Title: Vita, Poena, et
Libertas
Author: Kaitlyne McLeod
Email: kaitlyne_mcleod@yahoo.com
Description: Major
spoilers for Trigun. Knives' pov (if you
don't know what a knives is, don't read this!)
Anime based. Author's notes at
end.
Disclaimer: These
characters don't belong to me. They
belong to Yasuhiro Nightow and various and a sundry others.
Vita, Poena, et Libertas
He leaves me during the day.
Goes off to God knows where. There
must be a town somewhere nearby, someplace that he can walk to and back from in
one day. Sometimes he's only gone for a
few hours. Sometimes it's nearing dusk
when he comes back, and the shadows in the cave are long and red with the suns.
I don't know
why he leaves. Maybe he has some purpose
out there, or he's just trying to get away from me. Or maybe he understands how much I need to be
left alone right now.
He's late. It's getting dark. There's a cloth hanging near the entrance,
and though I can't see it, its shadow is dancing on the stone above my head. It almost seems to be growing as the minutes
pass, some dark monster that will eventually swallow me whole. I watch the shadow for a long time, lying
still, listening to it flap in the bursts of wind. It dances to its own music. I count out its beat in my head.
The shadow
reaches the far wall. Normally he would
have returned hours ago. I sit up and
the pain hits me, takes my breath away.
I fall back, appreciating that at least Vash had the decency to lay me
on a thick mattress instead of the stone.
My heart is quick in my throat, and sweat appears on my face, cooled by
the wind. I close my eyes, concentrate
on breathing, slow....in...out....in....out, until I can imagine the pain away. When I open them again dust is insulating my
face, and the light is fading even more. I stare off to the left as far as I
can see. The far wall is in shadows, but
I can still make out the bundle of Vash's blankets, still lying where he kicked
them aside this morning. Near them is a
bowl of water. The cloth that had
covered it lays a few feet away, and no doubt the water will need to be
filtered again.
Okay, I'm
ready. I breathe in deeply, move my left
arm near my side and use it as a lever until I am propped on it and can turn my
head to see the entrance.
The dancing
cloth proves itself to be a blanket, hung still from one corner while the
others flap noisily. The metal pin that
had held the other side clanks occasionally against the stone of the entrance,
but the sound is muted and gone as soon as it is there. He must have known it would be windy today. The precaution had failed however, and with
my new vantage point I am able to see the thin layer of sand that covers the
floor of the cave. In some places it
looks like it might even be a few inches deep.
I push myself
up the rest of the way. The world spins
for a minute, and I'm afraid I'm going to fall over again. I close my eyes, focus again on breathing. It's dark out. Not completely pitch black yet, the sky is
still a lighter blue around the edges, but it will be soon. There's a lamp beside the bowl. I stare at it, wondering if it's worth it,
but knowing in a few minutes I'll want the light and I'd much rather find it
now than have to stumble to it in the dark.
I wonder where he is, if he's coming back at all. God it hurts so much
just to breathe. How am I going to do
this?
I pick up my
left leg and swing it over the edge of the bed, am not surprised that I don't
feel it as it thuds to the ground. The
other moves much more smoothly. Already
I can hardly see the silhouette of the bowl.
I'm crawling
on the floor, my breath quick. I hadn't
realized how much I want that light, but I'm moving towards it, more than I've
moved in days, and I'm there before I notice the pain, and I'm sitting beside
it and fumbling through the blankets for the matches that I know Vash keeps
around here somewhere, and finding them as the last light is beginning to fade
and I can barely see the strike plate.
The light is
quick and warm, and I turn the dial to raise the oil soaked cloth higher, until
the cave is filled with new dancing shadows to watch. I turn my back to the wall and lean against
it, breathing easier, watching the entrance at first, but the sand stings my
eyes and finally I close them.
I don't even
hear him come in. I notice that the wind
is gone and that he's tied back the blanket, and I know he sees me before he
makes mention of it. Finally he walks
inside, sets down his duffle bag, smiles that hideously fake smile of his and
says, "Knives, you're up!"
I don't
respond, not really sure that I can at this point. I try to sit up higher and wince.
"Hey now, be
careful-" He's coming towards me.
I don't listen
to him and push myself up higher. "Oh,
fuck." The words are quiet but he heard
them.
"Whoa there,
take it easy." He's beside me now,
helping me stand, holding me and dragging me to the bed. "You opened it back up again."
I don't look
down, I can feel the warmth spreading over my torso. I lean my head back and close my eyes.
He's rummaging
through his bag now, and he comes back with a roll of bandages. He frowns at the water in the bowl and pulls
out a drinking cup. He shakes off the
cloth on the floor, drapes it over the cup and begins sifting the water through
it. "Sorry, but this is gonna take a
minute."
I still don't
speak. I don't have anything to say.
I'm getting
lightheaded again, and this time I don't really care when I start to slump over. He's beside me and the touch of his hands on
my skin is like spider webs. I'm cold
again, and even the water he pours over me feels warm. I don't feel the pain. Soon I don't feel anything except the cold,
and soon that's gone as well.
I'm awake
again and he's gone. I must be getting
better; it's getting easier to breathe. I
try to sit up. The pain is there but not
as bad as it has been. I clench my teeth
and sit up all the way. Yes, this is
definitely getting easier.
I wonder where
he goes. I know why he brought me here. Out here, I'm the one who's lost. Out here, I have nothing but this cave and
the sand outside. Out here, the wind
blows away his tracks long before I could have any hope of following.
I've considered
the idea already. Finding my way to that
town, maybe even a vehicle and leaving before he has a chance to find me. Recuperating on my own terms, in my own world. But I know this desert. Know it well enough to know that I wouldn't
make it far, not in the condition that I'm in, not with my leg. If I knew which direction, maybe I could do
it, but out here there's nothing, and going the wrong way would be suicide.
For my part, I'm
glad he's gone. Now I can stare at the
shadows on the wall until he gets back.
I'm still
sitting when he returns, and I can hear him coming from quite a ways off. He's whistling this time. At first it sounds like the wind. I can catch just the slightest hint of a song
before it's swept away again. I can't
make out the tune. I'm not sure he even
knows.
He pushes
aside the blanket that serves as our doorway and ducks inside, caked in sand. He shakes his arms and head and it sprays
over the floor. "Now I remember why I
used to wear a coat," he says. He sits on
his bed, facing me. "Man, I'm glad to
see you up. I was starting to get
worried. You were out for a long time
this time."
I nod at him.
For a few
minutes there's only the sound of the wind, and then he speaks again, smiling
that awful smile of his. "You should see
it out there! The wind is worse than I've
seen it in years. I could barely see
coming back --"
"Cut the crap,
Vash."
It's the most
I've said to him in days.
The smile is
gone immediately. He stares for a
moment, and mutters an "okay."
He reaches into his bag and pulls out a covered plate,
hands it to me. "I brought you some food."
I take it,
open the foil lid. Pasta. "I thought you didn't expect me to be awake."
"I didn't, I
brought it for myself. But since you
are, I figure you need it more than I do."
I can accept
that. I twirl the pasta around a fork,
taste a bite. It isn't bad.
He pours water
from his flask into my glass as well and pushes it towards me.
It feels good
to be eating again, eating real food and not gruel. I'm not sure if it's all in my head or not,
but I feel stronger as I eat it. More
normal.
He's taking
off his shirt, undoing the buttons one by one with tired fingers. I don't notice the bandage beneath it at
first, not until he winces as he shrugs the shirt from his shoulders. "You're hurt."
He looks at me
for a moment like I'm a fool. "Yeah, you
shot me remember?"
He shakes the
shirt and more sand falls to the floor. He
looks at it hopelessly and then tosses it down as well.
"I didn't
realize you were injured."
"You shot me. That's all.
I've come through a lot worse than this."
Suddenly the
pasta is bland in my mouth. I've only
finished a few bites but I'm sure I can't eat anymore. I pass the plate back to him and he takes it
gratefully, eating quickly. He almost
seems content like that, leaning against the rough stone wall, eating after me
in a way we haven't done since we were children. I know him better than that, though. I feel his pain. This man suffers.
"Why are you
doing this?"
He looks up at
me, mouth full. "Doing what?"
"Keeping me here."
He shrugs. "It just seemed like the right thing to do."
I lean back as
well, resist the urge to wince. If he's
as hurt as I know he is and he goes out everyday and does whatever it is that
he does, I'll be damned if I'm going to show him how much I'm hurting right now.
"Vash, how old
are we?"
"I don't know...I
sorta stopped keeping count somewhere around a hundred twenty-five."
I actually
laugh at that.
"But hey, at
least I'm the only person I know who's actually believed when I tell them I'm
only twenty-seven."
I'm still smiling. "Yeah, I
know." Part of me is surprised to hear
that they'd believe he is actually that old.
But now, sitting with me in our cave, his eyes betray his age. He has lived more than any of them. "Vash, don't you think a hundred and thirty-two
years is a bit long to keep the same haircut?"
Now he laughs. A true, full laugh. "Yeah, I guess it is. Same goes for you though."
"Hey, I had
mine long for a few years back there. You
wouldn't have recognized me. I decided
it was too difficult to manage."
"Yeah, same
here. It just...wasn't me." He takes another bite.
"Do you do it
because of her?"
He's surprised
by the question, I can tell. "At first" is
what he says with his lips, but his mind says sometimes. "It was something that kept her alive. And then....later, after July, after the
bounty, it was part of who I was. I
guess I felt like changing it would be like...denying myself."
I wonder if he's
ever spoken like this to anyone else. I
would guess no.
"Is that why
you brought me here? Because you didn't
want to deny yourself?"
He shakes his
head. He doesn't know.
"I can't be
the man you want me to be."
He looks away. "I know."
"Then what do
you want from me?"
The look he
gives is filled with pain. "I just want
you to live."
It's after
noon when I wake up the next day, and I'm surprised to find him there. He's sitting just outside the entrance,
stirring a fire with a smoldering metal pole.
A pot sits on the embers.
He looked back
up to me. "Hey, I was just fixing some
lunch. You hungry?"
I nod, and he
kicks sand over the fire and brings the pot inside and pours the contents into
two bowls. He smiles as he hands it to
me. He actually looks happy.
"You're home
early."
He nods. "Yeah, got lucky. Someone decided to pull a shift for me."
I bring a
spoonful of the rice to my mouth, realize that he probably isn't working as a
cook.
"Come on," he
says, taking a bite of his own, "it's not that bad. I mean, I've made worse." I can't help a smile as he grimaces. "Okay,
you're right, it sucks. But you try
cooking out here with the sand blowing everywhere."
We hear the
jeep at the same time and turn to the entrance.
He's on his feet quickly. "Wait
here." Yeah, like I'm gonna be going anywhere.
He steps past
the blanket, and I can briefly see the jeep parked in front of us.
"I thought I
said you shouldn't come here."
"If I didn't
think it was important I wouldn't have come, now would I?" A woman.
This is getting mildly interesting.
I wouldn't have guessed that he had a love interest hidden out there in
that town.
He still
sounds annoyed, but it's softened now. "What
happened?"
"It's your
boss. He's having a royal fit back in
town. Wallis didn't show up to work
today. He called him up and apparently
Wallis says he didn't know anything about working for you."
He's moved to
lean against the wall; I can't see his shadow anymore. "Oh shit."
"Yeah, and now
Loomis says that if you aren't back to work in an hour you're fired."
They are
silent for a moment.
"It's still
hurting you, isn't it?"
"I'm fine."
"Vash, if you
keep working this way you're just going to make it worse. When you left yesterday you could barely move
you're arm."
"I said I'm
fine. I'll be okay. I just need to get my stuff together. Can you wait out here for me? I shouldn't be more than a few minutes."
"Is he awake?"
He moves back in front of the
blanket, blocking the entrance. "Yeah."
"And you're
just going to leave him here?"
"I've been
leaving him here for the past week and there hasn't been a problem."
"But what if
he decides to leave? You can't leave him
here unguarded."
"He's not
going to leave."
"You can't
know that!"
"What good
would it do him? He knows that if he
leaves I'd come after him again. And I
have the advantage right now. He wouldn't
be able to accomplish anything."
"It doesn't
take long to kill a man."
"He wouldn't
do that."
"How can you
say that, Vash? Look at everything he's
done already. To you, to all those
people he killed. How can you say that
he wouldn't do it again?"
"I don't know,
Meryl. It's just...what good would it do
him? Why bother the risk? Not when he knows I'd find him again."
"So you just
plan to keep him here, imprisoned for the rest of his life."
There's a long
pause. "I don't know. For as long as it takes."
"For
what? For him to decide not to kill
people? For him to stop being a
threat? Come on, Vash, you and I both
know the chances of that happening."
"I'm not
trying to protect everyone else. I'm...trying
to protect him."
"From what?"
"From himself. Now if
you'll excuse me, my hour is going fast and I need to get my bag."
He comes
inside, looks at me but diverts his eyes as soon as they meet my own. "I'm going to have to go for a little while. I'll try to be back soon."
He's pouring
water for me, setting it beside my bed. He
sits on his own and puts the flask in the bag, though I'm sure it's mostly
empty by now. He looks at the rice as
though debating whether or not it should join the flask. He looks back to me, smiles slightly. "You
want this?"
I shake my
head.
He rummages
under the bed for a moment and appears holding an old shirt. He tears a strip from the bottom and dumps
the rice onto it, wraps the cloth around it a few more times. I wonder if the shirt is clean. He grins again. "It can't make it any worse."
I see the
woman coming inside before he does. "Vash,
can you hurry up, we need to get going?
Do you need any-"
Her voice
trails away as she sees me. I can
imagine what it must be like for her, seeing his double for the first time. Not just the features, those are similar
enough, it's the way I sit, so identical to positions he takes, my movements so
like his own. I know because I can
remember how surreal it sometimes was. When
we were young that look was something I was very familiar with. Even those who knew us best, even Rem, would
sometimes stop and stare.
I reach out a
hand, smile widely. "Hello, I don't
believe we've met. I'm Knives."
She actually
startles at the sound of my voice, gives the slightest jump, even takes a step
backwards. By God she's afraid of me. That's a good feeling. One I hadn't realized I missed until now.
"I'm just
gonna...go start up the jeep, I'll see you...in a minute."
She's gone as
quickly as she entered. I can't help but
give him a smirk.
He stands and
goes out after her, sending a single thought my way. It's not that funny.
On the
contrary, I think it's quite funny.
In the end, it
was his statement that made me decide to leave.
The implication that I was too afraid.
Too weak. Weaker than him. Well, damn it I've spent my entire life not
being afraid of him, of anyone, and I'm not ready to start now.
I drink from the
glass of water he's left. I know I'll
need it. I'm not sure if I'll be able to
make it to the town, not sure if I'll even be able to find it, but I'll need
the fluids if I want to have any hope of making it farther than a few feet. I push my leg off the bed again. I'm going to need something to walk with. There's no way I can make it like this.
I make it to
the floor and start to crawl. I can
see the metal pole right outside. Getting
to it is easy. Standing up isn't. I grab onto the curtain and pull, digging the
pole into the ground. The dizziness that
has been gone for the past three days is back, but I hold on tightly with my
hands, wait for it to pass. But then I'm
standing, more than I have since the incident, not holding on to anything,
simply my legs and my pole, freely. I
stumble over to the bed, sit down again and reach underneath, searching for
clothes, something with sleeves. I find
nothing. Where that man has put them I
have no idea. I pull the blanket around
my shoulders. I'll need something to
block the wind.
It's easier
when I stand this time. I wonder what he's
going to think when he comes back and I'm gone.
I wonder if he'll be afraid.
At first I can
still make out the tire tracks. The ruts
are deeper than human footprints; the sands take longer to cover them over. But my movements are slow, and it's only a
matter of time before those fade from view, too. The horizon is just a shimmer in the distance. Behind me the small cave, the cliff it is cut
into. I hadn't realized until now how
small that cliff really was. For awhile
longer, I can follow it, check every few steps, keep it at the same angle
behind me, follow the line to the town that way, but the wind picks up, the
sand flies thicker, and soon I can't see the cliff either.
I'm not sure
how long I wander out there. After
awhile when there is nothing but desert and sky and suns, time stops, doesn't
seem as important anymore. Steps are no
longer tedious, simply one after the other.
Thirst, heat, fade away. At least
until I hear his voice.
"I'm glad I
found you! I've been looking for over an
hour."
No, there's no
way. At first I think it's in my head. Then the world comes rushing back, the feel
of the sand on my face, windblown, stinging.
The suns are setting. So close to
dark. How could I not have noticed? I take a few more steps. Maybe he'll leave me alone.
He's following
me. I can feel him there.
"You can't
make it to the town that way. There's
nothing but desert for two hundred iles."
I keep walking. He's closer now. I can hear his steps in the shifting sand. "Will you just leave me alone!"
He's stopped. "I can't."
I turn to face
him. "Why do you do this?" I'm shouting as loudly as my lungs will
allow, and yet somehow it doesn't feel loud enough. The wind carries it away just like everything
else. "Can't you see that I just want to
be alone? Let me stay out here. I don't care if it kills me, just leave me
alone!"
I don't need
to see his face. I can feel what he's
thinking, feel it so deeply inside of me.
Somehow that makes it worse. At
least when I'm myself I don't feel much of anything. I take a few more steps. He sits on the ground, arms propped on his
knees. I walk more, and he does nothing.
The heaviness
is getting worse. I let the blanket drop
from my fingers and the wind sucks it away from me. It helps some, but the weakness is spreading. The pole slips from my fingers and is on the
ground before I even realize I've let go.
I can't keep my balance, and I fall to my knees. I know I can't make it up again.
I turn over,
lay on my back in the sand. It billows
across my face. I wonder how long it
would take to bury me.
"Fine, take me
back!"
He doesn't
move. "Are you sure?"
"Yes I'm sure." I'm shouting to be heard over the wind. "You're just going to sit there until I pass
out and take me back anyway, aren't you?"
He's standing
over me. "Yes."
He reaches
down, takes my hand, and pulls me upright.
"Why?" My voice is barely a whisper. He wraps my arm around his shoulders, grips
me around the waist. His answer is
quieter even than mine, but his face, so close to mine, I can hear it.
"Because you're
my brother."
By the time we
stumble back to the cave three moons have risen, a bright night. The sand seems to glimmer with it. I wouldn't have expected to enjoy the sight
of the black wall that I knew was our cliff, closer still the blacker hole of
the cave. He walks me to the edge of my
bed and I let go. My fingers are stiff and
I haven't been able to feel them for hours now.
I lean back, sighing heavily. Vash
does the same and for a moment I'm tempted to laugh. It's another moment I remember from
childhood, the two of us sitting together, then both speaking the same words, gesturing
the same way. It was almost a game yet
was never intentional. I don't think he's
even noticed. I don't know that I have
the energy to laugh anyway.
