For fuck's sake, she's fine. His damned body wouldn't stop shaking. Stop it.
He pushes the young man against the brick wall. "You motherfucker—you don't even know what pain is."
He grips the neck, preventing a reply. "Think you have it rough, do you? Figured you'd try your luck, did you? Thought you had any right to be with her?"
The face twists and contorts. He throws the body to the ground. "One more fucking time, and you're fucking dead."
He spits on the face, raises his foot, and stomps the beanie off the head.
He moves to the door. Taking the key, he pushes it into the lock, rotates it, and pulls the door open.
Turning to look back at the body on the ground, he holds the door open with his foot. He removes the key from the lock and says, "Just… Stay away from her."
Entering, he grabs the handle and pulls the door closed. A firm thud and click confirm it's locked.
He walks over to pull the washroom door open. Mercifully it is empty. Walking over to the sink, he lets the water flow, and looks in the mirror.
His face glows red. But thankfully it doesn't look possible to tell if it's from anger, or from his own pain.
With his back against the door, he stared at the floor. The same grainy gray as elsewhere. Only a whir carrying over from the back of the room set it apart from the others.
Keeping his head low, he looked around. More wooden benches. A raised platform at the end. Just another performance hall. She was taken here to perform. There she'd be waiting at the end. It was just a matter of getting there. Dragging his feet forward, he began his journey.
Bits and pieces of wood on the floor. A smashed bench. His breathing became labored. What happened here?
Familiar voice. Look up, see beanie. Accusations, foul language. Over the fence—must act.
Altaria's body stiffening. Throw umbrella at target. Wrap Altaria in arms, pull her up, hold her close. Run toward vehicle, command to open door.
Push Altaria onto seat, careful with wings. Turn around, push body against door. Command to leave.
Turn toward target, feet wide apart, arms in front.
Target stands still. Vehicle screeching.
Step by step his feet dragged him on. A long walk, but no worse than any other of his searches. Just a matter of getting to the end now.
Saws, hammers, hand drill. All kinds of tools on the floor. But of course maintenance men would use these, renovating a place still in use. Audiences big and small would fit right in. Just another performance hall for the star.
Target running toward stage. Fingers grabbing edge of platform. Weapon ready, arms straightened, aiming at chest.
Shots fired. Audience screaming and running around. Must keep focus. Target's fingers start losing grip, body begins to slide down. Beanie falls on ground.
Shout for co‐performers to block Altaria's view. Target's body red from blood.
Murderer. The word would not leave him alone. Maybe he hadn't done the right thing. Maybe he had overreacted. But to protect the star was his task.
It didn't matter now. The Tarnows' wealth and influence had saved him from his sentence.
Just a matter of reaching the end now. Taking hold of the end‐caps on the benches, he pushed on.
The intense sunlight eases into a tolerable brightness as he pulls the vehicle door closed. He turns to look at Altaria. She sits in the middle, staring at the floor in silence.
He places his arm around her, his palm seeking to caress her drooping wing. He leans toward her. "It's fine."
Moving his hand around her wing, he looks down at the rubber mat her eyes focus on. Her wing feels stiff. "You did your best."
He pulls her trembling body closer. "It's fine."
She's fine, he told himself. His eyelids drooped, his hands shook, his grip faltered.
Why did his legs not seem to have the energy to carry him on, he could not understand. Everything was going to be restored. Once again she would sing her song.
What he's doing here, he can't understand. It's just an Altaria. Rare maybe in Johto, but what about it. Just somehow, he's intrigued. Maybe this is it, he's finally lost it. As a security guard, he sees the worst. In the shadow of night, he becomes no better.
It's her first show. The hall is empty enough, he can sit alone in the back. Nobody's gonna bother, it's a good place. Others take their seats closer to the front. Scum, all of them. Moment you let your guard down, they stab you right in the back.
Hard plastic chairs. What do you expect, it's a Tarnow show.
Spotlight turns on. The red curtains rise. Why is it getting hard to breathe. Why is something stuck in his throat. Why is his heart beating so damned fast.
