Obscurity
Pairing: Ennis/Jack
Rating: PG-13 to NC-17 (Warning: violence !)
Summary: AU_AU. With this story I wanted to dive in the dark side of Brokeback Mountain. I wanted to experiment with fear, uncertainty and doubt. Ennis and Jack meet each other in the modern time.
Dedication: This story is dedicated to my German beta tanzmaeusi, who encouraged me to write this story. I also want to thank judy-blue-cat who helped me to understand the US-postal service and who also helped me to find the most suitable name for the city where this story takes place.
But tizi17 is the one you should thank the most if you like this story because she is the one who translates it. She is incredible and let me say she captures my writing perfectly. It's a great joy to work with her and I'm very happy I met her in this fandom. My special thank is dedicated to poppyhoney_67. She's our second native speaker besides Judy who is willing to help us catching the remaining errors. Thank you all !!
Feedback: Please !! It keeps all of us motivated...
* * *
Prologue: http://mel0804.livejournal.com/37179.html
1 Steel City: http://mel0804.livejournal.com/38777.html
2
Rust Town
From time immemorial Sun and Moon reign over the fate of the world. They round their orbit in symbiotic dependence to brother and sister, captured and guarded in the attraction of two powers, one hot and devastating, the other cold and hostile.
These two celestial bodies form the face of the world and breathe life into it. They bestow Day and Night, donate Warmth and Cold, Light and Shadow and wake over the course of seasons.
A dictate of power over Life and Death. A never ending circle for millions of years.
+ + +
As Ennis del Mar brought back his empty bags to the post office that afternoon he was the last one to come back home. Something that felt strange in his chest.
When he usually entered the post office there was a silence that after all that rush, that noise and aggressive roaring of the early morning postmen seemed unreal, giving a sense of security to Ennis, which he needed when he came back to his working place, bags empty and a with a sense of fathomless.
In such moments he luxuriated for a few minutes in the apparent paradisical quiet, and for a few seconds, gave in to the feeling of contentment, sometimes accentuated by a touch of a memory when he imagined that this stale air of old paper dust obstructing his nose and dulling his scent in reality was the fine smell of fresh hay entering his nostrils pungent and vivid.
Memories of a time of plenty, when the stifling air of the despatch hall, fat and packed with the stink of the city, touched his neck and reminded him of hot prairie winds that heisted the power of the torrid sunbeams on his back; and when in the franking machines rattling in the distance he caught the sound of soft stomping of horses waiting impatiently to be led into the shimmering summer sun of the widespread Wyoming plains.
These tiny moments of illusion helped him endure in a world that was not his. In a world that he had arrived at as a stranger and in which up to today only the force of habit gave him a feeling of belonging.
But that day everything was different.
As he entered the building he, who had taken over the tour of a lagged colleague, was suddenly in the centre of cumulative attention.
Not because they felt pity for a fallen front soldier, but because relief and a bashful joy about the fact that it hadn’t occurred to them this time had prevailed - paired with the need to make new contacts over the fate of a faltered man.
Contacts that meant survival in a world on the edge of madness. In a world where you walk alone mile after mile every day, stumbling from hallway to hallway, up the stairs and down the stairs, accompanied by the stink of biting urine and nauseating deterioration.
In this world they were the heralds of bad news, messengers of the authority and very rarely angels of joy.
And it is within human nature to confederate when the situation arises and the need for collective concealment prevails.
On this hot summer day as the heat let the leaves wither and the smut settle heavy over the city, as the oppressive stickiness melted the people’s hearts and their nerves lay blank, Ted Miller’s destiny made its round.
And as Ennis del Mar entered the post office that day he stood in a cloud of sweat and heat, surrounded by colleagues he mostly didn’t even know from their face and whose presence took away his air to breathe.
He tried to cut his way quietly and unimpressive, head lowered and shoulders shrugged. A posture that gave him disguise from all that was lurking at him when he gave up his cover. But all his tentative efforts to disappear in the mass was vain that day.
As he walked by the colleagues the chatter quieted, they stared at him with curious eyes, mouths open questioningly, until the first one found the courage to talk to the shy man.
“Del Mar!”
Ennis stopped startled in his move, unsure about what to do next. He turned around carefully and glanced from under his cap at the man that dared talk to him - and who knew his name.
“What?” he asked quietly.
“Heard anything from Teddy?”
