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Order of business one: OH MY GOD, I REWROTE CHAPTER 3 AND IT IS NOW DONE, I FINISHED IT IN LESS THAN 24 HOURS.
Order of business two: OH FUCK. I DELETED MY NOTES FOR WHAT WAS CHAPTER 3 AND NOW WOULD BE CHAPTER 4. SO NOW I HAVE TO WRITE THAT FROM SCRATCH. (Let my Julian icon convey to you how stupid I feel right now. ;_______;)
Order of business three: Well, whatever. I finished Chapter 3 which brings my word count to 27K and that means I am about 1k behind today's word goal!
So anyway, here we have the entire Chapter 3, "I Knew I Shouldn't have Trusted You (I am not your damned maid)" behind the cut. There is a whole lot less whine in this one and almost every other scene begs me to be drawn. I apologize profusely for anyone who will be traumatized by Adam's use of emoticons. OTL
Current word count: 27, 355
Day 17
Outside, streamed across the glass doors was yellow tape. Police officers did their best to held back the crowd that had formed. Half of them were those who had been evacuated from inside the mall and the rest were just people who wanted to see the carnage. Inconvenient for them, the glass doors and panels were tinted so well that they obscured even the most effective of cameras.
The sprinklers were finally turned off. Swarming all over the mall were not police; they were however as effective, or even more so, than the gentlemen outside. They were decked in black from head to foot with the occasional undershirt or blouse of a different color. One man stood apart from all of them, decked conversely in all white, a young man, who was looking down at on a body from which the white sheet (or at least it used to be white, now it was just mostly red) had been pulled back.
There was a young woman by the name of Raine who had been talking to him. Apparently seeing the body under the sheet was giving her quite the difficult time in composing her thoughts. “Um, ah, sir, the,” she forced herself to stop, choking on her own words. She swallowed in a desperate attempt to compose herself. “The bodies appear to be human. There are about thirty of them in total.”
The young man in white had been appreciating the eerily symmetry with which a bullet hole had been planted right in the center of the forehead. “All of them shot?”
Raine grimaced, uncomfortable in so many levels. She shuffled through her small notepad. “One of them had been stabbed with, uh, a knife, sir. Between the eyes.”
The young man was thoughtful. “What about the blood stains on that wall? The way they’re splattered, they don’t look like the results of a shot to me.”
“We’re currently looking into that as well, sir.”
The young man nodded. “Please carry on.” Raine bowed and walked away, looking quite ill as she had to step over limbs in awkward positions to return to her team.
The young man pulled on a pair of disposable white gloves from his pocket and crouched to examine the body closer, absolutely mindful of his uniform.
There were footsteps coming his way, stopping right behind him. There was an almost miltary click to his heels as he put them together. If the young man looked up, he might have seen a salute. “Sir.”
“Yes, Ephraim?”
“They’re not human.”
The young man made a noncommital hum, reaching forward to grasp the face. He turned it this way and that, letting his thumb slide down to pull back a lower lip. The teeth underneath looked perfectly normal although yellowed in the telltale fashion of a heavy smoker. There were dark red bits and pieces sticking in that small crevice between gum and teeth, even more so between teeth. “Support your evidence.”
“I examined one of the corpses--”
The young man smirked, reaching with both hands this time to open the corpse’s jaw. It was starting to settle into rigor mortis. “You fucking cut one open, you mean?”
Ephraim cleared his throat, embarrassed. “Yes, sir.”
“Fuck,” the young man muttered, taking the corpses’ tongue between two fingers and pulling it forward. It was covered in the same dark red tint. Ephraim was not sure if the curse was for him or for the corpse. “Did you leave the weapon nearby at least?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Continue then.” The young man let the corpse’s tongue go, arranging it back in the cradle of its lower jaw and closed its mouth, as if untouched.
“I found bits and pieces of a human, sir.”
The white sheet was returned over the corpse. The young man’s voice was so soft Ephraim could barely catch it. “Fuckers. What the hell is going on.”
Across the mall, a woman in black was tracing blood stained footprints. She followed them from a smashed display case to a short distance where one of the corpses had been stabbed through the face. From there the footprints continued, as if connecting the dots from one body to another.
Noticing her as she passed, Raine called out, “Ah, Ms. Gascon? Where are you going?”
The woman looked up at Raine and smiled. The way her face lit up made her look much younger. “Oh. Just checking around.”
“Ianne.” The young man in white was making his way to another set of bodies near her, his white gloves already covered in blood.
The woman named Ianne looked up as he approached. “Sir?”
He stepped up to her, voice so low no one else could hear it. “Proceed with caution. If you find any incriminating evidence, collect it.”
Ianne smiled, but this smile made her look almost feline. Like a Cheshire Cat. “Yes, sir.”
***
Honor begrudgingly gives Noah some well due credit. The kid can drive afterall. In fact, wearing an extra pair of Honor’s shades and he looked just like a young adult, handling an SUV with as much grace as one would a sedan. It was probably a good thing that Honor had also told Noah where to go early on. Half way through the ride and Honor had begun to fade in and out of consciousness.
At some point, Noah reached over to feel his left hand, probably during a red light, and shouted something that sounded like, Hold On. Honor stirred a bit in response but couldn’t open his eyes or make his mouth work. Everything was dim for a long while, just a bunch of sound that made no sense.
Honor’s world came back into startling clarity when he felt someone slapping his cheeks. His reflex was to pull away and growl out, “Fuck you.”
“No thanks,” came the reply. Honor squeezed his eyes together, feeling pain seeping back into his consciousness. Noah was leaning over him when he opened his eyes.
“Oh, it’s you.”
“I think we’re at your place.”
Honor smiled weakly. “Thanks. So you gonna carry me over the threshold?”
Noah glared at him without any real venom. “You wish. Move your ass, bastard. I can’t carry you all the way to the elevator.”
Honor allowed Noah to slide his legs into a cooperative angle so that all Honor had to do was slide off his seat. He managed to land on his feet. The world spun slowly, a dull headache playing counterpoint to the sharp paint in his sides and in his right shoulder. “Hey, hey,” Noah slid an arm under his jacket and around his waist. Honor swayed on his feet a little before giving in and leaning heavily on Noah.
Noah struggled to keep them both upright as he reached for Honor’s shotgun and slung it over his shoulder. The SUV door closed firmly and the alarm system was set. Together they slowly made their way to the elevator. It did not help that Honor’s legs were turning into jelly with every step they took.
No one else was using it at this time. Noah mentioned something about the time, a double digit hour that Honor couldn’t quite process. Honor had to fight the temptation to lean against the elevator wall that looked so much more comfortable than Noah’s bony frame. Noah had to bark at Honor several times before Honor resigned himself to his bony fate.
After an eternity, the elevator opened on Honor’s floor. Honor’s room was the last one at the end of the hall. Noah had to struggle with Honor’s weight against him as he figured out which key was for the door. He managed to get the door open and pull both of them inside just as another door down the hall opened and chatter drifted out.
