A/N: This chapter has more of Zelda and intros a new character. Enjoy.
Disclaimer: The Matrix is owned by Warner Bros. and the Wachowskis. Agents: The Series is co-owned by myself and Stormhawk. Tib, Beverly/Zelda, Mikhail (and all the people in his house) are mine. Movies, songs, web-pages, books, etcetera belong to their respective creators unless otherwise mentioned.
All characters and events in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events or people, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Chapter 8... Friends
Tib's head lolled on the pillow. That had gone surprisingly badly, he decided. 'That' being his first counseling session. Despite having choked down more than a third of his nauseating hospital lunch in plain view of the nurse. Obviously his new psychologist, Doctor Harris, thought him to be a very twitchy person, and Harris had definitely seen how little sleep and food Tib had been getting. The fanboy had been forced to field questions about his home life, the death of his father and how it had affected him, and most unpleasantly, about the Bully incident, and what that little number had done to his psyche. Each question had made him more and more uncomfortable, and less sure of himself and his resolve. On top of that, lunch had been rolling around his stomach the entire time.
The session had lasted two hours, until five, and fifteen minutes later his mom had shown up. She came bearing gifts from his room, those things that she could get through the Doctors' scrutiny. He was stuck with no internet and now no video-games. He was lucky that she'd brought some of his novels and comics, rather than just clothes. But he was too exhausted from the mental inquisition and everything that had happened in the last day to think about reading. And so he just curled up in the bed.
It was six o'clock now. Tib wondered what his online friends were doing. Were they worrying about him? Zelda was, almost definitely. But what about his role-playing partner, Rainblood, or the gamefaqs.com crowd? And what of Mikhail? It was less than twelve hours since the Russian had come to get him at the White Knight, and given him a second round of cryptic warnings. And how exactly did Mikhail know where he lived? Was he really with Morpheus after all? But if he was, why was he warning him about careful choices? What was it he had said when they'd met?
'The vorld is strange Dahvedt, and you are getting yourself into one of the strangest parts. For all you know I could be a goblin from hell come to devour your soul.'
Tib shivered at the remembered words, and rolled over onto his still queasy stomach. The Russian was so strange, and Tib didn't know why he trusted him as much as he did. Sense said not to, but Mikhail's personality was such that it was almost impossible not to like him.
The fanboy sighed deeply into his sterile pillow. Had Mikhail missed him at college today? Had anybody? Would anyone but Zelda notice he was gone?
He lay on the bed, drifting in his anxious thoughts. His last one, before he fell into unconsciousness for the first time in 56 hours was 'Oh dear Tallest, please let Zelda have the sense not to call the FBI yet.'
***
"Hi, you've reached the Madison family, unfortunately, we can't come to the phone right now, but leave a message and we'll get back to you as soon as we can. Bye."
Beeeeeeeeeeep.
Beverly set the phone down in it's cradle rather more forcefully than necessary, but after two hours of trying, lucklessly, to reach Tib, she didn't think anyone would blame her. And woe betide them if they did. She bit her lip, the hollow feeling in her stomach had grown and grown as she tried, and now it felt as though there were a black hole where her digestive system had once been.
This was not good. This was so very not good.
She paced the living room rug for three lapse, and then collapsed on the couch, dislodging Spooky from where he had been sitting.
"Meooow," he complained loudly.
"Sorry Spook," she apologized, draping her arms over the arm of the couch, her red hair falling in her eyes. "But I've got more important things to worry about right now."
The black fuzzball jumped in her lap anyway. She sighed.
"What would you do, Spooky?" she asked the cat.
He looked at her with big, green eyes and yawned.
"That's right, you wouldn't do anything, would you? But I have to. I promised after all. And I'm really worried about him, you know. What if they really got him, those cult people? What if he needs my help? But I can't just call the FBI and tell them I think somebody disappeared just because they haven't been on the internet in one whole day. They'd laugh at me."
