The White Shadow 1: The Dancer

Chapter 11

...

At first Darryll felt nothing. Then he felt pain.

A lot of pain.

Like he lying in a bathtub of acid, his skin burning and his neck searing hot with glove marks. He couldn't feel his legs, and his useless arms simply refused to budge. Darryll might've just lay there, semi-content, but then he remembered the last thing he had seen before passing out; Diane, a shell of her former self, having let the Dancer go. She had been empty, dim, swaying like a flagpole in the wind. The very sight of a normally fairly happy and content person in such a state had been frightening, but Darryll knew that this didn't matter. What mattered was the Dancer, who currently ran free. Darryll had to do something. So he finally opened his eyes, and above him, he saw another boy. He had a sunken, pale complexion, a dark mop of hair, and hollow beady eyes that stared from behind the rectangular frames of his glasses. He spoke in an intimately familiar voice, "So you need a plan."
Darryll opened his mouth with some effort, and coughed up his words, "Shut up."
The other boy scoffed, "You thought you were so powerful back in that room, when Diane had the gun to Nia's head. You thought you had the whole world in your hands."
Darryll repeated with some more difficulty, "Shut up."
"But you're not powerful. You're pathetic. All you can do is try and kill people out of a relentless guilt that plagues you-"
"Shut. Up. Dennis."
Dennis scoffed, "You need another plan. And we both know that I'm much smarter than you."
Darryll spat as harshly as he could in his state, "Don't use my words on me-"
"I'm smarter than you," Dennis continued, "And I live in your head. So you might as well use me, right? Cause clearly you're not clever enough to outsmart anyone by yourself."
"Shut UP!" Darryll yelled hoarsely, coughing up his words as Dennis looked down in pity through the thick frames of his glasses. He turned around and walked out of Darryll's field of view, saying, "Well, I'm here when you need me."
Darryll tried to spit out another retort, but he could barely move his lips in his pain, so he simply watched as the world went black once more.

Now Darryll was on his side. He opened his eyes again, and saw Diane, crouched so that she could be at head height with her friend. Darryll squinted, wondering why she was sideways, before remembering his predicament. Diane had a determined look in her eyes, and her lips were pursed, but she said nothing. Darryll opened his mouth first, groaning, "Wha..? Wha' is it?"
"Why didn't you tell me you planned on getting caught?" Diane asked firmly.
Darryll lifted one eyebrow, and replied slowly, croak by croak, with his own question, "Why didn't you tell me about Nia earlier?"
Daine blushed, and Darryll made a click with his tongue. She folded her arms over her chest and whispered timidly, "I...I didn't know-"
"Cause you're hopeful," Darryll croaked, "despite the shit Verez put you through as a kid." He turned his eyes to the ceiling and struggled through his words, "That's why Nia wants you. Cause... Verez wants you. You know that... right?"
Daine fell into her knees and sat down, leaning upon Darryll's sofa, and asked, "Are you mad?"
"Fucken livid, Diane. Make no mistake."
Diane let out a little sigh of disappointment, and lowered her head, "Oh."
Darryll continued, "But I'm also reasonable. Do you want to leave our operation?"
With widened eyes and a gaping mouth, Diane looked up, "What?"
"I know what I said," Darryll growled, "You're a good fighter, but you're nice. Bring that to a Starbucks, get some money, live a nice life. You're not suited for politics, revenge and murder. Just get out there and do what makes you happy."
Diane felt her eyes well up with tears, "B-but what about mo-money, and living-"
"Ill give you all I have." There was not a hint of sarcasm in Darryll's voice as he rolled into his back and stared at the ceiling with a vacant expression, "This place is free anyway. I've known you'd want to leave soon, so I've been saving-"
Diane put her palms out in front of her, protested, "I never said I wanted to leave-"
"You clearly do," Darryll rebutted, "Cause you couldn't kill The Dancer. You can even go back to her if you want." Darryll turned back onto his side, looked Diane in the eyes, and warned, "Just don't blame me for any misfortune." Then he rolled back to face the ceiling, "My money's in my purse, next to the gun. If you're not gone when I get up, you stay."

