Ross

Walking back into the office for me could be compared to stepping into a foreign land. Nothing inside seemed the same. Hell, I forgot I even had a desk, and even when I practically bumped into it, I hardly noticed it. All these people that I passed, all these people that glanced at me, all these people that attempted to force conversation with me... they weren't co-workers. They were aliens to my world, my life; to me.

And then I entered the boss' office. He was sitting there, staring out the window, waiting for me. When he heard me sit down, he turned around, and sat down as well. He put out his cigarette, and looked me over once or twice.

"Welcome back, kid."

I sigh, and look to the left.

"Yeah, yeah..."

He had that disappointed face on. He wore it a whole fucking lot nowadays.

"Look... we all know you're having a tough time right now. We all get that..."

I seemed to be ignoring him, I guess.

His tone was raised into anger as he stepped up from his chair in fury.

"...but goddammit, your sorry ass is making all of this much more difficult than it should be! Do you want me to send you upstate and have you downing pills and locked up most the day? Is that what you want? I could make the call right now."

 I still refused to look at him. I could tell he was crying a bit. His voice cracked near the end of his yell. I didn't think he would care that much.

But the problem was, I didn't care at all.

I pushed up on the table, stood up at full height, and my eyes met with the boss'. However, I wasn't staring into his eyes, as he was me; I was staring through him.

"Just give me a fucking mission. Just get me the hell out of this place, boss."

 He sat down again, and I stood tall over him. He closed his eyes, and seemed to be meditating.

"No."

"...What?"

"No-"

He opened his eyes.

"You're not going anywhere, James. Not without your new companion."

"H-huh? You... you were serious...?"

The door opened behind me, and she walked in. I saw her... I saw her. I shook, with fear.

It was the girl with the cobra tattoo. She strutted in, and stood beside the boss, and glared at me.

"Hello, James. It's nice to meet you."

"This little lady here is Ross, and from now on she will be your partner."

I couldn't believe this. This was a total betrayal between our trust. I got up, and tried to walk out of the office. But Ross walked in between the door and I.

"Excuse me. You don't seem to get it, do you?"

I tried to walk around her. She moved in front of my path yet again.

"Get out of the way."

She shook her head, and continued on with her bullshit. 

"You're not going until you consent to my help."

I turned suddenly towards the boss.

"What the fuck is this!? You think I need help!!?"

"I'm sorry, James. This is for your own good. I won't let you burn out like a loser! I won't let you jeopardize the organization like your fucking brother did!"

And that about when I lost it. I don't remember what I did. Next thing I know, I'm on the ground, head pinned, and a gun against my cheek.

"Don't. Try. That. Again," Ross says, as she presses the gun against me.

The boss lowers himself down to our level. He's smoking again.

"I'm sorry, James. I really am. But your safety is my duty. And I won't let you go make a fool of yourself out there, alone, anymore. Either accept my conditions, or will blow your head off right fucking now. Because I'm not going to watch a slow suicide. Not ever again."

He was fucking crying. Just full blown crying. I couldn't believe he...

But I.

"Go ahead. Do it. What do I care?"

"James... please..."

A whole minute passes by. I sigh.

"Alright... alright. I agree to the terms."



And so that's why I am back in the office, completing more of what I love in this world.... you guessed it, paperwork! Kill me. 

Brothers

When we were kids Peter and I would fight a lot. I don't really know how we became rivals, but we did. I've always had a resentment towards him... despite my mother telling me it hasn't always been that way.

The most prevalent memory I have of him was when we almost killed ourselves. We were young, I think I was almost nine. John had gone off with our stepfather for some event upstate, and our mother was off at work, so we were home alone. Peter got bored, and since he couldn't or wouldn't leave me alone, he decided to take me down to the train yard so we could play in some of the rock pits.

We walked down to town, and I remember so much about walking through it. It was Summer and blazing hot. The whole town seemed to be writhing around, sweating and tearing up from the heat. But, Peter and I and any other kid thrived on it...we took to the Summer with gusto, and sucked out everything it had to offer.

Before going to the rock pit, we fucked around the town. Got some cheap candy from the store,  swam a bit, even played around the sand pits. But we always kept our eyes on the rock pit. I don't know why, it wasn't like there was anything really interesting there. I guess because Peter wanted to go there. I think it might have been a personal sanctuary for him, to run away from home.

