Fear Itself

Avery was gone this morning. Gone as in he never showed up to walk me to the base, which was odd, but he had been vanishing lately. I never knew where he’d go off to, but he was either busy, or he was just not keen on spending his time hanging around the base. I didn’t blame him. How could I? I only enjoy traipsing around there because of the people I had met, my friends, not so much the sewers I had to trudge through to get there, and if not the sewers, then the seedier parts of West London until we came across a close metro entrance or the dried up canal on the edge of town. It certainly was never the highlight of my day, probably not his either, but I couldn’t help but wonder why in the world he was always off. I even tried talking to Sam about it, but Sam was busy. Dean happened to be around, though I wasn’t sure exactly his answer helped any.

“Your friend’s famous for some not-so-great things, Blondie.” That was what he told me at the meeting table as I unpacked my bag full of books and also a rather unsatisfied cat, who had grown quite a bit since I had received him three months ago. He promptly decided to lay right in the center of the table as I stacked a couple of books beside him.

“Like what?” I asked as I arranged them meticulously, making sure that the edges all lined up to form a neat stack.

“Not really sure I should be divulging that information,” Dead explained with slight hesitance. “I’m surprised the constant smell of death hasn’t tipped you off yet.” What was that supposed to mean? “Never mind, Blondie,” he sighed. “Time to go sit through another board meeting.” Dean groaned as he rose to his feet, pushing the chair back behind him. “Fingers crossed I don’t kill myself!” he shouted as he made his way for the exit, and just as quickly, he disappeared.

“What’s he jabberin’ on about?” Harley joked as she strode out of a nearby stairwell, taking a loud crunch out of an apple and chewing it as she plopped down. Her grey-green eyes fell upon the stack of books and looked them over. “These for me?” she asked, chewing another bite of her apple before she leaned over, letting her fingers trace the spines.

“Mhm,” I hummed a little, watching her fingers lightly graze the gold lettering used to display the titles. “I didn’t bring a lot of literature this time, since you told me you were finished with what I’d brought last time. Now I brought you some old textbooks. Granted, old… old as in quite a few decades old. My father has never bought me a book published after 2015.” I shrugged and gave her a smile. “But you said you wanted culture, so there’s an art history book there and um, one on music theory. I’ve also brought a collection of Emily Dickinson’s work. I find her interesting, but it’s one my newer books, so please be careful with it,” I requested.

“This is great, Cupcake,” she replied, taking the book from on top and opening it with great intrigue. She began to flip through the pages, skimming over the contents. “Anything particularly dangerous in here?” She took another bite from her apple, and her eyes only lifted briefly from the pages when she asked.

“Haven’t really had a lot of time to look for anything too exciting,” I explained apologetically. “You know, I spend all day here, and when I get home… I can’t really go looking, I just—“

“Don’t worry about it,” Harley interjected, shaking her head to show me that there was nothing wrong. “Take your time. It’s better than worryin’ ‘bout you rushin’ off to the Black Market to find them. You wouldn’t last ten seconds down there,” she chuckled.

“Hey,” I retorted, slightly insulted. She had essentially just called me weak. “I’ve been training with you for three months now. I can handle myself.”

Amused, Harley shook her head. “Cupcake, as much as I applaud your hard work, you’ve made progress, but you’re not ready for the big leagues yet.” Harley closed the book and set it back on the table. “Anyway, thanks for the books.” She stood up and began to gather the stack, but her gaze drifted. “Hey, where’s your scary friend?” she asked. “Usually, he’s hangin’ ‘round you like a smell.”

I quirked an eyebrow, not sure how to take the metaphor, though it didn’t exactly seem like much of a compliment. “I don’t really know,” I told her, shrugging. “He wasn’t there to walk me here this morning, so I had to come by myself.”

“He walks you here?” Harley asked in slight disbelief. “Wow,” she muttered, taking one last bite of her apple before tossing the core into a nearby bucket, a makeshift waste can. “I’m surprised he’s there bright and early considerin’ I see him ‘round the fight clubs most nights.”

“Fight clubs?” I asked, suddenly concerned about Avery’s whereabouts. “You mean… fight clubs as in ‘a bunch of dirty, angry men get together and beat the living hell out of each other for fun’ sort of fight clubs?”

“Well, anymore they’re doin’ it for money,” Harley chuckled. “But that’s about the right idea.”

“Harley,” I called out, just as she was beginning to walk away with her new stack of books. “Where would one um… find these fight clubs?”

She didn’t even look back to me when she laughed, “Don’t even think about it, Cupcake.” Before she entered her room, Harley turned her head. “I left your other books in your room, ‘kay?”

