Told you I'd continue this. Enjoy.
"His fractured ankle is the main concern right now. I mean.. I saw the photos, it's.. a mess. But all the other stuff will heal without him noticing too much discomfort." Larkin's whiny voice kept bothering him whenever he was asleep. "But he's gotta be able to move around with ease. It's a pretty tough crowd he's heading back into." Wonderful. "They'll turn him into dogfood in a hot second if he'd so much as limp." Amazing. Was there anything dear Marshal Larkin didn't know something about? "You sure he's fine without those heart monitors?"
"There's nothing wrong with his heart." Lillian's voice was as calm as always, nothing of Larkin's agitated giddiness seemed contagious enough to affect her. "He's got a very strong one according to the surgeon. He thinks that's what saved his life." A short silence followed. Larkin obviously didn't know how to respond to his cousin's observations.
"We're still looking for Garland Green."
He got away? Nice fuck up, Vince. There's going to be a trail of dead children from Vegas to Denver. He wondered if Johnny 23 got out too. Last time he saw the famous rapist he was yelling at him to wake up after receiving quite the painful blow to the head with the end of a rifle. Sally Bishop. Lovely girl. A real treasure to the Department of Corrections. There was going to be a permanent dent in his forehead for the rest of his sorry life. But atleast Johnny 600, or whatever he liked to call himself, never got his hands on her. If he was out there, he could run into Lillian. There would be no more exceptions for him if he dared to lay a hand on Cyrus' pretty little nurse. No exceptions indeed.
"Fireworks tonight, Lilly. You'll be alright?"
"Yea." Her voice was soft, but had a hint of nervousness to it now. "I'm not alone this time."
Aww. The sweetheart. That's right, honey. Cyrus The Virus will protect you from the fireworks. Whatever the fuck that meant. What, literal fireworks? It was Vegas after all. Fireworks was kind of a thing down here.
"Right. You two will be cuddling on the couch together, or what?" Jealous much, Vince? "Listen, Lilly, I'm starting to think this wasn't such a great idea after all. He wasn't supposed to live through this. You know that, right?"
Funny little fucker, aren't you, marshal Larkin? Lillian seemed at a loss for words now. Not sure how to respond to her cousin's crude comments in the presence of the subject itself. "I know he wasn't supposed to survive this." Ah. So this whole set up was just a death bed. She finally admitted to it. Something she hadn't dared to mention straight into his face. "But isn't it a good thing he's going to be alright? I don't want him dead, and neither do you." The marshal didn't respond right away, and for a moment, Cyrus expected him to deny his cousin an answer. "Vince..?" Her voice, full of doubt, filled the quiet room with the same gentility that had probably made the difference in Cyrus' prognosis.
"Of course I don't want him dead. I don't wish death upon anyone."
Yawn. You'd be saying something different if it was Johnny 23 up for debate right now, marshal goody two shoes.
"But I don't want him to be fully recovered and in one apartment with you either, Lilly. The… The idea he could be gaining his strength as we speak and.. "
Yes? Finish your sentence, come on. Don't be scared to say it. You put her in this situation after all, you incredibly dense naive fuck. It would be your head on a platter if something should happen to her, and the guilt would eat at your soul for the rest of your people loving shit life. And the best part? I'd be back in jail, and I will make sure you look me in the eyes every time you pass my cell.
"Why are you so worried out of a sudden?" She sounded defiant. That's right, sweetheart. Make him question this whole thing until it robs him off his sleep. "You weren't worried about it earlier. Just because we all thought he was dying?" Before Larkin could answer, Cyrus decided to let everybody know he was no longer asleep and sat up gingerly, his body protesting against the movement. Perhaps he wasn't dying, but he was far from healed. She was at his side in a hot second, readjusting the pillows behind his back so he could lean into them comfortably.
"Did we wake you?" she asked apologetically. Cyrus kept his gaze locked on the agitated marshal and nodded. "I'm sorry. We should have been more quiet."