When we reached the rock pit, Peter jumped into it, and looked through the shit at the bottom. I tried to make my way down towards him, being careful not to fall and bust my ass. He looked through the junk at the bottom... broken coke bottles, a busted radio, a few beer cans... nothing of value. Disappointed, Peter then climbed up the other side of the pit, and got out a book.

I don't remember what book it was. He was always reading books. It might have been a Hemingway novel. He loved depressing writers like Hemingway.

I sat next to him in silence. I don't think I really knew what else to do besides that. I felt lost without John to cling to. Peter, visibly annoyed by how close I was to him, shrugged me off and scooted a few feet away.

That was when the restless loneliness began. When that happened, I would act out, and get hyper, in order try and cope with the emptiness somehow. This time, I had the genius idea of coping by pelting Peter with various hard pebbles.

This plan backfired, as you can imagine. At first, when I was throwing the smaller pebbles, Peter tried to play it cool and ignore me. But then I threw the larger rocks, so he didn't really have any choice but to acknowledge me. This time, he acknowledged me by throwing rocks at me too.

We were in the most epic rock fight in the entire history of mankind. Pebbles flew like Soviet drones and rocks soared like American missiles. We were at a bloody, scuffled stalemate for a few minutes, until I accidentally picked up a shard of glass and pelted Peter with it. It sliced his cheek wide open, and he fell to the ground, wincing in pain.

I knew I had fucked up then, so I dropped my rocks and tried to back up and out of the rock pit. I needed to get a head start or...

He was already climbing up after me. Before I could even defend myself, he was already on top of me, punching me. Looking back, he wasn't seriously trying to hurt me. He was just a little angry. But, back then, it seemed like he was legitimately going to kick my ass to kingdom come.

So I slipped out from under him, I was good at that, and climbed up to the edge of the rock pit. He stumbled and slipped from under himself, and I laughed. He looked up at me, and I saw tears in his eyes.

And then I said something that I think I will regret to the grave.

"...haha, yellow-belly!"

 He looked straight up to my, with his blue, blue eyes. And I won't ever forget those eyes in that exact moment. It was just one of those moments where...I kind of really noticed his existence. That he was my oldest brother, and he was there; he was there, when my father was not.

"..What the fuck did you just say to me?"

"You heard me. Coward! Baby!"

He stops hurrying up after me, and just stood up tall... tallest I've ever seen him stand, even if he wasn't at his full height yet. Even if he was only a child. At the very same time, the sound of a monstrous freight train echoed in the rock pit. Peter looks at a rising, billowing smoke cloud in the distance.

He descends to the bottom of the rock pit, and then climbs up the other side of it.

Towards the train tracks.

I guess that was about when I felt the fear begin to nudge at my senses.

Peter steps into the middle of the tracks, and then looks at me from across the pit. He had that dangerous smirk splashed across his face that I would eventually inherit. An ominous Summer breeze brushed over the trees, and I made my way around the pit and to Peter.

"Are you seriously about to-?"

"This'll show you who's the true coward!"

With just those words, I was convinced that this was a challenge I could not step down from. So I step into the middle of the tracks and face my brother.

 "That's you, Peter. You're just like a little girl."

Peter's smirk wasn't wiped away like I had hoped it to be. I hoped he would have gotten angry and then chase me off of the tracks. He didn't. He stood there, readying himself to jump.

The smoke crawled up into the sky as it got closer and closer. He puts his hand onto my shoulder and holds me there, as if he's making sure I don't run away.

Peter's a stubborn bastard. And I am too. So even when we saw that train shooting towards us,we didn't dare move. But... that train got so close, and I panicked.

I tried to jump off, but Peter was holding onto me. And I'll never forget seeing his face.... he was in a daze. As if he was in a suicidal trance. I told him I would knock him over to get away. He didn't listen. I swore I would knock him off his feet.

The tracks rumbled and shook as if the ground underneath us would break and rip and fall asunder. We could smell the smokestack of the train now. It covered the Summer aroma that clung to us.

I yelled again at him, but he wasn't listening. I swore, I swore I would knock him off his feet.

And that's what I did.

We rolled over, leg over leg, arm through arm, body under body; we tumbled over an edge and crashed through rocks and bushes, and were then pushed into the river. We could feel the train roar through above, blowing its whistle. Tiny pebbles and dust rose up from the river bed, billowing up like the train's smoke. Our blood rose along with it, in between the two of us.