“Okay,” I told her with a smile as I watched her exit to her room. I heaved a loud sigh. “Alone again, Ralphie,” I cooed to the sleeping cat as I leaned forward to stroke his fur. “Not so different from home, is it?”

It only took a few moments for me to decide that I wanted to sift through the pile of books left in room, but my cat was too busy sleeping and refused to join me. Instead, I decided to join him. With my chosen book in hand, I returned to my seat. Although I had read The Picture of Dorian Gray almost a million times, it was still one of my favorite books. The idea of having a portrait that aged while I stayed young was an interesting concept… though I also thought that I would miss out on a lot of experiences if I were to stay young.

Granted, I had already missed a lot of “common” experiences, but that wasn’t something I wanted to think about.

I sat at the table alone, trying to ignore the silence (save for Ralph purring quite loudly on the table). My eyes scanned the words on the pages like they had many times before, over and over again. I was sure I had memorized the book inside and out by this point, though it still never seemed any less exciting. I learned early on that sometimes it took several reads in order to catch every tiny detail and piece of symbolism in a book. Nobody else shared this sentiment, not even my father. He told me that it was good that I enjoyed reading so much and that I was so invested in it. That was just his kind way of telling me that I was doing a good job of keeping myself busy.

My father was too occupied with his work to enjoy literature the same way that I did, even though he claimed to be a fan of the written word. Nobody was as big a fan as I was, especially not among the Brotherhood, who often didn’t seem to know what in the world a book was. Even Harley, when I asked to discuss books, was not the greatest literary analyst I had come across (not that I had ever come across any in the first place, but I digress). To put it in gentler terms, I wasn’t sure that Harley knew what she had read a lot of the time.

It was coming to light that perhaps books were not so cherished among these people. They didn’t appreciate them the way that I did. I had yet to find somebody worthy of discussing literature with, so reading alone would have to suffice. It had been working for the last couple years, and it would have to work now.

I continued my readings, enjoying my solitude (or at least trying), even as footsteps sounded by me, heading for Sam’s office. I didn’t look up, didn’t acknowledge, because all the people I liked were either absent or had already left me. The footsteps soon stopped, almost like something had startled them, like something had grabbed their attention and forced them stop. Whatever it was, it must have been awfully important. The final thud and the subsequent absence of sound pulled my eyes up from the pages and over toward the feet. A ratty, worn pair of black high-top sneakers came toward me. The laces were tied but frayed at the end, and aglets were simply nowhere to be seen. The rubber bottoms were stained and scuffed black from asphalt and roads, perhaps even the floors of the base. I followed the feet until they sat down beside me, and my eyes quickly shot back to my book. “Well, if your tragically misshapen eyebrows weren’t enough of a give-away, your dirty shoes will suffice,” I quipped, pretty pleased with myself. There was a long pause, and I uttered a breathy laugh before I told him, “If you’re here to sling petty insults, you can go elsewhere. I’ve got no time for you.”

“I… well, I wasn’t,” Alex stammered a bit. I refused to look up at him, even with the sudden change in demeanor.

“Good because they’re much better suited for a doormat like Sam.” I paused, realizing how rude it was to say such a thing, and I quickly began stumbling over my words. “Not that you should go attack Sam or anything… he’s just… he’s much more willing to take your shit, and I’m not, okay?”

He laughed. He laughed, and it was a genuine, bonafide laugh, not a condescending, mocking, jeering cackle like usually. But I wasn’t going to look up. No, I couldn’t. Looking up and acknowledging him was admitting defeat. “Note taken,” he said as his laughter began to subside. “I just… I wanted to comment on your book.”

“Mhm,” I hummed, nodding a little and growing rather frustrated as it was awfully hard to read with somebody chattering away right beside me, especially when I didn’t care for said person. “You can’t borrow it, so you should just leave now.”

“I don’t need to,” he chuckled softly. I could see his elbow lean on the table, running his fingers through his mess of light brown hair.

“Good,” I replied with eyebrows raised. I flipped another page, once again hoping that he would just leave.

“I’ve already read it.” I stopped dead. I had to look up. He was just giving me this cheeky smile, and he laughed when he saw my face. The laugh widened his smile, crinkled the corners of his eyes. For once, he didn’t look so sour and irritated. “It’s one of my favorites,” he confessed with a grin. “Dorian Gray is just such an interesting character, and he’s so… relatable.”

“I know!” I exclaimed, almost squealing. I couldn’t help myself. I clenched the book in my hands still, and I heard Alex laugh again, not as hard as the last. “He’s just so… normal, you know? People like him actually exist, and I feel like most people have been his situation… stuck between two friends pressuring him to do totally different things.”

