Chapter 11: My Name, Darling, IS REQUIEM

Requiem entered the small shop on the southern-end of Anker Town—not that she had a choice, it was the only one of its kind in this pathetic town—and looked frantically around her. There was no one in the room.

“Oh, Jason, counter-boy? Where in God’s name have you run off to?”

Requiem didn’t like to be kept waiting. She tapped her foot with impatience and rested her arm on the wooden countertop. All around her, cages buzzed with life. Some moved, some shook, and others sat still and silent.

She needed to see him. She always did after such a horrible dream. She had dreamt herself in an Amazonian jungle, on a hot, humid day. She had been chased by a giant pig with a human’s face, or was it a giant human with a pig’s face? The exactness of it she couldn’t recall.

When I get my hands on that Pig-faced horse of a woman, I’m going to strangle her!

The dream was both the most humiliating and terrifying Requiem’s brain had ever had the misfortune of conjuring. For miles she had run from it, listening to it oink, hearing it taunt her. She had even tried to shut down its mind with telepathy. But in her dream, her powers were ineffective, and it kept charging at her, and charging at her. She had woken screaming, sweating, and furious.

She heard a door creak behind her, and she turned to glance in its direction. A young man no older than twenty-four exited with a look of disappointment on his face. He was short, with curly-brown hair and deep blue eyes.

“Oh, it’s you again, is it?”

Requiem was in too much of a rush. She needed to see him now! She would waste no time making small talk with this buffoon.

“Darling, release him—now! I can wait no longer.”

The man sighed and lifted a key chain off his belt. The jangling keys were one of the only sounds in this quiet part of the shop.

He disappeared through another door behind Requiem and closed it. For seconds that felt like days, Requiem waited while her excitement grew. Finally, after an agonizing thirty seconds, the door creaked again. Requiem did not bother to let it finish opening. As soon as the door had been half-opened, in one swift motion, two beings charged at each other.

Requiem and the dog collided in the center of the room, and she wrapped her hands around its neck and sighed with delight.

“Oh, Mr. Wellington! My sweet underling, how are you today?” she asked, planting kisses.

The dog wagged its tail, spinning, jumping, and licking with excitement. Requiem reached into her pocket to give him treats. She knew from the moment that Pig-girl had escaped that she needed to see Mr. Wellington. He would know how to make her feel better, in a way that no pathetic human life could.

“You know, miss. I gotta tell ya—I got a shop to run here. We sell pets, we don’t store ‘em, ya sure you can’t take it home with you?”

Requiem kissed Mr. Wellington’s nose and then looked up. She glared at the man, obviously from New York by the sound of his obnoxious accent.

“Silence, you insignificant worm and obey my orders! Have I not paid you for the storage? Have I not paid you for the animal as well? If I ever return and find out that you have either sold my underling to some disgusting human, or that you kicked him to the curb, then so help me god I shall rip your still-beating heart from your body. Do I make myself clear, Darling?”

The man eyed her skeptically but sighed then nodded. “You really shouldn’t talk to people like that, you know? It’s not polite.”

Requiem ignored the fool and crouched back down to continue playing with Mr. Wellington. The golden retriever was still young, not even a year-old, but already he had reached close to his full size. His tongue lolled happily from the side of his mouth, and he stared intently into Requiem’s eyes. She cupped his face with her smooth hands.

“Don’t worry, Mr. Wellington. Once Ruin and I have found an appropriate lair, I’ll remove you from this filthy place.” Looking over her shoulder, she could see the man was back behind the counter and out of earshot.

“I know, Mr. Wellington, you want me to turn off his brain or send him into a coma. You’re very smart—yes, that’s a good Mr. Wellington—but I can’t yet. We still need him. Once I get you out of here, I’ll take care of him and bring you home.”

She stood up and raised her voice. “Oh, Jason, counter-boy, I am in need of another service. Hurry yourself and attend to me this instant!”

The shopkeeper grumbled and walked back over to her. “Don’t tell me you need me to store another animal. We sell ‘em here, ya know?”

Requiem spat in his ugly face, causing him to recoil in shock. “Silence! You do not proceed to give me orders, fool. I require a rabbit, of the bunny sort.”

The shopkeeper wiped the spittle from his chin and wisely decided to ignore the gesture. “Well, we’ve got few here. Take ya pick.” He pointed to a pen a few feet to their left.

Inside, Requiem saw the things hopping around. There were five in total, all roughly around the same size and height. But yet, they weren’t all the same, no two animals ever were. Only a fool assumed otherwise.

“Counter-boy, give me the one on the left. No, you fool, that’s your right. It’s no wonder you’re selling rabbits! Yes, that one.”

Requiem cradled it in her arms and smiled.

Oh! He’ll love this one. From what our newest and dearest brother has told us, this should be just like he remembers it.

Requiem brought it to the counter. “That’ll be thirty-five even, ya sure you don’t want a cage for it?”

“That won’t be required,” Requiem responded.

“Alright, so thirty-five bucks it is.”

Requiem extended her arm over the counter, much to the confusion of the shopkeeper. Gently, she flicked his forehead with her index finger. In response, the shopkeeper opened his drawer and pulled out a stack of twenty-dollar bills.

