He couldn't help the streak of ice that ran itself down his spine as he heard the great grandfather clock ring midnight upstairs. With the tolling of the bells, he quickly stowed his old metal spoon, the steel cold against his skin before he transferred it too into the hole in the side of his mattress. It was cliche, he knew it was, but he didn't care. The hole was already as wide as he was and almost as tall, strait through the soft brick of the mansion's underbelly. Everything was quiet, before the slight clopping sound of footfalls could be heard leading from the only visible light up the immense stairwell. Then he was blind.
The lights flicked immediately to a shimmering pale blue glow. LED's they called them, those intensely bright lights that the 'good doctor' had switched over to some time earlier this year, or was it last? Maybe a decade before? He had long since lost track of time, but then again, so had his body. Everything changed so slowly. His light blond hair grew normally enough, staying closely cropped from constant abuse with an electric razor. His vivid blue-green eyes never changed color, as many people's did with age he remembered. His face was round in the look of youth alone, not because of any excess fat, for he was dreadfully thin, being around four feet and an inch tall, but weighing little more than five dozen pounds. His ribs poked precariously out, hips showing through skin tight across them, their shape neutral from much adjustment to make a 'superior race'. But everything about his visage seemed to move in slow motion; his face never needed shaving, his underarms had no hair, but then again… Everything about his appearance was subject to change.
Light streamed into his eyes as he wiped away tears with an overly sterilized hand. He was expected to be scrubbed clean before the entrance of the doctor, lest he be beaten for it, and the experiments run further into the morphine's time limit. His skin was a sickly white turn mottled red thanks to vigorous scrubbing. His eyes reflected the masked face of his captor as he neared. A tall man, probably in his eighties; short cropped salt-and-pepper hair hidden skillfully beneath a mint green surgeons cap, a matching antibacterial mask covered his face, hiding his large hooked nose and stern lips, pressed into thin lines, the short hair that covered his upper lip not far beyond the pores, leaving him with a gravelly appearance of someone who had never been particularly attractive and was made less so by age and inner wickedness. For the body seemed to follow the spirit. The man's hooked fingers, callused over many years of holding the tools of his trade, grabbed at the younger's arms. And he let him grasp him roughly.
Dr. Vehdric was at one point a great medical mind on the German side of World War II, leading the research group on Polymorphic Human Genetics. At the 'end' of the war, he displaced to Brazil, taking with him his last and most fruitful test subject.
Andrew was almost ten years old when the testing began. His youth was a jumbled memories of fleeing from war, enjoying the warmth of family on the lake in America and then he was being shipped with his father and mother to a military base in Austria at the end of the war. How could he have known that this man would become the bane of his existence?
The day's testing began as usual, he laid on the cold stainless steel of the operating table, trying to will his body to heat it before the operation started, so his joints wouldn't ache from the cold when he finally awoke four to twelve hours later. Nonetheless the day began with the prick of an IV needle. The slow spreading, veining cold of the saline drip crept up his arm and he knew as soon as the fluid reached his brain, the Morphine in the IV drip would take him under, slowly and forbidding into it's nightmarish grasp. And then it came. Colors washed over his vision in waves followed by the creeping darkness. All accompanied by the feeling of flight, a lightening of the body, and the dull ache of surprised nausea. Then everything went black and he felt the biodegradable thread being undone from the gussets on the 'Y' cut down his chest before his mind went blank, his subconscious just barely keeping track of what was going on in his body before it too failed on him.
When he awoke Andrew could feel the time, it was already almost 3 o'clock, 13 hours later than when the operation started. The clock chimed upstairs in response to tell the time for certain and he walked over through the lab towards his bed. It wasn't much, but he knew that laying on the mattress would help relax him, while he sorted out what changes had been made. He fell back against the artificial down and the antiquated springs creaked in response, wishing him ill as he abused them by turning sharply. A pain flaming in his lower back where the last trait of humanity had fled him. "He moved my bones again." It wasn't so much a question, as it never was. He could feel the changes by now, know exactly what had been moved, replaced, modified. "But then again, they aren't even bones anymore now are they?" his sarcasm seemed to taint the room with a foul mood and he touched his lower back gently, willing the bone to be there. It was his last and he wished it hadn't been taken. But he only felt the cold chill of metal. If his fingers were more sensitive he would have felt the minute hum of the metal, as tiny particles slid past each other, a constant stream of motion in the shape of the bone it replaced. "Now what am I, if I'm not human?"
The next day was the same, his body violated again. The Y cut was pulled open again. blood spilled quietly, hot over the cold steel as the mad scientist worked his magic, hands deep inside the body cavity. Elbow deep in rich red blood, the morphine wore off. Horribly, slowly he regained control of his body, feeling coming first with the stabbing, immense pain of the old man's probing hands surrounding his liver, pushing it aside to reach behind and searching for his kidney. Intent on trying to perfect the 'young' body before him he heard slowly the silent screech of terror and agony that erupted from the throat of his subject. Eyes rolled back, muscles tensed and tearing, his mouth opened and a wail of sorrow, pain, and dread filled the air, Vehdric covering his ears quickly as it broke his ear drums, his own blood mixing with Andrews down his palms, the weary cry of someone so tortured as to feel the pain of many lives, all of them being channeled through the broken ears of the tormentor. Then he blacked out.
"I never imagined that would happen." The voice sounded foreign, not just because of it's odd accent when speaking portuguese, but because it croaked and whined of continual disuse and abuse from ages of smoking large cigars. Vehdric was upstairs talking with someone on a telephone. Andrew could just barely make out a static grumble from the other line. Before he knew what he was doing, he had his fingers through the hole in the wall, bricks erupting in many directions as he pulled them out of the wall, sandy grout giving way to desperate fingers that forced themselves, blood trickling down them from the rough clawing, through to freedom. Then he slithered through himself. Out into the warmth of early morning. He was in a large plot of land which felt as though it might as well be the moon. Andrew looked around quickly before darting towards a truck, hiding hastily behind it from what he imagined were the already prying eyes of everyone around. If only he were so lucky to have anyone looking for him. But his family would have long since been dead. So there would be no one to look for him, or to help him, hide him. Nothing.
