Chapter 11
Trudging through the dimly lit living room into the bedroom of his motel complex, Geoffrey ran his shaking fingers through his dark hair. Flicking on the light switch, he realized that he was going through the motions unintentionally, and purely by routine. If it hadn't been for that small, sensible part of his mind, he would've left every light off.
Looking into the mirror that hung over the smooth, oak desk, he sighed and shook his head, half-watching the hair shake slightly. Staring into the silver glass, he paused for a moment and stared into the ghostly eyes that were his, those brown yet bloodshot eyes.
"Damn..." was all he could mutter, and he felt a strange dryness in his throat as he did so. That was how he had felt all the previous night. Lousy and sleepless.
In fact, he was currently awake at one in the morning for the same reason.
Everything was too damned rotten. The trial had been bad enough, with his brother being sent to jail for life. What fun that had been to watch.
Then he had been fired. The silly, arrogant bitch had fired him! And that
Oersted, how he had grinned... "I can't believe this," he sighed, turning towards the bed again.
He wanted to sleep, he really did. Sleep would have been comforting, and would have taken him away from the problems for a short period of time. But of course, sleep was too good for an asshole like him, he told himself over and over. He knew in his mind he had lied, he knew it was wrong.
He also knew that it had been what was right for him to do.
Still, he was hanging on an edge now. Being fired from the Intelligence Agency was one of the worst things that could happen, and he knew that the bitch would be attempting to ruin any chance of a job.
So there was nothing left on the good side. This realization hit him with a snap, and he heard himself groan softly, a far-away sound of anguish.
There was nothing left on the good side. Only the dark half remained.
"Jesus..." the word barely got past his dry lips, and he felt the little
remaining blood drain from his face.
He had taken the wrong path. He had taken the wrong path, and he knew he would pay. He would pay dearly.
So what could he do? Where could he go? The thoughts raced through his mind along with thousands of others, spinning in an incomprehensible circle. Suddenly, an idea hit him.
There was something he could do. Yes, it would only drag him in
further, but there was no going back as it was…
"I'll do it," he confirmed to himself, picking up the suit jacket from the back of the chair. "Damnit, I'll do it if it kills me, and I'll do it for Mable..." he paused momentarily. "And Ashley."
Turning the lights off, he stood for only a split second, lost in thought, before walking out.
Giovanni sat quietly in the darkness of the musty, dirt-covered jail cell, staring out at the night sky. The free night sky. Damn, he wished he was still free, wished that none of this had happened, wished he wasn't stuck in that dump…
"Why me?" he sighed, though he knew perfectly well why. What else would happen? He had chose to lead the group, and now he was paying his dues…
"But it could've been avoided," he repeated for what seemed like the hundredth time.
Truthfully, it probably could have, and he knew it. If more agents had stood up for him, if he had had a stroke of luck…
But of course, neither of those things happened. After all, they didn't care if he died. Hell, they didn't even care that they had lost their jobs. They had just wanted out of it…
"The cowards," he felt a shiver pass through his spine and ignored it.
It seemed that the only good occurrence had been what he had heard from the guard. Jessie and James had been murdered in their rental house. He had laughed when he'd been informed, and the guard had walked away shakily.
They had deserved it, and Giovanni wished that he could congratulate the murderer. Those two had never done their job, and once they had testified against him… Well, his anger became almost incomprehensible.
Still that was those two. There were so many more. So many more unfaithful
agents…
Though there were the faithful ones, those were few, he remembered, casting his black eyes into the darker night. In fact, he had seen only six. Six who still were there.
And the larger part of his family. Where had they been? His father, his wife, his son? Not even his niece, his nephew, or sister-in-law had shown up, yet they knew. They had to have heard. But they hadn't been there, of course not.
"They hate you," his mind pointed out, and he knew this was true. Of course they did. Couldn't stand having someone against the law in their family, no matter if they had cared about him before or not.
Yet… HE had been there. His brother who was, in fact, the last person on earth that Giovanni had expected to see, much less testify for him. What had caused that?
A sudden grunt from the next cell interrupted him, and for a moment he jumped up, looking around. Shaking his head, he sat back down, almost embarrassed.
"Why shouldn't you be embarrassed?" the voice sneered. "After all, you're the BOSS. Or, you were. You shouldn't be scared of anything."
