Ugh, so much dialogue in this chapter. Sorry, urgh. So, I just realized how close Jackie and Jack's names are; I guess I just like that name, heh heh. Er, just try to overlook it. Jack calls her all sorts of nicknames so hopefully this won't get too confusing. Also, I sort of realized that Jackie's "motel" is more like a really small apartment. So let's change that, too.
Hey, for a better idea of how Phalanx moves around and stuff, I'm sort of writing her based on Mirror's Edge/basic parkour moves/freerunning. A lot of parkour is showing off (like flipping off EVERYTHING), but I'm talking basics, like jumping from high things, climbing, you get the idea.
Yann Tiersen's music for the Amelie soundtrack can fit literally any situation. You might see a lot of that around. The one in this chapter translates into: Rhyme of the Other Summer: The Afternoon. My French isn't great, though.
Listen to: "A Story of Boy Meets Girl" by Mycheal Danna for the first, long bit (you might have to replay it a few times), "Comptine D'un Autre Été: L'après Midi" by Yann Tiersen when she's playing in the studio, and "Viva la Gloria" by Green Day for the last part. You'll know the one.
"Ugh, damn this heat!" Jackie was sprawled on the linoleum kitchen floor, panting like a dog. August had a few last surprises in mind before fall came about, and the air was so hot she swore that she could see it shimmering. Both the windows in the apartment, in the kitchen and bedroom, had been thrown open as far as they could go, but there was only a whisper of a breeze to offer relief. She was down to a bra, tank top and shorts, but even that felt too warm.
"Complaining about it won't help." Jack groaned from the bed, across the long room.
"Easy for you to say. You don't have to run around in all black in this bloody sauna." She turned her head so her other cheek pressed on the floor. "Now make more lemonade, slave." She poked the empty glass that held naught but rapidly melting ice.
"As I recall, it's your turn." He replied, also turning to face her. Jackie groaned lazily and dragged herself across the floor. She reached up to the kitchen table and groped around on top. Her fingers found the chill hilt of one of her little knives, and without looking she hurled the blade through the doorway and fell back down to the forgiving floor. She heard a thump as it wedged into the wall.
"Ah! Okay, okay, I'll get it." Jack stood up and shuffled into the kitchen. He filled the pitcher with ice and water before measuring out the sugar already on the counter. "Why don't you get an air conditioner?"
"Ha!" Jackie barked from the floor. "Ha, ha ha! Oh, it's adorable how you think I can afford that. Besides, I've gotten through most of the summer already. I don't need to go to extra lengths now."
"Here, you're Highness." He filled her glass, and she gratefully pressed the chill surface against her sweating face.
"Thank you, love!" She sucked happily on the straw. "Cheers."
"So," He sat down next to her, taking a deep draught of his own drink. "Are you going out tonight, spider?"
Jackie peeked up at him, just cracking open an eye. "The answer's no, but that doesn't change that you can't stay here tonight."
"Oh, come on!"
"Nice try, but no."
"Fine. Tease."
"Sod off."
"All right, all right. So, you're staying in tonight?"
"Yeah. Too hot. I would die trying to climb in this humidity. Maybe I will, later, when it's cooler."
Jack reached out and ran a hand down her cheek. She smirked, but shifted away. "Too hot for contact." She whined.
Jack stared at her for a long time. He watched her smile a little, but her eyes were sad and the grin didn't reach them. She sighed and closed her eyes again, letting her smile fall. "It wasn't your fault." He murmured.
"What?"
"About that girl a few days ago, Samantha. You had no choice; she had to go to the home."
Jackie let a slow breath out her nose. "I know." She whispered. "I just wish . . . I wish I never had to subject her to that. Who knows how her life is going to go now?"
"It's okay." He said gently and rested a hand on her shoulder. She shifted away again. The air smelled bad to her; fishy. Something smelled fishy.