His feet ached as he ran down the streets, dust rising with his steps in the hard, packed earth that made up the road. He passed an old donkey on the way, it's cart full of odd trinkets, a rider not to be found, but the donkey continued obstinately on it's path even as Andrew tried his best to try to turn it to ride it. Instead he forced his tired legs to push on, coming to a small town where he found a bus. An old thing, reeking of oil, odd spicy scents from the many varied passengers who all had small bags of food trying to peddle snacks for the long ride through to the next city over. Despite his stomach, which growled in response to the scents of exotic flavors, he chose to talk to no person, instead sneaking onto the bus quietly and sitting at the very back between two old women that seemed equally interested in ignoring him as they rode loudly gossiping in a mix of Spanish, English and Portuguese. He caught snippets of it, something about the Roderic family having lost their house in a bad gambling bet, their favorite roadside stand shutting down because some tax collector came through town and collected a decade's worth of taxes from them. Nothing of real importance, but by the end of the ride, he found himself glad for the refreshing amount of language. He had heard very little since his television broke many years before and the 'good doctor' silently refused to buy him another. The vinyl seat under him creaked as he stood up suddenly, he could see the tall buildings of the capitol. Brasilia came up around them, people turning to look at the small boy covered only in green hospital scrubs, bloodied from many misfortunate stitch tears, who walk towards the front of the bus. Which stopped in front of the Airport.
The shimmering glass fronted building loomed before him in Art Deco glory. The building was massive and he walked carefully around it, expecting there to be something behind, instead he was greeted with a conning tower and miles of fence surrounded runway, planes shuttling quickly about. Then he was running towards a small plane coasting through a wide gate on the side of the runway it's cargo hatch was open for loading as a cargo truck drove quietly towards them, the few boxes of cargo looked lonely compared to the centipede like lengths of cargo trucks for the larger planes, and airliners. But it made catching up to the slower plane easier, less people to worry about spotting him. And somehow, nobody seemed to notice. He huddled in a corner of the cargo compartment, trying to appear small while they loaded the plane, only a thin tarp separated him from the watchful eyes of the employees who labored over the heavy boxes of fruit and vegetables. one of them almost crushed his foot, but he drew it back just in time, a trickle of sweat worked it's way down his spine, and he attempted to steel his nerves for the flight. After hearing the hatch close after many anxious minutes of check listing, strap adjusting and talking over the plane's flight. Then they were off, scuttling down the runway, and, precariously close to the end the runway broke from the Earth. And flew up, scribing into the sky, below the contrails left by the other larger planes, bound for the United States. To the land of freedom.
He exhaled a breath shakily he didn't realize he had been holding; holding for the past 47 years.
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The rivet gun was slick in his hand, the pocked steel handle finally clicking down with the completion of its task. The last rivet was placed, the work complete. "Now what to do with you?" His voice echoed dully off of creme walls and dark mahogany furniture. He stood crouching over his work in what would otherwise be considered a spare bedroom. The usual furnishings missing, in their stead a series of closet organizers and boudoirs in matching wood and brass. The handles of the cabinets in gleaming symmetry to the color of his newly finished piece.
"How the hell am I going to get this thing out of here?" A tired frown curved at his lips; parted in exasperation, a matching furrow gently creasing his forehead. His hand gripped a leather padded handlebar and turned it, electric motor whirring to life under his touch helping him push his heavy and large creation out of the converted walk-in. The tires squeaked approvingly on the hardwoods, leaving some light marks on the floor to be removed with the next waxing. The motorcycle was just finishing it's approach when the doors to the elevator opened with the gentle grind of a well oiled sliding grate . A very surprised old man scurried out of the way, resembling a cockroach due to his leaning canter and black, pear shaped raincoat.
"I can't believe I finished this thing early, I mean it just got done raining. Plus the paint booth won't be open to spray it with lacquer until tomorrow." The quiet musings continued on down the hall warranting a few odd looks and shutter closing in the adjoining condominiums as he worked the metal beast into the narrow elevator just as the door tried to close itself dutifully the third time. Luca lived in a quite grand condo complex. Grand in the sense that is was very much from the gilded age. A beautiful golden veined green marble facade dominated the street front, the concrete besides covered with a fantastic stucco, sculpted copper window surrounds and other metal accents. It was a building refurbished in the late 80's and still very much held the lifeblood of it's birth, the age shining through with the beauty and exotic nature of antiquity. Then Luca walked his bike through the front door, breaking the magic. Then out toward the street.
The copper plates shined along their smooth lengths, the curves of the bike accentuated sharply with the angular frame and various lengths, widths and shapes of tubing covering the remainder of the bike. Brass cogs spun with the engine whir, connected with the shaft to the driving wheel, shocks and springs squeaked as he eased it over the curb and onto the street before taking it down the alley, his arm half into a leather riding jacket, the tight leather cinching down the volume of his teal sweater. The perforation ended where the ribbing began on the front, continuing all along the back down to the small of his back where it ended , leaving the smooth creamy skin of his back exposed where the leather seemingly ate his sweater while trying to get the jacket on, his grey-blue low-rise denim merely accentuating the curves of his toned muscle down the small of his back, disappearing into shadow and beneath fabric.
His hair fluttered briefly before being pushed back by the wind as he mounted and sped down the alley towards the downtown district, the shimmering hair matching the metal of his ride as he pushed 55 mph down a narrow street (conveniently a 25 zone) before arriving at his destination: the basement of a nondescript office building.
The floor he was headed for, however was nothing like the facade would suggest, and entrance was by word of mouth and occasional stumble-upon happenstance.
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The feeling of flight would have been intoxicating, had he not felt as though he drank one too many already. Nausea came over him in waves, but he had nothing to throw up as he had proven already by dry heaving in a corner until he felt like he would pass out. And upon waking up again, found that he had. Somewhere along the way the small plane stopped to refuel before lifting back into the sky, the brief intermission enough for Andrew to once again gain his bearings and prepare himself for the last part of the flight to America (or he assumed as much from the labels on the large crates of fruit that creaked against their straps as the plane hit turbulence.) The remaining time in the air was spend with diligent concentration on, one, trying not to vomit his internal organs, and two, to try to either explain his appearance in the back of a cargo bay, or how safely to escape unseen. He was hoping for the latter, as he hadn't spoken english in many dozens of years.
