TRIGGER WARNING FOR SUICIDE ATTEMPT

The quarry's comfortable living space was quiet, its cavernous ambience capitalizing on the vacancy of its gang members. All save for Le Caid, Angus himself. A tired, stressed-out, middle-aged man who, despite being seated in a restful area, was gripped by a flood of negative thoughts. An INN news report had his attention firmly grasped as he sat at the edge of the loveseat, scrutinizing the annoying, and laughably incompetent anchorman, Iommi Legrand.

"But enough about me," Iommi droned. "How about we dive into the news surrounding today's cataclysmic events that took place in the shit — err, quaint neighborhood of Jardin d'Alegria?"

"It's about time…" a member of the crew's voice sounded, indistinctly off-camera.

Iommi scowled. "Heheh, anyways! As I was saying…" He cleared his throat. "...with the war raging between France and Eastern Europe, you would think our less than sanctimonious neighbor, Skid Row, would be a non-issue. However, this isn't the case, as it seems war is waging not only beyond the borders, but just outside our capital's walls as well."

"I think they already know that, Iommi," Steve said.

"Shut up," he hissed.

Angus's eyes gazed at the footage that had recorded the horrific aftermath of Jardin d'Alegria earlier that afternoon, feeling the bitter taste of loss in his mouth.

"What you see here, my fellow citizens, is a prime example of what happens when gangs spiral out of control. Isn't that just sad… look at that…"

Angus's growl of annoyance spiked ever so slightly. Geil…

"...At least six people were killed during the catastrophe. And what's more, the prefects have actually stepped in for once —" Iommi's focus was broken, a voice from behind the camera whispering incoherently to him.

"What, I can't say that? Ughh, fine. Sorry, folks, apparently my take on the situation is a bit hard to swallow for some people. Ahem. As I was saying, the prefects of Skid Row took to the streets, putting an end to the conflict in Paris's personal landfill." Yet even more disruptive whispering cut him short, irking him. "You want to do my job, or should I?!"

Iommi sighed. "The individuals responsible for sparking this outrageous incident have indeed been arrested. Though not all of them… heh. Well, the subprefecture is certainly taking 'small' steps to redeeming themselves in the eyes of the public."

Steve Ennui's palm covered his brow in embarrassment. Why. Why did he of all people have to be seated next to this bozo…

In the instant the Prefét de Police's face appeared on screen, Angus clenched his fist over the armrest of the couch. Bet you feel real proud of yourself, you glorified traitor…

Trisha Clé was pressing Quaid for his thoughts on the situation, speaking loudly and clearly into the microphone. "Officer Quaid, does this mean that the subprefecture will be enforcing stricter rules going forward?"

"That's definitely the plan here. As of now, the prefects are taking things very seriously, and aim to make the streets safer for everybody."

"Can you tell us how you plan to make that a reality?" She extended the microphone to him.

"To put it simply, law enforcement will be patrolling much more frequently than usual by means of sending out tiny drones. These things are programmed to detect specific patterns of behavior, and will be able to cling to any offender that initiates that response. What these machines see, we will see, and we'll automatically be able to track their location. Any crime taking place in Skid Row will be handled thoroughly to the best of our abilities, and the people responsible will be put away for an indefinite amount of time."

Quaid's eyes glared into the camera as if to hammer a point across to a particular person. That person, Angus suspected, was none other than himself. He glowered at Quaid's grating, self-righteous attitude, disgusted as if it was a foul stench emanating from the television monitor.

"Well, you heard it here," Trisha Clé confirmed, the camera now focusing on her. "It seems there may be hope for Skid Row's future yet. Will the policiers cut back on the escalating crime rates infecting the city? Will the methods in which they hope to utilize be an effective solution? This is Trisha Clé with INN Channel 11 News."

"Thank you, Trisha," Iommi said. "And now to Jack Poison for sports!"

