Chapter Five
Raphael leaned over Alister's exhausted form, carefully bathing and cleaning the wounds in the younger man's shoulder. Paulette's personal doctor had been called to examine him and had determined that what the redhead needed most was rest. He would "probably" be alright, he had said, but that "probably" annoyed Raphael. He wasn't fond of probablies. Either Alister would recover or he wouldn't. Raphael wanted a straight answer, he thought, recalling how he had decided to treat Alister's injuries himself.
He smiled slightly, remembering the child Pierre's concern. The boy was telling his mother all about their adventure and how Alister had been wounded more than once while trying to protect him. Hilda was with them, listening, while Raphael wanted time alone with his friend. He had already heard Pierre's story while he had carried Alister's body to the vacant room that Hilda had pointed out to him. It was an easily believable tale. Just as he had known, Alister had risked everything to rescue the child.
Now Raphael began to bandage Alister's shoulder, narrowing his eyes as he recalled how both Hilda and Paulette had reacted when they had come in and seen Alister collapsing into Raphael's arms. Paulette had gasped in alarm at the sight of the stranger—well, two strangers, really, since she hadn't even met Raphael then—and Hilda had called Alister a hoodlum again. Raphael was disgusted. They had no right to address Alister as such, especially after what he had done to protect Pierre and get him home. Just because Alister didn't dress in fancy apparel—and actually had a very strange dress code—it didn't make him a criminal. He, in Raphael's opinion, was one of the only good people in this cruel world.
He sighed, leaning back and sitting on the edge of the bed. Alister looked weary and pale. His leg was sore from where he had fallen on it, but it wasn't broken or badly sprained. Still, it would have hurt to walk on it for so long without rest.
Raphael found himself breathing a quiet prayer for Alister's recovery and for Valon to be found. Perhaps he wasn't the most religious person, but he tried to hold onto a belief in a Supreme Being, as he had been taught as a child. He needed something to believe in. He needed to believe that Someone was in charge and that Someone knew and loved every person. And though he felt that he and his friends and their problems were probably insignificant when compared to the world disasters, there was this other part of him that wanted to believe that they were important and that they did matter. That part of him still kept a seed of faith and convinced him to continue praying in times like these.
He wasn't sure what Valon's thoughts were on the subject of God, as the Australian had never mentioned it, but he knew that Alister had come from a strong religious family. Alister had spoken of it occasionally and had mentioned that his parents often traveled around helping others and building up poverty-stricken towns and villages. They hadn't been dogmatic and forceful, as so many often were, but had instead taught their beliefs through their actions. It had been a much more effective approach, Alister had recalled. He himself, like Raphael, wasn't extremely religious now, but Raphael had the feeling that Alister still held to at least some of what he had been taught as a child.
Slowly Alister's eyes opened and he looked at Raphael blearily, seeing that he was praying. He pondered over this scene as all of his senses completely returned, realizing that he was truly here with his friend. It wasn't a delusion, as he had believed a few moments ago when he had passed into exhausted unconsciousness. Raphael looked the same as ever; he had not changed. Alister managed a weak smile as he saw this. Sometimes no change was a good thing.
Raphael, feeling a gaze upon him, finished his prayer and opened his eyes. He smiled softly when he saw Alister was awake. "It's about time," the blonde commented, referring to his and Alister's meeting.
Alister looked at him and gave a slight smirk. "It is, isn't it." There was no overwhelmingly joyful reunion, but they each knew that they were happy to see the other and that the other was happy to see him. And they were both relieved to find that part of their quest was successfully ended. "I wondered if I would find you alive."
"Likewise." Raphael watched his magenta-haired friend, relaxing when he saw that he seemed alert and that he remembered him. "Your new friend tells me that you've had quite an experience." He pointed at Alister's bandaged shoulder. "You're lucky that bullet didn't get stuck or tear something important. It just went in and out. If you don't put a strain on it, your shoulder will heal quickly."
Alister nodded slowly. That was what he had expected. "Pierre's alright, isn't he?"
"Worried, but fine." Raphael crossed his arms. "What about you, though? How are you feeling?"
"Sore," Alister replied before falling silent, pondering on what was in his mind.
