Ripple Effect - 7. Ch. 2 Part III, IV

III

There was a knock on his door.

He raised his eyes from the book in his lap, symbols and sounds and definite meanings, his cheek pressed against the cooler window pane. At first he wasn't certain what that sound was, then thought it must be an accident. Until it happened again.

He sat up straight, feeling the first stirrings of alarm. Learned instinct still said to get up, answer it, its polite and expected. But who would it be? Only London came to see him, London didn't knock because he lived here, you don't knock where you live.

Maybe if he remained quiet, they would realize their mistake and move on.

On the table, the phone light switched to red.

"Is this the right room? Yes, it is, I can hear myself. Come on, Shadow, open up. Promise I don't bite."

He jerked forward, book closed in his lap. That...wasn't possible, right? Wasn't she supposed to be far away?

There was that knock again, softer and patient; willing to wait as long as it took.

And there he was, frozen in indecision.

...what do I do?

He was across the room before the thought completed.

She seemed nice... but without the distance things would change, and when it didn't work that would be the end, of everything.

It had never worked, except with -

...not even that anymore.

His hand was on the doorknob, lingering on this final barrier, the very edge of his borrowed territory where he was safe.

He was curious; it was hard not to be, interacting with someone, not knowing their face. That curiosity won out, in the end, his fingers turned the knob.

Her eyes were green.

That alone almost made him change his mind. But they weren't the same, he saw that in the next second; not pine needle, but new grass, light and tender. There were spots of brown in the iris, surrounded by longer, darker lashes.

Those eyes also sat below his own sightline. Instead of towering above. She was so thin, waif like, with sun darkened skin and rich brown hair that framed her delicate face. Her smile was bright and sunny when she spotted him.

"Shadow?" Her voice, direct from her mouth, sounded a bit different but recognizable. He had not been able to imagine much, but he thought this image perfectly fit. Her smile got wider, "Hi."

He had a split second to decide how he felt about this, not usually enough. But now that he was here, he didn't feel uncomfortable; it was the same calm, soothing presence from over the phone, that he had been listening to for a while now, it all carried over in person and then some. He let the door open a little wider, clinging only lightly to the frame.

She wore a long, flowing dress of white, green and yellow

(gold...green and-)

her shoes were white and minimal, he could see her small bare feet, colored toenails. A large amber hung around her neck.

"Sorry I didn't say anything. I knew I was going to have to come in and report, and I really wanted a chance to get to put a face to the voice, right?" She held out a hand.

He felt her eyes searching his face, his skeletal body and tired air; he wondered what she saw and if he was a disappointment. He didn't know what she was looking for, but for him to follow through with societal expectations must be one of them; he held out his own hand, limp, allowing it to be grasped. Her hand was smaller than his, that was different, she held on with a gentle strength and warm grip. After a moment, his fingers curled around her's, squeezing.

She smiled, "And put a name to the voice, too. Because I'm sure its not Shadow, right?" she let him go; his hand returned to rest against the door frame. "I'm Rinn."

Now came the real test, could he speak in front of her? His mouth opened, mind searching for the correct sounds

("So. You got a name?")

He needn't have worried, the answer came from the hallway, "His name is Frost."

He wondered how long London had been standing there, just outside the door to his rooms, watching the two of them; he looked pleased for the first time.

Rinn stared back at him, puzzled and smiling politely. "Yes. Thank you. Mr...?"

London's mouth turned down in defeat. "Its good to see you, Rinn."

"...oh my god," she cleared her throat, "Yes. Sorry, my – sir. Its been a while."

London nodded, calm, "I've shaved."

"Ah, yes. And you look very different. Without the, uh, beard."

He tried to remember what London looked like with facial hair, but his mind came up blank; he wondered how long it had been.

"Did you just get in?"

"Oh, yes. Sorry I didn't check in first, I wanted a chance to say hello."

"I don't mind at all. I'm glad to see you getting along," earth brown eyes turned to him, "This is all right with you? You're not tired, are you?"

He shook his head, he thought he could do this for a little while longer.

Rinn's eyes moved back and forth between them, she started to seem confused, "Maybe we should do that now. There are some things I'd like clarified."