Noah closed the door as fast as he could, leaning against it and straining to hear. There was a woman’s indulgent laughter, a man’s low voice and what sounded distinctly like the crisp turning of money.
“Bitch down the hall,” Honor muttered into Noah’s hair, “likes to invite young men to her room while her husband’s out on trips.”
Noah sighed, reaching to lock the door; he turned the knob lock first and then did the bolts. All five of them. “How do you even know this?”
“Might have been invited.” Against Noah’s hair, Honor was grinning sleepily.
It took all of Noah’s willpower not to shove Honor off him and on to the floor to writh in agony. Instead, he helped them move through Honor’s dark foyer, stopping only once to turn on the light. (Noah had to fumble some, because although he knew as a fact that foyers led into living rooms and the light switches would be between the two, Honor certainly was not being cooperative in helping him locate it.)
The living room that was suddenly flooded in white light was, in very few words, a pig sty. Now, in more words, in a cleaner state it might actually look livable. There were empty pizza boxes on the coffee table in front of the couch, opened bottles of beer. Noah thought he saw cockroach antennae peeking out from inside one of the open soda cans.
Various articles of clothing were strewn all over the place. A pair of pants over the back of the couch, a jacket on the floor. There was a shirt under the coffee table. Socks just a few feet from where they were both standing. With a mighty sigh, Noah decided that he did not want to see the kitchen.
He brought Honor in front of the couch but had to suffer Honor’s weight for a few long moments as he made sure that there were no cockroaches on the couch. He lifted a pillow and started slapping the rest of the couch with it, to dislodge any dirt or any interesting creatures. Miraculously, or unfortunately, all Noah did find were a pair of lacy panties. Digusted, Noah threw them over his shoulder and probably into the vicinity of the socks.
Honor did not receive any mercy as he was unceremoniously dropped on to the couch. It might have been luck on Honor’s side that he didn’t land on his wounded shoulder. He did still grunt in pain though; the couch still got him in the side. The wound was smaller but it was still a bitch.
“Fuck you!” Honor hissed, clutching his side.
Noah allowed himself a triumphant grin just before he turned to face the coffee table. He must have been burning with determination because the cockroach actually retreated into its soda can home. Fearless, (or probably experienced, Noah’s room could sometimes reach this level of uncleanliness when he felt particularly like a slob, or when he’s the only one left at home) he turned the soda can at a downwards angle. The cockroach slid out and was promptly crushed by Noah’s shoe.
The pizza boxes were gathered up (more cockroaches met their demise) and together with the soda cans, were brought to the kitchen. Just as Noah suspected there were dirty dishes in the sink and more roaches. It wasn’t a very big surprise to find the garbage full either. It was only through a miracle that Noah found an extra garbage bag and proceeded to stuff the boxes and the cans in.
He would have to deal with everything later, he thought as he washed his hands. Right now, he needed to tend to Honor.
Honor was the same as Noah had left him. He wasn’t quite lucid yet but his responses were improving. Noah talked him into sitting up for a few moments to remove his jacket and his shirt. It had been difficult to manuever, as the blood had stuck both pieces of clothing against Honor’s skin. He grunted in pain, wounds jarred as Noah finally peeled both of them off.
It wasn’t very pretty. Honor’s arm was more than just “fucked up”, it looked like it was practically “fucked up beyond repair”. The gash needed stitches and god knew that Noah could not do anything to help except to clean it. He found the wounds on Honor’s side, deep gashes that also might need some stitching, and thankfully shallower gashes on Honor’s back, probably from where he passed through glass.
“Fuck,” Noah muttered, feeling his chest constrict. “We need to go to a hospital.”
“No,” Honor replied. “Can’t. Security cameras. What if,” he paused, sighed, “what if they’ve acquired the film? Broadcasted it all over the news.”
“Then both of us are screwed.” Noah hung his head. “Do you have a First Aid kit? I can, uh, try, I guess.”
“Kid, I wouldn’t let you near me with anything relatively harmful.” Honor’s smirk was embedded in his tone. “Don’t worry. I can stitch myself up.”
“You're right handed aren’t you?”
“Well, yeah.”
“Then how the hell are you supposed to do that?”
“Kid, have a little more faith in me. Isn’t the first time I’ve gotten in trouble.”
Noah sighed. “Where’s your First Aid kit?”
“Uh, in the kitchen. The second door from the sink.”
Noah trudged into the kitchen, eyeing the mess to be cleaned with a sharp eye, before digging into the cabinets to fish out the kit. It was much bigger than Noah expected and not just a small white box with a red cross on top either. It was basically a white tool box, a foot and a half in length. (There was no red cross.)
He brought it back to Honor, who had finally become lucid enough to glare at his wounds. “Fuckers!” He said just as Noah set the kit next to Honor and sat on the coffee table. “I’m never shopping to that fucking place again. Well, whatever. Get me some warm water and a wash cloth.”
“Don’t fucking order me around like a maid,” Noah hissed back, even as he was standing to cross the room and visit once more what was quickly becoming his least favorite place in the whole world. It was by sheer misfortune that the thermos was empty and Noah had to manuever his way around the kitchen, looking for a kettle to boil some water in. Ironically, it took him longer to find the basin to pour the hot water in than boiling the water.
Finally, he returned to Honor with everything he asked for. Honor snickered at Noah as he made a great deal about looking for newspaper (to his fortune, there was a lot of it scattered under the coffee table) and used that to keep the wet bottom of the basin from destroying the table surface.
“You’re such a girl,” Honor drawled.
“You, my dear sir, are such a pig.” Noah picked up the wash cloth that had been floating around in the water and squeezed it out. “Now, lean forward and let me clean those wounds.”
Honor rolled his eyes but allowed himself to obey. Noah gently dabbled at the large gash on his shoulder first, grimacing at how deep it was. As a child, Moses had been very hyperactive. He tripped on things on the floor, like shoes or his own toys. More often than not, he would trip over his own shoelaces while running outside. He’d come back crying with bloody knees. This thing on Honor’s shoulder though was not a bloody knee by any length.
As he moved down Honor’s back to wipe the smaller gashes, his eyes strayed. Dark ink decorated patches of Honor’s skin. Over his right shoulder blade was what looked a whole lot like a cross with a human heart at the center and circled by what Noah assumed to be the Crown of Thorns.
“Did that hurt?” Noah murmured.
Honor’s voice was a low rumble. “Did what hurt? If you’re asking about being thrown through a display case, yes, it fucking hurt.”
Noah pressed too hard on the next wound. Honor grunted low in his throat. Serves you right, you bastard. “I meant the tattoo, dumb ass.”
“Huh, yeah. They hurt.”
Noah blinked. They? He let his eyes travel some more. Across Honor’s nape, in blocky print, was NOAH. In spite of himself, he felt his cheeks warm. “What’s this thing on your neck?”
“Ah, that piece of shit.” Honor reached up, fingers rubbing the skin of his nape, as if embarrassed. “When I was a kid, this tattoo artist used to tell me that God would strike me down if I got any ink. He couldn’t resist money, of course, and I told him to lay on me the most profound thing he knew.” He shrugged. “A saying or something. Something inspiring.”
