Spike stared at the lone rose in his hand, its red color muted by the shadow that was cast over the barren landscape. He was once again seated at the bottom of what he had dubbed the 'stairway to heaven' in honor of his old buddy, the frog from his drug-induced hallucination. It seemed suitably ironic since he was hallucinating, or at the very least dreaming, again.
He had no intention of walking up that staircase. Despite its assigned nickname, he doubted very highly that there would be anything good at the top. No Hollywood endings, no explanation for having been forced to endure the drawn-out soap opera that was his life, and no awakening, either. Just a fresh set of dreams to occupy his time.
Maybe that was why he was waiting here. He was tired of exchanging one dream for another, of letting his hopes carry him higher than life would allow. Vicious was dead, Julia was gone... and he had left the crew of the Be-Bop behind. He had no one to go to, nowhere he could really call home. This was as good a place to dream as any.
He twirled the thorny stem of the rose between his fingertips, focusing all his attention on the motion of the flower. Funny; the moment Julia entered this dream-world, he had been sure she was the one he was waiting for. But she had left. Spike could not begin to guess at what point or purpose she had in showing up in the first place. But it had left him hollow, just as he'd felt that evening in the cemetery so long ago. He had experienced a great deal of abandonment in his life, but Julia's had always stung the worst.
A sudden gust of wind tugged at the rose-petals, tearing a few from their base and carrying them off in a haphazard fashion. Spike looked up, startled, and discovered that his surroundings had changed. What had once been an infinite expanse of nondescript skyline had transformed into a lush, well-groomed park or botanical garden with golden butterflies flitting across the landscape. The only thing that had remained intact was the staircase that stretched up into the sky and out of site.
Spike was not awed by the beauty of the place. He was suspicious. Any place that seemed too inviting was bound to have a dangerous side to it, and he remembered these butterflies from his encounter with Vincent Volaju, the 300 million woolong bounty that had come close to killing him on two occasions. He stood up and began to survey the area, not of a mind to be caught unawares.
He had almost come to the conclusion that he was completely alone when he spotted a wooden bench on the far side of the park, situated under the boughs of a massive oak tree. A man in a black trench-coat was sprawled across it length-wise, taking full advantage of the shade.
Spike's eyes narrowed. "Vincent...." He had never quite been sure whether he hated Vincent or identified with him. The man had thought he was living in a dream, and Spike understood that feeling. Still, Vincent's attempts to 'wake up' had hardly been anything Spike was eager to condone. Even in his heyday at the Syndicate, he had never been one for terrorism and mass murder.
Vincent cracked open an eyelid, then smiled lazily. "Hello, Spike."
"What are you doing here?" Spike growled. Vincent had no right to haunt him.
Vincent shrugged. "It's as good a place to be as anywhere else." The similarity to Spike's earlier thoughts was eerie.
"You're not welcome here, so I guess it's not as good a place as any after all," Spike drawled. He would never have admitted it, but he was threatened by Vincent's presence. Vincent was a ruthless fighter; he and Spike had been evenly matched, the second time they'd fought. Still, if Volaju was looking for a fight, Spike was ready to give him one.
For the moment, at least, Vincent seemed satisfied with remaining on his bench. "I'm not looking for trouble. I came to ask you a question."
Spike was curious now, despite himself. "You can ask anything you want, but whether or not I decide to answer is up to me." He leaned against the oak tree, the roughness of the bark massaging his back.
Vincent's expression didn't change, but his tone became grave. "Do you want to live?"
"You came to ask that?" Spike hated those sorts of questions. They made him think. They also made him want to smoke. Damn, but he could go for a cigarette right now.
Vincent focused his low-lidded gaze on Spike. "Do you have an answer?"
Spike's expression darkened. "Everything I was living for is dead. What do you think?"
"I think you don't know the answer to the question any more than I do." Vincent stood up and began to follow the path into the distance. "I think you'd better find out, before it's too late."
"Too late for what?" Spike asked, his suspicions renewed.
Vincent just shrugged and continued to walk down the path. The farther he went, the more the landscape seemed to run together, all the colors mixing into a muddy gray. The butterflies followed him, shimmering like a sunset. Soon Spike was standing at the foot of the staircase once again, with nothing but dark thoughts and a long un-sated nicotine addiction to keep him company. He glared down at the rose in his hand, which had begun to droop. Why couldn't Julia have left him a pack of Marlboros instead?