The final landing was nothing like what he had prepared for, it wasn't the frantic skipping, hopping, and final slowing of the plane as the last one had been, instead it was several passes at the runway, the occasional buzz of the ancient radio as the conning tower reported another delay because American Airlines wouldn't get their Boeing off the runway fast enough. After circling for almost 45 minutes, they were finally able to land, a silky smooth, textbook-perfect three point landing. And as soon as they slowed enough to risk opening the cargo hatch, Andrew was out, his form thin and fleeting across the hot asphalt, heat waves making him appear faint and dubious, as though the sight of anyone looking his way may be flawed. In due haste he skirted the runway, dodging between large caravans of moving trucks, waiting to load cargo and fuel onto awaiting planes, all unaware to the intruder in their domain.
He had absolutely no idea of where he was, or where he was going to go. Regardless, he dashed through the exits, several people waving fists and cursing at him as he ran past at a clip most people wouldn't dare, especially not with bedroom shoes on. And those did cause some difficulty when he tried to round the corner past the gift shop and instead plowed into a trash can, knocking it completely over and stunning a small girl whose eyes squinted, then filled with tears as she screamed for her mom. "I don't have time for this!" Perfect Portuguese, wasted on people who couldn't understand a word of it.
Then he was out on the street. A street as foreign to him as the moon, but yet, so much closer to home than he had been in over four decades. He walked slowly out of the shade of the overhang and looked up at all the buildings around him. The trees, the parking decks, the high rises that shimmered in all of their industrial glory around him, reminding him that this is where he had belonged all along. And this was only a small city, in comparison.
Walking leisurely along the road he found everyone's attention drawn to him, possibly because he looked like a horribly abused hobo, possibly because he was a cute 10 year old boy, but more because he was a cute 10 year old boy who looked like a horribly abused hobo. His hair was mussed and dirty, dust having taken refuge where there was any to be taken, in his hair, on his skin, the creases in his clothes were filled with it, as the plane seemed to suck it in during takeoff, and no amount of cleaning, he imagined, would ever take it out. "Where am I" The old man just looked at him strangely, apologetically, and continued walking, another woman steered her child away from him, a man pointed at him while sipping at his cappuccino, talking with loud whispers to his friend.
Everyone wants sincerely to care, but nobody knows quite how to do it.
Eventually he found himself, worn to the bone and entirely too dehydrated, lying pathetically in front of a large office building in downtown Charlotte. The sun was just setting and the comforting call to sleep overtook him, a blissful sleep. One without the terror that awaited with the dawn. "I wonder what's at the bottom of those steps." Then sleep took him into its realm.
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The day started normally; or as normally as a position behind the bar at the prestigious, and whereabouts unlisted, Rivets and Leather bar and lounge. It was a popular hangout for people who were more eccentric than most other bars could provide interest for. However, the suites that occupied it before were not exactly what would be considered a stylish bar. So the whole place had to be gutted before the bar was built, the old office suites were ripped strait down to the floorboards to allow for the lowering of the floor and installation of the rustic recycled brick (a reverent allusion to the brew-house it once formed) which on top of, the bar was to be constructed. Very much like a street in the town above, if the town above were still in the early 1900's, the bar was a long and very wide room, divided up by gas street lamps that protruded in elegantly bricked rounds from the floor, cast iron wrapped in scrolls, cast buttressed columns, and filigree wherever the inspiration for it hit the artist responsible, as all pieces were unique to this bar. The gas lights were subtly aided by other overhead fixtures, with similar shaped glass.
The bar itself was a magnificent and gargantuan undertaking. A single three inch thick slab of granite, dark as the night, but with flecks of weakening mica that caught the light and made small fairy-like constellations under the lamps. This in turn was worked, given several stripes of inlay around the edge of other fine stones, a thin reddish band of copper wound its way around the edge, dipping down into the rope-carved perimeter of the bar. The whole mass held aloft by sculpted mahogany legs, cabinets behind for the commonly used alcohols, shakers, mixers, blenders, glasses and other useful tools. This would be where Luca spent most of his time, standing behind the bar, a pleased smile across his creamy features as he surveyed the room. Lounge chairs surrounding the lamps, full of people sipping strong mixed drinks; several of the usuals chugging draft beer at the far end of the bar, atop stools made of the seats from old diesel engine pistons the tops with smoothly worn combustion bores that cradled the seated.
As per usual, the place was comfortable full, most of the customers were regulars. And Luca knew — if not their name — at least what drink they took. So the day wore on, and on. Many gallons of alcohol being dispensed by his hands and into the waiting gullets of many of the city's more 'troubled' people. Not the ones that drank just because they had problems, but because drinking made it easier for them to talk about their problems. And talk they did. Luca, unfortunately, was always the one that had to listen to their pseudo-deep intellectual thoughts on relationships, politics, the businesses trying to work against them to take all their money. Yes, he had heard all the conspiracy theories; from the government stealing any spare change in your couch cushions to aliens being the root cause of dejavu. Now he was just hoping that there wasn't a conspiracy between the lot of them to try to drive him insane as he tried to coerce the less drunk to help the more drunk outside and up the precariously steep steps onto street level. It was always better to get them out of the bar before night fell. It's already hard to negotiate the streets drunk, better not to add sight impairment to the list.
As he managed to herd the last of them out and finish sweeping his station, he heard the last of the management leave, the small brass bell above the door chiming as the coil of wrought iron supporting it shook with his passing. "Finally. I get some time to think." Although of course it would be possible to ignore a few people and spend some quality alone time with one's thoughts, it was hard to ignore several people who all wanted to either ask your opinion, tell you something 'important' or want another drink. By the end of the day, the only thing he wanted was to clean up slowly, drive back home and pass out for a while. And that was exactly what he intended to do when he opened the door and padded up the stairs. Except he couldn't make it very far past the stairs before a dark smudge against the wall caught his eye. It wasn't because the smudge was dark, or because there was someone there within the smudge, (it being their shadow and all) but it was because of it's size. THe person couldn't have been more than ten years old and they were pitifully thin and curled tightly into a ball. "What the…?" His eyes adjusted to the waning light and he leaned closer, kneeling next to the body. "Is it still breathing? Let's see…" He drew out his cell phone and clicked a random button, he light from he screen illuminated the face of a frail looking little boy, not even into the beginning of adolescence. "Damn… well at least he's still alive."