“Yes,” he agreed, nodding. “Lord Henry Wotton and Basil Hallward are the devil and angel sitting Dorian’s shoulders, in a way.”

“That’s one way to put it. I mean, personally, I found their situations comparable to Freud’s theory on personality with id, ego, and superego,” I explained. “You know, um… Dorian would be the id, succumbing to animalistic and primitive desires like promiscuity and the opium dens. Henry Wotton is the ego, considering he’s not exactly a moral person, but he’s not exactly acting immorally either. Obviously, Basil Hallward is the superego. He’s just so moral and just all the time, almost to the point where it isn’t healthy.” I set the book down on the table, still open, tracing invisible circles and lines on the pages with my fingertip, looking down at the print with a content smile. Alex just laughed again, and that wide grin returned to his face. He was shaking his head at me. “What?” I asked, glancing up to him.

“Nothing,” he chuckled. “I mean… you’re a lot smarter than most people are giving you credit for.”

I smiled, and I could feel warmth in my cheeks. My glance quickly averted, and I laughed quietly. “Thanks,” I said softly.

“Seriously,” he continued, leaning across the table, just a little closer until I looked up again. “You’re smart, but… you’re just so unaware.”

“Well, better to be unaware than unhappy, isn’t it?” I inquired.

“I don’t think one has truly lived until they’ve seen the horrors of the world,” Alex countered with nonchalance. “I grew up in them.”

“And you’re dreadfully unhappy.”

“What?” he asked, eyebrows furrowed and face clearly vexed.

“You just… that’s the first time I’ve ever seen you smile,” I told him, moving my arms from the table top to my lap. “You always have this look on your face this… angry, heavy look, like you’ve just witnessed something horrible.” I shrugged my shoulders. “It just doesn’t seem like a pleasant way to live.”

“That’s because there’s nothing pleasant about life here,” Alex retorted, returning back to his mocking, insincere laugh. “Living in London, and I mean the real London, not the pretty gated community with the flower beds and all the cute little dogs and the money, can destroy you. For most, there’s no avoiding it. My mother’s addicted to television. My father’s addicted to alcohol. I’m the only one in my family who ever cared about my future. When I finished school, they handed me the classified section of the newspaper and a military pamphlet so they could send me off to Pyramid for a year.” He paused and looked away, looking irritated before he looked back to me. “Sorry. Forgot you wouldn’t understand. Pyramid is the combat academy in Russia where League militia trains. You can ask Dean more about that,” Alex added. “But like I was saying… people around here don’t get handed things like pets and shiny new books all the time like your precious daddy is willing to buy you.”

“Why do you shut down like that?” I asked him, completely ignoring almost everything else he had just said. He brought his eyes back to me with honest confusion.

“I don’t know what you mean,” he replied.

“We were having a nice conversation, and the second it got remotely personal, you got defensive,” I told him. “I don’t understand why… are you afraid?”

“Of what?”

“Of having an honest conversation with someone.” I paused and looked at him. He stared right back, rendered speechless. “Alex, I don’t know what you think of me, but I’m not going to betray you, or whatever you’re thinking that I’m going to do.”

“Yes you will,” he retorted.

“And why do you think that?”

“Because you’re a Giroux,” Alex replied.

“Wow,” I murmured, sitting back in my chair, no longer able to look at him. “I don’t know why you think that’s a good reason to immediately distrust me. I still don’t know why people don’t like my father because he’s always seemed fine to me.” I sighed quietly. “Is it because I made fun of your eyebrows?” I asked, bringing my eyes back to him with concern. “If it is, I’m really sorry.”

A smile crept onto his face, and he couldn’t help but sputter a laugh. “Tali, what in the world are you on about?”

“I’m sorry that you were born with those horrendous things, and I shouldn’t make fun of you for it,” I confessed, suddenly feeling distraught. “It’s just… everybody’s been kind of really terrible to me since I got here, well, a lot of people anyway, and I’m not in a position to pass up friends, especially one who likes to read the same books as I do.”

Alex licked his lips and glanced down for a moment with consideration. “Yeah,” he commented. “Nobody around here reads.”

“I know!” I exclaimed with slight outrage. “I just… I don’t understand. Can you not get books or something? I’ve been bringing Harley shipments for weeks now because she said she can’t get them herself. How do you get them then?”

“Whoa, whoa,” he chuckled. “One at a time.” I gave a sheepish, apologetic grin. “I get my books through the black market.”

