***Nirvana Resort, Oracle, AZ, USA***
Ezekiel Rage sat behind a large oak desk, sitting in a rich forest- green leather grandfather chair. He glanced at the papers on his desk. "Anael, Lilith, and Parasiel have been sent to their spheres of power as of 02:00 hours." He glanced at the atlas, "Anael, the eighth hour shall transcend in Eugene, Oregon, at the Latitude of 44°N. Lilith, the second hour shall transcend to her sphere of Great Falls, MT, at the Longitude of 110°N. Parasiel, the third hour shall transcend in New Orleans, LA, Latitude 30°N. The world shall soon know of the end of days, when the hours will no longer come." Moving his fingers stealthily into the massive oak desk's thinnest drawer he pulled out a small charm, quick to wrap his chubby fingers around it, hiding what it looked like. He always kept those charms in all of his desks in any given Nirvana Resort, rubbing it with his thumb for good luck. He placed the charm back where it originally sat, inside his desk drawer making it appear to never have been disturbed.
As he closed the drawer the silver reflected a shine, giving away it's outline. Two pieces of silver adjoined one third of the way up from its base. Each piece of silver seemingly the same length. It was an upside down cross, hung on a string of leather as if waiting to become a necklace.
A receptionist buzzed Ezekiel's executive desk. "Mr. Rage, your appointment is waiting for you down in the sauna room on Sub-Level 13."
Ezekiel smiled a toothy grin from behind his mask. He went into his drawer again, that housed the downward cross and he drew from the desk a mask, much like the one he always wore, save that it was jet-black with a thin white line drawing down from ¾'s an inch from top of the forehead to ¾'s an inch above the eyebrow's serration, remaining in the precise middle of the mask. He quickly removed his white mask only to replace it with this new face. He slid on a pair of blood red sunglasses with thin metallic black frames, the glass cut into rounded rectangles ensuring that the entire eye area was covered. He lifted a tattered black leather book that held a blood red silk ribbon, the exact same shade of red as his sunglasses' dyed glass. He gathered into his arms another book, much less damaged then the first, this book a contrasting crème colored shade of off white, the pages golden and the writing on both the binding and cover indicated: Book of the Angels. He took out his precious charm and slid it into a velvet pouch that seemed near full. Attaching the velvet pouch to his belt, he left his office, leaving his files out and around the desk, scattered at their neatest.
***The Elevator, 14th Floor***
Ezekiel stepped onto the Elevator, the typical Nirvana Resort elevator started playing, an orchestral score from 'Phantom of the Opera' the song "Angel of Music" filled the elevator; he was lucky it was the beginning of the recording. He stepped into the elevator and pressed a button on the top of the panel marked "Maintenance" a new panel rotated in, where the other panel had stood moments before. He pressed the button marked "SL13" and the elevator disappeared from the floor, swallowed by the tracks of cable as it moved towards the bowels of the building.
***SL 13, Nirvana Resort***
A man in a stark white lab coat stood in front of a door, looking through the slit here and there, always jotting notes. He looked to the elevator, happy to see that it was almost to his level. He had long black eyelashes with blond tips, his hair could be described much to the same degree, he had hair down to his chin, layered to give it length and shape, long strands of medium-brown fell quickly into natural shades of blond at the tips. His eyes were a dark, almost blackened shade of hazel and his lips were thick, over all he was a very attractive, healthy looking man. Around his late 20's he looked no different than any boy-model advertising for beer commercials or extreme sports, but apparently he never thought of himself as that, but rather as a pediatric surgeon. How he fell into the cult of Rage was anyone's guess.
Perhaps the time he was addicted to crack, which cost him his residency, perhaps when his first childhood love, his wife of just 2 months died in a car accident or maybe still the final blow came from when his father, who was involved in the NYPD was killed so randomly in a pursuit to arrest a shop-lifter who had no prior record of violence. Any of those incidents could have pushed him to the edge, to Ezekiel's Rage. to the cult of Rage. where he had a new family, all hurt like himself, could practice his career unhampered. and the sense of vengeance- no, justice, filled the atmosphere.