"Since you're already here, perhaps it can wait," London's gaze remained on him, "What do you think, Frost? Are you hungry, by chance?"

He hadn't thought about it, not since this morning; out of his head now, he thought enough hours had gone by. He nodded again.

"You are?" there was a note of surprise in her tone that made him wonder just what time it was; had he lost more hours than he thought, again?

"Would you mind some company for lunch as well?"

He paused to think it through, as best he could. This, out here the three of them, was not so bad, not as he may have thought; if it was just this, just like this, he thought he could handle it. More than that, he wanted to try, for once, to push himself. They would leave him if he needed it, wouldn't they?

Rinn gave in with a sigh, "All right. I'm not hungry, but I'll join you."

"I'll make the arrangements then. If you'll pardon me," London walked past them, pausing just long enough to put a hand on his arm, a friendly supportive gesture. He watched the man continue down the hall, around the corner; he guessed the kitchen was in that direction, he didn't know, he's never been to it.

Rinn watched after him, too, a look in her eyes he didn't know enough to read. She seemed far less confident than she had been, than her voice always sounded; more confused and uncertain now. He wondered if he'd done something wrong; was he supposed to refuse London's offer so she would have a chance to talk with him in private as she wanted to? Something he might've picked up on if he was better at this?

She may have sensed his distress, "Sorry. There were a few things I needed to ask, but – well, whatever. It can wait."

She might just be saying that, but as it was too late now he'd take it.

"So, Frost, huh? Its a good name. It suits you."

For whatever reason, that pleased him. Though he remembered how to smile, and learned instinct told him it was called for, he did not; he feared it would not sit well on his face as it currently looked, ghastly thin and worn out, and he didn't want the pity.

There was something better he could offer, a more meaningful gesture. He took a deep breath, "Would you...come in?"

She seemed pleased to hear his voice, he was glad he could give that to her, "I bet you don't say that very often, do you?"

No, first time in fact. He was glad she appeared to understand the weight of what he was offering; that made it a bit easier to give.

"Well, I do feel special," she placed her hand on the door frame, just below his own, not touching but close, "I'd be happy to."

It was a good thing he went inside. He almost hadn't, but something in Frost's body language, way up in the window where he sat and read, looked wrong. Tallen had before witnessed London slithering into the room, it never inspired much response in Frost (so comfortable in the man's presence now, Tallen would think in bitter disgust, a position once reserved for him alone); the sudden movement, the anxiety visible even in the sliver of his profile, that was something else.

Tallen almost ignored it, but the curiosity he had no right to anymore won out; he ditched his fifth cigarette to sneak back inside.

He was very glad he had.

The kitchens were in the opposite direction, so Tallen didn't have to beat a hasty retreat when London left; he could remain behind to watch-

...to watch...

...Frost – his Frost – with this – this...

His hands curled into fists, tight and aching; he could feel the fire surging through him, seeking release, seeking vengeance, burn it all-

-talking to her, looking at her, inviting her into his fucking room-

He couldn't. He couldn't. A single scorch mark and they'd know, they'd know he was there, know what he knew.

Tap, tap, tap – the sound of footsteps walking away; the sound of metal pieces woven into his clothes clinking together; the sound of precious seconds ticking by.

Tap, tap, tap – the sound of Push tiles on the backroom table.

"You are restless tonight," Trick's by now familiar accented voice, jarring through his thoughts, it was hard to keep track of the present moment.

"-really has no idea?" The bitch, he'd seen her, briefly, her skirt vanishing around the corner.

"Of course not." London, he'd know that voice anywhere, "Why would he? Look at me. How did you react, just now?"

"Yes, but I'm not your-"

The two of them, together, as though he had any doubt. He saw London before either of the others noticed him there, saw that satisfied little smile on London's face. He set this up, the asshole, he wanted this to happen.

"You play as worse than a novice. Jacender could win you at this rate."

Jacender was at the table with them today; unusual, he often lingered at the edge of the room, by the door, visibly impatient to leave. Trick had been trying to tempt the man over, to make friends; so far an unspoken truce of mutual disregard was the best they could do, and that was fine by Tallen. Jacender was watching him now, dark eyes wary, mouth curled. It made Tallen wonder how batshit he was being right now.

