Inner Workings

Inner Workings - Part 56

The mirrored observation window made a hollow boom.

Justin jumped to his feet. "Jesus! The hell do you think you're doing?"

"Getting their damn attention," snapped Louis. He hit the glass again, using the brace on his left arm as a battering ram. It hurt but the whole panel wobbled. "Where's Will?"

"He's probably on his way back to Watch Two by now," said Justin. "Why?"

On his way back...

Either Will didn't know where he was, or he didn't care. Louis looked back to the one way window.

"Listen you mouse-poking, Doctor Frankenstein assholes. I know what you want; it ain't happening." Louis rubbed at his bare forearm with the cast as his skin itched from the brightening lights. "And it sure ain't happening with him. So either dim the lights, or get him out of here."

Justin took a step closer, hands out, voice concerned. "Dude, what is wrong with you?"

"Back off." Louis pressed himself into the white corner as if he could melt into the paneling. He squeezed his eyes shut and sat, knees bent towards his chest. The light scratched his skin, digging deeper into his nerves, pounding as hard as the pain in his left hand. He wanted to let it go so bad, trigger the change and collapse. The room wouldn't feel so small then, the snapping of energy in his flesh would abate. But no, they had Justin packed in with him to witness his "condition".

Justin hovered closer, haughty and snide. "How low the mighty have fallen."

Louis kicked out, his foot connecting with Justin's shin, making him curse and hop back.

"My hand's busted," said Louis, words heavy with strained breath. "But my legs can still kick your ass."

Louis wanted to be alone. He wanted out of this damn containment room. He wanted to go back to Watch Two.

He wanted a cup of coffee in a stupid novelty mug.

***

Will woke up on a floral hotel duvet, ambient television light flickering on the ceiling. An ache ricocheted off his bones; bouncing around his skull, twisting though his middle, and then pinging against his spine and thighs. Moving? Nope. Not happening.

A bottle of chilled ginger ale pressed into his heated hand.

"Think you can keep down a couple of sips?" said Reese. The safecracker's tie and jacket were draped on the back of his chair, sleeves rolled up. Will had rarely seen him out of his "gentleman's uniform". "You really need to settle your stomach."

With Reese's help, Will shifted to sitting up against the headboard. Well, less sitting, more letting gravity do what it will at a different angle. Reese made an apt nursemaid, primping the pillow supporting Will's back and handing him a cellophane sleeve of bland crackers. Will passed on the crackers for now. The bubbly soda cooled his throat, washing away the acidic bite that followed him into sleep.

Something of that had been in the latest nightmare. Will remembered a fragment that involved acid eating at him from the inside out. He locked away the images readily provided from gory horror flicks. He wanted to keep the soda down for once.

He glanced around the room. The cream curtains were half drawn, showing a fragment of the many flickering lights of San Francisco. The lights were off except for the bathroom and the television screen. Two beds, but no Beni.

"Where's Beni?" asked Will.

"Getting a late snack and talking to Cetz," said Reese. He nibbled on a cracker and made a face at the bland taste. "Most likely they are arranging our ride back home."

Will nodded, feeling lucky that he could string two words together through the achy cotton in his head. It would be a relief to get back to his apartment and sleep. He deserved a break.

Will gestured the bottle to the television. "What's on?"

"An encore of the fashion show that made traffic hell in San Francisco." Reese leaned back in his chair, lacing his fingers behind his head as he gazed lazily at the contestants. "You might like it. The challenge is making a dress from recycled materials."

Will remembered the enthusiastic girl in the Laundromat lauding the show with high praise. He was instantly skeptical, reality television wasn't his thing. But Reese had been right, Will had enjoyed the show. He liked seeing people figure out new ways of recycling, even through fashion. Though the outfits produced for the contest were beyond odd. And after years of seeing homemade costumes at conventions, that was saying something. In the time it took Will to nurse half the ginger ale, he had seen a dresses made of cardboard, discarded carpet, tarp, and woven bicycle tires.

The last one, the winning dress, apparently, had been made from ironed together plastic bags and crocheted "plarn". A gown with a long, rippled train and a fitted crochet bodice, but Will didn't understand why the designer would crochet a pair of red lips on the belly of the dress.

Then Will got a good look at the designer, a scruffy man with wild hair and a scarf made of plarn with more mouths on them. He squinted his tired eyes, finding the bedraggled, crazed features familiar.

"It just hit me, man," said the designer, his voice eager and earnest. "I saw a guy talking to his guts as if they had something to say. You know they sometimes talk back; we're hungry or we're in trouble, or don't go home with that guy. Well, what if we listened to our guts more often? My gut told me this needed to be in the dress. We need to listen to our guts more when it comes to new fashion and to the environment. Maybe if we listen more we'll treat them, and ourselves, better."

Will's jaw dropped in recognition, his aches forgotten for a moment.

Holy shit the crazy bag guy from the alleyway.

"Weird, isn't it?" said Reese.

"Serendipitous." And how did he manage to find that in his vocabulary when he could barely think?

Someone knocked on the door in an odd rhythm. Reese checked the peephole and let Beni in. She carried a large paper bag spotted with grease and smelling of curry fries. Reese's eyes lit up at the food offering, taking the bag before Beni could snag a fry and crouching on the chair to defend his hoard. Will's stomach bottomed out and he swallowed back the slurry of soda.

"When are we leaving," Will asked.

"Tomorrow..." Beni glanced down at her watch. She reached for the bag and Reese held it out of her reach with his long, spindly arms. "This afternoon. Cetz booked the seats. Get some sleep."

"Are we waiting for Louis or is he taking a different flight?"

Beni hesitated, giving Reese a heavy look that must of meant something to him, but left Will clueless. Reese's brows lifted, his lips stretched around a mouthful of spicy orange curry fries.

"Is he already back at Watch Two?" asked Will.

"He's... at Watch One," admitted Beni, looking warily at him. "Apparently, they got grabby when we weren't looking."

Will slumped lower on the headboard and reached for a cracker.

"Cetz will get him back," said Reese around a smaller mouthful of fries. "If anyone can scream the walls of Jericho down, it's Cetz."

"If Louis even wants to come back," said Will, bitterly. "Go me. Out of all his partners I'm the one that finally outlasted him."

"And we like you better than the others," said Beni.

Will made a noncommittal noise, taking another sip of ginger ale to wash down the crumbly crackers.

Reese wiped at his mouth, shiny with grease. "Alright, out of morbid curiosity, what happened between the two of you at Mark Bell's workshop that put you at each other's throats more than usual."

"He insulted me," said Will. "And then I punched him in the face."

Reese's eyes went wide, taken aback. Beni snatched the fries. "Attaboy."