195. The Earth Must Bleed part 10
A halo of lights.
Flickering security camera feed.
Special effects computer console controls.
The instrument panels and camera control stations of the Arena Observation Room in the belly of Pompei stretched around us.
Us……
Hull…
Wildebeest…
Killer Croc…
And myself.
We were all 'winners', as Jacob Anderson uttered at the end of our spontaneous melee. It was a distinction that broke the understood rules of the tournament. And regardless of the grueling anticlimax's awkwardness, the spectators walked away happy from the illegal event. All rich with gambling earnings. It was a boldly suicidal move on behalf of Anderson and his casino's bank.
But somehow, he didn't seem phased by that.
He paced before us—the burgundy robed man—with a drunk grin on his face. Rexxin stood like a red flame in the corner, accompanied by nearly a dozen security guards in the shadows. They all had guns ready, just in case any of the 'superfreaks' present decided to do something.
That meant us….and me.
"……," I gazed silently at Anderson through my cracked goggles. My jaw was tight. My lips were firm. I stood tall and straight in spite of my bruises; the fitting form of Wyldecarde.
"You all must be very very anxious…..," Anderson dripped. He was tall. His skunk spots easily hovered above my brow level. Only Wildebeest and Killer Croc were capable of staring the man down. "…and very very confused."
"Try very very pissed….," Killer Croc hissed.
Rexxin and his guards shifted nervously.
Anderson walked to a stop, gazing over. A beat. He smiled: "And very very empty-handed too, at the time being."
Killer Croc's teeth showed in a mutated sneer. "Hressssssssh….."
Anderson resumed pacing. "All four of you have proven that you have the power, strength, and survivability to truly reach the threshold of the Vault." He gestured with a hand. "But seeing that you are all equally matched, I cannot let a single one of you receive your prize."
Wildebeest snorted.
Hull folded his arms.
Anderson raised a finger: "Now now……you must realize that the contents of the Vault are very important to a man in my position," he suavely placed a hand over his breast and winked. "I run a great risk letting any single one of you so much as see the door to the holding place. Much less entering in. I've grown to respect your varied strengths and tenacities. But now I must learn if I can trust them."
Hull droned: "Does Triangular trust you to handle the Vault like a six-year-old bully?"
Rexxin bit his lip.
My black eyes darted to the edge of my goggles.
"…..," Anderson gazed at Hull. He slowly broke forth a smile: "Why…..what ever are you talking about?"
"……," Hull glared.
"I know of no such 'Triangular'….," Anderson smiled.
"Hrmm…..," Hull's head nodded lightly. "Right."
A beat.
"You know….I would think that some of you should owe me back some of the respect I've shown to you…," Anderson said with a slightly colder tone and a waving finger at all of us….mainly situated towards Hull. "I'm not pushing you all away. After all, I have one last offer."
"An offer?" Killer Croc's mucous green eyes narrowed. "Or a request?"
Wildebeest took a deep breath through his nostrils.
"Heheheheh…," Anderson ran a hand through his black and gray hair. "Quite observant for a swamp water rat."
"Just get to the point."
"My organization is a strong one…," Anderson gestured towards the walls of 'Pompeii'. "And yet, it is still rather new here in Las Vegas. But regardless, our presence here is like an elephant stepping on the moon. The crater of our strong impact will not be forgotten. But in order to claim the right stakes in this gamble of a desert oasis, we need to give the right message to the right people."
"What kind of people?" Killer Croc hissed.
"Very….very….disrespectful people," Anderson purred.
I shifted nervously where I sat and tried to hide it. I felt the peripheral gaze of Hull on my person and tensed up…
"We will discuss it tomorrow," Anderson pointed.
"What is there to discuss?" Hull coldly spat. "Already you have for us a single, irreversible stipulation. Need you delay the inevitable by waiting to brief us on what you want tomorrow?"
"Are you so impatient, stranger?" Anderson chuckled.
Hull's stone-hard-eyes narrowed. "Is your heart so beating?"
A beat.
"You will return to this casino tomorrow," Anderson returned with hard finality. He glared as well. "Or you will not so much as smell the burning force field reinforcing the precious Vault you seek."
"…….."
"Well then….," Anderson half-bowed and slinked out of the room. "Have a good night, gentlemen. What's left of it. Heh…..heheh…."
And he was gone.
Rexxin motioned at us, showing his and his officer's guns. He pointed towards the hallway doors.
