Paresthesia Pt. 11

The alley turns back into the street on the other side without much ceremony. And we are gazing down a ramp leading to a shuttered door that doesn't like even being looked at like this. Holes for spikes to come out, warnings and signs, flashing lights now dim, it is all there for some grand explosive klaxon entrance. The squad car is there. It's right there, behind layers of steel and cement and lead.

"We could just do it," Hannah whispers, "Like right now. Wouldn't that be great. If we just walked in there and did all the things we wanted to do. It would be amazing."

She is tempting me with naughty words and I have to admit that it is a tune I like. It would end badly, catastrophically, but it could work. There is always that chance that something impossible would work and then the world would be a bit more fanciful.

"We still need Doppel's bug to plant," I say, "And Alizarin still needs her car. And Violence still needs to do some set up."

"What does Sunday need to do?"

"He needs to sit back and take it easy. Keep his iron up. His part in all this is really fun. You'll see. It's a fun secret for later."

"But I want to know now. I've never seen him out and about. I don't even think he has a kit. What is it? Some sort of weird leprechaun plague doctor? A little shamrock on the edge of the beak?"

"No, it's not that. He hasn't worn anything like that in years. I think back in the day, it was kind of like a lab coat, doctor, mad scientist thing. Carried around these glass vials that he'd throw and they'd do stuff. But he stopped playing dress up. Said he was too old."

"If Deadman can waltz around in a goddamn funeral suit, he can dress up in a lab coat."

"He's older than Hugh. I also think he just doesn't want to anymore. A man is entitled to put up his feet and watch golf all day if he's old."

"Hugh wouldn't watch golf."

"Fine. Football too. But only on the weekends. Football is the sport of the military industrial complex. It needs to be rationed out."

She sticks out her tongue at me and that means I have won. She is pleasantly annoyed and we turn back to our scouting mission.

All of the tech is hidden. But I can feel it in the back of my soul. So many little thrumming things and linking lights, just under our feet. It can all turn on the street with a wave and a thought. Pavement to splinters, asphalt to shreds, and bodies to pieces. We are being watched. The cameras and the eyes beyond the cameras judge and condemn. I do not like it. My palms itch for my bat. Hannah tugs at my shirt and points to the lights. We are about to have something close to a show.

The door opens with a deep death rattle and the darkness beyond opens with a needle piercing whine of high technological achievement. Not the squad car then, but I don't know what else it could be. It settles into a softer engine click and more lights spill from beyond the veil, trippy hypnotic things. My palms itch more and they find nothing. Hannah cracks her neck and rolls her wrists. Must be nice not having to lug around a weapon to be a threat.

I am in a trance when the three wheeled monstrosity rolls up the ramp and settles at the top. Didn't even have the panache to take the jump and do a trick. No, it is on official business, so all the 'I's and 'T's needed crossed and dotted. Azure Dream in the loudest fabric can be, musters up something that might be a smile. He doesn't get anything back.

"Good afternoon, fair citizens," he says, "Beautiful day for some justice."

He's trying. He's trying to put down some level of authority in the voice, but it just doesn't work. If anything, it makes me want to laugh. By some miracle, I don't. Hannah does get a snicker in.

"You look like fucking tool, buddy," I say. Of all the words that a mouth can say, all the infinite meanings that can be imparted with spoken word, all the feelings and emotions and thoughts, he did not expect any of that.

"Sir, that is rather uncouth of you. I am a protector of the people. I have your best interests in mind. I am here to keep the ne'er-do-wells, rapscallions, and fiendish rouges of the streets."

"And you're doing such a good job," Hannah says, "I mean, look at us. All safe and secure out here. I don't think I could sleep at night if there wasn't anyone like you out and about."

"Thank you, ma'am. The fairer sex prevails again, sir. Perhaps you could learn a thing or two from your beau."

"He could, but then so could you. Did you know you're clashing? And the fit on the cape's so wrong. And why are you wearing dots and stripes? And the stripes are running into one another. I am having a really tough time figuring it all out."

"The hairs kind of a sticking point for me," I say, "It doesn't really have a direction. If I had to guess, some sort of reverse faux hawk mullet."

