2: Periodic
"And you feel restrained because of your father's ideals for you to be a recluse?"
"I don't know."
"Well, in my opinion, I believe this could be a big part of your social problems. Because your father wished to keep you away from the pain of the world, you-being a rebellious child-decided to live your life in the opposite style. But your father still lives within you thus your unconscious fear of parties. And in addition, your experience with parties haven't been as successful, am I right?"
"Well, yes."
"It says on my note pad that you were raped."
"Yes."
"So, with all the efforts your father gave into keeping you from harm by keeping you in the house, you feel like he was right because of the incident. Am I right?"
Jet Black is a friend of mine. He's a psychiatrist with a lot of heart though he tries to act tough. Jet used to be a cop for about five years, trying to please his father, who before him was a cop like he. It was the family line's profession. But, in the long run, all the action just didn't fulfill Jet as much as getting into people's heads. That was his true calling. He listened enough for it.
Jet was a man who looked the part of a mechanic-at least outside of work. He was big, muscular, and carried a scar down over his right eye. It was from his last mission as a police officer. A gangster cut him deep. His eyebrow doesn't grow on the scar. It's kind of freaky, but that's Jet. His hair is almost gone, only growing on his face and the sides of his head. But, without a dye job, all his hair-even a beard connecting to the hair on the sides of his head-is still a dark, thick blend of ebony.
He looked down at his watch and stood up from his chair, alarming his client as she sat up in the couch.
"Look's like we're all done for the day." he said with a smile.
"Thank you, Dr. Black. It's been a wonderful break-through session." she said happily and exited the room.
I awaited patiently until the patient had made her way into the elevator to make my loud entrance. I was older, working as a struggling writer. It wasn't as awarding as Jet's line of work, but it was still work. I had come into the world of shirts and ties as my father used to say. I worked for a newspaper column, giving the occasional story when they required. I had just come from work when I arrived. Sporting a crisp collared white shirt and a red tie loosely hanging off my neck, I waltzed in with a lit cigarette in my mouth. My hands were in my pockets of my navy blue dress pants my job told me to wear. It cost me a lot to buy decent clothes for this job, and at the end of the day, all I did anyway was undo the top button and roll up my sleeves. I hated looking so proper. It almost reminded me of the rich kids going to private school when I was growing up.
"I'm ready for my appointment with the shrink!" I announced loudly as I walked into the room.
"Spike Spiegel!" Jet turned to me with a smile and took my hand with a hearty shake, "How's it going, man?"
Jet and I met long ago, on opposite sides of the story in good verses evil. He being the cop was obviously good, and I was the bad one. After I had left to go to college in the city, I had learned that life wasn't as easy on me like at home. It was harder and tougher. My life lead to my dealings with gangs. After a while, I had tried to get away from that life, and Jet had found me bleeding on the street. I had died and started over as Spike Spiegel, writer for hire. Funny title, I know, but it's the new life I had going for me. Jet quit after we had met up a couple times for company in the big city. We got to rethinking our lifestyles, and he decided to finish college in psychiatry. So here we are, changed men. I used to live with him, but I went my own way. It didn't matter anymore anyway. He got a new boarder, but we'll talk about her later.
"I've been good. I'm trying to finish my book." I replied with a sheepish grin.
"I haven't heard about this book's plot. You keep talking about finishing it, but it's been years. When will you quit trying and actually succeed in finishing it?"
"Hey, lay off! I'm just trying to find the perfect ending."
"Okay-okay! I'll just leave it be."
"Thanks. So...coffee?"
"Well, let me just inform Meifa that I'm done for the day, and we can leave my office."