The young boy didn't put up a fight, or help at all. His breathing was shallow and even as Luca gently laid him onto his bike, leaning him against the fuel tank (that was actually a giant battery to fuel the electric motors) a makeshift pillow made from his jacket, as the boy didn't have anything on but some minty green hospital scrubs stained down the front with what appeared to be blood. He climbed on after making sure that he could keep the other from falling off the bike and carefully leaned the bike out of the alley and back towards the apartment, to carry his new guest up to his abode.
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Luca had little difficulty carrying the frail-feeling body of his watch, easing himself into his condo carrying the young boy bridal-style, garnering a few worried glances and loud whispers from his neighbors, whose noses found their way into too much. Ignoring their behavior he shut the door behind him, flicking the bar lock with his shoulder before slipping down the hall towards his bedroom.
"Okay. If you had woken up, I would bother with your name. But since you're still asleep, let's get you cleaned up. Hope you don't mind." He whispered thoughts to himself on occasions as he ran water in the tub to get it warm while he wandered about to find something to dress him in. When he came back, not to his surprise, his guest was still asleep and the water was hot. He turned down the temperature, precisely turning the cool knob of the chrome faucet, cast iron claw foot tub about a quarter of the way full of warm water. He walked back over to the youth and gingerly slipped his hands under the thin cotton garment, sliding them up the boy's sides before quickly undoing the snaps at the back of the shirt and sliding it off of his arms. He then repeated the process with the pants which had a series of snaps securing their legs at the sides, making removal a breeze. Looking down, a sculpted eyebrow rose in response. "Well, most people don't go around commando anymore…"
He leaned over the thin frame of the boy, eyeing the fresh incisions on his chest and down his stomach, one forming a 'vee' from both underarms to the solar plexus, then another going from the solar plexus to just above the pelvis. Fresh thin skin just barely covering the deep incisions, the stitching of the sutures clearly visible and very uniform. The smell of Bactine strong on his skin as Luca leaned closer to pick him up again, trying to carry him into the bathroom as appropriately as possible. "I mean, you only look 10, what happened to you?" Luca's musings fell on deaf ears as his guest continued to sleep soundly in his care. water sloshed gently as Luca placed him in, the warm liquid reaching the base of the stitches before luca turned it off. wary of the fresh wounds, he gently sponged water over his skin, pale skin exposed in streaks. As Luca continued, the pale skin gave way to deep purple bruising, faded tans and nauseating sallow tones around his torso. "what the hell happened to you?" Luca was aghast, eyes wide he gently traced a finger around one of the bruises, the skin was smooth, otherwise perfect save for the deep mottled inflammation and blood pooling beneath the skin. Clearly it was not by accident, because accidents were rough and never left such perfectly tended bruises. He continued to gently was him, the water muddying the white enamel of the tub before he pulled the drain and turned the water back on, through to the shower head, running some water through his hair, a burst of brilliant blond at the removal of the dingy dust, which added a layer of taupe in a film over everything. finishing up, he carefully lifted the boy again, drying him with one hand while holding him, a towel in between, against himself with his other arm, thankful that the child was so thin.
Clothing him was interesting, because the first layer was gauze, a very long bandage wrapping him from hips to underarms overtop a liberal amount of Neosporine to prevent infection and scarring. then he carefully wrapped him in an old robe, a couple sizes too small for himself, Luca had contemplated getting rid of it.Fluffing it, he couldn't help but think how handy it became. Although quite a bit to large for him still, the belt was cinched tight and the fluffy acrylic based fabric covered him well enough. Then Luca placed him in his bed and sat himself into a lounge chair on the other side of the room, to wait while catching up on his favorite copy of Edward Allen Poe.
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Upon waking, Andrew found a change of scenery, from what he remembered, he had passed out at the top of the steps of an office building, quite the odd place to take a nap. Now he felt a lot better and was sitting up in a large plushly pillow-topped bed. The silken sheets tangled about him as he turned quickly to look around, finally noticing another aspect that had changed. Not only was he in someone else's bedroom, but he was also now dressed in a very soft robe, drawn tight to his waist, but otherwise almost falling off of him. He had also been bandaged.
He shifted and made to slide his legs off to the side of the bed when someone walked in. "Oh, you're awake. How do you feel?" Andrew continued to stare at his new captor, who was significantly more attractive than his last, this one had beautiful copper hair, fair skin and a face that looked at him in restrained concern. "You've been sleeping for almost 14 hours now, at least since I found you." Andrew continued to stare, he couldn't place why he trusted this man as much as he did. "I took the liberty of washing and changing you, I hope you don't mind."
"Umm, no. I guess I don't…" Andrew trailed off as he couldn't stop peering at this new man as he walked carefully to the side of the bed. He had been carrying a brass tray that he placed mindfully on the end table next to the bed, which he now realized was made out of a book, instead of one having been set on top of it.
"Would you care for something to drink, eat?"
"Umm, sure?" He couldn't help but feel cautious. He couldn't remember the last time anyone had cared to ask him if he wanted anything. He noticed a small metal dome in the middle of the tray, a glass next to it and a pitcher mirrored on the other side.
"Is milk okay?"
"Sure." For some reason, his mouth had begun to water and he realized why, he hadn't eaten or drank anything in at least four days, no wonder he passed out.
Andrew cautiously accepted the glass tumbler full of creamy milk and scooted back against the headboard, drinking greedily.
"Slowly now, or you'll be sick."
After a long pause filled with quiet sucking sounds as Andrew continued to drain the glass until it was completely empty. "Thank you" He just realized that he had been speaking in English the whole time.
"No problem. Oh, I'm sorry. I forgot to introduce myself. I am Luca, Luca Skeil."
"Andrew… I can't remember what my last name is." His face pinched in worry, a careful frown curved the thin skin on his forehead. Tears unexplainably filling his eyes as he puzzled out his last name, memories foggy, past hidden. "I can't remember. I can't remember anything…" And he broke down, sobs racking his shoulders as he wept. Luca wrapped his arms around him, pulling him close so that he wept against his chest, face buried into his soft sweaters as he cried his fears out.
"Shh, shh. It'll be okay, everything will be okay."
Breakfast was waffles, slightly cold now.
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Luca watched the young boy as he sat in bed awkwardly glancing up at him as he ate, syrup slowly dribbling down his chin, his cheeks stuffed full of sugary waffles. "you can eat slower, I won't take them away from you." He couldn't help the grin that had worked his way across his face as he watched the boy negotiate his food, then gulp down another glass full of milk, it must have been his third.