Ennis shook his head.
“How long you got his tour?”
The questioner got a shrug in reply and Ennis turned around wanting to escape the eye of the attention.
“Heard he had a stroke”, a rough voice of a scrawny woman with bleached hair cut the tensed quiet. “Heard he won’t make it for long. Heard he’s just a drooling rag, poor wretch. Better he kicks the bucket anyway. Better off dead...”
The ongoing discussion passed by Ennis’ ears. He had heard what he had to hear if he wanted or not. And it had touched something in him. Something he couldn’t grab, definitely atomising the breath of what had passed that day.
Because as he tucked his dirty white time card into the box on the yellowish wall and the clattering “ping” resounded that made him a free man for the rest of the day, he remembered a broken blue staring at him and asking for Teddy - a stranger to him that had thrown out of balance the rhythm of life of so many.
+ + +
As Ennis came back to his shabby apartment in the suburb Rust Town the sun had already passed the zenith and its burning rays had withered all living in town.
A damp smell of mould and cheap washing powder streamed towards him as he opened the entrance door.
“Welcome to hell” in embittered sincerity an inhabitant had written those words ages ago in jittery graffiti on corroded wood.
Nobody had ever removed it, and over the months and years this message had corroded into the inhabitants’ brains becoming part of their being. A useless memory of something they felt and lived daily - captivated in merciless frankness for eternity.
As usual Ennis opened his mail box with the sellotaped silver number “17” - the only luxury he had willingly allowed himself and which he renewed regularly whenever the good-for-nothings in his house tore it off or made an “8” out of the “7”. Not that he got really important mail - but he didn’t want to leave this opportunity to chance.
And as every other day, too, nothing but publicity for a new fast-food place nearby welled out to him - a poor misguided soul who hadn’t understood yet that there was nothing to get in this part of Steel City - a ridiculously low phone bill, as usual just the base fee and… a used condom which he dropped to the floor, disgusted.
He clammed his mail under his armpits, took the steps to the first floor, past the apartment door of that Mexican family from where every day one could hear loud screaming and cursing. Ennis opened his door sighing and entered the dim corridor where nothing but stale air and dull quiet was expecting him.
With a kick he closed the door shut, put the mail on the white kitchen table and took a cool beer out of the old, tiredly humming fridge.
The lid sprang up hissing as Ennis opened the bottle with a lighter. It ran under the only kitchen cupboard Ennis owned and in which the few glasses and plates sat which he practically never used.
He slumped groaning onto one of the two chairs, and he asked himself not for the first time why he didn’t just put the second one outside for somebody to take away who could use it.
He just sat on this one chair back to the window. He had never used the other one. And every time he was sitting here at the kitchen table the empty chair stared at him. Talked to him through its mere presence and reminded him unnecessarily of how lonesome he was.
The beer ran cold down his throat and chased the last taste of dust and dirt. He leaned back his head tired and stared up to the formerly white ceiling. A fat spider had made its home in one corner and was spinning its web diligently - a preparation for the hunt. Disgusted, Ennis watched its tentacle like movements. He hated spiders, and under different circumstances he would have taken off his boot and would have killed it. But that day he didn’t have the power anymore, and something in its chosen and purposeful moves calmed him. Showed him that there was life in the apartment besides him.
Slowly the quiet in his apartment settled into his body. It began with a slight swish in his ears as he heard his blood pound through his veins and he thought he’d hear his heart beat. The little trembling of his legs. The little clattering of his teeth against the bottle neck when he drank.
He closed his eyes and his body’s sounds mingled with the sounds outside his body. The tick-tock of the kitchen clock, the unnerving dripping of the faucet, the cozy creaking of the chair he sat on.
And as his sensory organs had melted with the sounds of his apartment they allowed outside sounds to enter his consciousness. The dull clapping of punches and the following shriek screaming of the Mexican woman, the howling of a police siren. The beating of the entrance door and scuffling sounds in the staircase, a flushing WC, blurred voices from a TV.
Ennis opened his eyes slowly, throwing a last glance to the ceiling where the spider now sat without moving. He nearly thought he saw it smile - waiting devilishly for the first victim.
With goose pimples on his back he stood up, went into his tiny living room and fell onto his couch. Little dust flakes danced in the orange sunlight that gave more color to the room than it had to offer.
