Pretty Dead City "Let us out," he said loudly.
"Let us out," JC echoed, in the place of the real echo, which didn't work in this place.
The silence in the dark corner took on a snickering quality. Mocking came in thick waves. Chris shook JC's hand loose and flipped the bird.
A little pause. Then, "Would you say you're at a slight disadvantage?"
They stared at the shadow. It moved a little, and Chris saw Joey flinch in the corner of his eye.
"Who are you and what do you want?" JC asked. He'd stopped looking insane for a moment and stood tall and straight instead. Chris felt a pinch of pride before he remembered that he didn't have the right to take credit for anything.
Contemptuous silence in the corner, cold and dead silence behind them.
"Would you like me to tell you which one of you two held the sword?" Not a laugh, but the shadow of a laugh, a little movement. "Little warriors. He died in friendly fire."
"NO!" they both said, Chris and JC with one voice, and the same quiver of fear in it.
"That's all right, then. You can go home now."
Silence again, neutral this time. They waited breathlessly. Chris thought, it likes to toy with us, that's what it's doing.
"Really?" Joey said.
"How?" Lance said.
"What about--" JC whispered and Chris picked it up.
"--Justin?"
"My friends, take your boy and walk. He's just feeling a little under the weather." The silence behind them became a gasp, a cough, a deep rattle, finally retching; they spun around and Justin was on all fours, clawing at the concrete and vomiting reeking, rotten blood.
They descended on him and Chris thought of ER staff, vultures, reporters and felt his head spin, light and floaty with relief and the heaviness in his stomach to counterweight is.
He looked around, desperately, and met JC's eyes; the same division there.
He almost said, "you're not angry anymore," but that wouldn't be fair. JC was distracted. He'd remember that it was all Chris' fault sooner or later.
He put his hand on Justin's trembling shoulder and tried again to remember if he'd felt anything; if he'd looked into Justin's eyes and maybe recognised them for a fraction of a second before he swung. Nothing there. Maybe it was JC. Guilty again because he wished that pain on JC.
Justin had stopped puking, but he was breathing in short, shallow gasps, still scratching his fingers bloody on the rough floor. Chris took one of his hands and yanked it up, touched the blood. Lance's Leatherman lay on the floor two feet from Justin's other hand. The wound was bleeding again.
"I'm okay," Justin said, his voice a little bubbly and throaty, but clear, loud enough, real. "I'm okay. I'm okay."
Maybe he was trying to convince himself. He shuddered and pushed himself up. There was a raw, angry-red scar zigzagging down his chest. He looked down on himself and Chris almost had to look away. Almost, but he didn't, and saw Justin trail his bleeding hand over the scar, painting it with more red.
In the corner, there was a small sigh. "It's not my best job, I'm afraid."
Jerks and starts all around; they'd actually forgotten about it.
"A little shoddy. There was a lot to fix. You did him in good, boys."
"What's that?" Justin said. He was struggling to his feet, pale and shaky but alive, blinking in the hazy light and panting a little. Chris held his elbow and let him lean on him. His skin was warming up a little. He was the most beautiful thing Chris could remember ever seeing.
He remembered other times, though. Justin had always been mythically gorgeous, one of those people who walk untouched through the world. There'd been no reason not to love him, but no excuse to have him.
"Do you--?" JC started, broke off, squirmed, tried again. "Does it hurt?"
"Not really," Justin said.
And JC; it was just once. Chris had been a little drunk. That was an excuse, of course; three beers wouldn't make him lose control, but it did make him feel a little better. I was drunk. I didn't mean it. JC would appreciate it, no doubt. I was drunk when I pushed you against the wall and made you help me forget.
Three beers was definitely the skimpiest excuse since the Devil made me do it.
"I tried to make it better," he muttered, under his breath. Justin had dropped his head onto his shoulder. "I fucked up."
There was laughter in the corner, hearty laughter.
"You don't think you did this yourself? A three dollar spell book from Lenny's Knick Knack Emporium does not build parallel universes, Christopher."
"But--"
"I did this."
"But why?"
"Because it's fun. Because you built a pretty dead city in your head and then you went there, and I realised the dream. How about that?"
He tried to remember building cities in his head and came up short. "Liar," he said, but he might have been talking to himself.
"Well, yes. But it was fun, though. Wasn't it?"
You could call it a lot of things, but fun wasn't one of them. JC was looking at the floor, his fingers curled tight around Justin's wrist. Joey and Lance had gravitated together again, the way they did.
He thought he saw the shadow smile.
"As I said, I'm done with you. You can go."
No one moved. Everyone narrowed their eyes suspiciously.
Lance cleared his throat. "What are the conditions?"
"Oh, you want a contract? Business-minded, this one."
"There's always a price," Lance muttered and looked down, but his mouth was set in a stubborn line. Chris wanted to hit him for bringing up conditions, but maybe it would have been more dangerous to ignore that. Maybe, maybe, maybe.
"Very astute. Yes, that's true. My services come with a fee." Pause. "You have nothing, not even the clothes on your backs."
Pause. Justin sighed, a warm blast of air on Chris' sweaty neck.
"I kinda liked this one--" A cold draft blew between them and Justin wasn't pressed against Chris anymore. "--and you don't really need him."
Justin was in the corner, only a pale face in a blot of darkness.
"No," Chris said.
"You can vote."
They exchanged glances. Chris thought, him or me. Him or me, and his brain worked so fast he couldn't keep track of all the thoughts, but the first clear one was, I want out of here.
"One vote!"
Everybody flinched and Joey rubbed his hands over his face.
"Two!"
"Hang on--" Lance tried.
"Three!"
They stood frozen.
"Four. One against. Nice to know someone loves you, chickie." In the darkness, Justin bared his teeth.
JC was staring at Chris. Chris knew who'd voted against. Oh, JC was too good for them all, wasn't he?
"You build a pretty dead city in your head and then you go there."
He hadn't been too drunk to remember every touch and every sigh and every time JC smiled at him.
"You build a pretty dead city in your head and then you go there."
"Take me instead," JC said raggedly.
"Thank you, but no thank you."
"This is my place," Chris said, surprising even himself. "Who the fuck are you? This is my place. Give him BACK."
Laughter.
"I am you," it said, but it was mocking.
"No," Chris said.
Justin spun around in the corner and the darkness tightened and had form.
"No," Chris said.
Fireworks. The end of days.
"You build a pretty dead city in your head and then you go there."
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