He peered into the room once more. Ezekiel stepped out of the elevator and greeted the man. "Son Warden how is Sariel?"
"His vessel has awoken, he is ready to come forth to this world, honored Rage."
Rage nodded, "are you ready to help Sariel regain his wings? He has been a part of the mortal world far too long."
"The pain for him must be unbearable, having to be surrounded by humans without his gifts, in this imperfect material world of pain and pleasure. To endure this after what we could only think of as an eternity in heaven." He shook his head that poor seraphim.
***Inside a Nirvana Resort, Somewhere Unknown***
He pulled at his bonds, trying to focus on the ropes. Amazingly, he couldn't find any. He strained his eyes and tried to pull his arms, 'Maybe I was drugged. so that I can't move.?' He thought as his arms stayed stationary.
A kick of pain washed over his arms as he pulled at them. This caused Jonny to yelp in pain. He panted for breath as the searing pain moved down his nerves and a twinge of anxiety filled his chest with a sense of heat and pure panic. Small droplets of blood spilled down his wrists. Jonny strained to concentrate on his hands, he wiggled his fingers, no, he was DEFINITELY capable to move; he just wasn't allowed to move, somehow. He glared at the droplets of blood, coming from holes in his wrists. A slow realization struck him, '.I. can move my hands. but my muscles burn. and that hole. whatever it is it's holding me down. no. they couldn't have.' Jonny's eyes narrowed, he pulled his head away from the back of the board, stretching his neck so that he could see his arm down to his wrist. It was true! How could they? They had him staked up to a piece of wood using NAILS?! No, Jonny had just hit his head harder than he thought. There was no reason in the WORLD for anyone to use this torturous of a method to hold him down.
Brother Warden walked in, a dark figure behind him, Jonny didn't recognize either of them. He was stuck on the thought that someone had put nails through his arms.
"Brother Warden, please inform our guest of the procedure you are preparing to administer."
The man nodded and smiled softly. "Sariel, I am readying you for a surgery, to reunite you with your wings. Of course, as you already know, you won't need anesthetics, you can not feel pain." He smiled naively.
Jonny's eyes grew, he finally absorbed that there was someone standing next to him. Someone who apparently thinks THIS is painless and that HE was going to perform some sort of surgery on him. Jonny swallowed hard, 'Wait, this gives me a chance, they'll have to let me down. and no anesthetics means I won't be so out of it that I can't try to escape.' Jonny looked at the figure sternly. "Let me down immediately." He snarled.
Ezekiel stepped out from behind the doctor. "HOLD YOUR TONGUE YOU IMPERTINENT BASTARD CHILD! We are NOT speaking to YOU! We are speaking to Sariel, you are merely HIS VESSEL!" Ezekiel struck the boy soundly across the cheekbone, Jonny could feel it swell and almost swore he felt the skin burst, causing the sensation of blood to mix with sweat.
Jonny swallowed tightly, 'Ezekiel Rage. but. it doesn't even look like him. his face. no, it's a mask. it's so dark, I can barely tell where his features are.' Jonny leaned his head back into the board and looked upward, fear spreading through his body.
Ezekiel drew out a 2" long double serrated blade palmed into his fist. With a flick of his wrist the knife skillfully did a 180° the handle was met by eager fingers that clutched it in a strict grip. He leaned close to Jonny and with one hand grabbed Jonny by the bangs pulling his face towards the knife. With two skilled flicks of his wrist he carved a downward cross into the boy's forehead, 1/8th of an inch deep into Jonny's flesh.
Jonny winced, as his roots were pulled back hard. He flinched as he saw the knife coming up to his face. When the knife dug into his flesh an ear-piercing scream blanketed the 13th Sub-Level.
Ezekiel put the knife back into the velvet bag, dabbed the blood away from the wound and then put a pinch of crushed rock salt into the meat of the wound. Jonny's body just twitched, his eyes closed tighter than he ever imagined human possible.
All of the nerves on his face seemed to burn a cold tingle. 'Somehow,' he thought abstractly, 'I think this WASN'T the end of his plan.' He groaned inwardly, '.and I think the pain's only going to get worse.' This time he groaned externally. Jonny sighed, 'they have to let me down from this sometime. Don't they?'