Beverly looked down at the floor with blue eyes. She was the only one at home right now, her mom and dad had gone out to Maine for a week or so, to visit a friend of her mother's. Bev had school so she was left at home. She hadn't wanted to go, anyway.
Suddenly Beverly had what she decided was a very bad idea. She had Tib's address, she could take the car and drive out and see what had happened. It was only 4:30, and it would only take a bit more than two hours to get there. She could be there by seven if she left now, and be back with plenty of time to get to sleep for school. That was if everything was alright. If it wasn't, well, she'd deal with that problem when she got to it.
But should she?
She looked down at her cat.
Spooky was asleep.
Well, she wasn't doing any good just sitting here. And what was the harm? No one would know that she'd gone. She was almost eighteen, she'd had her license for just over a year and was a responsible driver. It wasn't like she was going to skip school. And it was for a definite good cause. She had to make sure Tib was alright. And when she got back she'd feel very silly, because he'd have been sick in bed, or visiting an aunt. That was it. She was going to go.
She stood up suddenly, dislodging Spooky yet again.
"Reeoaww!!" he complained.
"Sorry Spook, I've gotta go. I'll be back really soon though." She dashed to her room quickly, grabbing her keys, and her purse, slipping on her shoes. But she paused. Plans could go wrong, and there was always the small chance that Tib was really in trouble. She should at least let somebody know where she was going. She grabbed the phone again and dialed this number by heart.
"Hello?"
"Hey, Tina, this is Bev," she said.
"Oh, hey B," Tina greeted. "are you okay, you sound a bit short of breath."
"I'm kinda in a hurry, Tina. Listen, you remember how I told you one of my online friends was messing in this cult stuff?"
"Yeah?"
"Well, he hasn't been online in... a while, and he only lives a few hours away, so I'm going to go check on him, okay?"
"You're going to meet somebody off the net? Are you crazy B?" she demanded.
"Look, I've met him before," Beverly lied. "Just listen. I should be back by tonight, but I wanted you to know I was going just in case. I'll call you when I get back."
"Uh-uh. No way, you are not leaving me holding the bag like this."
"Tina, this is something I have to do. I'll give you the address and phone number of where I'm going, if that'll make you feel better." She wasn't sure she should be going around giving out Tib's personal information like that, but this was a tough situation.
"Well...okay," Tina finally relented, "but you had better be in school tomorrow B."
"Don't worry," she said, and then read off the address.
They said their goodbyes quickly, at Beverly's insistence, and she hung up the phone and hurried out the door.
She was going to meet J_Tiberius_K.
***
Mikhail was sprawled cross-wise in his dilapidated paisley armchair, toying with a red yo-yo, dropping the wheel, and catching it rather skillessly. In the corner of the room a very large, but many years old television set was showing a rather fuzzy X-files rerun to a less than rapt audience. One of the Russian's roommates was sitting on a heavily duct-taped plaid couch, half-watching the show, and half rereading some hack detective novel. She was a short, slightly pudgy young woman with a genial face and wavy cinnamon-colored hair. She looked up from her book at Mikahil.
"Oi, Mikky," she called him.
He didn't respond, staring off into space.
Vivelle sighed and stood up, walking the few paces across the room, and bapped the man lightly on the head with her novel.
Mikhail startled and dropped the yo-yo completely. He looked up.
"Ah! Now vhat hev you gone and done thet for?" he asked, rubbing his head in mock pain.
Vivelle rolled her eyes. "Tell me what's wrong luv," she demanded, in a rather flat cockney accent.
"Bah! I do not know what you are talking about, eh?" he looked down at the floor, and waved his arm at his yo-yo, trying to reach it without having to get up. But it was useless.
"You're worried about somethin', Mik, don't go trying to 'ide it from me." She placed her hands on her hips smartly.
He threw his arms up in defeat, both at Vivelle and at the yo-yo. "Yes, you hev caught me. I am vorried about Daveht, he vas noht in cless today."
She pursed her lips, trying to place the name. "You mean the kid who called last night an' was meetin' with the rebel boys?"
"The same."
