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Description
Chapter Four: Wherein I take care of my parking ticket

Louis’s mind was a funnel, focused on the flamethrower. Stimuli was fed into the top, but only that which pertained to his project made it all the way down through the tip of his mind and into the conscious thought. He was able to sit for hours crouched over a table like a gargoyle, his line of sight cutting through his binocular goggles like sunlight through a magnifying glass.

In an empty white room, Louis sat at his buried desk with the flamethrower. No windows, no doors. It was impenetrable. Foot-thick concrete on all planes, including ceiling and floor.

A voice called from outside, but it might have just been the hum of his goggles. It increased until it was a cycling tone: over and over and over... Louis suddenly realized it was his name: more specifically, his alias.

He tore his eyes from his project and looked up at Paul, standing over him in the dark apartment with a plate of fettuccini and salad. He twirled his fork in the noodles until a small ball was wadded around the teeth and then pushed it into his mouth. After a moment of thoughtful chewing and a leisurely swallow, Paul spoke.

“The night is growing late,” he buzzed.

Louis glanced at the atomic clock hung over the entryway: ten-fifteen. That would explain the hunger pains.

“How is it coming along?” Paul asked, approaching.

“Slow. I finally got the blade out of the tank,” he replied, removing his head gear and setting it carefully on the floor beside his chair before standing.

“We haven’t even started planning our next mission and it’s getting late,” Paul mentioned.

“I’m good,” Countersink replied. “I can work for another two or three hours—“

“I mean, late for me.”

Paul protected his sleep with a ferocity best compared to a dog guarding a particularly succulent morsel from his master’s dinner plate, growling and biting. There were so many more important matters pressing for his attention and it wouldn’t hurt him to sacrifice a few hours to them. But he would not. He might also be compared to a toddler, growing more inconsiderate and hostile as night deepened. It was incredible how Paul was able to keep up such petty boundaries even while their arsons happened at night. He probably slept a full eight hours as soon as Louis dropped him off at his apartment building.

“REM cycle, you know,” Paul explained, tapping his temple with the fork handle. “I need to make sure my glorious brain has enough time to recharge.” Such was the statement handed to Louis every night at the same hour, always followed by a second one Louis could recite lying on his bed in the dark quiet of his own bedroom. “You should get more sleep as well, or you’ll burn out.”
Louis bent over to pick his helmet up off of the floor. Tucking it under his arm, he put his tools away and closed up his tool chest. “I’m taking these home tonight,” he mentioned, grabbing the small chrome handle in its dented red metal top and letting it dangle against his leg like a weight. “I’ll have it fixed by tomorrow.”

Paul seemed irked that Louis wasn’t taking his advice, but at the urging of his fading consciousness, he didn’t argue it further. Instead he took another bite of his dinner and let his frustration out on the salad greens.

Louis skillfully with one hand, shoved his helmet and tech jacket into his duffel bag, slung the bag over his shoulder and walked towards the door. Paul followed, silently encouraging him to remove himself faster. Louis grabbed his high tops from the shoe rack and sat where the carpet met the linoleum, dropping his tool chest to pull on his shoes. As he loosened the laces down to the scuffed rubber toe, Louis wondered why he wore such time consuming footwear.

“I almost forgot to ask,” Louis spoke up, making conversation and taking a small, twisted pleasure in Paul’s frustration. He was tempted to move slower just to tick the man off, but then considered the porcelain plate suspended dangerously near his head. And Paul had quite a temper when the conditions were right. Needless to say, he continued to solve the shoe puzzle at a reasonable pace. “What was your experiment about?”

There was a sort of irked snap in Paul’s eyebrows. “A serum,” he replied. “Something quick and clean, yet lethal.”
“You’d never use it though, right?” Louis asked.

Paul paused. “Of course not,” he said, measured. “It’s just for safety sake. Knowing I have it gives me some peace of mind. Especially with all the unsavory characters we make enemies with these days.”

Louis nodded. “Speaking of which, what should I write on the entry form? We haven’t conquered America yet.” Louis asked, pushing his foot into the meticulously prepared shoe and began tightening the laces he had pulled ten times their usual looseness. “Should I leave off our last three targets?”

