Belladona
Grace sat in the hotel lobby, cappuccino in her hand, blowing on it softly. The liquid rippled, white leaf pattern disintegrating. Delicate sips savoured mild coffee, just the right hit of caffeine. She had a call from Miller, asking when she was available to meet, schedule a meeting. He was to procure an office for her, when, she wasn't quite sure. A tad flutter in her stomach wouldn't go away. She rationalised it was being in a new city, having not slept too well. That always put her on edge, made her moody. The hot liquid dulled the edge. A gentle breeze rolled through the room, the doctor got a chill. Not the kind that lasted a second, but the kind that took your entire body hostage, curve of the spine reflex response.
Perhaps it was premonitory, though the brunette hadn't thought this was what would follow.
Her phone rang, name instantly recognisable.
Faridah.
Grace answered, auto-pilot mode engaged.
"Good morning Faridah."
Malik was manic, hurtling words ten to the dozen.
"Grace, Adam called me last night, 3 am, voice hoarse. He sounded pained, hell, I've seen him after he was shot, beaten bloody by Namir, but," her voice broke, chilled calm taking on cold icy distress, "someone hurt him, Grace. Those sounds, Jesus, it was like he was being strangled, it grew faint, then groans, shit, they frightened me, and I've seen a lot."
Grace grabbed a pen and paper.
"Okay. Faridah? I need you to breathe."
Coaching someone through an anxiety attack wasn't on her agenda. Hell, it wasn't part of her job, however, the woman was panicking, and Grace wasn't about to ignore that.
"He'll be at the local L.I.M.B Clinic, I suppose. The hospital wouldn't have the right equipment to repair any damage to his augments and their component parts."
Malik sucked in stale VTOL air.
"No, Grace I told him to do that," she let out the breath, coming out a gasp, "he refused. He doesn't want to go back to a clinic, not after what they tried to do with the dodgy chip. He would have died against Namir had he gotten it fitted. He doesn't trust them and hospitals will only turn him away, especially in Prague. The anti-aug movement is rampant in medical centres."
The brunette closed her eyes, an entirely different shiver dancing its way over her. The phrase 'like someone walked over my grave?' She'd gone cold, goosebumps, raised hairs on her arms.
Shit.
She sighed.
"Okay. Do you know where he lives?"
Faridah laughed, a frustrated chirp.
"I can't pronounce it. Here, I'll send you the coordinates for it."
A beep and voice came from her device, Malik's voice.
"Tell me about it. I think every time I mention the hotel's name, I make the words sound utterly common."
The pilot huffed a chuckle.
"I'll coach you there. Fuck, I want to be there, I can't stand it when Adam's away and hurt. He's like family to me. I don't like it at all."
Grace nodded, rooting around for her headphones.
"I'll use my headphone and mic, be easier to hear you."
She glanced outside, finishing her drink, popping the almond biscotti in her mouth.
"Its busy, not like London or Detroit. Chaos, no order, its like everyone for themselves here. Or, more specifically, augmented people versus non-augmented. The latter's depravity knows no bounds. I know little of augments, though I suspect the people who lobby against augments do either."
She stood, put away her things and plugged in her headphones.
Signs in Czech all around her 'greeted' untrained hazel eyes. Looking through the crowd to find train station boards was like look for a needle in a one hundred acre field for a single needle. She gathered, from angry mob and loutish howls that the groups currently residing in and around the train station were the ones who believed any replacements, any enchantments went against nature, went against God. Whatever they chose to think was up to them. Picus News broadcast on every screen around the doctor, forcing her gaze upward.
Eliza Cassan's pristine apparel and flawless makeup gave off sophistication, air of grandiosity. Grace looked beyond that, seeing through the carefully honed image. Peeling back the layers? Picus was nothing more then bureaucratic tosh, masquerading as 'news'. It likely spat out exactly what the protesters wanted to hear. All about the terrible accident in Panchaea, what occurred with the biochip. Any excuse to blame augments on something, the hatred spilling forth overflowing many cups.
People hate what they don't understand, and ignore what they can't...
