[debut] One is the Loneliest Number
Jul. 1st, 2009 08:02 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
howmanylives“So you see, Jamie…” John stood, his hands shoved in his pockets. “Good things do happen if you have the patience to see them.”
“I guess you’re right,” said Madrox, reaching for the gun hidden inside his coat. “Too bad I’m out of patience.”
“Give me the gun, Jamie.” John’s voice was as calm and confident as the first time Madrox heard it a year ago, delivering a sermon in the very church they now stood. It had been daylight, then, a brisk autumn Sunday morning. It felt like a lifetime ago.
“Can’t do that.”
“You want me to stop you,” he insisted in that same measured tone. “You want me to talk you out of this.”
“For a while that’s what I thought, too. But now—” Madrox cut himself off abruptly. Bent forward with his elbows pressed against his knees, he rested his forehead against the length of the gun. “Now I think I just want someone to call the team and let them know I’m gone, and it’s over. They’re still there, y’know. They’ve gone on without me. I call the firm from pay phones every few days, just to hear Terry answer and say, ‘XF Investigations, how can we help you?’”
He looked up, face wet with tears. He’d wanted to say, “Then I hang up. Because she can’t help me. No one can.” He’d wanted John to simply stand by and let him die. He’d wanted – like always – any number of things. And – just like always – he wasn’t about to get any of them.
There had been an unexpected change of venue.
My mind goes numb. I’m no longer aware of the gun in my hand. Then again…I’m no longer aware of a lot of things right now. I’m not even sure I’m still alive.
The church was gone, replaced by the sort of jungle that was rare to see outside of films or television – let alone Vermont. Stumbling forward and out of the pew – now a fallen tree, though he failed to notice as much – Madrox straightened and took a good, long look of his new surroundings.
“Oh, perfect.”
“I guess you’re right,” said Madrox, reaching for the gun hidden inside his coat. “Too bad I’m out of patience.”
“Give me the gun, Jamie.” John’s voice was as calm and confident as the first time Madrox heard it a year ago, delivering a sermon in the very church they now stood. It had been daylight, then, a brisk autumn Sunday morning. It felt like a lifetime ago.
“Can’t do that.”
“You want me to stop you,” he insisted in that same measured tone. “You want me to talk you out of this.”
“For a while that’s what I thought, too. But now—” Madrox cut himself off abruptly. Bent forward with his elbows pressed against his knees, he rested his forehead against the length of the gun. “Now I think I just want someone to call the team and let them know I’m gone, and it’s over. They’re still there, y’know. They’ve gone on without me. I call the firm from pay phones every few days, just to hear Terry answer and say, ‘XF Investigations, how can we help you?’”
He looked up, face wet with tears. He’d wanted to say, “Then I hang up. Because she can’t help me. No one can.” He’d wanted John to simply stand by and let him die. He’d wanted – like always – any number of things. And – just like always – he wasn’t about to get any of them.
There had been an unexpected change of venue.
My mind goes numb. I’m no longer aware of the gun in my hand. Then again…I’m no longer aware of a lot of things right now. I’m not even sure I’m still alive.
The church was gone, replaced by the sort of jungle that was rare to see outside of films or television – let alone Vermont. Stumbling forward and out of the pew – now a fallen tree, though he failed to notice as much – Madrox straightened and took a good, long look of his new surroundings.
“Oh, perfect.”