Friends, Enemies, and Long-Distance Calls

Friends may come and go, but enemies accumulate.

-Thomas Jones

There was no way I was just going to walk away from Westside, not after the shit that went down in there. But time passed, and nothing came in but teenagers thinking the place was haunted, so I just glanced in as I passed sometimes and went on with life. The place felt new and clean - side effect of my rather liberal application of the Pattern, I suppose - and the remains of the factory had been razed anyway, so I was fairly satisfied.

Well, except for the need to have all that done for the place to be clean again.

Something stirred up the cops, and they started poking into my affairs again. The old case files came out of the closet, and some overzealous detective decided to look into my business records and question me on my money, my trips out of town, and the death of Fallia. Greaaaaat. I kept giving them the same old story, and they kept not quite believing me.

And then there’s that little bastard Dane.

With Hunter gone, I was having a hell of a time finding a good left winger. This meant it was easier to get past us and score - and harder for us to score. Dane had a field day - every time he won, he got a little more smug. With the cops on one side and Dane on the other, I had to smile and grit my teeth and show that I wasn’t taking grudges off the ice (even though I was) - so Dane decided his new hobby was trying to push my buttons off-ice as well as on. Despite the increasing urge to strangle the little bastard, I continued to play good little citizen - I even managed to not go find a Shadow of Dane and beat the shit out of it.

The games got rougher the more times we lost - but I expected that, especially since I was one of the ones getting more dangerous. It was bad enough that our games started gaining notoriety - we picked up more and more spectators as word got around that our games routinely looked like battle zones, blood and all. I have to wonder now if that was part of Dane’s plan...

I’ll get to that.

The other word on the ice was that Dane was letting up a little on other teams; apparently he wasn’t giving them quite as much of a hard time as he used to. Saving it all for me, I guess. I checked it out one time and almost got a puck to the head (courtesy of, who else, Dane) for my trouble - but the word was right. He wasn’t quite as much of a prick towards the other team.

The other piece of strangeness to crop up in my life was the distance that rose between myself and Boris and Darius. It looked like most of it was just them stressing over knowing weird shit and not being able to talk about it, so I dropped a few hints that they could come talk to me. Boris was more bothered, so I ended up concentrating on him; of course, ‘dropping hints’ for me is more along the lines of saying, "You know you can come talk to me, right?"

It took several tries - and the purposeful ignoring of his brush-offs - before I got results - and damn did I get results.

"FINE, Ori, lets 'talk'... Let's talk about how somehow the factory got invaded by... WHAT? What were those things? Where did they come from? HOW did you know where to find us?"

Ohshit. He actually wanted answers.

I told him that I didn’t know where to find them, but that I had intended to keep looking until I did - and that I had no more idea of what those things were than he did. But that wasn’t enough.

"You don't understand my question... how did you FIND us? How did you get to the center of the complex, uncaptured? Darius is no wimp, and I am an old sneaky son of a bitch, but they got us in under 2 minutes - tops. How is it that YOU managed to make it all the way in? And I am not talking about those poor bastards that used to be my friends and coworkers - I am talking about those black winged things... and the people in the robes.

"And that fall! That was THREE STORIES... onto supply crates! You should have had your back broken by that! And then, when Hunter gets us out... The only four to make it out alive, not counting you two... He goes back in, the place implodes, and you both die in front of our eyes - that is until YOU show up a couple days later, looking fine for a corpse, and assuring us that it is ‘over’ and it ‘won't be back.’ HOW DO YOU KNOW, ORIANA?! How did you stop it? And now you say you ‘don't know what they were or where they came from.’ Well, that day you rose from the grave you sounded like someone who knew something!"

Shitshitshit.

For a moment or two, the only thoughts running through my head were, "Trust no one, tell no one," and "He’s a friend, damnit."

And then there were the answers - because I’m not from around here, and I don’t know what those things were, and yes I know that was three stories, thank you for telling me what I landed on. And I misspoke when I said it wouldn’t be back, because I knew what I meant but I couldn’t say it and I was still a little rattled from what had happened myself - and I stopped it by throwing the Pattern at it until it went away.

