.. | exit running | chapter 10 It was several minutes before Ramsey made his way downstairs again. He saw Duchy's lean silhouette on the balcony still, slowly smoking a cigarette and staring out into the blackness. He looked ghostly, unmoving but for the occasional lift of his arm. The black-haired boy didn't even turn around when Ramsey walked onto the porch. He just held up his pack of smokes over his shoulder. Ramsey took one, borrowed the then-proffered lighter and lit up. He took a long, deep draw. "You let him go," Duchy said softly. Ramsey couldn't read the tone of his voice at all. "He didn't give me a choice," the cop answered. He saw Duchy duck his head for a moment before raising it again and taking another draw. He flicked the cigarette out over the railing and turned to face him. "You think he gave me a choice?" he said. He shook his head to answer himself. "No," he whispered, "not a choice. Not a fucking word. He just left." Ramsey stared at the bowed head, feeling a tinge of sadness for his situation. Duchy was who he was. He was what he'd been forced to become, that was all. "He didn't want you to get hurt," Ramsey said. "I'm already hurt," the boy snapped, but his anger wasn't directed towards the cop. Then, more quietly, "I've been hurt since the day I was born. Big deal." Ramsey didn't answer. He let Duchy have a moment of silence between them, offering his half-finished cigarette to the boy. He took it. "Come on," Ramsey said, reaching out an arm to gently guide him to the door. "We have to get out of here. Somewhere safe. I told him I'd watch you for him until he came back." Duchy allowed himself to be moved, his arms wrapped protectively about himself. They'd almost made it to the front door when the boy's knees suddenly buckled and he collapsed to the floor, his face obscured by his hair. "He's not coming back, don't you see that?" he whispered, hugging himself, his voice tight with emotion. Ramsey could do nothing but stare down at him for a moment, speechless at the amount of emotion Duchy was allowing him to see. "Come on," the cop said again, trying to pull him up, but the boy wouldn't be moved. Duchy had given up. With a sigh, Ramsey leaned down and pulled the boy's arms up to encircle his neck. Then he lifted him with ease and carried him out. A promise was a promise. When he was certain they weren't being followed, he found a dark, out of the way motel at Duchy's direction. Locking the deadbolts, Ramsey settled the boy on the room's one bed and went to peek out of the heavy draperies covering the only window. "We met near here," he heard Duchy say, his voice muffled by the pillows. He'd curled into a ball, looking small and miserable. Ramsey moved to the bed and stretched out on his back. It felt good to rest his tight, sore muscles. "Tell me about it," he said, staring up at the ceiling. He'd heard Marlow's side already, now he wanted the other end of the story. "Reika sent him to kill me," Duchy answered, shifting. "Because you wouldn't work for him?" "He didn't want me for that," Duchy replied softly. "At first, maybe, but later, afterwards-" His voice trailed off. "What happened?" Duchy shifted again, wrapping his arms tighter around himself. "Marlow got into a fight before he could even find me," he began. "I was just finishing my night and was walking home and he came running around the corner. Ran right into me and knocked me down." He paused. "Everything after that happened so fast, I don't remember half of it. He pulled me up and shoved me behind him and just went on fighting." He smiled to himself. "I knew right then that he wasn't truly one of the 'bad guys'." Ramsey looked up at the ceiling again. "Because he protected you without thinking?" Duchy nodded. "He didn't know who I was. If he hadn't gotten into that fight, hadn't gotten that knife wound, I wouldn't be here. He would have sought me out and shot me like a good little minion. But for the moment, he thought I was an innocent bystander and made sure I wouldn't get hurt. "Anyway, I knew the back alleys better than he did and he was hurt, so I led him out of there. We came here. To this place." Ramsey let his eyes wander around the little room again. Duchy shifted, then rolled over to face him. His eyes looked shadowed and weary. "What happened here?" Duchy looked up at him from his curled position. "I patched him up and we started talking. Though I think I insulted him for a little while first." "And after that?" Duchy's slight smile faded. "He asked my name and I told him. Why wouldn't I? But it was the look on his face that told me exactly who he was, and what he'd been doing on my side of town. Reika had made attempts before but I always managed to escape them. He sent Marlow thinking that sending his best would get the job done." He smiled. "But he failed again." Ramsey dug out the box of cigarettes and lit up again. "Marlow let you go?" Duchy shook his head. "No, he fell in love." Ramsey remained quiet as he smoked, musing silently. Knowing what he knew now, it didn't sound like such a farfetched fairy tale. Duchy continued. "He told me to get off the streets, but I refused to. I had to have money and the job was too addicting to be able to just quit. It was my drug of choice." His voice suddenly darkened. "But that was until he came to me one night, covered with blood and... worse. He’d been punished for 'losing me'... That's when I realized the game was over." He paused, reflecting quietly. "It was our first night together." He reached over and took the cigarette out of Ramsey's hand and puffed on it for a few moments before handing it back. He looked up at the cop. "But there's more," he said softly, privately. "If Marlow had grown up in Reika's group, he'd be a different person I think. But he came from an old gang of street kids. I'm talking generations old. This one group that had ruled the underground since before anyone could remember. They had initiations, rites of passage and a real pack of leaders. Everyone in the gang had a purpose, a job to do. They