missing marks -- grim maxwell

Case file # 324.4546.76455.32

The documents found in this file are strictly confidential and only from briefing use in the Central Intelligence Agency. Any disclosure or reproduction of aforementioned documentation is strictly prohibited and will be punishable by section 423-82 under the laws of Bureau investigation.

<center>GRIM STEWART MAXWELL</center>

http://www.davidanders.com/images/pics/pic_01.jpg
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http://www.davidanders.com/images/pi...cession_27.jpg


aliases: Jonathan Pryer, Tavel Milosovich, Jay Gauvarra.

<center>DESCRIPTION</center>
Date of Birth Used: 11/11/1970
Place of birth: London,England.
Citizenship: English.
Hair: Blonde.
Eyes: Blue. Height:6'0" Sex: M.
Weight:147lbs. Complexion: Fair to Normal.
Build: Slim.
Languages: Russian, German, Malaysian,
Sanskrit, Italian, Japanese, Spanish, French
Scars and marks: Cigarette burn in the center of left palm, lacerations along spinal column (***See file 47632.23DF ***)
Remarks": N/A
<center>FAMILY HISTORY</center>

Parents: Landon and Katheryn Maxwell.(both deceased)
Siblings: Keith (deceased), Kiajara (deceased), Alana (deceased)
Marital Status: Widowed.
Spouse: Helana Dimitriv
D.O.B: October 13, 1970. (deceased January 14, 1998.)
Cause of death: Murder by his own gun.
Children: n/a
D.O.B: n/a
<center>CAUTION</center>

Incarceration for four years after the death of a Russian diplomat. Murder of wife. Murder of many field agents. Prefers slow torture. Weapons include: Beretta, Deagle, 9 mm, and a butterfly switchblade. Due to extensive psychological trauma, Grim is to be regarded as a hostile at all times.

*** END OF FILE ***

The India fiasco was another notch on the tree limb that branched between Julia and himself. A dapper concoction of water color bruises on swollen skin wasn't hid to the general public. A nearly broken nose and busted lip held deep gashes that threatened to break open when he smiled. Bloody knuckles were covered with leather gloves that passed the ticket to the boarding attendant, briefcase was sent through the X-ray machine and he was boarding the plane from New Delhi to London's more moderate climate--earthen streets would be replaced by cobblestone and his breath would hang in the air like a reaper's scythe...Yes, he needed to go home.

Home, in London was an apartment with a back garden that never flourish more than three ripe tomatoes a year and housed nothing more than simple living for two--at the current time, there was only one.

"You look like hell."

"Mmn."

Grim faced the window peeling an orange with a steak knife, but he could see her dusky reflection in the pane of glass that separated him from the London air that his lungs so craved to inhale until they collapsed.

"Rough time in India?"

She came to wrap her arms around his waist and set a chin on his shoulder, which caused him to pause in his actions, leaving the orange half peeled.

"I lost your Christmas present, Emily."

"How? You'd better go back and get it then."

"She was there."

Emily retracted from him to rest palms on the sink. She. The infamous Julia that seemed to be the main focus of the man she spent her days with, of course she would be there...To ruin the slight normalcy that she had worked so hard to achieve.

"And?"

"And..?"

He went back to peeling the orange and avoiding eye contact with the woman, who always seemed to have a bit of a jealous streak. Really and truly, he was more hungry for citrus salt in the wound than to have this conversation with her.

"And.. Did you kill her?"

"No."

The automatic response caused her to raise her hands to send them slamming down on the sink's lip. She laughed, but there was no mirth in it and shook her head.

"Of course you didn't. You wouldn't would you? You don't have the fortitude to kill her. Christ Grim.."
He was silent and continued to peel the orange.

"I don't know why you don't just get rid of her...I don't suppose you came back with the documents either, did you?"

"No."

The smooth removal of the peel was almost completed, and she was shaking her head at him again.

"What worth are you to this organization when all you're doing is chasing after some skirt? That's really what this whole thing is about, isn't it? You can't be in the intelligence agency so y--"

The fruit left his hand as he staked her to the wall with a forearm and pressed the citrus stained blade into the dark flesh of her neck. His mouth was set next to her ear so that she could feel that the warmth of his words were only coming from the oxygen expelled from his lungs in a whisper.

"If you question my reasoning again, Emilia, I will not hesitate to deepen the wound."

When he removed himself from her, she pressed a hand to her neck where a superficial laceration had been made--just enough to break the skin. She stared after him as he plucked the orange from the counter and went out into the garden.

Chengdu, China-1998.

A night club blared music as singing Chinese school girls spun around on stages infront of old men with fat cigars hanging out of their mouths--the smoke and music alike was unbearable to him, but he wasn't here for the entertainment. He was here to negotiate. An American--that's what they pegged him for, because he was blonde haired and blue eyed in a sea of China dolls and new year's dragons, making his way through the muddled crowd of business men and trying his best not to shoot the whining girls on stage who were smiling wide and crooking fingers at the voyeurs. Words were exchanged between him and a guard, before he gained access to the stairwell that led to Mr. Lao.

As he suspected, the room was littered with drug-happy women and cigar smoking friends, the second series of guards patted him down before letting him approach the table where the middle aged man sat, taking short drags off of an Opium pipe.

"Ahhh... Mr. Maxwell, how good of you to join us. Come. Come, sit."

Waving a hand and motioning for him to take a seat in front of the Desk. Grim merely folded his hands behind his back and straightened.

"I'd rather not, Mr. Lao."

The man chuckled in between puffs of smoke.

"I notice you are not carrying a briefcase, I am not in possession of an off-shore account so I am assuming you are here to negotiate, yes?"

"No. There will be no negotiation, Mr. Lao."

"Then your wife will die."

Grim said nothing further, clenching his jaw and keeping the regal posture that welded his spine together. Mr. Lao grinned him and rose to cross over and clasp the man on the shoulder.

"I think you should reconsider my offer. The price is reasonable."