But I couldn’t say all that.

I tried to get him to promise not to tell anyone what I was about to say, but he didn’t trust me enough to do it before he heard my answer. Oh, yeah, that’s going to work well. I probably stressed the fact that it’s possible for information to be ripped right from your mind a little too hard... but better he be aware of that risk, at least. But we weren’t getting where I needed him to be - safe and sane, preferably, but with enough knowledge not to drive him away.

It’s a damned fine line. And I’ve never been good at not bending the rules a little.

I know the moment I decided that I had to tell him more than I’d originally intended. He asked how I’d been sleeping. I told him the truth - some odd dreams, but fine otherwise. He replied, "You're lucky, then. Me, I have nightmares. I wake up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat. I keep dreaming that I am back... there. Or that they are coming after me, because I wasn't supposed to escape and they wanted to finish the job. Half the time they do - those are the bad ones. I don't know why this happened to me in the first place, why I was spared, or why it wouldn't happen again."

I guess that’s when it really sank in - I’m responsible for him now. I mean, there was no way I could get away with half-truths, because he’s known me long enough to see them. Well, and he saw me fall three stories and live through an explosion and come back looking just fine. He knew things, things I’d never have told him on my own, and there was no going back on that. And yet - he was still willing to be bullied into talking to me, and even if he didn’t really trust me, he was willing to listen. It’s like one of those trial-by-fire things, I guess. I don’t know - maybe I’m just feeling warm towards him now because I’ve got someone to talk to besides Father.

I ended up dragging his ass a few steps into Shadow - well, okay, a thaw, a forest, and a mountainside away, but not too far. He was a little startled - I expected that - but took it pretty well. I told him that I really wasn’t from around here, and that my ability to move in Shadow was an effect of power and my family connections - well, it’s true, isn’t it? - but I didn’t tell him much more about the Family. I did, however, assure him that the factory wasn’t the fault of anyone in the Family. And then the unexplainable happened.

I got a fucking Trump call.

There aren’t supposed to be Trumps of me. Father didn’t think they could even be created by anyone except that Dworkin person - who might or might not be dead. How the hell did I get a Trump call?

I wanted to know who it was - but I didn’t dare answer because it wasn’t supposed to be happening. I almost wondered if it was Father - but I figured that if it was, he’d understand if I didn’t take the call and then called to talk to him later. I blocked it - I think, from what Father had said, the contact was kind of faint, and I’m pretty sure that it shouldn’t have been as easy as it was to block. I almost didn’t have to work to block it - like the person calling gave up as soon as I realized I was being Trumped.

Oh, that’s so not good.

I had to take a second to explain to Boris what had just happened, since I kind of spaced out on him. He inadvertently reminded me of Father while we talked about it - but I didn’t tell him who he reminded me of. He finally gave me my promise after that, and we headed Home.

He had a couple of other questions, both along the way and when we got back and I stood him a few drinks. Okay, one of the questions was just silly - he teased that the person he had reminded me of was a ‘dashing older lover’ that I’d ‘pined over for years.’ Uh... close, but not quite, Boris.

The others - whether it’d been me that killed Fallia, and whether Hunter was from here or another Shadow - I answered with the truth. And I made sure this time to make clear that he can come talk to me any time, and that I really, really needed to know if other weird shit happened or if someone came around asking questions about me. He talked me out of a discussion similar to the one we’d just had with Darius - and I have to admit I caved as soon as he mentioned that Darius talks when he’s drunk. I didn’t know that.

I don’t remember seeing any of Dane’s boys at the bar where we stopped - but I find myself hoping they were there, or that they just saw us before we split up to go home. Because the other alternative is that someone was following us - through Shadow, and in Isbrann. If it’s the latter, I may have to take Boris with me when I leave in order to save his life. Oh, and that will mean my explanation to Father will come much sooner than I’d rather.

At least I have an explanation already. If I hadn’t pushed Boris into talking to me, and extracted that promise from him, it’s possible the friendship would have ended. And ended friendships don’t bode too well for secrets like ‘I saw you fall three stories and survive.’ So if I had decided not to tell him, he would have been a bigger security risk than he is with the relatively tiny amount of knowledge he now has.