Meifa is Jet's secretary, keeps him in check all day. She informs him of every important thing in his life like a good secretary should. She opens and closes his work days, and when she's sick, he's lost without her. Now, when I think of a secretary for a psychiatric office, I think of an old lady with a prim bun and glasses with those little ropes to keep your glasses around your neck if they fall off the bridge of your nose-you know what I'm talking about. But Meifa is a young girl. She's younger than me. She was a college drop-out, barely twenty-one, and into that creepy psychic-supernatural crap. In fact, she used to be one of those psychic hotline phone operators. Talk about a looney bin character! I would expect her to be taking sessions from Jet, but the odd thing is that she seems pretty in tact in the head-aside from the stuff she likes. She dresses appropriately for work in dress shirts and skirts. She's a good-looking girl, too. Her curly reddish-brown hair is always free of any buns, bouncing around her shoulders as she walks, and her green eyes are always so full of this vibrant spark. She is a great addition to his office. She takes all his calls, keeps tabs on his personal life (so he doesn't screw up), and sometimes has lunch with him. In school, she had lots of friends but tends to prefer this life with Jet. In fact, if there wasn't such an age gap between Jet and Meifa, I would actually push for a deeper relationship than what they have.
I poked my head out to see Meifa putting away some files into the filing cabinet. She stopped and flashed me a smile.
"Hi, Mr. Spiegel! It's nice to see you in the office again."
"Hey, Meifa! I was just told that you can go now. Jet and I are blowin' this popsicle stand and heading out to grab some coffee."
She closed the cabinet and grabbed her bag.
"Well, tell Mr. Black that I will see him tomorrow. Bye, Mr. Spiegel." she said and walked into the elevator.
Jet walked out of the office just in time to see his secretary leave and grabbed his coat.
"Well, Spike, I'm thinking of a joint on the corner of fifth and Asburry. Ya comin'?"
"Where are we going?" I asked, exhaling a bit of my smoke out my nose.
"You'll see. You'll see." he simply said as he placed his hat over his balding head.
* * * * *
"So, it's the little runt's birthday soon, right?" I asked as I took a sip of the beer in front of me.
"Yeah, Ed is turning thirteen."
Jet's boarder that I was talking about is a girl-a God damn child. Can you tell I hate kids? He adopted her after he found her sitting outside his doorstep. A friend of his just fled town to go on some kind of archeological dig and left his daughter, so Jet took her in. Having this ingenuous nurturing nature, he became her adopted father. Meifa comes once in a while to baby-sit her, and those two got into that weird crap every damn time. One time they read my future. I don't like living by cards. I make my own destiny just like Jet did taking that kid in.
"And she still looks like a kid, Jet. What are you feeding her? She's too thin and undeveloped." I commented, taking a swig from my beer again.
I licked my lips of the remnants of the drink. It felt good to hold a frosted mug in my hands and to be enveloped in smoke while cool jazz played. It was dark, swarthy-it was my kind of scene. Nothing could bother me there, even with Jet and my playful banter.
"I don't exactly want you hitting on her, so I like her the way she is." he commented dryly.
"I wouldn't hit on her anyway. She's batty."
"Spike..." he growled in a warning tone.
"You know I don't like kids, especially kids in the gifted program. She knows too damn much for her age."
"Well, I see you've brightened up since we got here."
He always had biting sarcasm...
"Sorry, Jet."
I let my forehead rest on the cool table's surface. I had been feeling a little flush. It wasn't the best night for me, especially with my boss' rage with the drop in readers.
"Who's the musician?"
"His name is Gren. He plays them blues sweet." he said in this beatnik dialogue that threw me into a loop.
All I did was reply as real as I could, like I always was.
"Ya got that right."
He chuckled and took a swig from his own mug, wiping off his mouth with the back of his wrist. As the music swung from beat to beat like a pendulum to the seconds of time, I looked around the room. All sorts of people went to places like this. In the corner, a man in a trench coat sat, tapping his finger on the table while swinging his foot subtly underneath. Beside him, a woman-no man-or rather a man dressed as a woman was gulping down shot glasses upon shot glasses of liquor. It was probably vodka since she looked so smashed-or maybe tequila-hmmm...sounded good at the moment.
The rest of the room was full of either chatty men and women, just casually drinking, or true observers of art, listening to his unique tune. The artist on stage was the focus of many women's eyes. He could be taken as the handsome type that women swooned over. He had long dark hair and in the lighting, it seemed almost to take on this purple tint. Maybe it was a dye job. And when he did open his eyes, they were a silver blue, a color I found very unique, but not surprised in this day and age.
