6

I’d forgotten about the gash in my thigh. The adrenaline rush of climbing the skyscraper, mixed with the dopamine surge of getting the best head in my life proved to be better than alcohol at getting me to forget my pain. My jeans are painted a dark crimson from the blood crusted over them, and it itches and pulls as I walk. I stuffed my face not too long ago, yet I feel lightheaded. Blood loss.

As I amble down the street, I pop a pill, easing the rebuilding tension.

“Are you… ok, kid?” a man in a blue suit asks.

“Never better,” I mumble, sliding past him. I veer into an alleyway, and to my luck, find a dumpster. My mouth smacks with thirst, and my arms struggle to life the heavy lid up. I let myself flop inside.

Something squelches beneath me as I sit up, rummaging and tossing the assorted junk around. I find a bright pink sweater and tie it around my leg. That should do something, right? Stop the blood flow?

As I tighten it, I feel the scab tear open with an itchy pain, and warm blood begins to collect in the sweater. Shit. My tongue moves around my dry mouth, as if searching for moisture. My eyelids flutter closed for a moment, as a wave of light headedness washes over me. I grasp a bottle. Juice? Liquor? Not sure.

I put the warm, sticky liquid to my lips and glug it gratefully. Whatever it is, it’s sickly sweet and makes me want to hurl. Time to go.

My hand clutches the edge of the dumpster, and I move to pull myself out, but I’ve got no strength, and it falls back to my side. I groan and place a hand the side of my head to stop my mind from spinning. I fall to the side, in a soft bed of assorted trash.

~

I don’t feel hungover. I don’t feel sick. I don’t feel weak. I don’t feel good. I don’t feel relieved. I don’t feel like shit. I feel sterile. My eyes open, and I’m hit by a blinding, cold white tube light. My shades where are my shades?

As my vision adjusts, I see a blank white sheet draped over me, with my injured leg strung up by the ankle. A thick, white gauze bandage is wrapped around my thigh, with a small cat pupil shaped puddle of brown seeping through it.

I’m in a damn hospital room. There’s a window to my left, where I can see pedestrians going about their ant lives, a beige sessel in the corner, where a visitor who doesn’t want to be here but knows they have to in order to keep the benefits of being your friend can come and sit. A freshly potted plant next to it. A spec of organic life in a sea of artificial constructions. I try sit up, but it’s difficult with my leg stretched into the air. I yank it away from the sling, making the contraption holding the fabric tip and fall with a clatter beside the bed.

The door is opened and an Asian man in a tell-tale white doctors coat walks in. He’s got a wide, mustache and goatee and large glasses perched on the bride of his nose.

“Good morning, mister Rane.”

“Where am I? How do you know me?” I demand, scrabbling into the corner of the bed. My voice is hoarse with dehydration.

“You need to drink,” he tells me calmly, a large glass of water is held in his left hand. He offers it to me.

I pause for a moment, then take it, quickly glugging it down in a matter of seconds, then letting the glass fall from my hands and onto the tiled floor. I would’ve hoped that it would shatter, but it bounces once, and rolls to his feet. He picks it up and sets it on the table next to the potted plant.

“You shouldn’t be moving your leg much. You might open the stitches.”

I look around wildly for anything that I could use as a weapon, but nothing is within reach.

“You were found in a dumpster, Kallix,” the doctor tells me, sitting down next to me. “An old lady law you and called the police. They brought you here and we stitched you up.”

I press myself against the bedframe, breathing heavily through my mouth. The cops? They must know me. They’re going to arrest me. The window is locked and will be difficult to break. I won’t be able to make a move without mister doctor stopping me.

“My name is doctor Halkalagy, but you can call me Halk.”

“Let me go,” I tell him.

He shakes his head slowly. “I’m sorry, Kallix. The police want to talk to you. You have dozens of petty crimes on your record.”

I’m about to lunge at him, punch his face, break his glasses and make a run for it, when he speaks again.

