Somebody screwed up downstairs again… so it's in black and white… but volume, visual… you've got everything you truly need. I just feel color's all part of the symbolism-"
"You've seen it?"
"Four times… and I'm still picking up stuff… It's deep… and if it relates to his personal past… we'll, frankly Cal, we don't have permission to-"
"I know, I know. He wants the dreams to stop. Dream hypnosis only."
"If he ever found out some of the stuff I have to ask in dream therapy, he might not allow it either. LORD, he's hard to work with…"
***
"The enemy of my enemy is my friend…" a scraggily man spoke mystically.
"Thanks, Crazy Phil." Edward Nygma sighed, sounding tired.
"I destroy my enemy… when I make him my friend…"
"Obvious enough theme today." Harvey Dent changed the channel, landing on the morning news. He and Nygma were separated by a mysterious fellow known only to his contemporaries as The Philosopher. This title, over time, slipped to Crazy Phil.
"And in other news… Batman-"
Click. A children's program. They stuck with the children's program.
"You aren't learning much… if your mouth is moving…"
"Thank you, Phil." Harvey was unexpectedly annoyed. "However, the enemy wisdom would actually have been in context had you applied it at this time - but, Heaven forbid we should do actually give advice corresponding to the situation."
Internally, Edward laughed. Outside, he was blunt, "Here, here."
"It is far more impressive when others discover your good qualities without your help." Was the other's blank, majestic response, having never before said anything to anyone within the walls that WASN'T wisdom.
"That one's for you, Ed."
"So I'm a bit of a megalomaniac…" Edward shrugged.
"Good judgment comes from bad experience, and a lot of that comes from bad judgment…"
Harvey wished there were FOUR channels. "I've lost the theme already."
"So has he." Ed was blunt, Riddlerish.
"Never test the depth of the water with both feet…"
"You know… they shouldn't let this guy out. He shouldn't be watching TV… privileges come with progress-"
Ed interrupted, "He's been here longer than anyone and with absolutely no change. They figure him harmless. Someday I'll be like that."
"Then you'll shoot your way out, unexpected, right?"
Edward was casual, "No, no… I'll just be old… and crazy…"
"Oh."
"Life's a mystery to be lived, not a problem to be solved."
Harvey blinked, "Hey! You stole that from Einstein!"
"And a few bits back was Lincoln. What? You believed in this guy?"
***
Fugate's session ended, guards escorting the middle aged man away. Shouting over his shoulder, he struggled against them, insisting, "I'm serious, Doc - we were a car and a light bulb away from being Amish!"
"Mmmm… Amish bread…" Perrault Dubé smiled, leaning against the door frame. "Don't worry, Temple, we'll pick up here tomorrow."
"Amish, I tell you, AMISH!"
"Night, Temple."
"Dubé!" snapped a gruff voice, chomping a cigar. Perry, startled, turned to see Kenzy. The older man, lightly striped sleeves eternally rolled to his elbows, had his dark gray eyebrows down in a way that meant he was ticked. Very ticked. "Let's chat…"
***
Pamela Isley and Harley Quinzel were casually glancing through the history books they'd randomly pulled off the reading cart. A rickety cart came around regularly offering books to prisoners, it rested in the recreation room when it wasn't making its aimless rounds. Together the girls sat in the reading corner, quietly flipping.
"Hey…" Harley, an adorable blonde, stretched the word out, turning the book on another angle. "Beethoven was kinda cute!"
"Napoleon wasn't bad either." Ivy was blunt, not looking up.
"But not THIS cute…" Harley insisted, putting the book before her friend's face. A few very good sketches of young Beethoven.
"Wow! He really was-"
"Ladies." Jervis Tech entered, escorted by guards.
"Hatter." They were both blunt, not looking up.
He took a seat at the card table and started setting up a game of solitaire. "Enjoying your history, girls?"
"More than you know…" Harley giggled, giving Ivy a look.
Ivy ignored this, grateful her friend hadn't nudged her. Therapy had broken the harlequin of the incredibly annoying habit months earlier. Initially, the girl had constantly nudged hard and obvious along with such giggling expressions. It had often gotten them into trouble and had just been downright painful.
"History's a wonderful thing." Hatter spoke casually, pleasantly, starting his game. It was odd. He usually didn't speak to them. Good mood? "I always fancied European history… and many do. Christopher Columbus, Henry the 8th, Napoleon Bona-"
"He's a cutie!" Harley burst out suddenly, surprising the gentleman.
"Um… alright…" he came across confused, ruffled.
***
RING-RING! RING-RING!
Snatching the phone instantly, a blonde young man answered, "Hello?"
"Vespucci residence?"
"You bet…" he smiled cheerfully. "What can I do for ya, bud?"
"I'm Jeff from Waxen's Chimney Cleaning Services. Apparently you called two weeks ago requesting our service. Is this so?"
"Um… I don't know anything about that…" The fair faced boy was confused, unsure. Had Sunny called? Did Sunny know-
"Oh, alright then. Thanks." The caller killed things instantly.
Um-"
"Bye…" and then distantly as the phone went down. "Hm, cross them off the list…" The sound of a pen scratching could just be made out.
Jericho Vespucci listened to dial tone, eyes concerned.
Suddenly, most unexpectedly, the lighting psychologically changed and he hung up the Fisher Price play phone. He was sitting on the floor. Turning to his doctor, who sat in a nearby chair, he concluded, "And that's how it happened."
"And that's what's on your mind this morning?"
"Ya… it still bugs me to this day."
"Why?"
"I wasn't suppose to hear that!" surprised his doctor didn't automatically understand the issue, Jericho was always boisterous in voice and gesture. He was lovable, but extreme to the point of humor. "I mean, I actually heard the pen! He crossed us off. He-"
"And this is a problem?"
