I didn't have time for whatever heartfelt speech Cepheus planned to grace me with. I didn't even bother to ponder how he knew where Silvia Garcia had went. Every breath of this impure air entering me is contaminated with the existence of Garcia. She desecrated my existence, she made me show remorse.
I could accept the terms when Branden Cutler escaped from my hands, it was of my own fault, and Cepheus even helped me rectify the wrongs, but Silvia, Silvia is different.
Silvia Garcia didn't survive on luck or chance; she survived because my mind was too boggled that there was actually something true and honest within me. She survived because I did something very stupid, and I wasn't going to allow for that to happen again. I don't have time for Cepheus to hand me one of his rifling of words. That, and I don't feel like hearing them, even considering how well-thought out they could very well have ended up being. I do not have time to smile and nod, there isn't any of me that is looking to feel right now.
At the moment, I can't think of anything more useless than feeling, I don't want to discover anything besides the satisfaction and pleasure only the conclusion of a life can bring me. I don't have it in me for anything else, I do not feel like smiling, nodding my head, or being enlightened on the intertwining thoughts buzzing around my father's mind.
I don't feel like anything.
Apathy, thy name is Orion.
Cepheus would have to save his pensive melancholy for another time.
Cepheus explained, with his quiet but deep voice, that Silvia Garcia is quite a ways away from where we are. She took precaution after her encounter with those nameless and naive vigilantes. Her acting may have been admirable enough to convince one of the vigilantes of her innocence but that would be the only person that she convinced of anything.
No matter how much she cried and pleaded, nobody would believe her foolish and silly stories, regardless of how accurate they could very well have been. Silvia Garcia may have hoodwinked one of the killers, but the other, the final one, didn't care one way or the other. Silvia realized that nobody believed her wolf cries, and started to look for protection. She came up short to a large extent, without much to show for it. After all, there is only so much that a dimwitted, narcotic-abusing, potential murderer can do, and it wasn't very much. She certainly couldn't succeed in scoring any legitimate protection, not like Branden Cutler who managed to scavenge up a compilation of burly gentleman to stand by his side. However, like Cutler, she went to the one place where she felt at her most comfortable. She is an addict and is deeply lost in her addiction, so deep in the well that she could never be resuscitated back to the surface, Silvia went to the one place where she felt herself, not secure, but enabled.
This meant a lot in-terms of her protection, in that it wasn't anything particularly convoluted or craftily carved together. Silvia Garcia did the impossible of laying low while being inexplicably high. Silvia Garcia was hiding herself in a drug den, specializing mostly in heroin. Why Cepheus seemed to know so much about it seemed irrelevant to me. Branden Cutler was smarter than her, his most addictive tendency brought himself into a place of alcoholics that got into fights for the hell of it.
Silvia Garcia's most addicted tendency gathers individuals up and places them into a defenseless, alternatively wakeful and drowsy state. She may even be more defenseless than before.
This is how it should be.
I follow the steps once traveled by Cepheus, the darkness refuses to recede, but I don't especially have a problem with it, the darkness has proven opportunistic to my benefit. Since ditched away from staring at the Sidian Inn, Cepheus and I are right where we need to be.
Silvia's location is actually quite a distance away from the Sidian Inn, and isn't in actuality, even within the same city.
Acera is a big part of Maharris, and perhaps even rightfully so, the city could translate into many happy postcards. Acera has its flaws, of course, statistically speaking, it has been credited as being the location of some of the most vicious and conniving serial-killers. Ivan Black being among one of the most prominent before I took his life, and Maher, a gang once run by Alfonso Alvarez, has continued to run a muck even after I took the life of the leader.
However, Urgway could quite possibly be the most dangerous, an area lacking order, and infested with serial-killers, rapists, and pedophiles. It's as if to say all the serial-killers that don't get caught in Acera, come to Urgway for relaxation. The difference is that Acera is mostly dangerous at night, and if you lock your doors, you're probably safe. In Urgway, you never really know, because there aren't very many obstacles keeping actions from occurring, not a strong authority figure to wag his finger at the criminals and tell them, “No, No!” They enforce particularly strict curfews for Urgway as well, and if you step into an alleyway, you can expect to be mugged.