But when I was at that club that night, he did open his eyes, and to my keen observation it was on a woman across the room. It was at the height of the song, where all the melancholy notes seemed to overwhelm you in a sense of insecurity and compassion for the lonely or broken-hearted. It was then that he opened his eyes, focusing on her. She sat at the bar, looking detached-almost aloof-as she emitted a thin trail of smoke from her thin ruby lips. Many of the men had noticed her-except for the cross-dresser in the corner-but she didn't seem to notice anyone at all. She cast her emerald green eyes in Gren's direction and tossed a stray ebony tress aside with a casual flip. Gren's eyes seemed to smile for his lips as he turned away and finished the song. And even though he had turned away, I could not. She seemed to be the one that inspired his sad song, but didn't show any interest in his show.
She was trim, petite, and very beautiful. Captivating at first glance, yet ordinary at second. Her hair was short, above the shoulders, cut in almost a slant towards her face. Any hairs that dared to go in her ivory complexion face was kept back in a red head band. She had on long, black, flared pants and flat heeled boots hidden under the pant legs. A red jacket, matching her hair accessory, covered her thin form and the mid-drift-revealing black top she wore. She looked very troubled from where I was sitting, but Jet would only allow me such little time to admire her as he took his cue to leave.
He stood up from his seat and took a few bills out of his wallet, placing them on the table.
"Ya ready to go, Spike?" his deep voice cut through the smoke filled air and rung in my ears, interrupting my thoughts.
I turned to him to answer with a simple, "yeah," and turned back only to find that she had disappeared. I was dumbfounded when she just disappeared in a few seconds. My queries vanished when the trance of the song broke. His fingers left the instrument, and the music stopped.
"Spike? Are you coming?" Jet asked once again.
I took out my payment and tossed it on top of Jet's money.
"Let's go."
* * * * *
"Spike-person!"
Did I tell you how annoying I found children..? We went to Jet's apartment after the club and met his daughter. She was clinging to my leg, rubbing her head on my knee-almost like a monkey or a dog or something. She was just too odd.
"All right, Ed. That's enough. Spike's had a bad day." Jet said in attempt to placate the over-active child.
Immediately, I found her up on my shoulders, clinging onto them as she spoke.
"Why are you having a bad day, Spike-person? Ed would like to help."
Did I mention she talks in third person?
"Well, Ed can't help." I muttered through clenched teeth.
Jet took Ed gently off of me and placed her on the floor. She started walking away like some kind of spider, minus four legs, and crawled to her room, bidding me farewell with a wave.
"Night-night, Spike-person!"
She was an odd child. She had short red hair, which made me think she was a boy at first glance. Like I said before, she was thin, constantly dressed in a loose top and spandex shorts. It almost reminded me of living in the USA at the time of pop culture in the 1980's. Plus, she always had a pair of goggles on her head as if she were ready to ride a plane or something. She may have been gifted, but she was so weird.
"So, Spike, how did you like the place?" Jet asked as he placed his coat in his closet on a hanger.
"Interesting." I replied while I found my way into his kitchen, "Hey! What do ya got to eat in here?"
"Always thinking with your stomach, I see..."
I grabbed a hoagie he had wrapped in the side and removed it from the wrapper. He didn't even look at me when I took a big bite into the delectable packaged creation.
"That was supposed to be a midnight snack for me, Spike..." he muttered groggily, but I just continued eating.
I just smiled with a cheek full of cold cuts.
* * * * *
"Looks like he was kept in the freezer for a while."
She wasn't a woman of action, but she wasn't a woman of boredom. I think she'd found an unpleasant medium. She was a police detective for the city. She got to see the grittiest murders. We're talking decapitation, limbs removed, shots given to the head-or an unpleasant place for a man, and over-doses on drugs. It probably wasn't her cup of tea, but it was a part of her job. She was Faye Valentine-all songs aside please. She lived in an apartment-by herself. She was the woman I had seen that night at the club, hanging around the bar in the haze of it all.
"Valentine, what do you got on this?" one of the detectives asked as he left the refridgerator door open and the victim's arm hanging out the side.
She came into the room, garbed in her police uniform - the usual blue pants and button down shirt with that black jacket over it all, covering up her badge. She held in her gloved hands a plastic bag with a capsule inside it.
"Another one with these drugs: Red-eye. I'd check the atopsy. Check his bloodstream and see what we get."
