Here is chapter two people! I would like to thank my lovely beta-reader for putting up with my horrible grammar.
Chapter 2
Stumbling Blindly
All roads lead anywhere but somewhere…
The sun had reached its apex, staying a few moments to stretch its warm arms over the earth before once again heading back down. Amon watched its slow progress from beside the highway, frustration beginning to knot his taut muscles. The grass had probably risen an inch since the last car had passed them. His thumb was growing weary of holding itself up, only barely maintaining its position above his hand. Robin had plopped onto the ground long ago, hot from wearing a long, black dress, and unable to stand any more because of her ankle. She hadn't told Amon it was bothering her, but he easily discerned the way she grimaced whenever she put any weight on it.
None of the cars that had passed had stopped to help them. He was beginning to get very bitter about Robin's conspicuously out of place Victorian garb. No matter how much he wanted to order her out of it, she had nothing to change into, so there was no point. The first thing they were going to do once they got off of this highway was head to a thrift store of some kind and buy the girl new clothing. They would get her new, normal clothing that wouldn't tip off Solomon as to who she was like a neon sign.
All of this planning was no good if they couldn't get out of there though. That was what made Amon grind his teeth in vexation. They were absolutely helpless without a ride. Nothing he could plan at this point could change that. Amon never felt so impotent in his life, and he hated it. What made things worse was that some small part of Amon recognized that their success in the next few months would largely depend on luck. It would be sheer gambling, Amon merely guessing at where Solomon would not expect them to go. Amon was usually good at playing the odds, but he hated having to gamble. Give him poker, something where he could glare at the person before him and decipher the look on his face, and he could play the game like a conductor maneuvers an orchestra. But this was a crapshoot, a straight up speculation where Amon could do nothing more than make an educated guess that was not all that knowledgeable. Amon was not a risk taker by choice, despite what his status as a hunter may suggest. Now he was going to have to take risks in order to survive.
Something inside of him cringed at the thought. Many people thought that taking risks and playing the game was the same thing in his profession, but they were naïve. Risks were flashy, impulsive, and dramatic decisions one made when one didn't have the time, materials, or the means to actually think things through. Most risks were taken by people trying to impress someone else or themselves. They were childish, short-sighted, and generally got someone killed. Plus they were messy, leaving obvious trails that anyone with half a brain could find and trace.
Playing the game was different. It meant planning ahead, knowing your opponents, and every move that your opponents would make. It meant always being five steps ahead, moving all of the auxiliary players around the board seamlessly, to the point where your opponent couldn't tell when it was you moving or them. Most of all, it meant being able to anticipate every possible problem, and providing for the eventuality of each of them. Amon not only played the game, but had some say in the construction of the guide book.
This wasn't the game; at least not the game Amon had been playing for the last seven and a half years. This was a desperate flight, this was a risk, and something Amon had sworn to himself he wouldn't take.
God, he needed a drink about now. He would definitely get it after he got Robin some low key clothing. He could only buy the clothes, however, after he got them some form of transportation. Yes, all of this would happen, if only someone would come down the damn highway. He suddenly began to loathe the word "if"; it was keeping him from getting out of here, and from getting his drink.
The sun continued its trail through the sky, blind to all the problems of the people below it. Amon considered praying, even though he hadn't done so since his mother died. As if rewarded for the very consideration, he abruptly heard a noise in the distance. His ears perked up; eyebrows arching slightly in hope.
A small tan car drifted slowly toward them, a middle-aged woman clad in a handkerchief and a pink sweater at the wheel. She noticed the two of them with concern, frowning slightly as she moved the car to stop in front of them. As the car came to a halt, Amon sighed in relief, and regret. He had been hoping that some drunk man would stop, wanting to do unquestionably horrible things to Robin. The fact that this woman obviously wanted to help would make what he was about to do a lot harder.
The woman rolled down the window, chewing on the corner of her pudgy cheek. "Can I help you folks?" She asked uncertainly.
"We really need a ride into town. My brother and I were in an accident and our car was totaled." Robin recited the script Amon had given her with a slight smile, grateful to the woman for stopping at all.
The woman's dark eyes darted from Robin to Amon, taking in their prospective injuries. "Must have been some crash…" She muttered to herself, looking at the way Amon was hunched over, still shaking and extraordinarily pale.
"Yes, our car slid all the way into the woods before hitting a tree." Amon agreed neutrally, trying to push the guilt down.
Smiling, the woman opened the car door. "Well, no worries, we'll get you back to town and to a doctor in no time." She assured soothingly. Amon hobbled over and got in the back seat, Robin limping to the front. The woman began to start the ignition, preparing to take off.
