Volume VI: And Introducing Harley Morrow As - Herself

16. General Unrest

        The story I got was this.

        Serkis went, with Layne, to talk to Max. The talk didn’t go over well. Layne stepped out for a smoke. In the time he was gone, the conversation became physical. Shots were fired. He rushed in to find his father on the ground bleeding out and Serkis curled up elsewhere. He pulled her up and took off. Word traveled fast. On their way out, they bumped into Cassidy on his way around. He figured out what happened, called Requiem. She went over and cleaned up the mess. Cassidy, figuring his job halfway done, takes a walk over to Doyle. Doyle is in the middle of a “talk” with Gothik - a talk involving fists. He bursts in and delivers the news. Doyle’s given no order for this kind of thing. Naturally, he freaks out. Cassidy is sent to the bar, told to act natural and to tell Pandora. A call is made to Requiem to check her status - she’s still cleaning bloodstains. Doyle’s fuming at this point. He puts a call in. He wants Serkis brought in. Layne talks her into going. Gothik is carted away, laughing like a fiend. He’s locked somewhere for the time being, until we could deal with him properly. And Serkis arrives at Doyle’s around the same time I arrived at the bar. Layne was told to wait outside, which he did. The boy had been shaking for ages. He was given something to calm his nerves, told to sit down and be patient. He tried.

        Doyle and Serkis had an interesting talk. Layne waited there until Requiem showed up, and she escorted him home and told him not to worry. Serkis is a big girl and can take care of herself. Serkis didn’t leave until sometime late the next morning, wearing half of Doyle’s clothes and an interesting collection of bruises. Her decisive nature cost her, and she put out. From what I heard from the crew, her ribs were in sore shape, her back, naturally her arm - but she could walk. She could operate all right. She’d grin and bear it, and she would survive. She’d charmed her way out of the worst of it. We all knew what kind of charms she’d employed too. She walked out of there though. She wasn’t helped out. She wasn’t carried out or wheeled out. She walked. Of her own free will.

        Requiem told me all of this before I dozed off to sleep. She was the busiest of the bunch. The show was on a touch and go basis - the crowd mostly took care of itself these days. I went to sleep when I got home and stayed out for a while. Gothik would be kept away for a while; Doyle had fixed him as promised. And Cassidy probably got a tongue lashing too. I should explain to them that I asked him, that it was my decision, not his. At some point.

        The first reunion we all had as a family was Max’s funeral. Who told me about the funeral in the first place is beyond me. But I got there somehow. Serkis was covered, or as much of her as she could manage. The bruises were hidden, but Layne held her close anyway. There was pain in his eyes. Whether it was from his father’s loss, his girl’s unfeeling nature...the family’s torn status...nobody knew. He held her to him though, as if she could disappear at any given moment. Requiem and Cassidy stood side by side, wrapped in each other. Pandora and Doyle were the same. Gothik stood on the sidelines, some of Doyle’s lackeys on his sides. He’d lost control, he’d lost grasp of what mattered. Doyle would have common sense beaten back into him. At some rate. And I was there, in my own little world. Miles away from all of this.

        It was a police funeral, standard style. Doyle had an appointment with important officials about the investigation. Serkis slept with him to secure her innocence. No matter how close they got, Doyle would do anything and everything for her. It was in stone now, no maybe, no arguing. I wondered if Pandora knew. I wondered if she cared. Look at her father. She shouldn’t have morals...yet she’s the most upright of the crew. It all added up, and yet, it didn’t. And here we stand. Does it matter anymore? What happened to the simple illusion we started with?

        It changed. Into the illusion of family.

        We all parted after the funeral, going our separate ways. I never felt so alone in my life, turning to walk away. I hadn’t lost respect for any of them - they did what had to be done. Except maybe for Gothik...Art. He was better than this. He was more than this. I couldn’t bring myself to go to any of them; I just walked away. What more could I do? Nothing. Not a damn thing.