Chapter 16
Sighing deeply, Geoffrey took another sip of the drink in front of him. He had absolutely no clue what it was, only that he had poured it, it had a slightly bitter taste, and it was starting to take effect. That basically left for any alcoholic beverage.
Not that it mattered to him. Whatever it was, it was helping, or so it seemed. He knew that drinking wasn't the best thing to do, especially when in deep confusion or depression, but what the hell did he care?
"Not like anyone would care if I did die," he muttered thickly, half from exhaustion, partly from confusion, partly from being sick of his life, and partly from the drink.
Taking another drink, he rubbed his temple roughly with his left hand in an attempt to ward off the headache that had been plaguing him. "Great," part of his mind spoke. "Ward off a headache by creating a hangover. S-mart. That'll really work.."
Then again, as far as he was concerned, a headache from the alcohol would be better than the one from life. Headaches from life seemed to strike twice as fast, and there was no way of getting rid of them.
He'd been getting a lot of those in his lifetime. Well, comparatively he had, especially lately. The headaches had started after Mable had died…
Mable. Her very name brought both light and sadness into Geoffrey's mind, and he moaned at the conflicting emotions. Still, he could remember her, his wife… She had been beautiful, and had retained a nature so kind, so gentle that it had affected everyone around her, always in a good way.
She had been one of those women who would brighten up everyone's day, who would stop and help if someone needed it. She had always been there, ready to work, willing to do what was needed. It was Mable that had always been in control of them, he realized, and it was Mable who had taken real care of the kids…
The kids, another touchy subject. Only they didn't come with many good feelings, because he had done a horrible thing to them. After Mable had died, he had been unable to take the pain of it himself, let alone bear the tears of the kids. He remembered this with painful clarity, and took another sip.
Less than a year after Mable's death, he had left the kids with a woman who he still paid to watch over them, though never personally. He preferred to stay away from that, keeping away from what he had left…
God, he hadn't seen them in eight years. Gary and May. He wondered without the least bit of humor what they were doing, and suddenly wanted to know, and wanted to know very badly.
Why did he want to know so badly? The thought hadn't crossed his mind in years. In fact, he didn't think it had ever crossed his mind. And, suddenly, he realized why. Even through the depressing clouds of the alcohol, he knew why he hadn't thought of them.
He had been busy with his job, working for the government. He had had something to do, always had something to do, and had never stopped to think about what he had done.
And, now that he had lost his job, the past was returning to haunt him. It was returning, and he had a strong feeling that it wouldn't go away, no matter how hard he tried to make it. There was simply no way of stopping it from its course.
Sitting in the small kitchen of his small 'house', Geoffrey realized what he had done, and what he must've done to the kids. He had left them without parents, with a woman they had never known. With any luck they were used to her, but she wasn't their mother… And their father wasn't there.
In fact, he had abandoned them. "Jesus Christ…" he muttered, shaking his head firmly.
What would Mable have thought of him for doing hat? She certainly wouldn't have hated him, Mable wasn't that kind of woman, but she would've made it known that she disagreed. Mable had her ways, and Mable wouldn't have liked it.
Hell, Mable would've stopped loving him.
"Why did I do it…?" he moaned painfully, feeling the sadness stabbing ferociously at his heart. "Why?"
No answer came to him besides pain. He had left the kids to live in their own pain because he couldn't handle it. "I don't even rate being a decent parent," he snapped his eyes shut as fast as someone who has been affected by alcohol can. "I'm a God-damned bastard, and that's the truth."
And, unfortunately, it was. Another bad memory hit him like a bolt of lightening, this one hurting as much as, maybe even worse than, the others. He remembered the night it had happened…
It had been the night of his graduation, which had also been, coincidentally, his birthday, and he had been having a great time. Back in high school, he had just been a regular guy, athletic, with a nice-looking future, and a great girlfriend. After a wild party with his old friends, Geoffrey had returned home only to find his father, the God-damned Professor, the father he'd never gotten along with, waiting for him.
He remembered the sneer on his father's face, remember the dread he had immediately felt replace the joy of the night's events. The Professor had looked up at him and spoke quite easily, "I'm going to tell you something." Beneath the sly look, however, Geoffrey saw a kind of regret, one he had never seen in the man's face.
"What?" he had remained standing in the doorway to the living room.
"It's about your mother."
"What?" he had been astounded. His mother had disappeared years before, many years before, and hadn't been heard from since. "Maria?"
"No," the man shook his head sadly, and at that moment Geoffrey remembered thinking that he had looked almost twenty years older. "Agatha."
"Agatha?!?" Geoffrey had nearly screamed, but tried to remain calm, telling himself that it was a joke. Then again, he had remembered, the Professor had never really been the joking type with him.