"That's alright." Cyrus reassured her, giving her an innocent smile before looking back at her cousin. "I was getting hungry anyway." Larkin rolled his eyes, his hands in his sides as he watched Cyrus push it even further by giving him a small wink. "Are you here to bring me my wonderful prison dinner, marshal? I'm sure miss Lillian over here has a microwave to heat it up for me. Unless you want me to eat it cold, of course."
Larkin pointed a warning finger at his prisoner but didn't quite know what to say.
"Like your boys enjoyed to turn off the hot water system every time certain prisoners took a shower. Including me." Cyrus continued. Larkin narrowed his eyes, but backed down when he caught the furious look on Lillian's face.
"That's torture!" she said sharply. "How could you allow that?!"
"Yes, Vince. How could you allow that?" Cyrus mimicked her exasperated tone, mocking his offense. "I haven't taken a hot shower in over twenty years. That's your wonderful team of guards, marshal. So honourable and dignified. Truly a gem to the system!" He was going to say more when he started coughing. His lungs were still healing, and he doubled over until he tasted blood. Her calming hand on his shoulder offered more comfort than he wanted to admit, and he allowed her to guide him back into the pillows.
"That's enough." She instructed kindly, dabbing his forehead gently. "Let me handle this." He smirked at himself, still swallowing thickly to lubricate his swollen throat, and looked over at the dumbfounded marshal about to receive the treatment from his protective cousin. He had an ally now, and he was going to abuse that as much as he could. She walked up to Larkin, took him by his arm and pulled him away from her patient. Leading him to the kitchen and closing the door behind her, where Cyrus could still hear every word.
"Vince, I want you to explain to me, once and for all, how you envisioned this whole thing if he would live?! What am I supposed to feed him?! Am I allowed to let him take a hot shower or is he supposed to never wash himself until he's back behind bars?! Hm?!"
"Lillian, please! I.. I never thought the man would live long enough to be up for such things! I don't know if I can arrange prison meals to be delivered here, I've never done this before! There's no protocol for situations like these. I don't even know if what I did is legal or not!"
They talked about him like he was some sort of terminally ill foster dog that needed to die or be send back to the shelter. He didn't want her to wind herself up over feeding him, he never ate much anyway and was pretty sure he could go without food for a few days, he had done all that before. That hot shower however.. he was going to push that one through one way or the other. The dear thing might even have a bathtub. While listening to their heated discussion, Lillian's cat jumped upon his bed and decided to curl up on the footend, purring up a storm. He now wondered if she'd fear for her cat's safety. There was nothing she had to worry her pretty little head over when it came to animals. He shifted his wounded leg underneath the covers, grimacing at the movement, to give the cat more room. He watched her kneed the blanket with her little paws, her eyes narrowed to slits in pure content as she purred while the argument in the kitchen continued without fail.
"You better start writing protocols for this cause it's happening in my home right this minute!" She was livid, and rightly so. "What kind of doctor examined him that he told you the man was dying! That he only had days left before his organs would fail! And all those stupid blood tests and samples!" Calm yourself, sweetheart. "And now you don't know what to do when he's showing signs of recovery! What if he kills me?!" what indeed, marshal. "What if he rapes me?!" Alright, that's enough.
With the greatest possible difficulty, Cyrus pushed himself out of bed, ignoring the agitated mewls of the cat being disturbed during her beauty sleep. A shirt would be nice. But he was going to have to set this straight in his underwear. He limped over and knocked on the door to the kitchen, the argument taking place behind it stopped immediately.
