Upon a bit of research, I realized I made a mistake concerning Walter's job and the time at which this is, as in, about the summer of '66 in this chapter. The passage of time never was something I grasped particularly well…eh. It's been remedied. From now on, I've got my stories straight. Sorry. Oh and REVIEW.
Listen to: "It's Summertime" by The Flaming Lips for the first two time changes, "Holiday" by Green Day for most of Phalanx's scenes, but "Somedays" by Regina Spektor for the last scene.
The sun crowed brightly through the window of the motel, shifting a bar of bright light onto the empty bed. Sheets were still mussed up from the nights passed, the occupant too lazy or preoccupied to make the bed. Said occupant, in fact, had fallen asleep at the kitchen table, head lolled back on her neck and a bit of dried drool at the corner of her mouth. A mug of cold black tea was on the table, only partially consumed. A half-hearted scribble of a bird decorated the back of "Moonlight Sonata". Her internal clock, sensing morning, slowly roused her. Jackie blinked, squinted against the sun, and peered down at her watch.
There was a massive crash as she tried to get up, but ended up falling backwards in the chair. She rolled backwards and fell back on her heels, still looking at her watch to be sure she had not made a mistake. Fumbling haphazardly for fresh clothes, she swore at herself. Never again would she stay out that late. She grimaced and muttered more curses as she struggled into her short heels, looking again at her watch. She was going to be very late.
When she got down to the studio, she was tugging angrily at her hair, trying to get it into a respectable style. Jonathan was sitting in the car next to his mother, his words silent as he talked animatedly. Jackie jogged up, wincing with every step, and waved in the sideview mirror. Jonathan turned and said something to his mother, who also turned, but who looked more annoyed. Jackie mouthed an apology as Jonathan climbed out of the car.
"Hi, Miss Davis." The boy greeted timidly.
"Jonathan, I am so sorry!" She gasped, jamming more pins into her hair and giving a quick wave to his mother. "I slept in, I'm sorry!"
"It's okay. I do that on weekends and sometimes on school days. Mom gets mad when I do that." He smiled, revealing a gap where his left canine should have been.
Jackie grinned back and led him to the studio, when she remembered that his piece of music was still in her motel room, sporting a new bird. She groaned and slapped a hand to her forehead. Things were not going as planned. "Hey, Jonathan, what do you say we take a little day off? I can just play for you today."
"Yeah! Um, why?" He asked, pulling off his jacket and handing it to her to put on the hook by the door.
"I, well . . ." She scratched the back of her neck, where little hairs were pinching the nape. "I forgot your music."
"I have it in my folder, though."
"Oh!" She had completely forgotten that they had folders for their own, less complicated copies. "That makes things easier, doesn't it? Well, let's get to it." The two sat down on the bench. "All right, just start playing the melody and I'll do the chords over here."
-w-
"Do you want me to wait here with you?" Jackie asked the boy as they stood outside on the sidewalk. Summer was coming, and the sun was glaring brightly down at them. She seilded her eyes and looked both ways down the street.
"No, mom should be here soon." Jonathan said, a little nervously.
"Well, I think I'll stay out here anyway." She replied, looking down the street again as she said so. "I couldn't just leave you out here by yourself."
They waited a little longer out in the morning wind, Jackie a little impatiently. Samantha still was on for the day, and she didn't like having too many kids on hand. Finally, the car Jonathan's mother owned pulled up by the curb.
"Bye, kiddo. See you tomorrow." Jonathan waved back at her as the car pulled away, almost immediately followed by Samantha's. The girl climbed out, wincing against the rush of wind.
"Hi, Jackie." She said, yawning and tugging her coat closer to herself. "Are we doing Debussy again today?"
Jackie turned to unlock the door, but as soon as Samantha's mom had turned the corner, she turned around again. "Hey, do you drink coffee?" She asked.
"Sometimes, if I have a lot of time before school. Why?"
Jackie smiled. "How about we take a little field trip?"
"Where?"
"You ever been to Gunga's Diner, just a block or so away?"
"Once, I think."
"Let's try for a second time. You okay with that?"
Samantha shrugged. "Yeah. It's Monday, anyway."
Jackie chuckled and they began walking down the street. "That's true."
On the way to the diner, she noticed the same people from the previous time. The balding man at the newspaper stand, the kid reading the comic at the hydrant next to him, and all the miscellaneous people walking to work. She pointed them out to Samantha, who blinked and smiled a little.
"Why them, though?" She asked.
"Huh? What do you mean?"
"Well, they seem like normal people. Why do you think they're so special?"
Jackie rubbed her chin. She wasn't sure. "I don't know. People fascinate me sometimes. I look at them on the street, and wonder what they're thinking. What thoughts are going through their heads? What's happening in their lives? I can never know!"
"You could ask them."
The pianist laughed, shoving her hands back into her coat pockets. "Yeah, I guess I could." They walked into the diner that smelled of cheap breakfast food and ordered their coffees. "How did your weekend go?"