“Here’s your change, and thank you for your business,” he said Requiem snatched it from his filthy, animal-reeking fingers.

“Ya know, I notice you come in here a lot, and you never tell me ya name,”

“Ah, but I always do, Darling. My name is Requiem.”

*******

The van pulled up to the diner. The Golden Pearl was open around the clock and favored by the team. Paro parked in the lot and turned off the ignition.

“Alright, we’re here. The helicopter will be here soon, but we should have enough time to talk. Kazou, it’s your turn to sit something out. Roam the area. Make sure nothing is after us. I doubt they would be, but it’s better to be safe than sorry. Everyone else, we’re going inside.”

Sarah and Michael yawned in unison and exited the van. Paro watched as Michael made small-talk with Sarah, recommending certain foods, beverages, and desserts.

Paro still couldn’t believe someone like Jack existed. Right now, after seeing what certain humans were capable of, his world should have been shaken. He should’ve been in an almost comatose state of deep thought, wondering what it meant and trying to figure it all out. This is what was expected. Instead, he was asleep with his head resting on Melissa’s shoulder.

“Don’t get the wrong idea, Paro,” she said with a sheepish look. “He’s finally stopped going on about nonsense. I’m only doing this to keep him quiet.”

Paro laughed. “Good job then, Melissa. Jack, wake up, we’re here.”

A moan of reluctance was the boy’s only response.

“Hey, Jack, get up.”

“No …” the boy responded in between licking his lips. “Five more minutes, go away. I promise, only five more minutes.

Just when Paro was starting to calm down, his frustration peaked yet again.

What is wrong with this Harris-kid?

“I’ll handle this, Paro,” Melissa said. She slapped Jack on the back of the head, causing him to bolt upright in the seat.

“Ouch! What the hell? Who did that?” Jack rubbed his head and looked at the two of them accusingly.

“Sorry about that—there was a mosquito. I didn’t want it to bite you.”

“Oh, oh well, in that case … thanks, I guess.”

Jack followed Paro and Melissa into the restaurant. The Golden Pearl was a smaller place, with four round tables, seven booths, and a bar in the middle. It was empty this early in the morning. Its only visible occupants were the waiting staff, the bartender, and Michael huddled in the corner booth with Sarah. Paro took a seat next to Sarah while Melissa pushed Jack into the other end of the booth and sat next to him. Jack still appeared drowsy and showed no indication of fear or excitement. In his entire career, Paro had never seen anything even close to this kind of behavior.

Why is he no longer frightened of us? He even thinks we’re some kind of magic beings, and yet he just wants to sleep and watch television?

A young waitress came by to take their orders.

“What will it be, ladies and gentlemen?” She was cheerful. She unclipped her writing pad and went around the table.

“I’ll order the egg and onion omelet,” Sarah said.

“For me, I’ll just take French toast on rye.” Melissa grinned. “I don’t want white-bread because that stuff is terrible for you.”

“What about you, sweetheart?”

“I don’t suppose you’re on the menu, darlin’?” Michael asked. The waitress blushed, and Melissa gave Michael an evil glare. Sarah turned her head away in disgust.

Michael puffed his cheeks in imitation of a small child. “Alright guys—don’t give me that look. Okay, I’ll take the same as Sarah here.”

“I just want water,” Paro said. “And you, Jack?”

All the drowsiness that had been in Jack’s expression faded away in its entirety. He was flipping through the menu with a vigor that could only be called passionate.

“Oh, wow, do I want the strawberry pancakes, the chocolate chip ones, or the Breakfast Champions combo? Oh man,” he said with excitement, “you guys have so much stuff! Choosing something is the biggest hardship I’ve been through all week.”

At this, every single member of Paro’s team, including Paro himself, dropped their jaws and widened their eyes. Luckily, they were quick to regain their composures.

“Well, I say try our chocolate pancakes, sweetie. They’re our best seller.”

“True, I do agree that they have a certain appeal,” Jack responded, oblivious to his reason for being in the restaurant in the first place and soaking up valuable time.

“But let’s just think about this for a minute, okay? Let’s say I do get the chocolate chip pancakes. What if l take some home? In fact, I probably will, because they always give you too much. Here’s the problem—for some reason, chocolate chip pancakes dry out faster than other ones. I don’t know why, and they’re never as good as they were before. Also, while usually the most delicious of pancakes, chocolate chip ones have a tendency to make me feel sick after eating them. I’m never sure if it was worth getting them in the first place. Now, let us discuss strawberry pancakes. If we highlight the pros and cons, I think you’d find—”

Melissa’s shout was not actually a shout, but in fact more like a bat-like screech. “He’ll take the damn chocolate ones!”

Paro said nothing. He couldn’t. He wasn’t trained for this. Nothing had prepared him to deal with someone like Jack. He only knew two things for certain. Number one, he was now sure that the Harris-kid had nothing to do with the murders, like Melissa had said. She was completely right about him. There was no way in heaven, hell, or earth that this kid was a murderer, excepting if he made you murder yourself. And secondly, Paro was no longer sure that he would care enough to bring him in even if he was a murderer. Sometimes work sucked.