"Ten million for a Russian woman is quite irrational."

The last word out of his mouth was aimed sharply at the fingers which touched him, but he made no movement.

"She is an ambassador. Do you think I am a fool?"

Silence was a golden rule and Grim was choosing to follow it at the moment. Which only made Mr. Lao's hand grip harder into his shoulder.

"Take my offer, or I will kill you."

Grim grabbed the man's hand by the wrist and wrenched it off of his shoulder, applying pressure to a key area so that Mr. Lao would fall to his knees.

"Not if I kill you first."

Threats were met with the barrel of a gun to the base of his skull, to which, Grim immediately let go of Mr. Lao's hand so that they might be held behind his back. The other man rose again and swiftly sent the back of hand to greet Grim's arrogant jaw-line.

"Take him downstairs to see her, then get rid of them both."

A gun was placed into the center of his spine as two men escorted him out; he was again assaulted by the schoolgirl dancers and cigar smoke on his way out towards the basement stairs--where, he was promptly flung. Things were mumbled between the two in Chinese, snickering as he picked himself off of the floor. The blood that spilt from his eyebrow was shading a carmine line in the crease of his left eye and fissures were felt in his cheekbone, rubbing his jaw and promptly cracking it back into place, he was grabbed again and flung into a few walls before he was thrown into the room that held his battered wife.

Her mouth was taped shut and her hands were bound to her feet so that she couldn't stand, as soon as she saw him she screamed muffled words into the tape. He, on the other hand, said nothing. The hilt of a gun was whipped into the back of his knees which sent him to kneel execution style. Helena screamed again and tried desperately to side-wind her way towards him.

"Say goodbye to her, asshole."

The gun struck the side of his face, knocking him sideways.

"Let her stand."

"No. Just say goodbye so we can get this over with my b--"

The door swung open and Mr. Lao came barging in.

"Tao-sung, give me your gun and wait outside. Lee, do what he asked and Grim? Get on your feet."
Everyone went about their tasks; Grim rose as did Helena. Lee returned to Mr. Lao's side and awaited further instruction.

"Tell her you love her, before I put the bullet in her head."

Grim was still, fingers itching--tapping out some unknown rhythm, or was he counting seconds?

"Do wh--"

Seconds. No time to finish the sentence, because Grim noosed Mr. Lao with an arm and sent the bullet meant for Helena into Lee's stomach, turning the gun then on Helena, where he sent two deep into her chest before finally splicing Mr. Lao's vision with his own gun, which was pulled from the small of his back. The door was being opened and shots were being fired--though not by Grim's gun.

"Welcome to the Order Mr. Maxwell, you will learn to respect my rules."

Part II.

The floor was damp--a dry paste that seemed to swelter with his breath and yet still coat his lungs. A sidewinder serpent, with a hip and shoulder gouging into the earth as his support--no lights and when the light did come it blinded paling irises with slivers. This white light that washed over him now was only blocked partially by a slender man.

"Good morning."

Wrists were raw from the special rope they'd bound him with, an agent laced the twines to that if he resisted, his skin would burn against it. He was now being plucked from the dark to stumble into the light. Starved in a garden of delicacies he was shuffled past men in a camp in the dead of China's winter. His veins were threatening to burst from the shards of frozen cells that scraped against them. His teeth chattered despite his dislocated jaw; brought before the table, his knees were kicked out forcing him to kneel but is head did not bow.

"It is customary, Mr. Maxwell, in my country to bow your head out of respect."

A thin man brought a steaming cup of tea to his mouth after words were spoken. He didn't expect a reply, that was all part of the enjoyment of speaking. Grim didn't move, just kept gaping eyes blinking to try and get used to the light.

"You have complied with my demands in the past, but why not this? You would rather kill your own wife than do as I asked. I find that very interesting."

Grim tried to form words but his jaw just wouldn't connect for syllable formation. The man behind the table straightened his sleeves before standing and walking over so that he could rest a hand on his shoulder.

"You will comply, Mr. Maxwell. I will break you."

Something mumbled in Chinese to the men standing behind him and Grim was being hauled off to the infirmary so that they could take care of his wounds....And inflict new ones.

"I grow tired of this game we play.."

The thin man was being pampered by two women while he spoke of being weary. Grim just looked at his watch (a new acquired item) and then back to him.

"Well, Mr. Ling you are wasting my time with this speech."

The man jolted from his position to stare and point a finger at him.

"You waste my time and my assets. Was there a reason to kill part of your own team? No. You constantly find ways to under--"

"I wouldn't be so quick to finish that sentence if I were you."

Grim smirked--a terrible habit that he seemed to have whenever he was baiting someone.

"And why is that?"

"Your negotiator was cooperating with the CIA."

"How so.."

"Put the knife down that you're planning on slicing me open with and we'll talk about it."

The thin man scowled and threw the knife down, it was Grim's signal to continue speaking.

"She's been leaking intel to the United States for three months. I didn't have the proof until India."

"What happened in India?"

"Julia happened."

"Julia...I told you to kill her."

A simple statement from the man. He had told Grim to rid the Order of that problem for quite some time and yet? His efforts were to no avail.

"Your mistakes are not mine to correct, Mr. Ling."

"You seem to do a good job of correcting them, however."

"I do what I'm asked to, but killing her would be a mistake."

"I don't have time for your foolish lovesick yearning."

Grim straightened and cinched his jaw against actions which were making his fingers twitch.

"She is an asset not a hindrance. You know that, or else..."

"Can you finish that statement if I've taken your tongue?"

"Touche."

The silence between the two was thick enough to compress lungs, a stand still because either of the men knew they would not hesitate to kill the other.

"She knows the shipment coordinates for the plans enlisted in this document. I suggest that you change them. "

Grim reached into his coat pocket and produced a packet of folded white paper.

"What..guarantee do I have that you're not lying."

"Check your Moscow associates."

Later that day.

