Yesterday's Heroes (Consortium of Chaos Book 1) (23 page)

For her part, he had no doubt that
not only would Harlot have
played
the game, but she would have beaten it
in minutes, taken it apart to see how it worked, put it back together with a
better and more efficient design, and then kicked the ass of anyone who tried
to take it from her.  And if she couldn’t, she had a whole team of people ready
and willing to fight for her.

But all of that was just temporary
too.  Sooner or later, someone would break all of her toys so badly that they
couldn’t be fixed, and then she’d be alone as well.  The world didn’t allow
pure things to last long.  It smashed them to pieces.  This place, these
people, this game…All of it was destined to be part of the debris.  Part of the
mire. 

The world was filled with people
who liked to break everyone else’s toys, and there were no heroes left to stop
them.  They were the first to go.

He had read somewhere that the
quickest way to sink in quicksand was to struggle against it, and the mire of
this world had long ago swallowed the heroes up.  They had tried to change
things.  Tried to make a difference…But it only made them sink faster.  They
should have kept still.  That’s what Wyatt had been doing his whole life. 
Don’t fight against its pull; just pretend you don’t see your feet sinking
deeper and deeper.  Pretend you don’t see the corruption running rampant in
your organization, and the despicable acts your co-workers are committing. 
Ignore the fact that you’re being used as a publicity tool, rather than a force
for good.  Ignore the unanswerable questions about your own life.  Tell
yourself that you had never wanted to play the fish game anyway.  Pretend
you’re doing what you want to do, and that you’re happy. 

Harlot seemed to think that the
quicksand was a beach, and she and her idiot family were playing volleyball on
it.  They were apparently oblivious to the fact that their game was futile and
foolhardy.  They weren’t
ever
going to beat the Freedom Squad.  It was
like a casino: the house always wins.  The longer you play, the more you lose. 
Harlot didn’t seem to understand that though.  She was going to enjoy every
second of that fish game before someone came along and tried to break it.  Wring
the most out of life that she could, and have a great time along the way.

Wyatt had no “along the way”.  He
had
lost
his way, along the way.  It was impossible to enjoy the game if
you knew how it was going to end.  Like playing solitaire with a deck that’s missing
a card.  No matter how hard you try, or how clever you are, the world wasn’t
going to let you win.  Events were predetermined to ensure your failure. 
People like the Squad had stacked the deck against you.  You’d never get that
one card you were missing.

Harlot beamed.

“Oh look!”  She held up a card. 
“Second prize in the beauty contest!  Ha!  That bitch who got
first
place better watch her back, cause she won’t be so pretty once
I
get
done with her.”  She slammed her fist into her palm and cackled with laughter. 

He smiled.

Even if winning was impossible,
that didn’t mean that he couldn’t enjoy the company while it lasted though.  He
had decades of experience in the field of lying to himself.  He could pretend
that this wasn’t going to end badly for all of them.  That he wasn’t going to
leave here soon.  He could forget that his plan could only take them so far,
and then he’d have to cut ties, because the Freedom Squad members he couldn’t
put in prison would come for horrible revenge on the group.  Pretend that there
might be ONE question in that box that he could answer.  Just
one
.  But
there wasn’t.

Wyatt wasn’t an idiot, and Harlot
wasn’t subtle.  He got the sense that she’d go out with him if he asked her.  Part
of him wanted to reach out and take the hand she was offering. 
All of him
,
actually.  But the thing about quicksand was that she’d only get pulled in too. 
She’d take his hand in an attempt to get him out, and he’d pull her right down
with him.  And that was the
last
thing in the world that he wanted.  She
should be able to enjoy every second of her game.  She deserved that.  Deserved
to have a good time with her friends before it all was smashed.  She didn’t
deserve to be trapped in the mire with him simply because he wanted to escape.

She was a beautiful woman, but he
had absolutely nothing to offer her.  What was he really?  A washed-up former
hero with a history of violence and pain, who was on a suicidal quest for
revenge against the most powerful people in the world.  Hell, he’d probably be
dead by this time next year, if not sooner. 

She was brilliant and accomplished
and beautiful and so
alive
.  Going
near
her would be the most
selfish thing he could possibly do.  Just
being
here was bad enough. 
Wyatt had become a pretty uncaring person of late, but not even
he
was
ready to sink that deep into the mire yet.  Best if he just remained alone.  He
wasn’t going to take her hand, no matter how much he might want to.  …How
desperately
he wanted to.      

