Chapter Five: The Pariah’s Friend

The bar was a dimly lit place with a rather pleasant atmosphere.

The beer tasted of bitter glory, and a little piece of me felt new life as I gulped down the last of it. I’d hardly tasted the drink itself. I was still overcome by the fact that he’d actually let me buy it. For so long I’d given up even trying, I could hardly believe it.

I had to try again.

“E-Excuse me. Could I get another? Mack?” Unsurprisingly, I was ignored. Mack continued washing old beer mugs behind the counter without even turning towards me. I gripped the edge of the counter tightly.

Cool it Violette. He’s actually letting you stay so that might mean he’ll let you come back. Maybe…

“Uhm. Mack?” I asked tentatively.

“My name is Matt. How fucking hard is that?” The man glared at me as he rummaged through the refrigerator below for what would be my fourth beer. He had a particularly venomous tongue but at least he didn’t throw me out on my ass like most of them did.

“S-sorry. Matt,” I apologized through his glare, still feeling a little grateful for the real live store bought beer he’d sold me. It was difficult to hold back my thoughts, though. Of course he had to fuck with me a little. Everyone had their own sick way. I guessed this was his.

I guarantee you called yourself Mack. You’re badge says Ma– oh fuck it is Matt! God damn accent!

My eyes widened as realization swept over me. S-so? So he’d really–?

“Whatever. What do you want?” He said, his exasperation reaching a lower caliber.

I want someone to not look at me like that. Just… just one person.

“Could I get three?” I asked, timidly pointing at the empty bottle now sitting in front of me. “So you don’t have to c-come back over? I won’t be any trouble.”

He stared at me for a long time and then sighed, his eyes losing a bit of their hard edge. Perhaps it was something in my posture, but he relented, the hate fading to something else entirely. “Yeah. Just a sec. And sorry. That was uncalled for.”

I tried not to gape, but I don’t think I quite succeeded.

He’s like a unicorn.

The thought was irrational but it was the first thing that came to my mind. I squashed it down but a part of me wanted to tear up. Kindness like that was so rare I thought I might kiss him. Of course then he would definitely throw me out, so I just sat quietly while he peeled the caps off my three beers, and tried not to notice the glares I received from other patrons occupying the seedy establishment.

The last two would probably be warm by the time I started drinking them, but that was better than annoying the one person willing to actually talk to me.

My self-esteem was not doing well.

“You’re… very kind,” I stuttered.

“Even you probably don’t deserve all the hate you get. It’s hard to believe you’re even the same person I used to see on the TV all those years ago. Shit, you probably need these more than any of us,” He said as he resumed cleaning the mugs.

I did tear up then. I couldn’t help it.

“Th-thank you.” I sniffed, mentally trying to ignore the burn marks he bore on his arm, his bald head, and his myriad of tattoos. To me, he was the most beautiful person I’d met in years. People like him were why I still even tried at all.

“Shit woman, it’s just beer,” he said, surprised as I took a gulp of one of the bottles and tried to hide my face behind it.

“Not to me. I…” My jaw trembled. How long had it been since I’d even managed to walk into a public place without being threatened? I couldn’t even get drunk except in the safety of my home, which made it a bad time to have become an alcoholic. More bartenders had served me drinks after spitting in them than I cared to admit.

It’s not even original anymore but every last one of them has to do it with that smug look, like they’d just played the cleverest prank in the world.

Was I bitter? Noooo…

“Hmmph. I remember when your speeches could stir up a crowd of millions. When I was a kid you were an inspiration. For that, you at least deserve a fucking Bud,” he breathed. “God, what has happened to you anyway?”

Wait, he’s still talking to me?

“I’ve had a few bad years,” my throat was scratchy and raw from the long periods of silence spent pouring endlessly over documents. Maybe a few too many cigarettes. All I’d wanted back in college was my research. It was all I was allowed now, not that anyone would ever listen to a word I said.

“Nothing you don’t deserve,” He said, but there wasn’t any malice in it. He corrected himself immediately after. “Nah, didn’t deserve. You’ve probably paid for it by now.”

I flinched anyway and took another gulp. It slid so smoothly down my throat. Something about having it anywhere but my cold dank home made it seem like the best drink I’d ever had. I tried to cherish it, and ignore the lump of guilt in my throat.

Hear something long enough and you start to believe it.

I wanted to be defensive. To tell him it wasn’t my fault. To… dammit, to stand up for myself again! The energy was gone though. The fight had left me. I’d screamed and hollered for long enough and I would never stop being blamed. The world over, blamed, and still not even sure what had happened.

“I suppose not,” I admitted ruefully. “I’m… sorry. About your arm I mean. It was probably my fault after all.”