He was waiting for the cellular phone call in a coffee shop where he could watch the people dine across the street, but what he didn't expect was the woman to sit down across from him.

"I have a gun aimed at your stomach, if you don't give me the answers I'm looking for, I'll kill you."

"Sophrina, are you always this aggressive on the first date?"

"Tempt me and I won't hesitate."

"I don't know why Ling would send his daughter on such an important business venture, unless he's afraid of static....Perhaps I was right then?"

"Pay your check, Maxwell. I don't want to have to come inside again."

Grim did as he was told and walked out after the woman, who was turning into an alley.

"Why can't we just hold a nor--"

He was cut off by the hilt of a gun to his face, which re-formed the slowly fading bruises and split open his mouth.

"You told her about Moscow. Don't bullshit me."

Grim re-situated his jaw and swiped a thumb underneath his mouth to smear the carmine that had started in a small ribbon.

"I didn't tell her about anything."

"How did Emily get to her apartment then? Don't you think it's a little convenient?"

He started to say something but she slapped him again on the other side, just to make sure he matched.
"You're obviously not thinking."

"You can't touch me, Grim. You know that."

So, this was why he sent her, as a test of patience and loyalty. A woman that he couldn't wound due to her ties to the father--but he highly misjudged him. A lunge at her and palms staked her to the wall.

"I am finished playing games with you. Tell your father to switch, or see what happens to the rest of his investments. Only I doubt they will all be mysterious sinking ships, will they?"

A firmly planted kiss on the woman's mouth before he bit down hard on her lip and then spattered her with a mix of their blood and saliva.

"Next time you hit me, I won't be such a gentleman."

Ring a ring of roses.

The wrought iron gate in London kept the children safe from the commoner's traffic of cars and people alike. A small fast moving current of children chased after a ball, while some sang rhymes and spun in clasp-hand circles, still others drew out hopscotch outlines to throw stones across. Amidst it all, the golden haired boy was laughing and chasing after his sister, who had set a crown of dandelions upon his head.

Pocket full of posies.

A gray day, like all London weather--the asphalt still clung to the early morning's rain when polished shoes slapped against it. The two sharply dressed officers were moving fluidly around the laughing children towards the school teacher, who was ironing out the pleats in her pastel floral arrangement of a skirt. The men removed their caps before they spoke words that the children didn't care to hear or take note of in their quest for happiness.

Ashes. Ashes.

The little blonde boy was laughing as he spun his sister in a circle, the crown had fallen onto the pavement and spattered yellow pollen along the water soaked edges of tar black. The school teacher blew the whistle as the two men departed in assimilating and mechanical fashion. The boy turned his head to watch them leave, losing the grip on his sister's hand, but the school teacher put a firm hand on his shoulder and ushered him inside.

We all fall down.

"Grim. Alana. There has been an accident." Words that filtered off the teacher's nervous tongue were administered to the two sets of identical eyes that stared widely at the glare of the cat's eye glasses that obscured her nervousness. "Your parents and brother are..." The little boy ran down the hallway screaming, eyes flooding with hot saline that wouldn't stop no matter how many times his palms crashed into them.

That memory faded along with the cup of coffee until only a swallow remained to stain the cracks in the glazed porcelain of the mug. His thumbs were the only thing that held the picture steady, so that he finish didn't glare against the fluorescent lighting of the diner that he had been sitting in for the past three hours.

"She's a beautiful girl."

The voice came from over his shoulder--a woman with coal black hair that refilled his cup after she'd spoken to him.

"Yes. She takes after her mother."

Shaken. Rattled from reverie and left with a faltering smile when he shifted his eyes from the picture to the woman who smiled at him and rested the free hand on her hip.

"Does she have a name?"

"Her name is Kate."

"Kate...That's a really nice name, mister."

"Indeed it is."

The same faltering smile was given to the woman as she patted him on the shoulder and walked away to set the coffee pot back in its place. He turned his eyes back to the picture and sat in silence for a moment.

"Soon.. Soon, she'll be able to say the same with you smiling next to her."

[1983.]

"You are completely relaxed...."

The boy's steady rise and fall of shallow breath were the only indication that he was asleep.

"I want you to remember what happened to you a year ago, Grim. I want you to count backwards from ten."

"Ten....Nine...."

Shaky numbers were rattled out of his mouth with the same shallow quiet breath.

"That's it Grim, you're almost there."

"Three....Two....One...."

Three days after Kiajara's final Epileptic fit (the one that sent her from her cradle to her casket.) left the twelve year old twins in the antique London sun room of their great aunt. Light poured from the window and glinted off the small China tea cups that sat on the mahogany coffee table in the center of the room.

The boy was coloring pictures of Jesus on the carpet so that the shading of his purple robe was stippled and disjointed at best. The blonde haired girl turned the key of the small music box that rested on the small table draped in a stark white doily. The boy looked up to see the girl standing in front of the window.

"I always loved this."

Words that left the boy's mouth for the man in the white labcoat were mouthed from his sister's lips on the backs of his eyelids.

"I know. You used to make mother turn it before bed."

The boy was rising, dropping the Crayola crayons from his hands to stand next to the girl in front of the window which made them both look overexposed in the light of the sun.

"I wanted to be the ballerina."

She smoothed down the front of her powder blue dress, the apron pockets loaded down with trinkets she had brought out to play with. She stepped past him and climbed upon the old Victorian style chair, her feet dangling high about the carpet. The boy sank hands deep into the pockets of his navy blue slacks and followed her, standing before her like a knight before his child queen.

"Why? She only dances under glass, Alana."

The boy ripped his head to inquire of his sister as he knelt to pick up the crayons he'd left laying.

"Not always, grim. Sometimes you can break it."

The music was slowly dying out as he rose again, smoothing out the scarlet wool of his sweater.

"I don't think mother would like it very much if you did."

The girl slid her hands into the pockets of her apron, her head dipped in concentration.

"Mother isn't her to tell me not to, is she?"