Automatically his gaze wandered to the sachet on the table in front of him and the razor blade that lay silvery next to it, blinking seductively in the setting evening sun.
With calm hands he reached for the blade without hesitating. He divided with it the content of the little bag, pushed a part of the powder onto the metal tip and placed it carefully into the crook of his thumb.
White and innocent it lay on his brown skin - promising a brief happiness. Ennis’ nose lowered slowly down over the powder, closing one nostril with his strong thumb, the other one ready to consume.
A hesitation for a split second.
A quarrel with himself.
But then…
A deep vivid breath cutting the quiet of the apartment, a painful tingling in the nose and tearing eyes - heralding for what Ennis was waiting and craving for, on that day that had been so different to all the other days.
He leaned back quietly and closed his eyes, listening to the sounds in his body and in the world out there where he somehow belonged. Minute after minute passed, the clock hand ticking louder and louder, his blood pumping quicker, his breath jerking, his heart racing.
And while the sun slowly descended behind the black chimneys of Rust Town and the moon took over the other side of the guard, Ennis began to feel what it meant to be alive.
+ + +
Jack Twist had a restless night and this time it hadn’t been the pain to spoil his sleep but bitter nightmares chasing him through the black of the night.
He was back on the lonesome street. It was pitch dark. The lanterns had gone off and painfully he felt out his way through the darkness.
Cold was creeping up his legs slowly as he heard the sound of the engine behind him and the headlights illuminated the street briefly.
Blinded by the light he continued to pad on blindly, the humming of the engine getting closer.
He ran.
Slowly first for fear.
But than faster and faster.
They got nearer. And nearer.
He ran but wasn’t able to move forward.
Panic rose in his veins. He threw himself forward wildly. Wanted to free himself form the power that kept him to the ground, hindering him from escaping. But he couldn’t manage it.
He couldn’t do it.
And then…
Then they got him.
Threw him to the ground. Invisible aggressors whose punches he couldn’t see in the dark. They hit him.
Uncovered.
And he could do nothing against it.
Nothing at all.
Punch after punch drummed on him and burst his body. And finally, as he thought he wouldn’t bare the pain and torture any more, he looked into a pair of brown eyes. Lifeless and broken, but nonetheless he believed to see a raging flame of sympathy way back in the soul of those eyes.
“Help me” Jack heard himself whimper. “Help me…”
But the warmth of the eyes turned cold. Brown mingling with black.
They looked at him taunting.
“He’s through. A sly one less in town”, the voice said despising and gave him a last kick before the clattering steps of the stranger went away. A door of a car closed. An engine roared. Shrieking tires - and Jack was alone.
All on his own in the deepest of nights.
He woke up screaming and sweating and turned on his nightstand lamp.
Tears ran down his cheeks. He fingered his chest and face frantically. He was unhurt. They hadn’t done anything to him.
It was just a dream...
Just a dream...
He sank back onto his cushions relieved, relaxing his aching leg as best as he could.
For the rest of the night Jack lay in his bed awake listening to his own irregular heartbeat. His eyes followed the unruly shadows his night lamp threw onto the wall and he felt the loneliness taking him in its icy grip taking his breath away.
He hated the night.
He hated it.
And as dawn took away the blackness of the night sky and the shape of the shadows on his bedroom walls faded, he dared to close his eyes again, allowing himself a few hours of oblivion with the beginning of the day.
+ + +
The next morning Ennis started in his usual routine and only when he arrived at the post office he remembered he had to run an extra tour today and probably for several days and weeks.
He packed his bags methodically without participating in the general conversation around him. What was the point - nobody was interested in his opinion anyway. And that he had taken over Ted Miller’s tour and would run it in future, too, was normality today.
The faulty member of the chain had been replaced. Life went on as usual.
And so Ennis rounded block after block, mile after mile in burning heat, and step by step the burden in his bags lessened. First he finished his quarter. Here he knew every corner and every angle, knowing exactly which letter slot was stuck, who emptied his and who didn’t, which dog threatened to bite and which one followed its threat with facts.
He knew all the empty faces opening doors for him to take their mail. Old ones or young ones - they all looked jaded, and the longer the day went on the more those faces blurred into a uniformed mass of people who he confronted wordlessly and who, wordlessly too, took what they were obliged to accept.
And only as he stood in front of one of the last apartment doors his universe focused back again, the blurred shapes of the person in front of him got clear, and he looked up startled as a melodious voice came to his ear addressing him with his name and a smile.
