This is a story of fiction, all resemblances (dead or alive) are eerily coincidental. Everything in the story is owned by myself beloved. Contains descriptive sexual scenes between males, if you are not supposed to read it then don't. Feel free to e-mail me.
- XXVIII -
When Desmond pulled into the parking spot of the shopping center, he slowly got off the bike and looked around, his eyes narrowed.
"What is it?" Raven asked, while trying to get his hair to behave – it got discombobulated (to say the least) while they were on the freeway.
"I don't know..." Desmond said slowly while scanning the area with his eyes quickly. "There was something..." He bit his lip, and his eyes darted around yet again. "It's not here now though..." He looked at Raven and nodded. "Let's go."
...He found the book he needed in an hour or so – it turned out to be surprisingly difficult to find – and sighed with satisfaction.
"Damn," he muttered while they were walking towards the register. "Do I have to do this for *every *semester...? Bloody hell," he sighed and put the book onto the counter, closer to the cashier.
After he paid for the book, they made a quick stop by the cafe and got some coffee.
"Okay," Desmond sighed after he threw his paper cap into a trashcan not too far from him. "Let's head back; there is something I need to do with this book..." He got up and grabbed the said book off the table. "I am not waiting until the end of August to do that," he nodded. "The sooner I do that, the more free, undisturbed days I get..."
Raven nodded at that, glancing around one last time, wondering whether he wanted to get some latest bestseller. Finally, he sighed, and decided against that – he wasn't much into reading to begin with, and it seemed like he would have a hell of lot more face-to-face time with Julian. That would take care of boredom in less than a heartbeat. Not just because of sex (that was a given), but also he simply enjoyed talking to the blond or spending sex-free time with him. He didn't even care if they had to go to another opera house (Raven could care less about classical music); as long as Julian was near him, he was happy.
They got to the bike in less than ten minutes, and Raven hopped onto it, behind Desmond, locking his arms around the ex-assassin's waist, while kicking himself for not asking Desmond earlier for a spare pair of sunglasses. The wind and sun were furiously assaulting his face on the way here, and it made him look like he just cried a river.
They got to the freeway just fine, and five or so minutes later, there was a loud, wailing sound behind them, making Raven's head to dive into his shoulders. He glanced at the odometer just before Desmond started to slow down, and sighed in defeat. They were going almost four times over speed limit.
"No wonder..." he thought darkly while the ex-assassin swore through his clenched teeth without taking his eyes off the cruiser that parked behind them.
Desmond tilted his head to the left, staring in the side view mirror, watching the trooper open the door of the car and get out. Suddenly, he frowned and his eyes widened to a comical degree.
"What...?" Raven glanced behind his shoulder.
The trooper was just a young guy – he seemed to be in his early twenties; he walked towards their bike somewhat hurriedly, as if he was afraid that he would be too late for something.
"Hold on tight," Desmond said through his clenched teeth. "When I say, invisible us, the bike included..." He looked into the mirror again. "Don't worry," he muttered. "I need you to keep the invisibility up for fifteen seconds at the most."
"What..." Raven frowned in genuine confusion.
"Hold on tight," Desmond said again, and suddenly, the bike roared to life.
"Ah, hell..." Raven hissed and grabbed onto the waist in front of him with desperate force.
He did it just in time, because the bike leapt forward, and for two nightmarish seconds, Raven firmly believed that they were going to splatter all over the huge semi-truck that was driving by them when Desmond performed his insane maneuver. The bike flew around the semi with ease, and Desmond picked up even more speed – a thing Raven did not think was possible.
Then he heard pissed off wailing of the siren, which came from the cruiser behind them. "Dammit all to hell," Raven gritted his teeth, knowing that militia cruisers were ridiculously fast; they were fast enough to be able to catch up to something as crazy as Antana bike.
Desmond zigzagged across three or four lanes, avoiding a rather heavy flow of traffic with envious ease, and then he flew straight forward, almost pressing them into the concrete divider. Raven realized what he was heading for – right there, just before the bridge covered everything with menacing darkness, there was a gap in the divider. That had to be it, because there was nothing else; the lane they were in right now was merging to the right, coming to a quick end. If they miss the gap and end up under the bridge, they'd be trapped.
"Now!" Desmond barked, and Raven yanked the invisible blanket on top of them frantically, making sure it gets the bike as well.
He was right about the gap – the minute they disappeared out of sight, Desmond steered to the left even more, making the tires grunt with screaming displeasure, and then the bike dove into the gap, and the next thing Raven knew, they were flying down a very busy portion of freeway in the wrong direction. Desmond shouted something that ended with `...okay!' and Raven shed invisibility, trying to even out his breath – a rather difficult task, considering their current situation. They received several "What the..." honks and bewildered stares when the bike popped in the middle of the freeway out of thin air, it seemed.