Finally finished andrew made to slide off of the bed, and noticed that when the robe slid back he felt the fabric of the sheets smooth against his skin, and he looked down to notice that he was naked underneath it. He blushed furiously as he made to cover his modesty with his hands and push the robe back down as he slid out of the bed, accidentally falling to his knees, still having not succeeded in reclothing himself, the fluffy fabric now askew, off one shoulder and half on the floor, small hands grasping desperately at it. He looked up horrible embarrassment showing on his face as tears welled up in his eyes. "It's okay, we'll have to go out and buy you some clothes today", Luca coaxed the robe back around Andrews shoulders and helped him secure it in the front again, kneeling to his level, he gently ruffled the younger boys hair, letting it linger on the back of his head. "I don't know why, but I'll take care of you, at least until you can remember."
"O-okay…" Andrew's reply was timid and he smiled a bit afterward, still flushed from having shown himself in such a way. His ears felt hot and he knew his whole face was red.
"Now, what to do first?" Luca was pacing slowly back and forth, ticking things off on his fingers. "We need to get you some clothes that fit. Then I guess we should get you a hair cut as well, that style could use a bit of help. Then I guess we go shopping for stuff to eat." He smiled at the younger boy who was still sitting stupidly on the floor. Then Luca made his way over and helped him up, coaxing him to movement again seemed to work quite well as the boy walked quickly over to the bathroom and promptly relieved himself. "Oh, okay… Um, after that then." Luca left the room quickly to rummage about through some old stored clothing, coming across another relic of his old stuff. A soft coat, similar to a peacoat, but with a very large belt of fabric around the waist, which would come in handy with Andrew's thin waist. The boy would be very difficult to fit clothes for.
He just had no idea how hard that would be. They made it to the mall, the young boy once again in shades of red as his face lit up from being pressed against Luca during such a long ride while being in a compromising position for having no pants. He pulled the jacket low as Luca placed him back on the ground, trying to make up for the other time by stretching the fabric. Then they were traipsing through the doors, Inset within the large ornate plastered facade for the mall, their first stop: Macy's.
As they walked into the mall, Andrew's face lifted, eyes peering up at all the signs and the myriad of shops and shoppers running about trying their best to get the post-thanksgiving sales, it was the middle of fall after all, and everyone was in want to avoid being a 'procrasta-santa'. But they didn't matter to Luca as he pushed through them and into the store, wandering a bit through the perfume section and men's shoes before finally arriving at the children's section, looking at underwear. There were so many kinds though. Printed briefs, regular, colored, boxer-briefs, outright boxers in every size and color and print. "Well… let's see if an employee has a tape measure…" Luca mumbled as he looked around over the racks for said employee, finally finding a sweet looking middle aged woman smiling at a family as they waved goodbye, leaving with their purchases. He flagged her over and asked if she had a measure and she, as a perfect example of helpfulness, produced one from the many pockets on her apron. After using it to measure Andrew's waste, the whole time the little boy looked at him in a strange mix of embarrassment and restraint as he tried not to move very much. Then all the measurements were done and Luca grabbed down a package of plain white briefs, yanking open the bag and pulling one out, much to the chagrin of the employee who still looked on "Don't worry, I'm buying these," he consoled her as he led Andrew through the racks of fall-colored clothes towards the dressing rooms. Conveniently there was a family dressing room, a quartered off section with a small antechamber for the family to wait as the other tried on their clothes, it also worked great for those trying on undergarments. Meaning that this probably wasn't always the children's section.
Andrew went in a tried them on, Luca tossing a few pants over the door as well for him to try on. But when Andrew opened the door, Luca failed miserably at hiding the grin that split on his face, he chuckled a bit as the young boy came out and modeled his underwear in the mirror, looking at himself from different angles to try to see if they fit. "On the bright side, they fit great" Luca spoke between gasps as the laughter overtook him.
"What?" Andrew couldn't see why he was laughing so much, even though it was a quiet restrained laughter.
"It's because you are supposed to try them on with pants, not just the underwear."
"Oh, okay."
Andrew scuffled back into the stall and slipped on a nice pair of jeans; dark skinny jeans that, at the time, Luca found amusing, since a few years before all children's clothes were of horrid fashion sense. After a bit he emerged and showed off his new clothes, which fit him quite well, the low rise pants gently hugging his hips which poked significantly further out than his waist. "I like them" Andrew said proudly showing off the front of the pants that had a striking crossed whisker pattern lightly bleached into the deep navy denim.
"I'm glad, so now we need to get a few more pairs of those and try to find you some shirts, and some jackets… And maybe some shoes." The shoes weren't an afterthought, just said as they passed some nice shirts, which Andrew was looking intently at.
"Can I have them?" He asked quietly from his spot behind Luca's left hand.
"Sure, what color do you want? I think a pretty blue would look good on you."
"Then blue, and purple too, and how about some of those shirts over there?" Andrew pointed at the printed t-shirts, the slim cut ones which always seemed to have brighter and more vibrant prints on them.
"Okay, let's go pick some out."
So they found clothes, a small mountain forming in the corner that Luca was eyeing warily, tallying in his head the amount that they were reaching, which ate up his thanksgiving bonus. But it would be okay. He was taking care of a needy child after all, who was lost and couldn't remember anything. He had even checked to see if there were any missing children with his description. There were none.
Finally they made it to the coat rack, and Andrew's eyes locked onto one coat. A light warm grey soft wool-cashmere blend pea coat with a faux fur lined collar that surrounded the neck. The dark military style buttons down the front glinted as Andrew ran his hand down the front of it. "I want this one."
"Right." Luca was less sure as he picked up a coat in Andrew's rather petite size and looked it over, the thing was luckily on a rather good sale, so he could afford it, and he eyed the dry clean only tag carefully, it was just below the 'Made in South Korea' tag.
Luca carried a very happy boy out of the mall. they had started to walk away when a wave of fatigue hit the boy, who had been going hard shopping for almost six hours now with only a short interruption for lunch, he realized looking down at his watch. He had looked up at him, lazy eyes still filled with joy at having someone buy nice things for him and dress him up, "carry me?" he asked quietly, with a sweet smile across his lips, his hands already raised for Luca to pick him up. And he couldn't resist.
