Bad: Chapter 17

"A smile like the cartoon, tooth for a tooth
You said that irony was the shackles of youth
You wore a shirt of violent green, uh-huh
I never understood the frequency, uh-huh
"

- REM


In January, Edward spent her first birthday in almost a decade with her father. For a fourteen-year-old girl, a decade was a long time—practically her whole life.

Of course, he hadn't remembered it was her birthday until a few days later, presenting her with a strangely-colored, lopsided cake, and a few days after that, he was gone yet again.

She really hadn't minded the look of the cake. It looked like something she would have made. She scooped out a handful for herself and another for Ein, each eating greedily, messily out of her dusky tanned palms.

This was the third time she and Ein had been left behind since she'd gone to find her father. They were usually able to catch up within a day or two, always heartily welcomed upon their arrival and questioned as to where they'd run off to.

But it had been weeks now, the trail having long grown cold, and she was darn tired. She and the dog spent many nights huddled together under a blanket, the wind and dust whooshing all around them, sleeping out in the open desert, nothing but hard rock to lay upon.

It didn't bother her any. Her tendency was toward a nomadic lifestyle, and now she had more than just her Tomato to keep her company.

Still, every now and then, she found herself in the same place for a time, something having drawn her in, a short-lived distraction from her endless travels.

This time it was an airplane.

It didn't look to be crashed, per se, because it was at least halfway intact and there was no apparent sign of lost life. Certainly, though, something had to have caused it to be downed out in the middle of a dried up seabed, half sunk into the ground.

They came upon it early one morning in the warm dawn light, she and Ein both looking at each other for a moment before racing across the cracked dirt toward the silvery jet jutting out from the ground like a piece of shrapnel dug under the skin of the earth. She held onto the straps of her backpack as her legs reeled freely beneath her, Ein scurrying alongside in her periphery, his tiny white legs doing their all to keep pace with the lanky teen.

Together they scaled the wing of the small aircraft, Ein climbing onto Ed's back so they could peek inside the dusty window together. They inspected it carefully, wary that something or someone might be living there. They crept around to the other side, which was open and half-missing, and climbed up to the jagged cliff of carpeted flooring.

A startled raven squawked and sailed toward them, Edward ducking just in time to avoid the bird's ineffective attempt at intimidation. The plane was oddly clean and cozy, a small ten passenger private plane with two couches, no less.

It wasn't long before they found themselves curled up together on one of the sofas, the need for a home awakening inside yet again.


"Whoops."

Faye looked on in amazement as Jet slipped down the stairs leading into common area, his bottom thudding down each step, cackling wildly, slapping his knee in mirth once he finally hit the steel floor. Spike hopped down around him, spinning for moment on his good leg as he lifted the other to alleviate the pain from his thoughtless vault, leaving her to stand above them, watching as he attempted to pull an uncivil Jet to his feet.

Spike looked up at her and shrugged, his eyebrows rising in unison with his shoulders, his expression reading 'what can ya do?'

She pressed a palm to her forehead and groaned, a migraine twisting away in her temple.

After a few hours, two bottles of scotch, and a lot of 'remember whens', Jet knew he needed to sober up and get down to business.

That, however, was around 3pm.

Neil had talked him into swinging by the club for old-time's sake, and by the time they rolled into the Sonata Café at 8 o'clock, Jet figured he could treat himself to at least one or two more to smooth out the rough side effects of his morning bender. When Spike and Faye finally found him, he was halfway through a bottle of Wild Turkey, smacking his hand on the bar as Neil banged out a lively rendition of "Twistin' the Night Away."

"C'mon, Jet," Faye whined, her face morphing into an excruciating visage of exhaustion and frustration.

Despite his current state of utter ridiculousness and intemperance, Jet still possessed the mental wherewithal to know he was a burden to his shipmates.

"Just leave me here. I'll sleep on the couch."

Spike was immediately agitated by this prospect.

"That's probably a good idea," Faye said, rubbing her brow.

"But he'll be cranky in the morning," Spike whispered surreptitiously.

She hissed back. "Well, I'm cranky now!"

Sighing, Spike slipped his hand under Jet's bicep as Jet planted his hand on the coffee table, aiding Spike in lifting him from the ground. He stood only for a moment before crashing face-first into the sofa.

"Night," he said into the cushions, slipping into unconsciousness.

"I guess that's another day gone to hell," Faye said, her voice detached as she stared distantly at Jet's motionless figure. "We only have a couple left…"

Spike watched her as she trailed off, fearful of the sudden despair that was overtaking her, having nothing to say in response.