“Hello Ennis.”
He stared perplex into steel blue eyes and as if in slow motion he realized the entire person, saw the thin body that braced itself on crutches painfully. Black hair sticking damp in every which way, bright white T-shirt, worn jeans, barefoot, and a hint of fresh soap breezed into his numb nose.
“Hello,” he finally mumbled and took a questioning glance of the person in front of him.
“Jack Twist. We.. we met yesterday,” the man about his age helped him gently along and Ennis felt himself blushing.
“I know,” he said quietly and passed the letters without looking at him.
“I’m sorry,” said Jack after a few seconds of waiting.
“What?” asked Ennis looking up under his cap.
“I can’t take it from you. I just got up. Thought that you’d come later since you replace Teddy,” Jack started to blabber and his clear words cut the dull silence of the hallway.
“Slept longer. Had nightmares and just fell asleep in the morning and now my leg hurts like crazy. I didn’t have yet… anyway I can’t… sorry...”
He became silent helplessly and bit his under lip. Ennis looked at him and understanding flashed in his eyes for a brief moment.
“Where shall I put the mail?” he asked quietly.
“On the table in the corridor,” Jack replied without looking at him.
Ennis took an uncertain step forward as Jack tried painfully that same instant to step aside. Catching Ennis’ quick movement only with the tail of his eye, Jack startled, saw for a split second the baseball bat in front of his inner eyes and staggered.
He drew his breath sharply as a punching pain hit his hip and a torn cry of frustration escaped his mouth as he realized he would fall.
He vaguely heard paper fall to the floor as he tried in milliseconds to prepare his rigid body for the hit. And right at the moment where he automatically decided to loosen his grip around the crutches to catch the falling with his ok arm he felt two strong hands grab him - and hold him.
It took some time until his shocked brain realized that his next sensation would not be pain. Relief flooded through his veins and drew a beaming smile to illuminate his face.
“Thank you,” said Jack, still breathless from the shock and the strain.
Ennis stared at him wordless, hypnotized by the blaze that had suddenly brought this tired and pained face to life.
He shook his head irritated and loosened his grip around Jack’s arms.
“You’re ok?” he mumbled awkwardly and saw from the corner of his eyes that Jack took his crutches to bring himself in a secure standing position.
Only then he let him go, bowed to get the letters from the floor.
“I’m sorry,” said Jack as Ennis came up again.
“What now?” Ennis asked, but this time his voice didn’t sound unfriendly and snubbing.
“I should have warned you. I am not so quick and...”
Ennis interrupted him with a harsh voice and looked at him. “Not your fault, is it?” he asked quietly.
Jack looked down. “No,” he whispered nearly inaudible and Ennis saw his jawbone work.
They stood quietly for seconds in the hall before Ennis stepped closer, keeping Jack’s mail in his hands, passing carefully Jack to go into the apartment without looking around, putting the mail on the table and passing Jack again with the same caution back to the hallway.
They stood near each other insecure.
“All ok now?” Ennis heard himself ask quietly wondrously and Jack nodded.
“Yes.”
Ennis grumbled reassured, threw a last secret glance on the man beside him before turning around wordlessly to step into the dark hallway.
“Hey Ennis,” Jack called him quietly.
Ennis turned around and looked at him questioningly.
“Nothing… it’s nothing...,” Jack said awkwardly and looked to the floor. Ennis turned, irritated, took another step, hesitated - and turned around again slowly.
“Teddy... Ted Miller...,” he said insecure and looked up to Jack whose head had snapped up happily at the sound of that name.
“Yes?” Jack asked expectantly and Ennis frowned in strain.
“He... he…,” he started and faltered. He cleared his throat laboriously before continuing. “He had a stroke.”
He lowered his head quickly as he saw fright in Jack’s eyes, heard a little “Shit...” and looked up again.
For a split second their eyes met and something like understanding came through with both of them.
“Thank you for telling me,” Jack said eventually, smiling carefully. Ennis looked down, shrugging, nodded wordless to him before he finally turned around and went away.
Jack stood at the open door for a long time before he found the courage to take his crutches again to do the short journey to the table where the mail was waiting for him.
And as he fell asleep later in the day soothed by the calming painkillers he saw Ennis’ brown eyes before him looking at him.
Lifeless and broken like his own. But not cold.
Not cold at all….