The revolver was heavy in her hands, it wavered in her tiny palm when she turned the barrel to face the boy who paled and froze in his stance. The girl's face was suddenly tear stained and angry.

"Is she?"

Those words were screamed from a small throat before the silver barrel was shifted to kiss her temple. He watched her finger contract the trigger and the hammer click. For a moment, all he saw were the wide eyes before the sound of a ricocheting bullet deafened his ears. Blood spattered against the white walls with their ivy borders like and ocean spray across a shore. Three years of aching finished itself when her hand fell from its position, dangling the gun in her lap. It was in that moment when Grim found her the most beautiful. He climbed up next to her stiffening corpse and took the gun from her hand.

"When I clap my hands you will be completely awake."

"I am already awake."

"So...What happened this time?"

"I fell on the ice."

"Really? That's why you have glass in your hand Grim? I didn't know ice could turn into glass now."

"Shut up David a-"

Grim grumbled as the man purposefully tilted the tweezers to grate his skin as he pulled out shards.

"Oh, please Grim. I'm not afraid of you. Remember your hand is in my care."

Grim just gritted his teeth and allowed the man to finish and then threading the needle for stitches.

"Yes and my other hand is not."

"You're a poor shot with your right."

The string was tugged taut through skin to emphasize that point as the other man bent his head in concentration.

"Did she--"

"No."

"I was going to say, you don't look like shit."

"You will soon enough."

"Again with the threats! Really, you need to work on your people skills."

"I don't need people skills in my line of work."

"You deal with people, I think you need them."

"No."

"You are mr. grumpypants today. She must've really struck a nerve."

"Who said I saw her."

"C'mon, it's in your eyes."

"What is in my eyes, David."

"The light.. The heat."

"One more word and I'll put a bullet in your skull."

"Alright, alright, geez. Kill someone for havin' a sense of humor. It wouldn't hurt you, you know."

"What wouldn't?"

"To act like a normal human being for once in your life."

That was the second person in one day that made his hangover headache worse with the exact same phrase.

The paper had been splayed out along his table, an article was neatly removed and placed beside the small Plexiglas container that held the shards from his hand. The black book on the edge of the table was slid over so that he could paste the article onto one of the few remaining pages. Ten years worth of compiling information made the book more like a volume than anything else. The picture that was given to him as a reminder was then put into a little frame by wounded hands. He stared at everything in front of him for a long moment--these were the things that bordered on obsession.

He brought himself out of his reverie and picked up the things on the table, walking towards a room that was left cracked open. Inside were all of the things that related to his job, a double-sided padlock was put on the door to prevent any prying eyes from seeing in or out. The table, was originally an elaborate vanity table, that was pasted over with various pictures--though, all of the same blonde woman. Her background file was decoupaged in the center off all of the madness, while small frames held important things--the picture of her daughter was set right next to the picture of the woman and her daughter, which was also in a frame. The glass in the small plastic box was set next to the other boxes containing trivial things such as blood spattered dirt and a molar.

The other side of the table held little trinkets, like a rhinestone from some bracelet, a swatch of fabric still stained in blood and perfume, along with a bullet that never made it through anyone's skin. The book however, was placed in the center of the table gently, his fingers still brushing over the cover before he walked across the room towards his wardrobe to discharge his guns and put them away. The door was left half cracked when he left to turn in for the night.

They were both wrong. He was plenty human, when the door could be locked.

These were the times when he was most innocent (and wholly human)--wrapped in a knitted afghan of seventies burgundy and black spooled yarn, Grim lay sleeping upon the silent leather of his couch. The blinds to this room were held at a permanent half-mast and so it was no wonder that when the light finally pierced through transparent lids his first reaction was one of an incoherent murmur.

"Mergh."

Like a child, wiry limbs splayed fingers that clutched at the knitted blanket and promptly threw it over his head. Though the web spun thing did nothing to hide him from the sun, which due to alcohol, was positively blinding. A grumble or two more erupted from the confines of a groggy throat before he eventually threw the blanket onto the floor and arched himself off of the couch--where not only the floor, but the realization that Julia had spent the night hit him all at once.

The second thing to hit him was the scent of Cappuccino--that was completely wrong. He pulled himself off of the floor and took careful paces towards his bedroom, which had been vacated with nothing more than tousled sheets, he expected as much. What he didn't expect was the noise in the kitchen and a murmur that had no feminine quality to it at all. A sharp twist of his head towards the door as he yanked the top drawer of a black dresser ajar just far enough to remove a gun.

The walk back down the corridor was one of silence and briskness, upon turning the corner with a sharp shoulder to the left, the gun was centered between two murky hazel eyes and the safety was flicked off with a brittle thumb.

"Christ almighty, calm down!"

Both trembling hands rose as the man stepped backwards, causing the cup to fall from his hand onto hardwood flooring, creating a series of steaming swirls in a caramel color. The gun, however, didn't move from its position as Grim looked rather unamused and unfocused with rapid blinks.

"How did you get in?"

"Y-your door was unlocked! Say, can we talk about this without your finger on the trigger of that gun please?"

Normally, Grim would've shot a round into the ceiling and then repositioned it, but his floor was already sullied with a liquid. So, with heavy sigh the gun was secured at the hilt of his spine as fingers rose to pinch the bridge of his nose. Only one word came from him:

"Julia."

"Whoa, hey now, I wasn--"

"David, the safety's still off."

"Oh, right.. Well, as you can see I b--"

"Do you always waltz into people's apartments uninvited."

"Well no, but I tried the knob and i--"

Grim just held up a hand and stepped over the mess into the kitchen. David, of course followed after making the sign of the cross in the air.

"I was comin' to take a look at your hand and ask you about something."

Grim plucked the roll of paper towels from the counter and shoved them at David.

"Ask me after you've cleaned your mess up."