"Wait," Amon started suddenly, causing the woman to stop the ignition with a gasp. "Before we go, Robin, tie your shoes."
The girl looked at him in bewilderment before turning to examine her feet. The woman's eyes followed Robin's, turning to see the neatly knotted laces on her boots. Before the woman's head could jolt back up, Amon's hand swiftly found her pressure point, pinching it firmly. The woman let out a startled gasp before her eyes glazed over and she unconsciously fell against the steering wheel.
Robin stared at Amon in dumbfounded horror. He just stared back neutrally, before commanding, "Help me move her from the car." Her only response was the trembling of her lower lip. Quickly exiting the car, he came around to the front, opening the woman's door. Grabbing the woman's shoulders, be began to heave her from the automobile.
"What did you do?" The young witch asked in a small voice, wincing at the heavy shuffling movements of the woman's pants as Amon painstakingly pulled her. "She was going to give us a ride!"
Amon groaned as he finally managed to free the woman from the vehicle. "I just knocked her out. She'll be fine."
Her head followed him as he began to pull her away from the highway. "But why?" Something in Robin's world seemed to be horribly askew at the moment.
"We need a car." He gritted out, his back throbbing intensely from pulling the woman toward the wood. Couldn't she see he needed help? He stopped, giving her a looked that demanded she come over and help him. She responded by lifting her chin, eyes growing resolved. There was no way she was going to help him hurt that nice woman. Rolling his eyes, Amon dropped the woman in the grass and growled in frustration. "Damn it, Robin! We don't have time for this!" Just because no one had stopped by in the couple of hours before the woman came did not mean that the cars would not suddenly pour down the highway to see him hauling a woman into the woods.
"She's done nothing wrong! You don't have the right!" Robin asserted, arms crossing as she leaned out of the passenger seat. Her eyebrows furrowed as she looked down at the woman. "Is this what she gets for trying to help? What you're doing is sinful!"
The hunter gripped his face in his hands. He could just tell that she was going to make it very difficult to stay alive for the next few months. Reaching down again, he continued to drag the woman into the forest. "This has nothing to do with sin. This is a matter of survival." His voice grew hard and cold as he responded to her. "If we don't have a car, we will not be able to get to safety. The woman is not going to just give us her car; to expect her to do so is naïve. Doing this is the only way to get to shelter."
"It's stealing Amon."
"It's survival, Robin."
"It's not fair."
"Neither is life."
Robin sighed, looking at her hands. "I don't know if I can do this… Hurt people so selfishly …"
"Of course you can." Amon replied, his voice straining from the exertion of towing the woman down the slope that led into the forest. "You've done it before, when you were hunting witches. You hurt them in order to protect humanity. Now you have to…" He had to choose his words carefully less he completely alienate the girl. "…inconvenience some people so that you may live. By living, you can help the whole of witches." Not that he was sure he wanted her to be doing that, but that was a different discussion for another time.
Wringing her hands, she looked at him doubtfully. Breathing heavily, he looked at her unsure expression. "We can talk about this more later, but someone may come and see us, and then we are both dead. Truce?"
Biting her lip, she nodded. She quickly moved to help Amon with the woman's body, lugging her over behind the nearest tree. Once the woman was in place, Robin tried to situate her so she would be as comfortable as possible. She folded the woman's arms in her lap and brushed off her face and dress from the dirt of being dragged along the ground. Amon returned to her side with the suitcase, producing a small pill and the jug of water. Prying open the woman's mouth, he dumped the pill and water in before forcing her to swallow.
"What was that?" Robin inquired quietly, afraid of the answer.
"Sleeping pill." He answered, shoving the water back into the suitcase before moving back toward the compact beige automobile.
Robin regarded the woman once more. She seemed fairly peacefully, mouth open, eyes rolled back. Closing the woman's eyes, she began to head back to the car as well. How many times was she going to have to do this in the future? Part of her grew weary at the very thought of repeating such an act. She was done with hurting people and thinking she was justified in doing so. The eyes of all the witches she had helped catch and condemn bore into her soul, and she would never forget the burden of their lives. Was anything that she was doing right? All that she ever wanted to do was God's work, helping humanity from those who sought to destroy it. In the process she had killed and hurt so many; how could God possibly clean the blood from her hands?
