RE: Incident [TEXT]
05-31-2013, 11:28 PM
_ INTERMISSION
_ INTERMISSION END
Yeah, there's no point in trying to sleep immediately. You'll only go straight back to the nightmares.
With a groan you manage to sit up, and gingerly touch the areas that ache the worst: just below the ribs on your left side, and your right shoulder. Nothing broken as far as you can tell, but there's an impressive dappling of ugly yellow and purple in both areas. You can feel a black eye forming to boot.
Untangling yourself from your sheets and scouring the floor for your coat nets you the packet of cigarettes and the matchbook. You wander out into the lounge. Ignoring the table in the middle covered in accounting attempts and playing cards, you walk over to the window and push it open. You lean out of it.
The match lights against your nail on the first attempt, which is cheering. That never happens.
Less wonderful is Number 6's emblem, which still blazes in the sky. From this angle it looks a little skewed, but it's still clearly visible, as are the fliers darting around it. Probably mercenaries trying to put it out. Your guess is that it'll fade with the daylight. Having it up then would be like fireworks in the sunshine. Pointless and just kind of crappy.
You suck in the smoke and let your mind wander.
Dupont's murder. It was his niece that contacted you. What was her reason for choosing you? ...Ah, right. “You're both called Alex.” It's a lousy reason, but it's the kind of random choosing from the phonebook you've come to expect. Alex Dupont... no, Alexander Dupont. Right. You know who killed him (Esser, acting for Number 6), and you know why (he had items that were necessary for finding this stone cube, and he worked for the Myriad which apparently made him scum). But why the death threats? That never got explained. You never even saw them before Dupont kicked the bucket. It's unlike Number 6, but that could be the point. As far as everyone knows, Number 6 had nothing to do with any of it. Well, that's sorted now. You got dragged to the station for questioning, but the police seemed satisfied that you weren't involved. Dupont's niece even apologised. She tried to give you forty for your effort, but you refused it on the grounds that you didn't do anything. You kind of regretted that afterwards.
What else? Victoria Ashe. You never opened the envelope you're meant to be delivering to her. Maybe you should. You're curious as to what Number 6 has to say, especially after his actions towards her. She probably wouldn't like you reading her mail, but what's she going to do about it? You don't want to have lunch with her. You don't even want to have to look at her. You don't care how good the food is going to be, or that she's paying. Seeing as you don't even know what time you've got to be at the celebrated Blue Rose, you're assuming some goons are being sent to pick you up. Maybe you can just give them the envelope and tell them to beat it. Ha.
Speaking of envelopes, you picked up that empty one in the Old Bank. 'Virtutis In Numeris'. Your grasp of ancient languages is weak, but maybe you can find a way to translate it. Or match up the motto and crest somehow. There are books about heraldry, right? You're interested in who would be sending messages to important bank managers about the time of the Old Bank closing down. Especially when they're the kind of person or people to stamp their stationery like that.
Not that it's relevant to anything. Still.
And that serial killer, two years ago. You have your suspicions about what Esser might have said if he'd let himself talk. You also have a feeling you were recovering from an acutely broken heart about that time, and much to your embarrassment you think you might have spent about two months mooching around the apartment and feeling sorry for yourself. You weren't particularly interested in the papers at the time. That would explain how you missed all the excitement, pathetic as it is.
Damn. Two months. Were you really that torn up about it?
You spend a few minutes dwelling on the stories they told you when you woke up the both of you with your bad dreams. And how beautiful they looked in the morning light, before they woke up.
Then you stub out the cigarette and go back to bed. You guess you can't escape bad memories, either in waking or dreaming. Might as well get it over with.
You're standing in the morgue again. There's a crowd behind you, whispering. You're too scared to look back at them.
But if you can't go back, you have to keep walking. You don't want to walk forward.
You do it anyway.
There's the table, the white sheet, the body under it. The doctor waiting to make the big reveal.
You don't want to see what's under the sheet. You can't go back, you can't stop walking.
You can't see his face, but the doctor looks at you.
You try to tell him not to lift up the sheet but you can't talk, you can't do anything but walk.
You stop in front of the table with the body on it.
The whispering gets louder. Are they talking louder or are there just more of them? Or are they closer?
The doctor reaches for the white cloth.
you don't want to see you don't want to see no no no please no
The whispers might as well be screams.
He starts to lift the sheet.
please no you don't want to see this anything but this
Somebody places a hand on your shoulder.
It's just a dream.
There is no sheet, no doctor, no whispering. Just a dream.
You open your eyes, and the morgue is gone. You're still dreaming, but...
You can feel sand between your toes. You remember this place: the beach. When both of your parents were still alive, you all came here. You were seven. It was the best day of your life.
You stare out at the waves, at the setting sun. You suddenly turn around, afraid that they might be here too, but you're alone. Somebody built up a bonfire.
As you turn back to the sea you think you see somebody standing in the water, far out. But just for a moment. And you thought they looked like a knight. That doesn't make any sense, though. There weren't any knights in this memory.