They just made it to the small barber shop before it started to close, Andrew looking up strangely at Luca, who was smiling. "But you need a hair cut, badly." Luca tried to convince him.
"But I don't want one!, I don't like hair cuts." He was pouting, lower lip sticking out with a determined frown and knitted brow. "I don't want to."
"I don't care, that is one thing you need to get taken care of, so we're getting it done now, so hurry up before he closes shop."
Only a small struggle ensued, resulting in a slightly disheveled Andrew being pulled through the door and set down in the stylist chair. The stylist made quick work of getting an apron on him and settling into work, having already been briefed earlier with a phone call describing what Luca wanted to see done with his guests hair. And so it was, the young man pushing back his own dark hair on occasion as it drifted into his eyes, those brown eyes focused on creating art with the razor he held in hands worn smooth from continued use and a large amount of exfoliation. He wasn't you're usual barber. And that is why Luca trusted him to take care of his and now Andrew's hair. Andrew looked over at him, tears brimming in his eyes a frown twitching at the corners of his mouth. He looked as if he had been betrayed.
"I'm sorry." Luca mouthed over to him as he tried not to go over and comfort the boy, trying to get this done faster. And done it was, the last few strokes were taken care of and a quick sweep through with Sebastian leave in moisturizing body control left his hair supple and lightly fluffed.
"Now was that all that bad?" Luca asked, as they walked out of the shop, Andrew sucking sorrowfully on a sucker given him by the stylist as he rang them up.
"No…" He sniffled as Luca placed him back on the bike again and leaned against him, his arms slowly wrapping around him to grasp the handlebars, then the quiet whir of motors and they were off, back to the condo.
"Let's go home." Luca said with a tired smile that perked the corners of his lips.
"Home…" Andrew drifted off to sleep long before they made it back.
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Andrew woke up to find everything around him still dark, the morning not yet lit with the rising sun. And he had to pee, badly. He wandered quickly down the hall, bare feet making small dull slapping sounds on the floor as he found the guest bath. He sighed, feeling much better now that he had taken care of that problem. Then he realized that he was once again dressed in the oversized robe, this time covered by a new pair of his favorite underwear, bright turquoise blue boxer-briefs. He smiled down at them, glad that they had purchased that package, and not remembering when he changed into them.
But that was the least of his troubles as he walked back down the hall to his room, feeling carefully along the wall, hand grasping at the chair rail. He tried to lay down and fall back asleep, tried everything he could think of to lull himself back to sleep. Eventually the sheep had gotten too tired themselves to jump over the fence and were herded on one side of it staring blankly at him. "Urgh, what do I have to do to sleep?" So he got up again, padding gently down the hall this time, down to Luca's room, which he went quietly into.
Luca blinked awake to feel another presence there with him in bed, the folds of his otherwise tight t-shirt were wrapped around a small pair of hands, which were gently pressed against his chest, a shock of blond hair close to his chin appeared as a ray of light filtered through the window, past the heavy shades and shutters. "Andrew?" He questioned peering down at the smaller body close beside him.
"Hmmm, mm…" Andrew wasn't awake, and it appeared that he didn't want to be. Which was fine, because Luca glared at the alarm clock on the adjoining bookshelf that read 6:03 am. He looked down at the boy who had rolled over and gently wrapped his arms around him, pulling him into a gentle embrace, to which Andrew responded by snuggling closer. And they returned to the land of sleep, the land of dreams.
Andrew found himself in the warm embrace of a larger set of creme colored arms, wrapped ever so gently around him. He smiled as he remembered to who they belonged and sat up, taking care not to wake the sleeping man next to him, but when he turned to look at him he found a pair of green eyes peering at him instead. "I was already waking up." Luca whispered to him as he followed suit and leaned up, sliding his legs out over the edge of the bed and standing quickly up. Andrew watched as he walked down the small hall to his private bath. Luca was very… pretty. Andrew thought carefully as he watched the back of his caretaker, long hair currently restrained by a small rubber band in the back, the bangs tamed by a series of clips to keep them off of his face as he slept. His body was thin, but not unnaturally so, and his hips moved gently back and forth as he walked back, a towel wrapped gently about his waist.
"You need to shower." Luca said sternly, standing in front of Andrew with his arms crossed in front of him. He was well aware of how to deal with children it seemed.
"But I don't like them!"
"Doesn't matter, I will not have you sleeping with me if you smell bad."
"But, but… I tried to sleep, and I couldn't…"
"I understand, but you still need to bathe."
"Urgh… I don't wanna!"
"Go. Now. Or would you rather I have to take care of it?"
Andrew shuffled slowly, sullenly resigned to a hot steaming shower. He had gotten in there and was running the water and contemplating when Luca's voice cut back in through the fog "Make sure you use soap!"
The day went along as well as it could have, Luca and Andrew shared a large recliner munching on popcorn through the afternoon while a series of movies played through on television. One of the few things that Luca preferred from the current generation. And he had, of course, splurged on a large high definition flat panel, mounted closely in a small alcove. Luca had begun to wonder if the boy would ever move when his own alarm went off, rousing him from his lazy-day stupor to go ready himself for work.
"Is it 6 o'clock already? Really? Oh, well… Andrew, would you like to stay here alone or would you like to come with me to work, at the bar?"
Andrew's reply was to get up and clutch Luca's arm tight. "Okay then. Well you need to get dressed, I'll help you with your hair and then we will be off. Andrew was shedding robe and underwear as he ran down the hall to his room.
"God, that boy… I'll have to work on him." Luca chuckled to himself as he watched andrew come out of the bedroom again with his arms in the wrong sweater holes, his jeans on backwards and not buttoned. Andrew was on the verge of tears again as he couldn't quite figure it out. "Come here, let me fix it."