"hey, if you two are done bickering about when and how I'm going to die maybe it's a good idea to have her read my files so she knows what to expect." He leaned against the door, trying to hear what was being said, but his voice had rendered them both speechless. He sighed in annoyance. "Either you let her read it, or I'll tell her all about it in so much colour, detail and imitated voices she'll be ready for the nuthouse once I'm finished, alright Larkin?" something moved behind the door, and he stepped away before it could bump into his already sore body. The marshal appeared, looking like a guilty school boy who had just received the lecture of a lifetime from his mother. He ran his hand through his dark hair as he passed his prisoner and paced around the living room like he expected the solution to be written on a piece of furniture. Lillian appeared rubbing her arms shyly and allowed Cyrus to play doorman for the time being.
"Maybe.." Larkin started, gazing out of the window at the bright lights of downtown Las Vegas. "Maybe I should just have him transported back to prison. Have him receive medical attention there."
"I'm right here, Vince." Cyrus said. "I know I don't get to decide over my own fate, but you could atleast show me the courtesy to stop talking about me like I'm not in the room." Meanwhile, Lillian was so obviously trying to avoid eye contact it was getting silly, and he realized it was probably because there was a half-naked criminal standing right beside her. "And I know you're not into sexual intimidation either, so perhaps you could grand me the dignity of clothes next time you stop by to see if I raped your cousin yet." From the corner of his eyes, he could see her shy away from him more and more. "I despise rapists, miss Porter." He told her, aware that his tone was cold and far from convincing right now. "I've never done anything remotely resembling it, but I understand the confusion seeing I'm up and about and dressed in nothing but shorts." He gave the marshal a pissed look, and the latter cleared his throat in slight embarrassment. "Clothes, marshal. To make the lady and everybody else feel a lot more comfortable."
"Right, yes. Of course." Larkin nodded, scratching the back of his head. "No problem. I can get you that.. tonight, if you want. Scrap that, of course you want that. Lilly, I'm sorry.. we'll work this out. I can.. handcuff him if it makes you feel better." His eyes went from her to his prisoner, like he was looking for support from the mastermind behind his crashed airplane, but Cyrus only raised an eyebrow at him and said nothing. "Handcuff him to the railing of the bed." Larkin continued, pulling out a pair of handcuff from his belt.
"Oh, marshal, what a great idea." Cyrus sneered. "That's right. Handcuff a half-naked man in a vulnerable, sexual tinted position to a bedpost. That's going to make everybody feel right at ease with one another." Defeated, Larkin lowered the handcuffs, looking like his birthday had just been cancelled. "Will you use my right wrist for it? Cause that one's already been through hell and back from having my full body weight hang on to it. It'll be extra sadistic and just the thing your institution is all about." He held up his right arm, showing the dark, angry looking bruises in a ring around his wrist. Larkin straightened his posture, looking offended.
"Don't act like you've been mandatorily tortured, Cyrus. Cause that's bullshit and you know it. You're just trying to make Lillian feel sorry for you." The marshal shot back. "You know what's in your files too? You're a master manipulator. You're smart and she-"
"She's not?" Cyrus filled in for him, causing the man to pale at the deeply offended look his cousin threw at him. "Careful, marshal. You don't want to make this too easy for me, do you?"
Ignoring Cyrus for a brief moment, Larkin turned to his young niece. "Lilly, it's up to you. If you don't feel safe having him here, I'll have him removed. Or if you want me to handcuff him for you, I'll do that." She didn't seem sure, and gave the prisoner a timid glance, worried about his reaction should she tell her cousin to restrain him in order to feel safe in her own house. But Cyrus looked impassive, and left the decision entirely up to her.
"I don't want you to hurt his wrist even more." she said with a small voice after a few minutes of silence. "He's too wounded to go back to prison, Vince. You said that yourself."
"Yes. I did." The marshal nodded. "But if it's either you or him than that's a pretty easy decision for me." He looked at Cyrus. "No offense."
"None taken." The prisoner replied dryly.
Lillian was about to reply to her cousin's words when she noticed something else. "You're shivering." She stated sympathetically to her charge.
