(Musical Inspiration)
The Devil’s Eyes – Bella Morte
The machines beep rhythmically in the medical wing, while the ventilator pumps echo loudly in the quiet. The shadows are deep, near dark with only the reflected moonlight from the water glowing through the windows to cast flickering movement along the walls. He sits motionless in a corner chair, staring at the young man lying in the advanced medical bed. He can hear the pumps and beeps from the room next to this one as well, and picture the teenager in it, but this room houses the one he had sworn to protect. Forsworn, apparently.
The light, barefoot steps echo quietly down the empty halls, and he hears her coming long before even his other senses pick up her scent; whiskey, cigarettes and the hint of cloves. The scent of home, even in this newly renovated, empty old base. She pauses in the doorway, and he knows that she can’t see him. “Quit fucking hiding in the shadows,’’ he hears her say, not loudly, but it breaks the melody of the medical sounds. His eyes shift to her, in admiration at the view too, as she had obviously grabbed the nearest clothes, one of his shirts, but didn’t bother with buttoning it. It was a beautiful sight, lightening even his foul mood, but only momentarily as she also triggered the times he had failed to protect her too. Even still, he shifted into view, and she dropped languidly into his lap.
Shawna wasn’t blessed with patience though, and less than two minutes passed. “Quit screwing around with shit you can’t change and take me to bed, ‘Commander’,” she says with a smirk. With a sad smile, he lifts her with ease and carries her down the hallway to their suite.
An hour later, she lay on top of him, looking up into his hazel eyes. Thinking about her conversations with Henri, she murmurs, “You need to quit fucking worrying so much. I’m hitting the shower, and you need to fucking sleep awhile, no matter what shitty dreams you have.”
He smiles sadly, reaches around her and lights a cigarette, “I’m not sure I know how to anymore.”
After he gets the cheap tobacco lit and inhales, she takes it from him as she flounces out of bed, “Figure it out, tough guy. Even if this commander shit is temporary like they said tonight, any idiot knows you have to rest your mind, and brooding in the infirmary ain’t going to work. You of all people should fucking know that.”
“Aye, Aye, Cap’n,” he replies sarcastically and watches the very wonderful rear view of her walking towards the shower. While sleep wasn’t going to happen, he very consciously starts his breathing katas, sliding towards a meditative state, listening to the sounds of the waves crashing against the break-wall outside of their suite in the southeastern bastion of the fort.
Breathe in………
Brett ate more and more of the chook lin’uini. He had stuffed himself, but the calories ta power his enhanced abilities required a massive amount of food. Combinin’ that with constant tactical training, a regular job, and combat, he ate all the time. Of course Henri was an amazing flamin’ cook, and combined with the crap he and Bryce had eaten for two years, it certainly was a pleasure, and almost a game now to see if he could out eat the amounts she cooked. The news that Bryce and Robenheim would eventually recover, at least according to Whitley, had eased the mood a bit.
Breath out……
She stood there, as a dread sea goddess from long ago. Maybe, just maybe, the extra hint of the sea permeated the air. He tried ta move, ta stand, but the weight of Shawna kept him pinned, and everyone else kept eatin’ and drinkin’. Her dark red hair glistened as if wet as she stood there watching; black tactical gear and weapons over a comfortably used green flight suit.
“That was certainly a rin’in’ endorsement. Nah one wanted ta do it, and even then they were hesitant ta name yoos ‘Interim Battle Commander,’ whatever that flamin’ fuckin’ means.” She paused and then slowly walked around the table. She paused near Henri, then looked at Shawna sitting on his lap, “I would have thought this one would be more your type, yoos always preferred the blondes, didn’t you brother dear.” She continued on to stand looking down at him before continuing, “Although, this one has fire, damaged fire, but fire still. So young Brett, though, so young.”.
“How do yoos plan ta lead them? Temporarily or not, yoos don’t keep your promises, you don’t protect those you swear ta protect, do you? What fuckin’ bonzer are you to any of them? Still, I suppose it’s better yoos than the other brother left standin’, the one who remembers nothin’.” She reached out an’ stroked Shawna’s purple hair, and Shawna kept on talking with the newbie as if nothing was amiss.
