Midnight Blues
11. Celluloid Nightmare
"Tell me, Ms Green, do you trust me?"
The girl nodded, her big brown eyes glittering in the candle light. "Yes, Mr Locke."
He had been working on the girl for weeks, getting her to trust him, to devote herself to him. Ultimately, she hadn't been particularly hard to bend to his will, as susceptible to fine wine and gifts as any young lady, but he still considered every one of his "subject cases" to be a work of art, of exquisite care and devotion from beginning to end.
"How much do you trust me?"
Her huge doe eyes gazed up at him adoringly and he knew he had her. "More'n anyone, Mr Locke."
He smiled down at her benevolently, one hand cupping her cheek. "Enough to trust me with your life?" It was very important that his subjects trust him, submitting themselves to him willingly.
She nodded vigorously. "Oh yes, Mr Locke," she oozed, eager to please. "My life is in your hands."
But she hadn't been so eager once she had seen his tools. No, they never were. It was all he could do to ignore all her incessant screaming. But he had persevered. She hadn't lasted nearly as long as he would have hoped, vigorous young creature that she was.
Four hours later a sheen of sweat had formed on his brow and he wiped it away on the sleeve of his shirt. He was bloody to the elbows, flecks of blood and gore marring the perfect white of his clothing.
Two hazel eyes stared blindly up at the ceiling, their owner long ago having lost their use.
"Oh what a shame," the smooth masculine voice whispered as it's owner slowly ran a finger along the young woman's soft cheek, leaving a sticky wet trail along her pale skin. "I was hoping you'd last a bit longer."
A slender and elegant hand arranged the woman's organs about her, its twin using a wickedly curved blade to further the grisly work. Long slashes covered the woman's body as slowly congealing blood continued to ooze from numerous wounds. Everything had to be laid out just so…
He stood back and admired his work. Ever the precise artist, he had placed everything exactly in the right place as he had countless times before, the blue snakes of the young woman's intestines curving in intricate designs around her pale body, her heart lying naked and detached in her empty chest cavity, clean white ribs gleaming in the candle light. He reached in and took the still warm heart in his hand, squeezing gently and watching in rapt fascination as thick dark blood oozed down over his slightly flushed skin. He could feel the whisperer's all around him, sighing to him the meaning in the carnage.
"Oh interesting… how very interesting indeed."
Faye stirred, her mind still pleasantly muddled from sleep. She didn't want to move. This was her favorite part of the day, when her bed was warm and cozy and her position just right so as to maximize physical comfort. She stretched and yawned blinking sleepily up at the cold bare ceiling of her little room. She had awoken from the most pleasant sleep, refusing to open her eyes lest the trailing wisps of her dream fade away completely. She had been lying…somewhere. Spike had been there, too. She could still feel his body wrapped around her, could still feel his warmth as her mind slowly rose out of its sleepy fog.
The feeling stirred behind her and she blinked down at the source of the sensation. Sure enough there was an arm wrapped firmly around her waist holding her where she lay. A tiny flutter in the pit of her stomach greeted the sight. It seemed that she hadn't been dreaming after all. Quietly and with great care Faye released herself from his grip, making sure not to disturb him as he lay beside her breathing softly.
She paused to regard him. How different he looked in his sleep, how much more at ease. A small frown creased his brow as she pulled away, a low murmur escaping his slightly parted lips. Once she would have made sure that he had a most unpleasant awakening. Once she would have taken great pleasure in disturbing his sleep. That had been the same time she would have cut and run with all their cash and not have thought twice about it. That had been before.
With a jaw cracking yawn, Faye slipped out of her room, leaving Spike to sleep away the afternoon. God knows he could use the rest, she thought to herself as she padded down the hall.
Jet sat at the kitchen table, his hand curled around a cup of coffee.
"Mornin'," Faye mumbled as she shuffled into the room. "Any more coffee?"
Jet grunted, gesturing behind him vaguely. Faye frowned, but made her way over and poured herself a cup. Her frown deepened.
"Jet, this is cold."
He muttered distractedly and she noticed that there was no steam rising from his cup.
"Jet, is everything ok?"