The Dancer's family all sat at the great oval table, waiting for their boss. Every one of them, from Cory to Samuel to Kevin to Lex and even to Flores, who was the oldest and most loyal brother of them all, feared for their lives. After all, when she had found Micheal alive in the theater with his two brothers beside him, dead, the Dancer had not thought twice. She really didn't care.
The air, normally filled with idle chatter from the many boys ready for whatever mission should come, was silent and stiff. And it only grew thicker when the sleek white door opened, and the Dancer stalked in, poised like a vulture, taking long, methodical strides along the room, watching as the sweat slid down the necks of many terrified men. How many would there be left? Ten? Five? All would be replaced, for sure. The Dancer found the turning point of the table, and came back down, slowly watching each and every man's slick, stoic faces. She eventually came to her seat, and sat down. And then she did a most peculiar thing. An absolutely ludicrous thing. A completely, incomprehensible and stupid action that shook the very air.

She took of her mask.

She took of her mask, and placed it on the table. Then she took a long, long look at everyone seated around her. Her eyes were worried, and her mouth was twisted in anguish. Then, finally, she spoke. "My name is Nikola Swígovich. However, you may all call me Nia." Then she let out a sigh and lay her head in one hand, and spoke with burnt out exhaustion, "This business is gonna be fucked if I don't do something. I built my presence in this world's fucked politics on power and domination. But it has left me without something direly important." She reached into her coat and pulled out two guns, two kevlar plates, and a knife. She lay them up on the table, and then she removed her blazer and placed it upon the table. Then she got out of her seat and clambered upon the table, and stood, tall, over everyone, as she continued, "You all have a gun. So I tell you now. If you don't want to be here, you have complete authority to shoot me."
There were some hesitant shuffles from the men, but they were cut by Flores asking, "What about our jobs?"
Nia replied calmly, "I've already added thirty thousand pound to every one of your accounts."
There was a collective gasp and wave of murmurs that rippled around the table, and, having gained momentum, Nia continued, "I've also given every one of you housing not owned by me. Moreover, since I have spent so much on this as well as your salary improvement, I no longer have enough to buy your housing back." She crouched down and sat cross legged upon the center of the table, "You shouldn't need to live under me. You should live with me, as fellow creatures to the grave."
The following wave of agreement was met with the re-holstering of weapons and a light chatter of approval. People began to spark conversation around the table, about their plans for their new money, about how great it would be to not worry about crossing the Dancer, and about the new Dancer in question. From within the chatter, Flores raised his hand and asked, "Da- I mean, Nia, what bought this change of heart upon you?"
Nia turned to face her ally and giggled like a little girl, "Some unexpected advice from an unexpected somewhere. Now," and she raised her voice to address the growing volume of the crowd. The chatter became silent, and Nia raised her fist into the air, "So," she yelled, her lips grinning, "who's ready for a new beginning!"
The resounding cheers filled the world, and the atmosphere has never been happier at the oval table. This massive financial risk had been a success, and now all Nia needed to do was use her newly reformed soldiers to capture Diane, save her family, and most notably, she wanted to kill Darryll. Not because of any bounty, that had never existed to begin with. Throughout the cheers, Nia wanted revenge of the small child who had made her look like a fool. She rubbed her shoulder bone, where the bullet Darryll fired had burned through, and smiled, within the roaring crowd of her followers.

Diane wanted to eat something. So she took a bus to the city center and found a small grilled cafe with very few people inside, and ordered some relatively cheap food. It was at this time that Diane realised just how penniless Darryll had been. He'd had thirty five pounds to his name, and ten of those pounds were now gone in exchange for a grilled salad and a big double layer vegan burger. It felt good to indulge. When her plate arrived, Diane had ravaged that poor burger like a lion, getting halfway through in barely a minute, before slowing down after a mild case of heartburn. In her moment of peace, Diane considered her next steps: find an apartment, maybe go to university like she'd always wanted to- no, she couldn't do that, every university worth going to was owned or financed by Verez or one of his associates, and if Diane showed her face there, she would be kidnapped immediately. Shaking that thought aside, Diane wondered how much an apartment would cost. Maybe an RV would cost less to buy? Diane could only bury her head in her hands as she wondered about her first conundrum. Then she had an idea. A very, very risky and foolish idea. She took another bite of her veggie burger and tried not to think too hard about what she wanted to do.