“Of course not!” Paul exclaimed and Louis shielded his head reflexively from the plate, though the porcelain did not make contact with – or even threaten – his skull. “Fill it out as if we have already beat them. Because by the time the conference takes place, we will have. And besides, having Raymore on our list of triumphs will be quite impressive.”

“Seer’s gonna know we’re lying,” Louis protested in a singsong voice.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Paul dismissed. “She won’t be looking. Even if she did, all she would see is that we conquer them all in the end. …Are you about finished putting on your shoes?”

Louis had just loosened the laces for his second shoe. Seriously… Velcro from now on. “Working on it.”

Paul gave a frustrated sigh. “Sometimes I think you do this kind of thing just to annoy me.”

“What kind of thing?”

Paul motioned to Louis’s shoes. “This,” he replied.

Louis flashed him a devious smile as he yanked on his second shoe and began tightening the laces. “Aw, I’d never do anything to annoy you. Not that it’s hard.” Paul gave him a withering glare. He was not in the mood for jokes and Louis felt the atmosphere between them vibrate with the beginnings of hostility. Louis tied the laces, stood quickly and picked up the tool chest. “Well, I better get going. I have class tomorrow.” His fingers found the door locks in the dark and unlatched them. He stepped into the hallway lit with florescent light and held up his hand in goodbye. “See you tomorrow, Paul,” Louis said, turned on his heel and walked down the hall towards the elevators.

“Nightshade,” Paul corrected quietly, irked. Then he called after Louis. “Good night, and don’t forget the form!”

“I won’t,” Louis promised as he pressed the lower button and almost immediately stepped into the elevator cart. Paul disappeared back into his apartment and the doors closed on the hallway.

XXX

Back in his own house, Louis dumped his baggage on the kitchen table and sat in the chair, removing his shoes. They came off easier that time and Louis wondered if they were stiffened by Paul’s hurry up glares. In any case, they were off within thirty seconds and Louis dragged his sock clad feet to the refrigerator. When he opened it, the dark room was flooded with an unearthly light and fog like the special effects of a B alien movie. He scanned the contents of the shelves as he chewed his top lip. Soup or... more soup? He lifted the plastic wrap from the second bowl and sniffed the contents. A funky smell mingled with the split peas and Louis decided against chancing it. Still, he shouldn’t leave it in the refrigerator, lest it contaminate his other food.

Louis lifted the bowl out of the refrigerator and let the door seal behind him. He carried it to the sink and turned on the water. He peeled the plastic wrap from the bowl and flicked it onto the counter, then he poured the molding soup down the drain. It wasn’t a garbage disposal, but Louis had found that the kitchen sink pipes handled soup just fine if enough water was sent down with it. When it was gone, he set the bowl in the stained and blackened sink and turned off the water.

He reached for the towel on the counter but it dropped to the floor. Louis crouched to pick it up and as he did he felt something crinkle in his sweatshirt pocket. After drying off his hands and standing back up, he reached into the pocket and grabbed the piece of paper that had made the sound. Louis switched on the light over the sink and peered at it. The paper was his parking ticket.

Louis crumpled the ticket in his hand and quickly moved the empty bowl to the other side of the sink and pushed the faucet out of the way. He dug in his jeans pocket for the book of matches that always occupied it. He tossed the wadded piece of paper into the sink and took a match from the book. He struck it with the skill of a fire juggler and held the match in front of his grinning green eyes for a second before lowering it to the paper. The ticket burst into flames and etched new black streaks on the sink walls. Louis watched it burn, feeling the waves of heat swell against his face, with a giddy smile. The flame seemed to laugh and play and smile as it eradicated his problem. It sang a crackling, soothing song of which the lyrics were something along the lines of, “Isn’t it fun to win?”

Yes, it was very fun to win. Who was that campus security girl kidding? Only herself. No one controlled Louis’s future but Louis; he had proven such his whole life. Situations that to the outside eye seemed eternal could be ended if one had the cunning and strength to force it to conclude. Louis had that strength.

When the fire had finished its meal, Louis rinsed the ashes down the drain. Problem solved.

