The person managing the Motel seemed agitated to see him, which didn't make any sense at all in his opinion.
Granted, it was nearly three in the morning when he arrived, and the manager appeared to be sleeping, so Brium had taken the liberty to wake the man up and request a room.
Agitated to be woken up, and to be doing the job he was suppose to be doing minus the sleeping.
Didn't make any sense to Brium at all, but, like always, he was polite with the irked man anyway, paying for the room for a single twenty-four hours, cash up front; his flawless I.D. (stating he was twenty-one years old) got him into the Motel 6 easily.
He was flattered that he could pull of being four years older than he was, but he did concede that he probably looked like a young twenty-one.
As for the I.D.'s story, well, that one's for later.
Brium had arrived to his room (room 47 in a quiet corner as per his request) and had proceeded to get a quiet nights sleep. Of five hours.
He kept the pistol under his pillow.
Brium awoke at seven minutes past eight (late for him normally, but considering the circumstances of the previous night, he let it slide) and had gone to a Denny's for breakfast.
Brium had once read that infielder Fernando Tatis (then playing for the St. Louis Cardinals) had once hit two Grand Slams in the same inning. Brium hadn't, however, heard of someone eating three Grand Slam breakfasts in one sitting.
Until he did it.
It occurred to him about three-quarters of the way through the second Grand Slam, of just how hungry he was.
He hadn't eaten since dinner the previous night, and that was quite simply an eternity ago.
And he burnt through calories like fire eats through dry firewood.
Especially after all the running and killing of the previous night.
And it was that thought, that forced Brium to put his fork down and pause for a moment.
He felt bad for the Erasers he had killed last night. He felt bad for every Eraser he had ever killed. Though all of them had either been trying to kill him, or rob him of his freedom (which the end result would more than likely be death after prolonged torture (so even worse then simple death when all was said and done)) Brium still felt sorry for them.
They hadn't, after all, chosen that life; their path had been chosen for them, and they were only doing what they had been told and trained to do. For all they knew, they were the good guys and Brium was evil.
And Brium understood that.
He understood that perfectly.
Which was why he killed them as quickly as possible.
He considered it an act of mercy, rather than anything else.
True, yes, that by killing an Eraser, Brium made absolutely sure that that particular Eraser would never trouble him again. That was true, but Brium's reasoning was much, much more than that.
Brium had been told once (by Jeb, actually) that Erasers had a maximum life span of about six years. And then they would parish.
Six years of doing whatever evil the scientist had the school demanded they do, and then they died.
What a life.
What a death.
So Brium killed them, to put them out of their non-chosen, cruel existence, and to make sure others like him wouldn't suffer and harm at that Eraser's claws.
Like maybe the flock, for instance.
The flock...
Brium had heard the Erasers that had approached him two years ago mention the escapees by this name, and it was the only referral to them he had.
So that's what he called them.
Brium picked up his fork with immense grace and sliced a bit of egg, spearing it and popping it into his mouth.
He loved eggs. They tasted good, were chocked full of protein and the like.
And (best of all) the simple irony of him, Brium, eating eggs was just to good to avoid.
He lamented that only he could laugh at this, so that meant not laughing at all.
Unless the flock ate eggs, too.
He just couldn't seem to get them off of his mind.
So he decided to take on the subject full force here and now in a Denny's that had the faint smell of cigarettes (it had to be very faint, because Brium's sense of smell was very good).
He had celebrated that confirmation of the flock's existence with a restrained joy; he wasn't alone in this world. No, no, there were others.
Just like him.
Just... like... him...
The thought was almost too much to bear without cracking a massive grin (which Brium did, around a mouthful of bacon)
But this all came with a potential downside. One that Brium had thought about instantly as soon as he had picked up the newspaper with the six blurred bird kids in a grainy black and white picture.
If they weren't a coincidental hoax (which Brium did doubt strongly) then it meant several things.
One, they were the real thing: Other escapees from the School, on the run, and being rather careless.
Or two, they worked for the School itself, and were a potential way to draw him, and other potential escapees out to the open.
Brium wanted to meet these kids that were just like him; he dearly wanted to.
But he knew that that was just the kind of thing the School would do to draw him out.
He would find them, go to meet them, and fall into a subsequent trap; then be captured, etcetera, etcetera.
But then again, the School would have to be really desperate to reveal anything at all related to their operations. And six flying kids sat right near the top of the 'don't reveal' list.
All of which meant, Brium thought, taking a sip of orange juice, that these kids were the real winged escapee deal.
Did he want to meet them?
Yes, he certainly did.
Did he want to seek them out and let it be known for only the second time who he really was?
No, not just yet.
The first time had ended disastrously, even though it wasn't to a winged mutant, but rather a pure human.
More on that later.
Brium finished his meal, tipped his waitress thirty percent, and left.
He still had nearly two thousand dollars left in his pocket, and it was high time for what he considered to be the only kind of shopping spree he ever did.
There was a Wal-Mart about a fifteen minute's walk away, and he stretched it into twenty. Brium loved being in civilization; loved the feeling of being alive, and being among countless other people, and (embarrassingly) imaging for a few moments every now and again what it would be like to live this life permanently; every single day. Sometimes it was good to let the imagination run wild.
Brium arrived at the Wal-Mart with an already set and memorized shopping list.
He bought a black sweatshirt hoodie and a black medium jacket, (much like the one he wore) a black medium sized backpack, three pairs of white ankle socks (they came packaged together) and (to his satisfaction) a pair of camouflaged shorts that had even more pockets then the ones he currently wore. Walking to the men's department, he had been 'checked out' he supposed the term was, by two very attractive girls who had to be skipping school to be here today. He smiled, gave a nod, and continued along his way.
Girls had always seemed to like him.
He had no idea why.
Brium then bought some various food supplies (not much, just enough to snack on) and a carton of chocolate milk. He had then politly asked the cashier if their was a sporting good store nearby, and she had said yes, there was. And she gave him directions.
Another ten minute walk away.
Brium easily stretched it to fifteen, sipping the chocolate milk with his Wal-Mart objects carefully filed away in his new backpack. he had lost the previous backpack the night before.
He walked up to the middle-aged mustached man behind the counter at the firearms and knifes section. He smiled at the man, "One twenty round box of nine millimeter parabellum, please,"
The man eyed him, and Brium hoped his 'age' of twenty-one would be convincing.
"Grain?" the man asked. "And I'll have to see some I.D."
"One fifteen," Brium said, smiling. "And certainly."
The man gave a nod and turned his back to face the stacks of boxed bullets.
"Having a good day," Brium asked, handing the man his I.D just as the man grasped the requested ammunition, and turned back.
The man deposited the box on the clear glass counter, took the I.D. card and shrugged, "Y'know. The usual."
Brium nodded, "Yes sir, I do."
The man gave a slight smile at Brium's tone, which was quite welcoming. He checked the card, looked back at Brium, and was convinced. "Anything else for ya?"
"Yes, Brium said, "A Spyderco Harpy knife, if you have one."
"Actually you're in luck; we have one," The man said, digging under many boxes of knives to find the requested one. "Don't get many requests for this one," he said.
Brium smiled, "No, I'd imagine not." Brium paid for his things at the main counter, where his I.D. was once again requested.
It was once again approved.
Brium deposited the items into his backpack, and walked back through the busy suburbs of Denver to get to his motel. He paid for another night, thinking 'why not?' The Erasers probably didn't know where he was (he had been careless last night) and he considered himself to be safe for one more night.
Brium arrived at room 47, and stepped inside.