She pulled out a new card.  “Okay,
everyone, it’s Wyatt’s turn again.”  She winked at him.  “See if you know the
answer to this one, and if you can’t, I’m going to slap you.”  She cleared her
throat.  “What is the name of the villainess whose specialty is breaking
villains out of seemingly impossible to escape situations?”

He laughed in spite of himself and
moved his pink game token out of the Quagmire space.  “Who is Harlot?”

She beamed and the assembly gave
him a round of applause for finally getting a question about his life right. 
He leaned back in his chair, utterly enjoying the moment.

Poacher popped his head in the
door, looking very excited.  “Guys, Amy’s like making ice cream and waffles in
the cafeteria or something…”

There was suddenly a mad dash for
the door.  Harlot stopped halfway there and dashed back to grab his hand and
started pulling him from the room.  “Come on!  WAFFLES, Wyatt!  WAFFLES!”

…Actually, waffles DID sound good
right now…He could probably forget his troubles long enough to eat some waffles
with Harlot.  But he still wasn’t going to take her hand.  He glanced down at
her delicate hand as it rested in his as they ran towards the cafeteria. 
Metaphorically
wouldn’t take her hand, anyway, even if he was currently holding her
actual
hand.

A
rooster, scratching for food for himself and his hens, found a precious stone
and exclaimed:  "If your owner had found thee, and not I, he would have
you set in the finest gold; but I have no purpose for you.  I would rather have
one barleycorn than all the jewels in the world."  The moral of the
story?   The ignorant despise what is precious only because they cannot
understand it, as precious things are for those that can prize them.

Wyatt leaned against the wall in
the Consortium’s hallway, waiting for Harlot to come out of her room.  He had
been keeping a silent vigil in the corridor for a good half an hour now, but
the woman showed no sign of appearing.

He checked his watch again.  Where
could she
possibly
be?  It made no sense.

A group of people walked by and he
tried to look busy.  Unfortunately, the only thing he could think to do to
avoid notice was to stoop down to examine the nameplate on the door to his own
room.  All in all, it probably wasn’t the most inconspicuous thing he could
have done.  Wyatt wasn’t a “look casual” type of person though.  He never had
been.  Once, the Squad had put him in charge of infiltrating a terrorist group,
and he had
barely
escaped with his life.  The gunmen had singled him out
as a hero almost
instantly
.  He was NOT good at subterfuge of any kind…
but, he’d have to make do with his limited skills the best he could.  He really
didn’t have much of an option in this particular instance. 

True, he could just stay in his
room and simply listen for her return, but he was afraid he would miss her.  He
could go off looking for her, but once again, she could return to her room
while he was gone, and then leave again.  No, standing outside her door was his
best option, as it was the only place she was SURE to return at some point in
the day.  She’d come back here, and he’d be waiting. 

…And he’d already been waiting a
long time.  Where could she
possibly
be?  Eventually, he’d have to leave
the hallway, or it would start to look really strange. 
He
was the one
being stalked, so it made no sense that he would have to go through such an
effort to “accidentally” run into her.

He glanced up at the ceiling,
pretending to see something really interesting on the light fixture, so that he
didn’t have to make eye contact with anyone else.  He didn’t want to have to
explain to them what he was doing, and he REALLY didn’t want anyone getting the
mistaken idea that he was out here trying to spend time with Harlot.  Because
nothing could be further from the truth. 

He was only waiting for her to come
back to her room from wherever she was, in hopes of talking to her about…something. 
He wasn’t entirely sure what that something was going to
be
exactly, but
it was sure to be something utterly charming and memorable.  Although he still
had NO intention of getting closer to her, that didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy
her from a distance, right?  Sure, he’d NEVER pursue any sort of
actual
relationship with her, as he’d be dead soon, but he could still be nice to
her.  That didn’t mean anything.  Nothing at all.  Just two co-workers enjoying
each other’s company.  Nothing wrong with that.

Several members of the Purchasing
and Production Department walked by and he tried to look busy by pretending to
tie his shoe…

“Why are you here, Fabricator?”  He
was so lost in his ‘acting’ that he jumped when Librarian unexpectedly spoke
from behind him.   

He whirled around to face her. 
“What do you mean?  I told you guys already.  I needed your help to launch my
plan, and I think it’s working splendidly.”

She made a noncommittal sound, he
eyes never leaving her paperwork.  “Yes, as you have said.”  She turned the
page on the clipboard over, still not bothering to look at him, but sounding
utterly unconvinced.  “I ask again; why are you
really
here,
Fabricator?”