Description
Chapter Four: Wherein I take care of my parking ticket

Louis’s mind was a funnel, focused on the flamethrower. Stimuli was fed into the top, but only that which pertained to his project made it all the way down through the tip of his mind and into the conscious thought. He was able to sit for hours crouched over a table like a gargoyle, his line of sight cutting through his binocular goggles like sunlight through a magnifying glass.

In an empty white room, Louis sat at his buried desk with the flamethrower. No windows, no doors. It was impenetrable. Foot-thick concrete on all planes, including ceiling and floor.

A voice called from outside, but it might have just been the hum of his goggles. It increased until it was a cycling tone: over and over and over... Louis suddenly realized it was his name: more specifically, his alias.

He tore his eyes from his project and looked up at Paul, standing over him in the dark apartment with a plate of fettuccini and salad. He twirled his fork in the noodles until a small ball was wadded around the teeth and then pushed it into his mouth. After a moment of thoughtful chewing and a leisurely swallow, Paul spoke.

“The night is growing late,” he buzzed.

Louis glanced at the atomic clock hung over the entryway: ten-fifteen. That would explain the hunger pains.

“How is it coming along?” Paul asked, approaching.

“Slow. I finally got the blade out of the tank,” he replied, removing his head gear and setting it carefully on the floor beside his chair before standing.

“We haven’t even started planning our next mission and it’s getting late,” Paul mentioned.

“I’m good,” Countersink replied. “I can work for another two or three hours—“

“I mean, late for me.”

Paul protected his sleep with a ferocity best compared to a dog guarding a particularly succulent morsel from his master’s dinner plate, growling and biting. There were so many more important matters pressing for his attention and it wouldn’t hurt him to sacrifice a few hours to them. But he would not. He might also be compared to a toddler, growing more inconsiderate and hostile as night deepened. It was incredible how Paul was able to keep up such petty boundaries even while their arsons happened at night. He probably slept a full eight hours as soon as Louis dropped him off at his apartment building.

“REM cycle, you know,” Paul explained, tapping his temple with the fork handle. “I need to make sure my glorious brain has enough time to recharge.” Such was the statement handed to Louis every night at the same hour, always followed by a second one Louis could recite lying on his bed in the dark quiet of his own bedroom. “You should get more sleep as well, or you’ll burn out.”
Louis bent over to pick his helmet up off of the floor. Tucking it under his arm, he put his tools away and closed up his tool chest. “I’m taking these home tonight,” he mentioned, grabbing the small chrome handle in its dented red metal top and letting it dangle against his leg like a weight. “I’ll have it fixed by tomorrow.”

Paul seemed irked that Louis wasn’t taking his advice, but at the urging of his fading consciousness, he didn’t argue it further. Instead he took another bite of his dinner and let his frustration out on the salad greens.

Louis skillfully with one hand, shoved his helmet and tech jacket into his duffel bag, slung the bag over his shoulder and walked towards the door. Paul followed, silently encouraging him to remove himself faster. Louis grabbed his high tops from the shoe rack and sat where the carpet met the linoleum, dropping his tool chest to pull on his shoes. As he loosened the laces down to the scuffed rubber toe, Louis wondered why he wore such time consuming footwear.

“I almost forgot to ask,” Louis spoke up, making conversation and taking a small, twisted pleasure in Paul’s frustration. He was tempted to move slower just to tick the man off, but then considered the porcelain plate suspended dangerously near his head. And Paul had quite a temper when the conditions were right. Needless to say, he continued to solve the shoe puzzle at a reasonable pace. “What was your experiment about?”

There was a sort of irked snap in Paul’s eyebrows. “A serum,” he replied. “Something quick and clean, yet lethal.”
“You’d never use it though, right?” Louis asked.

Paul paused. “Of course not,” he said, measured. “It’s just for safety sake. Knowing I have it gives me some peace of mind. Especially with all the unsavory characters we make enemies with these days.”

Louis nodded. “Speaking of which, what should I write on the entry form? We haven’t conquered America yet.” Louis asked, pushing his foot into the meticulously prepared shoe and began tightening the laces he had pulled ten times their usual looseness. “Should I leave off our last three targets?”