"Shut up," Giovanni cut his hand through the air as if to ward away
the voice of his own mind, and wondered if he was going insane..
God, he hated this.
He hated it, and he wished to God that he were somewhere else.
Hell, he wished he were dead.
"Number 11," the burly guard pointed down the hall, leaning back in his chair and not even bothering to follow the man.
"Anyone who comes here this late can't be up to anything," he thought.
"I certainly ain't."
That was his policy, after all. If it was late, nothing would happen.
Everything happened in the daylight. The officers and his fellow guards had told him it was the other way, but he wouldn't believe. Instead, he was picking up a magazine, keeping a slight eye on the tall man who was walking down the hall.
Geoffrey clenched his teeth together, attempting to sort out the emotions that were soaring around his head from what he was about to do, and find sense in what being where he was.
Why had he even come to this rotten place? Because Ashley needed it, he knew. And May would've wanted it. No one else was going to do this, so it was up to him… He walked up to cell number eleven.
"Giovanni?" he looked into the darkness, his eyes slowly adjusting somewhat to the change of lighting. For a brief moment he wondered if the man was asleep, than decided he probably wasn't.
"Yes?" the voice that answered was strong, as if nothing had happened.
Though he had no clue who or what was out there, Giovanni felt that he had to keep the strength of his voice if he couldn't do anything else.
"Good, you're not asleep…" Geoffrey trailed off, pushing a few strands of the chocolate-colored hair out of his eyes, unsure of what to say.
Luckily for him, Giovanni spoke next. "Geoffrey?" he paused momentarily, confused, and looked into the dark brown eyes of his brother. "What the hell are you doing here?"
"Truthfully, I don't know," both were surprised with the ease the reply was spoken with, and Geoffrey realized with a start that he did know. "All I can really say is that I'm here."
"So I see…" Giovanni's voice was unwavering, hiding any emotion.
However, the black eyes showed the confusion and turmoil his mind felt, though he tried hard to keep it inside.
"I'm sorry about what happened, but…"
"What?" the younger man's voice was suddenly a bit more anxious, though he couldn't figure out why.
"Time's up!" the guard called suddenly over the pages of rifles and camouflage.
"What?" Giovanni asked again, looking up into his brother's face.
"I'm going to get you out of here," Geoffrey lowered his voice when he said this, than left, leaving them both amazed.
Chapter 12
By the time Ginger was able to begin to think straight, the clock indicated that the time was six o'clock in the evening. Throughout the day, she had been wandering around her room, picking up books and papers, than setting them down. Clouds of thought had floated throughout her head meaninglessly, simply naming events.
The death of Jessie and James. Giovanni's trial. The police breaking into headquarters. And that morning, with Shadow's accusations, the news reports, and the letters.
Now she suddenly looked out the window at the darkening, cloudy sky. Despite warnings from the newscasters, no rain had fallen, but she figured it would be coming soon. She hoped it did, actually, because the rain would fit her emotions nicely.
She knew what she had done, she had killed two people in cold blood. Thinking about it, she realized that it was wrong. She realized it, yet she didn't care. "They deserved it," she rationalized. "After what they did.
But another very small part of her mind, a sensible part, kept telling her otherwise. It told her she shouldn't have done it, that they would have gotten what was coming to them.
Shaking her head furiously, Ginger nearly cried out, "They DESERVED it!" Luckily, she caught herself just in time, and simply spoke it in the empty room.
"Why am I caught in this anyway?" she thought warily. "Why do I have to deal with this?"
Over the past few days she had been feeling a terrible amount of stress pressing on her, as well as something else. She kept sensing this sharp, heavy feeling that made her uncomfortable whenever she felt it. Because she felt that she knew what it was. Ginger was pretty sure that she was sensing doom.
Walking over to her desk, she picked up the knife blade, which she had finally cleaned at about noon. With the blood gone, the metal flashed in the dimming light, and she felt the urge again. The urge to kill.
As much as she wanted to stop these feelings, as much as she wanted to be good, she didn't. Inside of her there was a strange source of hate, and at that moment she wanted to kill the others. Those who had testified again the Rockets in court. They had to be punished; had too!
"And they will…" she muttered, "They will."