Faye was seated behind a garbage dumpster located in what she had decided was one of the dirtiest alleys on Mars. It was riddled with assorted pieces of trash and debris, all of which was covered in a coat of mud and slime, and the dumpster's oh-so-lovely scent added a great deal to the already disparate appearance of the place. No bounty head was worth this kind of torture.
Earlier that day Jet had discovered the location of David Card's current living quarters and decided that a stakeout was necessary. Apparently, he thought they were one of the highlights of the investigative technique. Faye thought they were boring as hell. She had been unable to bring him around to her point of view, however, and after a good half-hour of bickering they had taken up a position in the alley behind the apartment building where Card currently resided.
Faye hated stakeouts. A stakeout meant she had to sit still anywhere from two to six hours in what were invariably nasty places with nothing to do but think. And this time she was stuck with Jet, who was in the same predicament except he seemed to prefer to vocalize his thoughts. The ensuing conversations went something like this:
"You ever wonder how they put the holes in donuts?"
"No."
"Maybe they have some big cookie-cutter assembly line. Or maybe they just roll the dough out that way somehow...."
"Who cares?"
"I do!"
"You don't count."
A short pause usually followed that sort of remark, and then....
"How do they get the filling in the jelly ones?"
"Shut up, Jet!"
And then Jet would finally fall silent, leaving Faye to ponder the eccentricities of donuts, jelly or otherwise, until he came up with another inane subject to pester her about. They had already gone through three topics in this manner, and Faye was almost ready to give up on the bounty and admit herself into the nearest insane asylum.
Jet opened his mouth to speak. Faye cut him off with a sharp, "No."
"But--"
"No!"
"I just--"
"I don't want to hear it!"
A short pause, and then...
"But I just--"
"Shut up, Jet!"
Faye lit a cigarette and began to puff away at it furiously. Jet lit up too, which meant that he had decided to give up, at least for the moment. But of course, now Faye was curious about what he hadn't had the chance to say.
She waited as long as she could, when her cigarette was little more than ash and filter, then cast a glance in Jet's direction and asked in a long-suffering tone, "What?"
Jet, who had probably been waiting for her to give way, extinguished his stub and said, "I was just wondering how you did at the races today."
Faye bristled. "I already told you."
"Just humor me, Faye."
Faye shrugged and focused all her attention on a particularly dirty piece of litter on the opposite side of the alley. She didn't want Jet to know that she had been visiting Spike instead of gambling. She wasn't sure why, exactly, but the very thought of telling him made her chest tighten. "I lost. I always lose." She laughed. "You'd think I'd be used to it by now."
Jet's expression changed; he appeared to be seriously considering Faye's remark. "Maybe part of you's still hoping for that one big score."
Faye gave a contemptuous snort. "I quit hoping for anything a long time ago."
Jet shook his head slowly. "Humans need hope to survive." He glanced over at Faye, the ghost of a smile haunting his face. "And you're human, just like the rest of us."
Faye was about to come back with a derogatory remark about Jet's parental lineage when a tall, skinny man with wire-rimmed glasses began to walk across the mouth of the alley. Jet motioned for her to be quiet and stared first at the man, then at a picture he'd obtained from the local police department. He pointed at the photo, then at the man, indicating that it was indeed Card who was passing by. Faye barely kept herself from letting out a squeal of delight; the stakeout was finally over.
Card walked by without a glance in their direction. Faye tensed, knowing that she wouldn't be able to see him actually enter his apartment complex. She heaved a sigh of relief when the light came on in his second-story window. Jet drew his gun and motioned for her to follow him inside.
When they reached Card's door, Jet looked over at Faye. "Alright, I'll go in and get him. You stay here as back-up."
Faye shook her head. "No way! You hogged all the research for yourself, I'm not letting you claim the whole bounty. I'm the one going in."
Jet glared at Faye indignantly. "I didn't hog anything! You abandoned me at the third bar!"
"That's not the point!"
"I'm the one in charge here and what I say goes," Jet said sternly.
"If anyone's in charge here, it should be me!" Faye yelled, waggling her gun in his face.
Just then the door to the apartment swung open and Card stepped out into the hall, an inquisitive expression on his face. "Excuse me, but would you mind keeping it down out... here?" By the time he finished his sentence, both Faye and Jet had their guns aimed directly at his face.
To be continued....
