Vagrant Sonata: 00 - The Beginning in the End

This was not a typical boy-meets-girl scenario. If another bystander would observe the whole ordeal, he or she would have to agree. There were no flowers to be shared, no hugs, not even a smile. Instead, there was a hefty trash bag, a gun, and a light bulb that just could not do its job. Rather than a calm setting like a park filled with flowers and sunshine, their meeting occurred in the back alley of an apartment complex. No, the meeting between Ianthe and Mastema was all but romantic.

The city was a vast, industrial landscape with towering steel titans. By day the world was a maze of metal, glass, and concrete, but by nightfall, the city lights would drown any newcomer. Night clubs and the usual clusters of hookers bedazzled possible customers. In darkened alleys the homeless lived with newspapers and cardboard boxes scattered along the area. Though an apathetic cop would stalk the streets, the city still had its share of break-ins and shootings.

However, it was unusually calm that night . . . at least, as calm as it got. The air was cool and crisp with a playful breeze that passed by. The sky above was a dark velvet blanket without its embroidery of stars. The rumbling passages of the underground subways, or the sober wails of foghorns from the harbor nearby still echoed existence. They did not bother Ianthe as she peaked out of the backdoor of her apartment complex. Above her head was a fixture with a yellow bulb that could not decide to die or to go on living.

Ianthe stepped out as she forced her trash bag through the diminutive doorframe. With a grunt, the massive plastic bulk squeezed through until she stumbled. Just as she regained balance, she heard a faint click before she was swallowed in darkness.

“You got to be kidding me,” Ianthe mumbled as she squinted through the dark.
Now the apartment complex was not dilapidated or run-down. On the contrary, it was a decently sized establishment with white, stone walls and large windows. Inside, the lobby was cozy with soft yellow lights and potted plants of palm trees or orchids that would greet new tenants.

A car on its nightly rounds had its headlights trail along her path before it disappeared around a corner, leaving a brief imprint of Ianthe’s surroundings in her mind’s eye. As she focused on her situation, she bent over and grabbed for her trash. With both hands, she continued forward as plastic rustled along a hard, cold ground. After a couple of advances, she paused as she eased a leg out. From a kick, Ianthe was assured that she reached the dumpster. She nodded to herself, then, and with a low swing, she heaved her luggage into the container. Once a satisfactory thump reached her ears, she patted her hands together.

“That’s it,” she stated to herself. “Now to wash up—“

Ianthe froze; more movement was heard from behind. She waited as she trained her ears on any other sound, but pregnant silence loomed behind her. With a few breaths, she calmed herself as her heart rate slowed down. But it picked up when other clangs emanated from the dumpster. The blood began to rush in Ianthe’s ears as she stood her ground, her body tense.
No need to panic, Ianthe...it’s just the wind. She frowned as she replayed that statement in her head.

Right, and how many times have you heard that line from movies? Just keep walking—the door is just ahead of you.
As if to help her on her way, the light above the backdoor flickered to life before it died again. It was enough; she did not catch any muggers around her, or a murderer...

…Please...aren’t we blowing things out of proportions? You’re imagining all sorts of baddies when your bad guy could only be another hobo looking for dinner. Honestly, you’re just running away with your imagination.

Before she could take another step, a new sound drifted into her ears making Ianthe go still once more. At first it was inaudible, but as seconds passed, she knew that what she heard was a low groan. The dumpster became active once more as scratches and clatters were heard. Slowly, she shot a glance over her shoulder as she bit down on her lower lip; an icy finger trailed down her nape. It felt like forever when only mere seconds passed, but as she waited in the shadows, an iron fist threatened to crush her chest as she held her breath. At last, the fixture above the door managed to revive itself and it dispersed the gloom around her. Yet the light did not bring new comfort to the young woman. Instead, she felt that iron fist close around her as she found herself staring down the barrel of a semiautomatic pistol.

