Acherontia Atropos Part 6

Until that time, I'd thought that I'd seen at all, that no horror

the world could throw at me could really touch me. I thought my

sense of humor was in impenetrable mask.

Some things stain the soul, but they're stains that you can live

with. I still had nightmares about everything I'd seen, but I'd

gotten to the point that I was used to them, because it was either

that or go completely insane or turn into Heero. Yeah, I'd thought

that nothing could bother me.

God, I was wrong. I was so wrong.

Yan was suddenly bumped to the top of the list of bad shit I'd

seen. The only things that were still over him were the carnage in

Maxwell Church and the dim memory that I have of the aftermath

that killed my family and destroyed my home when I was too young

to know what violence was. Most of the death I'd seen in the war

were the clean, quick endings of mobile suits or carriers

exploding. Nothing like this.

There was something indecent about it, fundamentally wrong. Death

is so much more personal when it's someone you know, and violent

death is the ultimate insult. It becomes an attack on you. Your

emotions get so tangled up that you feel like you're one massive

knot inside. On one hand, you feel guilty that the person died,

and you didn't. On the other, you suddenly feel relief so profound

that it almost brings tears to your eyes, relief that it was the

other person and not you, and that only makes you feel worse. You

start wondering if there was any way that you could have saved the

other person, any way at all, and even if there wasn't, you feel

like shit because there should have been.

I wouldn't be the God of Death if I couldn't admit that. It didn't

make it any easier, though. Somewhere between the rational and the

emotional, communication had broken down.

I knelt there in the moonlight, clutching my ribs with one hand

and asked an uncaring sky why the hell I'd left my room that night

without my gun.

Quatre hovered over me like a worried beam of sunlight. I ignored

him. I didn't particularly want to talk to anyone, least of all

someone that would try to pull me out of the guilt and self-

accusation that I was wallowing in. I wanted that guilt, because I

knew it was Imine/I and it was not something that I could ever

lose.

I might have paused, but the world ground inexorably on. The other

guys decided that there was no way we could clean this up or hide

the body, so we'd just have to do some damage control so that no

one would figure out that we'd been there.

I was glad that we weren't going to hide Yan's body. It would make

life difficult when they found it, but at least his parents

wouldn't have to go through the agony of not knowing what happened

to their son.

The guys left me alone while they cleaned up as much evidence as

they could. When they were done, Heero came over to me. I didn't

say anything, and he didn't say anything either. The blood had

long since soaked through my pants and gone completely cold,

numbing my legs. Without even asking if it was ok, he picked me up

and carried me in his arms like I didn't weigh anything, all the

way back to our room.

The fight had been far enough away from the dorms that no one had

been woken by the shooting, or at least if they had, they weren't

out and about in the halls. Heero carried me right into the

bathroom, a very smart move on his part, and managed to squeeze

both of us into the tiny space by putting me in the shower. My

pants and shoes were ruined, not that I cared. I just sat where

he'd put me gently down and stared at the dirty blood that was

dripping from the cuffs of my pants and running down the drain.

I managed to get myself cleaned up. Washing the dirt and the blood

off of my legs and arms went a long way toward making me feel

better, though mental and emotional dirt is unfortunately not

nearly that easy to clean away. I used more of Heero's shampoo to

get the blood out of my hair, and the scent of it comforted me. I

got out of the shower under my own power and made it out to my bed,

where I let Heero take care of my ribs. If I hadn't been so tired,

I might have been worried by how nice Heero was being. As it was,

I really didn't care.

The next morning, I was awakened bright and early by the sound of

sirens. There were cop cars all over the place. Heero was sitting

by my bed in the hard wooden chair that seemed to have become a

permanent fixture of the room.

"How are you feeling?" He asked.

I tried to stretch and winced as my ribs protested loudly. Bruised

but not broken, thank God for small favors. I did manage to dredge

up a little of my normal good humor, and I flashed Heero a grin.

He wasn't impressed. "I've felt better." I said, "But I'll live."

