Cacti Chp. 4-5

The men that nobody saw began infiltrating the Cosavo borders in ever-increasing numbers. They began reading the paper, ordering the special, and acquiring bumper stickers doting on exceptional children that they didn't have. Not all of them wore a suit, but all of them owned one. And nobody noticed them at all, except for Vincent, and only because he had had a very warped week and was on edge about anything and everything. Tommy's warnings still echoed as last words in his mind, and Vincent began to entertain paranoias that were not far from the truth. He began to spy at them in bookstores, and enjoyed the idea of being some type of agent, even if it was asinine. It gave a sort of comfort, to be in a world that made sense because you made the rules.

But we don't.
We don't make the rules and we don't get to say when the action starts and stops. We don't get to say how long the opposition is kept in the dark, or how they will react. And we don't get to have a preplanned suave remark for when they come up behind us.
"Excuse me," a friendly voice and a single tap on his shoulder. Vincent turned around. "Hi, my name's Claude and I was wondering if--if you could tell me where the restrooms are. Is something wrong?"
Vincent's eyes had inadvertently gone wide. Claude was dressed in khaki shorts with a blue button up shirt, no suit, no tie, no wire to his ear. Yet Vincent knew that at any other time it would be.
"Actually, we don't use earpieces. That's just the CIA, " he smirked and Vincent thought he saw nothing behind those lips, then teeth. Rows of teeth. No, razors.
His head was swimming. He spun back around and stared at the cashier with pleading eyes. He began looking to all the other customers, violently spinning his head from right to left to right.
"Uh, could someone help me! I think he's going to faint!" Claude again. Claude with the razors in his mouth. Claude the man that nobody would remember. Claude the-
And he was out.

---

He woke up to the scent of lemons. He was lying on his stomach and shifted to his back, squinting out a window with telephone poles scrolling lazily across it like an old filmstrip. Then he heard a grunt and turned to the front of the car.
"This town is so fucking stupid. I mean we could come in guns blazing and no news crew would waste the helicopter fuel to cover it. Oh, well! Hello there trooper!"
Vincent had been staring at the charm dangling from the rear view mirror. It was yellow, so he figured it was the source of the lemons. Now his eyes traced back to the man in the passenger seat. His head throbbed. His eyes ached. Still, he tried to focus on whoever had called him 'trooper'.
Then it was like being his by a wave. Vincent doubled back into the cushion, writhing in pain but unable to verbalize it outside of an intense hissing through clenched teeth. His hands began to claw at his hair. I'm going to die if this doesn't stop. I'm going to claw out my eyes and I'm going to die.
The Trooper man let out a chuckle and turned back to the driver, resuming their conversation. The driver seemed disinterested in pursuing whatever they were talking about, and turned around to have his own fun with Vincent.
"Hullo, sir! Could you -uh- help point me in the right direction of -uh, the restroom there please? Thank-ya!" He was faking an accent that no one spoke in the entire West, and Trooper man was snickering in his seat. "Aw, don't be like that, sir! Help a brutha out!"
Claude. Vincent remembered, even through the accent, that this one was Claude.
"That's right! I'm Claude and I still have to piss! You never did tell me where those restrooms were, no sir, you were too busy thinking about those plastic coily earpieces!"
So they read minds.
"Yep!"

That was going to get annoying fast.
"Hey now! Don't get all aggressive on us now, or else 'Trooper' here will have to give you another hit." Trooper waved. "Now you just sit there all quiet like. Sleep if you want. We're going to your little excuse for an airport and catching the first flight out. If you try anything, N-ee-thing, bam!" Trooper pointed to his temple and nodded. "Don't worry about packing or anything, we'll take care of all that. And if you play your cards right and survive long enough, I'll even try and see if I can't bring you a slipping saying how you took your life in despair because of that Womack kid."
"Tragedy," Trooper chirped.
Vincent's head still hurt. Why hadn't the cashier done anything? Did all the customers just watch them load him into this car?
"Actually, they helped, " Trooper. " All Claude had to do was say he knew where the hospital was and that it would be faster than an ambulance, and I come up and agree and start helping move you, and there you go! One of the easiest lifts we've ever done."
Vincent sat up, and let his head collapse into the rest as he watched Cosavo go by through tinted windows. He wished Tommy had told him to pack some Advil.
Perhaps if Trooper hadn't been so hard on Vincent's first real Wave, he would've been away enough to see the Red Buick LaSabre going much too fast to not be in a hurry, and then running the busiest light in all of downtown. As it happened, when the car hit Vincent was just as surprised as the other two. Thankfully the point of contact shattered all hopes of opening the front passenger door, buckling it at such an angle that Trooper had to be dead.

