“Hello, Order,” Ayres said. “You,” was all she said to greet Aldrich. “Ah, Officer Kurt, glad to see you back in shape.”
“What the fu–” Coldin began to say before being interrupted by Aldrich.
“Coldin is what we are to call him now, dear angel.”
A knock came from the door and all went silent, all stayed still. Three more knocks rang out until finally Jackson got up, his hand still on his weapon inside of his jacket. He slowly turned the knob and opened the door to a most unlikely grimace.
“Oh,” Erma said. “You all are having some kind of… Medieval party thing? Just keep it down, neighbors complained and said it sounded like a bomb went off in here.” Then she wandered back down the hall in silence as Jackson closed the door.
Ayres held a cold silence, and an even colder gaze. She was not closed off, but instead held an aura of a protective nature, whether it be for herself or for another. With arms crossed, she bounced her eyes from one to another, and monitored their levels of comfort. The most uncomfortable, by far, was Coldin. If he could see his own expression he would have changed it, for he looked just as startled as a child who learned that there were actual monsters under the bed. Next, was Jackson. His face said that he had questions, but there was a twinge of relief behind his eyes for her return. Then, of course, there was Aldrich. His confusion, and his dagger-stare, was not welcoming. He too had questions, and maybe these were questions not suited to be said before the others. It was with a large bite of the tongue that he kept quiet.
“Order,” said Ayres to Jackson. “We must speak.”
“Jackson, and I guess we must.”
Coldin, with a gulp and plastic confidence, approached her with an extended hand, “Excuse me,” he said nervously. “I’d like to–”
“We do not have time for pleasantries, Officer Kurt. We can speak later,” she interrupted and walked right passed him as if he were not there at all.
She now stood before Aldrich, and he looked up at her with as unhappy a greeting as one could be for such a moment. “We also must speak.”
Aldrich did not answer. But, he gave a nod, just a small notion of agreement, right before she turned away to focus her attention back on Jackson.
At this point it was the evening, the sun was just beginning to lower and its dimming rays cut over the edges of the New Ashton skyline to welcome the cross over into the evening. It soaked the sky in an orange hue that poked through the large window enough to offer a faint glow that bounced off of Ayres armor. Her form, as stoic as it had always been, cut a silhouette in the light. These were the moments where Ayres would stand before the window, admire the streets below and gawk at the humans who bustled through and shoved one another just to make their way home like that of a watchful yet intrigued guardian. But, she did not take her place. Her back remained to the world as she stared intently at the group before her.
“Usra wants you to deal with the Scarabs, Order,” she said sternly. “Last time was different, and this time she has a special stake in this.”
“Hmph. Guess I now get jobs from them both,” he mumbled.
“Ayres, my dear, I do not understand the meaning of this. As long as I have been around, the Order has always been given assignments from Azazel. This is puzzling,” Aldrich interjected. “What has the Creator, or the Order of Ascendance, to gain from those body-dealing-skin-swindlers?”
Ayres scowled and turned away to face out of her window.. Her imposing figure loomed a shadow over the small Aldrich as he stood and approached her. It was becoming apparent that both were hiding something, and Jackson would not stand for it. He could sense the tension and could almost smell the lying and secrecy. If this new world, and this city, had taught him anything since his return, it was that there was always more than what he could see.
“Explain yourselves,” Jackson’s voice rumbled.
“I believe she has the explanation you need.” Ayres did not turn at the remark. “Fine,” he answered her silence, “I have a novel I’ve neglected anyway.” With a scowl, Aldrich walked from the group and took a seat on the couch, opening a large book. The fury was shown across his face as he slid quick, angered glances up at Ayres.
Ayres looked disgruntled. The disdain she had for the words she would speak made it seem like they were foul and sour in taste. “We have a name for these members of my kind. An archangel… a traitor,” she barked. “One of my kind, a hand of Usra, tainted by earth or...” and she looked towards Aldrich, “other forces. She currently serves as a protection for the Scarabs.”
Jackson moved closer toward her, standing just behind her as he peered out the window over her shoulder. Jackson’s mind, perhaps it was even the old Jackson, focused on lines that were blurred for him with a reality in which Demons could be passionate and loving, humans could be even more treacherous than he remembered, and angels can now apparently be just as low. In some ways he still felt like the man who bled out on his apartment floor, weak and lost. But, in other ways he was the man who carved letters into the side of the gun, the man who only could see in black and white, good and evil, Demon and Human. A man who rarely smiles, who speaks without a heart as his quietly suffers, and who ends life, or sometimes just the essence of life, with little thought nor care. Outside of the window were the same people and the same city he had seen every day for so long, and yet everything was different. Jackson looked at them and wondered if they truly knew the horrible world they lived in.
“Is it true then,” Jackson muttered, “about Lucifer? God’s favorite angel who fell from grace. Any part of that exist? I think it is more of my people making more of something than it really is.”