"Up we go…"
Hull took a deep breath. "Right….," and he walked out of the room first. Wildebeest followed behind, glancing at me with twisted white eyes. I glanced back at him. He shrugged. I shrugged. We both exited. Killer Croc was the last to leave, and he was grumbling the whole time.
"Cotton picking waste of blood….I swear to God.….I'm gonna sink my hungry teeth into his neck. How's that for a martini?"
Rexxin glared and touched the hilt of his holstered gun. "Don't make me turn you into a new pair of boots, freak."
"…………..," Killer Croc glared back.
A beat.
"BOO!" Killer Croc jerked his razor-sharp mouth at Rexxin.
The guard jumped back.
"Hehehehehehehressssssh….," Crock cracked his muscle joints and walked out finally, under the watchful aim of a company of Rexxin's gunmen. "…right. Enough with this friggin' Popsicle stand. I'm hittin' the bars!"
I glared back through the corner of my goggles. My black eyes narrowed on the visage of Killer Croc.
Is it just me……or……
Is everything that Gothamite freak saying feel a little……
……
Forced?
I shook it off and made to leave Pompeii.
-T-T-T-T-T-T-
CRRRREAK.
There was a side door hidden in the most shadowed corner of the casino's parking garage.
On the bottom floor.
It was through there that the four of us exited. Rexxin and his men were shortly behind us. And as soon a we were outside, the chief of security slammed the door shut with a grunt.
THWAP!
We all stood in a dark halo for a moment. Blinking.
Feeling like we had been thrown out.
Hardly an honorable exit for four 'warriors' who had risked life and limb and….loyalty to get as far as each of us did through the tournament.
I half-expected an old fashion car to drive by Godfather style through the parking garage and gun us collectively down with tommy guns. But somehow that didn't happen.
There was an uneasy silence among us all until—naturally—the most mutated of us grunted forth:
"Well, I'm beginning to think this is all nothing but a big crock of shit!" Killer Croc said. A beat. He hissingly laughed: "Man, don't I sound rich?"
"……………"
"Well, I think I'll be stickin' around anyways! This Vault is too big to have slippin' out of my damn, oily fingers!"
"……………."
"Land o'Goshen! Don't you punks ever talk!"
"Less talking and more dying," Hull grunted.
Killer Croc grinned down at him with a mouth full of teeth. "Then what say we die together! Right now!"
I blinked.
Hull's eyes were bored. "You're not worth the breath."
"Nnnngh…," Killer Croc snarled and raised a clawed fist-
"Rmmmff!" Wildebeest suddenly stepped up, arms crossed threateningly.
Killer Croc looked between Wildebeest and Hull. Mucous eyes blinking. "Saaaay…what is this! I don't like where this is going!"
"It'll be going nowhere at all if you don't wisen up some, you pathetic dungheap," Hull grunted. He started to walk out of the parking garage, his silver-tipped hands in his denim pockets. "If any of us want to have a chance at seeing the Vault, we're going to have to start seeing each other as teammates. Not advesaries."
"And just who made you boss!"
"The same person who can teleport that bigass mouth of yours into thin air if you don't put it to rest," Hull muttered. His stone footsteps echoed against the walls and girders of the parking garage as he faded away in the dark distance of the filtering night. "See you later, alligator."
"…….."
A beat.
"Hrmph….," Killer Moth turned and looked at us. "…he think he's some kind of killer or something?"
"……….," we stared at him.
"Oh. Yeah. Right." He shrugged with a hissing chuckle. "My bad. Well, gotta split kiddies." He cracked his neck joints. "Not many places a Gothamite freak like me can hide in once the sun's up. Gotta find me a sewer. You two enjoy your date."
Wildebeest grunted.
Killer Croc walked over to a drain, yanked the grate off—CRACK!—and jumped down with a grunt. There was a splashing sound, and then he was gone.
"………"
Wildebeest and I stood alone.
Silence.
We looked at each other.
My black eyes remained firm and resolute beneath my goggles.
Wildebeest's white optics narrowed.
"…..," I looked over his shoulder.
FL-FLASH!
Pulsade appeared, and beside her was Jinx. A soft light filtering out from the blonde assassin's aura bathed them as the two girls slowly drifted forward and flanked Wildebeest's side.
"Well, isn't this quaint…," Pulsade murmured and folded her arms.
I folded my arms too.
Stole the words right out of my………never mind.
"I can't believe how unbelievably screwy this all is…," Jinx ran a shaking hand through her short pink hair. "I'm in tune to the strings of destiny and fate. And yet here I've failed to predict all this chaos!"