No, she couldn't add more and more blood and suffering to her already soiled hands. But how was she to survive on the run from Solomon, and still walk the path of God? Her heart sank at the idea of the paths never crossing, and her wandering farther and farther from what she had always held dear. She couldn't help but feel she had to walk this grey, foggy path with Amon, because it was the will of the Almighty. There was no way God would want his children to suffer, and no matter what their capabilities, witches were the children of God too. It had taken a long time for her to come to terms with that, but she knew in her heart that it must be true. In the end, she would have to let the blood and the sin wash over her, if only to save God's suffering children. All that she could do is hope that God would accept her in the end, tattered, scarred, and covered from head to toe in the filth of human failing. She just knew Father Juliano's eyes would have rolled back in his head if he saw what she was doing now.
Entering the passenger's seat, Robin put on her seat belt silently. Amon looked over at her, wondering how long it would take her to once again berate him for making the woman conk out. He didn't have to wait long before she spoke. "Amon, promise me that we will give the car back after we are done with it."
Amon raised an eyebrow, amused by how stubbornly resolved she was in her childish innocence. "We would get caught."
"We must at least inform her of where to find it."
"Fine, I'll try to figure out something, but I am not going to risk our lives for your conscience. We did what we needed to survive."
"What is the point of surviving if we lose our souls?"
He couldn't help but snort. "Robin, what would be the point of martyring yourself? You think you have a destiny, but what good is a destiny if you're not willing to do what is necessary to attain it? I'm not too sure about God or your destiny. But both you and God would be moronic if you didn't make allowances for the greater good." There, he was finished. He had spoken way too much in the past two hours, and he was exhausted by it. This girl really knew how to take the energy out of a person. Robin seemed to accept the silence that filled the car as he began driving, becoming lost in her own thought.
They finally stopped in a small town an hour and a half away from the Factory. Amon pulled up in front of an old grey building that had "Thrifty is Nifty!" written on the top of the shop in neon letters. Without a word he got out, heading into the store. Robin just gaped at the building for a moment, before tentatively leaving the car to follow her warder. As she entered, a bell jingled, making her jump slightly.
The whole store was one big room filled with a colorful assortment of used clothes. Only a few people were to be found of the store, most of which seemed to be the staff. Walking over to her partner, she found him hastily sifting through the racks of clothes, as if he already knew what he was looking for. The moment she reached him he held up a white blouse, eying it critically before yanking it back down and shoving it back into the racks. Robin began following his lead, searching for clothes she could live with. She was almost insulted that he kept looking, as if he didn't trust her taste. Everything she picked up, he would wrinkle his nose at and push back down. Who was she supposed to be dressing for, her, or him?
Sensing her consternation with his behavior he looked at her out of the corner of his eye. "You have to blend in." He explained shortly, before once again diving into the racks. Abruptly, he tossed several pieces of clothing at her and pointed to the three stalls at the far side of the room that were meant for changing. Robin took the clothing and the two or three items she had found on her own and headed back there.
Robin gawked at herself in the mirror. Surprisingly, Amon had picked out clothes that were exactly her size. Even more extraordinary was the fact that she didn't really dislike them. The creamy coffee colored blouse fit her just right; loose enough to conceal her curves without being unflattering. It had a large ruffle at the collar which snaked through the middle of the shirt. The crimson skirt she wore with it was slightly below knee length, just low enough so Robin could cover the rest of her calves with socks and boots. He even managed to pick out a long brown sweater to cover the blouse which Robin actually loved. Robin would have chalked up Amon's uncanny to pick out clothes for her to luck if the next outfit hadn't appealed to her too. And the clothes she had picked out hadn't even fit properly. Every time she thought she had all of Amon's talents pegged, he turned around and showed her something completely new, like a magician that never ran out of magic tricks.
"Keep one of them on, and leave your hair down." He ordered from somewhere outside the stall Robin was in. She quickly put the first outfit on, choosing to leave on her black boots. Stepping out of the stall, she found Amon with a large pile of clothes in his arms, staring at her blankly. Something inside her slumped, she couldn't help but be disappointed that he hadn't commented on her outfit. Speedily paying with money from the suitcase, he hurried the two of them out of the store and back into the car. He shoved a taffy-colored cap on her head, twisting it to fit backwards before pulling out of the parking lot.
Robin was surprised to find herself with a completely new wardrobe in less then an hour. Doujima had always described shopping as taking several hours, and being a time consuming and strenuous, but enjoyable and necessary, process. She had insisted that that was the only reason she was late to work so often. Well, that and she didn't function before twelve. There was something… thrilling about this whole new wardrobe that Robin couldn't quite comprehend. Just an hour or two ago she had been moping, convinced that weight of her sins would separate her from God, and now she was exuberant about her new skirt and sweater. What on earth was wrong with her? Maybe all those hours that Doujima had prattled on about the virtues of shopping had finally seeped in and taken hold of her brain. Or maybe it was just that she was finally doing something a normal girl would do. This was her first time shopping for clothes at all. Father Juliano had either made the nuns sow her clothing or ordered it from a catalog. But she had actually gone out and looked for clothes herself, like a normal teenager. Granted, your everyday teenager didn't have a warder picking out most of their clothes and strong arming them into buying certain items, but it was still a step toward normality. And normality, for Robin, translated into freedom.
