There was a time when my world was filled with darkness, darkness, darkness
And I stopped dreaming now I'm supposed to fill it up with something, something , something.
May 7, 2012 R.S.C.
Jay woke up with a splitting headache, covered in hay, and surrounded by shreds of his clothes and shed gray fur. He could smell the sweat and shit of barn animals ? cows? No, horses, if the whickering sounds were any indication. They seemed to have heard him wake, and they seemed to have realized he was bad news, as panicked whinnies filled up the barn. He brushed some of the hay out of his eyes, put his hands out to feel what ground was beneath him, and tried to clear his vision. He yelped, inadvertently, as he put pressure on his broken right wrist, and the horses got louder. He heard running, the barn door being flung open, and a farmer rushing in to soothe his creatures. Jay hid beneath the hay once more.
?Hey! Hey you! Yeah, I know you?re in here somewhere. I gotta shotgun here with your name on it. Come out nice and peaceful and I won?t fill you fulla buckshot.? The farmer was pacing up and down the center of the barn, alternating gentle words with the horses with threats for whoever was hiding in his barn. ?The last rustler who came by here left missing most of his guts. You want that? I?m not leaving until you come out.?
Jay crawled out from under the hay pile, biting his lip from the pain of his broken wrist, and darted from support to support to hide from the farmer while the man?s back was turned to him. Jay waited until the farmer was just about directly below him, but facing the opposite direction, and leaped down from the loft onto the straw-covered dirt. The farmer had just enough time to turn in Jay?s direction and begin to raise his shotgun before Jay decked him in the face, spinning him into a wooden post. The man dropped the rifle, and as he reached to grab it, Jay stomped on his wrist, crushing it. The farmer cried out, before Jay punched him again and knocked him unconscious. The horses began to scream, as Jay quickly began stripping the man of clothing. Overalls, jeans, and a white t-shirt yellowed by age and sweat. It would have to do until he found better clothes elsewhere. Jay also took a set of keys from the farmer, before exiting the barn. He?d take what he needed to get back to town, and nothing more.
***
He downed what seemed like a half a bottle of Tylenol from the farmer?s medicine cabinet, chased it down with several mouthfuls of cheap whiskey, and stole some coins from the man?s coin purse. Just enough to get him back to his apartment, once he was in the city. After tossing the man?s keys on the table, he left the farmhouse and began the long walk back to the city. After he had passed through the south gates, and walked a block into the city, he hailed a carriage and gave the driver an intersection a couple of blocks from where he actually lived. No need to risk stumbling right into the guard?s clutches?
When the carriage pulled up to the appointed stop, he didn?t see or smell any guards in the area, but there was another familiar scent that had him gnashing his teeth. Candy. Part of him thought he should be happy, that she was alive, that he hadn?t killed her, but the Wolf knew why she was in the vicinity of his apartment. She?s here to kill you, Jay. And your wrist is still broken. Jay paid the driver with the farmer?s silver, leaving enough to make phone calls with. He headed south, in the opposite direction of his apartment, then cut east once he was a few blocks down, and Candy?s smell had dissipated. He stopped whenever he saw a phone booth, making quick phone calls to a variety of sources, and then leaving as soon as the call was finished, moving on to the next closest phone. He ignored the looks of passers-by who saw him cradling the swollen, limp right wrist. There was business to complete.
First, he called Fresher Mat. He barely even listened to the voice answering on the other end of the line, simply spitting out the words, ?Tell Candy Jay is dead,? and then hanging up the phone before the other person could respond. Next on his call list was the guard.
?Southgate Precinct Guard Station, this is Sergeant Owens,? a clipped male voice replied. Jay thought to try and disguise his voice, then abandoned the idea.
?I know who killed Harper Hollick.? Jay heard silence on the other end for a second, furtive whispers between two people, and then the frantic sounds of someone searching for pen and paper.
?Go on.?
?Candy Hart.?
?How do you know-? Jay pushed down the coin return lever, disconnecting the call, and moving on to the next booth and call.
?Doc, I need the name of a clinic that'll see me, no questions asked."
?This have anything to do with Candy's visit last night?? Doc asked, stern, and Jay slammed the receiver onto the hook and nearly took the booth apart with his bare hands before he remembered one was broken and that he was in public. He was going to have to handle the broken wrist himself, but he dashed the thought away. He had one more phone call to make.
?Tone? It?s the Dude. I quit.? Again, he didn?t wait for a response from his former boss before hanging up. He paused on the sidewalk, to get his bearings on where exactly his walking tour had taken him, and to figure out how to get back to his apartment. Maybe Candy had left by now?
***
She hadn?t. He could still smell her, the unmistakable scent of leather and sweat and blood and motorcycle grease. He stood on the sidewalk, two blocks from his apartment, and felt like he was a galaxy away from there. The Tylenol and alcohol had worn off, and the dull ache in his wrist now felt more like stabbing pains. He needed to go to a healer. He turned around again and wandered in his neighborhood, once a familiar place, and it seemed like another world entirely. Had she been to the bodega, where he bought six-packs of Badsider on lonely weekend nights to drink in his apartment while smoking cigarettes and staring at the wall? What about the market, where the kindly owner sometimes wouldn?t charge him for a bunch of bananas he had in his basket? Or the local diner, the one where old men sat on Sunday mornings drinking coffee, reading newspapers, and gossiping about their sons, daughters, grandsons and granddaughters? The one he?d been meaning to go to but never found the time to visit? He knew he would have to leave ? he would never see any of those places, or those people, again. He flung himself shoulder first against the door of the neighborhood healer?s, and flopped onto a couch in the front room, waiting for the secretary to send him back. Jay could wait. There was nothing else he could do now but wait.