She smiles down, “Did yoos tell this one about Amelia?” With a wave of her hand, a tall, burnished-skinned beauty with bobbed blond hair stands behind Henri, blood pouring’ out of her neck onto her dress uniform.
“Did yoos tell her about me?,” gasped Amelia, blood runnin’ from her mouth down her chin now too. “About yoos got me killed? How about the engagement? Or more importantly, what about Olivia? You really reckon anyone will believe you now? That you had a daughter you didn’t know about when her mum was your unit’s medic?” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Bridge waive her hand and an eleven-year old sheila, so similar ta Bridge at a younger age that he almost thought it was her for a moment appeared behind Whitley.
“What about me, Dad? Why didn’t yoos come get me after? Why not now? Are yoos ashamed of me,” she whispers?
“What about me, son?” Another woman, older, silver hair, sun-worn wrinkles in her skin, appears behind Bryan. “Why haven’t any of yoos come home?”
More appeared, behind each of the remainin’ team, Anka, sightless eyes, a gapin’ bayonet wound in her chest, appeared behind William; Karen, her broken, flamin’ tortured body behind the new guy, John; and Mikaela, his high school sheila, the burned skin peeling back from her bones, standing behind Angel.
Bridgette smiled brutally, “What about us all Brett? All broken promises, all failures. How ta explain it? You know yoos have already failed this team, and yoos have been its temporary commander for all of a few hours. You never picked up on subtlety. Direct confrontation, obvious connections, absolute targets. Simple. So we need ta show you somethin’ you won’t forget. So you tinnie quit before you kill someone else. Your paranoia sees shadows and conspiracies everywhere, but can’t see the obvious. It’s why you have had four teammates in comas, in what, less than a year?
She leans down and kisses Shawna on the lips, long and deep. “Hmm….tastes a bit like clover, although I never liked the cigarettes, whiskey yes. A gift for you….” He screams in horror has Shawna’s togs turn ta metal, mergin’ with her body. He looks up, and all the images are the same. Teammates meldin’ into some monstrosity of metal and flesh.
“Wake the fuck up,” she screams, dripping water all over the bed, as Shawna hits him with a full open hand slap with her whole body into it.
He gasps and pops upright, grabbing her hand as she rears back to smack him again. He looks at her, as if looking through her, then he grabs her in a bear hug. “It’s ok, babe,” she whispers. “It’s ok.”
He shudders for a moment, then lifts her to lean back into him. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he mutters. After a moment, he realizes, “You’re all wet.”
“Well, no shit, you were bellowing like a dying elephant in here. I could hear you over the fucking music.”
“Shit, I’m sorry. Fucking nightmares. I told you I don’t sleep.” He relaxes a bit, and she turns her head to look at him. Leaning in, he kisses her long and deep, noting the scent of the clover, tasking the whiskey on her lips. “I love you, you crazy fucking sheila,” he murmurs.
“I love you too, you fucking nut job,” she replies before turning into him again, kissing him hungrily.
He shudders in pain, “Fuck, I must have cracked my head against the wall, and he turned to look at the mirror hanging on the wall near the bath, before roaring with horror as he sees her metallic fingers digging into the back of his skull.
He throws her to the floor, scrabbling for his pistols on the night stand. “You didn’t think it would be that fuckin’ easy did you, brother dear,” laughed Bridgette from near the window overlooking the sea.
“Fuck you, bitch. I don’t know who you are, but you ain’t my fucking sister.” He opens fire, emptying the clips in both weapons as he charged her, shouldering her, along with himself through the bullet proof glass and out to the beach waiting two stories below.
“Brett, Brett, come on ya fuckin’ dumb shit, wake up. I already have one brother missing, not losing two.”
“Is he going to be ok?” he hears a panicked female voice crack, as he groans, trying to lift his head off the ground.
“Easy there, Brett, you have several broken bones, if not your fucking dumbass head for jumping through that window,” Bryan says, crouching beside him in nothing but boxers.
Brett tries to crawl away to get some distance.
“What the fuck is going on? What the hell were you shooting at?”
“I don’t know, I don’t know,” Brett stammers, looking up at Shawna, standing there wet and naked, tears dripping from his eyes. Not wet, saline tears, but tears that are blood red; his eyes glowing a venomous yellow. “Maybe it’s time to see Henri’s shrink.”
Last Dreams 