The rental car couldn't go fast enough. The sky was bleached, red stains filtering into the clouds and runny sun...the large yellow eye was already a slit above the horizon line.
Giovanni punched the radio with his thumb angrily, gritting his teeth as cheerful, annoying pop songs rolled into whiny Djs. Punch. Celtic. Punch. Techno. Punch. Heavy Metal. Punch. People talking. Punch.
Faust yowled from the back, claws leaving vicious holes in the backseat. His back arched, body bunched together. Punch. Punch. Punch. Punch. Giovanni attacked the thing, now not even waiting for the songs to get out more then a yelp. Punch. Silence.
Giovanni felt his chest heave. His lips got tight. ...The League was good. They were responsible for him. For his mother. For his station and wealth. They kept the world in balance. They kept it running. They kept away war. But so help him, if they did anything to his baby...No. No, that wasn't right at all.
He took one hand off the steering wheel, wiping it on his pant leg. He was sweating. ...He wouldn't be able to get home until nightfall.
"Sam." He said aloud, mouth dry. "Sam, honey, you keep yourself and my kid safe. Do you hear? You keep him safe until I get home." The radio switched back on, humming something sick-sweet low. Giovanni cranked the volume down and let it run.
Giovanni must have spat out at least seventeen different blistering profanities for not bringing an abra with him. The drive was long, and the closer he got to his house the lighter he felt. He was relatively young, and it was a new house. Sam hadn't wanted anything big, even though she was used to being pampered. They'd settled on a reclusive one story home, set in sand and woods...it was outside Viridian's main clog of buildings, and a few miles from houses on either side. The peace sat with Giovanni just fine. They had a guest house out back, and had parties every now and again where everyone got drunk, threw trash in the pool, and went home sick but happy. They always had to dig one or two couples out of some of the house's closets in the morning, but everyone complimented the hosts.
Sam was always more of a social butterfly.
They worked well, politically. He would stand at her arm, smiling warmly as she lead him to this or that official, introducing him to their wives and wallets.
And when he worked the business world, she stood at his arm, sporting that friendly, sweet smile that she could pull off so well. She was the kind of arm candy that made you trust the man she was holding onto. Both their families had connections. Giovanni was still ripe and ambitious, doing his mother's company proud.
They fit together. Made for each other. Practical. The marriage had been well-arranged.
"Sam?" His legs were dead. When his fingers found the car door, he nearly stumbled out. It was dark. The house lights were on.
Faust stretched in the backseat, crowding into the front in a liquid motion. The Persian piled out of the car past Giovanni, cleaning itself indignantly.
She's dead.
The words came fast and sudden...that whisper in the back of your brain that tells you crazy things. Giovanni swallowed the thought repulsively. He thought about other things. Any other things.
"Sam?" It was a little louder. The door didn't swing open. No one looked out the window.
Giovanni sat back down in the car, reaching over and undoing the glove compartment. The gun was still there. He placed it carefully in his jacket, then clicked the car keys and pulled them out of their socket. ...The walk from the car to the front door was a long one.
He stepped into the living room half-expecting to be greeted with blood and Sam sprawled across the sofa in her underwear. She walked around the house like that, sometimes. It was only him, and it got hot in the summer. They didn't have any neighbors to complain about the exposure and open windows. He stifled a smile. ...The living room was yellow and alone.
"Sam?"
He felt his gun reassuringly, glancing into the kitchen. The refrigerator was open. He closed it. ...Giovanni moved out into the hallway, opening the doors along the way. The bathroom looked fine. He pulled aside the shower curtain. Nothing. ...She'd be in their bedroom, sleeping. Fallen asleep watching the television or something. Forgot to turn off the lights. Maybe got up for a snack and left the fridge dangling.
The bedroom was empty.
The spare bedrooms were unruffled and silent.
Giovanni took his hand out of his jacket.
He didn't want to make the march to the guest house. That was what nightmares were made of. You get home. The door's open, your wife's gone, and you find a fellow sitting on the edge of your bed. Or waiting just behind the guest house door. Who knows how long he'd been there? Grinning with his eyes, skinny and withdrawn. Maybe he was sobbing. But he's quiet now, and wearing your wife's lipstick and bloody dress.
Giovanni felt for Faust. The pokemon was in the kitchen, yowling and pawing at the cabinent. "I'll feed you later." Giovanni said, very loudly. To make the house seem less empty. He might have already crawled out of his skin if Faust wasn't there. Keep yowling, cat.
Geez, someone was behind him. He turned. No one there.
Run.
There was no one there.
Giovanni found the radio plugged next to the sink, and spun it loud. So it would fill all the empty spaces.
He opened the screen door from the kitchen slowly. The Guest House was dark. He'd have to make the crusade across the lawn blind. He felt like a little kid again. It was that moment where you switch off your lights and race to your bed before the monsters can get you.
Only mom wasn't just down the hall. She was dead from all those cigarettes. And if you reached the bed, the monster might just be under the covers.
Go, you idiot. Just run.
Just GO.
He found the body on the lawn.