Chapter Eighteen
There were two things that he noticed: first, the burning colors and second, the stench of mildew and gun powder. He hadn't noticed those earlier, before everything had happened for some reason. His thoughts had been too clouded with regrets, fears, relief... Just every emotion possible had flooded through the boy at that moment of watching the dark halls of the tomb light up with an angelic light as what he figured the souls of the fallen floated off to rest, dancing like the fireflies that he had watched the night before. But now, he lie on his back and stared up at the stony, vaulted ceilings, his chest burning and throbbing with unbearable pain.
His ears still rang painfully with the sounds gunfire. However, underneath the blaring, the the faint sobs of a girl drifted, growing louder and louder until it was piercing. That too hurt his ears, and he had wanted to cover them. The gunfire had been expected, but not that. That was too much. Jin attempted to bring his hands up to his ears, however the pain in the chest sharpened even when he moved a little. So, he was still just a while longer.
He closed his eyes and prayed; the wailing became quiet sobs, and the murmur of other nervous voices, footsteps shuffling over the dusty ground. Then silence. The more he idled, the more his emotions began to dwindle away, one by one, until all he felt was rage. His eyes flew open; burning colors, the hot lead that ripped and singed his flesh.
Was this what he had wished for? Death? It came in a flash of hellish fury then awashed him. No, death was peace. A wildness rose in his veins, and the blood that he thought he had bled away flowed through him, hot like the flames that lit his view. Hot like the flames that tried to take his life the first time so many years ago. Slowly, Jin rose, ignoring the stabbing in his chest and head.
The silence was unbearable, the wide eyes that stared at him in fear. Though her eyes, her eyes weren't the same as everyone else's. They stared at him in wonder, the anguish that had just filled them gone. He looked away and at his target; the old man had his back to everyone and was walking away towards the exit; a path of moonlight cut through the fiery torchlight, the path that Heihachi was taking.
"This is for your own good," he had said before firing the final shot, a single bullet that should had released Jin. But there the young man stood, watching silently as his last connection with the world walked away, leaving him for dead. But death would not come. Death always seemed to refuse him. Jin looked down at his hands; there was no blood, despite what he had expected. He turned his hand around and stared down at his palm. A bullet dropped into it.
Bullets rained from him, hitting the hard ground with pour of metallic pings. Death always seemed to refuse him. The scar beneath his tattoo began to burn like it did the night the gods had their way with his mother. The silence, the old man turning around, her eyes staring at him.
Her eyes staring at him; Jin charged at the elderly man, his back suddenly bursting with pain, yet he kept running at Heihachi, who did nothing more than brace himself as his grandson slammed into him and through the wall.
And they tumbled down from the top of the pyramid. Jin felt his nails digging into flesh, and the scent of blood hungered his fury more as he and the older man accelerated to the ground. The smells of the outside, finally. Dried foliage, animal musk, wood burning; they reminded him that he was still alive. That he was something beyond dying. But, the pains in his back were excruciating, and he dug deeper into Heihachi's shoulders.
He stopped, however. The old man wasn't fighting back and stared his grandson straight in the eye, dignified yet saddened. It was then Jin realized that they were going to hit the ground and, he panicked, tensing back with his shoulders. The world slowed then, and he released his hands.
He could see his grandfather staring up from him at the ground, apathetic as he rubbed shoulder where it bled. The world was still slowing as if Jin was watching everything in reverse; the ground grew further away, as did the sounds of nature, until he was high above the weathered steps of the ancient temple. And he could see Julia standing at the mouth of the tomb staring up at him, still filled with wonderment and bundling herself in the sweatjacket he had loaned her that night to cover herself. It was as if she had suddenly became ashamed that he had seen her nude, had violated her with his touch, had sacraficed her every time that he had made love to her. He smiled to himself at the thought.
As her face blurred as he rose, the sounds of the night wind and gentle beating of wings calmed him. Peace of mind, what he always wanted. Peace of mind, what he remembered seeing on his mother's face before they closed the casket. Peace of mind, what he always knew came with death.
Yet Death had refused him.
