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 Posted: Thu Aug 14, 2014 10:22 am
✖ Solo: Witness ✖
They sat, the sad lot of them, in the police station, facing a desk cluttered only with dust. Azucar sat on the other side of the desk, his hands folded, his ever-present smile faded to almost nothing. He wore the barest threads of it only in sympathy, but nobody lifted their eyes to meet it – not Jamie or Michel, nor Shepard or Granny Maplethorpe or Vivi. Only Cesc did, a single time, but dropped his eyes again.
They were all bent. All of their eyes were wet.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” the detective said.
A few of them nodded, and Azucar was left with that as his only reply.
Inspector Neele opened a doorway beyond, folders in his hands. “I’ll need you all one by one,” he said. “For your evidence regarding Miss Barnier and Mr. Kensington.”
* * * * *
Jamie
“I’m so sick of this,” murmured Jamie, her head against the table, her arms out in front of her. She made no pretense of polite professionalism. She made no attempt at gathering herself. She wept without wiping her tears, collapsed against the table as soon as she sat down. “I wanted it to be over with Clive, and now there’s – there’s murder again.”
“Nobody said anything about murder,” said Inspector Neele, taking his seat across from the blonde. Jamie straightened and looked at him with daggers in her eyes.
“Nobody has to,” she said. “Do you think we’re all idiots?”
“There’s been no autopsy filing yet,” said Neele. “No toxicology reports. You don’t know that it was murder.”
“Don’t treat me like an idiot,” said Jamie thickly. “I went through this with Clive. I don’t need another lesson.”
“Alright, alright.” Neele brought out his most soothing voice. Jamie, he knew, was out of the reach of pure reason. Anything he got out of her was going to have to be divided by her emotions, as it was with most cases like this. She seemed a nice enough girl – kept out of trouble, never got so much as a parking ticket, lived in Durem with the man Michel.
“From what I heard,” said Neele, “You kept your distance pretty well from the rest of the circus folk after what happened with Clive Kensington, is that right?”
Jamie shrugged. “Everyone was a suspect. Do you want to hang out with a bunch of murder suspects?”
“I do that, generally, yes,” said Neele with a smile. “But you have a point. You never broke off your touch with your friend, Vivi, is that right?”
Jamie looked down at her hands. “Vivi’s different. We’d been friends since we were teenagers.”
“So you thought, this one’s clear out of it, I can hang out with her? Nothing outstretched to the rest of your friends?” Neele watched Jamie’s face.
“I was with Vivi that night,” said Jamie. “Just like I was last night. Most of the time, we were together. She never could have…” She trailed off, shrugging. “I just don’t believe it. Not Vivi. She can’t hurt a fly. She’d rather trap it and let it outside.”
“Interesting,” mused Neele. “What about last night?”
“I was at the booth pretty much the whole night,” Jamie related. “There was an argument, and then everybody sort of – well, kind of split. Cerise, she was great, but she was really dramatic, and she – she kind of had another blow up and went off to be alone for a while. We thought she’d just blow off steam and come back. That’s all. That’s all it was.” Her voice broke. “That’s all it ever was, honestly. Just stupid kid stuff. She was mad at Vivi because she has – had – a crush on Shepard. That’s all. Shepard didn’t go for her, she blamed Vivi. See? Kid stuff. Nothing worth dying over.”
“Nothing worth killing over, you mean,” corrected Neele.
* * * * *
Michel
Michel looked troubled. He looked at every corner of the room as he entered. He sat down and stared nervously at the door until Neele closed it. His eyes were deep-set in his face, ringed with black.
“Is that soundproof?” he asked, gesturing toward the door with his head, fidgeting in his seat. He pulled at his slacks and then at the collar of his shirt. Neele looked at him, a sort of gentleness in his face as he sat down slowly across from him.
“Nobody’s going to hear you out there, don’t you worry,” said Neele. “You’re fine in here.”
Michel let out a long sigh. He shook his head. “I do not think so. I do not think any of us are fine anywhere, sir. This is the second death, you see, in our little band. We’re being picked off. One of us, it has to be one of us – don’t you see?”
“You think the two deaths are related?” Neele pressed his palms together. “Really.”
“Of course they are,” scoffed Michel. “Cerise is killed the night before she speaks – what, in coincidence? She had something that she did not mean for you to hear, or that someone else did not mean you to hear. She kept mentioning it through the night, that she was going to talk.” He ran his fingers through his hair, the digits trembling. “That idiot! She thought she was with friends…”
Neele’s eyes gave Michel nothing as he looked into them, no solace or compassion or information of any sort. Neele looked at the man, weighing carefully. Was he watching the truth or a performance? “Go on, please.”
Michel shrugged helplessly. “You must separate us. Watch us each. I can say I didn’t do it, but I’m sure you will hear that over and over today.”
“I do tend to hear that phrase a lot.”
Michel shivered. “I will come forward. I did leave out something before in my testimony about Clive. I – I thought it totally irrelevant at that time. Nobody was to know. I do not know if Cerise would have known it, or how – and I cannot see why anyone would murder her not to reveal it.”
Inspector Neele raised his eyebrows. “Oh?”
The Frenchman stood, pacing the room, his hands fluttering like butterflies. “Yes. Clive – he was aware the circus was beginning to, well, to run its course. I know you must have asked before. His earnings, though still healthy, were beginning to decline. He thought of taking the best acts and folding the traveling circus and opening a smaller, more intimate show in a casino town – Gambino, or Vegas.”
Neele said nothing. He did not want to stem Michel’s speech.
“It would have meant goodbye to many of our friends,” said Michel. “Vivi he wanted to keep, but not Cerise or Jamie – myself, of course, as well.”
“I really only have your word for that, don’t I?” asked Neele. “I supposed we could see whether he spoke with investors at the time…”
“I have that information,” said Michel. “But you see, if they had known – Jamie, Cerise, Shepard, Gertrude – they would have been on their backs. Clive always made a big show about providing for everyone, like they were all under his wing. This would have infuriated them.”
“Why didn’t you come out with that five years ago, exactly?”
Michel threw up his hands. “Yes, a murderer is on the loose and I want them to look at me. If they knew, they only suspected him! I lived through that night! Nobody knew I was a partner. Best to keep my mouth shut and stay alive.”
“And you’re telling me this now…”
Michel slumped, defeated. “This is not over. I do not wish that death any more now than I did then.” He gripped the edge of the table. “One of them, one of them will kill me if you do not take pains to protect me – one of them will do it.”
“Well, Michel,” said Neele pleasantly, “you do realize that you’re the one this information incriminates, don’t you? You could have wanted Cerise’s silence and had a change of heart this morning…”
Michel’s face became pale as parchment. He shook his head. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’ll tell you anything – anything. I didn’t care for Cerise – I didn’t care for most of them. I wanted to live comfortably, that was all. That’s all I wanted! I didn’t get what I wanted then. Clive would have brought me that alive. Why would I have killed him? And why would I now kill Cerise? That gives me no comfort. That would give me nothing. I just want the person found, before…”
Michel covered his face.
Neele waited. He waited until Michel’s hand slid down, until the man looked tolerably composed.
“This money that Clive wanted to invest in a new venture,” he said, testing. “To whom did it go?”
“To his nearest living relation,” said Michel.
* * * * *
Granny Maplethorpe
“My full name Gertrude Anne Maplethorpe,” said the old woman. Her eyes were ringed with red but her chin was strong. Inspector Neele sat across from her, his hands folded. The old woman, he had to own, made no sense to him. Her file described her occupation as dealing with the occult, tea leaf readings and palm studies, as well as tarot. But sitting here before him was a woman of extreme sensibility and old-world fashion, her head held high and her back perfectly straight. She seemed insulted in a strange and distant way to be involved in the mess.
“Yes, Miss Maplethorpe,” said the inspector. “We have your name and address here.”
“Excellent,” she said.
“We understand you dropped off Cerise Barnier last night,” began Neele, leaning forward and folding his arms on the table.
“I did. I thought it best not to leave her side until she was in the company of friends,” said Granny Maplethorpe. “She had, you know, attempted a sort of escape earlier that day. There’s no use in denying it now. Poor child!”
“What happened there?”
“She went out the window when she thought I wasn’t looking. She quarreled with the Raevan boy, Rhedefre, who kept her there. When I got to see her, she was all penance and quiet. Simmered alone in her room until she went out.”
“Did she have any phone calls, any connection with anyone?”
“Yes, with Vivi. They had quarreled earlier in the week, and Vivi called to apologize and to invite Cerise out.” Granny Maplethorpe shrugged her shoulders. “There has been a lot of differences of opinion lately, Inspector. I cannot deny that much.”
“I can see that,” said the Inspector dryly.
“I can give you a full account, with the times,” said Gertrude. She took out a small piece of paper, folded.
“Yes, thank you,” said Neele. “I have a few more questions now, as well.”
“Yes?”
“It’s about your grand-nephew,” said Neele.
Granny Maplethorpe’s eyes ticked downward, only for a moment, and then back up. She inhaled through her nose, audible. “Yes, of course.”
“You received Mr. Kensington’s money after he died, did you not?”
“I did,” said the old woman. “His mother no longer being with us.”
“You used that to…”
“Open a bakery,” she said, her tone clean. “I do somewhat resent being asked questions the answers of which I know you know.”
“Yes, I see that,” said Neele. “This bakery employs two of your former circus friends, am I correct?”
“Again, you know this to be true.”
“I see.” Neele stood. “So now you don’t have to read tarot, or tea leaves, or mix any interesting concoctions any further, is that right?”
“I am not,” said Granny Maplethorpe, “some kind of witch doctor. I study an art. I have retired.”
“Are you aware, Miss Maplethorpe, that your grand-nephew had designs on closing Cirque Augustine shortly before his death? That his money would have gone to that venture? You may have retired earlier than expected, and with perhaps less than expected, as well.”
A flush came upon Gertrude Maplethorpe’s cheeks. Her expression remained otherwise unchanged. “This is highly offensive speech.”
“Did you know of this plan, Miss Maplethorpe, yes or no?”
“I did not.”
“Would you have been upset if you had known?”
Granny Maplethorpe looked down. She composed herself, folding her hands on her lap. “I suppose there would have been some ill feeling, yes, I cannot deny that.”
“I see,” said Neele.
“Inspector, I see that you wish to cause some mischief with this line of questioning,” said Gertrude. “I wish to inform you that if I had known and felt up to some sort of wickedness, I could have waited until whatever venture Clive had took off. That would have made me more money, presumably, would it not have?”
“Or he may have lost his money in that new venture,” said Neele. “And then you would have been left with nothing whatever.” He paused. “It would have been a gamble, of course, if you’d been… up to any wickedness.”
His eyes remained on Gertrude Maplethorpe as she looked down, decidedly less composed than she had been five minutes prior.
* * * * *
Shepard
“You have to admit, Mr. Ryan,” said Inspector Neele, “None of this looks particularly good. You found Mr. Kenington’s body, and you were right outside when Miss Barnier’s was discovered.
“None of this looks really good.” Shepard sighed as he lowered himself into the chair Neele offered him. “I can’t escape that. Guess I can’t really just say it was rotten luck and have you be fine with that.”
Inspector Neele smiled. Shepard Ryan, he thought, seemed the most forthright of the lot, for whatever that gave him.
“Where do you want me to start?” the Aussie asked.
“Wherever you want.”