"Anderson is a complete, bloomin' retard," Pulsade grumbled. She tossed her blonde hair. "I should have figured he would never have opened the Vault for anyone to begin with."
Wildebeest nodded, sighing out of his nostrils.
"Triangular's up to something!" Jinx squealed. She counted the pale fingers on her dainty hands. "If Luthor and Dagger have a hand in this—and whoever sent Killer Croc to the tournament too—then this could be nothing but a huge trap meant to gain everything just for the evil organization's glory, and if Anderson thinks he can-" She stopped. Her pink cat eyes blinked…then narrowed. "Uhm…..wh-why are we all talking like we're perfectly good friends?"
Pulsade bit her lip.
Wildebeest shifted uncomfortably.
I simpered.
ZAAT!
"Because maybe that's what we all should be….," the Messenger walked over and leaned against a parked van to my side. He smiled. "….friends." A pause. "For the time being, at least."
"Pfft…don't be cheeky," Pulsade rolled her blue eyes. "I'd be gobsmacked to see the likes of that happening."
"And why not, Miss Poppins?"
"We're both going in opposite, bloody directions!" Pulsade growled and angrily waved a hand. "Jinx and I were doing quite nicely before you and your lovely puppet came pissing around our arena!"
"Your arena….Your direction…," the Messenger examined his short fingernails. "And yet….you guys and my buddy here are after the same thing—ahem—person."
"……….," Pulsade drew silent.
I squinted aside at the Messenger through my goggles.
What are you doing……?
He half-smiled at me before addressing the group: "Come on! Spies. Vixens. Oxen one and all…."
Wildebeest snorted.
"—we all value the life and existence of Terra in all our psychotic little ways," the Messenger spoke. "Which is the least any of us can say about Anderson or Killer Croc."
"Yeah….," Jinx murmured. She folded her frilled arms. "And what of Mister Tall-Dark-And-Bloodletting?"
I shuddered.
"This 'Hull' fella knows an awful lot about what he's up to," the Messenger said. A chuckle: "Which is good twenty-meter dash ahead of me because I have no motherfuzzing clue what the Donny Osmond hell-clone is doing here. But rest assured, if he gets ahold of the key to Terra from that vault, it won't be a good thing."
Jinx seemed to shudder at the sound of the Messenger's admittance to knowing that information.
But Pulsade wasn't nearly as convinced. She folded her arms and managed a smirk at the asian teen: "Ah. Brill. For once, the wise-arse is short of the prime in his donkey years!"
"Hey! Only I can make the degrading jokes!" the Messenger blinked his almond eyes. He pointed: "By the way, I've been meaning to ask—"
"Nnnngh…," Jinx rolled her eyes. "I'm tired of this! Go on! What! Lemme guess…you wanna know 'which one of us leads when we dance', right?"
The Messenger stared. He smiled and lowered his hand. "Actually, my inquiry was somewhere along the lines of who goes on the tampon runs, but—"
"This is absolutely bloody pointless!" Pulsade shook her head, grabbed Jinx by the shoulder, and made to leave. "We have no time to waste fraternizing with you pillocks! Even if everything came down to the wire and we both reached Terra at once, we'd obviously clash heads because we know what must be done to stop Red Aviary and you lads are entirely cluele—What the bloomin' hell is so funny!"
Wildebeest was snorting a bovine chuckle.
Jinx hissed, and flung a hex bolt above him.
FLASH!
A dead lighting fixture fell atop the beast's head.
CLANG!
"Nrnnngh!" Wildebeest snorted angrily and rubbed his aching, silver crown between the horns.
"I think you're forgetting something," the Messenger took a gentle step forward and gestured. "We have here a true Teen Titan. As far as—ya know—puberty and Promethean superpowers go…"
I glared at him.
He smiled and went on: "At least grant yourself an edge to get to the blonde maiden of the Earth. Link up with a Titan. Sure…you all may be butting heads at the end. That's inevitable. But at least you've got a ticket away from having to butt heads with someone else you'd ultimately wouldn't like. Someone with scales or blue denim and a penchant for throwing a wrench into everything that Counter-Red-Aviary stands for…not to mention a holy-shit-hand-grenade."
"………."
"Now's when you give into the cute asian's blinding charm," the Messenger winked.
"Ugh….you make me sick," Jinx groaned. A beat. She blinked. "I need a shower."