"Well… I wasn't suppose to hear…" Jericho trailed off, calming. Extremely attractive, the twenty-something was always unintentionally amusing. "I mean… even the pen thing… I mean, how does that sorta thing happen? How long does it take to hang up a phone? And if you're gonna talk to yourself about someone, shouldn't you wait until they're gone?"
"And reenacting the scenario brings some closure?"
"Oh, there'll never be closure, Doc." He spoke so simply.
"I see."
"He was talking to himself, Doc, about ME… and I was still there."
"I see."
"Unless he was running a toy car across his table… he crossed us off. I mean, just listen-" Jericho ran a small toy car across the carpet. It made a zipping noise. "Well, that's not quite right, but you get the idea…"
"Of course."
***
The beauty of Autumn. The long lane was lined with red and orange. Just beautiful. Sure, each season was lovely in its way - the lush, damp green of spring with flowers and fog… the golden warmth of summer, those endless days of wandering the gold… the perfect white coat of winter, the shimmering frost, sparkling ice - yes, they were all quite lovely… but Fall was truly something else.
Though it was a little nippy for his liking, the beauty was matchless, simply untouchable. He'd seen boys his age with cameras. They wasted pictures on silly, often sickeningly boyish, things. If he had a camera… he would stand at one end of the lane and take the world's most beautiful picture. He would capture all the seasons, frozen forever. He'd remember the lane forever, immortalized on film. The lane was his escape. His comfort.
Walking down it, trying to focus on the beauty and not the cold, the dark haired youth stopped suddenly, frozen like film. From nowhere it had appeared, as orange as the leaves. A very young fox. Not a cub - his teacher had corrected him many times, they sadly weren't pups, though they ought to be. They were called cubs. No, this wasn't a cub or a pup. Just very young. A miniature fox. A wet fox.
They stood, gazes locked, for a very long time. So long, the cold began to bother the boy again as they stood, entranced. He didn't want the amazing moment to end, at the same time, he was cold and wanted to get on. Life was like that sometimes. The young fox stood, unafraid, observing him. He stepped forward and it appeared cautious. A second step and it started to casually walk away, down the edge of the lane. He followed. Before long the fox offhandedly hopped from the trail, into the trees. He followed still, but it was gone. Somehow vanished.
It hadn't been afraid, though.
***
"I can't BELIEVE Kenzy slammed down on Perry like that. By tightening stuff up around hypnosis… LORD… how will we reach half our patients? It's the most powerful tool we have these days!" Doctor Wendy Westridge was shaking the staff memo. Sam Spinelli could actually hear the paper.
"Man, I guess he feels it's too Twilight Zone… Did'ya ever see that show Perry tapes, that Canadian show about hypnosis shrinks like him… what was it called?"
"Psi Factor: Chronicles of the- Wait, Slick, come on - FOCUS. Kenzy has seriously limited out best weapon. That therapy allows us to uncover things our patients have forgotten, things that happened when they were in infancy - they can't lie when under - it's the very best- EERRRRRR… Why would he-"
"I think he's pissed at Dub over typing up hypnosis and the new visual technology for dreams. He's been tying 'em up for weeks. Dreams, dreams, dreams. And you KNOW how the big guy feels about dream therapy…" He trailed off before adding, "Awesome new technology though."
"I know. I watched tapes of a patient's first birthday party this morning - from HER very own eyes. It's remarkable. Now, not only do they describe it too us… we can actually see and hear it all. I can't believe he's taking it away-"
"Well, he's called a staff meeting for tomorrow morning. Hiss then."
***
A boy, nearly ten, sat in the middle of a wheat field, thinking deeply. His dark hair was sweaty and unkempt, his skin and clothes dirty. He'd learned quickly. He'd learned to stay out of their way. He wasn't touched very often now. Barely given the beats ever, in fact. Not once this year. He'd learned quickly. He stayed outside all day, rain or shine. He only came in to scrounge for food and to sleep on the broken mattress in the attic. He didn't have a bedroom. He'd made a makeshift bed out of what he found up there. He had lots of interesting things in that old attic. He played there silently at night, unable to sleep. He rarely slept. His dark eyes were lined, softly bruising.
Ya, they never noticed him. He lived wild, filthy and free. Nothing provided. He had decided early he would be hard. He would be a survivor. Watching the wind ripple through the wheat, he was expressionless. Classmates mistook it for coldness. Perhaps it was. He was hard. Appeared unfeeling. He had no friends. He talked to no one. He was the dirty boy who let his hygiene group down every morning. He was incredibly bright and unbeknownst to them, was leading the class by miles. He knew. His teacher and principal knew. No one else. Certainly not the couple.
The couple. With age came wisdom and he'd learned their background and routine quickly without a word exchanged. The woman was a very distant relation. He didn't even know which side. She was all he'd had. All that kept him from an orphanage. He would have preferred an orphanage. No one asked him, though. They just met the woman at the train station. Didn't even check the conditions. That had been the first and last time she'd driven him anywhere. She'd picked him up that first day. The rusty ol' half ton. Disgusting old bucket of bolts. Rattling, miserable-
Marty. He didn't know Marty's last name. Marty was alright. Always cheerful, smiling. Talked too much though. Marty was the only kid in town who even attempted to talk to him. He'd actually touched him once or twice. No one every touched him positively. Ever. It was totally foreign now, that concept. No affection, yet, Marty patted him on the back whenever he did something smashing. Well, silently solved a tricky math question, earning the class an early recess - that sort of thing. No one else said a word. They weren't grateful. He was just that mute. That dirty, cold, hard, unfeeling-
Arthur suddenly glared hard, wanting to watch the field burn. The wretched farm burn. The town, the world… EVERYTHING… he wanted to watch it all burn… HE wanted to burn…
***
"Arthur… what are you thinking about?" Caledon Smyth asked gently. He was sitting at his patient's bedside. Arthur was back in the little room. His condition had slipped back. Not quite a relapse, only a little laughter now and then - still… his life dangled carelessly…
"Arthur…" Cal tried again.