"Yes, I'm cold." He didn't sound surprised at her observations. He had been standing there in his underwear, balancing himself on one leg while leaning against the kitchen door with his one good hand for far too long. His head throbbed, his spine was on fire and his insides felt like he had swallowed a pack of razor blades. He reached up to rub his eyes in an attempt to get rid of his dizziness, but it didn't do much and he could feel his knees start to buckle under his weight. "And since no one is going to hand cuff me, I'll be in my bed." He forced himself to move past the two relatives, and dragged himself back to the only place he wanted to be right now. On top of the softest matrass he had had the pleasure of laying on in about 25 years, underneath a stack of warm blankets and a big, fat, purring cat.
Lillian turned to the marshal, who was temporarily distracted by Cyrus' spell of weakness. "He may not be dying but he's far from out of the woods." She whispered to him intently. "I want his files. I want to know who he is, what he's done, and what everybody still thinks he's up to in the state he's in right now." Larkin nodded gravely at his cousin's orders. "I want you to get him something to wear, because the last thing he needs right now is a lung infection. And I want permission from you to give him something to eat." The last request seemed to be met with more reluctance from the marshal.
"You're not going to cook for him, Lilly." He warned her. "He's still incarcerated and should be treated as such."
"You're killing him, Vince." She shot back dryly. "If he doesn't eat and drink his body will use up the little reserves it has and then break down. I don't want to be responsible for this man's starvation because of the rules of bureaucracy." Her cousin was silent. "Does he have any allergies?"
"What? No. I don't know!" Larkin answered fervently, she hushed him quickly, not wishing to disturb the tired convict even more. "I'd have to check his medical files for that." The marshal continued, now whispering.
"I want those too." The girl spoke determinately. "If he's going to live, he's got a long road to recovery and we'll need all the information we can get." Her cousin nodded in approval. "But I'll start with making him bacon and eggs. I'm sure he didn't have that in a long time."
Larkin looked over at the man in the bed, breathing heavily under the covers. Cyrus was still far from ready to be send back into the hellhole from which he came, and his niece seemed quite determined to help him. He had instigated this project, it had no use to talk her out of it now. "I'll be back with the files and some stuff for him to wear as soon as I can. It'll involve some paperwork and convincing people, so it might not be till tomorrow morning. But I think he'll be in a horizontal position for the rest of the evening."
"If not, he can laugh at me while I cower under the bed during that damn fireworks show." Lillian said. Larkin chuckled and pulled her into a comforting hug, which she grudgingly accepted.
"Call me when there's a problem, alright? I'll be back first thing tomorrow." With a last kiss to her forehead, the marshal left her apartment. He closed the door behind her, locking it from the outside, leaving her, once again, at the mercy of a dangerous convicted murderer.
It was around midnight when Cyrus woke with a splitting headache. All was dark in the room, with no trace or sign of Lillian. He jumped a little when a loud bang caused the windows to vibrate, and a bright flash of red light lit up the room for a split second. The firework show had begun, and he could vaguely hear people cheering down below. For as long as that stupid shit was taking place, there would be no more sleep for him. He pulled himself out of bed and wrapped one of the blankets around himself to keep warm. His head pounded in protest at standing up, but he wanted to know what marshal Larkin's dear little niece was up to. Another bang that sounded like any explosion he ever witnessed lit up the room with a green flash, and he decided he wasn't much of a fan of fireworks either. He roamed the dark apartment, limping heavily, in search of his caretaker.
"Come out, come out wherever you are." He singsonged to himself softly, opening several doors only to be met by more dark rooms. He found her in the last room he hadn't checked, a little back office. Her presence was only betrayed by the cat announcing his arrival with a loud meow. He halted in the doorway, searched the walls with his hand for the switch and turned on the ceiling lamp. She was sitting underneath her desk, two pillows pressed against her ears and looked up blinking harshly against the light. He tilted his head at her in slight question and curiosity. "You do this every time there's a fireworks show going on?"