They rode the bike again to the bar, although it was close enough to walk, Andrew had suggested they take it, enjoying the feeling of going so fast, seeing all the buildings around him, being pressed so close to the warm, soft Leather of Luca's riding jacket. Then they were there, turning off of the side street and onto the boulevard where Rivets and Leather called home. "Here we are!" Luca announced, holding the bike up with his legs allowing andrew to lean up; gripping the handlebar for support as he dangled his legs a bit, unable to touch the ground. They got off and went inside where Luca proceeded to introduce him to the staff working tonight, he couldn't remember any of their names, but they were interesting enough to look at, one had jet black hair cut into a tight crop, a large amount of gel holding tight spikes, a few other spikes finding their way as jewelry on his eyebrow, lip, and nose. Another woman had fairly long hair done into a dramatic undo, all shimmering shades of blond, her figure accented nicely with a corseted evening gown hailing from the turn of the century styling, exorbitant amounts of tulle keeping the dress poofed about her as she walked away with a dramatic swing of her hips. "Don't worry too much about her, she may act all high and mighty, but she doesn't hold up in a serious conversation." Luca whispered quietly behind her back when she was out of earshot. THe next man was in his forties at least with a bit of salt and pepper on his temples, hair slicked back to conform to his tuxedo and dish towel, he was a butler perhaps and had the two gold watch chains to match his lapel and cuff links. Finally there was Luca who himself was dressed in a very nice button down shirt, starched and pressed into points with a pinstriped grey vest tight around his middle, a pair of dress pants finishing it and a gold monocle to match his cuff links and watch chain as well.
"Now, don't anyone try to pull anything on him, if you do, it'll be the end for you." Luca warned, a grave tone for his otherwise melancholy voice.
"But you're not management!" The blond retorted, smug in her analysis of rank and threats. however this was refuted by a quick slicing motion across his throat as Luca glared over at her. "And I don't make threats, I make promises."
Everything was going all too smoothly, Andrew was sitting almost comatose listening to a mixture of the old giant tube radio in the corner, gossip from the usual noisy bunch in the back too drunk to realize they were practically screaming at each other, and the sound of shakers as the bartenders mixed drinks for their patrons. Luca all the while kept looking over, quick glances and smiles that Andrew was coming to appreciate as he felt more and more alone over there in a large lounge chair. Then the Grandfather clock tolled, loud and ominous from the other side of the room. It hadn't tolled the whole night and had been known not to toll for months at a time as it had done for a few weeks already. So it was a surprise, followed my more disaster as Luca glanced over at Andrew to find him crying loudly in his chair, he slid to the floor, palms pressed tight against his eyes, a quiet sob echoing through the room to hit Luca's ears and it broke his heart. He lunged around the bar and swept the boy into an embrace, arms tight against his back as he held him, rocking and swaying as he walked over to and sat down in a chair to hold him. "Everything will be okay, I won't let anything happen to you." Andrew continued to shake as the tears flowed silently out of him, seemingly out of his control.
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Once again Luca noticed that Andrew was not as stable as he seemed. He could be walking down the hall smiling like a fool and a second later a look of pure fear stricken across his face, and Luca would have to go over and pick him up and cradle him gently in his arms whispering gentle nothings into his ears. Then Andrew would sleep for a few hours and awake, happy again as if nothing had happened, the memory once again locked away deep in it's hiding place far away from the outside world.
But he had decided never to take him along to work again. Not to mention that management now thought he was a danger to the other employees. Lucky him. "Good thing they can't find anyone good enough to replace me, or I'd have been gone long ago." He whispered to himself as he poured some milk into a glass, the cool opacity of the liquid soothing as he stared at it briefly before taking a long sip of it. Enjoying the feeling as the fluid meandered it's way down his throat, spreading like a chilly wave through his body. Returning him to normalcy. And he had a hand outstretched with another glass full as Andrew walked over.
Then it was time for bed. Like every other night, Luca changed clothes, pinned his hair back from his face (he discovered that his complexion appreciated it) and brushed his teeth before falling back into bed. He was asleep within seconds and slept soundly until he felt the brush of soft hair against his face. Sniffling as he sat up he felt forward gently grasping an arm, then his hand moved up to a shoulder, and a cheek, finally finding home to ruffle the hair of the little boy who had snuck back into his room. "I couldn't sleep." Andrew explained cautiously as he snuggled closer again, an approving arm thrown around his middle as Luca settled back into a restful position.
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Before he knew it Andrew had been with him for a month, and it was Christmas eve. Not that Andrew would let him forget it. Not for the normal reasons, mind, but because he disliked the whole concept of Santa Clause.
"There's no way he'd be able to go around the world in a whole night. Plus, would you really want an overweight bearded man plundering through your house? I mean, I don't really care about the presents anyway. I mean, I just don't like it."
There was no convincing the boy, and Luca had long given up on it, instead determined to have a small mountain of presents waiting under the tree, and one very special one buried in the tree itself. And when the day rolled around both of them woke at their normal time, Andrew having found his way on top of Luca and had his hand covering Luca's face, a foot in his knee and an elbow against his arm. Sleeping with a child was dangerous. But when he remembered what day it was he kind of groaned a bit. He knew Santa — even if he did exist — wouldn't visit him. He hadn't been good enough. But he got up anyway, because Luca had tenderly slid him off of the bed to land with a quiet thunk on the plush rug on the wooden floor. Then Luca followed suit into the great room, where Andrew stood dumbfounded at the assortment of sizes and shapes and wrapping papers on the mound of presents slowly engulfing the tree. "They're your's" Luca assured him as Andrew looked up with uncertainty. "But I haven't been good enough…" He protested weakly, as he went forward and read the label on one, the silver swirls and leaves on the label covered with a to and from; to Andrew, from Luca. And a smile quickly replaced the doubt on his face and he tore through the many shades of green brown red and gold wrapping paper with equal ferocity looking at a melange of video game consoles and games, toys and action figures, more clothes and accessories, and even a few books to read through, an edition of Neverwhere sneaking its way into the pile to improve his reading level. But it was the last present that Luca had to point him to, his finger showing a line into the green needles of the large Douglas Fir tree, to a hefty envelope, sealed with a rather official label: To Luca Skeil, from the US Dept. of Child Services and Legal Aid. Andrew looked up at Luca and smiled broad, tears glistened at the corners of his bright blue eyes and streamed down his face, and Luca knelt quickly as andrew ran towards him into a tight embrace. "I have legal custody of you, and nobody will ever take you away from me."
There had always been that lingering suspicion that Andrew had that this life was too good and that all of a sudden someone would appear from nowhere and take it away. Luca was all to familiar with it, because Andrew talked in his sleep. Just a quiet mumble, but it was enough for Luca to understand his worries. Usually it was silly things like burnt toast and being naked at the mall, but it changed after he broke down in the Rivets and Leather. It got more troublesome as well, as it broke his heart that Andrew thought he would ever let anything happen to him. And now, there was no legal way anything could happen to him.
