Volume X: The Industry of Chemical Artistry - or - The Age of Rockism

8. Felt So Wrong

On a foggy day, with no one around, you can see the smokers congregate from awhile away. They’re kind of obliviously obvious. How smoke comes through fog...beats me. But they’re there. Shadows in the mist, shapes in a sea of uncertainty.   

Metaphorically, the fog equals life. And those shapes? Those are people like Dacien Ransom. You don’t need to see her face to know she’s there. The misty silhouette is enough. I got home, trudging upstairs. My options were few and far between. Summary of my life.

Slam. Again, the lid falls. All that’s left by now is blood and tears. Neither of which do me any good. Proof that I’m still alive and very human. The curse of the human condition. A few more slams and there might be some permanent damage.

Too late.

Stay awake. Keep moving. If I fail in either motion right now, I might as well fill out my own toe tag - save the coroner the effort.

The place was empty when I got there. There was a vague suggestion of inhabitancy in the air, but nobody in sight. I stood in the doorway, listening eagerly. Nothing.

I took a few steps when I heard a floorboard creak behind me, followed by the familiar click of a cocked gun. I froze in place.

“Miss Ransom, how can I be of service?” I whispered. She took a few steps, circling to face me, gun leveled on my one eye.

“Find a seat, we have business.”

She withdrew her weapon, clicking the safety back on as she tucked it behind her, held firmly by the waistband.

“So what brings you to my little niche in the world?”

I sat at the table nonchalantly, listening carefully for anyone else in the place. No such luck. We were alone. I was hardly shocked. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t come off as calm. The tension did more than linger.

“So how’s things, kid?” she started, seating herself across from me.

“Come on, you don’t come all the way down here for chitchat. Ever.”

She shrugged. “Right. So what was your sister doing with Dusk?”

I tried to act cool. “Last I heard, she was fucking him.”

Dacien smiled real slowly. She was regrouping for the attack. Countdown to breakdown...yet another slam, this time in slow motion. And intentionally done.

“Let’s just get this straight - the only reason you’re alive is because I’m making up for my brother’s faults. The things he did were inexcusable - he disgraced our family heavily. His death came as a blessing of sorts.”

“Cut to the point Dacien, I’ve done this dance already.”

She smiled wide at me. “You’re a clever girl Deacon, you just do some really stupid things from time to time. Family comes first, always. Your sister is on dangerous ground.”

“You think I don’t know that?”

“Then fix her.”

I jumped out of the chair. “Fuck you! She can’t be fixed - she doesn’t want to be. My brother seems to think I can cool her down. Well kids, I can’t. Go talk to her about this shit. Leave me out of it.”

Dacien took it all in, nodding as she pulled herself out of the chair. She kept nodding, smiling in an almost eerie way.

And that’s when she shot me. I blinked. Fuck. This was real. I found myself on the ground, blood pouring out of my arm. She crept over and sat next to me, the smoking gun in hand.