Disclaimer...
Here is my apology for taking so long to update, to both the faithless and faithful readers... finals? shit i don't know... i would also like to thank OnyxDrake for your reveiws and enthusiasm... we could all take a page out of your book (especially you, people who read it and don't review. i've had 22 hits last timei checked. let's see a little participation)... um enjoy.
Micah knew what he had to do now. The image of Scott burned behind his eyes, raising the bloodstained gun.
"She's mine." He shouted, squeezing the trigger. Pain blossomed in Micah's knee, but he couldn't move. Scott, looking unsure, shot three more times before achieving his goal. "Damn it, Micah. Stay away from her."
"You will never love her like I do." Micah whispered back fiercely. "No one can ever copy the way I lover her. You'll never replace me."
Scott had that look in his eyes, the one Micah remembered from when he first met Ava. He remembered the crazed gleam staring back at him from the surface of the mirror. He knew he was right. No one could ever love her like he had. Certainly not Scott.
"You aren't ever going to be good enough for her." He continued. Blood welled in the back of his throat, the taste of iron dominating his thoughts. He spat on the ground.
Scott put his boot on Micah's chest, kicking him back into the hollow grave. He raised the gun, a feral gleam shining in his blank eyes. "I can sure as hell try."
He shot the gun again, and the taste of blood rose to a fever pitch before Micah could no longer think.
The bar was smoky and mostly empty. The bird sat on his shoulder, an unwelcome companion leading him to his unholy destiny.
The bartender pretended not to notice at first, but the drunken patrons could not ignore it, until he was forced to say something.
"Hey, bird-boy. You know how many diseases are on that grimy thing? Get it outta here." He jerked his thumb over his shoulder, causing Micah to look up.
"Excuse me?" He murmured softly, midnight blue hair shadowing his face.
The bartender curled his upper lip in disgust. He pulled a shotgun from under the counter, cocking it indifferently. "You heard what I said. Get the damn thing outta here."
Micah looked down at his drink, the image of an unkempt lost soul staring back at him from the poisonous surface. He shook back his long hair and stood slowly. "Don't want no trouble, mister." He muttered, moving toward the door.
The bartender wasn't expecting his quick movement, and Micah pulled the gun away, forcing it against his eye socket.
"Where are the Silent?" He snarled, ignoring the flurried of movement from the other patrons. The bird cawed raucously, lifting it wings and jumping onto the bar. "Where are they?" He shouted, forcing the gun even deeper.
"I- I don't know. I swear. Those damn crazy kids are always running around somewhere. They don't come here." The bartender raised his hands in surrender, shaking in his terror. Micah pulled the gun away, smiling slightly.
He pulled the trigger, and the man flew back into the shelf of bottles. Micah leaned over the counter and pulled out an unlabeled bottle of booze. He saluted the motionless figure, the bird making its way back to his shoulder as he headed out into the night.
The streets beckoned to him, as they always had. He fingered the gun in his pocket, dodging street walkers and beggars, until he came to an empty, quiet-looking building. He slipped through the door.
Music pounded from the heavy set of speakers. Strobe lights flashed blue and green in the sultry sweat-slicked air.
A girl in a rattlesnake print mini skirt and a red bra lazed in a folding chair. Next to her, three men filled a needle with a white substance and tied off her upper arm with a thin rubber tube.
Three girls were dancing with each other, their eyes glowing as they watched him make his way toward the metal staircase. He swore he knew the girl with full body tattoos and a padlock in her ear, but then again they were the Silent. Everybody knew everybody, intimately.
The stairs were less crowded, but just as sexually charged and just as dark. On the second level he found the room he was looking for. Jamie Quinn had started the Silent, more or less, when he was fourteen. Nearly ten years later, his fun little club had mutated into some kind of cheap thrill ride, which any cop in the city would be glad to bust. Mysterious connection in the law enforcement kept Jamie above persecution, and by association, most of the Silent.
Micah didn't bother knocking on the door. He kicked it open, actually. Jamie, sniffing coke off some little girl's girl, gave a particularly loud snort and fell backward off his chair. His hair, divinely blond, was longer than Micah remembered. He seemed thinner. Otherwise, he was exactly the same.
"Aw, man, what the fuck." He grumbled, rubbing the sore spot on the back of his head. The girl grabbed her shirt and ran from the room, hitting Micah's arm in her haste. His upper lip curled in distaste, and he resisted the urge to hunt her down. "I know you man?" Jamie was mumbling.
Micah's eyes swiveled to the man who had once been his best friend. He wondered if Ava would still be with him if they had left the Silent as planned. Jamie's insistence had kept them behind, and here they were now.
Micah had a bullet in his chest and Ava was gone.
"You fucking should." He growled. He knocked a stack of magazines off the tarnished surface and sat cross-legged on it, leaning forward and pressing the barrel of the gun to Jamie's temple.
"Oh, shit. Man, what did I ever do to you?" Jamie whimpered, eyes widening like saucers. He pupils were wide and black, giving him an animalistic appearance.
"You got me shot, for one thing." Micah drawled. "But I don't really hold that against you. It was on my top ten list, anyway. Right under wrestle a shark." Jamie's drugged mind struggled to comprehend what should have been a recognizable indication. "Long time, no see Jamie. You remember me? No?" Jamie shook his head. "Micah. My name is Micah. Alarms going off yet?"
It took a moment, but it clicked. "No fucking way." Jamie breathed. "This is some fucking trip. What do you want, ghost man?"
"I want Ava." Micah said firmly. "Tell me where Scott and Ava went."
"Ava? That little whore you came in with? No clue. And I don't know who Scott is." He shrugged. Micah snaked his fingers around Jamie's spindly, tattooed throat. He tightened his grip slowly, so Jamie wouldn't notice.
"Scott." He repeated. "He was that dumb shit kid who didn't take any drugs. The good kid. Tell me where they went. I know you remember them, Jamie. You aren't that stupid." He cocked the gun, the smooth metal burning his grip. Jamie started to realize that maybe this wasn't some drug-induced hallucination, after all. His swallowed and found it was becoming hard to breathe.
"Am I dying, man?" He whispered.
"You could say that." Micah said coldly. "Just tell me what you remember." Jamie paused for another long moment.
"Scott stole money from me." He said finally, licking his chapped lips. "Three hundred dollars. I tried to track them, but the only person who knew where they went disappeared. Dawn something. White Dawn. One of those hippie kids from the canyons." He sighed and relaxed. "You know, dying ain't so bad."
Micah let go of Jamie's throat and leaned back. "Try dying for a girl." He said sadly. He pulled the trigger and Jamie slumped forward onto his desk. Blood leaked from under the nest of his hair. Micah pocketed his gun and left the room, shoving his way through the crowd and back into the cold, smoggy freedom of the city.
yeah, this chapter came out a little weird. i kind of rambled since i added a lot of it after I started the next chapter. the next one will be better, and I swear this time i'll update soon. thanks in advance...
