A/N: Okay, I know it's been a while. This chapter, I'm sorry, won't be that long, but I've been busy : (. But, there'll be a few cheep laughs, and the very, very, very, very little originality I try to add ;-D
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It is truly an amazing sight to behold when you see one of the greatest world wonders before you. This being brought to mind, Ryan only stared in aw.
The girl had already consumed three deluxe Cheese Burgers, and two large orders of chilly fries.
"Would you like anything else, ma'am?" the guy asked as he strode up to her. He had kept his tablet handy, as it seemed that she was relentless.
"Uh, yeah, I want...A triple Patty-Melt meal."
"You want me to super-size that?"
"A little bigger."
"Want me to Grande-size it for you?"
"Little bigger."
"Can I Macho-size it for you?"
Every time he suggested something, she would move her fingers a little closer, indicating her previous answer.
"Value-size? Loco-size? Can I Fat-ass that for you?"
"Perfect!" she said. He left, shaking his head, and Ryan only held his mouth open in disbelief. He was getting sick watching her, and he hadn't eaten a bite yet.
"So is this your plan?" he said. She looked around the small dinner, and grinned with gritted teeth, chilly still in mouth. "No, this place is just awesome." she said, swallowing. He had never seen such a sight as her teeth with a full chilly-view.
"So what is the aim of sitting here?" he asked. True, he was somewhat annoyed. But the positive side was that he hadn't heard a metaphorical lecture since the stripper-bar.
"Oh? No aim, just hungry."
"How the hell can you be hungry after all of that?"
She only gave him a sneering glare, and continued to eat. Ryan was still debating within himself whether or not he should, or rather could, go through with this. What was his plan? What was this going to solve?
Looking out of the window into the darkness of the night's rain, only lit by florescent lights, he felt a hard reality hit him. He had actually killed a man. Sure, the situation was "kill-or-be-killed", but it didn't change the fact. Maybe Caleb was right? He was just angry and wanted to blame someone, but now he wasn't sure he had the stomach for it.
"Look, don't let your first kill bother you too much..." she said. He looked up, and she smiled. "Please, you think I'm blind? I could see a noobi from a mile away-You've got amateur written all over you."
It also bothered him that she discussed these things so casually. He leaned on his elbows, and looked her in the eye. The blue glow from the neon sign outside complimented her features, it truly did.
"So when was your...y'know..."
"Me? I was six." she said. The guy had returned with her "Fat-Ass" sized meal, which made Ryan wonder exactly how much food could she intake? She couldn't have been human, or she'd be dead...
"So what's your plan?" she asked him. He hadn't really thought about it. He had really only been going with whatever had happened.
"I-I don't know." he replied. She would have applauded his honesty, if she wasn't blinded by his stupidity. "You must truly wanna die..." she said, a little off-handedly.
"Listen to me, kid. If you learn anything in this business, know that you absolutely have to plan every aspect to these things." she told him.
"First of all," he began, finally poking at the fries on his plate, "I'm in it for business. Secondly, I don't plan anything...I just go with it." he said. She only stared back, saying nothing, yet still seeming intrigued in the boy before her.
"Ah. Instinct, is it?" she laughed. Rolling her eyes, she stood, and stretched. "Ugh. These things are killing me..." she said, taking off the high heels from the bar-maids uniform.
"I'm just going to the bathroom. Don't go anywhere..." she told him. Yeah, like he could. His car was long gone, and she had the keys to hers. Plus, even though he did know how to hot-wire a vehicle, it only worked on older models, and hers was definitely new.
Then, outside, he saw someone. Running in the rain. A young woman in a long, white, traditional bridal gown was running. She finally came to a stop just outside of the window Ryan was sitting by. She hadn't noticed him, for her attention wasn't particularly focused on anything.
She stood in the rain, just outside the cheap diner, breathing heavily, and obviously crying. Mascara and make-up running her cheeks, she slumped against the brick wall, and slid to sit on the side walk.
