Ceramic DM, Round 2 - Match 1: Macbeth vs. Berandor
Rememberance
"Violet? I'm home."
Jason Gardiner closed the door. Exhausted, he took off his identity badge and put it on the small table, next to his keys. It had been another long day at the National Initiative for Control and Examination. Working for NICE was time-consuming, but very rewarding. His superior officer had already mentioned him favorably in a report, and Jason could hope to be promoted within the next year. At 22, he would be the youngest senior officer at NICE.
Forcing all work-related thoughts from his mind, Jason entered the living room. He was surprised to see his wife and his daughter sitting at the kitchen table. Violet had a glass of wine in front of her, in front of Rose stood a glass of milk. Rose had been examining her Degenerative Effect Blocker. Both looked up when Jason entered. Rose rushed forward to embrace him, her golden hair flying behind her, but Jason stopped her.
"Honey? Your d-blocker." He could see Violet's eyes clouding for a moment, or at least thought he could.
Rose turned around and grabbed the small ball from the table, then came back towards him. Jason dropped to his knees and took her in his arms. She rested her face on his shoulder.
"Isn't it a little too late for you to be still awake, young lady?" he asked.
"We've been waiting for you," his wife answered. "You haven't seen her the whole week."
Jason grimaced.
"Could we not talk about this now?" he asked. "I've just come home to my wonderful daughter and wife, and I've had a very hard day."
"Of course. Let's just pretend everything is fine. Let's just not talk about it." Violet said sarcastically. Jason closed his eyes. Not tonight, he thought.
"How many glasses of wine have you had, Violet?" He felt bad immediately after saying it, but he didn't apologize, either.
"Mommy, daddy," Rose said, "please don't argue." Violet didn't heed her.
"You should be grateful that I drink, so that I forget how my own, loving," she almost spat the word, "husband can't bear touching me without me being blocked."
"Violet," he began.
"Or how he wouldn't even touch my daughter, our daughter, without being blocked, either."
"Honey..."
She had tears in her eyes now, and her voice broke.
"You despise us, don't you?"
Jason didn't know what to answer. He loved his wife, and he adored his daughter. But when their mutation wasn't blocked, when they didn't use the d-blocker they'd gotten from the black market, the thought of touching them made his skin crawl. Violet's mutation wasn't even that obvious. He'd tried to overcome his feelings once, but when he felt the roots she had for feet snaking tendrils around his legs, his stomach had turned. He'd run off into the bathroom, and when he came out, Violet had held the d-blocker in her hand.
He hated himself for it, but he couldn't change his feelings.
His silence was answer enough for Violet.
"I knew it." She took the glass of wine and emptied it in one gulp.
"Vi, you know I love you," he said weakly, but his voice was almost drowned by the sound of a helicopter flying low above the house. For a moment, Jason wondered where it was headed. Violet ignored the noise as she ignored her husband.
"I'll bring Rose to bed, and then we'll talk." He took his daughter's hand and turned towards the door. The helicopter was still droning above them. A knot began to form in Jason's gut.
"Don't forget to bring the d-blocker with you."
He sighed and walked towards the door, pulling Rose behind him. Before he could reach it, however, he could hear the front door burst open, and booted feet rushing into the hallway.
Rose gasped, and dropped the d-blocker. Jason felt her thorns reappearing, burrowing through the skin on his hand. He cursed in pain and pulled his hand away from her, just as the door behind him was thrown open and what seemed like a dozen armed men swarmed into the room.
"MDU! Freeze!"
The men from the Mutant Detection Unit pointed their flashlight-mounted rifles at Jason and his family. Jason was too shocked to think. He mechanically lifted his hands above his head, blood dripping from his right palm, and then looked back towards his wife. Rose clung to her waist, and she was holding her daughter's head protectively. Violet's eyes, however, were rooted on Jason.
Two officers led Jason out of the house. The night sky was lit green by the helicopter's searchlight, its rotor churning dust. Two transporters marked "MDU" stood in the front yard. From behind windows, Jason could see neighbors watching.
One officer grabbed him and pulled him to the side. Violet and Rose were led out, guarded by four men. When the searchlight hit them, their skin began to glow, their mutated genes reacting with the light waves.
Rose was crying, but Violet seemed calm. When she passed Jason, she took a step towards him. The officers didn't stop her. Jason stood, unmoving.
Violet lifted a hand and caressed his face. She smiled, then leaned forward and kissed him softly.
"Remember us," she whispered, before they continued their march onto the yard.
"You're coming with us," the man holding him said, and began to pull him towards one of the transporters, away from his wife.