Reeves turned his face away.
Sighing, Cal said nothing more. Silence and time were sometimes the only cure. Especially for the hard, unfeeling type.
***
Sam "Slick" Spinelli had a terrible habit of smelling his food before eating it. He was the type to use a toothpick at the table before others too. Cal was often distracted and disgusted-
"You know, Caledon…" Dub spoke suddenly. "Reeve's thoughts are far too advanced for a four year old. I'm positive his adult mind, his hindsight, is mixing with his child mind. Some of his thoughts… their just… beyond any child, let alone a very small child."
"You said yourself, Reg, he was bright for his age. Mature. He-"
"Regardless, children don't truly comprehend death until seven."
"He never directly refers to their deaths. Not once. It's all so vague. That's the thing with being four. Anyway, we have no idea HOW he understood it because the information's not there… and that's just it, Dub - it's probably not there because he really didn't understand."
"Vague. That's the thing with dreams too, Cal."
"I suppose…" He thought a moment before adding, "You're right though. His thoughts are very adult sometimes. There's definitely the vague element of childhood… but there's adult stuff there too. It's like the two minds have crossed. His adult take on what happened… mixed with the take of the time."
"Precisely… Now… Did you note the wolf was dying in that last dream? They said he was deathly ill. That means Arthur's winning the power struggle. He's finally-"
"It's the medication. Not the antitoxin from Costa Rica… those pills you prescribed after the attack - for pleasant dreams. They're killing it. We're winning."
Silence.
Cal continued, "It was interesting to go through those fairy tale characters. I only recognized the troll from the Goat-Bridge thing and the hag from Hanzel and Gretel - the others were unclear."
"What's this?" Sam was listening now.
"Well, Reeves dreamed of fairy tale characters this morning…" Cal explained. "I had trouble identifying them based on what the dream provided, but Dub, he was amazing."
Duval was modest. "Puss and Boot, The Pied Piper of Hamlin and Rapunzel."
"That Rapunzel one… wow…" Cal was impressed.
"Well, the witch let go of the hair, sending the prince down into the patch of thorns where his eyes were gouged from their sock-"
"THANK YOU." Slick spoke quickly and cheerfully, rising with his tray.
The pair exchanged a look…
"More coffee?"
"Please."
***
The rain trickled against the window, softly. Daddy had taken his medicine and was sleeping in the bedroom. The upstairs' hall floor was dusty. Mother rarely cleaned anymore. Only the rain kept him here.
Edward and Katie were playing cards on the floor, quietly. Whenever he couldn't play with Costello - if they weren't home, if it rained - he played with Kate. She was a decent sister, he supposed. Bossy sometimes, but alright nevertheless.
She was cheating now. She always cheated. He suspected she made up the rules as she went along… her brown-red eyes concentrating as she made her next move. She took ages to think. Ages. He flashed cards like lightening, he thought like lightening… his thoughts literally flashed…
He was smarter than her. He was smarter than everyone.
***
Running… he was running…
The man sometimes lost it on him…
When that happened… he ran like lightening, like wind…
He'd burst from the house, jump the porch, cross the dying lawn and fly down the long dirt lane… He'd learned to be fast. The fastest boy in school. The fastest boy in town. He'd learned through terror.
The man always chased, close behind at first, then Arthur would truly fly - his stride, leg movement, would change on the lane, quicken - he'd flash down the dirt and the man would gradually give, screaming after him. Always screaming after him, threats, rage, hollering…
He'd always escape and stay away a long time. Filthy and famished.
***
His thoughts shifted sharply… suddenly… he was running down a paved street in a very familiar neighborhood. Very familiar. Where-
His house. The red brick house.
The man was screaming behind… only it wasn't really him…
Chasing… he's chasing me… HELP ME!!
Arthur flew onto the white porch, hit the white door. This was his home. His original, real home. His real life. The truth. He had to get back to it somehow. Slamming the door, he screamed for help. It was coming… it was-
Images of his suited father with perfectly slicked black hair, the businessman… the professional… surely his father would open the door and save him… surely…
It would eat him! It had blown the other down, brick would be safe!
Slamming at the door, he prayed they'd open the door and save him. He'd run from wood to brick, the monster close behind. Its hot breath of his on his shadow. Screaming after him. It would eat him… like a pig…
The wolf was back.
***
"Doctor Smyth…" a young woman approached professionally with a folder. "I looked into Honorez. Just as you suspected."
Caledon's heart sunk slightly. Damn. "Thank you."
Flipping through the documents… it was all there.
Edward often spoke of his childhood kindred spirit, Costello Honorez.
Sighing, it was all there. The widow Honorez, nearly sixty now. Mexican-American. Lost her husband overseas thirty-forty years back, military man. Never remarried. Lived alone next to Nymga. No children.
Damn.
It had been hard enough to tell him Katie wasn't real.
Chapter Six: Autumn's Marquis de Costello
***
DISCLAIMER: All Batman concepts and characters in this story belong to Warner Brothers, coz I've used Batman: The Animated Series and Batman: Mask of the Phantasm. Bob Kane created the Dark Knight. The fairy tales are courtesy of lower class Europeans of the 18th century - that sounds nicer, yes.