He scowled.  “I JUST told you.  I
don’t know what you want me to say.  I…”

She turned another page.  “Your
plan.  Yes.”  She nodded.  “You can convince the rest of the Consortium of
that, as they are usually too distracted by intoxicating substances and shiny
objects to pay attention to anything of importance, but I can assure you that I
am under no such delusion about you.  You are hiding something, and we both
know it.  Your body language suggests that you believe you are telling the
truth about your motivations though, which is puzzling.  As far as I have been
able to gather, your ‘plan’ could have been easily accomplished in a matter of
minutes with a series of phone calls to your contacts, and most
certainly
did not necessitate moving into our headquarters.  Your campaign against the
Freedom Squad barely seems to involve
us
at all.”  She tapped her pen
down on the clipboard and then pointed the tip of it at him, still not
bothering to look up from the paper.  “Thus, your stated ‘plan’ as reported to
the group, is not the impetus for your presence in our headquarters, or your
recent actions, and there is obviously another unseen factor at play.”  She
paused.  “Unseen factors concern me when they guide the destiny of this
organization.  So, I ask again; why are you really here?”

He opened his mouth to reply…but
then realized he had no idea what to say.  He found his eyes drawn to Harlot’s
door for some reason. 

Marian nodded her head, even though
she couldn’t possibly have seen his eyes stray across the hall.  “Indeed. 
Exactly the reply I anticipated when you first joined the Consortium of Chaos.” 
She circled something on her paperwork.  “Do you know what the word ‘Chaos’
means, Fabricator?”

He nodded.  “Disorder and
confusion?”

She gave no indication that she
heard him.  “It comes from the Greek word ‘χάος,’ which in
turn comes from the verb ‘χαίνω,’ ‘to gape, be wide
open.’  It is a fascinating word, in that it can mean a number of seemingly
unrelated ideas.  In its original form, chaos can be translated as something
like ‘emptiness.’  If you turn it into an adjective, it becomes an alternate
spelling of ‘χάϊος,’ and means ‘genuine and true.’ 
Chaos can also mean both ‘space’ and ‘air,’ as well as ‘yawning chasm,’
‘infinite darkness,’ and rarely, can simply mean an environment in which
something lives.  In myth, it is the nothingness from which everything
springs.  It is by definition entirely empty, yet paradoxically, is also a
hodgepodge of every element you can imagine.  In other words, chaos is a true
blank slate; a wide-open expanse in which to find whatever you are after, good
or bad.”  She paused.  “Do you understand what I am trying to tell you?”

He blinked at her in confusion.

She apparently saw that he had
absolutely no idea.  “I am telling you that chaos, in actuality, is simply a
space on which to act.  It has no moral inclination one way or the other.  It
is not a realm of heroes or villains, because it contains pieces of both.  It
is an environment you live in, which can give you everything, or leave you with
nothing at all.  If you choose to throw yourself into infinite darkness, you
will certainly find yawning chasms there.  If you choose to look for air and
freedom of movement, you will find them in chaos as well.  Love was one of the
first things to take form in the mythological Chaos…but so was Hell.  So, if
you are going to spend time in chaos, you need to know what you are truly
looking for.  Chaos may be disordered, but everything in it is genuine.”

He stared at her a beat, still
utterly lost. 

She sighed.  “I can see that subtly
is not your strong suit, Fabricator, so allow me to dispense with poetics, and
put my point into simpler words, which even you may have some chance of
understanding.  This is a warning, and is the only one you will get: decide
what you truly want from your own life before you get too involved here. 
Harlot is one of the few people in our organization who is nearly universally
appreciated.”  She finished with the paperwork on the clipboard and gracefully
deposited it into her briefcase, and removed another stack of folders.  “As I
am sure you have noticed, she is a dreamer.  A genuinely good person, who tries
to believe the best about all people; hero and villain.  This sets her apart
from the rest of the Consortium, and we find her naiveté about the world rather
charming.”  She singed the bottom of one of the documents.  “In other words,
Fabricator, unlike us,” she shook her head sadly “she is not a monster.”

Wyatt wasn’t certain if the “us” in
question referred to the Consortium in general, or to Marian and himself
specifically, and opened his mouth to ask, but then realized he already knew
the answer.

