All of his ghosts were coming back to haunt him.
They say you are the best at what you do.
The sky was furious, unleashing a tempest so strong it seemed to rip the earth upwards with a howling scream.
I trust you will not disappoint.
Cross gasped; the water in his lungs was hacked up. A peal of lightning vibrated the very core of his skull and brightened his luminescent glow, only slowly ebbing away until the next flash speared through the sky.
What is it they call you? The Eastern Cowboy? But wasn't there another name? Something I believe was more appropriate for an inexorable man such as yourself…oh yes, I remember now.
A tattered newspaper whipped down the street, the printed heading reading Boston Bugle. The crumbling skylines of the Commonwealth rose around him like tombstones; a group of feral mongrels broke out in ghostly harmony somewhere unseen to lament their cries to the unforgiving gale.
The Devil's Dealer.
Bits of gravel and glass scraped the pavement as he pushed himself upright; a pained hiss bled from his lips- a rebar was lodged in his lower abdomen.
You take no bribes, no favors. You always deliver that which has been paid for. A man of his word; a cold-hearted killer by trade. Women, children, the sick, the unfortunate- it does not matter to you. You only desire that which does not cost the weight of its burden…you are but a simple man.
The flames burned like the maws of Hell had opened itself; black smoke billowed; he couldn't breathe.
You are a man that only cares for himself.
Cross's hands wrapped around the protruding metal. He clenched his jaw; the radiation was already stitching the flesh around it like a welcomed guest.
I like that, about you.
The only sound to utter from his throat was a grunt as he ripped it free- it clanked against some rubble as he flung it aside.
As I'm sure Darcy did…but she trusted you. Her first mistake.
"Evelyn!" Cross barked. "Evelyn!"
I do not.
"Evelyn!" His voice became panicked. "Evelyn, baby, where are you?!"
Remember our deal…
The stomping of footsteps drew his head around on a dime. It was Charon; the ghoul was soaked.
"She is not in the wreckage," the ferryman rasped, his tone an equal mixture of relief and anxiety. His mouth curled into a grimace at the sight of Cross's injury. "That will need tending to."
"What the fuck is goin' on?!" Cross snarled. Glowing blood seeped between his three fingers as he applied pressure to the site. "How'd we get here so fast?! Where the fuck is Evelyn?!"
"You need to calm down-"
Cross cupped his hand around his mouth and roared into the night sky, "EVELYN!"
"Stop it!" Charon seethed. "She is not here. I have looked-"
"EVELYN!"
A furious growl belted from the ferryman's chest like a challenging war cry. He grabbed the merc by the collar of his shirt, twisting his hand in the fabric to form a tightened noose. "Listen to me!" he snapped, "I want to find her too. I do not know whether she is alive, or dead, but she is not here. There is no body. If she survived the crash, then she will be looking for us if she is not with them." Charon thrust the merc a few steps back as he roughly released him. "We cannot afford to waste time, or we may never see her again."
The merc was sobbing. "I just want her back, I can't do this again, I can't."
"I know," Charon rasped. "We are fortunate the safehouse is nearby. I will explain once we arrive."
Cross woefully looked around, as though Evelyn would come bounding from her hiding place at any moment.
"She is not here," Charon repeated, his hand squeezing the merc's shoulder. "I have made sure of it…this time."
This time. Cross doubled over, and puked. The waft of hot sick was whisked away by the cold wind of the storm.
This was some fucked up nightmare; there was no way this was happening all over again. He held up his shaking hands; the silver wedding band on his finger gleamed a dull sheen under the gloomy dusk of night.
"Fuck," he croaked. A tremendous surge of absolute fury then erupted through his chest; his neon glow burned with the intensity of the sun, searing Charon's eyes and tingling radiation through his veins."Fuck!"
Cross wailed a fist into a preservation shelter, denting it. He was going to kill all those bastards, melt his molten fingers through their skulls and tear the very fabric of their being through their spines. They had made a very costly mistake in thinking he wouldn't find her; they didn't realize the connections he had solidified, or the sheer determination ingrained in his bones and tattooed behind his eyelids. He would be asleep and be thinking of her; he would be awake and would be on the hunt, sniffing for their trail like a maddened bloodhound.
Another fist was decked, followed by another, and another- the powerful force of his punches like small booms of thunder.
"Cross! Charon!"
A thump- his heart had stopped its beat. The bright light radiating from his core immediately dimmed.
"Cross!"
They both spun to the sound, unsure if the voice calling out was but a trick of the desperate mind. Cross didn't care; he ignored the painful protest from his injury as he sprinted to her call.