Ryan, being only human, couldn't help feel sorry for her. He looked to the women's bathroom door, which was still closed, and she hadn't come out yet. He stood and made his way to the double doors, pushing one open.
The rain was actually warm against his face. He had to wonder what the hell was up with this psycho weather? He slowly walked up to her, and kneeled down by her side.
She glanced up to him, and stared in uncertainty. He offered her his hand, which was rejected by remaining un-taken. Taking this as incentive, he slumped beside her, and together they sat in the rain, not a word exchanged.
She lifted her left hand, and looked at the ring on her left hand. She quickly, in a rage, tried to slip the ring off. Once she did manage to get the blatantly expensive jewelry off of her hand, she threw it hard across the parking lot, bouncing across the dark, soaked granite.
"What do you do when the life you thought you had just...shatters?" she asked. She looked at him, hazel eyes shimmering in the faint neon light of the diner's sign.
He remained silent, wishing he had some advice to give her that sounded sane. Honestly, his method of going on revenge was probably a completely different situation than hers. Having nothing good to say, he shrugged.
"I thought it was all unbreakable. I thought absolutely nothing would, or could, go wrong." she voiced. He knew the feeling.
"You've probably never been in love - what am I saying..." she said. Ryan slowly turned his head to look at the pitiful creature next to him. "Actually, I have." he said.
He held up his left hand, showing her the small ring around his ring finger. She looked, and then turned her eyes to his. "I'm sorry, I just assumed...well, you don't look older than twenty, so..."
"You're right. I'm eighteen." he told her. "But don't assume something before you think it through." he snapped. Okay, so he didn't mean to go off on her, she was already a wreck. At least he hadn't yelled at her.
"Well I'm happy for you." she said. He stared off into the abyss, and thought. "Actually, I just lost them...Gun shot to the neck." he said.
She remained completely silent now, expression unchanged. He didn't blame her. "The universe just loves to fuck with your head, doesn't it?" he said. He leaned his head against the wall, and closed his eyes.
"Tell me about it. I'm a novelist. I had just finished the third installment of my series, and then my computer got a virus. I had it back up on a floppy, which my fiancé erased un-knowingly. Then I find out my brother's in a coma, my "EX" fiancé turns out to be having an affair with two other women, and the guy I was actually in love with turns out to be gay. All of this in one day; today. My wedding day.
"So basically, I'm broke, and lost." she said. "But, losing your wife, that's harsh..." she said sympathetically, and he only smiled. He hadn't told her that "They" were a guy, but Seth his "Wife"? It was a little occidental.
"Actually, the person I was in 'love' with..." he began. Then he figured he'd just pull out his wallet. Thankfully, he had a plastic cover over it to help prevent some water damage. He handed the photo over to her, and she paused.
"I'm sorry, I didn't take you for a...Well, when I said the part about the guy earlier, I didn't mean there's anything wrong with it, I just-"
"It's okay." he told her.
"Didn't I tell you not to go anywhere?" he heard. That damn screeching voice of hers just seemed to carry on and stab your ears.
"Um, Bride, this is George, George this is..." he said. She slowly stood, and brushed off her dress. "Christine." she said. "So, George, are you a..."
"A what?"
"Well, if you're with him, I'm only guessing...that you're a...man?"
"Oh HELL No! You think any man could ever look this good?" she shouted.
"Well, your name is George, and he...well."
"My name's short for Georgia." she told her. Ryan laughed and finally stood as well. "I told you not to assume things, didn't I?" he laughed.
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"Guess what? I get out of here tomorrow." she told him. He smiled, and sat beside the bed. "That's great to hear..." he replied.
She was surprised he had come to see her everyday, same time, same smile. Matt had a way, she admitted.
"It's also perfect timing. Of course, I can only walk so far before the pain really hits me, but tomorrow's by best friend's funeral." she said. The light in her seemed to fade at that moment, but then she offered a feeble smile. Even when she had saddened, she was still beautiful.