Altaria walks onto the stage, her body swaying with each step. Why does it feel like something in his body is burning. She spreads her cottony wings, and lets out a little chirp.
He clenches his fists and stands up. Mercifully he is alone in the back. Why is he unable to control himself? She begins her song. Why is he crying? Why does she have so much power over him?
No, not a sad song, not this. Whatever he was hearing in his head was not right.
Edge of platform reached, almost there now. He glanced sideways, where a set of stairs led up. A storm raged in the walls. Bolts of light gray clashed against waves of dark gray.
Not a song calling upon him, no, not one filled with fear and concern.
One foot after another he lifted, climbing up the stairs. Fine platform, good for performing. His journey was about to end.
Only this wasn't it, no, not a song of how she cared about him. How could it be—he had failed his task. Failed? He lifted his head, eyes climbing to center upon a set of metallic bars.
A cloud. Inside a cage. His knees gave way, he collapsed onto the platform. He could only laugh. All these tears forcing their way through. There was no pain. There was nothing left to be felt.
With a feeble grip, he pulled on the bars, dragging his body closer. There she'd been all along. Just as he'd said. His trembling hand searched for the beak that once let out song with power to calm the strongest storm. He could not see beyond the veil of tears, not hear beyond the ringing in his head. But with a touch of her body, he knew it was over.
Here lay the one he should have given his everything to protect. Here was the final confirmation of his inability to save life. His incapability of caring for the one and only he had ever loved.
Faint strips of light escape into the hallway. This is their chance to be together, alone. The white‐painted door and the shining gaps between it and its frame provide the perfect image for the moment.
He glances around the hallway. Shadows and silhouettes in a variety of shapes, but he's definitely alone. Once a thief, always a thief. The thought makes him smile. But there's nothing wrong with what he's about to do now.
He takes out a black roll and lays it on a nearby table. Lock picking is a skill he once depended on for survival, but today his loot is going to be different. He unfurls the roll, and looks over the selection of picks. He takes out the L‐shaped tension wrench, and moves to examine the lock.
A standard pin tumbler. It could be raked for speed, or he may pick the pins one at a time. His preference has always been to work in the shadows, unseen. He can take his time. No one is coming for you Altaria, he thinks with a grin.
Moving over to the collection of picking tools, he selects a thin rod of metal ending in a hook. Returning to the lock, he bends his knees to be closer, and inserts the pair of tools into the keyway. He pushes the hook against the first pin, feeling for its correct position. He looks out the window.
The clouds outside move, uncovering the moon. Additional light finds its way into the hallway. A droplet hitting water, rippling its surface. This is no time to lose his calm. One by one the pins find their positions as he applies torque with the wrench to keep them in place.
Keeping his skills sharp over the years pays off, and with a turn of the wrench the door opens. His body shivers, unable to stay still. He leans forward, pushing the door in. There she sits on her royal‐purple cushion. He steps in, and pushes the door against its frame. A pair of curtains cover the window at the end of the room. Only a fragment of the light pierces the purple cloth, but it's enough for him.
His smile widens as he steps closer to Altaria. She is so adorable. For a moment he is lost in thought, able only to stare at her.
Everyone says it's wrong. But to him, it's the most natural thing in the world, the most beautiful thing in life. Nobody understands, but so what. There was a time when he lived in denial, but that is in the past. He has made his decision, and he is ready.
Only she is… What does it matter. He looks at the carpet, gritting his teeth. It wouldn't mean anything to her anyway. It's one‐sided, it can only be. Even if it hurts, and it does, he has to accept it.
He clenches his fists as a tightness overtakes his throat. His breathing becomes heavy and coarse. He steps away, pushing his hands against a chest of drawers. The dark wood glows softly in the moonlight. He whispers, "Altaria, you will never understand how much you mean to me."
The rounded edge presses against his palms. "Before I met you…" He looks up, staring at the wall. "…I was my own prisoner, trapped in a world with nothing to see. An endless sea of darkness with nowhere to go, nothing to be found."
He feels tears forming in his eyes, and lifts a hand to brush them away. "Altaria, you are my light."