Jackie shrugged the feeling away. The rest of the afternoon passed in a hazy, sluggish blur of heat and lemonade. Jack left early, and night fell quietly. The blistering humidity of the afternoon melted into the only slightly less sticky evening. Jackie hadn't moved much, just gradually across the floor and to the bed. She had been laying on top of the covers for going on two hours, still wearing almost nothing. There was an empty pitcher on the table next to her—she had even eaten the ice.
Her head was turned to the window, staring out at the building across and at the strip of stars above. She hated the heat. There was a burning need in her, however irrational, to find Samantha's mother's killer. That person had brought those pains upon that girl—upon that innocent human being who would never again be so. Perhaps it was wrong for her to want vengeance on the life of a woman who was probably sitting at Satan's right hand, but there was more than that; she wanted vengeance on the life that had been further destroyed by this person. Sam had already been cracked by her mother, but the murder was the straw that broke the camel's back. And now with this bloody heat, I'm stuck in here! She mused, somewhat frustrated but starting to get tired.
The clank of metal shook Jackie from her thoughtful dozing. She blinked in sleepy confusion at the hook that was latched over the edge of the open window. Jackie yawned and closed her eyes again. Just imagining it. Too dark, too late and hot. This theory was quickly disproven when she heard a pair of shoes tap against the window. Her eyes slid open again, and she was tempted to make good of her previous promise and shove Rorschach right back out the window. However, she was too roasted by the afternoon's heat and now too tired to do much but sit up.
"'Wherefore art thou, Romeo?'" She asked sarcastically, shifting back to lean on the headboard. "What do you want this time? Come to "check on me"?"
"No." Jackie noticed that he kept his head turned pointedly away from her. "Came to take you up on offer."
Jackie's attention stirred. If she had ears, they would have been pricked up. She got up from the bed and danced around so she was in front of Rorschach, and he tilted his head the other way. "Really? Good, great." She checked her watch and grabbed the empty pitcher. "Unfortunately it's just a tad too early and way too hot so we can pick this up tomorrow. Want some lemonade?"
Jackie began measuring out the sugar and water. A few minutes passed, and something began to creep on her thoughts. "Rorschach . . . do you have a place to live?" She stopped with the sugar in her hand and turned. The room was empty, but the grappling hook was still on the window, meaning he had snuck into the kitchen while she had her back turned. A tiny clinking of metal caught her attention, and she spun, careful to keep sugar from scattering everywhere. "Don't touch that!"
Rorschach had lifted a long cloth that was draped over an uneven but organized mess that covered the majority of the kitchen table. He picked up one of the little pieces of metal. "What is this?"
"A new design. Well, old design." She reached over to pluck the little bolt from his fingers, but he pulled away too quickly. It clinked to the table and landed next to a thick book that was turned to an ancient-looking diagram. "I found this while reading through weapons used by different military sects. First used by the Arabic Hashashins." She gently set the bolt back in its designated place and ran her fingers along the uncut strips of leather. "It used to require the loss of your ring finger . . ." She clenched her fist as a demonstration. "The trigger was near the ring finger, and you would to this, and the blade would shoot up right where the finger was. It was in Renaissance Italy where they changed it, so the ring finger's loss wasn't required. Of course, I need to improvise a lot of this myself because the book's diagram is so old, but it's a good idea."
She flicked her wrist. "You do something like this, with a wire on your finger. The blade pulls out of the bracer, a seven-and-a-half inch stiletto. I think it has to be double-sided, too. Then you pull the wire again, and it's back in the bracer." She pulled the cloth back over the miscellaneous, disassembled blade and glanced sharply at Rorschach, who was again not looking at her. "But this is all kind of boring." She moved around him, her neck moving like a snake. He turned his head the other way again. "Why do you keep looking away like that?"
"Indecently dressed." Rorschach grumbled shortly. "Put some clothes on. Look like a whore."