I don't remember anything after that. I just know that's the day Peter broke my trust. And when I stopped looking up to him. Looking back, I don't know how much of that was Peter being a stupid shithead, and how much of that was him just being a kid with problems.

When I got the call about Peter's death, this was all I could think about. It hasn't let my mind since. 

Peter (Finale)

Peter's gone. He betrayed the Lonely Hearts, and lost his life for it.

And that's all I have to say about it.

Furious

I am being assigned a partner for no damn reason.

I haven't had a fucking partner since Holly for a reason: I work alone. Always. Never with anyone else. Dammit, I told him, I fucking told him, that I would never, ever accept another goddamn partner. I can't. It's just too much.

She's young and dumb and I am responsible for her starting Monday. She has minimal training, and on top of that, I'm already suspicious of her. I can't.

And he says that I need a partner. That I need someone to keep me in check. To look after me.

I don't need a babysitter. I don't need a bodyguard. I don't need to be mothered.

I need me, myself, and I.

Peter V

I've been discharged from the hospital.

The situation involving the "disruption" is apparently a really, really bad thing.

I have the highest allowance of security that has been issued in a few years now. The Wooden Girl, if she's still coming to get me, won't be able to lay a single finger on me without having to go through some of these fuckers. I doubt she'll attempt anything but I've been wrong before.... oh so many times.

I don't know what's going on and I don't want to find out either.

The worst part is that Peter's at the center of it all and I know he's going to burn for it.

Money In His Hand II

Life is short. It's even shorter where it's spent not living. That's what I've been doing the past four years, since her death. I don't realize, still, how precious my own self is. Everyone else can go fuck themselves, because in the end all we can do is care for ourselves. I'm all that matters.

I've spent all my life running away from death, but only because I taunt it in the first place. I save people from death without even realizing that doing so endangers my own self. And why do that, if it does no good in the end? The Fears always, somehow, find a way; even if they wait years to pull it off. 

I know this because I've been running myself. And you know what? I'm done with shit. No more no more. I'm getting the fuck out of this life. I'm going to live it alone in peace. 

Without being haunted by the past, whether it's living or dead. 

Success does come from material things. Love does come from shallow aspects. Happiness can be bought. These vague fantasies do nothing but torture us from the inside out. What I need, is wealth and power. 

I may feel empty, but at least I won't be tortured any longer.  

I'm the only thing that matters because nothing else inherently matters. So what if another kid dies? So what? So what if humanity is doomed? So what? So what? 

Why should I care, let alone do anything about it? 

And most importantly of all: Why should I care about someone who's gone? Someone who's not even rotting away in the ground, but is totally, absolutely gone? Why? Why does she matter now? Why does anyone matter to me anymore? 

I'm wondering because I am actually curious about this. I'm wondering because it kept me up at night for four years. I worried and worried, but the answer was inside of me all along: my heart.

My heart is beating still. It's working. And that's what matters. Not what it yearns for, but what keeps it beating. What keeps me alive. What keeps me sane. What keeps me me.

I'm quitting you, Holly. You're dead now. Truly, dead. Just like how one would burn away old photos, I'm burning away my memories of you. And I'm going to scatter the ashes, so that I will never find even a trace of your existence within myself.

I'm done with dreaming of the past. The past is past, the past is dead, I'm done with the past. 

It's not the heart that makes the man, it's the money in his hand.      

Money In His Hand

and I just can't get this off my mind
my voice it yells inside
It tells me all the time
that I could leave right now
 

oh, it tears me up to see this place
green and a machined washed grey

but all we know is this...

I've been trying for the past four years
broken a lie to get this here
it's not the heart that makes the man,
it's the money in his hand
 

it's been a struggle for the past few nights
I had to quit to realize,
that I can't waste no time on it
in case this is all I get

one year, one month, and seven days
to lose the love it takes
and grow plastic from my hands so I can leave right now
 

oh, it tears me up to see this place
green and a machined washed grey

with all the shine and ritz...

I've been trying for the past four years
broken a lie to get this here
it's not the heart that makes the man,
it's the money in his hand
 

it's been a struggle for the past few nights
I had to quit to realize,
that I can't waste no time on it
in case this is all I get

I've been trying for the past four years
broken a lie to get this here
it's not the heart that makes the man,
it's the money in his hand

it's been a struggle for the past few nights
I had to quit to realize,
that I can't waste no time on it
in case this is all I get

I get...