September 22, 2010
Dystopia.
The good thing about living in a living building was that you didn’t need to worry about door locks. You just had to worry about the door.
Adrian stared blankly at the featureless gray wall in front of him. “Jacob, let me in. I’m really not in the mood for this shit.”
An eyeball popped out of the wall. Not until I’m sure it’s you.
“It is.”
Really.
“Yes. Now may I please come in, or are you going to leave me out here until the feds come?”
Being stared at by a naked eyeball was fucking creepy. I’ll let you in when I’m sure of you.
Adrian’s cellphone buzzed. He flipped it open. “What?”
[you shouldn't be so hard on him]
“Francis?”
[who else don't mind this it's just the damage]
Silence descended. In the depths of Adrian’s mind, something stirred.
[so how is roland]
“Not good. Did you know they added a level to the biohazard ratings just for him?”
[level 5 biotoxins fatal to humans no known antitoxin/treatment multiple delivery systems including transference through environment]
“They’re keeping him in the most insanely secure facility I’ve ever seen.”
[so no go then]
…Wait, what?
“No. And, frankly, he’s more than half crazy over the death of his family; besides, as far as we know, Jacob’s not immune to him.”
Um…
[true true]
Silence came back. Jacob sucked his eyeball back in with a pop.
Adrian tapped his cane on the ground impatiently.
[we've agreed to let you in]
“Finally.” With a weird noise that was half twisting metal and half sucking wound, the wall pulled open. Adrian started forward -
[as long as you tell us who's possessing you]
- and nearly missed a step. “What makes you think anyone is?” Adrian asked nervously.
You’ve been sleeping, Jacob replied, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.
September 21, 2010
Later.
It’s hard to like an uncle who’d been scrupulously absent your whole childhood. That’s me and Uncle Roland in a nutshell. Mom was always after me to be nicer to him, but, honestly, I don’t recall ever meeting him until I was twelve. I mean, I knew who he was – he’d been pointed out to me before, when he’d come ’round the house or we’d go to the Library – but whenever he saw me, he’d find some convenient excuse and slip away.
So you can understand why I think he’s a jackass, Mom’s excuses for him aside.
And honestly- what’s with her, anyway? Even I know Uncle Roland despises her; everyone in Arkham knows he’s loathed her since she came here for college. But Mom still takes his side all the time. Jeez.
I didn’t know why I was thinking about him, but I’ve got enough of a knack, as Gramma puts it, to not be too surprised when I passed by the Field and saw him sitting slouched against Dad’s headstone.
Figures. It’s a bright, clear day, not a cloud in sight, and so of course I have to run into Uncle Roland. He’s like some depressing anti-vampire, I swear.
He raised his head and I saw the weird feverish glitter of his eyes, and it was my turn to try and find a bad excuse to leave. But I’m like Mom, I suck at dissembling, so I just sort of skittered off. Not my best moment, there.
A hand yanked me onto the roof as I approached the school doors. I tried to ignore Aunt Alice and set about fixing my collar, but she’s freakishly strong and just grabbed my chin and turned me to face her.
I’m eighteen. I’m on the freakin’ football team. And Aunt Alice, who comes up to my chin, can sling me around like an empty potato sack.
“You need to knock this shit off,” she said.
“What?” I asked. But feigning ignorance doesn’t work with any member of my family.
“This thing you’ve got against Roland. You’re hardly being-”
“Being what? Reasonable?” I snarled. I immediately felt bad about it – being angry at my aunt is like being angry at a woebegone kitten – but it was like she’d set a match to a fuse. Once I’d started I couldn’t stop. “You want me to be all buddy-buddy with a guy who ignored my existence until I was twelve? Who still won’t come near me?”
She sighed, clapping a long-fingered hand over my mouth almost absently. “You know why that was. And yes,” she said, glancing sharply at me when I made a muffled objection, “he carried it a bit far. But you’re old enough now to look at things from more than just your own hurt perspective. Your uncle’s always been extremely wary of small children. You being who you are, it just made him even more cautious, to the point of paranoia. He made me or Talia handle all the gifts he sent you – he never so much as came in the same room as them – because he was utterly terrified he’d somehow contaminate them.”
Something in my expression must have settled, because she took her hand off my mouth before continuing, “And it’s not sane. None of us ever said it was. But we also have no way of knowing if you’ve inherited your father’s immunity, and the only way to test it is fatal if you didn’t. You didn’t see him,” she added abruptly. “He was there when your father was killed, which is why he’s so paranoiacally obsessed with you now. And he killed your father’s murderer by breathing in the man’s face.”
She settled back on her heels, elongated hands clasped around her knees, humming a bit before looking over at me. “Did your mother ever tell you Roland got the first blow in? Before the guy even killed your dad, that is.”