“What did you expect? Kurt Vonnegut? ‘Pretend to be good always and even God will be fooled’?”
“Yeah, something like that. But the asshole, he lays on NOAH. And he laughs like it’s the funniest thing in the world.”
Noah couldn’t help but feel relieved. He was getting worked up for nothing. It was his Biblical namesake. Not something ridiculous, like tattooing a lover’s name on your skin. Although Honor did come across as someone as crazy as that. “Well then, why did you get this cross?”
Honor paused, hesitating. When he spoke, his voice was quiet. “My mother, she was a very devoted Catholic.”
Noah knew a sensitive topic when he saw one and let it slip. Noah was sensitive when it came to his own parents and had his suspicions on Honor being equally sensitive. He continued in cleaning the wounds moving lower to the small of Honor’s back where the wounds almost covered everything, only decreasing in number where skin met denim.
With a small shove, Noah guided Honor to turn a bit so that he had easier access to the gashes in Honor’s side. Honor had started rummaging through the First Aid kit with his left arm, looking for antiseptic. Noah had not meant to notice but his eyes immediately found more dark ink. He had been admiring the crown and compass star on Honor’s hip bone (Noah denies admiring the hip and the way it was pressed hard against the denim waist band) when he noticed Honor’s larger collection of tattoos on his left arm.
It started at his wrist. There was a bracelet inked into his skin, of barbed wire (or a crown of thorns) with several spikes. Noah almost counted seven. The backs of his fingers had not been untouched. On his forefinger was a celtic cross, on his ring finger was a band of what appeared to be the word HIMALA. Miracle.
Travelling upward from the barbed wire bracelet, were several images so closely done together that they looked like one continuous image. A wraith like death with a scythe; a black raven; a hot cross button; a sun with a several rays surrounding it in a corona; the words, “Hindi mahanap sa lupa ang pagasa” (You cannot find hope on earth).
Noah frowned. “You have so many.”
Honor gave him a side long glance before returning his eyes to the bottle he was inspecting. “I like ink.” He put the bottle on his lap and reached for cotton balls. “Okay, so now, there’re a few things I need you to do. First thing is, help me unscrew this damned bottle.”
Noah smiled wryly and dropped the washcloth into the basin. It was with great effort that he did not focus n the fact that the water was turning into the diluted color of blood. He did as he was told. “Let me guess, now you want me to put the antiseptic on you?”
“Always such a smart boy,” Honor said with a crooked grin.
All he got for his troubles was a roll of Noah’s eyes. Noah tried not to smile when Honor hissed as he applied some on the particularly painful shoulder gash. “Oh, I’m sorry. Did that hurt?”
Honor glared at Noah but kept his lips sealed. Noah rewarded him by applying gauze over the scratches on Honor’s back. When Noah was done, he said, “Okay, next two things. One, get me to my bedroom. The light’s better there and there’s a big mirror.” He brought himself to his feet, slowly, needing to lean less against Noah this time around. He snatched the First Aid Kit before they crossed the room together. As they passed by a table against the wall, Honor said, “Get me that bottle over there. The one with the seal.”
Noah lifted an unopened bottle of liquor and shot Honor a quirked eyebrow. “This is rum.”
“Why yes it is.” Honor took it from Noah with his left hand. “You probably want to take that glass over there too.”
The most horrible scenario occured to Noah. “Please don’t tell me you're going to get drunk, sit in front of your mirror, slash your wrists, write some Satanic message on the mirror and then shoot yourself making it all look like I’m the killer?”
“Who’s being optimistic now,” Honor grinned. “That would be too convenient for me.”
Finally they reached Honor’s room, which was in a similar state. Which is, resembling a pig sty. Noah did appreciate however that there were no empty food boxes or empty soda cans. But there was a scattering of empty liquor bottles. Noah felt angry for seeing them, wanted to give Honor a piece of his mind. That would have to wait.
The room was indeed a bit brighter than the living room. There was a sliding window which was bolted shut, the frosted glass tinted yellow from the street lamp outside. You could make out the wrought iron jalousies outside. In combination, the yellow light created interesting patterns on the bed right next to the window. Honor apparently liked to keep his own space. The bed was king sized, with the headboard made of bookshelves. Those bookshelves were actually populated; the books looked as if they’ve had their fair amount of abuse. The bed itself was cluttered with them, big and bulky hard bound volumes, with post its hanging out between pages. A few notebooks were there too, hasty and messy scrawl decorating the pages.
It was safe to conclude that Honor didn’t do much sleeping on his bed. Or much sleeping, period. As they went, Honor flicked the light on. Harsh white light filled the room. Set into the wall right by the foot of Honor’s bed, was a huge mirror. There was a bit of a counter built under it, which provided more space for empty liquor bottles to occupy. Noah helped Honor into the barstool in front of the mirror. This gave Honor the perfect view of his upper half, starting from his hips upwards.
Noah was really suspecting Honor would do that Satanic message on the mirror thing. “What else would you need me to do?”
Honor was thoughtful for a long moment. “Open the bottle for me and pour me a shot.”
“Is this even necessary?” Noah asked as he watched the liquid slosh into the glass.
“Beats having to go to the hospital.” Honor took that shot in one go, grimacing as the alcohol hit his body. “Last thing I need you to do.”
“What?”
“Get out of the room.”
Noah blinked. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me, kid.” Honor was rummaging through the First Aid kit with his left hand, pulling out a surgical needle and some thread. “I can’t concentrate unless I’m alone. Help yourself to some TV or something.” As if sensing Noah’s hesitation, Honor turned and gave Noah a genuine smile. “I’ll be okay.”
“You’d better be,” Noah grumbled as he walked towards the door. “I’m not chopping up your fucking body and scattering you all around the city.” Honor’s laugh was muffled when Noah closed the door.
***
Half an hour passed by.
Noah kept himself busy by attacking the kitchen. But that was soon over. So he attacked Honor’s clothes that had been strewn all over the place. For good measure, he even went through great pains to find the laundry room and shucked the stuff into the washing machine.
Some time into his cleaning, Noah wondered Why the hell am I doing this?
His answer was simple: to keep his hands from shaking.
Noah wasn’t very sure if he was scared for Honor who was stitching himself up, alone, inside his room. Or if he was scared for himself. He just assisted someone, who could probably be a maniac, blow more than two dozen people to kingdom come. He wasn’t even sure if they were people.
In his eyes, they were great black giants, breathing tobacco. But Honor had said they looked human to him. And that scared Noah. What if the crazy one remained to be Noah? Lana aside, what if Noah just assisted in murdering 30 innocent people?
Noah shuddered, nearly dropping the liquor bottles. What if that was all over the news right now? Wouldn’t Honor’s neighbors notice that the maniac with a shotgun was living a couple of doors down? Wouldn’t Adam and Anne and Moses notice that the maniac with a shotgun’s accomplice was their own brother?