Slowly, she lowered the pillows, placing them on her drawn up knees. "Pretty much." She answered sheepishly, fumbling with the tresses on the cushions. "It's not every night during the off season. But.. in the spring and summer, they do it.. daily. To entertain the tourists, you know."
"I see." The cat meowed again, and rubbed herself against his legs affectionately. "Well, I'm going to make coffee. You want some?" She frowned in confusion, and was about to say something when another loud bang caused her to cry out in fear and press her hands against her ears. "I'll be in the kitchen." He said dryly, and turned around, leaving the light on so she couldn't see the bright coloured flashes.
The cat followed him happily, her tail high up, and jumped upon the counter while he worked on the coffee. He half expected Lillian to eventually join him to atleast see if he wasn't turning her coffee machine into a homemade bomb, but she remained invisible. Once the coffee was ready, he moved back into the living room, now half expecting to find the girl there, but he had the room to himself again and sipped at his cup while gazing out of the big balcony windows at the crowd below, cheering at every festive explosion of sparks and colours. For a brief moment, he wondered what Garland was up to, somewhere out there in the city butchering a toddler probably. Then again, he didn't really care. The coffee sank mercilessly into the pit of his hollow stomach, and he could feel his intestines turn sour. Making a face at his own pale reflection in the glass doors, he placed a hand on his rioting stomach. After a few minutes, his own reflection wasn't the only one, and he watched her face become clearer and clearer as she approached him, still holding the pillows tightly pressed against herself. She stood beside him, thinking about what to say, and suddenly started chuckling.
"People can see you, you know. Standing here in your underwear with a cup of coffee." He raised his hand and waved carelessly, like he was greeting the crowd below. She laughed. "I had to get used to these doors." She rubbed her arms nervously. "And the neighbours. There's an old lady called Mrs Jennings living in the apartment next to me. She gets out on her balcony to say something the moment I step outside." He didn't respond. "I guess she's just lonely."
He handed her his cup, indicating for her to take a sip, and rubbed his scruffy chin in contemplation. "I see. And how about you?" He asked.
She blinked. "What about me?"
"Are you lonely?" He didn't seem that interested about her answer, so she wondered where this question came from.
"Well, not right now." She said, blowing on the hot beverage, she gave him a small smile, but he didn't meet her gaze. "I'm not alone right now."
"Yes, well, this isn't permanent." Cyrus spoke calmly. "And not exactly what I meant either." He watched another rocket hit the sky and explode in a wild variation of colours and sparks, followed by a loud bang that made Lillian jump behind his back. "careful not to spill that coffee now." He chided gently. A few more of the same cheery colourful rockets followed the first one, and after a last loud bang, the crowd started cheering indicating that the show was over. "Well, we seemed to have survived through that pretty good, won't you think?" He peered over his shoulder at the shivering form of Larkin's cousin, her big doe eyes meeting his for a second. "Are you okay?" She nodded vigorously. "Good." He turned to fish the cup out of her shaking grip to take another sip himself.
It took a few minutes for her to regain her bearings, but he remained where he was, not moving from his spot until she was ready, and sipping his coffee while quietly enjoying the night view of the city. When she finally appeared from behind him, tucking strands of her hair behind her ear nervously, she dared not to look at him. "I'm sorry about that." She said.
"Hm. Well you don't bother me half as much with this as you bother yourself." He explained, studying the many neon signs below. Not that it mattered, but he hadn't been able to look at anything else but the walls of his cell for quite some time, so this was a welcome distraction. "Do these doors open?" He asked, feeling the sudden need for some fresh air as his stomach turned unpleasantly.