“But not now. First, there’s something more important you need to do.”

I eye him skeptically, arms tense.

“Your brother, Kaloaan. Chief of police force was shot the other day.”

“Is… is he ok?” I ask.

Halk nods. “He’s already undergone surgery and will be back in the field in a week or so. He wants to see you.”

Kaloaan is alive. That’s… nice. Is this a trap though? Seems like something a conniving doctor would think of. But he’s probably too dumb to plan something like that.

I nod. “Alright. But I need my stuff.”

“You will have your possessions in good time, Mr Rane. But first come, he is very eager.”

“I swear if this is a trick, I’ll rip off your ears and shove them up your ass, then make you suck me off in front of your co-workers. Is that a deal?”

Halk gives an uncomfortable not and offers me a hand to stand up. I swat it away.

He guides me down a flight of stairs, down a long, coldly lit hallway with countless metal doors with doctors and nurses rushing in and out of. Occasionally, somebody is rolled by on one of those rolling bed thingies. Eventually, Halk opens a door and steps aside to allow me in. He closes the door behind me.

Kaloaan lies in a much larger room than me, with an entire sitting arrangement of sessels, chairs and tables for his friends to visit him. He’s propped up by half a dozen pillows and a blanket pulled up to his waist. My nose twitches at the smell of a trey of uneaten food that remains at his side table, still steaming.

“You going to eat that?” I ask, waking him up.

“Hey, little bro. How’re you doing?”

“I’m not the one who should be asking that,” I mumble, picking up the plate of rice, chicken and gravy. I chow into it with a plastic fork.

“Doctor said I’m unbelievably lucky. They removed the bullet from my side and stitched up the section of my intestines that it hit. They say I’m going to be back on the field in less than two weeks.”

“That’s nice,” I say between mouthfuls.

“Firida, my deputy is covering for me while I’m out. Good girl she is. I’m thinking of making a move some day, if you know what I mean,” he chuckles with the lopsided smile that I hate to share. It’s my trademark. Nobody else should have it.

When I don’t say anything he asks, “You didn’t do any, right? You wouldn’t.”

I shake my head. “If I had that shit in me, I’d be in the psychiatric ward right now, not talking to you.”

“Good… good. The shooter. Did you see who they were?”

I nod slowly, an image of Zorikan flashing through my mind. His tattooed neck, the silver ring in his left ear, his oddly pale eyes, his freshly cut, tall hair. “I don’t know exactly, but whoever it was, they’ve got something to do with a bastard shithole named Zorikan.”

“Zorikan? Never heard of him. Is he some sort of underground Bansilin dealer?”

I shake my head. “Not really sure. He’s the leader of a group called the Swifters. I don’t know for certain what they do. He wanted to recruit me. Busted out before he could sell me any of his gay propaganda.”

Kaloaan laughs. I remain stone faced. “Do you know where they are? Maybe we can find out.”

“Yeah, but it’d be pointless to go to them. You wouldn’t catch them. They’re almost if not as fast as me.”

“They chased you?” he asks, frowning with concern.

“For a little bit.”

He nods again.

“Was that why you called me here?”

“No, actually. I want you to go check on mum. If you can. She… hasn’t come to visit me, and I’m a little worried. We haven’t found a single trace of dad yet. With all this Bansilin stuff, I can’t concentrate properly…”

Silence.

“You know I haven’t spoken to her in two years, right?”

He nods. “That’s why it would be good if you could go. It would mean the world to her.”

I year so desperately to tell him the truth, that his mother is hooked on the very thing he swore to destroy, but I can’t bring myself to. He looks at me pleadingly. It hurts me.

“Ok,” I breath. “I’ll check on her.”

He sighs in relief. “Thanks, little bro. I knew I could count on you.”

“Cut the crap Kalo,” I snap, wolfing down the last of his lunch. “And grow a beard for christ’s sake you look like a school-boy.”