Suddenly, her eyes became transfixed to the blade, and her mind once more froze momentarily. She didn't hear the others downstairs. The wind outside went unheard by her. She didn't even hear the car pull in the driveway.
Shadow looked across the large living room at Dan, who had a look of worry on his face. From what the girl could tell, it was worse than it had been before, and that was pretty bad. "What's wrong, Dan?"
When he looked up, she wanted to cry out at the look in his eyes. The tired, defeated look was now strained and dead. "Nothing…" he muttered.
"Don't tell me that," Shadow stood up, concerned, and walked over to him. "What's wrong?"
She sat down next to him on the couch, and immediately noticed that he seemed to become a little more attentive. "I…" he trailed off, and Shadow realized that he didn't want to tell her.
"Come on, Danny," she mused, looking straight into his haggard eyes and using the name she seldom used. "Tell me, please."
"All right…" he started reluctantly. "I'm just worried that… that they'll think I killed them."
Shadow nodded knowingly, understanding right away what he was saying. "Don't worry, they won't."
A look of relief passed over Dan's eyes, and Shadow was glad to see the eyes brighten noticeably. "You really think so?"
Shadow nodded, feeling as though she were in a dream. She had never comforted Dan to this extent before, never been able to help someone like this until now. "I know so." It had been the first line she could think of, and though it felt corny at first, she decided it had been the right thing to say.
"Thanks, Shadow…" Dan ducked his head shyly, looking at the girl.
Suddenly, Shadow felt a strange impulse, and turned away. She felt stupid for doing so, but she did it. "Why did I do that…?" she wondered, slightly ashamed.
"Shadow…" Dan started, and she felt his hand on her arm.
"Yes," she gulped slightly, not sure of why she was acting so odd. Thinking back, she realized that she had been acting like this for awhile, drawing back from him all the time.
"Why do I do it?" she wondered. "Why do I turn away?"
The answer was unclear to her, but she wanted to walk away from it. There had to be a way to get herself to go to him, had to…
"Shadow? Shadow?" Dan's voice broke her thoughts.
Biting her tongue, she turned back around and found herself staring straight into his concerned face.
"Dan, I'm sorry…" she stammered. "I just…"
"I understand, Shadow," he nodded knowingly. "I understand."
Looking into his eyes, Shadow realized he did. "In time, I may stop drawing away."
"I can wait," he smiled slightly.
At that moment, Shadow heard a car pull into their driveway. "Who…?" she asked.
"Probably Felicity," the young man guessed.
"Yeah," Shadow agreed. "Probably."
The sound of a doorbell shook those thoughts, however, and they looked at each other. Shadow knew there was no way this was Felicity, since she would never ring or knock.
"Mike…" Dan called."
"I'm getting it," Mike called back.
Shadow looked at Dan again and saw the worried expression on his face. "Don't worry, it's not the police."
"You're right," he looked at her with what she knew as longing. "You're right."
Mike picked up his handgun from the television in his room and headed out the door. Someone was here, and that someone might not be welcome.
He had been in fairly high spirits ever since the note had been read. Mike had been feeling that they should restart the team, and now Giovanni had instructed them to do it. With the feeling of excitement building inside of him, he personally was ready for action.
Peering through the window, he saw that rain had begun to fall slowly, and the dim streetlamps had blinked on. Looking into the driveway, he saw the car that their 'guest' had arrived in. It was a sleek black Grand Prix, waxed and perfectly clean.
The car looked familiar, and Mike couldn't remember why. "I know I've seen it before…" he muttered to himself, but was interrupted by the doorbell's second buzz.
Walking up to the door, he placed his hand on the gold-painted knob and pulled the door open, raising the gun at the same time.
"Whoa, killer. Easy," the slightly-sarcastic, soft yet hard male's voice broke into the room.
In the doorway, Mike saw, stood a young man, about twenty-three years old with an average build, and a little taller than average height. He had steely gray eyes that demanded answers, and an expression that said 'I know what you're thinking.'
Mike realized that he did know this guy.
"Come on in, Matt," he stepped aside, lowering the gun.
Chapter 13
"Nice to see you again," Matt nodded at Mike as he stepped inside, as if he'd been there many times before.
"Same," Mike nodded, smiling and stepping aside.
"I came when I heard about the… problem. I was on a trip when it happened," he explained, searching the room quickly with his deep eyes.