"Think 'e went with them?"
"It is pohsible. I do noht know vehn his meeting vas. He did noht tell me."
Vivelle crossed her arms in thought. "Well, if you're that worried bout 'im Mik, why don't ya swing by 'is 'ouse an see if 'e's there."
Mikhail nodded, sitting up properly in the chair. "That I think I vill do. Vhere is Rosemand?"
"Upstairs, you know 'e can't stand the X-files."
"Of course, how silly ohf me. Ahnd Tempus?"
"Out chain smokin' in some alley as always. Probably scarin' small children for fun. Honestly." She shook her head. "I don know why you put up with 'im luv, I really don't."
"Because ve muhst stick together. You know thet."
"So that when they do decide to come and bump us off they only have to go one place?"
"You sound like Rosemand. Ve are femily, Vivelle. Noht blood, but close enough, and ve are stronger together. If you vant to leave like your sister..." the suggestion hung in the air like a threat.
"No!" Vivelle denied. "I'm sorry Mikky. You're just making me edgy is all. 'Angin' around with prospective rebels ain't a real good way to keep outta sight. Maybe more trouble than it's worth."
The Russian sighed. "Perheps you are right, my loup-garou." He stood up. "I vill make you a promise. If he hez gone with them, then I vill let the metter drop."
She eyed him suspiciously. "An' no mopin' about?"
He held up his hands. "No moping. Promise." He grinned.
"Ah, get goin' you big 'umbug," she said with a smirk.
He nodded. "I em taking the car."
"Why don't you just..." she made a twisting motion, as if turning a key.
"Vhat ken I say? I like to drihve."
"Yeah, but that bucket?" she asked with distaste.
"Hey! I heppen to like my car. It reminds me of home."
The car in question was a red 1973 Yugo, a two-door, roughly the size of a refrigerator with seats like cardboard. It had once sold quite well in the Soviet Union.
"Alright, alight luv. You'd better get goin' then, if you don't want it to get to late."
"I vill see you later then."
"Good luck Mik."
He headed out the door.
To be continued...
Disclaimer: The Matrix is owned by Warner Bros. and the Wachowskis. Agents: The Series is co-owned by myself and Stormhawk. Tib, Beverly/Zelda, Mikhail (and all the people in his house) are mine. Movies, songs, web-pages, books, etcetera belong to their respective creators unless otherwise mentioned.
All characters and events in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events or people, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Chapter 8... Friends
Tib's head lolled on the pillow. That had gone surprisingly badly, he decided. 'That' being his first counseling session. Despite having choked down more than a third of his nauseating hospital lunch in plain view of the nurse. Obviously his new psychologist, Doctor Harris, thought him to be a very twitchy person, and Harris had definitely seen how little sleep and food Tib had been getting. The fanboy had been forced to field questions about his home life, the death of his father and how it had affected him, and most unpleasantly, about the Bully incident, and what that little number had done to his psyche. Each question had made him more and more uncomfortable, and less sure of himself and his resolve. On top of that, lunch had been rolling around his stomach the entire time.
The session had lasted two hours, until five, and fifteen minutes later his mom had shown up. She came bearing gifts from his room, those things that she could get through the Doctors' scrutiny. He was stuck with no internet and now no video-games. He was lucky that she'd brought some of his novels and comics, rather than just clothes. But he was too exhausted from the mental inquisition and everything that had happened in the last day to think about reading. And so he just curled up in the bed.
It was six o'clock now. Tib wondered what his online friends were doing. Were they worrying about him? Zelda was, almost definitely. But what about his role-playing partner, Rainblood, or the gamefaqs.com crowd? And what of Mikhail? It was less than twelve hours since the Russian had come to get him at the White Knight, and given him a second round of cryptic warnings. And how exactly did Mikhail know where he lived? Was he really with Morpheus after all? But if he was, why was he warning him about careful choices? What was it he had said when they'd met?
'The vorld is strange Dahvedt, and you are getting yourself into one of the strangest parts. For all you know I could be a goblin from hell come to devour your soul.'