Grace filtered out as much as she could, focusing on Faridah's directions. She could have looked at the interactive map, updating itself every few seconds with her steps, but a voice? A human uttering the directions? That was what Grace needed.
It was Malik's voice that prevented her from flinching as she was pushed by hoards of people getting off the train, despite her being kind enough to leave plenty of room for them to move around her.
Grace pinched her nose, bit her lip and straightened her back. Stepping on to the train, she kept her composure, psychologist attire slipping on smoothly.
So smoothly, it frightened her.
The aforementioned attire practically hit the floor, dull, harrowing thud when she saw Adam. Bloody gauze stuck to his chest, harsh, jagged lines criss-crossed his abdomen, nasty purple bruising on his collarbone, angry scarlet peppered throughout. His hair stuck fast to his face, ruby liquid the glue. If he frowned any deeper, she could hike across his forehead...
For fuck's sake, Adam...
Grace swallowed, masking a shriek with a hand. Adam didn't appear to notice that.
In fact, he barely acknowledged her existence. The world outside his apartment was not his domain.
Stepping into it felt like stepping into a realm of Hell, heat unbearable, pressure cooker atmosphere.
Only, it wasn't the Devil Grace saw.
It was a broken angel, light peeking in from a window pane the curtain failed to cover illuminating damaged flesh. Shadows could only cover so much when the one inside it lay bare, form used, abused for such a long time.
And it was such a long time...
Grace scanned the space, inhaled sweat laden air. The want to cover her nose with her cardigan was quelled when eyes caught varying size bottles of whisky dotted around.
People pleasing was a strong suit of hers.
This was not a time where she wanted to do that.
Shouting at the man would accomplish little. Different tactics needed to be employed here.
She gave the kitchen area a once over, hazel's growing amused at boxes of 'Magic Gnome' cereal.
"I don't know what to say."
"Then don't say anything."
Grace jumped out of her skin, attention not on Adam's whereabouts.
"You think I have a problem."
She steadied herself, hand over her heart, formulating words as rapidly as she could.
"I think you have the munchies. Also, if you did, you'd have hidden those."
She pointed at each and every bottle she saw.
"Six? I have three bottles, and those have been there for quite some time. Each of those are half or three-quarters empty."
"Seven."
Grace's mouth formed a thin line, eyes disapproving. Adam shook his head.
"I don't need judgement."
The doctor wanted to judge him, not as a psychologist, but as an, acquaintance? She shook her head of that.
"No, but your apartment needs a clean."
This situation was bizarre, to say the least. Should she use a bag to store the bottles? She always carried several for Freud, to clean up after him on their walks.
They were not hers to touch. Her heart thundered in her ears, all noise drowned out by heavy beat. The doctor quickly gave up on her idea.
"I am not here to lecture you."
Adam cut her off.
"Then why are you?"
"We are concerned Adam."
"We?"
"Faridah, Frank, myself."
"And Sarif, right? Concerned his and several investors billions will go down the pan?"
"That, alcohol and the contents of your stomach."
The doctor looked away.
"You asked me here for a reason. This isn't it."
Adam shrugged. Somehow, the doctor caught that, and it irked her more than she should have allowed it.
"I allocate my time to what I believe to be a cause worth fighting for. Your cause is a vast one, not of your making. You aren't helping, however. Self destruction will only go one way, and that is down the toilet."
Her patient's face took on a green tinge.
"I'd throw up, if I were you. All of," she span around, pointing at offending carnelian liquid vice, "that in your system? Your Sentinel? Overloading that doesn't sit well with me. I'll set about cleaning all of this up."
Adam protested, head spin regretting it.
"Grace, just leave. I can handle myself."
She'd heard enough.
"Then why did you let me in? You left the door open. If you wanted the world to remain outside, me, to remain outside, it would have been locked. I am not a babysitter, Adam. Not here to put reigns on you so I know the hell you are. And, yes, this isn't professional Grace. For now, she's sitting this one out."
She placed her purse down, clicking the lock open, she grabbed the roll of doggy bags.
"I won't throw the bottles away, or down the sink, okay? Just do one thing for me."
The tell tale signs of incoming puke fest hit him like a brick wall.
