Read this first guys!
(Long-ass) Author`s Note: Hey everyone! Sooo sorry for the delay, but here it is! This chapter is a bit longer, hopefully that makes up for it. Thank you guys so much for the reviews! It really means a lot to me especially cause I know a large amount of people don`t get as many reviews as they deserve and im so glad that i do. and I would also like to thank pinkxjellybean and FloatingPizza, cause without their advice on how to write Capone`s character, I probably would not be able to put this together. I would also like to run an idea by you guys: I have a playlist of songs for this story, what do you all think bout me posting it maybe after the last chapter? please gimme ur suggestions, thanks. Now, I have to warn you, this chapter is kinda strange in the way that Al shows up in Tommie`s life (we all knew that was comin so I don`t think im spoiling anythin). I went through A LOT of ideas, but this one was the one that I think is best for the story line and character development. . That being said, it`s also the one that makes the least sense if you forget what Larry said in the chapter before. It`s a bit of a stretch for this kinda NATM fanfiction, and for the powers of the tablet, but I think it`ll work- I hope so anyway. It`s also a bit dark in the middle. just be warned. Since I`m kinda paranoid bout gettin characters wrong, I`m gonna ask that no one kill me with the flames here, but constructive crit is always good, just don`t flame me to death k? This was pretty hard to write after all. Lastly, I would like to recommend a fanfiction: "Guardians" by pinkxjellybean, is awesome if you want some great interaction between Capone and OCs without a lot of romance. It`s also very unique pretty funny. Anyways, heres the chapter we`ve all been waiting for! (drum roll)
Here, Here, and Here
Chapter 5
Careful
The rest of my weekend goes by as usual. I make the most of the days by catching up on lost hours of sleep that I never seem to get enough of, while my nights remain restless. Tossing and turning under thin sheets, I watch the same dream replay itself, like some sick, twisted song blaring over and over again in my mind. That, coupled with the possibility of not passing history class, was enough to give me horrible anxiety, though I don`t plan to find a cure anytime soon. I wasn`t about to go have my dreams analyzed or jump into writing my essay.
I did not work any more on my Prohibition report since Friday for three reasons, one: I believe spending multiple hours in a museum doing research is more than enough to deserve a break, two: every time I read my notes on Al Capone, I couldn`t stop my mind from producing countless questions about the guy no matter how often I try to convince myself it`s uninteresting, and three: the subject was a constant reminder of Mr. Daley`s words which still echoed off the walls of my thoughts.
"Come back in a few days, I think I might have an idea..." I recall him saying. "Tell me if anything...changes."
Why was I not able to stop thinking about this? It was just a stupid story, I assure myself, and Mr. Daley was probably just telling me to return to the museum soon... in a very strange manner. By "changes" he probably means if I change my mind about the Tablet of Ahkmenrah, which won`t happen. And the only reason I will go back to the museum is research. Or at least I am trying to make this sound convincing while I go through my morning routine today, Monday. I scrub away the sleepiness from my face and decide to not let anything Prohibition-related cross my mind till Wednesday, when I have scheduled a study session with Riley and David in the school Library.
I step out of the bathroom and dig in my chest of drawers for an outfit. I finally settel on a black and white striped t-shirt, really not caring if it matched my pants. Before I leave the room, I grab my leather bound sketch portfolio, a few charcoal pencils, and a steel razor for sharpening. God knows how boring things are gonna get today. Best be prepared. I think. I slide out the door and twist around to face the flight of stairs. Normally, I would hitch a ride on the railing to get to the first floor, but rubbing my sleep-deprived eyes, I decide that`s not the smartest idea. I settle for slinking down the steps on foot instead. When I finally land on the bottom level of the house and enter the kitchen, my mom has already left for her part-time job. I sigh missing the days when I actually got to speak with my folks at breakfast. Hmm, breakfast sounds good right about now... I think and put a hand to my empty stomach. Do I have time? I glance at the clock on the wall which reads 7:15 in green blinking type.
I figure I have long enough and slam a Poptart in the toaster. After setting the dial to ensure it wouldn`t burn, I flip on the TV to the morning news and settle down at the dinning table. Before the TV even boots up all the way, I can already hear the inappropriately chipper voice of a news caster, flapping her gums about a rescued whale- or something like that. I am able to drown out the annoying sound with a bit of quite thinking about the day ahead of me. Mrs. Celeste will probably want to know how I`m coming on my report. I`ll just tell her I got a lot done this weekend, technically, I won`t be lying. No, I won`t be lying at all actually (that`s a first). I did get a lot done this weekend, and, though I hate to admit it, I had a pretty good time too. I half-smile to myself, remembering the museum exhibits. Except for... you know. A voice in my head reminds me. No, no, I`m not going to think about that. At least not until Wednesday.