Noah washed his hands several times under the faucet, soaping up and rinsing it off, several times until his hands turned into prunes. He only managed to pull himself away when he made tea for himself and sat at Honor’s (newly cleaned, roach free!) dinner table.
An hour passed.
Noah refused to turn on the TV. He wanted to know if his fears were true but couldn’t bring himself to even pick up the remote. Much less push the power button. His mind was swimming with Adam’s furious face, of Anne’s disappointed tears, of Moses’ fear of his older brother--
Noah jumped when he felt something vibrating against his hip. His hands fumbled for a bit before he found the offender. His cellphone, which he had forgotten all about. The name flashing on the screen read KUYA ADAM.
The bottom of Noah’s stomach fell. Oh god. Adam was looking for him. What was Adam going to say? I never raised you to be a murderer? Noah stared at the phone for so long that the vibrating eventually died. From Adam’s name, the screen switched to the number of missed calls: 1. He dismissed the notification and found his way to his inbox. This was less fortunate. There were five messages, all from Adam.
Noah decided to start with the oldest one, so that probably by the time he reached Adam’s death threats he was no longer scared.
Message number one: Never mind the bread, got some already. :D
Okay, that was harmless. Noah moved on to the next one.
Message number two: Please don’t forget to buy flowers for Mom and Dad.
Message number three: Come home early. I bought pizza. :DD
Message number four: Noah, where are you?
Noah’s gut twisted. Here we go, the last message.
Message number five: FOR THE LOVE OF GOD NOAH PICK--
Noah couldn’t finish reading the message. The display switched back to KUYA ADAM and right above it, in lower case: incoming call...
Taking a deep breath and making the sign of the cross, Noah answered the call. Adam's voice boomed right out of the ear piece, as clear as if Adam was standing in front of him. “Noan, where are you?”
In spite of himself, Noah sagged with relief. “Kuya--”
“Are you okay?” The edges of Adam's voice were tattered in panic. “I was so worried.”
Wait for it, wait for it. Next he’ll be throwing you out of the house for your mass murderer ways. “I’m okay. I’m fine.” Noah looked down at the floor and quickly realized it was coming right at him. Oh. No. His body just decided that the floor would be a great place to sit on. He leaned against the wall, head between his knees. “Look, Kuya, I’m sorry--”
Adam paused, surprised. “Noah? What are you sorry for?” Recovering his wits, Adam continued. “I’m not mad at you for making me worried. I was just--” He paused again, apparently sighing in his own relief. “I’m just so happy you're okay. I saw it on the news, Noah. It was horrible and I was so worried that you were part of that.” In the background, Noah could hear Anne give a small sound of joy.
Wait. What. Noah dove for the remote, turning the TV on. He set it to mute as he flipped through the channels to the local news. The newscaster was on the scene, with the bodies being carried out on stretchers in the back. They were covered with white sheets thoroughly soaked with blood. Ironically, the crowd didn’t seem particularly horrified. They were busy occupying the newscaster’s shadow as they waved into the camera, grinning, because who gets a chance to appear on TV everyday, grusome mass murder or no?
The newscaster was saying: “This appears to be the work of a single psychopath, James. What is strange is that he pulled the fire alarm so that a large majority of the mall goers could leave the mall. Police have no suspect as of the moment but he is believed to be a drug addict. The security cameras had been disconnected before he attacked--”
The remote fell from Noah's lax fingers. In his ear, Adam was saying, “Hello? Noah? Hello?”
“I’m, uh, here, Kuya.” Noah pushed his hand into his hair, pressing his forehead hard into the heel of his hand. Oh God. Thank you. Thank you so fucking much. “I’m sorry, I was with a friend. We met up in the mall. I,” he hesitated, thought it over and then soldiered on, “guess I left before all that went down.”
Adam was basically radiating relief and happiness. “Well, you have no idea how thankful I am for that. So who’s the friend you're staying with?”
Noah ran through the list of his classmates’ names. He picked the name of one he mentioned the most to Adam. “Remember Eric?”
“Eric Hermoso?”
“Yeah. I’m over at his place right now. He’s got a new Wii and wants me to sleep over.”
Adam paused again, apparently thoughtful. “All right, I suppose. Do you have money with you?”
Noah checked his wallet. “Yes, Kuya.”
“Don’t mooch off him too much, okay?”
Noah’s laugh was soft. “What gives you that idea?”
Adam was grinning. “Because that is what you do at home, young man. Well, it makes me feel a little better, I guess. Don’t forget to lock the doors and don’t you dare go out at night.”
Noah's mind strayed to the aswang and their whispering rasping laughter and those big black giants with their coal black eyes. “You can count on me, Kuya. Why would I want to go out anyway? There’s a psycho on the loose.”
“I never know with you young ones. Maybe you’d have a date or something.”
“Stop projecting, pervert.”
Adam's voice was softer now. “Take care, Noah.”
Noah’s smile made his heart feel inexplicably heavy. “I promise, Kuya. Take care also okay?” The line fell silent as Adam disconnected the call. Noah’s smile slipped from his face and he allowed himself to heave a sigh he didn’t know he was holding in.
Okay, so maybe he wasn’t a mass murderer. Thank God for that. But now he just lied to his brother. That was probably better than being declared a wanted person, Noah guessed.
He sat still for a few long minutes before he checked his watch. It had been a whole hour and forty seven minutes since he left Honor in the room. Honor’s probably fine, he told himself, he said he’s done this before.
Yeah, another part of his mind said, but did he say if he did that before drunk?
Noah waited for a full minute, trying to find a reason not to rush into the next room. He managed to not rush into the next room; he merely walked calmly towards the door and pressed his ear to the door. Through the wood came a very faint string of grunts and the distinct thud of a glass being set down too heavily on a surface.
The door creaked quietly as Noah pushed the door open. Where he had left him, Honor was now leaning against the wall near the counter and the mirror, filling his glass up for the next shot. As he downed it, Noah's eyes travelled to where Honor’s wounds used to be. Rather than large gaping wounds, they were replaced with stitches so clean a surgeon might have done them. The skin surrounding the stitches was an angry red, extending several centimeters away from the offense.
The counter was smeared in blood and so was the mirror. That said nothing of the thighs of Honor’s pants which he most definitely used to wipe his hands.
Noah approached slowly, quietly. Honor looked up at him as he came closer and smiled. He looked so tired. Feeling his gut twist a little more, Noah slipped his arm carefully around Honor’s waist and helped him off the stool so that he could lie down on the bed. He pushed aside books with his foot so that he could clear a space for Honor, reaching with his other hand to switch the light off.
The yellow lamp light painted Honor’s features with an almost dream like golden glow. Although there was nothing dream like when the bastard chuckled as his head hit the pillow, eyes closing, slipping fast into sleep. “You can go home now, kid.”
Noah watched as Honor’s breathing went from shallow to an even and deep rhythm. Slowly, he let himself sit on the floor next to Honor’s bed and leaned against the frame, staring up into the shadows of the ceiling.
Order of business four: NOT-NANO NEWS. The 32-inch flat screen TV we have been conspiring to buy dad for about a month now will be arriving today (probably)! EEEEEE, SO EXCITED. AND HE DOES NOT KNOW.
