Arc VI

Chapter LIII

Canción de la Noche

"There was a house we all had in common and it was called the past, even though we'd lived in different rooms."

Angela Carter - Wise Children

When the morning finally came, it became evident that awkwardness was no longer in the payroll. They were married now, they were partners, but above all that, the long journey they had traveled together had solidified the thread that was now officially knitting them together. Business or pleasure seemed to be the question now but only for a brief moment, as the mercenary looked over his shoulder, addressing his brand-new wife.

"Before we go back to the House of Pleasure, I'd like to stop by my place," he said. "if I'm gonna live there, with you, I'd like to gather my belongings first."

The woman nodded softly as she took a good look at herself in the mirror: her physical appearance had changed so much in so little time she could already hear the hurricane of questions they were surely going to throw her way the minute they entered the brothel. Rosario's right hand, Dakota, had simply vanished one day. But the woman returning now had a different name, a different look, and a controversial husband.

The walk from the hotel to Black's place was not long enough to silence the voices inside her head: would they be able to recognize her in the shape of this stranger, or perhaps they would be too busy trying to link her sudden return to Rosario's death?

Politely, the gunman brushed the woman's shoulder as an attempt to bring her back to reality; the reality that was the room she hated so much. Those oppressing walls were still there, combined with the total lack of a proper sense of coziness. He tried his best to be quick and resolute about things – there wasn't much that he possessed, after all, most of his memories, most of the parts of himself that had once defined him had been locked up in a box a lifetime ago.

Easy to carry and also, easy to ignore.

But the biggest surprise came when the woman looked under his bed and found the bottles. Twenty-four bottles of fine wine. With a puzzled expression, Alexandra grabbed one and stared at the cowboy, looking for an answer.

"I didn't steal the bottles," he clarified, "if you look closely, these are a different brand but that's the only brand I could get."

"But," she mumbled, still confused. "I had forgotten about the missing bottles… in a way, it feels like it happened a million years ago but why, Black? Why did you buy all these bottles?"

He shrugged his shoulders.

"Because somebody has to pay for what's been stolen… eventually. The girls don't have any money and the whole issue with the missing bottles came to light because I exposed it because you gave me a job," he explained as he moved closer to her. "I bet there's gonna be someone willing to say the whole thing happened on your watch."

He had clearly bought the bottles before Earthrealm; the man she had called a beast a thousand times had been looking out for her the whole time.

"For you," he said, "I did it for you."

"You didn't have to."

He offered her a sarcastic smile.

"A simple thank you would have sufficed," the man offered as she smiled nervously, not really knowing if the gesture was because she still couldn't voice the words or if, perhaps, she was getting embarrassed by all the times the gunman had offered a helping hand without hesitating.

"You sound suspiciously carefree, given our current situation, but I'm still concerned that, despite what Yvo has planned, El-A will still try to frame us for Rosario's murder."

"She's just a brat," Black said disdainfully. "She is connected, I won't deny that, but connections alone are not enough to win this war." He sat down next to her, looking into her eyes. "These people have already tried the explosive rebellion and it didn't work; they only caused fear instead of increasing their numbers… now they've chosen to smuggle goods from one realm to the other as their way to corrupt Outworld's laws but if we have a leader in the House of Pleasure, one of our own, we will also gain a figure of influence in the Palace – if Kotal is smart, he won't oppose our leadership because deep down he knows we share the same goal."

His speech was eloquent, yet the colors of her doubt set in her eyes.

"He didn't hesitate way back then, remember?" The doctor said. "He put you in jail, Erron,"

"That was a different thing, back then," he remembered bitterly. "What happened back then was… well, it was almost personal. But this is different. If we can convince him to fight our fight; if we can convince him that there's only one cause to defend…"

She cupped his hands with her own and took a deep breath – those hands of his, shaky and sweaty, were silently giving him away.

"There is there's something I want you to have," the woman reached under her tunic and tried to hand him the gun he had given her back in Earthrealm and the mercenary hesitated for a moment, contemplating the dangers they were surely about to face. Then he withdrew his hands, shaking his head, but the woman insisted. "I really don't know what I'm capable of with this thing in my possession and you know it; you saw me there, Black,"

Kneeling in the rain, before her own grave, with the tip of his gun pressed firmly against her forehead.