You stay on the beach and watch the sun set for the rest of the night.
With a groan you manage to sit up, and gingerly touch the areas that ache the worst: just below the ribs on your left side, and your right shoulder. Nothing broken as far as you can tell, but there's an impressive dappling of ugly yellow and purple in both areas. You can feel a black eye forming to boot.
Untangling yourself from your sheets and scouring the floor for your coat nets you the packet of cigarettes and the matchbook. You wander out into the lounge. Ignoring the table in the middle covered in accounting attempts and playing cards, you walk over to the window and push it open. You lean out of it.
The match lights against your nail on the first attempt, which is cheering. That never happens.
Less wonderful is Number 6's emblem, which still blazes in the sky. From this angle it looks a little skewed, but it's still clearly visible, as are the fliers darting around it. Probably mercenaries trying to put it out. Your guess is that it'll fade with the daylight. Having it up then would be like fireworks in the sunshine. Pointless and just kind of crappy.
You suck in the smoke and let your mind wander.
Dupont's murder. It was his niece that contacted you. What was her reason for choosing you? ...Ah, right. “You're both called Alex.” It's a lousy reason, but it's the kind of random choosing from the phonebook you've come to expect. Alex Dupont... no, Alexander Dupont. Right. You know who killed him (Esser, acting for Number 6), and you know why (he had items that were necessary for finding this stone cube, and he worked for the Myriad which apparently made him scum). But why the death threats? That never got explained. You never even saw them before Dupont kicked the bucket. It's unlike Number 6, but that could be the point. As far as everyone knows, Number 6 had nothing to do with any of it. Well, that's sorted now. You got dragged to the station for questioning, but the police seemed satisfied that you weren't involved. Dupont's niece even apologised. She tried to give you forty for your effort, but you refused it on the grounds that you didn't do anything. You kind of regretted that afterwards.
What else? Victoria Ashe. You never opened the envelope you're meant to be delivering to her. Maybe you should. You're curious as to what Number 6 has to say, especially after his actions towards her. She probably wouldn't like you reading her mail, but what's she going to do about it? You don't want to have lunch with her. You don't even want to have to look at her. You don't care how good the food is going to be, or that she's paying. Seeing as you don't even know what time you've got to be at the celebrated Blue Rose, you're assuming some goons are being sent to pick you up. Maybe you can just give them the envelope and tell them to beat it. Ha.
Speaking of envelopes, you picked up that empty one in the Old Bank. 'Virtutis In Numeris'. Your grasp of ancient languages is weak, but maybe you can find a way to translate it. Or match up the motto and crest somehow. There are books about heraldry, right? You're interested in who would be sending messages to important bank managers about the time of the Old Bank closing down. Especially when they're the kind of person or people to stamp their stationery like that.
Not that it's relevant to anything. Still.
And that serial killer, two years ago. You have your suspicions about what Esser might have said if he'd let himself talk. You also have a feeling you were recovering from an acutely broken heart about that time, and much to your embarrassment you think you might have spent about two months mooching around the apartment and feeling sorry for yourself. You weren't particularly interested in the papers at the time. That would explain how you missed all the excitement, pathetic as it is.
Damn. Two months. Were you really that torn up about it?
You spend a few minutes dwelling on the stories they told you when you woke up the both of you with your bad dreams. And how beautiful they looked in the morning light, before they woke up.
Then you stub out the cigarette and go back to bed. You guess you can't escape bad memories, either in waking or dreaming. Might as well get it over with.
You're standing in the morgue again. There's a crowd behind you, whispering. You're too scared to look back at them.
But if you can't go back, you have to keep walking. You don't want to walk forward.
You do it anyway.
There's the table, the white sheet, the body under it. The doctor waiting to make the big reveal.
You don't want to see what's under the sheet. You can't go back, you can't stop walking.
You can't see his face, but the doctor looks at you.
You try to tell him not to lift up the sheet but you can't talk, you can't do anything but walk.
You stop in front of the table with the body on it.
The whispering gets louder. Are they talking louder or are there just more of them? Or are they closer?
The doctor reaches for the white cloth.
you don't want to see you don't want to see no no no please no
The whispers might as well be screams.
He starts to lift the sheet.
please no you don't want to see this anything but this
Somebody places a hand on your shoulder.
It's just a dream.
There is no sheet, no doctor, no whispering. Just a dream.
You open your eyes, and the morgue is gone. You're still dreaming, but...
You can feel sand between your toes. You remember this place: the beach. When both of your parents were still alive, you all came here. You were seven. It was the best day of your life.
You stare out at the waves, at the setting sun. You suddenly turn around, afraid that they might be here too, but you're alone. Somebody built up a bonfire.
As you turn back to the sea you think you see somebody standing in the water, far out. But just for a moment. And you thought they looked like a knight. That doesn't make any sense, though. There weren't any knights in this memory.
You stay on the beach and watch the sun set for the rest of the night.
_ INTERMISSION END
Spoiler