Around her fights would cease, people would forget what they were angry over, and contentedness would overtake, and it had always been this way since the beginning. There was no human birth; she merely came into existence on the day she was needed. When The One and The Judge stopped conversations the light was born to settle disputes. She became the middleman and the ruler of Purgatory, that whom cared for the lost souls and wandering saints. They named her 'Caregiver' and praised her words. The One and The Judge took witness and grew angered, as The Caregiver became less like them, and took qualities of the mortals. The One and The Judge made an agreement and The Caregiver was renamed Desdemona and she was cast to Stygian for the rest of Earth's existence.
* * * * *
She was gone. His gaze had torn from the stage when he lost balance in a sense of vertigo, only to recognize the stage was empty and he had been staring for an unknown amount of time. The rest of the crowd awoke with the same reactions, murmuring fervently to one another.
Her reflection in the mirror was better than it had appeared before. Green eyes weren't surrounded by tired dark rings, and lips that were previously blue and pale returned to a normal color. Jordan stood beside her, watching with and absence of expression, arms straight at his sides.
"Are you ready Giver?"
"No, I can't leave now. And I'm not the Giver, not yet."
Jordan nodded, and turned around leaving the small room she rested in. Desdemona was not allowed to leave yet, the forces told her not to for she was not strong enough yet. She sat on the whicker stool that faced the rusted green wall with a single mirror placed on it. Her head was swimming, and all Dessy felt like doing was lying down and sleeping for several days to rise afterwards, and disappear on a Grey Hound.
Beside her feet lay a suitcase with the bare essentials to her existence, clothing, a book written in languages too old to recognize, and other products so strange, only the miracle workers would know what they were for. Every night it had been the same thing, she would grab her bags and take a bus ride across state lines only to end up in a small road side hotel where the highest class of people in it were the business men renting a room for an hour or two to lay with a hooker. Jordan would stay with her, an arm around her, eyes open in almost paranoia.
And Jordan would always travel with her. He was a good man, he believed in her, and some days he begged to serve her. He was young, but had such an appearance of heavy responsibility and maturity his age was impossible to guess. His hair a blonde fair enough to reflect the lights, giving it the image as if it itself glowed, and his eyes accompanied in the perfect shade of Aryan blue, with high and prominent cheekbones he was an angelic juxtaposition to her dark demeanor. Over the last few months his soul had changed and he was much older now, quiet and reserved most often, but always protective. Sometimes he would change though on the slightest whim. His face would crumble like breaking marble and Jordan would explode in an angry rage, or collapse into depression.
She promised to make him happy though, and Dessy would fulfill it someday, just not now. It would be impossible to do so now, not when she woke up with pain raging through her body for hours, and she needed help just to reach their rented car.
A large shawl was removed from the suitcase by her feet and draped over her head before the ends were tied beneath her chin. Sunglasses came next, old styled large frames and lenses, which took up near half her face when put on. She zipped up her suitcase and took the handle wheeling it out the door behind her. She touched Jordan affectionately on the shoulder.
"We can go now," Desdemona whispered.
* * * * *
The party was a waste, it was impossible to tell just how long he had been in that neon lighted hell hole among people so empty headed their skulls could be used as piñatas, as his watch ceased to work at eleven thirty three. But for sure, the time had been wasted. The urge to verbally rip Benny a new one for sending him here was overwhelming and lived under his skin like a parasite.
There were several people slumped in corners O.D.'ed on drugs, now visible as people slowly trailed out of the building, no one cared about them. His head was hurting from the painful techno beats that had played through the most of the night, and from inhaling the acrid marijuana smoke that clouded over the club goers. Everyone he asked about the siren just snorted and blew him off like he was some obnoxious fan girl groupie groping after their favorite superstar. This was bullshit though, she had already left, and he could feel it in his bones.
Filling in behind the rest of the lined up people they all numbly trekked out and back into the sewer system. They guffawed and stumbled over one another.
"Dude, that was so awesome."
"Oh my god…I think I'm going to throw up dude."
The conversations were just thoroughly stimulating, and even though he couldn't get enough of the stoner's timeless wisdom it just seemed all the better to cut away from the crowd early. He diverged off into a separate tunnel that held a ladder that lead above ground. The manhole was pushed aside with ease, and Mark pulled himself out onto the dusty road. He didn't recognize the road he stood by, as the entire surrounding land was lack of even a broke down shack to use as a landmark. If he walked down the road long enough he would show up in town eventually though.
"Hey buddy, you got a light?"
He turned to see the blonde standing with his girlfriend at the bus stop.