Tib shivered at the remembered words, and rolled over onto his still queasy stomach. The Russian was so strange, and Tib didn't know why he trusted him as much as he did. Sense said not to, but Mikhail's personality was such that it was almost impossible not to like him.
The fanboy sighed deeply into his sterile pillow. Had Mikhail missed him at college today? Had anybody? Would anyone but Zelda notice he was gone?
He lay on the bed, drifting in his anxious thoughts. His last one, before he fell into unconsciousness for the first time in 56 hours was 'Oh dear Tallest, please let Zelda have the sense not to call the FBI yet.'
***
"Hi, you've reached the Madison family, unfortunately, we can't come to the phone right now, but leave a message and we'll get back to you as soon as we can. Bye."
Beeeeeeeeeeep.
Beverly set the phone down in it's cradle rather more forcefully than necessary, but after two hours of trying, lucklessly, to reach Tib, she didn't think anyone would blame her. And woe betide them if they did. She bit her lip, the hollow feeling in her stomach had grown and grown as she tried, and now it felt as though there were a black hole where her digestive system had once been.
This was not good. This was so very not good.
She paced the living room rug for three lapse, and then collapsed on the couch, dislodging Spooky from where he had been sitting.
"Meooow," he complained loudly.
"Sorry Spook," she apologized, draping her arms over the arm of the couch, her red hair falling in her eyes. "But I've got more important things to worry about right now."
The black fuzzball jumped in her lap anyway. She sighed.
"What would you do, Spooky?" she asked the cat.
He looked at her with big, green eyes and yawned.
"That's right, you wouldn't do anything, would you? But I have to. I promised after all. And I'm really worried about him, you know. What if they really got him, those cult people? What if he needs my help? But I can't just call the FBI and tell them I think somebody disappeared just because they haven't been on the internet in one whole day. They'd laugh at me."
Beverly looked down at the floor with blue eyes. She was the only one at home right now, her mom and dad had gone out to Maine for a week or so, to visit a friend of her mother's. Bev had school so she was left at home. She hadn't wanted to go, anyway.
Suddenly Beverly had what she decided was a very bad idea. She had Tib's address, she could take the car and drive out and see what had happened. It was only 4:30, and it would only take a bit more than two hours to get there. She could be there by seven if she left now, and be back with plenty of time to get to sleep for school. That was if everything was alright. If it wasn't, well, she'd deal with that problem when she got to it.
But should she?
She looked down at her cat.
Spooky was asleep.
Well, she wasn't doing any good just sitting here. And what was the harm? No one would know that she'd gone. She was almost eighteen, she'd had her license for just over a year and was a responsible driver. It wasn't like she was going to skip school. And it was for a definite good cause. She had to make sure Tib was alright. And when she got back she'd feel very silly, because he'd have been sick in bed, or visiting an aunt. That was it. She was going to go.
She stood up suddenly, dislodging Spooky yet again.
"Reeoaww!!" he complained.
"Sorry Spook, I've gotta go. I'll be back really soon though." She dashed to her room quickly, grabbing her keys, and her purse, slipping on her shoes. But she paused. Plans could go wrong, and there was always the small chance that Tib was really in trouble. She should at least let somebody know where she was going. She grabbed the phone again and dialed this number by heart.
"Hello?"
"Hey, Tina, this is Bev," she said.
"Oh, hey B," Tina greeted. "are you okay, you sound a bit short of breath."
"I'm kinda in a hurry, Tina. Listen, you remember how I told you one of my online friends was messing in this cult stuff?"
"Yeah?"
"Well, he hasn't been online in... a while, and he only lives a few hours away, so I'm going to go check on him, okay?"
"You're going to meet somebody off the net? Are you crazy B?" she demanded.
"Look, I've met him before," Beverly lied. "Just listen. I should be back by tonight, but I wanted you to know I was going just in case. I'll call you when I get back."
"Uh-uh. No way, you are not leaving me holding the bag like this."
