Smoke clouds her vision, fills her lungs as she stumbles through the burning wreckage of what was once her home, her screams turning into wracking coughs. Her family, where is her family? Final dress rehearsal tonight, final, final, the stage is an inferno where only demons can dance. The explosion has rendered her deaf and she is nearly blind with tears and she is burning, ah God, they're burning and it's all her fault-
Angel snapped awake, clutching the pillow so hard that her injured hand protested with a fresh burst of pain. She was breathing heavily, but not coughing from phantom smoke or screaming; progress.
Her mind was a fog of memory and dream, but her body still stubbornly held to old routines, getting out of bed and dressing itself, discarding the faded nightgown she had been wearing solely for the girl's benefit and trading it for one of many pairs of black tank tops and leggings. The concrete floor was cold on her bare feet as she walked over to the dust covered mirror, the light that filtered in from the small window near the ceiling reflected in the dim glass.
It would be dark soon, she could turn on a light but she didn't want to disturb the sleeping girl, who had been sleeping for most of the three days since Angel had found her, waking up long enough to eat before falling asleep again, disturbing Angel's own sleep with her nightmares and her sweating and shaking. Angel had wrapped her arms around the girl, whispered soothing, pretty words in her ear until her whimpers subsided. Withdrawal was a bitch with claws, Angel knew that all too well, and grief a vine filled with thorns. No one should have to feel both pains at once, but the girl was a fighter, of that Angel had no doubt.
Angel performed a series of stretches as her mind wandered, warming up the muscles in her arms and legs, trying desperately to un-kink her back as well, a perpetual task, but then, they had told her the risks— No, she wasn't going to think about that. Better to think about the stretching, better to let music fill her head and quiet her memories. She started to hum a tune from a show she had performed in long ago, the love/obsession/ loss theme from "An Opheliac Bound," as she continued warming up.
She didn't hear Shilo get out of bed, but she caught the movement in the mirror as the girl stood up, dressed in one of Angel's old shirts. The girl needed clothes, and her own bed, hell, even her own room, but she'd have to settle for two out of three. The loss of privacy was starting to make Angel feel a tad—prickly, but she tried her very best not to take it out on the girl. After all, it had been her brilliant idea to take in the girl in the first place.
"You might as well turn on the light if you're going to stare at me."
Shit. So much for not taking it out on the girl.
"S-sorry, I—"
The bedside lamp flicked on and Angel blinked as her eyes adjusted. "Don't apologize, I was being a bitch." She stretched her wings out to their full span, wingtips just brushing her wrists, then shifted slightly and felt them stretch towards the ceiling.
"How do they work?" Shilo's question ended with an abrupt squeak and a flinch, as if she was expecting to be snapped at. Angel sighed and folded her wings against her back before sitting on the bed, rubbing her temples against an oncoming headache.
"I'm sorry. I'm not used to— listen, sit down for a second? You look like you're going to rabbit out the door."
Shilo sat on the edge of the bed, still looking nervous. "I didn't mean to—"
"Upset me? I'm not upset at you. You should ask questions, knowledge is both an effective tool and a powerful weapon in this world. I'm just not used to having to give answers anymore. It's not easy for me to remember certain things, impossible to forget other things, and it all hurts. So if you ask me a question, you'll get an answer… eventually. And I apologize in advance if I ever sound angry if you ask me something personal. Okay?"
Shilo nodded, looking thoughtful. "Does um… how does Graverobber react? To personal questions, I mean."
Angel grinned, an honest to goodness not fake grin as Shilo turned a faint pink. Thank you for that, kid. Her innocence was just so… cute. "Let's put it this way. In all the time I've spent with him and after all the various shit we've been though, I still don't even know the name he was born with. Pretty sure the world would end if he ever gave anyone a straight answer."
Angel stood and walked over to the closet, a strange combination of perfectly neat and orderly clothes combined with piles of jumbled together shoes. She had thrown something in there yesterday, but good luck finding it. "So enough girl talk, how are you feeling? You look better today." It wasn't a lie really, Shilo did look less pale, and she wasn't shaking like she had been.
