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Red Nail · #38 (**permalink**) 10-07-2008

A light appeared before both of them, too faint to illuminate the room but just bright enough to let them see each other. The Madame reclined easily on one of her pillows took Jordan’s shill without a word, just a sad smile, and studied it where it caught the light. From his vantage point Jordan could see that she was still doing well despite her seclusion. Her hair was still a fresh and verdant green while her bark skin was healthy and pliant.

Under the white sari she wore, Jordan could make out the distinctly feminine lines and curves that made her the outcast of her people. He remembered those curves very well. On the loneliest nights in his hut he remembered being with her and in that first wild rush of going from being a boy to a man. She accepted his inexperience with grace and had shown him what it meant to be with another person, even if she wasn’t human.

Her bodies shape was the result of many hours under the flesh softening and molding techniques of a synch-doctor. Using synchronicity those doctors convince the cells to loose their substance and become pliant. The best could rewrite a strand of flesh and bone into new arms and legs.

She never told Jordan or anyone else why she’d had the procedure done. Some said it was in the demands of the future that made the choice for her. Others liked to believe that she was driven mad by some vision. Elves in general considered her a dangerous and repellent individual for deciding to become single gendered. Everyone knew that if she wasn’t the veracitor that she would have been found nutrient starved on the street years ago.

“You came back like I said you would,” she whispered to him, “Even though my harsh words drove you away, you still came back a supplicant to my abilities. You even brought the shill like I said you would.”

“I didn’t have a choice,” Jordan whispered back, “You’re the veracitor. What you say comes true. So I held on to it and came back when I was in trouble.”

“You didn’t come back because you missed my touch, Jordan,” she gave him a coy look, “Most men remember their first lovers. I know you still remember me. I still remember you.”

“You said that you’d hate me in the long run and that I’d hate you. You said that we were toxic for each other. What you say comes true,” Jordan’s whisper rose with a bit of his own anger, “I didn’t have a choice because with you there isn’t one.”

“Jordan,” she had the sad smile on her face again, “There’s always a choice.”

They sat there in silence. Jordan wasn’t sure but the light before them seemed even brighter now and caught the few polished spots on the coin easier. The Madame made a disgusted face and turned the coin in her hand.

“Weesog is dead. Shot to death and your family has been taken into custody,” her voice was flat as if she were reading off facts from a report to him, “Some of them are dead and others are about to die.”

Jordan sat there in shock. Weesog, his adopted father and mentor was dead. It was nearly a physical blow and Jordan fought of the wave of guilt, bile, anger, and sadness that threatened to escape him. In the haze he remembered the last thing he’d said to the vench.

“Look, it’s my life and I’ll do what I want to with it,” Jordan spat, keeping his anger in check, “I appreciate the offer, but I’m going to stay a tack and unless you fire me its going to be what I’m doing for as long as I can. Now do you have some work for me?”

He didn’t say that he loved him. Didn’t say anything that mattered. Just spouted anger and indignation at giving up his own little comfort zone. Weesog had given up his life. And what of the others? They were dying and hurting. Jordan knew it was his fault because of the box. It might as well have been him that killed them. His guilt and revulsion won out in the end and Jordan emptied what little he had in his stomach on the floor next to him. The Madame, in the throes of her own synchronistic field, continued despite his display.

“There are others that are being hunted. A vench and an elf. A wolf and a quiet man are honing in on them. They are tied to you by that box and they’ll share your fate. The box holds the key to our salvation. The formulae within can be used to turn reality back into what it should be. It can repair Ruin. The Committee is already here for you Jordan. You’re going to Center Piece and you’ll die. I’m sorry.”

Jordan whirled with panicked eyes and saw men standing where there were none before. They just appeared out of thin air without so much as a disturbance. One stood in the puddle of Jordan’s vomit as if he’d always been there.

They wore blue suits and most were human save for the single elf among them. While Jordan looked frantically for an escape route, he was grabbed from behind and a gas mask was forced over his nose and mouth. It smelled sweetly sour and made Jordan’s eyes begin to fog. Jordan kicked and fought, smashing his fists and feet into whomever he could, but his blows were those of an amateur and were mostly avoided.

The last thing Jordan registered was the snap of an electrical current and an intense, yet numbing pain run through him. One of the men in blue withdrew his shock baton and let the others hold the limp young man while the gas took hold. When he was finally out the Madame moved through the men to caress Jordan’s face softly.

“They sought me out first Jordan,” she said even though he couldn’t hear her, “I told them that you were coming here and when you would arrive. I betrayed Beat Town and you for the promise of tomorrow. It’ll be glorious when it comes to pass Jordan. I’m sorry I lied to you though. This way will be softer for you… You were right. There really was no choice.”

“Very poetic,” the elf among the humans said quietly, “We’ll take our leave of you Madame.”

It tapped it’s fake ear twice and spoke aloud, “This is Croy. I’ll need a teleport back to Center Piece. You can tell Adnan that I managed to find his running tack without the body count. Perhaps he can show a little respect the next time he expects me to drop everything and come running.”

There was no disturbance again as they were plucked out of reality and sent back to their origin. The Madame was left alone with Jordan’s coin and the fading light in her dark room. She made no move to clean up Jordan’s vomit; a maid would be along sometime to check up on her. Instead she continued to watch the reflections and images in the coin. As the light finally went, the Madame smiled with pride at what she saw.