Part 6 Strangers in the Dark
She walked back out a few minutes later in the jeans and T-shirt. The blue jeans were a tad tight, but not so much that they would bother her and the white T-shirt hung snug to about her hips loose and comfortable.
Another miraculous thing from Remy; clothes 'borrowed' from a friend. She wandered into the small a joining room silently. It was what appeared to contain a minor kitchen and table. She opened a few drawers.
"Remy, where can I find a rubber---" she stopped suddenly in mid-sentence looking curiously at the third drawer as she held it open. How odd. It was filled with stacks of unopened decks of cards. How odd indeed.
"Chere?"
She almost jumping slamming the drawer shut and blushed looking up at him. She must look like such a snoop now. Oddly something inside already didn't want him to distrust her and that made a shiver run down her spine.
"I-I was looking for a rubber band for my hair. Even a pencil would help really."
He stood there, watching her with no emotion showing on his face. Turning towards his desk slowly, he opened a drawer, and handed her a black lacquered oriental hairpin.
Responding to her quizzical look, he replied, "Was a 'souvenir' from a trip to Milan from a 'friend'."
Nodding silently, she accepted the pin and began twisting and twirling her long hair up. Even staring down at the floor as she worked her hair, she could still feel his eyes on her, till his voice broke the silence.
"Whatcha gon' do now, Jeannie?"
"I - I don't know," her voice broke. "I don't know what I CAN do. Somehow I killed those poor people, and
I can't even remember how or why! I - I know the right thing, the just thing, would be to turn myself in, but . . . " the fear took over.
Remy pulled up a chair and straddled it backwards.
"What makes y'think dat YOU were de cause o' dat holocaust?"
Jean wrapped her arms around her, even though his room was warm enough to sweat off twenty pounds, she felt her skin grow cold.
"Those . . . those blackout sessions. I don't remember what happens during them. And I was the only one left in the room that wasn't hurt. The cops were after me . . . "
Remy shook his head, his reddish-brown hair thrown back out of his red-on-black eyes.
"Girl, doesn't this setup seem a little too . . . convenient? De fact dat you just 'woke up' in dis warehouse ya ain't been in before, soaked in the blood of people ya never met, and yet SOMEHOW de cops jus' knew dat a mass killin' had happened in enough time t'stop ya before ya had a chance t'run? Dese cops may be pretty good at catchin' low grade criminals, but dey ain't an omnipresence, chere. Someone HAD t'tip dem off. Ya weren't in de warehouse long."
Suspicion seized her at his words, "How do you know that?"
"I ain' no criminologist, Jeannie, but I know 'nough bout 'field medicine' t'know don't take long for blood to cool, and when I caught ya outside de warehouse, dat blood on ya was still warm." "Oh," Jean's mind labored to process this new information. What he was saying made sense, but why was he so willing to believe that she wasn't the murderer?
Choosing her words carefully, she decided to find out why. "Remy . . . why are you so willing to believe that I'm not responsible?"
His eyes seemed to chill before her, "Would you rather I did?"
"No . . no, " (Oh boy did THAT come out wrong!) "I mean . . . you just met me. And yet you're so willing to trust me?"
Remy sighed as he looked down. This was a problem he often had as well, so he saw her point. "I didn't say dat I trusted you yet, Jeannie. Trust takes time. But I know de look o' a killer, chere, and believe me, ya ain't no killer."
"You don't know that. The-the black outs…. They- they could change me."
She almost bit her tongue looking down. That earlier comment had come out so wrong but it had brought up the trust issue. She knew it was the wrong thing to mention off the bat. There were two types of people when it came to trust. One set gave you the ultimate 100% of trust waiting for your actions to prove or disprove what they'd given you; the other set made you earn it by your actions from the bottom up.
He was definitely part of the second group; and to a fraction of a degree- so was she, but also to fraction of degree she belonged to the first one, too. She gave everyone her complete trust almost momentarily, but for one problem- trust was the balance of honesty. Honest was something she just she couldn't view herself as anymore with this rather too un-obvious secret of hers.
(I haven't been 'that' trusting of anyone in the few last years. Not with Melissa, or anyone my age. Not even with my parents. )
A faint sigh escaped her lips as she reached up to rake a few strands of her fire bright curled bangs from her eyes. There hadn't been trust, honesty and a complete comfortably of the two since being at the Mansion in
Westchester years back now. He'd understood her. He had looked on her almost like father would. He cared openly and he'd changed the world for her, but without trying he'd made her realize how cold and lonely her life could be and would be, too.
(What would you say if you were here now? Or would you just hold me and tell me you'd help me again? Or would you 'even' be able to do anything about this?)
"People can change, Remy- I've no idea what I become or do when it happens."
It was the faintest whisper, almost not even heard. She let out a deep breath through her teeth, grasping her control of the situation and of her own sanity again and looked at him lightly, trying to cast aside for the moment her own doubts and fears.
"So -umm- we'd better do something before their trail get cold- right?"
Remy's eyes looked troubled, as he stopped to think.
"I've . . . got a possible connection. I doubt he be de brains behind de massacre, but he may be a point man."