"As good a name for it as any, I guess. Really, buddy, you need to talk with PR. Cause I bet you're selling next to nothing."

He's trying to stay calm, but the blue man is turning so very red. We are very good at being very annoying.

"Oh relax, dream boat," I say, "Thought you'd have thicker skin in this line of work."

"I do not have to put up with such callous citizens. You should be grateful. I stop criminals."

"Where were you when I mugged a guy in your front lawn a few days ago?"

"I'm pretty sure I was kicking his ass in front of the mayor's mansion. Or was that the casino?"

The realization slowly dawns on him and it is beautiful. It is beautiful to watch the expression change. I take the moment and the color is gone from him. The texture and pattern are still garish and in dire need of a complete overhaul. Maybe something with smooth cloud rolls. Something fun and puffy and sleepy. I don't know. He would need to approve of all the things and his obstinate nature seems to make that an impossibility. But I am not in his head. He might like the pajama party I have in mind.

I rifle through his pockets. Or I would, if he had any. It's all smooth lines and tight spandex, a cloak fluttering behind him. Well, that will work. I take the cloak and start spinning it around him, mangling him up in tangled up knots. And it works. He is nestled safely in a little cape burrito. It must be warm in there. I would like to be in a cape burrito at

some point. I could put a Hannah in there with me as well.

He has his moment and I am leaning over the reverse trike, looking at him in what could be his eyes. Azure flails and thrashes. The cape is winning. The cape is winning so goddamn hard and its embarrassing. I don't think I could put up that good of a fight, but still. I don't even let that fight be an option. He does. He should know better. And he should be less livid. Bad for the heart.

"You insolent wretch," he curses.

"Dude, you need to cut that out," Hannah sighs, "Like it kind of works in the moment, but just stop. Juice it on. Juice it off."

"You stay silent, you mewling quim."

"That's like old school put downs. I should splash mead in your face for that. Where's the chivalry, guy? Protector of the chaste maidens."

"You have slept your way through half the city. Squandered the gift of righteousness for wanton sluttery. You should be ashamed. What good man would want you now?"

She looks at him, surprisingly calm. I've never seen her look like that. It's honestly terrifying. It's looped from furious to serene, back to rage, and back to calm. It's entrancing. I should have stayed my hand and waited for this. And even more so, I am a little hard at the way she stands, shoulders back, deep rumbling from the hell of the earth only audible to the damned. All that discipline and training channeled down to an imposing presence. I almost crack and back down, hands on my head, belly to pavement, eyes closed tight to hold back the nightmares from being real.

"Wow. In a way, I'm impressed," she says. Her voice is even, calm, but there's a harmony deep in her chest. She walks towards the bike and leans forward a bit.

"I'm impressed that anyone can be this fucking stupid. Will, you worked with me for a year and a half. You know what it was like in there. And you still talk like him. You still hold yourself like him. I always thought it was how you coped. I was willing to let a lot of things slide with that. I was in no place to judge how anyone got through working with him. But no, you're actually like that aren't you? You actually thought you learned something being like him."

"Captain Solar was a paragon of- "

"He was a fucking jackass that turned everything he touched just as bitter and toxic at him. You and me included. So, I stopped. You didn't. If you can twist whatever it is you're doing into some unalloyed good when you're doing it like he was, then you're actually insane. Will, just tone it down. Like a little."

"I'm Azure Dream, citizen. I shall be addressed with the respect I deserve."

"Will, you're Will. You like collecting and building those anime robot figures. You still watch cartoons. You got really depressed when your high school girlfriend broke up with you and kind of pissy when I wouldn't date you on the rebound. Get that stick out of your ass and try and be a decent person for once in your life. Okay?"

She smiles and it is sweet. It is warm. It is welcoming and honest for everything she is. I have never been more scared of her in my life. Azure does not have an immediate response and I don't think I would either. So, I just lean on his bike, trike, vehicle thing and tap a tire with my boot. I have nothing to add and now we just wait until the words sink in and do something with that wonderful meat sponge in his technicolor skull.