Warden cut the rope that suspended the wooden board; two members of the cult of Rage seemed to materialize out of nowhere. They lifted the board and carried it, dragging Jonny in the process, towards a steel table.
They placed the board onto the table, making Jonny lay face down on the icy cold table. He shuttered, they have to release him now. they wouldn't.
But they would and did. They strapped Jonny's ankles together with a plastic zip-tie and did the same around his waist pinning him onto the table. Jonny curled his back upwards trying to twist around so that the bottom of his feet could be on the table.
One of the 'nurses' restrained him while the other pressed down on the board, bringing out the pain in Jonny's wrists.
Warden pulled out several long tipped needles and pressed them through the soft skin of the arches of Jonny's feet, he pushed two more needles through the balls of the toes and one needle deep into Jonny's heel. Jonny clamped down on his teeth, he felt as though they were shattering in his mouth as they turned, twisted and poked the needles deeper and deeper still into his sensitive flesh.
***DW Ranch, New Mexico***
Benton sat down the bags in frustration, "Calling and canceling our rooms before we got there was just wrong, Doug. Not to mention immature."
Race rolled his eyes, "ENOUGH!" He sighed, "You've been complaining and bickering the entire way here, and I don't just mean the car ride from the hotel to the ranch, either." He glowered. "It's more important that we FIND some evidence and get to Jonny before it's too late."
Benton's face turned sinister.
Race sighed, 'Here comes the NEXT epic battle of WWIII, or should I just rename it the hundred year war?'
"We wouldn't have to FIND Jonny if Doug had just DONE as I had ASKED HIM TO. My son is in danger because this. this. cowpoke just couldn't follow ONE SIMPLE RULE. Doug, if ANYTHING happens to him."
Doug spat, something the hardened man was seldom to do. "If you want to take this OUTSIDE Egg Head, I told you where the door is. BUT you should at least be gracious enough to wait 'til we FIND *my* Grandson before starting this tiff, pansy."
Jessie smacked herself in the head, adding the finishing touches after unloading the car, by her lonesome. Apparently all the adults were too busy squabbling to help her unpack the pick-up truck. She swore under her breath, "Three year olds. It's like surround-sound JONNY." She stomped off towards her guest room.
Race glanced casually in her direction, wishing he too could only leave the quarrel that easily. He sneered, no; he had to mediate the two factions. That was beginning to anger him, a growing sensation in his gut he couldn't completely place. 'Here, is a MAN KNOWN for helping people in peace-talks and keeping neutral. and another man who is an active part in his local government in representing the people, be it town's people or some of the Native Americans from the reservation and helping everyone have a peaceful coexistence. And just WHY couldn't they use these skills among themselves? BECAUSE IT'S A FUCKING PISSING CONTEST to see who's more important to the last edition of stubborn bull-headed men of their family tree.' His eye twitched in rage. He knew he had to step out of the room, and part of him wanted to put a drop of blood into the tank of hungry sharks, watch them chew each other out and see that it does NOTHING. The more logical, sensible side of him decided to just stand there a little longer before making a bullshit request that would separate the two. "Hey, Doug, where's the kitchen, I'm starved. We should probably get dinner and coffee going so we can get to work."
He paused and looked at Benton, "And, Doc, we should really help Jessie unpack. How about *I* make dinner and you check the equipment?"
Dr. Quest seemed to pick up on Race's concept, "I'd be delighted to. She makes for such good company. unlike some other people in this room." He jabbed.
Race sighed, 'Perhaps not.' Doug looked at Race, trying desperately to ignore Benton, "The kitchen's thadda way." He said gruffly, he started towards the hallway, he glared at Benton vehemently, "Don't break anything, klutz."