“We argued, Cerise – Miss Barnier – and me, a week or two ago. She wanted a, ah…” Shepard looked down. “She wanted a relationship. I didn’t. She didn’t take it really well, we all got into some petty drama.”
“I heard,” said Neele. “Miss Barnier was threatening information?”
Shepard shrugged. “I think it was just dramatics. She didn’t want to be held responsible that she never talked to you guys before.”
“Is that so?” Neele leaned back. “Your friend Michel didn’t think that way.”
“Hm?” Shepard’s face seemed to become thinner. “What?”
“He seems to think Miss Barnier met her end as a result of someone wanting to keep her quiet.”
Shepard frowned darkly. His jaw set. “I don’t believe that.”
“Did you know that, according to your friend, Mr. Kensington was intending to take his stake out of the circus and put it into a new venture?” Inspector Neele asked, his eyes on Shepard’s face. The Aussie was already frowning, though, and there was no change in the darkness in his face as he listened.
“You think Clive would’ve done that?” Shepard shook his head. “His life was the circus.”
“Not according to your friend. He seemed pretty upset. Seemed to think someone would have been out for the both of them if they knew.”
Shepard let out a breath. He sat up straight, then slumped back, then sat up again, unsure of what to do with himself, his hands. He put his tongue between his teeth. “Clive, folding the circus? On himself? Yeah, someone would have been pissed, yeah.” He sighed, looking annoyed. “I guess that’s what he meant, though.”
“Mm?” prompted Neele.
“The night before – I think it was the night before, maybe the day before, I don’t know the exact time. Forget it. Sometime before he died, Clive told me he was gonna take me with him wherever he went. Like a pet. I don’t know. Then the night he died, he told me he needed to tell me something I’d need to be drunk to hear. That must’ve been it.”
“That would make sense, if what Michel says is true,” said Neele. “But you were a transplant, weren’t you?”
Shepard looked up, his eyes sharp. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, the circus folding would have been less to you than other people, one way or another, wouldn’t it? You were only there a year and change. And from what you say, Mr. Kensington meant to take you with him. So why would he needed you to have been drunk to hear the news?”
Shepard sank low in his seat. “I don’t fu—sorry. I don’t know. Clive was like that sometimes. And it would’ve meant a lot to me if the circus folded. I had friends there.”
“Michel says his shortlist included your roommate, as well.”
Shepard lifted his hands. “I don’t know. I don’t even know if that’s true. This is a lot of conjecture.”
Inspector Neele allowed this to be the truth. Shepard swallowed and looked down. He ran his fingers through his hair and left his hand behind his neck.
* * * * *
Cesc
“I would tell you to sit down,” said Inspector Neele, “but I suppose that’s not really a possibility, is it?”
Cesc tried to smile. He lowered himself to what seated height would be, his ribbon draping over the chair. Despite himself, his heart was beating rapidly in his chest. He didn’t know why. He had nothing to hide, he knew.
Neele smiled at him gently. “My partner says you’re a very friendly person.”
“Azucar?” Cesc’s smile became more natural. “He seems the same.”
“Oh, yeah, he is,” said Neele, seating himself. “And he says you’re having a hard time with everything, too.”
Cesc swallowed over a dry throat. It was an uncomfortable, papery sensation. “I think I would say the same of everyone, sir.”
Neele shook his head. “Bad business. I got your statement last night, so this will just be an addition to that. I guess I don’t really need to ask you anything about the Clive Kensington case, do I?”
Cesc shook his head. “No, sir. I didn’t really know he’d been murdered until just last month, honestly. They… shielded that from me as well as they could.”
“Your guardians, Miss LaCelle and Mr. Ryan?”
“Yes, sir.” Cesc smiled wanly. “They… thought it best.”
“I see,” said Neele. He wrote something down on his pad. “Now, then. We’ll get to Miss Barnier.”
Cesc’s face slowly slipped away the smile. His eyes became tired. “Yes, sir.”
“Tell me about last night.”
“I …” Cesc began, quiet. He put his hands together, interlacing the fingers. “I’m sorry. I have to say it. To be honest, sir, I hated her.”
Neele looked up, surprised. “Oh?”
“She was unpleasant,” Cesc continued. His face was full of sorrow, of the deep pain and shame of a true and contrite confession. “She said things to me, about how my family wasn’t really mine. She made me feel like an outsider. And when she tried to run yesterday – she tried to run yesterday, sir, out Miss Maplethorpe’s window and I caught her. I was very rude to her about it. She kept threatening that she had some kind of information that she meant to use against… I suppose, against my family. I just…”
Cesc hung his head. “I just wanted her to come clean. I was sure that whatever it was, it wouldn’t amount to anything.”
Neele watched him with some pity. He knew, from all he had seen and heard about the Raevan boy, that he was a good-natured sort, that he was young and made of some sort of magic. He doubted, very seriously, that in two years of life, Rhedefre LaCelle-Ryan had learned anything real about murder or revenge. He gave more credence to the Raevan’s words than to any other – he felt, deep down, that Cesc had perhaps never really been taught to lie.
“Did you see anything out of the ordinary last night, son?”
Cesc nodded. He looked at his fingers as he spoke. “After Cerise and everyone argued at the table –“
“—when she left for the night?”
“Yes,” said Cesc. “When she left for the night.” He paused, considering. His eyes, usually glowing with the brightness and warmness of morning light, were dim and distant and forlorn.
“You said you didn’t think the truth would hurt any of you,” reminded Neele, when Cesc’s faltering lasted longer than a moment.
“… she was threatening Vivi,” said Cesc, his voice sinking low. “She was telling her she was going to tell something, and Vivi kept insisting she didn’t know what she wanted from her.”
“Did you speak to them?”
“No,” said Cesc. “They were behind the line to the ladies’ room. I couldn’t push in. Vivi got away from her, anyway. She was holding Vivi’s hands really tightly, trying to keep her close.”
“Did you see Vivi or Cerise again later in the evening?”
“Yes,” said Cesc. “Vivi came back to the table. We didn’t talk about it. I saw Cerise around the bar – she had shots with Michel and Shepard at some point, I know.”
“I see,” said Neele. “Is there anything else?”
Cesc thought for a moment. He shook his head. “I guess just…”
“Mm?”
“Her body,” said Cesc. He swallowed hard at the memory, his face going ashen. Had he a stomach, he would have felt nausea at the picture of her – instead, he only felt the quickness of his heart and a sudden dimming of his rune, hollow. “It looked… wrong, somehow.”
“Wrong how?”
The stag bit his tongue. He put one hand to his mouth, still pale, shaking his head. He couldn’t think too much about Cerise in that bathroom. He didn’t want to think of it anymore at all.
“I don’t know,” he said with a gulp of air. “It was all – it was all wrong.”
“It’s okay,” said Neele. He rose, squeezing the frei’s shoulder. “Don’t stress too hard. You remember something else, you call me, okay?”
Cesc rose shakily and nodded. “I will, thank you.”
He opened the door and floated out. He took his seat, back out in the police station, beside Shepard. As he sank down, Vivi rose.
“Vivette LaCelle,” Neele called.
Vivi leaned down and kissed Cesc’s temple.
“Everything will be alright, cheri,” she whispered. She went into Neele’s office and shut the door.
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Posted: Thu Aug 14, 2014 4:07 pm
✖ Solo: Motive ✖
Sleep was no longer an option. Neither was focus. And Cesc desperately wanted both. He lay in his bed with the shades down, trying to take a nap that just wouldn’t come to him.
Cesc’s head ached near-constantly as he floated through the bakery. It was driving him to distraction. So much loss – so much pain – he was not built for it. He remembered being a very young frei, being at the garden party with Melisande and Xiu, how their presences hurt him then. He remembered that first, flinching pain.
And earlier still. The foggy memories of the marsh at dawn. A green figure, alone, radiating loneliness.
He was wrong, the stag realized. He was built for it. It seemed to be the only thing he was built for. Feeling the pain of others.
It subsided, though – Melisande’s loss, Xiu’s, even Eiry’s when Cesc had met him again in the library. Things healed. Xiu’s healed immediately when he’d helped him.
When he’d helped him.
Cesc pulled himself up. He rubbed his eyes. Vivi and Shepard hadn’t spoken much after they gave evidence. He hadn’t really heard anything from them as to how their conversations went. He’d longed to hear what Vivi had encountered, but when asked, she said only: “We were all there last night, were we not?” and drifted into other topics.
It was all wretched.
If only he could help. If he could help, the feelings would disperse, wouldn’t they? There would be grief, but no confusion.
What had Vivi said? The threats that Cerise uttered to her – had she known what they meant?
It had to be one of them. Michel, Gertrude, Jamie.
Shepard. Vivi.
Cesc shook his head. No, not one of them. It had to be one of the other three. It had to be, didn’t it?
It had to be. Not his family. Not his guardians. He would have known. He would have felt it. They needed protecting, his family. Protecting from the others...
A flash appeared in his memory. Cerise bent over Vivi, with Vivi’s fingers twisted in her hands. The flash of anger in her eyes. Cesc frowned. What were her exact words? He couldn’t recall them. Something about responsibility, wasn’t it? What was it… ?
Cesc closed his eyes and tried to focus, but his mind wouldn’t land quite on what he wanted – not on the words, but on the pictures. Vivi’s white fingers, the expression on her face. Time skipped in his mind, to Vivi hiding her hand in the paper napkin, hiding the wound.
… the wound?
Cesc opened his eyes. No. That wasn’t right. Vivi’s hand didn’t have any wound on it. No scratch, nothing. He’d seen it that morning, at the station.
Another flash. Cerise’s body, outstretched on the bathroom floor.
Cesc rose, uncomfortable, his heart racing. He suddenly knew what had been so wrong about it.
* * * * *
It took a while until Vivi was safely out of her bedroom. Cesc felt like a louse, his brain continuously telling him in phrases, over and over, to stop himself. Suspicion, secrets, that was what he didn’t want any more of. Why not just ask?
It would be too damning to ask.
He slid into Vivi’s room, one ear bent toward the staircase. He could hear Vivi in the bakery, the barest edges of her voice on the air. She would be working. She wouldn’t come back upstairs.
Cesc bent over her nightstand, pulling out one of the cabinets. Inside was Vivi’s jewelry box, wood and enamel, old and bumped and less-than-perfect. Cesc had never opened it before, not without Vivi present. She wore little jewelry, anyway. Only ornaments in her hair.
He opened the box. His heart tumbled, rolled from his chest, crashed onto the floor.
Within was a ring he recognized, gold and diamond. The last time he’d seen it was when Cerise had tangled it in her hair, out on the street, when they’d gone to the nightclub.
* * * *
There was no waiting this time. Cesc picked up the ring, shut the box, closed what he had opened. He flew down the stairs, his heart beating so rapidly that it hurt to draw breath, his chest and throat aching.
Vivi was in the kitchen and Cesc burst into it like it was on fire, like he meant to save her. She jumped, looking up at him with one hand on her chest.
“Rhedefre!” she gasped. “Mon D— are you alright--?”
“Why do you have this?” Cesc jabbed the ring at her, unconcealed in his fingers. The effect was immediate – Vivi’s eyes widened and her jaw dropped, and for a moment, a great and terrible anger contorted her face.
“You went through my—“ she managed, jutting out one hand to grab for the ring.
“Why the ******** do you have this?!” Cesc demanded. He was too angry to be shocked at the manner of his address.