"I am Azure Dream," he says. It's the ramblings of a mad man now, a mantra to preserve the net of psyche constructed and scaffolded. He will not falter. He cannot falter. He is Azure Dream, apprentice to the indominable Captain Solar. Everything he does is right and just, because he is right and just. I watch the gears turn and grind and try to get some amount of confidence back, piece together the mask once again. He's on a patrol now and he needs something to give the bad guys so they don't walk all over him.

"I am Azure Dream," he continues, voice cracking just a bit at the edges, "I am Azure Dream, hero of the common folk. You are Blast Hole, traitor to the law and order of our fair city. You have decided to commune with a fellow traitor against the shining light of justice in illicit affairs. Both of you, the both of you have wormed your foul tendrils into the heart of organization."

"Yes, we fucked Ken and Kieran," I say, "Get over it. People have sex. People, at least most people, like having sex. You can have sex too. Just kind of have to go out there and get it. But be cool about it. One of those things where you kind of have to let it happen to you."

"Put yourself in some situations. Minigolf, bars, hobby shops," Hannah says, "Lot of options. But don't go as Azure. I can guarantee anyone willing to sleep with that is not good girlfriend material. So just go as Will. Ok?"

He is racking his brain for something, anything to say. And he only comes back with confusion. He is the hero. There are only two proper responses for anything he does. Awe and fear. We are giving him neither. I'm honestly kind of surprised he's this composed. Tom would have thrown hands by now, but I chalk that up to their being two of us. He hasn't even done his little cerebral prance on me, trying to make me see things that may or may not be there. Rattled, the poor kid is rattled.

And he decides that the best way to be unrattled is to run away with screaming tires and deep engine roars.

Hannah loses a bit of tension in her shoulders. Parts of the façade fall. Not all of it. We are still on camera and that means someone is watching.

"Oh my god," shrieks a devil of sugary overhyped wonders, "You know Azure Dream? You do, right? You two talked to him forever. Please, please, please tell me you know him. Can you get us in touch?"

A woman, girl, barely into the years that can count as a teenager, runs up to Hannah with wide eyes made even wider by wire frame glasses. Black curls bounce on her noggin and she is way too close to be polite. Hannah ratchets back up the tension, making herself seem bigger. It doesn't work. The kid's already taller than her. Still, there is something in the stone set face that falters the overhyped smile and the too wide gaze.

"Evan, babe," she says, barely even registering the intrusion to her personal bubble, "We're going."

And that tone of damned earthquakes, demon cries filtered through cracked earth, that tone does not make me even think of disobeying. Neither one of us looks back at her, even as she tries to stammer out something to further plead her case.

---

Hannah kicks at a stray bottle on the ground and I am pretty sure she just sent it into orbit. Probably made a new constellation and everything. At the very least it clears the river, ruins someone's day on the other side. I Readjust my grip and swing. Ball goes too far to the right, ends up foul. Someone goes home with a souvenir and that's that. All the balls in the machine have been spent and I am left with Bloody Sunday still taunting me on a digital display that needs more lights replaced. I take off the helmet and place the rented bat by the wall. That was my problem. If I had my own slugger, then it would have been different. But I do not. I just have the rented metal and an abysmally low score.

"Your turn," I say as I toss the helmet to her.

"I don't think it will work," Hannah sighs, "I don't think I can do it."

"You can. Trust me. It will make you feel better. And I won't be mad if you miss every single one. I would just laugh and kiss your nose a little."

"Ugh fine. It better make me feel better."

"Just imagine the fastballs are Tom and the curveballs are Will."

"What will you be?"

"I'll be the lights that come on if you hit the homerun square. C'mon. I have enough cash for two more rounds."

She sighs and sloughs over to me. We're the only ones at the cages. Busy day everywhere else but here. It's usually quiet. I go during the down time, middle of the afternoon, right before people can admit to themselves that they want to leave work early. Some might even act on it, packing up everything and heading to the ranges of all kinds. And it is a good day for it. Sun's high, winds keeping everything from baking, and the river's calm. I can see some of the skyline through the net in the back. I like to think that if I hit it hard enough, the ball will go right through and start smashing windows.

Hannah assumes the position and it's all wrong. Feet are too close, shoulders too tense. She's trying to throttle the bat and she actually might do so if I don't step in. She bristles at my touch and I quickly shy away. She sighs again and the tension ebbs away, just a smidge.