***SL13 Nirvana Resort, Location Unknown***
Jonny's entire body twitched as each of the metal-tipped feathers dug into his swollen, pulsating skin. His back was no longer the fair ivory- white smooth, almost milky entity it had been just hours before, now it was a crimson carpet of slick bloody-water, only to be contrasted by mountains of sustained flesh that swarmed his shoulder blades, surrounding the foreign set of bone and cartilage that tied into his nerves. The surgery had taken almost everything out of him, these .things. in his back; he could feel them. as if they too were a part of his being and suffering. He listened in horror as the doctor had described how he would graft Jonny's existing muscles into the base of those. pillars of bone and decadence until they themselves would function more than he could. Each time he tried to raise his wrists he felt the pressure in his back lift, only to drop his 'arms' and the feathers to splash down into his sore regions. The fear that he would never be able to move his arms more than a twitch of the sparse tissues they had left made Jonny feel physically ill. That or the shock and scent of his own blood were finally turning his stomach.
He closed his eyes in a tired sleep.
He finally awoke what he could only think of as moments later, but had in fact been almost a full day later. His feet felt sore, that didn't surprise him. His back boiled in pain. Again, he was not surprised. His arms felt heavy. .No, not his arms. these pillars of FILTH felt heavy, almost unbearable, if they would only just fall off the pain would at least subside momentarily. His hands, they throbbed, Jonny smiled. They throbbed! He could still feel them, and if he could still feel them, and even the pain associated with them. He concentrated on that pain, a smile ever growing, it WAS his wrists; he could feel the blistering pain that the nails driven through his wrist inspired. He could almost sing! Jonny concentrated with all his might onto the pain and his fingers relatively.
A twitch, a spasm at best but none-the-less, movement, HE COULD STILL MOVE! A renewed sense of hope washed over him just as blood had so many times over in the past few hours.
Brother Warden walked before him, again taking notes, but this time with the audacity to sit in the very room with the boy. He jotted more short hand as Jonny's fingers twitched. That made Jonny cringe; the man knew he was still mobile!
Jonny tried to kick out at the man, in the hopes that it would distract him enough to allow him a chance to move.
A familiar sense of pain swept over him and he was railing and withering in stinging agony. He winced trying to think through his own scream, 'What is this pain. it's so similar yet it's not at all.' A flash of pain in his wrists quickly reminded him. Sweet Justice they wouldn't have. not more, they must have though. The nails that drove through his wrists apparently had sisters which drove through his feet, beside the pins that prodded the bottoms of his feet. Tears of utter loss crashed down his cheeks.
He was in a struggle for his LIFE and he lost, the sense of incomprehensible despair and misery overtook him. Encompassing him in what he could only imagine eternal darkness could feel like.
One of his nurses glimpsed at him, a sense of unsaid duty rising in her throat. "You know." She started softly, almost caring. "You've been here for DAYS now. and yet, no one has come looking for you. I haven't heard your name mentioned on the paper or news or even RADIO, not ONCE since you came here." She sighed, "It must be HARD having parents who could care less if you dropped off the earth and died. It's almost like we did your parents, your family a favor by making you disappear."
Jonny tried to stuff back his tears, only amounting in making him whimper and seem all the more bit pathetic.
"I know how you feel, to be discarded like you were trash, just used and abused and then, when you have no more uses to misuse no more reasons to wake up and serve someone, they just. dump you. They leave you behind and move on to the next sucker. But for your own parents to be so heartless isn't it better that you know that? Know what those monsters are like? Even if it hurts now, isn't a life full of hidden pain even worse in the end?"
He tried to tear himself off of the board he was attached to, trying to lunge at the woman. That made the pain even more intolerable than before. He could almost feel his muscles in his neck stretch; he jerked his head back and forth in a strong shake of the head. "NO! You're LYING! They'd never. they LOVE ME!"
"Days. Just remember that. Days. With all of his money, how hard do you think it would be for him to find you? He could PROBABLY even BRIBE some of us for information, if he even bothered to offer that is."
Sobs racked his exhausted form. He began to bob his head up and down, as if his psyche had almost collapsed and all he could do to keep himself, even if it meant stay with the pain, was to cry and shake, bob to make sure he was still awake and still alive.
"Days." She smiled, lingering a little; she leaned in to his ear, ".Days." She whispered and then walked off.
He banged his head into the back of the board. "Days." He said to himself strongly, obviously hurt beyond recognition.
(Status _ Part Five: The Angels Sing _ Completed.)