I glanced out the window again. The cop cars appeared to be

multiplying. "They found the mess pretty quickly, didn't they?"

That's right, the mess. Think of it as a mess, not as what's left

of someone you know...

"Yes. Class has been cancelled. I overheard that the school is

bringing in grief counselors."

"Great." I wasn't sure whether to be sarcastic or not. No class

was great, grief counselors... not so great. I would certainly be

named as one of Yan's friends, which meant that they'd probably

come hunting for me, which also meant that they would be very hard

to escape. I didn't want to talk to a damn grief counselor.

Psychologists are right about the level of lawyers, in my opinion.

Both stick to you like a second skin when there's something they

want. The only difference is the type of coin.

Besides, I didn't need anyone to tell me that it wasn't my fault.

Intellectually, I was well aware that it wasn't my fault. I knew

exactly who was at fault, and I was planning to deal with them as

soon as possible.

Try telling THAT to a counselor, though. I'd probably end up in a

room with rubber wallpaper.

I don't know how long I stared out the window at the black and

whites. Heero finally just stood up, sending his chair scraping

across the floor. "Where are you going, Heero?"

"Mission. I was just waiting until you'd woken up."

Despite the emotional load I was trying to deal with, I perked up,

ever so slightly. Heero had waited around to tell me what was

going on himself, instead of just leaving that to Quatre. It

seemed that my little rant at him yesterday had done some good,

after all. Things were looking up. "Okay. Luck be with you." I

grinned.

Heero hesitated for a moment before gently grabbing one of my

shoulders as I started turning away again. I jumped at the

unexpected touch.

"Trowa and I will be back tomorrow." He hesitated...he actually

hesitated. Mark this day on the calendar. "Don't go anywhere

without your gun." Was all he said. Then he abruptly let go and

walked out of the room, shutting the door behind him.

If I hadn't known better, I would have said he was nervous. What

an interesting thought.

centerb* * */b/center

Painkillers did a lot for my ribs, not to mention the bandaging

that Heero had provided. The guy was a regular walking ambulance

service. I lingered in bed for a while, watching the progress of

the police, the arrival of the coroner's unmarked grey van, the

removal of the body in its black polyvinyl bag.

The direction that sight lead made me rather ill, so I got up then.

The shoulder rig was a bit awkward to deal with because of the

bruises, but there was no way I was leaving the room without it

ever again.

My timing was impeccable, as always. As I exited my room, a small

knot of teachers and administrators was rounding the corner. One

of them started to call my name, so I ran in the opposite

direction. Hell no, I wasn't going to talk to the damn shrinks.

They didn't chase me much, thankfully. Within minutes, I was off

school grounds and sitting at a decorative fountain, trying to

decide what to do with my day.

What I wanted to do, according to the thick knot of rage in my

gust, was hunt and kill. Great, but not helpful. I had no idea

where to start. While I ruminated on my options, I used my last

couple hundred new yen coins to buy a small Iunagidon/I for

breakfast. As I picked through it with my chopsticks, I idly read

my way through a discarded classified section that had been

blowing by. My brain needed the occupation.

Purebred puppies for sale, man seeking woman, woman seeking man,

woman seeking woman, man seeking transvestite, discount liquor,

concert by the Skip Cows, finest tattoos, rave hosted by the Black

Thorn Dancers?

I stopped, almost choking on a clump of rice.

That bitch, what's-her-ass, Victoria, had called their little pack

the "Coterie of Ebon Thorns." Now I was seeing Black Thorn Dancers.

Gee, a rave was probably a good place to pick up targets, like a

buffet. And Yan had mentioned a dance?

Sure, it could have been a coincidence. Except for the fact that I

knew no such animal existed.

The gun seemed to grow heavier in the rig as I ripped that section

of the paper out. It was broad daylight, the address was a scant

thirty minute walk (the better to attract innocent high school

students?) and it was a night spot that would be almost empty

right now. I could almost taste the blood in my mouth, a terrible

salty thirst for vengeance. I could have gone back and grabbed

Quatre, I should have gotten backup.