"Never mind…," Pulsade sighed. She pointed at the two of us. "We'll deal with you two gradually. Jinx and I will be covering Bonehead here—" she pointed at Wildebeest "—as always. And perhaps we'll give a thought to sniping the other ugly blokes a half second before you if fate just happens to make that beneficial to us."
"That's my department," Jinx raised a happy hand.
I smiled sarcastically at her with half a sneer following…
"Let's get out of here…," Pulsade grumbled. She whipped out a communicator. "'J'. Come in, lad. Is the Loft Destination clear?"
"Uhm….Leslie….I haven't been able to contact him in over an hour."
"Oh….great….bloody perfect," Pulsade tossed her arms.
"Need help, ladies?"
"NEVER YOU MIND!" Pulsade snarled. "Stupid little blonde sprog, I swear to god I'll thrash for every inch of his…of his…..oh gawds, I'm tired."
Jinx hugged her. "It's okay, girl. It won't be long and you'll be back in your warm terry cloth robe and—"
"Blast it, Jean! How many times do I have to tell you," Pulsade hissed. "Not in front of the nemeses!"
I mouthed: 'Nemeses?'
The Messenger chuckled.
"But wait, I thought you said the old headmasters of H.I.V.E. were—"
"Enough! Jupiter above! Okay, we're gone. We are GONE!"
FLASH!
The two girls and their horned 'pet' disappeared in a clumsy flash of light.
A beat.
The Messenger turned to me. "Yup. Definitely Jinx."
I looked at him sideways. "?"
He motioned with a thumb. "The one who goes on the runs…," he whispered.
I snickered mutely.
"Hehehehe….ahem….TO THE BOY CAVE!"
-T-T-T-T-T-T-
It was still nighttime.
Barely.
The Messenger and I stood wearily on opposite sides of the abandoned construction warehouse. I leaned with my back against a dilapidated wall. He sat on the edge of a table covered with metal mesh and leftover tools from the 'rebirth' of Wyldecarde.
"Beats me what Hull knows about you. But one thing is for sure, I'm getting sick and tired of plagiarists."
I looked at him awkwardly, dazedly from the opposite end of the shadows. The cold desert night wafted in with thin starlight. I had my goggles off, my naked eyes exposed to the shapes and contours of my benevolent visitor.
He gazed up at the partial ceiling, took a breath, and mused: "First some blonde mute kid, then Glover, and now Tom Sizemore with a Star Trek transporter built into his fingers." He gazed across the darkness at me. "That'd land for one hell of a scary honeymoon night, wouldn't it?"
I exhaled. I don't ever think of such crap……
"Well, no matter…," the Messenger stretched and seemingly cracked his neck muscles. "I'll be sure to check in on him. One step at a time." He fingered the bulky watch on his arm and smirked some. "Glad to have some added juice here. I get to annoy you and all your friends longer." He winked at me. "I'm like the one Johnny Carson guest who never leaves. You wouldn't believe it, but I've got Yoko Ono hiding under this sweatjacket of mine."
I chuckled breathily before yawning and gazing at the floor.
A beat.
"Noir?"
I looked up.
The Messenger's face was straight. Peaceful. Sympathetic.
"How're you doing?"
A beat.
I shifted my body. I felt the bruises, the cuts, the wounds from a night of being a wild card.
I smiled crookedly and hand-signed whether he could understand it or not:
'Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust.'
Give to the Earth……
"There are so many complicated things at foot now," the Messenger slowly said. "Tools of Triangular being used to the utmost potency. Evil wheels spinning in the criminal underground. And Red Aviary always trailing…trailing…trailing….crimson…."
A beat.
I fought the same damn shiver up my arm.
I sighed….
"The best thing you can do for Terra—or the rest of the Titans for that matter—is rest now, Noir," the Messenger said. "Heck….even I need to take a breather out of this cock-eyed reality you call 'home'. Heh….no offense. But I prefer to lay my head down to sleep in universes where there's a little less shock value and a little more marvel. If you don't catch my drift, that's okay. Something tells me you and I have been in these still waters for a long time, and yet it's all achieving a purpose."
I took a deep breath, hugging myself.
"Hey….," he leaned forward. "Jinx and Pulsade mean well. As bloody and as crazy as they may be, they really do mean well. But I assure you—Noir—that they're not going to get within a foot of Terra before you do."
"….."
"I swear."
I smiled at him.
I know.
He hopped down from the table, stretched, and took a deep breath. "Well…..nnngh….I've got just one last thing to do before I skedaddle."
I raised an eyebrow.
"Go on and Luxor your melatonin away. I'll meet you here in the Boy Cave, come rain or come shine."