The footage cut briefly to Jack, who was standing in an uproarious stadium. "FOOTBALLLLL —" he screeched into his mic, the rapid switch back to Iommi's face cutting him off.

"Huh, interesting. Thanks, Jack."

As Angus switched off the TV, he couldn't help but linger on Quaid's stress inducing words. That, and the betrayal not only of selling out Mariya in the past, but defecting from and targeting the gang as a whole. His jaw clenched. As long as he'd known Quaid, he always pegged him to be the sort that just didn't have the drive to retaliate; he reminded him a lot of Tenmei. Innocent and too soft-hearted for his own good.

Though unlike Tenmei, the experiences Quaid faced hardened him. And now, he was this . A monster dead set on putting an end to everything Angus had worked so hard to keep intact. Since the former boss, Angus's surrogate father, had passed away, it was hard not to notice that Quiet Riot had been steadily declining from being the intimidating force to be reckoned with that it once was. People feared them. People hated them. The only difference now was the former.

Angus lumbered around the room. Skimming over the wall art members had drawn over the decades. Getting swept up in the past while he reminisced, he remembered the words the former boss used to say to him growing up.

The government doesn't care about people like you or me. That's why this gang exists, you understand? Times have changed, the world has changed. And it's going to keep getting worse. The way I see it, if the government won't look out for our best interests, then who can these people rely on? So long as we own this city, we won't have to worry about things being knocked out of balance, because we'll be the legs Skid Row stands on.

But why should that mean doing terrible things? Teenage Angus retorted. Why should it mean that people have to get hurt in the process?

Bad people, the boss corrected. Greedy corporate bastards that don't give a damn about anyone out here. Not me, not you, and especially not the downtrodden. Sometimes, Angus, you have to do unspeakable things to set a precedent for these assholes. You have to do things you normally wouldn't want to do because people count on us. You get me?

I… guess…

I want you to remember this going forward: Doing the right thing will always be hard, so no matter what you do, stand your ground. Do it anyway. Don't listen to the whiny cunts trying to tell you otherwise. You need to toughen up. Put your foot down and establish who's dominant. You can't be a pussy all your life.

Weathered hands coursed over the rough drawing of Tenmei and his parents. Quaid's words from a week ago echoed in Angus's brain, his forlorn eyes unpeeling from Tenmei's blobby depiction of himself.

Mariya did nothing but show you kindness and compassion, and you made her do the most fucked up things!

Regret settled into his chest, deepening the guilt he'd lugged around on his shoulders for years. "I won't make that same mistake with you," he said to the blob, imagining he was saying those exact words to Tenmei. "Just keep enjoying your youth. It's what she would've wanted."

Setting foot inside the basement apartment of Amaund Capulet was enough to make even the worst negligent homeowners turn tail and run. Foul odors wafted from the refrigerator due to rotten food not being cleaned out for the past month. Mice scurried through the cabinets, squeaking.

Trash overflowed from the kitchen garbage can, its contents spilled into the floor and left there without a care. Cigarettes floated in cups filled with week-old soda in the living room, gathered on an end table near a mildewy recliner. Where he'd sit day after day staring vacant-eyed at his reflection on a powerless TV screen. Near it, on the surface of the entertainment center, were haunting memories of the past desperately in need of dusting. He was happier then; more alive than he felt in the present.

A woman stood by his side at the same height, her long, silky blonde hair accentuating her pointed chin and rosy cheeks. Between them, their little girl was beaming, youthful and glowing. The other photographs expressed just about as much joy, if not more. Lifting his daughter up with a large grin on his face, smiling for a photo with his wife in Fontaine Park, and lastly…

…their wedding portrait. The salt in his immortal wounds.

Despondency radiated around the room, in every drip from the bathroom sink, every crevice in the walls, to the tiniest dust mote floating in a narrow window. Set in dark pouches, were a pair of eyes blanketed by a tired glaze. Unblinking, empty. Gaunt, sunken cheeks punctuated his wide, frowning lips. He'd grown numb to emotions; all… save for one.