Her eyes widened at his request. "Vince sort of told me not to let you out. That probably includes the balcony." At the mention of the marshal's name, Cyrus was already fumbling with the lock and opened the two grand balcony doors to let a rush of cool night air enter the apartment. He stepped out onto the small balcony, feeling his body instantly react to the cold air and every hair on his skin stand up, but his stomach settled. Despite now shivering like a new-born kitten, he smiled at himself and peered curiously over the modern looking, metal railing. He hadn't figured out on which floor he was yet, but now he knew. The apartment building had about ten floors, and they were almost at the top, only two balconies above them. He listened to the sounds of the city below. Loud music, car horns and drunk people having a good time. The siren of a police car sounded all too familiar to his ears. There was no way he could escape from this height. It made him dizzy even thinking about climbing over the banister.
From a small distance, Lillian watched him examine her balcony like he hadn't been on one before. She rubbed her arms against the cold and wondered if his fever made him unable to accurately feel the outside temperature. The air smelled like rain. And even though the sky was still clear, and stars were visible, she knew the signs of a brewing storm in the distance. "Cyrus!" she tried to lift her voice over the strong gusts of wind, but he couldn't hear her. "Cyrus, you're going to catch cold!" But he was too occupied with what seemed like the balcony of her downstairs neighbours, to pay any attention.
Worried he might worsen his condition, she went back inside to get a blanket, and walked up to him slowly. She also realized he hadn't been outside for a long time, and he was probably just enjoying himself too. "Cyrus." She spoke more softly, now right behind him. He had heard her this time.
"What?" He said, still stretching himself out, hanging dangerously over the railing. He felt her wrap the blanket around his cold shoulders, and held it there in fear of the wind taking it. Her gentle hands against his sore back made him eventually turn to face her, taking hold of the blanket himself. "Thank you." He had to raise his voice to let himself be heard too, but she wasn't looking for a conversation, she just stood there looking worried. "I'm fine." He assured her. "Admiring your view." The dear thing just nodded, her long auburn hair dancing wildly in the wind. He was shivering, and couldn't feel his feet from standing on top of half frozen concrete for too long, but the fresh air had done him more good than harm, he was sure of that. Then again, he liked her more when she was smiling. "Wanna go out and have a steak with me? I don't need pants for most of these joints anyway, right?" she laughed despite trying not to, and her giggling was more contagious than he liked to admit. His stupid joke had worked, and she took a step closer to him, closing their distance, to reach out and rub his arms in order to get some warmth into his limbs. He winced a little at his sore muscles being touched, but he didn't want to push her off, she meant well. Easy, sweetheart, take it easy on me. "Let's get back inside." He offered.
Together they moved back into the warmth, and out of the wind. She closed and locked the glass balcony doors behind them, and drew the curtains to shut out the rest of the world for now. Gingerly, he sat down on the edge of his bed, slightly breathless from the cold and the hard wind. He watched her do everything in her power to somehow build up a barrier between her cosy living room and the rough nightlife down below. Why this girl ever happened to live in this ridiculous city was beyond his comprehension. She didn't seem like the outgoing type at all. His skin burned and tingled now it slowly warmed up again, and he could feel his arms throb from the rubbing treatment they had received. That was all going to be sore as anything in the morning, but what else was new. It was 1:30 in the morning, and she yawned into the sleeve of her cardigan. It was time to break up the party.
"Time for bed, sweetheart." He told her dryly. She nodded, rubbing her eyes like a small child, and walked over to him.
"Can I get you anything? A painkiller or something?" she offered in a sluggish, tired way that made him let out a gruff chuckle.
"How about a bedtime story?" He smiled his wolf like grin, wiggling his shoulders. "Once upon a time.."
"There was a convict.." she filled in. He rolled his eyes dramatically.
"oh, I don't like this story already."
Once again, her giggling made him smile. "Just get some rest, Cyrus. I'll see you in the morning." He followed her with his eyes until she closed the door to her own little bedroom. Where she slept on a rickety old stretcher for his sake. He looked down at his bruised wrist, examining it like he hadn't seen it before. Sleep would probably be a good idea for him too. He got up, opened the curtains again and returned to his bed. He wasn't going to be denied his view of the night sky for one second longer.
R&R