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Post by Charles Vane on Jun 8, 2006 11:13:28 GMT -5
<3
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Post by Alice Wilde on Jun 10, 2006 20:42:13 GMT -5
Warning: Nothing in the following chapter is true and/or historically accurate. Except for the part about Sodium Penthol. I looked that up on Wikipedia. 'Cause it's cool.
Non-bolded continuation of the disclaimer: Okay, three things about this chapter. A- I made it up. There is no truth in it. It's like The Da Vinci Code, only not even the architecture is accurate because I can't describe the settings in my story. Then again neither can Dan Brown. (oooh, random insult.) I wrote it late at night. Late last night, actually. B- This chapter is VERY talkative and hardly action-packed. Sorry. I had a lot of explaining to do. C- The action that is packed within this chapter is...well, gay. Please forgive the bit of slash toward the end. D- Not a lot of this part revolved around 667ers. The next chapter will focus exculsively on 667ers, though, so don't freak out. E- It's confusing. Really really really really confusing.
...That was five things. Oh, well. To make a long disclaimer short(er), forgive me for this chapter, in general. I like it just fine but you probably won't. Sorry. Again.
- - - - - Part Four-Truth
Images assaulted Jon as the burning in his lungs intensified. He heard himself moan as a wave of clarity passed over him. How had he come here? Why?
He remembered.
“Jon, I received a very important phone call today.”
It was the night before, and Stephen was Googling the next person he wanted on his show. They were the only ones remaining in the Colbert Report studio, the staff having left hours before. It was not the first night they had done this...Jon enjoyed Stephen’s company frequently, preferring him to his wife and children.
Stephen pushed his chair away and stared at Jon, who lay splayed on the old Daily Show couch. They were supposed to have given it away in some sort of contest, but Jon insisted on sending the winner a replica. The sofa was soaked with too many memories.
Lines etched the younger man’s face. Stephen held a cluster of papers in his hand.
“From whom?” Jon pushed himself up.
“A woman named Beatrice.” Stephen wet his lips, as though speaking of her made him nervous. “At least...she informed me that I should call her Beatrice.”
“Does this Beatrice have a surname?”
“I...No. Just Beatrice. I...I think it’s a sort of codename.”
“Codename?”
“She...” Stephen gulped. “She’s located a descendant of Judas Iscariot.”
Jon looked at him.“Okay.
“What do you mean, okay?”
“I mean, is this in the news? Why should we be concerned with it?”
“...You. Why should it concern you.”
“Stephen, what the hell are you talking about?”
Jon’s eyes closed. He slipped into darkness. - - - - -
After Jon Stewart collapsed, PJ grabbed Pandora’s hand and led her out of the ballroom. He was supposed to be interviewing the newsman, but something had gone wrong. Of course, it was difficult to see how anything could go wrong with Pandora by his side...
“Tonight’s been wonderful, Peej,” Pandora stopped walking, leaning her head on his chest. PJ felt his breath catch in his throat as he looked down at her. She had closed her eyes, listening to his heartbeat.
Suddenly, his vest pocket began to vibrate.
“salsa,” PJ murmured, placing an arm around Pandora’s shoulders as she began to giggle. He yanked his cellphone from said pocket and opened it.
“What are you doing?” A voice hissed from the other side of the line. PJ’s eyes widened.
Her.
“Who’s that?” Pandora asked him with a bleary smile.
“No one important.” PJ cleared his throat, sweat beginning to drip from his forehead.
“Beatrice...” He spoke into the phone now, whispering. The hallway was empty except for Pandora. The light was dimmed, giving the place an eerie feel where only seconds before it had been romantic. “Beatrice, I’m sorry-”
“I may be a woman of no importance,” Beatrice’s voice was icier than a Popsicle. “but if the woman with you is of any importance at all, you had better explain to me why I see Jon Stewart unconscious and not answering the questions which I requested you ask him.”
“What does Pandora have to do with my mission?” PJ demanded, sticking a finger in his free ear to better hear. Pandora glanced at him, backing up into a wall then sliding onto the floor, becoming fascinated with the carpeting.