"I was wondering...If you don't mind...If you'd come with me?"
"Wow...I dunno, a funeral? I mean, it's a little sudden - I don't even have anything to wear." he said. She rolled her eyes, and tapped him on the shoulder.
She took the bowl of what was left of her soup, and sat it on the table. Suddenly, his cell rang, and he stood to take it out of his pocket. He glanced at the screen, and held up a hand. "I'll be right back, I swear, I just have to take this call." he told her.
She nodded, and then suddenly felt his lips on her forehead, and then he was gone. She sat quietly minding her own business, and glancing around the room, then out the window. It was still raining hard, and she had to wonder what the hell was up with this bi-polar weather?
Then she heard him raise his voice, and then it was once again lowered. Must've heard something he didn't agree with, she thought.
She then slid her legs over the side, and slowly put herself in the wheelchair next to the bed. With him around, she had gotten pretty good at the whole wheelchair scene.
She rolled herself over to the window, and looked up to the sky. The clouds covered any chances of her seeing any stars, but she then glanced down to the curb. There was the spot where, not too distantly, they had shared their first kiss.
Summer was a strong person, this was true, and usually people needed to lean on her. But every once in a while, she needed to break down, and it seemed Matt had become her very own crutch. It was nice to be on the other side of the mirror for a change.
In walked Matt, looking a little concerned. She turned the chair, and rolled up to him. "What's wrong?" she asked him. He snapped out of whatever thought he had, and looked to her. He smiled. "Nothing." he told her.
"Just a small emergency. I kinda have to go..."
It was a little disappointing, but he did have a job after all. And that job happened to be paying for all the little gifts he brought her.
With this, he left. Nothing else said, just gone. And, so, the room did seem much larger, and quieter than before. She only rolled herself to the bed, and climbed up on the side, rolling onto her back. Tomorrow, and she'd be free.
Seth's funeral was particularly hard to think of, only because it wouldn't be the first friend that's held one. Depressing, yes.
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It seemed that George wasn't going anywhere, but he didn't know why she was sticking around. She seemed content, staring out the window like a child in "aw". In fact, she never seemed to be in a downed mood, nor did she seem to have temper control, among other things...
This was the quietest stretch of time he'd seen out of the girl. She even listened to the oddest music. She had a CD called the "Ditty Bops", which sounded like some kindergarten folk-song.
"We're not far from the airport..." he said, off handedly. She meerly glanced, and then went right back to listening to her song, "Wishful Thinking".
He only shook his head, and drove on. In nature, the dangerous predators always have a warning appearance. Patterns, colors like red and black, etc. But it's been a fact that the even more dangerous ones are the ones that are concealing. So, naturally, Ryan had to wonder exactly how dangerous was George?
She seemed innocent, with her fun-loving, easy going, childish personality, and that was what made her an enigma. Her mood-swings were endless...
"We should sleep there." she said, pointing out a motel to the side of the road in the distance.
"What? Why?"
"Just pull in." she said. "We're going to the airport." he told her. She raised her brow, and dared him to pass the small, and quite abhorrent structure. He chose to keep his eyes on the road, and just as intended, passed the place.
In triumph, he turned to face the girl, and found that things hadn't turned out exactly how he thought it would. She leapt toward him, and took the wheel. Of course, no one would expect such a brash move, so he was taken aback.
She made a screeching "U" turn, in the middle of the highway, and they were soon in the parking lot of the building. Swerving to a halt, he caught his breath.
"You're paying, by the way - and I'm getting MY OWN room..." she told him as she stood out of the car, which was hers, so any problems that may have taken effect was her fault. "What the hell is wrong with you!" he yelled after her.
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Champagne was a nice companion, that it was. At least Marrisa seemed to think so. Of course, champagne wasn't a living, breathing thing, but it was more satisfying than her husband could ever be.