"Daddy!" screamed Rose. She held her thorny hand out to him, trying to reach him.
"Daddy!"
Jason looked at his hand. Blood was still flowing from the wounds. He let himself be dragged into the car.
As the door closed and the car moved forward, Jason looked back. The helicopter was descending slowly, preparing to land.
Violet held Rose in a close embrace, dust blowing around her, skin glowing in the searchlight.
---
"Sit down, Jason."
Marcus Green handed him a glass of whiskey and pointed at the couch. It was made of white leather, and crunched as Jason sat.
"You look terrible, do you know that?" he asked as he sat down in a matching armchair. "You've got rings under your eyes the size of watermelons."
Jason smiled and rubbed his left hand over his beard.
"That's what five years of prison will do to you, Marcus." His former friend winced. "You're still thinner than I am, though."
Marcus laughed. "That's only because Tina doesn't cook for the prison, but she cooks for me."
"Where is she?" Jason asked.
"She went to a friend of Timmy's," Marcus said, blushing. Jason understood. Marcus had sent his wife and son away when he'd called. So much for being friends. Jason took a sip of his whiskey.
"Well, how can I help you?" Marcus wrung his hands nervously. "Do you need money? I can lend you something..."
"Thank you, Marcus, but I've got some money."
"But I thought they took everything when they sentenced you?"
"They did." Jason slid his thumb over his right palm, feeling the slight depressions. Rose's scars. "I've worked the past five years, without a chance to spend the money," he said.
"I understand. Well, what is it, then?"
"Why didn't you visit me, Marcus?" Jason asked.
"I did," he protested.
"Your last visit was three years ago, Marcus. What happened?" Jason didn't feel well about pressing the matter, but a guilt-ridden Marcus would be more likely to help him. Green tried to change the subject.
"Jason, you've just come out. Let's go downtown, party around. We can talk about that later. What do you say?"
"I can't pretend everything's fine, Marcus. Besides, I don't feel like partying. As you have noted, I haven't slept much recently."
It took another half hour before Jason felt he'd pushed enough buttons for Marcus to help him. He took another sip from his whiskey. It was still Jason's first drink; Marcus was already pouring his fourth.
"Do you still work for NICE?"
Marcus feigned a smile, grateful for the change in topic.
"You know what they say: I'm a NICE man."
Jason smiled as well.
The government-funded agency was widely regarded as the scientific sister of the MDU. While the Mutant Detection Unit located and prosecuted mutants who tried to live among humans, NICE examined the mutants themselves, searching for reasons for and protective measures against mutation. They had also developed the d-blocker that reversed a mutation's effect on the victim's DNA. Of course, access to these devices was severely restricted. It took about five years to apply for a d-blocker, and even then only about 5 % of all mutants were eligible.
"Then I need you to find out where my family is."
Marcus' smile froze. He drank some whiskey, and then coughed and spit it back out.
"Sorry." He coughed again. "Didn't you know? Your family's..."
"...dead," Jason finished, nodding grimly. "They told me. They even gave me this," he took the golden ball out of his pocket and placed it on the table between himself and Marcus.
Marcus leaned forward and took the ball in his hands.
"That's a d-blocker," he said, astonished.
"That's their d-blocker," Jason added emphatically. "They disabled it. They even put a small inscription on it."
"Why would they give you that?"
Jason shrugged.
"It was the only thing left. The rest burned."
"Burned? Oh, my god. I had known they died. I didn't know..."
"They're not dead, Marcus. They're not dead."
His former colleague regarded him with wide eyes.
"What are you talking about?"
Jason stood up.
"Marcus, I think my family is still alive. I think they survived the accident, but something got messed up. I don't know. Maybe one of them died, maybe, but not both. I need to find them." His voice had grown louder as he talked, until he'd practically shouted the last words. "I need to save them."
Marcus swallowed. He emptied his whiskey. His face was red from the alcohol, his glasses fogged up.
"Let's just, for a moment, say they're alive. How should I be able to find them? We think they're dead, after all."
"I just want you to find out where they'd been originally sent."
"Is that all? Is that why you put on all that talk about not visiting you, not being a good friend, just so that I would look into old records for you? Jesus, Jason, you could have saved yourself half an hour of intimidating me."
"It's not all I ask you to do. I need you to access the MDU database."
"Well, then I suppose the guilt-trip was necessary." Marcus stood up.
"I need another drink before you tell me exactly what you want."
An hour later, Jason left Marcus' apartment. At the door, Marcus stopped him.
"How do you know they're still alive?"
Jason locked gazes with Marcus.
"Because they've told me in my dreams."