"Yes, Agatha Rocke," the older man had taken a deep breath, and then began. "Before Maria and I married, I was in love with Agatha. After we married, I couldn't stand being away from her, so I went to her again. We, uh… we had a very passionate night, and the result was that she became pregnant," he had looked up, but Geoffrey was standing still, too shocked to say anything. "The result of that was that you were born. Agatha wasn't too happy, and said that if Maria and I kept you as our son, she would promote me as a great professor. She is, after all, a very influential woman. Maria wasn't very happy, but she stuck with it. She didn't agree to the terms, either. Neither of us was allowed to tell you what had happened until your eighteenth birthday, so I tell you today," he had paused and looked up again, but received only a single word of response.
"No…" Geoffrey had murmured vaguely.
"Yes, it's all true," the Professor had nodded. "I wish I could say differently, because after Giovanni was born, she left, saying she couldn't take it anymore. So, in short, I suppose I'll just say that your real mother is Agatha of the Elite."
Geoffrey remembered staring straight at his father for five minutes before speaking, and when he finally spoke, he had been so extremely angry that he hadn't been able to control himself. "So what you're saying is that I'm a BASTARD?" he had yelled angrily, and the Professor had stood up quickly.
"Yes, that's what I'm saying," he snapped. "And you needn't take it so hard!"
"I shouldn't take it so hard? I shouldn't take it so HARD?" Geoffrey had screamed back even louder than before. "What am I SUPPOSED to do? Just go along with it? Like nothing happened? Any respect I ever had for you is GONE!"
What had followed was basically a contest between the two of them to see who could yell loudest, and who could come up with the most profanities. Finally, after what had seemed like an eternity but in reality been about forty-five minutes, Geoffrey had shoved some of his possessions into a suitcase and left, never to return.
It had all happened so quickly, so damn quickly… Just as everything else in his life. It seemed that whenever his life looked to be getting better, he hit a cliff, and dropped off, plunging into the depths of despair.
Swallowing the rest of the drink, Geoffrey sat the glass down on the table and shook his head slowly as the images around him blurred slightly. "Why do I bother?"
Chapter 17
Matt sat on the tan couch that had been positioned against the wall in the living room, leaning against the back and relaxing. The quite solitude he was in held an iron-like coldness to it, but he didn't mind or notice. Instead, he was thinking, thinking in the depths of his mind about whatever would approach.
Something wasn't right with the little group of ex-Rockets, he had decided that from the moment Mike had mentioned Felicity's name. It wasn't knowledge, just intuition, strong intuition. He had felt the doubt of the place when the name was mentioned, had felt the pressure in it.
What that 'something' was wasn't quite clear to him, but he expected it had something to do with the young woman. He wanted to find out, and found that he was in fact determined to find out, because if something went wrong, it could cave in and trap all of them.
All of them including Ginger. And he couldn't stand for that; he just couldn't let anything happen to her. After all, he had promised that he would watch out for her until things smoothed out.
Usually, he reflected, she was a smart girl, quickly understanding and determining what was to be done about a situation. That mental readiness had earned her standing on the team. Apparently, though, the edge had been dulled by the events that had been occurring, and Ginger wasn't as alert as always.
If she wasn't alert, she was more liable to trip on one of those 'holes' by making a slight mistake or miscalculation, and be brought down. He'd seen it happen to perfectly good agents. It was terrible, and he wasn't about to let it happen here.
Not to any of them, if he could help it.
The silence around him sat in the stagnant air, as if waiting to be interrupted. Matt didn't notice, or just plain didn't care. His eyes stared blankly across the room, and when a few strands of his hair fell forward toward his forehead, he left them there.
He knew that he could be putting himself in danger by staying in the house, knew that just as he had known there was a danger nearby. Thinking deeper, however, he felt a strange intuition that he would be harmed some other way than physically…
Shaking his head roughly, the young man dismissed the thoughts. There was too much to do to be worrying incessantly. He'd leave that shit to Trae.
If anything was to be done about the team, organization would be required, as well as cooperation from more people than he had to work with. He knew it could be done; of course it was definitely possible. And he was willing to work for it.
He had a feeling, judging by the work that these agents had put in, they wanted the team to band together, too. Why else would they be bothering to help the trial?
Sitting in the dead of night, he didn't even realize that there was someone else in the room until she spoke up. "Matt?"
Raising his head quickly, Matt saw Shadow standing in the doorway to the room, her fiery blue eyes tinted with sleeplessness and her brown-blond hair disarranged. She walked into the room with a sort of half-tired walk, than sat down in a chair across from him.
"Shadow," he had tried to make it something besides a statement, but that's what it came out as. It seemed to him that most of his questions came out as statements. "You're still awake." With a slight bit of anger, he nearly hit himself for doing it again.
"Yeah," she sighed, nodded her head, and leaned back with a dull grunt. "Sleep just doesn't seem to want to come to me tonight."
Laughing slightly, he nodded. "Same here."