For all of that her life was, it wasn't normal. Normal people did not grow up without any family but an austere Church. Normal people didn't spend their days and nights fighting witches. Normal people weren't actually witches themselves. Because they were normal, ordinary souls, they could go about their existence without too many cares, not having to worry about what was out to get them. They generally knew what life had in store. Most importantly, normal people knew they weren't responsible for many other people.
Robin was neither ordinary nor free. She had too much to worry about, too many people with a stake in her not surviving to see her sixteenth birthday. The thing that separated her most from her freedom, from the normality of those around her, was the fact that she was indeed responsible for many people, a whole group of people. One moment of normality enthralled her. She couldn't resist the temptation to banish all solemnity and focus on playing with the dark red skirt.
The sun began to sink as they traveled out of the town they had stopped in for clothes. It splashed against the horizon, sending dollops of red and pink through the sky. Cursing himself, Amon remembered that he had forgotten to get some white-out to change the tags on the car. Shrugging, he figured that he would just find a drugstore near where they would stop for the night. He was going to buy a pair of scissors anyway. Besides, the sleeping pill should give him till the next morning to change the plate before the cops would be notified. He didn't want to settle anywhere near where the woman might live, in case someone recognized her car, so he kept driving, long after they had lost sight of the town.
Amon didn't really mind driving, he actually enjoyed it immensely. There was a reverent stillness that took hold of him whenever he even entered a car. Something about the quiet buzz of the engine and the landscape bustling by set him at ease. He didn't have to think about anything, which gave him time to think about everything. He knew he was going somewhere, that things were literally and figuratively changing. He was never able to take long vacations because the stillness he felt on them was one of stagnation. Stagnation always made him feel like a quiescent cow, chewing on cud. But in a car, there was balance between tranquility and movement. He knew he was speeding down the road, and yet he could enjoy the repose of the moment.
It was ten o'clock at night before Amon finally felt he was far enough away from the Factory and the woman he had stolen the car from. Turning off the highway, he found a small town a short distance away. Thank you capitalism for twenty-four hour drugstores, he thought bemusedly as he parked in front of the small store. He left Robin asleep in the passenger seat as he rushed in and rushed out, picking up scissors, white out, some hair bands and a cheap pair of clear glasses.
Every thing was going pretty well so far, and it almost put Amon in a good mood. To actually be in a good mood would have been cocky, especially since it was only the first day they had started hiding from Solomon. Overall though, he was not displeased, and decided to order in food once they got to a hotel instead of forcing the rations he had packed in the case on an unsuspecting Robin. The rations were dry bars of fruit, with a few things of jerky, something he was sure would only appeal to those who had had their taste buds surgically removed. Robin had had a hard enough day; the least he could do was to wait to coerce her into eating the 'bars of doom' until the next morning instead.
Finally reaching a hotel that was on the edge of town, he gently shook Robin awake. She started, surprised to find it so dark outside, before following him into their hotel room. Privately sighing in relief when she saw that there were two beds, she turned to find Amon ordering them dinner. She sat patiently on the bed she decided she liked best, holding her new clothing, waiting for him to get off the phone.
Hanging up he turned to her, before going over to the case and opening it. "You like pizza, right?"
"I never had it before." She answered innocently, folding and unfolding the corners of her clothes.
Amon stopped in his actions. "You're Italian, and you've never had pizza?" Despite it being his usual stony voice, Robin could almost feel the shock dripping from it.
Robin rolled her eyes, quietly amused at how similar his and Michael's reaction to the piece of information was. "Father Juliano said it wasn't good for me."
"But it's pizza." Amon replied, eyebrows still furrowed in consternation at the idea of anyone, no less an Italian, going through their lives without trying pizza. Okay, it made sense for starving Asian, African, and South American children who couldn't even afford to buy rice, but not for Robin. It wasn't that Amon was religiously devoted to pizza, or that he just couldn't get beyond the stereotype of an Italian. But little things like this bothered and intrigued him. Larger contradictions just made sense, life was in fact contradictory, but it was the tiny incongruities that tripped him up.