Urgway also isn't the eye-candy that Acera is, and where Acera shines with its glamorous city-lights, Urgway shines for being the scrumpy, and more deteriorated side of the area. The side that you always knew was there but never really wanted to believe existed. Cepheus and I looked forward at the drug den that supposedly held Silvia Garcia, a small and wretched trailer. Streams and streams of toilet-paper hung from sides of the house, along with various small trees to the side of the tiny mobile home. The toilet paper was soggy and damp and looked like it had become caked in the side of the walls. Scatterings of empty soda-cans, wrappers, and black bags of trash lead to a pair of concrete stairs leading inside. All the grass is either dying or dead, and has transitioned into a sickly yellowish color. There are two cars parked in the driveway, one in-front of the other. The one in-front is a Chevrolet Astro, coated in dirt, and with the first half being a darkish blue, and the bottom being a pale white disguised as brown by the mud. The second car is the same rugged junker of a car Belladonna and I saw Silvia Garcia leave at the Sidian Inn.
Cepheus and I stare at the trailer, both with the same fiery passion, the sight of blood in the water. We both know that the kill is quickly chugging on the rails, and our damsel is soon to be run over, but I can't think of the next step to take. I am not afraid, not nervous, not anxious, just unsure. The sky seems to be doing the impossible of getting blacker, and I couldn't ask for an easier task to accomplish. However, I have always grown accustom to specific methods, and lately, they have blown away like dust in the wind.
Is this the start of something new, a further installment in my new perspective toward things?
I don't have the answer to that.
My staffs are in my hands, but I have trouble believing I will be using them very much for this occasion. I walk onward into the night, stepping on the crinkly, dead grass, before beginning to circle the trailer. I can't hear any sign of commotion, but suddenly, breaking the deadening silence, I hear the sound of a dog barking hysterically. I jump, deeply aghast as I turn and see a robust-sized larded bulldog pulling itself my way.
Bracing myself, I guard my torso with my staffs as I hear the rustling of a chain moving, and thankfully, the dog comes to an abrupt halt, running out of leash. No good lasts long before a spiral downward, and the dog continues to howl away at me. It would only be a matter of time before I'm heard.
A thief, I am not.
To my good fortune, I didn't need to be, because Cepheus would take it upon himself to charge forward and punt the dog directly in the sternum.
The dog whines softly before crawling away from us.
“Dogs,” Cepheus mutters under his breath, and I have trouble disagreeing with him.
I follow Cepheus as he trails in-front of me and we continue our way at the back of the trailer. I could ever so faintly hear the sound of my heart beating; we had to have been seen.
The jig is up, Orion, run!
However, I say nothing; just continue walking until taking sight of a window. I walk ahead, hoping to see a peek inside and discover if our dearest and sincerest companion remains. The glass expected for the window is nonexistent, and instead, there merely rests a window screen peeking into the trailer.
The den is small, and because of this, the view I am provided gives sight to a significant amount of the room. I could see a washing machine right below the inside of the windowsill with a couple of pennies and nickles lying on top of it. Further inside, I could faintly see the faces of three individuals: two men and a girl. The trio rested unconsciously on a couch, next to them is a wide-pile of syringes, all looking as if they're dead, and I started to feel scared that somebody had beaten me to the punch. I turn back to Cepheus just to make sure that he is still with me, and he is.
“Look at all those pricks and their needles,” Cepheus says, carrying the same stoic expression that I've come to expect from him.
I circle back around to the front of the fortress out on High Street, and come to the front-door. The door almost parallels the window in the sense it's not really much of a door at all. Doors are generally supposed to keep people out. I poke my finger against the handle-less screen door, and I am in. I move my way through the darkened room. And as I continue, inadvertently, my knee collides quietly but harshly into what feels to be a coffee table.
I cringe silently in pain for a moment and try to hide my irritation.
The dog barking was fine, but violent coffee tables are where I draw the line.
I look down at the coffee table, and the items resting upon it, … speaking of lines.
I keep moving in the darkness, and then, just like the coffee table, I am aggressively attacked, turned around by a deeply powerful individual that I can barely lay my eyes on.