He swallowed hard, trying his best to stay calm as the memory presented itself before him. "If you…" he was choosing his words as carefully as possible, "want to hurt yourself, I'm afraid there's not much I can do; I can't watch over you all the time… I do trust you, but I can't trust the people we're gonna find the second we go back to the House of Pleasure. You should keep this gun," he placed his hands atop the weapon and went on, "and if I'm not there, if… for whatever reason you find yourself alone, defend yourself."

The doctor shook her head.

"I'm supposed to save lives, not take them," she looked down. "I don't think I got what it takes to pull the trigger."

He said nothing, and simply put his arms around her shoulders and embraced her for a moment of shared silence.

"The point of this whole thing is," he said, "if we succeed, is for you to have the chance to be whoever you want to be and start anew," the mercenary tightened the embrace as he lowered his voice. "When this whole thing is over, you'll get to decide who you really want to be for the rest of your life. Here, there… anywhere."

"Then perhaps these belong in your box of memories now," the woman said as she rescued the pictures they had brought back from Earthrealm. "I know I said I don't want to be yet another souvenir in your collection of mementos from the past, but if we're gonna do this, then bygones need to be bygones." The box was a cage for souls and lives that were no more so those faces, those expressions of yesterday she was holding in her hands were now trapped in the limbo that Black had procured for his own past, eons ago.

"You can put as many pictures as you want inside this box," he said, "but the memories won't be locked up for long: they're sneaky, they always find a way out." He opened his box and revealed to her the trinkets of his past – simple objects, consumed by time and distance, markers of a man that no longer existed. But the newspaper articles caught her eyes, disguised among his memories, old yet newer than the items he had collected over the years.

"Back in Earthrealm, you were not the only one playing detective," he said. "You were famous back then; you made the headlines of several local newspapers with the news about your disappearance." He looked down, as if afraid to ask. "You never really said how on earth you ended up in a shithole like this."

"I know," she whispered, suddenly looking down as well. "I just… Someday…" she took one of the articles but couldn't get past the first sentence. Still fresh, the wound was making it impossible for the woman to read her own story.

"I learned a great deal about you by reading those articles," Black confessed. "Now I know that, for example, your birthday is on October 18th. Now, I've always had my suspicions that days in Outworld are shorter, but if I'm not mistaken we're about five and a half months away from your birth…"

"Why did you show me those articles?" she interrupted him. "You knew they were inside the box and you opened the damn thing anyway; you knew I was going to see them."

"You were the one who suggested keeping the photographs inside the box," he defended himself, raising both his hands, "and I got nothin' to hide." He stood up, placed both his hands at the sides of his waist and exhaled loudly as the woman watched him in silence as if she was still waiting for an answer.

"I did it for you," he said, "and yes, I'm aware I might sound like a broken record, but that's the truth – he inspired me; everything that happened to me back there inspired me. I saw the look on your face when you saw him with that boy; I know he's the one you wanna be married to, not me." He walked back to the cot and grabbed one of the articles. "This man searched for you, he did everything in his power to find you…" he sat down, his hands resting on his lap. "When I heard that she had given up on our child, I hated Amanda. But then I took my time to really think things through and she did what she had to do." He looked into her eyes and held her hand "Your boyfriend did what he had to do: he moved on. Just don't think less of him because he tried to start anew. These articles here are the monument of his love for you."

"You know, Black… if you could manage to be only one man all the time… those articles, the bottles of wine you bought, these words you just said… if you could manage to be this man all the time, the one that cares, the one who tries, instead of that other man, the cold-hearted mercenary that buries his friends and counts his money."

"It's been a long ride so far, woman," the cowboy whispered, scratching the back of his head with his free hand, "and it won't get any easier from now on but I'm just tired of pretending you're not the one I," she embraced him quickly, killing all his words with a furtive kiss.

"Just don't say it," she said. "I know… I know, you tried to tell me many times, I know, but don't say it; just don't. It doesn't suit you, Black."

Yellow candles led the way back to the House of Pleasure, and a sea of strange faces walked alongside them as they mourned the woman that had brought them all together; the one that would always listen, the one they had chosen to become their one, true representative: the Queen of the Oppressed. But now there was a new queen sitting on a throne that should have remained empty. A queen no-one had elected, a blurry figure that represented no-one.

Sitting on Rosario's chair, wearing one of her dresses, El-A welcomed the couple as they stepped inside the brothel with nothing but an obvious disposition in mind: as long as she was occupying Rosario's place, the Syndicate would be able to rise and take control.

"How bold of you to come back here," the younger woman said, "and with him… things have changed around here, I'm sure you've heard."