She looked around to all the happy little couples. All young, of course, or else they wouldn't be so chipper and cheerful. Sharing bites, laughing, discussing every aspect of their meaningless little lives. They'll wake up one day and realize that their lives have passed by, wasted by marriage.
Candle light was nice, dim was more the word, to conceal her tears, but show off her beauty. She was seated, alone, at the fourth table along the wall. The table she found the most beautiful in the entire restaurant, but never got the chance to enjoy due to her husband hating the spot. But he wasn't here to
tell her no. Now she could sit here as much as she goddamn very well pleased.
"More, miss?" she heard. She glanced to her left where the young man stood. She held out her glass, and he tipped the mouth of the bottle. Out poured the golden liquid, and she looked at his face.
"Champagne is for celebrating, and that's what I'm doing." she said, wiping away the last stream of salty tears. He was young, maybe twenty one. Her glass full, he lifted the bottle and stopped.
"So what's the occasion?" he asked. She took one long drink and sat the glass on the table. "My husband's dead." she replied. He then sat down opposite of her, and the bottle as well.
"I'm sorry to hear that." he said.
"Don't be." she told him, taking another drink, finishing off the glass. "He used to beat me whenever he got drunk, which was every night. So last week he was out in the back yard and I just pushed him right in the wood-chipper." She said, motioning with her free hand the pushing motion, and then watching the air before her as if watching him fall in.
"I told the police he fell in - do you mind?" she said, pushing her glass forward once more. He quickly grabbed the bottle and poured another glass.
"So anyway, those little brat kids of his got his company, his "empire", but I got half of the money and his life insurance settlement." she said. She swirled the glass around, and watched the liquid swish around.
"So how much did you make off with?" he asked. She smiled and took another swig. "It all came out to a
grand total of eight hundred and ninety-seven..."
"Eh, should've been more, with him beating on you and all...but eight hundred and ninety-seven thousand's almost a million, so..." he said, leaning back in the seat. She shook her head. "No no no...You didn't get it. Eight hundred and ninety-seven million dollars."
"Holy shit!" he yelled. The chatter that had been flowing had come to a slight pause, and then continued.
"Sorry." he said.
She shook her head, and waved her hand. "It's alright. Drink with me." she told him.
"Actually, I've got to..."
"Nonsense. You sit there and pour yourself a drink." she said. He shrugged, and did as he was told.
"You know, it's ironic..." she said as she stared at the glass. He looked around. "What?"
"Read the label on the bottle." she told him, and looked around. He lifted the bottle, and read; GORMLEY GOURMET - THE FINEST THING IN LIFE IS LIFE ITSELF. He looked back up to her, who had begun to laugh.
"Here I am, drinking to his death with his own champagne...There's the comedy."
"Your husband was the Gormley Gourmet king?" he said. The phrase, with her explanation did make the situation comical, he admitted. She nodded.
"Marrisa Gormley. Married to the sonofabitch for seven years...But, it all worked out in the end. I'm rich and the bastard's manure." she smiled. Sure, it was a little disturbing how comfortable she was about openly being a murderer. But he did admire how well she handled some things.
"So, what's your story?" she asked.
"Uh -Well, I came here from Utah to try and make a living, and here I am." he said. She gave him a look of sorts, and then stared. "But what's your story?"
"I just told you."
"No, you just told me background information. But not your story. There must be a reason that you left, or that you've stayed here for as long as you've been here."
"I came her because it's far enough from Utah. I just couldn't stand living there." he said.
"Ah, so what, you had a bad relationship or something?"
"No, I grew up in a town called Roy. Seven sisters, only boy, two parents, etc. Of course I was raised Mormon, but I don't practice it or claim it...It's just that living there kinda makes you feel like you're going nowhere...So I got away. Try to make a name for myself. Been here almost two years."
"And you're still working here?" she asked. He played mock-hurt, but she just continued to drink. "So what is it that you do?"