+ + +
tbc
Rating: PG-13 to NC-17 (Warning: violence !)
Summary: AU_AU. With this story I wanted to dive in the dark side of Brokeback Mountain. I wanted to experiment with fear, uncertainty and doubt. Ennis and Jack meet each other in the modern time.
Dedication: This story is dedicated to my German beta tanzmaeusi, who encouraged me to write this story. I also want to thank judy-blue-cat who helped me to understand the US-postal service and who also helped me to find the most suitable name for the city where this story takes place.
But tizi17 is the one you should thank the most if you like this story because she is the one who translates it. She is incredible and let me say she captures my writing perfectly. It's a great joy to work with her and I'm very happy I met her in this fandom. My special thank is dedicated to poppyhoney_67. She's our second native speaker besides Judy who is willing to help us catching the remaining errors. Thank you all !!
Feedback: Please !! It keeps all of us motivated...
* * *
Prologue: http://mel0804.livejournal.com/37179.html
1 Steel City: http://mel0804.livejournal.com/38777.html
2
Rust Town
From time immemorial Sun and Moon reign over the fate of the world. They round their orbit in symbiotic dependence to brother and sister, captured and guarded in the attraction of two powers, one hot and devastating, the other cold and hostile.
These two celestial bodies form the face of the world and breathe life into it. They bestow Day and Night, donate Warmth and Cold, Light and Shadow and wake over the course of seasons.
A dictate of power over Life and Death. A never ending circle for millions of years.
+ + +
As Ennis del Mar brought back his empty bags to the post office that afternoon he was the last one to come back home. Something that felt strange in his chest.
When he usually entered the post office there was a silence that after all that rush, that noise and aggressive roaring of the early morning postmen seemed unreal, giving a sense of security to Ennis, which he needed when he came back to his working place, bags empty and a with a sense of fathomless.
In such moments he luxuriated for a few minutes in the apparent paradisical quiet, and for a few seconds, gave in to the feeling of contentment, sometimes accentuated by a touch of a memory when he imagined that this stale air of old paper dust obstructing his nose and dulling his scent in reality was the fine smell of fresh hay entering his nostrils pungent and vivid.
Memories of a time of plenty, when the stifling air of the despatch hall, fat and packed with the stink of the city, touched his neck and reminded him of hot prairie winds that heisted the power of the torrid sunbeams on his back; and when in the franking machines rattling in the distance he caught the sound of soft stomping of horses waiting impatiently to be led into the shimmering summer sun of the widespread Wyoming plains.
These tiny moments of illusion helped him endure in a world that was not his. In a world that he had arrived at as a stranger and in which up to today only the force of habit gave him a feeling of belonging.
But that day everything was different.
As he entered the building he, who had taken over the tour of a lagged colleague, was suddenly in the centre of cumulative attention.
Not because they felt pity for a fallen front soldier, but because relief and a bashful joy about the fact that it hadn’t occurred to them this time had prevailed - paired with the need to make new contacts over the fate of a faltered man.
Contacts that meant survival in a world on the edge of madness. In a world where you walk alone mile after mile every day, stumbling from hallway to hallway, up the stairs and down the stairs, accompanied by the stink of biting urine and nauseating deterioration.
In this world they were the heralds of bad news, messengers of the authority and very rarely angels of joy.
And it is within human nature to confederate when the situation arises and the need for collective concealment prevails.
On this hot summer day as the heat let the leaves wither and the smut settle heavy over the city, as the oppressive stickiness melted the people’s hearts and their nerves lay blank, Ted Miller’s destiny made its round.
And as Ennis del Mar entered the post office that day he stood in a cloud of sweat and heat, surrounded by colleagues he mostly didn’t even know from their face and whose presence took away his air to breathe.
He tried to cut his way quietly and unimpressive, head lowered and shoulders shrugged. A posture that gave him disguise from all that was lurking at him when he gave up his cover. But all his tentative efforts to disappear in the mass was vain that day.
As he walked by the colleagues the chatter quieted, they stared at him with curious eyes, mouths open questioningly, until the first one found the courage to talk to the shy man.
“Del Mar!”
Ennis stopped startled in his move, unsure about what to do next. He turned around carefully and glanced from under his cap at the man that dared talk to him - and who knew his name.
“What?” he asked quietly.
“Heard anything from Teddy?”
Ennis shook his head.
