Fragments of Light

by Beth Hodgson

  Thinking that she imagined it, Emerald paused, seeing if the mechanical men made any movement.

  There was none, but their eyes remained fastened on her.

  Jumping to her feet, Emerald ran out of the alley and into the rioting crowd. From the corner of her eye, Emerald saw the mechanical men’s eyes following her every movement while the authorities were yelling orders at them to continue their suppression of the crowd. The machines returned to their gunfire after she passed them, spraying more bullets through the crowd, causing a massive exodus. A young teenage boy was in the line of fire, and his body slumped to the ground lifeless right in front of Emerald. More of the crowd pushed and pulled their way to escape the scene.

  Horrified, Emerald gasped, then quickly skimmed the crammed streets, trying to figure out which way was the fastest escape route. In one direction, motorcycles were weaving through the crowd, heading away from the retreating rioters. That way looked a bit more dangerous, as it neared the authorities for a split second, but the path was much clearer than the fearful crowd.

  She hurriedly squeezed her way through the crowd toward the path of the motorcycles, dodging the police by ducking low through the fleeing peoples of Arcadia. In pursuit of the motorcycles, she pushed and shoved through the crowd.

  As she sprinted behind the bikes, the crowd began to lessen with each city block. The streets became clear, and the motorcycles began to disperse into the teeming city, driving to their intended destinations. As they peeled off, Emerald found herself in the heart of the sector.

  I can’t believe all of this is happening in Arcadia. Derek was right! Emerald thought, still shaken by the scene. She absentmindedly clutched her necklace chain, feeling the prince’s ring within her hands while she slowed her run to a stroll, taking in the city around her.

  The streets were still plenty crowded with the population of Arcadia, but at least she wasn’t in the middle of the riot. The maze of the skyways above her glistened in bright yellows, and the city flashed its neon colors throughout Arcadia’s buildings and streets. The streets were lined with half-naked women dancing in the windows and homeless sprawled out on the sidewalks, passed out drunk, while others were vomiting in the streets.

  Cinching her nose, Emerald looked in disgust at the vileness around her.

  At that moment, Emerald felt a pang of regret in leaving the palace. This was no place for her, and she doubted that anywhere in the lower levels would be safe for her to stay. She had to try and make her way to the mid-levels.

  Picking up her pace with each step, Emerald continued down the clogged street. The traffic didn’t move, though the motorcycles continued to pass by the ground transports.

  Several blocks later, she came upon another enormous crowd dressed similar to the magazine ad she had been painting before she escaped the palace. Motorcycles began to gather within the crowds, and riders parked their bikes in the streets and down the side alley of a building. Most of the crowd was drinking out of bottles, smoking cigarettes, or breaking into fights. Loud, harsh music blared from within the doors of the building.

  Emerald slowed her pace, watching the scene with curiosity and intrigue, until she came to a complete stop.

  A hard tap hit her shoulders. Swinging around, she looked up at a large, heavy-set man in a black T-shirt with leather-strapped jewelry.

  “Hey, sweetheart, you in line?” the man asked gruffly.

  “Line?” Emerald repeated back to him, confused.

  “Yeah, either you get in line or I have to tell you to move on. We need to clear the space in front of the building,” he stated.

  Promptly agreeing with the man and not wanting to cause trouble, Emerald nodded. He guided her forcefully into a newly formed line on the side of the building. As he did so, Emerald observed other men, who appeared to work at the venue inside, told others to scram, in a not-so-pleasant sort of way.

  “You from the mid-levels?” a young woman asked, lighting a cigarette.

  Embarrassed, Emerald was unsure how to respond to the woman, who looked to be about her age. “Why do you ask?” Emerald asked in a timid voice.

  “No reason.” The girl snickered while she took a drag of her cigarette, then blew it in Emerald’s face. Her eyes reviewed Emerald’s outfit, then turned away to someone behind her. The line progressed to the door as people were let inside. As Emerald approached the door, a man standing by held out his hand, waiting for her to give him money. Reaching for a few bills that Glacia had given her, she handed the man the payment, then he waved her in.