Fuck it, I knew he'd try to talk me out of it. I started walking.

The place was in a quasi-industrial area, where a lot of old

warehouses had gone over to night spots. There were still some

commercial buildings, mostly textile manufacturers. It wanted to

be Shinjuku, it really did, but it had none of the class and all

of the seediness. As seedy as Tokyo could get, that was - nothing

compared to the rest of the world. I found the building behind a

porn shop and surrounded by warehouses full of last season's

clothing. Someone had taken a stab at an exciting paint job. Neon

tubes, dusty and dead, laced the brick and wooden walls, crawling

across the sheet metal roof like sad, thin snakes.

I bought myself a can of Royal Milk Tea from a vending machine in

front of the porn shop and found and innocuous corner, away from

prying eyes, so I could watch the warehouse. Temper and anger had

gotten me this far. Smarts would finish this out.

Two hours later, three men had come and gone furtively at the porn

shop, a struck had taken a load of clothing away, and I needed to

pee so bad I was sure my eyes were turning yellow. Nothing had

stirred in the warehouse, not even so much as a fly buzzed around

the neon tubing.

That was enough for my patience. I'd scouted a couple of egress

points, no one seemed to be moving or paying attention. It was

time to go in. There was a small side door with a rusty lock that

was no trouble to pick. I even had the forethought to lube the

door's dubious hinges with a little bottle of oil I kept just for

that purpose. The door was surprisingly heavy but opened without a

sound. After pulling my cross out so I could watch for tell-tale

glimmers, I slipped inside in the shadows and closed the door

behind me.

It was dark, dusty, and empty inside, full of the ghosts of sweat,

sex, and marijuana. There was a small stage on one side, piled

with coils of sound and light cables. There was nothing else. I

took a perimeter, skirting the bones of old parties, becoming

increasingly uneasy. There was a heavy feeling in the air like an

electrical fire, almost hidden by the scents of old raves - blood

and fear.

This was their feeding ground. I was sure of it.

Two circuits later, I knew the contours of the floor like a map.

They weren't here. No coffins or crates, nothing obvious. This

couldn't be right, it just couldn't. I looked at the tired shaft

of sunlight falling through the only window high in the north wall.

I knew they had to be there. It was a feeling, like a tickle in

the back of my head, familiar from last night. It was Paul, the

one I had owned for a few moments last night.

I followed the shaft of light along the floor. The furthest point

from it, and the place where light would never touch was the stage.

I rapped on it with my knuckles. Hollow, but most stages were. I

had to move the cools of wire aside a few at a time and then

replace them exactly where they'd been after feeling the clear

area with my fingertips.

There was a trap door on the back corner of the stage, thin cracks

and two small holes, finger sized. I was sweating and generally

cursing by the time I got it open, revealing a pit dug in the

foundation and lined with panels of dark wood. I finally had to

resort to my flashlight, shining into all corners before climbing

down the ladder.

The pit smelled like earth and even more blood, fear, and death. I

didn't want to think about why the walls were stained so dark.

There were three huge, wooden chests in a neat row. I would have

normally called them coffins, but in light of the iron strapping

that covered them - well, they just weren't pretty enough.

I sucked in a deep breath of the dank air and drew my gun,

clicking the safety off. There was nothing else to do but take my

balls firmly in hand and kick the lid of the first one open.

It was occupied; my sights rested squarely on a well-muscled chest

with skin like alabaster. I recognized the face instantly, even in

calm repose. "Hello, Paul," I said to the unmoving corpse. For

corpse it truly was, now. Whatever animated it at night had gone

to wherever evil hides from the light. I didn't even have to reach

for the terrible stillness that I normally needed when I had a gun

in my hand. It was already there, taking over my mind and sounding

like bells in my ears.

This wasn't killing. This was justice.

