Moist Remembers, 5, Deserve
Chapter 5: Deserve
Moist remembers the last time he talked to Billy. Oh, sure, he answered Dr. Horrible every day. But he hadn’t talked to Billy in years. If it wasn’t for the events transpiring right now, he would have thought that Billy had died that day in the homeless shelter with Penny. But he knew better now. His friend was alive… well, he had always been alive, but he thought he was dead… it was complicated.
Perhaps too complicated.
Moist never did understand how Billy and Dr. Horrible were two separate people. A few months before Penny hooked up with Hammer, Moist came home one day to find Billy typing hard on his computer. Giving himself a small nod the wet man went to his room to change out of his work clothes. Then he popped in the kitchen grabbing a drink and pulling a chair from the counter to the front living room he looked for a place to put it. Billy had long since stopped hiding the real lab. It had creeped so fully into the living room that the freezeray would sit next to the kitchen, the bookshelves had been sold to scrounge up some plastic casings and a new white board. And the price of an MRI when Billy wanted a map of Moist’s head. The apartment was now more laboratory than a living space. But Moist had his room, that’s all that mattered. Or, at that point, it did. They had grown apart. Not fully, they still talked and did things, they still mattered to each other. But they weren’t like they had been. Moist would give anything now to have that back. To be so close to each other. But there was no going back now.
At the time, however, they would have a heart-to-heart chat once a month or so. Just something to catch up on what had been going on. Dragging the chair over to sit by the front door, Moist plopped into it and leaned his elbows on the back of it. Billy glanced at him out of the corner of his eyes.
“You know I hate it when you sit like that in the chairs.”
“Yeah, I know.” Moist didn’t care much. He had helped get the chairs. If he wanted to sit backwards in them, he’d sit backwards bygummit. Billy went back to typing, and Moist knew better than to interrupt. He didn’t understand any of the math and science stuff, but last time he had pulled too much of Doc’s attention from it he wound up making the stun-ray explode. That wasn’t fun, having to rebuild that thing after pulling metal and glass shards out of their hands.
Soon enough, Billy stopped typing and leaned back in his chair, hand on chin, fingers tracing his lips, reading what he wrote. Billy had changed so much in the years they had lived together. The lines that had only started on his forehead had now made a nest for themselves there. His hair was a bit darker, mostly from being inside so much the sun hadn’t bleached it.
“Who are you today?”
“What?” Billy stopped reading and looked to his roomie. “Who what?”
“Who are you today?”
I’m me, no you’re not, yes I am, no you’re not… Moist was never good with words. They went on like that for a little until Billy put his head in his hands, groaning of a headache.
“In the years I’ve known you, I found four of you.”
“Four of me.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Explain?”
It was simple really. There were four Billy’s. There was Billy number one. He was the one that Moist liked over all the others. He was the one that had answered the door, the one that had welcomed him into their home. Next came Dr. Horrible, who needed no introduction. He was mean, and hard, and smart, and evil. Then there was Billy number three. He was the one that was in front of him right now. He was the one that was kind and patient, but had the brains of Dr. Horrible. He wouldn’t hurt anyone. Lastly there was Billy number four. He was the Dr. Horrible on a very very thin leash that Billy held. He was dangerous. Moist realized that the man he had met with the rent problem was this Billy, and not truly Dr. Horrible. Dr. Horrible was the one that wouldn’t hesitate to kill. Ever. But he slipped from one to the other so easily…
“Four of me. Huh.” Billy seemed fascinated by this. Like he had never known. Moist found it odd that someone so smart could have so many stupid moments. Not knowing about the other “yous” that you had, not knowing how to cook, not understanding how girls worked… though really he didn’t know himself. It was just part of the magic that was Billy. How Moist missed that.
Just like he missed his last talk with Billy. It wasn’t a talk. It, it was not even a chat. And the more that Moist thought of it the more he wished he had taken the time to make that a real talk. He had just stood there, opening (trying to anyway) a jar, trying to convince Billy that the ELE was a waste of time. How was he trying that? By suggesting ways to get into it. Killing a kid, smothering old people… things that he knew the League would ask Billy to do. And they were things he knew Billy wouldn’t want to do. But that was the last talk he had ever had with Billy.
Because after that, he holed himself up in his lab. He crashed the ceremony for the homeless shelter. He had his heart broken by his nemesis…
And Billy died. He hadn’t, he knew that now. But, he had though he had. Because after Penny died, there was no Billy. There was no Billy three or four. There was only Dr. Horrible. Because after Penny died, Dr. Horrible killed. Billy would never kill, he freaked out because a kid had an asthma attack. But Horrible killed. Over the last five years Dr. Horrible had killed over three hundred people. Included in that list, as of ten minutes ago, was Bad Horse. It was off to the evil glue factory for him now.