Jin sat alone in the living room on the couch that night shirtless; Christie had long excused herself to her room, and the light was off. He knew, however, that she wasn't sleeping. When she was upset, she tended to close herself off for awhile, and he respected that. He was still collecting his thoughts, trying hard to rationalize his life, as he often did at night as he waited for sleep.
It was times like that when he tried to decide what made him who or what he was. There were the times in the morning when he would look at himself in the mirror and see his eyes glowing red. It hadn't been until the last night in Mexico that he realized that everyone knew long before him. Everyone had expected some kind of...change, as he timidly referred to it in his head, too afraid to even visualize the words "demon" or "monster" in relation to himself. Yet, he never had the slightest clue; now, he looked at his reflection, and part of him morbidly fascinated as the dark markings, ornate tattoos of lighning and thorns, showed up on his face and across his chest, his forehead spliting open to reveal a third eye that gazed back with apathy. That, he saw something beautiful and powerful within the marks; his other half, however, alwaysscreamed back in protest, crying like a little child.
It wasn't fair.
He flattened out on his stomach and curled up on the couch, keeping his head turned out where he watched the hallway and listened. How he longed to hear another's heartbeat, to feel someone's warm breath against the back of his neck, to smell the scent of perfume. He thought of last night he spent with his mother and of the wordless truce they finally had called. His eyes squeezed shut, still angry at her for many things. For his childhood, for lying to him, for leaving him. He wanted so much to entirely forgive her but his hostility was still there. His eyelids relaxed as his breathing slowed.
And Jin Kazama drifted off to sleep.
The soil felt rough against her on back, blades of grass cutting against her skin. Around her, she could hear the sounds of the wind and distant traffic, though those were almost drowned out by his heavy breathing above her. She squeezed her eyes shut as she felt her blouse being opened, each button popped off slowly as the fabric was parted. Her bra was then tugged hard on from the front, jerking her body off of the ground once before it snapped open. She cried out a little with the sharp pain that came with that, and she dropped back down to the ground her eyes still closed.
It felt like the night air was suckling her tits; the coolness caused her nipples to pucker and harden. His presence still hover above her, he was on his knees, his rough hands tracing every contour of her body. She cringed with every touch, wishing that he would get it over with; she had lost her struggle, as the bruises on her body showed. The admiration made it much more humiliating, plus she was too tired to fight any longer. His hand began to knead her breasts.
There was something disturbingly tender about the gesture, the slow, thorough motions that had under any other circumstances, she probably would had welcomed. In fact, she had fantasized about what it would had been like with him on several ocassions. She opened her eyes yet kept her head to the side. Through the grass, she stared at her hand and wrist, which was pinned by his other hand. His free hand slid lower to beneath her skirt, first gingerly tracing the insides of her thighs with his fingers before rubbing against her clit through the thin cotton of her panties. Again, she tensed, and the panties were ripped off. She yelped as the elastic cut against her legs and burned; her eyes clamped shut again. Though she had already been trembling, now she was shaking violently. His hand left her body, then she heard the faint sound of a zipper and the rustle of cloth.
The other hand left her wrist. However, before she could sit up, her legs were grabbed up behind the knees and she was strandled. Against the most sensitive area between her legs, she could feel him, hard and hot-blooded, and his fingernails dug into the skin of her thighs. It was then that she worked up the last bit of her nerve to look up at him.
Her eyes widened with fear. She wanted to scream, but it was lost in her throat at what she saw, and she blacked out for a moment.
When she awoke, she had been left alone on the side of the road, the city lights still glittering off the horizon. She lie quietly, listening, the whispers of the wind and of insects chirping. She shifted to her side and curled up, knowing that she needed to get back to her hotel room. However, it hurt to move, and even hurt for her to close her legs, yet she did so, as if trying to fend of more violation. She wanted to stay in that spot forever, hoping that she would disappear into dust. His scent was still there, the faint, warm scent of cologne and his body that lingered around her, mixed with the fresh smell of dirt and grass.
It made her choke, coughing and tensing up until she sat up, her hand over her chest as she heaved. Heaving until it hurt, hurting until she could finally cry.
