Reckless: Season 2: Beyond Any Shadow of a Doubt - Act 4
by redmoon
Beyond Any Shadow of a Doubt - Act 4
Niki slowly drew her last ten dollars out of her pocket. They had at last run out of Brazil-nuts and the Slayer was still hungry. As she waited for the waitress who had been serving her beer for the past twelve hours, she ran a finger down the side of the bill's little portrait of Alexander Hamilton. Whether it was because she was exceedingly buzzed, or because those nuts had been laced with something, Whistler’s words were beginning to make sense.
For reasons she couldn’t put her finger on, there was something bigger going on than just her menial little life. The prophecy she had seen wasn't just a count-down to her death, it was a masterpiece: a work of art with infinite detail describing all levels of her very existence. And her life was only a small part of her existence. Likewise, her death was only a small piece, but a necessary one nonetheless.
A few minutes later, the waitress returned with the largest bowl of mixed nuts ten dollars could buy. With a broadening smile, Niki looked down at the bountiful bowl of protein. If death was certain, then this could be the last time she ever ate.
She had to pull her leather jack from the table top in order to get the bowl close to her and as she did, her hand slipped into the jacket’s pocket. Something touched her finger there she didn’t expect.
The nuts momentarily forgotten, Niki drew the small piece of crisp paper from the deep pocket. It felt fragile and, unfolding it, she realized it had been accompanying her jacket on its adventures for the past two years.
Knicks, good luck with your drumming career.
Sorry your band landed on tough times:
Hang in there.
-Joey Ramone
The same little smile she had worn before the hopeless battle two years ago now spread across her face. She had forgotten she had left the note in her pocket. Now the nuts were shaking. Now the nuts were–?
The table began to shake and Niki and Whistler jumped back out of their chairs. Niki dropped the small piece of paper and with a small explosion of tiles and plywood, the floor under their table was pushed up.
A massive head with four gleaming eyes and a wide fang-filled mouth engulfed the table from beneath, rising up from the hole in the floor with a deafening roar. By the time the massive head was six feet above the floor, two large, grasping hands appeared from inside the hole and hauled the rest of the creature’s massive bulk from underground.
There was a moment after the first deafening roar when everyone just stared, their eyes wider than humanly possible as the thing from the hole looked around, its great nostrils flaring. Whistler was slowly backing away, putting two and two together and keeping away from the Slayer.
Niki cocked her head, intrigued, as the thing from beneath the floor dragged itself fully from the hole and sniffed loudly. Whistler continued to back away and Niki turned to him with a frown.
“Look what you started: This wasn’t a demon bar until you came—”
Then the screaming began. The people dining and drinking at the Marionette had never seen a real demon before, let alone a Wreqoe dragon. It began to get excited at the screaming and the fleeing and let out another deafening roar, knocking several people over with its club-like tail.
The Slayer stood her ground, crossing her arms as if unimpressed. With a sure move, she reached out and took Whistler by the collar, pulling him back to her. “The Council?”
He nodded. “They’ll kill you anyway they can. They have seers who’ve predicted your death — they’re just trying to make sure. They’ve got a lot invested in your destiny.”
“So do I,” Niki let him go, roughly, pulling her leather jacket on. “Time to be the killer again.”
As it turned the Wreqoe dragon caught sight of Niki, its four eyes widening to terrifying proportions. Niki could see four dark, glassy reflections of herself as the thing looked at its prey. It’s nostrils flared and it inhaled her scent, raising itself to its full height, its head slamming hard into the ceiling and bringing down more tiles and plywood.
“So this is it,” she said, readying herself. She raised her fists and narrowed her gaze. She was alternately thankful and regretful that she had drank so much. It would dull her pain, certainly, but it was also dulling her reflexes. “This is how I go...”
Whistler turned on his heel, close to the exit and the screaming crowd of customers trying to leave. “So now you’re Ms. Fatalistic?” He put his hands angrily on his hips. “I thought you were all about the free choice?”
The head came at her and Niki jumped aside, driving her fist into the side of its face. He reared up again and prepared to lunge again. “But – but you just said my death is important! How we die is inevitable and meaningful and all that!”