  Taking a deep breath, Emerald gathered up whatever courage she had and stepped foot inside.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  “Where the fuck have you been, man?” Remy cursed loudly as Kyle pulled up in the alleyway behind the club. “Did you fucking forget that we had a gig at the last minute or what?” Remy grabbed the last of the equipment from the band’s run-down transport, slamming the back door down. Remy always had a stick up his ass about one thing or another.

  Parking his motorcycle, Kyle killed the engine, then swung off the bike and lit a cigarette. “Dude, I left early, and there was still a shitload of traffic,” Kyle said nonchalantly.

  “We are about to go on soon, and you haven’t even tuned your shit yet.” Remy eyed him, clearly pissed. He huffed and stalked off, carrying the equipment to the back door of the venue. “And you better not be fucked up like the last show,” Remy called out, nearing the entrance. “We don’t need this shit right now.”

  “Fucking good evening to you, too,” Kyle muttered. He doubted Remy heard him. Not like he cared if he did or not. When Remy was in a pissy mood, no one wanted to be around him, including the other band members.

  What’s up his ass? Kyle thought as he continued to puff the cigarette that clung between his lips. He’s so damn serious all the time.

  As Kyle stepped inside the club, the other band members were finishing hooking up the remaining equipment. Kyle slung his guitar case off his back, then flicked the butt of his cigarette to the ground, rubbing it into the ground with the heel of his boot. Grabbing his guitar, he fussed with it, tuning it until he was satisfied.

  Taking a quick peek at the venue from the side of the stage, Kyle saw it was similar to all the other clubs that Disorderly Conduct played at. The place was a shitty hole-in-the-wall joint with graffiti sprayed everywhere, along with walls that were decorated with puke and blood. There were ragged tables back by the bar, which Kyle would bet would soon be overturned when the show started. The bar itself was framed with four big planks posing as pillars, with a neon-blue glow over the whole section. The crowd in the venue was typical— studded black leather-clothes, brightly dyed hair, and completely obnoxious. His favorites. They always made for a better show.

  “It’s bigger than the last venue, at least,” Diego said, standing beside him with his bass guitar. He took one last drink of his flask and tucked it away in his jacket.

  “Yeah,” Kyle agreed, turning away. He grabbed his own flask, took a long drink, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, grunting. As he did so, he heard someone announce their band. The house lights went dark as lighting flooded the stage in a cool white. He could hear the audience cheering from the floor of the venue, filling the place with high energy, the kind he needed to make him feel like he was alive. Truly alive.

  Kyle grasped his guitar, starting to play as he came out on stage with the others, except Kamren, who was already playing his drums to the beat of the first number. The crowd began to scream and yell as he started to sing and strum his guitar. Several fights broke out in front of him, one resulting in blood flying. He continued to play and sing through as if nothing was happening. It wasn’t like he would let the fighting stop his music. Plus, what was a show without blood flying?

  Soaking in the intensity of the crowd, it fed Kyle’s spirit with ferocity as he began to sing. Beer began to fly, girls screamed while the guys shouted and slammed into each other. The crazier the crowd bec
ame, the more Kyle drew from their electrifying energy, letting that energy fill his voice, throwing it right back at them. The crowd loved him, and he them. The alcohol, the girls, the blood, the vomit, the piss… the craziness of it all. The wildness of the night embraced him like a lover.

  This was his life. This was what he lived for.

  As the band played into the night, Kyle saw the venue transform into a bloodbath from all the fights, and those without blood were soaked in beer. A haze enveloped them from all the cigarette smoking, which made it hard to see past the first five rows. It didn’t matter; he knew they were all having a good-ass time by the amount of noise in the place.

  Kyle finished up the last song in the set, then nodded to the other band members. They gestured back to him, then waved to the crowd as they walked off stage.

  “Thanks, guys,” Kyle said to the wasted crowd, throwing a fist up in the air. “You’re fucking great.” They answered back by screaming and cheering. Kyle couldn’t wait to get shit-faced like the rest of them.

  Exiting the stage, he passed by the next band that was going to play as they waited for Disorderly Conduct to tear down their equipment. As soon as the stage went dark, Remy began getting the equipment unhooked, along with Kamren and a couple of stagehands. Kyle joined them by packing away his guitar, then helped Remy and Kamren get their equipment into the ground transport, which was parked out back in the alley.

