She's a smart lady, that one.
I know you.
You better! Chin Ho Kelly!
Chin Ho Kelly.
Chin.
He knew him. He knew him, he knew him, he knew him.
And he shot him.
There would be cops all over the island, searching for him. Part of him wanted to find out where HPD headquarters was and turn himself in, get it over with, serve whatever punishment they deemed fit even though it could never rest his soul, but he wasn't able to.
He didn't even know if Chin was still alive. The cop had still been bleeding when he'd run, but he'd been afraid to take his hands off the wounds long enough to look for a pulse. He had a feeling he'd seen dead bodies that still leaked blood before, but he couldn't remember when.
It didn't matter, anyhow. Even if Chin was alive, even if Chin was perfectly fine at this very moment, even if that monster hadn't shown up to "help", he would still be guilty as sin itself.
He'd shot Chin in cold blood.
He remembered dragging someone—his mother, maybe?—to football games, week after week, just to watch Chin Ho Kelly play. Had he, too, been a quarterback? Or had he just been another adoring fan? He couldn't know for sure, but he remembered that Chin Ho had been a good football player and later, a good cop.
His phone rang again. It had rung several times since the shooting. He had yet to answer it. Didn't want to answer questions, didn't want to get new orders. He was tired.
So tired.
His feet were leading him somewhere. His body seemed to have a better memory than his mind. Hands knew how to hold a gun or staunch a bleeding wound, feet knew their way around, eyes recognized people that he couldn't name.
He'd recognized Chin. He'd told himself Chin was just one of the cops on the scene when he shot Sang Min and nothing more, and that had made it easier to complete his mission. Then Chin had gone and said his name aloud, and suddenly he was so overtaken with memories that he could hardly stay on his feet.
Worked with your father cop money uncle broke all my records
Hey brah, you feeling okay?
Something else Chin had said rang in his memory. "My partner…her…"
He thought he might know this mysterious partner, too. It felt right.
But why in the hell would he know Chin Ho Kelly, let alone his partner? And why would he be assigned to shoot a cop when he apparently knew some of them…was maybe friends with some of them?
He couldn't remember having a friend. But Chin, and that blond man at the house, they felt like friends if he thought about it. He didn't even know what the hell that dark-haired woman had felt like, but it was close to friendly.
Was he just making it up? Or could he have friends?
He just wanted to remember. He wanted to remember a life before dark rooms filled with pain and dizziness and orders. His mind had other ideas.
"Yo, brah!" He jumped and put his hand on his gun at the loud shout. A teenager was walking towards him, a bundle of cloth in his hands. "We're giving these away today down here on the beach, but we're almost out. You look like you could use it."
"Why?" he muttered.
"Community service requirement at Kukui High. There's a lot…homeless people…brah."
He should have declined, meant to decline, but the mention of Kukui sent him reeling. When his mind settled again, his feet were taking him into a small building. His hands were juggling a few quarters and the new clothes. He couldn't remember having had a shower before, but the cool water running down his body felt nice for the most part. He expected the dirt to fall away, but many of the dark spots remained even after he wiped at them. Bruises, and cuts. There were a lot of cuts and burns and other abrasions, some fresh and some scarred over. He didn't remember getting them, but some small corner of his mind informed him that they appeared in the dark rooms.
The clothes didn't fit him. The pants sagged past his hips, especially with his gun in the waistband, and the white shirt looked more like a sail advertising Kukui. Before going back outside, he used his last quarter to wash off his black flannel shirt. He couldn't have those kids see his arms and freak out, and they certainly would if they saw the shape of them. He ripped his old tank into strips and tied them together to make a cheap belt. His hands remembered doing something like this once, in a jungle for some reason, but instead of a belt he'd made bandages.
After he was dressed he started back outside, his gun and phone precariously perched in his pants pockets. The weak cloth wouldn't last as a belt for long, and he decided he'd have to steal a real one soon.
His thoughts were interrupted by a man approaching him, and he pulled his gun at the same moment the other man did.
This man had long brown hair, too, and it was almost as wet as his. His beard was long and bushy, and his over-shirt was ragged. The eyes, though, made him want to shoot his gun and lower it at the same time.
They were so sad. Grey, tinged with a little bit of green at the edges. Long lashes. They seemed a little red, too, as if the mystery man had been crying recently.
More than anything, those eyes were so familiar. He'd looked into those eyes in a past life, but they'd rarely looked so sad before. Narrowed in anger? Yes. Crinkled in the corners with a smile? Sometimes. Large and sad? Hardly ever.
As he began to lower his gun, the other man did too, and he finally realized that he was staring into a mirror. That sad man was him.
He found it somewhat comforting to realize that he hadn't always been so sad. The fact that he'd known other emotions soothed him as well, because he couldn't remember ever having emotions until today. He knew pain, and he'd known dizziness, and he'd known helplessness. He'd never known happy, or angry, or sad. Not until today.
He left the shower house and waved to the teenagers before moving up the beach. In the distance, he saw a large yellow truck and some picnic tables. His mind suddenly leaped to life, urging him to go there immediately, but his feet turned him up towards the sidewalk and road. There were a lot of people there. He'd blend in better.
His phone rang again as he walked up the street, looking for a shop with a belt display outside. His hands betrayed his mind and flipped it open.
"I was beginning to think you'd forgotten your new phone answering orders." He said nothing. "Did you finish the mission? Have you killed the cops who came to the warehouse?"
"Only one found me." He ducked into an alleyway, away from spying ears.
The voice on the other end sighed. "Can't be helped, I suppose. One of them is out of the way now, though, is that right? That means only two are left."
"I didn't kill him."
There was a long silence on the other end. "Say that again."
"I didn't kill him. Chin Ho Kelly. Did you say you knew he would be there?"
"What did you do?"
"That friend of yours, the big guy, he shot him too. He might be dead from that-"
"Why didn't you kill him?!"
"I know him."
"No you don't. Your mind is playing tricks on you again. I told you this might happen. This island does strange things to people's minds."
"Did you know Chin Ho Kelly would be at that warehouse? And his partner, too? Is that why you ordered me to kill the cops who came there, so they'd be out of your grand picture? Does this have anything to do with Shelburne?"
There was another silence, then a loud popping noise. His head swims. The same noise again. He couldn't focus on anything but the phone against his ear.
"You will receive a message. You will come to the enclosed address. You will come inside. You will do this immediately. You will stop asking questions. Nothing else matters." Another pop, and the line clicked dead.
He leaned against the wall and held his head in his hands. He felt like something had been drained from his mind, and it made him feel tired. So much was sitting on the tip of his tongue, but it all fled every time he tried to voice it, even to himself.
His phone buzzed, and he immediately opened the text message to get the address.
As his feet began walking, something came back into his mind.
Chin Ho Kelly.
Chin.
He knew him.
A/N: Howdy, readers. I hope you enjoyed getting to catch up with our "mystery man". Poor guy.
I want to apologize in advance for not posting anything on Saturday. I'm going to be on a road trip to San Francisco starting tomorrow, and I probably won't have the time to write the next chapter, let alone post something. I'm not sure when I'll get the regular posting schedule back up, but you'll at least have the next three chapter by next Thursday or Friday.
Mahalo!