“Of course not!” Paul exclaimed and Louis shielded his head reflexively from the plate, though the porcelain did not make contact with – or even threaten – his skull. “Fill it out as if we have already beat them. Because by the time the conference takes place, we will have. And besides, having Raymore on our list of triumphs will be quite impressive.”

“Seer’s gonna know we’re lying,” Louis protested in a singsong voice.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Paul dismissed. “She won’t be looking. Even if she did, all she would see is that we conquer them all in the end. …Are you about finished putting on your shoes?”

Louis had just loosened the laces for his second shoe. Seriously… Velcro from now on. “Working on it.”

Paul gave a frustrated sigh. “Sometimes I think you do this kind of thing just to annoy me.”

“What kind of thing?”

Paul motioned to Louis’s shoes. “This,” he replied.

Louis flashed him a devious smile as he yanked on his second shoe and began tightening the laces. “Aw, I’d never do anything to annoy you. Not that it’s hard.” Paul gave him a withering glare. He was not in the mood for jokes and Louis felt the atmosphere between them vibrate with the beginnings of hostility. Louis tied the laces, stood quickly and picked up the tool chest. “Well, I better get going. I have class tomorrow.” His fingers found the door locks in the dark and unlatched them. He stepped into the hallway lit with florescent light and held up his hand in goodbye. “See you tomorrow, Paul,” Louis said, turned on his heel and walked down the hall towards the elevators.

“Nightshade,” Paul corrected quietly, irked. Then he called after Louis. “Good night, and don’t forget the form!”

“I won’t,” Louis promised as he pressed the lower button and almost immediately stepped into the elevator cart. Paul disappeared back into his apartment and the doors closed on the hallway.

XXX

Back in his own house, Louis dumped his baggage on the kitchen table and sat in the chair, removing his shoes. They came off easier that time and Louis wondered if they were stiffened by Paul’s hurry up glares. In any case, they were off within thirty seconds and Louis dragged his sock clad feet to the refrigerator. When he opened it, the dark room was flooded with an unearthly light and fog like the special effects of a B alien movie. He scanned the contents of the shelves as he chewed his top lip. Soup or... more soup? He lifted the plastic wrap from the second bowl and sniffed the contents. A funky smell mingled with the split peas and Louis decided against chancing it. Still, he shouldn’t leave it in the refrigerator, lest it contaminate his other food.

Louis lifted the bowl out of the refrigerator and let the door seal behind him. He carried it to the sink and turned on the water. He peeled the plastic wrap from the bowl and flicked it onto the counter, then he poured the molding soup down the drain. It wasn’t a garbage disposal, but Louis had found that the kitchen sink pipes handled soup just fine if enough water was sent down with it. When it was gone, he set the bowl in the stained and blackened sink and turned off the water.

He reached for the towel on the counter but it dropped to the floor. Louis crouched to pick it up and as he did he felt something crinkle in his sweatshirt pocket. After drying off his hands and standing back up, he reached into the pocket and grabbed the piece of paper that had made the sound. Louis switched on the light over the sink and peered at it. The paper was his parking ticket.

Louis crumpled the ticket in his hand and quickly moved the empty bowl to the other side of the sink and pushed the faucet out of the way. He dug in his jeans pocket for the book of matches that always occupied it. He tossed the wadded piece of paper into the sink and took a match from the book. He struck it with the skill of a fire juggler and held the match in front of his grinning green eyes for a second before lowering it to the paper. The ticket burst into flames and etched new black streaks on the sink walls. Louis watched it burn, feeling the waves of heat swell against his face, with a giddy smile. The flame seemed to laugh and play and smile as it eradicated his problem. It sang a crackling, soothing song of which the lyrics were something along the lines of, “Isn’t it fun to win?”

Yes, it was very fun to win. Who was that campus security girl kidding? Only herself. No one controlled Louis’s future but Louis; he had proven such his whole life. Situations that to the outside eye seemed eternal could be ended if one had the cunning and strength to force it to conclude. Louis had that strength.

When the fire had finished its meal, Louis rinsed the ashes down the drain. Problem solved.