"Rosario's been murdered," Black stated coldly. "We are here to assume our new positions, so thank you so much for filling in during our absence but we have much to do; we'll take it from here."

"I don't think so," El-A responded bluntly. "I'm the new manager of the House of Pleasure and you're not welcome anymore."

The doctor took a step forward, leaning on the bar with both her elbows.

"No, you're not."

"I know you were her favorite. In fact, we all know that," the younger woman began, "but as far as I'm concerned, you might as well be the ones who took Rosario's life. It's a bit suspicious that you decided to come back now, you know? So, while I appreciate your enthusiasm, I suggest you leave before I call the authorities." She smiled disdainfully and stared at the cowboy. "Given his criminal record, I bet they wouldn't hesitate…"

"The authorities are here, my lovely," Yvo interrupted her as he stepped inside the brothel, "but I'm afraid they're right. Thank you so much for stepping in; the place needed a leader and what's better than the heart of a young, thriving woman willing to offer a helping hand? But Rosario's last will and testament is remarkably clear, I'm afraid," the old man went on, "Erron Black is the new manager of the House of Pleasure and his wife, Alexandra Flynn, is the new owner."

"Who the hell is…?" El-A questioned, but her mind traveled quickly to the memory of the night when she discovered that Dakota had been lying about her identity. "His wife? You married him?"

The doctor nodded in silence.

"And Rosario, she…"

"She witnessed our union," the gunman said. "She knew our marriage could be rather controversial, so she was okay with us leaving for some time. What we didn't know back then is that she had other plans for us. We honestly had no clue about her will."

Stunned by the news, El-A stared at the doctor but was unable to articulate a single, coherent sentence.

"I don't know whom you're trying to impress, sweetheart, but you're startin' to look a bit ridiculous sitting on that chair," the cowboy sentenced as he walked around the bar, beckoning the rest of the girls to come to join them. "Until Rosario's memorial service is complete, this place will remain closed and all of you are expected to help during the funeral. After that, many things will change around here so if any of you has any sort of problem with the way I do things, the door's right over there." All of the girls lowered their heads for a brief moment and then they looked back up at the doctor – and Black noticed. "As for her," he said, "I can assure you that she's the same woman you used to know; only her name has changed but it's just a name so let me insist on this 'cos I believe this is vital: if any of you has a problem with something as stupid as a name, the door's right over there."

"What do you mean by changes? What's going to change now?" A young girl stepped up then, shyly yet resolute.

A surprised Black looked over his shoulder instinctively and stared at the doctor for a minuscule moment: he hadn't thought that far ahead. If he had to be completely honest with himself, he was only trying to intimidate them, but the new manager of the House of Pleasure didn't have a single plan for the establishment. Alexandra patted him lightly on the shoulder, with almost condescending patience.

"Rosario and I used to see eye to eye most of the time," the woman remembered, "but there was one topic we could never agree on. Now that she's not around anymore, I'd like to at least try the possibility to give you more control over your incomes. She used to say her girls have no income because they live here for free but that's not entirely true: the way I see it, you have the right to pursue a better life; a life outside this place." As she spoke, the girls' faces lit up with renewed interest; perhaps she was still the same woman they all used to know, maybe Black was right, and a name was just a name. "We'll have to sit down and have more than a couple discussions about it, but I'm positive we'll find a way to make things work in a more equitable manner."

As Rosario's girls surrounded the doctor and welcomed her back, the gunslinger breathed out loudly, resting one of his elbows on Yvo's shoulder.

"You've arrived just in time, old man," he joked, but the barrister's serious demeanor erased Black's mocking grin.

"We need to talk, boy," the barrister whispered, "in private."

Surrounded by a sea of familiar faces, the doctor observed as Black and Yvo became shadows past the tables and up the stairs but she couldn't find the strength to excuse herself and join them; the little peace she had suddenly found was way too fragile to endure yet another blow.

"What's going on?" Erron asked as soon as he closed the door. It surprised him to realize that Alexandra's former bedroom was much smaller than he remembered. "Why are you here?"

A tiny bottle. Brown. And empty.

"Rosario was poisoned," the barrister admitted, "but this product… I've never seen it before. Its components are not from around here."

"Around here?" A suspicious Black asked, frowning involuntarily at the thought.

"Outworld," Yvo said. "This poison has traveled a long way, boy."

Narrowing his eyes, the cowboy took the small container in his hand and inspected it briefly; the answer was bluntly written on the label: Bhertineslitsz Pharmaceuticals.