I pulled the trigger. Twice, and there was no way he had a heart

left. My footfalls sounded like an executioners drum as I walked

to the head of the coffin and placed the barrel of my gun right

between his eyes. "And this," I said, "is for Yan," as I blew his

fucking head off. There was nothing left but scraps of bone and a

smear of red and grey.

The world seemed to retreat, or perhaps I turned away from it. Of

its own accord, my body walked to the next chest and kicked it

open. Female, recognizable but unnamed. Like a man in a dream, I

reduced her corpse to a ruin and moved on to the next, another

male. I almost hesitate there; he looked almost alive, he was so

young. There was a small stuffed cat in the coffin with him.

Corpses don't dream, though. If he was here, he was already gone.

Bang. Rest in peace.

I put a fresh clip in my gun without even thinking about it, and

stowed it away before climbing back up the ladder. I'd done the

same motions hundreds of times before; it was what I'd trained to

do, what I was under the exterior. Duo Maxwell goes away, and the

God of Death comes out to play?

I paused on the stage, trying to decide if I should just drop the

door and let them act as their own message. I hadn't gotten them

all by a long shot, but it was a start. A hint of doubt nibbled at

my mind, though.

Tamlin has said the foolproof way was cremation.

It felt like a strange sort of ceremony. I used a pocket knife to

cut a strip of cloth off of my shirt and soaked it with oil. My

hands were shaking and I managed to cut my right palm open, though

I had too much adrenalin coursing through my system to really

notice at the time. The rag lit with just a brush of my lighter.

As soon as the flame touched my fingertips, I dropped it into the

pit, followed by the rest of the flask of oil. The bright little

brand landed on the remains of the unnamed female, lighting her

clothing and flesh like tinder.

Memories and words bubbled up, set off by the smell of flame.

"IIn nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti, Amen./I" I

murmured, crossing myself.

Then I ran like hell.

centerb* * */b/center

I've always been a responsible arsonist; it was something the Doc

had never managed to train out of me. I watched the warehouse

until smoke began to pour out from under the eaves in earnest -

the small room was no doubt engulfed - and then I called the fire

department, mentioning that I'd seen a tall IGaijin/I in a red

sport's coat running from the scene. Let the police sort out the

remains and the bullets, and follow my red herring. The evidence

would be a mess and the Tokyo homicide team wasn't exactly the

best because they didn't get a lot of practice. Murder happened in

Tokyo, but usually it was never found. Yakuza and now vampires - a

nice, self-cleaning criminal element.

Customers scattered from the porn shop like roaches in a kitchen

when the light comes on as soon as sirens became audible. I took

the hint and ran as well. Sneaking back into school was no problem,

even if it was lit up like a Christmas tree in the name of

"heightened security." My room was dark and empty - Heero wasn't

back yet. I quickly shut the door and collapsed back on to my bed.

Gun, blood, fire. Smell that stirred up childhood memories I

wanted to forget. What the hell had I done?

It was so easy then to think of it as justice, of ending an

unnatural evil. Yet?

I don't know how long I sat in the dark with my thoughts chasing

in self-recriminating circles. My hand throbbed in time with my

heartbeat, bleeding all over my already ruined shirt. Finally, a

soft knock at the door made me jump. Shaking my head, I stood up

and got it, revealing? no one. I looked up and down the hall.

Empty. Great, now I was having auditory hallucinations.

A flash of white caught my eye - a small piece of notepaper on the

floor, right in front of my door. Curious, I picked it up. I could

barely make out a phone number penciled on it?

"Duo?" I jumped back out of habit, but the voice was easy enough

to recognize. Quatre.

Without really thinking about it, I shoved the paper into my

pocket and turned toward him, pasting a smile on my face.

"Where have you been?" He asked, walking up to me and then

wrinkling his nose. "You smell like smoke." He grabbed my hand

before I could stop him, turning my palms up. They were still

covered with soot, blood, and oil. "What have you done, Duo?" He

whispered.

My shoulders started to shake. My eyes burned - from the smoke, I

told myself. Or maybe it was loss, for something I hadn't even

known I had. "Justice, Quatre," I said, "I did justice?"