"Yeah… the problem…" Mike trailed off noticeably, and Matt looked at him strangely.
"What's wrong?" For as long as he had known Mike, he'd never seen him with that strangely thoughtful mood on his face, the one that was floating over it like a thick fog. The look was there, all right, but difficult to catch.
"Nothin'…" Mike shrugged, and once again, Matt wondered.
"So, who all is here?"
"Well, I am…" Mike began, his eyes rolling around slightly.
"I can see that," Matt laughed softly, a laugh that was met with a grin.
"Dan and Shadow, Trae…"
"That scientist bitch?" Matt asked without hesitation, than groaned. "Sorry…"
"Naw, don't say that," Mike looked amused. "I know how you feel."
"That's right…" Matt remembered the first tike he'd met Trae at headquarters, and how her attitude always came off arrogant and precise. Hell, it was the same with all of those science freaks. Uptight and buried with calculations and organization.
"Felicity…"
"She's here?" Matt raised an eyebrow, and saw that this time it was Mike giving him the searching look.
"Yeah… so what?"
"No reason," he shook his head, though he knew there was something. Felicity was one of the people he didn't think were trustworthy in a time like what they were in, though, judging by Mike's reaction, it would be unwise to mention it right away.
After all, he'd come to help calm the problems, not start them. He'd always been good with working things out, which probably led to his job as one of the top workers in the Torture Division of Team Rocket. He had been on an assignment in the Orange Islands when the police had broken in, and found out immediately when he returned that the Rockets had been burnt.
The first thing he had done was to find information. He was pretty damn good at that, and soon he had found where several loyal Rocket members were staying. He felt lucky that he had been able to find these agents, but he was looking for one certain person, one certain girl…
"Oh," Mike looked at him again, grinning. "You're gonna love this. Ginger is here, too."
Matt felt his heart skip a beat, and he nearly choked on a quick intake of air. So he had found her. She was here, in this house… "Whoa," was all he managed.
"Yeah," Mike chuckled. "Whoa. She's upstairs."
"Thanks…" Matt turned to walk up the steps, but stopped when he saw Dan and Shadow peering around the corner. "Hey, guys."
"Hey, Matt," they waved in unison, seeming relieved, and he had a feeling that they had believed he was someone else. Of course, he didn't blame them, times were tense, and they weren't used to this.
"I'm uh…" he nodded up the stairs, and they nodded back, understanding. Of course they understood.
He climbed the stairs, looking around when he got to the top. Down to the right was a hall with several doors, and to the left were two large, wooden doors. Turning toward the large doors, he hoped that his intuition was right, and that Ginger was behind the door.
God, how long had it been since he'd seen her? A couple months at least, but it seemed longer. A lot longer.
Shoving open the doors, he was met with the slightly-musty smell of old books, and he saw shelves stacked high with them. There was a desk straight ahead of the door, and on the side was a bed with a lamp table. The room obviously belonged to somebody.
"Hello?" he called out, feeling a strange emptiness about the large room.
"Matt?" he heard her slightly cold yet comforting voice before he saw her, and stepped into the room.
She stood to one side of the room, apparently simply standing, and her face calm yet cold and hard. Matt remembered her, and realized that she looked slightly harder now. Her sparkling emerald green eyes had dulled, her auburn hair was still smooth looking but not pulled behind her ears, her expression was slightly off, and even her posture held a strange aura to it. Still, she was Ginger.
"Hello, Ginger," he shut the door quietly, as though it would kill one of them if he didn't.
"What are you doing here?" she questioned, walking towards him, though he could tell from the look in her deep eyes that she knew very well what he was doing.
Moving over to her bed, covered with a dark-blue comforter, Matt sat down slowly, as if he had been there all his life. "I think you know."
Following the young man slowly over to the bed, Ginger stood looking at him for a second, regarding the serious, caring gaze. She hadn't seen him in a long time. In fact, she hadn't seen him in at least two and a half months.
He was wearing a black suit and tie, and Ginger realized at once that he had been working on an assignment, although he did normally wear the dressy attire. Judging by what he usually did, she figured it had something to do with torture. And why not, he was good at it? He hadn't mentioned it yet, but that was typical of Matt. 'Get down to business' was his type of style.
