"After what had happened at McCarran, I had to take a break. From you, from worrying about the Legion and NCR; I just wanted it to stop. I wandered going around the Mojave, gathering my bearings, regretting the things that had brought me here," Lucky said with a sorrowful sigh.
She'd left him on her excursions, taking Veronica and ED-E with her and leaving him to his own devices on the Strip. Walking the floors of the Presidential Suite became nothing more than a surrogate for walking the floors of his small room in Novac. He dreaded it and left to wander North Vegas where he'd lived.
Rows of bungalows hugged the shattered sidewalks. A small patch of "fertile" earth birthed small stalks of corn. An old oil barrel flashed its hypnotic and fiery dance. The street lights flickered and buzzed as he made his way home. His family left after he'd joined the military. There was nothing there to keep them grounded. He was grown and the road would be their home from then on.
He heard the music from the Strip floating over the larger concrete slabs that made up New Vegas' walls. He found himself humming – an event that happened ever so rarely even when Carla was around. He wanted to know if his home still stood, maybe he'd move back there after Lucky was done having her way with him.
A twitchy man was stumbling around the street and began to approach Boone. He scratched his arms, his shoulders, in rapid unsatisfied swipes.
"Hey, man. Do you have any caps you can spare?" the junkie begged. "They're for my kids and..."
"I don't think so," Boone scoffed with disgust.
It was obvious the man was strung out and hadn't considered at least attempting to clean himself. Dirty broken finger nails continued to claw and the pungent smell of piss and excrement emanated from him like a toxic cloud. Boone held his breath and tried to walk around the man, but the man stopped him. He put his hand to the sniper's chest and gave him another look. This time it was more grave than the hopped up deer in the headlights appearance he'd given before.
"Now look here, man. I just need the caps, just a few. Don't care how many you got," the man stammered out. His breath became ragged and from behind his back you pulled out a large kitchen knife. "Now you give them to me and nothing bad has to happen 'ere, got me?"
Boone's eyes fell on the knife and to the wild eyed man who was beginning to froth slightly at the corners of his mouth. He didn't blink, he reached into his pocket and felt around through the pockets of lint to the few caps Lucky had given him. He'd planned on using it for a bottle of absinth he'd seen at the Wrangler. He let out a disappointed sigh and handed them to the jumpy man.
His fingers were twitching so frantically that several of the caps fell to the ground. The stung out mugger flew to the ground, muttering all sorts of nonsense to himself. Boone made his exit as quickly as he could before his assailant had noticed. He hurried away, putting as much distance as he could between the two of them. He looked over his shoulder a couple of times to see if the man was following, but found that the addict had disappeared.
He continued forward, letting the setting sun lead his path to a small farmstead on the north side of Vegas. The small structure had fallen into complete disrepair. The once pale yellow stucco walls were littered with graffiti and other things he didn't want to think about. One of the walls had crumbled down and exposed what was once a quaint living area. He stuck his head in and inhaled the deep essence of nostalgia. Pulling off his sunglasses, he looked around the dim room and saw the few scattered toys that had once filled his life with joy. Part of him was surprised that the scavengers hadn't picked the place clean for the few caps that the worthless crap would bring them.
He took his first uncertain step into the living room through the broken wall and stood on the hard concrete. He remembered their being a ratty carpet by the door that was absent. The only thing remaining in its absence was an ever fading void where it had laid for as long as he could remember. He walked back toward where the kitchen was and found that even under the layers of dust everything was the way it had been the day he had left.
He sat on the counter and pulled off his beret. His hands rang it tightly as he thought about his life. The things he'd done, the things he'd lost. Carla. The baby. Manny "Fuck Him" Vargas. Bitter Springs. Pulling the trigger. Hating. Being spiteful.
Then he thought about Lucky and what Doc Kemp had said. Her innocence lost. That she'd have been better off dead. He looked at his hands and moved them around the doctor had done to her. Her hesitation when she'd seen him. Even that terrified look when she'd pinned him down in front of Silus. The sound of the gun going off, the smell of gun powder. The blood. There was so much of it and she hadn't flinched. He didn't even realize he'd done anything to her.
He tried to replay the scene in his head. Had he hit her with the gun? He couldn't remember. He was in such a state that he was only snapped to by how forceful she had been.
"To hell with it," he muttered, hopping from the counter and heading back to the living area.
Through the large hole in the wall, he saw that night had finally come to pass. He wondered if Lucky and the others had made it back from Red Rock Canyon. All Lucky said was she was working on a deal and that he couldn't go.
"Not a snowball's chance in Hell am I letting you step into the Great Khan camp. I don't need that past bullshit fucking things up," she'd told him.
That was three days ago and she hadn't come back. He shook his head and returned back to the street. There wasn't anything tying him to that place anymore. He walked, his pace sluggish, back to the Strip. The Securitrons whizzed around him as he went through the gate and back to the 38.
The elevator creaked and jerked. Every floor was chimed off and the broken speakers kept spewing their off-key tunes. He folded his arms and awaited another night alone. He thought about it for a moment another night by himself. And he found that he hated it. He wasn't being useful. Lucky wasn't there to keep him line. Carla wasn't there to do all the talking. It was just him and the illusions of the bottle of absinth he failed to purchase.
Everything had broken down into disillusion since he'd left Novac. He'd grown numb. Uncaring. Even Lucky doubted him about those type of feelings. Just like he doubted if she was even capable of having a single one. He didn't know if she trusted him, nor if he could trust her in kind. She was always so damn isolated, speaking little and only coming out of that damn master bedroom to leave the Lucky 38 or grab something to eat.