A/N: You'll never guess who FINALLY enters this story next chapter! Stay tuned! (If you wanna find out… please encourage me by reviewing. I really appreciate it, guys!) BTW, I've finally gotten a new keyboard. Yay! Man, when your shift and space bar don't work… it's crazy.
***
The woods were incredibly dark for a summer afternoon. Filled with shadows. European forests of the eighteenth century were dark and green. Not too dark though, just forebodingly so… and much too quiet. The natural sounds were somehow missing.
Sighing, he trudged along. He expected a wolf. There was always a wolf. A dark wolf, leaning against a tree, would stop him and speak in that charming, charismatic voice… yes, he'd seen it all before… a thousand times over…
Stumbling, he realized he was standing in a fire pit. A fire pit?
Confused, the boy carried on… tired of the path, leaving the path. He wandered through the tree trunks… wandered until he came to a pleasant clearing. Sunny, birds singing. Finally - light, sounds. A cardinal. He stared blankly at the silent cardinal, having never seen one before. It was stunning - red and black, just inches from his… Reaching out, he startled the rare beauty away. It was gone. The experience over and forgotten as quickly as it had happened.
Strange, mumbled singing. Glancing up and over the meadow, the boy spotted a quaint little homestead. It rested, overgrown, natural, on the far side of the clearing, part of the next tree line. Curious, he crept forth, attempting to conceal himself in the tall, golden grass. The singing… unintelligible, careless murmurs of an old woman…
As he approached, he caught the back of someone or something brown on the cottage porch, hanging wash out to dry. He could just see through the grass - just - It was gone. They - AH. A strange woman stood over him, smiling. Her eyes were very sick. She could scarcely see, he figured. She spoke sweetly to him in a guttural foreign language, probably German. She was smiling though. Her teeth sickly too.
She bid him to follow her inside. He cautiously left the grass. He felt such warmth flowing from the open door, the smells of delicious- He was hungry. Silently accepting, he followed the old woman inside. She limped largely. Her hair was white and just everywhere. She wore earthy tones, a large brown shawl hiding most of her hunched body. No chain… though she clearly needed one…
Inside, before him, was a long table on which a large banquet waited. The arrangement was out of place, though - far too nice for the old, earthy cottage… old and earthy like the woman…
He was not the only guest.
At the table sat a shady young man, lost in dark thoughts. He stared deeply into the table, thinking, a shiny black pipe pressed against his face. Thinking. He was silent, expressionless - yet somehow sinister. Mysterious. As the boy stared with the intensity of the unknown, images flashed before his bright eyes. Children. Dancing, giggling… then… crying… screaming… darkness… cold-
Arthur jerked his head away, afraid. He instantly moved on, eyes on a very well dressed fellow with a gray cat resting confidently in his lap. The well-groomed puss smirked with mouth and eyes. Green eyes. He tipped his hat pleasantly and returned to table talk. Hat? Talk? Yes, the cat spoke fluent Human and wore a small hat with plume. He was a very clever cat indeed. A little gentleman.
Thoughtless, the boy reached out to touch the pet, to stroke his glossy, gray coat. It was warm- YOW! Hissing, the creature unexpectedly slashed at him with large, shiny black claws. It's snout and eyes scrunched the way he'd imagined only wolves could manage. Recoiling, he nearly fell. The puss settled back into his master's lap, pleased with himself. Repositioning his little hat, he rejoined the conversation.
What were they speaking about? They all spoke guttural-
At the far end of the large table sat a very strange fellow… almost as scary as the first man. A little older, with facial hair, he was blindfolded - the blindfold quite bloody. He held hair… lots and lots of lady's hair… Arthur stared, a little boy entranced by blood. Vertigo drifted through him casually. The man had fallen. The man had lost his eyes. Though his face was startling, the eyes of blood… the man with the pipe was still worse. Much worse.
Noticing an empty place, he started for it. The haggardly woman lashed out unexpectedly. "That's not your place!"
Bewildered, the boy assumed it hers. She set him straight, "No, no… it for someone unable to join us…"
Wait a minute. Firstly, he could understand her now. She spoke English suddenly. Second, if the person wasn't coming, why couldn't they allow another to use the place? He dared not to ask questions though, the pus eyed hag was scary now. Smile gone. This was-
He remembered.
"I'm looking for a my dog. Have you seen my little dog? … Please?"
A troll just stomped right on in. "Nah, but I've seen lots 'a goats."
He was holding a bloody ram's head.
"That's a sheep." corrected the French nobleman confidently.
"Huh?"
"A sheep." the fellow repeated. Though he spoke with the snobby, cliché British aristocratic accent… he was definitely French. This was somehow unspokenly understood. Of this, Arthur was certain.
"BAH…" the troll was dismissive. "I got lotza goats…" he was pawing through a large bag. A bag with blood soaking through… just like the blindfold…
"I had a goat." Arthur's voice trembled.
"Really." the royal sounded uninterested. It wasn't a question.
"What was his name, lad?" the blind fellow was gruff, but not unkind.
"Goat."
"Not very clever, is he?" the little cat asked carelessly.
"Filthy, uneducated poverty. Typical. Simply typical." The royal again.
"I don't want none today." the woman was rude, urging the troll out the door. He smelled bad and there wasn't a place for him at the table anyway. He just came to deliver animal parts. Goat heads and such.
Once she'd argued him out, buying a pair of large, looping goat horns, Arthur was right behind her with a question:
"Where's the wolf?"
The empty place was for his wolf. No doubt. Another unspoken-
"Haven't you heard?" the nobleman was irritated further. When the boy showed no sign of understanding, he carried on, snobby - "He's come down with something wretched. He's deathly ill."