“The God old books spoke of is just an idea, not a person. If it was, it would be two and not one. Monotheism was a construct, because why have a few do some when one can do all. Two sides of every coin, the Ying and Yang, the light and dark. I am not as old as you’d believe, Order, but to my experience all I can say is that Usra and Azazel are both God, as far as the burned books of your people suggest, and at the same time neither are. All that exists past this life is time, space, and a universal flow. They are just the two who organized it and continue to run it.”
Jackson cracked a faint smile of his own, “You sound a little old to me.”
She glanced back at him, “Truthfully, I do not know my age. Paragon has no time, one day could be a decade, could be a minute, there is no real time. But,” she nodded her head back toward Aldrich. “Something tells me that I am not as old as him.”
Coldin grew restless, there was so much for him to ingest all at once and yet he barely had any time free at all from Sandy. He fidgeted in his seat, watching the two converse across the room, and then stared at the boy and his open book. Each page that crinkled as it turned, each murmur made by Jackson and Ayres, all were clouding him and sounding thunderous amongst the silence. His eyelids were heavy, but when they closed he could only see the gushing of thick, red blood and the stretching of pale flesh. His fingers tapped in a rhythm on his knee that shook up and down rapidly, and he began to chew the inside of his lip.
Jackson glanced over and took notice.
“I think now would be a good time for that talk you wanted,” Jackson grunted. He motioned with his head back toward the apartment door, “Roof.”
Ayres said nothing, but she looked at him, her eyes locked with his, and she offered just a nod in agreement. As Jackson turned and stepped over toward the door, she followed, and Coldin just stared, following the strange-strangers with his eyes.
“Do we follow?” Coldin questioned.
Aldrich, without looking up from his book, said simply, “No, I do not believe so.” He closed his cloth bookmark within the pages and hopped off of the couch.
He made his way toward the window and took a look out at what was beneath them. “I do not know what is so fascinating about such a view as this.”
Coldin rested his elbows on his legs and clasped his hands together tightly, ch
ewing his cheek and staring into nothing at all. “Don’t know, maybe they just like watching the people.”
“Perhaps,” Aldrich said, and then glanced upward toward the dim sky. “But I will say it is a bit relaxing.”
Coldin looked up, “Yeah?” He pushed himself up to his feet before making his way over to the window. “I could use a something relaxing right now.”
From the rooftop, the pair could see the great expanse of New Ashton. They stood on the flat, tar covered roof, right at the building’s edge where the flickering lights and flashing cars moved like a great field of giant fireflies beneath them. While the apartment was not the tallest of buildings, it was still an excellent view of a city once prosperous. From here, Jackson could see the very heart and soul of the city: its stores. The glowing neon light of the ‘Wright’s Tobacco & Lottery’ paired beside the bubbled-blue letters of the daycare service beside it, then ‘Gia’s Pizza’ where Jackson would frequent with her before they, apparently, closed down and now just showed an old, broken sign and boarded windows. The two could see young ones on the street corners, handing bags from their pockets with one hand and taking rolls of cash with another, and even at this height Jackson could have sworn he had even seen the flash of those nasty smiles on some faces who passed.
I haven’t stood here in nearly two decades, he thought to himself, as the city lights twinkled in the reflection of his eyes. We used to stand here…
Jackson could recall those nights with a bliss that only comes from a sweet sense of nostalgia. He could remember the man he used to be, and how that man would bring up a blanket while his love followed with hot coffee all the way up to this very spot. They’d sit, wrapped in a blanket to warm them from the sharp city breeze and the cold chill of the night air, then sip coffee and just talk until their eyes would nearly close. She would talk of the city, always looking at the silver linings and beauty that could truly be found if only Jackson would have looked around. But even back then he was pessimistic; he just did a better job of hiding it. He could remember the smells, the hot melted cheese of fresh pizza, the stench of tobacco, even the waft of her hair which smelled like strawberries and vanilla. The very thought of her smile, surrounded by a city skyline, crept into Jackson’s mind like a scorpion and stung in such a way that he would swear the pain was real.
From within his pocket he clenched a fist and buried this pain deep within him. After all, this pain was just more fuel for his revenge.
“City looks different from up here, Order,” Ayres said and snapped the tense silence.
“It does, and it is Jackson.”
“I am afraid…” and she paused for a moment. “I am afraid that I must keep it to your title.”
“A little impersonal for someone who lives in my apartment,” he said in return. It was a simple joke, but it held truth.
When she turned to Jackson, she was not the stoic presence he had known. Her eyes were softer, her eyebrows were loose, and she was not tense. In fact, if Jackson could read emotions right, she seemed almost sad. Jackson did not know if her kind could cry, or even if they could feel emotions as deep as a human, but if they actually could, then she was mere moments away from rivers of tears.
Ayres did not cry.
“Let’s talk,” she said.
Her name was Sydney and, even through her angry stare and constant scowl, there was a real heart inside of her. She was an Order of Dust, the last one before Jackson assumed the role. She was tough, but this strength was not just a notion that came with the job but rather something that was carried with her. It was internal strength, and it was a fire that held no boundaries.