“Pandora has absolutely nothing to do with your part of the mission. However... if she is distracting you, she is involving herself in something she has absolutely nothing to do with. And that, comrade, is a dangerous thing to do.” Music flowed in the background as she drew breath. “After all...an accident has already befallen Mr. Stewart. Whose to say something may not happen your lady friend as well?”
That music... Rhythms escaped the ballroom as the hallway door opened. A. flashed PJ and Pandora a smile, emerging from it, presumably in pursuit of a restroom. The same music they’re playing in the ballroom... PJ’s skin prickled. Beatrice is here. He saw Pandora plucking at the floor in his periphery and felt anxious.
“No.” He swallowed like he was taking a pill. His throat was raspy. He needed something to drink. “Please...”
“This is why you should never love someone.” Beatrice chided. “It’s only a burden...”
“Who have you loved?!” PJ shouted this, grasping his phone as though it were a bar of soap in prison. “You know nothing of love, Beatrice!”
The reply was so soft he wasn’t sure he heard it. “The man I love is going to die tonight,” Beatrice murmured. “because of a mistake I made...”
“What?”
She cleared her throat, made a noise that could have been a cough or a sob. “Nothing.” She said. “Interview Colbert. Convince him. Leave your paramour alone while you work. She’ll time to sober, anyway.”
“Pandora’s not drunk.” PJ said, all feelings for the woman on the other line vanishing. With exquisite timing, Pandora muttered something about the room spinning and passed out, head hitting the floor loudly.
Beatrice snorted. “Why else did you think she was with you?” She asked, just as PJ hung up. - - - - -
“Sodium Penthol.” Sora sniffed the package of cigarettes in disgust. “Oh, yes, I’m sure of it. My anaesthesiologist raves about the stuff. You probably know it better as a truth serum, but it can keep a person under for a while, even induce comas...”
The crowd around J’s table had lessened at the doctor’s command, but J and Stephen had been allowed to stay. Shruti was also there, watching Stephen watch Jon. And Tragedy edge closer toward to them...
“Truth serum?” Stephen asked, paling.
“Looks like someone wanted to ask Mr. Stewart a few questions.” Sora checked Jon’s pulse again and sighed. “I’m pretty sure he’ll be okay...What concerns me the most is how the serum got into his system...straight through the lungs. Must have felt like his chest was on fire.” He shook his head.
“Shouldn’t you be more concerned as to he came in contact with the serum? Someone dipped his cigarettes in sodium penthol.” J said, lowering her tone so no one other than the four would hear. “Look, before he lit up, he was talking about some vendetta. Gethisbane, or something. Do you think that might have something to do with this?”
“Jon was talking to you about that?” Stephen’s eyes narrowed at his friend’s listless form on the floor, not unlike Pandora’s listless form outside the ballroom whom PJ had recently carried up to her hotel room.
“He was smoking a lot.” Shruti said. Stephen seemed worried and she wanted him to stop, though his concern for Jon was adorable. “He might have had a good deal of the serum in his system already.”
“You would have to be asking Jon questions about the Gethsemane Vendetta before he would give you answers...”
“Gethsemane, that’s it.” J snapped her fingers. “What do you know about that? It might be important to finding out who did this to Jon.”
Stephen’s tongue thickened. The plot hadn’t seemed sinister until now. How did he know he could trust this girl?
“Nothing. I don’t know anything about it.” He shrugged. “Jon mentioned it in passing once or twice but I never paid any attention.” - - - - -
“Stephen, what the hell are you talking about?” Jon repeated.
Stephen pushed the off button on his computer. He grabbed Jon’s hand and pulled him from the couch, to a large bookcase pushed to the side of the office. An unwatered plant sat next to it. Jon looked at his friend.
“Read the titles.” Stephen said. Jon did. St. Peter’s Revenge, Judas Betrayed Twice, For It Is My Blood: The Betrayal of Jesus Christ, Most Secret Vendetta...The last written by Stephen Colbert. Jon looked at him again, confused.
“You...you’re a religious scholar?”
Stephen shook his head. “I’m a religious warrior. I’ve been tapped.”
A leaf fell off the plant. The office’s mundanity contrasted too sharply with what Stephen had just said. Jon thought of him in a knight’s armor and realized it was absurd. Colbert on Crusade. It sounded like the title for a segment on the Report.