"I've been doing some research and that girl, El-A, she's connected," the barrister told Black. "Her boyfriend is connected as well and there's an uncle – I think she was stupid enough to believe that you and your wife would never be back, so she rushed things. As soon as you left, she ended Rosario. What she didn't know is that Rosario had been smart enough to include the two of you in her last will and testament, hence her surprise."

Black rolled his eyes in discontent, almost mocking the old Edenian barrister for merely stating the obvious.

"The connection is there, Yvo. The Syndicate, the trafficking from Earthrealm, El-A and her entire fucking family but how… how am I supposed to tell Alex that Rosario was murdered thanks to a substance her ex-boyfriend fabricates on a daily basis?" Black asked as he sat on her bed, holding his head in his hands.

"I really don't know, boy," Yvo offered simply, running his fingers through the cowboy's hair with the patience of a father. "But a little rest would do you good, Erron. Rosario's funeral is tomorrow, I think that woman deserves our respect. We'll fight this fight; we'll fight as many fights as necessary till we get to the bottom of this but first we honor her," the barrister concluded as he slowly left the room. "It's the least we can do for her."

Even if they didn't know exactly what had happened to Rosario, it was easy to sense the fear and the doubt inside the hearts of all the Outworlders that had joined the funeral for the former Queen of the Oppressed. Yellow candles all around, the silent mass of nameless faces walked down the streets and gathered around the House of Pleasure; the flames were burning already, waiting for the woman to join them in the last ritual of her existence.

The doctor was the first to join the congregation, followed by a handful of girls that quickly lost themselves in the multitude. For monsters and citizens alike, the occasion presented itself as a communal mourning; an altogether fraternal yearning where men and women, children and adults were finally free to express the sorrow that was now rooted deep inside their souls. The barrister was there, nearly lost in the crowd, but he wasn't the only representative of the Palace: Ferra and Torr were also there, embracing the night and the very concept of acceptance that it brought with it. For once, it was all right to be monsters in a land of chaos and corruption. For once, it was all right to walk with the people, sharing the same solemn sentiment. For once, it was all right to be who they really were.

In front of the House, white flowers and yellow candles improvised the altar where saints and sinners alike were to pay their final respects. The doctor brushed the coffin with cold fingertips then lowered her head for a brief instant until the old barrister tapped her shoulder.

"As the new owner of the House of Pleasure, you should say something to these people, dear," Yvo suggested but Alexandra simply shook her head.

"If I had to be honest, I'm still processing the very meaning of death," she offered somberly. "I recently found out that my parents are dead, now Rosario… I can't shake the feeling that if only I had been where I was supposed to be, all of them would still be alive."

Overhearing the conversation, the gunslinger walked up to her and placed his arms around her frame.

"Truth is, Yvo," she continued, "I still haven't had any time to cry. I still haven't had a single moment of honest, real intimacy to be with myself and mourn them; it's disrespectful, in a way, because the three of them helped me so much and I can't even find a single moment to say a prayer for them," she looked over her shoulder and stared deeply into Black's eyes. "I know she meant a lot to you too, Erron, but we can't stop this war now to sit down and cry, can we?"

He simply shook his head and kissed her forehead ever so lightly.

"This wasn't your fault," he tried to assure her, "none of this was your fault."

"But we should have known that something like this was bound to happen, Erron," she fought back. "The Syndicate was counting on El-A to take Rosario's place and she's greedy, you know what she's capable of… We should have known she would do anything in her power to become the new manager and, by leaving, we just made things easier for her."

"But she never thought you would be back, dear," Yvo said, trying to lessen the pain she was feeling, but the woman shook her head and leaned her back against the wall.

"He's right," Black offered, but it wasn't enough.

"And what difference does it make?" She asked them. "I'm back but Rosario is gone, she's not coming back and this war… we've already collected so many martyrs. Aalem, your wife, Rosario, we got so many people to avenge, we have to right so many wrongs none of this makes sense anymore. This quiet kind of war they bring with subtlety and poison… the Rebel Seekers were messy, they were loud and reckless, but this… how are we supposed to fight this, Erron?" She crossed her arms over her chest and lowered her voice. "Is this what your life is like?" she asked him, "a constant war; a never-ending conflict?"

The cowboy tried to comfort her once more, but she moved away, eyes about to finally rain.