“Not one sound from you,” a baritone voice ordered.

Ianthe watched as a face manifested before her. A pair of gray, stormy eyes narrowed through dark bangs as a man began to lean out. As he drew close, Ianthe gave a slight gasp as she quickly gulped for air; trash mixed with something else that she didn’t dare to identify assaulted her sense of smell. It wasn’t until he crawled out that she noticed his condition. Dark pants were tattered at the hems while the knees were bared through gaping holes. As for his top, there was none—only strips of cloth hung to his frame. Ianthe’s eyes skimmed along his torso. Scratches and scars danced along his upper body, and as she continued to look him over, her eyes stopped at a deep gash at his side. She winced as she watched fresh blood meander down his side as it mixed with dirt, sweat, and dried blood.
Her attention was brought back to the gun as its barrel tapped against her temple. Regardless of his state, the hand that held the firearm did not waver, not even the stoic expression on his face.

“What do you—“

“—I said not one sound,” the man warned as he pressed his gun into her skin none too gently. “It seems that I don’t have much choice, but I’ll be joining you, got it? You’re going to take me inside...”

In the distance, the squeal of tires broke into the air, making the man flick his eyes towards the opening of the alley. The gun at her face began to withdraw as a hand gripped her forearm instead. A low hiss fell out of her mouth as he yanked her towards the door.

“Now move—make sure nobody sees me...and pray that there isn’t another up at this time of night.”

With a shove at her back, Ianthe slammed into the metal door. Clawed hands scrambled for the doorknob until she gave it a sharp twist. Before she fell through, a strong arm wrapped itself around her waist, steadying her.

“Don’t screw this up...” The man hissed, his eyes staring elsewhere.

She bit down her tongue as her mouth pressed into a thin line across her face. As she quickly scanned the steel stairs for activity, the solid limb across her stomach slipped away. Once she issued a mumbled “Clear,” a hand at her back shoved her in as the metal door closed behind them. The man kept his back to her as he leaned against the frame, a hand supporting him as the other tapped the gun at his side. Ianthe watched as he straightened his back, his head bowed. If it was not for his tight shoulders, she would have mistaken him to be asleep. Without another word, he pushed himself away as he turned around with ease. As he did so, the image of a predator entered Ianthe’s mind as he began to approach her. Unaware of her own actions, she stepped back until she bumped into the railing of the staircase as she hugged herself.

Now what…?

His face appeared before hers as he leaned close, half-closed eyes scrutinizing her. Half of Ianthe’s brain buzzed as silent yells for escape resounded in her skull. The other half kept silent as it stilled her body. Involuntarily, she squeezed her eyes shut until she felt a weight on her shoulder. She started as she opened her eyes to find him bent over, his forehead pressed to it.

“Where…” He trailed off as his voice cracked.

More warmth showered on Ianthe’s body as he coughed up blood before he slammed a hand on the railing. With a push he stepped away from her and tried to stand tall, but the wound at his side would not let him. He winced as he gripped his side.

He’s wounded, you can escape. Maybe you can take the gun away from him and… No. Way.

Ianthe’s musings came to an end when those storm orbs of his came her way. Just like earlier, if she made one false move it would be the end of her. Even though he was wounded, he was still a dying tiger—fighting until his strength failed him. Now what she did next came as a surprise to both parties.

In silence, she stepped forward until she reached his side. Hands edged to the tails of her sweater until they gripped them. A harsh rip penetrated the silence as she gathered an amount, balling it up. Slowly, her hand entered his range, pausing before him as her eyes glanced up into his. Cold emptiness stared back at her as she pressed the cloth to his wound. A bloody hand held the makeshift gauze as she pulled away, but nothing was said. What was there to say? She waited for him to shift some of his weight to her as an arm encircled her shoulders.