"Fine, I guess. I was kinda bored. All I have to do is read at home because we don't have a T.V." Jackie paid for the drinks as Samantha talked. "I bet you have a lot more fun on weekends." The student stopped at a little counter before they left and put a few sugar cubes and a little plastic cup of half-and-half in the dark liquid.
Jackie hid her smirk behind the black coffee, not caring that it scalded her throat. "Not really."
-w-
The knot-top groaned and hacked a glob of pink saliva to the side, wiping his mouth with the back of his fist that he had clutched around the neck of a broken wine bottle. He staggered, then straightened up with a scowl. Phalanx was casually rotating a knife on the end of her finger, the blade swinging in glinting circles. Though the movement was relaxed, her stance was quite the opposite.
"Come on, now, you aren't even trying!" She snapped scathingly. She sidestepped the clumsy, swinging green glass as the man stumbled past her again. "One more time, with feeling!"
"Shut up, you bitch!" The thug snapped angrily. He charged again, swinging and thrusting the bottle wildly. She could smell the previous contents on his breath. As she took another step back, she had to avoid treading on the other fallen gang members in the alley.
"All right, enough!" On the next crazed swing, she grabbed his wrist and bent it at a terrible angle. There was an audible snap as the radius broke cleanly in two. He screamed in pain, and to silence him she jerked forward, slamming her forehead against his. The pain, alcohol and head wound were enough to make him pass out cold.
Phalanx looked down at her gloves, which were covered in a greasy something that had been on the thug's jacket. Wiping off her hands, she looked up at the alley walls in dismay. There were no close windows, so she walked out to the main road and started walking. Summer was just on the horizon, and her costume absorbed heat like nothing else. Couple that with constantly running around and fighting, and it was a recipe for instant sweat. She tugged at the line between her mask and neckline, exposing a sliver of pale skin, thinking she should make a summer version of the costume. That would be a pain, though, and there were bigger fish on her—
Her trail of thought was cut off as something barrelled into her from the side; she caught herself in time, but stumbled and was knocked off-kilter all the same. Snarling, she turned to see her attacker and was greeted not with a face, but a back. She was surprised she hadn't heard the scuffle earlier. Getting a grip on the situation, she ducked as a stone flew over her head.
"Out of the way." A gruff voice commanded, making a subsequent motion to her without turning.
"Oh, you again." Phalanx observed blandly, running a smooth stone once against the edge of her knife before stepping to face the sizeable amount of thugs. "You're in a little deep."
"Daniel is on the way with the Owlship." He replied, dodging two punches and landing a kick to a gut. "And I'm fine."
"That isn't reassuring." A knot-top jabbed at her with a switchblade and she grabbed his arm, getting a sense of déjà vu. She cut her knife across his bicep and kicked him away. "Well, I should go."
"Yes, you should."
"Well, what a welcome party you are—Ack!" Another thug charged, swinging a huge chain. Ducking and dodging wildly, Phalanx dove through the twisting crowd of sweat, bristling weapons and general stink to emerge in a thin alley that led behind some buildings.
"Be seeing you." Phalanx ducked another stab from a blade and latched onto the closest window ledge, panting from heat, exertion and adrenaline. Above her, she could begin to hear the hum of the Owlship's engines as she left the scene behind. She yanked herself onto the next ledge, almost laughing as she revelled in the exercise. When she reached the top, she found that none of the thugs had been following her. Her gaze fell back to the area where the fight would be ensuing, and sighed heavily, tugging at her neckline again in annoyance. She was going to regret it, she knew it, but she began jumping back across.
When she arrived back at where she started, Nite Owl and Rorschach were doing well at taking care of the large gang. Looking down, there seemed to be only a few guys left to take care of. Both vigilantes had their hands full, though, so neither noticed when an outlier, the man Phalanx had injured earlier, began to sneak forward with a little blade. The two men had their backs turned to each other, but there was room enough between them for one mildly clever thug. Phalanx wasn't sure which of them he was going for, but she wasn't going to find out. Snapping one of her own little throwing knives from her belt, she took careful aim and felt the thin metal fly from her hand.
The little sliver seemed to go through the air in slowed time. It spun end over end, a good throw, but slightly off. She had thrown a few inches to the right, and that was all it took. For one split second of minor horror, she believed that the knife was going to hit Rorschach. It spun ever closer, through oxygen and carbon dioxide atoms that had turned to molasses for a heartbeat, toward the trench-coated back.
Then, by some miracle of fate, the thug chose that very instant to raise his hand to stab the vigilante. As he raised his hand, the knife was intercepted and wedged itself right through his palm.
Time resumed its normal pace.
The thug screeched in agony, instantly alerting a now-unoccupied Rorschach and, a few seconds later, Nite Owl as well. Phalanx let out a short breath. That had been far too close for comfort. She sat down on the edge of the building, rolling her neck and listening to the joints pop. She pushed a hand down the neckline of her costume, rubbing at the itching sweat on her collarbone and enjoying the thin breeze that she could feel now that she was high up, where she was comfortable. Resting her elbows on her knees and her feet on the bricks of the building, she watched the remaining members of the gang run off with their tails tucked between their legs.