"Ignorant, simply ignorant." The little cat echoed tone, tail still swishing carelessly. Dangling carelessly.
"And it's all your doing!" the hag startled Arthur, ushering him into the next room. He tried to resist, but it was futile. She shoved him forward, into the bars of a closed cage. His eyes met with those of two sickly, starving children. A filthy boy and filthy girl.
He understood and panicked. Struggling and starting to scream, he was ignored by the little party in the next room. Eyes on his platter, the high and mighty Marquis said nothing. His clever cat smirked. The blindfolded fellow and the mysterious piper were as always, dark and thinking.
The child was absolutely shrieking now. Struggling.
Finally, the Marquis glanced up, gripping his fork. "Overpopulated, the lot of them… filthy, uneducated vermin. Too many useless mouths." He sounded as though he was trying to convince himself, not his table mates. "Yes, simply wretched existence anyway. Disgusting vermin. Breed like rabbits, spread like plague…"
Arthur shrieked repeatedly, struggling as she dragged him to the oven. They wrestled, but he was destined to lose. He could feel the flames on his filthy flesh. The heat. He struggled, crying - Why wouldn't they help him? How could they ignore his suffering?! The sick eyed hag was going to cook him and eat him! She was going to cook him and eat him!
***
"One of these days someone's gonna smack him…" Domingo muttered over a steaming coffee, a headache forming behind her tired eyes. "I mean, come on, guys - he's been really extreme lately. Just yesterday morning he went nuclear on me…"
Perrault Dubé, the quiet French-Canadian, sighed, saying nothing.
Martinez, however, had to agree. "Acordado, sí… I mean, he must be going through some kind of spiritual enlightenment, er, you know what I mean, right? Anyway, he's hit some sort of breakthrough in his faith and he's letting it cross over into his work in a manner that's just-"
"Oh, I dunno…" Jerome Chesler interrupted, dark hands up. "He-"
"-is upsetting patients and coworkers alike. He's just… coming on too strong with it suddenly…" Domingo sighed, adding, "You know, not everyone is comfortable with it. It's not the only religion out there. Sometimes he's just too opinionated."
"He is NOT." Chesler tried again. "He's extremely warm and open minded about the subject. And just what do you mean he lost it on you yesterday, girl? That guy's never lost it on ANYONE over ANYTHING in all his years here."
"No, no - I just mean, he was all heavy duty, Jerry. WAY too strong. He's been making me uncomfortable. This fanatical, in your face religious thing… it's the sorta thing that… well… if he crosses the wrong person… he's gonna get his head kicked in. Religion is a seriously sensitive subject. One day a patient is just gonna-"
"SHHH…" Martinez's eyes widened. He was coming.
"Good morning, everyone!" Dub Duval was extremely chipper, his smile as charming and dapper as ever, his doctor robe freshly pressed.
"DUVAL." Kenzy surprised them all. Passing behind the group, he'd paused, overhearing the end of the issue. "Your Bible banging is freaking the hell outta people. Knock it off."
Oh dear.
***
"I thought freaking the HELL out of people was the very point." Doctor Duval was muttering as they walked. "I mean, REALLY-"
"Dub, you're not a Bosch painting."
"Not you too, Cal-"
"Arthur. We can talk about religion later. Please. Now - Arthur."
"Quite right. Sorry."
"What the hell happened last night? My patient nearly died. Why?"
"Well…" Dub hesitated. "If you want my professional hypothesis… all the extremely negative issues within him have been resurfacing through shattering dreams triggered by his recent trauma. The dreams last night were the worst yet. His sick system couldn't handle it. His heart nearly gave out."
"He hasn't said a word all morning. Too weak?"
"Weak and disturbed."
Cal sighed, thinking, "What can you tell me about the dreams?"
"Well, from what Perry can get out of him… fifty percent is his actual past… the rest is symbolism for the anguish of his past and present."
"Anguish?" Cal rose an eyebrow. When his coworker shrugged he sighed, adding, "Symbolism?"
"Fairy tales - wolves mostly. According to Perry… his mother was really into that sort of thing. Bedtime stories every single night. Too young to remember, yet totally subconsciously conditioned with them."
"Why not? Worked in the 1700s…"
"Ya, well, regardless, Perrault is our best bet with this guy. Our 'big city councilman' won't open up willingly… so subconscious is what we've got." After thinking, he added carefully. "Well, he'll tell me bits and pieces of what he actually remembers… but he slants it all because he's embarrassed. Besides, that's just it - he doesn't remember. Wakes up blank. OH - and another thing, why is it-"
"Woah, woah, can we just organize our thoughts here? I should be taking notes."
"Just listen - I checked his file. No contacts. No one's visited him."
"Why were you in his file?" Cal rounded the bend, a little perturbed. "Anyway, ya - the guy's got no one. No emergency contacts. Hasn't requested we contact anyone. When I asked… ANYWAY, the point, Dub - He's a lone wolf."
"Bad expression, all considered."
"What?"
"The SYMBOLISM."
"You and Carl Jung… you just can't-"
"I'll have you know, Cal, Jungian-"
"Don't start. If it's not religion it's Jung. NOW, why do you care about my patient's personal-"
"Just checking in. It's highly abnormal to have NO ONE. Even here. Anywho, Caledon, this morning… after Perry put him under, we put him back to sleep… though, believe me, he didn't want to. He's afraid to sleep after last night… and I don't blame him-"
"Sleeping could kill him."
"Exactly… but relax. He's under very close surveillance. We hooked him up to that new mind-image technology. You know, that stuff-"
"That Bruce Wayne-therapy-Batman thing. Ya, I know. I heard we've got it now. Does it actually work?"