Jean watched him closely; "Do you know where we can find this guy? How do you know of him?" Remy turned away from her to gather some things from his drawers and stock them into a black duffel bag.
"Live in de shady side o' town, chere, ya learn o' de flip side o' life, AND it's residents. Jus' a hunch, mind you. But it all we got right now."
Jean tilted her head slightly and watched him closely off and on as he changed into a pair of black jeans and black shirt- as to atleast give a bit of privacy.
(Well, THAT was definitely cryptic! Hmmmm, I wonder what he meant by that? He couldn't-) "Why would you-," she stops before the sentence ends, thrusting her doubting edge away from herself and him before it brings up anymore problem talks. Asking accusatory sentences and questions wouldn't help her anymore than another black out would at the moment. She nods faintly as he appears to almost be done collecting things and sits down grabbing a pair of socks and her "relatively" now clean shoes; putting them on.
She stood up, a few small curls that wouldn't stay back with the pin falling over her forehead and the sides face as she crossing her arm relaxingly across her stomach watching him.
**********************************************
"Just exactly *where* are we going?"
Jean followed Remy through the dark alleyways, marveling how he made no sound as he walked. It made herself cringe at the faint noise that she was making just walking normally, as the sound echoed through the eerie alleyways.Remy smiled coldly as he led her to a fence.
"Gon' be findin' our 'point man', chere."
He scaled the fence with the grace of a feline cat, crouching down to offer a hand to help her up. Jean smiled and rolled her eyes as she took a running step and jumped, pushing herself up and vaulting over the fence, landing smoothly. Remy smiled as he lept down beside her. Perhaps he had underestimated this femme. He walked with her a moment longer until he stilled. His hand shot out to hold her back.
"Wait . . ."
She watched him, startled. His eyes were staring ahead, but looked like they were staring at nothing. Almost as if he was . . . scanning . . . for something! Remy nodded.
"He's here."
Jean could feel her heart start to race, but whether it was from the anticipation of revealing this mysterious man or from Remy suddenly taking hold of her hand, she couldn't tell. He led her up a couple of canisters and vaulted her up to the rooftop of a small nearby run-down building. He crouched with her in the crook of the rooftop, and pointed to a large crack in the lip of the rooftop ledge, to where she could see through to the street below, and still stay hidden.
He turned to her, his strange red-on-black eyes drilling deep into her own. His voice was almost as hypnotic as his eerie eyes.
"I need ya t'stay here, chere. If t'ings go bad, I don' want ya in de crossfire. Dis guy is sharp. If he sense trouble, it mean hell f'r us, chere."
She walked back out a few minutes later in the jeans and T-shirt. The blue jeans were a tad tight, but not so much that they would bother her and the white T-shirt hung snug to about her hips loose and comfortable.
Another miraculous thing from Remy; clothes 'borrowed' from a friend. She wandered into the small a joining room silently. It was what appeared to contain a minor kitchen and table. She opened a few drawers.
"Remy, where can I find a rubber---" she stopped suddenly in mid-sentence looking curiously at the third drawer as she held it open. How odd. It was filled with stacks of unopened decks of cards. How odd indeed.
"Chere?"
She almost jumping slamming the drawer shut and blushed looking up at him. She must look like such a snoop now. Oddly something inside already didn't want him to distrust her and that made a shiver run down her spine.
"I-I was looking for a rubber band for my hair. Even a pencil would help really."
He stood there, watching her with no emotion showing on his face. Turning towards his desk slowly, he opened a drawer, and handed her a black lacquered oriental hairpin.
Responding to her quizzical look, he replied, "Was a 'souvenir' from a trip to Milan from a 'friend'."
Nodding silently, she accepted the pin and began twisting and twirling her long hair up. Even staring down at the floor as she worked her hair, she could still feel his eyes on her, till his voice broke the silence.
"Whatcha gon' do now, Jeannie?"
"I - I don't know," her voice broke. "I don't know what I CAN do. Somehow I killed those poor people, and
I can't even remember how or why! I - I know the right thing, the just thing, would be to turn myself in, but . . . " the fear took over.
Remy pulled up a chair and straddled it backwards.
"What makes y'think dat YOU were de cause o' dat holocaust?"
Jean wrapped her arms around her, even though his room was warm enough to sweat off twenty pounds, she felt her skin grow cold.
"Those . . . those blackout sessions. I don't remember what happens during them. And I was the only one left in the room that wasn't hurt. The cops were after me . . . "
Remy shook his head, his reddish-brown hair thrown back out of his red-on-black eyes.
"Girl, doesn't this setup seem a little too . . . convenient? De fact dat you just 'woke up' in dis warehouse ya ain't been in before, soaked in the blood of people ya never met, and yet SOMEHOW de cops jus' knew dat a mass killin' had happened in enough time t'stop ya before ya had a chance t'run? Dese cops may be pretty good at catchin' low grade criminals, but dey ain't an omnipresence, chere. Someone HAD t'tip dem off. Ya weren't in de warehouse long."
Suspicion seized her at his words, "How do you know that?"