They stared across at each other for a few moments before Shadow broke the encompassing silence. "So… how's it been?"
Matt raised an eyebrow slightly, sensing an underlying question. Shadow was trying to get at something else, and he figured he knew what it was. She wanted to know he was here. "Might as well let her ask you herself," part of his mind spoke, but he ignored it, going by his instincts once more.
"If you mean 'why am I here,' you can just ask me," he spoke with his usual soft tone, but realized he was treating her like his 'patients' again.
"Uh, yeah, I guess I was getting to that…" Shadow appeared only slightly startled, although there was a look of annoyance beneath her.
"Look, Shadow, I'm sorry," Matt sighed deeply. "It's just that I can't seem to talk to anyone without going into that interrogation phase."
"Anyone except Ginger," Shadow grinned broadly, and snickered. Matt joined in, nodding.
"Yeah, except Ginger."
For a few moments they once again just sat in the silence, beginning to enjoy its warm gentleness. Then it was broken again, this time by Matt. "I suppose I should tell you the reason I'm here."
"You really don't have to…" she began, shaking her head to that the tousled hair whipped around her eyes.
"I will anyway," he spoke with resolve. "I came here because, well, you're going to need some help getting the team together…"
"How'd you know about that" Shadow suddenly, surprising Matt slightly.
"Know about what?" he asked, without the faintest idea of what she was referring to. "I had be guessing that you were trying to get together again." He paused for a moment, waiting for her to say something. When she didn't, he continued. "Apparently, I was correct."
"Yeah… you just startled me there," she looked up again, and this time the smile was gone. "Before he was sent to prison, Giovanni gave Dan a letter where he told us that he wanted us to rebuild the team, and knew it could be done."
Matt nodded. "Yes… did he say anything else?"
"Not much that I can remember," Shadow shook her head.
"Do you have it?" the look on Matt's face was eager.
"No…" the girl considered for a moment, than her face brightened. "Ginger took it."
"Of course, how stupid can I be," he shook his head and rolled his eyes at himself.
"Realllllllll stupid," Shadow laughed quietly, and Matt managed a mock snarl at her.
"Look who's talking."
This caused her to break into louder bursts of giggling, and he just looked over at her. At least one of them seemed to be handling the situation well. She was getting along fine with what was happening, dealing with it in her own way. It was an admirable trait, and one that could be useful for a high position on a team…
"Matt?" Shadow was looking at him, still smiling.
"Yeah?"
"Good night," she started upstairs, than looked back. "And thanks."
"Night," he waved to her as she walked out, than laughed at himself.
The whole reason she had been downstairs was to see if he knew anything, he could tell right away. She wanted to help the team, that much was clear. That much was good, too.
"Now if the rest of them will…" he thought, than stood up and stretched.
It was going to be a long night, he realized, and he wasn't going to get any sleep. After he was sure of that, he headed out of the room, and to the staircase.
He walked slowly up the old wooden stairs, making as little noise as possible. The silence was once again ensuing upon the house, and he breed quietly with it. When he had reached the top, he walked down the hall to the large double doors, and opened them again.
Moonlight streamed through the window in soft, pale beams, landing on Ginger's bed. She lay on it, still sleeping, though she had apparently been restless as the blankets were crumpled. Matt looked at her for at least a minute, though it seemed to his mind like only seconds, letting his eyes run through her thick, silky hair and over her pale skin.
With an effort, he managed to pull himself away and walk across the soft carpet to the large desk. Lying upon it were several objects scattered about. There was a book that he discarded his sight from immediately as unimportant, a glass paperweight, the dagger he had given her for her birthday two years before, and, next to the knife, a folded up piece of paper.
Quickly, he reached for it, opened it, and read the top line quietly in the large room. "To Ginger, Shadow, Daniel, Michael, Felicity, Trae, and any other faithful Rocket…" he looked up momentarily, the moonlight seeping into his deep eyes. "This is it."
While he stood in the back of the room, he read the letter by moonlight, than folded it up and replaced it carefully where he had found it. So it was all true, Giovanni had spoken to revitalize the team, had even spoken for the need of a new boss.
Turning back towards the door, he started out of the room, than stopped and looked back at the bed. Ginger had begun to shake her head against the covers, though he was certain she was still asleep. "Don't do it…" she was muttering thickly, and he listened with concern as well as a slight interest. "Please, don't, you can't… DAMNIT NO!!!!!"
Matt felt something inside of him freeze with the words, and realized that something in what she had said had managed to freak him, or at least part of him, out. There was a deep passion in those words, even though they had only been sleep talk, and for a moment he wondered if she would continue.
When she fell silent, he shook his head slightly. Of course they hadn't meant anything, he was foolish to believe so.
"I didn't want to go…" she murmured with finality, causing him to turn his head, and sigh.
"I really hope it didn't mean anything," he shook his head and slipped silently out the door.