Ezekiel Rage sat behind a large oak desk, sitting in a rich forest- green leather grandfather chair. He glanced at the papers on his desk. "Anael, Lilith, and Parasiel have been sent to their spheres of power as of 02:00 hours." He glanced at the atlas, "Anael, the eighth hour shall transcend in Eugene, Oregon, at the Latitude of 44°N. Lilith, the second hour shall transcend to her sphere of Great Falls, MT, at the Longitude of 110°N. Parasiel, the third hour shall transcend in New Orleans, LA, Latitude 30°N. The world shall soon know of the end of days, when the hours will no longer come." Moving his fingers stealthily into the massive oak desk's thinnest drawer he pulled out a small charm, quick to wrap his chubby fingers around it, hiding what it looked like. He always kept those charms in all of his desks in any given Nirvana Resort, rubbing it with his thumb for good luck. He placed the charm back where it originally sat, inside his desk drawer making it appear to never have been disturbed.
As he closed the drawer the silver reflected a shine, giving away it's outline. Two pieces of silver adjoined one third of the way up from its base. Each piece of silver seemingly the same length. It was an upside down cross, hung on a string of leather as if waiting to become a necklace.
A receptionist buzzed Ezekiel's executive desk. "Mr. Rage, your appointment is waiting for you down in the sauna room on Sub-Level 13."
Ezekiel smiled a toothy grin from behind his mask. He went into his drawer again, that housed the downward cross and he drew from the desk a mask, much like the one he always wore, save that it was jet-black with a thin white line drawing down from ¾'s an inch from top of the forehead to ¾'s an inch above the eyebrow's serration, remaining in the precise middle of the mask. He quickly removed his white mask only to replace it with this new face. He slid on a pair of blood red sunglasses with thin metallic black frames, the glass cut into rounded rectangles ensuring that the entire eye area was covered. He lifted a tattered black leather book that held a blood red silk ribbon, the exact same shade of red as his sunglasses' dyed glass. He gathered into his arms another book, much less damaged then the first, this book a contrasting crème colored shade of off white, the pages golden and the writing on both the binding and cover indicated: Book of the Angels. He took out his precious charm and slid it into a velvet pouch that seemed near full. Attaching the velvet pouch to his belt, he left his office, leaving his files out and around the desk, scattered at their neatest.
***The Elevator, 14th Floor***
Ezekiel stepped onto the Elevator, the typical Nirvana Resort elevator started playing, an orchestral score from 'Phantom of the Opera' the song "Angel of Music" filled the elevator; he was lucky it was the beginning of the recording. He stepped into the elevator and pressed a button on the top of the panel marked "Maintenance" a new panel rotated in, where the other panel had stood moments before. He pressed the button marked "SL13" and the elevator disappeared from the floor, swallowed by the tracks of cable as it moved towards the bowels of the building.
***SL 13, Nirvana Resort***
A man in a stark white lab coat stood in front of a door, looking through the slit here and there, always jotting notes. He looked to the elevator, happy to see that it was almost to his level. He had long black eyelashes with blond tips, his hair could be described much to the same degree, he had hair down to his chin, layered to give it length and shape, long strands of medium-brown fell quickly into natural shades of blond at the tips. His eyes were a dark, almost blackened shade of hazel and his lips were thick, over all he was a very attractive, healthy looking man. Around his late 20's he looked no different than any boy-model advertising for beer commercials or extreme sports, but apparently he never thought of himself as that, but rather as a pediatric surgeon. How he fell into the cult of Rage was anyone's guess.
Perhaps the time he was addicted to crack, which cost him his residency, perhaps when his first childhood love, his wife of just 2 months died in a car accident or maybe still the final blow came from when his father, who was involved in the NYPD was killed so randomly in a pursuit to arrest a shop-lifter who had no prior record of violence. Any of those incidents could have pushed him to the edge, to Ezekiel's Rage. to the cult of Rage. where he had a new family, all hurt like himself, could practice his career unhampered. and the sense of vengeance- no, justice, filled the atmosphere.