He's reaching
into his bag, taking a long drink from his flask. I bet he's wishing it was alcoholic. I know I am.
It's a long moment before he passes it to me, and I accept it. He didn't offer it first. I understand the meaning behind the subtlety. I made him go out there. He's not happy about it.
He reaches
under his bed and tosses me a clean sheet.
I take it but don't bother to lie down.
I just sit and watch him.
He removes his
shirt, unwinds the bandages from his torso.
They're caked in sweat and sand. How
the sand ever reaches areas like that I have no idea, but it never fails. He throws them to the ground, a bit harder
than is necessary I think. Yes,
definitely not a happy Vash. He shakes
the sand from his hair and lies down. His
stomach growls and I realize that neither of us has eaten for some time. Exhaustion is outweighing my hunger however,
and the thought of eating is slightly less than appealing.
He stretches
out on the bed not even bothering to sweep away the sand that's accumulated
there and fluff's his pillow. Firelight
is dancing on his face, wispy shadows entwined with dark orange. I would consider turning up the flame if it
wouldn't require moving.
"Aren't you
going to bed?"
I shake my
head slightly. "No. Not right now."
He stares at
the ceiling, exasperated. It's nice to
see him in that position for a change. "Aren't
you tired?"
I shake my
head again.
"Okay, you
know what? I have to get up in a few
hours and actually go to work, and I'd like to get some sleep."
"Then sleep."
He turns his
head, stares at me. I give him a quick
smile.
He props
himself on an arm. "Why did you leave?"
"You didn't
expect to keep me here forever, did you?"
He's sitting
all the way now. The way he moves you
wouldn't think he'd spent the past five hours walking through the desert.
"Is it because
of what I said? Because I said you
wouldn't leave? What were you trying to
do, prove something?"
My smile is
gone completely, and for a moment I'm at a loss for words. I've grown unaccustomed to being scolded,
and the way he puts it makes me sound like a pathetic little boy.
"Why the hell
shouldn't I leave? What's the point in
staying here so you can keep me locked in a fucking cave all day while
you go do God knows what in that town!"
"I don't keep
you locked in here. There's not even a
fucking door in this place!"
"Oh, okay, let's
meddle in semantics. You keep me out in
the middle of fucking nowhere, it's the same as a locked door. That desert is your deadbolt."
He's silent,
leaning back against the wall.
"You have to
admit I'm not exactly free to leave."
He wipes his
hand across his face, voice soft again. "I
know."
"And we see
what happens when I do." He doesn't
answer. I didn't expect him to. The statement is more for myself than for him.
He looks so
tired now. Not just physically. Emotionally.
The lines of his face seem deeper, his eyes ringed.
"What did you
expect me to do, Knives?"
I know that he's
not just talking about the desert.
"I mean,
seriously, what did you think was going to happen?"
I look away as
I answer. "I didn't expect to lose." A memory comes to me again. Playing a game of chess, the same words. I half expect Vash to shout "Ha! So you admit
defeat!" as he had done then, dance around me laughing until I finally grab him
by the collar of his shirt and Rem has to come in and break us apart. Instead he gives me a weak smile. "Yeah, I guess I didn't either."
He lies down
again, sighs in a way that implies both comfort and fatigue. He links his hands and leans his head on them.
"What are you
doing for them?"
"What do you
mean? Like what's my job?"
I nod.
"I'm digging
wells."
For a second I
don't actually believe him, yet it explains a lot. "Why?"
"Because they
need the water."
"They don't
have a plant?"
He's leaning
on his side. "Yeah, but the plants won't
last forever. Half a dozen towns in this
area have already been abandoned when the plants malfunction. They want to make sure they can live without
it."
He seems proud
of what they're doing. I look away.
"You have to
admit, it's a good idea. They're
becoming self-sufficient."
"You say that
as though it forgives them for what they've done."
He rolls back
onto his back. "Yeah, Knives, I do. But maybe that's because I don't see anything
there to forgive."
"How can you
say that? Look at what they've done to
us! For hundreds of years, thousands. They destroy their own planet, enslave our relatives
to make up for it, and take advantage of our abilities so they can live on a
new planet that they will eventually destroy as they did the first one."
He sighs. Sighs as though I'm some hopeless child who
just doesn't understand. "You know,
Knives, I really don't understand you. Those
people who did those things...that was a long time ago. Those people aren't around now. Sure they made mistakes, but hell don't we
all?"
"Mistakes? How can you say it so lightly? They've destroyed everything they've ever
come into contact with. They're doing it
now. They can't even keep the plants
alive, and they're just going to sap everything out of this planet. They don't even realize what they can have
here and they're going to destroy it!"
"You don't
know that, Knives." His voice is soft.
"Well based on
the evidence it seems like a pretty good bet."
"You've tried
to convince me of this before."
"And after all
these years you still don't believe me?
After all that they've done to you?
My God, Vash, they've been doing it from the time you were a child."
When he speaks
again I can barely hear his voice. "They're
not all Steves you know."
I stare at him. "How can you say that? If anything I thought you'd have realized
their true nature by now."
"They aren't
all bad people. Yes, some of them, but
not all of them. I've had friends. I've met people who were willing to sacrifice
themselves to save another. Those
people, those are the ones who make it worth the hope."
"Do you know
what I've seen? I've seen people who don't
give a damn about anyone else, who cheat and swindle and are willing to do
anything for sixty billion goddamn double dollars."
"We aren't any
different from them."
"Of course we
are-"
"Don't give me
any of the bullshit about how we're superior.
We are the same as them. We are
just as capable of destruction, of causing pain. And simply because you chose to surround
yourself by the worst scum on this planet doesn't make you right, it makes you
uninformed."
I lean back,
crossing my arms over my chest. "The
same could be said for you. You've spent
your life believing meaningless ramblings of the most naïve person I've ever
met."
He sits up,
throws the blanket away from himself. He
perches on the edge of the bed, fingers gripping the mattress.
"Look at me,
Knives. What do you see?
I lift my eyes
to his, meet them with the same intensity he offers me.
"Every scar on
this body is here because of you. Because
you hired people to come after me. Or
because you put a fucking bounty on my head and they were trying to collect."
"Oh, now I
think you're exaggerating. Surely I can't
be held responsible for all of those."
He stares at
me as though I haven't spoken at all. I
watch his jaw clench, and he reaches to his left arm, grips it above the elbow,
gives it a twist and pulls hard. He sets
the arm on his lap, gestures towards me with the pinched stump.
"This one, you
did this one yourself, you held the gun in your own hand!"
I give him a
small shrug, can't help a smirk to go with it.
I remember that day. I remember
the smack his arm made hitting the ground.
"How can you
tell me that we're better than they are when you are the exact same. Everything that you hate about them you are
yourself." He throws he arm towards me. I catch it with one hand. It's heavier than I would have expected. I lay it across my lap.
He rests his forehead on his hand. "God, Knives why can't you realize that we
aren't any different from them?"
"If you want
to win sometimes you have to play the game by their rules."
His eyes snap
up to meet mine.
"And what do
you want to win, Knives? What's the
point of all of this?"
"I want to
right a wrong that was committed millions of years ago."
"Existence."
"Yes."
"Don't you
realize that if it wasn't for them we wouldn't exist at all?"
"If it wasn't
for them we wouldn't need to exist."
"We can't make
that kind of decision! We aren't gods,
Knives! You can't kill a whole species
just because you believe we are some sort of sadistic saviors!"
"And what
would you suggest we do, Vash? Coddle
them? Pretend that nothing they have
done is wrong? Wait until it happens
again and it's too late to stop them?
They should have been stopped long ago.
They don't even deserve the opportunity that bitch gave them. Look at what they've already done. They haven't changed, they'll never change!"
"That isn't
true, people can change! I've seen it
all my life!" his voice begins to crack.
"It can happen." I'm shocked to
see how much it still hurts him to think about that man.
"Perhaps a
person can change. But a single person
doesn't make up for a species. And for
every person who changes in a positive way, another person changes in a
negative one. It cancels out until all
that is left is the essence, the median.
And that essence cannot be changed."
His face is creased as he looks towards me. My voice softens. "You can still join me if you want. We can still make things right. That's what you want isn't it? To make things right? And then after its done we can live here and
make this world what it should have been, what it has the potential to be without
them. We can have the paradise you've
always wanted."
He stands, begins pacing quickly around the small alcove. "How can you even say that? You can't judge a person by the actions of
others. There are good people in this
world, people who deserve the chance to live, the opportunity-"
"People like Wolfwood?"
He stops dead in his tracks, glares at me as though my
mentioning the name is some sort of sacrilege.
"You know, maybe you are right.
Perhaps Wolfwood had a few...redeeming qualities. He was the most loyal man I've ever met."
"He betrayed
you."
He says this
as though he expects me to erupt in anger, shout "he DID?" with shock and
contempt. My voice is calm, however. "I never said he was loyal to me. Perhaps you'd rather we adopt his principles? Maybe I would be willing to give you that
alternative. I can bring them to you,
you can decide which are worthy of living, which are worthy of passing on their
'righteousness.' I'd be willing to give
them a generation, perhaps even two. See
if you can prove me wrong."
"It isn't our
choice to make!"
"Then whose
choice is it? God's?"
He's chewing
on his finger. "It's not ours."
"Well, Vash, I
don't believe in God. I believe that if
any being on this planet is worthy of making that kind of decision it is us. Look at the power we are capable of. Look at our lives."
"We can die
just like they can, and you know it as well as I do."
"Really? Because it hasn't happened yet. For all we know we're immortal."
I don't really
believe it and he knows it, but it's worth the frustration I can see building
behind those eyes.
"How can you
be so arrogant?"
The smile I
give him now is the most genuine I've had in a long time. "I'm not arrogant. I'm just right."
"Give me my
fucking arm back," he says reaching towards me.
He grasps it before I have the chance to hold it out, slides it back
into place. He leans over the side of
his bed, comes up holding a pair of sunglasses.
I wonder why he's even bothering with them; it's still completely dark
outside. He doesn't seem to mind however
and puts them on anyway. The firelight
reflects off the lenses while he puts on his shirt.
"Are you going
somewhere?"
"What the hell
difference does it make?"
"Just didn't expect that you'd
be leaving me here all alone so soon."
"You know
what, Knives? Do whatever the hell you
want. I don't give a damn anymore. But I'm not going to sit here and listen to
this shit."
He's gone
before I can say another word. I wait a
few minutes, until I'm sure he's gone and lay down, finally cover myself with
the sheet. He says he doesn't give a
damn but I know he does. I know that the
only reason he left me here is because he knows I don't have the physical
strength to try to leave again. Nonetheless
I consider this a victory. I breathe
deeply. Yes, I'm beginning to feel like
myself again.
I'm awake shortly after dawn, when the cave begins to show the
first hints of light. It's still hours
before he returns.
I make the bed, surprised at how stiff my joints are, but in
general moving smoothly again. I think I'm
even beginning to regain some of the feeling in my left leg, I can swear that
when I move I feel pain in the knee, fleeting but there. I don't think it's just wishful thinking.
It doesn't take me long to straighten my side of the cave. I've brushed the sand away from the bed,
spread my sheet over it. I get the water
bowl and set it on the bed beside me. It's
nearly empty but it will do. I find a
cloth in Vash's bag (am mildly amused that he left so quickly he has forgotten
it) and soak it in the water. I begin
washing it over my arms and torso. The
water feels good, cool. As the sweat and
grime rinses from my body I begin to feel even more myself.
It's a bright and clear day, and the wind that blows in past
the curtain is coming from the north, slightly cooler than a southern breeze. It's midmorning and Vash still isn't back, so
I pull his bag up beside me, going through the contents one by one. I have to admit that I've been curious about
it for some time now, and finally satiating that curiosity makes me feel like a
small boy again.
For the most part there is nothing interesting. A pajama shirt with long sleeves for the
cooler nights, a pair of pants that he's obviously had for quite a few years;
they are worn in several places. A comb. That makes me laugh. I've been living with him for several days
now and still have yet to see him get ready in the morning; he's always gone
before I wake up. I can remember though,
when we were young, how he would spend close to an hour in front of the mirror
in the mornings, determined to make his hair stand up the way that Rem had that
first day, not wanting to ask for help. And
he wondered why we all thought he was a mamma's boy.
At the bottom of the bag is a gun. That surprises me. That he would leave me here with any type of
weapon seems quite irresponsible on his part.
It's a revolver, an old one from the looks of it. Twenty-two.
Not very powerful, but you don't need power if you know where to aim. I open the cylinder. No bullets.
I search through the bag hoping that I might find some there, but he's
smarter than that. On closer inspection
I realize that the hammer is bent. I
look down the line of it. No wonder he
was stupid enough to leave it. It won't
fire. With a little work, however, it
does have some promise. I tuck it into
the niche between my bed and the wall for safe keeping.
The item that pleases me most, however, is a book. Project Gallactica. The cover is worn, the colors on the
front faded. He's had this for years. Books like this are hard to come by on this
planet. This came from a ship. I flip it over, read the summary on the back.
Xeno Wright has spent the past ten years
traveling from world to world as an interplanetary delegate for Earth's Project
Gallactica. Until he comes into contact
with the rasandas, an alien race who doesn't seem to understand the
meaning of the word "peace". While a
rescue team is assembled, Xeno must find a way to stay alive, and in the process
try to prevent an interplanetary war.
I put the other contents back into the bag and throw it to his
bed. It misses, bounces off and lands on
the floor. I don't care, I make no
effort to hide that I've gone through it.
I lie back on the bed and begin to read.
I've made it through sixty pages by the time he returns. I hear the sound of the curtain moving in the
back of my mind, though it takes me a second to recognize it. When I finally look away from the page he's
standing there, glaring at me. He's been
drinking. If smell is any indication, a
lot.
He lies on his own bed. "Can
you be careful with that?"
I would have expected him to return feeling better, calmer, but
if anything he sounds angrier than he was when he left.
"Of course. I know how
valuable an object like this is."
He covers his eyes with his arm. I return to my book.
By the time I've read three more pages he's snoring quietly. He's still sleeping when I'm halfway through
the book an hour or so later. I can hear
the sound of an engine from quite a ways off.
I wonder if he's even going to wake up for it. Things could get interesting if he doesn't.
I lay the book beside me on the
bed, sit up, trying not to make noise at first then realizing that the engine
will wake him up before I do. I put my
feet on the ground and am about to stand when he sits straight up. "Where do you think you're going?"
"I was just going to go greet our guests."
He squints as he looks towards the entrance, blinks his eyes a
few times in a way that implies his drunk is going to turn into one hell of a
hangover quite soon.
The engine stops quite a few yards from the entrance. What I wouldn't give to see his face right
now, or the look on the girl's as she sees his anger.
He says nothing until the engine is completely silent. Even the wind is quiet today. When he speaks it carries.
"You know, I have this really distinct memory of telling both
of you never to come here."
Ooh, there's two of them.
"And yet, despite the warnings I give, you choose not to listen. I am completely ignored and you show up at my
door anyway."
He's walking towards them.
"Did it ever occur to either of you that maybe I have a reason
for not wanting you here?"
One of the women speaks.
I don't recognize the voice. "Maybe
this was a bad idea. I think we should
go."
The other one answers. "No,
Millie, we came here for a good reason, we have nothing to be ashamed of. Vash, we were worried. You didn't come in to work today. We thought...something might have happened."
Curiosity is getting the better of me, and I'm tired of sitting
behind a curtain while Vash gets to have all the fun. I stand, lean against the wall for support,
and walk myself to the entrance. The
taller woman is standing back beside the jeep.
The shorter one takes a step closer to him. Wow. I
wonder if she's purposely trying to irritate him or if she's just stupid. My money's on stupid.
"Are you even listening to me?
I said you should leave. You
shouldn't be here!"
The woman beside the jeep has her hand on the door handle. At least she seems smarter than her friend.
The shorter woman takes another step closer, but her voice has
softened some. "Vash we were worried. Please don't be angry. We told you're
boss that you were taking care of a sick relative. He's not happy but Millie agreed to work for
you tomorrow if you are still gone, but Vash, please, at least tell us if you
can't make it. We worry about you."
He nods. "I know Meryl,
I'm sorry. I should have said something,
it's not fair for you and Millie to have to take up the slack for me. But I don't
want you coming back here. I have
everything under control, you don't have to worry about anything."
Which I consider my cue.
I step forward through the curtain, holding onto the wall still, trying
to look like I'm not as dependent on it as I am. "Well, Vash, aren't you going to introduce me
to your guests?"
He turns, glaring at me.
"No, I'm not going to. Besides,
they're just about to leave." I know
that glare is still there as he turns around to say the last part.
The smaller woman comes even closer, eyes growing angry. "You know, Vash, I don't know what's gotten
into you but this type of behavior just isn't acceptable. Millie and I stuck up for you today and
instead of thanking us you are treating us like garbage. And aside from that, you've obviously been
drinking, and I'm not sure that I consider that type of behavior to be exactly
responsible all things considered."
I can see his jaw muscles tightening. He's fighting so hard not to say anything.
I stare at him hard, send a thought his way, making sure he
gets it loud and clear. Wow, Vash, she's a bitch.
I feel his fist hit my face before I even knew he was going to
do it. My head hits the stone behind me,
hard, and the pain is immediate. My feet
slip out from under me and I'm on the ground before I even realize for certain
what has happened. It takes me a moment
to regain my composure.
Apparently the girls are just as surprised as I am. The taller one has opened her door, is
calling to her friend. "Come on, Meryl, I think its time to leave."
Meryl just stands, mouth hanging open.
He's shaking his hand at his side. At least it hurt him some as well. "I've been wanting to do that all day."
She walks closer to him, tugs on his shirt, whispering his name. She's wearing a trench coat today, long and
tan, and beneath it I can see a holster at her waist, inside it a revolver that
looks like it would be too high caliber for someone as small as her. He ignores her.
"If you ever do anything to hurt them-"
"What, Vash? You'll kill
me? Don't make threats you can't keep."
The woman has a good grip on his shirt now.
My face is beginning to throb.
"I wonder, Vash. Is this what
happened with Legato? Threaten your
girls and all the sudden all those moralistic ideals go flying out the window
and you just cap him, right?"
I hear a clicking sound, so quick it takes me a moment to
realize what it was. The arm gun. There and gone again so quickly I didn't see
it. I look at the girls, wondering if
they realize that he's even done anything.
They just stare at me. The one by
the jeep looks like she's about willing to come over and teach me a lesson or
two herself. He's breathing heavily, the
woman is holding onto his arm, holding him back. "I think you should leave," he says, teeth
clenched. She nods, takes a few steps
backwards. I think she finally is
beginning to understand. The other woman
is already inside the car, waiting. Meryl
turns back to him as she gets behind the wheel.
"Vash...be careful."