Chapter 18
Felicity strode through the cold air, barely feeling the chill of it.
While in the café she had found an idea in the back of her mind, a way to start a possibly catastrophic chain of events.
She had first realized that what she wanted was to kill, plain and simple. To kill those fools who called themselves Rockets, even if it meant danger.
Felicity could live with danger, and she knew it. She was fine living in a world where, at any minute, she could be shot or cut open. For her it was a game.
As she neared the house, it occurred to her that she could be killed easily. One slip-up and she was done for. One slip-up, and it would be her loss, her death. These thoughts were easily pushed aside by her hardened mind, and she continued on without stopping.
She felt a shiver of excitement. The house was in sight, and she could see the door. Straining her eyes slightly, she could also see something else. It was a black car, parked in the driveway.
Something about the car struck her as familiar, and as she approached it she realized why. The car belonged to Matthew Berchack, an agent she had known somewhat, and one she considered dangerous.
There was a light on in the living room, and before she knew it Felicity had already put together the two. Matt was probably sitting up in the living room, waiting for something, probably for her. She didn't put it past him to know something like that.
Stepping into the cool, uncut grass, the young woman looked at the front door, discarding it as a way of entrance immediately. If Matt were in the front room, he'd have questions. Questioning wasn't something Felicity had time for, and she knew it.
Instead she headed around the house, stopping at the kitchen window. The window had been open last time she checked… It had been, in fact, her that opened it. Once when she had gone out, no one had unlocked the door to let her in, and she had been forced to wait outside.
After that, she had unlocked the window, hoping no one would notice and lock it.
As she shoved the window up, she realized with a sort of relief she barely noticed that it would open, and looked inside.
There was no sign of life in the kitchen. The lights were out, the counter was clean, even the coffee pot wasn't running. Smiling grimly, she slipped in through the window, crouching on the counter, and closing the window behind her.
Sliding off the counter with cat-like agility, she hit the floor silently, than turned to look at where she had come in, considered for a moment, than locked the window. As she looked away, she saw that she had left dirty footprints on the counter. "Have fun cleaning that, Trae," she laughed shortly, than remembered that she wasn't going to give the bitch a chance to do that.
Silently, she crept out of the kitchen. She peered down the hall momentarily, and though she heard no movement from the other room, she was convinced Matt was in there, waiting. "He won't have long to wait…" she thought. With that, she set up the stairs, avoiding the squeaky boards.
The hall was lit by a moonbeam, a soft light that conveyed a sense of peacefulness. A sense that would soon be broken, or so Felicity hoped. There wasn't much in her life she had hoped for, so she often forgot there was such a thing. When she felt it, though, she knew she had to do it.
It was a force, pulling her toward her goal, helping her to strain ever forward, to work for what she could. There was a sort of need in hope, she had discovered, at least when hope is rarely felt.
At that moment, standing in the dusty hall, she felt hope for what she was going to do to come out right, and felt compelled to make it work out, no matter what.
She walked to the nearest door on the left and pulled it open slowly. It squeaked slightly, and she cringed at the noises, half-fearing that Trae would awaken, than relaxed as she heard a faint snore float from the bed.
"She'd probably sleep through a storm," Felicity laughed to herself, but inside she hoped it wasn't true.
What she intended to give the girl was a storm, a storm of her own. And she wanted Trae to be awake and conscious for it.
Slinking across the room, Felicity stood by the bed and looked down at the former scientist. Trae looked as though she had passed out, would've even fooled Felicity if she hadn't been snoring so loud.
With a sly smile, Felicity reached beneath her unbuttoned top shirt, feeling the gun in its holster. It was a revolver, an almost ridiculously loud piece of weaponry, but a painful one.
Besides, she wanted the others to see her. If they saw, they would follow. If they followed, she could kill. And kill was, again, what she wanted.
"Hey, Trae, rise and shine," Felicity chirped happily.
The girl simply rolled over slightly, completely unaware that there was a woman standing by the edge of her bed, a woman who was becoming completely insane.
"Trae, we don't like sleepyheads," she half-hissed, and again received no response.
"Wake up!" she reached out and held Trae's nose between two of her fingers tightly, squeezing off the air supply.
"What in the world?" Trae bolted up, only to find herself looking into Felicity's icy eyes.
"Your world is coming to an end," Felicity laughed, pointing the gun at Trae's leg and shooting.
The shot was loud, deafening, almost, and Felicity heard the sound of footsteps coming. Almost time to go…
Trae was writhing in pain, feeling an anguish she had never known. Her leg had become nothing but a glob of oozing blood, dripping onto the bed in satin-colored drops, and she alternated between grabbing it, picking her hands up and seeing the blood, and screaming.
"Goodnight," the older girl raised the gun.
"Why?" Trae stammered, straining to make her speech legible. These words, her last words, were choked and afraid.