"Sorry," she murmurs, "But just talking to him has got me all pissed off. You can touch me. We're doing that boyfriend thing right? I've always wanted to do that boyfriend thing."

"After this, we can go play pool and you can do the same to me. I don't know how to play pool."

She smiles and she still bristles a bit at the touch, but it's me and she knows it's me. Lined up, we are so perfectly lined up together. I can lay my head on her shoulder, easily reach down and shuffle her hands so they stack instead of clench. A knee moves her thighs and they are a bit more open than I would like. But there is also a soft pushback from her hips that makes it all seem ok.

The gears turn and the machine alarm goes off. I back away for a second and watch her.

Complete and utter strike out on the first round. That's all fair. First time and all. The second one comes and it's a bit slower. She's stuck her tongue out, supposedly to help concentrate. Not sure how, but it works. She hits and it goes flying, deep right field and the little square that says double lights up.

Even through it all, even through the bad thoughts brought up, she smiles. A little hop and a turn and she beams at me. The next one is a complete and utter miss. Not paying any sort of attention. She swears and gets back into position.

Another miss and now she's all up in her head again. Stance is all back to being wrong and crooked and tense. Before I step in, another ball comes down the line. Manages to get some contact, but its way off base. Foul ball and it's a souvenir for some lucky kid that exists solely to make this game a bit more entertaining for me.

She swings and misses. She swings and hits, but only to get it lost in the net. She's frustrated and all the good bubbly bits are slowly slipping away. Rockslide Hannah's here and she is back to throttling the bat as the last ball slips into the slot.

I take the moment and she goes gray mid swing. Early, way too early. Pure, simple strike and everyone goes home miserable. Home team does not win. Not even a take home big gulp to use for personal things. I move in and kiss her, softly. I close my eyes and pour myself into the lips, arms around the shoulders, trying to keep her steady and still. Breaks my heart to see her like this, but it's something she'll work through. She doesn't have to be happy for me, but damn, I like it when she's happy. I klonk my forehead to hers and look in her eyes. Angry, cold, gray, frustrated, even all those things muting the tone and I still think they are bluer than they should be. She gets a nose kiss and one more for her lips and I set the world a bit more right. Takes a second to get down the angle from where she is at, but I think I got it. Probably not going for the homerun square, but at least another double. I nudge the ball a bit farther down to where it will be, would be, could be and duck out of the way.

My math was wrong. It hits the homerun square and all the lights go off. The tin voice says its congratulations and Hannah is left in a mild daze as all the sensations hit her at once. I'll never know how it feels to have the touch, the soul light up in an instant. I just have the quiet work of my stopped time to contend with. Unsung and solemn and determined, chipping away at the world in microscopic ways, the full domino fall only known once the secondhand moves.

"Good job," I say, "You got the last one."

"Because you did something."

I shrug. I might have. I don't know. I guess I did. It just seemed the right thing to do at the time. Probably would do it again.

"Maybe I just kissed you. Sometimes that's all I do."

"Yeah, sure. Whatever."

"Got one more round left in my wallet. Got one more round left in you?"

Her eyes brighten at the challenge. Some strings are easy to pull and this one is always there, waiting to be touched. She knows what I'm doing and steps in the trap anyway. She still steps in there right as I smile and put in the cash. She still gets the slowest speed. She doesn't need to know how fast they can go. That can be for later and two traps at once is a bit too devious for me right now.

She has the right stance now, hands are still a bit too close for my tastes, but she'll learn. Or she'll work around it. She's resourceful like that. The noise starts and the gears turn and she's ready for anything.

I take the moment midswing and she is not ready for the ball. Swung too late and now it's going to hit the back of the cage. But I am here to slip it all away, smooth out the rough edges and get something a bit nice out of it.

So, my first act is to move the ball back and give her time to actually follow through. It's a bit harder to gauge, but I can at least get her a single. So now, she'll pull a double. That's kind of the pattern I think I'm getting. I am also getting a fun little tickle across her stomach. She'll like that. Or at least be pleasantly annoyed with me.