Let’s hope Father believes that...

And then I got my next surprise of the day - some bastard had searched my place while I was gone. Whoever it was was a real pro, too; there’s no way the local cops can be blamed for this one. They even got into my safes - although fortunately, I had all the important stuff on my person. I tried calling Father once I checked to see if anything was missing, but he was busy with a bit of a storm and some large vermin, so I headed to bed with the intention of trying again the next day.

My sleep was troubled that night - not that it was that great last night, either. I didn’t really have nightmares from the shit in the factory - but that night I dreamed of low, ominous chanting and distant barking dogs, with a scream or two dropped in for variety. Joy.

I woke up suddenly, a couple of hours before sunrise - in a cold sweat from the nightmares, sleep-muddled, and edgy as all hell. My bedroom was clear, though, as was the rest of the house when I checked.

Then the phone rang. Scared the shit out of me. I picked it up; no answer, so I hung up. It rang again; same deal. The third time, I let it ring a while before I picked it up and snapped, "Who." But this time I stayed on the line.

After a moment, I heard a chuckle, and a voice I don’t know said, "I told you, they know where you are now, Rising Sun. They can reach you at any time and place... they have your Image."

Riiiiight. Hello, Blade of Chaos, how’s it going?

They have my Image, huh? Father said that sounded like a Trump description to him. Yeah, greaaaaaat. Now I’m really glad I didn’t take that Trump call...

Blade warned me that someone had sabotaged my skates, and that I probably shouldn’t go to the game. Yeah, well, it takes more than a mysterious voice over the phone to make me stay home from a game, especially a grudge match against Dane. I did check the skates, after I got off the phone - and some smartass thought it was a good idea to file away the supports and putty them up to look normal. Dane is a good bet for who did it, since Blade asked how much I knew about him - and Father agreed that it was probably Dane’s fault. Not to mention that it was too damned convenient to have skates that will give out during the game show up the night before a game with the boy.

The next speech was a little more cryptic. "I give you one last piece of advice... avoid the Hounds, or Kill their Huntsmaster. They MAY be able to take you, but he should not... Trust not your good steel either, for they are not human. This is the last warning I give. When next we meet, you will recognize me with your dying breath. Again, I reiterate that this is not personal, but a contract has been called, and should the others not do their job, the reward is mine to claim. Understand I hold you in the greatest respect as a former sister in arms. This, however, will not stay my hand."

Greaaaaat.

So not only should I avoid these mysterious Hounds or find and kill this equally mysterious Huntsmaster - but by the way, there’s a contract out on my head, and Blade will eventually be the one trying to fill it. And even better - I asked, and he claims that he isn’t Hunter, and he isn’t whoever that was in green that carried me. Oh, and I’m starting to wonder a little - he keeps stressing that he respects me. I wasn’t aware it needed that much emphasis. Maybe he’s trying to convince himself?

That was the end of the conversation; I checked my skates, then tried calling Father again. This time he didn’t have weather or infestation issues, so I filled him in on what I’d learned from Blade and the Trump call earlier - although I didn’t mention the circumstances surrounding the call. After talking to Blade over the phone, I realized that it would be a good idea to hand over that note from right after the factory incident - but when I went to get it, I discovered that someone had switched out the note for an iron dagger. A perfectly balanced, ornate in an artsy way, single-piece iron dagger.

Nice dagger - but lousy way to get it. Especially since I was asleep, in my bed, while the switch took place. The safe I stored the note in is the one under my bed. Either I was sleeping more soundly than usual despite the nightmares, or whoever pulled the switch (I’m betting on Blade) is damned good...

We discussed the warnings Blade had given me, and Father offered me sanctuary in Diega if I wanted it - he said he didn’t like his addition of visible threats and asked if I had thought of leaving Isbrann. I turned him down then... I’m beginning to think I might yet take him up on the offer, though - my math is uglier than his, at least until he answers when I call him.

I think he was making a couple of jokes at the end, but if so, they were in reference to something I haven’t encountered. I’ll have to ask him what he meant when he said, "Funny, you don’t look Japanese," and "Banzai!" I definitely need to spend more time around him if I want to understand some of his jokes...