Order of business two: OH FUCK. I DELETED MY NOTES FOR WHAT WAS CHAPTER 3 AND NOW WOULD BE CHAPTER 4. SO NOW I HAVE TO WRITE THAT FROM SCRATCH. (Let my Julian icon convey to you how stupid I feel right now. ;_______;)
Order of business three: Well, whatever. I finished Chapter 3 which brings my word count to 27K and that means I am about 1k behind today's word goal!
So anyway, here we have the entire Chapter 3, "I Knew I Shouldn't have Trusted You (I am not your damned maid)" behind the cut. There is a whole lot less whine in this one and almost every other scene begs me to be drawn. I apologize profusely for anyone who will be traumatized by Adam's use of emoticons. OTL
Current word count: 27, 355
Day 17
Outside, streamed across the glass doors was yellow tape. Police officers did their best to held back the crowd that had formed. Half of them were those who had been evacuated from inside the mall and the rest were just people who wanted to see the carnage. Inconvenient for them, the glass doors and panels were tinted so well that they obscured even the most effective of cameras.
The sprinklers were finally turned off. Swarming all over the mall were not police; they were however as effective, or even more so, than the gentlemen outside. They were decked in black from head to foot with the occasional undershirt or blouse of a different color. One man stood apart from all of them, decked conversely in all white, a young man, who was looking down at on a body from which the white sheet (or at least it used to be white, now it was just mostly red) had been pulled back.
There was a young woman by the name of Raine who had been talking to him. Apparently seeing the body under the sheet was giving her quite the difficult time in composing her thoughts. “Um, ah, sir, the,” she forced herself to stop, choking on her own words. She swallowed in a desperate attempt to compose herself. “The bodies appear to be human. There are about thirty of them in total.”
The young man in white had been appreciating the eerily symmetry with which a bullet hole had been planted right in the center of the forehead. “All of them shot?”
Raine grimaced, uncomfortable in so many levels. She shuffled through her small notepad. “One of them had been stabbed with, uh, a knife, sir. Between the eyes.”
The young man was thoughtful. “What about the blood stains on that wall? The way they’re splattered, they don’t look like the results of a shot to me.”
“We’re currently looking into that as well, sir.”
The young man nodded. “Please carry on.” Raine bowed and walked away, looking quite ill as she had to step over limbs in awkward positions to return to her team.
The young man pulled on a pair of disposable white gloves from his pocket and crouched to examine the body closer, absolutely mindful of his uniform.
There were footsteps coming his way, stopping right behind him. There was an almost miltary click to his heels as he put them together. If the young man looked up, he might have seen a salute. “Sir.”
“Yes, Ephraim?”
“They’re not human.”
The young man made a noncommital hum, reaching forward to grasp the face. He turned it this way and that, letting his thumb slide down to pull back a lower lip. The teeth underneath looked perfectly normal although yellowed in the telltale fashion of a heavy smoker. There were dark red bits and pieces sticking in that small crevice between gum and teeth, even more so between teeth. “Support your evidence.”
“I examined one of the corpses--”
The young man smirked, reaching with both hands this time to open the corpse’s jaw. It was starting to settle into rigor mortis. “You fucking cut one open, you mean?”
Ephraim cleared his throat, embarrassed. “Yes, sir.”
“Fuck,” the young man muttered, taking the corpses’ tongue between two fingers and pulling it forward. It was covered in the same dark red tint. Ephraim was not sure if the curse was for him or for the corpse. “Did you leave the weapon nearby at least?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Continue then.” The young man let the corpse’s tongue go, arranging it back in the cradle of its lower jaw and closed its mouth, as if untouched.
“I found bits and pieces of a human, sir.”
The white sheet was returned over the corpse. The young man’s voice was so soft Ephraim could barely catch it. “Fuckers. What the hell is going on.”
Across the mall, a woman in black was tracing blood stained footprints. She followed them from a smashed display case to a short distance where one of the corpses had been stabbed through the face. From there the footprints continued, as if connecting the dots from one body to another.
Noticing her as she passed, Raine called out, “Ah, Ms. Gascon? Where are you going?”
The woman looked up at Raine and smiled. The way her face lit up made her look much younger. “Oh. Just checking around.”
“Ianne.” The young man in white was making his way to another set of bodies near her, his white gloves already covered in blood.
The woman named Ianne looked up as he approached. “Sir?”
He stepped up to her, voice so low no one else could hear it. “Proceed with caution. If you find any incriminating evidence, collect it.”
Ianne smiled, but this smile made her look almost feline. Like a Cheshire Cat. “Yes, sir.”
***
Honor begrudgingly gives Noah some well due credit. The kid can drive afterall. In fact, wearing an extra pair of Honor’s shades and he looked just like a young adult, handling an SUV with as much grace as one would a sedan. It was probably a good thing that Honor had also told Noah where to go early on. Half way through the ride and Honor had begun to fade in and out of consciousness.
At some point, Noah reached over to feel his left hand, probably during a red light, and shouted something that sounded like, Hold On. Honor stirred a bit in response but couldn’t open his eyes or make his mouth work. Everything was dim for a long while, just a bunch of sound that made no sense.
Honor’s world came back into startling clarity when he felt someone slapping his cheeks. His reflex was to pull away and growl out, “Fuck you.”
“No thanks,” came the reply. Honor squeezed his eyes together, feeling pain seeping back into his consciousness. Noah was leaning over him when he opened his eyes.
“Oh, it’s you.”
“I think we’re at your place.”
Honor smiled weakly. “Thanks. So you gonna carry me over the threshold?”
Noah glared at him without any real venom. “You wish. Move your ass, bastard. I can’t carry you all the way to the elevator.”
Honor allowed Noah to slide his legs into a cooperative angle so that all Honor had to do was slide off his seat. He managed to land on his feet. The world spun slowly, a dull headache playing counterpoint to the sharp paint in his sides and in his right shoulder. “Hey, hey,” Noah slid an arm under his jacket and around his waist. Honor swayed on his feet a little before giving in and leaning heavily on Noah.
Noah struggled to keep them both upright as he reached for Honor’s shotgun and slung it over his shoulder. The SUV door closed firmly and the alarm system was set. Together they slowly made their way to the elevator. It did not help that Honor’s legs were turning into jelly with every step they took.
No one else was using it at this time. Noah mentioned something about the time, a double digit hour that Honor couldn’t quite process. Honor had to fight the temptation to lean against the elevator wall that looked so much more comfortable than Noah’s bony frame. Noah had to bark at Honor several times before Honor resigned himself to his bony fate.
After an eternity, the elevator opened on Honor’s floor. Honor’s room was the last one at the end of the hall. Noah had to struggle with Honor’s weight against him as he figured out which key was for the door. He managed to get the door open and pull both of them inside just as another door down the hall opened and chatter drifted out.
Noah closed the door as fast as he could, leaning against it and straining to hear. There was a woman’s indulgent laughter, a man’s low voice and what sounded distinctly like the crisp turning of money.