I head the toaster wheeze, signaling my food was done. I heft my backpack onto my shoulders, swing by the toast just as the Poptarts are flying out the top, and grab them. After I push through the front door and step outside, I say out loud, "Please let this be a good day." It sounded a bit cheesy and stupid for me to say, but I really wanted to have a good day, because well, I hadn`t in a while. I wasn`t expecting a full-on happy musical sing-along or anything, just a pleasant day without my usual misadventures. That would be nice.
I burst through the front door of my home and angrily rip the headphones which I was listening to from my ears. I back into the cold wood behind me and slide down to the floor, feeling the cut out ridges bump along my back. It`s so unfair! I yell inside my head. It`s not like I was gonna kill anyone! What harm could a little razor do anyway? It`s not even meant to cut skin- only sharpen charcoal. I think trying not to remember what happened today...
I took my normal seat in algebra, one near the back so I could draw in peace without anyone bothering me. I had divided other folk`s reactions to my desire to be an artist into a few main categories: there was the ever appreciated, "Oh, that`s so cool OMG I wish I could draw too!" and then the rather annoying, "Really? Could you draw me?" or my personal favorite, "How the hell are you going to make any money?" I laughed at them all quietly, but the attention I received purely because I could put a pencil to paper irked me sometimes. I set up my supplies, laying out my charcoal pencils like surgical tools and placing my sketch portfolio in the center of the desk. I pick up a hard lead pencil and was drawing the beginning of a human eye, when, out of the corner of my vision, I see someone take the seat next to me. I think nothing of it, until I hear a voice close to my ear ask, "Hey, whatcha doin`?" I sigh, and turn to face who I recognize as a kid named Zach.
"Hey, Zach." I say, not taking my eyes off my work.
"Hey, Tommie." He returns the greeting kindly and begins arranging his own desk setup. Zach was a pretty nice guy, as far as I knew anyway. He`d never been in the spotlight for anything bad save for falling victim to the flirting of the less lovely dames the school. He was their constant heartthrob and the perfect shiny toy for them to fight over. After I didn`t respond to Zach`s words, he asks agian, "Whatcha doin`?"
"Drawin`. What`s it look like?"
"Whoa, chill. I was just wonderin`." He holds up his hands in defense.
I sigh, a mix of exasperation and confusion. I had absolutely no idea why Zach was talking to me, I wasn`t exactly on good terms with his friends.
I return to drawing eyebrow hairs and hear Zach pipe up again, "You any good? At drawing I mean."
I shrug. "Not really," I almost laugh. "But I suppose you can see for yourself." I suggest and let Zach flip through a couple pages in my portfolio, while I take out a razor to sharpen one of my charcoal pencils. After a few minutes, Zach hands the leather book back to me. "I like `em." He smiles, "Really?" I raise my eyebrows, "Yeah you pay a lot of attention to detail an` stuff." I was about to reply with a thank you when our teacher`s voice from behind me.
"Zachary, Nicole, what are you two-" Mrs. Mugmore uses my real name and begins in her usual endearing tone but stops when she catches sight of the steel razor in my hand, glinting under the florescent lights. "Nicole. What is that?" she asks slowly pointing to the razor.
"A razor." I say plainly. She nods and walks calmly to the front of the room. She`s going towards the phone. I think. Why is she going to use the phone? Zach must have been thinking the same thing because we both look at each other, confused. Mrs. Mugmore exits the room with the phone and lets the door shut on the spiral cord. She returns a few minutes later to the side of my desk.
"Nicole, gather your things and leave. The front office is waiting for you." She speaks to me as if I where a small child but I`m regarded with hard eyes.
"What the-? Why?" I stumble, and feel a knot twist in my throat. Zach nods in agreement.
Mrs. Mugmore`s face hardens. "Go. Now."
I shove my portfolio and other tool into my backpack with Zach`s help and hurry out the door, receiving glances from a few of my classmates. Withe same hard expression, Mrs. Mugmore watches me go as well. I stare at my shoes and the the dirt floor as I make my way through the maze of hallways and to the front office. The knot in my throat has grown to twice its size and I begin to feel sick. No, I tell myself. You are not gonna be a wimp about this. You`re gonna go in there and take whatever they throw at you. With my confidence slightly restored, I push through the front door of the school office. I approach the desk and regarded the wrinkled secretary with more cocky-ness than I probably should have used.
"Y`all uh- wanted to see me?" I raise my eyebrows and smirk slightly, "Well c`mon I ain`t got all day." The secretary opens her mouth to reply but is cut off by my principal.