---
Jason lay on the bed in the small room he'd rented for the night, listening to the cars driving by, watching a bug crawl up the wall in the light of the neon sign hanging outside the window.
Jason's legs hurt from propelling the walking wheel forward. It was harder than he remembered, but then he'd only been forced to wheel around for a few weeks before he'd bought his first car. He knew that before the oil wells ran dry in 2034, people had used bicycles for transportation, but without rubber tires to run on, the industry had switched to big iron wheels you could run in, much like a hamster's wheel. Walking wheels enhanced the walker's steps, protected him partially from accidents and bad weather, and they were cheap. Jason couldn't afford to buy a car; he might need all the money he'd saved for his family's rescue.
He lay on the bed, dead tired, but afraid to close his eyes. He knew they were waiting for him. Subconsciously rubbing his thumb over his right palm, Jason reflected on his meeting with Marcus. Marcus would get the information he wanted, needed. And then, he would find his family, and get them out of whatever mutant zone they lived in. Together, they'd flee to Canada, where they only imprisoned mutants that were proven to be dangerous.
During his prison time, Jason had discovered how much he missed Violet, how much he loved Rose. He had taken their love for granted, he knew, but he wouldn't make the same mistake again. He didn't even care whether they used d-blockers, or not. He just wanted to see them again, to apologize.
The beetle reached the ceiling and began to march head first towards him. Jason yawned, and felt his scarred palm once more.
In his sleep, he saw Violet and Rose, glowing in the green light.
"Remember us."
---
Jason stopped his walking wheel in front of the decrepit building. The house had been built before the turn of the century. No elevator waited to take guests to the upper floors, no security camera watched for uninvited guests. It wasn't even built with dirt-repellant mortar. Jason had to admit the building fit right into the poor neighborhood Marcus had sent him to.
His friend had called this afternoon and told him what he had found out. Violet and Rose Gardiner had been sent to the Fire Island Colonies, a small group of islands roughly 6 miles from the coast. The islands were mostly rock and forest, though. From what Jason could find out, the mutants that were kept there had enough stone and wood to build anything, but not enough fertile ground to feed more than a handful of families. Some farmed pigs, but most were fetched every morning and worked on the mainland, earning their pay in food. There was even a small quarry on one of the islands, delivering boatloads of hewn stone each month.
Marcus had also told him about a man who could possibly help Jason locate his family if they were still alive. Arnold Webster had been suspected twice by the MDU for harboring fugitive mutants, but he'd never been convicted. He was said to have strong ties to the mutant communities as well as relations to the upper levels of society.
"He has a hand in everything," Marcus had said. And now Jason stood before the abode of this notorious information-broker and wondered if he hadn't made a big mistake coming here. Whoever lived in the old building - if indeed someone made his home here - couldn't possibly be resourceful enough to locate someone in a mutant zone, let alone someone believed to be dead. Still, now that he'd come here, Jason would go up and see him, just to make sure.
Jason climbed the makeshift stairs on the outside of the building. The wooden construction swayed and groaned under his weight, but did not collapse. About thirty candles standing in front of a big round mirror illuminated the top floor. The mirror reflected the candlelight and enhanced it, dousing the top floor into bright, warm light.
Jason walked to the open doorway leading into the apartment, and knocked on the doorframe.
"Hello? Mr. Webster?"
The room beyond lay dark, but Jason could make out a wooden desk and a chair behind it. Piles of paper lay on the desk. The smell of cigars hung in the air, clinging to furniture and walls alike. Jason could make out another doorway looming across from him, leading further into the dark building. He thought he could hear someone move, but he didn't see anything.
"Mr. Webster, a friend of mine sent me here. He said you might be able help me. I am looking for my family."
No answer. Jason got impatient. Marcus had either played a joke on him, or simply been wrong. Still, he felt unable to leave without a final try.
"They live on Fire Island."
Jason wanted to turn around and leave, as a voice answered him. It was a dry voice, intermingled with clicking sounds as if someone would hit two forks together while speaking.
"Do you have detailed information?"
Jason pulled out the file Marcus had given him before sending him here.
"Put it on the floor, and put five hundred dollars on the floor, as well."
Jason hesitated. He'd about two thousand dollars overall, and spending a quarter of it on a disembodied voice seemed risky. In the end, he had no choice. He lifted the folder, put the money in, and closed it again.
"Come back tomorrow, I will know something then."
Jason stepped away from the dark apartment and began his descend. As he tried not to fall down the wobbling structure, he wondered what Arnold Webster could find out in one day's time.