“Bitch down the hall,” Honor muttered into Noah’s hair, “likes to invite young men to her room while her husband’s out on trips.”
Noah sighed, reaching to lock the door; he turned the knob lock first and then did the bolts. All five of them. “How do you even know this?”
“Might have been invited.” Against Noah’s hair, Honor was grinning sleepily.
It took all of Noah’s willpower not to shove Honor off him and on to the floor to writh in agony. Instead, he helped them move through Honor’s dark foyer, stopping only once to turn on the light. (Noah had to fumble some, because although he knew as a fact that foyers led into living rooms and the light switches would be between the two, Honor certainly was not being cooperative in helping him locate it.)
The living room that was suddenly flooded in white light was, in very few words, a pig sty. Now, in more words, in a cleaner state it might actually look livable. There were empty pizza boxes on the coffee table in front of the couch, opened bottles of beer. Noah thought he saw cockroach antennae peeking out from inside one of the open soda cans.
Various articles of clothing were strewn all over the place. A pair of pants over the back of the couch, a jacket on the floor. There was a shirt under the coffee table. Socks just a few feet from where they were both standing. With a mighty sigh, Noah decided that he did not want to see the kitchen.
He brought Honor in front of the couch but had to suffer Honor’s weight for a few long moments as he made sure that there were no cockroaches on the couch. He lifted a pillow and started slapping the rest of the couch with it, to dislodge any dirt or any interesting creatures. Miraculously, or unfortunately, all Noah did find were a pair of lacy panties. Digusted, Noah threw them over his shoulder and probably into the vicinity of the socks.
Honor did not receive any mercy as he was unceremoniously dropped on to the couch. It might have been luck on Honor’s side that he didn’t land on his wounded shoulder. He did still grunt in pain though; the couch still got him in the side. The wound was smaller but it was still a bitch.
“Fuck you!” Honor hissed, clutching his side.
Noah allowed himself a triumphant grin just before he turned to face the coffee table. He must have been burning with determination because the cockroach actually retreated into its soda can home. Fearless, (or probably experienced, Noah’s room could sometimes reach this level of uncleanliness when he felt particularly like a slob, or when he’s the only one left at home) he turned the soda can at a downwards angle. The cockroach slid out and was promptly crushed by Noah’s shoe.
The pizza boxes were gathered up (more cockroaches met their demise) and together with the soda cans, were brought to the kitchen. Just as Noah suspected there were dirty dishes in the sink and more roaches. It wasn’t a very big surprise to find the garbage full either. It was only through a miracle that Noah found an extra garbage bag and proceeded to stuff the boxes and the cans in.
He would have to deal with everything later, he thought as he washed his hands. Right now, he needed to tend to Honor.
Honor was the same as Noah had left him. He wasn’t quite lucid yet but his responses were improving. Noah talked him into sitting up for a few moments to remove his jacket and his shirt. It had been difficult to manuever, as the blood had stuck both pieces of clothing against Honor’s skin. He grunted in pain, wounds jarred as Noah finally peeled both of them off.
It wasn’t very pretty. Honor’s arm was more than just “fucked up”, it looked like it was practically “fucked up beyond repair”. The gash needed stitches and god knew that Noah could not do anything to help except to clean it. He found the wounds on Honor’s side, deep gashes that also might need some stitching, and thankfully shallower gashes on Honor’s back, probably from where he passed through glass.
“Fuck,” Noah muttered, feeling his chest constrict. “We need to go to a hospital.”
“No,” Honor replied. “Can’t. Security cameras. What if,” he paused, sighed, “what if they’ve acquired the film? Broadcasted it all over the news.”
“Then both of us are screwed.” Noah hung his head. “Do you have a First Aid kit? I can, uh, try, I guess.”
“Kid, I wouldn’t let you near me with anything relatively harmful.” Honor’s smirk was embedded in his tone. “Don’t worry. I can stitch myself up.”
“You're right handed aren’t you?”
“Well, yeah.”
“Then how the hell are you supposed to do that?”
“Kid, have a little more faith in me. Isn’t the first time I’ve gotten in trouble.”
Noah sighed. “Where’s your First Aid kit?”
“Uh, in the kitchen. The second door from the sink.”
Noah trudged into the kitchen, eyeing the mess to be cleaned with a sharp eye, before digging into the cabinets to fish out the kit. It was much bigger than Noah expected and not just a small white box with a red cross on top either. It was basically a white tool box, a foot and a half in length. (There was no red cross.)
He brought it back to Honor, who had finally become lucid enough to glare at his wounds. “Fuckers!” He said just as Noah set the kit next to Honor and sat on the coffee table. “I’m never shopping to that fucking place again. Well, whatever. Get me some warm water and a wash cloth.”
“Don’t fucking order me around like a maid,” Noah hissed back, even as he was standing to cross the room and visit once more what was quickly becoming his least favorite place in the whole world. It was by sheer misfortune that the thermos was empty and Noah had to manuever his way around the kitchen, looking for a kettle to boil some water in. Ironically, it took him longer to find the basin to pour the hot water in than boiling the water.
Finally, he returned to Honor with everything he asked for. Honor snickered at Noah as he made a great deal about looking for newspaper (to his fortune, there was a lot of it scattered under the coffee table) and used that to keep the wet bottom of the basin from destroying the table surface.
“You’re such a girl,” Honor drawled.
“You, my dear sir, are such a pig.” Noah picked up the wash cloth that had been floating around in the water and squeezed it out. “Now, lean forward and let me clean those wounds.”
Honor rolled his eyes but allowed himself to obey. Noah gently dabbled at the large gash on his shoulder first, grimacing at how deep it was. As a child, Moses had been very hyperactive. He tripped on things on the floor, like shoes or his own toys. More often than not, he would trip over his own shoelaces while running outside. He’d come back crying with bloody knees. This thing on Honor’s shoulder though was not a bloody knee by any length.
As he moved down Honor’s back to wipe the smaller gashes, his eyes strayed. Dark ink decorated patches of Honor’s skin. Over his right shoulder blade was what looked a whole lot like a cross with a human heart at the center and circled by what Noah assumed to be the Crown of Thorns.
“Did that hurt?” Noah murmured.
Honor’s voice was a low rumble. “Did what hurt? If you’re asking about being thrown through a display case, yes, it fucking hurt.”
Noah pressed too hard on the next wound. Honor grunted low in his throat. Serves you right, you bastard. “I meant the tattoo, dumb ass.”
“Huh, yeah. They hurt.”
Noah blinked. They? He let his eyes travel some more. Across Honor’s nape, in blocky print, was NOAH. In spite of himself, he felt his cheeks warm. “What’s this thing on your neck?”
“Ah, that piece of shit.” Honor reached up, fingers rubbing the skin of his nape, as if embarrassed. “When I was a kid, this tattoo artist used to tell me that God would strike me down if I got any ink. He couldn’t resist money, of course, and I told him to lay on me the most profound thing he knew.” He shrugged. “A saying or something. Something inspiring.”