Stephen waited a few moments for him to say something. He couldn’t.
“Perhaps I should explain.” Stephen lifted a book from the shelf, unsure of how to go on. “You see...Judas was a traitor. And for that he was punished.”
Jon bristled. “I’m not fluent in New Testament knowledge...but didn’t he commit suicide out of remorse?”
“No. Don’t you remember the flurry of programs on the National Geographic Channel after they unearthed Judas’s body? The ropes with which he allegedly asphyxiated himself were positioned in an unusual way and he had broken bones located in strange places on his hands.”
“I imagine you would have to pull very hard to strangle yourself...”
“Again, non, mon ami.” Stephen showed Jon a paper. It featured an old skeleton and a diagram of two men, one with his hands on a rope thrown across the other’s neck. The latter was digging his fingers underneath the rope and his eyes were bulging. Jon winced.
Stephen pointed to the lower diagram. “See how his hands are positioned?”
Jon squinted. “I think so, yeah.”
“Judas’s thumbs broke because he was trying to stop his strangler.” Here, he pointed the skeleton’s hands. Jon examined the picture closely. Sure enough, the thumbs were broken, splintered like tree bark.
“Wait, you’re confusing me. Who was the strangler? Just some random disciple?”
“No. An Apostle. The Apostle. St. Peter, founder of the Roman Catholic church.”
“I thought he denied Jesus...I thought he...” Jon frowned.
“Of course, he denied Jesus. They stoned you for murder back then. And Judas was on the Pharisees’ good sides. If Peter would have admitted to knowing Christ, he would have been a prime suspect.”
“Doesn’t the Bible say Judas committed suicide? Not murdered...”
“The Bible was written from the perspective of a disciple of Jesus. It is a better story to show Judas so consumed with guilt that he offed himself, giving him a lifetime in Hell for a mortal sin.”
“Well...this certainly is an amazing story. How do you know it’s the truth?”
“Did you not see the books I showed you? It’s a widely accepted belief in the Christian community. Seriously, you should come to Mass with me sometime.”
“What does this have to do with you? Why were you...tapped?”
“With us, mon ami. What does this have to do with us.”
Goosebumps spread across Jon’s arms and the office wasn’t cold.
“Jon...just after Peter killed Judas, his son found them.”
“Judas had a son? I thought...” Brooding lines appeared on Jon’s face now.
“Ignore what you thought. It’s hardly ever the truth.” Stephen continued. “Yes, Judas had a son, called Erazra Iscariot by later Christians. And he swore revenge. Which he later got, when Peter was crucified in Rome. It was Erazra tipped the Roman authorities of Peter’s preaching Christianity. But it didn’t end there.” A strange emotion crossed his face here. It almost looked like pride. “Peter had a protege, Mercutio. When he found out about Erazra, he left the Church to avenge Peter.”
Stephen paused.
“Well?” Jon asked, like a child angry at his parent for stopping a bedtime story. “Did he?”
“He did, but he left Erazra’s children alive. Naturally, they wanted to avenge their father...and so on. Mercutio had an enormous family. Erazra’s children wanted him to suffer by executing his bloodline before killing him. They nearly succeeded but someone always managed to live.”
Stephen breathed. “Jon, I am Mercutio’s great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great grandson. Because Beatrice has located the last descendant of Judas I must avenge his death..and the death of my Lord God.”
“What? No, Stephen, you don’t. Please don’t. I don’t want you to be arrested over some bloody tradition.”
“It’s not just tradition. You see...After the death of the Christian Messiah, a skirmish broke out that lasted for centuries. There has never been a peaceful Middle East since. Peter once proclaimed that the fighting would cease if those who had betrayed Jesus fought each other one last time. Jon, he was talking about Erazra’s bloodline and the Jewish people, whom the Church has long considered traitors to Jesus by not accepting him as God's son.”
“Which is why I need your help. I need you to kill this last descendant. I will take the blame, as I genetically obliged to. It will end all the animosity...”
“What? No!”