He flips a switch, illuminating the room before manhandling me by throwing me against a wall. I thought the wall might actually break for a moment by the sound it made as my back slammed into it. I look at him and his bloodshot eyes, and for a moment, I begin to truly appreciate just how large of a man he is. Even on my tiptoes, the man is taller than me by well over a foot and a half. He has slick black hair and a ponytail that I briefly see slap over his shoulders before he flips it back behind him. A scar is also noticeable on the side of his cheek.
“Who the fuck are you?” The man called out plainly. “What the hell are you doing here?”
He clubs me in the chest, over and over again, causing for me to drop my staffs to the muddy carpet before grabbing me by the throat with both hands. He flings me in the air and I land atop that vile and vicious coffee table, crashing through it, and making a loud thrash in the process. I see the wood scatter and lay there for a moment or two and then he apparently decides that we're friends and assists me back to my feet. But then, throwing away our new found companionship, he attempts to drive another fist in my midsection, but I insist otherwise and bring a knee to his gut. I take the knife out from my back pocket.
The knife feels minuscule and ineffective in my hands when I look at the burly fellow but I know the end of his life is approaching. All at once, I prepare to drive the knife into his throat as a gun goes off before I have the chance. Blood spurts from the forehead of the man's head, and so does a bullet before it hits the wall and comes to a halt. The man drops to his knees and then he falls to the ground. I stare up at Cepheus.
“Good timing,” I utter weakly.
“You didn't want to kill him anyway, you don't know if he's a bad guy, after all,” Cepheus responds while we continue walking further into the now illuminated room.
The inside of the trailer paid homage to the outside with the same assortment of litter splattered about, although the inside had a big dead guy inside it for variety. Cepheus and I move forward after I pick up my staffs and look to see the trio of two men and one woman lying out of it on the couch. Our scuffles not distracting them from focusing on their coma.
“Oh, shit, Jesus Christ, oh, shit!” we hear fill the room, and naively, I get excited for a moment, but what would he be doing here? “You killed Raoul!” follows the false advertising.
Both of us simultaneously turn to see Silvia Garcia bolt out the front-door. Cepheus points one of his guns up in her direction, aiming intently at her head, but I hush the gun down.
“No, not this one, this one's mine,” I say before running forward with the white-hot intensity fueling me once more.
I follow her out the front-door and hear it cling against the side of the trailer roughly as I fling it open. She hears it too, and begins to strengthen her pace. I charge fourth toward her with whimsical desires of marking something important off of my checklist, and begin to close in on her. The traffic is nonexistent, and she eventually slips and stumbles off of her feet onto the sidewalk next to a closed down mini-mart called, “Hamill's”. She comes back to a vertical stance hurriedly, only for me to go for a presumptive strike at her with one of my staffs.
She trembles beneath it causing me to strike against the glass entrance door of the mini-mart. Taken by surprise, I mistakenly toss my staff threw the window and send it flinging down one of the aisles. The staff slides a mighty distance and falls away into the darkness of the store. She desperately tries to crawl away but I pull her back to her feet before she has the chance and pin her against the wall. Sickening tears are running down her face as she looks at me with a panicked look in her eyes.
“What do you want?” Her eyes move frantically, every bit as afraid as the last time we met, maybe more. “Where's that girl, that girl that was with you before, she knows that I didn't do anything,” she squeals with a high-pitch to her voice.
“She's not going to be joining us for the occasion, I'm afraid,” I respond coldly.
“Please don't kill me, I didn't kill her, I didn't kill mommy!”
“You can save your chanting, they are not going to save you this time, nothing is going to save you this time. You mistakenly believe that this is about you, but this isn't about you, this is about me.”
“You can't kill me, dear God, please!”
“You misunderstand, you're not in any position to inform me on what I can or cannot do, you see, when the mask is on, when the lights dim, I'm not looking for your approval. I don't need your approval, but you need mine, because if you don't have mine, it'll mean death. I'm starting to think that it doesn't matter if you have my approval or not. But, you, Silvia Garcia, do not have my approval. You are going to die one way or the other tonight,” I promise.
Her eyes are bloodshot, but something tells me they're not bloodshot for the same reason as the man recently killed by Cepheus. Terror runs through her veins, and she's afraid.
“I did it,” Silvia mumbles to herself.
“I did it,” she repeats. “I killed the bitch, and I'm not sorry.”
“Good,” I admit. “But I never cared.”