“What did you expect? Kurt Vonnegut? ‘Pretend to be good always and even God will be fooled’?”
“Yeah, something like that. But the asshole, he lays on NOAH. And he laughs like it’s the funniest thing in the world.”
Noah couldn’t help but feel relieved. He was getting worked up for nothing. It was his Biblical namesake. Not something ridiculous, like tattooing a lover’s name on your skin. Although Honor did come across as someone as crazy as that. “Well then, why did you get this cross?”
Honor paused, hesitating. When he spoke, his voice was quiet. “My mother, she was a very devoted Catholic.”
Noah knew a sensitive topic when he saw one and let it slip. Noah was sensitive when it came to his own parents and had his suspicions on Honor being equally sensitive. He continued in cleaning the wounds moving lower to the small of Honor’s back where the wounds almost covered everything, only decreasing in number where skin met denim.
With a small shove, Noah guided Honor to turn a bit so that he had easier access to the gashes in Honor’s side. Honor had started rummaging through the First Aid kit with his left arm, looking for antiseptic. Noah had not meant to notice but his eyes immediately found more dark ink. He had been admiring the crown and compass star on Honor’s hip bone (Noah denies admiring the hip and the way it was pressed hard against the denim waist band) when he noticed Honor’s larger collection of tattoos on his left arm.
It started at his wrist. There was a bracelet inked into his skin, of barbed wire (or a crown of thorns) with several spikes. Noah almost counted seven. The backs of his fingers had not been untouched. On his forefinger was a celtic cross, on his ring finger was a band of what appeared to be the word HIMALA. Miracle.
Travelling upward from the barbed wire bracelet, were several images so closely done together that they looked like one continuous image. A wraith like death with a scythe; a black raven; a hot cross button; a sun with a several rays surrounding it in a corona; the words, “Hindi mahanap sa lupa ang pagasa” (You cannot find hope on earth).
Noah frowned. “You have so many.”
Honor gave him a side long glance before returning his eyes to the bottle he was inspecting. “I like ink.” He put the bottle on his lap and reached for cotton balls. “Okay, so now, there’re a few things I need you to do. First thing is, help me unscrew this damned bottle.”
Noah smiled wryly and dropped the washcloth into the basin. It was with great effort that he did not focus n the fact that the water was turning into the diluted color of blood. He did as he was told. “Let me guess, now you want me to put the antiseptic on you?”
“Always such a smart boy,” Honor said with a crooked grin.
All he got for his troubles was a roll of Noah’s eyes. Noah tried not to smile when Honor hissed as he applied some on the particularly painful shoulder gash. “Oh, I’m sorry. Did that hurt?”
Honor glared at Noah but kept his lips sealed. Noah rewarded him by applying gauze over the scratches on Honor’s back. When Noah was done, he said, “Okay, next two things. One, get me to my bedroom. The light’s better there and there’s a big mirror.” He brought himself to his feet, slowly, needing to lean less against Noah this time around. He snatched the First Aid Kit before they crossed the room together. As they passed by a table against the wall, Honor said, “Get me that bottle over there. The one with the seal.”
Noah lifted an unopened bottle of liquor and shot Honor a quirked eyebrow. “This is rum.”
“Why yes it is.” Honor took it from Noah with his left hand. “You probably want to take that glass over there too.”
The most horrible scenario occured to Noah. “Please don’t tell me you're going to get drunk, sit in front of your mirror, slash your wrists, write some Satanic message on the mirror and then shoot yourself making it all look like I’m the killer?”
“Who’s being optimistic now,” Honor grinned. “That would be too convenient for me.”
Finally they reached Honor’s room, which was in a similar state. Which is, resembling a pig sty. Noah did appreciate however that there were no empty food boxes or empty soda cans. But there was a scattering of empty liquor bottles. Noah felt angry for seeing them, wanted to give Honor a piece of his mind. That would have to wait.
The room was indeed a bit brighter than the living room. There was a sliding window which was bolted shut, the frosted glass tinted yellow from the street lamp outside. You could make out the wrought iron jalousies outside. In combination, the yellow light created interesting patterns on the bed right next to the window. Honor apparently liked to keep his own space. The bed was king sized, with the headboard made of bookshelves. Those bookshelves were actually populated; the books looked as if they’ve had their fair amount of abuse. The bed itself was cluttered with them, big and bulky hard bound volumes, with post its hanging out between pages. A few notebooks were there too, hasty and messy scrawl decorating the pages.
It was safe to conclude that Honor didn’t do much sleeping on his bed. Or much sleeping, period. As they went, Honor flicked the light on. Harsh white light filled the room. Set into the wall right by the foot of Honor’s bed, was a huge mirror. There was a bit of a counter built under it, which provided more space for empty liquor bottles to occupy. Noah helped Honor into the barstool in front of the mirror. This gave Honor the perfect view of his upper half, starting from his hips upwards.
Noah was really suspecting Honor would do that Satanic message on the mirror thing. “What else would you need me to do?”
Honor was thoughtful for a long moment. “Open the bottle for me and pour me a shot.”
“Is this even necessary?” Noah asked as he watched the liquid slosh into the glass.
“Beats having to go to the hospital.” Honor took that shot in one go, grimacing as the alcohol hit his body. “Last thing I need you to do.”
“What?”
“Get out of the room.”
Noah blinked. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me, kid.” Honor was rummaging through the First Aid kit with his left hand, pulling out a surgical needle and some thread. “I can’t concentrate unless I’m alone. Help yourself to some TV or something.” As if sensing Noah’s hesitation, Honor turned and gave Noah a genuine smile. “I’ll be okay.”
“You’d better be,” Noah grumbled as he walked towards the door. “I’m not chopping up your fucking body and scattering you all around the city.” Honor’s laugh was muffled when Noah closed the door.
***
Half an hour passed by.
Noah kept himself busy by attacking the kitchen. But that was soon over. So he attacked Honor’s clothes that had been strewn all over the place. For good measure, he even went through great pains to find the laundry room and shucked the stuff into the washing machine.
Some time into his cleaning, Noah wondered Why the hell am I doing this?
His answer was simple: to keep his hands from shaking.
Noah wasn’t very sure if he was scared for Honor who was stitching himself up, alone, inside his room. Or if he was scared for himself. He just assisted someone, who could probably be a maniac, blow more than two dozen people to kingdom come. He wasn’t even sure if they were people.
In his eyes, they were great black giants, breathing tobacco. But Honor had said they looked human to him. And that scared Noah. What if the crazy one remained to be Noah? Lana aside, what if Noah just assisted in murdering 30 innocent people?
Noah shuddered, nearly dropping the liquor bottles. What if that was all over the news right now? Wouldn’t Honor’s neighbors notice that the maniac with a shotgun was living a couple of doors down? Wouldn’t Adam and Anne and Moses notice that the maniac with a shotgun’s accomplice was their own brother?
Noah washed his hands several times under the faucet, soaping up and rinsing it off, several times until his hands turned into prunes. He only managed to pull himself away when he made tea for himself and sat at Honor’s (newly cleaned, roach free!) dinner table.