"You got it, Valentine."
She dropped the bag in another officer's hands, and he ran off out the door to relay it to the lab. Her eyes scanned the room carefully, looking for anything to get a suspect. Her steps were slow as she traced her fingers over and under counter tops. Suddenly, she stopped and crouched down.
"Do you see something?"
She sighed with disappointment.
"Yeah," her fingers traced a tooth on the ground and the blood dripping from underneath the counter, "At least he put up a fight."
* * * * *
It was a reoccuring dream-or a nightmare, depending on how you saw it. I couldn't move. My limbs were dead, but the pain coursed through my body. I wanted to kill myself than bear the pain. Glass was scattered across the black pavement that I lay strewn upon. I was broken. I remember the rain falling, lightly tapping my face and then sliding off my skin in a cold caress. It made me feel moist and yet it comforted me. But her voice came to me in the darkness of the night: Julia's soft yet rich voice. It was like a memory from another dream. I saw her in my mind for a brief second. She was singing to herself as she studied. I remember that I was pretending to take a nap on my books, but I was truly listening to her. It was I who adored her and had taken that moment to enjoy the calm I felt in her voice. But her voice faded, and my comfort dissolved replaced with a new voice. It wasn't rough, nor was it too grotesquely sweet. It was real, and Julia was not. It was low, and meant for ease. It was humane.
"Hang on..."
But my eyes couldn't sustain to see the blood anymore, and for some reason, my right eye wouldn't open. My vision blurred as beams of light cut through the darkness and sirens filled the air. The last thing I saw before my dream ended were beautiful, emerald green eyes, gazing at me before I closed my eyes to sleep.
* * * * *
"Faye, you're here," he said enthusiastically and dulled into a disappointed tone, "...again."
The musician welcomed the fatigued cop into his apartment in a ritual-manner. It was always the same. They'd live their lives seperately, away from each other. He was immersed in his art, performing his saxophone at the night club, and she was into her job. Yet at the end of the day, they found solace in one another's presence, though neither would admit it. She stepped in while he closed the ironclad door behind her and watched her as she tossed her jacket onto the floor. He frowned and picked up after her.
"I see you enjoy my presence..." she said sarcastically and fell onto the couch in a lazy mess.
"Just as much as you enjoy mine, I guess." he said while he hung her jacket onto the coat rack, "You want a drink?"
"Do I even have to answer?"
"Nope." he answered and walked over to his kitchen where he had a little mini-bar in the kitchen.
He twisted open the cap, and let the amber liquid coat the ice cubes he had placed in the glass that he had previously attempted to fix himself before she came. She always liked her drinks cold, even coffee. Sometimes, they would go to the corner cafe and enjoy iced mochas. She actually preferred it to the hot mocha, except in the change of weather-sometimes, not even then.
Lacking animated facial features, he handed her the drink while she lounged on his couch.
"What were you doing?" she asked and let her lips touch the alcohol, consumming it with an almost urgency.
"I was drying my dishes." he said as he leaned forward on the back of the couch.
"'Was' is a past pretense. So what're you doing now?"
"Talking to you."
"What would you rather do?"
"I dunno, talk without you."
"Funny."
"Do you still hate men?"
"Why?" she asked with a raised eyebrow, taking the glass away from her.
"Why are you friends with me?"
"I used to live with you."
"Yes, we did, and nothing happened-thank God. But I'm a man, and you are a man-hater. See where I'm going here?"
"I don't hate men." she deadpanned.
"You just show obvious spite towards them?"
"I work fine with men, I just can't have more than that with them. That's not man-hating."
"It's that Whitney guy that messed things up for you, huh?"
"Why the sudden interest in my love life?"
"I just think that there are more interesting things than coming to my place and not getting anything out of it."
"I get something out of it."
"It must be by yourself because I'm sure as hell not giving anything to you."
"Gren, leave me alone." she muttered and downed the last of her drink.
"Faye, you need more than a psychiatrist. You need a dating service."
"Why don't you get one yourself?" she asked as she placed the glass onto the coffee table.
"I am not unhappy."
"Yes, you are. You're as miserable as me."