“That sounds kind of shady,” I commented.

“That’s because it is,” he laughed. “It’s a circuit for illegal goods,” Alex explained. “But the League has their hands in it, just like they have their hands in everything else.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” I interjected, holding my hands up to stop him. “Books are illegal?”

“It’s a shame, isn’t it?” he asked with a quiet sigh. “The only books you’re going to find legal are… well, if you’re an elite, you can go to uni and buy textbooks for whatever you’re studying. If you’re one of the many unfortunate, all you’re going to get your hands on are tabloids, celebrity gossip magazines, and porn.”

“Porn?” I inquired with a quizzical expression.

Alex seemed caught off-guard. “Well, it’s… it’s um…” he stammered, searching for words. His eyes wandered around like he might find them somewhere around the room. “They’re like… trashy… you know what, never mind. I didn’t say anything.” He paused. I blinked. This was the most awkward silence I had encountered yet. “Anyway, you can only find real literature, good honest literature from black market dealers. I’m sure that’s where your father has been getting them too.”

“Oh,” I muttered, letting the information sink in. I had more questions than I could think to ask.

“Strange question,” Alex said, taking a deep breath. “But do you by any chance have a copy of the Bible laying around? With your massive collection of books, I would just assume that…”

“I think so,” I interjected, cutting him off accidentally. “I believe my mother might have kept one.”

“Do mind bringing that here?” he asked, eyebrows raised a little. “You don’t have to. I honestly don’t even want it for religious purposes… I just want to see one.”

“Are they a rarity?” I inquired in return.

He laughed. “If by a rarity, you mean outlawed, then yes,” Alex chuckled. “They stopped printing them when the League took over. Most copies were burned.”

“Oh,” I murmured in reply, trying to let all of this new information sink in.

“Where’s Avery?” Alex blurted out, looking around, craning his neck out as though he might have been hiding somewhere near by.

“I don’t know,” I sighed, shrugging my shoulders.

“But he’s always with you,” he commented with surprise. “Doesn’t that ever get stifling? I mean… never having time to yourself?”

“Not really,” I told him after some thought. “I’ve spent most of my life alone, so having company is never stifling. Besides, Mumbles is my best friend.” I grinned at the thought, but it soon fell. “He always comes to get me in the morning, and he walks me home at six, but he isn’t here today. I don’t know where he’s off to.”

“Really…” Alex’s voice trailed off a little. “Well, it’s… it’s almost six now,” he commented after looking down at his wristwatch. “I wouldn’t mind walking you home. You know, wouldn’t want anything bad to happen to you.” He smiled a kind, genuine smile, leaning across the table to me in a smooth, gradual motion.

“Would you?” I asked, smiling, not noticing that I myself was drifting toward him as well. “I mean… I know the way back, but it’s just nice to have—“

My voice was cut off by the sound of the table shaking, knocking my book clear off the table. It landed on the ground with a thud. I jumped, startled, and Alex fell back in his chair. Soon, another chair was pulled up to the table. “Sorry ‘bout your book, Princess,” Avery grumbled, eyes staring straight at Alex. “You know me… clumsy.”

This exchange felt rather uncomfortable, so I sank back in my chair, reaching over only to pick up my book and place it back on the table. Alex cleared his throat and extended his hand. “Good to see you again, Avery,” he greeted with an uneasy smile.

“Can’t say the same,” Avery replied gruffly, completely ignoring his hand.

Alex withdrew his hand with hesitance. Avery’s eyes never left him, even as he reached into his pocket to pull a cigarette out and light it. Alex’s face shriveled up in disgust. “Can you please not smoke that around me?” he asked, trying to be politely, but Avery paid this no mind either.

“Not all of us are afraid of a little smoke, Devlin,” Avery murmured, puffing smoke out of his lips.

“My abstinence from harmful substances is a personal choice,” Alex retorted, waving a hand in front of his face to clear the smoke away.

“It’s fear,” Avery contended with a smile on his face, not a real one. He was looking to inflict pain. I could see it in his eyes. Alex rolled his eyes, and Avery exhaled a breathy laugh. His gaze still didn’t leave Alex, who looked anxious and eager to leave. He was shifting around in his chair. “Sorry I’m late, Princess,” Avery mumbled around the cigarette hanging from his lips. “Got a little held up.”

“With what?” I asked, hoping to break the tension around us.

“Nothing important,” he murmured.

An unfamiliar scent stung at my nostrils. That wasn’t gunpowder or blood. That smelled like freshly baked cookies, and there was only one place I pinned that smell to. My epiphany had me gasping. Avery and Alex both looked at me. “You were with my aunt, weren’t you?!” I exclaimed, rising from the chair. Avery looked at me with an absolutely blank face. “You were. I know you were,” I pressed.