There was something else there, though. Modesty was a top quality of his, and one she admired. Never in her life had she really liked anyone who would constantly brag and boast about their accomplishments. Matt did his job, did it well, in fact, than was quiet about it unless asked by close friends. How could she not admire him for it?
And of course she knew why he was there. She knew very well why he was at the house. First, he had heard about it. Than, he had come without stopping for long…
Ginger realized that she had let her eyes and mind wander, and looked back at Matt, who was obviously waiting for her to reply. "You heard about what happened to the team, and you came here to see if you could help."
"Exactly," Matt nodded, his shady-brown hair reflecting the light of the room slightly.
"That was…" she looked at him, and knew he understood. For some reason, she was having a hard time thinking clearly.
"Well," she thought, "I guess there is a good reason. Or, rather, a few good reasons."
"So…" she tried to think of something to say, but found herself unable.
"Sit down," Matt motioned next to him with his gray eyes, eyes Ginger had often looked into and gotten lost in.
She nodded and did so, feeling slightly uncomfortable, not knowing what to say. Luckily for her, Matt had something to say.
"I heard Jessie and James were killed," he looked at her with a look that made it clear that he knew, that he had known from the start. It was a look he used when questioning prisoners of the Rockets, and did it without even noticing anymore. "You did it."
"Yeah…" she cringed back slightly. Would he give her the same response Shadow had? She hoped not. She really, really hoped not…
Surprisingly to her tired mind, he smiled. "Nice job. I heard about it, and heard about the job…" he looked right into her eyes and she immediately felt that feeling of being captured. "I knew right away that you did it."
"How?" Ginger was momentarily afraid. If he had been able to figure it out, than maybe someone else would, too.
"I know you too well to believe otherwise, Ginger," he spoke as if it were common sense, which, she supposed, it probably was to him. "I knew that you would be angry for what they did at the trial," she felt her muscles tighten at the mention of what had happened, and felt the rage nipping at the back of her mind once again. "And I knew you would want to get back at them."
She simply looked at him, unable to talk, but feeling slightly better. The tone of voice he used was persuasive, calm, yet commanding. That was another thing she liked about him, his voice.
"I stand behind your decision," he smiled, and suddenly she wanted to be against him, to feel the warmth of another human being. She hadn't in a long time… Though she decided it probably felt longer than it really had been.
Moving over, she leaned against his side, tensing her body for him to push her away. He just smiled. Somehow, she had known he would, because he was Matt after all, he never pushed away, and she knew that he wanted her to feel comfortable.
"Ginger, I swear I'll do what I can to help," he reached out his left arm and wrapped it around her thin waist. Ginger felt her muscles tighten and than relax, and she smiled slightly.
"I know you will," she snuggled against him, feeling an uncommon sense of calm.
"I wish this wouldn't have happened," he looked down at her, and she felt herself staring to drift off. "I wish to God it hadn't, but it did." Just having him there made her feel better. After all, Matt understood her. As he continued, she knew it to be the truth. "You can't take back what has been done. It has, and I'll be here for all of you… especially you."
"Thank you…"she murmured, feeling her eyelids close. She knew she was falling asleep, but she didn't care. Knowing she needed the sleep helped console her, but knowing that Matt was there helped more.
Matt ran his fingers through Ginger's thick, silky hair as he felt her fall against him, her eyes closing. She was falling asleep, and he knew it, but in a way, he was glad. Looking at her tired eyes, he knew she could use it.
At that moment he new he had done the right thing is going. On the way he had had his doubts, had thought about what could happen, and had wondered. Once he had seen Ginger, though, he had known he couldn't leave.
Quietly and smoothly, so he wouldn't awaken Ginger, Matt gently moved her from his shoulder onto the bed, than smiled. She really was quite pretty, as far as he was concerned.
Pretty, but in need of help. He had realized that the moment he had seen her. She was lost in this confusion, and if someone didn't help her, she would be buried in it. As far as he was concerned, there was too much pressure in her life, and no way for her to release it.
Well, except for the killing. The murders obviously let her blow off steam. Matt did really have a problem with that sort of thing, he did it everyday. If she continued, though, there was a chance she'd be caught… He didn't want her to take that chance.