"Valon isn't with you, is he?" If he was, then Alister's quest would be over and they would all be together again. But he wasn't getting his hopes up. The chances of finding both of his friends at once were too impossible.
Raphael shook his head. "He's still missing." He wished that the feisty Australian was with him. Frankly, he worried over where Valon could be. He could even be dead. Though neither he or Alister voiced this thought, they were both thinking it.
Alister tried to raise himself up and lean against the pillows. "Why are you here?" It was strange to have found Raphael in a place such as this. Alister knew that Raphael had come from a rich family, but he also knew that the blonde had no interest in social circles and he didn't think that the older man had any acquaintances in high society. And what were the odds that they would both be at this random mansion at the same time? It seemed almost more than coincidental, as if someone had been working behind the scenes to bring them together.
Raphael grunted. "I suppose we can thank my cousin Hilda for that." He realized now that it had been a blessing that he had met up with her again. Though he had been annoyed over their meeting initially, he knew that it wasn't likely that he would have found Alister today if he hadn't been with Hilda. By a strange twist of events, Alister had wound up with the abducted child of Raphael's cousin's friend and had eventually found his way to the manor where Raphael was currently staying. As Raphael thought back on it now, he also thought that it seemed too incredible to have actually happened by chance.
Alister blinked, but allowed the surprise to pass. "I see," was all he said.
Raphael smirked slightly. "I know. You didn't know I had a cousin." Though Alister probably never would have asked the question, the blonde could tell that the gray-eyed young man was curious.
Alister half-shrugged. "I just assumed that all of your relations were dead," he replied. He glanced briefly around the room, though his interest didn't hold for very long. It was just a room, another temporary one that he would be leaving soon. Already he was planning the next course of action. He and Raphael would have to embark on a search for their still-missing comrade.
"Heh. Well, let's just say I was considered as dead to her. She didn't like me dressing like a 'hoodlum.'" Raphael crossed his arms, spitting the word out bitterly. "If she knew about Doom, she'd probably disown me again."
Alister frowned. "She sounds like a lot of fun," he said sarcastically.
"Oh yeah," Raphael returned. "A joy to be around."
The slight creaking of the door and a child's giggle brought them both to attention, expecting to see Pierre. But what they saw instead completely astounded them both. Three young children were happily playing on the floor with the ragdoll cat, who purred loudly and seemed to enjoy their attention. After a moment all three looked up at Alister and Raphael, smiling brightly.
"Miruko," Alister whispered in disbelief.
"Sonia," Raphael breathed, his blue eyes wide in disbelief. "Julien. . . ."
The children smiled and waved, then were gone as swiftly as they had come, leaving behind the cat and two stunned older brothers. It seemed that perhaps they were quietly saying that, indeed, they had played a part in bringing about this reunion and they had wanted it to take place. The thought was comforting to both Alister and Raphael.
He ran as far and as fast as he could. No matter what it took, he had to get away from that hell on earth. It was just like all the other foster homes he had been in. Neither his "parents" or his "siblings" had cared anything for him. He had just come from a harsh beating. And the boy who had claimed that he wanted to be friends had just stood by and watched, not even trying to plead Valon's case to his father. But Valon had been innocent of any wrongdoing, and that boy had known it. The boy was just looking out for his own safety, not wanting his father to suddenly turn and beat him as well. It seemed that everyone in this world only looked out for themselves.
The brunette growled to himself in frustration, angrily rubbing the tears away from his eyes. He had been rejected so many times by now that it was an everyday event. He wouldn't go back to that home anymore. And once again he would embark on his struggle to stay away from the social workers who would be looking for him. He was better off without them. They weren't helpful in determining his fate. He could control his own fate much better. The problem was that no one would let him demonstrate that.
He pressed himself against a brick wall desperately, hearing approaching footsteps. His heart raced with terror and he realized just much he dreaded—no, feared—being taken back. He couldn't even count the number of foster homes he had been in before this. Every one of them had ended in the same way—with him running away to get away from the cruelty and knowing that he was really unwanted.