"Yeah, uh huh," he replied, obviously preoccupied with something. "Where's Spike?" he asked, looking at her for the first time.
"Sleeping."
Jet's frown increased. "He's not in his room, or on the couch."
Faye considered her cold coffee, clearing her throat before replying. "He's in my room."
There was a long pause. "He's in your room?"
"Yeah." She watched sadly as her attempt at nonchalance failed miserably.
Jet gave her a strange look before shrugging. "Don't tell me. I don't want to know. I have no opinion," he muttered uncomfortably.
She pulled a chair out across from him at the table. "Why don't you tell me what's bothering you, then."
This seemed to be the last thing Jet wanted to do. He rubbed his bald head. "I…ah…"
"Jet." She looked him straight in the eye. "Talk to me."
"I just remembered I had to fix…something," he said as he pushed back from the table abruptly.
Faye stared at him. "Jet…"
"It can wait," he said, tiredly. "Spike isn't strong enough, yet, and you…you'll just..."
"It's him isn't it?"
Jet stopped at the door, his shoulders seeming to slump a little.
Faye sat back in her chair. "Do you know where he is?"
"Faye," Jet began softly. "Don't do anything stupid." He turned and regarded her silently for a moment. "We nearly lost you to him once. Losing you again…" His eyes dropped to the floor. "He needs you, Faye." Her eyes snapped to his back. "I don't know if he knows it, but he needs you."
Faye stared unblinkingly at the spot where Jet had just been, her brows furrowed deeply. She stood quickly and followed Jet out of the kitchen, her cold coffee long forgotten on the table. She found him seated on the couch in the common room smoking, his eyes closed, his countenance troubled.
"Jet."
He took a long drag on his cigarette, inhaling deeply and then letting go, releasing the smoke in one long uninterrupted stream.
"Where is he?"
Jet shrugged. "He killed a girl in Aruba City," he said carefully. "But the authorities have no idea where he is now. They think he might be hiding out in New Paris. Could be anywhere on Mars."
Faye's brows knit together thoughtfully as she listened to her friend speak. "Are they sure he's on Mars?"
He nodded wearily.
"Don't tell Spike," she said, looking down at him.
Jet raised an eyebrow.
"You know why not." She leaned forward, her face deadly serious. "Don't tell him."
Jet shrugged. "It's not Spike I'm worried about," he said looking up at her meaningfully. "Just promise you won't do anything rash."
Faye regarded him silently for a moment. "You know I can't," she whispered.
"Yeah," he muttered resignedly. "And I know I can't stop you, either. Stubborn idiots, the both of you, always wanting to run off and get yourselves killed."
Faye sat on the yellow couch in silence as she watched Jet get up and walk out of the room. He looked so tired, so old. A pang of quilt lanced through her. Jet had become a father to her. She leaned back and closed her eyes, remembering the hurt and the betrayal and the something else that had crushed her when Spike had walked away from them. And now she was about to do the same thing.
Her eyes prickled with the first signs of oncoming tears and she shoved them away. She was finally beginning to understand why Spike had gone, why he had abandoned them. She found it didn't make his leaving any less painful.
The halls of the Bebop were cold and empty as she made her way back to her room. Spike was still asleep on her bed when she crept inside, her heart set and determined. Quickly slipping into her usual yellow vinyl, she lifted the Glock from her bed stand, shoving it into the waistband of her pants. He stirred as she began tossing various things into a large blue duffel bag on the floor.
"Hey," he murmured, his fluffy green hair partially obscuring his eyes. "What're you doing?" he asked sleepily as he peered at her over a pile of bedding.
"I have to go," she said, refusing to meet his eyes.
He watched her for a moment silently all signs of sleepiness gone. "Where?"
"Away."
Spike slid off the bed to stand over her. "No."
"What do you mean no?" She straightened to squint up at him. There was a strange look in his mismatched eyes.
"You're not leaving...this ship."
She glared up at him, his demanding tone rubbing her the wrong way. "Watch me."
"I know what you're going to do, and I'm not going to let you go."
"Oh I see how it is. It's all ok when you want to go waltzing off to find yourself, but when I want to—"
"Shut up, Faye, for once in your life. I had a reason for—"
"So do I!"