---
Jason gasped and sat right up. He was in his room, jolted awake from a bad dream. The sun had just begun to rise.
He rubbed his eyes and yawned. He hoped Webster would be able to help him. When he closed his eyes, he could see the apparition. Hear her voice.
"Remember us."
---
The sun had gone down an hour ago, and the only light falling into Webster's apartment was the light from the candles in front of the mirror. Jason had returned as the mysterious man had bid.
Once again, he could sense something move inside of the apartment, but he couldn't see anything. Even the cigar smell was the same. Slightly annoyed at Webster's attempt at secrecy, he knocked on the doorframe again.
"I am glad to see you've returned," Webster's voice rang through the room.
"Can I come in?" Jason asked, stepping inside.
"I'd rather you wouldn't." Jason stepped back outside, shaking his head in frustration.
"I am brokenhearted that I cannot offer you a more comfortable position, Mr. Gardiner, but I am willing to make more than up for it."
"Whatever. Have you found out something?"
"I haven't "found out something", Mr. Gardiner - may I call you Jason? - I have found your daughter."
Jason didn't react at first. He had been right. They were alive. They...
"My daughter? What about my wife?"
"What about her? I am afraid she died in the accident, as has been reported."
"No..." Jason dropped to his knees and held his face in his hands. It could not be. It must not be. As he knelt in the doorway, his body shaking, despair trying to take root in him, Arnold Webster remained silent.
Some time during his breakdown, Jason had sat himself against the wooden railing of the stairwell, his knees drawn up to his body. That's how he found himself as his sense returned. His shirt was wet with tears, his eyes burned, his stomach felt as if someone had punched a hole into it. He sniffled, and then tried to compose himself.
"Are you sure it's her?" Webster answered immediately, as if he'd only waited for him to ask. It seemed to Jason as if the voice came from right beyond the doorway, now.
"As sure as can be. I am afraid there is no infallible conviction in that matter. She is about the right age, however, and she has no parents. She has no birth records, either, which makes verifying her age impossible, but would fit with your daughter's history. She has the same deformity, which is to my knowledge not one of the most prominent mutations, though certainly not unique, either. And finally, though just a small detail but definitely completing the picture, her name is Rose."
Jason nodded.
"It's her." It had to be. Otherwise... he would not think about it.
"I want you to free her." If Webster was surprised, he did not let it on.
"That would be expensive. I don't know whether you are financially capable of such a transaction, Jason."
"I have one thousand five hundred dollars."
The clicking intensified as Webster let out his version of laughter.
"That is not nearly enough, Jason."
Jason stood up.
"Please. She is my daughter. I must find her."
"You have found her."
"But I need to see her." He walked towards the doorway.
"Do not come in, Mr. Gardiner," Webster said menacingly. Jason froze in his steps.
"What would you do when I brought her to you, Mr. Gardiner? What would you do?"
"I would raise her. I am her father."
Webster laughed again, clicked again.
"I have read about your testimony, Mr. Gardiner. You could only bear your daughter with a d-blocker. What makes you think you could do better now?"
"I am her father."
"So? A lot of fathers should not be left alone with their children."
Jason rubbed his nose between thumb and forefinger. What did that man want to hear? He sighed.
"I love her."
Silence. Then Webster said, "Very well, Mr. Gardiner. I would agree to free your daughter, but there is still the monetary issue to discuss. I am afraid you don't have nearly enough resources for such an operation. We are not talking about a simply extradition, but about forged documents as well. I assume you would want to head north?"
Jason nodded. When Webster did not respond, he said, "Yes."
"That would make two passports, a forged history, perhaps even a job and an apartment to begin with. You cannot pay for this."
Jason shook with anger.
"Then why are you telling me all this?" He clenched his hands, feeling the scars in his palm again.
"I want you to understand, Mr. Gardiner."
Suddenly, Jason had an idea. No. Not an idea. An epiphany. He pulled the disabled d-blocker out of his pocket and held it out.
"Would you accept this as payment?"
Silence followed, but this time, it was a surprised silence.
"Is that..." There was hesitation in his voice now, and but a single click.
"It is a d-blocker, yes. It has been disabled, but it might be repaired." Jason smiled. "With access to the proper resources," he added.
Suddenly, Arnold Webster appeared in the doorway, accompanied with a sharp intake of breath from Jason.
Arnold Webster was a small, bloated man with wrinkled skin. Small, pudgy feet propelled his rotund body forward, and he used the lower pair of arms to support himself while walking. All in all, Arnold Webster had three pairs of spindly arms, eight limbs total, like a spider. Three hands grabbing the doorframe, he leaned forward and held the fourth hand out to Jason.