He peered into the room once more. Ezekiel stepped out of the elevator and greeted the man. "Son Warden how is Sariel?"
"His vessel has awoken, he is ready to come forth to this world, honored Rage."
Rage nodded, "are you ready to help Sariel regain his wings? He has been a part of the mortal world far too long."
"The pain for him must be unbearable, having to be surrounded by humans without his gifts, in this imperfect material world of pain and pleasure. To endure this after what we could only think of as an eternity in heaven." He shook his head that poor seraphim.
***Inside a Nirvana Resort, Somewhere Unknown***
He pulled at his bonds, trying to focus on the ropes. Amazingly, he couldn't find any. He strained his eyes and tried to pull his arms, 'Maybe I was drugged. so that I can't move.?' He thought as his arms stayed stationary.
A kick of pain washed over his arms as he pulled at them. This caused Jonny to yelp in pain. He panted for breath as the searing pain moved down his nerves and a twinge of anxiety filled his chest with a sense of heat and pure panic. Small droplets of blood spilled down his wrists. Jonny strained to concentrate on his hands, he wiggled his fingers, no, he was DEFINITELY capable to move; he just wasn't allowed to move, somehow. He glared at the droplets of blood, coming from holes in his wrists. A slow realization struck him, '.I. can move my hands. but my muscles burn. and that hole. whatever it is it's holding me down. no. they couldn't have.' Jonny's eyes narrowed, he pulled his head away from the back of the board, stretching his neck so that he could see his arm down to his wrist. It was true! How could they? They had him staked up to a piece of wood using NAILS?! No, Jonny had just hit his head harder than he thought. There was no reason in the WORLD for anyone to use this torturous of a method to hold him down.
Brother Warden walked in, a dark figure behind him, Jonny didn't recognize either of them. He was stuck on the thought that someone had put nails through his arms.
"Brother Warden, please inform our guest of the procedure you are preparing to administer."
The man nodded and smiled softly. "Sariel, I am readying you for a surgery, to reunite you with your wings. Of course, as you already know, you won't need anesthetics, you can not feel pain." He smiled naively.
Jonny's eyes grew, he finally absorbed that there was someone standing next to him. Someone who apparently thinks THIS is painless and that HE was going to perform some sort of surgery on him. Jonny swallowed hard, 'Wait, this gives me a chance, they'll have to let me down. and no anesthetics means I won't be so out of it that I can't try to escape.' Jonny looked at the figure sternly. "Let me down immediately." He snarled.
Ezekiel stepped out from behind the doctor. "HOLD YOUR TONGUE YOU IMPERTINENT BASTARD CHILD! We are NOT speaking to YOU! We are speaking to Sariel, you are merely HIS VESSEL!" Ezekiel struck the boy soundly across the cheekbone, Jonny could feel it swell and almost swore he felt the skin burst, causing the sensation of blood to mix with sweat.
Jonny swallowed tightly, 'Ezekiel Rage. but. it doesn't even look like him. his face. no, it's a mask. it's so dark, I can barely tell where his features are.' Jonny leaned his head back into the board and looked upward, fear spreading through his body.
Ezekiel drew out a 2" long double serrated blade palmed into his fist. With a flick of his wrist the knife skillfully did a 180° the handle was met by eager fingers that clutched it in a strict grip. He leaned close to Jonny and with one hand grabbed Jonny by the bangs pulling his face towards the knife. With two skilled flicks of his wrist he carved a downward cross into the boy's forehead, 1/8th of an inch deep into Jonny's flesh.
Jonny winced, as his roots were pulled back hard. He flinched as he saw the knife coming up to his face. When the knife dug into his flesh an ear-piercing scream blanketed the 13th Sub-Level.
Ezekiel put the knife back into the velvet bag, dabbed the blood away from the wound and then put a pinch of crushed rock salt into the meat of the wound. Jonny's body just twitched, his eyes closed tighter than he ever imagined human possible.
All of the nerves on his face seemed to burn a cold tingle. 'Somehow,' he thought abstractly, 'I think this WASN'T the end of his plan.' He groaned inwardly, '.and I think the pain's only going to get worse.' This time he groaned externally. Jonny sighed, 'they have to let me down from this sometime. Don't they?'