He shook his head and grinned at that. “You kiddin? This was my dumbass fault. Don’t you go taking credit. ‘Sides. Ladies dig burns.”

Now that is a straight lie.

I didn’t say that though. Instead I asked politely, “You don’t blame me?”

“Lady, do you blame the zookeeper if a kid gets his hand bitten off because he kept sticking it in the tiger pen?” The question was obviously rhetorical because he continued right on. “Heh. Yeah, you do, maybe a little. But just because ya want someone to blame. This though? My fault. Got these burns playin’ Hotrush.”

“Hot… rush?” I asked. I couldn’t help it. The man gave another roguish grin and I found myself blushing. The word had a dirty implication to it, but after so long alone, I couldn’t deny a little curiosity.

“Yeah. Good times. See Hotrush was back when they still sold cars with sunroofs. It was a race, obviously, but ya had to do it at noon. Two cars zipping down the drag. You’re driving with one hand, while the other holds up a big piece of cardboard to block the sun from your open sunroof! Heh. I still fucking won the race but my damn cardboard caught on fire.”

“That sounds…”

Unbelievably stupid.

“Unbelievably stupid,” He said. I blinked as his words perfectly mirrored my thoughts. “Yeah. It was, but it was a thrill and I was twenty five. We still thought it was all global warming at that point. Sides, it can’t possibly be more stupid than building the machine that broke the sun.”

“Y-yes.” Okay. So maybe not a unicorn. The little barbs hurt though. Maybe even more than outright insults. At least he was still talking with me.

God I’m so pathetic.

He couldn’t be a day over thirty five now. A young man, he would’ve been handsome without the scars. His dark skin did make them a bit less noticeable though. He was at least ten years my junior. From this story, I couldn’t help but think that my sister’s ten year old must’ve been smarter than him.

But then… my sister hadn’t talked to me in ten years either so the point was moot. He was here. He would talk to me, and I would shut up and be grateful for the brief moments of human interaction that I could enjoy without a headset and the internet to hide behind.

“Sorry,” He said genuinely, stunning me all over again. “That was cruel. I like to think I’m better than that. All those damn court hearings about you coloring my opinion. I’m Matthew Scapel. That’s scuh-pel. Not scalpel, got it?”

He stuck out his hand at me, and I flinched, preparing to summon my Sunsoul.

He hesitated, his eyes going piteous and soft. “I’d never hit a woman, Ma’am.”

I stared at it like an adder, hardly even recognizing the gesture. It had been over ten years since I’d seen it directed my way after all.

“Friends?” He asked.

I continued staring, a little dumbfounded. A little disbelieving.

He grabbed his good right arm with his burned left one to hold it up, acting like it was straining him to hold it out for so long. “Kiiinda leaving me hanging here, Doctor.”

Joking. This man was joking with me. With me! Like. Like a friend would.

I practically lunged for his hand to shake it. “Y-Yes! God, yes!”

He laughed. It was a pleasant laugh after all.

“Well, I best get back to it. Night crowd is about to pick up here in the next hour or two, and much as I have no problem with you, might start scaring away customers if they see me chatting you up for too long. I mean no offence, but I got a business.”

I tried to hide the crestfallen look that I knew must’ve been screaming from my eyes. I failed miserably. Even my nephews and nieces seemed to hate me these days. That I could make a friend with some random man at the bar was practically ludicrous. I shouldn’t have gotten my hopes up.

“But…” He said with a smile. Maybe he did just pity me, but he seemed genuine. “I got no problem with you comin’ in early like this. Chatting with me about Hotrush. Whatever. You can grab a beer any time. Something harder if you’re feeling frisky.”

His grin had a bit of a leer in it, but it wasn’t creepy. I wasn’t exactly beautiful anymore but at 47, with nothing but working out, studying, and an addiction to online games to occupy my time, I was more fit than average. I got the feeling that he might honestly be attracted to me.

I’d never considered a younger man before. Before I knew it I was appraising him in the same way. The burns weren’t nearly as bad as I’d thought and he did have a nice smile and kind eyes. Then again, he had insulted me more than once already. Perhaps he was just a kinder brand of cruel.

I took the plunge and grinned at him anyway. Who was I kidding? An open invitation, even as limiting as it was, forcing me to come in early, was more than I’d ever hoped for.

“G-gladly.” I replied. I must’ve looked like a kicked puppy, the way his grin turned from appraisal to pity. “No guarantees on being frisky, though.”

He laughed again before he grabbed one of my beers and clinked it against the one in my hand before taking a gulp. “Cheers,” He said before setting it back down, then sliding it over towards me.

I eyed the bottle.

Long experience with people openly spitting in whatever I ordered had accustomed me to that sort of thing but it normally came in a much more insulting and humiliating way than this. I didn’t know what this was.