"Bull shit," he snarled, advancing on her. "You're not leaving. I don't care if I have to tie you up—"
She pulled her gun and glared up at him coldly, her heart breaking as she aimed the weapon at his chest. "Try it."
Spike stared down at her, his eyes narrowed as he eyed the gun in her hand. He reached out and grasped the barrel of her gun, bringing it to bear on his own head. "Do it," he whispered.
Faye wanted to scream as her gaze locked with his. Please, Spike, don't…
"Hypocrite."
She blinked up at him and her expression became confused.
"You've done nothing but give me shit since I came back, and now you're leaving. You're following in my footsteps." The tension left his shoulders as he watched her and he seemed somehow diminished. "I'd be proud if I didn't already know how the story ends," he said quietly.
Her arm dropped, letting the gun dangle at her side. "Then you know I can't stay," she said softly as she held his gaze.
He stepped towards her again, running a calloused thumb along her jaw. "I know," he whispered, his eyes speaking the volumes he knew he could never say. Dipping his head, he placed a lingering kiss on her lips, tasting her.
Faye was at a loss. She could feel her heart shattering as his lips pressed softly against her own. She wanted nothing more than to simply melt against him, to wrap her arms around him and never let go. And that, she realized, was why she had to leave. With agonizing slowness, she pushed him away. Her hand drifted to her lips where she could still feel the imprint of his lips burning. Her gaze floated across his face to the bandage at his shoulder and the white bandages wrapped around his middle.
"Spike, I have to go," she whispered searching dark garnet his eyes.
He looked somehow defeated. "You're making a mistake."
A small sad smile crept across her lips. "It's my mistake to make," she said and turned, walking out of the dark room.
Spike sat numbly on Faye's cold bed and lit a much needed cigarette. The stupid woman was going to get herself killed. But what did he care? The emptiness inside him answered the silent question. The wound in his side began to ache dully and he covered it with a warm hand.
This wasn't right. He was the one who was supposed to deal with Sanders. He was the one who should be risking his life to protect the Bebop. He was the one who was supposed protect Faye.
He found Jet with his bonsai, sitting and staring at the tiny silvery leaves.
"Jet."
Jet grunted.
"I have to go."
Jet searched the foliage of his bonsai as if they had all the answers and all he had to do was find them. "…I see."
"She's gone, Jet."
Jet finally turned tired eyes upon his younger friend. "I know."
Spike glared at his old partner, anger rising within him. "You knew, and you didn't do anything? You didn't try to stop her?"
"You couldn't stop her, Spike. Do you really think I could have?" He turned back to the bonsai vacantly. "I couldn't have stopped you, either."
Spike's expression softened. "Jet…"
"It's not my place, Spike. It's not your's either. Especially not you."
Spike mulled over Jet's words in silence for a few long moments. "I'm going after her."
Jet looked up at him from the corner of his eye. "Good."
Spike raised a dark brow at his friend.
Jet shrugged. "She can't get mad at me for sending you if you decided to go all by yourself," he replied simply, rubbing his head. "You'd better come home."
Home. Yeah, this probably was home. A lopsided smile edged across Spike's darkly handsome features and he pushed away from the wall he had been leaning against. "I always do…eventually."
-------
"It seems," the velvety dark voice whispered as once lively hazel eyes stared up at the ceiling. They had begun to cloud over. "That we will be having company quite soon."
The man placed a soft kiss on the girl's cold lips as he ran his hands through her soft brown hair. It had become matted with blood in several places. He kissed her neck softly as he buried his hands in her body, the warmth of her blood sending small shivers down his spine.
The voices continued to whisper as he took his pleasure. It was a most amazing feeling, to have more inside her than just his hands.
All he had to do was wait and she would find her way to him, like a moth to the flame. So the whispers told him.
Spike felt a pang of guilt, the Bebop dropping away behind him as he turned the Swordfish towards Mars once more. Jet was all alone now. Before Faye had been there, and Ed, for a while. Now there was no one. Now Jet was all that was left.