"I think I feel okay? No cramps, not tired, breathing fine, that's what okay is supposed to feel like, right? I don't have to go back to bed, do I?"
"Nope, not unless you want to." Poor kid, she had been sick so long she hardly knew what well was. "Ah ha! Found it!" She tossed a half full, surprisingly clean garbage bag on the bed. "One of my favorite stores did inventory last night, were kind enough to give me some of the things they were going to throw out because they weren't in style anymore. Why don't you go into the bathroom and see if anything fits while I put on some real clothes."
Shilo clutched the bag with both hands. "Are we going somewhere? I mean, are the Gencops still looking for me?"
"I think the two of us can handle a couple of Gencops. It might help if we could do something about your hair though. Maybe you can find a hat in there or something." Personally, Angel was hoping she could convince the kid that wig shopping was in order; at least until they figured out if her own hair would grow back or not. She had a feeling she knew where the hair for Shilo's wig had come from and it was seriously unnerving. "I think it's time you started learning about the world kid, and your education starts tonight."
The girl looked both nervous and happy as she headed for the door. Angel felt the familiar ache of grief in her heart still, but somehow looking after the kid made it just a little easier to bear. She was still half smiling as she swapped leggings for leather pants, the well worn material a comfort to her. She grabbed her belt from the bedpost, buckling it and fiddling with the hang of the gun holster before retrieving her Zydrate gun and the last of her supply of the glowing blue drug which she tucked into the specially made pockets of her duster.
"Might as well do some business first, a night out is more fun with a little cash on hand," she said to herself as she strolled down the hallway and into the kitchen. Graverobber was already up, feet up on the table, reading the newspaper. He looked up when she came in, arching an eyebrow.
"Well well, aren't we looking lucid this evening?"
Angel flashed him a bitter smile. "Don't worry; I'm sure it'll pass soon enough." She found her boots, the leather scarred from abuse. She rubbed her feet for a moment (also scarred from abuse) before slipping on the boots and lacing them up. "Since when do we get the evening paper?"
"Since someone broke the television again. You want another one, it's your turn to find one that works and drag it all the way back here. Good luck with that. Until then it's all going to be rumors on the street and stolen newspapers."
Angel straightened up. "I'd trust the rumors over the paper any day." She walked over to the fridge, perusing the contents. "Right, I'm eating out again I see." Out of the corner of her eye she noticed Graverobber trying to hide the page he had just been reading. "It'll save you time, aggravation, and probably some pain if you either tell me what you're trying to hide or just show me."
"Can you blame me for wanting to preserve your good mood?" Graverobber asked as he handed her the front page.
Angel focused on the words in front of her, a task that became increasingly more difficult the more that she read. Not the blurb in the corner about Nathan Wallace being buried next to his wife. Not the bit about how the new head of GeneCo, Miss Amber Sweet, wanted Shilo Wallace found so she could be provided for, poor little orphan girl that she was. It was the main article. Blind Mag was going to be cremated and interred at the Largo's own private columbarium. The funeral and reception were tomorrow, admittance only be invitation or by outrageously expensive tickets.
Cremated.
Fire all around her, smoke filling her lungs, she can't hear can't see can't breathe trapped trapped trapped pain burning—
"Angel. Breathe. You're in the apartment. You're safe here."
She was gripping the table hard enough to hurt, chest aching, throat tight. Graverobber's dark eyes were looking into hers.
"She's gone Angel. Would you rather have her buried where any wanna be graverobbing punk would dig her up and harvest her Zydrate just to make a name for himself?"
Angel gasped, shaking with rage. "They're selling tickets. They made her life a show, can't they leave her in peace now that she's dead?"
Angel heard the click of the bathroom door opening. The girl. She didn't want to upset the girl. She unclenched her aching hands and slowed her breathing.
"I'm going out. C'mon Shilo. I just have a little business to take care of first, then dinner and a bit of… therapy."
A columbarium is a place for the respectful and usually public storage of urns holding a deceased's cremated remains. And no, Angel has not forgotten Shilo's question. More will be revealed, but next chapter is Graverobber's, of course. :)