Moist stood at the door to the libratory of the ELE headquarters, and if it was any other time, he would have been amazed at what there was. It was clean, it was huge, everything had labels, it wasn’t a jumbled mess like their apartment had been. But there were things there that drew Moist’s eye. The giant chair in the corner, the one that Dr. Horrible still slept in… when he slept. And a blue lightning disk thing.
They were the only items from the old lab.
“I couldn’t do it anymore.” Moist turned, taking in the tiny figure in the huge chair. He was so used to the red smock, the black gloves, the goggles… seeing the brown shirt and the blue jeans was a shock. And what almost sent him into a heart attack was the sight of the blue eyes. It had been five years since Dr. Horrible had taken off the goggles. The ones that Billy rarely ever had down. This was Billy, not Dr. Horrible. Moist knew, deep down knew, that Dr. Horrible had died with Bad Horse. Hoisting himself up onto the huge upholstery, careful of his hurt friend, he thought of the leaky janitorial faucet as he pulled his friend to him, resting Billy’s head against his damp chest. They sat quietly, knowing that it wouldn’t last. There was a storm breaking, and soon they would drown. But right now, it was just them.
Moist held Billy with one arm, gently picking up one of the massacred wrists with his other.
“Oh Doc.” He whispered, shaking his head.
I miss her Moist. I know Doc, I know. I… I couldn’t do it anymore. It’s alright. No, it’s not, I shouldn’t ha- stop it Doc. Stop? Yes, stop. I tried. I know Doc, I know.
The blue jeans were purple with blood, and Moist knew there was no way to stop it. Billy needed it. Billy had taken him in, given him a home, a job, a friend, the confidence to be a henchman, the chance to be with Bait. And he had given Billy the strength to come back to him.
“Get some sleep Doc.” The blond was nodding off against him. Lips moved, but no sound came. “Huh?”
“Will you stay with me?” So tired, it broke Moist’s heart.
“Yes, I will. And so will Penny.”
“Penny?”
“Yes Doc, Penny will be there when you wake up.”
“Oh good, I should go, go get… get sssom-”
Moist sat for a while longer, listening to the pounding on the door. Sighing a bit, he shifted Billy’s arm from his soggy lap to the bloodied one. The he reached up and closed the silver blue eyes he had come to respect.
“Get some sleep Billy, you deserved it.”
Moist will never forget the last time he talked to Billy. It was the conversation that had meant more to him than any other he had ever had.
Moist remembers the last time he talked to Billy. Oh, sure, he answered Dr. Horrible every day. But he hadn’t talked to Billy in years. If it wasn’t for the events transpiring right now, he would have thought that Billy had died that day in the homeless shelter with Penny. But he knew better now. His friend was alive… well, he had always been alive, but he thought he was dead… it was complicated.
Perhaps too complicated.
Moist never did understand how Billy and Dr. Horrible were two separate people. A few months before Penny hooked up with Hammer, Moist came home one day to find Billy typing hard on his computer. Giving himself a small nod the wet man went to his room to change out of his work clothes. Then he popped in the kitchen grabbing a drink and pulling a chair from the counter to the front living room he looked for a place to put it. Billy had long since stopped hiding the real lab. It had creeped so fully into the living room that the freezeray would sit next to the kitchen, the bookshelves had been sold to scrounge up some plastic casings and a new white board. And the price of an MRI when Billy wanted a map of Moist’s head. The apartment was now more laboratory than a living space. But Moist had his room, that’s all that mattered. Or, at that point, it did. They had grown apart. Not fully, they still talked and did things, they still mattered to each other. But they weren’t like they had been. Moist would give anything now to have that back. To be so close to each other. But there was no going back now.
At the time, however, they would have a heart-to-heart chat once a month or so. Just something to catch up on what had been going on. Dragging the chair over to sit by the front door, Moist plopped into it and leaned his elbows on the back of it. Billy glanced at him out of the corner of his eyes.
“You know I hate it when you sit like that in the chairs.”
“Yeah, I know.” Moist didn’t care much. He had helped get the chairs. If he wanted to sit backwards in them, he’d sit backwards bygummit. Billy went back to typing, and Moist knew better than to interrupt. He didn’t understand any of the math and science stuff, but last time he had pulled too much of Doc’s attention from it he wound up making the stun-ray explode. That wasn’t fun, having to rebuild that thing after pulling metal and glass shards out of their hands.
Soon enough, Billy stopped typing and leaned back in his chair, hand on chin, fingers tracing his lips, reading what he wrote. Billy had changed so much in the years they had lived together. The lines that had only started on his forehead had now made a nest for themselves there. His hair was a bit darker, mostly from being inside so much the sun hadn’t bleached it.
“Who are you today?”
“What?” Billy stopped reading and looked to his roomie. “Who what?”