“You know what, Princess?” Avery asked, staring down at his empty wrist. “Looks about six o’clock to me.” Alex actually looked down at his own, real watch and confirmed with a nod. “Time to go,” he said, standing up and grabbing Ralph with one hand and my wrist with the other. “Get your book. We’re leavin’. Wouldn’t want Dad to worry.”

I managed to swipe my book from the table before Avery dragged me off toward the exit. “Mumbles, I have to say bye to Alex,” I protested.

“Mr. Devlin don’t need anymore of your attention,” he replied coldly, not cold like my father, but cold enough for me to understand that perhaps Avery and Alex were not on the best terms. “C’mon, Princess.”

Struggling and squirming, I managed to tug my wrist from his iron-clad grip to scurry back for a moment. I rushed back to Alex who was just standing to leave. “I’ll see you again soon, yeah?” I asked, just before Avery came back and grabbed my arm again.

“Princess,” Avery murmured through gritted teeth.

Alex laughed as Avery began to pull me away. With one hand in his pocket and the other giving me a wave, he chuckled, “Bye, bye, Tali.”

“Mumbles,” I whined a little once we were back in the tunnels, walking down the usual exit path. “How come you called him Mr. Devlin? His name his Alex. Mr. Devlin makes him sound old.”

“He is old,” Avery grumbled, finally letting go of my wrist to hand me my cat. “Too old for you.”

“How old is he exactly?”

“24.” Avery puffed more smoke from his lips. “Like I said, too old for you.”

“Yeah, well… I don’t act 18—“

“You’re right, you act twelve. Now c’mon,” he told me, nodding toward the exit, the light poking into the tunnel. I suppose he had hoped we would just have a normal walk like we usually did, but I was far too curious.

I huffed. “You know, Alex says I’m much smarter than any of you give me credit for.”

“That’s one thing he and I agree on,” Avery murmured, raising his eyebrows. “What ain’t so smart, Princess, is hangin’ ‘round the guy who put a gun to your head and threatened to shoot.”

“You had a gun too, Mumbles,” I contended, frowning now. “Besides,” I continued, rushing ahead of him when he didn’t seem to pay me any attention. “You kill people for a living, and you never let anything happen to me.”

He stopped in his tracks and just stared at me. I didn’t know whether he was shocked or if he was angry. “Who told you that?” he asked me, flicking his cigarette butt onto the train tracks.

“Nobody had to tell me anything,” I told him quickly, not wanting to rat out Dean, who really hadn’t told me much of anything, anyway. “That’s why you always smell like blood and gunpowder, isn’t it? Isn’t it?”

“We’re not talking about it,” he grumbled, skirting around me and continuing down the path and up the nearby staircase, letting us out at the base of the canal. I scurried after him, chasing him up the side and onto the West London streets.

“Why didn’t you just tell me?” I implored. “I don’t understand, Mumbles. It doesn’t change the fact that I know you’re a good person.”

“Because it ain’t somethin’ a kid like you should be talkin’ about,” he responded bluntly. He wouldn’t look at me, and for awhile, we were kind of quiet, even when we crossed from the gardens into the woods. We trudged through the muddied ground all the way to the end, where we stood just across the street from the familiar brick wall around my home. He finally glanced to me, like he expected me to run off, but I didn’t. I just looked right back him with an earnest, honestly concerned look on my face.

“I know you think that you’re scum, Mumbles,” I told him. “But I don’t.” He was silent still, just looking at me, just watching. “I know you’ve done some bad things, maybe some things that you aren’t proud of… but if there’s anything that eighteen years worth of books has taught me, it’s that some really great people can do some really bad things.” I paused, hoping maybe he would say something, but he didn’t. “I don’t know why you do what you do… but you’ve never hurt me. You’ve actually hurt the people who have tried to.” I paused again. Still no answer. “I refuse to believe that you’re as evil as you want people to think.”

His expression didn’t change save for a slight twitch of his lips. “Get goin’, Princess,” he mumbled. “Your dad’ll be home soon enough.”

I nodded solemnly. “Bye, Mumbles,” I murmured, head hung low as I headed back home, back to my father, and back to my solitude. Like usual, I went back to staring at my bookcase, but instead of staring and wondering how else I could occupy my time, I was thinking of books that I could bring back to show Alex in hopes that maybe he had read them too… or maybe if he hadn’t, he could borrow them.

Suddenly, it just didn’t seem like such a bad idea.