“Jon please. Do it for me. I love you so much. I would do it for you. Don’t say no. Don’t say anything.” Stephen removed his tie and unbuttoned his shirt. Jon looked at him, unsure. Stephen took his wrist and looked back, deep into his eyes. “Don’t say anything at all until we’re there...” - - - -
“So you see, they’re crazy. And we have to stop them.” Linda concluded. Akbar had wanted to rush over to Jon when he collapsed but she stopped him, saying he shouldn’t waste the energy. Then, leading him away from the ballroom into the hallway that out of which PJ had carried Pandora, she told him the story of the vendetta which Jon had agreed to participate in the night before.
“And...who told you all this? I mean, I didn’t think the Apostles had children, let alone a feuding bloodline. What makes you think Jon and Stephen aren’t here because they have many 667ers as fans?” Akbar looked down into his drink, swirling it. He adored Linda and did not exactly trust the two fake newsman in the corner of the room. However, what with Jon being unconscious, Linda wasn’t the only person who believed that they were here to kill Tragedy, the alleged last descendant of Judas Iscariot.
“Beatrice told me.” Linda said, aware of how ridiculous that sounded. She needed to back it up. “And she’s an expert on the pact made at Gethsemane.”
“Beatrice...who?”
“Just Beatrice.” Linda admitted. “I think it’s some sort of code name.”
“How much have you had to drink?”
“Akbar...” Linda put her hands on her hips.
“Look...I’m sorry.” Akbar patted her shoulder. “But I just find this really hard to believe.”
Linda looked around and grabbed Akbar’s arm. “Come with me.” She said. “I’ll show you it’s true.” - - - - -
From For It Is My Blood: The Betrayal of Jesus Christ, Celia Snikmopht, pg. 150:
An ancient text quotes the future saint Peter as saying that the fighting would end when enemies of the church fought themselves, namely the Jews and Judas bloodline. That seems to be more wistful thinking than Biblical prophecy...Heaven help those can’t tell the difference. - - - - -
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Post by s on Jun 10, 2006 21:50:07 GMT -5
*love*
I'm a bit confused as to why Jon and not Stephen's supposed to kill Trag? Stephen's supposed to avenge his forefathers, right? But where did the whole Erazra/Jews thing come from?
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Post by Alice Wilde on Jun 10, 2006 21:57:09 GMT -5
Okay.
Stephen is supposed to avenge his forefathers, but St. Peter said that the fighting would end if the people who betrayed Jesus fought each other. (The fighting including the fued between Judas/Peter's respective...follower-descendants) Some people believe that the Jews betrayed Jesus, because they denied him as Lord and because Jon is Jewish, he would need to fight Tragedy who is allegedly the descendant of Judas, who also betrayed Jesus.
...I didn't think that would come out clear. *edit*
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Post by s on Jun 10, 2006 22:00:25 GMT -5
Ah.
And so Stephen'll just fake-avenge his forefathers?
Hence the "I will take the blame, as I genetically obliged to."
Okay, makes sense.
<3
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Post by Sora on Jun 11, 2006 1:31:27 GMT -5
You rock Alice. Well done. It's cool that I'm all medically in the zone. This story is getting awesome. Well worth the wait. Keep writing girl!
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Post by Akbar Le Grey on Jun 11, 2006 3:33:49 GMT -5
Wonderful, darling. I'm so glad you're continung this. <3<3<3
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Post by s on Jun 11, 2006 19:55:57 GMT -5
Eh, I'm commenting again.
I just read the whole story over again from the beginning, and it really is magnificent.
*praises*
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Post by PJ on Jun 11, 2006 23:35:29 GMT -5
Simply awesome.
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Post by Alice Wilde on Jun 22, 2006 21:10:15 GMT -5
And, update. Excuse the length and spelling errors.
Do I need to remind you how fedorawesome you are, readers? Thanks again. - - - - Part Five- Repeat
Stephen watched the people dancing in front of him, weaving patterns the way life never does. He was here to do something noble with the man he...oh, to hell with it, the man he loved but now the world had flipped. Someone knew why they were here and poisoned Jon. He was in danger and still no sight of the son of a traitor...
“You mustn’t look so sad.” A voice said, from behind him. Despairing, he began to tell it that he had every right to look sad but when he saw the face of the person behind him, the words froze.