David meekly took the paper towels, mumbled something about being a doctor not a manservant and did as he was told, Grim on the other hand was preparing a pot of Hawaiian blended coffee and silently making a notation not to drink so much on holidays. Eventually David came back holding both the roll and soiled towels, to which Grim snatched both out of his hands.

"So, what I was going to ask you..."

Grim took David's coat from its rumpled post on his table and moved out of the kitchen. Which left David completely perplexed.

"Wh--Where are you goin' I haven't even asked you yet!"

He followed him out to where Grim stopped and turned, shoving the coat into the other man's chest.

"Out."

"But I--"

"Out. Now."

"Grim you are so irr-"

The gun's place at Grim's spine was lost as it was now aimed at the mouth that had just stopped moving.
"ational. I swear.."

David grumbled all the way to the door where he was promptly shut and locked out. That only gave him more confidence to shout the last of his berating comments.

"NO WONDER SHE DOESN'T LIKE YOU. YOU'RE A DICK IN THE MORNING!"

David ran as fast as he could after he shouted at the heavy door which was being unlocked at around the word "she."

His cell phone was always an ominous presence in his pocket. When it rang, he never answered it properly--merely with a pause in breath and the background static of whatever he was around.

"Are you in a better mood now?"

"...."

"Good. Listen I wanted to ask you about som--"

"If you ever come into my appartment unannounced again, I won't hesitate to shoot you."

"Yeah. Sorry--"

"Furthermore, if you call me a dick again, you'll be missing yours."

"Alright! Alright! I got it. Seriously, I need to ask you about what happened in China."

"Nothing."

"Don't bullshit me, I know about your spinal....problems."

"Meet me at junction 18 in fifteen minutes."

The phone was shut, there were very few things he wouldn't discuss over the phone--means of torture was one of them.

The last train had passed seventy years ago at the abandoned station--according to Grim's towncar clock, David was twenty minutes late, as he had expected. Which, was why he sat in the car, instead of loitering around the abandoned station. The end of a cigarette was smashed into an ashtray before he noted a presence running across the tracks to wind up at the abandoned station. Grim stepped out from the car and made his way over.

"You're late."

"Yeah yeah, I had to run home and get the lappy."

Grim just blinked at his explanation before he latched arms behind himself and stared up at the gray heavens with eyes that were shaded by black lenses.

"Do we have a point to all of this or..."

"Shh! It's loading, you know how technology is."

Grim just lit up another cigarette and exhaled into the space between them.

"You said you had to ask me something, not show me something."

David just rolled his eyes and straightened, smoothing his hands on his pants.

"Okay. Fine, do you want the good news or the bad news first?"

Grim removed his sunglasses and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"I'm not in the mood for games."

"Just answer the damn question, Jesus."

"Grim, and which ever you feel most comfortable telling me."

"Okay then, I need your weaponry please."

"What?"

"Your weap-on-ry, gun thingies, knive-thingies, you know anything you can mess me up with."

Grim promptly sent a fist crashing into his face, sending David staggering backwards mumbling obscenities.

"As I can't detach my hands, we'll have to forgo the weaponry removal."

"YOU HIT ME IN THE NOSE YOU BASTARD."

David's face was sour as he checked to make sure he wasn't bleeding, stretching his face a few times.

"ANYWAY, ow, Grim that really hurt.. "

"The point, David, focus."

"Oh, yeah. Good news and bad news."

"....."

"Good news is! I know what's lodged in your spine. Bad news is..."

"Is...?"

"Oh look, Pearl's up'n runnin'. See this?"

David pointed to a series of computer generated images that displayed what appeared to be microchips.

"Yes."

"That's, what's in your spine."

"So..remove it."

"Can't."

"Why not?"

"Well, I can, but do you really want to die? Don't answer that, anyways, it's....They're...."

"Spit it out, David."

"It's the mainframe for The Order. You're like.. a mobile ledger, only there's one problem."

"What."

"If I try to take them out, it'll inject poison into your nervous system, and completely destroy the chips. You can't take them out without the code that disables them."

"Can we, skip the melodramatics please David."

"Basically, there's nothing I can do about it. But! At least now you know."

Yes, now he knew that if The Order found out about his sabotage, he was as good as dead.

His fingertips were stuck to the sheet of the paper as the other hand dialed a number that he should've crossed out of his contact book, but for some reason the black ink stood out the way the scar along his spine did..

"Gu--"

"This isn't a social call, Anika."

"Grim."

The German woman's voice was harsh as he had expected it to be.

"I need you to check a location for me."

"I don't do that anymore, I am a jeweler."

"You were never a good liar."

"My services are no longer extended to you."

"I'm willing to give you anything."

Silence again as the woman took in his words with a few breaths.

"Anything, Grim? You must be really desperate."

Grim gritted his teeth against her laughter.

"Just name your price."

"Price? Alright....I want..."

He waited for her to decide, picking at the edge of the tape.

"I want...The music box you have in your London flat."

"No."

"Then you get nothing from me."

That music box was the only link to his family that he had, even if the ballerina had faded and cracked over the years. He straightened in his chair and drew in a breath.

"Why do you want it."

"Because Grim....You took something from me that I will never regain. I can't work because no one likes a cripple. So, from you? I will take something of sentimental value...It is a small payment, but efficient."
"I will ship it to you once you give me the information."

"Can I trust you? That is really the question that I need answered."

"I called, knowing our history."

"Very true. Give me the location."


----later----

He was a melting mixture of anger and blood, when the numbers were punched into the cellular phone, he wasn't sure he wanted to know anymore. He wasn't sure he wanted to know what she had to say, but between the crackling static of connection he heard her words.

"It checks out. Mail the music box to the jewelers."

The connection was ended.
--
He didn't go home in his state of an abstract painting--instead he wound up rapping on the door of David.

"Hey I didn't exp--HOLY SHIT."

David was trying to shut the door but Grim's foot caught it, his hands pushing it with force to crash into his nose.

"OW JESUS! OW!"

David recoiled, grabbing his face.

"Now we match."