"You might want to go in the right direction," Raven thought frantically. "Unless you want to get pulled over again... I think they frown upon someone flying head on to oncoming traffic on a freeway during lunch hour...!"
Desmond seemed to agree with that, because somehow – Raven didn't even know how – they were going the right way, and five minutes after that, they took some random exit.
..."Okay, what in the bloody hell was that?" Raven asked twenty minutes later when they were sitting in some small park under the large tree. "Seriously..." He dragged on his cigarette, his hand shaking. "Are you on the militia `Wanted' list?"
"No," Desmond said without taking his cigarette out of his mouth.
"Well, that's easily fixed," Raven nodded. "You will be, soon... What the hell was that?" he said again. "That trooper..."
"That wasn't a trooper," Desmond interrupted him and stabbed his cigarette into the grass just so he could get another one.
"Weird," Raven said with fake thoughtfulness. "I figured if the guy is wearing militia uniform, drives a militia cruiser, and pulls over some crazy fuck who is going four times over speed limit, that makes him a trooper..."
"I mean..." Desmond rolled his eyes. "It *was *a trooper, except he wasn't home at that particular moment... That body was hijacked..." He paused for a second, fiddling with his lighter. "By your old friend," he finished with a nod.
Raven stared at him for a minute, completely mute.
"Magda?" he finally said. "Magda?!"
"Uh huh," Desmond nodded gloomily. "I've heard her thoughts. She thought, `Shoot that asshole first, before he senses that something is off, and then it's spider time'..."
"Spider time?" Raven frowned. "What does that mean?"
"No clue," Desmond shrugged. "I stopped listening after that; figured I didn't really care, you know..."
"Holy hell..." Raven muttered and pulled another cigarette out of the pack, his hand shaking less than it did a couple of minutes ago. "How did she even do that?"
"No clue," Desmond said again, looking at Raven's wristband somewhat thoughtfully.
"What?" the smaller man asked with a small, puzzled frown when the ex-assassin wouldn't take his eyes off that black leather wristband.
"Oh," Desmond blinked and looked at him. "It's just I used to have one of those... Long time ago," he nodded. "Looked just like yours; at first, I thought it was the same one..."
"This is the first time you noticed it?" Raven asked with mild disbelief – he figured that someone like Specter would notice every single detail from the first time, and Raven had this wristband on for the entire time they were stuck in that mirror labyrinth.
"Yeah," Desmond said with a small nod. "Your sleeves covered it before, so I didn't see it," he explained.
"Oh," Raven muttered, remembering that he indeed was wearing a long-sleeved shirt in the labyrinth. "Yeah, I got it ten years ago," he looked at black leather. "Was it ten years...?" he narrowed his eyes, trying to remember. "Not sure," he admitted. "Never took it off ever since."
"I see," Desmond nodded without even trying to fake interest.
"What happened to yours? Got tired of it?" Raven wasn't exactly sure why he cared.
"No," Desmond sighed and leaned onto the tree. "I liked it, actually... I knew this waitress, her name was LeAnn, she was a nice gal," he nodded. "She had a son; the kid loved that wristband," he grinned. "So before I left the city, I gave it to him... What?" he glanced at Raven's whose expression became dumbfounded.
"LeAnn?" Raven said, his eyes fixed on Desmond's face.
"Yeah," the ex-assassin nodded.
"She was a waitress in the restaurant called `Pig Under Umbrella,' right?" Raven muttered, and now it was Desmond's turn to stare at him without blinking. "The kid's name was..." he frowned for a few seconds. "It almost sounded like a girl's name..."
"Gallah," Desmond said numbly, and Raven nodded very slowly.
"Yeah," he muttered. "That's it... Gallah..."
"How did you get it?" Desmond narrowed his eyes. "Did you steal it from him?"
"No," Raven didn't even bother with the eye roll. "I don't steal from kids...! He gave it to me... He..."
"What?" Desmond frowned when the other man stopped talking and squeezed his eyes shut. "He what...?"
Raven sighed and opened his eyes.
"He died," he said quietly, and Desmond stared at him without blinking. "It was a hit-and-run thing, happened right in front of me; the guy was driving like he was trying to escape from hell, I didn't have any time to react... It was just like, `Bam!' and then he was gone... Hit him square in the pelvis... Well," he sighed, looking at Desmond who was frozen, it seemed. "I took him to the hospital, and at first, I thought he was fine. He didn't cry or anything... The only thing he worried about was that he would get blood on his wristband, so he gave it to me to make sure it stays clean. Then when I brought him into the hospital, he just sighed and..." He shrugged. "That was it. I tried giving this thing to his mother..." he looked at his wrist thoughtfully. "But she said that since he gave it to me, then it should stay this way..."