I exit the room and close the door before he can respond, but I’m stopped by Dr Halkalagee’s hand on my shoulder. Two police officers stand behind him. One is big and burly, while the other is a stone faced, fit woman in her early thirties, with discipline in her eyes and her hair pulled back in a tight pony tail. The name on her uniform reads Firida.

“Funny. I was just on my way to see the chief, and I stumble upon his little brother. The rat’s come out of the sewers.”

“Yeah and the rat’s going to make love to your sister,” I spit.

She gives a forced smile, then brushes past me into my brothers room. The burly officer named Grell, grabs me by the hood of Rieka’s hoodie and yanks me along. I keep my arms deep in the sleeves of the open hoodie. If he’s holding me by the hood, I can slip out and make my escape. Not yet. I need my stuff.

They bring me to a room on the ground floor with a long ovular table and multiple spinning chairs around it. Must be some sort of doctor cult conference room or something. Halk gives me a feeble wave and bustles off. Grell sits me down on one chair, then sits across from me, placing his gun on the table and folding his hands next to it. He says nothing, just stares at me.

“So how long is this little tea party going to take?” I ask, propping my feet up on the policed wood.

Grell doesn’t reply, but stares at me with shark eyes.

“Not much of a talker, huh? I ask. “Does Firidah allow you to speak? Or is the collar too tight.”

Grell is silent, but the veins on his neck bulge intimidatingly.

“Nice veins,” I comment. “Are they real? Can I touch them?” I lean over, reaching for his neck.

With lightning speed, he’s caught by my wrist and slammed my hand onto the table. I stare at him with shock.

The door opens and Firidah walks in, sitting down next to Grell. “Release him,” she instructs.

He responds autonomously, and I recoil, hugging my bruised wrist to my chest. “Kallix Rane,” Firidah declares, too loud for my liking.

“I’ve heard of him,” I tell her.

“Do you know how many times you’ve been reported? Graffiti, theft, arson, the list goes on forever.”

“Is my brother shagging you yet? Because your pussy needs to loosen up,” I spit.

She takes no notice of the insult. From her breast pocket, she pulls my Ray Bands, and slides them over to me. “Stolen, I presume, but we’ve got no evidence.”

I snatch them up and prop them on.

Then she pulls out the little cylindrical container and sets it on the table with a sly grin.

“Give me those,” I demand.

She chews the inside of her cheek as if deciding how to torture me. “Did you pay for them?”

I don’t respond.

“Then they aren’t yours,” she says, delighted.

I stand up. She flinches.

“Fortunately for your rag tag ass, your brother has a heart, unlike you.”

She opens the lid, and from a plastic bag, pours in more of the pills.

“He paid off the six containers you stole previously, as well as this one, including the bail money for all the crimes you’ve been proven guilty of with evidence, and all the lawsuits filed against you. He’s paid for the next twenty top ups of your medicine. All you need to do is show up at a pharmacy and sign for it.”

“Give it to me,” I demand again.

She nods and slides it over to me. I unscrew the top and swallow one pill before burying it in my pocket. “Now get out of here you piece of shit, before somebody decides to contradict the chief.”

I stand and make for the door. As I’m about to leave, I turn over my shoulder. “You’ve got nice tits, but they can’t warm your stone heart,” I jibe. Before she can stand, I’m gone.

I slam the door shut behind me before he can respond and start on my way. Whether it’s to go see my mother or not, I don’t know.

~

I know where her apartment is. My parents were able to move to the rich sector when Kaloaan got promoted. They had mundane boring jobs like…. Accountants or income tax managers or something like that, but they lived in third floor of the same apartment that the President’s uncle lives in. Must mean something. The sun starts to set, and I break into a jog. As I’m running through the crepuscular road, somebody calls my name. I halt and look around, to see a man in a trench coat and a flat cap hustling across the street. He wears skater shoes and baggy jeans two sizes too big for him. I know that style.

“What do you want, Salif,” I ask.