"Give it to me," he demanded. A pair of mandibles protruded from his mouth, rubbing together as he spoke, clicking rhythmically, glistening with spit.
Jason stumbled backwards.
"You... you are a mutant," he stuttered.
"Really? You are quite the observer, Mr. Gardiner. Now give me the d-blocker."
"But how...?"
"How I can live among humans? Subterfuge, caution, bribery, and things you don't want to know about." Jason shook his head. He could not believe it.
"Now. Hand. Me. The. Blocker."
Jason handed it over. Webster grabbed it and disappeared in the apartment, only to reappear at the window closest to the candle-mirror. He had grabbed a glass lens and
held the d-blocker with two hands, the lens with another pair, examining the device.
Jason could see Webster's eyes gleam as he held the d-blocker in front of him. He could only imagine what such a device meant for the mutant. He took two steps towards him.
"Can you repair it?"
Webster looked up as if he had forgotten about Jason.
"Yes, Jason. I most definitely can." Greed shone in his eyes, and satisfaction.
"Then will you accept it as payment? Is it enough?"
Webster smiled. It was a hungry smile.
"I will not only accept it, Jason; for this d-blocker, I will even get you a car."
---
Jason stood on the beach, and waited. It had been two weeks since Arnold Webster had agreed to free Rose, and finally the day had come. At first, Jason had been apprehensive when Webster had explained the details of the plan to him.
"What am I supposed to say if someone asks why I am there?" he had asked.
"I don't know, Jason," Webster had answered, already a little annoyed at Jason's eleventh hour panic. "Pretend you're sunbathing, or swimming."
"In April?" he had retorted, but Webster had just shrugged with his shoulders - all of them.
And now, Jason stood on the beach, and was cold. He was dressed in his bathing suit, and April winds chilled his blood and blew sand against his calves. He'd tried to swim, but the water was icy, and he'd brought just a small towel with him, stolen from his hotel room.
The car Webster had provided him with waited on a parking lot a hundred feet away. Webster had put a pair of suitcases in the trunk, filled with clothing for him and Rose. Indeed, the spider-mutant had been very generous, buying a small house in Vancouver for the Gardiner's, as well as procuring a job at a major health company. All that was missing now was Rose.
Jason stood on the beach, and imagined her departure from Fire Island. They would smuggle her among the bricks in their monthly delivery. He could see her huddled in a small crawlspace, salt water lapping at her from below, tons of bricks sheltering her from above. He could see the
workmen with their paddles, the small floats they used casting off, nearly sinking under the weight of their cargo, but staying afloat. It took them roughly an hour to reach the shore again, sometimes a little longer.
Today, they would need longer, but only because they would take a small detour, dropping Rose off on the way, delivering her to Jason. He fetl his heart pumping fast. His hands were sweaty. Still, he saw no sign of the floats.
It took another half hour before he saw them. Three floats, drifting along about a hundred feet off shore. He waved his arm.
"Ahoi! Why are you fishing for stones?" he shouted the pre-arranged question.
"Because the fish are simply inedible!" came the correct answer.
Jason felt butterflies in his stomach. Now, he knew, they would signal Rose. She would squeeze through a narrow opening in the bottom of the float, and then hopefully swim to the shore. Jason looked for any sign of her, so that he might swim towards her.
There she was. She was a little off, perhaps fifty feet farther down the beach, but she made good way for a little girl. Jason ran forward, rushing along the beach, splashing into the water, standing knee-deep when she felt ground below her, and stood up as well.
"Rose?" She wiped the salt water from her face and looked at him.
"Daddy?" her hopeful voice asked.
He froze. The Rose standing in front of him was not his daughter. He saw the thorns in her skin, but he also saw her dark, short hair. His daughter was blond.
Had been blond.
The MDU had been right; he had been wrong. His family was dead. He realized he'd used his family to shield him from his guilt, but now reality had caught up. They were dead.
"Daddy? You're crying," the other Rose said. "Is something wrong?"
Jason looked at her, blinking away the tears. She was younger than the real Rose, maybe eight or nine years old. She stood trembling in front of him, icy water running down her body. Webster had said she had no family. Doe-like eyes watched him, watched his every move, searching for acceptance, expecting rejection. Her name was Rose.
Jason shook his head.
"No, honey. Everything is all right. I am just so happy to see you, is all."
He opened his arms, and
Rose threw herself at him, slung her arms, her legs around him. Her thorns pricked his skin, but it did not hurt him much. He stroked her hair, and carried her out of the water.
"Come on," he said, "let's go home."