Backstory: Rin is a 20-year-old punk girl born with a strange power that she uses for illegal work: she can teleport, make herself invisible or intangible. Over several nights in police custody, just over a year ago, she met a strange cellmate named Klaus... also endowed with an extremely invasive power: that of communicating with the dead.
TW: illness and imminent death of a relative - reference to drug and alcohol use - Sexuality (non-explicit).
I think it was 2:30 in the morning when the phone rang. In the darkness of my bedroom, where I was fast asleep, and also on the other handset: the one in the living room, where Granny had fallen asleep watching her drama. It was terrible for us when this would happen: we were always anticipating a call from the hospital, where my mother's life was now numbered in hours rather than days. A call that would tell us it was all over. And I admit it now, with more hindsight: at that moment, I'm not sure whether I was dreading it or simply waiting for it. The question was no longer 'if', but 'when': she had already been unconscious for a while. I remained ashamed of this for years, but from this suffering that was stretching on and on, I was also somewhat awaiting to be freed.
"Bạch Liên !"
Granny picked up the phone, while I stayed motionless in my bed, my heart pounding against my chest in alarm and startled awakening. From her tone, however, I quickly realized that it wasn't the much-anticipated call from the hospital.
"BẠCH LIÊN, IT'S FOR YOU".
I heard her grumbling at the other end of the dimly-lit hallway, and reacted immediately by searching in the dark for my bedroom telephone handset, which I eventually found under my stack of Vice Magazine. As soon as I picked up, I heard her hiss in my ear "At two o'clock in the morning, for God's sake", then she hung up, leaving me in communication with the only person I could imagine on the other end of the line.
"Klaus," I said, although I could hear nothing but erratic breathing on the other end.
"Klaus, where the fuck are you?"
Of course, the squat where he was currently living didn't have a telephone line anymore, and he only used his rare coins to make use of public phones in cases of absolute necessity. Which - unfortunately - happened on a regular basis. This time, the silence lingered in a way I knew was due to alcohol, drugs... or probably a consequent mixture of both. He took an endless breath, then finally said:
"I'm in the lobby of the Hotel Obsidian."
"Again."
It wasn't the first time. It was common knowledge that the Hotel Obsidian had a reputation in The City's nightlife circles. On the surface, it was an old establishment, with an imposing façade and art-deco interiors that were paradoxically futuristic and outdated. A luxury hotel with bellboys and spas, where heads of state and celebrities alike stayed, and where the most improbable and expensive weddings were celebrated. A place popular among intellectuals and originals, where Dali, Freddy Mercury and, more recently, Lady Gaga, among many others, had spent time.
Finally, in the late hours of the night, Hotel Obsidian was also the setting for unbridled, eccentric parties, whose guests would end up scattered throughout the establishment's rooms, indulging in the kind of lust and delicious kinks we won't need to go into here. For Klaus, it was always a way to find what he was looking for above all, from wacky ecstasy to the silence of his demons. Sometimes, he could get a good night's sleep this way, when he wasn't dismissed once he'd achieved what was expected of him. But other times - as on this night - the outcome was unfavorable, not to say lamentable. He didn't pick up on my jaded tone, and exhaled into the phone in a way that almost allowed me to assess his alcoholic and toxicological state.
"I'm picking you up," I said with a sigh, already reaching for my jeans, something to which he managed to utter:
"Bring a sweater, please... and some Tylenol - damn - I think my head's going to blow off..."
I drew another sigh and ran my hand over my eyes. And while giving up the idea of staying warm and cozy, I said to him before hanging up:
"Wait for me in the lobby. Don't bother the guy at the front desk. And if you throw up, do it in the toilets this time."