I felt hotly numb. I’d never heard this before. I couldn’t bring myself to shake my head, but Aunt Alice was always good at reading me.
“I’m not even sure Dora knows. Your uncle’s always had the odd problem of being fast on the uptake, until he’s upset,” she continued. “He’d figured out what the man was up to, if not the specific target, seconds after he entered the room. And he did get in the first blow – and promptly broke two fingers on the guy’s body armor and was unceremoniously chucked across the room.” She sighed, shifting on her perch, and I began to realize how uncomfortable this conversation must be for her. “Whoever this guy was, he was well-informed. There wasn’t an inch of skin visible, and even after he’d killed Wulf and Roland had gone completely berserk on him, he couldn’t get through the fabric. Couldn’t work his fingers past a hem or a cuff, couldn’t tear the damn stuff. The guy ran him through, but I doubt Roland ever noticed, and it freaked the guy enough to give your uncle a second’s breathing room, and he took it. Exhaled straight into the guy’s nostrils.”
“You were there.” I sounded even to my ears like a stunned rabbit, but Aunt Alice just gave me a grim little smile.
“I was. I was climbing down the wall behind the guy, actually, and would’ve gotten him in another few seconds if Roland hadn’t poisoned him first.” She looked at me for a long moment. “Roland was there when you were born,” she said, “I remember him, standing as close as he could to the nursery window without fogging it with his breath, watching you in your bassinet. He was the one who finally talked your father into actually getting some sleep – your dad was way too excited, and kept chattering about you to everyone he ran across. Your uncle actually held you a bit when you were an infant – only at your dad’s insistence, sure, but he was always afraid you’d accidentally touch him and he wouldn’t be able to stop you. But he’d sing silly old showtunes to you, and you’d laugh and laugh, and roll off his hands onto the rug, and laugh until he’d sort of helplessly join in. Even after your dad died – he never missed a game, and he hates football. He rants about the stupidity of it after every game. He’s never missed a birthday or a Christmas. He’s got copies of all the articles on you and all your school portraits and report cards that your mom shared with him. He keeps the wonky mug you made him in kindergarten on a shelf above his desk and cleans it every day – he won’t drink out of it so it’ll last longer. He even hid in the back by the doors at that disastrous school play. He loves you, Chris,” she said, more solemn than I’d ever seen her, “and I know you don’t believe that and you don’t remember that, but it’s true. He’s gone a bit stupid with old promises and paranoia and the madness your father’s death brought out in him, but he thinks the world of you. If he’s been distant, it’s because you’re all he’s got left of his twin, and he’s terrified of losing you.” Like he did your father hung unspoken between them.
Aunt Alice watched me with her weirdly luminous eyes. “I’m late for class,” I said.
Sighing, she helped me off the roof.
I didn’t want to think about what she’d said. I didn’t want it to make sense, but it did. I didn’t want to feel sorry for my uncle, or understand him, but I did. And I hated it as much as I hated my aunt’s unspoken criticism. You’ve been a real brat, Chris-my-boy.
But their birthday was coming up, and ok, I had no idea what to get an uncle I barely knew, but if it’s the thought that counts then maybe he wouldn’t mind a random visit from his nephew.
People always told me I was so much like my dad. Maybe it was time for me to start acting like it.
April 10, 2008
The End.
Nathan steeled himself and rapped on the door. It swung open before he’d even finished knocking.
“I was wondering when you’d show up,” Dr. Cain said, ushering him in. The Pendragon looked much the same as always, though she’d cut her hair and was female today.
The two stared at each other for a long moment, then Dr. Cain folded her arms. “You told me decades ago that you needed to speak to me sometime. I am assuming this is that time, so speak.”
Nathan opened his mouth, then closed it again.
Something dark deepened Dr. Cain’s black eyes. “Whatever it is, it must not be good, else you would not have waited until after you abdicated to come tell me. What is it?”
“It’s about your son.” Nathan’s voice was barely above a whisper.
Dr. Cain froze.
“He set off on a quest, intending to find something and bring it back home. He died on the return trip, but he succeded in his quest.” Nathan reached into the pocket of his overcoat and removed a small cup. It fit easily into Nathan’s hand and was made of a paper-thin crystal that caught the light.
Dr. Cain said nothing, but her eyes never left the cup.
The silence stretched.
“Why bring this here?” Dr. Cain said, her voice low.
“Your son set out to find it for you. Seeing that you got it is the least I can do.”
“The least you could do?” Awan hissed, and then realization hit her like a bolt of lightning. “Galahad was in the city you destroyed.”
Nathan bowed his head, still holding out the Grail. Mordred Pendragon took it, looked in its depths, and smiled.