Warden cut the rope that suspended the wooden board; two members of the cult of Rage seemed to materialize out of nowhere. They lifted the board and carried it, dragging Jonny in the process, towards a steel table.
They placed the board onto the table, making Jonny lay face down on the icy cold table. He shuttered, they have to release him now. they wouldn't.
But they would and did. They strapped Jonny's ankles together with a plastic zip-tie and did the same around his waist pinning him onto the table. Jonny curled his back upwards trying to twist around so that the bottom of his feet could be on the table.
One of the 'nurses' restrained him while the other pressed down on the board, bringing out the pain in Jonny's wrists.
Warden pulled out several long tipped needles and pressed them through the soft skin of the arches of Jonny's feet, he pushed two more needles through the balls of the toes and one needle deep into Jonny's heel. Jonny clamped down on his teeth, he felt as though they were shattering in his mouth as they turned, twisted and poked the needles deeper and deeper still into his sensitive flesh.
***DW Ranch, New Mexico***
Benton sat down the bags in frustration, "Calling and canceling our rooms before we got there was just wrong, Doug. Not to mention immature."
Race rolled his eyes, "ENOUGH!" He sighed, "You've been complaining and bickering the entire way here, and I don't just mean the car ride from the hotel to the ranch, either." He glowered. "It's more important that we FIND some evidence and get to Jonny before it's too late."
Benton's face turned sinister.
Race sighed, 'Here comes the NEXT epic battle of WWIII, or should I just rename it the hundred year war?'
"We wouldn't have to FIND Jonny if Doug had just DONE as I had ASKED HIM TO. My son is in danger because this. this. cowpoke just couldn't follow ONE SIMPLE RULE. Doug, if ANYTHING happens to him."
Doug spat, something the hardened man was seldom to do. "If you want to take this OUTSIDE Egg Head, I told you where the door is. BUT you should at least be gracious enough to wait 'til we FIND *my* Grandson before starting this tiff, pansy."
Jessie smacked herself in the head, adding the finishing touches after unloading the car, by her lonesome. Apparently all the adults were too busy squabbling to help her unpack the pick-up truck. She swore under her breath, "Three year olds. It's like surround-sound JONNY." She stomped off towards her guest room.
Race glanced casually in her direction, wishing he too could only leave the quarrel that easily. He sneered, no; he had to mediate the two factions. That was beginning to anger him, a growing sensation in his gut he couldn't completely place. 'Here, is a MAN KNOWN for helping people in peace-talks and keeping neutral. and another man who is an active part in his local government in representing the people, be it town's people or some of the Native Americans from the reservation and helping everyone have a peaceful coexistence. And just WHY couldn't they use these skills among themselves? BECAUSE IT'S A FUCKING PISSING CONTEST to see who's more important to the last edition of stubborn bull-headed men of their family tree.' His eye twitched in rage. He knew he had to step out of the room, and part of him wanted to put a drop of blood into the tank of hungry sharks, watch them chew each other out and see that it does NOTHING. The more logical, sensible side of him decided to just stand there a little longer before making a bullshit request that would separate the two. "Hey, Doug, where's the kitchen, I'm starved. We should probably get dinner and coffee going so we can get to work."
He paused and looked at Benton, "And, Doc, we should really help Jessie unpack. How about *I* make dinner and you check the equipment?"
Dr. Quest seemed to pick up on Race's concept, "I'd be delighted to. She makes for such good company. unlike some other people in this room." He jabbed.
Race sighed, 'Perhaps not.' Doug looked at Race, trying desperately to ignore Benton, "The kitchen's thadda way." He said gruffly, he started towards the hallway, he glared at Benton vehemently, "Don't break anything, klutz."