  “Hey, Kyle, we’re heading to that new bar down the street. You wanna come?” Diego asked, shaking his blue hair and wiping the sweat off his neck, packing the last of the equipment into the transport.

  “Yeah, sounds good. I’m just going to get a drink before I head over,” Kyle replied, lighting a cigarette and shutting one of the doors of the transport.

  Diego nodded. “See ya in a bit, then.” He hopped out of the back of the transport, then got on his motorcycle, riding off behind the band’s transport as it pulled onto the main street.

  Kyle puffed his cigarette, walking back inside the venue. The nicotine gave him instant gratification. Now all he needed to do was get a damn drink. He could have waited to get over to the other bar, but his flask was empty, and his mouth was watering.

  Hugging the back wall, Kyle moved his way past the crowd to get to the bar. As he approached the glowing blue area, he waved to the bartender, trying to get his attention. After several attempts, the bartender finally noticed him.

  “Whiskey,” Kyle ordered. The bartender nodded, and Kyle retreated back by one of the wooden pillars, leaning against it indifferently, waiting for the bartender to return. As he inhaled another drag of his cigarette, he saw a young woman across the bar. She had extremely long wavy red hair pulled into a ponytail. As she moved her hands to take a drink, the light from the bar illuminated her face, capturing her beauty. The pale softness of her skin, her perfect red heart-shaped lips, the deep-red halo that surrounded her hair. And her big bright eyes. They were the greenest eyes he had ever seen, framed with long dark lashes. She was, by far, the most gorgeous creature he had ever seen.

  There was something about this woman, like a powerful force that demanded his presence. Kyle studied the girl, and he continued to smoke his cigarette. He noted that she was obviously not from the lower levels, and he had a definite feeling that she wasn’t from the mid-levels, either. The way she handled herself seemed too… proper, giving him the first clue that she had to be from the upper levels. She was poised with her back straight, which enhanced the curve of her chest within her tiny frame. She held her chin up high, but her eyes contradicted her, as they were wide with trepidation. He almost would have laughed at her for sticking out like a sore thumb in a hellhole like this, but he knew it was no laughing matter. Most everyone in the joint could see her for what she was—one who didn’t belong.

  Kyle asked himself why the redheaded woman was even here. She didn’t seem like the type who liked the kind of music that was playing.

  Taking a long inhale of his cigarette, Kyle exhaled gradually, streaming the smoke from his lips. The bartender came back with his drink, giving Kyle a quick nod. Kyle left his wooden pillar and snatched his drink up at the bar, throwing a bill down on the counter. As he did so, he looked out of the corner of his eye, noticing that the woman was staring at him peculiarly. Guzzling the shot, he slammed the empty glass onto the counter, rattling the other empty glasses on the bar. Retreating to the wooden pillar once more, he leaned against it, taking another drag of his cigarette. The woman continued to eye him for a few seconds more, then turned her attention elsewhere in the venue.

  After Kyle finished his cigarette, he walked toward the bar, smashing the butt into an ashtray. As he turned around to leave, he saw a large bald man with half of his face tattooed hovering over the redheaded woman. He leaned in far too close for comfort, and her face told him that his advances were unwanted.

  Kyle began to take a few steps away from the bar, then paused. At that moment, a nagging feeling came over him. He didn’t care to help any upper-class person, as they hadn’t done a damn thing to help out the lower levels. But seeing this beautiful woman, he knew that she was helpless, especially against an asshole that size.

  “Dammit,” he cursed under his breath. I hope I don’t fucking regret this.

  After a moment, he reached for another cigarette and lit it. He swung his body back in the direction of the woman, the stream of smoke trailing behind him.

  “R-really, I am fine,” the woman stuttered as her face leaned away from the tattooed man. “I am… I am waiting for someone. He should be here any minute…”

  Kyle and the tattooed man both knew that she was lying.

  “Where is he?” his gruff voice asked, calling out her bullshit. “Why would he leave you by yourself?” His face got in hers, and he rested a hand on her shoulder. Her eyes flinched in disgust.