"CROSS, CHARON?!"
They nearly collided as they both burst around the bend of a building.
"Jesus Christ," a hot breath rasped in her ear. Cross touched her face, a sacred relic for his unworthy hands. He wiped her damp hair from her lips and firmly pressed his mouth flush against her brow, closing his eyes as he pulled her close. "Thank God. Thank you God." He gave her a thorough once-over. "You good? You okay?"
"I'm fine- I'm fine," she said quickly. She glanced back the way she had come- Sinjin had taken his departure and was long gone. "He-he pulled me out-I-I-"
Evelyn then gasped at the sight of his wound staining his clothes, and she smothered her face behind one hand, her uncontrollable sobbing stemming her ability to speak. Her limbs trembled and her shoulders twitched as she lifted his shirt for a view of the hideous, mangled flesh.
"It's fine, it ain't that bad baby," he murmured. "It looks worse than it feels, okay?
Charon ripped the merc away and shoved him to the side. "He is fine. Are you alright?"
"I don't know what's happening. I don't know where we are," she sniffled, her quaking fingers reaching out in an unspoken desire to touch his face for comfort. "I-I was underwater, I saw the flames and smoke- I didn't know if-"
The ghoul bent down to allow her skin to graze the ruined remnants of his own. "You are safe." His large hand engulfed around her smaller one, relaying a comforting squeeze to help soothe her wide eyes and quivering chin. "Can you walk?"
A small nod of her head. "Thomas-"Her woes were then sucked back down her throat as she was tossed over the merc's shoulder. "I can walk!"
Cross ignored her protesting, the synapses in his brain were firing off at rapid speed. They were in Boston, and there was a personal bounty in his hands that he would never relinquish. The hot thread of his flesh was stitching together; the pain kept him focused.
The merc turned to Charon equipping his shotgun and checking the stock. "You don't think twice 'bout shootin'."
"I was not planning to," the ghoul rasped matter-of-factly. He took the lead, navigating them through the brunt of the storm and occasionally halting his movement for something only he could discern through the darkness.
Evelyn shivered from the cold pinpricks of rain pelting her backside. She was blind to her surroundings beside the occasional fanfare of radioactive lightning, catching only small snippets of waterfront buildings and crumbling skyscrapers before her world was plunged in obscurity once more. Cross's emitting body heat was the only comfort she was able to cling to, and as if he sensed her terror, his hand tightened its grip around her thigh.
Don't worry baby, I got ya.
They took a turn inside a parking garage- it appeared as abandoned as the rest of their surroundings. The rainfall immediately became muffled as their footsteps echoed around them. They descended further down the level, Cross's glow providing faint illumination in the dark void of nothing.
A terminal screen mounted on a wall came to life- Charon's grim set expression and rigid body language were reflected as he typed away, his gloved palm swiping over the dust on the display. The sound of a click rang out sharply to their right, and a glow of amber light formed the shape of an open doorway.
The merc's hand shifted to the small of her back as he carried her inside; she blinked at the drastic change in lighting until her eyes adjusted. Some more typing, and the door closed behind them with a resounding click.
"Where are we?" she sniffled, feeling her body slide down as she was set back on her own two feet.
"It ain't home." Cross kissed her cheek, the wink on his face melting some relief into her tired bones. Safe. "But it's as good as any." He took her hand as he escorted her to the main lobby.
Their secret entrance via parking garage led into the connecting building of what was presumed to have once been a shopping mall. It had been gutted and redesigned in the mind of what gun-toting, cap-driven mercenaries thought a safehouse should be. The few Pre-War signs still hanging over reconfigured stores had either been spray-painted or filled with lead. She spied training dummies, working benches, crates with visible spillage of ammo belts and combat armor; it was a mercenary outpost if she ever saw one- in complete disarray and lacking general order.
The squeaky wheels of a sentry bot rounded the corner, instantly freezing her steps from habit.
"It's just Sparky," Cross murmured in her ear. He shrugged his shoulders from the quizzical look she threw him. "Don't look at me- I sure as fuck didn't name it that."
The guard bot scanned its inhabitants, and then rolled on by down another hall.
"This is all you guys?" she mumbled quietly. She noticed the pulsating glow of mounted wall turrets, the nicks in the walls from possible axe throws, the acrid tinge of gunpowder and stale air filling her nose. She sneezed. "It's so big."