"I paint and draw."
"How typical...everybody's trying to get rich quick with that nowadays."
"Yeah, well it's what I'm good at." he said. He scratched his head, and looked around. "I had a good teacher, and a natural talent, so I guess it's my life's passion."
"Oh I see." she said. It was as if she was observing him. He found it a bit strange, but she seemed a little off-center herself. Or she could just be mourning in her own way, who knows.
"So what about you?" He asked. "Well," she began. "I came here from Madrid, and worked as a waitress, until I met my husband, and since then I had been a house wife. No kids, just those bastard little step children, but they're all grown up and on their own."
"I can tell by your accent that you came from some Spanish-speaking country." he told her. "How do you know I'm not from here, and was just raised speaking Spanish?"
"I just can." he replied. She was a little skeptical about his answer, but nodded all the same. "However, you still didn't tell me your story."
"I know." she winked. "Well, I have to go, but it was nice talking to you anyway." she told him. She pulled out a bill, and laid it on the table. "Keep the change." she told him. He took the bill, and examined it - if she cheated him, it'd be out of his own pocket.
Then his eyes widened as he saw the amount. On all four corners, it read 100,000. Then there was a loud flash, and he fell to the table, his blood clutching the cloth in vein. She looked at the mess of brain, blood, and mucus. In fact, on of his eyes was on the ground, apparently focused on her.
The restaurant became a flustered bustle, and she put the gun back into her purse. Target destroyed, and she was finished. already gone.
As she was driving down the freeway, there came a call to her small, red phone.
"Hello Regan. The job's done." she said. She knew who it was, because it was a private phone. "Easy enough, but the kid was a little bland..." she added.
"I know I promised you the week off, but you're being re-assigned." He told her. She rolled her eyes, and sighed.
"So who's the new target?"
"A young man by the name of Ryan Atwood. All information is being sent to your laptop."
"Another kid, eh? Man...You're getting a little bitter toward today's youth, you know that?"
"The boss want this one done without question."
"Oh I see. That important?"
There was a click, and she tossed the phone on the seat. Ass, she thought. With one hand, since she was driving, she lifted the laptop screen on the dashboard, and the file automatically opened.
"Ryan huh? Blonde hair, yadda yadda yadda, blood type O-positive...California? Damn..." She really didn't want to travel to California, but she had no choice. But if he was as important as Regan made him out to be, then the pay-off will be of worth.
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"Why the hell are we even here?" he asked. He had debated with himself whether or not he really wanted to know. He hadn't known George long, but knew that whatever came form her mind was disturbing enough.
"I've got a friend that's going to meet us."
"You're involving other people?" he sighed. "Can I at least know who it is? Is it someone I already know?"
"Hmm...that's a trick question. Her name's Brody, and you've probably her of her..."
"Brody? That's it?"
"What? She asked, sitting on the edge of HIS bed. She bitched about getting her own room, but hadn't set foot in it yet.
"Nothing, I was just expecting you to start telling me her life story..."
"Well, if you reeaaally want it..."
"No, it's fine!" he rushed in.
"Her name's Brody, she's from Melbourne
Fitzroy, Melbourne Fitzroy, Melbourne
She grew up on Bell street, then on Bennett street
Her mom kicked out her dad for battery
Found a way, found a way,
She found a way out of spiritual penury"
"-Was a single mother in an urban struggle, yeah yeah. I know the song." he interrupted. She shrugged.
"Wait. You've gotta be kidding me...Brody Dalle, the front man, er-woman, for the Distillers is coming to meet us here?"
"Yep."
"How the hell do you even know her?"
"Hey, I know people, okay? Jeez, lay off my damn case..."
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A/N: Will George turn out to be secretly stable, or is she really just a moody-psycho? Will Ryan ever get to the Airport? Will Brody Dalle (for those of you who actually know her) really be in the next chapter? So many questions...and such a lazy author...