"Because I felt like it," Felicity shrugged, and pulled the trigger.
This time, Trae's forehead disappeared in a thick cloud of red blood. The girl fell forward, strange croaking sounds emitting from her throat as blood poured over the bed.
The woman walked calmly over to the large window and slammed the butt of her gun into it, shattering the thick glass. "She was foolish to have real glass…" her mind ignored the fact that they hadn't even had the house long enough to replace the windows.
As she was slipping the gun into its holster, the door swung open, and the group of her old 'friends' stood there, led by Matt. "Felicity…" one, she thought it was Dan, gasped. "What happened?"
"Oh, you know…" she turned around. "Murder."
She heard someone drag out a gun as she leapt out of the window, but ignored it. When she saw Dan's face in the window, she saluted, than headed for the sidewalk.
"Now if they'll follow me…" she thought gleefully. For her, it was a good night, and she guessed that they would.
Chapter 19
Geoffrey slammed the door of his car shut loudly, not caring if anyone heard and doubting anyone would. Who in their right mind would be hanging around a police station at night?
Raising his head, he felt a slight twinge left over from the morning's hangover, but ignored it and instead looked at the low, brick building in front of him. There were no windows, and only one door. That meant there was only one way in and one way out.
If he could do it, could actually get away with it, he'd walk out through that door. If he couldn't, he'd be arrested immediately… That was the bad part of breaking into jail cells. There was always the inconvenience of having police in the building.
Hopefully, the man on duty would be unprepared for what was about to happen, and would be unable to stop it from progressing.
The man looked up towards the sky for a moment while part of his mind made a last-ditch effort to talk him out of it. It didn't work, though; his mind was set on going for it. He was as ready as he'd ever be, and he knew it.
"God help me… for once," he muttered to the chill night air, than started forward.
His feet slapped onto the dry, gritty pavement, making a slight grinding noise that sounded unpleasant to Geoffrey. He set his jaw, shook his head, and ignored the noise. Nothing was going to stop him, especially not the little things.
As he reached out to grab the doorknob, he felt a slight sort of jolt and dropped his hand. Was it fear? He could feel beads of sweat on his brow, but felt that they were from anxiety.
No, it was more than likely his mind acting up. "Took it long enough to find me," he thought without humor, than entered the building.
Once again, the lights were dim, and visibility was low. It struck Geoffrey that the guard could be armed, but he didn't care after all, and walked over to the man. With a strange sort of relief he found that it was the man who had been in last time.
"Can I help you?" the man was once again looking through a hunting brochure.
"Yeah, I'd like the keys to the jail cells," Geoffrey replied casually, keeping any fear out of his voice.
"Ha, ha, ha, very funny," the man sounded as if he were in no mood for jokes at the moment. "Seriously, pal."
"Yeah, I'm serious all right."
"Don't make me use this," the guard patted the butt of a gun protruding from his drawer.
"I won't," Geoffrey suddenly lunged forward, grabbing the guard by the neck with both hands. The man's eyes bulged from their sockets, and he clawed at Geoffrey, screaming as best he could with a half-closed windpipe.
Geoffrey felt himself starting to feel sick, than reminded himself that the alternative was to be shot. He has started, now he had to finish. If he didn't, he'd be in jail too, and that wouldn't really be of any help at all.
The screams had died down into half-assed whimpers, and the clawing had become occasional slaps at the air. Geoffrey felt as if he were watching a dog trying to swim in slow motion. A dog that had been thoroughly abused.
There was a look of shock and horror in the man's eyes as he began to go limp. They were wide, disbelieving. What the others had warned him about had happened, and he hadn't been ready. He was paying for it.
Geoffrey felt a slight pang of pity as he dropped the man to the floor, and another of guilt, but again he shoved them aside and looked over the desk. After shuffling through the large amount of papers, nearly all of them junk, he realized they weren't there, and started opening drawers.
In the first there was the gun, a typical police handgun. He picked it up, looked it over, than tossed it back down. The thing was a piece of shit, and would probably misfire anyway.
Beneath that drawer was a stack of thick files in manila envelopes. After a quick look at those, he tossed them back in, than shut the drawer again.
As he was reaching for the bottom drawer, he somehow stepped on the arm of the guard's limp body, and nearly fell to the ground before he caught himself. Once again he was faced with the silent horror, a horror that he felt he knew, but wasn't sure and didn't want to be sure.
He reached for the bottom drawer and, thankfully, found the keys. He picked them up, examining them in the light. There were twelve in all, each with a number engraved on it.
"Let's see, he's in number eleven…" Geoffrey ran his hands over the keys, stopping to look at some of the numbers. When he had finally found numbers eleven, he headed back for the cell.
The hallway between the cells was covered with a layer of dust, and as he headed down it Geoffrey realized that he was grateful for the set-up of the lighting. From various cells came various remarks by the men and women inside, including phrases of encouragement.