He thought about it long and hard while his subconscious ticked off the chimes of dread that were building as he approached home sweet home. Another night. He might as well just leave if he has no use for him anymore.
He snorted at the idea at the same time the elevator doors rolled open. ED-E was flying by and was the first to notice the lonesome man standing in the middle of the elevator car. He skittered and chirped with excitement. Veronica peered around the corner at him and sighed.
Boone stayed silent and brushed away the exhuberant eyebot. It followed him around as he began walking into the different rooms on the floor. He finally came to a stop outside of Lucky's room. He hesitated to knock and glanced at ED-E.
"Is she in there?" he asked. He didn't even know if the stupid thing understood what he was saying.
"Yeah, she is," Veronica replied from behind him. "She says she's busy."
"Doing?" Boone asked turning to the Scribe with a lifted eyebrow.
"Does it matter?" another woman fired. She took a long swig of whiskey and walked between the two and headed for the far room. "What are you? Her boss?"
Boone looked at Veronica with confusion.
"Cass," was all she responded with.
He felt dejected. People showing up, unannounced. A drunk broad traipsing through as if she was the one in charge. He put his hand to the door and grumbled to himself. From the other side, he heard Lucky talking and then a man would speak up. He couldn't understand what they were saying, but the more he listened the more lighthearted he heard Lucky's voice get. And then it hit him. Laughter. Her laughter. It was something he'd never heard from her before. It was melodic and soft and even the jovial tone had hints of sadness in them.
"Alright, we'll head out tomorrow then," Lucky acknowledged, as her voice drew closer to the door.
Boone took a step back and the door swung open. Lucky was looking at him, a stunned expression on her face; in her hand was a large duffle bag. A man came from behind the door and stopped when he saw her friend standing there.
"Hey," she said softly. "Where've you been?"
"Out," It was the only word Boone could muster in his utterly hidden amusement.
"Lucky?" the blonde man interrupted.
"Oh, right! Craig Boone. Arcade Gannon," she introduced. They didn't even exchange pleasantries.
"What's in the bag?" Boone asked.
"Medical supplies. Some books. Toys for the kids," Lucky replied, looking at her care package.
"Where you off to, then?" he questioned.
"Bitter Springs. Do you want to come tomorrow?" she answered with a slightly hopeful tone.
Boone stepped aside and in silence shook his head. The mere idea of Bitter Springs made his blood run cold. He was there every night when he was able to sleep. If flashes of Carla's death didn't torment him. The clusterfuck massacre that was Bitter Springs always tended to pick up the slack. He turned from her, nearly wounded by the sheer thought of it. He headed off in the direction that Cass had went. He hoped that the redhead had more whiskey he could mooch off of her.
"Be careful!" Veronica called out.
A hulking blue mass moved from around the corner in his direction. He was staring at it so closely that his eyes began to blur from how close they were. He smelled bighorner shit and other pungent aromas. Then he heard the breathing. It was heavy, labored breathing.
"Little Pumpkin?! Who is this?" the behemoth spoke with a growl.
He heard Lucky come up behind him and stop at the door. She let out a sigh and even he could hear the frown forming on her face.
"This is Boone, Lily," she answered. "He's a friend" She paused and lit a cigarette. Boone looked up at Lily cautiously and took a step back, nearly bumping into Lucky in the process.
"Holy shit," he uttered.
"Don't stare. The nightkin don't like that. It makes them nervous," Lucky warned with a hiss. She poked him gently in the back. It was so soft that it made his skin tingle slightly.
"Awww! Grandma wouldn't hurt one of your friends, sweetie," Lily said. She gave Boone a suspscious look that sent shivers down the veteran soldier's spine.
"I know you wouldn't," Lucky replied back. "Have you taken your medicine yet?" The nightkin growled and turned away from his friend. "Lily?"
"The medication makes my memory fuzzy," Lily sulked.
"I know," Lucky replied. She let out another sigh and began to head toward her room. "We'll discuss it later, okay?" Lily grumbled out inaudibly and went to sit on the couch. "You are coming with right?"
"Yes, Pumpkin," Lily answered back.
"Alright, we'll see you in the morning then." Lucky gave Boone a look and the soft smile she'd been holding faded. "I guess you'll be here by yourself again."
The idea was dreadful. He didn't want to go; he couldn't. Even the downcast eyes she was now giving him didn't ebb the lack of wanting to go. She didn't beg, she just let her shoulders drop with disappointment and went back to her room.
"I'm sorry," he uttered to her under his breath.
One by one the lights began to go out till he was standing in the hallway by himself. The only light that seemed to break the darkness was the Securitron with the cowboy face on it standing by the door.
"Why are you standing out here? Don't you have some other place to be?" Cass asked from behind him. He gave her a quick glance and saw her leaning against the door jamb. The thick, sticky smell of whiskey rode on her breath as she spoke.
"Don't worry about it," he snapped back.
"Why don't you quit being a man-boy and just go in there and fuck around with her. From the looks of the two of you, you both need it," the drunk woman protested.
Boone went to say he wasn't interested in her like that, but thought better of it. He just nodded and walked to Lucky's room. He didn't bother knocking this time. He let the door swing open. The faintest of dim lights from the desk lamp beside him flickered softly. He saw her on the bed, her dingy white night shirt on. The pale flesh of her legs glistened gently in the wallowing illumination. He saw the vacant couch and closed the door behind him.
He sat down and propped his feet on the table. He saw her camera resting on the desk and closed his eyes. Snapshots. That's all memories were: pictures that moved but remained still. Just like he had. He'd stagnated, but the memories were like an inescapable flood that always seemed ready to drown him. He had to do something to make peace with that certain things on his own. Even if it meant going to Bitter Springs and facing down what he'd done.