“How long you got his tour?”
The questioner got a shrug in reply and Ennis turned around wanting to escape the eye of the attention.
“Heard he had a stroke”, a rough voice of a scrawny woman with bleached hair cut the tensed quiet. “Heard he won’t make it for long. Heard he’s just a drooling rag, poor wretch. Better he kicks the bucket anyway. Better off dead...”
The ongoing discussion passed by Ennis’ ears. He had heard what he had to hear if he wanted or not. And it had touched something in him. Something he couldn’t grab, definitely atomising the breath of what had passed that day.
Because as he tucked his dirty white time card into the box on the yellowish wall and the clattering “ping” resounded that made him a free man for the rest of the day, he remembered a broken blue staring at him and asking for Teddy - a stranger to him that had thrown out of balance the rhythm of life of so many.
+ + +
As Ennis came back to his shabby apartment in the suburb Rust Town the sun had already passed the zenith and its burning rays had withered all living in town.
A damp smell of mould and cheap washing powder streamed towards him as he opened the entrance door.
“Welcome to hell” in embittered sincerity an inhabitant had written those words ages ago in jittery graffiti on corroded wood.
Nobody had ever removed it, and over the months and years this message had corroded into the inhabitants’ brains becoming part of their being. A useless memory of something they felt and lived daily - captivated in merciless frankness for eternity.
As usual Ennis opened his mail box with the sellotaped silver number “17” - the only luxury he had willingly allowed himself and which he renewed regularly whenever the good-for-nothings in his house tore it off or made an “8” out of the “7”. Not that he got really important mail - but he didn’t want to leave this opportunity to chance.
And as every other day, too, nothing but publicity for a new fast-food place nearby welled out to him - a poor misguided soul who hadn’t understood yet that there was nothing to get in this part of Steel City - a ridiculously low phone bill, as usual just the base fee and… a used condom which he dropped to the floor, disgusted.
He clammed his mail under his armpits, took the steps to the first floor, past the apartment door of that Mexican family from where every day one could hear loud screaming and cursing. Ennis opened his door sighing and entered the dim corridor where nothing but stale air and dull quiet was expecting him.
With a kick he closed the door shut, put the mail on the white kitchen table and took a cool beer out of the old, tiredly humming fridge.
The lid sprang up hissing as Ennis opened the bottle with a lighter. It ran under the only kitchen cupboard Ennis owned and in which the few glasses and plates sat which he practically never used.
He slumped groaning onto one of the two chairs, and he asked himself not for the first time why he didn’t just put the second one outside for somebody to take away who could use it.
He just sat on this one chair back to the window. He had never used the other one. And every time he was sitting here at the kitchen table the empty chair stared at him. Talked to him through its mere presence and reminded him unnecessarily of how lonesome he was.
The beer ran cold down his throat and chased the last taste of dust and dirt. He leaned back his head tired and stared up to the formerly white ceiling. A fat spider had made its home in one corner and was spinning its web diligently - a preparation for the hunt. Disgusted, Ennis watched its tentacle like movements. He hated spiders, and under different circumstances he would have taken off his boot and would have killed it. But that day he didn’t have the power anymore, and something in its chosen and purposeful moves calmed him. Showed him that there was life in the apartment besides him.
Slowly the quiet in his apartment settled into his body. It began with a slight swish in his ears as he heard his blood pound through his veins and he thought he’d hear his heart beat. The little trembling of his legs. The little clattering of his teeth against the bottle neck when he drank.
He closed his eyes and his body’s sounds mingled with the sounds outside his body. The tick-tock of the kitchen clock, the unnerving dripping of the faucet, the cozy creaking of the chair he sat on.
And as his sensory organs had melted with the sounds of his apartment they allowed outside sounds to enter his consciousness. The dull clapping of punches and the following shriek screaming of the Mexican woman, the howling of a police siren. The beating of the entrance door and scuffling sounds in the staircase, a flushing WC, blurred voices from a TV.
Ennis opened his eyes slowly, throwing a last glance to the ceiling where the spider now sat without moving. He nearly thought he saw it smile - waiting devilishly for the first victim.
With goose pimples on his back he stood up, went into his tiny living room and fell onto his couch. Little dust flakes danced in the orange sunlight that gave more color to the room than it had to offer.
Automatically his gaze wandered to the sachet on the table in front of him and the razor blade that lay silvery next to it, blinking seductively in the setting evening sun.