"Huh? Indecent?" Jackie looked down at herself. She didn't look that bad. The tank top may have cut a little low, but it wasn't anything that was too unacceptable. "Hey, it's roasting hot outside. I'm surprised you can go running around in a trench coat in this weather. Besides, this is my house." She turned back to the unfinished lemonade, now a bit grumpy. "Anyway, you never answered my question so I'll answer it instead. Since I'm always climbing around, I leave my window unlocked all the time. If you ever need a place to stay, you can come here. From one vigilante to another, hm?" She turned to smile at him and set the plastic pitcher on the table. "I don't want anything in return, either. My mother successfully drove out my ability to accept gifts without feeling guilty."
Jackie sat and poured two glasses of the lemonade and pushed one at Rorschach. Taking a grateful drink of hers, she almost did a spit take before she remembered she had to move the glass before talking. "Just drink it, all right? It's not poisoned and you can never be too hydrated in this horrible weather."
She leaned her head back, looking at the nondescript ceiling. Sweat was stuck, itching, on the back of her neck. She thought about her schedule for the next day, Monday; Samantha no longer attended lessons for obvious reasons. Jackie pulled a pained expression at the thought of the girl. Jonathan still went, though, which left a lot of time to kill but cut her income in half. Perhaps as a way to pass the day she could stay after. There were always things to draw or music to write. Jackie reached behind her to open a drawer and rifle through it. Taking out a pen and paper, she scratched an address down in short, neat print.
"Here." She pushed the paper over to Rorschach, who had pulled his mask back down after drinking the whole glass of lemonade in what looked like a single gulp. "I won't be out about tomorrow for a while. Go here if you can't find me by nine. I stay late on Mondays and leave from here weekly anyway." Rorschach looked at the piece of paper for a moment, then folded it once and tucked it in his coat.
"Thanks for the drink." He pushed open the window, latching the grappling hook on the windowsill and climbing out.
Far below the building, shoes tapped lightly against the pavement. A few feet away, the hook jumped off the sill with a clank. Jackie sighed, a short little breath of loneliness in the air like steam. "Thanks for the company."
-w-
"One, two, three and four over here . . ." She muttered to herself, playing the notes as she talked. After about a dozen notes she stopped and scribbled her progress on the blank, lined paper. She picked up the coffee on the piano's mantle and took a scalding sip of the black drink. "One, chord, five, six . . . so when were you planning on telling me you were standing there, love?"
"I don't know, you took your time noticing me. Usually I can't even put a foot in the building." Jack slid onto the bench next to her and gave her a predatory grin.
"Sorry. I've been distracted lately." She reached up to scratch more notes on the paper.
"You? Distracted?" Jack said sarcastically.
"Shut up."
"Okay." He observed her for a moment. "Composing again?"
"Helps me think." She set down the sharp pencil and leaned against him, taking a drink of coffee.
"I'm hungry. Let's have dinner." Jack nudged her side with his elbow.
"Sorry, can't. Digestion slows me down, and that's something I don't feel like being tonight."
She could feel his eyes digging into the side of her head. "Don't be her if you're not wearing the mask." He said sternly.
"What?"
"You heard me. Be the Jackie I know, not the woman who beats people to a pulp at night."
Jackie looked out the window at the sun, setting behind the buildings around the studio. "Looks like it's almost night to me."
"That's not what I meant!" He stood up so fast the bench scraped the floor and rocked back a little. Fury had contorted his normally kind features. Before Jackie could fully comprehend what was happening, she saw a hand, and pain lashed across her face like a whip. Her vision flashed white for a moment, so vicious was the strike. Without thinking, or caring what she was doing, Jackie leaned back and brought up her foot. She slammed it once, twice into Jack's gut until he doubled over, and then brought it down on his head so he fell to his knees. She stood and pushed him over with her foot before pressing it against his chest. The heel of the shoe was visibly digging into his torso. And then, as quickly as the adrenaline and anger had come, it was gone. Jackie sighed and let him up.
"Just go. We can talk later." She said resignedly. Jack stood up and left without a word, slamming the door closed behind him. Silence filled the studio for a few beats. Jackie listened to her own shaky breathing before sitting heavily and letting out a sharp huff. Her face still burned. Her fingers prodded the flesh tenderly, and she winced. He had really hit her hard.