"Tina, this is something I have to do. I'll give you the address and phone number of where I'm going, if that'll make you feel better." She wasn't sure she should be going around giving out Tib's personal information like that, but this was a tough situation.
"Well...okay," Tina finally relented, "but you had better be in school tomorrow B."
"Don't worry," she said, and then read off the address.
They said their goodbyes quickly, at Beverly's insistence, and she hung up the phone and hurried out the door.
She was going to meet J_Tiberius_K.
***
Mikhail was sprawled cross-wise in his dilapidated paisley armchair, toying with a red yo-yo, dropping the wheel, and catching it rather skillessly. In the corner of the room a very large, but many years old television set was showing a rather fuzzy X-files rerun to a less than rapt audience. One of the Russian's roommates was sitting on a heavily duct-taped plaid couch, half-watching the show, and half rereading some hack detective novel. She was a short, slightly pudgy young woman with a genial face and wavy cinnamon-colored hair. She looked up from her book at Mikahil.
"Oi, Mikky," she called him.
He didn't respond, staring off into space.
Vivelle sighed and stood up, walking the few paces across the room, and bapped the man lightly on the head with her novel.
Mikhail startled and dropped the yo-yo completely. He looked up.
"Ah! Now vhat hev you gone and done thet for?" he asked, rubbing his head in mock pain.
Vivelle rolled her eyes. "Tell me what's wrong luv," she demanded, in a rather flat cockney accent.
"Bah! I do not know what you are talking about, eh?" he looked down at the floor, and waved his arm at his yo-yo, trying to reach it without having to get up. But it was useless.
"You're worried about somethin', Mik, don't go trying to 'ide it from me." She placed her hands on her hips smartly.
He threw his arms up in defeat, both at Vivelle and at the yo-yo. "Yes, you hev caught me. I am vorried about Daveht, he vas noht in cless today."
She pursed her lips, trying to place the name. "You mean the kid who called last night an' was meetin' with the rebel boys?"
"The same."
"Think 'e went with them?"
"It is pohsible. I do noht know vehn his meeting vas. He did noht tell me."
Vivelle crossed her arms in thought. "Well, if you're that worried bout 'im Mik, why don't ya swing by 'is 'ouse an see if 'e's there."
Mikhail nodded, sitting up properly in the chair. "That I think I vill do. Vhere is Rosemand?"
"Upstairs, you know 'e can't stand the X-files."
"Of course, how silly ohf me. Ahnd Tempus?"
"Out chain smokin' in some alley as always. Probably scarin' small children for fun. Honestly." She shook her head. "I don know why you put up with 'im luv, I really don't."
"Because ve muhst stick together. You know thet."
"So that when they do decide to come and bump us off they only have to go one place?"
"You sound like Rosemand. Ve are femily, Vivelle. Noht blood, but close enough, and ve are stronger together. If you vant to leave like your sister..." the suggestion hung in the air like a threat.
"No!" Vivelle denied. "I'm sorry Mikky. You're just making me edgy is all. 'Angin' around with prospective rebels ain't a real good way to keep outta sight. Maybe more trouble than it's worth."
The Russian sighed. "Perheps you are right, my loup-garou." He stood up. "I vill make you a promise. If he hez gone with them, then I vill let the metter drop."
She eyed him suspiciously. "An' no mopin' about?"
He held up his hands. "No moping. Promise." He grinned.
"Ah, get goin' you big 'umbug," she said with a smirk.
He nodded. "I em taking the car."
"Why don't you just..." she made a twisting motion, as if turning a key.
"Vhat ken I say? I like to drihve."
"Yeah, but that bucket?" she asked with distaste.
"Hey! I heppen to like my car. It reminds me of home."
The car in question was a red 1973 Yugo, a two-door, roughly the size of a refrigerator with seats like cardboard. It had once sold quite well in the Soviet Union.
"Alright, alight luv. You'd better get goin' then, if you don't want it to get to late."
"I vill see you later then."
"Good luck Mik."
He headed out the door.
To be continued...