The Hotel Obsidian wasn't next door. It was on the other side of Argyle Park, which was closed at that hour. The night bus only ran once every 60 minutes, so I chose the quick and easy option. I teleported once to the nearby corner of Sixth Avenue, then twice more over the next two blocks. I couldn't cover great distances in those days, but downing a quick cup of cold coffee - before leaving - allowed me to 'jump' something like ten times. To be able to cross the expressway, for instance, and spare myself the otherwise unavoidable pedestrian detour. I was never afraid of walking alone in the dark of night. When walking through mean streets, I could make myself invisible and intangible at any moment, but I was just a black shadow in the dark. Even when I was visible, no one could spot me.
The hotel itself was never really asleep. At any time of the day or night, its revolving doors were illuminated by an amber light, perpetually moving in a tranquil yet unsettling manner. I remember a strange feeling seizing me whenever I passed through them: as if I were entering a space outside the world. I thought it could be because there were no windows to the outside city, in the lobby or corridors. Or perhaps because 'what was happening in there would remain in there'.
And it was for the better, believe me. Because finding Klaus there at three o'clock in the morning - drunkenly slumped on the lobby sofas in minimalist iridescent briefs - was something you might want to forget. He was actually asleep, completely unnoticed by the few guests or staff who passed by. With that sad form of youthful innocence on his closed eyes, which he had in his twenties despite whatever might have happened in his night. Which he still has, in truth.
It was in such moments that I found his tattoo the saddest. Oh, not the 'Hello' and 'Goodbye' ones inked on his palms, no. The only other one he had at the time. The one you will most likely never see, but which the iridescent 'fabric' struggled to conceal in the faint light of the lobby. A pelvic line he'd had tattooed when he was seventeen, and which he would refer to as an 'instruction manual to be used once the packaging was opened'. A text in typewriter letters, written horizontally just on the threshold of indecency, derisorily asking to anyone who happened to look down there: 'Please be gentle'.
I think I pursed my lips in dismay, because I wasn't sure if the user had deigned to read it, this time, even though he'd had it tattooed in self-consciousness that he was most of the time too stoned to protect himself from whatever would happen to him in such circumstances. I was just annoyed that his teenage years mistake had been this cute request that made him look like a shy fawn he wasn't, while mine would spell out 'Never mind the bollocks' on my lower back, until the day I die. In my defense, I was eighteen, punk, drunk and way too much of a Sex Pistols fan.
"Hey," I said, nudging his shoulder, causing him to snap back from sleep. It was only fair: he'd woken me up too.
"Did you get kicked out again?"
He blinked, focusing on the ceiling, then glanced towards the elevators with a hint of apprehension, as if expecting someone to appear. At least I could understand better his request to bring a sweater, and as I sat on the couch too - pushing him a little - I pulled out of my bag my only hoodie that was big enough for him. The Motorhead one. Alond with a bottle of water, and the paracetamol he'd also asked for.
"You're going to go home without pants, but I don't think the night bus driver will even notice."
He sat up and hugged the hoodie in his lap, struggling to lift his head.
"I'm lucky enough that he threw my 'glittering suit of lights' in my face, in the hallway."
A twinge of pure pain came to me. And even though I wish I hadn't, I asked him:
"What happened to lead up to that?"
And he chuckled.
Believe it or not, Klaus has never been one to dwell on his sexual or relational misadventures. He's never even been one to admit he might have been mistreated, no doubt because his reference points on the matter were woefully biased. He'd probably tell you about them in light conversation, often in a barely romanticized way, however improbable or epic. It was a defense mechanism, sad, but highly beneficial to his mental health, which enabled him to keep 'functioning', and me to not worry too much.
"Oh you know... here, they all have huge egos. They're all celebrities... or the offspring of rich businessmen".
Well, just like him, basically, but it wasn't worth mentioning. His drawling voice suggested that he wouldn't remember this conversation an hour from now anyway.
"He was one of those guys who likes to have his name repeated again and again, while doing it".
Clearly, this was a bad start.
"So? What was his name?" I joked.
"Well, it was probably 'Rick'. He was a prick, anyway."