It was Cinderella, that beautiful woman who had been following his thoughts all night. Jon disappeared from his thoughts and all Stephen could see was her, light at the end of a tunnel. She raised a gloved finger and touched his nose. “You’re too handsome to sit there, brooding.”
“And you are too lovely to be speaking with the man brooding,”
She laughed and covered her mouth with her hand. Her eyes flamed as she pressed her body against his. “I don’t think,” She murmured into his ear, her chest pushing into his arm. She found Stephen’s hand and touched it with her lips. “that I am too lovely to speak to you.”
Shruti’s hands clenched across the ballroom. You couldn’t squeeze a dime through the space separating Tragedy and Stephen. Pushing several couples out of the way, she marched over to them, Tragedy casting her a haughty glare and Stephen apathetic.
“How may I help you, dear?” The transvestite asked, entwining his arm with Stephen’s.
“Something’s happened with Jon.” Shruti said, ignoring the daggers shooting from Tragedy’s eyes. She smoothed her dress and stood in front of Stephen. She wondered if the words would be enough to lure him away...
Stephen’s mouth fell and his whole body with it as he slouched, guilt written across his face. “Jon?” He asked, more to himself than her. He rested elbow on a nearby table and looked up at her.
Oh, Stephen! Unease ravaged his sleek shell, the handsome anchorman whom she had saw in the lobby that afternoon gone. Not that he still wasn’t handsome, but anxiousness caused his forehead to droop and his mouth to bunch in a pout. It was only his eyes that redeemed him, piercing her without even focusing.
Shruti extended her hand and he took it. Smiling, she looked over her shoulder and winked at Tragedy. The administrator offered a bitter movement of his lips before waving to Snicket, who ran to his side and begged for a dance.
“Snicket, be a dear,” Tragedy cooed. “Follow Stephen around for a while. Watch what that woman says to him. I’m afraid there will be some foul play tonight, if we’re not careful. You have my number, surely. The cell?”
Snicket nodded.
“Good.” Tragedy gestured to the exquisite purse by his side. “Call me as soon as something noteworthy happens and I’ll make it worth your while.”
With that, the administrator blended into the crowd. - - - - -
PJ sat on the hotel bed, having just tucked the covers over Pandora. The gold-painted lamps hurt his eyes, so he had switched them off. Only light came from the stars, peeping through a slit in the curtains, casting a bluish tint on everything in the room. A digital clock bore the time (11:42) from the wooden night stand.
Nice place, this... PJ thought. Maybe they would return for the tenth year reunion. He frowned and looked over his shoulder at the sleeping frame behind him, breathing in calm bursts, audible only to someone that concentrated.
She would not love him then, either.
Sighing, he stood and went for the door. She rolled in bed and moaned “PJ!”
PJ gulped. She was awake and now she would be apologize for kissing him. Oh, well. It had been fantastic while it had lasted.
He crouched next to her, black cloth from his suit chafing his skin. She looked up at him, eyes like a child’s. He rested a hand on her upper arm as she began to whisper.
“Don’t go...I’ll feel fine again after a quick nap. I swear. Stay here...with me.”
Well, how do you ignore something like that? PJ thought, answering “I’ll always stay with you.”
She smiled and turned her back to him, arching. “I thought so.” - - - - -
Fortunately for Shruti, something was happening with Jon. Sora had been alternately slapping him gently and pouring cold water on him for perhaps ten minutes before suggesting that certain chemicals such as caffeine or aspartame may speed his heart rate enough to wake him. So as J trickled Diet Pepsi down his throat, his eyes fluttered open.
Stephen was first to notice this, abandoning Shruti for the second time that night in order to reach a man to whom he was attracted. She did not mind, however...as long as he was away from Tragedy, she was his. Not to mention, in a fight, she could take Jon.
“Oh, please tell me that you’re all right. Say something. Say anything.” Stephen brushed the hair from his face.
Jon groaned. “I feel like I’m on drugs.” It was as though someone had shoved a wad of cotton in his mouth.
Sora chuckled. J and Shruti breathed sighs of relief. Stephen’s face contorted with glee as he buried his face in Jon’s suit.