With calm hands he reached for the blade without hesitating. He divided with it the content of the little bag, pushed a part of the powder onto the metal tip and placed it carefully into the crook of his thumb.
White and innocent it lay on his brown skin - promising a brief happiness. Ennis’ nose lowered slowly down over the powder, closing one nostril with his strong thumb, the other one ready to consume.
A hesitation for a split second.
A quarrel with himself.
But then…
A deep vivid breath cutting the quiet of the apartment, a painful tingling in the nose and tearing eyes - heralding for what Ennis was waiting and craving for, on that day that had been so different to all the other days.
He leaned back quietly and closed his eyes, listening to the sounds in his body and in the world out there where he somehow belonged. Minute after minute passed, the clock hand ticking louder and louder, his blood pumping quicker, his breath jerking, his heart racing.
And while the sun slowly descended behind the black chimneys of Rust Town and the moon took over the other side of the guard, Ennis began to feel what it meant to be alive.
+ + +
Jack Twist had a restless night and this time it hadn’t been the pain to spoil his sleep but bitter nightmares chasing him through the black of the night.
He was back on the lonesome street. It was pitch dark. The lanterns had gone off and painfully he felt out his way through the darkness.
Cold was creeping up his legs slowly as he heard the sound of the engine behind him and the headlights illuminated the street briefly.
Blinded by the light he continued to pad on blindly, the humming of the engine getting closer.
He ran.
Slowly first for fear.
But than faster and faster.
They got nearer. And nearer.
He ran but wasn’t able to move forward.
Panic rose in his veins. He threw himself forward wildly. Wanted to free himself form the power that kept him to the ground, hindering him from escaping. But he couldn’t manage it.
He couldn’t do it.
And then…
Then they got him.
Threw him to the ground. Invisible aggressors whose punches he couldn’t see in the dark. They hit him.
Uncovered.
And he could do nothing against it.
Nothing at all.
Punch after punch drummed on him and burst his body. And finally, as he thought he wouldn’t bare the pain and torture any more, he looked into a pair of brown eyes. Lifeless and broken, but nonetheless he believed to see a raging flame of sympathy way back in the soul of those eyes.
“Help me” Jack heard himself whimper. “Help me…”
But the warmth of the eyes turned cold. Brown mingling with black.
They looked at him taunting.
“He’s through. A sly one less in town”, the voice said despising and gave him a last kick before the clattering steps of the stranger went away. A door of a car closed. An engine roared. Shrieking tires - and Jack was alone.
All on his own in the deepest of nights.
He woke up screaming and sweating and turned on his nightstand lamp.
Tears ran down his cheeks. He fingered his chest and face frantically. He was unhurt. They hadn’t done anything to him.
It was just a dream...
Just a dream...
He sank back onto his cushions relieved, relaxing his aching leg as best as he could.
For the rest of the night Jack lay in his bed awake listening to his own irregular heartbeat. His eyes followed the unruly shadows his night lamp threw onto the wall and he felt the loneliness taking him in its icy grip taking his breath away.
He hated the night.
He hated it.
And as dawn took away the blackness of the night sky and the shape of the shadows on his bedroom walls faded, he dared to close his eyes again, allowing himself a few hours of oblivion with the beginning of the day.
+ + +
The next morning Ennis started in his usual routine and only when he arrived at the post office he remembered he had to run an extra tour today and probably for several days and weeks.
He packed his bags methodically without participating in the general conversation around him. What was the point - nobody was interested in his opinion anyway. And that he had taken over Ted Miller’s tour and would run it in future, too, was normality today.
The faulty member of the chain had been replaced. Life went on as usual.
And so Ennis rounded block after block, mile after mile in burning heat, and step by step the burden in his bags lessened. First he finished his quarter. Here he knew every corner and every angle, knowing exactly which letter slot was stuck, who emptied his and who didn’t, which dog threatened to bite and which one followed its threat with facts.
He knew all the empty faces opening doors for him to take their mail. Old ones or young ones - they all looked jaded, and the longer the day went on the more those faces blurred into a uniformed mass of people who he confronted wordlessly and who, wordlessly too, took what they were obliged to accept.
And only as he stood in front of one of the last apartment doors his universe focused back again, the blurred shapes of the person in front of him got clear, and he looked up startled as a melodious voice came to his ear addressing him with his name and a smile.