Grim's words were sharp as he stalked after him.

"Look, I d--"

The back of knuckles met David's mouth before he could finish the sentence.

He can't even defend himself.

Words ricocheted in his mind which caused him to pull the gun from its holster, to which David cowered on the floor.

"Get up."

David did as he was told, trembling and murmuring words all the same before the gun's handle was extended to him.

"If you wanted to kill me, David. You should've asked for my gun.?
--
"I will speak daggers to her, but use none". --William Shakespeare.

The alcohol he pulled from the shelf wasn't meant for consumption, rather, for the dressing of his own wounds. He'd passed over the salt and thought better of it for once..

All wounds he bore now, both externally and internally were justly administered and deserved. The perfect indentation of a woman scorned stared back at him as he pressed a rag doused in Jim Beam to his face to wash off the platelets that had formed with traces of her saliva.

The dark plum of an almost charcoal smudged quality rifled under his eyes and feathered off--his nose was set back into place with a brutal hand. He groaned and mumbled incoherent obscenities as he washed the rest of the blood away and sent the alcoholic rag to smear over his arm where the bullet had grazed.

He patched himself up with white gauze--that made him look more like a puzzle with missing pieces than a man. When he was complete he was still unfinished.

The sun hadn't even risen on the states when Grim boarded a charter to London--there the sun was on its waning way. His presence was brief, turning locks and gathering things with a kind of silence that only eluded him when he needed it most.

The flight to Germany was taken shortly afterwards, pushing him yet another hour forward out of his element. Fingers traced the edges of the aging heirloom as the plane touched down--some part of him wished it had cracked..

Minutes turned to hours until the day faded into dyed colors of evening--this was when he made his arrival to the Warheit estate. It towered over him like and asylum with fading brick and suffocating ivy that laced patterns along the windowpanes.

The attendant led him in with nothing more than the statement of his name. A winding marble staircase was climbed thereafter with surpassingly unwounded knuckles, though the rest of him was worse for wear. Smoke filled the hallway along with the faintest hum of Vivaldi and he followed both until he saw her--hunched over a desk with a hand reaching to pull the lamp closer to her.

"I wasn't aware that I would get a visit from you in person. Forgive me if I'm not dressed for the occasion, I have work to do."

The brunette didn't so much as turn her head from the stones she was examining.

"Yes, well we can't all be polite. I broug--"

Anika held up a hand and turned her wheelchair to face him before snapping words towards him.

"I know why you're here."

Grim's jaw tensed, sending still raw skin to chafe against the clean bandage as fingers tightened around the music box. Anika just laughed at him and shook her head.

"I see you have been fighting with your demons again, Grim."

Her voice dropped lower as she motioned for him to sit down.

"Pity you're still alive."

Grim closed the door and sat where she motioned, he knew her feelings on people standing in her presence and for once decided to comply with a wry grin.

"Perhaps, they were aware of my negotiation with an old friend."

To this Anika snapped at him, reaching for the music box which was handed over with little protest.

"Wir sind Freunde, Grimmig nicht."

"No, we're not friends."

"So, I am guessing that you desire another favor or you wouldn't have come all this way."

"I came to ensure that our negotiation was finished."

Anika laughed, it was a harsh sound of an embittered quality.

"Unsere Verhandlung ist beendet, Grimmig. Go home, you have no business here."

"You know.. "

Grim forward in his chair so that when he lowered his voice she could hear him.

"I should've aimed higher when I shot you and done everyone a favor. No one likes the sound of your voice, but you."

Anika sent the back of her hand into his face hard, the rings on her middle and index finger sliced through skin to create a gash that matched asymmetrical to the bandaged wound on his other cheek. He recoiled, raising a hand to his face.

"Do you talk like that to every woman or am I getting special treatment do to our....history?"

"Is that why you wanted it?"

"You didn't answer my question."

"You don't need an answer."

"Don't tell me what I need and what I don't, Grim. That's not your place."

Her words were a warning but he sent fingers to encircle her wrist the way they would have to her neck if he didn't enjoy seeing her suffer.

"Don't tell me what my place is."

She wrenched her wrist away from him with a cinched jaw, turning her dark stare on him for a moment before she let words loose.

"You are intolerable."

"And what are you, Anika? Nothing more than a--"

"Is this what you came here for? To insult me?"

Anika's words cut his off as she wheeled away from him.

"I take that back Grim, you're not intolerable. You're pathetic."

Grim shot up from the chair then.

"And you can't handle confrontation."

"Correction, you can't handle human interaction. Sit down."

She waved him off as he walked towards her.

"I told you to sit."

He sent the back of his hand into her face, nearly toppling her out of the chair but when she recoiled, fingers plucked up the hammer that sat to her right on the opposing desk and sent it into his kneecap. Grim fell in a grumble of pain and Anika spat on him.

"You came here seeking counsel, Grim. Because you have no one else.. Because no one else understands you like I do. You are weak because of it."

Grim was turning to stand and she sent the hammer to land in the back of his ribcage, satisfied with the crack she received for her action.

"How long has it been since she died and you still can't deal with it. You block everyone out and when it becomes to unbearable for you? You take it out on everyone. You act like you don't need anyone, when it's..."

She leaned over in her chair while he was still writhing on the floor, gasping for breath.
"Everyone who doesn't need you."

He tried to grab at her hand and she wheeled away from him.

"I'm going to wash your filth off of my hands. You had better be gone when I come back."

<center>And so, we build our castle of sand by the sea
so that when we depart, it shall be naught but a blissful memory.</center>

He liked the claim that everything in his life was premeditated--that he was in control of everything at any time. It was all a matter of drawing in the lines that connected the dots, which sometimes were done by his hand and sometimes done by someone else's. Private lines were abandoned for this phone call--he wasn't doing anything that involved any secrecy, or at least, the only person it needed to be kept from wasn't listening anyway.

"Hello an--"

"Yes, I'd like to purchase s set of tickets."