"What, stick a dog leash around my neck? Hang myself with it whilst I'm at it. That's what you attach a reign too, isn't it?"
Grace stared him down, stern faced, not listening to his drunken self-pity, knowing it was the drunk part speaking right now.
"Adam! Just go into the bathroom and vomit. That's all I ask. No counselling, no 'let me refer you to an addiction specialist,' no mind games. Please."
Adam wasn't there when she used her request, the distant retching oddly a good thing.
The sympathy card was there, however, in Grace's hand, she was debating as to whether or not to hand it to him.
She set about collecting bottles, stacking them next to one another, satisfying clinking her reward.
It was half an hour before Adam came out from the bathroom, now sporting a black tee and towel around his neck. Sweat looked like shiny glaze on a cake, sunken, jaded eyes wouldn't look at her, only the floor. Head tilted down, shadows played about his face, masking a scowl. Grace wasn't sure what was so interesting about the floor...
"All done."
She did the dishes and put dirty laundry in the washing machine whilst she set about cleaning the agent's home.
"So, going to tell me what happened? I know you are ill, and likely pissed, in both uses of the words, but I'm not leaving until I get a semblance of an answer."
Adam grumbled, milk sour in his throat. He was out of mouthwash, and water wasn't cutting through the acid burn. No food came out now, only bile.
"Okay, I can work with a grunt. Caveman roots?"
Grace took off her gloves, placing them neatly next to the drainer.
"Say 'Ugg' for yes, and grumble for no. Since you said no, I can assume you just walked into a wall again? Or, through it, I should say. Seriously, doors, they are there for a reason. Not just cosmetic, they aren't there to break up walls of solid bricks and mortar."
"The hell are you talking about?"
Came her reply, perplexed, vexed.
Grace grinned.
"And, he's back. Good to see you're there. Not many situations where yelling 'Hello' to God on the big, white telephone is the best option, I'll admit." Grace opened up. "Faridah called me, said you got in touch with her early this morning," she added, "it was three there. She said you were in some degree of pain, resisting her pleas for you to seek urgent medical care because of a biochip. Now, I won't go into what information I was given on that, however, I wish to understand why you don't want help? I am here, so, you must want some, to a certain degree."
Adam whined, pathetic, in his ears, though, Grace heard different. That was the asking, the plea for mercy. Life was treating him like shit, worse than something on someone's shoe, and he'd had enough. Spending the morning patching himself up, using whisky to numb all feeling was driving him towards the balcony his apartment had.
The only reason he didn't end it was Freud, the pup's obsidian gaze curious as to what the noises were. The poor canine shrank back when he bellowed at him to get out, yanking his front door open, telling him to leave.
He hadn't seen the dog after that, he'd hidden himself somewhere, burying himself, hemming himself in, just as Adam so desperately wanted to do.
Grace hadn't said anything, observation the only card she played.
But Adam was done. This was overkill, he'd had enough, and wasn't drinking himself to death.
Not that he could. His fucking 'not so useless' Sentinel would force up anything he wished to keep down.
Emerald's faced her, neck following.
He was ready to answer...
"I was leaving an acquaintance's studio when I was ambushed by Police riot robots. They hit hard, and I couldn't fight back. I don't know why, but my muscles seized, legs wouldn't move."
Grace sat on the arm of the sofa opposite his.
"They battered me, knocked me unconscious for a good half hour. When I came too, a man named Koller stood over me, concerned but curious. I wasn't able to get away from his prodding and probing. He fixed me up as best he could, but didn't have much stock in. That's when I came back here. The cotton balls were soaked with blood, so I changed those, cleaning out the gashes with antiseptic wash. Stung like hell, hence the bottles. I kept grabbing them, and cleaning until I didn't know which way was up. I don't remember calling Malik." Adam huffed. "Least it wasn't Frank."
Grace passed him a pack of smokes, knowing he'd want one, After all, he'd gone an hour without one, and he was truly a nicotine fiend...
"Yes, Frank would have shown more concern for the pavement you bled all over. Police riot robots? Shouldn't they be policing the rebellion on the streets? Not beating you to a pulp?" She inquired, sighing. "This Koller, you mentioned his 'interest' in what you have inside and outside regarding augments. Could he help you here?"