"Oh yes. Yes. He had a long, complicated dream this morning."
"And you've got it on VHS?"
"And DVD… kidding - well, sort of… that technology's coming next summer, but frankly, I don't see the point."
"Scene selection?
"Whatever." Dub unlocked and allowed Cal through a door. "After you."
"So…"
"Right here. Somebody screwed up downstairs again… so it's in black and white… but volume, visual… you've got everything you truly need. I just feel color's all part of the symbolism-"
"You've seen it?"
"Four times… and I'm still picking up stuff… It's deep… and if it relates to his personal past… we'll, frankly Cal, we don't have permission to-"
"I know, I know. He wants the dreams to stop. Dream hypnosis only."
"If he ever found out some of the stuff I have to ask in dream therapy, he might not allow it either. LORD, he's hard to work with…"
***
"The enemy of my enemy is my friend…" a scraggily man spoke mystically.
"Thanks, Crazy Phil." Edward Nygma sighed, sounding tired.
"I destroy my enemy… when I make him my friend…"
"Obvious enough theme today." Harvey Dent changed the channel, landing on the morning news. He and Nygma were separated by a mysterious fellow known only to his contemporaries as The Philosopher. This title, over time, slipped to Crazy Phil.
"And in other news… Batman-"
Click. A children's program. They stuck with the children's program.
"You aren't learning much… if your mouth is moving…"
"Thank you, Phil." Harvey was unexpectedly annoyed. "However, the enemy wisdom would actually have been in context had you applied it at this time - but, Heaven forbid we should do actually give advice corresponding to the situation."
Internally, Edward laughed. Outside, he was blunt, "Here, here."
"It is far more impressive when others discover your good qualities without your help." Was the other's blank, majestic response, having never before said anything to anyone within the walls that WASN'T wisdom.
"That one's for you, Ed."
"So I'm a bit of a megalomaniac…" Edward shrugged.
"Good judgment comes from bad experience, and a lot of that comes from bad judgment…"
Harvey wished there were FOUR channels. "I've lost the theme already."
"So has he." Ed was blunt, Riddlerish.
"Never test the depth of the water with both feet…"
"You know… they shouldn't let this guy out. He shouldn't be watching TV… privileges come with progress-"
Ed interrupted, "He's been here longer than anyone and with absolutely no change. They figure him harmless. Someday I'll be like that."
"Then you'll shoot your way out, unexpected, right?"
Edward was casual, "No, no… I'll just be old… and crazy…"
"Oh."
"Life's a mystery to be lived, not a problem to be solved."
Harvey blinked, "Hey! You stole that from Einstein!"
"And a few bits back was Lincoln. What? You believed in this guy?"
***
Fugate's session ended, guards escorting the middle aged man away. Shouting over his shoulder, he struggled against them, insisting, "I'm serious, Doc - we were a car and a light bulb away from being Amish!"
"Mmmm… Amish bread…" Perrault Dubé smiled, leaning against the door frame. "Don't worry, Temple, we'll pick up here tomorrow."
"Amish, I tell you, AMISH!"
"Night, Temple."
"Dubé!" snapped a gruff voice, chomping a cigar. Perry, startled, turned to see Kenzy. The older man, lightly striped sleeves eternally rolled to his elbows, had his dark gray eyebrows down in a way that meant he was ticked. Very ticked. "Let's chat…"
***
Pamela Isley and Harley Quinzel were casually glancing through the history books they'd randomly pulled off the reading cart. A rickety cart came around regularly offering books to prisoners, it rested in the recreation room when it wasn't making its aimless rounds. Together the girls sat in the reading corner, quietly flipping.
"Hey…" Harley, an adorable blonde, stretched the word out, turning the book on another angle. "Beethoven was kinda cute!"
"Napoleon wasn't bad either." Ivy was blunt, not looking up.
"But not THIS cute…" Harley insisted, putting the book before her friend's face. A few very good sketches of young Beethoven.
"Wow! He really was-"
"Ladies." Jervis Tech entered, escorted by guards.
"Hatter." They were both blunt, not looking up.
He took a seat at the card table and started setting up a game of solitaire. "Enjoying your history, girls?"
"More than you know…" Harley giggled, giving Ivy a look.
Ivy ignored this, grateful her friend hadn't nudged her. Therapy had broken the harlequin of the incredibly annoying habit months earlier. Initially, the girl had constantly nudged hard and obvious along with such giggling expressions. It had often gotten them into trouble and had just been downright painful.
"History's a wonderful thing." Hatter spoke casually, pleasantly, starting his game. It was odd. He usually didn't speak to them. Good mood? "I always fancied European history… and many do. Christopher Columbus, Henry the 8th, Napoleon Bona-"
"He's a cutie!" Harley burst out suddenly, surprising the gentleman.
"Um… alright…" he came across confused, ruffled.
***
RING-RING! RING-RING!
Snatching the phone instantly, a blonde young man answered, "Hello?"
"Vespucci residence?"
"You bet…" he smiled cheerfully. "What can I do for ya, bud?"
"I'm Jeff from Waxen's Chimney Cleaning Services. Apparently you called two weeks ago requesting our service. Is this so?"
"Um… I don't know anything about that…" The fair faced boy was confused, unsure. Had Sunny called? Did Sunny know-
"Oh, alright then. Thanks." The caller killed things instantly.
Um-"
"Bye…" and then distantly as the phone went down. "Hm, cross them off the list…" The sound of a pen scratching could just be made out.
Jericho Vespucci listened to dial tone, eyes concerned.
Suddenly, most unexpectedly, the lighting psychologically changed and he hung up the Fisher Price play phone. He was sitting on the floor. Turning to his doctor, who sat in a nearby chair, he concluded, "And that's how it happened."