"Nicole," I turn my head lazily in her direction, "Come on. Now." The principal leads us into her office and motions for me take a seat. I dash behind her desk and settle into the wide-backed principal`s chair. After closing the door, she turns and frowns, "Nicole, do not try and be funny." She points to a small plastic chair in front of her desk that apparently was meant for me. I sigh and dramatically plop down into the piece of plastic. The principal runs through the same procedure we go through every time I get in trouble, asking for my side of the story, and what exactly happened, but this time, she went about a few things a bit differently.
"But why Nicole?" She looks into my eyes and leans forward on her desk.
"Why what?" I ask, still able to keep my cocky attitude.
"Why..." she pauses, "Why would you do something like that? And in front of you`re classmates..."
"What are you talkin` `bout?"
"I know your father`s sick but why would you take it out on yourself? I-"
"Whoa hold it." I put my hand up, my confidence was replaced with shock and anger. Please don`t bring my father into this. "What does my father have do with this?"
"Please don`t play dumb with me Nicole, not with something like this." The principal shakes her head and while I try to figure the whole thing out.
"Um, honey, I don`t think we`re on the same page here." I say with honesty. "I don`t know what ya-" The realization hit me. I couldn`t believe it. She thinks I`m trying to self-harm, doesn`t she?
"Hey, hey, I get ya now. No, no, dear God no. It`s a drawin` tool." I hold up the razor to show her. Digging in my backpack, I find a charcoal pencil and begin to sharpen the tip with it. "See?"
"Nicole, this involves your safety." She doesn`t look at me, and instead chooses someplace over the top of my head to stare at. "I`m afraid I can`t just take your word for it."
"What? I`m not hurting myself! I don`t know where you folks get these crazy ideas..." I run a hand through my mess hair and lean back.
"I`m going to have to ask you to give me that." I don`t need her to point to know she`s talking about the razor.
"Um, I kinda need it. Ya know, bein` an artist an` all." The principal doesn`t seem to understand and holds our her hand, waiting for me to drop it there.
"I`m sorry, Nicole. Hand it over. Now." She`s getting a bit tense. I shake my head.
"Nicole, the razor now please."
"No." I say flatly. It wasn`t the razor I was worried; about I could get another one easily. It was the fact that she brought my father into it. I had done a good job to keep his illness a secret and didn`t want rumors about it going around.
"Nicole please! I can`t stand by and let this happen." she forced her hand forward.
"I`m not doing` what you think I am! It`s an art tool for cristssake! I exclaim.
"Listen, we can get you help! You can talk to the school councilor about your father an-"
I cut her off, "It`s a Goddamn art tool!" I explode, though I really don`t mean to. So much for this being a good day. "I`m not hurting myself!" I stand up, and clench my hands so hard I feel my fingernails digging into my palms."An` my father has nothin` to do with this!"
I feel tears prick my eyes but quickly blink them away. "Goddamn flashbacks," I mumble to myself. I hated crying, it made me feel so weak and vulnerable, and I also hated the people that made me cry. And besides, I continue my rant, It`s not like the other kids don`t bring that kinda stuff- drugs, condoms, weapons of mass destruction, you name it. And I get busted for having an effin` drawing tool! Screaming seemed appropriate right about now, but I calmed myself down and did not do so. Having my razor confiscated wasn`t even really what got me in a lather (I got in trouble all the time) or even what the principal though I was doing, it was the fact that I actually though this was going to be a good day. I really believed for a second there that I might have had something worth while happen to me. It was also that she brought up my father. I wipe my face with my shirt sleeve and try to shake off the strange feeling twisting up my gut. I distract myself by straining my ears to hear the sounds that would tell me if anyone else was home. Above me, I can make out the steady fall of someone`s foot steps.
"Mom?" I call out, slowly standing up from my spot on the floor. "Mom, are you home?" I decide that the footsteps must be her`s. Leaving my backpack at the front door, I run to the stairs and take them two at a time. "Mom?" I yell a little quieter this time. As I reach the top of the stairs, I realize that she must be home. But what the hell is she doing in my room? I wonder. Shrugging off the question, I approach my bedroom door. I flex my graphite-stained hand before turning the brass knob, and push the solid wood with my shoulder. I throw my drawing portfolio on my bed and cross the room so fast I barely notice the nicely dressed man standing next to my door.
Wait, WHAT?