“Because it’s mine,” replied Vivi, snatching it out of Cesc’s finger. Her eyes were wet and flashing, and she held the ring as though the stag had wounded it. He stared at her, this creature he did not know, his head spinning. Vivi turned away from him, her jaw tight, and then sucked in a slow breath.
“Rhedefre,” she said, her words shaking as she tried to maintain composure. “This is my ring. This is what Cerise threatened me with, this ring. I could not – let her keep it then. I am sorry, but it had to be so.”
“I don’t understand.” Cesc’s voice was not even.
“This ring,” said Vivi, lifting it. The diamond caught light, as it had in the streetlight, so many nights ago. “It is the ring I returned to Clive Kensington. My engagement ring. That I returned to him, and him alone, on the night he died.”
Cesc stared.
There was quiet.
“What?”
Vivi turned away. “That is all, Rhedefre.”
“How – why did she have it?” he asked, standing rooted at his spot, his head spinning.
“I do not know.” Vivi’s voice, having lost its dignity, was becoming cold. She did not look at the stag.
“What did she want to do with it?”
”I do not know!” answered Vivi sharply, whipping her head toward him. “Perhaps she wanted to incriminate me. We were not engaged long. I did not tell you, or her, or Jamie, or Michel, or anyone else! Nor the detectives after he died! It was foolish and stupid. It meant nothing. I had no reason to tell. It was my own secret, my own private memory! So she knew. She wore it on her finger to show me she knew. And she thought it incriminating. What do I know? What would it matter, truly, on that night?”
“Vivi, if she was killed for that ring –“ Cesc stammered. He did not know the end of his own sentence.
“Then what?” Vivi’s eyes narrowed darkly at him. She held the ring in her balled fists, away from his view. He could not feel her, could not reach her, could not know her as he looked into her face. Was this the same woman who sang him to sleep after the jungle? Who took his hand and led him to dawn as a newborn to feed? Who laughed with such easy abandon, who made him smile without effort? Who was she? “They will never see it again. As you never should have seen it in the first place.”
She turned away from him again, this time with finality, her hair swinging behind her like the slamming of a door.
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Posted: Fri Aug 15, 2014 12:45 pm
✖ Solo: The Ones We Love ✖
Cesc sat outside the bakery for a full hour. His head hurt from thought. His eyes hurt. He wanted to cry, but no tears came. He wanted to cry. He wanted it badly. Just a little release, a turn of the spigot. Just a little something, something, something to get these feelings out of him. He hated Vivi. He hated Cerise. He hated Clive.
The sun set while he stayed outside.
Behind him, the door shut softly.
Cesc turned his head. He wanted it to be Vivi. Not the one he’d left inside hours ago, the one who’d stolen a ring from a woman now dead – or re-stolen, or whatever it was, whatever that meant! It was so unsafe. So terribly unsafe. Had she told Neele and Azucar? Had she related her story to them now, when it would have been given to them, anyway?
Why had Vivi kept it? Did she not know how it would look? How others might feel if they saw it?
But it was not Vivi whose figure was silhouetted in the doorway. It was Shepard’s.
He came to Cesc and sat beside him, wordless.
Rhedefre turned back toward the setting sun. He did not want to start the conversation. He did not, for once, want the communication to start from him.
But Shepard said nothing, content to watch the dying light, his tired eyes watching the ocean’s rhythm and the play of pinks and reds on the blue-black back of the waves. Rhedefre couldn’t stand it. He set his jaw, bit his tongue. He would not be the first one to speak. Not this time.
At last, Shepard lifted his voice, only as the last sliver of sunshine was gone.
“Had a bit of an argument in there, did you?” he said, his elbows on his knees, his hands together between his legs. Cesc hesitated. He still did not want to open his mouth.
“It’s okay,” said Shepard. “You can be mad.”
“Thank you,” said Cesc in a low, annoyed tone, “for the permission.”
Shepard sighed. “Rhede…”
“How can you be okay?” Cesc asked, turning his head toward Shepard at last. “Do you know what she did? She was hiding –“
“I know.” Shepard cut the stag off mid-word. “Rhede, I know. It’s okay.”
Heat started in Rhedefre’s cheeks. His ears flicked forward, as though trying to shoo away a gnat. “How?! How is that anywhere close to okay?”
“What does it matter?” asked Shepard. “She took the ring back.”
Cesc lifted his hands. He felt like he was living in another reality from his guardians. “What are you talking about, what does it matter? Of course it matters! What if someone sees that ring? They’ll think she had a reason to – to –“
“Do you think she did it?” Shepard’s voice was calm. His eyes stayed forward, on the last embers of a setting sun. Cesc’s words jumbled in his throat, his eyes burning in the back, his jaw tight. “Really, think about it. Do you think she did it?”
Tears crept into Rhedefre’s eyes. He thought about Vivi’s face, the fury he’d found there. He choked out words, thick with frustration and fear. “It was bad enough knowing it’s someone I know. It’s bad enough hating myself for looking at my own grandmother. That’s bad enough. That’s awful enough. I don’t want to think any further than that. I don’t want to. It can’t be Vivi. It can’t be Vivi.”
Turning toward Shepard, Cesc grasped onto Shepard’s arm. Shepard turned slightly toward him, his face unreadable as light extinguished, blanketing them in a blue darkness. Cesc tried to bring the light back, tried to flap his wings and turn them into light, as he had done countless times before, but his shoulders responded with a strange soreness – and the light did not come.
“Do you really think she did it?” Shepard said again, his voice gentle.
Cesc’s hand dropped. “I don’t know. I don’t know. Did she tell Neele and Azucar about the ring? About the engagement?”
“That’s her prerogative,” said Shepard. His voice was distant, disembodied. He did not reach for Cesc. There was no comfort in his voice. “It’s not our business what she did or didn’t say. What’s gotten into you?”
Cesc shook his head. Misery filled his lungs. Tears began to crawl down his face. “How can you say that? Two people have been murdered. It doesn’t kill you to know – to know it has to be someone you love that’s responsible?”
“Listen to you,” said Shepard. “Didn’t I help raise you?”
Cesc’s only reply was a faint, choked sob.
“I’ve lived with that, Rhede,” said Shepard. His voice grew dark. “I’ve lived with that for five years. You can’t protect yourself if someone wants you gone. You can’t. All I can do is try to protect the ones I love the most. That’s all I can do.”
Cesc put his hands over his eyes, rubbing away the tears. Now that he was weeping, he loathed it, wanted it to stop, but the spigot was on now, and it would not go back off. He felt weak and low, useless and helpless. He moved his wings and only heard a strange cracking noise, like dry twigs being stepped on. A pain went through his shoulders as they moved. He held still, held his breath.
He looked at Shepard. His eyes were starting to become acclimated to the darkness. He could see the shape of Shepard’s profile, his noise, his unhappy mouth, the lined hollows around his eyes.
“I understand,” Rhedefre said at last. “But what if …”
“What if nothing.” Shepard’s voice was clipped.
Cesc remained silent another moment. Another tear snaked down his face, curved down his jaw. His heart ached. Nobody was safe. Nobody was innocent.
“You really love her, don’t you?” he whispered.
Shepard turned his head toward Cesc. He lifted himself from the ground, stiff.
“Pull yourself together,” said Shepard. “Or this will kill you yet.”
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Posted: Fri Aug 15, 2014 4:49 pm
✖ Solo: Good Coffee ✖
Cesc sat on a bench two blocks away from Vermillion, a full paper bag and a to-go cup of coffee beside him. He leaned forward, turning an old baseball in his hands over and over, his finger pads pressing into the stitching. It was a beautiful morning. There was a breeze from the ocean, and clouds swam across a peerless blue sky. Joggers went by the stag in their spandex, earbuds in, and those who frequented Vermillion smiling as they caught his eyes. Cesc looked up at every passer-by, but his normally-cheery expression was marred by some disappointment. They were not whom he was hoping to see.
The bakery was noxious. Cesc and Vivi did not speak. Cesc and Shepard hardly had a word to say to each other. Everyone tiptoed and muttered and worked. There was only work.
“Good morning.” A quiet, friendly voice intruded on Rhedefre’s thoughts.
Cesc started from his reverie. He looked up and smiled reflexively. His bad mood lightened almost immediately.
Azucar looked down at him, his hands in the pockets of his shorts. He wore a staggeringly neon yellow Brasil jersey and flipflops, his brown hair streaking around his hair with the wind. He was walking a dog today, a small black lab puppy that was gnawing unprofitably at the edge of the bench. He smiled his languid smile, the yellow-green of his eyes sun-bright.
“Good morning,” said Cesc, rising just slightly.
“What a piece of luck, running into you here,” said Azucar. “I was bringing Perp here to the bakery. It looked like you all needed a little cheering up. He is very good at cheering people up.”
The black lab stopped gnawing at the sound of his name. He looked up at Azucar, his tongue out, and wagged his tail.
“Perp! Say hello to Cesc.”
The dog barked at the bench, and returned to his occupation of trying to dismantle it.
“He’s not the brightest,” apologized Azucar good-humoredly. “And he’s teething.”
Cesc laughed, the sound gentle and genuine, but low-spirited. “That’s more than fine. He’s very cute. Perp?"
"Yeah," said Azucar, bending to ruffle the dog's ears. "I'm a cop. I chase perps. Ta-da~." He stood up, smiling, like he'd completed a magic trick.
Cesc grinned. "I like it. And -- actually, it isn't luck. I was hoping to see you here this morning.”
He held up the coffee and the paper bag that had waited beside him. “Your coffee, and a croissant.”
“Well!” Azucar’s smile grew slowly, like molasses rolling. “I try to do a kind thing and you preempt me. I must learn to get better. May I sit?”
“Please.” Cesc scooted over, allowing him room. Azucar sat, and the puppy looked up briefly, his ears lifting, and trotted over to begin licking his owner’s exposed toes with genuine interest.
“Perp, no,” warned Azucar, his voice firm but wholly without malice. The puppy whined gently and turned his attention to Cesc’s ribbon, sniffing gingerly. “Just tell him if you’d rather he not do that.”
“No, I like dogs,” said Cesc, leaning forward to offer Perp his hand. The puppy sniffed and then licked, and then tried to gnaw until Cesc pulled away and began to scratch him around the ears. Azucar smiled, watching, and unrolled his bag. He took a long drink of his coffee and tore off a piece of his croissant.
“So,” said Azucar. “Shall I compliment your coffee and your pastries until you want to talk? I’m up to the task, should you like it. Stop me at any time that seems good to you.” He cleared his throat. “Ah! This croissant. So flaky. How do you get it so flaky? I can’t stop tearing it. I love watching the steam rise. These were baked this morning? Amazing. They’re so buttery. Don’t tell me you all have a cow you milk for the butter. So fresh! It must be the happiest cow. Do you moo to it gently in the mornings?”
Cesc began to laugh, the sound gaining strength as the detective continued. He shook his head but the laughter did not stop when he wanted it to, staying rumbling in his chest. “No, no –“
“No? I can do the coffee as well.” Azucar took off the lid and inhaled deeply. “Ah! The scent – peerless –“
“No, I’m good, I’m good—“ Cesc laughed, putting one hand over his mouth. It felt nice to laugh, but the sound twisted him, gave him a strange and uncomfortable guilt. He laughed an extra few seconds in silence, little snickering laughs bursting from him when he swore he was finished. Azucar watched him, saying nothing more, and only drinking his coffee.
