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

16. Reception

            A long trip seems infinitely longer when every inch of your body aches. No matter what position I curled myself into it made sleeping impossible. There were just too many questions, too many unsolved issues along the way. Who the hell was Angyl Hunter and what reason did she have to beat me nearly senseless on the street? How did Seven find herself amidst all this madness and handle it without even the slightest uncertainty? Had Marco survived the accident? Hyde and Damiano? The more names I put into my mind, the less sense any of it made. I decided to just wipe the slate clean and leave all business relating to my new life upstate. Right now I had to speak to Dacien, I had to put the old life back together one last time.

            If you don’t learn from the past, you’re doomed to repeat it. I was getting really tired of getting beaten senseless for being the slow one at the party. And I wouldn’t tolerate it anymore. Or so I kept telling myself. Dacien had allowed me my chance, my peace of mind, and I would have it. I’d left her city - I hadn’t bothered with any of the details that could affect her life or her business. But here I was, still entirely dependent on her somehow. She owned me, in her own way, and she knew it. I could almost envision the smile creeping across her lips as the bus slipped through the night, grinding into the station as the sun crept wearily over the horizon.

            Home.

            Or was it?

            Perhaps home was nowhere, and this was merely a distinct memory of another time and place. Another person. Another life. Perhaps.

            It was nice to think about. To wonder if perhaps all my greatest sins had been committed by someone else. All my fallen friends weren’t really fallen, but on prolonged vacation. But no matter how hard I tried to lie to myself, I never could sing myself to sleep at night with such deceit.       

            The bus was mostly empty, so I didn’t have many people to fight through as I crept off. My bag slung across my back, I returned to solid ground apprehensively. I looked up at the bench, finding a figure sitting there, waiting patiently. They got up off the bench slowly, moving towards me with a sort of sinister step I recognized immediately. She reached over my shoulder to carry my bag for me, a small smile slipping across her lips.

            “Welcome home, Deacon.”

            “The pleasure’s all mine, Dacien,” I responded, a small hint of irony in my voice.

She started down the street, and I fell into step at her side. I was much too tired for questions and simple concerns, so I was prepared to follow her wherever she deemed necessary. We walked in silence until we reached a building from my more dormant memories, an apartment complex hidden in shadows against larger buildings. She led the way, motioning for me to follow. This had been her brother’s safe haven when he was alive, the place where I’d come to murder him. I shook off the memories and carried on, eager only for a soft bed.

            After moving up countless stairs, we finally came to rest at the familiar apartment of Linkon Ransom, may he rest in peace; or as much peace as a soulless bastard like that can find in Hell. I shuffled in past her, dropping into the first chair I could find. She moved further in, leaving my bag in a room tucked away from the door.

            “Anything to eat? I set up a bed for you, I’m sure you’re beat.” Her tone was neutral, revealing nothing. I tried to figure out what she wanted or needed from me. Dacien Ransom’s kindness never came at a reasonable price. I shook my head slowly. She seemed to think about something suddenly, running off. She returned with a first aid kid she flipped open immediately, reaching out to take hold of my chin.