Adam nodded. "If I told him about you, that would get you involved in far more than politics and past red tape."
"And? Adam, I am here to help too. If Koller can assist your body, I can try to assist what's inside, join forces with him. I ought to thank him, and Malik. Without them, you wouldn't be here, and neither would I. I wouldn't have had a clue. I am sorry I haven't given you an appointment card. Things are stalling in finding me an office, though I fully understand, given the circumstances."
Grace gave the space a final peruse.
"May I inquire as to where Freud is? I thought he'd come, hearing my voice, is all..."
Sheepish, the agent frowned.
"I shouted at him. All he did was sit on the sofa, looking at me, and I yelled. Fuck. Grace?"
The doctor walked around slowly, softly singing Freud's name.
"What's happening to me?"
Freud's ears peeked out from behind his bedroom wall. Adam's heart felt like lead, sinking into his stomach. He was under his bed the entire time, Adam's shelter now his own...
Grace got on her knees, offering her friend a hand.
"No one is a complete puzzle, Adam. Everyone has a piece or two missing. Your's was shaken up, pieces flying in different directions. Some in Sarif's office, some in your old office, some on the streets, others in Panchaea, Dubai and here. Here is where the remainder lie. Now, I can attempt to find them, or assist you in creating new ones, new pathways, so to speak. See?"
Freud tottered out, nuzzling her hand.
"Freud is a piece, isn't he? Not many can resist that face."
Adam felt a grin pull its stings on his lips. He let it happen, relief flooding him, no longer a mirage.
He nodded.
"Even Frank would let the straight-faced mask drop for a split second, replaced by a slight smile."
Grace picked the pup up, turning to face him. She kept him close to her chest, his ear on her heart.
"I think it would crack if he smiled. Then I'd have to clean his office too, old dustpan and brush combo. Classic."
Adam tch'ed.
"He's afraid, but I can feel his paws pushing on my arms. He wants to sit with you. Now, can I trust you won't raise your voice at him?"
Adam nodded a bit too eagerly.
"I won't. I didn't mean it, little guy."
He directed that at the dog. He really didn't mean it. Freud had nothing to do with his downfall. His misery was his own, it took the place of his shadow. Freud needn't be in shade of his making...
"Freud, is Adam forgiven?"
Adam thought it ridiculous, but went along with it anyway.
Seemingly suspicious eyes gave him the once over, Freud really studying his face, specifically his eyes. Adam didn't find it unnerving funnily enough.
The pup wormed his way from his owner's arms, so, she plopped him on the couch. He waddled up to Adam's lap. Grace laughed.
"Still reticent. Its alright, mustachioed friend."
The brunette grabbed her notepad.
"I'll get a unit or something, for the continuation of our appointments. Would that be alright? When you've recovered, of course."
Adam took the pad.
"I'll take a week off. Next Monday?"
Grace squinted as he wrote.
"A week? Judging by your condition, I'd..."
"I thought you said you wouldn't judge?"
Grace shook her head, realising her error.
"Says the woman, still using pen and paper."
He added, snark evident.
"Says the man using the pen. Why have a pen if it's so 'old fashioned?'"
Mental gymnastics quickly overcame anxious fretting in the man's mind. He didn't feel quite as ill now.
"10 am? I am meeting with Koller. There's something wrong with some of my augments. Can't work if I can't utilise what I have to the fullest."
Grace nodded, taking back the pad.
"Perhaps try meditation? I don't believe in pseudoscience, but controlled breathing exercises can help ease strain, whether physical, and or mental."
Her purse was slung around her arm.
"I'll see you then. Also, do mention me to Koller. If it gets me into trouble, its on my back, not yours. We can look after ourselves, and deal with consequences, if and when they happen."
The doctor offered a reassuring smile, gnawing doubt in her gut swallowed further down. It could gnaw where it liked, she wouldn't let him witness it.
"See you soon."
She opened the door and left the complex, leaving out 'try not to get yourself murdered between now, and Monday.'
Not that she wanted him to get murdered, period...