“Azucar,” Cesc began. “How do you deal with this?”
“With good coffee?” The detective prompted with a smile. He leaned forward, lifting up his puppy and putting it on his lap. “I know what you mean, sorry. With the unpleasant things in life. It’s not easy, what you’re going through. I told you that much before. It’s easier from my side than yours.”
Cesc pulled in his bottom lip and nodded. “No…”
“Death is hard,” said Azucar. “Murder is harder.”
A vision of Vivi popped before Cesc’s eyes. Her shielding her hand in the bar, as though wounded. Her desperate eyes as Cerise threatened her. Her fury in the bakery, so far away from his grasp. He looked up at Azucar, his gaze earnest and hopeful as it met the detective’s.
Vivi should have told him. She had to have told him. She had to have. He would understand her. He looked at Cesc, his eyes patient, capable. Azucar seemed quite young at first glance. His eyes were not so young as the rest of his face.
“It’s horrible,” Cesc said. His hands gripped his baseball tightly. “I can’t stand it.”
“You’ll pull through, Cesc.” Azucar’s voice was gentle as he leaned forward, looking into Cesc’s face. Below them, the puppy wriggled forward, his nose snuffling eagerly at Cesc’s elbow. The sun hid behind a cloud, the resulting shadow feeling like privacy, like a closed door.
“Do you have something else you need to tell me?” the detective prompted, quiet.
All I can do is protect the ones I love most, Shepard’s voice echoed quietly within. Cesc’s fingers went white around the baseball.
“No,” he choked.
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Posted: Sat Aug 16, 2014 9:16 am
✖ Solo: Come to Tea ✖
“Rhede?”
Jamie poked her head out of her car, pushing on the brakes and slowing to a crawl as she saw the frei floating along the sidewalk. Cesc waved at her from where he was, a lesson book tucked under his arm, and approached her car.
“Hi, Jamie,” he replied. It was difficult to tell what tone to use – Jamie seemed well enough, certainly better than she had been at the station, but she wore massive sunglasses that admitted no glimpse of anything from her brows to her cheekbones. She was not smiling.
“Are you going to Granny’s?” Jamie called.
“Yeah,” admitted Cesc, lifting his book. “She called me today. Apparently the recent … everything… isn’t enough for me to miss my lessons.”
That brought a smile to the blonde’s face. Jamie shook her head. “Doesn’t that just sound like her. Well, get in, then. I was just driving over to see how she’s doing.”
Cesc smiled back and let himself in the car. Granny Maplethorpe’s house was a bare five minutes from his current position, but it seemed too strange to decline the offer of a ride. And in any case, he wondered how Jamie was doing. From all accounts, the last affair had turned her into a hermit for at least a year.
“Are you keeping up okay?” Jamie was the first to speak.
Cesc looked down. “I was just about to ask you the same thing.”
Jamie shook her head. “I guess I’m okay.” She tightened her lips into a line. “I’m getting used to it, I guess. That’s really the only way I think I can describe it.”
“I know what you mean,” said Cesc, busying himself with smoothing a folded ear on his book. “There’s a lot of … new. Bad new things.”
Jamie shrugged. She pulled into Granny Maplethorpe’s drive and put the car into park. She didn’t immediately take off her seatbelt, turning instead to Cesc. She took off her sunglasses, and beneath them her eyes were puffy but dry. She put out a hand to the stag’s shoulder.
“I know,” she sighed. “When Clive died, it felt like the bottom just dropped out for me. I didn’t know what to do or where to go – everything I had was kind of based on Clive. The circus. My happiness. I never really considered what would happen if … “ Jamie pulled her lips into her mouth. She exhaled through her nose, her fingers tightening just slightly on Cesc’s arm. “But you get through it. Somehow. You don’t even really know it’s happening, but it does. I was a zombie for a while. I didn’t want to live in a world that didn’t need Clive like I needed him. But I learned to live with it.”
She pulled away, unclicking her seatbelt and pushing open the car door. Stepping out, she stretched her arms out. “I mean, look at all this. The world didn’t really end without Clive, even though I thought it would. It hasn’t ended this time, either.”
Jamie smiled, small but strong. Cesc watched her, but all her words deflected from him, rolled past his skin like water on oil. His heart would not allow the words their truth. Not while there were still secrets and unanswered questions. Not while Vivi still did not speak to him, not while he was a stranger in his own home.
“C’mon,” she said. “Let’s go in and get some tea.”
- - - -
“This is quite a surprise,” said Granny Maplethorpe, pouring out a third cup of tea. “Generally this time is quite reserved for studies, but under the circumstances, I suppose a visit is not out of the question.”
She divvied up tea cakes on soft pink china dishes, her hands steady as she offered the plates round. She just slightly corrected the attitude of her teapot, kept the lid off of the sugar bowl, and then sat down herself, perfectly arranged as the rest of her set.
“Now,” said Gertrude, “I suppose we may go ahead and discuss the elephant in the room. How are you all handling everything?”
Jamie shrugged, but she smiled into her teacup as she raised it. “Oh, we started the topic in the car. I was telling Rhede about how hard it was for me with… Clive. I guess we have the jump on you, Rhede. We’ve gone through this horribleness one time before.”
“I can’t imagine,” said Cesc softly, “that it would be any easier the second time around.”
Jamie’s eyes opened wide. “Oh, no. No, no, no. That’s not what I meant at all. It’s still awful. It’s just – I know this time that locking myself up isn’t helpful. Or holding everything in. Or cutting everyone out. It nearly killed me last time.” She put down her teacup, wetting her lips. “This time… this time I want to be with everyone. So we can move forward instead of keeping things back.”
Granny Maplethorpe just slightly raised one eyebrow and readjusted herself in her seat. “You see, Rhedefre, Cerise complicated matters back then by not giving her testimony to the police. We all thought for a while that, perhaps…”
Jamie shook her head roughly. There was sudden anger in her tone. “No – it wasn’t possible. Cerise had no reason – none of us had a reason – it had to have been a mistake. It had to have been -- ”
She broke off as her voice began to pinch. Jamie lowered her eyes, just starting to wet, and breathed evenly until the wetness disappeared. Cesc watched her, silent. He let his gaze tick to Granny Maplethorpe, who seemed engrossed in cutting her cake with the side of her fork. She blinked rapidly, and her nose was reddening.
Cesc was kind. He said nothing as the two gathered their strength around themselves again.
Jamie pinched off a piece of cake, letting it crumble in her fingers. “Cerise. She should have just come clean with what she knew. This never would have happened if she just had done it then. Last time… I wanted more than anything for the police to find out who … who killed the circus, Clive, everything. I thought I couldn’t live until they did. But now, now I don’t believe they will. Not with Clive, not with Cerise. Why should they? They bungled it all so badly before. All I can take comfort in is that I never ran, like she did. I told the police everything I knew. Then and now. I did, at least, what I had to.”
Guilt began to swirl within Cesc. He took a long drink, the steam curling into his nostrils. He thought of Azucar’s kind eyes and Vivi’s burning ones.
“But how do you feel… safe?” he asked, his breath rippling over the tea.
Granny Maplethorpe lifted her eyes to his. She seemed, for the first time since he’d known her, to be every minute of her age. Her shoulders were sagged and her face was lined, so heavily, worked over with sorrow and resignation. She shook her head.
“Oh, Rhedefre,” she sighed. Her voice was as soft as the touch of her hand on his wrist. “Rhedefre, there is no security in this. There is no safety.”
Cesc shook his head. “I can’t accept that.”
Jamie’s thumbs passed over the edge of her teacup. “It’s hard.” She shrugged. “But if someone is… killing people… what, exactly, can we do? We could have all been killed that night. We could have died with Clive or Cerise just as easily. We’ve been spared twice now, Rhedefre. That’s all we can cling to.”
Cesc’s throat tightened. “I’m afraid –“
“My sweetest boy,” said Granny Maplethorpe. “What are you afraid of? So perfectly unconnected with all of this.”
“No,” said Cesc. “I’m afraid that Vivi won’t be spared.”
Jamie frowned. Granny Maplethorpe slowly took her hand from Rhedefre’s wrist.
“What do you mean?” asked Jamie, her voice sunk low.
Cesc shook his head, rocking forward. His eyes began to sting. She had been so angry, so angry with him. So angry… “She has something I don’t think she’s told the police. I don’t know how to make her do it. But she has to, doesn’t she?”
“Rhedefre,” said Granny Maplethorpe, her voice sharp and strong once more. “If you know something material, you must go forward with it, even if Vivi will not.”
Jamie’s eyes widened as she sat back. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, and she massaged her collarbone with one hand. “No. No.” She leaned forward, gripping the table with both hands. “Rhede, you can’t speak for her. You have to make her go in. If you go in saying she’s hidden something, it’ll make her look – “
“This is not the time to worry about someone’s feelings,” barked Granny Maplethorpe. “If there is evidence, it is all of our responsibility—“
“No!” Cesc interjected. “It’s not like that. It’s not like she saw something. She just didn’t fully –“ he fumbled with his words. “—fully explain her relationship with – with Clive.”
Granny Maplethorpe and Jamie both quieted immediately. Jamie blinked, her brows coming together in confusion. She let go of the table and leaned back in her chair, deflated. Granny Maplethorpe allowed herself to unleash a full sigh.
“You terrified me,” said the old woman.
“Rhede…” murmured Jamie, passing a shaking hand over her brow. She laughed shakily. “Her... relationship with Clive? I thought you meant Vivi saw something.”
Cesc looked from one woman to the other, unsure. Was he overreacting, all this time? His throat constricted. His hands trembled as he pulled his fingers through his hair, trying to calm himself. His face reddened. “I – I’m sorry.”
Jamie shook her head. Her hand was on her chest. “My heart’s going a million a minute.”
Granny Maplethorpe straightened her knife and fork and tea spoon. “I understand you must be very raw, Rhedefre. If you are concerned, I suggest you take up your concern with Vivi. But do take care not to frighten us so again.”
Cesc nodded, but there was still uneasiness in his face. He held his hands under the table to keep the view of their shaking hidden. He could not help but think that the women’s underrating Vivi’s evidence came more from their misunderstanding than his own.
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Posted: Sat Aug 16, 2014 10:15 pm
✖ Solo: Terrible ✖
Cesc came home late.
He couldn’t account for the time in between. Where had he been between his lesson and now? The sun was long since gone beneath the horizon. The stars were bright in the velvet black blanket of night. It was cool and quiet, save for the distant punctuations of laughter and chatter from nighttime beach-goers. Cesc could smell the faint scent of burning wood in the air, bonfires.
Last year, he and Vivi and Shep had gone. They’d attempted to make s’mores, but none of them was particularly well-versed in the making. Three bakers accidentally crumbling graham crackers, setting marshmallows on fire, failing at properly melting chocolate. What a sad sight they were. Shepard put a marshmallow on a stick and then they all ended up spitting it everywhere, the taste of wet wood thick in their mouths with the cloying sweetness.
The air was cold on Cesc’s face as he pushed forward, toward the bakery. The memory came and left him like the smell on the air, so present with one breath and so distant the next.
He shook his head and pushed into the darkened bakery. Unprofitable thoughts.