Jin groaned a little as he felt fingers running up his spine. The light stroking was soothing, and he murmured something under his breath. A name, perhaps, half imagining that time had mended itself and it was Julia or his mother that tenderly touched him. Slowly, he opened his eyes to see that it was morning; he had almost expected to open his eyes and see that he was in his mother's bedroom or in the ward that he had stayed in for months after the fire. The fingers stopped and a hand rested on his shoulder.
"Jaime?" Christie began softly. "You okay?" Jin rolled to his back and gazed blankly up at the younger girl before sitting up. For a moment, he was silent as he looked down at his feet, which were nearly hidden beneath the legs of his flannel pajamas bottoms; his hands were at his sides and gripped the edge of the couch.
"Jaime?" she repeated, her hand still on his shoulder. Finally, he looked up. He was startled by her face, motherly and tired. Concerned, of all things. It was something that he wouldn't had expected at all from Christie. His own hand went up to his shoulder and rest on top of hers, before managing a small smile.
Jin almost replied "I'm fine", which was something he was used to saying regardless of what he was feeling. However, he didn't this time. He opened his mouth to start to say something, but nothing came out. His eyes closed, and he swallowed hard.
He reopened them, "I'm...I'm sorry." His smile grew a little, something he couldn't control.
"I was waiting to talk to you," he continued carefully. The younger girl nodded once understandably. "I wanted to tell you that I'm sorry."
"It's okay," she said as she shifted in her seat to better eye her roommate. "I'm not mad. Never was." Again, he didn't reply right away, though his smile continued to grow into a full grin. He was happy to see another face, a fear of being left alone again, but it was starting to fade with the warmth of ths hand on his shoulder and daylight.
Jin leaned in and kissed her once timidly. When there was no protest, he did it again, this time sure. And she responded back with the same gesture, until she was flat on her back on the couch with him on top of her, kissing her deeply and intensely. He moved from her mouth to her neck then to her breasts, which he carefully lifted the tanktop she was wearing that morning and then leaned over her again, flicking his tongue across one nipple until it was erect then gently suckling it. She moaned softly and ran her fingers through his hair.
There was a knock at door. Jin pulled away, and glanced over his shoulder at the front door, then looked back down at Christie, who pulled out from beneath him and sat up.
"I'll get it," she said quickly, hopping up and keeping her head down as she scurried over to the door while straightening her clothes. His eyes followed her, confused.
When she reached the door, she cleared her throat and sang, "Who is it?"
"It's Grant."
She immediately unlocked the door and opened it, "It's kinda early--"
"--Christina, I need a favor," the bookie blurted; behind him, Derrick and Forest stood. It was obvious that none of the men had slept in a long while. Forest was leaned against the wall across from the apartment door, his arms crossed. He glanced up at the woman then looked over at Grant before turning his head again with impatience.
"Yeah, sure, come on in," she moved to the side to let in her guests; reluctantly, Forest pulled himself off the wall and followed his two friends into the apartment. "What's wrong?"
Grant nodded, "We just need someplace to hang until we can get to the airport tomorrow. We're in a bit of trouble."
" 'A bit'?" Derrick snapped, nearly sneering. "We nearly get killed and that's all you can say?"
Christie gestured to the couch, "Well, shouldn't be a problem. Besides, I owe you for the tickets." Grant nodded again, though ignoring Derrick's comment. Forest still had his head turned until Grant tapped him on the shoulder and pointed to a seat next to Jin.
"Eh, you might ask Jaime for some smokes. I know you haven't had any for hours, and you're pissy as hell," he whispered.
Forest let out a frustated sigh and turned to face his friend, "It's not even that--" He stopped and looked past Grant at Jin, who leaned over with his arms crossed. His elbows rested on top of his knees, and he watched the entourage with a raised brow. Jin then glanced over at Forest. For a second, he still seem fairly apathetic to the whole situation, until something registered with him, and he did a double take and stared at Forest, perplexed.
Forest squinted, "...Yeah, you're right. I'll be a lot less edgier if I had a cig..."