But instead of a social worker that came around the corner, it was the leader of a local gang. Valon recognized him from several past encounters that they had had on the streets. The meetings always ended the same way, with Valon in pain on the ground while the brute gloated over his "victory." Valon hated the meetings and he hated his unfair opponent. He knew that if he could just have the chance to learn better fighting skills he could easily defeat this treacherous bully. Then no one would be able to push him around again!
The punkish teenager turned to look at Valon and grinned widely in an unsettling way. "Fancy bumpin' into you," he remarked, addressing Valon by the rude name he had chosen to call the younger boy.
Valon pressed himself against the wall harder, not wanting him to see that he was already badly beaten and weakened. "Yeah, fancy it," he retorted boldly. "What do you want?"
"Well. . . ." The bully smirked, getting up right next to Valon's face. The blue-eyed Australian could feel the hot breath on his cheeks. "I just thought you should know that you've wandered onto my gang's territory. The simple truth is, you're trespassing. And you know what we do to trespassers." He cracked his knuckles harshly, enjoying the brief flit of discomfort in his victim's eyes. Torturing Valon was one of his favorite pastimes. He reveled in getting the better of anyone, especially if he knew they were not as strong as he himself.
Valon clenched his fists. If they were to fight now, he knew he would surely lose once more. But he refused to back down from the challenge. He met everything head-on. To run from a fight, he felt, was cowardly. (He did not consider being violently beaten by his foster families as really a fight. It was the manifestation of human wickedness, and if he would have stopped to think about it, he would have realized that this bully was engaging in the very same actions.) "Bring it on then!" he cried, moving away from the wall.
"It's your funeral." His opponent lunged forward, delivering a sharp punch to Valon's stomach. The boy gasped, doubling over in pain.
The fight didn't last very long, especially not in Valon's already weakened condition. Before he realized what was happening, he was laying on the damp ground, badly injured—a cold rain falling down around and over him. The gang leader laughed nastily, kicking the boy in the ribs and asserting that he was, and would always be, the strongest of the two of them. Then he was gone, disappearing into the rain and leaving Valon's battered body behind.
He stared ahead blankly as he lay on his stomach, too weak to attempt getting up. Blood dripped into his vision, already clouded by the rain, and he wanted desperately to reach up and brush it away—but he was even too weary to accomplish that much. He didn't know what would happen to him now. Maybe social services would find him again. Maybe all of the gang members would come to have their chance at beating him further. Or maybe he would just die here, alone and with no one to care. It wouldn't surprise him. He had always been alone. Why would something happen to change that now?
These were his last thoughts before succumbing to the blackness that had already been threatening to engulf him. His body soon went completely limp.
Valon sighed, staring up at the ceiling ofSandy's trailer. Those thoughts were always unpleasant, but he couldn't stop them from coming. And the next memory wasn't so bad. He had regained consciousness in the church with Mary tending to his wounds. She had found him laying in the street as she had been returning from a bit of grocery shopping, and according to her, she had experienced a feeling that she should go down a different road than the one she usually took. She had called it God's will that she had found Valon that cold and rainy night. Valon had scoffed at that, he remembered. God hadn't cared about him for years, he had felt, so why would He suddenly care then? But Mary had been firm in her belief. Over time Valon had grown quite fond of her, considering her to be like the mother he had never had. But then she had been taken from him as well. Dartz had taken her away.
The Australian stood up, shakily replacing Sandy's makeshift journal entry back in the manga. It was still raining outside, reminding him all the more of the night so many years past when he had first met Mary. He wondered what she was doing now. She was probably in the Heaven that she had always spoken of fondly, Valon decided. And yet . . . at times he was certain he still felt her presence close by. If he wanted to believe in guardian angels, he would come to the conclusion that she was his.
"Well . . . here I am, alone again," he said aloud to the empty room, gesturing weakly before dropping his hands to his sides. "And what do I have to show for it?" He had been part of Doom for so many years, capturing souls with the Seal of Orichalcos to further Dartz's plans. Making a new world had sounded good to him. If he hadn't believed in the ideals of the Doom organization, he wouldn't have agreed to join. He had his honor, after all.