Like a messenger from God himself, the front door creaked open and Roxette entered. Her nose wrinkled at the sudden smell smacking her in the face. She plugged her nose, walking past the kitchen and into the living room.

"Hi, daddy!"

Amaund kept his gaze front and center, listening, but unresponsive.

Eager, she hopped over and leaned down with something behind her back. "Brought you something." Roxette revealed her surprise. A cake covered in pink sprinkles sealed up in crinkly plastic. Smiling, she held it out in both hands. "Tada! See? I got one for me, too. Just like we used to!"

No response. Barely a hint of movement.

"Do you want me to open it for you?"

Nothing.

Her hope for an answer, a sign — anything — dwindled. Not sure what to say, she simply let out a sad okay, placing the cupcake on the table, though not too close to the cups with cigarette butts. Kneeling beside the armrest of his chair, Roxette lovingly stroked a thumb over his wrist. Amaund acknowledged it on the inside, but his outer shell was still as cold as before.

"I made a new friend," she said, hoping the change of subjects would earn his attention. "She's an android. A really nice one! Me and her are living together now, so you don't have to worry about me being lonely anymore." In spite of the conversation going nowhere, she tried again. "Also… I think… me and Léon are officially dating now. You remember him, don't you? The boy who tried to invite me to a bunch of pool parties?"

Still silence.

"Now that I'm older, when I think back to those days, it was kind of funny." She giggled at the sheer thought of it. "There was that one time you got so mad at us. Remember when we invited him and Sherry over for the afternoon, and he got the bright idea to take junk from the dumpster and build a fort behind the apartment? God, the landlord hated us for that. I think 'loser' is still spray painted on the wall. Haha! He said he was 'marking my territory' for me."

Nothing had changed. Nary an expression was made.

Roxette frowned, eyes lowering to the stained carpet. "You know… I'm planning on taking him out for his birthday in a few days. It's going to be a lot of fun! He can bring his friends, and you can come, too, if you want to… I'd love it if you did."

Like removing a plug from a bathtub, Amaund's constant stillness drained every ounce of hope Roxette had left. Heavy-hearted, her forehead slumped over his knee, tears pooling in her ducts. "I miss you… hey, how about we watch a movie together? Sound good?"

As the two sat together, only one of them invested in the movie's plot, Roxette leaned her head against her father's leg, sitting comfortably on the floor. Every now and again she'd hold his hand, her fingers intertwined with his while she watched the suspenseful thriller unfold.

Amaund's fingers twitched a little bit, grabbing her attention from the screen. In his periphery, he could see her sulk her head back in place, ailing his already grievous heart. Next thing she knew, they slowly, gently, coiled around hers.

I'm still here… he wanted to say.

Roxette smiled and savored the tender moment. It was the first sign she'd received from him in two weeks. And though it may have seemed insignificant to other people, to her it meant the very air she breathed.

Two hours whisked by, and the movie's credits were split screened, showcasing an ad for the next crime thriller that would be airing in a few short minutes.

"I'll clean up a little for you, okay?" Roxette said in her usual soft, sweet voice.

As she left his side, and sauntered into the kitchen, gloomy eyes slowly turned to watch her. "Roxy…" he called out in a gravelly, sleepy tone.

Catching wind of her name, she halted, eyes wide at the door just feet away from where she was standing.

"You don't have to do that…"

She slowly rotated her head back at him, disbelieving. "I… I don't mind."

"Please… I'll do it. You should be getting back to Eponine."

"Daddy…"

Silence roamed the room, save for the noise from the television. "Don't worry about me, sweetheart. I'll be fine. Always am…"

Roxette couldn't shake that he was more depressed than normal. His distant, empty gaze was enough to confirm it. It was as if he was looking at nothing at all. She walked back into the living room, located a remote control, and turned on the sound system. Transposed two keys higher from its original material was a song they used to dance to when she was still a small child; a soothing synthesized intro accompanied by an assortment of violins playing Pachelbel Canon in D Major layered under the melody.