Faye was long gone, but he knew where she was going. He had grown up on Mars, been raised by her streets, raised under that red sky, by men who dealt in red and silver and steel and knew nothing of mercy. Mars had made him who he was, what he was. He had thought he was finished with the red planet, but it seemed she held him closer to her heart than he had anticipated. Mars wasn't finished with Spike Spiegel just yet.
Jet watched from the bridge of the Bebop as the Swordfish disappeared in a glint of starlight. He sighed. It echoed. Everything echoed. He dropped a pen. It echoed. He walked down the hall. His footsteps echoed. He was truly alone now, his life reduced to an echo.
But it had never been Jet's style to mope around, never having been one to feel sorry for himself. There was no point in starting now. He would just have to deal with it, just like he always had.
A pained groan slipped from his lips as he sat by his bonsai forest, his back protesting loudly. Damn his joints, but he was, after all, getting old. His friends had left him for the last time, empty promises on their lips as they turned their backs on him. What had he expected? There was nothing for Faye Valentine on a rickety old ship like the Bebop. She had probably just used Sanders as an excuse to leave. She would find herself some rich husband and swindle him blind. There was even less for Spike on the aging fishing vessel. He'd always been a restless one and Jet had known that it would only be a matter of time before his ghosts would catch up to him. Although as to which ghost of the past Spike had gone off chasing this time, Jet was at a loss.
Maybe they'd come back. Maybe Faye really was going after Sanders, maybe it was her past that had torn her away. Jet snorted. And maybe Spike was chasing his future for a change He shook his head as he examined his little trees. Unlikely, not that he cared much either way. Those two had been nothing but trouble, always whining and complaining, taking up his space, eating his food, ruining his peace and quiet. He was an old man, he needed his quiet…
He watched as a slender branch fell from one of his trees, snipped by the sharp blades of his pruning sheers. Damn…too close… He inspected the tree's wound carefully and set down his sheers. It was no good.It was too quiet.
Maybe he'd go back to Ganymede. He could retire there, maybe start up that restaurant he'd always dreamed of owning. Yeah, that would be nice…
----
Faye leaned back comfortably against the well polished bar watching couples dancing to a soft meringue. She had been on Mars for nearly two weeks and had found no sign of her quarry. The ice in the cosmopolitan in her hand clinked as she lifted the glass to her lips and took a sip.
A dark haired woman standing just to the side of the elegantly dressed band in a pool of light began to sing in a low sultry voice. "I wish a falling star could fall forever…And sparkle through the clouds and stormy weather…"
Faye made a face and took another gulp of her drink. Next time she'd order something stiffer. That was the problem with music.
"And in the darkness of the night
The star would shine a glimmering light
And hover above for love…"
There was always a song that said exactly what you didn't want to hear.
"Please hold me close and whisper that you love me
And promise that your dreams are only of me.
When you are near everything's clear
Earth is a beautiful heaven.
Always I hope that we follow the star and be forever floating above..."
The dancers whirled gracefully on the dance floor, their shoes clicking in time to the beat as Faye tapped her glass along with the tempo in spite of herself.
"I know a falling star can't fall forever…"
Faye grimaced and drained her glass, rapping the bar sharply to get the bartender's attention.
"But let's never stop falling in love…"
She gestured for a second drink and soon there was a fresh glass in her hand, the rosy pink liquid glinting invitingly. The soft music washed over her and she looked down into her drink.
"I know a falling star can't fall forever,
But let's never stop falling in love, no let's never stop falling in love…"
The woman's velvety voice trailed off and the band took over, the music swelling as the rhythm and the softly playing trumpets melting together, dancers performing a few last turns on the dimly lit dance floor. The song ended and the dancers applauded the band, several couples drifting away to their own little private corners, others staying by for the next dance.
But Faye had had enough. For twelve days she had systematically followed every lead, every whisper as to the whereabouts of her prey, but each path had ended in a cold dark wall. A dead end.
Sometimes she wondered about Jet and how he was getting along. She had been meaning to contact him, if only to let him know she was still alive, but she had never known quite what to say. But it was time to go. This lead had failed her just like all the others. With a sigh, she downed the rest of her drink, dropping a few crumpled bills on the bar and made her way out of the smoky jazz club.