"I ain' no criminologist, Jeannie, but I know 'nough bout 'field medicine' t'know don't take long for blood to cool, and when I caught ya outside de warehouse, dat blood on ya was still warm." "Oh," Jean's mind labored to process this new information. What he was saying made sense, but why was he so willing to believe that she wasn't the murderer?
Choosing her words carefully, she decided to find out why. "Remy . . . why are you so willing to believe that I'm not responsible?"
His eyes seemed to chill before her, "Would you rather I did?"
"No . . no, " (Oh boy did THAT come out wrong!) "I mean . . . you just met me. And yet you're so willing to trust me?"
Remy sighed as he looked down. This was a problem he often had as well, so he saw her point. "I didn't say dat I trusted you yet, Jeannie. Trust takes time. But I know de look o' a killer, chere, and believe me, ya ain't no killer."
"You don't know that. The-the black outs…. They- they could change me."
She almost bit her tongue looking down. That earlier comment had come out so wrong but it had brought up the trust issue. She knew it was the wrong thing to mention off the bat. There were two types of people when it came to trust. One set gave you the ultimate 100% of trust waiting for your actions to prove or disprove what they'd given you; the other set made you earn it by your actions from the bottom up.
He was definitely part of the second group; and to a fraction of a degree- so was she, but also to fraction of degree she belonged to the first one, too. She gave everyone her complete trust almost momentarily, but for one problem- trust was the balance of honesty. Honest was something she just she couldn't view herself as anymore with this rather too un-obvious secret of hers.
(I haven't been 'that' trusting of anyone in the few last years. Not with Melissa, or anyone my age. Not even with my parents. )
A faint sigh escaped her lips as she reached up to rake a few strands of her fire bright curled bangs from her eyes. There hadn't been trust, honesty and a complete comfortably of the two since being at the Mansion in
Westchester years back now. He'd understood her. He had looked on her almost like father would. He cared openly and he'd changed the world for her, but without trying he'd made her realize how cold and lonely her life could be and would be, too.
(What would you say if you were here now? Or would you just hold me and tell me you'd help me again? Or would you 'even' be able to do anything about this?)
"People can change, Remy- I've no idea what I become or do when it happens."
It was the faintest whisper, almost not even heard. She let out a deep breath through her teeth, grasping her control of the situation and of her own sanity again and looked at him lightly, trying to cast aside for the moment her own doubts and fears.
"So -umm- we'd better do something before their trail get cold- right?"
Remy's eyes looked troubled, as he stopped to think.
"I've . . . got a possible connection. I doubt he be de brains behind de massacre, but he may be a point man."
Jean watched him closely; "Do you know where we can find this guy? How do you know of him?" Remy turned away from her to gather some things from his drawers and stock them into a black duffel bag.
"Live in de shady side o' town, chere, ya learn o' de flip side o' life, AND it's residents. Jus' a hunch, mind you. But it all we got right now."
Jean tilted her head slightly and watched him closely off and on as he changed into a pair of black jeans and black shirt- as to atleast give a bit of privacy.
(Well, THAT was definitely cryptic! Hmmmm, I wonder what he meant by that? He couldn't-) "Why would you-," she stops before the sentence ends, thrusting her doubting edge away from herself and him before it brings up anymore problem talks. Asking accusatory sentences and questions wouldn't help her anymore than another black out would at the moment. She nods faintly as he appears to almost be done collecting things and sits down grabbing a pair of socks and her "relatively" now clean shoes; putting them on.
She stood up, a few small curls that wouldn't stay back with the pin falling over her forehead and the sides face as she crossing her arm relaxingly across her stomach watching him.
**********************************************
"Just exactly *where* are we going?"
Jean followed Remy through the dark alleyways, marveling how he made no sound as he walked. It made herself cringe at the faint noise that she was making just walking normally, as the sound echoed through the eerie alleyways.Remy smiled coldly as he led her to a fence.
"Gon' be findin' our 'point man', chere."
He scaled the fence with the grace of a feline cat, crouching down to offer a hand to help her up. Jean smiled and rolled her eyes as she took a running step and jumped, pushing herself up and vaulting over the fence, landing smoothly. Remy smiled as he lept down beside her. Perhaps he had underestimated this femme. He walked with her a moment longer until he stilled. His hand shot out to hold her back.
"Wait . . ."
She watched him, startled. His eyes were staring ahead, but looked like they were staring at nothing. Almost as if he was . . . scanning . . . for something! Remy nodded.
"He's here."
Jean could feel her heart start to race, but whether it was from the anticipation of revealing this mysterious man or from Remy suddenly taking hold of her hand, she couldn't tell. He led her up a couple of canisters and vaulted her up to the rooftop of a small nearby run-down building. He crouched with her in the crook of the rooftop, and pointed to a large crack in the lip of the rooftop ledge, to where she could see through to the street below, and still stay hidden.
He turned to her, his strange red-on-black eyes drilling deep into her own. His voice was almost as hypnotic as his eerie eyes.
"I need ya t'stay here, chere. If t'ings go bad, I don' want ya in de crossfire. Dis guy is sharp. If he sense trouble, it mean hell f'r us, chere."