Within a few days, Edward and Ein had claimed the grounded jet as their own. At first, the birds dwelling there were perturbed and took to squawking endlessly in an attempt to ward off the girl and dog. However, after Edward began asking them questions about their feathers and seasonal flight habits with earnest curiosity, they seemed to sense that this creature was not like any they had ever encountered and found the courage to stay.

At night, she and Ein would sit atop the nose of the plane, the cool metal stinging her bottom, and howl with the coyotes. During the day she would work on her latest project: a schemata that could be used to predict meteorite activity.

Perhaps it was fruitless endeavor, but it was her hope that if she could map the topographical changes to the Earth's surface before they occurred then her father would no longer need to travel globe, mapping the changes in real time. She was bright enough to know that this would not guarantee a more orthodox relationship with the man, but if it meant that he would stay in the same place for more than a day then she had to try.


Spike touched his lips, the acrid, lingering smell of cigarettes permanently seeded into his fingertips. He couldn't recall a time when it wasn't there. He'd started smoking at age twelve, he and some of the other boys at the orphanage having stolen a pack of Dorals from the groundskeeper. The first time he'd tried one, he inhaled all wrong and ended up swallowing the smoke instead, giving himself a wicked stomach ache that lasted the whole afternoon.

Despite having grown up an orphan, he was never lonely. All the other kids he knew were orphans too, so he really had no basis for comparison. Even when they would run off and loiter around the carousel park or the roller rink, they were always together, insulated by each other, shielded from the images happy families all around them. Well, mostly anyway.

No, it was Julia that had really made him understand loneliness. In her presence he felt a…oneness, a wholeness that no one else had ever come close to making him feel. And without her that wholeness turned to emptiness. He could never go back to feeling as he had before he'd met her. She'd created the void and only she could fill it.

Or so he'd thought. There were three people and a dog that had proven him wrong.

And for that, he knew he'd gotten lucky in a way all those other orphans probably never had.

But, still, at night, when he was alone, he felt the loneliness wrench inside him again.

Tonight, it was worse than it had been in ages. His mind began to recall with amazing clarity some of the tiniest details of their brief history—things that, unbeknownst to him, had dimmed with time. The warm, buttery color of her hair in the sunlight. The smoothness of her fingernails. The blue patterned linoleum of her kitchen floor. The bronze pocket watch that sat on her bedside table, tick, tick, ticking away. He suspected maybe it had been her father's, but he never asked.

He reached for his cigarettes and felt the sensation of a hair clinging to the fine down of his arm. He brushed his fingers down his forearm attempting to locate the offending strand, grasping it satisfyingly between this thumb and index finger, bringing it up to his eyes to examine.

Even in the dark he knew it was Faye's. Thick and straight and black.

So it begins.


"Drink this."

"What the hell is it?"

"Prairie oyster."

"No, thanks," Jet stated, repulsed, and pushed the glass toward Spike.

Spike slid it back. "Just drink it. It'll heal you up."

"The last time I took one of your home remedies I ended up passing out on the floor."

"Well, actually, I think that had more to do with you being bitten by that thing from the fridge."

Jet looked back at Spike, astonished by his flippancy on the subject.

"You mean that thing that attacked and nearly killed all of us because you forgot it was there."

"Yeah, that."

The corners of Spike's lips turned up slightly as Jet tilted his head in irritation.

"Are we ready to do this or what?" Faye's voice cut in as she entered the room.

"We were waiting for you."

"No, we were waiting for you, you lush."

Spike and Faye cast sideways glances at each other, sharing equally mischievous smirks. Jet always gave them hell for their irresponsible drinking binges.

Jet grimaced, disgraced by his juvenile behavior.

Spike leaned across the coffee table and tapped the computer, waking it from its sleep.

An expectant, weary silence overtook them as Jet scooted over, placing himself in front of the keyboard. He took a moment to adjust the re-position of the monitor and moved to pull the coffee table closer as well. Faye pushed herself up and down on the balls of her feet anxiously, willing him to get on with it. Spike felt her agitation and began to grow more impatient because of it.

A momentary flash of panic came over Jet as he realized with immaculate clarity the larger implications of what they were doing. What exactly would they be getting themselves into here? What would they be getting Edward into? How could he ask her to put herself in harm's way for them? She was just a kid. She didn't know what she was doing—not really, anyway.

He was torn. Torn between the selfish desire to fold their two wayward companions back into his life and keep them there forever and the impulse to push them as far away from this mess as he possibly could.

His began to shake as they hovered over the keys. He felt himself beginning to choke out the words 'I can't.' when Faye broke in.

"Jet."

He looked back at her inanely, having no idea what he was supposed to be doing.

"Do it."


AN: If anyone can guess which movie character Neil is based on, I will…

…be very impressed. Maybe I will figure out something nice to do for you guys. Like get on with this story.