“Hello Ennis.”
He stared perplex into steel blue eyes and as if in slow motion he realized the entire person, saw the thin body that braced itself on crutches painfully. Black hair sticking damp in every which way, bright white T-shirt, worn jeans, barefoot, and a hint of fresh soap breezed into his numb nose.
“Hello,” he finally mumbled and took a questioning glance of the person in front of him.
“Jack Twist. We.. we met yesterday,” the man about his age helped him gently along and Ennis felt himself blushing.
“I know,” he said quietly and passed the letters without looking at him.
“I’m sorry,” said Jack after a few seconds of waiting.
“What?” asked Ennis looking up under his cap.
“I can’t take it from you. I just got up. Thought that you’d come later since you replace Teddy,” Jack started to blabber and his clear words cut the dull silence of the hallway.
“Slept longer. Had nightmares and just fell asleep in the morning and now my leg hurts like crazy. I didn’t have yet… anyway I can’t… sorry...”
He became silent helplessly and bit his under lip. Ennis looked at him and understanding flashed in his eyes for a brief moment.
“Where shall I put the mail?” he asked quietly.
“On the table in the corridor,” Jack replied without looking at him.
Ennis took an uncertain step forward as Jack tried painfully that same instant to step aside. Catching Ennis’ quick movement only with the tail of his eye, Jack startled, saw for a split second the baseball bat in front of his inner eyes and staggered.
He drew his breath sharply as a punching pain hit his hip and a torn cry of frustration escaped his mouth as he realized he would fall.
He vaguely heard paper fall to the floor as he tried in milliseconds to prepare his rigid body for the hit. And right at the moment where he automatically decided to loosen his grip around the crutches to catch the falling with his ok arm he felt two strong hands grab him - and hold him.
It took some time until his shocked brain realized that his next sensation would not be pain. Relief flooded through his veins and drew a beaming smile to illuminate his face.
“Thank you,” said Jack, still breathless from the shock and the strain.
Ennis stared at him wordless, hypnotized by the blaze that had suddenly brought this tired and pained face to life.
He shook his head irritated and loosened his grip around Jack’s arms.
“You’re ok?” he mumbled awkwardly and saw from the corner of his eyes that Jack took his crutches to bring himself in a secure standing position.
Only then he let him go, bowed to get the letters from the floor.
“I’m sorry,” said Jack as Ennis came up again.
“What now?” Ennis asked, but this time his voice didn’t sound unfriendly and snubbing.
“I should have warned you. I am not so quick and...”
Ennis interrupted him with a harsh voice and looked at him. “Not your fault, is it?” he asked quietly.
Jack looked down. “No,” he whispered nearly inaudible and Ennis saw his jawbone work.
They stood quietly for seconds in the hall before Ennis stepped closer, keeping Jack’s mail in his hands, passing carefully Jack to go into the apartment without looking around, putting the mail on the table and passing Jack again with the same caution back to the hallway.
They stood near each other insecure.
“All ok now?” Ennis heard himself ask quietly wondrously and Jack nodded.
“Yes.”
Ennis grumbled reassured, threw a last secret glance on the man beside him before turning around wordlessly to step into the dark hallway.
“Hey Ennis,” Jack called him quietly.
Ennis turned around and looked at him questioningly.
“Nothing… it’s nothing...,” Jack said awkwardly and looked to the floor. Ennis turned, irritated, took another step, hesitated - and turned around again slowly.
“Teddy... Ted Miller...,” he said insecure and looked up to Jack whose head had snapped up happily at the sound of that name.
“Yes?” Jack asked expectantly and Ennis frowned in strain.
“He... he…,” he started and faltered. He cleared his throat laboriously before continuing. “He had a stroke.”
He lowered his head quickly as he saw fright in Jack’s eyes, heard a little “Shit...” and looked up again.
For a split second their eyes met and something like understanding came through with both of them.
“Thank you for telling me,” Jack said eventually, smiling carefully. Ennis looked down, shrugging, nodded wordless to him before he finally turned around and went away.
Jack stood at the open door for a long time before he found the courage to take his crutches again to do the short journey to the table where the mail was waiting for him.
And as he fell asleep later in the day soothed by the calming painkillers he saw Ennis’ brown eyes before him looking at him.
Lifeless and broken like his own. But not cold.
Not cold at all….
+ + +
tbc