“Thank God,” he said, though he could have said something else. Jon couldn’t hear him very clearly, considering that Stephen’s mouth was somewhere in between his nipples. Yawning, Jon leaned back and stared at the ceiling. It was painted, featuring half-clothed cherubs dancing around glided clouds. One of the clouds twitched. Jon furrowed his brow and gently pushed Stephen back, in order to sit up and continue staring.
“Did you see that?” He asked.
“See what?” Stephen beamed at him.
Shruti looked up and her eyes widened. “There’s something up there.” She said, unbelieving. Her heels tapped the floor as she stood on tip-toe to better see. The cloud twitched again and straining her ears, she could have sworn she heard the sound of a dress rustling over the music.
Sora squinted. “I don’t think so, dear...” He examined her. “You look stressed. Perhaps this Jon trauma has disturbed you. Why don’t you have a drink and relax?”
“No, I’ll stay here with Stephen.” After a pause (during which everyone stared at her), she added. “And Jon.”
Jon shook his head returned his gaze skyward. Must have been seeing things...
He shut his eyes. His chest felt as though someone had punched it.“Er...what happened to me?” He asked. Sora poked his eyelid with his finger. Jon grimaced.
“You were given a large dose of sodium penthol. You need to stay awake.” The doctor handed him the rest of the Pepsi. “Here, drink that.”
“Truth serum?” Jon did not drink.
Sora lowered his head.
J leaned to Jon, coming within inches of his face. “I need you to tell me about whatever it was you were going to tell me before you passed out. The vendetta. I think it might be important.” She was quiet. Jon had to move closer to her to hear.
“Vendetta...?” Jon brought a hand to his head. Everything seemed blurry. J grabbed the Pepsi and splashed a portion on his lips.
“She’s imagining things.” Stephen leapt into the conversation and in between Jon and J, nudging the latter a few steps back. He patted Jon’s arm and gave a short laugh. “Forget about it, Jon. We were all so worried about you, no telling what has slipped our minds.”
J blinked several times before replying, incredulous. “What? No, I remember Jon talking about...”
Stephen continued, unabated. “Yes, that must have been someone else. Perhaps you’re stressed, too. I know that you’re a fan of my colleague...”
“I’m an even bigger fan of yours.”
“That’s why you’re stressed.” Stephen retorted. “I was stressed and like animals react to their owner’s feelings, you reacted to mine.”
“Are you calling me an animal?” J’s voice quivered, confusion, sadness and anger combining.
“No. I’m calling you a loyal fan who would never pester a man under the influence of truth serum with questions that could complicate situations.” Stephen’s expression seemed to add the phrase ‘ please not here’.
But J didn’t read expressions. “What aren’t you telling me?” she asked, softly.
Shruti took in the scene, tensing as Stephen bit his lip.
“J...” She turned to her friend. J faced her, more puzzled than ever. “I think that...well, maybe we are a little stressed. Stephen can...take care of Jon. Let’s just calm down a little before we ask any questions. Jon may be a little too honest at this point...Dr. Sora, would you join us?”
Stephen’s grateful smile her only reward, Shruti led J and Sora away. The second that they had gone, Stephen shoved a hand in Jon’s pocket and pulled out the revolver. Jon watched him, eyes growing large with understanding.
“The Gethsemane Vendetta!” He realized aloud.
Stephen clicked the end of the gun. “Are you sure you’re up for it still?” He asked, not meeting the other man’s eyes.
“What? Of course.”
“Are you sure you want to do this?” He looked up, his eyes coating with tiny amount of liquid, seriousness etched into his face. “Jon-” His voice cracked. “You were poisoned. Someone knows why we’re here. We are...we’re in danger. And while I am perfectly content to stay, I won’t see you...see you laying motionless again. Not when I forced you here. Jon...I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have got you involved-”
“Stephen, no. That’s what I’m here for.” And for the second time of the night, the gun was passed between the men. Only this time Stephen did not smile.
It takes somber men to do somber jobs and, somberly, Snicket dialed the numbers to Tragedy’s cell. - - - -
Antenora swallowed. An old fear of heights lingered somewhere in the back of her mind as she opened the trapdoor in the ceiling to look down at the ball. The people looked like a mass of swirling dots. She trembled with vertigo and felt terror as she began to slip through the door.