Shrugging, he went back to sorting through the suitcase, before finally finding what he was looking for. Trudging back over to Robin, he bent down in front of her, taking her ankle in hand. The young witch looked at him curiously. He answered her silent question, "We never took care of your ankle." Delicately, he freed her foot from her shoe, eyes narrowing at the angry red and violet hues lining the back of her foot. He idly ran his hands over the bruised flesh, determining how sensitive it was. She didn't seem to wince, merely staring at him cautiously as he touched her. Taking the ointment in hand, he began to massage the cream into her ankle, making smooth circles with his thumb.
She found her eyes once again fixed to him. For someone who often seemed so untouchable, someone who gave off the aura of a perfect marble statue, regal, over looking and yet never quite a part of anything, he was so achingly gentle. His fingers glided over her skin, mindful to avoid causing her any pain. Suddenly her head was filled with visions of him leading her through the secret corridors of STN-J, guiding her to safety when she was being hunted. Him speaking softly to her, almost affectionately, his face so intimately close to hers. "Robin, I can't think of you as a witch…." That memory always made her weak inside, her stomach doing flip-flops and summersaults while her heart beat wildly.
And then the moment was over, his fingers gone, her feet firmly wrapped in an ace bandage. He moved away as if he was never there, putting back the ointment and bandages. Robin was left wondering if his whispering touches were ever real, quite sure it would be some time before she found out.
The knock on the door stirred her from the haze induced by his random display of sensitivity. Amon answered it, giving the pizza man a wad of cash and closing the door before the man could even check if it was the right amount. He set the box on his bed, waiting for her to take the first piece.
Tentatively taking a small slice, Robin was annoyed at the way the cheese seemed to hold on to the pie, stretching as if it couldn't bear to part with it. She scooped up the escaping cheese with her fingers, frowning as it slid through her hand. "It's messy." Robin commented absently.
Amon just took a slice in response, carefully holding the crust in one hand while taking a bite. His eyebrows rose subtly, amused at how Robin was still struggling with the slippery cheese. Taking the hint from him, Robin just dug in, feeling like a fool as the sauce got all over the sides of her mouth. This was ridiculous, how was one supposed to eat this and no get it everywhere? Self consciously wiping her mouth after she finished the slice, she looked up to find Amon watching her knowingly. Her eyebrow quirked, wondering what exactly had caused that expression. Leaning across the bed, Amon lifted his finger to trace the curve of her cheek, wiping off the sauce which had been there. Robin blushed, suddenly feeling she was five again, learning how to properly eat spaghetti.
"This isn't finishing school," Amon reassured her, picking up another slice. "No one is grading you on how you eat."
Tucking a strand of dirty blond hair behind her ear, Robin blushed again, muttering some kind of acknowledgement before picking up her next slice. She just hated to feel rude, and eating with one's fingers and getting sauce all over oneself felt very unladylike to her. Closing her eyes, she chomped on the next slice, trying to supplant all of the training Father Juliano had drilled in her. Amon's eyebrow remained arched; he had seen similar expressions on people asked to walk on hot coals.
After they had finished, Amon looked up at her. "Do you want your hair cut now, or in the morning?"
Robin just blinked at him, surprised by his directness. "Um…" Well, she would prefer not to get her hair cut at all, but if he was going to force her… "I guess now, I might lose my nerve by the morning."
Amon nodded, immediately taking out the scissors he had bought. Robin eyed them warily. "What exactly are you going to do to my hair?"
Moving her to sit in front of his bed, he positioned himself behind her. "Don't worry, I've never done this before." He managed to sound nonchalant despite his deep, stony voice.
His lips curved as she stiffened in front of him. Grabbing a chunk of her hair, he began cutting, careful to keep her hair precisely even.
A small frown crossed Robin's features as she watched her hair fall to the ground. It was like watching Amon cut off parts of who she was. For so long she had kept it in the same style, she just didn't feel quite complete with her hair down. She knew it was childish, but she had always identified herself with her hair, and the way she wore it. Cutting off so much of the golden tresses really made the situation sink in. The old Robin was really gone. The titles of witch hunter, future nun, and pupil of Father Juliano no longer could define who she was. Her life would change from this day forth, for the good or bad. Her hair was merely the first in a series of many changes that would have to take place.
She knew what she once was, and what she could no longer be, but the question still remained, who would she become? For the first time in her life, Robin found herself at a complete loss to answer that question. Even more disturbing was she really didn't have a clue about what she wanted to become either. Things like this were supposed to be simple, destiny was supposed to take over at some point. Caterpillars became butterflies, cubs turned into bears; life naturally flowed along its course. Yet Robin found herself lost, floating on a sea of possibility where certainty seemed to be nowhere in sight. All paths to discovering the answers seemed shrouded in fog. The only thing she could really think to do was keep moving forward, and hope that time would unveil the remedies.