***SL13 Nirvana Resort, Location Unknown***
Jonny's entire body twitched as each of the metal-tipped feathers dug into his swollen, pulsating skin. His back was no longer the fair ivory- white smooth, almost milky entity it had been just hours before, now it was a crimson carpet of slick bloody-water, only to be contrasted by mountains of sustained flesh that swarmed his shoulder blades, surrounding the foreign set of bone and cartilage that tied into his nerves. The surgery had taken almost everything out of him, these .things. in his back; he could feel them. as if they too were a part of his being and suffering. He listened in horror as the doctor had described how he would graft Jonny's existing muscles into the base of those. pillars of bone and decadence until they themselves would function more than he could. Each time he tried to raise his wrists he felt the pressure in his back lift, only to drop his 'arms' and the feathers to splash down into his sore regions. The fear that he would never be able to move his arms more than a twitch of the sparse tissues they had left made Jonny feel physically ill. That or the shock and scent of his own blood were finally turning his stomach.
He closed his eyes in a tired sleep.
He finally awoke what he could only think of as moments later, but had in fact been almost a full day later. His feet felt sore, that didn't surprise him. His back boiled in pain. Again, he was not surprised. His arms felt heavy. .No, not his arms. these pillars of FILTH felt heavy, almost unbearable, if they would only just fall off the pain would at least subside momentarily. His hands, they throbbed, Jonny smiled. They throbbed! He could still feel them, and if he could still feel them, and even the pain associated with them. He concentrated on that pain, a smile ever growing, it WAS his wrists; he could feel the blistering pain that the nails driven through his wrist inspired. He could almost sing! Jonny concentrated with all his might onto the pain and his fingers relatively.
A twitch, a spasm at best but none-the-less, movement, HE COULD STILL MOVE! A renewed sense of hope washed over him just as blood had so many times over in the past few hours.
Brother Warden walked before him, again taking notes, but this time with the audacity to sit in the very room with the boy. He jotted more short hand as Jonny's fingers twitched. That made Jonny cringe; the man knew he was still mobile!
Jonny tried to kick out at the man, in the hopes that it would distract him enough to allow him a chance to move.
A familiar sense of pain swept over him and he was railing and withering in stinging agony. He winced trying to think through his own scream, 'What is this pain. it's so similar yet it's not at all.' A flash of pain in his wrists quickly reminded him. Sweet Justice they wouldn't have. not more, they must have though. The nails that drove through his wrists apparently had sisters which drove through his feet, beside the pins that prodded the bottoms of his feet. Tears of utter loss crashed down his cheeks.
He was in a struggle for his LIFE and he lost, the sense of incomprehensible despair and misery overtook him. Encompassing him in what he could only imagine eternal darkness could feel like.
One of his nurses glimpsed at him, a sense of unsaid duty rising in her throat. "You know." She started softly, almost caring. "You've been here for DAYS now. and yet, no one has come looking for you. I haven't heard your name mentioned on the paper or news or even RADIO, not ONCE since you came here." She sighed, "It must be HARD having parents who could care less if you dropped off the earth and died. It's almost like we did your parents, your family a favor by making you disappear."
Jonny tried to stuff back his tears, only amounting in making him whimper and seem all the more bit pathetic.
"I know how you feel, to be discarded like you were trash, just used and abused and then, when you have no more uses to misuse no more reasons to wake up and serve someone, they just. dump you. They leave you behind and move on to the next sucker. But for your own parents to be so heartless isn't it better that you know that? Know what those monsters are like? Even if it hurts now, isn't a life full of hidden pain even worse in the end?"
He tried to tear himself off of the board he was attached to, trying to lunge at the woman. That made the pain even more intolerable than before. He could almost feel his muscles in his neck stretch; he jerked his head back and forth in a strong shake of the head. "NO! You're LYING! They'd never. they LOVE ME!"
"Days. Just remember that. Days. With all of his money, how hard do you think it would be for him to find you? He could PROBABLY even BRIBE some of us for information, if he even bothered to offer that is."
Sobs racked his exhausted form. He began to bob his head up and down, as if his psyche had almost collapsed and all he could do to keep himself, even if it meant stay with the pain, was to cry and shake, bob to make sure he was still awake and still alive.
"Days." She smiled, lingering a little; she leaned in to his ear, ".Days." She whispered and then walked off.
He banged his head into the back of the board. "Days." He said to himself strongly, obviously hurt beyond recognition.
(Status _ Part Five: The Angels Sing _ Completed.)