Amaund's eyes slowly trailed up to her hopeful smile as she held her hand out. "For old time's sake?"

His former self would have smiled. He would have gladly taken her up on her offer, hell, even asked her beforehand. Seeing how much she cared, he couldn't deny the gesture warmed his heart. There was a faint smile shining through, albeit small and frail as he took her hand and rose from the soft cushion.

"This is the part where you say 'may I have this dance, mademoiselle?'"

Amaund raised their already clasped hands, placing the other to her shoulder. "Do you lead, or do I…"

"I can lead if you want."

Taking small steps, she led him through the slow waltz. Left foot forward, left foot back, left again to the side, and to the right, the other. Repeat. Dancing with him compared to years past, it was as if half of him was already dead. There was no vigor in his steps, no life, no passion. Had he been standing there doing nothing, it would feel the same. She may as well have been waltzing with his corpse.

"Daddy?"

"Yeah…"

"You know I'll always be your little girl, right?"

Amaund didn't respond. Heavy lids lowered over his eyes, watching her feet. Thinking he might say something, only to hear silence in return, brought her gaze to his chest; feeling all the more hopeless than when she initially walked through the apartment door.

His feet stopped moving. Following suit, so did hers. He was just standing there, staring vacantly, his grip limp around her hand. And at that moment she faced a soul crushing revelation: the man expressing vitality and enthusiasm when he used to scoop her up off the floor and dance around the room with her was gone. Half of her psyche screamed that it was time to let go, that he was never coming back, but part of her believed that wasn't true. Amaund was still in there somewhere.

Sad, and in need of love now more than ever, but he was there. That's why she refused to give up. Because whether he knew it or not, she needed the same from him. She needed a father's love.

"I'm tired…" he said.

Roxette's hand slipped away from his. "Okay."

"You should be getting home now."

She didn't know what to say to that. Deep down, what she wanted to do was refute it and stay to help him clean up. Possibly keep trying to bond with him; give him what little bit of happiness she could muster. But he had a point, Eponine could have been giving Joliet a hard time for all she knew. She nodded and started out of the apartment without the cupcake she'd brought for herself. Her gaze was downcast and an unbearable ache swelled in her chest.

"Roxy…"

She stopped.

"...Je t'aimerai toujours."

Sniffling back the tears demanding to flow from her eyes, she answered, "I love you, too." She looked at him, and casually exited the stuffy, trash ridden apartment with her father standing in the middle of it. Disconsolate and alone.

If she had only known what unimaginable intentions he had in mind for that night, she would have never left upon his request. In her gut, she felt that she should stay at least for a couple more hours.

Instead, she was walking up the sidewalk, the city lights passing over her inconsolable form. She had earned a few stray looks as she wiped her eyes, waiting for a taxi to take her from La Lande and back to Prodigal Heights. The whole ride back, she stared out the backseat window, reliving precious memories of her and her dad.

Times when she couldn't sleep, and he would take it upon himself to build a fort in the living room for the both of them. His funny stories, his laughter, his over enthusiastic need to spook her for no good reason, god forbid his stern lectures, and above all of this, their song and dance and how him lifting her body up in the air made it feel as if she could fly.

Cold dread clung to the air in Amaund's bedroom. His tired body sat at the edge of his bed, and in front of a cracked mirror. His head hung low and he was staring at something in his hands. His and Roxette's song from earlier that evening blared from the living room, bombarding its way up the hall where he could listen to it on repeat from a still, somber place of solitude.

All of the photographs of her and her mother were gathered on the rectangular dresser in front of him, lined up from the smallest frame to the largest. That being an 8x10" wedding photo.