The chairs within were stacked neatly, save for two in the corner. In the darkness, Cesc could just make out Shepard’s form, sitting alone at a table full of beer bottles and an ashtray. The seat opposite him was pushed out but empty. He did not look up as Cesc entered, rolling a bottle thoughtfully between his hands. There was something deliberate and cumbersome about his movements; even without looking too hard, the stag could see that Shepard was drunk.
“Shepard?” Cesc poked the question into the darkness.
Shepard looked up at the sound, blinking heavily. “Rhede?”
Cesc put down his lesson book on the counter and floated over. He took the seat opposite Shepard, slowly descending, as if giving the other time to shoo him away. “Are you okay?”
“Oh, yeah, yeah,” said Shepard, bobbing his head in a nod. “I was just having a drink with Michel. He left a bit ago.” He squinted in the dark, lolling his head toward the mounted wall clock. “Wait – aren’t you really… really late?”
“I am,” admitted Cesc. His eyes roamed quickly over the table – it was a lot of beers for two men to put away. “Was Michel okay to drive?”
“Jamie came and got him, don’ worry,” said Shepard with a shrug.
“Are you going to be okay?” Cesc looked at Shepard’s face, at his half-sunken eyelids and at the muddled expression that lived beneath them. Shepard gave him a boyish half-smile and waved a boneless hand.
“I’m fine, Rhede. I know how to drink.” The smile widened. “I used to be this drunk all the time.”
Cesc smiled, but his eyes were concerned. “Shepard…”
“Don’t.” Shepard sunk in his chair, looking petulant. “Don't get all freaked. I’m fine. Michel and I just talked, we drank. Not a big deal. I’m not afraid to drink with ‘im.”
Rhedefre let out a shaking exhale. “I know. It’s not that.”
“I know everything’s ********, Rhede,” said Shepard. “I know. You feel like an outsider cause you didn’t have to go through ********, Round One with everyone else. But I’m – I’m kind of one, too, Rhede, believe it or not. Michel, he sat right there – he tells me – ‘how’d Clive ever like you so much, Shepard?’ Seven years now, thereabouts, I’ve known this ********. He’s still confused how the ******** I got here.”
Cesc stayed quiet. His smile slowly tugged downward, straightened, and curved the other way. He watched Shepard, his ears low. He did not want to speak, lest he keep the man from continuing.
“I was such s**t once, Rhede,” Shepard murmured, looking down at his beer bottle. “I was the least happy person y’ever met. You know that?”
“You told me,” Cesc said, hoarse. He noticed his hands were balled and tried, slowly, to release them.
“I was. I was like this, all the time.” Shepard said. He tinked the beer bottle against the side of the table, like making a toast with it. “Then there was the circus, and Vivi. They took pity on me. Clive did, at least. Vivi – I just think Vivi can’t stand to see unhappiness. She’d rather … take it. Make it into something else.”
He stilled his hands. His thumbs went up and down over the beer bottle, the label peeling away under his touch. “She deserved to be with Clive. Have a happy life with him. She deserved that much.”
Cesc drew in a halting breath. He felt small, unequal to the conversation. “Vivi… she told me she broke off that engagement before Clive was…” It was still hard for him to pronounce the word.
Shepard shrugged. “I don’t know.” He set the beer bottle back on the table, neat, like placing a chess piece, finding it a place between all the rest. “It used to kill me, though, back then. Watching her smile for him, wink at him, all that regular secret-type flirting. But I was wrong. I see that now, that’s all I’m saying. She deserved to be with him.”
“I think…” said Cesc, his hands tightly wound together now. “She’s been very happy here, even without him.”
Shepard smiled, the expression sloppy, rubber. “Yeah. She’s happy. That’s what she is, happy. She dragged me out of that circus wreckage and kept me happy, too.” He looked down again, at his hands. His voice was distant, wondering. “It’s amazing the lengths a person will go to, to have a happy life. Even when they don’t deserve one.”
Cesc’s fingers went cold. His voice was strained. “Why wouldn’t you deserve one?”
“Mm?” Shepard looked up, disoriented. “What?”
“Why wouldn’t you deserve a happy life?” Cesc repeated, his voice high.
Shepard smiled. “Rhede,” he said. “We did a great job with you, didn’t we? You’re so ******** nice. You’re so good. I love you. I hope you know that. I love you. You think the best of everyone. I’m sorry I even brought this up. This is killing you. All of this. I know that. We shouldn’t be talking about it at all.”
“Shepard,” Cesc urged. His heart was starting to thud in his chest, desperate, like a bird trying to escape a cage. “Why wouldn’t you deserve one?”
“Rhede,” Shepard said again. He began to laugh, low, throaty. “Rhede, because I’m terrible.”
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Posted: Sun Aug 17, 2014 3:58 pm
✖ Solo: Kinship ✖
Cesc ceased thinking about sleep.
Sleep didn’t exist anymore. He would lay down and close his eyes, but nothing would come to him but sick and frightening visions. There was no rest accompanied with them. Sleep was a thing that existed for only those who still believed in the existence of peace.
When he closed his eyes, he could see things behind his eyelids, distant but uncomfortably clear. He could see Shepard, younger and darker-eyed, his gaze following Vivi and Clive. He could see Shepard sitting down beside his friend, a shotglass in his hand.
Drink with me, he envisioned Shepard saying, smiling. He poured the shot, offered it. Clive took it from his hand.
Cesc floated, disembodied, away from the scene. He tried to yell, to warn, but his voice was gone in his throat.
Please, Shepard, came the soundless shout. Please, please, don’t. Please don’t.
Other times he saw Vivi. Her dark hair, her deft and slender fingers. She could slip a ring away from Cerise without her seeing. What else could those fingers do, take, conceal?
Cesc opened his eyes. His head throbbed as he lifted it from his pillow. How many hours would the thoughts plague him? Every time he promised himself he wouldn’t think any more, they came anew. Shepard’s movements as he sat down beside Clive. Vivi’s fingers, squeezed in Cerise’s grasp. His brain would not let go. It would not let go of any of it.
Rhedefre slid his window open and put his head down on the sill. Fresh air, sweet and cool, from the shore. He inhaled deeply, letting the scent of dew fill him. Dawn would be coming soon.
He was so grateful for dawn. It was the only thing that fed him, sustained him, cleaned him from the inside. Some days he went outside to feed. Others he stayed in, beside his window, hoping the feeling of dawn would envelop the bakery and rid it of all the dismal feelings, all the awful memories, that were starting to make themselves home there.
Cesc tried to think critically, reasonably. Vivi and Shepard. He knew them. He saw them every day of his life. Could he really be living with, raised by, loved by two murderers? Was that really something he was considering?
He thought of Shepard, sitting in the dark. His sorrow, his penance. What if he had done it? A moment of weakness, of jealousy.
I love you. We did such a good job with you.
Cesc had always thought himself born of dawn and stag, filled and created by them, one creature who had given two separate entities a second chance at life. But what if he had been wrong all this time? Maybe he was a creature born of contrition and penance. Shepard’s morality, making up for terrible weakness.
They’d done such a good job with him…
He shook his head. No, it couldn’t be true. He’d never seen Shepard that way. He’d seen the man angry, or fighting – but never for nothing, for himself, for fun. Always for a reason.
… jealousy was a reason…
Cesc put his fingers into his hair, tugging at the roots. What was wrong with him? Why did he keep cycling to the same idea? It could not be so. Shepard was good. He was kind and gentle. Wasn’t he?
He had to know the truth. For himself, for Vivi, for Shepard. He couldn’t keep suspecting his own family, people he loved and trusted. If Jamie was right, if Azucar and Neele couldn’t find Cerise’s killer the way whomever had handled the case couldn’t find Clive’s, he would be stuck with the fear and suspicion for the rest of his life. He would have to learn to accept his own family for possible murderers, content to hide in the shadow of the law.
It couldn’t be. Cesc had to know. He had to clear them, or to know for sure. Regardless of what Vivi wanted, or what Shepard thought was best. He had no other alternative.
Cesc let out his breath, feeling morning light begin to filter through his breath, entering and exiting his lungs. His antlers grew and his stiff wings began to shine. He looked up and through his window as dawn began to rise. Far away, at the edge of the shore, he saw a flash of something white.
Rhedefre straightened, his eyes narrowing into a squint.
The creature turned and looked in his direction, and then began to walk away. White flank, golden eyes, and golden antlers.
For the first time, he saw a white stag.
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Posted: Mon Aug 18, 2014 8:58 pm
✖ Solo: Trying to Help ✖
There was a dog at the desk.
More specifically, it was Azucar’s desk, and it was Perp sitting on it. The lab was pawing at his snout, where several post-it notes had managed to stick themselves. Azucar himself was not at the desk, but Cesc took the puppy’s being present as good authority that the detective would soon be back.
It was not, he thought, the way he’d expected to begin the meeting. But watching the puppy quieted his thumping heart, let loose some of the too-tight screws he felt like all his limbs were attached with.
Perp whined quietly and looked up at the stag for help. Cesc smiled and peeled off the paper.
“Uh-oh.” Azucar wandered into Cesc’s vision as he did so, his eyebrows and mouth both tipped upward. “That is not a good sign. I don’t even have Post-Its, and I do not remember either ordering coffee or expecting you.” He smiled. “Have I gone a little daffy? Or are you feeding my dog paper?”
Perp perked up at the sight of his owner, jumping off the office chair and onto the newspaper-covered ground of Azucar’s cube, his tail thumping. Cesc returned the detective’s smile, but his could not be as warm or as gentle.
“No,” he said. He marshaled his courage as he continued. He had to go through with it now. “It’s just… you asked me last time if I had anything else to tell you…”
Azucar leaned against his chair but did not sit down. His eyes sharpened, although his body language did not change or tense. He pushed against his desk, patted his puppy around the ears, and beckoned for Cesc to follow him.
“Alright,” he said. “Come in here, where we can talk.”
Cesc nodded. He had to remind himself to breathe as they went deeper into the station, to the place they had all lined up and waited their turn not so many days ago. He remembered sitting quietly, wringing his hands, wracked with guilt. Watching others file in, their faces white when they entered and exited. Looking hopefully at Shepard and Vivi for comfort and finding none.
Today the chairs were empty. He was alone. And there was still no comfort to be found.
“Take a seat there,” said Azucar. “I’ll be right back.”
- - - - -
Inspector Neele sat across from him. His moustache still had crumbs of a muffin in it from his breakfast, and he cradled a cup of coffee between his hands as though trying to warm them. He was, Cesc thought, so different from Azucar in some ways, so amazingly similar in others. When he first met them he’d thought them opposites – Neele well-dressed and broad, with a wooden quality to his face and his movements. Azucar was like liquid to his partner’s solidity.
This time, without as much fear and upset clouding his judgment, Cesc could perceive their similarities. Azucar and Neele both sat in a way that was both comfortable and alert. They both had intelligence and compassion in their eyes. They were both, Cesc thought, safe.
Safe enough for him to divulge what he needed to. Even though he was risking Vivi’s further ire, Shepard’s disappointment… this was more important. This was safer. For all of them.
All I can do is protect the ones I love the most, Shepard had said. And it was just what Rhedefre intended to do.
“I’m sorry to take up your time,” said the stag.
“Don't be ridiculous,” said Neele. He set his cup of coffee on the table.
“How… how are things going with the investigation?” Cesc swallowed. He looked down at his hands, composing his thoughts in the interim.