Yes, they had heard what had happened, and had guessed the results. He figured that if the police asked any of them, they'd say someone attacked the guard. Fortunately, they didn't know what he looked like. He was safe on that aspect.
After what seemed like an eternity, he reached the cell. He turned to face it, than placed the key in the lock and shoved the gate open. "It's time to get the hell out of here."
From inside the cell came the sound of footsteps, and in the next moment Giovanni stood facing him. "Geoffrey?"
Geoffrey simply nodded, not feeling he needed to say anything, than rubbed the keys on the jacket of his suit coat. "Better safe than sorry," he thought, though there were probably so many prints already on the ring it wouldn't matter.
Giovanni stepped out of the cell, not bothering to look around. Even after his stay at the jail, he held an air of confidence, of being ready for whatever would come. His black eyes turned towards the desk, and, Geoffrey guessed, spotted the man.
"You killed him," it wasn't a question, but felt as though it needed an answer anyway.
"Yes, now let's get out of here," he knew he was impatient to leave, and truthfully didn't care. He felt that if they stayed any longer, the chance that they'd be caught would be even greater.
"Right," Giovanni's voice faltered slightly, and he coughed uncomfortably. "I, uh… well… Thanks."
"Don't mention it," Geoffrey started down the hall, and his brother, or half-brother, as he reminded himself, followed. He knew Giovanni wasn't good at being gracious, it happened when you ran a criminal business.
They were standing outside of the door when Geoffrey looked back at Giovanni. "Stay here for a moment."
The other man looked up with a slight bit of what may have been concern, than shrugged. "All right."
Geoffrey nodded, than strode over to his car. Reaching in, he pulled out a set of clothes, one of his suits. He had figured they'd come in handy. Normally people got suspicious when they saw someone wearing prison clothes.
He quickly walked back over to Giovanni and handed him the clothes. "Take these."
With a nod, Giovanni headed back inside, and Geoffrey leaned against the wall to wait. He still couldn't believe he had done it…
He didn't regret it, though. Strange as it seemed to him, he was glad he had done what he did.
Giovanni pulled the door to the small bathroom shut, than leaned against it slowly, his eyes widening, than closing.
He couldn't believe, couldn't accept what had just happened. He had been broken out of jail by his brother, the brother he hated, had hated since… Well, since he had left.
Giovanni remembered that night, remembered it with a clarity that nearly matched the memories of Ashley. It had been the fight between his father and his brother… the one that had ended in Geoffrey leaving and never returning. Geoffrey had never even said goodbye, never tried writing or calling afterwards.
He himself hadn't found out why Geoffrey had been so angry until two years after, when his dad finally found the courage to tell him. Once that had happened he had understood, but he had never quite forgiven Geoffrey for leaving him with Edward Oak.
What had happened that night had changed things slightly. Once again, and to the disgust of part of him, he found himself admiring his half-brother. He always had, he guessed it was something most younger siblings did. He didn't like it much, but it was there.
What Giovanni knew was that he could stand to be civil with Geoffrey, to at least try and respect his feelings. Part of him said it couldn't be done, not after the amount of time he'd gone without respect for nearly everyone. Another part, though, a deeper, more understanding part, knew he could do it easily.
With a certain amount of resolve, he decided to go through with it, to see what would happen. There were alternatives, but he knew what most of them led to, for him at least.
At the moment, he preferred not to think about it.
He took off the prison clothing, sighing with relief for the first time. Just having the itchy clothing off was good enough for him, at least for the moment.
Realizing the urgency of the situation, though, he pulled on the clothing, finding that it was black. It was also a bit too big for him, but he'd expected it, since Geoffrey was at least three inches taller than he was.
He smoothed back his hair as best he could, but it was hard. There wasn't much to do with it. Running a bit of water into his hair, he rubbed it in, hoping it helped a bit, than exited the room.
When he walked out, Geoffrey was sitting in the car, waiting. He walked over and slid into the passenger's side, uneasy about what was to come. He was relieved when, without a word, Geoffrey started the car and pulled out of the lot.
One question kept nagging at him, though, and he decided to ask before he found out for himself. To him, knowing what was coming was better than not knowing until you get there.
"Where are we going?"
Geoffrey looked at him out of the corner of his eye, than shook his head. "You'll see when we get there."
"Geoff…" Giovanni started to take on the tone he used with his employees, than stopped himself.
"Remember, he's helping…" his mind insisted.
"Maybe it's all a lie," another part put in, but he pushed that aside easily. He'd seen his brother when he lied, and this wasn't it. He'd seen his brother when he was trying to do something for someone, and this was that time. Still, he wanted to know.
"Why can't you tell me?"
"You'll see when we get there," Geoffrey's tone was clipped, conveying that he wouldn't answer the questions.