“I… Uh…”

“Now you’ve got to kiss me to get your third beer,” he said with a wink.

Oh. Ohh!

“I… don’t know what to say.”

“Heh, sorry. Friends tell me I’m a little too forward sometimes. I’ll get you another if you want.” He said with a wink. Then abruptly his tone, and topic, changed. “My patrons are a little grungy but most of ’em probably won’t care about you too much as long as you don’t stick around for the high times, which I figure you weren’t planning on anyway.”

Well. That is true I suppose.

“In… in that case, it’s been wonderful to meet you. I’ll gladly come back.”

I made a point of picking up the bottle he’d drank from and took a drink. A tingle of dread crept up my spine as I did. Could he have slipped a pill inside it somehow? Could he drug me that way? He wouldn’t be the first to try. People were vicious and vindictive.

Why did I come out without a disguise again? It had seemed so important to me back in my apartment.

The alcohol hit the spot marvelously and five minutes later I was still sipping on the same beer he’d given me, even though he’d walked away to start cleaning things at the far end of the bar. Nothing was happening. No drowsiness or weariness. No sluggish feeling; well, no more than expected with alcohol.

I could never be called a large woman and my tolerance for even light beer was somewhere around that of a four year old. That fact had made it very cheap and easy to become an alcoholic after my Helios had failed. Then it became almost impossible to stay an alcoholic when people started throwing rocks at me.

I was a genius. Simple fact. Equally factual, I was easily intimidated. I was afraid of people. I hated being embarrassed, humiliated and I couldn’t even show my face without one or both happening. Being chased or beaten was rarer, but I was small and pitiful, and now, old…

…so my bones had only been broken twice.

Gaming was the one business that had truly flourished in the wake of My-Fucking-Folly. People wanted to escape the world I’d made. I was no exception, but I took shut-in to a new level. I’d managed to go six months without once leaving my house for fear of being kidnapped, beaten, or worse. I’d learned to wear wigs and had a collection of them. I’d even forced myself to learn a few accents to keep anyone from recognizing me.

But today, I’d wanted to be me. Just once. Just to try one more time.

A surly old man in the corner glared at me from his booth, and I got the feeling another man hidden behind the seat was whispering about me. Around a small pool table, the players were ignoring their game in favor of a lively conversation. Two young men and a moderately attractive woman were all glancing at me out the corners of their eyes.

Some old song from the last century was playing, a song old even when I was young. It was soft and mellow which seemed a little unusual. I could tell this bar was the sort of place where half the people came to dance in a decent sized crowd as soon as it was late enough.

But for me, there were glares. Only glares. It seemed it had only taken eight or nine years for the hatred to simmer down. At least a little. Enough that I could pretend to be a real person again. I almost beamed. Moving to this city really had been the best idea.

Abruptly the television in the upper left corner changed from a football game to some sort of bulletin. “Hello folks, I’m Chester LeNight, channel fourteen, live from New York’s own Telanex Incorporated, here with Doctor Chandra Scarlatte.”

My meek appearance turned to ice. Scarlatte… that asshole!

I seethed, hackles rising almost before I could realize it. I quelled the Sunsoul that was filling me, aching to reach out and crack the television so I didn’t have to watch.

“God, I’d like to wring her fucking neck.” I hissed under my breath.

“Don’t like her much, Doctor?”

I jumped, startled, anger draining from me instantly as I realized Matt had made his way back over to me. Then, comprehending what he’d called me, I winced. “Please don’t call me that.”

He blinked, genuine concern on his face before realization seemed to cross his features. “Oh. Yeah, I’m sorry. It’s just, you’ll always be Dr. Fontaine to me. To everyone really. What would you prefer?”

“Violette. Just Violette is fine with me,” I said softly. “When they revoked my Doctorate…”

I’d been crushed. I still feel crushed every time I think of it.

He seemed to catch my tone and changed the subject with a grin. He had a quick wit. “Your first name is Violette? I mean, yeah. V. B. Fontaine, but I never thought the V was something so… girly.”

I surprised myself by laughing. “I didn’t pick my name, you know. My mother wanted me to be an opera singer. I have a marvelous voice.” I bragged, with a flirtatious tone, but then sobered. “When I discovered Sunsoul it… changed things.”

Changed me. An eleven year old girl cutting through college courses like a knife through cake.

I knew Sunsoul better than anyone. It came naturally to me, as it should to anyone who would use it. Scarlatte’s towers amplified it. They projected it outwards in a way that turned it into a barrier against the natural Sunlight and Sunsoul that had begun burning the earth to a crisp ever since the Helios Array had… broken it. But they did more than that. In its raw form, when manipulated by a person like Scarlatte or myself, Sunsoul was a miracle hiding in a sunbeam. It could power electronic devices, grant warping abilities, energy beams, shields, and even more esoteric abilities like DNA manipulation. I’d given a certain type of tree the ability to absorb it once, and now that tree’s species was one of the only green things left growing in Central America. And I’d done that on a fucking whim.