He gives a quick nod, turns back to me. I'm starting to seriously believe that I
might have pushed him too far this time. I'm not in a good state to fight back if it
comes to it. He grabs my arm, pulls me
up hard, begins dragging me back inside.
"What are you doing?" I try to
keep the fear out of my voice but I'm not sure I'm successful.
"Wishing I'd left you back there in the desert."
I know he isn't talking about last night.
He leaves me in front of my bed, and I climb into it, lie down. My heart is thumping hard against my chest. He sits, rests his face in his hands. It's a long time before I speak again. By then I have control over myself. "Now what happens."
He's breathing heavily himself.
I wonder momentarily if he's crying.
He doesn't lift his head. "I don't
know. Though right now digging a big
hole in the middle of the desert and throwing you in seems like a pretty good
idea."
I plan my answer carefully.
I don't want to set him off like that again. Not yet.
Not until I'm better prepared. "You
know that I would find a way out."
"Yes, but it would probably take at least a few days. It would be a nice break."
Neither of us moves for a long time. It's a waiting game. I don't think he'll kill me. I really don't. Not anymore anyway. But he's holding the cards right now and he
knows it. I may have started this game
but right now he gets to decide how to end it.
After awhile I pick up the book again and start reading, but my
eyes just scan the words; they don't sink in.
I turn pages without being certain I've really read anything on them. My attention is still on that man sitting in
the other bed, face in his hands. His
breathing is more regular now.
"This isn't going to work."
I glance his direction, see that he's still sitting that way
before diverting my eyes again. I start
to open my mouth to say "what do you mean?" but stop myself. The atmosphere is still too unstable. Instead I simply reply, "What are you going
to do?"
He finally lifts his head.
His eyes are red, and he wipes his nose against the back of his hand. He has been crying. I set the book down.
"I'm still not really sure."
He's looking in my direction but his eyes see right through me.
"It just can't stay like this."
His focuses back on me. "I won't
let you do what you are trying to do."
I don't answer. I'm
still not quite sure myself what I was trying to do. I just know how it felt to see him losing
control for a change.
"I think you're going to have to agree to something here. I think what we both want right now is to
survive. What comes later, I'm still not
sure. But I think we need to agree...agree
that this isn't going to work for either of us if we continue as we are going."
I run his words through my head, trying to decipher exactly
what he's asking of me. I give him a
slow nod.
"I think we both know that right now the decisions are mine to
make."
I watch him carefully. He
isn't comfortable with this, taking control this way.
"I didn't want to have to keep you imprisoned here. I didn't want to have to keep you locked up
like some kind of animal. But you aren't
giving me any other choice."
"You could let me go. I
could agree to be a good little Knives and not hurt anyone. Find some nice little home in the desert with
my trees away from them."
He stares at me hopefully for a moment, then his eyes darken. "That's not really funny."
"I know."
"Okay I didn't want to have to do this but right now I can't
think of any other choice. You're
getting better and I can't trust your injuries to keep you here anymore."
He's tearing cloth bandages into long strips. He sits beside me on the bed. "Give me your hands."
I hold them out obediently.
I don't know what else I can do. "I'm
really sorry about this, Knives."
I don't acknowledge him.
He wraps the strips tightly around my wrists, binding them together. He pulls my arms gently over my head, trying
not to hurt me. My wounds are still
tight and the muscles sore, but the position could be worse. I stare at the ceiling as he straps my arms
to the frame of the bed. A few minutes
later he gives them a few tugs and, confident that they are tight, moves to my
feet. We say nothing. He only ties the right one. I guess he's decided the other isn't
necessary. Soon I'm stretched out, flat
on my back, unable to move more than a few inches. Enough to roll onto my side but not much more. "I'm sorry," he whispers again as he stands
up and goes to his own bed. "It wasn't
supposed to be this way."
Yes, I agree. It
definitely wasn't supposed to be this way.
"Knives...Knives wake up."
The voice is soft. I hear it but
don't move. "Come on, I have to leave soon."
Something moves against my chest.
I try to roll over but my movements are impeded, my shoulders stiff, and
I'm waking faster in somewhat of a panic as I realize that I can't move. The memories are quick to come back to me and
I relax against the binds and open my eyes.
He's sitting beside me on the bed. "I thought you might want some breakfast."
He's already loosening the straps. I pull my hands free as his fingers are still
working with the knots. He hands me a
bowl of what smells like oatmeal.
"I'm not going to be leaving for another half an hour. I thought you might like a few minutes of
freedom."
I eat quickly and watch as he finishes getting ready for work. When he finally comes back over to me and
begins to replace the bindings, I make a single request. One that I know he will acquiesce to. "Is it okay if I read?"
He hesitates and then nods, making the length between my hands
and the bed frame longer by a few centimeters.
He puts the book into my hands.
"I'm surprised you like it.
It's not the sort of thing I'd expect you to find interesting."
"I don't. But its' better
than staring at the wall."
He nods, ties the last couple of knots and walks out.
I roll onto my stomach as soon as he's gone, start to examine
the knots. He's good. More than that he knows me. Most of the knots are positioned such that I
can't reach them with my fingers. But at
least now I can see them. I learned
quickly in the night that they were much too tightly woven to slip out of
without looking. Not without dislocating
my thumbs in any case, which isn't something I'm readily going to do.
The foremost knot rests centered on the back of my wrists. I catalogue the way the strands are looped. If I manage to get out I want to be able to
put them back as well.
I twist my hands, trying to reach the ends of the cloth with my
fingertips, but they can barely brush the edges and my fingertips are already
beginning to tingle and lose feeling. I
lean forward as far as I can, pulling against the rope on my foot. The extra centimeters help but my teeth are
still too far from my hands to be of use.
I pick up the book lying beside me, prop it between my arms,
lean it with my chin. It won't be easy. The only edge of the book stiff enough to
possibly work is the spine, but if I can loosen that top knot I can get the
rest. I begin to tip the book, keeping
my breathing regular, patient.
The suns have risen high into the sky by the time the knot
comes loose. I sigh deeply, rest for a
few minutes. It feels good. My hands are no looser, but I feel that I
have defeated him in a small sense. And
now I have an added advantage. With the
loop undone, I am now able to reach the ends with my fingertips.
I work more frantically now.
I don't know how long he's going to be gone, but if past experience is
any indication he could be back in anywhere from two hours to six. The knots come loose easier now. How did he ever seriously expect this to hold
me for a full day? Finally they fall
loose around me and I sit up, work on the ones around my foot. With free hands it comes loose in only a few
minutes. I sit up. The air is warm in my lungs and I breathe it
deeply.
I have one order of business that I feel must be taken care of
immediately. I reach between the bed and
the wall, fumble around until I feel cool metal against my skin. I pick up the gun hold it in my fingers, turn
it over again. It's lightweight, much lighter
than my old gun. I hold my arm out, aim
at the wall across from me. It feels
good. Different but good. I fall to the floor, not even bothering to
walk along the wall, crawling is faster.
I go about ten feet along the outer cliff and begin digging in the sand. Only about a foot. It doesn't have to be deep. He won't find it out here.
I cover the mound over, smooth the sand out. There aren't any visible markings on the
cliff, but its better that way. He's an
observant man, he'd notice if there were.
And I can remember. I'm not
worried about that.
I crawl back inside, dust the sand from myself before getting
back into bed. Its only mid afternoon
but I'm not going to take any chances tonight.
He's going to realize the gun is gone.
I don't want to give him any other reason to be suspicious. Retying the knots is easier than I had
anticipated. I arrange them, keeping
them slack and then giving a slow pull. The knots begin to come together as
they had been. Slightly looser but close
enough. I pick up the book and start
reading. I want the gun to be as far
away from my thoughts as it can be before he returns.
He's one of the most predictable people I've ever met. Though I have to give him credit that it did
take him slightly longer to realize it was missing than I had anticipated.
He enters the cave, takes off his glasses and stares at me,
still tied, lying on my stomach reading.
"Where's the gun?"
At first it's just a question.
Like he's not really angry about it at all. I roll onto my side, trying not to drop the
book as I do so. "What gun?"
"You know damn well what gun."
I try to sit up, make somewhat of a show of it. "No. I
don't."
"The one that was in my bag.
The bag you got that book out of."
"I didn't see a gun."
He sits, grinds his teeth.
"It was in here yesterday. I know
it was. And now it's gone. You were the only one here. Who else could have taken it?"
"Don't you think if I'd found a gun I would have used it by now!"
He pauses as though trying to determine whether or not I'm
telling the truth. I can almost feel him
prodding around the edges of my mind. I
push him away, think about Xeno, trapped in a prison of his own, of Commander
Jackson fighting in the atmosphere of the alien planet. "It doesn't work."
How did
Commander Jackson dodge the lasers when his ship can't exceed the speed of
light? "Right." I roll back over onto my stomach, open the
book again.
He walks over to my bed, pulls
out a knife and cuts away the strip tying my foot to the bed.
"Sit up."
I do as he
says. It isn't the easiest task with a
bum leg and my hands still tied. Apparently
not fast enough for him either. He
pushes me off the bed, picks up my mattress.
For some reason I'd always considered him one to have more patience than
this. There's nothing under the bed but
an extra sheet and sand. He sifts
through both, puts the mattress back. His
side of the room is more difficult. Blankets
and bandages and towels. Dishes stacked
under the bed, wrapped in more sheets. No
real good place to hide a weapon however.
He goes back outside, stares into the distance and around the cliff
before coming back inside.
"Maybe someone you work with stole it."
"No.
Not possible."
"And why not? Because they wouldn't do something like that
to you?"
He glares at me and sits back down,
defeated.
"Why were you keeping a gun that didn't
work anyway?"
He leans against the wall and sighs. "Sentimental reasons."
"Sentimental reasons."
"Yeah."
He doesn't elaborate and I don't ask him
to. Instead I keep reading.
"Are you hungry?"
I nod, come to a sitting position again. He hands me a foil covered plate and a fork. He doesn't untie my hands this time.
He doesn't speak to me for the rest of the
evening. For awhile I think he's
forgotten about the gun, or at least come to the conclusion that I don't have
it. Then he begins to clean the cave. Really clean it. He folds one of the sheets in fourths
lengthwise, starts to sweep the sand back out the entrance. Finally he goes through his bag again, as if
perhaps it might still be there and he's simply overlooked it.
He's finished cleaning as the second sun
is setting. He leaves me, goes and sits
outside on the sand, watches as the last light fades away.
I wake up in the middle of the night to
pain. I'm sweating all over, my heart is
racing. I can't tell where it's coming
from at first, it feels like everywhere.
I almost scream but hold it back.
After I start to really wake up the pain seems less consuming,
more focused. Soon it's all in one spot. My leg.
My left leg to be exact. This is
an interesting turn of events. Suddenly
the pain is more bearable as I realize the possible implications. I lay still longer, waiting for the pain to
subside. Then I try to move my foot. If my brother can be digging wells less than
a week after being seriously injured, then surely making my leg work cannot be
too difficult a task. We share the same
genes. He's just had more experience at
being injured.
My foot wiggles, though the pain is intense again and I grit my
teeth to keep from crying out. I can
hear Vash's breathing across the room, so smooth, so regular. I close my eyes and am back on that ship
again. He's lying next to me, the
blankets tangled around his body and only half covering my own as always seemed
to happen when we shared a bed. I listen
to his breathing, the thin little whistle he makes with each inhale until I
finally start to drift off myself.
The next day I can move my leg.
It doesn't move well, but it moves.
I sit on the foot of my bed, arms already untied, legs still
freed from the night before. I turn my
ankle, rocking my foot from outside to inside, heel to toe. That joint is pretty flexible. Weak but flexible. My knee is a different story. I struggle to straighten it, but the joint is
stiff, the muscles surrounding it not seeming to remember their function.
I work at it for at least an hour. The sweat pouring down my back is only
partially from the heat, and I'm amazed to discover how much lower the suns
have fallen when I finally stop. I fall
back onto the bed, tie my hands back into place and take a much needed rest.
In three days I'm feeling comfortable enough to try walking. The pain has subsided considerably and I'm
beginning to get back some of the range in my knee. I pause on the edge of the bed, hold my
breath, and stand. On two feet not one. Two feet that I can feel.
The left leg is weaker than I had realized, but standing with
my feet together I am easily able to compensate. I consider reaching for the wall and using it
as a crutch, but resist the temptation. I
want to do this as it is meant to be done.
If it means falling on my face and crawling back to the bed then so be
it.
I breathe deeply again, lift my left leg. The toe still drags along the ground, but the
motion is there. Up, forward, down. I press my hands against my thigh, try to
counterbalance myself as I step quickly with the right. I fall back to the bed.
Two steps. Two steps
without the use of a crutch. Two steps
isn't bad. Two steps is a starting point.
An hour later I can walk across the room.
The next day he wakes me up again before he leaves. Gives me food as he always does. Sandy rice for breakfast. I think the first thing I want to do when I
get out of here is have a nice warm meal.
A real meal, not what he brings me back in foil plates. Granted it's better than his cooking, but I
miss sitting at a table. I miss wine. I miss meat.
"Lay down," he says quietly as he brings the strips of bandages
to me. I comply, reaching down and
moving my left leg forcibly with my arms before lying back on the bed. He ties me, checks to make sure they are
secure, and turns to go out the door.
I'm working at the bandages as soon as he's gone. I want to see where he goes, make sure the
direction is clear before the sand obliterates it. Fifteen minutes later I am free and walking
to the curtain. I pull it aside, not
worried that he might still be near enough to see me. This is more important.
I'm disappointed upon
reaching the tracks however. The
depressions in the sand are still perceptible, but even the light wind blowing
is already destroying them. I sink to
the ground, watch as they fade before me.
I lay one hand beside the nearest one.
Soon even it is covered with the thin layer.
I am Knives. I am smarter than this. I am smarter than him.
I hold onto the wall as I stand, count about ten feet and start
to dig. The gun is closer to the surface
than when I left it, which doesn't surprise me.
This desert is like that. I sit
against the wall again, hold it in my hand.
I can fix this. I know I can. I've done much more difficult tasks in my day.
I walk back to the cave, examining the gun and not even really
watching my steps. It's almost a quarter
of an inch off center. I sit on the
floor, knowing that the metal is too thick to really bend this way but also
knowing it's worth a try. I put the
hammer against the rock, my foot on top of the gun and my hand underneath to
hold it in position as I put pressure on it.
It doesn't give.
The hotplate Vash uses to cook our meals is still sitting
outside. I grab the matches and my sheet
and go back out, sit on the hot sand in front of it. There's still some sand on its top. He should really know better than to put it
out that way, it's only going to damage the plate. I shake it away, feel that there's still
quite a bit of fluid inside of it.
The plate takes three matches to light, but the fire burns a
bright blue after only a few seconds. I
wrap the barrel of the gun in the sheet and hold it over the flame until they
touch only the hammer. It begins to
grown warm and I wrap the sheet around a few more times.
After a minute I try the same trick I used before. It still doesn't bend. I'm wondering if the flame is going to be hot
enough to make this work.
I hold it over the flame again, longer this time, until even
through the layers my fingers are beginning to burn. I take it away again, press it against the
stone floor behind me. This time I feel
the metal slip. Just a fraction of a
millimeter or so. I go back to the flame.
It only takes a few more tries before the hammer is lined back
up with the firing pin and I'm confident that it will work again. I take a handful of sand and toss it onto the
fire. It goes out immediately, and I
give it a moment to cool before turning the knob on the side of the plate as
well. Now all I need is bullets.
Hours of pacing the small cave are starting to pay off. In two days I can walk easily, my limp is
barely noticeable. More than anything I'm
pleased with my endurance. The knee
still aches after half an hour, but the ache is dull and easily ignored. With luck I can make it to the town. It's just a matter of timing.
It's another three days before I see my opportunity. I wake up in the middle of the night, certain
that something has woken me. The cave itself still pitch black. I lie awake for a few moments, listening, and
then I realize that it's not a sound I should be listening for, it's silence. The wind has died. It's gone.
I can't fall back asleep.
I know that the chance may be slim.
The wind may come back at any time.
But with luck I have a few hours.
If I can make it there once I can make it there in any weather, I have
no doubt.
He finally wakes up, stretches, rubs his eyes.
"Man, it's quiet out there."
He hasn't really spoken to me in days. I wonder if he's starting to forget that he's
angry with me. "Yeah, it is. Spooky almost."
He stands at the
entrance, pushes aside the curtain, stands framed in the new light. "It's been a long time since I've been out in
the desert on a day like this. It's
almost enough to make you forget that everything else even exists."
I don't respond. I know
exactly what he means. It's why I've
lived out here all along.
"It's so peaceful."
"Not everywhere."
He finally turns away, looks at me curiously. "No wonder you're in a bad mood all the time. You never learned how to stop and enjoy life."
I open my mouth to argue with him, but stop when I see him
smiling.
He reluctantly lets the curtain fall back into place behind him. "Hungry?"
"Not really." Honestly
my stomach is so jumpy I'm not sure I could keep anything down anyway.
"Are you feeling okay?"
I nod. "Yeah, I'll be
fine. It's probably just that stew you
cooked yesterday."
He laughs. "Yeah, I
think mine's still stuck in there somewhere too." He unties me anyway.
He washes up in front of the bowl, that little smile not
leaving his face. I think its one of the
few real smiles I've ever seen on him.
He shaves the stubble away from his face, and when he's
finished offers me the razor for the first time since he's kept me tied. Even turns his back on me as he gets dressed.
I watch him as I wet my fingers and rub a thin film of soap
over my own face. I go by feel, the
motion so familiar that I don't need a mirror.
He's putting wax in his hair, combing it and smoothing it with his
fingers. I take the towel he offers,
wipe the hair and soap from my face.
"You look better," he says, pats my cheek. On a normal day I would have grabbed that
wrist and squeezed, made clear that such actions were unacceptable. Today, however, I tolerate it with only a
look of minor annoyance, grip the razor by the blade and hand it back to him. "Thanks."
He folds it, gives it a spin before he sticks it in his pocket.
"How many times did you cut yourself before you got that right?"
"Never. Unless you count
the time I dropped it on my foot. Cut
straight through a new pair of boots."
He dips his fingers into the small tub of wax, runs it through
his hair one last time.
"How much of that do you go through?"
He laughs. "A lot. It's okay though, I buy in bulk, get a
discount."
He picks up the bandages that serve as my ropes. For a second I think he's actually going to
leave without replacing them, but he sighs and walks back over to me. I hold out my hands before he asks for them. "Thanks for the razor."
He tugs at my hands after securing them, smiles. "Not a problem."
He puts on his sunglasses, snaps his fingers towards me as he
walks out. "Maybe I'll bring something
good back for dinner. Make up for last
night."
"I'll be expecting it."