“Oh,” said Neele, scratching his jaw. “Slowly getting statements from everyone at the bar that night. Waiting on toxicology reports. Gears are moving.”
He did not prompt or pressure.
“That’s… good,” said Cesc, a little lamely. He cleared his throat. “I – I want to help. Whatever I can do.”
Neele and Azucar both smiled.
“We appreciate that,” said Azucar. “We know we can rely on you, Cesc.”
“It’s just…” Cesc’s fingers wrung together. He looked away from the detectives. “It’s not my evidence. I – I don’t know how useful it would be for you, but I think…” He swallowed again, his mouth dry. He was not built for betrayal, even a moral betrayal. “I think Vivi was not… forthright with you all, completely.”
Neither Neele nor Azucar held any surprise in their faces. Neele took a drink of his coffee. Azucar nodded, silent, allowing him to continue. It struck Cesc suddenly of the inequality of the situation. How many times had either man listened to someone betray, confess, go through hell just to speak?
“Vivi,” said Cesc. “Cerise was threatening her with information. She – ah, she wore rings, all the time. One of the rings she was wearing was, ah… it was Vivi’s. Vivi took it back from her the night she was killed. It was her …” He tried to pace himself, tried to speak clearly. His words were trying to jumble and spill, and he was forcing them to be slow and deliberate. “… her engagement ring to Clive Kensington. Cerise knew that they were engaged. She was holding that information over her head.”
Cesc paused. He did not look up at the detectives. He wasn’t certain what was meant to happen now.
“Go on,” said Neele, at last.
Rhedefre slowly dragged his eyes upward, confused. “That – that’s all. Vivi was engaged to Clive. They – or she – called off the engagement before his death.”
Neele nodded. “Yes.”
Cesc’s eyes darted from Neele to Azucar. “… what?”
Azucar smiled. “Yes, Vivi told us about the engagement. It’s in her evidence.”
Confusion made the room swim. Cesc grabbed the edge of the table to steady himself, his brows coming together. “What do you mean? That can’t – she was so angry when I found out…”
“There are things,” said Neele gently, “that a person may tell the police and not their own family.”
Cesc slumped back against his chair. All power left him. “But she was so…”
“Clive Kensington – and for that matter, your friend Vivi – seem to have had a lot of romantic entanglements,” continued Neele. His smile was fatherly, sympathetic. “But rest assured, she gave us full account of them. She didn’t in her initial statement five years ago, no. But she did tell us the other day, for what that’s worth.”
“So Vivi didn’t…” Cesc’s throat tightened. “She didn’t kill Cerise to keep her quiet?”
Azucar and Neele exchanged glances.
“Is that what you were worried about?” asked Azucar.
Cesc let out a strange, twisted half-laugh. ”Yes!”
Neither detective joined his laughter.
“Cesc, her openness in this regard is good,” said Azucar. “But it doesn’t clear her, or anyone else. I know you want to help, and that you’re worried about your family. It’s going to be the hardest for you to help. You want your family to be innocent.”
The stag looked at the detective, helpless. “No – no – I do, but I know – I know there’s a chance—“ He paused, staggering over his words. “I can’t just stand aside and watch us fall apart if we’re all innocent!“
“Cesc.” Azucar’s voice was terrible and soft, nakedly earnest. “Cesc – even if it turns out you guys all are innocent, it doesn’t mean your family won’t still fall apart.”
A flurry of anger suddenly sprung up inside of the stag. He stared at Azucar, uncomprehending. His nostrils flared and his ears flicked, and his hands grabbed the edge of the table as though he meant to flip it.
“Then what am I supposed to do?” he gasped. “Help or blindly stand by?! I can’t do nothing. This can’t stay unsolved!”
Azucar’s expression did not change. “It’s good that you’re thinking about what you know. And it’s good you came to us, too. Go through things, yes, as dispassionately as you can. I’m here for you to talk through those things if you need it. It is helpful, I promise.” He smiled just slightly, sadly. “I just want you to know that we can’t promise you a happy ending. You need to be prepared for that.”
Cesc peeled his fingers away from the table. His eyes were desperate as he looked from Neele to Azucar.
“How on earth,” he said shakily, “do you prepare for that?”
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Posted: Tue Aug 19, 2014 4:41 pm
✖ Solo: Lore ✖
“I don’t know anything,” said Cesc to Granny Maplethorpe and Jamie, staring numbly at his open lesson book.
“Did you forget to study?” the old woman replied, setting down her spoon. She drew forward, peering at his work. “Tell me what part troubles you.”
“No –“ Cesc said, holding up a hand. Part of him wanted to laugh, shaking him out of his misery. “No, not this. With everything else. With Cerise, and Clive.”
There was an audible noise as Granny Maplethorpe inhaled through her nose. Her eyelids fluttered gently as she lowered them briefly. Jamie slid upward from where she sat, alert.
“Oh, Rhede,” said Granny Maplethorpe. “Must we?”
“I get enough of it from Michel,” agreed Jamie. “It’s awful enough. He skulks everywhere all day and doesn’t sleep. I just – I just want to forget about everything. I want to get to the point where I can sleep again.”
Cesc put his hands to his forehead. He was starting to loathe the sentiment of denial that seemed to pervade Jamie and Granny Maplethorpe’s thinking. “Yes. So do I. Doesn’t everyone?”
Gertrude Maplethorpe picked up her teacup and saved herself from having to reply. Jamie put her head in her hands. They neither of them wanted to engage with what he was saying, the stag perceived – but he didn’t care. He was running out of people to talk to, and he couldn’t let things fester and rot inside. And although he knew he had friends, evidenced by his full voicemail and dozens of ignored text messages, the last thing he wanted was to drag any other innocents into this mess.
People would be mad at him, he thought. His friends. Shepard and Vivi, too, when they heard what he’d done.
Maybe that’s what Azucar meant. It was easy, so easy, to alienate and annoy, to build up walls. He couldn’t help doing it, and all he wanted was…
“…I thought I could help,” said Cesc, finishing his thought aloud. “I went to the police with – with Vivi’s evidence. And it turns out she’d already told them.”
“Is that not a good thing?” stressed Granny Maplethorpe.
“I guess – yes, I guess so,” said Cesc. “She told them she was engaged to Clive. That’s all Cerise had on her, wasn’t it? I thought – I thought it was the key to everything, I don’t know why.”
Nobody spoke. Cesc put the heel of his hands into his eyes. Embarrassment crawled up his spine, slow and deliberate. He continued, despite himself. “And then, this morning – this miserable, stupid morning – I saw a white stag. I thought it meant I was doing the right thing. That I was right.”
“Is that what it usually means when you see one?” Granny Maplethorpe spoke. Cesc peeled his hands away from his eyes to look at her. His words seemed to have little effect on either woman – Jamie was deliberately looking hard at the bowl of sugar and Gertrude serenely across the table at him. They were obstinate, the both of them.
Cesc sighed. He would take what he could get. “No. I don't know. I’ve never seen one before today, so I would not know.”
To his surprise, that brought out a change in Granny Maplethorpe. She sat straighter, setting her teacup down in the saucer with a sharp c***k. It startled Jamie out of her reverie of denial, the blonde jumping slightly in her chair.
“Have you really not?” Gertrude breathed.
Cesc found himself feeling profoundly uncomfortable for the second time that day. He was suddenly unable to balance quite right in his chair, shifting against the wood. “I haven’t.”
“Now, that is interesting,” said the old woman. She nodded to herself, a spot of pink rising to her cheeks. “You see, Vivi tells me that she’s been plagued with dreams of the white stag recently, herself. For weeks now, more than a month.” She leaned slightly forward to Cesc. “Are you still having your headaches?”
The stag frowned at what seemed like a non sequiter. “I am.”
“I see.” Granny Maplethorpe stood. “Well, Rhedefre. I think I have been remiss as your instructor.” She walked a few steps to the living room and selected a book from off of the shelf. “I don’t believe I ever really told you the lore of the white stags, have I?”
“Of course you have,” said Cesc. There was a faint undercurrent of irritation in his voice – this was not what he meant to discuss, and somehow the entire conversation was making him feel strange and anxious. His shoulders ached. His wings felt stiff and uncomfortably folded. “The light-bringers, the guides of the lost. We spoke of it when you told me about the… the power I have.”
“Yes, that is correct,” said Granny Maplethorpe, sitting back down with her book. “But I suppose we never quite took it far enough, did we? The stags, they only come when they are needed. They only come when there is loss. But you know, when you were nothing but a little vial of glowing glass, one of them came to Vivi.”
“I know,” Cesc murmured. He rubbed his shoulder absently. He ticked his eyes to Jamie, but she was only looking at the open book upside-down, at the drawing of a white stag within. “It came to Vivi to get a second chance at life.”
“It says they’re helper-creatures,” Jamie read. “Servants.”
“Yes,” said Granny Maplethorpe. She was busily unscrewing a small jar of herbs, leaning over and depositing the mixture into Cesc’s tea. A strange and musty smell bloomed in the air. “Yes, Rhedefre, I imagine that your soul-father came to Vivi initially to help her. And, seeing another way, deferred his quest until his reincarnation. Maybe that’s why the stags reach for her in her dreams -- or why your head aches for all of this. Or why one of them is trying to remind you now what it is you were meant to do for her.”
Jamie let out a soft cry. “Oh, Granny M! Why would you say a thing like that to him? This case might never be solved. He’s going to think he’s supposed to have headaches until it is!”
“Maybe I am,” said Cesc. The anxiety he felt in his body, the urge to get up, to go, to do was only getting stronger. He didn’t know if Granny Maplethorpe was right or wrong – he always felt loss, he always felt grief, and here was an ever-present extension of those feelings, right there in his home.
But if he were tied to Vivi, meant to help Vivi in his past life, maybe he knew then that she was innocent? Maybe he knew something then. At the very least, that she was worth helping.
No … what good did it do him? He knew that now.
His rune lit and pulsed within him.
“Drink the tea,” instructed the old woman. “It should help that stubborn head of yours.”
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Posted: Wed Aug 20, 2014 5:32 pm
✖ Solo: Falling Apart ✖
Cesc stayed in his room while Shepard and Vivi closed the bakery. He floated back and forth in a pace, his hands on his head, his fingers interlaced behind his ears. He wanted a chance to talk with Vivi alone. He needed to come clean to her. To let her know what he had suspected, and what he had done. To let her know he knew now what his former self wanted, before he gave himself up to her.
And more than that. He needed her to know that it didn’t matter. Whatever the white stag had wanted, it made no difference. He knew her worth without having to repay a debt.
He loved her. He had not been a good friend. Confused and blinded, he had let days go by without apologizing, without even speaking. It would not continue. He would come clean. She could be angry, she could loathe him for his lack of faith, but he would let her know that he was there for her.
He would help her.
Cesc looked up at his clock, biting his bottom lip. Impatience always made time crawl, but he knew the routines – Shepard and Vivi should, by all accounts, be done with the bakery closing by now. In the past few weeks, they hadn’t lingered below afterward. These days, Shepard closed himself in his room almost immediately as he got a chance to do so, and Vivi either did the same or went for long walks alone.
Rhedefre waited another ten minutes before he went to investigate.
He floated slowly down the stairs. He could discern no sounds of cleaning, no broom or vacuum or clink of glasses being restacked for use. There was quiet murmuring, that was all.
He slowed.
Vivi was standing in the bakery, the lights half-off. Her face was white.