"Well, I don't want that for myself," she said. "I've been asking myself, for more than a decade now, is this… it? Is this life? All I have is dust and memories, and a spot in a cemetery back in my world, but this world? What does this world have to offer? Can you honestly tell me this will be over someday? Can you tell me we'll live normal lives, one day when this thing's finally over?"

The gunslinger lowered his head.

"Can you tell me there will come a day when we don't have to look over our shoulders? When we don't have to measure our words or count our foes?"

Black turned around and clapped his hands loudly, capturing the citizens' attention.

"What are you doing, boy?" A concerned Yvo inquired but Black quickly dismissed him. Taking a step forward as quickly as possible, the doctor grabbed Black by the wrist and narrowed her eyes at him.

"You said it yourself," he told her, "this quiet kind of war they procured for us is forcing us to measure our words but this is our war too, and we won't be quiet about it; we won't measure our words – not anymore."

He took a step forward, addressing the people with a simple nod of his head. Monsters and wonders alike gathered around the man as he beckoned them to get closer with a solemn disposition. The message he was writing in his mind had a voice of its own; it was whimsical yet immensely purposeful, it was soft enough to say goodbye to a dear friend but also harsh enough to punish those who had dared to kill her.

"I want to thank you all for coming tonight," he stated, addressing everyone with nothing but the altruistic sincerity in his eyes. "Rosario was a pillar for most of us in this community and she will be missed. She was an old friend of mine," he paused for a brief moment, as a timid grin began to curl his lips upwards, "believe it or not, I do have friends. Not too many friends, but I do have some… a few, to be honest. That's why it hurts so much when they are suddenly taken away like this."

A wild, broken murmur traveled the streets as Black made a long pause in his speech; the effect that his words had imprinted on every soul was now revealing the truth that the people had not wanted to see: Rosario had been murdered, the woman they used to call their Queen had been assassinated and there were screams, and loud protests; fires in the night that knew no peace. Concerned, Yvo tried to reach out but Black didn't let him. He simply went on, witnessing the riot taking shape in front of his eyes.

"As the new manager of the House of Pleasure, I assure you: I won't rest until I find the ones that murdered Rosario. My voice and your voices, as they rage in fury, must reach the Palace: they know who they are, they know their names and where they live; they know the sort of things they do and they know how they do things." Enraptured by the communal spirit as it finally welcomed him as one of their own, Black stared into the doctor's eyes trying to find recognition; perhaps even the shadow of a shared emotion, but all he found was worry and sorrow. Disheartened by that powerful gaze of hers, he lowered his head, ashamed - he had undressed the sinners, but the martyr was still there, waiting for a friend.

"I recently got married to a wonderful woman," he said softly, as if only speaking to himself, "but before her, I had another wife and, just like Rosario, she too was taken away from me. If there's one thing I learned from her is that good people do exist." He looked over his shoulder and nodded softly at the old Edenian barrister: Zar had graced the old man with her friendship and, in return, he had accompanied her through her darkest hours. "The nature of my species is shady," Black said, "we always have a hard time communicating or trusting other people; we always think there's something wrong or fishy when someone's just being kind to us. We judge good intentions; we are constantly speculating "maybe they're being this nice to me because they want something in return"… Rosario and my late wife were the living testimony that sometimes people can be nice just because they want to be nice and not because they have a secret agenda."

He remembered prison, and Zar's impeccable disposition as he fooled her, lied to her and played a million different games with her heart. But no matter the heartache, she was always back. Every time he needed her; she was always there.

"Sadly, only when they're gone for good, we realize they were just good." He almost didn't notice the soft touch of the doctor's hand as her fingers laced around his. "One day we find ourselves alone, thinking about the goals they had in mind; the end of their deceitful plans… well, turns out there was no plan; they were just good people."

His honesty, wholly naked and dispossessed of his own miseries, was the conduit for the flame to finally ignite in the night as monsters and wonders came together one last time to pay their respects to the one that was no longer with them. As the fire illuminated their faces, Rosario's existence transcended the logical parameters of a memory. She was now a myth in the howling night. Blazing and alive in her original essence, unreachable and still, infinitely close.

A/N: Oh god, I'm back! Feels like forever! Wait, it has been forever!

So, how's everyone doing? I hope you're still there, btw. I took several months to reorganize the rest of the plot and as weeks went by and the MK11 teasers and announcements appeared, I sort of knew it was time for the story to continue – though it won't be for long since chapter 60 will be the final chapter of this fic, I'm finally closing the last arcs.

Thanks so much for your patience, and every sweet message I've gotten during the hiatus.

Love,