"Did they ever get the guy?" Desmond asked quietly.
"Yeah," Raven nodded. "I remembered the plate number... He was drunk off his ass... Hold on," he frowned. "Holy hell, this is it, isn't it? The bond...! This is it...!"
"I guess," Desmond muttered almost indifferently and stood up. "Let's go back to the house," he said evenly. "I need to get on that book."
"Stay off the freeway," Raven said and followed him to the bike.
The trooper couldn't believe this. There he was, quickly walking towards the black bike, contemplating his next steps, when suddenly, the bike let out a furious roar and took off so fast that it didn't seem real. The trooper stood frozen for several seconds, not believing this. Then he shouted a furious, frustrated obscenity and ran back to the cruiser. He turned on the siren and slammed the gas pedal all way to the floor, making the cruiser lunge forward in a huge leap.
He knew that it was only a matter of time before he catches up to that damn bike – he was close enough already; so close that he could clearly read the plate number on the back of the motorcycle. He frowned when he saw the bike zigzag its way to the concrete divider, knowing that particular lane ended rather soon.
"What are you doing?" he muttered through his clenched teeth. "You, goddamn asshole... What are you planning?"
Then, a minute or two later, the bike suddenly disappeared into thin air, and the trooper shook his head, as if not believing his eyes.
"Fuck!" he screamed in helpless rage after everything stayed the same. "Fuck...! Goddamn invisibility...! Bloody hell!"
He slammed his hand onto the steering wheel with so much force, it seemed he wanted to break the wheel in half. Finally, he made his way to the upcoming exit, drove to the nearest store, parked the cruiser, and killed the engine. He took a deep breath and yanked unconscious Henry, who was slumped in the passenger's seat, towards himself. He pressed his mouth against Henry's unresponsive lips, and a minute later, the artist was digging in the trooper's pockets for the brooch he left there earlier. After he found the brooch, he straightened up and looked at the unconscious young man thoughtfully for a minute or two.
"Damn," he muttered with regret. "Too bad I can only get out in this single body... Having militia perks would be nice... Oh, well," he sighed and dove his hand into the trooper's pocket once again. "That's fine..."
He dug in the pockets for several more minutes; finally, he let out a satisfied grunt, and pulled out man's wallet. He opened the wallet and tutted with annoyed disappointment – there were only several bills in there, and they weren't large.
"Damn," he sighed and fished the money out of the wallet, snapping it shut, and shoving it back into the unconscious man's pocket.
He quickly counted the money. It was only fifty talons.
"Damn," he sighed again and put the money into his pocket. Then he glanced at the car clock and gritted his teeth with frustration – he had maybe an hour left before he would lose his grip on reality and before the mirrored prison would claim his (hers) essence back yet again.
"Shit," he hissed and climbed out of the cruiser, slamming the door shut behind him.
He glanced around and quickly crossed the street, heading towards the post office across from the store. He got inside the post office and grabbed one of the smaller boxes off the desk that contained various forms, boxes, and envelopes. He pulled the brooch out of his pocket and gently lowered it into the small container. He closed the box and quickly wrapped several layers of transparent tape over it. Then he grabbed one of the address labels, thought for a few seconds, and then nodded to himself, reaching for the pen.
It took him maybe a minute to carefully write the address on the label and stick it onto the tape-wrapped box. He walked to the counter and handed the box to the bored-looking woman behind it.
"Overnight delivery, please," he said mildly, and the woman nodded absent-mindedly and sat the box onto the weight scale next to her.
"Ten-thirty-five," she said after typing something in the computer.
Henry handed her the money and took the change and the receipt, shoving it into his pocket.
"Thank you," he said as mildly as before. "Have a nice day."
He left the post office and glanced around, frowning thoughtfully. He didn't want to leave this body unconscious on the asphalt – he would need to use it again, he was sure of that, and he didn't want to risk losing it to some random mugger or vehicle malfunction. He saw a small park not too far away from the post office, and headed towards it. He made it there in ten minutes, found a bench that was somewhat hidden behind the trees, sighed, and sat down, waiting patiently, knowing that he had maybe half an hour left.
After twenty minutes or so, he let out a low moan, his fingers helplessly dug into the bench, and his eyes rolled backwards. Then a wild tremor shot through his entire body and he slumped down on the bench, his eyes closed. He wouldn't regain consciousness for the next two hours.
A little of shameless self-advertising: you can find all my stories, including The Dreamtrap herehttp://stores.lulu.com/store.php?fAcctID=3895328