It touched people in a way that storied magic had only managed in the past, and once I had proven it was real, everyone wanted a piece. Facilities dedicated to testing the ability were built. Schools built telescope rooms and devoted whole class blocks to astronomy. People were entranced. It was the magic we had all dreamed about as children, come to life in the palm of my hand.

The Helios Array made it horrifying after that. Then Scarlatte’s towers offered a solution to the problem and brought all the magic back again. They took that magic, that sunbeam miracle, and refined it. Amazing as it was in its raw form, the towers made it into a true miracle, though they weren’t solving the problem. I hated her for them, and hated that I hadn’t come up with them in equal measure. Maybe I could’ve been forgiven, if they had been mine. Maybe I could’ve been a person again. Maybe, with her influence I could’ve stopped the coming dark instead of building a playground for the rich and the lucky to watch the rest of the world burn under.

Stupid old woman.

“I don’t know a lick about Sunsoul. I’m more interested in your Opera skills. Care to prove em?” Matt piped up, distracting me from my brooding. “I got a mic, you know. We have karaoke nights too. Usually it’s the college kids who go for that sort of thing but I won’t complain.”

I stiffened. “Um… they. They would probably start throwing things at me no matter how good I was.”

The group at the pool table seemed to be including Matt in their glares now.

“…at you, too. Shit. I’m scaring your customers away, already,” I said, downheartedly.

“Eh, these folks aren’t going anywhere else. There’s no good bar between here and South Arbor, and they ain’t walkin’ that far. Like I said, hour or two I might have to hold my distance but you are welcome ta’ come here.”

He was apparently feeling more comfortable as his pleasant tenor voice had slipped into a more slang version of itself. Despite the occasional trouble understanding a word or two, I found myself liking it. Liking him.

“Thank you. Really. It means more than you could know, to find someone who doesn’t blame me.”

“I don’t think you’d have built the Array if you’d known all that would come of it,” he replied. “Yeah. You deserved a slap on the wrist like all hell, but ten years of one when you were already beating yourself up over it?”

I flushed. He had to bring that up.

That damn night.

Fifteen years ago… five years before anyone else figured it out, I knew that this heat would come. I’d predicted the tear in the blue sky where only white sunlight shone through, the ozone ripping. The night I’d realized that not only had the Array been lost, but that it had doomed us all, I had gotten drunk.

Very. Publically.

That was the start of what had led me to becoming a middle aged woman starved for attention, addicted to alcohol, and hated by nearly everyone. By that point I’d become somewhat of a celebrity, youngest ever inventor of a new type of spacecraft and all, not to mention my discovery of Sunsoul and ways I could use it.

If only I hadn’t had that god-forsaken flu. Then I would’ve been on the Array, dead with the rest of them. Better dead, and knowing what went wrong than this, the living destroyer of the world. Put like that, it was a wonder I wasn’t in jail.

“Do you have to say it like that? I made an idiot of myself, I know already.”

“Wasn’t talking about the Drinking vid, Violette. Anyone could tell you wished like hell you were on that ship. You have more sympathizers than you’d suspect, but by that point you’d become a hermit. I didn’t know you’d moved here.”

“That… was a more recent thing,” I replied. “New York was getting dangerous for me. They – the government, that is – relocated me here. Safer near the border, and I wanted to see Tellroan.”

He seemed to catch the heat in my eyes and met mine with his own. God did he have pleasant eyes, dark as the sky at night.

“But you hate Scarlatte? Hey, you were her protégé right? Are you going to be there when they activate it?”

“It was the other way around. She was my student. No one believes it, though, because she’s older than dirt. I taught that old hag everything she knows, and when the Array failed, she threw me to the dogs then used my corpse to gather all the support she needed. She blamed me for everything that went wrong, insisting on her god-damned towers, and amazing as they are, they won’t save us. She’s a greedy fool.”

A fool was the least of what she was. The Towers. I’d seen her mad blue-prints. Yes. They did such amazing things. They would absorb Sunsoul in the same way the Array had, and then distribute it, sheltering any beneath their light.

But their real purpose…? And the cost to the unlucky Seer? I shuddered, in equal parts fear and disgust.

A stop-gap, a patchwork solution when they should be mounting a mission to the Array! I could fix this! I could stop it! I know I could!

But no. No one trusted me anymore. The best I could do was watch as the world baked, and prepare for the endless night to come…

I stared at the tower and Scarlatte without hearing her words, filled with loathing. I was so transfixed I didn’t notice when Matt quietly excused himself.