I lie still and count to five hundred before I let myself get
up. I work the straps loose and reach
under Vash's bed and find the old shirt he has underneath. The bottom edge is torn, but tucked in it
simply looks old. The sleeves are short,
but a few more minutes of going through his things and I return holding his
pair of leather gloves. For the first
time I am thankful that he ever wore anything this impractical. They might look ridiculous, but they'll
protect me from the sun. Vash is smart
and I've been lying in a cave for weeks.
It wouldn't take him long to figure out I've been outside.
I pull them on, fasten the straps even though I don't really
need to. I flex my fingers, get used to
the feel of them. They don't move as
well as the ones I had. They're thick,
don't breathe well, but they are broken in.
They may not have the same flexibility I am accustomed to but within a
minute of flexing and clenching they are beginning to feel more like a part of
my own hand.
I push aside the curtain.
Just as I had anticipated his footprints are still visible. I look towards the horizon. Days like this you can see forever, but there
must be a trick to the lay of the land because I cannot make out any semblance
of a town out there. Not that it matters.
I dig through the sand and find the gun. It feels different through the gloves, but
they fit around it easily. I let it fall
to my side and begin to walk, careful at first to step into the depressions
that his feet have left behind, but soon fall easily into the rhythm and I don't
even have to watch after the first hundred yards.
I've been walking fifteen minutes when I begin to realize the
secret to the topography that prevented me from finding this town before. The ground has been a gentle upslope to this
point, but by now I can see the ridge of a large dune. When I make it to the top I can see the town
down below in the narrow valley.
Finally the sand gives way to harder bedrock and packed mud
roads. I take a deep breath as I step
past the first building.
It's midmorning now and there aren't many people out. A few adults walk past me. One stares at me until I meet her gaze and
turns away quickly.
A small girl is playing with a toy truck in the middle of the
street, making vrooming noises as she traces tire tracks in the dust.
"Hi there, honey. Can
you tell me where your daddy is?"
She smiles, points to a house nearby. "He's in there."
"How about you show me?"
She stands up, tucks the truck against her chest and runs into
the building. I follow behind her.
The house is clean, large for a town this size. The girl runs through another doorway. I wait for her. A few minutes later she comes back out
followed by an older man. He's wiping
his hands dry with a towel. "Is there
something I can help you with?"
The girl is sitting on the floor. I sit on the sofa beside her. "Yes, as a matter of fact I think you can."
He puts the towel down, smiles until he comes closer. "Vash?"
"Not exactly."
His eyes narrow. "Who
are you?"
"Who I am isn't important.
What is important is what you are going to do for me."
"Look, I don't know who you
think you are, but I want you out of my house right now."
I hold up the gun. "Do you see this? I need bullets. I'm going to give you ten minutes to find
them before I start cutting body parts off that pretty little daughter you have
there."
He's finally starting to show fear. "Abigail, go to your room."
"Abbey, honey, stay out here."
She looks between the two of us, starts to walk away. I hold out my leg, just enough to make it
clear to him that I can block her path easily and get to her before he can. I never break eye contact with him. It only takes him a second to decide.
"Abigail, don't move. If
I do this for you, you'll leave?"
I nod.
"If I come back and you've so much as touched her, I'll blow
your fucking brains out."
I smile slightly. "Look
at me. You know who I am."
He shakes his head. "You
aren't him. You can't be."
"But I look so familiar?
I want you to really think about that, and then
I decide if you think a bullet in the head would really stop me. I am
capable of things that you can't even imagine, and if you want to keep this
girl safe, then you'll be back here in seven minutes. Come back alone, don't tell anyone I am here,
bring me back what I need. That's the
agreement. Abbey here stays as
collateral."
He nods, turns
and runs out.
"Daddy?" The girl mumbles.
I pat her head. "It's
okay, sweetie, your daddy is gonna be right back."
For a minute I think she's going to cry. I tighten my grip on the revolver, knowing I
can probably knock her out in one blow if I need to, but she sits back down and
hugs the truck again before starting to play.
His shirt is stained with sweat when he runs back in five
minutes later. He looks for the girl
first. She smiles up at him.
His hands are trembling as he hands me a box. I lift the lid.
"I was pretty sure it took .22s, but I got others just in case."
I nod. "You've done well." I load the gun in front of him. It would be simplest to just kill them both
now, but I don't want to risk the attention it would cause. "If you tell anyone that I was here I
guarantee that you and your entire family will be dead by morning.
He nods, picks up his little girl.
I pocket the rest of the bullets. "Thank you for your help. I knew you would come through." I wave a hand behind me as I leave.
He returns late again, but the evening is just as still as the
day. His walk is tired, but he still
smiles when he comes in. "Catch," he
says and tosses a plate my way. It lands
by me on the bed.
"What is it?"
He sits beside me, tugs at the knots. "Steak.
Did you try to get out of these?
They seem loose."
I shrug, smile myself. In
fact it's difficult not to. "Can you
blame me for trying? So steak?
Seriously?"
He nods. "Yup. You look like you're feeling better."
I rub my wrists, pick up the plate. "Definitely.
I'm starving."
"There's another surprise in there."
I peel away the foil lid.
"Corn?" I have to admit, this is
quite a surprise. Corn is something you
can usually only find in the larger cities.
His smile broadens. The
tension seems to melt from his face. "Yeah. They just got a shipment in a couple of days
ago. It costs almost as much as the
steak, but I thought it would be worth it."
I nod, genuinely impressed.
"Thank you."
He throws me a knife and I catch it easily, begin slicing the
meat. "Aren't you going to eat?"
"No, I already had something back in town. Right now I just want to rest."
God I missed the taste of meat. I eat slowly. When I close my eyes I can almost pretend I
am already out of this hellhole, put the rest of it behind me. When I finish I set the plate on the floor. He sets it aside, sighs as he stands up and
comes back over to me.
"I guess I might need to consider finding something stronger
than this to hold you, huh?"
I hate the casual way he speaks about it. I lie back on the bed, trying not to sound as
frustrated as I feel. "I'm still here,
aren't I?"
He tightens the straps around my wrists, tighter than he has
been.
"You're still going to let me read, aren't you?"
"You aren't going to try to get away again?"
"Are you really worried about it?"
He shrugs, adds some give to the ropes. "I just know I would have made it out by now."
"I'm injured."
He smiles. "Yup. And I still would have made it out by now."
"You've had more practice at this than I have."
"You're still my brother."
"Well, like I said, I'm still here aren't I?"
He nods, stares at me. For
a minute I'm afraid he's going to see through me. I look to the book, focus on the worn cover,
push away the thoughts of what I've really been doing for the past few days.
He turns it over in his hands.
"You can't expect me to believe that you haven't finished this yet."
"Thirteen times actually."
"Not too bad, is it?
Maybe tomorrow I can find something better to keep you entertained. I suppose you're going to want me to leave
the light on, huh?"
"Can't really read without it."
"How long do you think the oil will last?"
I lean over and look at the small lamp. The amber liquid is almost gone. "Three, four hours max."
He nods, covers his eyes with his arm. "You don't mind if I
sleep, do you?"
"Not in the least."
I open the book, turn pages every few minutes just for the
semblance of it until I can hear his breathing start to even out. I listen to him for a few minutes before
trying to get out of the bindings.
It isn't an easy task compared to my past experiences. The light is faint but deters me less than my
fear of waking him. I know that I only
have one chance if I have any hope of making this work.
I untie the last of the knots and sit up. The bed groans beneath me but I'm confident
that particular sound will not alarm him; it's one that he has become accustomed
to. I slide the mattress away from the
wall, watch him as I reach behind it, feel cool steel.
I slide my fingers around it, squeeze the grip. My heart is in my throat and I smile and
swallow it down.
I stand, walk over to his bedside. I never would have thought it would be this
easy. He lays as he did when he fell
asleep, right arm over his eyes, left hanging at his side. He breathes evenly through an open mouth. Firelight flickers against his skin. I grip the gun in both hands, hold it over
his chest, centering it over what I know is his heart.
I match my breathing to his, calm, certain that my hands are
steady and won't miss their mark and cock the hammer.
I know instinctively the moment he wakes up, dive towards the
bed instead of away from it as I know he's expecting. I land kneeling across his legs, feel his gun
as quick as mine against my shoulder. I
fire before he has the chance to counter it.
He falls back hard, gun falling back to his side, finger still
gripping the trigger, but I know he won't raise it again.
He reaches with his other hand to his chest, feeling for the
wound as he gasps for breath. His hand
flops against the fast spreading blood then lies still. I center myself above him, aim again. He turns his head enough to look up at me. I start to smile, finger on the trigger when
I see those eyes, ringed in firelight.
God those eyes. How can
he look at me like that? With such
betrayal. After all that has happened
between us how can he look at me now with hurt?
His eyes roll back for a moment before he forces them open again. His lips move as if he's trying to say
something, but he only emits a thin spray of blood. He tries to gasp and gives a small cough
instead.
I try to squeeze but feel my fingers loosening instead. They feel numb, heavy. I can't look away from those eyes. I can't hear his thoughts right now but I don't
need to, that hurt is filling my entire body. I drop the gun, lean over and
grip his shoulders. "Vash?"
He opens his eyes again, struggles to breath. I realize that I can't leave him like this. "Vash?"
I whisper again.
I hate how childlike I feel at this moment. I press my palms against the wound, looking
around the room for anything that might be of help. I know that I can't take care of him like
this. I don't have the equipment. I'm not convinced I could save him if I did.
His breathing is odd beneath my hands, the heartbeat beginning
to grow irregular already. I remove them
and the blood soaks faster into his shirt.
I pull him to a sitting position. His eyes are closed again but he's still
trying to talk. There's no exit wound.
I lean over far enough to reach the bandages lying on my bed,
make a packet out of some and then wind the others around his chest twice and
tie them tightly.
He's growing limp as I hold him. He reaches for my shoulder, tries to keep
himself in a sitting position, lifts his head enough to look me in the eyes
again. I turn away before they reach
mine, grip him around the waist and lift him over my shoulder as I stand. I stagger under his weight but quickly find
the new center of balance.
The night is perfectly still as I run, the only sound my
panting hot breath and my feet against the sliding sand. It is a dark night, only one moon low on some
horizon, but I find my way easily.
His blood is soaking my back by the time I arrive at the town. He passed out long before.
I run through the empty streets, see a tavern at the end with
lights still on.
"I need a doctor!"
The bar is nearly empty, only a handful of people. They turn towards me, stare blankly at first.
There's a table a couple of feet away. His arms flop loosely as I lay him on rough
wood.
They're crowding closer now, curiosity getting the better of
them. One man shouts, "It's Vash," and
they come even closer.
"I need a doctor," I repeat, more commanding this time. Most of
them just stare at me longer, but the bartender runs out the door and down the
street.
I fall into the chair beside the table, turn Vash's head
towards me, feel below his nose. There's
no movement. I lay my hand on his chest,
can feel the flutter of a heartbeat fast beneath it.
The bartender returns quickly, followed by another man, younger
than I would have expected. He looks at
Vash, feels for a pulse.
"This man's not breathing."
"I know."
He looks at me, frowns. "There's
nothing I can do."
"His heart is still beating."
He rests a hand on my shoulder.
I shrug it away. "I'm sorry but
this man needs a hospital. The nearest
one is over sixty iles from here. He'd
never make it."
I stand, stare the man in the eye. "Then take him back to your office, give him
oxygen, and sew him up. You can do that,
can't you?"
"I'm not equipped for surgery-"
"And I'm not going to let my brother die just because you aren't
willing to try."
I walk back to the table.
My heart beats harder as I see the blue his lips have turned in so
little time. I slide an arm under his
torso, another under his knees, lean back until he rests comfortably against me. "Where am I taking him?"
The man shakes his head, looks away.
"Now. Tell me. Where am I taking him?"
I walk towards the door and finally he comes after me, leads
the way.
The office is only a few buildings away and he leads me to an
examining room. I lay Vash on the metal table.
He places a mask over Vash's face, takes my hand and puts it on the bulb
and squeezes. "Keep doing that." He goes to the sink and starts washing his
hands, calls upstairs to someone named Matthew.
A boy who can't be more than ten comes down, rubbing his eyes. "What
is it, Dad?"
"Go wake up your mother, tell her I have a patient down here I
need her to breathe for."
The boy nods. "Is that
Mr. Vash?"
I squeeze again. Again. He's slipping on a pair of gloves. "Yes. Do
you know his friends? The two girls?"
"Yes, sir."
He takes the bulb from me, starts pumping the air himself. "You know where they are staying?"
"Yes, sir."
"I think you should go tell them he's hurt. Bring them back here."
The boy nods again, runs back upstairs.
There's a waiting room outside.
I move one of the chairs back into the examining room, make myself
comfortable in the corner.
The doctor looks at me over his shoulder and I expect him to ask
me to wait outside.
"He's lost a lot of blood.
Do you know his type?"
"O."
"Can you go into that room, get me a bag out of the
refrigerator? They're marked."
I go to the room as indicated, return with three bags of blood. I hand him one, lay the others between Vash's
feet. "Just in case."
He smiles at me, feeds an IV into Vash's hand, hooks the bag to
it. "Can you tell me what happened?"
"I shot him."
He pumps the bag a few more times before answering. "There's a good chance he's not going to make
it. He's in shock. His left lung is collapsed. I can only guess as to the rest of the damage."
The man's wife appears from upstairs goes to the sink without
question and starts to wash up.
"Just sew him up. He'll
be fine."
His brow furrows and he looks away.
"He's made it through worse than this."
His wife takes the bag from him, begins the rhythmic pumping as
her husband cuts away Vash's shirt. He
wipes the blood away, sees the scars below it.
"Good God." His wife gasps but says nothing. He works more frantically now, as though he
is finally beginning to believe that he can save the man on his table. "This is going to be a long shot."
"I know."
Less than half an hour later I hear the front door open. The boy comes in. "I brought them back, Dad. Do you need my help?"
"No, son. Go tell them I'll
be out to talk to them as soon as I finish."
The girls push their way into the room, held back by the boy
who stands with arms outstretched and a futile "You can't come in here!"
Millie sees him on the table looking only slightly less blue,
chest opened as the doctor tries to remove the bullet and repair its damage. She lets out a small whimper, tears falling
down her cheeks.
Meryl's eyes find me immediately. "What have you done to him!" She tries to push past the boy but he holds
her back. I say nothing.
"I'm going to have to ask you to wait outside."
"Why is that man here!?"
She isn't struggling with the boy anymore. The fight fades out of her voice as she gets
a better look at Vash.
"Because he brought him here.
Now please, if you want this man to have any hope of recovering you'll
stop distracting me."
She steps back, nods an apology, takes Millie's arm as she
leaves.
"How is he?" I ask the
doctor.
He doesn't look up. "He's
a fighter."
There's a clicking sound as the doctor lays the bullet on the
table, offering a weary smile. "One step
closer."
I nod, pleased. His wife
switches hands, shakes out her left.
"Would you like me to take over for you?"
She squeezes the bulb. "No,
I'm fine. If I need to I'll call Matthew
back down." She has no intention of
doing so, however. She yawns, exhausted,
but she'll stay up all night doing this if she has to.
We can hear the footsteps outside and expect the knock. The doctor says nothing, continues working on
Vash. The table is now waxed in a thin
layer of blood. The woman checks Vash's
blood pressure with her free hand. "80/45."
There's another knock.
The doctor is injecting Vash with something. Epinephrine maybe. The door opens and a man peeks timidly around
the corner. "I'm sorry to interrupt
doctor." He starts to leave but sees me,
instead pushes the door open the rest of the way.
He's holding a gun, already cocked and pointed at my chest. "Excuse me,
Mr.-"
"Knives."
"I'm very sorry about this but I'm going to have to ask you to
come with me."
He's holding a
pair of handcuff's in the other hand.
The doctor
looks between the two of us. "Go ahead
and finish up." I stand, move to follow
the man at the door.
The doctor's
eyes go back to Vash's opened chest. "I'll
send word and let you know how if he makes it."
"I'm sure you
will."
The man
extends the handcuffs. "I'm going to
have to ask you to put these on."
I stare at him
for a moment and his grip on the gun tightens.
I touch Vash's shoulder and hold out my hands.
Their stares follow me as I'm led across town, like I'm some
kind of sideshow exhibit. I don't know
how word spreads so quickly, but windows are flooded with lights. Most of the people have come out, stand on
the streets to watch as I'm led by, not even attempting to be discreet. They chat quietly among themselves, but their
voices carry easily in the still night. Is that the man who did it? Is it true, someone shot Vash the Stampede? I
hear he killed him. Are you sure that's
not him? Who is he? He looks so much like him.
I stare straight ahead, try to focus on the sound of my
footsteps, but the words won't fade easily, and its not until we make it to the
jail on the far side of town and the people finally begin to abandon their
posts on the street that I am able to relax again.
The sheriff
holsters his gun as he pushes open the door and leads me through a small
entryway. The jail is small, three cells
branching of the main room, a door marked "restrooms" sporting a male and
female silhouette in place of the fourth.
In the center of the room is a desk with two poorly upholstered chairs
facing it.
The sheriff
picks up a stack of papers, finds a set of keys underneath and leads me to the
furthest cell.
"I'm going to
have to apologize for the accommodations."
I step inside. "Actually this looks about the same as the
place I've been staying."
The door
slides closed behind me. I sit on the
cot, wrap my arms around my knees and lean back against the bars.
The sheriff
turns the key in the lock and sits behind the desk. "I just want you to know that I think it's
ridiculous that they're making me hold you like this. I think I speak for this town when I say that
we don't think a man should be put in jail for shooting Vash the Stampede. But those girls insist that you be kept here
under armed watch until we know whether or not he's going to pull through. It doesn't look too good for him though, does
it?"
"He'll be fine."
"Well you sound confident of that."
"Because I am."
He lights a cigarette, inhales deeply. "So you're his brother?"
"Yep."
"Wow. How it is that no
one knew that the legendary Vash the Stampede had a brother? Especially considering the family resemblance."
"I haven't exactly spent my life surrounded by people."
"Can't say I blame you, what with him being as famous as he is."
He rests his feet on the desk, leans back in the chair. "I'm wishing the feds still had that fucking
bounty posted on his head. I think we
would have all turned him in a long time ago if they did. After all that man has put us through I think
this town deserves a little compensation."
I rest my head against the bars. "What has he done?"
"What do you mean what has he done? The man's Vash the Stampede. He destroyed July and August. He put a hole in the fucking moon. Isn't that enough? With all the destruction that man's caused we
deserve every penny of that reward."
"Do you really think you would ever have gotten it?"
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
"The money. The sixty
billion double dollars. You would never
have been able to collect."
"How can you say that?
The bounty's been posted for decades."
"Do you really think anyone would pay that much money just for
one man's head? It's ridiculous."
"How the hell would you know?"
"Because I'm the one that had the bounty placed to begin with. And I guarantee that I never had any
intention of paying it. Might have
offered you a smaller fee for the trouble but I doubt anyone even has sixty
billion double dollars to give away like that.