I freeze and feel the hair the back of my neck stand up. What? I think again, too scared to turn around, but I do so anyway. I slowly shift my feet and twist my body to face the other side of my room. Sure enough, in front of me, clear as day stood a man that I was sure (if I wasn`t about to piss myself with shock) I could place his name. I felt my legs wobble as he looks at me with the same open-mouthed gesture that I had, only he seems a bit more angry. Okay, Tommie, don`t panic, I tell myself. You`ve had a long day. You`re really only hallucinating. You`re just tired, close your eyes and it will all go away. I do just that but when I lift my eyelids for the fifth time, he still stands there. Yeah, okay, time to panic. I took a deep breath in and was read to scream when the man must have predicted my actions and tried to speak first
"Hey-"
Before he could finish, I open my mouth and let loose a scream that hurt my own ears. I know I had to do something other than scream and turn briefly to my night stand and pick up the first thing my hand touches which is a thick hard cover book. The man covers one of his own ears and winces but holds his hand out in a "stop" gesture. I proceed to raise the book above my head and bring it down on his hand. He grunts and pulls his hand back. I try to repeat my actions and this time, aim for his head. I pull the book back again, but he`s quick and snatches my only weapon from me. I watch dumbly as he tosses the book across the room, and turns to face me. The man begins to approach me. My mind is screaming at me to do something, but I don`t have the strength to grab another object. He`s getting closer. That voice says again. Do something, anything! I look down at my own sweaty hand. It`s worth a shot. I curl my fingers into a tight fist and thrust them forward where the man`s jaw should be. Usually, I have pretty good aim but the overall insanity of the situation may have altered that a bit. My hand collides with the space just beneath his jaw line, but a few of my fingers strike bone.
"Gah! Shit!" I hiss and retract my hand. Pain flowed through my fingers like blood as I massaged them with my good hand. I look up to see that the man had not been affected very much by my punch, and was now stomping towards me. I know there was nothing I could do about it now, I just had to wait. Oh God, Oh God, Oh God. I`m gonna die! I think. I close my eyes and my face screws up with fear as I brace myself for his blow. Instead of the punch or kick I expected I feel strong hands claps my shoulders and push me (not hard though) into a wall.
"Hey," I hear the mans voice, and try to turn my face away. "Look at me." he whispers angrily, indicating he wasn`t messing around. I only squeeze my eyes shut tighter and open my mouth to scream one more time, but apparently the man had had enough of that. He quickly removed a hand from my shoulder and placed it over my mouth. If I wasn`t scared half to death, I probably would have licked or bit him.
"I ain`t playin` games here, kid." his words come through clenched teeth. I slowly open my eyes to find his face a bit to close for comfort. "Atta boy. Now tell me," -I`m to scared to even give thought to the fact that the man wrongly interpreted my gender- "Where `m I? An` who`re ya workin` for?" when I don`t answer his eyes narrow and he leans forward more, "You one of O`Banion`s boys?" My eyebrows knit in confusion. What is this guy talking about? And who the hell is O`Banion? "This is his doin` ain`t it?" he pauses to look around the room, and I try to speak through his hand which was still covering my mouth.
"Alright," he says apparently having made up his mind about something. "I`ll lay off ya, but you`re gonna haveta tell me where I am once I do. We gotta deal?" his voice is a bit softer now. I nod my head, deciding anything was better than my current position and he carefully detaches his hands from me. Putting a sweaty hand to my forehead, I slump to the floor. Who is this guy? I figure I`m calm enough now for some clear and ordered thinking. I certainly don`t know him from school, or art classes, but he looks so familiar. The other annoying voice pipes up sarcastically in my head, Yes, Tommie, because you know SO MANY guys who walk around dressed like they`re from the twenties. Wait.. I think, seeing a name flash behind my eyes. No way. It`s not him, you`re hallucinating. Or Im dreaming, I have to be. At least, I hope I am. But what if you`re not? I that damn voice asks, but I don`t get a chance to answer right away, for he (I refuse to believe he is who I think he is), turns toward me.
"Now, I`d sure like it if you held up your part of our little deal." the man smirks slightly and waits for my answer.
I`m breathing heavily and still chanting over in my mind, It`s all in your head, it`s a dream, none of this is real. It can`t be. "You`re in New York. Brooklyn to be exact." I pant, replying solely out of fear. "Today is Monday, March 1st," I feel some of my strength return and use my dresser as a crutch to stand. "year 2010." the last few words are barely audible, as I realize something. I never know the date in my dreams. It was strange but true, I would try to figure them out, but never could conjure up a fixed date. I felt sick as my heart drops into my stomach. I`m not dreaming. I remember Larry`s words. The tablet is not just a good bedtime story. I turn slowly back to the man who looked as confused as I was a few minutes ago.
"Capone..." I mumble to myself, sure that he couldn`t hear me. That is who I think it is. I almost laugh at the situation. So much for a good day.
Okay, so did I destroy the characters here? I really hope not, this was really hard to write. Well, review if ya want.