"That's the spirit!" grinned Grant as he patted the American on the back once then went over to talk to Christie in private. Forest made his way over to the couch and sat down next to Jin, making sure to look the other man over completely. His gaze fell on the distinctive tattoo on Jin's arm, and his eyes narrowed. He looked up at Jin's face, which had went back to being nonchalant.
"I don't fucking believe it," Forest growled under his breath.
o.o.o.o.o
Steve paced back and forth, still waiting to hear how Smart's surgery had went. The boxer had finally gotten a change in clothes and a shower, and he wore a black t-shirt layered over a long-sleeved white tee, a pair of baggy black jeans, combat boots, and a tabagan, since it was a little cool that day. He was thankful that no one seemed to recognize him, and as he waited with Smart's cell phone to hear from the elderly man's family, he began to wonder exactly what he needed to do at that point.
He had called his parents the night before; they had been elated by his victory supposedly. Though, in the back of his head, he anguished over the fact that they didn't come to any of his big matches that year. He had always felt that they had been disappointed by his decision to become a professional boxer instead of wanting to go to med school. Though medicine did interest him, and he would be getting a Bacholar's in the area, he really had no desire to continue school long enough to become a doctor. So much of that came from spending the first years of his life constantly being tested and probed by doctors for reasons he didn't understand then and still didn't understand.
Nervously, he rubbed his left arm. He honestly hated hospitals for the same reason. And the smell. He wasn't sure why exactly he hated the clean scent. It was as if he could still smell the sick and dying beneath it, but there was an association he didn't quite get that triggered something in the back of his mind. But still no clear image ever attached itself to this. Nothing important. He stopped pacing and sat down in one of the chairs in the lobby. Nurses and orderlies past him by as he waited.
o.o.o.o.o
"Alright, dinner," the orderly mumbled as he pushed a cart into room.
The mute woman stood at one of the windows her back to the orderly as he stopped and placed her food on the little wooden table.
"Dinner," he repeated once more. She didn't move and continued to stare out the window, her hand pressed against the glass; it was late evening and aside from what was lit up by the street lights, there was nothing to be seen outside. The soldiers were also making their last rounds for that day, taking head counts on all the patients and workers and their heavy footsteps could be heard echoing throughout the building. The man sighed heavily, not at all surprised by her response then turned his head as a soldier came to the door holding a clipboard and gestured.
"Patient ID?" he asked, though already knowing the answer.
"D100037-G," the orderly replied. "Name unknown." The soldier nodded as he checked off that number on his board before heading off to the check more rooms. The orderly sighed with relief when the soldier left and continued placing food on the table and gathering dishes from the lunch hour.
"Well, enjoy dinner," he said cynically, knowing that she wouldn't turn around, let alone say anything. Hastily, he swiveled his cart around and pushed to the door.
The woman glanced over her shoulder, "I have a name."
He froze then slowly turned back around to see the woman facing him and staring at him, her eyes glowing with a golden light and her body incased in blue flames. Her hands were folded neatly over her abdomen, and the look on her face was placid, emphasized by her other worldliness. His eyes widened in fear.
Down the hall, the soldier trudged towards the stairwell to go to the next floor until he heard a scream. He spun around to see the orderly fly backward from the room and slam into the wall; he slumped down into a sitting position breathing heavily. The heavy cart he had been pushing sped out after him and rammed him, which one of the edges hit his throat, and he gasped for air, his esophagus crushed from sheer force, until he fell to his side, twitching as the last bits of life left him.
The soldier was paralyzed as he watched, unable to even bring himself to pull out his rifle and approach until the lights began to flicker. Instinctively, he dropped his clipboard and took up his gun, which had hung like a saddleback at his side. Cautious he approached the room, the lights around him flickering in and out until the building went entirely black; even the emergency lights were dark. He stopped however, when he saw the woman walking slowly towards him from the other end of the hall way, her way lit by the eerie yet gentle blue flames that ingulfed her yet did no harm.
"Oh my god..." the soldier whispered as he straightened up, dropping his weapon in awe.