It's not like its sitting in a bank somewhere waiting to be collected."
The cigarette is burning away but he doesn't notice. Ash falls from the tip onto the pile of
papers. He taps the few remaining embers
into the ash tray.
"I suppose I could have created it for you. I've been involved in a fair share of
counterfeiting in my time. But do you
realize what would happen if that much money were ever introduced into the
economy? The dollar would be worthless. It would cost twelve thousand double dollars
just to buy a loaf of bread."
"I don't believe that."
"Believe it."
He stands, walks to the front of my cell. His hand shudders as he speaks to me,
dropping more ashes onto the floor.
"You know, I don't think you'll mind me saying this, seeing as
how you're the one who shot him, but I hope he dies back there on that table. That's one man the world would be better off
without."
I'm on my feet before he registers that I've even moved,
slipped my hands through the bars. I
grab him by the neck, squeeze and pull upwards until he's standing on his
tiptoes. "I made a mistake. So sue me."
The cigarette falls
silently to the floor and he claws at my arms.
My grip tightens. I can feel his
heartbeat quicken beneath my fingertips.
I smile as he starts to lose consciousness. "My brother is probably the only thing on
this planet that can save you."
The front door opens. "Knives!"
I drop him as soon as I hear the sound. "He'll live."
He starts to recover almost immediately, brings himself to all
fours, coughing as Meryl rushes to his side.
She helps him to his feet. "You."
he coughs again. "You are just like him!"
I sit with my back to them again, turn my head to watch. She wraps her arms around his shoulder. "You should go get some water."
"And leave you here with him?"
She holds up a gun of her own.
"Don't worry, if he tries anything I'll shoot him."
The man coughs again, leaves the room.
"How is he?"
"The doctor just finished.
He's still not breathing. There
was a lot of blood in his lungs and there's a good chance that he could end up
with pneumonia, if he even makes it through the night."
"He's not giving up on him though?"
"No. Not yet. He's even ordered a ventilator from the
hospital in April. It should be here in
a couple of days at the latest. Until
then we're going to keep doing it by hand."
She wraps her arms tightly around her chest. "I want you to know that if he dies I'll come
back here and kill you myself."
I have no doubt. "He won't
die."
"Did you listen to a single word that I just said?"
"He's Vash the fucking Stampede, Meryl. Do you really think that a single gunshot
wound could bring him down?"
"That's what you planned isn't it?"
"Plans change."
"He's dead, Knives.
For all intents and purposes he's already dead. He can't breathe, his heartbeat is barely
stable. It's a miracle he made it
through the surgery at all. The only
thing keeping him alive is the fact that we're pumping air into him, and even
with that he's not getting enough oxygen.
You can tell just by looking at him.
Even if he pulls through all this, do you realize what could
happen? He may never be the same Vash."
I won't look at her. I
can hear tears in her voice.
"Surely you've seen his body.
You've seen what he's been through.
Do you seriously think that he's made it through these years without
facing worse than this? He's going to be
okay."
"Okay. Fine, Knives. If you have to keep telling yourself that so
that you don't feel guilty about what you've done then go ahead. Keep it up."
I can't answer her.
The sheriff comes back in holding a glass of water. "You know, if the Stampede dies I'm gonna see
that they hang your ass."
Meryl turns back to face him.
"Oh don't even complain. I told
you that man was dangerous and you chose not to listen to me, you're just as
much at fault as he is."
I can't resist a smile. The
sheriff pauses mid sip, eyes wide. Her
heels are sharp on the floor as she leaves.
The sheriff rests his gun on the desk, rubs his neck, already
beginning to bruise. When I turn my eyes
to face him he looks away.
In my dreams we are children again. In the rec room, playing hide and seek. I can smell the grass, the scent of wet dirt. The scent of living things. I take a step forward, lean my hand against
the rough bark of a tree. Mud squishes
between my bare toes, but my grimace is replaced by a smile as I see him still
sitting cross-legged in the clearing, eyes closed and counting. I look up the tree, trying to decide whether
or not he will notice me in the branches.
I wipe my foot against the grass, I know he'll track the mud, and run
silently through the small grove, shoes bouncing against my back. I find the bushes a hundred yards from the
door that serves as "base" and crouch behind them. Out here it isn't how well you hide that
counts. It's whether or not you can make
it to base without getting caught.
He stands, looks around, concentrating. I suppress a giggle. He follows my trail into the grove. I wait until his back is turned and he's
staring at my footprint in the mud before I take off.
He hears me and takes the chase, leg's pumping until we both
dive for the door, laughing. I reach it
before he touches me and we sit together for a moment to catch our breath.
"I almost had you."
"You thought you could follow the mud, didn't you?"
He grins. "I knew where
you were hiding. You're turn."
He waits for me to sit in the clearing and close my eyes before
running off. I try to follow the sound
of his steps over my counting, but he's gone towards the grove and I can't hear
them anymore.
I reach 100, stand and follow him to the center of the trees. There's no sign of him. Vaaash, where are you hiding?
In the tree right behind you.
I smile and take another step forward, hold my breath. Sometimes if he's close enough I can hear his
breathing. I close my eyes, picture
Steve in my head, put him in a large green dress and think the picture to Vash. I hear a small giggle to my left. Sounds like he might really be in a tree. I add a large straw hat with a feather and
send him that one as well, listen for his laugh.
I wait a moment, hear nothing, take a few steps closer. Vash?
It's so quiet. I feel my
heartbeat quicken, walk towards the back of the grove. Vash?
I still can't hear him. I
call his name aloud and still get no answer.
I want to pretend I don't care, but the panic is spreading. As if I don't find him I never will. I'm running through the trees, pushing aside
branches. "Vash this isn't funny, come
out!"
The silence seems to get deeper. The ever present hum of the ship fades away,
and suddenly I begin to feel that maybe he's not the one who has disappeared. I call out again, more persistent, giving in
to the fear. The grass is perfectly
still; even the leaves overhead are silent.
I sit on the ground, wrap my arms around myself, feeling tears in my
eyes. I wipe them away with my hand, but
they keep coming. The fear becomes all
encompassing in the way it only can in dreams and his name is still in my mind
when I wake up.
The door creaks as it opens, followed closely by the click of
heels on hard flooring and suddenly I am very awake. My heart beats faster as she enters the room. I tell myself that it was just a dream. Then I close my eyes and search for my
brother in the darkness behind them as I haven't in so long.
She's talking now to the person at the desk. Not the sheriff anymore. I push their voices away, focus on the
darkness until they fade completely, try to feel for the connection. At first there is nothing, only that darkness
more complete than the dream. When we
were children this would have been so much easier. We could feel each other from anywhere in the
ship, simply know that the other was there.
Now it's harder, and whether it's the years or lack of practice or the
differences that separate us, the connection is difficult to find.
I envision a cord reaching out from me into that distance and
begin to walk down it, holding onto it tightly until finally somewhere in that
almost meditative state I can feel a twinge on the cord, the quiver of a
heartbeat on the other end, rhythmic.
I abandon the imagery, no longer needing it and try to explore
his mind, his feelings. I can't go
deeply anymore, and my head is already beginning to throb with the effort.
I sit up, try not to wince at the light from the suns. She's still talking to the other person, just
a kid. I'd be surprised if the boy has
ever even shaved. She sees me move and
waves a hand at the kid in a way that I know means that she's going to do what
she wants anyway. That kid won't stop
her and she knows it.
"How is he doing?"
"He's still not breathing, but his blood pressure is stable. His has a fever though and the doctor is worried
about infection. He is giving him
antibiotics."
I close my eyes again, try to focus deeper, but still come up
with nothing but the feeling of his presence.
I smile slightly as the dream finally begins to be pushed away.
"The doctor is surprised he made it through the night."
"He's a good doctor." I
open my eyes for only a moment as I speak, close them again.
In the concentration I forget that she is there, remember and
open my eyes. She's staring at me. "What are you doing?"
I focus on the opposite wall, try to keep the connection open.
"Can you feel him?"
I almost lose it completely.
I guess the look I give is answer enough.
She comes closer to the bars, holds onto one with her hand. "Is he in pain?"
"I don't know." It's
fading quickly now. "I don't think so."
"What can you tell?"
"That he's alive." I let
the thread unravel. The throbbing loses
some of its intensity but continues behind my eyes.
"That's it?"
"Isn't that enough?" I
rub my temples lightly. The pain is
subsiding, but I have a feeling it will be a few hours before it is completely
gone. "It was easier when we were
children."
"Can you hear his thoughts?"
I look back up at her. "Only when he wants me to."
"That day, when he hit you.
What did you say to him?"
I smile slightly. "You
don't want to know."
"You threatened us didn't you?"
"No. I simply said what
I knew would make him angriest at the moment."
She let's go of the bar, clenches her hands at her sides. "How is it possible that the two of you can
be so completely different?"
"That's where you're wrong.
We're exactly the same." I look
towards the window. She's about to say
something. She's angry with me and I
know that it will only be a moment before she sorts through that anger to find
actual words to express it. "Are you
going to be leaving now?"
She has to pause, think to answer the question. "Why?"
"You came to give me an update on how he's doing. You've done that. Now you can leave."
"That's not why I came. I
came to make sure you hadn't killed the guard while I was gone."
"Obviously I didn't."
"Well, surely you can understand my concern considering what
happened last night."
"I didn't kill him."
"You would have."
"I doubt he would have been missed."
"I'm sure you don't keep up with things like this, but that man
has three children and a wife to support."
I suppose it won't really do any good to explain to her that
having children doesn't necessarily qualify someone as worthy of living.
"I heard what he said. About
Vash."
I slump against the wall.
"If you heard then you probably wish you hadn't walked in that door when
you did."
"I walked in that door for a reason. Just because he said that doesn't mean he
deserved to die."
"You hate him as much as I do, Meryl."
"He's never even really met Vash. You can't condemn a person for ignorance."
"Can't I? Aren't you
sick of it? Aren't you tired of them
never giving him a chance? Look at what
he does for them. He's spent his whole
fucking life trying to stick up for them, living for them, and look at how they
treat him. It's despicable."
"So you think that's a good enough reason to kill everybody?"
"No, I think the fact that humans are parasitic leeches that
destroy everything they come in contact with is good enough reason to kill
everybody."
"God, Knives, didn't you ever have a friend? Didn't you ever once in your life have
somebody that you could depend on?
Someone you trusted? Who cared
about you for who you were?"
I see no reason to answer that.
"Damn it, Knives, we aren't all like that. Yes it frustrates the hell out of me to see
the way that they treat him. Yes I hate
them sometimes. But it isn't a reason to
kill someone."
I watch her closely. "You
would have me killed."
She leans back slightly.
She wasn't expecting that one.
"You told me so yourself."
There's fire in her eyes again.
"Yes, I would. You are dangerous. You have no respect for life. Vash should never have trusted you."
"He believes I deserve a second chance."
"I might be friends with him but it doesn't mean I have to
subscribe to all of his beliefs."
"He would be very offended to hear that from you."
"You tried to kill him! If
that isn't proof enough that he should have let you die then what is?"
"I suppose the fact that I didn't counts for nothing?"
"No, it doesn't."
"Then why don't you just do it?
You have a gun. I'm behind bars. Why not just shoot?"
She unfurls her fists. "Because
it's Vash's decision to make not mine."
"You and I both know
that isn't true. You won't do it because
if you know it would upset him. Do you
want to know the difference between you and me, Meryl?"
"Not particularly."
"The difference is that I am not afraid to act on what I
believe. That I am willing to do what I
know is right no matter what those around me think. I disagree with him too. And I don't give a fuck that it offends him. You
won't kill me because you are afraid of what Vash would think of you. You're afraid to see the way that he would
look at you."
"You know nothing about me."
"I've spent more years of my life studying humanity than you
have spent on this planet. I understand
you more than you could possibly imagine."
"I'm not convinced you have the mental capacity to understand
humanity. Now I didn't come here to
argue with you about this. Honestly I
don't give a damn what you have to say about any of it."
She turns towards the door.
"So I'll be seeing you again tomorrow?"
She doesn't turn back to me, just raises a hand and gestures at
me with one finger before the door slams closed behind her.
The next day she disregards the man at the desk entirely, walks
straight to my cell, holds onto the bars and looks at me with eyes that are
almost desperate.
"I need to know why you did it."
I tuck a leg beneath myself, rest my hands in my lap. I finally look back at her, meet her eyes. "Because he was keeping me tied up. I thought it was the only way I could be free."
"No, not that. I mean
why did you do it all. Why did you kill
so many people? Destroy so many lives?"
I breathe deeply, look out my window. It's a long time before I answer. "Because I came to realize at a very young
age that humans are innately cruel and destructive creatures."
"But something must have happened to make you decide that. You weren't born this way."
"Why do you want to know this?"
She takes a few steps backwards while I'm speaking, grabs a
chair and drags it in front of me, sits down and leans forward. "I need to understand. I need to understand what happened between
the two of you, to the two of you."
I sigh, look away again.
"How much do you know?"
She lowers her voice. "I
know that you destroyed the ships. That
you crashed us on this planet."
"You know what we are?"
She hesitates but nods. I
look towards the man at the desk. "Ask
him to leave."
She studies me, even wearier this time. She doesn't take her eyes from me as she
speaks to him. "Excuse me, sir-"
He's on his feet already.
"No, ma'am, I can't do it."
"I'll take full responsibility for anything that happens. You can sit right outside if you want. Please?"
She smiles sweetly at him.
"You're armed?"
"Yes."
He hesitates again. I
considering offering him a smile and a wave but really don't think it will help. Finally he sighs, starts to walk towards the
door. "I'll wait right outside. If he does anything-and I mean anything-threatening
you just call out, okay?"
She nods and waits for the door to latch before turning back to
me.
"If you want to know about our childhood why didn't you ask
him?"
"He's not exactly open about things like that."
"And you expect me to be?"
"You asked the guard to leave, didn't you?"
"And what makes you so certain that wasn't so I could kill you
without his interference?"
Her eyes narrow and for a minute I think she's going to leave. Instead she just stares at me. "I'm willing to take that chance. Like you said before. You're locked up and I have a gun."
"Why hasn't he told you?"
"He doesn't talk about these things. You have no idea what it took to get the
little out of him that I did. And even
then...he doesn't go into details."
"I thought you knew him well."
"That's one thing I've learned about Vash. No one knows him well."
I nod, look away from her before beginning. "They never accepted us. I suppose you could say it began with that. Rem did.
But Rem was different. She was
young, naïve. Very naïve. I realized very quickly that Vash and I were
more sophisticated than her. Well, I had
thought Vash was. I found out later that
I was wrong about that. But then again
Vash always did have a proclivity towards denial. To the best of them we were dogs meant to be
trained, and to the others creatures not worthy of living. I could never understand how we, obviously
having greater intelligence and mental capabilities could not be viewed as
having worth."
"So you decided to destroy everyone based on a few people
treating you badly?"
"You seriously think I'm that petty, don't you? I said that was the beginning. I decided to perform an...experiment if you
will. I wanted to see if people were
willing to treat us that way how they would treat each other. And they proved me right. Have you ever studied Freud, Meryl?"
She shakes her head.
"Freud posed that human beings are instinctively, innately
aggressive, ruled mostly by thanatos, the death instinct. I have come to realize that this is true. I got the first hint of it on that ship. Humanity isn't merely destructive to nature
and 'lesser beings' and each other...they are destructive to themselves. You might try to hide behind self-righteous
false morals or ignorance or any number of things, but at the root of it all,
you are nothing more than an over-developed id; aggressive, angry, and self-serving."
Her shoulders slump, her voice weak. "You made that entire decision based only on
what you'd seen of a few subjects in a few short years?"
"I admit that looking back it was rather rash. I could have waited until we found a more
suitable planet. And I should have
anticipated that Vash would become so fixated on Rem after losing her. As they say, hindsight is twenty/twenty." I finally face her again. "I don't regret anything I have done. I told you I spent years studying humanity,
and I meant it. Everything I've learned
up 'til now has proven me correct."
She sighs, looks away. "Was
she your mother?"
"Rem?"
She nods.
"If anyone could be considered our mother it would have been
her."
"Is that why Vash was so hurt when she died?"
"Vash was hurt because he searched for acceptance and she was
the only one who ever offered him any. When
it's all you have...you cling to it."
"You must not have felt she accepted you if you killed her."
"Is that what he told you?
That I killed her? No, she killed
herself. She made a bad decision. I was going to let her live."
"Why?"
"Because I knew how Vash felt about her. I wanted him to be happy. Though the fact that she seemed innocent did
weigh on that. If he had been attached
to Steve I would have been less generous."
"But you were willing to let her live. Whether for Vash or not, that means that you
don't believe everyone is corrupt."
"You don't seem to understand, Meryl. The ones who aren't will destroy themselves."
"I can't believe that."
"That doesn't surprise me."
Her eyes are filling with tears. "I've known too many people who are good
people."
"Meryl why are you asking me this?"
"I wanted to understand.
I thought-"
"You thought I
would have some sob story and then you could explain why I was wrong and make
it all better? You won't be able to
understand me. There is a reason why we
were never accepted. It's because we
aren't like you."
"Vash is
human, no matter what you choose to call him."
"He might seem
that way to you but that's because it's what he's spent his life trying to be. But it isn't who he is. One of these days he'll accept that."
"And
what? Denounce humanity?"
I smile. "Vash?
Have you ever even met my brother? No...Vash would never denounce humanity. As much as I'd like him to I've known that
for years. But I would like to see him
stop denouncing himself. Have you seen
him today?"
She nods. The tears are already gone from her eyes. "Yeah, I just came from there. He's breathing. The doctor took him off the ventilator about
four hours ago."
My smile
widens. "Good. You should have told me sooner."
"You say that
you want him to be true to himself but you don't live up to your own
expectations. You pretend not to worry
but it's obvious that you do."
I nod slightly. "Logic tells me I shouldn't worry."
"This isn't
about logic."
My nod is
stronger this time. I push the rationale
away and let myself feel for a moment the emotions that lie beneath it. "I'm afraid of losing him."
She's opening her mouth to speak already, but when I answer
she hesitates.
"The way you'd
asked the question I would have expected that you were already aware of its
answer."
She gives her
head the slightest shake. "No, I did I
just...didn't expect you to admit it."
Quite honestly
neither did I. "You should not make
assumptions about me. You don't know me
well enough."
"Does anyone?"
I offer a
slight smile. "You should call the guard
back in."
She stands,
puts the chair against the far wall. She
glances at her watch. "You're right, I
didn't realize we'd been talking this long.
I'll go get him."
"I'd suggest
screaming loudly that I'm trying to murder you."
She doesn't
laugh, and I didn't really expect her to.
"I would but he'd probably shoot me on accident."
"Are you
coming back tomorrow?"
"I don't
really have a choice."
