Volume VI: And Introducing Harley Morrow As - Herself

25. The Icarus Syndrome

        Doyle died simply. Or so they told me. The actual truth of it didn’t come out until later. I was simply told that he was dead. Case and point.

         Translation: I am free.

        Or am I?

        How did he die? We’re not sure...there were so many possibilities. I knew because Serkis told me. Another late night visit, another blood-covered girl. It was all the same.

        Doyle was beaten, broken, stabbed, shot...you name it and they found it in him. Sylum was at the head of the investigation. It wasn’t a long case - rival drug dealers burst in during the night, kicked the shit out of him, and left him for dead. Open and shut.

        At least that’s the story we told the fans.

        When it came to Doyle, nobody was all that...adoring.

        Things were far from simple. Things were insanely far from simple. It was a few weeks later when this all surfaced. I was getting along with Sylum better, but I couldn’t seem to charm my way into getting out. I tried everything I had up my sleeve. And when that failed, I pulled out the last ace.

        I’m young. I’m cute. And I’m stuck here with a guy.

        I spent every waking moment with him, poking and prodding and trying for any sort of leeway. No such luck. We were sitting around one night, talking about, I’m not sure...and smoking. He always shared. I was next to him. He wouldn’t touch me. Serkis’ warnings are always cashed in if broken, he told me. Knowing her, I believed him.

         It was late - we’d been up all night talking. At the moment, I couldn’t remember what was so interesting. Sylum had gotten up a while ago to take some medication for a headache. I remember having to shift position. He had come back and I’d curled up next to him. I only remember vague bits and pieces of events. Nothing solid. Nothing continuous.

        “If you did touch me, you think Serkis would ever know?” I asked softly. I had the tone of a child, asking a friend, hypothetically, if I could get away with my crime before the parents got home. He shrugged.

        “I’m not risking anything with her. She is vicious, that one.”

        I smiled at him. “Mr. Big Bad Law Man is afraid of little ole Serkis. That’s funny. You’re scared of a girl.”

        “You’re trouble, you know that? And I’m not afraid of her. And that girl is far from little. And you damn well know it. What are you playing at?”

        “I don’t play games. I just lead the distraction.”

        “Oh, that’s right.” He poked me in the side, a childish sort of motion. “Happy now?”

         I laughed and shrugged. It was a foreign concept for him to be with people - that was obvious. He was alone in his little steel cage and it suited him. He was safe and nothing could hurt him. He had security on all sides - anything he needed, Doyle provided. I brought this to his attention. He just got quiet.

        “And you know everything, do you? You’re the expert on my life?”

        “I’ve been kept prisoner in your apartment for weeks. I’ve had massive amounts of time to formulate my theory. It holds water.”

        “Does it?” He was trying to outwit me. I smiled wider.

        “You lock your bedroom. What the hell am I going to do to it?”