[Fic: In the End there is You] [part one]
Dark. Dark windows dark street dark dark dark. Lamps out, glowing fireflies dead and gone, dark dark dark.
Flash. Office. Dim light, squiggles on windows. Frosted pain, stained hands pressed against ears. Scream.
Man at door-coldblood, not man. Angry. Yell “Why are you screaming?” Loud. Dumb. Not need to shout. Tell, too, say so.
Stares. “What the fuck do you want?” Knows. Help, yeah? Help. There for, yeah? T’help.
“What am I supposed to help you with?” Snarly, gnarly, nasty. Don’t hafta be. Just want some help, yeah? Just there for help.
“How am I supposed to help you if you keep speaking incoherently?” Frustrated-two. Glares-both, frowny faces go to town downtown down to the problem. Don’t speak-don’t say, don’t, no.
Sigh, let door swing open, step back. Stained hands in pockets-can’t see ‘em there-step through. To chair, flop. Still standing.
“Well?” Demand. “I let you in. So tell me-why do you need my help?”
Detective, yeah? Investigate.
“Private investigator, actually. But yes, investigate. Is there something you want me to look into, or are you just going around bothering people?”
Not bother, need help. Not here if not need help, yeah?
“You keep saying you need help but you’re not telling me what kind of help you need.” Standing again. Pace. Hands in pockets, hands still in pockets.
Murder, see? Murder, on the run but NOT murderer. Not. Kill, maybe, still kill but not. Not coldbloods, not this’un. Not this’un.
Freeze. Hands in pockets, ball into fists. Shrink-not gonna get hit. Back against the door, don’t move either, both.
“You killed someone?” Growly, not nasty but scored, low flow fulla fists.
Not this’un. Not this’un.
“You killed someone?” Not this’un, not this’un promise. Hands out of pockets, fingers unfurled an’ red, red red red not white. Cover up easy, one quick slice an’ BLACK, not red not white black ‘n blue an’ blood.
“You killed someone.” No question, not any more. Not this’un. Not this’un. Understand, yeah? Gotta clear, innocent innocent innocent. “You said you wouldn’t kill-that was the deal, the angels wouldn’t kill you if you didn’t kill.”
Broke a deal, but woulda broke either way. Easier, see? Just gotta stay innocent, didn’t kill this’un. Didn’t. Promise. Promise.
“And clearly promises mean so much to you.” Snark now, face away, hand toward phone. Call, call everyone, call lights call coldblood call dead. Hand-sticky, red not white-on doorknob. Last plea. Word old an’ cobwebby, deep deep inside, bouncing around.
Please.
Hand freeze, no words. Door open, back out, bleeding knees shake.
Please.
Down dark, into street, cold and white even if can’t see. Light still on. Listen for lights, sirens-none. Getaway. Leave.
Back for help, maybe. Back an’ help next time. Can do, can get through. First, gotta get away.
Muse: Scout
Word count: 473 words
Prompt: Scout and Robin star in a noir-influenced buddy movie.- for weareshadows
Flash. Office. Dim light, squiggles on windows. Frosted pain, stained hands pressed against ears. Scream.
Man at door-coldblood, not man. Angry. Yell “Why are you screaming?” Loud. Dumb. Not need to shout. Tell, too, say so.
Stares. “What the fuck do you want?” Knows. Help, yeah? Help. There for, yeah? T’help.
“What am I supposed to help you with?” Snarly, gnarly, nasty. Don’t hafta be. Just want some help, yeah? Just there for help.
“How am I supposed to help you if you keep speaking incoherently?” Frustrated-two. Glares-both, frowny faces go to town downtown down to the problem. Don’t speak-don’t say, don’t, no.
Sigh, let door swing open, step back. Stained hands in pockets-can’t see ‘em there-step through. To chair, flop. Still standing.
“Well?” Demand. “I let you in. So tell me-why do you need my help?”
Detective, yeah? Investigate.
“Private investigator, actually. But yes, investigate. Is there something you want me to look into, or are you just going around bothering people?”
Not bother, need help. Not here if not need help, yeah?
“You keep saying you need help but you’re not telling me what kind of help you need.” Standing again. Pace. Hands in pockets, hands still in pockets.
Murder, see? Murder, on the run but NOT murderer. Not. Kill, maybe, still kill but not. Not coldbloods, not this’un. Not this’un.
Freeze. Hands in pockets, ball into fists. Shrink-not gonna get hit. Back against the door, don’t move either, both.
“You killed someone?” Growly, not nasty but scored, low flow fulla fists.
Not this’un. Not this’un.
“You killed someone?” Not this’un, not this’un promise. Hands out of pockets, fingers unfurled an’ red, red red red not white. Cover up easy, one quick slice an’ BLACK, not red not white black ‘n blue an’ blood.
“You killed someone.” No question, not any more. Not this’un. Not this’un. Understand, yeah? Gotta clear, innocent innocent innocent. “You said you wouldn’t kill-that was the deal, the angels wouldn’t kill you if you didn’t kill.”
Broke a deal, but woulda broke either way. Easier, see? Just gotta stay innocent, didn’t kill this’un. Didn’t. Promise. Promise.
“And clearly promises mean so much to you.” Snark now, face away, hand toward phone. Call, call everyone, call lights call coldblood call dead. Hand-sticky, red not white-on doorknob. Last plea. Word old an’ cobwebby, deep deep inside, bouncing around.
Please.
Hand freeze, no words. Door open, back out, bleeding knees shake.
Please.
Down dark, into street, cold and white even if can’t see. Light still on. Listen for lights, sirens-none. Getaway. Leave.
Back for help, maybe. Back an’ help next time. Can do, can get through. First, gotta get away.
Muse: Scout
Word count: 473 words
Prompt: Scout and Robin star in a noir-influenced buddy movie.- for weareshadows