Tap, tap, tap, the piece in his fingers knocked on the table, he must've been going to play it but he wasn't even sure what it is; he could see the symbols but he couldn't make sense of them.

"Got a lot on my mind."

He wondered if it would be rude to excuse himself to go find Cath, fuck her in the alley a few minutes and come back again to finish the game (both of them) with a more focused perspective, if only temporary. He would've done it beforehand but that she was busy, and he didn't feel he had the right anymore to barge over and throw the other guy out. They hadn't seen each other much the last few weeks, not since he got himself a new more exotic girlfriend, as the rumor mill went. Up until tonight, he hadn't missed it much, either.

The bitch: Tallen had never seen her before, he was sure of it; not a lot of people came in and out of here, and most that did were mercenary types, not stick figure little girls who looked younger than him.

Trick's pulsing eyes stayed on him, a hypnotic beat that invited him to give up his every secret; or a vortex that pulled them from him unwittingly, he was never sure which. The look on Trick's face was a by now familiar one, a careful balance he maintained very well, inquiring without prying.

"Anything I can do? To help?"

The tapping stopped; Tallen clutched the piece in the palm of his hand.

Anything I can do?

Are you ready to stop fucking around yet?

Tell him, it echoed in his mind, more and more lately; tell him, that's why you're here, get it over with, so much more seductive this night, with the stranger's words still ringing through his ears.

If only it were that simple.

If it were only Trick, he would have long ago. He liked Trick, it didn't even take very long, before that sense of comfort formed a fledgling bond, at least on his end. He did trust Trick, to not screw him over, trap or use him, or any of the other things he feared. He had to remind himself, times like this, that Trick wasn't alone; he was a foot solider, a middle man, a close associate and that was the person Tallen would ultimately be getting help from.

Canaan the Black Wolf. Trick trusted him, absolutely, but did that mean Tallen could do the same? Images from London's show flashed through his mind, gore soaked rooms and tortured bodies; he supposed he had no right to judge, all things considered. And if he was being realistic, such a thing could be an asset, he didn't kid himself that their escape would be bloodless, and with London as the target he didn't even mind, bastard had it coming.

That bastard...

Tallen didn't know the bitch, but Frost did. She was familiar to him, somehow, the way he reacted to her. That bastard. How did it happen? How did he pull it off, sneak her in right under Tallen's nose? And why? What was the point of this? What was it leading to?

Nothing good, that's all he knew. Nothing good at all.

And yet...

Light blue eyes clouded over, blood staining pale skin; still and quiet, forever. An image that haunted his dreams for years. And if it happens, when it happens, it will be because of you.

"No," he said, "No, I – I got this, for now."

Bullshit. He'd dropped the ball at some point, and he had no idea if he could catch up, on his own, in time.

But he couldn't pull that trigger, not yet. It was such a big decision, that could go so wrong in so many ways. He'd made a lot of bad decisions already.

Trick smiled politely, inclining his head, "As you wish. Do let me know if you change your mind."

There had to be something he could do, to get a handle on this. Investigate, how hard could it be to trace one little girl, find out where she came from, what she's up to? He had to know what he was dealing with, just how big a problem it would be.

"Now. Would you care to make your move? Or would you rather concede the field to me?"

Tallen didn't think he could put off this decision much longer. This felt like a game changer, London making his move, to take what he wanted; Tallen would have to counter before he was ready, or risk losing everything.

Losing the only thing that ever mattered.

Frost's life was at stake; he had to do the right thing, he had to win.

IV

Work felt different today, somehow. Lighter. He didn't understand why until midday, his first short break when he emerged reluctantly from the backroom and onto the shop floor, and a weight bumped into him from behind. He only tensed a moment before Marie kept walking past him, glancing back with a smile, a friendly smile that he'd seen on her before though never directed at him.

"Nice night?"

She didn't stay long enough for a response, her arms full she continued on to the shelves. He tried to give one anyway, words crawling up his throat with relative ease, "...hello," then, "...yes."