I managed to get a few more hours of sleep after that. And I still went to the game - but I picked up a pair of identical but unsabotaged skates before I headed to the ice. It takes more than a vague warning to make me miss a game - and I had a plan. I told the guys to make it a war of attrition game; I claimed I wanted some breathing space, and the only way I could figure to do that was to wipe out his team for a few weeks. I made sure to mention that they should try not to knock themselves out of the game at the same time.

Of course, the real reason for the attrition was to take out Dane’s backup so that I could keep a closer eye on the little bastard. I was hoping he’d crack and reveal himself when the skates didn’t go; if he didn’t - well, at least his buddies couldn’t hold me down for him.

The game was rough, like I expected. The boys did a pretty good job of knocking Dane’s guys out, but Dane was still getting around me. That shouldn’t have been the case - I was playing up on the high end of my limit, which is way down on the scale of where I could play but still in the upper limits of the locals. Dane can keep up - but he shouldn’t have been able to keep up quite as easily as he did.

After a while, Dane called a time-out. The boys didn’t have any real input, and I was fine with the way things were going; I figured Dane thought he had something up his sleeve. It didn’t take long to figure it out - his guys started nailing Boris left and right. I pulled Boris aside as soon as it was clear what Dane was doing; Dane thought it was cute to ask if Boris had had too much to drink with his girlfriend the night before - I can only assume that meant me. I really wish I knew if he had followed us, or if it’s just that one of his boys saw us at the bar. I offered to have the guys buffer Boris a little, but he didn’t want help.

I probably should have ignored him.

I turned up the heat a little, but that didn’t faze Dane. His boys kept after Boris, and I kept after Dane. Then I saw three of Dane’s boys hit Boris, flipping him up and over backwards so that he twisted in midair - and Dane himself spun around too fast for the skill level he’s supposed to be at, with his stick up and heading for my head.

Shit.

I managed to both avoid the stick and make it look like I’d tripped or something for the audience. But I still have to wonder if that wasn’t part of Dane’s plan. What came next was too well-thought-out to be impromptu - but then why sabotage the skates? He couldn’t have known I’d find the sabotage before the game. Unless - shit. Unless Dane and Blade are working together, and Blade’s warning me was part of the plan. Then... Shit. I still need more information. But I think Father’s right that Blade wants the job himself, which means that his working with Dane wouldn’t make sense. And I guess I shouldn’t discount the idea that Dane had a backup plan in place. I don’t like this.

Anyway.

I didn’t stop fast enough, and ran right into Dane. He landed on top of me - yeah, that was not where I wanted him, so I immediately started trying to get him off. He, unfortunately, had another agenda. He pulled me over on top of him, and then - shit. His face changed, and he looked like that little fucker that ordered the hit on Mom and my uncles and I - Senior Fallia. "Say hello to your family for me," he said.

Shit.

I wanted away. Off, off, off. I didn’t care to know more, I wanted off of Dane and away from him. But he still had a hold on me, and he wasn’t done yet. His face changed again, this time back to the usual Dane face, only beaten and cut. Then the whistle blew - and Dane, in my voice, shouted, "I'll KILL you, Fallia! I will not rest until you are DEAD for what your Uncle did to my family!"

Yeah, okay, it’s not any big secret or anything - that spooked the hell out of me. There aren’t supposed to be people who can change their faces like that in Isbrann. There is no way Dane should know how to push those buttons on me. And there’s no fucking way Dane should have had so much damage from the struggle we had - I mean, a bruised face, blood from his mouth, a leg so badly broken that it was sticking out of the skin? I didn’t have time to do that.

And his grip - he shouldn’t have been able to hold me like that. I didn’t dare push my luck and just break his grip like I could have - but that grip was too strong to belong to a local. If we hadn’t had the audience - I wouldn’t have even broken a sweat getting loose. But we had a crowd, and officials and teams headed our direction.

