07-11-2018, 12:24 AM
[Continued from Water In Dry Places]
Talos stays sitting in an alleyway surrounded by a murder scene for far longer than is prudent.
The smell of blood reminds him that he is hungry, but that it not a conscionable option, so he sits and examines the laugh-lines around the edge of the dead-man's mouth.
"Well," he says softly, eventually. "I suppose that went better than with Lucita."
Speaking requires breathing, which he had not bothered with since Jaclyn left. As he inhales he breathes in the heady smell of saffron and poppy. He turns to look at the charred remains of the duffel bag. All that is left of the drug run are a few curls of saffron in the dirt and the bottle of opium in Talos' hands.
"I wonder what this story is," Talos murmurs. Unlike his erstwhile companion, he does not consider drug use, production, or distribution acts deserving of punishment. In his experience their regulation has more to do with controlling the people that use them than keeping people safe. He is perhaps biased, as most of his politics on the subject were acquired at Woodstock while heavily under the influence of multiple illegal drugs.
"You were clearly being smuggled," he says to the opium bottle in his hand. "But not very effectively, as all it took to find you was a rummage. And why were there so many different kinds of you in that bag? I saw tablets, powder, and I think a few intact poppies. A drug runner's pouch is not usually such a grab-bag."
Talos sorts through the objects he'd pulled out of his patient's pockets. In his earlier fervor to find something useful, he'd missed what they actually were.
He finds some omnilium, which he leaves on the ground. He finds a lighter and a pack of gum. He finds a yellow zip-lock bag containing tacky brown sheets of various thicknesses and shades, numbered meticulously one to twelve. He keeps that because it is a mystery. He finds a cellphone--an old one that folds open and closed.
He flips through the cellphone's history. He finds that it has made one call, and received one call, both from the same number.
It occurs to him that he should leave the grisly murder scene before he is found and, understandably, arrested.
He is not inclined to return to the streets of Carrefore. So Talos reverts to their natural form and uses their considerable height and reach to clamber from a crate, to a windowsill, to a rooftop.
They run along a few houses and make a modest leap to another street before finding a concealing overhang to lurk in.
Then they dial the number in the cellphone.
Talos stays sitting in an alleyway surrounded by a murder scene for far longer than is prudent.
The smell of blood reminds him that he is hungry, but that it not a conscionable option, so he sits and examines the laugh-lines around the edge of the dead-man's mouth.
"Well," he says softly, eventually. "I suppose that went better than with Lucita."
Speaking requires breathing, which he had not bothered with since Jaclyn left. As he inhales he breathes in the heady smell of saffron and poppy. He turns to look at the charred remains of the duffel bag. All that is left of the drug run are a few curls of saffron in the dirt and the bottle of opium in Talos' hands.
"I wonder what this story is," Talos murmurs. Unlike his erstwhile companion, he does not consider drug use, production, or distribution acts deserving of punishment. In his experience their regulation has more to do with controlling the people that use them than keeping people safe. He is perhaps biased, as most of his politics on the subject were acquired at Woodstock while heavily under the influence of multiple illegal drugs.
"You were clearly being smuggled," he says to the opium bottle in his hand. "But not very effectively, as all it took to find you was a rummage. And why were there so many different kinds of you in that bag? I saw tablets, powder, and I think a few intact poppies. A drug runner's pouch is not usually such a grab-bag."
Talos sorts through the objects he'd pulled out of his patient's pockets. In his earlier fervor to find something useful, he'd missed what they actually were.
He finds some omnilium, which he leaves on the ground. He finds a lighter and a pack of gum. He finds a yellow zip-lock bag containing tacky brown sheets of various thicknesses and shades, numbered meticulously one to twelve. He keeps that because it is a mystery. He finds a cellphone--an old one that folds open and closed.
He flips through the cellphone's history. He finds that it has made one call, and received one call, both from the same number.
It occurs to him that he should leave the grisly murder scene before he is found and, understandably, arrested.
He is not inclined to return to the streets of Carrefore. So Talos reverts to their natural form and uses their considerable height and reach to clamber from a crate, to a windowsill, to a rooftop.
They run along a few houses and make a modest leap to another street before finding a concealing overhang to lurk in.
Then they dial the number in the cellphone.
"To live in this world you must be able to do three things:
To love what is mortal;
To hold it against your bones knowing your own life depends on it;
And, when the time comes to let it go,
To let it go." – Mary Oliver
To love what is mortal;
To hold it against your bones knowing your own life depends on it;
And, when the time comes to let it go,
To let it go." – Mary Oliver