  Continuing to puff smoke from his mouth, Kyle interrupted. “He is here. Fucking take a hike,” he said sharply, getting in between the woman and the tattooed man. Kyle puffed his cigarette between his lips, exhaling in the man’s face.

  The man flashed an immediate glare at Kyle, making no other movement than a snarl of his lips. Kyle’s eyes trailed to the woman, her face pleading silently at him in fear, her lower lip quivering.

  “Fucking asshole,” the man roared in Kyle’s face, yanking the cigarette from his mouth and flinging it.

  Reaching for his pocket knife, Kyle flipped it open, then swung it in the tattooed man’s face, lodging it into the bar in front of him. “Get lost, shithead,” Kyle said.

  The tattooed man jumped up, hurling a barstool to the ground. The moment he jumped up, the redheaded woman edged back to the bar area, hiding in the shadows of the blue lights. The people by the bar instantly began to cheer for another fight.

  The tattooed man swung at Kyle, aiming for his chest. Luckily Kyle was smaller than the guy and dodged, quickly landing a solid punch in the man’s gut. He was unmoved by Kyle’s punch; he’d clearly been in many fights before. The man sneered, then swung back at Kyle. “That all you got?”

  Kyle dodged the blow, but he wasn’t quick enough. The tattooed man bashed the side of his nose, and a hot shock of pain shot through him, vibrating into his face, causing Kyle to tumble to the ground. He could taste a bit of blood running down his nose and into his mouth. His nose wasn’t broken, but it would have been had he not moved. Snarling, Kyle wiped his bloody nose and lips and jumped onto his feet. The man was about to swing again but missed as Kyle rolled to dodge the man. Turning swiftly, Kyle landed a hard punch squarely below the man’s chest, causing the man to gasp for air. His eyes bulged out as he tumbled to the ground.

  “Hey!” yelled the bartender. “We don’t want any shit back by the bar. Take it outside!” A few bouncers came, yanking Kyle away from the man before he could strike again.

  “You’re a dead man!” shouted the tattooed man, still gasping for breath. He violently pushed the bouncers, all the while swinging wildly to get to Kyl
e. It was a good thing there were more of them and only one of him.

  “Good luck, asshole,” Kyle shot back, spitting a gob of blood and phlegm at the man, his nose burning. A surge of adrenaline ran through his veins, overwhelming him with the urge to fight the bouncers and kick the man’s ass. Swallowing his pride, he tried to remain calm, not wanting to get kicked out of the place. Remy would never forgive him if Disorderly Conduct got banned from playing at that club.

  It took four men to hold the tattooed man back, and he screamed obscenities as they pulled him away from the bar. Kyle watched him disappear into the crowd, knowing that the man would be thrown out onto the street. Others were explaining to the bouncers what happened. Breathing heavily from the rush of the fight, Kyle waited to be released.

  When they finally let him go, he nodded to them in thanks and wiped the sweat off his brow and shook his open black leather vest in a sharp jerk, trying to cool off his sweat-soaked body. Eyes were still on him, and he used that to his advantage. With the eyes of the bartender on him, he flagged him over, the silver from the studs on his leather bracelets catching the neon-blue light. The crowd resumed their conversations and drinks. The band onstage started their first number.

  “Yeah?” the bartender asked, his voice gruff.

  He lit another cigarette, looking in the redheaded girl’s direction. She still hadn’t moved from the corner, but her eyes were locked on him.

  “Two shots of whiskey,” Kyle said to the bartender. The bartender looked at him for a moment, then eyed the redheaded woman in the corner. Kyle motioned his head at the woman. “Think that’s her poison?”

  The bartender bared all his crooked teeth in a rotten smile, laughing hoarsely. “Not a chance in hell.”

  “Yeah, I didn’t think so,” Kyle mumbled, burning the cherry of his cigarette as he inhaled. “Get her one anyway.”

  The bartender returned with two glasses in his hands. He slammed down both in front of Kyle, then poured the liquor in the shot glasses, spilling it onto the counter. Kyle didn’t move except to jerk his head at the woman, gesturing for her to come up to him.