Giovanni found himself feeling like a kid, decided he didn't like it, nearly yelled at Geoffrey, than leaned back and clenched his teeth together.
He hated when people were stubborn, he hated when people talked. For the moment, he decided that he wouldn't talk, and it'd be better if he didn't.
As the car sped through the night, he found, with some relief that he could keep from speaking.
Chapter 20
Dan's eyes widened as he watched the woman run away into the night, leaving behind her a devastating sight. She was headed for town, he observed with a start of horror. The town, where she could do even worse…
What he had seen in her eyes as she had saluted was a madness, one he had never seen before. From what he knew it was uncontrollable, even by the person afflicted. The only other part he knew was that the person would become dangerously violent.
He turned around slowly, his mind spilling with thought. He didn't want to be stuck in this, didn't want to be in anything remotely like it. Unfortunately, he was, and he knew he should've seen it coming. After all, he had volunteered to help.
The first thing his eyes caught was Trae's dead body, sprawled on the reddening bed sheets, and the splatter on the wall behind her, as well as the bullet hole from the shot that had hit her in the head.
Almost immediately the young man turned away, holding back a wave of vomit, and looked at the others. Shadow's face had gone white, and he half-glided over to her, putting his hand on hers.
"Dan, she did it, didn't she?" Shadow's voice was unsteady, shaking with shock.
"Yes, yes she did." The girl's hand's were shaking terribly, and had turned a white as a sheet. Up until then he had never even thought that was physically possible.
"Are you okay, Shadow?" the concern in his voice ran deep. He felt for her as much as he felt for his own self.
There was no reply. Shadow had looked up and past Dan. Dan followed her line of sight and saw Ginger glancing around, her eyes taking on a hardness he had never seen before. "We need to get her…"
The words hit Dan with an intensity that was almost rage. He wanted to kill Felicity. Never in his life had he wanted death, yet at that moment he did, because she had killed Trae, had killed Trae and insulted all of them…
And she had frightened Shadow, damnit. Scared a girl who hated to show the least bit of fear possible.
For that, he wanted Felicity dead.
Shadow wanted to hold Dan closer, wanted to hear him reassure her that everything was all right, wanted to be able to tell him he'd be fine.
She knew that would be a lie, though. It's make both of them feel better, but it'd be a flat-out lie. That much she knew didn't need to be added to the mess.
Dan was concerned for her, and he showed it directly. "Why can't I do the same for him?" her mind buzzed, and she sighed inwardly. Even despite what had happened, her old troubles were plaguing her. She couldn't go to Dan, kept finding herself turning away.
"Well," she thought dimly. "At least I didn't run off when he held my hands."
Looking down, she realized that he still was. His hands had become bone white, though, and he was clenching hers tightly. Looking into his eyes, she saw a sort of primal hate in them, a hate entirely unlike the Dan she had known.
There, in the depths of his gray-brown eyes, she saw that it was true. He wanted to kill Felicity. He wanted it because of what the woman had done to hurt them… but most of all, what she had done to hurt her.
Inside of his eyes was the hardness of a true Rocket, and she felt a cold chill as she realized that she felt the same way.
Deep inside, down where there was no feeling besides emotion, she felt that Felicity needed to die. She felt it with the same urgency Dan had, and was ready to go… Except that her nature prevailed.
She wanted more information, needed to know what she was getting into before she leapt in and joined the fun. She wasn't carefree, never had been, and she knew it. However, she also recognized that the trait helped her drastically at times, had even saved her life.
By being informed about what she was going to do, she could make sure the job was done right. With Felicity, she wanted to be absolutely sure.
Turning her head, she once more looked up into Dan's eyes, feeling herself disconnect from her body slightly, as always. He looked back at her with that loving face. Even with the coldness, the love for her was openly visible.
"Dan…" she finally spoke, and he looked at her. "What are we going to do?"
Matt shoved the gun back in its holster slowly, shaking his head. He had been slow on the draw, and he knew he had. He knew he should have been able to hit her. He also knew he should've arrived sooner, should have been more alert. After all, that's what he'd been there for.
However, he also knew there was no room for should have, no room for what he didn't do. They needed to focus on what they would do.
He had seen Felicity's eyes, had seen the fiery power of the insanity. What he knew about the disease was far less limited than what Dan had known, and he realized what they were dealing with.
With a look at Trae, he quickly confirmed what he had suspected about Felicity. The slaughter had a terrible air to it, looking as though she had been shoved through a grinder. He wouldn't have been surprised if Felicity HAD shoved the girl through a grinder, though he knew damn well what she had done, and that she had used her treasured revolver.
Inside he felt no real pity for Trae, he had never liked her. He knew he should've, had often considered why he was so unfeeling when it came down to the deaths of people he felt no connection with. Even in the darkest human souls there is pity for everyone, or so he had been told.
To Matt, that was a bunch of bullshit. A BIG bunch of bullshit. He knew what he felt when people died, or when he killed. He felt absolutely nothing, not even the slightest twinge.