Don't say it like that-
Ciao!
ZAAAT!
And in a green flash, he was gone.
"….."
……or like that.
I sighed. I shuffled over towards a backpack in the far corner of the abandoned building where my casual clothes lie.
I began to change for the night…
-T-T-T-T-T-T-
Anderson sat in a lavish office.
In a lavish chair.
Before a lavish set of t.v. screens stacked together.
He swirled a glass of wine that reflected off the windows of the twentieth floor.
Outside, distant lights of Las Vegas sparkled, died, were resurrected, and sparkled again.
The local news broadcasts displayed—on numerous t.v. sets—various images of an overturned, abandoned bus on a desert highway.
"…….," Anderson grinned.
Creeeeak.
Double doors to his office opened.
Rexxin stepped in. The dim light of the richly carpeted interior settled gently on his red hair streaks. He gazed at Jacob Anderson from afar and cleared his throat. associate," Anderson practically cooed.
Rexxin tried to ignore that. Nevertheless, he walked forward and stood at attention.
"Ahem…the combatants are out. My men saw to it that they left the premises."
"Do you think they'll come back tomorrow like I asked them to?" Anderson drunkenly smiled.
Rexxin nearly sweatdropped: "I would count on it, sir. At this point, we need them to do what we need if ever the casino's future is to be—"
"Take a look at this, Rexxin…," Anderson gestured towards the screens.
"….."
Rexxin walked around. He stood behind Jacob Anderson's desk chair with his arms folded behind his back. His eyes narrowed. "What is this?"
"An overturned bus seventy miles south of here…," Anderson murmured. "Carrying Mexican students on a leadership retreat to the Las Vegas convention center this weekend. At least, it was carrying them."
"Mexican Students?"
"Atlantica Universidad del Norte," Anderson said. A beat. He turned and smiled at Rexxin. "An all girl's school. A…..young…..all girl's school."
Rexxin gulped. "Point being?"
"I've had a special delivery requested…," Anderson gazed lovingly at the monitors once more. "…and judging from these wonderful on-site photos, that task was met by some of our out-of-town associates. There should be a…..bunch of succulent visitors to join Mr. Joto downstairs in the next twenty-four hours."
Rexxin kept his cool. He cleared his throat and calmly said: "Is now really a clear enough time to indulge in such—?"
"Shhhh….," Anderson raised a finger. His face seemed suddenly twisted in confusion. "….do you hear that?"
A beat.
Rexxin looked around. He tilted his head up. His nostrils flared. He frowned. "Do I hear it? I smell it!"
CRASH!
The doors to the office flew wide open.
Anderson and Rexxin spun to look.
THWACK! "Aaaugh!"
SMACK! "Ugh!"
Two henchmen were slammed harshly into the office.
Killer Croc stomped in. Writhing all over. His mucousy eyes wide open and green…green…green…
"You're starving me….," the hissing mutant Gothamite pointed a gnarled finger. "You're STARVING me!"
Rexxin immediately whipped out his walkie-talkie and shouted into it: "Dammit! We need backup on floor twenty now!"
Anderson placed a gentle hand on Rexxin's shoulder. He kept his eyes trained on the reptilian man and uttered: "Now, Mr. Croc, what are you doing here? It's not your scheduled time for refilling. Besides, you should be in the sewers now. The sun will be up in a matter of—"
"Don't you FRICKIN' TELL ME what to do!" Killer Croc heaved all over and stomped towards the desk. "I need it…I need it NOW! The only reason I left Arkham to do your mangy, dirty work was so that I can have it! HAVE IT! HAVE IT!"
Rexxin nervously fingered his gun.
Anderson gently held his hands together and smiled. "Well, Croc. You did well tonight. Even if we were so kind as to put you pleasantly towards the end of the tournament."
"Enough talking and more of the JUICE!" STOMP! Rips and tears formed in the carpet under the slimy mutant's feet.
"…………" Anderson smiled. "Very well." He swiveled towards Rexxin. "Rexxin? Be a dear and reward our faithful servant."
Rexxin sighed. "Yeah….sure thing." The security guard walked over to a metal cabinet.
Killer Croc stared, shaking all over.
Rexxin opened the compartment with a special, electronic key. The doors hissed as they gave way. He reached in and pulled out a small, metal briefcase.
Killer Croc was sweating. His eyes glossed over green….green…green…
He drooled eagerly from his teeth.
Rexxin spun around and opened the briefcase.