Nite Owl looked up at where she was sitting and waved. Phalanx gave a little salute. The man looked up at the Owlship, the dark oval hovering high above with a ladder dangling down near them. He cupped his hands around his mouth and called, "Do you want to tag along?" Phalanx looked up at the ship, then scuttled down the side of the building and walked towards them.
"It's, uh, good to formally meet you." Nite Owl held out his hand and the woman shook it.
"Likewise. Nite Owl, right?" She asked as they walked to the ladder with Rorschach trailing behind.
"Yeah, that's me." He grabbed the ladder and started climbing up, still talking. "I saw you at that, uh, meeting a few months back. What was your name again?"
Phalanx pulled herself into the ship, followed by Rorschach, who began pulling the ladder up into after him. "Just call me Phalanx."
"Huh. Strange name. What does it mean?"
"It's an old Roman military strategy. I like to study them." She stepped back to rest a hand against the wall of the ship as it took off, higher into the night. There was another seat, next to the one that Nite Owl was steering in, but she was uncomfortable enough as it was and sitting down made her uneasy. The ship rose higher still before levelling out and gliding smoothly above the city. Lights below were like multi-coloured stars on the ground. She watched out the circular windows in the front as New York twinkled below.
Phalanx peeked under the sleeve of her costume to look at her watch. It was getting early, and she still needed to make her usual stop. "I should go." She said to Nite Owl. She looked out the window again, going over the map of the city in her head and concluding that she wasn't that far from where she was going. "Could you just go to the top of that building?"
"Uh, sure." The vigilante steered the ship to where she pointed, a nondescript building a good distance below them still. He began lowering the ship, but Phalanx waved a hand.
"No, this is fine." She walked past Rorschach and picked up the rope ladder now laying on the floor, making sure there were no kinks and giving it a good tug. "Mind if I use this?"
"No, but what are you doing?"
Phalanx gave the ladder another look and decided it was long enough that she wouldn't injure herself. She hit a button on the side that she guessed opened the door on the side, and guessed correctly. A metal platform folded out and the chill air from being so high poured into the ship. Phalanx walked out to the edge, holding the rope tightly, but turned as she reached the end. With a little wave to Nite Owl and nod to Rorschach she said, "Thanks for the ride." And dove off the edge.
She plummeted through the air face-first at the beginning, then flipped over so her feet pointed down. Her heart crashed into her ribs as the air buffeted her mask and howled past her ears. Her breath was being sucked from her lungs. Water pricked her eyes as she fell. As she grew closer and closer to the building, she thought that she may have misjudged the ladder and she had just committed suicide. But, to her relief, the rope suddenly snapped taut when she was within a few metres of the rooftop. She snapped with it, and a pain shot through her arm from her elbow. Hoping that her arm wasn't just ripped from her socket, Phalanx dropped down and gave another wave up to the ship before jogging to the edge of the building and beginning her climb down.
-w-
Phalanx lowered herself down to the windowsill and pulled the glass up with her foot, keeping one hand as support and kept her other one tucked against her middle. When it was open she slipped inside and took a knee on the floor of the pitch-black apartment, catching her breath. Free running was a lot harder with only one arm to use, and she concluded that she had indeed dislocated her shoulder. Standing, she walked to the bed and flicked on the light. The man in the bed groaned and rolled over, but upon seeing her, was wide awake.
"Spider, wake me up first!" He protested, rubbing his eyes. "What happened to your arm?"
"I dislocated my shoulder."
"My God, woman!" He laughed dryly and gestured for her to sit on the bed, which she did. He looked over her arm sceptically and shook his head. "I don't know." He reached out and touched her arm, and she hissed in protest.
"For fuck's sake, Jack, just pop it into place!" She snapped.
"All right . . . get something to bite down on." Phalanx ripped off her mask at his suggestion and jammed the fleshiest part of her sinewy arm into her mouth and nodded. Jack put one hand on her upper arm and one hand almost on her neck, and thrust the limb sharply up. Phalanx grunted, but made no other noise. Bits of blood, however, were leaking from her arm where her canines had cut deep into her skin.
Releasing her arm from her mouth, she shrugged the arm around a little. "Thanks, Jack. Feels a lot better now."
"I had no idea what I was doing." They looked at each other for a moment, and then started snickering.
Phalanx sighed, still smiling, and looked down at her arm. "You wouldn't happen to have any bandages, would you?"
"Yeah, actually." He threw back the covers and walked to the bathroom, where he opened the cupboard. "How did that happen to your arm, anyway? It didn't look like you were much hurt besides that." He rifled around until he found a roll of white bandages and a bit of medical tape.
"I jumped out of Nite Owl's ship."
"You're running with that crowd? I thought you worked alone."
"They just gave me ride across town." She held out her arm as he began wrapping the soft cloth around the bleeding bite.
"'They'?"
"Rorschach was with him."
He gave her a look of warning, taping the bandage. "Careful with that one, spider. I've heard he's a bit more . . . "loose cannon" than those other guys."
Phalanx made a little noise of indifference. "Does it matter, at this point?" She looked out the window, and the yellow lights of the city. "There's no time to pick and choose allies. The world is turning to madness."