"Thanks for
bringing me word on my brother."
She looks back
at me quickly as she opens the door. Mutters
a soft, "You're welcome," and lets the guard back in the room.
Her smile is
gone when I see her again; her eyes are worried, almost hurt. The tension sweeps over me in a wave, and I
know even if I tried to focus it would take more effort than I could make to
find him in the midst of it. "How is he?"
"He's awake."
Her eyes go
strangely blank as she speaks, but I relax immediately. "Do you think I could talk this guy into
letting me out of here long enough to go see him?"
She looks away
quickly, unintentionally, voice even more direct. "He doesn't want to see you. He told me so himself."
I'm amazed
that words can sting as much as these, and yet I'm not surprised by them, not
really. "Yes, well that does sound like
Vash. He's always been one to run from
his problems rather than confronting them."
They are harsher than I had intended.
"You fucking
shot him, Knives. He tried so hard not
to kill you and you shot him. You have
no right to be angry about this."
"So he's just
planning on leaving me here like this?"
"If I have any
say in it he'll leave you here to rot or let the law deal with you. I guarantee they won't be as lenient as he is."
"Well this isn't
fucking up to you, Meryl." I'm on
my feet, so much taller than her this way but she doesn't shy away.
"I don't know
what he plans to do." She walks towards
the door, stops before, stares me down as she speaks to the guard. "Make sure he's never left alone. And stay armed. You'll need it."
Shadows are odd things...the way that they move, grow, fade in
and out of existence. When I lay on the
bed facing the window all I can see is the sky and those shadows and the light
reflected on the packed mud ceiling. Those
shadows are long, robust. The sky behind
them glows a dark red. Earlier those
rays lay across my chest, warm, but now they grow weaker. The wind that blows through the window is
cool. The hair on my arms stands against
it but I don't cover myself, just let it brush over me, stare at that red,
those shadows, in constant battle. For
now the shadows will win.
The door to the outside opens, but I have felt his proximity
already. As his footsteps echo down the
hallway my eyes drift to the door. He
opens it, speaking to another man I've never seen, laughing as he comes in. His eyes see me on the bed, and for just a
moment they seem hurt and he looks away, thanks the man at the door for his
concern.
He's still weak but he's trying to hide it. It's in the way he walks, his steps not quite
sure. The stiff way he holds himself
betrays the pain. I look to the window
again, the deeper red, the longer shadows.
Another gust blows across my face, gets caught in my hair and moves away.
He stops in front of my
cell. The guard comes to his feet. It's the kid again, and he stammers as he
speaks. "Mr. Vash, sir, I'm glad to see
you doing better. I just wanted to tell
you that we did as asked and kept Mr. Knives under armed guard to be sure that
he wouldn't escape."
Vash leans against the bars, smiles. I don't suppose it would be worth
mentioning to him that if you had wanted you would have made it out of here
whether he was armed or not.
I shake my head slightly.
"How have they been treating you here?"
I rise to a sitting position, turn to face him.
His smile wavers for just a second, then returns. "Man, have they been feeding you? You look like crap."
"I don't need to be fed like a dog in a cage."
That frown threatens to come out again. Knives, you should really eat. What about if I brought you something?
"Why don't you take me out of here instead?"
His eyes break from mine.
"Are you kidding? The doctor didn't
even want me to come down here. But
I'll try to get you out soon. As soon as
I can convince the doctor that I'm well enough to leave."
I know that it has nothing to do with the doctor. If Vash feels himself well enough to leave,
Vash will leave. A smile can't hide
frailty. I don't answer, find myself
staring at the wall, the dark shadows that creep there in greater and greater
numbers.
Knives..?
Get the fuck
out of my head.
I look out the window, the red turning to blue.
Neither of us speaks, and when he finally does his voice hasn't
lost the falseness. "I guess it is
getting late, don't want the doctor to have to come looking for me. I'll come back sometime soon and see how you're
doing."
I'm silent still, eyes not leaving the window. He leaves without waiting on an answer,
probably knowing that he would not receive one.
When I know he can't see me anymore I turn my head, watch him go through
that door. I lie back on the cot, stare
up at the shadows that have all but taken over the room. With a flip of a switch the desk lamp is
turned on and they change position, settling into their new homes for the night. I pull the blanket up to my waist, cover my
eyes with my arm. It's amazing how
little there is to push away.
I'm startled awake by a sound I can't quite pinpoint. I'm opening my eyes when I hear it again,
softer this time, a clap.
"Come on, Sunshine, time to wake up. We've got to get going."
I roll onto my side, squinting at the light as I try to focus
on him. "What?"
He smiles, leans against the bars, twirls a small key on his
finger. "I'm bustin' you out of here." The sheriff stands a few feet behind him, holding
his own set of keys in his hands.
I sit up, run a hand through my hair as I yawn. "Really?"
"Yup, just finished talking it over with the sheriff here."
The sheriff doesn't look at me.
"Yeah and I want to make sure you keep up your part of the bargain."
Vash nods, smile fading as he reaches into his pocket and pulls
out a small roll of bills. "Here ya go. This should cover everything right?"
The sheriff takes the money, counts the bills before pocketing
them. "Yeah. You have an hour and a half and I want you
out of this town for good. If I ever see
either one of you back here I won't be afraid to shoot first and ask questions
later."
He walks over to the cell, finally looks me straight in the eye
as he turns the key in the lock. "That
goes especially for you."
I say nothing, step for the first time in over a week from
behind the bars. Vash rests a hand on my
back, gives me the slightest nudge.
The sheriff stands still.
His abhorrence of me has actually seems to overcome the fear that's kept
him away since that first night. Vash
pushes me out the door, offers a wave and a quick, "Thanks again, Sheriff. I really do appreciate it," as we leave.
As soon as we're out he sighs, slows his pace. "Well I'll bet you're glad to be away from
there. I have a room not far from here. We can stop there, give you a chance to clean
up before we have to be leaving."
I nod, wishing that I could hide the handcuffs around my wrist. The people on the street stop and stare as we
walk past. I can hear their whispers
begin as soon as they leave their range of sight.
"Just ignore them."
Easier said than done. He
leans closer. "Think of it this way,
Knives. We're the most interesting thing
that's happened in this town in years. Can
you really blame them?"
"You've really spent
years of your life living with this?"
He nods, doesn't really look to me as he talks, keeps his voice
low. "Yeah. After awhile you just try to accept it."
He smiles at an older woman as he walks by, tips his head to
her. "Hello, Hilda, its nice to see you're
feeling better."
She offers a strained smile and walks a little faster.
I step aside to let someone pass, hold the handcuffs closer to
my body. "I've generally considered
myself quite good at blending in with a crowd."
He chuckles, tugs on my arm as he turns into an alley. "Yeah, I've never been much for blending into
a crowd have I?"
We walk down the alley a few more feet before stopping in front
of a door marked with a faded red sign reading "Staff Entrance Only". He knocks lightly. I look back towards the street, expecting to
see them staring down the alley, but the people already seem to have forgotten
that we were even there. After a moment
the door opens. The woman who answers is
tiny, face creased with age, her hair a decent balance of salt and pepper.
She steps aside to let us through, eyes me skeptically at
first, but when she looks back towards Vash her eyes are trusting.
"Thanks again, Mildred for doing this for me."
"I told you already there's no need thanking me. It's better this way anyway, the other
customers' don't need to know that you're here.
Your girlfriends went out shortly after you left, said to tell you they'd
finish with the preparations."
He starts going up a short flight of stairs. "I guess I'd better hurry then. You don't want to see the temper on those two
when they have to wait on me."
The stairway is dark, dingy, but when he finally opens the door
at the end of the narrow corridor, the hallway it opens into is bright, clear. The walls are whitewashed, the floor recently
mopped tile. Even the light that
filters through the sheer curtains seems whiter, cleaner.
He pulls a key out of his pocket and opens the closest door.
The room itself is much larger than I had anticipated. There is a dining area with a small round
table, already set with food in covered plates.
The dining room opens into a living room, complete with a couch and
armchair and radio on a wooden table.
Vash steps inside, motions towards two other doors. "There's a private bathroom through here, and
the bedroom is in here." He opens the
doors as he speaks, and though the rooms are small, for a hotel they are almost
extravagant. Especially for a town of
this size.
"You must have spent a fortune on this."
He shakes his head, smiles.
"Mildred has one of the best restaurants I've ever eaten at downstairs. Let's just say I've been a loyal customer
since we arrived. Now let's see what the
girls left us for breakfast."
He uncovers the dishes closest too him. The scent of syrup is overwhelming and my
stomach clutches, somewhere between nauseated and starving. I move to sit down quickly in front of my own.
Waffles. With syrup. And eggs.
It's been so long since I've even thought of food like this. Vash takes a bite of waffle, wipes the syrup
from his lips with the back of his hand.
"Oh, you want me to get those?"
At first I don't register what he's referring too, but he
points to the cuffs with his fork. I
nod, hold out my hands. He pulls out the
same small key he'd been twirling before, turns it in the lock.
They fall to the table and he moves them aside and pours tea
from a pitcher into both our glasses. I
rotate my wrists, enjoying the renewed flexibility. "Thanks."
"Not a problem," he says through a mouthful of food.
I cut the waffle with my fork, bring a bite of it to my lips. Again I'm almost nauseated, but as soon as
the first bite is swallowed the feeling is gone and pure hunger takes over. I cut another slice, wipe my lips with a
cloth napkin. "Where are we going?"
Vash rests his fork against the plate, expression serious. No, not serious. Determined.
"Somewhere I should have gone a long time ago."
"The orphanage?"
He nods, slightly surprised.
"I need to tell them about...what happened to him. I doubt they know."
Probably not. When
people like Wolfwood die, the authorities don't look for a next of kin. "Are you sure you want to take me along for
that?"
He smiles weakly. The
pain is still there. Knowing Vash it
will be a long time before he can think of that man without it. "What do you expect me to do? Leave you here? Just because you don't want
to hang around a bunch of children for a week?"
"Well yeah I was hoping."
Actually, being forced to deal with the children seems almost a fair
trade for not having to spend another week in that jail.
"Trust me if it were up to the girls I would. But no, you're coming with us. I'm not leaving you here alone."
"Are you sure you want to have me around a bunch of children?"
He sips his tea, smiles at me. "You aren't getting out of this
one, Knives."
I nod. "I thought not."
I eat slowly and he's finished long before I am. He stands from the table, walks to the window
in the living room, watches the street below.
He seems anxious, and it takes me a moment to realize the reason. I finally push my chair away from the table
and he looks back to me, smiles again. "Are
you finished? Why don't you go ahead and
take a shower, get yourself cleaned up. We
still have plenty of time."
I nod, open the bathroom door.
He waits at the window for another moment before coming back. I've closed the door halfway as I undress,
and he pushes it open, points to the towels hanging obviously from a rack. "There's clean towels there for you to use. A razor in the cabinet." I nod, understanding that the point of the
gesture was not so much to inform as to tell me in not so many words to leave
the door open. He's not a stupid man.
I finish undressing, step into the small square box that serves
as a shower and turn on the spray. Its
cold at first, but in heat like this cold is welcomed. I tip my head under it, lean against the wall
as the water courses over me. I missed
the smell of water.
I take my time, washing the last of the sand from my hair,
rinsing away the filth that's accumulated over the past week with nothing but a
sink to rinse in. My hand pauses over
the scar on my chest, fingers brush over the puckered flesh. I feel for its twin in my shoulder, look
down at my leg where the water pours around the risen tissue. They won't fade quickly. Scars like that take time to heal. It seems odd however, to see them on my flesh.
I finally turn the handle and the water stops. I pull the curtain open, reach for the towel,
kick my dirty clothes away with a toe as I shake the water from my hair and
towel dry.
I finally stop in front of the mirror, wipe the surface clean
before wrapping the towel around my waist.
The fog only smears, but with the door open the steam clears out quickly
and the streaks shrivel into nothingness.
I shave away the thin beard, look at myself for the first time
in a month. My hair has grown, much more
than I had realized. Damp, it almost reaches my chin. It looks so much like his. Even the shades match. I reach up, touch my cheeks. I've lost weight, and yet even that is
identical. Only the darker circles under
my eyes, the thicker lines bordering them, stand out. I shake my hair free and run my hands through
it, smooth it back away from my face, look from my reflection to him, sitting
at the table, gazing into space.
He senses me. "There's a
set of clothes in the bedroom for you to change into."
I open the bedroom door, know enough to leave it open as I change. There's a new pair of pants on the bed, dull
grey but not faded, a light blue shirt to go with them. I'm buttoning the shirt as he walks to me,
stands in the door frame. "Is the blue
okay? I didn't know if you still liked
it or not."
I nod, open my mouth to reply when there is a knock on the door.
He motions me to come closer, calls, "Just a minute," to
whoever's on the other side. He picks up
the handcuffs and I hold out my arms.
"What are you
doing in there, Vash, we don't have all day."
I smile weakly
as I tuck in the shirt. At least she is
just as antagonistic towards him.
He unlocks the door. "Geez
Meryl, you say that like you've been waiting all day."
"Are you ready to go?"
"Just about."
He gathers my dirty clothes, stuffs them into his bag.
"You don't have that taken care of yet? You've had more than enough time to get ready."
"What ever happened to 'Good morning, Vash, nice to see you,
Vash.'?"
She simply glares at him.
"Well why don't you two come in while I get the rest of my
stuff together. It shouldn't take more
than a minute. That's not too long is
it?"
She comes inside, stands beside the table. Millie follows her, sits behind her in the
chair Vash had previously occupied. They
don't speak. Meryl watches me like a
hawk with an expression that makes it clear that if I so much as move wrong she
isn't afraid to hurt me. Millie stares
at me until I meet her gaze and looks away quickly, embarrassed. I must look even more like him than I had
realized to get such a response from her.
It takes Vash less than his allotted minute to return, and he
stands beside me. "I'm ready? You guy's ready?"
Meryl sighs. "Yes of
course we're ready. We have the car
waiting downstairs."
Meryl leads the way back out the corridor to the back stairs.
"So does anyone know how far it is to December?"
"Almost four hundred iles I think,"
"More like three fifty, Millie," Meryl corrects.
"Wouldn't it be faster to bypass the city?"
The three of them turn, stare up at me. The girls are silent. It's clear that I'm not a welcome member in
the conversation. Finally Vash speaks. "The girls have some business to take care of
in December. So we're going to stop
there first. Meryl, did you already check
out with Mildred?"
"Yes, Vash. Over an hour
ago."
He rests a hand on her shoulder. "Then why don't you two take him to the car
and I'll go check out."
She looks up at him, hesitates, and finally says, "Come on,
Knives, we're parked right out front."
We exit into the same alley and they lead me to the front of
the building. The car is the same one
that visited the cave. The metal is free
of paint, just the dull grey of oxidized steel.
The trunk isn't latched, tied instead with two lengths of rope. Meryl walks to the driver's side. "You can sit in the back."
I make myself comfortable but the two of them keep standing
beside the car, waiting on Vash, finally opening their doors as he approaches. Meryl slips the key into the ignition and
turns it as Vash runs towards the car. It
sputters but doesn't turn over, and she hits the dashboard, curses under her
breath and tries again. Vash doesn't
slow, puts a hand on the door and jumps it, smiles as he sits beside me.
"I swear, Vash if this car breaks down before we make it there you're
going to be the one walking back for help, got that?"
She pulls into the street before he has a chance to answer. She's not always like that you know.
Yes she is.
He winces as she hits a bump.
"Are you sure you don't want me to drive?"
Already the wind is whipping around us, and her voice barely
travels back. "What? So you can get us all killed?"
He leans back in the seat.
You're certain they have to come with us?
He laughs. "Yeah I'm
sure. Besides it's their job."
The evening air is cool
as we begin to draw near the city. The
winds are calmer in this part of the desert; the sand moves slowly in its wake. The hum of the car is just a low vibration
beneath the air rushing past me. It's
not silent, but it's consistent. Peaceful.
Vash sleeps beside me, head rested against the seat back, mouth
hanging slightly open. The short one is
in the front, turned slightly sideways in her seat, head tucked against her
hands. In her sleep she almost looks
serene, the bitterness less evident on her features.
We pass another behemoth outcropping and from behind the
indistinct undulation of the horizon the profile of buildings finally begin to
emerge. Millie's eyes follow them and she sighs.
A few minutes later I can make out the silhouette of a sign,
dingy and no longer legible, but out here there is only one place that sign can
mark. She slows and turns the wheel.
I nudge Vash's foot, but he doesn't wake. Vash.
He doesn't answer, doesn't show that he's even heard me. Vash, wake up. He almost looks puzzled for a moment as
he opens his eyes, blinks at me.
"We're almost there."
He looks away, stretches his arms, still not quite certain what's
going on until he looks to the east and sees the buildings. He sits a little straighter, watches them
grow.
After a moment he leans forward, touches Meryl's arm. She jumps as she wakes. "You're home," he whispers. She looks to the city, smiles.
The buildings are tall, some of the tallest on this world, and
the tall ones stretch to the edges of the town.
We enter below them like some great arch, a passage to a much more
ancient land.
The illusion fades, however, as we reach the center of the city.
Adobe and brick are replaced with towers of concrete and steel. These buildings were designed by an
architect, someone with enough knowledge to create an echo of the structures on
earth, but the shadows are no match for the originals. Ionic columns are interspersed haphazardly
with modern facades, and though they may be impressive, they lack the unity to
be called beautiful.
The sidewalks are crowded; half a dozen other cars make their
way down the streets. She finally pulls
to a stop in front of one of the larger buildings, puts the vehicle in park and
gets out, opens my door for me before walking to the sidewalk. I follow, look up at the large cement
stairway as Meryl speaks.
"Okay, Vash, you know where you're going right? Down that way until you reach 13th,
then turn right and go three blocks-"
He waves a hand. "I know
where we're going, don't worry about it."
She eyes him wearily and then nods. "Okay, I'm leaving it up to you to get us
checked in. We shouldn't be too long. And Vash, do me a favor? Try not to draw attention to yourself,
okay? If my boss finds out I brought you
here I'll lose my job. And-oh God,
Knives."
She shrugs the trench coat from her shoulders, folds it
lengthwise. I'm somewhat surprised to
see that she appears to be unarmed beneath it.
"Hold out your hands."
I don't respond immediately, and she waits silently until I do,
loops the coat over them.
"There, that's better. Okay
we'll see you back in a bit?"
Vash tilts his head, sighs.
"Yes, we'll come right back here and pick you up. You don't want to have to wait."
I half expect her to be angry with him, but instead she smiles
slightly. "Good. And Vash?
Park on the next street over. I
don't want anyone from the office to see you."
He stands straighter, salutes.
"Aye, aye, Captain."
She smiles again. "Come
on, Millie, we don't want to be too late, we know how cranky the boss can be
when he's working overtime."