"And that's what's on your mind this morning?"
"Ya… it still bugs me to this day."
"Why?"
"I wasn't suppose to hear that!" surprised his doctor didn't automatically understand the issue, Jericho was always boisterous in voice and gesture. He was lovable, but extreme to the point of humor. "I mean, I actually heard the pen! He crossed us off. He-"
"And this is a problem?"
"Well… I wasn't suppose to hear…" Jericho trailed off, calming. Extremely attractive, the twenty-something was always unintentionally amusing. "I mean… even the pen thing… I mean, how does that sorta thing happen? How long does it take to hang up a phone? And if you're gonna talk to yourself about someone, shouldn't you wait until they're gone?"
"And reenacting the scenario brings some closure?"
"Oh, there'll never be closure, Doc." He spoke so simply.
"I see."
"He was talking to himself, Doc, about ME… and I was still there."
"I see."
"Unless he was running a toy car across his table… he crossed us off. I mean, just listen-" Jericho ran a small toy car across the carpet. It made a zipping noise. "Well, that's not quite right, but you get the idea…"
"Of course."
***
The beauty of Autumn. The long lane was lined with red and orange. Just beautiful. Sure, each season was lovely in its way - the lush, damp green of spring with flowers and fog… the golden warmth of summer, those endless days of wandering the gold… the perfect white coat of winter, the shimmering frost, sparkling ice - yes, they were all quite lovely… but Fall was truly something else.
Though it was a little nippy for his liking, the beauty was matchless, simply untouchable. He'd seen boys his age with cameras. They wasted pictures on silly, often sickeningly boyish, things. If he had a camera… he would stand at one end of the lane and take the world's most beautiful picture. He would capture all the seasons, frozen forever. He'd remember the lane forever, immortalized on film. The lane was his escape. His comfort.
Walking down it, trying to focus on the beauty and not the cold, the dark haired youth stopped suddenly, frozen like film. From nowhere it had appeared, as orange as the leaves. A very young fox. Not a cub - his teacher had corrected him many times, they sadly weren't pups, though they ought to be. They were called cubs. No, this wasn't a cub or a pup. Just very young. A miniature fox. A wet fox.
They stood, gazes locked, for a very long time. So long, the cold began to bother the boy again as they stood, entranced. He didn't want the amazing moment to end, at the same time, he was cold and wanted to get on. Life was like that sometimes. The young fox stood, unafraid, observing him. He stepped forward and it appeared cautious. A second step and it started to casually walk away, down the edge of the lane. He followed. Before long the fox offhandedly hopped from the trail, into the trees. He followed still, but it was gone. Somehow vanished.
It hadn't been afraid, though.
***
"I can't BELIEVE Kenzy slammed down on Perry like that. By tightening stuff up around hypnosis… LORD… how will we reach half our patients? It's the most powerful tool we have these days!" Doctor Wendy Westridge was shaking the staff memo. Sam Spinelli could actually hear the paper.
"Man, I guess he feels it's too Twilight Zone… Did'ya ever see that show Perry tapes, that Canadian show about hypnosis shrinks like him… what was it called?"
"Psi Factor: Chronicles of the- Wait, Slick, come on - FOCUS. Kenzy has seriously limited out best weapon. That therapy allows us to uncover things our patients have forgotten, things that happened when they were in infancy - they can't lie when under - it's the very best- EERRRRRR… Why would he-"
"I think he's pissed at Dub over typing up hypnosis and the new visual technology for dreams. He's been tying 'em up for weeks. Dreams, dreams, dreams. And you KNOW how the big guy feels about dream therapy…" He trailed off before adding, "Awesome new technology though."
"I know. I watched tapes of a patient's first birthday party this morning - from HER very own eyes. It's remarkable. Now, not only do they describe it too us… we can actually see and hear it all. I can't believe he's taking it away-"
"Well, he's called a staff meeting for tomorrow morning. Hiss then."
***
A boy, nearly ten, sat in the middle of a wheat field, thinking deeply. His dark hair was sweaty and unkempt, his skin and clothes dirty. He'd learned quickly. He'd learned to stay out of their way. He wasn't touched very often now. Barely given the beats ever, in fact. Not once this year. He'd learned quickly. He stayed outside all day, rain or shine. He only came in to scrounge for food and to sleep on the broken mattress in the attic. He didn't have a bedroom. He'd made a makeshift bed out of what he found up there. He had lots of interesting things in that old attic. He played there silently at night, unable to sleep. He rarely slept. His dark eyes were lined, softly bruising.
Ya, they never noticed him. He lived wild, filthy and free. Nothing provided. He had decided early he would be hard. He would be a survivor. Watching the wind ripple through the wheat, he was expressionless. Classmates mistook it for coldness. Perhaps it was. He was hard. Appeared unfeeling. He had no friends. He talked to no one. He was the dirty boy who let his hygiene group down every morning. He was incredibly bright and unbeknownst to them, was leading the class by miles. He knew. His teacher and principal knew. No one else. Certainly not the couple.