“Oh, come on!” the demon in the plum jacket shouted with annoyance, “I was just talking outa my ass! You’re not supposed to get eaten by some random orthodontist’s nightmare!”
Niki somersaulted between the massive jaws just before they snapped shut and slammed both fists as one into one the dragon’s eyes. It roared so loud the mirror behind the bar shook its way loose and smashed on the floor.
“How the hell do you know!?” Niki hollered, her eardrums still ringing. “Who’s to say this isn’t my destiny? My life’s been—” jumped away from a swiping hand “—random and pointless and needlessly violent—” caught the fist which came down to crush her, shoving it to one side and running behind the creature “—and why the hell isn’t it appropriate to get eaten in a bar fight?” The dragon’s club-like tail hit her full on in the chest and sent her flying into the wall where the mirror used to be.
“Well, if you think it’s your destiny to get eaten, why are you fighting so hard?” Whistler argued, crossing his arms. He glanced behind him and noticed the bar was now empty except for the three of them.
“Maybe because I’m shit-faced!” she shouted from behind the bar, standing up with a bottle of vodka in her hand. “I can’t be held responsible for my actions.”
“So let it eat you,” Whistler challenged as the dragon turned to the bar to roar in Niki’s direction, blowing her hair back away from her face.
Niki waved away the foul breath of the Wreqoe dragon and took a generous swig from the bottle. “Maybe I don’t wanna.” She ducked back down behind the bar and came back up with a dishrag. She stuffed one end into the bottle of vodka and then had to duck again as a dragon-hand swept along the bar to collect her head.
When she came back up again she had a lighter in her other hand. It took several tries, but Niki finally lit the Molotov Cocktail and hurled it into the demon’s mouth. With a terrific roar, it shot a massive column of flame back at the Slayer, who again ducked behind the bar.
When she came up this time, though, there was nothing left of the dragon but a respectable pile of blackish grey ash.
“Did I just fuck up my destiny?” Niki asked, hopping over the bar and wandering towards her other demon companion for the evening.
Whistler laughed. “If anything were going to fuck up your destiny, Niki, it would be beer. But no, I really don’t think you were meant to get eaten there.”
“Why not?” Niki frowned, slowing their exit from the demolished club.
Whistler sighed and turned back to her. “Because... the rest of those involved with your ultimate end aren’t ready yet.”
Niki blinked, thinking long and hard about this. This proved difficult considering the very small amount of blood mixed in with the alcohol pumping through her veins. Finally she took another step forward towards the exit. “Did you know they’re thinking of reopening the Nail Biter?”
Whistler’s eyes widened. “Really? They’re not hiring, are they?”
Kenneth blinked wearily as he came to. He tried to make a sound, but there was still a plastic tube down his throat. As the haze cleared, he could see two shapes standing over him. They didn’t seem to have noticed he was awake and he very slowly felt for the morphine control. It was gone.
“You understand how uncomfortable I am having an angel who specializes in death hanging around my family. That’s understandable, right? I’m not crazy?”
Michael shook his head with a smile. “You’re not... well, you’re not that crazy.” The man in the white silk shirt and the blue silk tie slowly crossed his arms as Logan continued to look troubled. “I don’t want you to think of me as an angel of death... or an angel associated with death.”
“But you are associated with death. Or are you telling me it’s just a fetish?” Logan glanced down at the English patient who was pretending to be unconscious. “You’re here now, does that mean this guy’s going to die?”
Michael showed true frustration for the first time. “It’s... exhausting how much you don’t understand.”
Logan raised his eyebrows and scoffed. “Well, I’m sorry I exhaust you so much. I just assumed being an angel you wouldn’t be so skittish about admitting what you are.”
“I’m not an angel of death,” Michael protested, making frustrated fists. “I’m more like an angel of—” he suddenly held up a cautionary finger. “You know what? You’re annoying.” Logan frowned in confusion. Michael shook the finger he held in Logan’s face. “I’m not an angel of anything. I’m an angel. That’s all there is to it. I’m Michael.”
“Michael of Death. Okay, I can deal with that.” Logan turned back to Kenneth but continued to speak to the man beside him. “You know, if you try anything with my family, I could send you to hell so fast the guy upstairs would do a double take.”