She giggles, waves to us and the two make their way up the
stairs to the entrance of the building. Vash
jumps the door again, more gracefully this time, and takes his place behind the
wheel. I sit beside him as he adjusts
the seat. "God, how did that girl get so
tall?"
I shrug, adjust the trench coat so it lies flat against my legs. He smiles, revs the engine. "Ready to go?"
I don't answer and he pulls into the street, speeding past the
crowds of people. At this point, I'm not
sure he even knows the meaning of the word inconspicuous.
The sign out front marks the building a hotel, proclaims that
they offer clean rooms, dining, and the cheapest rates in town. Not likely to be true, considering the
chances of a single establishment qualifying for all three. We walk into the large foyer.
"Want to wait here while I get us checked in?"
I nod and he goes to the counter. I stand by the glass, watching the throngs of
people as they walk past. We are out of
place in a city like this. Only Meryl's
coat seems to match the stylish, tailored people who walk past. I unfold a wrinkle of it, pull the edges
higher to be sure that the metal on my wrists is covered. I'm not sure why I bother, though. Watching as they march past, they don't even
look our way. True to a city. Arrogant bastards. It's as though the only thing that matters to
any of them is what is happening to them at that particular moment. I could probably be walking down the streets
with the cuffs uncovered and not even get a second glance. The smaller towns are where things like that
stand out. Here, in the cities, it's
just turn your head and keep on walking.
Feigned ignorance.
"All set. Let's go pick
up the girls."
I break myself away from those people, nod compliantly.
He parks on a street parallel to the
building as told. It's getting dark
enough that the crowds are starting to thin.
Vash jumps onto the hood. I walk
to stand beside him, not minding that it means standing in the middle of the
street. I lean against the jeep, still
warm from the engine's heat, listen to the tinks of cooling metal.
The air has cooled considerably in just the short time since we've
arrived. The suns are low on the
horizon, massive bleeding orbs behind the dark silhouettes of buildings. I don't look to him when I speak, instead
watch their steady descent. "You've been
here before?"
It takes a moment for his stare to break away from the sunset. "Hm?
Oh...yeah. It's been a long time
though."
I nod.
For a few moments we are both silent. "See that building over there?"
He points to a structure a block and a half away. I nod.
"When I was first here that building was the edge of town." His voice softens slightly. "It was before the naming of the cities."
The streetlamps flicker on one at a time. "That was a long time
ago."
"It's amazing that it could have grown so much. It doesn't feel like the same place, does
it?"
I shake my head, despite
the fact that the last time I was here the city was already growing into the
monstrosity it has become.
"When were you here?"
I shift my weight between feet, lean back against the car. "About forty years ago. I stayed here on business."
"I probably don't want to know what kind of business, do I?"
I smile slightly. "No,
probably not."
He watches the building opposite us. "I wonder how much longer they're going to be."
I shrug. "What are they
doing in there?"
"Talking to their boss I presume."
"About you?"
"Probably."
"What are they telling him?"
He leans back, sighs quietly.
"I don't know. I don't keep track
of what they tell their boss about me....but probably that I'm dead."
My eyes are questioning as I look to him.
He smiles slightly, pulls out his sunglasses and slips them on. "The girls are coming."
They run quickly across the street. His smile broadens. "What took you so long? We've been waiting out here forever."
Meryl holds out a hand. "I'll
drive us to the hotel."
He twirls the keys, catches them in his palm. "No way, sweetcheeks. You gave me the keys, you think I'm going to
let you have them back that easily?
He opens the door, turns the key in the ignition. The car purrs back to life. "Coming?"
"Shotgun!" Millie
shouts, and Meryl finally sighs, opens the back door for me, and joins us.
Vash walks back to the
car carrying awashed-out, red ten-gallon canister, removes the contents of the
trunk to set it into place. I sit in the
back seat, watching the suns rise as the rest finish preparing for the trip.
Meryl stands to the side, unfolding a map. She holds it closer to her face, squints.
"Vash are you sure it's even on this map? I don't see it."
He grunts as he lifts the second canister. "That's what the man inside said. Every outpost for a four hundred ile radius."
"I've looked at the whole thing. It could be this dot here..."
He stands next to her, looks over her shoulder. "No, that's just a dot. It should be marked."
"Well I don't see anything marked."
He lifts the canister into the back. The car dips slightly with its weight. "Let me take a look at it."
She hands it over, taps her foot impatiently. "Maybe we should just go back inside and ask
for directions."
"The man in there didn't know where it was, either, Meryl. That's why he gave us the map."
She takes it back, frown deepening. Millie leans against the hood, folds her arms
across her chest. "Maybe we could ask
your family, Meryl. They might know."
She shakes her head. "No,
this isn't the sort of place they would know about."
"I know how to get there."
The three turn to face me.
"If we leave the way we came in and drive north there's a road
for about a hundred and forty iles. After
that it's northeast through the desert for much of the way, but it's mostly
bedrock out there, the car should be able to make it without any trouble."
Meryl looks back up at me, closes the map. "And how would you know?"
"I've been there before."
There is a moment of silence where the tension hangs heavily in
the air. Finally Vash smiles, takes the
map from her. "Well, that solves the
problem. Can you show us where it is on
the map?"
Meryl hangs back as he opens the map in front of me.
She was right, there's hardly anything on it. I point to a spot above the city. "It's around here."
Millie leans over the map as well. I point to a thin line that trails north of
the city. "This is the main road."
"That's a road?"
I nod to her. "Not much of one, but yeah."
Vash takes the map back, examines it. "There isn't a road that goes all the way
through?"
I shake my head. "There probably used to be. Not many people travel out this way. There's a road once you start getting closer,
but if there was ever one in between it was wiped out years ago."
Vash begins to fold the map. "Well what are we waiting for then, let's go"
Meryl doesn't move. "I still think we should ask for directions."
Vash tosses the last of our belongings
into the trunk, begins to tie it closed again.
"We know which way to go, so there isn't a problem."
"No offense, Vash, but I don't trust him
that much."
He pulls one of the ropes tight, pauses in
tying it as he looks up at her, expression serious. I'm not sure that he really trusts me much
himself, though he obviously doesn't seem to approve of the fact that she is
questioning me so openly. He answers
quietly. "I do."
"There's
a lot of desert out there, Vash. We have
a limited supply of gas and nothing in between, no way to call for help. I don't want to get out there just to find
out that this was all some setup."
I face forward in the seat.
Millie frowns slightly. "I have to agree with Meryl, Vash. What if he's wrong?"
I see him look at me from the corner of my
eye. I speak when he starts to open his
mouth. "We can sit here and argue about
it if you like, or go try to find someone in this town who knows what the hell
you're talking about, but either way if we keep this up much longer it's going
to be dark before we get there, and I personally do not want to be stuck in the
middle of the desert tonight."
Vash finishes off the last of the knots. "He's right.
We've already wasted more time on this than we should have. We have enough supplies that if we do get
lost we can stay the night. And we
should have enough gas to get us back here without any trouble. If we go and he's wrong then tomorrow morning
we turn around and go back the way we came."
He opens the driver's side door, turns on the ignition. The girls both hesitate, but the look he
gives them says that he's made his decision.
Meryl reluctantly climbs in beside me.
You'd better be right on this.
I smile slightly. Of course I'm right.
He drives for the next few hours in relative silence. The main road is sand covered at points but
the car covers the distance without any difficulty. When we get closer to the turn off I start
watching the horizon. I doubt there will
be a sign marking it. Finally in the
distance I can see the outline of an outcropping, three pillars.
Turn now.
He glances at me in the rearview mirror. Are you sure?
Yeah.
See the pillars?
He looks to horizon. Yeah.
Follow that. About thirty iles past it is where the road
picks back up.
He nods, turns the car as instructed. The girls look up, watch anxiously as we turn
away from the road and enter into the mouth of the open desert.
He drives until the pillars are obvious on the horizon, looks
away from the sand long enough to speak.
"I'm getting tired, anyone else want to drive?"
Meryl moves from her position scrunched against the door, leans
forward and holds out a hand. "I do!"
He slows the car to a stop and she opens the door. He climbs over the front seats to join me.
"Gosh, Vash didn't you ever learn to use a door?"
He smiles at her. "Just
follow that outcropping of rocks, there should be a road a few iles past."
She looks into the distance.
"The three?"
He nods and she starts driving again. He leans back against the seat, closes his
eyes.
They're very trusting of you.
Yeah, and hopefully I'm not giving them
any reason not to be.
I don't answer immediately, watch as she brings the car up to
speed. Even she is cautious out here,
driving through the thin sands. I make
sure that she is following the outcropping and finally turn back him.
She loves you, you know.
He sighs, opens his eyes and stares out into the distance. Yeah, I know.
Do you love her?
He hesitates. I don't
know.
How can you not know something like that?
He finally looks back at me.
I can't be what she wants me to be.
I'm not convinced that he even knows what she wants from him,
but I nod anyway. She threatened to
kill me, you know. If you didn't make it.
He actually laughs slightly.
Yeah, that doesn't surprise me.
Though the one you'd really have needed to worry about is the tall one.
Millie?
Yeah, that girl packs one hell of a punch. You don't want to get on her bad side.
I look at the woman in the front seat. She's calmed considerably and now studies the
open deserts. She's afraid of me.
He laughs again. Millie? No. She
hates you. She doesn't say anything to
you about it out of respect for me. Give
her time though; she'll warm up to you. She's
already starting to. She's not one to
hold a grudge.
I'm not particularly certain that I want her to warm up to me. I see Meryl's eyes in the rearview mirror,
watching us. "What are you two talking
about back there?"
I hold back a laugh. Vash
leans forward between the seats. "Your
driving."
She smiles. "You have a
problem with my driving? You're the one
that handed over the keys buddy."
"Yeah, but do you have to hit every bump in the road? A fellow can't get any sleep back here."
She doesn't respond, turns the wheel slightly, being sure that
the next bump is hit hard enough to shake our seats. Even Millie laughs.
Vash has renewed his position as driver when we finally start
getting close enough to see the structure.
The girls are visibly relieved, and I have to admit that I am too. It's already getting close to dark, and they
were right about this part of the desert; there's hardly anything out here, and
once the light is gone finding any type of landmark is nearly impossible.
As we get closer the road becomes more distinct, and the last
couple of iles the sand has even been cleared away from it, as though someone
has come out with a sweeper truck.
The orphanage is made up of a series of buildings, most small
and weathered, showing their age. The
most impressive however is the main building of the complex, a large cathedral-like
structure that's at least forty feet high, complete with a stained glass rose
window. Part of it likely holds a
chapel, though it almost seems a waste to offer such an extravagant church for
so small a group of people.
The place seems deserted at first, perfectly silent but for the
wind. We get out of the car, stand
beside it and stretch our legs. I can
see a few children running between two of the buildings. They are older kids, at least ten or eleven,
and a few moments later an older woman follows after them, walking much slower. She sees us and let's the children go.
Vash begins to walk towards her, and the girls hesitate, unsure
as to whether or not they are supposed to follow. Instead we wait.
The woman meets him halfway between the car and the cathedral,
wraps her arms around herself and rubs them through the long sleeves of her
dress as though it is cold. She looks at
him questioningly, though her eyes already know the answers.
"He's not coming back is he?"
It's almost a statement.
Vash is somewhat taken aback by her bluntness, though I doubt she
notices.
He shakes his head, offers a sympathetic, "No."
"I didn't think he would.
He's never gone for this long without sending word."
"I'm sorry-"
"Don't be. How did it
happen?"
She looks away as she asks.
He hesitates, as though unsure of how to answer. When he does he looks away as well. "He was protecting his friends."
They don't make eye contact again. She hugs herself tighter. "I need to go talk to my superior. And we'll have to let the children know. I suppose you were planning on staying the
night?"
He nods.
She looks in my direction.
I don't recall meeting her, but the look she gives me is less than
inviting.
"I'm going to have to ask you to wait out here."
He nods again, looks back at us as she walks away. The girls make their way to him, and after a
moment I follow.
Meryl is the first to break the silence.
"So now what do we do?"
He shrugs, leans against the wall. "We wait out here."
On the other side of the door is a plaque of carved stone. Millie stands in front of it, traces the
letters with one hand. "They'll let us
stay, won't they?"
"I don't see why they wouldn't."
The girls both look my direction but say nothing. I ignore them. Millie goes back to the sign, reads the
letters on it in a lilting voice. "Pace
in ire. That doesn't make any sense."
Meryl turns, looks at the words herself. I stand behind them. "Pa-kay.
It's a hard c. Pa-kay in i-ray is
the proper pronunciation. It's Latin. It means go in peace."
"What's Latin?"
Vash joins us. "It's an
old language they used to speak on Earth.
I didn't know you spoke Latin. Where
did you learn?"
"The computers. They had
files on over two hundred languages."
Millie's eyes widen. "Do
you know all of them?"
I give a slight laugh. "No. I'm fluent in eight. Bits and pieces of a few more."
Even Meryl looks slightly taken aback. "I didn't even know there were that many
languages spoken on this planet."
"There aren't. Only six,"
Vash says.
"Seven," I correct. "There's
one family in April that speaks Korean."
He leans against the wall.
"Really? I didn't know that. Parles-tu français?"
"Oui. Spricht du
Deutsch ?
"Ich weiss bischen Deutsch."
"Nihongo hanaseru ka?"
He smiles. "Not a clue. What's that one?"
"Japanese."
Millie claps her hands together. "Say something else!"
I smile, instead speak softly.
"She's back."
They turn the direction of my eyes, see the woman standing in
the door frame. She is younger than I
had realized, probably not much older than the girls, but her face is weary. "You can come inside now."
We follow her into a thin hallway lined with half-open doors. She lowers her voice. "I'm going to have to ask you to be quiet and
not wander around. The children are just
finishing up with dinner and then we're going to send them to bed."
Meryl nods. "Yes, ma'am.
You don't have to worry about us.
I didn't catch your name."
The woman continues down the hall. "Shirley."
I can hear children talking, voices intermingled into a single
resonance. The sound grows louder as we
approach the open doors of the dining hall.
The children sit at long tables. A
woman claps twice, again, and most of the children quiet and look up at her. "Children.
I have something important I need to discuss with you and I need
everyone's attention."
We pass and the room quiets.
When she finally talks again her voice is too muffled to hear. The woman leads us out a back door, beneath a
covered breezeway to a smaller building a few feet away.
"I'm sorry but this is the best we can do in terms of
accommodations. We weren't expecting
visitors. The rooms aren't much but the
sheets are clean."
We enter into a house, complete with a kitchen and sizeable
living area with three worn couches. Five
more doors branch off the main room. She
opens one. "This is Janice's room, but
she is going to be in town for the next few days, and I don't think she'd mind
you staying here. It isn't much, but I'll
bring in an extra cot."
She walks down a few
more doors, opens that one as well. The
room is sparse, a single bed, walls bare except for the pale outline where a
cross once hung. There is a thin layer
of dust covering the dresser and bedposts, the stale smell of stagnant air. She props the glass window open. "We haven't used this one in awhile, but it
will have to do." She opens the closet,
tugs on a stack of thin cotton blankets, hands a set to the girls and tosses
another onto the bed. "The bathroom is
two doors down. There's running water,
but I should warn you, it won't offer you much, the pump isn't very strong and
we've been having problems with it for the past few weeks."
Vash traces a letter "v" in the dust on the dresser with a
finger. He pulls it away, blows the
grey fluff into the air. "I can try to
tinker with it while we're here if you'd like."
She nods at him. "That
would be nice. It's difficult to get a
repairman out here. I'll go get the cots. Have you eaten already?"
Vash shakes his head.
"I'll have someone bring dinner in for you then as well."
"Do you think I could have a word with...Adele, is it? Tonight?"
She hesitates.
"We brought some supplies.
And I'd like to discuss a few things with her in person if that's
alright."
"I guess that would be alright.
I'll let her know that you want to speak with her."
"Is it alright if we go ahead and unload the jeep?"
She nods. "Yes, just try
not to disturb the children."
By the time we've unloaded everything she has returned with
food. A teenage boy is setting up the
second cot in the bedroom that will serve as mine and Vash's. Shirley beckons Vash to follow her.
It's completely dark outside, and the night beyond the
uncovered windows is seamless. I wait
for the boy to leave before sliding Meryl's coat from my hands and offering it
back to her. The two girls have already
sat down to their bowls of soup, and I join them at the small coffee table, eat
quickly in silence.
Vash still hasn't returned by the time we finish. Millie takes the bowls out to the kitchen
sink. When she returns she stretches,
yawns. "I'm so exhausted."
Meryl echoes the yawn with a smaller one. "It's all the traveling. For some reason it always manages to do that
to you."
"How much longer do you think Mr. Vash will be?"
Meryl shrugs.
"I think I'm going to go ahead and turn in. Are you coming Meryl?"
She shakes her head, yawns again. "No, I'll wait on Vash to come back. You can have the bed if you'd like."
Millie grins, closes the door behind her.
"You can go to bed you know."
She leans back against the thick couch. "Knives, you and I both know that I don't
trust you nearly as much as Vash does. I'm
not going to leave you alone in this place for one second."
I lean back. "I may not
be in that prison anymore but you sure as hell can't tell."
She lowers her voice to match my own. "You aren't a free man, Knives."
"I know, but do you have to keep fucking reminding me?"
I look out the window into the darkness beyond. "I wasn't lying when I told you I'd been here
before. I didn't go killing any of the
children then did I?"
"Probably because it was more convenient for you not to at the
time."
I can't deny the truth of that statement. "Have you always been this much of a bitch?"
She meets my stare head on.
"What can I say, you bring out the best in me."
I stand, walk towards the bedroom.
"Where do you think you're going?"
I spread the blanket out over the bed, kick my shoes off and
slide them beneath it. "You aren't the
only one who spent the whole fucking day in a car. I'm tired.
I'm going to get some sleep. If
you're that concerned about it then you can sit over there and watch me."
I'm not really expecting her too, but she follows me, sits on
the cot. I lie down, roll onto my side
and face the wall. I wish that the
situation was different, that I could teach her a good lesson in humility. I sigh.
More than anything I wish that I could have at least a little bit of
control back.
I consider slipping out of the handcuffs, knocking her
unconscious and leaving before they have a chance to stop me. I adjust my head on the pillow. No. Vash
was right. I could have left at anytime. I made a choice to stay here and follow him. And I'm staying until I can understand why.
I'm still lying awake when I hear the front door groan as Vash
returns. The cot squeaks as Meryl stands.
"Hey what are you doing in here?" he says quietly.
"Just wanted to keep an eye on him 'til you got back."
"Thanks. Why don't you
go get some rest? You look tired."
She leaves the room and he sighs as he sits.
"We're going to have to do something about that woman."
He hesitates before answering.
"Yeah, okay. I'll have a talk
with her in the morning."