And I stopped dreaming now I'm supposed to fill it up with something, something , something.
May 7, 2012 R.S.C.
Jay woke up with a splitting headache, covered in hay, and surrounded by shreds of his clothes and shed gray fur. He could smell the sweat and shit of barn animals ? cows? No, horses, if the whickering sounds were any indication. They seemed to have heard him wake, and they seemed to have realized he was bad news, as panicked whinnies filled up the barn. He brushed some of the hay out of his eyes, put his hands out to feel what ground was beneath him, and tried to clear his vision. He yelped, inadvertently, as he put pressure on his broken right wrist, and the horses got louder. He heard running, the barn door being flung open, and a farmer rushing in to soothe his creatures. Jay hid beneath the hay once more.
?Hey! Hey you! Yeah, I know you?re in here somewhere. I gotta shotgun here with your name on it. Come out nice and peaceful and I won?t fill you fulla buckshot.? The farmer was pacing up and down the center of the barn, alternating gentle words with the horses with threats for whoever was hiding in his barn. ?The last rustler who came by here left missing most of his guts. You want that? I?m not leaving until you come out.?
Jay crawled out from under the hay pile, biting his lip from the pain of his broken wrist, and darted from support to support to hide from the farmer while the man?s back was turned to him. Jay waited until the farmer was just about directly below him, but facing the opposite direction, and leaped down from the loft onto the straw-covered dirt. The farmer had just enough time to turn in Jay?s direction and begin to raise his shotgun before Jay decked him in the face, spinning him into a wooden post. The man dropped the rifle, and as he reached to grab it, Jay stomped on his wrist, crushing it. The farmer cried out, before Jay punched him again and knocked him unconscious. The horses began to scream, as Jay quickly began stripping the man of clothing. Overalls, jeans, and a white t-shirt yellowed by age and sweat. It would have to do until he found better clothes elsewhere. Jay also took a set of keys from the farmer, before exiting the barn. He?d take what he needed to get back to town, and nothing more.
***
He downed what seemed like a half a bottle of Tylenol from the farmer?s medicine cabinet, chased it down with several mouthfuls of cheap whiskey, and stole some coins from the man?s coin purse. Just enough to get him back to his apartment, once he was in the city. After tossing the man?s keys on the table, he left the farmhouse and began the long walk back to the city. After he had passed through the south gates, and walked a block into the city, he hailed a carriage and gave the driver an intersection a couple of blocks from where he actually lived. No need to risk stumbling right into the guard?s clutches?
When the carriage pulled up to the appointed stop, he didn?t see or smell any guards in the area, but there was another familiar scent that had him gnashing his teeth. Candy. Part of him thought he should be happy, that she was alive, that he hadn?t killed her, but the Wolf knew why she was in the vicinity of his apartment. She?s here to kill you, Jay. And your wrist is still broken. Jay paid the driver with the farmer?s silver, leaving enough to make phone calls with. He headed south, in the opposite direction of his apartment, then cut east once he was a few blocks down, and Candy?s smell had dissipated. He stopped whenever he saw a phone booth, making quick phone calls to a variety of sources, and then leaving as soon as the call was finished, moving on to the next closest phone. He ignored the looks of passers-by who saw him cradling the swollen, limp right wrist. There was business to complete.
First, he called Fresher Mat. He barely even listened to the voice answering on the other end of the line, simply spitting out the words, ?Tell Candy Jay is dead,? and then hanging up the phone before the other person could respond. Next on his call list was the guard.
?Southgate Precinct Guard Station, this is Sergeant Owens,? a clipped male voice replied. Jay thought to try and disguise his voice, then abandoned the idea.
?I know who killed Harper Hollick.? Jay heard silence on the other end for a second, furtive whispers between two people, and then the frantic sounds of someone searching for pen and paper.
?Go on.?
?Candy Hart.?
?How do you know-? Jay pushed down the coin return lever, disconnecting the call, and moving on to the next booth and call.
?Doc, I need the name of a clinic that'll see me, no questions asked."
?This have anything to do with Candy's visit last night?? Doc asked, stern, and Jay slammed the receiver onto the hook and nearly took the booth apart with his bare hands before he remembered one was broken and that he was in public. He was going to have to handle the broken wrist himself, but he dashed the thought away. He had one more phone call to make.
?Tone? It?s the Dude. I quit.? Again, he didn?t wait for a response from his former boss before hanging up. He paused on the sidewalk, to get his bearings on where exactly his walking tour had taken him, and to figure out how to get back to his apartment. Maybe Candy had left by now?
***
She hadn?t. He could still smell her, the unmistakable scent of leather and sweat and blood and motorcycle grease. He stood on the sidewalk, two blocks from his apartment, and felt like he was a galaxy away from there. The Tylenol and alcohol had worn off, and the dull ache in his wrist now felt more like stabbing pains. He needed to go to a healer. He turned around again and wandered in his neighborhood, once a familiar place, and it seemed like another world entirely. Had she been to the bodega, where he bought six-packs of Badsider on lonely weekend nights to drink in his apartment while smoking cigarettes and staring at the wall? What about the market, where the kindly owner sometimes wouldn?t charge him for a bunch of bananas he had in his basket? Or the local diner, the one where old men sat on Sunday mornings drinking coffee, reading newspapers, and gossiping about their sons, daughters, grandsons and granddaughters? The one he?d been meaning to go to but never found the time to visit? He knew he would have to leave ? he would never see any of those places, or those people, again. He flung himself shoulder first against the door of the neighborhood healer?s, and flopped onto a couch in the front room, waiting for the secretary to send him back. Jay could wait. There was nothing else he could do now but wait.