“He’s going to die,” Michael said simply, cutting through Logan’s not-quite-empty threats. They both looked down at Kenneth who, Logan could tell, had heard what was being said.
“But’s he’s in stable condition...” He let the comment hang there. “Unless he’s going to be killed.” Still, Michael said nothing. “I’ve got no reason to kill him. Even if he’s after Niki, she can take care of herself.”
“There are two paths,” the angel sounded almost as if he were talking to himself, but he waited patiently for Logan to respond. When he did not, Michael elaborated. “Two paths but only one route.”
Logan frowned and squinted, finally turning to the man beside him. “Do they diverge in a wood? You’ve got to give me something else, here.” He laughed. “Are you on something? Seriously... Are you like the angel of LSD?”
“The way to get from here to somewhere else. By either of the two paths. But only one of them will be followed.” He indicated the brit who was trying to remain motionless. “He’s on one of them, but he’s where it crosses the one I’m on. Bad place to be.”
“You’re starting to sound like Whistler,” Logan said with concern. “And I can’t stand him.”
Michael turned and gave a genuine smile. “Whistler’s on one of the paths too. Not mine, though. And not yours. He’s on the Slayer’s path.”
Logan shrugged, fighting the complete lack of sense in this conversation. “Too bad for her.”
The angel continued to smile. “Whistler thinks we’re all going down his path... but he doesn’t see the other path. Niki has seen it, but she doesn’t know it.”
Logan smirked sarcastically. “But you, you’re the all-seeing Angel of...” his smile melted, “Destiny,” he finished weakly.
Michael cocked his head and turned back to Kenneth without response. “He’s not an assassin,” the angel noted, taking a step closer to the motionless form. The hiss of the ventilator and the relatively steady bleep, bleep of the ECG filled the quiet of the ICU.
“No, I suppose he came all the way from England to sell me some insurance,” Logan muttered, no humor in his voice. He too stepped forward to the other side of the brit’s bed. “Who is he?”
Michael slowly reached out and caressed the side of Kenneth’s face. The man’s eyes flickered behind his eyelids and he flinched very slightly. “Ask him,” Michael suggested.
Logan frowned and leaned over the brit’s face. “I know you’re awake. If you’re not an assassin, what were you doing at my house?” He heard a whimper from the Watcher as the question summoned memories Kenneth could not control. Bleep, bleep, bleep, his heart rate jumped as he opened his eyes, trying to bury the images.
Logan blinked uncertainly as faces of people he didn’t know began to flash before his eyes. They were chanting. They were witches. There were Watchers — Council Watchers with them. They were speaking — Logan couldn’t quite make it out. Something urgent. Someone was going to die. The Chosen. The next Chosen would be called. A name was called, the Watchers were nodding, writing it down. A picture was being passed around. More nods.
“Who is it?” Bleep-bleep-bleep-bleep, Logan could tell Kenneth was fighting the memories as hard as he could and very slowly the conjurer laid a hand on the side of the Watcher’s face.
Instantly another face sprang before his eyes. Color drained from Logan’s face as the girl’s smile pierced his heart. No, Logan slowly shook his head. No chance in hell...
“Two paths, one route,” Michael folded his hands, his work already accomplished. “And now you have to choose.”
Logan tried to swallow, his mouth suddenly dry. With an ashen face, he slowly took his hand from Kenneth, his fingernails glowing. Kenneth’s eyes were wide and his jaw was working around the plastic tube which ran down his throat. He gurgled, trying to call out.
With electricity sparking between his fingers, Logan, wide-eyed, reached down and covered the Watcher’s eyes with one hand and aimed a trembling finger at the banks of equipment alive and humming near the bed. Kenneth gripped Logan’s hand, twisting weakly on the bed, unable to see what was going on. The ECG bleeped rapidly.
Michael closed his eyes and Logan touched the machinery with the end of his glowing finger, Hanna’s smiling face burned into his mind’s eye. Everything he had ever known about the disastrous life of Niki Valtaine pounded between his temples as the electricity crackled. Not my little girl, he swore.
Bleep... bleep........
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