I don't say anything else, lie awake until the last of the
frustration is finally outweighed by exhaustion.
The entire complex is filled with the sounds of children
shortly after daybreak. They run outside
the windows, laughs and shouts trailing behind them. I sit on the bed in the closed room until I
hear the doors open and close and I know that at least some of the others have
left before venturing out into the living area.
Vash stands by himself, looking at the line of photographs
hanging on the wall, colors faded from the sunlight that filters through the
windows. "I talked to Meryl."
"How did that go?"
He finally looks my way.
"She's not very happy about it. She
thinks I'm being careless and naïve for trusting you. Told me again all the reasons why I shouldn't
have brought you here to begin with."
"And you told her...?"
He sighs. "That it's my
decision to make and not hers. And that
she should have a little more faith in my judgment."
I stand beside him, look at the picture. It's a large group shot, only five adults and
at least fifty children. I recognize
Shirley almost immediately, though she looks much younger in this picture. In the back stands Wolfwood, holding a small
girl off the ground so that she is taller than the other children.
"You said that you were here before."
I nod.
"Why?"
"Because people are more likely to follow orders when you hold
something like their family in your hands."
He frowns. If he doesn't
want to know the truth then he should not ask the question.
"What were his orders."
"To protect you."
"I thought you sent them to kill me."
My voice is flat. "I
never wanted you dead." I walk into the
kitchen, pour myself a glass of water.
Perhaps he has taken the hint that I don't want to discuss it
anymore. In any case he let's the topic
drop.
"I'm going to go help the girls with breakfast. Do you want me to bring you back anything?"
I shake my head.
"I'm assuming that I can trust you to be here when I get back."
"Bright eyed and bushy tailed, as the saying goes."
I spend the next couple of days in the small bare room behind a
closed door. Meryl hasn't spoken to me
or attempted to keep me under twenty-four hour surveillance since she spoke with
Vash, though this is likely mostly due to the efforts I have put into avoiding
her.
On the third day however, I come to a realization. I have hung the thin blanket over the window
to block the view, and the only place the light reaches through freely is the
two uncovered inches at the top. I can't
see the children outside but I can hear them again. Their unceasing chatter is audible for much
of the day. I'm sitting on the bed and a
thought occurs to me. I wish I had
Vash's book.
As soon as the thought suggests itself I'm already pushing it
away. I look around the room. Only my shoes beneath the bed and the rumpled
sheets show that anyone has even stayed here.
It is smaller than the cave, than the jail cell even. When I look at the window I begin to feel
claustrophobic. Even the blanket hung
there, waving in the gentle wind, is like being back there.
There is nothing keeping me here. There is no one standing guard, no lock
holding me in. Nothing but myself. I go to the door, take hold of the knob and
turn it.
The building is deserted, though I've known that already. I go to the front door, open that one as
well, stand at the entrance. It's early
afternoon and most of the children are still inside. A small group plays baseball in front of the
cathedral. Vash stands in the middle of
them, tossing the ball to the boy holding the metal pole they are using as a
bat. The ball comes in slow, but the
child hesitates, misses.
"That was a good try! Next
time swing the bat sooner okay?"
The boy nods. The
catcher returns the ball to Vash. He
waves and I nod at him before disappearing around the corner of the building.
"Hey, Seth, take over as pitcher for a few minutes okay?"
He runs quietly through the sand, catches up to me before I've
reached the far corner. Sweat drips down
his face, but he smiles. "Hey. Nice to see you decided to come out."
"Yeah. Where are the
girls?"
"Inside doing something.
I'm not really sure. Hey, you
wanna play? We could use another man."
I smile, shake my head slowly.
He laughs. "Yeah, I didn't
think you would. I'm gonna go get back
to the game. Stay close okay?"
I nod, finish my circuit of the buildings before finding a
place behind my own that is semi-quiet to lie down , feeling the suns full on
my face. When I close my eyes I can
almost imagine the scent of grass around me, hear the whisper of trees on the
wind.
For the next couple of days I explore the older buildings, find
an old shed with a jeep that's in worse shape than ours. I open the hood, work for a few hours taking
apart the engine. Vash finds me sitting
at a worktable with parts spread out around me.
"Hey I've been looking all over for you."
"Well you found me."
He comes over, picks up a nut, tosses it into the air and
catches it again. "Fixing the car for
them?"
Way to be observant, Vash.
"Yeah."
"That's nice of you, I'm sure they'll appreciate it."
"It's something to do."
"So how's it coming?"
"Needs a new carburetor.
There's a part over there, not quite right but I think I can make it
work."
He nods, rests his elbows on the table and leans back against
it. "Want to help me work on the water pump
later?"
"I already took care of that."
"Really?"
"Yeah. I decided I
wanted a real shower."
He smiles. "Well, thanks
anyway. Saved me the trouble. Come find me sometime in the next couple of
hours. The girls will still be gone, I'll
let you out of those long enough to get that shower."
I nod.
"I'm going to go help the kids get washed up. It's about time for their snack."
He heads back out into the complex and I go back to the engine.
It's evening the next day before I finish it. I touch two wires together and it sputters,
finally turns over. I let it run for a
few minutes until I'm sure that the makeshift carburetor seems to be working. I turn it back off and close the hood.
I open the door of the shack wider, sit in its frame and let
the breeze blow over me. Vash stands a
few feet away, talking to a group of children.
A few run by without looking my way.
One of the smaller boys walks past, stops and doubles back. He can't be more than six years old, face
streaked with sand. "Do you want to play
with me?"
"Not really."
He puts his hands on his hips, pouts at me. "Why are you always playing with him but you
won't play with us?"
"I don't know what you're talking about, kid."
He motions to Vash. "He
says you're playing cops and robbers. If
you play with me I'll let you be the cop.
It's mean that he always makes you be the robber."
"I don't want to play."
He jumps, claps his hands together like he's praying. "Pleeaase?"
I don't answer but he doesn't leave. "How about this? Go get me the keys to these handcuffs and I'll
play with you."
"Yes, sir!"
He runs straight to Vash, not seeming to understand that
subtlety was the desired technique. "Mr.
Vash, he said he'd play with me if I brought him the keys."
He looks back at me. "Did
you really expect this to work?"
I shrug.
He reaches into his pocket, pulls out a key, gives it to the
boy and tousles his light mop of already disheveled hair before patting his
back and sending him to me.
The boy puts it in my hand, squats down in front of me and
watches as I fumble with the lock. "Can
I try?"
I try to insert the key again myself, but realize the child is
probably at a better angle than I am. I
put it in his hand. He holds it
delicately, sticks his tongue out as he leans over my hands and tries to slip
it into the hole. After a second it goes
in, and he gives it a turn. The cuff
falls free. I take the key back and
release the other side.
The kid grabs my hand in his own rough fingers, begins to pull
me toward the front where the other children are playing. I pull away.
He turns around, stomps one foot against the ground. "You promised!"
I look to Vash.
Hey, a promise is a promise.
I look back down at the child.
"I don't really want to play right now."
He looks like he's getting ready to cry, and Vash finally comes
over, squats in front of him. "He's just
tired Sean, he's been working all day. Why
don't you go play with the other kids and maybe Mr. Knives will play with you
tomorrow to make up for it, okay?"
He considers for a moment, then apparently decides that it isn't
worth his time to fight over, mutters an "okay!" and runs off to join the
others.
I give the handcuffs to Vash, follow him to the top of a large
dune where we can sit and still see the children below. "Thanks."
"It wasn't a problem. He's
just playing you anyway."
The girls are below us, tossing a large ball back and forth
between the younger ones.
The breeze is cool, and I close my eyes, lean back on my hands. We sit that way for a few minutes, silent. When I finally look over to him he watches
them below with a smile.
"You're really happy here, aren't you?"
He nods. The smile doesn't
leave his face. "Yeah, I am." I can feel him pushing at the edges of my
thoughts. I let down the barriers to make
it easier for him to get through. "And
you're conflicted."
I look into the distance.
"Yeah, that's one way to put it."
One of the children falls, starts to cry. Meryl stands him up, dusts the sand from his
pants.
"I hate kids."
He laughs. "I know."
"Why did you bring me here?
Did you think that being around the children would suddenly change my
mind about everything?"
He picks up a handful of sand, lets it sift through his fingers. It makes a small cone below. "I already told you why we came here."
"There's more to it than that.
This isn't some fairytale. I'm
not going to miraculously change by being in the presence of a bunch of dirty-faced
children."
He looks down at the pile of sand as the last of it runs from
his palm. "No, I didn't think you would. But I did think it would be good for you."
His eyes leave the sand and he leans back. The wind is already blowing the cone flat. He watches the children below us. Three of them have taken the ball and now
play by themselves in the dwindling light.
The others have joined the girls in a game of tag. When he speaks again his voice is soft.
"Do you see that boy down there? The one in the blue?"
He gestures absentmindedly.
I pick out the one he's talking about, a little older than Sean.
"His entire family was killed in a bank robbery. He was shot and left for dead."
The boy in question is tagged and turns on a heel, chases after
the others.
"What's the point?"
"After everything he's
been through, he's going to be okay. He's
down there playing with the other kids, laughing. This place is gonna give him a second chance
despite all that."
He pauses, listens to the laughter as it is carried up to us. For a second he seems content again.
"He's not the only one with a story like that. Benji down there, he's the older boy with the
red shirt. His mom died when he was just
an infant. He lived on the street for
six years with his older sister before Wolfwood found them. And Susanne, the one with the ponytails, her
parents were killed in an automobile accident when she was only three. All of the kids here have a story like that."
I rest an arm on my knee.
"Why are you telling me this?"
"They're survivors, Knives.
After all the things these kids have been through, they're still here,
they're still trying."
I look away from them, but can't
meet his face either. Instead I look off
to the horizon, to the direction of the wind, squint against it. "Why?"
"I've asked myself that question more times than you can
imagine." He hesitates and I chance a
glance his way. His eyes are closed,
thoughtful. I wonder if there are tears
forming beneath those lids. "I think it's
hope. Hope that they can make their
lives better, that they can offer their children better lives. They're learning, Knives. They are learning love and acceptance and
responsibility and how to overcome. This
place teaches them that. Because of
that, most of these kids are going to make it.
They deserve that chance, Knives.
They've been through so much already; they deserve the chance to make
things better."
I can't answer, and the conversation fades away, but the
silence is easy. It feels right, sitting
with him like this. It's the first time
since we were children that I can recall being around him without tension. It seems a long time before he speaks again,
but the suns, only slightly lower in the sky, betray the time.
"You flatter yourself, you know. By thinking that you were the reason we came
here."
"What do you mean?"
"We came here for her, too."
He nods towards Millie. "She's
pregnant."
I'm somewhat surprised by the information, but my face doesn't
show it.
"She only just found out herself about a week ago, she hasn't
told many people yet. But I thought you
should know."
"Who's the father?"
For a moment the wind blows the shouts from below up to us. "Wolfwood."
I can't answer immediately, and he laughs. "You thought I was going to say it was me,
didn't you?"
I shake my head. "No, I
thought....Wolfwood? Are you serious?" He nods.
"That's one man I never thought would reproduce."
He laughs harder. "Well
he never claimed to be a good priest."
I honestly think I would be less surprised to find out it was
Vash's child. It's almost impossible to
imagine a man like Wolfwood, someone who knew better than most the hardships of
living, would even consider bringing a child into a world such as this.
"Is she going to be okay?"
"Millie? Yeah, she has a good head on her shoulders. She'll be fine. If it was Meryl I'd be more worried."
I watch them play below.
Now, paying attention to it, his statement seems obvious. The way Millie is so natural compared to the
stiffness of Meryl's interactions, as though she's half afraid of losing
control. Finally I speak again.
"Vash?"
"Yeah?"
"I'm sorry I shot you."
He smiles, laughs a little bit under his breath. "Yeah.
I'm sorry I shot you, too."
"I didn't want it to end like that."
His smile fades. "It
didn't."
I nod. "It's getting
late. I think I'm going to head back."
I hold out a hand, palm up, nod toward the handcuffs. He waves me away. "Don't worry about it."
"The girls won't like that."
He looks me in the eye. "I'll
take care of the girls, don't worry about them."
I stand, brush the sand away from my legs. "Thanks."
He goes back to watching the children. "Goodnight."
I stand over him, for some reason not quite wanting to leave. "Goodnight."
I'm lying in bed when he returns, unable to sleep in the waning
light. I lean my head back, look at the
darkness above the curtain. He's talking
with the girls when he comes in, laughing, wishing them a goodnight. I close my eyes when he enters and he doesn't
ask if I'm still awake, undresses and lies on the cot.
I listen to the sounds of the house settling in the night, the
wind blowing in through crevices in the window frame. Finally I come to a decision and stand.
I pull back the curtain, stare out into that darkness, so
absolute. It never seems quite so dark
once you are out in it though, only from here, where there are lights for it to
contrast with. I don't look to him lying
on the bed, just listen to the sound of his breathing and finally turn away and
walk out the door.
There are pint-sized canisters in the kitchen cabinets and I
take out a few, careful not to make more noise than necessary. I fill them with water, find a length of rope
in one of the closets and tie them together, hang them over my back. I hesitate for a moment as I touch my hand to
the door knob. It creaks softly as I
open it and I expect him to come out and stop me, but the room is silent. The door latches with only a faint click.
The complex is eerily silent around as I walk through it; most
of the indoor lights are already turned off with the exception of a few in the
cathedral. I walk by it without worrying
that anyone inside will see me.
A few hundred feet down the road I am far enough away to make
out the three pillars in the distance, just a dark shadow against a darker sky,
a place where the stars disappear. I
start to walk towards them. I only have
to make it a hundred and twenty iles to the nearest outpost. I breathe deeply and start walking.
It's four months before I see him again. The day is bright, clear; the wind isn't
strong enough to pick up the sand. I sit
inside the metal hull of the ship, facing the opening that was torn into it
years ago. I hear him outside, watch his
shadow appear in the doorway before he leans a hand on it, smiles in at me.
"Hey, I thought I'd find you out here."
"I'm surprised it took you this long."
"I had other business to take care of. Man, I'm surprised this place is still in
this good of shape."
"You should have seen it when I got here. I spent three weeks digging it back out of
the sand."
"Is the plant still functioning?"
I nod. "I've taken good
care of her."
On the table in front of me lie the pieces of a gun. I pick up the barrel, run a cloth through it,
give it a twist.
"Mind if I sit down?"
I shake my head and he sits in the chair opposite me, sets his
bag on the floor.
"So are you here to take
me back?"
He shakes his head. "No. I don't see any reason to. You have been keeping out of trouble haven't
you?"
"I haven't killed anyone if that's what you're asking."
He nods. "So what have
you been doing since I saw you last?"
"Making guns."
"I can see that. What
are you doing with them?"
I can sense the slightest apprehension behind that smile.
"I figure if I can't kill them I may as well provide them with
the means to do it themselves."
His smile falters. "That
isn't funny."
"I know."
I run the cloth through the barrel again. "I needed money. It seemed like as good a way of getting it as
any."
"What happened to the old counterfeiting business?"
My eyes widen slightly and he laughs. "Come on, Knives, I'm not stupid. You might have been good but you weren't that
good. Besides, you signed your work."
I smile, remember the old paper bills, my name written
microscopically in the tiny line that bordered them. "I didn't think anyone would notice. In any case I lost the equipment and haven't
had a chance to replace it yet."
"Well when you do I know a group of kids who could benefit from
it."
I set the gun down, rest my hands in my lap. "You may not have noticed, Vash, but I'm not
exactly the type to make charitable contributions."
He picks up the barrel, twirls it in his fingers. "Whether you meant to or not you've been
supporting those kids for the past couple of years. I see no reason to stop now."
"So if I pay you off, you'll let me stay out here, that's what
you're saying."
He smiles. "Something
like that."
I lean over, take the metal from his fingers, set it on the
counter beside me.
"So you're making guns, huh?
Have one I could see?"
I open a drawer below the counter, pull out a revolver and set
it in front of him. He picks it up,
turns it over in his hands. "This is a
good gun. Mind if I give it a go?"
I shake my head, stand and follow him outside. I have a piece of metal set up about twenty
feet away, marked precisely. The center
is already dotted with bullet holes; a couple have strayed near the edges. He stands away from it, aims the gun, but
hesitates, looks back to me. "This doesn't
have any um...special features, does it?"
I shake my head, watch as he aims again, fires off five shots
rapidly. The hole in the center of the
target widens and he lets his arm fall, walks back over to me.
"You've gotten better."
"Well, I'm not a kid anymore."
He nods. "Mind if I keep
this?"
I shake my head, sit back behind the table. Are you staying?
"No, I've got to be going soon.
It's a long walk back to town. I
just thought I'd stop by, see how you were doing."
"Make sure I was staying out of trouble."
He laughs. "Yeah, that
too."
I look away. "How are
the girls?"
He leans against the doorframe.
"Last I heard they're good. Millie's
going to stay out at the orphanage for awhile.
She really likes it there. And
Meryl's back in December. I don't hear
from her very often, she isn't much for writing."
"Neither are you."
"No, I guess I'm not."
He turns his head, looks back out at the desert. "I should really get going."
"Are you coming back?"
He doesn't answer immediately.
"Yeah, I'll come back."
I nod, smooth a cloth on the table and set the parts back on it.
He starts to leave, calls behind him, "I'll be seeing you soon. Thanks again for the gun!"
I look out the doorframe, watch him walk away until he becomes
one with the shimmering horizon.
The End
Author's Notes: Wow,
did you actually read this far? Kudos to
you! Technical stuff then personal stuff. First of all, I should probably mention that
Knives' description of Freudian psychology is less than accurate. While Freud does include the thanatos
in his theory and does stress that the id is the primary motivator in humans,
Knives stresses the importance of both of these much more than Freud does, not
to mention totally ignoring other key aspects of the theory. If you are interested in learning more about
Freud's theory just send me an email and I'll be glad to help you find some
good information.
Translation of rambling in other languages:
"Do you speak French?"
"Yes. Do you speak
German?"
"I speak a little German."
"Can you speak Japanese?"
Said in the respective languages of course. As for personal stuff, I have to thank a few
people here for helping me out with this.
Thanks Eric for knowing the answer to all of my questions. J You rock.
Thanks to Kevin for being around when this thing had no plot whatsoever
and helping me come up with one. Thanks
to anime girl and hitomi for helping me with the languages. Thanks to Zach and Gabe for actually reading
parts of this while it was being written and offering suggestions. And thanks to anyone else who listened to me
ramble about this (basically anyone who has ever talked to me for more than
five minutes on instant messenger. ;) ) You
know who you are and I can guarantee that you helped IMMENSELY. Thankies to all of you. Hope you enjoyed the story. Feedback is always welcomed, good, bad,
whichever. I appreciate criticism but
don't take well to flaming, so feel free to tell me you didn't like it, just be
constructive about it.
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