“Who are you today?”
I’m me, no you’re not, yes I am, no you’re not… Moist was never good with words. They went on like that for a little until Billy put his head in his hands, groaning of a headache.
“In the years I’ve known you, I found four of you.”
“Four of me.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Explain?”
It was simple really. There were four Billy’s. There was Billy number one. He was the one that Moist liked over all the others. He was the one that had answered the door, the one that had welcomed him into their home. Next came Dr. Horrible, who needed no introduction. He was mean, and hard, and smart, and evil. Then there was Billy number three. He was the one that was in front of him right now. He was the one that was kind and patient, but had the brains of Dr. Horrible. He wouldn’t hurt anyone. Lastly there was Billy number four. He was the Dr. Horrible on a very very thin leash that Billy held. He was dangerous. Moist realized that the man he had met with the rent problem was this Billy, and not truly Dr. Horrible. Dr. Horrible was the one that wouldn’t hesitate to kill. Ever. But he slipped from one to the other so easily…
“Four of me. Huh.” Billy seemed fascinated by this. Like he had never known. Moist found it odd that someone so smart could have so many stupid moments. Not knowing about the other “yous” that you had, not knowing how to cook, not understanding how girls worked… though really he didn’t know himself. It was just part of the magic that was Billy. How Moist missed that.
Just like he missed his last talk with Billy. It wasn’t a talk. It, it was not even a chat. And the more that Moist thought of it the more he wished he had taken the time to make that a real talk. He had just stood there, opening (trying to anyway) a jar, trying to convince Billy that the ELE was a waste of time. How was he trying that? By suggesting ways to get into it. Killing a kid, smothering old people… things that he knew the League would ask Billy to do. And they were things he knew Billy wouldn’t want to do. But that was the last talk he had ever had with Billy.
Because after that, he holed himself up in his lab. He crashed the ceremony for the homeless shelter. He had his heart broken by his nemesis…
And Billy died. He hadn’t, he knew that now. But, he had though he had. Because after Penny died, there was no Billy. There was no Billy three or four. There was only Dr. Horrible. Because after Penny died, Dr. Horrible killed. Billy would never kill, he freaked out because a kid had an asthma attack. But Horrible killed. Over the last five years Dr. Horrible had killed over three hundred people. Included in that list, as of ten minutes ago, was Bad Horse. It was off to the evil glue factory for him now.
Moist stood at the door to the libratory of the ELE headquarters, and if it was any other time, he would have been amazed at what there was. It was clean, it was huge, everything had labels, it wasn’t a jumbled mess like their apartment had been. But there were things there that drew Moist’s eye. The giant chair in the corner, the one that Dr. Horrible still slept in… when he slept. And a blue lightning disk thing.
They were the only items from the old lab.
“I couldn’t do it anymore.” Moist turned, taking in the tiny figure in the huge chair. He was so used to the red smock, the black gloves, the goggles… seeing the brown shirt and the blue jeans was a shock. And what almost sent him into a heart attack was the sight of the blue eyes. It had been five years since Dr. Horrible had taken off the goggles. The ones that Billy rarely ever had down. This was Billy, not Dr. Horrible. Moist knew, deep down knew, that Dr. Horrible had died with Bad Horse. Hoisting himself up onto the huge upholstery, careful of his hurt friend, he thought of the leaky janitorial faucet as he pulled his friend to him, resting Billy’s head against his damp chest. They sat quietly, knowing that it wouldn’t last. There was a storm breaking, and soon they would drown. But right now, it was just them.
Moist held Billy with one arm, gently picking up one of the massacred wrists with his other.
“Oh Doc.” He whispered, shaking his head.
I miss her Moist. I know Doc, I know. I… I couldn’t do it anymore. It’s alright. No, it’s not, I shouldn’t ha- stop it Doc. Stop? Yes, stop. I tried. I know Doc, I know.
The blue jeans were purple with blood, and Moist knew there was no way to stop it. Billy needed it. Billy had taken him in, given him a home, a job, a friend, the confidence to be a henchman, the chance to be with Bait. And he had given Billy the strength to come back to him.
“Get some sleep Doc.” The blond was nodding off against him. Lips moved, but no sound came. “Huh?”
“Will you stay with me?” So tired, it broke Moist’s heart.
“Yes, I will. And so will Penny.”
“Penny?”
“Yes Doc, Penny will be there when you wake up.”
“Oh good, I should go, go get… get sssom-”
Moist sat for a while longer, listening to the pounding on the door. Sighing a bit, he shifted Billy’s arm from his soggy lap to the bloodied one. The he reached up and closed the silver blue eyes he had come to respect.
“Get some sleep Billy, you deserved it.”
Moist will never forget the last time he talked to Billy. It was the conversation that had meant more to him than any other he had ever had.