That evening he found himself with a lap full of a very content Andrew who had re-found a peppermint flavored lollypop. He favored the swirled red and white candy on a stick over the usual crooks of sugar. And before long, Luca was holding a slightly gnawed paper stick and had a sleeping boy sprawled across his lap, head rested in the crook of his arm. For some reason, regardless of how many pillows he laid out of every size shape and texture, Andrew seemed willing to trade all of them to have him as a pillow.
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"What a life…" Luca moaned quietly as he turned over to face to greeting of gentle waves of energy, wafting through to wake him for the day. Andrew, on the other side, was still fast in the clutches of what could only be assumed as a pleasant dream by the smile still wide across his face. Luca couldn't help but wish that it could go on like this forever. The day was the same perfection as the morning. Lounging about lazily for the better part of the afternoon, sitting in a quaint looking cafe that happened to have one of the best cups of espresso this side of Italy, as Luca had discovered several years ago. Now he sat in his favorite spot, a chocolate colored couch with it's back to the window, the warmth of the light warming your back as the coffee warmed the tongue. Or maybe it was the soul that the espresso warmed, because he always felt better, lighter even after going there. The smell of quality ingredients just over top of the smell of fresh baked pastries. Like grandma's house if your grandmother lived in Italy.
The walls were a beautiful antique cream with long crackles running through the plaster where age was allowed to show, the cracks already sealed with a clear varnish. The shop never seemed to be full, but it was mainly because there was so much business for the business people. Folk who enjoyed coming in for short durations, soon finding that their over-filled schedule necessitated that their coffee be to go. "Ah, if not for the simple pleasures in life, what would life be worth?" Musings whispered into the creamy froth of his beverage as he took another sip. Andrew was currently trying his best to occupy the space beneath Luca, and was still failing. His own drink was forgotten long ago, after the sweet biscotti was dipped in and devoured, small crumbs littering the napkin laid out on the small round table. "What? What is so important about where I'm sitting?" Luca asked, slightly peeved that Andrew was so stubbornly trying to take over his seat. Which halted immediately with the question. "I dunno…" He trailed off, eyes sliding to the side to look back over at the entrance to the cafe where two large men had cast a long shadow into the shop. They peered through the glass, looking quickly around the cafe before walking silently away. Apparently they had seen all they needed to.
For some reason the feeling that they were being watched ruined the remainder of the day. With every turn it felt like there were eyes hidden everywhere, watching, staring waiting for them. But he couldn't let that bother him. So he went to work as usual, keeping Andrew behind the bar this time, so he was always close by, sitting on a stool talking to the nicer people that Giovanni happened to serve. Giovanni was an excellent friend to have, his stature was a large one to bear, though. He stood well above Luca's head and his salt and pepper hair, slicked back to fit his uniform did little to hide the fact that he would have been a prized fighter at any ring. Needless to say, he was a person you wanted to be liked by, the alternate could be painful. But Giovanni enjoyed the company of Luca and Andrew, as he talked energetically with the young boy, showing him how to properly pour the water over the absinth spoon and into the green liquid. Not that he would ever give the boy any of it. This was a learning experience of the good kind, not of the variety that would leave one visiting the porcelain gods. Luca had remembered his birthday, and that night did not bring back pleasant memories. However, despite the lingering doubts, nothing out of the ordinary happened. People came tog et drunk, people got drunk, they left and the shop closed up and cleared out.
"Everything according to plan." The stern tone of the voice translating strait through the cell phone he was using.
"Good, when should I hope to see a return on my investment?" The voice was odd and strained. Aged and disused, except on the certain rare occasions where the need should arise to speak, instead of the silence of his work.
"Tonight."
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Luca wasn't a paranoid person. He instead thought about it as being well prepared for any adverse situation. Which is why he kept a large store of water and provisions in the pantry, and an inordinately large cache of ordinance. "Just in case." He had explained to the clerk at the local gun store when he went in to purchase several weapons on his twenty-first birthday. Also the same day he had gotten his permit to own them in the first place. He was a bit of a gun aficionado, and enjoyed them. A little too much perhaps suggested the range officer at the police academy shooting range. Even through the ear muffs he could hear Luca's mild laughter as he squeezed even more rounds through the chamber of his favored Ruger. The Ruger SR-556U6.8 was one of his favorite guns, a combat-ready gun that was not only plenty accurate at 100 yards, but if the conditions were right, it could shoot further still with incredible firepower. He had already expended quite the tidy sum to acquire the flat black weapon, and had filled it's many accessory rails with laser sights, a Swavorsky scope and a combat light. Everything to take out intruders in the night, he commented as he held it in the store.
He had never seriously considered needing the weapon until that night. He had gone to sleep with the sinking suspicion that something would happen, pulling the soft purple comforter higher while trying to ignore the unsettling sensation. And he had finally succeeded when a soft knock on the door alerted him to someone's presence outside. It was definitely not a knock that would wake abnormal person form a dead sleep, as it hadn't even phased the boy next to him, so he slid silently out of bed and grabbed for the cold metal in the drawer of his nightstand, retrieving it he walked to the door and peered through the peephole at the same men as before. Large and menacing, their hair was cropped very short and covered for the most part by skull-caps, their eyes peered out from under the short bill at the door, their arms giving away their intentions.
And Luca unloaded the cylinder of his Desert Eagle through the door. The rounds would find their home regardless of the AK-47's that the men held across their chests. The .50 caliber rounds of lead were specially designed fused metal alloy which broke apart upon impact, scattering while still traveling at immense speed to deliver a punishing blow to whomever was unfortunate enough to be on the wrong side of the muzzle.
The oak door splintered around the holes and Luca slid it open to look at the damage. Except where he expected to see two bodies bleeding out on the welcome mat, he saw instead a sheet of crisp white paper and a large puddle of blood that dribbled momentarily down the hall before disappearing.
"We know you have him." The note read, and a chill pushed like waves of ice water over Luca as he read it again and again. "And we won't stop until he is returned."
"There is a slight change of plans."The first voice was more gruff, a tinge of pain mingled in to make the words sound strained. "Tomorrow, possibly. We weren't aware he was armed."
"Just a change of tactic, nothing I haven't prepared you for." The voice still sounded of age, the garbled sounds of disuse smoothed out now, replaced instead with a scholarly tone.
"Right, tomorrow then doctor."