There are angels.
Vincent opened the door even while his ears were still ringing. He saw people standing on the street corner. One woman with a baby carriage was pointing with one hand and covering her mouth with the other. A man who had been running was actually still jogging in place, his body not yet caught up with his head. Vincent bolted down Main, and hadn't gone a block before he had to turn around and see. Claude had wrenched free of the mass of buckled metal and was limping at a pace that would be brisk for most people.

There are demons too.
He was yelling and pointing at Vincent to solicit support from the onlookers. One man actually took a step towards Vincent, and that set him loose. He bounded down the sidewalk, then turned at the next corner. There were no alleys in Cosavo, so he didn't have to worry about getting stuck. He just had to make sure not to backtrack. His lungs began to heave with every step, but he had gained nothing on Claude and began to wonder if Trooper really was incapacitated. Finally his hands fell to his knees in exasperation as he turned another corner.
"Got a light?"
If Vincent hadn't been raised a good Christian boy, or if he had had any air in his body, he would've found the most vile string of explicatives known to man and brandished them upon the stranger in a heartbeat.
"You know, a flame? A lighter? A match? Hell, a bundle of sticks?"

Vincent looked up, losing what little breath he had regained.
It was James Dean reborn. Only he had dark hair, not long but not kept in strict regulation. His aviators reflected the street and opposite brick wall. He was swaying back and forth with his hands in the pockets of a canvas green jacket, and an unlit cigarette dangled out of his mouth. His smile touched ears when he saw Vincent's reaction, then jerked his head to a car parked on the curb.
"Hurry, Paco."
Vincent shut the door to the lowrider and they were going 60. He saw Claude turn the corner and his face flash red. He remembered the razors.
"We have to go to the airport. You have to leave."
"What?"
"You go to sleep again in this town and you die."
"Who are you?"
"You have to earn that."
"What?"
He answered no more questions and Vincent had no chance of surviving if he bailed out of the car at that speed.

---

They pulled up to the airport when night had fully set in. Mr. Dean handed him a ticket for a flight that left in ten minutes.
"There's no way I'm going to make that."
He flashed his teeth and Vincent noticed he still had those glasses on. But at least there were no razors. He was holding another ticket.
"Have faith, my son."
They were in the doors, through the checkpoint, and waiting for the last of the line to get through the tunnel when Vincent got a chance to stop. But it wasn't until he had actually fallen into his seat that he realized what he was doing. He put both hands on their rests and started to get up. His escort forced him back with one palm.
"Nuh-uh, Paco, We're about to taxi. Besides, you can relax a bit. You're among friends." He walked past him and came back with a Sprite. "Serving carts don't come 'round for another three hours, but I'm a paying customer, right?"
Vincent didn't want to talk. He didn't want to think. Hell, this guy was probably reading his thoughts too.

...
Well, at least he wasn't reminding him of it.
Vincent would've screamed as the plane flew through into the crisp night air, if that wouldn't have gotten them grounded and him killed.



Chapter Five

Even if you aren't particularly fond of your parents, there is still an unexpected tug of the heart the first time you are really and definitely separated from them. There is a sense of open vulnerability, which no son will admit but all feel from time to time for the first few days. It was this feeling that Vincent alone was shaking because of at 25,000 feet in the air somewhere above the continental U.S., and the same feeling his partner had shook from years ago. Pure empathy aroused him, though he would open his eye with no idea of his counterparts condition until he looked over.
"Oh, hey, you're up. Uh, sorry if I forgot, but you can sleep here and not die. None of them can fly that I'm aware of."
"No it's okay. I just wish I knew what was going on, why my friend was killed, and why the hell I'm on a plane with a guy who never takes his glasses off."
And then they were off, and Vincent was staring at circles of hazel. Then a hand.
"First thing's first. I'm Nathan, go by Nate, and in this one place I'm Reverend. Not Reverend Nathan or Reverend Nate, just Reverend. But don't worry about that place, you'll probably never see it anyway. As for what we're doing, it's really not mine to explain, but the short version is...well...shoot, there really isn't a short version. " His forehead crumpled down.
"Where are we going?"
"First? Detroit, then you're off to Europe. "
"I'm pretty sure I'd have to have a passport for that."
"I'm completely sure you would. And you do. Please give me more credit than that. If people can read your mind, can't I plan ahead?" he played being offended.
"Can you read my mind?"
"Nope."
"How can they?"
"Darkkkk Magicccc," Nate began to wave his hands in Vincent's face.
"And what exactly is that?"
"Voodoo fingers."
"No, 'Dark Magic' "
"Pig-fucked if I know. I don't even think magic is the right thing for it. Just wait a bit longer. Trust me, I'm in about the same amount of light on the subject as y- "
"No."
"No what?"
"You don't put someone on a plane and then tell them to just be patient."
Nate sighed and slumped back in his chair, then looked back at Vincent.
"You really wanna know?"
"Spill."
He looked around to make sure everyone else was asleep, then leaned over into Vincent's personal space bubble.
"Everyone is supposed to do something. At the beginning, people took the world they were given and built it into this lovely mess we contend with every minute. Now, most people dance around for a couple of decades or so, and pass on through. But there is also another group of people who feel it is their duty to end things. They would just as soon destroy beauty as admire it. At the top is this man -entity might be a better choice- who we know next to nothing about. But I can tell you for certain from all that I've experienced he is hell bent on seeing everything burn -even himself at the end." Nate was down to a whisper. Vincent mulled it over for a moment.
"And why am I on a plane?"
Nate perked up.
"Because we're the last group. No, you don't have a dormant superpower like laser-heat-vision or anything, it's just your- "
"Destiny."
"Yeah. Basically, you're just deranged enough to go through what you're going to and not claw your eyes out."
Vincent remember the first car ride.
"I thought this was Tommy's destiny. He was the one with the calling from birth, not me."
"Tommy did serve destiny, you just have to see it play out. "
"So how much aren't you telling me?"
Nate twinkled.
"Loads."