He had met his only friends while he was with Doom. But they were Heaven knows where right now. He wanted them to be here. His only other friend was laying in a hospital bed, almost dead after trying to imitate Valon's motorcycle stunts. Valon had told himself that if Sandy got hurt he wouldn't blame himself—but right now his mind didn't seem to be listening to that vow. All he could think of was that if he had never came here in the first place, Sandy wouldn't have gotten injured. He wanted Alister and Raphael to come and give him reassurance that he wasn't at fault and to stay with him during this time of confusion and sadness.
He stared out into the pouring rain glumly. "So . . . where are you fellas?" he mumbled. Often he wondered if they'd forgotten about him. It seemed so long since he had seen Alister and Raphael. Maybe they'd happened to meet up with each other and had decided to stay together since they got along better. Maybe they wouldn't even think of coming to find their comrade.
Valon slammed his fist down on the windowsill. Raphael, at least, would care! For the first time since he had been with Mary, he was certain that another human being cared whether he lived or died. Raphael treated him well and Valon actually felt welcome around him. Alister was more of a mystery—an irritating, much-too-silent mystery—but Valon had slowly begun to feel that Alister cared about him as well, even if it was just as an associate. But then his doubts would start to sink in again and he would question it all.
Several days passed, during which Sandy made no improvements. Alister, on the other hand, was recovering nicely. After a little over a week, he was certain that his shoulder was healed well enough that he could leave the Martindale manor where he and Raphael had taken up a temporary residence (at Paulette's request). The days had been spent mostly in sharing conversations with Raphael, pondering over the past, and in quietly playing and talking to Pierre, who was delighted to have Alister visit for an extended period of time. Likewise, the ragdoll cat was pleased to have Raphael around to pet and pay attention to her, since normally she only received affection from Pierre and from a couple of the maids.
Hilda wasn't entirely pleased about Alister staying at the home, as Raphael had found out that she was even more the rich snob than Paulette was. Often he heard the two women arguing over the matter until he felt as if he would simply go mad with anger and frustration. There was no reason for Hilda to be so distraught feeling as though Alister's presence would disrupt both Paulette's and Hilda's own social status. On the contrary, he thought to himself, Hilda should be grateful to Alister, as Paulette was, for bringing Pierre safely home.
One evening about a week and a half after Raphael had been reunited with Alister, the blonde man confronted Hilda in the drawing room about her intense obsession with fame. He stood in the doorway, watching her as she retouched her makeup, and then slowly walked in.
"That's too much," he growled, referring to her endless layers of lipstick and rouge. "You look better with more natural shades." The ragdoll meowed, as if in agreement, and rubbed against Raphael.
"I don't need fashion tips from you," Hilda retorted, obviously still furious over Paulette's latest dismissal of her worries. But really, she thought, whatever would people think of these two ruffians being allowed to stay for so long? Not even Paulette's husband would do anything about it. He seemed to have almost taken a liking to them both.
Raphael came over closer to the couch. "Well, here's a 'tip' for you," he said coldly. "Why don't you just leave Alister alone. If the Martindales figure that it's alright for us to stay here, you should accept that. After all, you're nothing more than a guest here as well. Stop worrying about your precious social record for once." His blue eyes narrowed darkly. "You know . . . you're acting just like you did eight years ago, when you disowned me as your cousin. You haven't changed."
Hilda slammed her compact shut. "Alright," she agreed, "maybe I haven't. I was hoping maybe you had, though I really knew when I first saw you in the lobby of that restaurant that you didn't look as though you had. You looked exactly as you had then, save for being a few years older and a bit more muscular. But you were really still the same punk you were all those years back. You still are." She stood, replacing her makeup case in her purse. "How could you run around with someone like Alister! He dresses like a . . . like I don't know what!"
Raphael had to work very hard to keep a lid on his boiling anger. Usually he was more calm and levelheaded, but Hilda's constant insults were getting to him—and opening old wounds as well. It was as if he was reliving the night eight years previous, only this time it was different in the fact that it was his friend being put down instead of he himself. Of course, though, Raphael felt that any insult to his friend was an insult to him as well. "If all you can see when you look at him are the tank tops and the black jeans, I'm not holding out much hope that you'll ever change," he said at last. "After what Alister did to get that kid back to his family, you should give him more credit."