I burst out laughing in the middle of the lobby. Klaus was - and still is - incapable of remembering first names on the first try. Not without changing the first letter, at least. And I guessed he'd been continuously moaning 'Dick'.
"Let's just say he finally got annoyed, and that..."
I raised an eyebrow, anticipating what was to come.
"Maybe I told him that he was definitely ~acting like~ a Dick".
I tried to contain my giggles as he pulled on my Motorhead hoodie. The one that was knee-high on me. I was relieved, in a way, that this mishap had only ended with him naked in the hallway. At least - this time - I wouldn't have to rush him the next day to Dr. Milligan's office to get a certificate so he could file a complaint. Because although he'd laugh about it, it had happened before. This 'Dick' - sorry, 'Rick' - may have been 'a prick', but he obviously hadn't been violent.
"Come on," I said. "Tomorrow we'll come back and get your clothes and shoes from the lost and found..."
I was mainly concerned about his shoes: he clearly couldn't afford to buy new ones, and I didn't want him looting his father's safe again. He tried to get to his feet, fell back onto the sofa once, and I pulled him by the arm to stabilize him. Only then... did he notice what had been obvious since I appeared in the lobby of the Hotel Obsidian.
"NO YOU FUCKING DIDN'T".
The guy at the front desk turned around, for a change. I felt Klaus freeze, behind me, but I pulled a little more on his arm to get him moving in the direction of the revolving door.
"Rin..."
I closed my eyes and pulled him forward two more steps.
"... you've cut your crest off..."
Just before the door that spun endlessly like a timepiece, I stopped and finally looked at him over my shoulder.
"So what. You're straightening your hair now."
"Yes, but... it was 'you'..."
"Yeah, well, your curls were 'you' too".
I'd done it two days before, and re-dyed my hair back to its original black, something that hadn't happened to me in probably five years. I now had a messy bob that I'd let grow out until it looked like something more coherent. I could imagine him being shocked, especially as I knew the emotional value he'd invested in that crest.
"I can't explain it here, Klaus."
Eventually we left the golden light of the lobby for the cold, damp-smelling dark of the night. He didn't say anything, he just followed me. Barefoot on the sidewalk, just dressed in the hoodie, and me in jeans and pajama top. His head wobbling from the effects of all he'd consumed. The bellman on duty let us off in the direction of the night bus stop, without even being surprised by our strange duo. He had seen so many others, probably, there.
We'd only taken a few steps on the empty sidewalk towards the bus stop, when I felt him freeze again. I pulled on his arm once more, this time unable to budge him, and I turned around. He was transfixed, pale, with an indefinable expression of sadness. As if he'd just been hit by something, or as some of the previous times I'd sensed the ghosts seizing him. We really didn't need this, not at the moment, not while he was standing half-naked in the middle of the public thoroughfare.
"Klaus, move," I said, pulling him again. "You're still drunk, you can kick those assholes away."
And eventually - as I finally managed to get him back on track toward the whitish light of the oncoming bus's headlights - I got out some money to pay for both of us, and heard him mutter a word I wouldn't understand until later:
"Rin, I'm so sorry."
The rain began to fall on the night bus as we squeezed into the seats above the heater. Outside, the avenues of The City scrolled by one by one, our sight obstructed by the myriad droplets on the windows. Like a luminous swarm, reflecting the taillights of cars and traffic signs. Some buildings were still lit, even in the dead of night: the high-rise office buildings, which the companies never turned off. The City had a different soul in the rain, a kind of sadness I couldn't explain.
"Was your bus pass in your pants pocket?" I asked him.
I'd paid for him, but it was okay. I was just trying to assess the implications of this little misadventure.
"Yes. Too bad. I'd managed to get a cheaper fare."
Fraud was hardly an option in The City's bus network. Getting around remained a necessity for Klaus, and was one of the few budget lines to absorb a small share of the finances he otherwise allocated to his 'everyday consumables'. This, his library card, which was almost free anyway, and perhaps the occasional rental of some videos, to be watched on the little set in my room.