The chill air made her shiver as she pulled her long black jacket around her more closely. She'd try again tomorrow. She always tried again tomorrow.
She hailed a cab and slid into the back seat, the name of her hotel sliding from her lips like so much silk. The cabbie took her direction silently and pulled out into the dark street.
The hotel doorman greeted her at the grand entrance with a nod and she brushed past him, the sweeping elegance and plush furnishings going completely unnoticed. She stepped into an elevator done in gold and cream, plush carpeting muffling her steps. The young bellhop took her to the eighth floor and she made her way wearily to her room, sliding the key card in the door and slipping inside.
The room was just as she'd left it. Cold and empty. With a tired sigh, she sat at the mahogany table beside the sweeping windows, her head dropping into her hands. There was a blinking light on the hotel telephone.
Her brow furrowed. She called down to the front desk.
"Oh yes," a man's voice responded to her query. "There is a message for you at the font desk."
Faye frowned. Nobody knew where she was. Who would have left her a message? "A message? From who?"
The man cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Monsieur did not say, madam. Shall I have the message sent up to your room?"
Why the hell not? "Sure," she said wearily.
"Yes, madam. Very good, madam. Demetri will be up in a moment."
Faye thanked the man and dropped the receiver back onto its stand. She rather liked the old style telephones in the hotel. Whoever had been in charge of décor must have had a love for the old century. The place was practically dripping with 1920s elegance. She had chosen the place for that very reason. It reminded her of how Earth used to be, even though she hadn't been alive then. She felt as if at any moment she could walk into one of those ancient romantic black and white movies where the men were always suave and sophisticated with a cigarette and a glass of brandy close at hand and the women were soft and beautiful in that classic sort of way. She allowed a small smile to cross her lips, recalling that somehow, they always got caught up with the mob. Maybe things weren't so different after all.
Sometimes she wished the world really was all black and white, so you were never left wondering, never left grasping at grays. But then again, the grays had always leant depth to those old black and whites.
There was a soft rap on the door and she found a young man in a black suit standing in the hall, a complimentary bottle of wine in one hand, and an elegant cream colored envelope in the other. It was sealed with gold wax.
Faye stared at the envelope for a moment. Thanking the young man, she closed the door with a quiet click and returned to the dark wood table before pouring herself a glass of wine. She fingered the thick expensive paper of the envelope on the table as she eyed the seal. The golden wax had been pressed into an intricate sunburst.
With a slightly shaking hand, she broke the seal. Inside was folded a plain but heavy sheet of white paper with three short lines of writing.
Friday six o'clock
La Casa Blanca
Wear black.
Faye's eyes scanned the message again as if searching for something she'd missed. There was no illusion in her mind as to who had sent her the message. La Casa Blanca? He had to be kidding. He was toying with her. It looked like she'd get to step into her old black and white after all.
It was Thursday night. She still had some time to prepare. This time, she wasn't going to succumb so easily. This time, she'd be ready.
With one swift motion she dialed the front desk. "I'll need a car for tomorrow night… ah, yes… six o'clock…La Casa Blanca…Thank you, Andre."
She sat back in her chair. So she'd make him wait a bit. Let him itch, she thought darkly. She went quickly to her duffel and pulled out the slinky black dress she had worn so long ago. The silky hiss of the fabric on her skin reminding her of the little Italian restaurant Spike had taken her to.
A tiny frown creased her brow. Spike. She could feel a little of her determination slip as she remembered the pain in his eyes when she'd left. Her jaw clenched. He'd felt no remorse when he'd left, no guilt at the pain in her eyes. No, she would deal with Sanders first, and then she'd…she'd what, go back? Say, 'Ok, Spike. I can love you now'?
With a grimace she pushed Spike from her mind. It was time to end the hunt. This was her game now and Sanders was the prey.
------
So that's where you're hiding… Spike crouched on the roof of a tall building on the south side of upscale New Denmark City, a pair of high powered binoculars in his hands as he watched Faye moving about in her upper class hotel suite. It had taken him much longer than he'd anticipated to track her down, moving from city to city asking the same questions and getting the same answers. She was always one step ahead of him, keeping a low profile, asking minimal questions. She'd been a good girl, and it was making his life difficult.