Jackie looked down at the floor. The little Styrofoam cup of black coffee had splashed everywhere, leaving brownish splotches on the floor. Some dotted the white piano keys. She began to mechanically clean it up using a couple napkins she had collected from her multiple visits to the little diner. Everything still reeked a little of coffee and was a bit damp, but it was better. She wasn't sure how long it took her to do the menial little task. It felt like eternities. When she was done, however, night had fallen.
Her feet dragged her back to the piano and she fell onto the bench again. For a long time she stared at her feet, not knowing what to think. Jack didn't usually act so strangely, much less hit her. It seemed to be a recent change, and she wasn't sure what had incited it. Her eyes glided up to the half-filled-in note paper. In more mechanical motions, she placed her hands in the correct positions and began playing her little song. Her face still burned. The simple notes of the song progressed into a more complex melody, her left hand laying out base tones while her right danced on the higher notes. The sheet ended halfway through the most excitable part of the tune, and she slowed to a stop.
Jackie moved behind the piano and numbly changed out of her professional clothes and into her costume. She pushed the garments under her desk and held her mask in her hand. For a while she stared at the porcelain white face, the empty eyes. Her thumb rubbed the dull silver cheek, the same one that on herself burned with lingering pain. Her body felt empty and numb. There was no anger anymore; it had been replaced with confusion. Jack's mood swing had been so sudden and unprovoked, she wondered what could have caused him to do something so radical.
She set the mask next to her on the bench when she sat down again. Jackie replayed the song and wrote more notes down. After looking the piece over and playing an experimental bit over a few times to make sure it sounded all right, she slid the lid closed over the white keys and laid her knife belt on the black wood. Picking one out, she scraped the smooth stone along its edge. The movement was soothing—it put her mind at ease.
When the knife was sharp enough that she had to be careful while wearing gloves, she looked at her watch and her eyebrows shot up. Nine forty-three.
As her eyes glanced over the face of the watch, she heard a pang on the studio's window. She got up and pulled it up, barely holding back another Romeo and Juliet comment. She nodded at the figure below, went back inside and put on her mask. It was uncomfortable with her hair down, but she hadn't concentrated much on that earlier. Instead she picked up a handful of pins and climbed out the window with three limbs and a few fingers. Using the occupied hand to close the window behind her, she jumped down the building and landed on the pavement.
"Sorry I didn't come out earlier. I was . . . held up." She said, walking after Rorschach. She pulled her mask off again and held it under her arm, pinning her hair back. Her pace slowed drastically as she worked. A few seconds passed before Rorschach apparently realized she wasn't there and came back. Annoyance was radiating off of him like a smell. She pushed the last pin in and looked up again to pull on her mask. The cloth had only barely grazed the top of her head when a gloved hand firmly grasped her chin and turned her head. She stopped walking. "Oi!"
"What is this?" Phalanx could feel him staring at her—it was a little uncomfortable, even without being able to actually see him. Rorschach had turned her head so the side on which she had been struck was facing him. She wasn't sure what it looked like at this point, but if she went by how much it still stung, probably bad.
"Nothing." The following glare, even invisible, was enough to make her wince a little. The hand on her chin was now gripping a little too tightly for comfort. "It was just one time. I'm not sure why, he just lost his temper for a second. If it makes you feel any better, I beat the bloody hell out of him." Rorschach let go, and Phalanx rubbed her chin moodily before pulling on her mask. "Where do we start looking?" She hadn't forgotten why they were there.
"Know several places. Three bars, one frequented alleyway. Best bet is on the bars." They turned a corner. "Regulars respond well to interrogation."
"So, torture?"
". . . Yes."
"Well, good." Phalanx stretched and looked up at the sky. She couldn't see the stars. "I'm in a very torture-friendly mood right now."
-w-
The bar they came to first was a short, smoky place. It was nondescript on the outside, but as soon as Rorschach opened the door, the stench of cigarette smoke, alcohol and sweat oozed out of the place so thickly it was almost visible. Phalanx stood a step or two behind Rorschach, wisely letting him go first. When the door opened, the activity in the bar came to a screeching halt. Every patron turned to face the open entrance, the emotions on their faces ranging from annoyed to terrified.