"How could you get a cheaper fare?" I whispered.
"I've been wondering the same thing. The card is lovely, yellow and blue. It's written 'Senior', on it, I feel so special. I hope I get it back".
I nearly choked with laughter.
"It's a third-age bus pass..."
"Rin, it was 56 dollars instead of 92... I'll only buy that one from now on".
I laughed softly again, but - in truth - for him, it was a monthly fortune to spend. I looked out through the window, towards the woods of Argyle Park, which we were just rounding. The bus was making a huge detour to get back to the Sixth Avenue, and Klaus had wanted me to take him back to where he was sleeping at the moment anyway: in an old mattress store that had recently gone bankrupt. Only the most beat-up display mattresses remained, but it was by far the best squat he'd lived in for a long time.
"Are you sure you don't want to crash at Granny's?", I asked," and he looked down to his lap where his 'Goodbye' hand was resting.
"Yes. Not this time."
He closed his hand and slowly ran his middle finger across his palm, prompting a frown from me. I'd never really asked about those tattoos. And this time, I ventured:
"This isn't just a Ouija board thing, is it?"
I think he was troubled that I asked specifically that day, when I'd seen those tattoos so often. Hello', 'Goodbye', which he frequently used apropos, both in situations and conversations. I had an idea that there was a self-deprecating reference here, comparing himself to a form of human seance board, but knowing him, it was probably a humoristic wall, hiding a more personal symbolism. He didn't look at me, he just kept rubbing his palm with his fingers.
"Things and people come and go, Rin," he told me with whatever lucidity he had left at that moment, in the midst of his alcoholic torpor.
"What's good doesn't last. Fortunately, what's bad doesn't last either".
I blinked, standing still in the quiet roll of the back of the bus.
"For a long time, I was very afraid of losing what little I had. And afraid of becoming attached to new things, because they would disappear too."
It seemed to me that it hurt him to say that to me at that moment, and he looked several seats ahead of ours, to a spot where now I know Ben was sitting. And finally, he also opened his 'Hello' hand.
"Now I try to remind myself that this is part of the order of things, and that transience is the only consistency in our lives."
I smiled but he didn't. He had a seriousness in his mossy eyes I had rarely witnessed. It was like he was trying to tell me something, again, something I couldn't access. He who was always talking so much, especially when he was high or wasted, was trying to find the right words.
"Why did you cut it off? Your crest..." he finally asked instead, and my eyebrows pinched.
"I'm looking for a job."
He was well aware of why. It wouldn't be long before my mother's intensive care bill would be due, and inevitably the funeral expenses we'd have to cash out. Not everyone had the bank account of 'Rick', 'Nick' or 'Dick''s parents. And I was now faced with the unavoidable.
"I don't want to earn my bucks doing dangerous or illegal stuff anymore. It's..."
I closed my eyes for a moment.
"...It's the last thing I managed to promise my mother before she was no longer able to speak to me."
As the bus turned down Argyle Street, more familiar neighborhoods came in sight, where he and I had already spent so much time. Yet he didn't look out the window, he didn't even try to spot the black silhouette of the waffle shack in the distance. He just stared at me. And finally, he managed to be the one to announce it to me. To tell me - in his own way - what would save me from a much bigger shock when I would finally go home:
"She's relieved about it. And she's fine now."
Notes:
If you've read 'A Bend in space-time', you'll know that Rin has come to rescue Klaus from this kind of situations countless times. It seemed relevant to me to also show here why Klaus - in season 3 - happens to know Hotel Obsidian so well.
The fact that Klaus moves around with a senior card is absolutely canon. This card was even part of one of the items sold at the series' props auction this year.
It's a difficult day for Rin, as you've probably understood. It's certainly better for her to have learned of her mother's passing from Klaus, rather than from a phone call in the middle of the night. We all knew this was coming, but our hearts remain heavy.
Any comment will make my day!