Shepard stood not so far away, facing her, and there was something in his expression that held Cesc fast by the staircase, his breath stopped in his lungs.
“Please don’t cry,” Shepard was saying. His eyes were wet.
“No,” Vivi murmured. She held a hand out from her. “Stop. Please stop.”
“You have to listen to me,” Shepard begged. His back was bowed as he took a step forward. He tried to take her hand, to close the difference, but Vivi dropped it away before he could. “Please.”
Vivi lifted her head. Her chin was strong, defiant, but her lips trembled. Her hands were fists by her sides.
“I’m in love with you,” Shepard said. “You have to know that.”
“I know,” said Vivi. “I know that you think you are—“
“For six years now, I’ve thought I was,” Shepard interjected. “Vivi, you can’t still think I’m kidding myself. But I know now, I get it. You won’t love me. It's okay.”
Vivi made a noise, half-strangled, as though she meant to interrupt. She turned her head away, sharp. Shepard took another step forward. He put his hand in her hair, and Vivi winced, as though he’d struck her.
“I promised my friendship,” she said. “I told you, I told you, it would never leave you, it was your choice…”
“Please,” whispered Shepard. He sounded wounded “I know, I know I should’ve left you then. I should’ve left you after Clive. Please don't hate me. I just wanted to be happy. You made me happy. You wouldn’t let me not be. Vivi, how could I help loving you?”
Vivi’s shoulders shook. “Please…”
“I have to leave you,” said Shepard. His hand fell away, the threads of Vivi’s hair through his hand like water.
“No…” Vivi’s voice was lost, disembodied. “No, I need you now. My friend, please.”
“Vivi,” Shepard’s voice softened. His eyes spilled over. “I love you.”
She was silent. Her head dipped down and her shoulders shook.
“Be happy for me,” said Shepard, quiet. “I finally got the strength to leave you.”
Cesc slowly pulled back from the wall, his back to his guardians. He could hear the rushing of blood in his ears. His vision was weak, swimming.
We can’t promise you a happy ending.
He'd found himself too late. Time was running out.
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Posted: Thu Aug 21, 2014 4:45 pm
✖ Solo: Futile ✖
He was pacing again. Cesc went back to his room and shut the door, as though putting himself in the same space as he was fifteen minutes ago would take all that time back. He dug his hands into his hair. He had to remind himself, over and over, to breathe in and out and in again.
But even more pressing than breath was how little time he felt there was left for him to right the case. Shepard wanted to leave. Vivi was weeping. How could this have happened to them? His solid family. His bedrock.
Cesc pried open the window and gulped in air. He pushed the window open, higher and higher. His room still felt stifling and claustrophobic. He put his head out of the window and breathed deep.
It was not enough. There was not enough room in the entire bakery to contain the panic in his thoughts. Cesc pulled forward, and forward again through the window. A flash of memory went through his head – Zurine, in February, coming to visit him. How she’d sneaked through the window to do so, late at night, to keep from waking anyone else.
Cesc slipped through the open window and out into the air. He was a coward, but he couldn’t stay in the bakery. Not for a minute further. He just needed a place to think… think and clear his mind, beyond the stifling place the bakery had become.
He flew. He flew across the beach and went on until sand gave way to trees, and trees blocked out view of the stars. He went until he found a clearing where he could sit alone and listen to the trees and the animals and smell the clean scent of the air. Here, there were no people. No arguments, no tears, no whispers. Only quiet.
Rhedefre sank to the ground. He closed his eyes. He put his head in his hands.
How could he fix this?
There were so many things wrong. Clive, Cerise. Shepard, Vivi.
He’d been so sure he held the answer somehow. Just that one clue. So naïve.
Who could have caused all of it? Michel? Jamie? Granny Maplethorpe? Shepard? Vivi? He was not privy enough to all their stories, their motives, to know. Michel told Shepard he still didn’t know how Shepard was part of the group. Was it relevant? Jamie hid herself away from everyone after Clive’s death. Did it matter? Granny Maplethorpe made herbal mixtures. She’d given him one for his head. Was that sinister?
Shepard loved Vivi. He’d been miserable that night. Those things he said about wanting Vivi’s happiness. How she deserved to be with Clive…
Cesc opened his eyes. He could hear insects buzzing loudly in the forest. An owl’s soft hoot. Scurrying underfoot as prey burrowed into the ground. He let out a sigh.
And Vivi…
… that ring. Her desire, when Cerise was around, to avoid contact with her as much as she possibly could. She’d been afraid of her, hadn’t she? It was not all in Rhedefre’s imagination. He was sure of that.
But she’d told. She came forward.
Vivi…
Cesc loved her. Her and Shepard. Was it even a question? He came home to them every day. Spoke when them when he ached. Laughed with them. If one, or both of them, was a murderer, what then? Did it really erase all that shared past?
We did such a good job on you, Shepard said. He was proud. One way or another, Shepard was proud of him. That counted for something.
Cesc looked up, at the leaves of the trees above. He could barely make out the slivers of the night sky that still managed to gleam above them.
It was a long time before he fell asleep.
* * * * *
He awoke with the dawn. Or rather, it was the dawn that woke him. She reached through the leaves to stroke his face. He opened his eyes and felt the light sift through him, purifying him from within. His eyes filled with light. His antlers and wings grew with it, as they did every morning. He breathed out light as people in winter did condensation, gold rising from his mouth and nostrils.
Cesc pushed against the ground, rising. He put a hand on his forehead. Sleeping in the forest…
He was not alone.
He turned his too-bright eyes, and fifty paces from him was the same white stag from before.
A hard exhalation left Rhedefre. He stared, motionless, at the creature. It was close enough that he could see the purity of its white flank, the shift of power in its shoulders and legs as it moved. It had a golden rack, split like branches, that caught the light like his own did. Its wide, dark eyes took in Cesc – and turned away.
“Wait—“ Cesc gasped, holding out a hand. “Wait, I need you.”
The stag paused. Its noble head turned just so toward its Raevan kin.
Cesc felt his throat constrict. “You only come to those who are lost, do you not? Is that not what we do? I need you. I need your help.”
The stag blinked, slow. Its hoof, previously hanging in mid-step, sank to the ground.
“Please,” said Cesc. “I don’t know how to help my family. I don’t know how. I know I’m supposed to know. I know this is what I am supposed to do. Please. I don’t know how to help others. Please, help me learn.”
The stag turned away fully. It began to walk back into the woods.
Cesc felt his heart rise in his chest. The dawn was finishing, climbing high in the morning sky, the colors of day overtaking it. He went after the stag, his sore wings loud amongst the trees. “Wait!”
The stag continued to go, its pace quickening. Rhedefre sped up as well in following it. “Wait – please! If you just wait – I have a brother who can speak your language. I’m sorry I cannot. Just wait, I’ll bring him to you.”
With a snort, the animal continued into the woods. Its pace began to quicken beyond Cesc’s power, although he sped after it without heed. Flashes of the jungle sparked in his head – only this time he was going into light, and not into darkness. He was the pursuer, not the hunted. And yet panic still squirmed in his chest. He grasped for the stag like a drowning man a line.
“You can’t turn your back on me!” Cesc yelled after the stag. “I have done nothing wrong! Haven’t I helped others? I don’t need to be led – I just need to learn how! I’m sorry I need you! I’m sorry I can’t learn alone! I can’t lose everything to my – my inability – ”
His voice was becoming hoarse. He was not as agile as the stag. It leapt and turned in the forest without sullying its hide, catching its antlers, rolling its ankles once. Cesc’s antlers banged into branches, his clothes caught against bark, his wings ached with his speed. He couldn’t catch it. He tried to reach out, to send out his calm aura, to placate the creature. But as he sent out his hand, no aura came with it -- no power, no magic, no nothing.
He was not calm. He had none in him to give.
“-- Wait!” he yelled. Panic reached his cheeks, stinging his eyes. He couldn’t catch it. He couldn’t catch it! “Why even come to me to desert me?!”
It was becoming farther and farther away. It leapt and turned beyond the trees and though he chased, it was more and more a flash of light that flashed like water in sunlight.
“Stop!” Cesc yelled into the forest. The futility of the sound was infuriating. He heaved in breath, his heart pounded in his temples, his fingers shook from exertion.
He let out a roar into the empty trees, his fingers root-deep in his hair, his eyes red and stinging. As he unleashed the sound, something else came with it – a splintering, snapping sound, like a glass pane shattering. A pain rang through him like a bell, slamming him hard into the ground.
He went face-first into dirt and leaves and grime, the pain so heavy he could barely push himself up. He gasped, twisting, trying desperately to see what had hit him. An arrow?!
No. There was nothing there. Even through his shaking vision and panic he could see nothing shaking in the trees. No sound in the forest but his own echo.
And worse than that, Cesc realized numbly, it was much easier for him to turn around than it generally was.
He looked up and saw pink dust in the air. On his hands, on the ground beside him, were shards of pink – and feathers.
With a shocked, trembling hand, he reached around his back.
There was no blood. No wound.
But his wings were gone.
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Posted: Sun Aug 24, 2014 9:05 pm
✖ Solo: Goodbye ✖
“Rhede’s still not in his room,” said Shepard. He came down the stairs with a bag slung over his shoulder. His eyes were quiet. His mouth was a line. There was darkness under his eyes he wasn’t quite sure would ever fade away.
Vivi sat in the darkened bakery with her hands in her lap. Her head was tilted, her eyes looking at the gloomy, grey outdoors. Outside, thunder rumbled softly. There was no scent of baking bread, no whirr of the stand mixers, no motion to prepare the bakery for open. The chairs were still stacked, save the one she sat upon. The refrigerator hummed. The ovens were off.
Her eyes were wet. She blinked, and the wetness clumped her eyelashes.
“I see,” she said. “He must have overheard.”
Shepard rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hands. “I’m sure he just went out to feed. He’ll be back soon.”
Vivi looked down. Her hair slipped over her shoulder, soft against her face. She was not made-up, and she wore a simple dress without any other adornments. Her feet were bare.
She looked up at Shepard.
“Tell him to come talk to me,” said Shepard. “I’ll be at Granny’s for a bit.”
“You really mean to go?” Her voice had no light, no hope in it.
Shepard took a step toward her. He looked away, and then back, indecisive. His eyes were red as he knelt.
“Tell me,” he whispered. “What do you think happened that night?”
Vivi shook her head. She looked only at her hands.
“I do not care anymore,” she murmured.
Shepard rocked back. His shoulders sagged. “You don’t mean that.”
“I do,” said Vivi. She met his eye as she began to weep. “I no longer care. Why can’t it stay in the past? I want … this bakery. I want Rhedefre.” She slid her hand from her lap to Shepard’s shoulder, the touch light. Her voice broke. “… I want my friend.”
Shepard’s shoulder tightened beneath her touch. He looked at the ground, pulling his lips into his mouth.
“Vivi,” he managed, his voice a breath. “Do you think it was me?”
Vivi looked away. She pulled her hand away and wrung her fingers together. Tears streamed down her face, one after another, trailing paths in her skin. She said nothing, holding in her breath, her brows knitting together and her eyes squeezing shut. All she seemed capable of was shaking her head.
Shepard let out a breath. He rubbed his hands over his head and dragged his hands along his face, covering his eyes and mouth. He shook his head and his hands fell away and he looked at Vivi with quiet, pained eyes.