He reaches me and looks me up and down, then shows me the middle finger. “You’re a real piece of shit, you know that?”

I nod and move to walk away, when he grabs me by the shoulder and turns me back to him.

“She could’ve died,” he hisses.

“She’s alive?”

“Yeah she’s god damn alive!”

“Thank god,” I breath.

“No thanks to your cowardly, selfish ass,” he spits. “She’s lucky to be alive.

“Wh… what happened?”

“You mean after you got your own cowardly ass the hell away from there?”

I nod. Fire burns in my eyes. “What happened?” I ask again.

“Malyk. You’re little queer friend? Ring a bell? Yeah, you left him to die as well.”

“He was shot?”

“No, dumbass. He saved everybody’s lives! Snuck up around the shooter and tackled him from behind.”

“So… everybody made it out alive?”

“No. People died. Not that you would care.”

“Salif… stop. You’re my friend.”

“I’m not your friend. Friendship means nothing to you rotten soul. You don’t give a damn about anybody but yourself.”

“Salif, this is a messed up city. People do what they have to in order to-”

“Shut up. Just shut up. Stop trying to defend yourself. Doing what you have to is different from leaving your… your friends,” Salif’s voice has gone hoarse. “You insult me, you make fun of my mom, you leave me to freaking die…”

“Would you have come back for me?” I ask. My mouth is a tight line, and my shades protect my eyes from his teary glare.

“I would’ve, back then… but not now. I’d leave you to burn Kallix. You deserve nothing better. I was all you had. Me and your cop brother. I don’t know how that guy puts up with you.”

I cover my ears as he rattles on. “Stop,” I tell him, weak voiced.

“No. No I won’t stop. You should know that you’re every word that comes out of my mouth,” he spits.

I can’t. I can’t take it. I turn, and walk away with long stiff strides.

“Yeah run away you bastard! Because that’s what you do! That’s all you ever do! Run. Run like the little pussy you are!”

I don’t hear the rest as I walk around my parent’s hotel apartment, and start to climb. I hoist myself up, nook after cranny I move like a spider on the wall while Salif walks away, fuming. I pause when I reach the window. My destination.

It’s slightly ajar, letting out the smell of pinecones, my mothers favorite. I hear her music, slow and classical playing softly in another room. As I cling outside the window, through the gap in the curtains I see the fake leather couch arrangement, the duvet, tossed and crumpled over the three seater. A half eaten bowl of assorted dried snacks remains on the glass coffee table next to the remote. The TV is on but muted with the breaking news blaring on the screen. My mom walks in from the kitchen to look at the news. She’s whisking something in a wooden bowl, clutched in the crook of her arm. She always loved the smell and feel of wood, even though nobody used it anymore.

The sweet smell of Rieka’s hoodie intertwines with the nostalgic one of the apartment.

My mom is short, with caramel colored hair that falls to her shoulders. Her skin is slightly wrinkled at the eyes and dappled with years of being out in the sun. She wears a large red synthetic fleece pullover with bright yellow stars, pale jeans and soft, indoor boots.

I sigh, and pull the window open, ever so slightly, taking in the waft of warmth. She sets the bowl down on the coffee table, picks up the remote and switches the channel a few times.

I slide my head through the ajar window, keeping as quiet as possible.

She exhales loudly through her nose and turns the TV off, taking a seat on the couch.

I pull the rest of myself through, now perching on the windowsill like a crow.

She rolls up her sleeve and turns away from me.

I step down onto the ground.

She sticks the needle into her arm, and her eyes nearly roll up into her head as her shoulders roll and her legs shake with pleasure.

I stand there, gazing at my mother injecting herself with Bansilin. She smiles for a brief moment, then pulls out the needle and rolls onto her side. I silently pad over to her.

She’s closed her eyes, and pulled the duvet over herself, and starts to shudder. I lean over and see the tears dripping down her nose and forming a puddle on the leather.