The White Shadow 1: The Dancer

Chapter 6

"Ah, tatatatataaaah! Fuuuuuuuuuuck fuck fuck fuck fu- JESUS PETer Christ!"
And various other forms of profanity came out of Darryll as he dug a pencil into his arm, fishing for any pieces of glass he could find stuck under his skin. Diane watched in disbelief as he stabbed himself again and again, lodging the graphite deep into his arm.
Over.
And over.
And over.
Diane chirped up, worried for her freinds health, "You're going to give yourself a skin disease. Or lodge the glass further into-"
"Professor Song owns the hospitals," Darryll spat bitterly, "and he's a good friend of Verez's. Do you know first aid?"
"...no," Diane admitted, "but it doesn't look like you do either."
"My arm, my rules." and he stabbed himself again, "GOD FUcken piece of-"
Diane was not convinced. "Verez knows my face, not yours. You could-"
"We don't know what Mr Verez knows," spat Darryll, "Cause the Dancer has all the information, and we have FUcken none. So leave me be, ok? I've got shIT To figure out. ARGh, god fucken-"
And so Darryll continued to mangle his forearm, and Diane was left alone to lament on the day she'd had.

Darryll had left a blazer and fedora on the dead landlord as a way of telling the police who did it. But Verez owned the police, so it wouldn't stop the Dancer, who's identity still remained elusive. Then, Darryll had left the apartment with all his and Diane's essentials: Computer, clothes, books, and stuffed them into his car before driving off. He'd also made sure to destroy any footage from the security cameras in the building. In his own words, he and Diane were now "Ghosts". He had then driven them to another building. This one was abandoned, dingy, mouldy, and damp. All the windows were boarded, the pink wallpaper was peeling, and the floors all creaked. There was even a hole in the second floor for some reason. Darryll wanted to set up some electricity, but first he wanted to get the glass out of his arm.

So now Darryll sat cross legged in the living room, throwing the pencil to his side with a groan of frustration. It's tip was broken, probably inside Darryll's arm, which was drenched completely in blood. He looked over at Diane, who leaned upon a wall, and then Darryll said between quick gasps of breath, "I wanna make a fire. So we can cauterise my wound."
Diane shook her head, "This house is made of wood. We'd burn it down."
"Damn flammable wood." Darryll struggled onto his feet, and, gripping his crimson right arm, he told Diane, "Have a free day. I can't thank you enough for saving me."
Diane smiled, "You saved my life with the compass, so consider us even. Besides," She put her hands in her pockets and shrugged, "we're freinds!"
"You're right," Darryll replied, with an exhausted sigh, coupled with a heavy smile, "Anyway, have a day. I'll be here bleeding to death trying to set our new home up."
Diane began to go to the door, but then looked back. There was a sadness in her eyes. "You should come with me you know."
Darryll shook his head, "I've got work now."
Diane protested, "Not now, but later. We all need a break sometime." But Darryll just turned and moved away, and Diane retreated into herself before finding the courage to say what she thought she needed to say, "Darryll... what happened... back in school... it wasn't your fault, okay?" Diane struggled to find the right words, "It's ok to... Y, know... just, you don't need to beat yourself up over it, okay?"
Silence.
Agonizing, painful silence.
Diane swallowed the lump in her throat, "You are-"
"Just leave."
And she left.

Diane couldn't go to The Electro Swing Thing anymore, not because it was too far from her new residence, she could take the bus for that, but because she had an inkling. One she really disliked the idea of. She was worried that she was responsible for the information the Dancer had obtained on her and Darryll. The only person she'd told about her woes was the bartender, and she thought she had seen someone who looked a little like him in the theatre, maybe a sibling or cousin. If he was in affiliation with the Dancer and her crew, then he would have likely known Diane's face. This was a problem because then she could have been tailed home, and bugs could have been placed. Darryll didn't sleep often, but he still did sometimes, which would have left small pockets of time for such a thing to be done. Diane found a bus that stopped just a few roads short of her old building, now with police tape surrounding it. As she approached she donned her cloak, and ducked under the tape, making her way for the door.