“Vivi,” he said, low enough so that his voice would not crack, although his eyes began to shine. “I’m going to kiss you. So if you want to stop me, you should do it now.”
She turned her gaze toward him. The tears kept coming, without hitch or sob, down her face, and dropped from her chin to her arms.
Shepard closed the distance between them. He kissed her unpainted, bitten lips without fervor or passion – a simple kiss, chaste and worshipful and soft. And then he pulled away, his thumbs wiping her glossy cheeks and tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
He rose, and said nothing, and left the bakery.
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Posted: Sun Aug 24, 2014 9:06 pm
✖ Solo: Promise ✖
Cesc lifted his head from the forest floor. He could smell rain on the horizon, and laying in the dirt was not going to keep him clean or dry.
He was disgusted with himself. As the shock of losing his wings slowly wore off, a loathsome, dirty sort of resignation took its place. He could only find annoyance at himself within. What was wrong with him, chasing an animal like that? Demanding help, throwing a tantrum in the forest. He’d certainly recommended himself to the white stag! Bravo, you moron.
The Raevan pulled himself up shakily, rocking uncomfortably without his wings to stabilize him. He looked down at the pink, glittering dust that was settling into the forest floor. Most of it had faded away, disappeared, like a firework after its burst. There was nothing to do for them.
Cesc rolled his shoulders. They felt light, too light, without his wings’ familiar weight. He tried to move forward, experimentally, without them.
It was slow going, cumbersome at first. Walking without the option to run. He pulled himself forward with the use of tree limbs and trunks, getting used to the feeling. It was not ideal, but it worked, at least.
He remembered being in the jungle, hearing the faint sounds of cracking and snapping whenever he got upset. Really, any time he let anger get the best of him. So that was the end product of well and truly losing his temper. His wings had exploded directly off of him. He felt nothing, none of his calm aura that usually swirled around him like wind. Inability to control his anger meant an inability to control that, too. And to move with any true agility.
Now and then, he felt as though he could spur himself forward a touch faster. The effort exhausted him. It seemed ages before he arrived at the bakery.
There was no comfort waiting for him there.
Closed. Thank you, come again!
Cesc sighed. They should have opened half an hour ago.
He floated to the side door and opened it. The lights were off, and the greyness of the day made the interior look like twilight.
“Hello?” he called experimentally within. He could not quiet the sense of anxiety that told him that perhaps, no, no, something horrible might be waiting for him inside.
“Rhedefre?” Vivi’s voice came from the bakery proper. In another moment, she was in the kitchen, her color low but an active concern on her face. “Rhedef—oh!”
She lifted her hands to her mouth as she saw him, stopping sharply in her tracks. It was clear that she had been weeping. Her nose and eyes were both pink and puffy, her face was damp with tears. Now, there was shock and fear on her face, and she darted forward, gripping his shoulders.
“Your wings! What happened? Are you ill? Were you hurt? Who did this?” Vivi’s consonants tripped over her vowels in her attempts to speak, her voice high. She ran her fingers along his shoulders and back, looking for a wound that was not there. Cesc allowed himself to be touched, said nothing as she spoke, hating himself for being relieved, glad even, to see the concern on her face, to feel the tenderness of her hands. It was so many days since they had spoken at all.
“I’m fine, Vivi, I’m fine,” he said at last, soothing, taking her hands in his. It hurt to look in her eyes. “I’m sorry. It happened because… because I got upset.”
“Will they return? Are you to be well?” Vivi pressed.
“I don’t know. We can call Alex and Zul later. It’s okay.” It was very much not okay, Cesc knew. But with all the month, with all the awful news and visions and things overheard, he could not muster any more care to panic over whether his wings would or would not return. He’d lost them by himself. It was his own fault, his own punishment, and he would have it.
Vivi sighed. She dropped Cesc’s hands and put her trembling fingers to her temple. “Rhedefre… but you can move? All is well?”
“I’m fine,” Cesc assured her. “We can figure it out. I’ll be okay.”
Vivi let out a strained, short laugh. “Oh, no. No, no. How many things, do you think, we will have to ‘figure out’? How many?” She laughed without mirth, both hands on her cheeks. “Rhedefre! There are too many. I do not know what to do. I have wept every tear I have saved for five years. I want now only to scream and to break something. Did you hear? You must have. Did you hear the Shepard? He wants to leave us. He wants to go. The stupid man!” She stopped laughing, looking at him with shining eyes. Her voice became small. “What are we going to do?”
Cesc came forward, wrapping her in his arms. His eyes stung, and he blinked rapidly, but he couldn’t help the tears that came to them.
“Vivi,” he gasped against her hair. “I’m so sorry.”
She did not hug him back, her hands fists against his chest. “I hate this! I hate this. I wish nobody had ever come for Clive. I wish Cerise had stayed away. Oh!”
She put both her hands over her face, her shoulders shaking.
“I am not for love, Rhedefre,” she cried. “I do not know what to do with it. I have never been good with it – I do not know, I do not know! What am I supposed to do?”
Cesc stayed quiet as she spoke, his expression somber. He pulled away enough to look at her, his brows together. He could hear Cerise’s voice, still a whisper in his head: what would you know?
“I don’t know either,” he admitted. “I’m sorry. I wish I could tell you what to do to make you both happy – but you’re the only one who would know, Vivi. ” He paused, watching her expression. “… didn’t you know once? With Clive?”
Vivi lifted her shoulders. “Clive? No, Rhedefre. Clive, I could live with hurting. I loved him then. I knew that if I stopped loving him, it would leave no mark on him. I could marry him or not marry him without regret. He was surprised when I gave him back that ring, yes -- but only for his ego! I loved Clive. He was as terrible with love as I am. He had no reason to think he could not give me that ring back again the next day. But the Shepard, he is not this way. He loves steadily. He decides that he loves and he is obstinate with it.” She smiled, faint and fond and sad. “Try and change his mind. I cannot hurt him! I cannot risk that of my friend.”
Cesc watched her wordlessly, his hands still at her arms. He looked down, his eyes spilling.
“I don’t want Shepard to leave,” he said. “And I can’t wish for either of you to be unhappy. Vivi, it’s all I want. All I want is your happiness. I don’t know anything about love, either—“
“—who says?” Vivi interjected, defiant. “Who says you do not? You love me. You love the Shepard. I have seen you give love to your friends, to strangers, to anyone! You know of some love, Rhedefre. You have not been raised without it.”
A smile broke Cesc’s pained expression. He shook his head, his voice thick.
“Vivi… I promise you, I will be here for you both,” he said. “I love you. Whatever you do, whatever’s happened, it doesn’t matter. I don’t know how to get through this. I don’t know how to solve it. But I promise you, I swear, I will help.”
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Posted: Mon Aug 25, 2014 11:20 am
✖ Solo: Questions ✖
The rain started when Cesc left the bakery. It was a drippy, grey rain, rolling off of awnings and spotting the ground. He closed the side door and unfurled an umbrella, although part of him didn’t want to use one. Rain, cooling and gentle, felt like what he needed in the heavy, oppressive summer they’d all had so far.
His head hurt from crying. His eyes stung. But he had no choice. He needed to find Shepard, to speak with him, to see how he felt. It would probably mean more tears, although Cesc couldn’t believe Granny Maplethorpe would leave two men to their emotions in that way.
Well. It had to be done.
Cesc kept his float slow. His shoulders started to hurt around where his wings were supposed to sprout. The cool air against his back stung.
He came around the building, and, looking up, saw a familiar figure standing outside the bakery, looking forlornly at the closed sign. For the briefest of moments, Cesc thought he spied Shepard beneath that red umbrella – but the figure was shorter, slighter, darker, more relaxed.
And there was also a puppy.
“Azucar!” Cesc called, lifting a hand to the man. The detective turned on his axis, tipping the umbrella upward to better see the Raevan. His face held, as it always did, a smile that was pleasant and easy. Something in Cesc was relieved to see him.
“Cesc, hello,” said Azucar, tugging gently on Perp’s leash as the puppy went fumbling forward, trying to gain Cesc’s attention. “I came for a rainy day coffee and my favorite spot was closed. Is everything well?”
The detective was delicate enough to pose the question – his eyes were concerned, sharp, as they met Cesc’s. He looked at the Raevan’s shoulders, at where his wings should have been, and gently frowned.
Cesc thought about being polite. For a moment, his old – his usual self – persevered in thinking that he should calm the detective’s curiosities with some canned phrase. Be nice. Change the subject. Don’t bring another person in.
But it was Azucar. He was, by occupation and desire, already in.
“You warned me,” said Rhedefre softly, his grip tightening on his umbrella. “You told me that no matter what, we might not… really… stay all together.”
He looked down, then back up at the detective. “I thought maybe you just didn’t know us when you said that. But you were right.”
Azucar’s smile faded. “Cesc, things always get better.”
Cesc shook his head. He tipped one corner of his mouth upward. “Without knowing facts, I can’t really see how. It’s all…” He let his free hand flop. “It’s all messed up now. Everything’s all cracked.”
He frowned tightly, pulling his mouth in, his jaw tight. “I really thought I had everything worked out. I thought – “ Cesc looked up, meeting the detective’s eye. “—you’ll think I’m an idiot. But I really thought it was all in Vivi’s engagement. I thought that was the lynchpin. That’s what she didn’t want you to know. So it had to be something with that. “ He let out a ghost of a laugh. “It took all my courage to come to you and tell you that, and it turned out you’d known all along.”
Azucar listened, his expression unchanged. Below, Perp lost interest in trying to n** at Cesc’s ribbon, and began to paw at the forming puddles on the sidewalk.
“Why did you focus so hard on that piece of evidence?” asked Azucar. “You’re here, Cesc. You have some perspective that we don’t, as much as we try to.”
Cesc shrugged. He tugged at the humid cotton collar of his tee. “I don’t know. Because … something. Because I was thinking emotionally. I didn’t want it to be Vivi, I didn’t want her to have anything to do with it, so everything seemed to point to me that maybe she did…”
Azucar shook his head. “That’s not why.”
Cesc looked up at him, one eyebrow lifted into his hair. “What?”
“I think there was something else,” said Azucar. “Think.”
Cesc lifted up his free hand, helpless. “I don’t know – it was probably – it was her reaction. She was so angry, so furious with me for finding out about it. We yelled at each other, she didn’t talk to me for days. It made no sense to me that she was so mad and yet she told you. She said nobody knew—”
Suddenly, Cesc paused. His fingers went cold, and he looked at Azucar helplessly.
“She said nobody knew,” Azucar repeated. “But she told us. Which means ‘nobody’ meant someone else other than the police.”
The blood drained from Cesc’s face.
“So the question I think you need to ask yourself,” said the detective, “is this: who else have you been talking to?”
Cesc did not answer. He was suddenly very afraid.
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Posted: Thu Aug 28, 2014 9:31 pm
✖ Solo: Downward Spiral ✖
Shepard opened the screen door at Granny Maplethorpe’s house. He shook his umbrella and put it in the metal bin just outside.
“Granny?” He called in, wiping his shoes on the mat. He scrubbed one hand over his head. The day was so grey, so frustratingly heavy. The air was too thick, the rain too slow and steady.
The door was unlocked. She may not have heard him with the rumble of thunder that rolled through the sky. Shepard let himself in. He took off his bag and set it down in the front parlor.
“Shepard?” A voice answered him.
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