Switching the lights off, he opened the door and stood looking in at the sleeping figure on the bed. "I won't let it happen…" he muttered, than turned, closed the door, and headed downstairs.
Chapter 14
Felicity stood against the counter of the Classy Cat Café in Viridian City, holding a glass of ice water in the dim lights of the room. She could smell the warm coffee beans roasting, and could sense the calm excitement of the occupants of the tables around the stage where a six member jazz band was playing their own kind of music.
Her icy blue-green eyes searched the place for something, anything, that might for some reason make her jump, but found nothing. That didn't really surprise her, though, because she didn't really think anyone could scare her with the way she felt.
Because Felicity felt good, really good. Despite the fact that the Rockets had gone down, she felt that she could taste success on the wind, just as she could taste the clear smoothness of the water and ice.
After all, she had never liked being a Rocket. Sure, she liked what she had done for a job; killing had been good for her. She had not yet failed in it, and had decided long ago that she got some sort of pleasure from it.
Being part of an organized group, however, had dragged her down as far as she was concerned. Being forced to obey the rules and go with what she was told and no more or less than that had never gone over very well with her, and she had been planning to leave for quite some time.
Then this had happened, with a stroke of good luck for her. With the team out of the way, she could do what she wanted without worrying about anyone getting in her way.
She had been taken in with a group of loyal Rockets who apparently didn't suspect anything. Felicity believed that if she could listen in on what these people were doing and benefit from it. If they were planning to do something, she would know, and would be able to find out and possibly stop them.
While she was glad that the Rockets had been busted, she had been disappointed by the results of the trial. It was true that Giovanni was in jail, but to her that wasn't enough. Not nearly enough…
So what she planned to do was to walk into the jail, shoot him, and run out. Or something along those lines. Once there was no more Boss, there would be no more team at all.
Grinning, she tightened her grip on the glass. After she killed Giovanni, why not kill the others? After all, then there would be no more problems from them, and the Rockets would be out for good.
Reflecting back on that morning, she remembered the letter from Giovanni. She remembered the gleam in the eyes of the others when it had been read that they were to reorganize the team. In fact, she had almost seen them recreating that smothering team…
Seeing all this, she had felt an unusual bolt of panic, the kind that came with realization. This had only lasted for a moment, though, because she had been hit by the idea of ruining them before they restarted at that very moment.
Yes, she would ruin them. She would kill them all, starting with that bitch Trae. After all, she had nothing to fear from them. Every one was too jumpy or worried, and would make a mistake if they tried to do something about her. The whole team had been like that. There were very few people she feared, and she hadn't seen any of them in quite some time. Thank God for that.
As the music continued to drift over the room, Felicity moved a piece of ice around her mouth, still thinking. "They won't resist me," she thought. "Because they don't see it coming."
And she supposed this was true, because no one had acted as though she were against them. They treated her like a fellow Rocket, despite the fact that she was going to betray them…
"It's all so magical," she muttered than laughed out loud. A couple of people who were sitting nearby looked at her, then shrugged, looked away, and said nothing.
"People…" Felicity thought, her eyes grinning. "Are trusting. And trust is something that'll help on my side…"
Looking up at the clock, she realized that the time was about midnight. Not that she cared. They wouldn't either. She could stay out as late as she wanted and no one would find I strange or suspicious.
All of the others were too busy worrying to have fun, or to even get out. They were all inside, twitching their noses like frightened cats… "As they should be," her mind laughed, and she snickered silently.
Everything that was happening seemed quite amusing to her, for some reason, but that didn't matter.
What really mattered, what counted, was that she was smart, that she was swift and silent. What mattered was that she could kill them all off before one of them even blinked.
The blond-haired young woman found this strangely hilarious. As she stood there, leaning against the black marble wall, she knew she could go out with her plan, and knew she would.
"After all, there's no point in living if you can't feel alive," she muttered, than burst out laughing.
This time, people did look and stare at her, afraid. Because the laughter that escaped her throat was icy, laced with contempt and a sadistic iciness. Those who heard it felt chills strangle at them for a moment, and they quickly turned around. Many assumed that she was insane, while others assumed she had had a few too many good drinks.
Whatever the case was, no one questioned her, all too afraid to move. Instead, they turned back toward the stage, trying to mind their own business.
Felicity didn't really care either way.