He towered over her by a full head and then some inches, so Ianthe could literally be a crutch for him. If the situation was different, she would have allowed herself to laugh at the image that bloomed in her head, but she waved it off. Without warning, he shifted his weight into her side, nearly toppling her. After she found her footing, Ianthe breathed a sigh of relief. For a moment, she was not sure if he was shaking from fatigue until she heard her companion wheeze at her side.

Was he…laughing? Amazement and confusion crept into her brown eyes as he turned his face to hers, a ghost of a grin on his facade.
She averted her gaze elsewhere, angry and embarrassed. What the hell just happened there?

“Go.”

Ianthe kept her eyes front as she helped him up the flight of stairs.

Damn it…

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“Damn it, how could you lose him?” A young man exclaimed into his cell phone.

Hazel eyes narrowed as leather gloved hand clenched into a fist at his side. Unruly locks of russet hair fell over an eye before he brought his free hand to swipe it clear. On the other end, a laid-back voice spoke up.

“Relax, man—“

“—how the hell I’m supposed to relax when you’ve failed? You do know that this won’t sit well with the boss. Our organization follows a strict code and failure’s not an option.”

“Do I give a damn? I don’t work in your sector. Hell, my ass won’t be on the burner for your mistakes. ‘Sides, one of your guys had a piece of him, but he royally sucked. The only thing he did was a massive blow to the side…so don’t blame me for your screw ups!”

The conversation lapsed into quiescence as the young man pinched the bridge of his nose. A headache was forming… With a set jaw, he sighed as he leaned against a streetlamp without a care. The street he stood in was deserted so any possibility of interference was nonexistent. A sardonic smile graced his features as he picked up the next line without a second beat.

“You’re right, how thoughtless of me. Well now, I guess the only thing left to do is to give what you deserve, hmm?”

“Hell yeah,” the voice on the other line agreed, “Maybe you should put in a bonus; I can overlook this talk, right? No hard feelings.”

“Right,” the man drawled. “No hard feelings.”

He disconnected the call.

After counting to ten, he dialed a new number…

“Yes?”

“The deal is off. Do the usual.”

“…Understood.”

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Tony Paulino grinned to himself as he tossed the cell phone over his shoulder, the mobile sliding across wooden floors until it smacked against his apartment door. The thought of fresh money tore his attention away from the sitcom before him as he fell back into his recliner. With a cursory glance about him, he smirked.

“Soon I can get out of this rat hole, maybe get new threads…” Tony glanced down at himself as he fingered the gold medallion around his neck. The stained tank he wore was horribly stretched from his pot belly as his faded boxers bared tears and holes.

“Yeah, I deserve to treat myself after all my hard work…”
Before he could go on with his fantasies, three solid knocks shook his apartment door. With a frown he stood up as more knocks followed suite.

“I’m coming!” he roared. However, the knocks kept shaking his door until he arrived, kicking his cell phone aside.

Tony’s hand shot out before him as he gripped the doorknob, banging the door open as he filled the doorframe. “What the hell do you want?!” He yelled.

A young man with spiked, platinum blonde hair nodded to him in greeting as he smiled.

“What—“

Tony didn’t have a chance to finish as sweat broke out over his face. He shuddered once, twice, before he frantically made a grab for the man before him. Claret oozed out of the corner of his mouth before he went limp. As the body began to descend, his assailant gripped the hilt of a bowie knife and pulled. When Tony’s body refused to let go, a foot propped itself at its chest and kicked until the body fell back with a thud. Once that was done, the blade was cleaned on Tony’s tank. Suddenly Tony’s cell phone sprang to life as the ring tone “O Sole Mio” broke into the air. Fingers wrapped around the cell and picked it up, flipping it open.

“Anicetus?”

“Don’t worry, I took care of Paulino. As for Mastema, we will see him again…” Anicetus stated as he gave a short bark of laughter. “We have unfinished business.”

On the other end, Tero smirked as the wind blew his bangs into his eyes.

“You’re right; he will turn up, without a doubt.”