"No, Faye. I'm used to being a lone wolf. I like to have less complications in my life. You want a pack, and two unloved people does not make a pack."
"I don't want a pack."
"I think you do."
"You are my family."
"No, Faye. I'm just the only person you run to."
* * * * *
"So what's on the agenda today?" Jet asked as he tucked his daily newspaper under his arm and stirred his new coffee.
"I have to go to visit this guy who was involved in this murder up town." I replied, lighting my usual every hour cigarette.
"Up town, huh? That's an unlikely place for murder. They're all too stinkin' rich..." he said while the cashier handed him my coffee, which he in turn gave to me.
"It's just a story. I probably won't get much out of it."
"Just be careful."
"It's not like I'm going into a shoot-out."
"Fine. But if you see or even sense the slightest bit of the ties from your past are involved-bolt."
"You don't have to tell me twice, Jet."
"Yes, I do. I have to tell you every fricken' time. You're still looking for that woman, and you'll seek a lead anywhere. I know you."
I took a sip of my coffee. I always like it black without any sugar.
"Don't bring Julia into this."
"Julia is your first-."
"Disappointment." I cut in, "So leave it be. I know I have."
"Whatever..." he said with a sigh.
* * * * *
Faye lifted the sheet back over the victim's head with a shake of her head.
"Another dead person." she sighed with resignation and slumped back on her heels.
"His name is Charlie Parker. Age:39. He was a pawn shop owner, known to have former ties with the Red Dragon Syndicate."
"Red Dragon, huh?" she said with a hint of acknowledgement as she pulled back his sleeve with a gloved hand to see a red dragon tattooed to his arm, "He couldn't have gotten it lasered off?"
"Well, Faye, it seems like that wouldn't have saved him either. He already changed his name. His previous name was Cameron Jameson."
She laid his hand back on the ground, pulling the sleeve back over the hideous eyes of the dragon, its mouth open as if openly laughing at her failed attempts to track the next victim.
"Have we found out who else is involved in this little syndicate?" she inquired to the officer standing above her with a clipboard.
"Just the suspected few that are still involved supposedly or all ready killed."
"Hmm...maybe we should start interrogations or put insiders in."
"Doubt it, ma'am. We've been trying to round up people, but they all seemed to have skipped town."
"Damn them."
Faye stood up from her crouched position and removed her gloves.
"I want a good examination of his body. Find out what killed him, what poison, and where it can be acquired. It's ridiculous that we're on this wild goose chase without any leads." she exclaimed and proceeded to walk about the apartment as I entered.
I casually strolled in, picking up a glove out of a box as I passed silently behind a few cops. My hands instantly brushed against walls and every little nook and cranny to see if there were any signs of foul play, but I came up empty handed. Even more interesting was what I caught upon my ears in passing.
"Who would be involved in the Red Dragon Syndicate? I think the price of leaving is very devastating." one officer commented.
I walked over to where they were, doing a bit of eavesdropping on my part. Something was going down, and it involved my former allegiance. I had to know, even though Jet would probably be very furious.
"Do you always just waltz into crime scenes unannounced and unwanted." a voice demanded in my ear.
I turned around to see a big man towering over with his shiny badge eye level to me. He scowled, turning his lips into a thin, grim line. I smiled sheepishly.
"Just doin' my job." I replied smugly – much to my own dismay.
That made him smile. I knew what that meant and I looked around – anywhere – to see if I could get any help. That's when I saw her again. That woman at the bar. She was one of the cops making their way into the bedroom. I tried to get to her, but that behemoth hand came to sort of pound me in the chest, knocking the air out of my lungs. I looked up to see the same giant cop standing there with a smile on his face.
I was thrown out – literally.
* * * * *
A sharp knock came to Jet's door and his balding head perked up to see the young secretary poke her head in.
"Mr. Black, sir, your three o' clock appointment has been pushed back to four. She says she had a sudden appointment and won't be in for another hour." Meifa informed him with her usual cheery countenance.
He smiled wanly and leaned back in his old leather chair while folding his hands in his lap.
"It's okay. It's not like I'm booked for the day." he said with his usual gruffness seeming amiss.
"True." she said as she pursed her lips and stepped into the office, closing the oak door behind her.