Chapter 15
Giovanni sighed heavily, shaking his head in absent motions. Swirling around mysteriously, the deep veil of darkness that encircled him, shrouding the mixed misery and subtle hope he felt stirring inside of him.
So Geoffrey was going to try and get him out. One of the main thoughts sliding through his mind was about his brother. Had he gone insane? Why was he suddenly trying to help?
After all, neither of them had gotten along since Geoffrey had left after his graduation. With a slight shudder, Giovanni felt the piercing horrors of that night, in the form of both words and discoveries.
"Not brother…" he muttered absently, hardly realizing he was even doing it. "Half brother."
Somehow, saying it hurt even more than thinking about it, and he cringed back against the grimy wall of the cell, than leaned forward quickly. The cell was far from clean, though it didn't seem important to him.
Everything seemed surreal, in fact. The whole concept of reality itself seemed lost to him. Nothing was going the way it should have been, as far as he knew. It was all a jumbled mass of confusion to him.
How could it all be so confusing? It seemed to him that nothing possible could be; yet it was. There he was, in jail. Most of the agents were in jail. And his brother had come to get him out.
"What in the hell is going on?" his mind screamed, though he managed to control himself from yelling out loud. Yelling wouldn't have gone over too well; he was already at bad ends with the others in the jail. Waking them up in the middle of the night would've been a sort of death wish.
How was Geoffrey going to get him out, anyway? The whole place was guarded. He guessed that the only way out would be by some sort of brute force or trick, but what sort would work?
"Well, what if I did get out?" he thought, and another thought hit him hard.
What then? The police would be after him the second they realized that he was missing, and they would undoubtedly find him, since people were willing to talk.
What did Geoffrey expect to obtain from it anyway? Giovanni's mind kept turning this question over and over, though it did no good. His brother had testified for him, putting quite a bit on the line.
So didn't that mean he expected something? Of course, it had to.
Despite what the large part of his mind insisted, a smaller part felt differently. Geoffrey wasn't stupid; he always seemed to know what to expect. So of course he would know that nothing could be gained.
Another quality Geoffrey had was that he took risks. Deep in his mind, Giovanni knew this was one of those risks. He knew there was a reason behind Geoffrey's actions, but couldn't find it, no matter how hard he tried.
"I'll find out anyway," he thought, and decided to push the thoughts aside.
For the first time that night, it actually worked. The whole question about Geoffrey was shoved away. Unfortunately, it was replaced by more thoughts.
This time they were about someone else, someone he longed to see… This time, the thoughts centered on Ashley.
Ashley, with her seemingly unending kindness. Ashley, with her silky auburn hair, and her glowing eyes. Ashley, with her warm smile and her caressing hands. Ashley, the woman he had married what seemed like a lifetime ago, and had lost much too soon.
These thoughts brought a strange tremor to him, but he let them stay, running around and over him, bringing recognition back into his mind. As his mind drifted back, he felt a strange sensation of disconnection from the world, which he ignored purposefully.
First his mind fell back to his graduation, which had been, incidentally, hers. They had known each other since they were freshmen, had, in fact, been boyfriend and girlfriend since they had been sophomores. On that night, they had truly fallen in love. He knew they had, he had felt it like an electric spark.
After they had attended a party filled with tearful goodbyes of friends, he had taken her back to her house, and they had sat on the bench swing in her back yard, holding hands and nuzzling each other contentedly. Ashley had looked into his eyes and asked a question, probably one that she had hoped for a good answer too. "What's the one thing you want to keep with you forever?" she had asked in her sweet voice.
"Thing isn't the word I would use, honey," he smiled slightly. "I want you beside me for the rest of my life."
They had both smiled, than she had simply exclaimed, "Giovanni! I want you, too!"
With that, he had kissed her, and they had stayed outside for a long time, reluctant to leave each other.
Giovanni found himself back in the cell in a flash, and his eyes looked around slowly at the dark, grimy walls encompassing him. He moved his left foot slightly, and heard the gritty grains of sand underneath rub against each other.
Inside of the dark and lonely prison, such a contrast to that moonlit night, Giovanni felt a swell of emotions burst inside of him. For the first time since he had became the head of the Rockets, he wondered why he had done what he had done. At that moment, he felt as if he would rather die than be trapped with his emotions.