An hour passed.
Noah refused to turn on the TV. He wanted to know if his fears were true but couldn’t bring himself to even pick up the remote. Much less push the power button. His mind was swimming with Adam’s furious face, of Anne’s disappointed tears, of Moses’ fear of his older brother--
Noah jumped when he felt something vibrating against his hip. His hands fumbled for a bit before he found the offender. His cellphone, which he had forgotten all about. The name flashing on the screen read KUYA ADAM.
The bottom of Noah’s stomach fell. Oh god. Adam was looking for him. What was Adam going to say? I never raised you to be a murderer? Noah stared at the phone for so long that the vibrating eventually died. From Adam’s name, the screen switched to the number of missed calls: 1. He dismissed the notification and found his way to his inbox. This was less fortunate. There were five messages, all from Adam.
Noah decided to start with the oldest one, so that probably by the time he reached Adam’s death threats he was no longer scared.
Message number one: Never mind the bread, got some already. :D
Okay, that was harmless. Noah moved on to the next one.
Message number two: Please don’t forget to buy flowers for Mom and Dad.
Message number three: Come home early. I bought pizza. :DD
Message number four: Noah, where are you?
Noah’s gut twisted. Here we go, the last message.
Message number five: FOR THE LOVE OF GOD NOAH PICK--
Noah couldn’t finish reading the message. The display switched back to KUYA ADAM and right above it, in lower case: incoming call...
Taking a deep breath and making the sign of the cross, Noah answered the call. Adam's voice boomed right out of the ear piece, as clear as if Adam was standing in front of him. “Noan, where are you?”
In spite of himself, Noah sagged with relief. “Kuya--”
“Are you okay?” The edges of Adam's voice were tattered in panic. “I was so worried.”
Wait for it, wait for it. Next he’ll be throwing you out of the house for your mass murderer ways. “I’m okay. I’m fine.” Noah looked down at the floor and quickly realized it was coming right at him. Oh. No. His body just decided that the floor would be a great place to sit on. He leaned against the wall, head between his knees. “Look, Kuya, I’m sorry--”
Adam paused, surprised. “Noah? What are you sorry for?” Recovering his wits, Adam continued. “I’m not mad at you for making me worried. I was just--” He paused again, apparently sighing in his own relief. “I’m just so happy you're okay. I saw it on the news, Noah. It was horrible and I was so worried that you were part of that.” In the background, Noah could hear Anne give a small sound of joy.
Wait. What. Noah dove for the remote, turning the TV on. He set it to mute as he flipped through the channels to the local news. The newscaster was on the scene, with the bodies being carried out on stretchers in the back. They were covered with white sheets thoroughly soaked with blood. Ironically, the crowd didn’t seem particularly horrified. They were busy occupying the newscaster’s shadow as they waved into the camera, grinning, because who gets a chance to appear on TV everyday, grusome mass murder or no?
The newscaster was saying: “This appears to be the work of a single psychopath, James. What is strange is that he pulled the fire alarm so that a large majority of the mall goers could leave the mall. Police have no suspect as of the moment but he is believed to be a drug addict. The security cameras had been disconnected before he attacked--”
The remote fell from Noah's lax fingers. In his ear, Adam was saying, “Hello? Noah? Hello?”
“I’m, uh, here, Kuya.” Noah pushed his hand into his hair, pressing his forehead hard into the heel of his hand. Oh God. Thank you. Thank you so fucking much. “I’m sorry, I was with a friend. We met up in the mall. I,” he hesitated, thought it over and then soldiered on, “guess I left before all that went down.”
Adam was basically radiating relief and happiness. “Well, you have no idea how thankful I am for that. So who’s the friend you're staying with?”
Noah ran through the list of his classmates’ names. He picked the name of one he mentioned the most to Adam. “Remember Eric?”
“Eric Hermoso?”
“Yeah. I’m over at his place right now. He’s got a new Wii and wants me to sleep over.”
Adam paused again, apparently thoughtful. “All right, I suppose. Do you have money with you?”
Noah checked his wallet. “Yes, Kuya.”
“Don’t mooch off him too much, okay?”
Noah’s laugh was soft. “What gives you that idea?”
Adam was grinning. “Because that is what you do at home, young man. Well, it makes me feel a little better, I guess. Don’t forget to lock the doors and don’t you dare go out at night.”
Noah's mind strayed to the aswang and their whispering rasping laughter and those big black giants with their coal black eyes. “You can count on me, Kuya. Why would I want to go out anyway? There’s a psycho on the loose.”
“I never know with you young ones. Maybe you’d have a date or something.”
“Stop projecting, pervert.”
Adam's voice was softer now. “Take care, Noah.”
Noah’s smile made his heart feel inexplicably heavy. “I promise, Kuya. Take care also okay?” The line fell silent as Adam disconnected the call. Noah’s smile slipped from his face and he allowed himself to heave a sigh he didn’t know he was holding in.
Okay, so maybe he wasn’t a mass murderer. Thank God for that. But now he just lied to his brother. That was probably better than being declared a wanted person, Noah guessed.
He sat still for a few long minutes before he checked his watch. It had been a whole hour and forty seven minutes since he left Honor in the room. Honor’s probably fine, he told himself, he said he’s done this before.
Yeah, another part of his mind said, but did he say if he did that before drunk?
Noah waited for a full minute, trying to find a reason not to rush into the next room. He managed to not rush into the next room; he merely walked calmly towards the door and pressed his ear to the door. Through the wood came a very faint string of grunts and the distinct thud of a glass being set down too heavily on a surface.
The door creaked quietly as Noah pushed the door open. Where he had left him, Honor was now leaning against the wall near the counter and the mirror, filling his glass up for the next shot. As he downed it, Noah's eyes travelled to where Honor’s wounds used to be. Rather than large gaping wounds, they were replaced with stitches so clean a surgeon might have done them. The skin surrounding the stitches was an angry red, extending several centimeters away from the offense.
The counter was smeared in blood and so was the mirror. That said nothing of the thighs of Honor’s pants which he most definitely used to wipe his hands.
Noah approached slowly, quietly. Honor looked up at him as he came closer and smiled. He looked so tired. Feeling his gut twist a little more, Noah slipped his arm carefully around Honor’s waist and helped him off the stool so that he could lie down on the bed. He pushed aside books with his foot so that he could clear a space for Honor, reaching with his other hand to switch the light off.
The yellow lamp light painted Honor’s features with an almost dream like golden glow. Although there was nothing dream like when the bastard chuckled as his head hit the pillow, eyes closing, slipping fast into sleep. “You can go home now, kid.”
Noah watched as Honor’s breathing went from shallow to an even and deep rhythm. Slowly, he let himself sit on the floor next to Honor’s bed and leaned against the frame, staring up into the shadows of the ceiling.
Order of business four: NOT-NANO NEWS. The 32-inch flat screen TV we have been conspiring to buy dad for about a month now will be arriving today (probably)! EEEEEE, SO EXCITED. AND HE DOES NOT KNOW.