I was, as I said, spooked by the time I got loose. Some of my guys and some of Dane’s pulled me back and held me off Dane while an official inspected the damage. I’m sure my guys thought I’d lost my mind - one of Dane’s flunkies was accusing me of trying to kill Dane, and Cortez was asking what had happened, and all I was doing was shaking my head and saying I didn’t know. I ended up back on the bench until the cops came; Boris wasn’t moving, and Dane obviously wasn’t going anywhere in his condition, and stretchers were coming for both of them. Byron asked why I didn’t finish it, and I gave him the best answer I could - that I didn’t remember starting it.

At the station, I met with the delightful Detective Taggart, who firmly believes that I’m a smuggler and a crime boss and that he’ll be able to prove this some day. He did give me some information - Dane’s full name, which is Dane Armonio Fallia, or Dane Armano, depending on whether we’re talking birth name or not.

I’m not sure, actually, that I believe he’s Fallia’s nephew. Fallia’s nephew shouldn’t be able to change his face like that. Fallia’s nephew should be a local. I’ll have to ask Father if he knows whether Fallia even had a nephew, because I know he didn’t have children.

I eventually got out of the station with nothing more than a restraining order. A restraining order? What the hell? All that set-up, and then nothing? It makes me think there’s a deeper game going on - and I’m not as good at those as I should be. I really wish Father would take my calls...

Oh, and there was mention of a missing teenager; I didn’t think much of it at the time.

Once they let me go, I headed over to the hospital to check on Boris; it wasn’t as bad as I had feared. He had a good knot on his head, a dislocated shoulder, and some cracked ribs, but otherwise he was fine. At least something didn’t go completely wrong...

Kendrick was the only other one there; Boris kicked him out for a while as soon as he got a good look at me. I guess I looked more spooked than I’d realized. I filled him in on what happened on the ice, and we discussed Dane a little. He requested that if I leave - which I mentioned was a possibility - would I please take Dane out before I took off? Yeah, Boris. Don’t worry about it. If he’s smart, the little bastard’s already started running.

I hope he read my warning right - but I don’t think he did. I said, "If I didn't think it'd cause too many problems, I'd haul your ass with me." He joked about bringing the rest of the guys - but I hope he understood that if it ever comes down to a choice between his life and the problems I was talking about (little things like his four brothers, time streams, and explaining what I’d done to Father), his life is going to come first and he’s going to go on the trip of a lifetime.

Anyway.

A nurse came in to give Boris some medication, and she brought the evening paper with her. The article about me was unwelcome, but not unexpected. The other one to catch my attention was about a missing teen - one found torn apart by a dog of some sort, possibly a dire wolf. Shit. It had to be those Hounds Blade had warned me about. That is so not good. I left a few minutes after that, but I warned Boris not to mess with any strange dogs. Hope he gets the idea...

I gave Father a call when I got back, but he was busy. I’m guessing he was with Family, and someone other than Gerard and Julian, since he said, "Sorry, Julian, kinda busy at the moment. I will fill you in later." Well, obviously it wasn’t Julian; that would be absurd. And I figure it wasn’t Gerard, because Gerard knows about me.

I headed to bed after that. It was another bad night; shit, one more time and it’ll start being a habit. Low chanting again, with dogs, but the images of candles and blood were new additions. Well, shit. I checked the house again when I got up, but I’m beginning to think that my house is not where I need to worry about intruders.

I just tried Father again, but he’s not even answering now. I guess he’s busy with something; I’m not sure what he’d be doing that he wasn’t able to take my earlier call and didn’t answer this time, but I’ll try and find out later. Probably something with one of my aunts or uncles, given the way he responded last night. I’d really like to talk to him, but it’s not a huge emergency - I don’t think I’m going to lose breathing privileges in the next few minutes - so I’ll just try him again later instead of trying Gerard.

Well, writing this isn’t going to get me to breakfast any faster; it’s probably past time I started the day. I don’t think the guys are going to talk me into going out on the ice, though. Not today. And - hell, why not? I’ll carry that iron dagger for a while. Those dreams are putting me more on edge, and making me think of the Hounds I was warned about, and that article in the paper didn’t help. Don’t trust steel, Blade said - so we’ll see if iron will serve instead.

Ohhhhh, I don’t like this at all.