How she had managed to pay for that suite, though, was something he'd probably never know.
With a self satisfied smirk, Spike hopped down from his perch and sauntered over to where the Swordfish sat, gleaming in the moonlight. He'd finally found her, and now that he had, he would be keeping a very close eye on her. There was no point in letting her know he was there, however, after all, Sanders still had a rather hefty bounty on his head and he was just a slightly above average bounty hunter. The thought broadened his grin.
He had been a very busy boy. While he had mainly been trying to locate Faye and learning that she had been asking quite a lot of questions, he had been asking quite a few of his own. Unfortunately, the only thing he had discovered was that Faye had become very, very good at covering her tracks and that no one had . Lighting up a cigarette, he blew a cloud of smoke up into the night sky. But he had found her, and that had to account for something, right?
------
There was a loud crash and the hollow sound of a piece of metal spinning to a stop on the cold metal floor and then silence. Jet sat frozen on a work bench, a wrench held poised above a tricky gadget in a panel on the side of the Hammerhead.
"Hello?"
Silence answered him. He had landed on Ganymede about a week ago to restock and refuel and catch up with some old acquaintances and now he was simply retuning a lot of the old equipment, not really wanting to stay, but not wanting to leave, either.
There was an odd snuffling sound from the corner and then nothing.
"Spike?"
Jet set down his wrench, thought better of it, and picked it up again. Whatever it was didn't sound particularly friendly. Slowly, and as silently as he could manage, which as it happened was pretty damn silent, he crept towards the corner of the hangar from where the strange sounds had come.
It was probably nothing. He was probably just hearing things, having been alone in an empty ship for so long. It was just his imagination, a trick of the wind, or something. He thought he could hear something shuffling in the shadows and he strained his entire being trying to see what it was. If it was one of those damn huge rats again… His mind lit on the memory of that lobster gone horribly, horribly wrong and he shoved that thought away with a grimace. He'd cleaned every inch of the ship after that unfortunate incident, and had spent hours lecturing Spike and Faye about stashing food and forgetting about it like a pair of damn idiot squirrels.
The thought of Spike and Faye brought him up short and he momentarily forgot why he was lurking in the shadows with a wrench. They'd been gone for weeks and neither of them had bothered to contact him. He shrugged, resuming his hunt. It didn't matter. They were both adults, although sometimes he doubted it. They had their reasons.
There was a furtive movement in the shadows and Jet lunged for the perpetrator. There was an unholy shriek and a yelp followed by growling and the sound of tearing cloth.
"What the—" Jet grunted as something heavy landed on his chest, the little demon that had attached itself to his leg still growling menacingly as it tore at his pants.
Two enormous glowing eyes peered down at him through the gloom. "Jet-person! It is Eeeeeedward!"
Bewildered, Jet took a closer look at the creature that had perched itself on his chest. Sure enough, once his eyes had adjusted to the darkness, he could make out the wild red hair, the narrow stick-like body and the enormous grin. The beast attached to his leg seemed to shrink, becoming a furry little dog. It was drooling all over his pants.
The little dog gave a sharp bark and scurried off into the darkness, his little nails clicking frantically on the metal floor.
Ed twisted her body and peered after the little dog. "Eeeein?"
Jet peered up at Ed as she sat on his chest. "Ed…" He was at a loss for words. "Why…Where…How did you find me?" He settled for the most glaringly irrelevant question.
The grin snapped back on to the hacker girl's face and she cackled. "Ed followed!" she sang. She leaned down and peered closely at Jet. "Jet-person left loads of bready crumbs for Edward to follow." She frowned suddenly, her eyes searching the hangar. "Where is all the bread?" Her stomach made a loud gurgling noise. "Ed is hungry."
Hey guys! So I'm back in school and I don't know how often I'll be able to update, but I'm feeling the inspiration coming back, so I should be able to keep on updateing, if not as regularly as I might like. Chemistry is a bitch like that, you know? Thanks for all the great feedback. You guys rock. If anyone has any comments or suggestions, please let me know. I always love a little constructive critisism. Sweetness. Love you all! R&R!