When it came to those he cared about, though… That was a different story. What he didn't want to see was the remaining group dead. Especially not Ginger, he didn't know if he could take that blow.
If Felicity was to be stopped, certain measures would have to be taken. To do that, he'd have to talk to everyone before they got out of hand.
Moving his eyes across the room, he saw Dan and Shadow standing together, trying to comfort one another. They loved each other, it wasn't hard to tell, but he felt a nagging suspicion in the back of his mind, a feeling that something was going to happen to their love, maybe already had.
Mike was standing off to the side, a blank expression of surprise pasted on his face. The shock had surprised him, all right. That much was obvious to anyone who cared to look.
Ginger was looking around rapidly, a growing fury in her eyes. Matt had seen that look before, and knew what usually went with it. It was the same look he'd seen on her face when he had asked about Jessie and James. The expression had been fleeting than, but it was the same one all right.
He had also seen it after a mission one time, when she had found out that an agent had squealed on the team. She had been ready to take care of the man herself, to do the honors of silencing his mouth. Even after they found out it had been a rumor; she had retained that hate for the man.
When he saw that look in the bedroom, and saw the intensity of it, he knew she couldn't be stopped, knew that whatever she planned on doing would be done. He didn't want her to go, but, God, there was no way of stopping her…
The only solution was to find a way to stop Felicity. To do that, he'd have to keep himself composed and get the group to listen carefully, and to settle down. Taking a breath, he spoke through the almost deafening silence. "We need to discuss this."
"Discuss? What's there to discuss?" Dan sounded disgusted for the first time since Matt had known him. The way he spoke made Matt want to strangle him, but he remained still. The pressure was on all of them, and they were taking it differently. Dan was obviously going to be hard to talk with.
"More than you might think," Matt managed to retain a level voice, and he eyed them all, daring them to say more.
Ginger dared. "I'm leaving."
"Ginger!" the words flew out of Matt's mouth, and were in a tone that expressed more surprise than he liked. He'd known she was going to do it, but when she actually did, he felt a pain inside of him.
A pain that signaled something was going to happen, something was going to go the wrong way. That something was going to backfire.
"Matt, don't try to stop me, please!" her voice was pleading, and he felt it tugging on his heart.
"Ginger, I can make you stop…" he knew he wouldn't though. Judging by the expressions of the others, they knew it too.
Shadow offered her help, though Matt figured she knew just as well that it was futile. "Ginger, please stay and listen."
Ginger shook her head tiredly, and Matt felt a pang of sorrow for her so deep he thought it would well out of him. "I can't stay, and you know it."
He did know it, and he had a feeling the others did, too. Ginger felt it inside that she had to go, because Felicity had taken on the Rockets, had threatened them even after the downfall. The hate that lay within that was uncontrollable, something he didn't dare mess with.
"Good luck, Ginger," he spoke quietly, but knew they all heard.
Ginger nodded and walked over to him easily, her movement slight and cat-like. When she reached him, she looked into his eyes, and he looked into hers, those emeralds he loved so much.
For a moment she closed her eyes, as if struggling with herself, than embraced him, reaching her arms around his waist and pulling him to her. He hadn't expected it, but he was glad of it. In those few seconds, he only knew that the two of them were there, holding each other.
"I love you, Ginger," he heard his own voice from far away, as if it were an echo of someone else, of another time, another world.
"I love you too. Thank you." The words rang in his ears, and he thought he felt her soul aching as his did.
Than it was over, and she released him. "I must leave now… I hope to see you all again." Her words sounded strange, metallic almost.
"I'm going with you," Dan strode forward. "It's time I took my stand."
"Dan, no!" Shadow gasped, her hand reaching out for him as he walked towards Ginger.
"I have to. Just as Ginger has to… I must face what I've been called for," his eyes were baring into hers with an expression Matt guessed meant worlds to Shadow.
"Goodbye… and come back," Shadow's voice was painful, but she didn't try to go. It was her nature to know before going, and her need to know came before her need to rush out.
Ginger and Dan walked through the open door and down the hall. Matt felt a part of him clench tightly as they walked down the stairs. He didn't wanted her to go, everything in him said to keep her back…
But he couldn't do that, it would be terrible. She had to do what she had to do. As Dan had said, it was destiny.
"Let's go downstairs and talk," he motioned out the door as they heard the click of the downstairs door.
"But what about the mess?" Mike spoke in a tone that suggested he was trying unsuccessfully to make a joke, and that he knew it, too.
"We'll clean it later," Matt spoke in a matter-of-fact tone that made Mike shiver slightly. "Now let's get the matter at hand taken care of before anything else happens.
Shadow and Mike looked at each other, nodded, than followed him out into the hall. As they were walking down the stairs, Matt felt the sense of foreboding once more.