"Hello, boys." Rorschach greeted with a voice that suggested he came here often; it was almost amused. Almost.
A few uneasy glances went around. There was a guy sitting at a back table with his back to them. Rorschach stepped inside, followed by Phalanx. The former looked over the patrons, like a butcher choosing which pig he wanted to use. After a few seconds he walked up to just a random guy and grabbed hold of his wrist.
"Woman murdered in her home a week ago." He gruffly informed the man. "Name of Margaret Jackson. Valuables stolen, had a daughter. Know anything?" Phalanx raised her brows. He had been doing some digging, apparently.
"H-hey, listen, uh, Rorschach," The guy stammered. His hand was clasped around his beer in anxiety. "We don't know nothin' about—AGHH!" A terrible cracking broke the silence as Roschach calmly snapped the man's finger back. Phalanx, meanwhile, was moving between cramped tables and clouds of smoke, gazing over the patrons. They weren't nearly as afraid of her, but kept quiet nonetheless, considering who she had accompanied. After a minute or two of roaming, she came across the man who had turned his back to them.
"What about you?" She snarled at him. "Who killed her? Margaret Jackson?" There was no response. Already slightly riled by the events of earlier in the evening, she reacted by slamming his head straight down on the table. "I asked you a question." She spat, circling around to the other end of the table. "I expect a—what the?" Even with his head bowed, she recognized who was sitting in front of her. Renewed anger, for a plethora of reasons, surged in her like a tidal wave.
Out of nowhere, breaking the taut atmosphere of the bar, she chuckled, and grabbed the front of the guy's shirt. "No way. Oh, no way are you getting away with this." She dragged him out of the bar, fast enough that he was barely keeping his footing. She continued out into the street and turned down an alley before promptly slamming him into a wall.
"You scummy little bastard." She growled. "You fucking idiot. You're behind this, aren't you? You killed Sam's mother."
"Hey, I didn't know you knew her until later, all right?" Jack pleaded in his defence. Phalanx turned her head a little at the sound of footsteps, but it was only Rorschach. She then turned back and moved the hand from his shirt to grasp his neck. "That is no excuse." There was a knife out in a moment, pressing against his windpipe. Jack spluttered out excuses and apologies as a thin line of scarlet leaked down the edge of the blade and dripped off the end.
"Why did you do it?"
"Er . . ." Jack looked a little uncomfortable, but it faded as quickly as it came. "Money, mostly. The lady just got in the way."
Phalanx blinked in consideration, anger still boiling under the surface like a pot with a lid on. "I have half a mind to kill you, Jack." She said, a little too calmly. "More than half a mind, considering what happened earlier." She ran the knife from one of his ears to the other, leaving a long, crescent-shaped cut. Jack hissed in pain. Phalanx leaned forward to whisper in his ear. The strong aroma of blood drifted up through her mask. "If I ever see you again, I'll make good on that thought." She threw him to the side, and he stumbled to the ground. As something of an afterthought, she kicked him, hard, in the gut. Jack grunted in pain and got up, glancing at her over his shoulder. The look he passed Phalanx was one of such unbridled hatred that she could almost feel it. Then, holding his bleeding throat, he shuffled off around the corner and was gone.
Phalanx felt herself falling away. Her skin burned still in fury, but it was cooling fast. The adrenaline was freezing over now, and a chill rattled up her arms and spine. The toxic stench of betrayal was consuming her. Only once before had she ever allowed anyone, friend or otherwise, inside her inner ring of thoughts. Her secrets, her emotions, her life; she had laid these out in front of this one man. Then this happens. Exactly what she had been fighting the past few months to try and exterminate had been living under her floorboards the whole time.
She stared blankly at the brick wall in front of her for some time, not moving hardly an inch. After a few moments she turned curtly on her heel and clambered into a windowsill, then jumped across the alley to the fire escape and walked up the rest of the way.
She still couldn't see the stars.