had honor." "I've heard of them," Ramsey said absently. Those groups had been a scourge because they'd do their deals and brawls but no one could ever find them. That huge network of streetkids had been better organized than most of the dealers'. Except for Reika. But they'd been quiet for years. "Reika ran them out of this side of the city," Duchy said, as if reading his thoughts. "Kept Marlow around as a plaything for a while, ran off or killed everyone else." He sighed. "And eventually he turned Marlow to his own side." He looked Ramsey meaningfully in the eye. "You see, it's an old fight he's dealing with now." "He never said anything about that," Ramsey said. "Why would he?" Duchy replied softly. "Sometimes I think he's blocked it from his mind completely." "Why?" Duchy furrowed his eyebrows. "What justification is there for working for the man who killed your only family? For betraying them?" “Survival.” Ramsey looked back up at the ceiling, finishing his cigarette. "What about your family?" he asked suddenly. "Marlow said you had two brothers, and a mother on the streets-" He stopped when he noticed Duchy staring up at him, a strange look in his eyes. Slowly, the boy sat up. Ramsey blinked up at him. "You mean you haven't figured it out yet?" Duchy asked softly. Then he relented, running a hand back through his tousled hair. "I don't know why you would have," he confessed. "Marlow hasn't either." Ramsey gazed up at him. "Figured what out, Duchy?" he asked. The black-haired boy cocked his head and a somber smile spread his lips gently. "When Reika first started to tap into the street deals years ago, he had only four girls." He paused. "Ramsey," he said, "one of them was my mother." The cop stared up at him, realization spreading across his face. "You're-" Duchy nodded. "He's been looking for her ever since she ran away. But he never found her," he said. "Until he found me." Ramsey looked confused. "But why would he want you killed?" "I told you, I wouldn't join him," Duchy said quickly. "It got very... bitter. With what I knew, I turned into a liability." Ramsey laid back again, brooding over this history revealed. "And you never told Marlow," he said finally. Duchy laid back down as well, curling up against him. Ramsey hardly noticed. "Marlow," Duchy whispered. "I never told Marlow a lot of things." Ramsey gazed up at the ceiling, his eyes beginning to feel heavy. He was suddenly feeling like he had not slept for days. And with a warm body by his side on a semi-comfortable bed, sleep was beginning to insist upon him again. Besides, they were safe enough here for now, and both of them needed to rest. Tomorrow they would find Bastian and figure out what to do when Marlow came back. Or figure out what to do if he didn't. Ramsey shut his eyes tightly against that line of thinking and felt the gentle heaving of the body next to him as Duchy submitted to his fears again, quietly. Duchy was still trying to keep that façade up, be tough and unfeeling, at least outwardly. He evidently had more in common with this kid than he'd ever cared to admit. Marlow had seen that. Now he could see it too. So he left the boy alone, not quite sure how to help, if it would even be welcomed at all. They lay there, each in their own thoughts for a long time. Finally, there came the soft calling of his name from the figure curled against him. Duchy looked up, his cheeks wet. He looked so lost, so different from the kid Ramsey had once acknowledged hating. That sassiness and brazenness. The smart mouth and a impudent nature. There was nothing to it, now that he was in the face of losing everything. Marlow had said somewhere that Duchy didn't understand loneliness, and that's what made him cruel, he thought. But Ramsey began to suspect that besides himself, Duchy understood loneliness more than anyone. In whispering his name and in his eyes the black-haired boy had said everything and nothing at all. There was nothing more to say after that but for one thing. "Get some sleep," Ramsey said quietly, settling in and allowing the boy to lie against him for warmth and comfort. They'd made their peace. When morning came, Ramsey opened his eyes to an unwelcome shaft of sunlight that pierced a folded corner of the room's heavy drapery. He squinted, sitting up slowly to rub his eyes, wondering vaguely how long they'd slept. By the dull ache in his back and the clarity in his head, he figured long enough. But when he turned to shake Duchy awake, the place next to him was empty. Ramsey stared at the spot for a moment. He didn't have to wonder long on where Duchy could have gone to, since the answer lay right there on the pillow. His own gun. And beneath it, the familiar box of letters he used to keep tucked away in the bookshelf of his house. Numbly, Ramsey reached for the gun and weighed it in his hand. The cartridge was empty. He picked up the box, running his hand over it gently in wonder; its existence hadn't crossed his mind when they'd been forced to abandon the apartment. What had Marlow meant by bringing it here? When he opened it, he got his answer again. On the very top of the stack lay a new page, a short note scribbled in hasty script. I hope this finds you well, and not too angry that we didn't wake you. Just know that when I do a job, I do it well. You have at least one less thing to worry about now. Sorry I can't tell you more, it's my business to keep secrets, and I'll take this one to my early grave. Understand that it's not only my own safety I'm responsible for, and I won't compromise that for anything, not even another night with you. You were never part of this anyway, but I can't help but feel like this wouldn't be over now, that we wouldn't be free now without you. Where have we gone? That's for us to know. I made a promise that I intend to keep, that's all. The dark side of a dark city doesn't agree with me anymore I think. I told you that we're all human, right? And humans need change. It's time for a change, Ramsey, don't you think? ~ M. End | back to part 09 | back to main