He turns his head to see Altaria in the corner of his eye. There she sits in silence, opening her beak only to breathe.
With a firm turn of the head, he looks straight at her and whispers, "Altaria… Even if it doesn't mean anything to you." He looks away, before continuing, "Let them think I'm a fool, a degenerate, whatever. I will not hold back."
He gets on his knees in front of her. His breathing is rapid, but his mind is focused. He closes his eyes, unable to look at her. He whispers, "Altaria, I—".
A cooling gust of wind blows into the room, its whistling interrupting him. He pauses for a moment to calm his breathing.
He whispers to her, "I wish to be with you always. Altaria… I love you."
He opens his eyes. Her golden body is shining in the moonlight. He looks to the window, his eyes widening. The curtains have parted, forming a gap, letting light hit her directly. He looks back. Slowly her eyes open. He leans backward, his heart throbbing. She looks him directly in the eyes.
Hastily he turns around, afraid someone's there. The white door stands in place as before, the space between them is empty. He turns back, expecting her to only have been a dream. Their eyes meet, and he's unable to move a muscle in all his tension.
Did she hear him, could it be… she understood him?
Only the truth was, he had betrayed her. Betrayed everything he should ever have stood for. He had not truly loved her.
If he had truly loved her, he would have put her above everything. In reality, he had given in to envy and wrath. Even more shamefully, perhaps he had even given way to his own lust for her.
He had failed Altaria, failed himself. He had failed the one who taught him. The time had come to face the truth. He turned to lie on his back, and closed his eyes. His thoughts returned to a distant past, to a memory from nearly two decades ago.
I understand now.
It was you who closed the door. You wanted me to live.
We were meant to escape together. Only you couldn't make it.
Your screams haunt me to this day. But you taught me what love meant.
I thought I could never love like you did. I thought I could never be as you were.
You left me alone. You wanted me to survive.
Turns out I was right. I could never learn to love as you did.
I have failed you, as I failed the one I thought I loved.
I'm sorry, mother.
He reached underneath his jacket, his hand searching for a solution. His fingers curled around the plastic grip, its rough texture a comfort. With a tug, the holster gave up its weapon.
He raised the weapon into view. It was almost as if there were droplets of water forming on the barrel. He turned his head, thinking he could hear sounds from the distance. A cacophony of chaos, tones mixing together without harmony. Just as him, acting without understanding.
He has already killed one. The path of a killer. So be it. He wouldn't let anyone frighten Altaria again.
Only trusted individuals have access to the backstage corridor. Altaria is safely locked in the unmarked room. She needs to be calm and ready for the night's performance.
He has to make sure those lowlife losers don't try anything.
Only one task remained to take care of. His life no longer had meaning. There was no purpose in going on.
He pushes the key in the lock. Why does it feel so strange? Somehow weak. Why is the door ajar?
His heart rate climbs as he examines the door. It seems closed. He turns the key, but its movement is jagged and rigid. He loses his temper and grabs the door by its edge, yanking it open.
It's dark. Why is it so fucking dark? He left the lights on. He would never leave Altaria in the dark. "Altaria, where are you?" he calls out to her, stepping further in. His voice is gruff, like a growl.
The fucking light switch, where is it? His hand searches for the button against the wall. For fuck's sake. His fingertips feel nothing but the coldness of the wall, until at last they find the familiar plastic. He presses the switch and the room lights up.
Empty. He grits his teeth and clenches his fists. Only her favorite, royal‐purple cushion. His body tenses up. Unable to think, he can only stand still. It cannot be. Where is she?
Letting his arm descend to his side, he pushed the barrel against his head. The metal felt cool, the pressure relaxing. He closed his eyes, imagining the one he loved.
Her cheeks white and pure, like snow topping the mountains of untamed wilderness. Her perfectly round head, topped by a pair of plumes. Her eyes, lively and joyous, radiating her loving affection. Her beak, letting out the most loving of tones.
Altaria…
With one final thought occupying his mind, he pulled back the trigger and ended his life.
Forgive me.