The sound of someone yawning from the second floor made her glance upward. A shirtless man was rubbing his eyes and scratching at the stubble on his jaw. "Damnit newbie, I already told you-" He then blinked widely, and peered over the railing to the party down below. "Holy shit! Is, Boss, is that you?!" He whipped his head to Charon, and then guffawed a disbelieving laugh. "You're back- you're alive! What the fuck happened to you?! Lydia said you got canned! Holy motherfucking Christ Saint Mary, wait till the guys-!"
An ear-piercing whistle cracked; Evelyn mouthed an ow and rubbed her finger in her ear.
"Dipshit," Cross growled, observing with satisfaction as Can snapped his mouth shut. "Ya sound like a bitch in heat. Who's all here?"
"Uh, sorry Boss, just me and the new kid, but he's out banging whores, last I heard from him. Do you want me to bring him back?"
"No." Cross waved a hand. New recruit already, huh? "Be in my office, get me up to speed." He tilted his head at Charon. "You too. We got a lot of shit to go over." Charon had been staring at her back with a solemn, far-off gaze. The order snapped him to attention, and he curtly nodded before making his way into an elevator shaft.
Evelyn held up a hand and gave a small, sad wave as he pressed the button to descend to the basement level. Charon's eyes softened, and he gave a brief one in return before the doors closed with a loud ding!
Cross finally turned back to his wife, who was shivering from the cold air kissing her damp suit. "C'mere baby, let's get you warmed up and some sleep. Ya hungry? Ya need anythin'?"
"I want to know what's going on," she said behind a yawn. She rubbed at the dark bags under her eyes. "I don't remember anything after Thomas…"
"I'll explain what I know in the mornin', fair? I got to sort it out myself right now," Cross explained gently, taking her hand and beginning to guide her along. "Ain't no one can find us here, so ya ain't got to worry 'bout anythin'."
The upstairs offices and management spaces had been converted into rooms of assortments; the merc swung a door open on the farthest end, and flicked a light switch on the wall. The room illuminated to a spartan setting: a bed, a nightstand, and a steam trunk sure to be full of various weaponry. She flopped down on the bed and coughed at the dust it puffed into the air. Everything seemed to be stilled in place like an interactive photograph, as though the inhabitant had set up shop and never returned.
"Sorry, never really had a reason to be in here." Cross opened a footlocker under the bed, rummaging through the crumpled contents of clothes. He pulled out a wrinkled shirt and shook the life back into it. "Ya want a shower?"
"I'm okay," she said softly, unzipping her suit and stepping out of her groggy boots. The shirt held a faint trace of his smell, and she inhaled it deeply as she slipped it on. Home. This was home.
The merc dipped out and returned with another blanket, bundling her in bed like some sloppily wrapped burrito. He then sat on the edge of the bed, combing his fingers through her wet, tangled hair for a few minutes.
"Ya need anythin', I'll be down in the basement, okay? Can's a good kid, he'll do as he's told. Charon's always wanderin' around. He's got a shop he's usually workin' in. You just call and he'll be here."
"Are you not coming back?" she asked, terrified. Her fingers clutched onto him with frightening power. "Please stay with me."
"I will, just not yet," he rasped as gently as he could manage. The reentry into his mercenary life clicked like a missing puzzle piece- there was plenty of work to be done, especially now, he couldn't risk a chance of-
"Please sleep with me tonight. I really want you here," she whispered. "I don't care if I have to sleep in your office, I just want to be with you."
The merc went to refute, but he looked down as he felt her hands shake.
You're a fuckin' idiot. He was about to let this life drown him just like it used to. He never used this room due to the fact he normally crashed on the cot he had set up in his office down below, surrounded by files that held the promise of a distraction from his chaotic thoughts. And he was about to be swept back out in that tide when his wife was waiting for him here, purely afraid and pleading with him to comfort her in this new world she had woken up to.
Cross leaned down to tenderly kiss her lips. "I'll be a few minutes, alright? Will ya give me that? I'll be back 'fore ya fall asleep, deal?"
"Deal."
They sealed the contract with another kiss, and she rolled onto her side to watch him change into something dry before he left their room. He punched the button in the elevator, sighing tiredly into his rugged palms as it made the drop below ground.
"Basement," the automated voice chimed overhead. A ding, and the doors clambered open to a flickering fluorescent light and damp tunnel.
The piped plumbing branching along the walls dripped condensation to the floor; the fusion generator hummed as he passed; a service door was open and the light was on, Can's voice drifted down the hallway with excited fervor.
"Man things were really going to hell- no offense to Lydia and all, I mean, you know how she is. But she really lost her shit. Rodgers just straight up left us! Said he was more suited for solo work- I think Clanker's gang offered him the caps up front, but-"
Can snapped his trap shut a second time when Cross entered through the doorway.
