Shadows in the Night

Mike stood out like a sore thumb. No, fuck the overused analogy. Mike stood out like an outspoken, rainbow-striped zebra in a film noir. He was separated from the other Christians, an act in itself deemed absurd by the C13 community. Their beliefs and philosophies circled around being something comparable to a tight-knit family, but Mike knew it was all bullshit. L’Ombre only wanted his subjects close and secured because a dog on a shorter leash can’t run far from his master. As much as Mike relished the comparison, he believed pigs would be a more suitable term for these men. They thought of their Glorias as nothing more than sexual objects, playthings, that will continue to fill their wallets with filthy money. Money hard-earned by the Glorias, but did they ever see a goddamn cent of it? No. Every last penny is snatched by the grimy hands of greedy men.

It sickened our noble Christian to no end, making him instantly unpopular. He often wondered why the hell L’Ombre even bothered keeping him on his payroll in the first place. Wouldn’t it lessen his complications by cutting Mike loose? He was obviously the weak link amongst his loyal subjects, seeing as the mere sight of blood makes him quiver and the simple sound of a young girl crying blasts his Daddy-radar on high. He didn’t belong in C13…yet they were insistent upon forcing him to comply.

Their methods of breaking Mike hadn’t been too incredibly difficult. All they had to do was dangle baby Brixton’s fragile life in his face, followed by the soulless cackle of his ex-wife as she brandished the child as if he were merely a doll, and he would do whatever the hell they asked. Selling drugs? Worth it to make the laughing stop. Forcing under aged girls to have sex for money? Ok as long as Brittney does not harm his son. It wasn’t long before the severity of his actions caught up with his conscience, leaving Mike to turn to the very product he was selling for comfort. Not the girls, of course, for they all reminded him of his daughter in some shape or form. No, Mike turned to the drugs, thinking it was an acceptable source of relaxation seeing as his sober state of mind couldn’t take much more of this sinister line of work.

He hadn’t thought of what might happen if anyone were to notice him stealing the product. If he would have, then maybe C13 wouldn’t have kidnapped his daughter. Maybe…

Mike couldn’t bring himself to mull over the second thought. The thought involving his husband and how he wasn’t even sure if the man was still alive. Surely L’Ombre wouldn’t touch Billie. He was a businessman needing to teach an unfaithful employee a lesson, after all. He already had Stella. Why the fuck would he need Billie Joe as well?

The more that nasty, unwanted thought danced menacingly around in his aching skull, Mike came to the conclusion that L’Ombre was bluffing. He had to be…because if both his daughter and his husband ended up dead due to his seemingly miniscule mistake, Mike wouldn’t be able to live with himself.

So sat the snappy-mouthed, rainbow-striped jackass in his filthy film noir, avoiding the hateful glances he received from his fellow Christians as he anxiously awaited his orders for the night. They all can see through the haze of smoke that billowed out from his mouth and the end of his satisfying cancer-stick that he wanted nothing more than to bolt from the room, and they wanted to rip him apart for it. The Christians wanted him gone for not conforming, for not simply going with the flow, but of course they couldn’t. The orders were very clear that Christian Number 86, who adamantly insisted upon being called Mike instead of the assumed codename, was not to be touched.

“Yo 86, they fuckin’ called you, man,” Christian 648 growled maliciously, all but pushing Mike out of his chair to give him the hint.

The main difference between the Christians and the Glorias could be explained simply by Mike’s disinterest in learning the names of his co-workers. They were nothing but a series of random numbers to Mike. In contrast, he made it his personal mission to know every Gloria by the first name their parents had given them. Those girls were not just numbers or a pretty little face…they were real. They were alive…and most of them still had a burning sense of hope deep within their souls that both inspired and horrified Mike. Glorias never made it out of C13 alive, and the Christians were well aware of the fact. They simply didn’t care.

“Ok, ok, I’m going,” Mike sighed, flicking the remains of his cigarette to the ground and crushing it with the toe of his shoe before he heaved himself up to receive his orders for the night from the lapdog herself. The smug little smirk slapped lazily across her face made Mike’s stomach heave unpleasantly as he entered the small room L’Ombre had been separating cocaine in mere hours beforehand. The minute Mike’s trembling form entered the room, Brittney slammed the door closed behind him for an ultimately dramatic effect. Her eyes immediately traveled to her master, eagerly seeking his approval of her actions. He nodded curtly, and the corner of his mouth twitched in his lethargic attempt at a smile. Brittney beamed, thoroughly pleased with herself.

“Well, here you are,” L’Ombre drawled, as if the mere act of speaking was such an incredible waste of his time. He motioned towards the notorious Yellow Pad notebook, where every Christian’s specific orders were scrawled out in legible handwriting. Brittney must be the one hand-writing the orders out for him, seeing as a man of L’Ombre’s importance couldn’t possibly be plagued with the mundane task of putting a pen to paper.

Mike grasped the top sheet of paper in his hand and ripped it away from the pad, soaking in every word in disbelief. He wasn’t exactly sure why, but he had assumed that a specific name would be first on his list. The lack of said name mystified the hapless Christian, and L’Ombre didn’t have to see the look in Mike’s eyes to know it. Hell, the wretched man knew what was coming already.

“Where’s Stella’s number?” Mike asked softly, his eyes never leaving the words Gloria 1. That was Gretchen…definitely not Stella.

“Oh, I find it highly inappropriate for Gloria 23 to be placed under your care, Mike. Don’t you agree, pet?” L’Ombre sneered, waiting for a response from his revolting lapdog.

“Yeah, Mike’s her fucking dad. That’d be obscene,” Brittney agreed, to no one’s surprise.

“But…please, at least let me be her Christian for her first…” Mike’s voice hitched in his throat as he fought to keep a sob from escaping his mouth. “…her first customer. I want to be there for her…afterwards.”

“Absolutely not. You already have the maximum number of Glorias issued to one Christian. Besides, Gloria 23 isn’t working tonight,” L’Ombre explained, leaving Mike to once again be hopelessly confused.

“Her name is Stella, and why isn’t she going out tonight? Wasn’t Brittney fixing her up to-”

“I don’t give a damn what her name is, Mike, and she stays with me tonight.”

Mike’s heart plummeted deep within his ribcage upon hearing L’Ombre’s dark intentions spoken aloud. Of course it was common knowledge that the man picked a different Gloria every night to be his little toy, but Mike never dreamed he would have the audacity to take his daughter.

“Go. Give Gloria 1 the address and the product before our customer grows lonely,” the man ordered, pointing to the door before adding, “and return to my office once the girl leaves. I have a special project for you this evening.”

Mike left the tiny office in a daze, confusion being the sole emotion flickering uneasily about in his heart and mind. If he hadn’t been so previously consumed by his own thoughts, he may have noticed the peculiar absence of Christians 512, 94, 787, and 136, for those specific Christians had a very special assignment that evening as well.