"Okay! All I'm going to need is the time and location."

"Maldives, undecided."

"Oh, excellent choice sir! Maldives is a very romantic place you know th--"

"I'm sure it is and I'll be sure to pass that along to my colleague and her daughter."

"Ohh..I'm s--"

"It's alright. Any way, I'm buying these as a gift for her, but she hasn't the slightest when her schedule is going to open up, so could you just take them from my account when she calls?"

"No problem Mister..."

"Maxwell."

The chipper end of a phoneline was slaughtered with the receiver. He wasn't going to tell her about them, instead he was going to wait for a day when he could just slip them under her door without any explanation.

He couldn't give her a castle in the sand, but he could give her the sand to build it.

The phone rang as it often did when he was in the middle of something that he deemed important--the gun was set down and his stereo was muted as he flipped open his phone and waited for the other end to speak their piece with him. This was the routine..A silent end and a sharp voice telling him the details of something, but instead he heard a hysterical background noise and the sound of Kelly's voice flooding his ear.

"She's gone..."

Grim murmured a location but only remembered the phone being placed down before the table was overturned as he rose, sending all of its contents smashing to the floor so that the panel within the dark wood shattered against the floor as well. He wasted no time in collecting anything, but instead drove to the location where he learned the message that was spoken from a shaken agent.

He was silent throughout the ordeal. His jaw only flexed at certain points in the story that was delivered to him.

The time had some indeed..

"Your sister is missing."

The phone was only crackled on and off long enough to get his message across.

The wall had become his new counsel, slate eyes stared into the uneven layers of white paint in vain looking for an answer that wouldn't come from dry wall over wooden supports.Days passed and still nothing--the only contacts he had were composed of fraying leads and obliterated phones, so he had to wait until someone called him with something...

Anything...

It was almost as if he had willed the phone to ring upon the arm of the couch (as his table was still a mess of wood and shattered glass.) Fingers picked it up and the silence from a tense jaw ensued.

"Hello, this is Dr. Greenwood calling to confirm your appointment later this afternoon?"

"Right. Two o'clock, I'll be there."

He didn't wait for a confirmation that she had heard him before the phone was snapped shut. The crackling of a voice that wasn't involved in the extraction of Julia was a nuisance to him. Hours passed upon the clock until he finally loaded himself into the car and sat in the waiting room of Dr. Greenwood's office. Two children were chasing each other around as the classical ambiance of Bach filtered in from conveniently placed speakers on the walls.

Five minutes after two Dr. Greenwood came out to retrieve him with an offered hand and an apology.

"Terribly sorry to keep you waiting Mr. Maxwell."

He looked at the hand with disdain before offering words to the woman.

"I hope it won't become habitual. Shall we?"

She dropped her hand and nodded, motioning for him to follow her down the hallway that was a mural of abstract figures and geometric shapes of vivid colors. Pausing before the door she let him in first before sliding the folder she'd had tucked under an arm into the front slot of the door.

"Please, have a seat where ever you feel most comfortable with."

He chose the stiff backed chair with polished leather that yielded to no body type in front of an oak desk. She closed the door and crossed to sit behind the desk.

"You can talk about whatever you like, Mr. Maxwell."

She offered him a fleeting smile before pulling out a drawer in her desk to retrieve a pad of paper and a pen.

"Do you mind if we cut the formalities? I can see it's killing you."

The connotation on words was intentional as he pulled the gloves from his hands to stuff inside pockets before the coat was abandoned as well.

"Sure we can, Graham."

"Grim."

He was quick to correct her with a sharp look.

"Grim, excuse me."

Again she offered a fleeting smile as if it made her uncomfortable to stretch her mouth that way.

"I don't believe that I'--"

His phone rang and he was quick to pluck it from the pocket of his blazer and press it to his ear. Silence on both ends before it was snapped shut.

"Would you mind turning that off?"

"Yes."

The two of them sat in silence for a moment or two longer before she broke it.

"My name is Darlene."

"Darlene. Charmed."

The words were flat when they left his mouth and he wrung hands together in his lap as a child before a headmaster. She took the time to examine her Monet reprint painting that hung just above her certificate of psychiatry.

"Why do--"

His phone rang again and cut her off. The action of pulling it from a pocket and pressing it to his ear was repeated again. She moved to speak and he silenced her with an index finger that jutted up the moment she drew in a breath.

"Yes. I understand, I'm in the middle of something at the moment. Keep me posted if you find anything further."

The phone was then snapped shut and slid back into the pocket.

"You were saying?"

"Grim, will you please turn that off? It's very rude to leave something of th--"

While she was speaking he had moved just slightly to click the safety off the gun that rested at the hilt of his spine, before she finished he had risen from his seat and placed the barrel between her eyes.

"Just so we're clear, Darlene? I only came here to honor a promise to a friend of mine. I don't need your help, nor do I desire it. In fact, I'm sure you've already read my file and found, much to your suprise that I've had extensive psychological analysis and the conclusion is still the same. The next words that come out of your mouth had better be 'good day Mr. Maxwell,' because I'm not so sure that I can keep my finger steady longer than it will take for you say those words. Your check will be mailed tomorrow."

The gun left her forehead and she collapsed from the chair in hysterics. He turned on heel and replaced the gun in its place, draping his coat over a forearm.

"Good day Dr. Greenwood."

London fog was thickening--he could feel its repulsive texture in the back of his throat when he awoke. In his London flat. Alone. He washed the sleep from his face with a palm and padded into the kitchen for a breakfast feast of cold cereal. There were no blonde haired girls laughing in his garden or brooding over his kitchen sink now. For the first time this place felt.... empty.

The day waned into several shows of mindless British broadcast and ignored phone calls. He didn't want to stay in, but he didn't want to go out either. He wanted.....

Dinner was created from several left over dishes and microwaves. He ate silently at the counter until he noticed the blinking green light atop his cellphone.(The only one that connected America to him.) The plate was disgarded as he flipped it open and listened to the message.