She leaned against the wood while a sigh escaped her lips.
"Are you okay today?" she asked with concern.
"Nothing at all, Meifa. Why do you ask?"
His smile widened but she could sense that something was not right. His smile at that point was almost grotesquely saccharine – it was frightening.
"Stop that. You look psychotic." she deadpanned, and he frowned in dismay.
"I'm fine."
"Are you really?"
"Yeah. Well, actually..."
He trailed off, as if unsure of his own words.
"Yes?" she pushed.
"Well, I think Ed gets lonely sometimes when you or I are not around. Maybe she needs a friend..."
"Ed is fine, Mr. Black. She is fine."
"I'm just afraid that because she's a genius she might just hack into a satellite or something and cause attention by making land formations with a laser beam."
Meifa began to laugh, and Jet scowled.
"What's so damn funny?" he demanded.
"Ed's not that outrageous! She'd never do anything like that!" she managed to say through her fits of laughter, "But I have to hand it to you. For a man your age, you do have a strong and wildly rampant imagination."
"MEIFA!"
Their interlude was interrupted by a voice shouting in the next room.
"Hello? Is anyone here?"
It was the four o' clock appointment. Meifa and Jet glanced at each other, smiles on their faces as if it were just enough to get through the day.
"Be right out!" Meifa shouted, but her eyes never left Jet's.
And just like that, Meifa exited the room, leaving Jet to collect himself for his client. When the young secretary came out, Faye was standing in the reception still in uniform. She bowed in apology.
"Hi, Meifa. Sorry about the rescheduling. Is Dr. Black in?" she inquired politely.
Meifa smiled to the chinese-featured beauty before her and stepped aside as if to show her to the door.
"He's ready and waiting, Miss Valentine."
* * * * * *
I stared up at the lights in the elevator leading to Jet's office. It had been a long day. I was turned away from the crime scene more than once. Hey, what can I say? I'm a persistant guy. And in addition to that, my boss chewed me out for not getting a lead. The day was going into the crapper and me with it. I loosened my tie as usual, and I let the bright lights burn my eyes until everything became a blur. My mind drifted as my senses dulled. I strayed to memories of my time in the foliage of the old wench's mansion, Julia's smile, the sight of empty bullet shells flying after a swift killing delivered from the syndicate, the rain falling on my face after a fateful car accident a few years back, and then, out of the blue, the last thing I thought of was that woman in the bar at the scene of the crime. A loud bell snapped me out of my thoughts to alert me that I was on Jet's floor. I sighed and stuck my hands in my pocket. It was time to vent to Jet.
The doors moderately slid open and instead of seeing an empty foyer, I had passed the woman from the bar as I stepped out of the elevator. She seemed aloof as she sauntered past with the smell of sweet perfume invading my senses. Her black hair swinged from side to side, and her jacket made soft brushing noises as her fabrics rubbed against each other. I turned my head back to catch a glimpse of her.
She was a cop, though I couldn't have guessed that at the club. As I briefly looked at her, she turned in the elevator to press the button, and our eyes met. Emerald green met mud brown in just an instant, and it ended just as soon as it had happened. Her face was placid as the doors shut over her face, and I got the impression that she wasn't a very friendly woman. She seemed almost distant.
"Are you okay, Mr. Spiegel?"
I looked back ahead where Meifa stood behind the reception desk with folders in hand. I shoved my hands in my pocket and shrugged.
"Nothing. Nothing at all."
Author's Note: I bet you're saying "Finally, an update!" Sorry! I hoped you liked chapter 2. I am trying to finish other fiction before I get into this though. I have two RK fanfiction that I have yet to finish, so please don't kill me if this doesn't get updated every week. I will still write it, but work extra hard on the others more. I just want people to enjoy this as much as I like writing. And this is quite the challenge. I'll be busy for a while especially when I'm trying to see if I can find someone who would be interested in my stories and try to get published. I have a very tight schedule for this year with tests, research papers, a full time job, and a two trips (one to Seattle and one to Jersey, my birth state). But I still make time to do things I enjoy. I love Grencia Mars Elijah Guo Eckener "Gren"! I especially love his name. He's such a sad soul. I just had to put him in this story! How could I not?