"Well, I'm sorry!" Hilda shot back, coming to stand in front of him. "But he makes me nervous. And . . . and frankly, so do you!" There, she had said it. She moved back, glaring up into Raphael's icy blue eyes and trying to determine his reaction. "Your parents would roll over in their graves if they could see you now!"
That did it. Raphael snarled furiously and gripped Hilda's shoulders, his gaze boring into her own. "Don't you ever tell me what my parents would be thinking and doing," he snapped in a dangerous, low tone. "You have no right." He knew that his parents had seen him—and Alister too—when their spirits had appeared to him right before he and Alister had returned to their bodies. They had still loved him, as always, and hadn't made any derogatory comments about either his manner of dress or Alister's. Raphael felt certain that they trusted his judgement and that they realized that Alister was a good person. They would approve of the friendships Raphael had with him and with Valon and would be able to see all of them for what they truly were inside.
Hilda struggled under the grip of the strong hands, growing more anxious with each passing moment. Raphael only glared at her with outrage, not making any move to back away. Finally she shoved at him, yelling, "You're hurting me, Raphael!"
Slowly Raphael loosened his grip on her shoulders, allowing her to go. He continued to watch her with disgust and fury—and a bit of sadness as well. It seemed to all be an illusion then. The child he had played with and enjoyed being around was buried underneath this consuming drive to climb the social ladder. There was nothing he could do to dig that child out, not now. Hilda would have to work things out on her own. And Raphael had to be on his way. He and Alister still had one other comrade to find.
In defeat he turned away. "I'm sorry," he muttered.
Hilda, rubbing at her shoulders to restore the circulation, barely looked up. "I am too," she replied quietly. "Maybe . . . maybe someday we can meet again and it will be different."
Raphael shook his head as he walked toward the door. "It will never be different for me," he said flatly. "I won't abandon my friends when things get rough, Hilda. I won't abandon them the way you abandoned yours." With that he was gone, leaving a stunned Hilda behind to ponder over his words.
Valon walked through the trailer park in defeat and depression. Still he hadn't left. When Sandy was laying between life and death, he didn't see at all how he could possibly leave. And so he stayed, enduring the increasing hatred that was breeding against him. Michael had somehow managed to turn almost all of the other bikers against him, telling them various things to make them believe that it truly had been Valon's fault that Sandy had been injured. Valon suspected that Michael wouldn't be above even fabricating that Valon had tampered with Sandy's motorcycle.
He stepped out into the practice area where he had watched Sandy over a week ago, remembering how Michael had spoken to him, making his thinly-veiled threats. Sandy had done her carefully executed stunts and then had came over to them both, wondering what they were talking about. . . .
Valon frowned suddenly, again recalling the accident. It hadn't even occurred to him before, but what if . . . what if Sandy's motorcycle really had been tampered with? What if the "accident" hadn't really been an accident at all? It just didn't seem plausible, though. Who would want to kill Sandy? Valon clenched his fists, so caught up in his thoughts that he didn't realize he was being watched by many unfriendly eyes.
Abruptly a heavy chain swooped out, obviously intended to wrap around the brunette's neck. Hearing the links clinking against each other, Valon turned and dodged just in time. He rolled into the grass, glaring in the direction the chain had come from. "Hey!" he cried. "What's the big idea!" He brushed the dark bangs out of his eyes, squinting into the night to try to determine the identity of the silhouette he could make out—though he suspected it was Michael.
Sure enough, Sandy's beau rode out of the shadows on his motorcycle, the chain held tightly in his hand—but he wasn't alone. The other stunt artists followed right behind him, each one carrying his or her own weapon of choice and each riding his or her motorcycle. Valon backed up, his eyes narrowing. This couldn't be good.
"Sandy's not gonna get better, Aussie," Michael hissed, "and I'm gonna make good on my promise to make you pay for it." He raised the chain again. "You'll be dead before we're done with you!"
Valon watched him, steely-eyed. He could see that nothing would make him change his mind. There was only one thing for a fighter like Valon to do. He stood up straight, meeting Michael's gaze firmly. "Alright then. If that's the way you feel, bring it on."