Two arms encircled her waist, hoisting her back into the room and closing the door. Dim lit surrounded them. They were in an ordinary hotel room, which, at Tragedy’s request had been customized with the trap door. 13 canisters filled with teargas glinted at her from on top of the bed even in the light, but Dante’s grip was enough to comfort her.
He looked sharp, hair pulled back and suit dry-cleaned. “Are you all right?” He asked, releasing her.
She fell back, limply, the metal of the bedframe catching her spine. The adrenaline flowing through her veins did not stop for a few minutes so they sat, silent.
“I was just...checking...” She managed to say.
“That’s the third time you’ve checked. Of course, I don’t mind rescuing you.” He smiled a small sad smile that she couldn’t bear.
The events planned tonight would perhaps destroy it forever. “Dante...I don’t want to do this.” She said, carefully. It was a technique she had learned from a psychology book a few years back...saying something that you wanted to do in order to give the other person a chance to agree.
“We have to.” The smile faded.
She stared at him in agony. “No, we don’t! Let’s just get Colbert and Stewart. They’re the problem. They’re the ones wanting to do the harm. They’ve both got guns...we’ll incapacitate them, make sure that Tragedy is safe in his limousine, then join the other members for the last dance. It will be so wonderful, darling, and you won’t have to worry...”
“Antenora, how can I not worry?” The question was meant to come out angry but in reality was so tortured that she seized him, bringing his face to hers.
“Would you rather kill your fellow members or hurt two men who have every chance of recovery if we treat them properly?” She murmured, shaking him a little. She was on the verge of hysterics but inhaled, quenching them. “Tragedy will be safe.”
“Not in the way he wants to be. Don’t you see,” He pried himself from her grip and began to pace the room. “Do you not see the danger I’ve put him in?”
“He let them stay! He invited Jon and Stephen.”
“I’m not talking about them!”
Silence spread across the room, for the second time. Antenora reached for him, but he moved away. A mirror hung on the wall, just before the bathroom like in any hotel room. He stared at himself then pulled the tie from his hair. It billowed down and he swept it up in his hands, exposing his neck...and the marking that was there.
It was a peculiar design. Four perpendicular lines narrowing with a straight line connected to a curved about a centimeter away. Tiny dots surrounded it.
A salt-shaker with the cap screwed off, spilling the salt. A timeless symbol for awful luck. Identical to the one hiding under Tragedy’s gloves on the floor below.
“Tragedy is a venerable man,” He touched the marking. Antenora walked over to him and took his hands, his hair falling over one shoulder, neck bare. He only looked forward not acknowledging his friend. “Noble. It is he who is protecting me...deflecting the attention that comes with this...” Dante flinched, twisting around. “this hideous symbol that you’ve seen thousands of times. It is a curse, religious scholars examining your neck for ancient clues. My father bore it and his father before him, but they wouldn’t leave us alone.” The last words came out in an animalistic roar. He frightened Antenora, his chest heaving and his eyes wild.
“When I said that I wasn’t a murderer this evening,” His tone was fluid, level, despite his appearance. “that was a lie.” Antenora’s feet caved underneath her and she was on the floor again. She knew only pieces of Dante’s past, only what he had been comfortable with sharing. She knew about the marking, of course, yet knew little of how it affected him. Remorse threatened to consume her.
A mistake I made...she thought and sat, looking up at him, unable to move. He will never forgive me...
Dante, faced with the awkward position of Antenora on her knees, lifted her up and put her on the bed, rolling a few of the canisters off to make room. He wasn’t worried about leaks...They were all sealed tightly.
“It was only a few years ago. A priest came to the house. I couldn’t take it anymore. I was about to leave for the first reunion...to see you for the first time.” He gulped, hovering above her, lonely as a cloud. “I...you remember how angry I was then. I made a mistake. I...oh, ‘Nora, I would give anything to take it back. I was a wreck afterward.” The fluidness ran out. Dante’s breathing was rapid and he couldn’t say the words. Finally, he gave up and continued. “ Tragedy was on my plane. He had been on holiday in Scotland and he recognized me. I was so upset I would have told anyone and...I told him. He said he would protect me and he has. I have let him put himself in danger to protect me. Now, all he ask is that I follow his orders...and I will.”