Despite this strong will, Sydney was dead. Or, at least she was. She found her end much in the way Jackson had and made a similar deal. She would even keep very similar company. Ayres remembered her with a vivid, and visceral, feeling within. A feeling that the Order of Ascendance should not have for a human life, but at her very core Ayres could not shake the grasp Sydney had on her memories.
Before Sydney became the Order she worked at Iron-Body, a large fitness center located just a little ways down from Jackson’s apartment. This was years after the revelations of Fortega had rippled through the world, and she was a witness to its aftermath. At the fitness center she was a trainer, and was known for her intensity and, some would even say, ferocity. Sydney was a lion of a trainer, but she was popular with her clients. Some revered her for her harshness, and others only attended for her looks.
Sydney was, if nothing else, absolutely beautiful.
The trainer wore her hair short, and normally kept it pulled back in a deep, red bun. Her eyes were the lightest blue, like a morning sky, and her lips were as pink as a flower. She had freckles that sprinkled her pale skin, and she had a build like that of an athlete or soldier. Her scowl would turn most away, unless they had a chance to know the real Sydney. Under it all, the muscle and apparent anger, Sydney was sweet, thoughtful, caring, and loving. None received this more than one individual, Paisley.
“Almost done?” Paisley called as she walked through the busy gym, toward the large open room full of mats and sweaty patrons.
Sydney turned around and, to the shock of her clients, she flashed a large smile. Paisley had long, straight dark hair which matched her dark eyes, and she often wore business attire. But, Paisley also often wore a smirk to match her general aura of joyfulness. Sydney would claim that she was an infection of joy, because when she would approach her, Sydney would become happy too.
“It’s our anniversary, babe,” Paisley said, and planted a kiss on Sydney’s sweaty cheek. “Dinner time!”
“Almost done here, just a few more sets. We have burpies next, then three sets of deadlifts, and–”
“Go!” An older client called out from the rooms corner.
“Get out of here, Sydney!” another added. “Enjoy your anniversary!”
Soon the entire room was smiling, because Paisley was just that infectious, and they all pushed Sydney out with jokes and pats on the back. As she walked hand-in-hand with Paisley, she turned back to see her clients smile and wave, and she could not help but feel a mixed sense of pride and embarrassment, like a teen taking prom photos.
Once Sydney had showered and changed, the two headed toward a surprise destination. Sydney wanted to wear something more comfortable, but Paisley insisted that she dress up, so it was with a short, tight black dress and a glaze of makeup she went. Paisley had made all the plans, and she held a deep smile any time Sydney had questioned where they were going. No matter how much she tempted her, Paisley held tight. She would tell her that even though it was only their one-year anniversary, she wanted this to be one to remember.
And, it was.
“Where are we?” Sydney questioned as she looked around the unfamiliar part of the city.
They stood before a dark warehouse-style building, no sign above, and just a dim light bulb giving a small glow to the door beside it. There was very little sound, but some murmurs and footsteps could be faintly heard just beyond. And it was here that Sydney stood quietly waiting for Paisley’s answer. She only offered a smile and nodded toward the door.
“A surprise party? You know I–”
“Yes, babe. I know you hate surprises, but this one is important so make sure you act surprised!”
Sydney rolled her eyes, but she could not help but smirk. Paisley offered her a hand, and it was hand-in-hand that they climbed the small stairway up to the door, and after a few knocks they were led inside by a man in a suit.
Sydney’s eyes grew wide with surprise and excitement. There were buffets of fine foods, pyramids of wine glasses, and assortments of flowers. Many people, most much older, shuffled about in expensive suits or luxury gowns, but they did not speak or make any contact with the women as they walked through. While she did not fully understand this, she tried her best to recognize these attendees to not seem rude if she had met them before. The floors were not as fine, a cheap black-and-white checkered
linoleum, and the seats were just fold out chairs that were lined up and only faced one direction: toward a stage.
Paisley brought her up and onto the stage, where Sydney got a full view of everyone. The smile faded a bit as she began to realize that she did not recognize any of these people as she scanned for a familiar face, and fear set in as a tall, thin man in a dark suit approached her and stepped onto the stage. He placed a boney hand on her shoulder, and when he spoke his voice was a slithering manifestation of darkness itself.
“Now then,” he said loudly with a silver tongue, “take your seats please. Our final guest has arrived.”
“Hey, what is–”Sydney began, but she was quickly met with the gentle shush of the thin man, as he pressed a finger to his lips and leaned in close to her.
It was at this time Paisley had walked away from her. Just as Sydney turned back, she was already down a hallway that stretched under a flickering fluorescent light behind the stage. Sydney tried to call out to her, but was quickly hushed again, and this time he gave her shoulder a firm squeeze as he did so. But she did not have to wait long as Paisley was approaching once more, no longer in her suit. Behind her were others, young and athletic, bound and nude, and most had red, tear covered faces. Paisley just smiled.
“Our first item,” said the tall man, “is this fine young woman. See her build, strong and healthy, you may live a long life within this vessel! Now, she comes equipped with several fine attachments. First, we will start with the job…”
Order of Dust Page 13