A trio of syringes rested in padded slots. All were filled with a bright, green liquid.
Croc shuddered.
Anderson adjusted his robe, stood up, and took a single syringe. "You know…the one thing that amazes me about you Gotham spawn…." He graced the glass of the syringe with his finger and walked slowly over to the mutant. "…is how so easily, so eagerly, and so blindly you'll all obsess over a single, trivial thing."
"P-Please….please….I need….frickin n-need…."
"Dragonflare has the wonderful spell of forcing you to do my bidding as long as Dagger and Luthor aren't here to royally bitch-slap you. Such nasty work. Not my style whatsoever." He stood before Killer Croc, smiling. "I prefer to see people hit only if….they bleed."
"…….," Killer Croc stared. Green, bulging eyes. Running sweat. Twitching….Twitching….Twitching….
Anderson's eyes narrowed and he seemed to hiss: "Some obsessions are far more classy than others. You—my little waif—can have your precious, green shit."
THUNK!
Rexxin winced.
Anderson grinned in pleasure at having forcibly jammed the needle at more-than-likely the wrong place in Killer Croc's neck.
But somehow it worked, for as the syringe pumped the green drug into Croc's body, his eyes rolled back…seeped extra mucous…and a liquid sensation coursed through his muscular limbs and seemed to float his scaly skin away on a cloud. "Heh…hehehhhh…..mrmmmmkkkkkk-freakin' gorgeous. Hahahahaha…."
Rexxin made a face.
Anderson's expression tensed.
YANK!
The syringe dropped to the floor.
Killer Croc teetered on two legs.
Anderson folded his arms. "Tell me, mister nobody…..if I tell you to do something, will you do it?"
"I….w-will…….hresssh…."
"Including when I tell you to kill the other three combatants at so much as half a moment's notice?"
"Yessssss-ssssshhhh…..hressha…."
"And even cast yourself off the Stratosphere uptown," Anderson pointed and winked. "….if I had no need of you or your legendary carcass afterwards?"
"Yessssssss….."
Anderson's eyes narrowed. "Tell me all that you see and ever will see…"
Killer Croc tilted his bony head up and shut his eyes. His teeth showed.
"Red……R-Red…..Red…..hehehehe….Reddddddddd…………"
Rexxin shifted nervously.
Anderson adjusted his robe one last time and folded his arms. A smirk.
"Tonight, you and the others will have a job to do. But only you will get commissions…three big, bloody, commissions. I'll see to it once this is all over with. Heheheheheh….."
From the shadows of a utility closet—where the three adults couldn't see—there hovered a trio of green, electric-eye specks.
A beat.
The green lights flickered and drew up.
A pair of almond eyes stared out suspiciously. Blinked. And disappeared in a faint, green aura.
-T-T-T-T-T-T-
I walked past the lights and the strobing and the throngs upon throngs of hocking taxi cabs until the wisp of a tumbleweed fluttered across the sidewalk and made my exhausted body stop with a jolt.
"….."
I looked around.
Oh yeah.
I'm in Las Vegas.
I almost forgot……
Sighing through my nose, I made my way across Las Vegas Boulevard and into the Luxor Hotel. The sun was nearly rising by the time I got there. I figured that I could afford myself three hours to sleep at best if I wanted to get back out and do some important reconnaissance with the Messenger later that day.
Or whatever he wants to do.
God, Ana, I'm so sleepy.
I wish I could hear you play me to sleep with your harmonica.
I smiled drunkenly as I took the elevator up in the cool, air-conditioned building.
Then again, I spent too much time as it was whistling you awake.
I walked along the interior, slanted balcony.
Strolling up to my room.
Pulling out the right key.
I still wonder sometimes what our……hehe……'children' would look like?
Would they carry on my darkness?
Or your heavenly goldenness?
Or maybe-
I twisted the key in the lock.
I opened the door.
I walked into my room—
-and froze in place.
Blinking behind my black shades.
'J' sat on my bed, cross-legged. A little laptop on his little lap as he bent his little head down to eye the screen he was typing madly at. A miniature satellite dish attached to his computer via a long wire was positioned on the windowsill where it was gradually brightening outside.
At the sound and sight of me, he looked over. His green eyes as bright and cheerful as ever. And he gave me a boyish smile. With a breathy giggle, he waved and then freed his typing hands to gesture:
'Welcome back!'
"………," my lips parted.
He typed some more, looked at me sideways, and hand-signed:
'Been a while, old friend. What are you waiting for? Make yourself at home……'