He scanned his past laid out in front of him, quantifying all of his value on what he once believed was real. What he was proud of the most, and had finally come to terms with. It was over. She wasn't coming back, and after all this time, his endless love for his ex-wife was squandered. Though, he'd never understand how it could come to this.

We'd built our future together since we were young… why…

Those memories were on blast, panging in his ears like they only happened yesterday. Siouxsie's kindness beyond compare, those smiling brown eyes, and her calming voice…

You're family seems really nice, her younger self had meekly stated. They don't hurt cats, do they?

No, why would they? he questioned.

Oh. I don't know. The place I ran away from did that a lot.

Huh. Don't sweat it, Siouxsie! We love cats. He flashed her a grin, with a thumbs up for good measure.

She giggled.

In their teen years, she'd inadvertently fallen from a second story window. Her body phased out like a glitch in a video game, and seemingly teleported her to the ground. Where she landed nimbly on her feet. Amaund would never forget it. The most peculiar part of the situation wasn't solely based on the fact she survived the drop barely scathed, but her chartreuse colored eyes as she hunched forward panting.

Siouxsie! How did you do that?!

Striking yellow-green irises quickly faded back to brown. Ah… I don't know… quick reflexes, I guess.

Of all of these, his favorite memories of Siouxsie graced his thoughts. His hand masked his sobbing face. It was a memory of them sitting at the edge of the roof, their feet dangling to the city floor below. Both Amaund and Siouxsie watched the colors of the sky transform with the setting sun. Dull azure painted the expanse, blending into orange, then red. The periwinkle clouds looked as if an artist mashed a paintbrush at their base, giving it a hot pink glow.

Do you think it's possible for people to stop time? Her question came out of the blue.

Amaund wrinkled his nose. I don't think so. Why?

Because… She twiddled her fingers and giggled. …if there was a way, I'd stop time and spend everywaking moment with you.

He laughed. You don't need to stop time for that. What counts is that we're together now. The fun part is growing old, or… that's what my parents say anyway. Guess we'll have to see that for ourselves, won't we?

Hey, Amaund?

Yeah?

Siouxsie smiled. I'm happy that it was you that found me that day in the culvert. I can't explain it, but ever since then, I've felt this really strong connection between you and me.

His eyes broadened. No way… you felt that, too?!

Giving him a nod, she looked him in the eye, sincerity in her words. I don't know what it is, but… it feels right. Like I'm exactly where I need to be.

Like home… he presumed.

Yeah. Like home. Their hands slowly drifted from the roof, rough particles from the concrete stuck to their hands as they came together.

Everything was perfect. She was the shining star on the darkest night, lighting his way through the darkness of the world. Shy, always willing to help those in need, sincere, never quick to get angry, and not a single violent bone in her body. Everything he could ever hope to amount to. The day Roxette was born was the happiest day of his life, as well as hers. She was so proud of her child, always doting on her every second she got.

She's going to be just as beautiful as you one day, he had told her.

She already is.

He'd surmised well into his adult years that anytime he and Siouxsie were apart, the gloom felt eternal, like his body was slowly sinking into the pit of hell. His anguish devoured a hole right through him. Yet, when they reunited again, the spark of passion and profound love bounced right back, and it was as though his pain was little more than a bad dream. This led him to believe other relationships worked to the same extremity, but much to his surprise, that wasn't quite true.

Eventually, he took into account that maybe it was because he and Siouxsie were meant to be. Nothing more, nothing less.

Hey, Siouxsie, get a load of this! He waved a tablet in the air.

Huh? Get a load of what?

You'll see, hold on. He plugged some wires into the device and laid it on a table. His and Roxette's song emitted from the speakers of their living room. Bemused by the slight bow, and hand extended to her, she eyed him funny in hopes he could explain.

May I have this dance, mademoiselle?

She answered him with a smile.

Slow dancing with her in his arms was like ascending to heaven. He drank in the moment until her voice broke his immersion, but only a little.

If only I could stop time and stay like this forever.