She continued in her usual calm
matter-of-fact tone.  “I do not know what your intentions towards her are, but
if you hurt her in any way…if you try to drag her into the infinite darkness
along with you…” She looked up from the paperwork, and for the first time since
he’d known her, she focused her full attention on something:
him
.  She
met his gaze with utterly cold, emotionless, and strangely terrifying, blue
eyes.  “…we will be displeased with you.  
Most
displeased.” 

A chill ran up his spine as she calmly
issued the threat. 

Her eyes dropped back to the
paperwork she was filling in.  “Excellent.  I am so glad we had this
opportunity to chat about etymology.  We must do it again sometime soon…perhaps
at your
going away party
.”

Wyatt blinked at her.  Wow.  That
was kind of scary.  He hadn’t really been afraid of anyone here before, not for
all their displays of power or death threats, but he got the sudden sensation
that he should be very, very frightened of that woman for some reason.

He shook his head to clear it.

But no way was he going to hurt
Harlot.  She was…was…

As if on cue, Harlot practically
floated into the hallway.  The woman could move completely silently at times,
it was amazing.  She smiled at them both broadly.  “Hi guys!”  She looked up at
him.  “Were you waiting for me?”

“No.”  He said a little too
quickly, then backpedaled.  He stared down at her and his mind went blank.  She
was just so gorgeous…  He quickly averted his eyes in hopes that it would allow
him to think clearer.  It didn’t work.

Her eyebrows rose.  “…So why are
you out here then?”

He tried to casually lean against
the wall, but then realized it was silly, and tried to stop mid-action but had
already gone too far, and was thus stuck at a really awkward angle.  He
endeavored to look nonchalant as he tried to keep himself from falling over. 
“Nothing.  Just…just hangin’ with Marian, that’s all.”

Hangin’!?! 
What the fuck was
“Hangin’”!?!
  He had NEVER said “Hangin’” in his entire life! 
EVER!
 

Thankfully, Marian broke the
awkwardness.  “I require everyone pay me the sum of one dollar.  As I am part
of this organization, as well as a private individual now making a profit, I
fully disclose my conflict of interest in this matter.”  They squinted at her
but promptly each give her a dollar and signed her documents.  She nodded and
wrote something down.  “Congratulations, I am now your financial planner and
each of you now owns stock.”  She walked over to Harlot and handed her a slip
of paper.  “Congratulations; thank you for your business and good luck in your
investing future.”  She walked to him.  “Congratulations; thank you for your
business and good luck in your investing future.” And then she simply turned on
her sensible but old fashioned button boots, and left the room again.

Wyatt blinked after her. 
“That’s…uh…that’s a weird friend you have there.”

Harlot shrugged.  “You get used to
her.”  She frowned.  “What was it she had us sign again?”

He shrugged.  “No clue.  We probably
just signed away our souls or something.”

She cleared her throat.   “Oh hey, I
have to go rob a museum?”  The words came out sounding like a question for some
reason.

He was silent for a beat.  “…Uh-huh…” 
He looked at her again, and felt his mind go blank.  He quickly crossed his
arms over his chest, trying to look sure of himself and confident.  He could DO
this.  He was a fully functioning adult, not some awkward teenager!  …DAMMIT! 

She was a co-worker, and he could
stand here and have a nice talk with a co-worker and not get weird.  He was
capable of THAT at least.  Conversation wasn’t against the rules, only
getting
involved with her
.  He could look, but not touch.  As long as he realized
that their relationship couldn’t go
any
further.  He wasn’t willing to
risk dragging her down to his level.  She didn’t deserve that.  But that didn’t
mean he couldn’t talk to her as he slowly sank into the mire.  She could remain
safely out of its pull, and they could still be civil.

Nope.  Nothing wrong with that at
all.  In fact, it would be wrong NOT to talk to her.  Downright unfriendly
really.  And he shouldn’t be unfriendly to people,
especially
when they
were your host.  It was his duty as a guest to be as friendly and civil to her
as possible, just so that she wasn’t disenchanted with the world even quicker. 
If he avoided her, that could be the last straw which pushed her over the edge
and caused her to abandon all hope.  Knock her into the grime along with him. 
And he didn’t want that.  Best if he just
pretended
like everything was
nice and friendly between then, just so long as he was
sure
of his
motives, which of course, he WAS.  This had NOTHING to do with the fact that
she was amazing and he wanted to be close to her.  This was about making sure that
she didn’t lose faith.

“So, I have to go rob this museum…again?” 
She smiled at him.  “And I was wondering if maybe…”  The words came out in a
rush.  “….
you-wanted-to-come-with-me?”