He could feel a smile on his face, a warmth in his chest, brushing past the shadow that had been there all night. He didn't need Marie's good will, but he was happy to finally be offered it anyway. It was another small improvement, another small thing going right; it gave him hope the trend would continue.

It fueled his courage, to do what needed to be done.

Psychology and self help was probably the closest thing, and it was such a small section, only two shelves. What were the chances he'd find everything he needed in two shelves? What would he do if something were missing?

He pulled the folded list out of his pocket, one made during the night while Tallen slept, relaxed and peaceful with an arm around his waist. Words with definite meanings, important key terms heard that evening, others recalled from years before.

("It was Sandar. He was there. He told them – told them...what to do.")

Start at the top, letters penned in his careful hand; he scanned through the shelves, an array of colorful spines, searching for the pattern in the titles.

There...

He reached up, pulling down a well worn paperback with a bright yellow cover.

Coping with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.

It was the only one he saw with those words. It seemed so small, too small maybe? He opened the cover, glancing through the table of contents. Did it seem informative? He couldn't even be sure.

"Hey, Frostie," Sophie, appearing suddenly at his side, "What was that all about?"

He could not think what she was talking about; it was hard to even give her the attention she wanted right now. He tried to ask through expression alone.

"Marie getting all friendly with you just now? What was that about?"

Oh. Of course. Sophie had been absent the night before when they all left together, so she wouldn't know; it would be significant enough, to her, to comment on.

"Its – good thing. Right?"

"Well, yeah, it is," and it was, he could see, she was genuinely happy underneath the surprise, "It was just a little weird, after two years."

He supposed that was long enough, to her, for unbreakable patterns to set and lock in place; he was glad to know that wasn't true. "Its...Tallen."

"Ah. So that's how it is. Well, whatever. Its good she finally realized you're cool." She put her hand on his shoulder, a brief touch; it was then she noticed the book, "What's that?"

He made no attempt to hide it, allowing her to take it from him for a closer look.

"Oh," her voice sounded odd suddenly, too calm; she opened the cover, flipping through, stopping to read random pages, "Some light reading?"

He thought, settling on a term, "...research."

"Oh," flat, cautious, he had never heard Sophie sound like that; he made careful note of it. She got to the end, eyes lingering over the author bio. "Is this, like...serious research? Instead of like a casual interest, do you really, like – need this information, or what?"

He reacted to her changed demeanor, he couldn't help himself, and it left him uncertain what to say? Which answer was she hoping for, which was the correct thing to say here?

"I'm sorry," she blurted out suddenly, "I'm really sorry. I'm not trying to be nosy, I swear. Its just that...well, if you really need good information, I can get you something from the college library. And it'll be a hell of a lot better than this dime store feel good crap."

Oh. The library. He hadn't thought of that, because it wasn't one of the places he knew he could go to. But it should have everything he would need, and then some, right? "You could?"

Sophie responded to his sudden enthusiasm with some of her own, ever helpful, "Yeah. Yeah, I totally could. No problem. I can go tonight if you want, have it tomorrow."

He handed her his list; he didn't need it, knew he'd never forget it.

She read the list through, eyes widening. Seconds ticked by and she didn't say anything, though her mouth was open as though ready to. The uncertainty creeped back in again. "...too much?"

"Huh?" she looked up at him, surprise registering, like she didn't expect him to speak, or still be there.

"Will...that – all, be there?"

"Oh. I, uh...not sure, off hand. But probably. I'll – I'll get back to you." She folded the paper back up, slipping it into a front pocket.

"Thank you."

"Yeah. Yeah, no problem," and she smiled, a wide show of teeth that looked somehow different from her usual. "Well, got to get back to work, then. Ah, here," she handed the rejected book back, "Talk to you later, then."

Alone now, he returned the book to its place on the shelf. That warm feeling spread through his core, pulling another private smile to his face. It was a good feeling, for the first time in a long time, it was easy to believe that everything would be all right.

"Hey," Sophie's head peeking around the corner again, "Just one more thing, before I go. You know you can talk to me, right? About anything?"

"...yes."

"Okay. Good. Just checking."