The glowing ghoul rummaged inside a filing cabinet and tossed a crinkled packet of cigarettes on the desk. A lamp was clicked on, sparsely adding more illumination to what was once a maintenance room. The space was cold- it was nicknamed The Interrogator. It was no small mystery as to how it received that pseudonym…a few blackened splatters of blood in one corner gave a chilling statement all on its own. The ghoul took his seat, and leaned back in his chair as he mouthed a smoke. He took his time, striking a match and cupping the flame around the tip.
Charon, much like himself, had settled into his old position leaned against the wall. Old habits die hard.
"Alright Can," Cross rasped, whisking his flame out with a simple flick of his wrist. He took a deep inhale, and rubbed at his eyes. "First, ya take any rad-x? Don't lie; I don't want you pukin' blood everywhere."
"I mean, nah, Boss...I've been around the glower's...but you don't, uh, glow."
Cross squinted his eyes, and then rubbed the back of his head. Huh...
"Suit yourself. If ya feel funny, just fuckin' dip, capeesh? Now, fuck's been goin' on?"
The young mercenary immediately divulged the latest events to have occurred since their departure- Lydia's soured demeanor, the loss of clients, the halt on all contracting work. Cross listened with a straight face and occasionally shared a look with his fellow ghoul. Lydia was going to be pissed when she discovered he didn't make good on his original intentions. He couldn't really blame the kid- she just happened to mourn in a different sort of way, and it appeared she took his resignation a little harder than he would've thought.
"What're you doin' here Can?" Cross curled a stream of smoke from his nostrils. "She worried 'bout losin' the safehouse?"
Can scratched at his elbow. "Nah. I told her it would be a waste of time, but she was pretty dead set on finding her, the newbie, Russel, or whatever. Said she wanted her brought back alive or dead, so long as she knew what happened to the Pip-Boy from your office."
Cross immediately sat upright, startling the younger man from his intimidating presence. "What?"
"Y-yeah." Can licked his lips, and nervously looked back at Charon just looming in the shadows behind him. "New girl dipped not long after you left- Lydia swept it under the rug, figured she'd ran. But then one day she was just screaming, tearing apart the place and going on 'bout how she was bitch this and a bitch that. Told me and the new guy we got to come down here and see if we could trace her out, said she stole something important from you."
"And?"
"Nothing." Can raked at the stubble on his chin with dirty fingernails. "Like she fell off the face of the earth. No sight, no word, nothing."
Cross stared at the dwindling life of his smoke, the spiral of its remaining breath lingering in the air. He was a fucking idiot. That last exchange between himself and that recruit instantly soured his tongue and made him want to belt an iron fist into something.
We'll talk when I get back.
The merc angrily stubbed out his smoke in his palm; Can winced at the sizzling burn it emanated from snuffing out against the leathered flesh.
"So, uh, what's with the vaultie?" Can coughed nervously, obviously wanting to dispel the hostile aura in the room. He was more than familiar with Cross's violent outbursts, and it simply terrified him. "A client?"
"My wife." Cross's eyes glowed down at the man shrinking in his seat. "And you tell that new fuck out there stickin' his dick in whatever's walkin' that if I catch his hands on her, or yours, I'm goin' to string you up by your nuts with piano wire. Ya understand?"
A nervous laugh belted from the kid's chest. "Uh, y-yeah, sure thing, Boss. Little lady is off-limits, no problem." He shifted in his chair, suddenly desperate to escape the suffocating environment. "You, uh, you look…good, Boss. Glad you're here." Glad you're alive.
Cross waved a hand curtly. Dismissed. "Go get some sleep, kid."
Can nearly toppled his chair over from the speed at which he stood. "Sorry, I'll just-" He didn't finish his sentence as he dipped out the room.
Charon released a loud sigh. "Do you believe this place to be compromised?"
Cross was leaned back in his seat again, reaching for another cigarette. The promise to Evelyn rang through his brain, and he declined himself a second taste of his bad habit. "If I was a paranoid man, I'd say yes."
"But-?"
"But I ain't," Cross grumbled. "I'm prepared. We'll change the codes and wipe her from any recognition in the database- if she shows up and somehow gets in, Sparky'll let us know."
"Do you think she was responsible for Underworld?"
"…I don't know," he confessed.
It frightened him to think she could have been that close to himself, a wolf in sheep's clothing, laying in his bed beside him each night and greeting him with false smiles and ulterior agendas. He had been careless, and he couldn't afford that anymore.
Cross became stone-cold, and tapped his bony index finger on the desk. "What the fuck do you remember about D.C.?"