The couple. With age came wisdom and he'd learned their background and routine quickly without a word exchanged. The woman was a very distant relation. He didn't even know which side. She was all he'd had. All that kept him from an orphanage. He would have preferred an orphanage. No one asked him, though. They just met the woman at the train station. Didn't even check the conditions. That had been the first and last time she'd driven him anywhere. She'd picked him up that first day. The rusty ol' half ton. Disgusting old bucket of bolts. Rattling, miserable-
Marty. He didn't know Marty's last name. Marty was alright. Always cheerful, smiling. Talked too much though. Marty was the only kid in town who even attempted to talk to him. He'd actually touched him once or twice. No one every touched him positively. Ever. It was totally foreign now, that concept. No affection, yet, Marty patted him on the back whenever he did something smashing. Well, silently solved a tricky math question, earning the class an early recess - that sort of thing. No one else said a word. They weren't grateful. He was just that mute. That dirty, cold, hard, unfeeling-
Arthur suddenly glared hard, wanting to watch the field burn. The wretched farm burn. The town, the world… EVERYTHING… he wanted to watch it all burn… HE wanted to burn…
***
"Arthur… what are you thinking about?" Caledon Smyth asked gently. He was sitting at his patient's bedside. Arthur was back in the little room. His condition had slipped back. Not quite a relapse, only a little laughter now and then - still… his life dangled carelessly…
"Arthur…" Cal tried again.
Reeves turned his face away.
Sighing, Cal said nothing more. Silence and time were sometimes the only cure. Especially for the hard, unfeeling type.
***
Sam "Slick" Spinelli had a terrible habit of smelling his food before eating it. He was the type to use a toothpick at the table before others too. Cal was often distracted and disgusted-
"You know, Caledon…" Dub spoke suddenly. "Reeve's thoughts are far too advanced for a four year old. I'm positive his adult mind, his hindsight, is mixing with his child mind. Some of his thoughts… their just… beyond any child, let alone a very small child."
"You said yourself, Reg, he was bright for his age. Mature. He-"
"Regardless, children don't truly comprehend death until seven."
"He never directly refers to their deaths. Not once. It's all so vague. That's the thing with being four. Anyway, we have no idea HOW he understood it because the information's not there… and that's just it, Dub - it's probably not there because he really didn't understand."
"Vague. That's the thing with dreams too, Cal."
"I suppose…" He thought a moment before adding, "You're right though. His thoughts are very adult sometimes. There's definitely the vague element of childhood… but there's adult stuff there too. It's like the two minds have crossed. His adult take on what happened… mixed with the take of the time."
"Precisely… Now… Did you note the wolf was dying in that last dream? They said he was deathly ill. That means Arthur's winning the power struggle. He's finally-"
"It's the medication. Not the antitoxin from Costa Rica… those pills you prescribed after the attack - for pleasant dreams. They're killing it. We're winning."
Silence.
Cal continued, "It was interesting to go through those fairy tale characters. I only recognized the troll from the Goat-Bridge thing and the hag from Hanzel and Gretel - the others were unclear."
"What's this?" Sam was listening now.
"Well, Reeves dreamed of fairy tale characters this morning…" Cal explained. "I had trouble identifying them based on what the dream provided, but Dub, he was amazing."
Duval was modest. "Puss and Boot, The Pied Piper of Hamlin and Rapunzel."
"That Rapunzel one… wow…" Cal was impressed.
"Well, the witch let go of the hair, sending the prince down into the patch of thorns where his eyes were gouged from their sock-"
"THANK YOU." Slick spoke quickly and cheerfully, rising with his tray.
The pair exchanged a look…
"More coffee?"
"Please."
***
The rain trickled against the window, softly. Daddy had taken his medicine and was sleeping in the bedroom. The upstairs' hall floor was dusty. Mother rarely cleaned anymore. Only the rain kept him here.
Edward and Katie were playing cards on the floor, quietly. Whenever he couldn't play with Costello - if they weren't home, if it rained - he played with Kate. She was a decent sister, he supposed. Bossy sometimes, but alright nevertheless.
She was cheating now. She always cheated. He suspected she made up the rules as she went along… her brown-red eyes concentrating as she made her next move. She took ages to think. Ages. He flashed cards like lightening, he thought like lightening… his thoughts literally flashed…
He was smarter than her. He was smarter than everyone.
***
Running… he was running…
The man sometimes lost it on him…
When that happened… he ran like lightening, like wind…
He'd burst from the house, jump the porch, cross the dying lawn and fly down the long dirt lane… He'd learned to be fast. The fastest boy in school. The fastest boy in town. He'd learned through terror.
The man always chased, close behind at first, then Arthur would truly fly - his stride, leg movement, would change on the lane, quicken - he'd flash down the dirt and the man would gradually give, screaming after him. Always screaming after him, threats, rage, hollering…
He'd always escape and stay away a long time. Filthy and famished.
***
His thoughts shifted sharply… suddenly… he was running down a paved street in a very familiar neighborhood. Very familiar. Where-
His house. The red brick house.
The man was screaming behind… only it wasn't really him…
Chasing… he's chasing me… HELP ME!!
Arthur flew onto the white porch, hit the white door. This was his home. His original, real home. His real life. The truth. He had to get back to it somehow. Slamming the door, he screamed for help. It was coming… it was-
Images of his suited father with perfectly slicked black hair, the businessman… the professional… surely his father would open the door and save him… surely…
It would eat him! It had blown the other down, brick would be safe!
Slamming at the door, he prayed they'd open the door and save him. He'd run from wood to brick, the monster close behind. Its hot breath of his on his shadow. Screaming after him. It would eat him… like a pig…
The wolf was back.
***
"Doctor Smyth…" a young woman approached professionally with a folder. "I looked into Honorez. Just as you suspected."
Caledon's heart sunk slightly. Damn. "Thank you."
Flipping through the documents… it was all there.
Edward often spoke of his childhood kindred spirit, Costello Honorez.
Sighing, it was all there. The widow Honorez, nearly sixty now. Mexican-American. Lost her husband overseas thirty-forty years back, military man. Never remarried. Lived alone next to Nymga. No children.
Damn.
It had been hard enough to tell him Katie wasn't real.