Antenora felt a lump appear in her throat. “Dante...I’m a murderer, too.” She placed a hand behind her pushing herself up. He stared at her, not knowing what to do or so. “I have betrayed y-”
The door of the hotel room clicked shut, loudly. Both turned to it, mouths agape.
Someone had been listening to their entire conversation. And they had no idea who. - - - - - - Linda and Akbar vaulted down the stairs, only noise coming from their shoes as they pounded down each step. The stairwell was white, blinding. Neither could concentrate on anything except the conversation they had just witnessed. They knew they would run out of stairs soon. They would need to stop.
And they did, once they were sure the sounds of people and shoes had stopped ricocheting. Linda crossed her arms and shivered.
“Dante...is the real descendant of Judas” She said, at last. The words were shocked, soft.
“He murdered a priest.” Sweat trailed from Akbar’s temple.
“Tragedy is protecting him.”
“Antenora is a murderer, too.”
“Tragedy wants us dead in exchange for his protection.”
Akbar swallowed, the weight of the revelations threatening to bring him toppling down.
“We have to warn them,” He said. “We have to get help.”
“From whom?” Linda asked.
Suddenly, an eerie ringing echoed through the stairwell. Linda tore her purse open and picked up her phone, to look at the caller ID.
862-6802.
Beatrice. - - - - - -
It was ten minutes midnight when Stephen felt someone else’s hand tugging on his sleeve. He was, once again, startled and delirious to see Cinderella standing in front of him.
“Let’s go somewhere.” She said, causal tones wringing around some other emotion he couldn’t place. Out of the corner of his eye, Stephen noticed Shruti noticing them. The girl had eyes like a hawk and he watched her excuse herself to join them.
“Come on,” Stephen knew the emotion now. She was seducing him. He did not see any signs of Jon, but Shruti was coming closer...
“I...I can’t,” Stephen said. “Not tonight.”
“What?” Cinderella frowned. “But you said I was lovely,”
“You are,” Stephen reassured, but then he looked into the crowd, finding Jon’s face among Shruti’s. He belonged with them, and, though she was beautiful, wonderful, spell-binding...It was better to belong than to be surrounded with such a temptation. “I’m very sorry, miss. I think that young man is fond you , though.” He pointed to Snicket, who was rushing toward them.
Tragedy gritted his teeth, ready to spit.
“Tra-Guest!” Snicket cried. “Guest!”
Stephen’s limbs went numb. The woman next to him had just been called “Guest”. The Guest, she said he would be called...
“What?” Tragedy snarled, in a very masculine voice. Stephen tripped over his own feet, stepping back. Cinderella was a man! The very man he had been looking for! THE GUEST.
He dove his hands into his pocket and grabbed the revolver, pointing it in front of him. Several people gasped and Jon and Shruti came to his side.
“Stephen, what are you doing?” Jon asked.
Tragedy stared at the weapon with a smile on his face. Slowly, he met Stephen’s eyes, smirk growing with every second. He raised a gloved hand and touched Stephen’s nose.
“It’s not midnight yet, dear.” Tragedy said, and stepped back, melting into the crowd for the second time that night.
But it would not be the last. - - - - - -
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Post by PJ on Jun 22, 2006 21:27:11 GMT -5
Woah this is awesome. <3
Brilliant.
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Post by Akbar Le Grey on Jun 23, 2006 4:23:48 GMT -5
OMFGWTF
Wow, this was the best part yet. <3<3<3
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Post by Sora on Jun 23, 2006 5:06:28 GMT -5
Professional my dear. Absolutely wonderful Alice. I like the integration of Diet Pepsi in a story, caffine always makes you feel all better. Waiting in joy for Part 6.
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Post by s on Jun 23, 2006 14:32:35 GMT -5
Good lord, you're amazing.
Words cannot express my love for you and this piece.
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Post by Celinra on Jun 26, 2006 2:09:22 GMT -5
Well, I've been away from the forum a bit, but now I've come back and read this whole thing, mainly because it features Colbert. It's awesome thus far, I can't wait to see what happens.
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