---

They were landing.
"Shit! -" Nate was on a cell phone Vincent hadn't noticed before. "Well what was I supposed to do? Wait for the next flight! Okay, okay, so are they at the gate yet? Good, good. Yeah, I'll call you if we make it to Meg's. When we make it." Nate plucked his glasses from their pocket and was ice.
"Get ready to shove it, Paco." He was beaming.
They were up before the seatbelt light was off, and managed to make it through half the plane before bodies began blocking their route.
" 'Scuse me, pardon, he's expecting and we have to hurry! Sorry, oops! Here we go now."
They were in the terminal and running. Vincent could feel specific eyes on him, then motion to his fading left. Nate was on the phone again.
"Forty-five seconds, Meg."
Click.
They flat out sprinted the next hallway. An old woman's Pomeranian began jolting at them as they whisked by, then it only growled.
The men were close.
People were shouting now. Ordinary people, if there was such a thing anymore. Vincent saw the doors just as they hit them.
Then he was faced with another set of doors, this time a bit lower.

Open. Close. Lock.

Vincent found that he had actually lunged into the car, and was splayed across the entire back seat. Nate was seated comfortably next to a woman with swirling brown hair.

Meg apparently.

---

At not as much length as Vincent would've been comfortable with, they pulled into a driveway. The house was small and white, with blue shudders. It had a one car garage, and when the door closed you couldn't tell if anyone was home or not. At least there was that.
Both the other passengers had already disembarked and Nate was waiting at the door to the house.
"Don't worry, you'll get faster, " he said as they crossed the threshold.
Both the boys tested the endurance of the couch as they fell into it. Sounds came from a room in which Vincent could see half a refrigerator completely covered with pictures, magnets, and sticky-notes. Then the noises ceased. Silence.
"Phhhhh, Nate! Introduce me!"
"Oh! Uh, Vincent, please meet Megan Donnivan."
At cue she swept from around the corner and into the room. She wore a long fading jean skirt with a cream yellow top. She had dark skin, but not enough to be considered very tan, just a healthy brown. Her lips were full and sweet, and her eyes a compassionate but piercing green. He could tell she was a natural brunette, with only small hints of blond woven into what looked like the smoothest hair he had every seen. He restrained his hand from reaching out like a child to a wild rabbit.
She handed him a glass of water and smiled.
"Meg's also been convicted of arson three times!"
In a flash she was over and raining hell on Nathan.
"They were accidents! And it was a brushfire! It's not like anyone got hurt!" Nathan tried his best to protect his face. Vincent just tried to take it all in. In time both of them returned their focus.
"So, welcome to Detroit. I hear you've had a bit of an eventful few days."
"He hasn't seen half of it, " remarked Nathan.
"Well, from what I hear you've been taking it all like a real trooper."
Vincent cringed and felt his temple.
"Please don't say that."
"But you have- "
"No, I mean don't say 'trooper'. "
"Oh, okay. Sorry, " she shied away.
"It's no big deal, really, but thanks. And...well, would it be possible to- "
"Banish the manners, Paco, Meg here's like family. Ask her anything and she'll be happy to burn it for you."
She glared but smiled again.
"Okay, well- is there a bed I can get into? The airplane really didn't do much."
"Of course! I'll show you the guest room."
"Get some good hours in! Tomorrow we ride at dawn! Er...probably around eleven!" Nate yelled as the two went up the stairs.
When they were out of sight Nathan removed his aviators and rubbed his eyes. He was tired too, but he had to stand guard. They were awfully close to a whole lotta hell, and it would take Megan and him both to get Vincent to the Doctor.

(apologies for the transfer errors, all the Paco's are in italics as well as a good bit of Claude's dialogue, and some other stuff. The pardon has an accent on the o (yea, that French word), and hopefully you'll get the paragraph changes. Enjoy.)