All of his emotions twisted into a vile knot as he relived this exact moment in time. Cursed by the neverending flood of betrayal and hurt she'd made him feel, angry not only at her, but himself for believing it. She meant every word she said, until one fateful night they'd gone out on the town.

One minute, everything was beautiful. From the stroll in the cool night air, to enjoying her company. But an unexpected metal barrel whipping out of a coat pocket would see her bitter end become a reality. The man holding them at gunpoint demanded they toss their U-drives on the ground, to which they reluctantly complied.

The offender picked them up and pocketed them. Heheh. Hasta luego…

The next thing Amaund recalled, Siouxsie yelled something and his body slammed hard against the sidewalk. A deafening pop burst in his ears, causing a sharp ring. Were it not for the empty chamber, the man would've successfully unloaded a bullet in his chest. Upon realizing it was empty, the man fled.

Oh, god… god, nononono! Siouxsie!

He sat up. Her head hung back limply in his embrace, and what he saw hurt him so deeply, it induced nausea. Siouxsie had been shot in the head. Lifeless eyes stared up at the black sky as his face burrowed into her chest with arms squeezing her against him. No… he whimpered. …this isn't happening, this isn't…! God…!

Eyes void of consciousness remained in a state of immobility, until, without explanation, rolled down as if to look at her husband. His sobbing ceased abruptly as Siouxsie slowly craned her upper body forward to sit. Shock clambered to Amaund's throat. What he was gazing into weren't the brown eyes he was used to seeing… they were virid — feline.

Amaund's lower lip trembled. S-Siouxsie…?

She stared.

Ma amour…?

Before both of his hands caressed her face, she stood up, removed her heels, and walked off down the street. It felt as though the buildings in their vicinity toppled over on him. Watching her walk away left him equally confused and crushed.

Siouxsie!

She never acknowledged him.

Everything after that night took a rapid sharp turn. The woman he loved had become no more than a stranger. A cruel, spiteful, violent human-being having no remorse for the ones she wronged. Including their own daughter.

The last words she ever spoke to him reverberated in his brain as he ran his fingers over the firearm he was holding in his lap.

He recalled the moment he reached desperately for her hand, stopping her from making her final departure. Siouxsie… please. The least you can do is tell me why you're doing this. There was hurt in his voice. Please don't break up this family! I love you more than life itself, I always have! I… I'll do anything! I'll change! Whatever you need me to do, I will! Amaund's heart grew heavier in his chest. Please tell me what I'm doing wrong.

Amaund thought that when she looked back at him, she was reconsidering her choices. Even just a little. If I could, he said. I'd stop time and fix everything.

Siouxsie deadpanned at him. When are you going to learn that nothing lasts forever, Amaund? Like everything else… this, too, shall pass. You'll get over it.

It was like a fresh, deep cut ripping through his heart all over again. His hand tightly squeezed around the grip of the weapon. "You were the one to cut me… so now… I'll bleed forever."

Amaund brought the barrel of the gun to his temple. Breathing spiked. The second chorus of Roxette's song crescendoed. Thoughts raced. His shaky fingers coursed over the trigger, a shuddered breath leaving his lips. Then, Roxette's face came crystal clear to the forefront of his pain.

"I'm sorry I couldn't be a better father to you, sweetheart…"

This was it; Amaund Capulet's final chapter in life. The intent to carry out his next course of action was present, stronger than ever. And yet, something precious wedged its way into the moment as if it were the master of ceremonies silencing a chattering audience.

Daddy?

Yeah...

You know I'll always be your little girl, right?

His grip on the gun faltered. The barrel slowly pulled away from his temple.

The breath he was holding finally released.

I can't… I don't want to hurt you…

Despite everything, he still had her; someone whose love for him remained unconditional. A tsunami of grief flooded from his eyes. Leaning forward, the gun slipped from his hand, onto the carpet, and he sobbed loudly behind his palms.