"Grim, it's David. I was ju--"

The message was erased before he had to hear any of the concern mumbled into the crackling line. The second message was a distinct murmur from an old friend that he simply couldn't ignore.

"Come back to New York."

He didn't bother calling her back, instead shutting the phone he smirked outwardly in the apartment air and went about packing his things. One bag and a set of car keys were all that he took from London with the promise that his car would be shipped over within the week.

"Hey man, come on in." David was always polite to the killer who stood on his porch with a look of disdain.

"This had better be good, David."

"Oh c'mon man, you know I wouldn't take you away from your soap operas if it wasn't!"

Grim shifted to take his sunglasses off and David cowered away from him with hands raised in a white-flag position. Grim merely folded the sunglasses into his pocket and stepped through the door. David rubbed the back of his neck and laughed nervously before closing the door behind him.

"Let's get on with it then, shall we?"

"Right, okay. Well, you're going to need to sit down for this."

Grim cast a glance to the uneven folding chair that looked as if it had seen better days and was now content to retire with its cheap lacquer peeling off in patterns of states. Grim merely stiffened.

"That's quite all right, I'd rather stand."

"Well.. Okay, but.. I don't want you to freak out or anything, okay? I mean..I know how you ge--"

Grim lifted his hand again swiftly and David backed away with a bit of a shriek before he realized that Grim was only pinching the bridge of his nose.Clumsily, he started again.

"Okay..Well.. You know how I've been seeing this girl right?"

"Yes."

"And....You know that I like her a whole lot, right?"

".....Yes."

"And you know that I have ne--"

The click of a safety being flicked off was presented as the barrel of Grim's gun met a temple.

"Just.. Tell me what you need to tell me so that I can get out of this filthy apartment."

"..Uh..Hey..Uhm..Could you.."

"Oh for Christ's sake!"

The gun was removed from David's temple and placed back into its holster, while he wiped the sweat from his brow.

"Christy's got this friend named Karen..I was wondering if maybe you would take her out on a date and be nice.. You know, a kind of leave your gun at home thing?"

Grim was silent as he stared down the frightened techie. This made David very nervous and he fidgeted with things before completely knocking over his pen holder. David tried to pick the pens up and wound up just fumbling them back into the cup haphazardly.

"...All right."

David choked. "WHAT?"

"I said... All right. I'll take this woman out. If it's that important to you."

David, in one fell swoop was latching on to Grim and repeating the universal words of gratitude over and over again.

"David..."

"Yes, Grim?"

"This is Valentino."

"...Oh right." David detached from Grim and patted briefly at the man's lapels as if some dirt lingered there.

The metropolitan skyrise pierced through heaven and stood out as an opaque black against a clear blue day--something he had not seen in this area in quite some time. The elevator taken was one that separated the corporation from the syndicate council members. His back was immediately twisted to face the door that had just closed in front of him as the opposing one opened at the top of the building.
They stood three abreast with pinstiped white prisoning them into their position of brute force and stoic visages. Dark doors with pristine handles were closed behind them and blared a reflection of what his namesake labeled him as--gaunt and holocaustic with pale skin and hollow eyes.

The party broke themselves apart its middle stone stepped forward to retrieve the weaponry on his frame--arms hung like Jesus as the thorns were plucked from his sides and collected. The other two held their suit jackets in place and used opposing hands to draw back the doors where a dozen empty high back chairs sat. At the end of the long lacquered ebony table Klavier rested with twin elbows and steepled fingers. When the doors had shut he rose from his position to offer a seat at his right hand.

"Mr. Maxwell, have a seat."

Stiffened joints creaked until Grim finally folded into one of the executive chairs, bracing a forearm on the tabletop. Klavier sat back down with a hand smoothing out the wrinkles in his sanguine colored tie. A file lay open before him and he splayed hands upon it while glacier eyes made contact with Grim's, they were slow and calculating of every twitch the man made. Nervosa racked his spine and twisted muscles uncomfortably over it, but no indication was made.

"Do you know why you are here?"

"I suppose you are going to tell me that, Mr...."

'Klavier."

Unblinking, his eyes were that of a serpent's just waiting for an opportune moment to strike. Grim held his ground with an even tone that bordered haughty only when he moved to articulate again.

"What is it that you are requesting of me, Mr. Klavier."

The man's smile was repulsive and cruel before he fell back into the chair. Fingers traipsed over the open pages of the file and fingers flicked at the photographs before he spoke.

"You are the best marksmen we have, Mr. Maxwell. Your report is beyond efficiency level standards."

"I've never missed a mark."

"I know.. Which is why I've brought you here."

The file was slid over carefully, his dusty eyes were still calculating Grim's movements as he read over the names and looked at the pictures.

"These are your marks."

Grim brought with him a grin of incredulousness at the folder first and then the man before it was closed and slid back over to him.

"You've got to be kidding me, she's not even a CIA operative anymore."

"She is a threat to our organization, with or without her status within that agency."

Silence passed between them for a minute longer that seemed to stretch out like a calendar day until Klavier leaned onto the table.

"You know her better than anyone. She has some level of trust with you, I think.. It should be a relatively easy assignment."

"Forgive me for being frank, but I honestly don't see the value in this."

"That's not your concern. Your concern is accomplishing your mark.
"
"Her child is not a threat and yet you've requested I eliminate her as well."

"I don't want this to just be an efficient job, I want this to be a statement, Mr. Maxwell. Either you do this, or I will do it myself and I can guarantee you that the consequences of which, will fall heavily upon you."

Grim leaned forward a moment, dropping his voice as fingers pried at the lacquer. Eye to eye and he was the one searching for any kind of trigger when his words dropped.

"I can assure you, Mr. Klavier, I'm quite capable of handling this."

Slowly, this weight had been starting to settle atop his shoulders. It wasn't something that he was particularly sure he could deal with but the plan had already been orchestrated, whether or not he was ready for it. There were words for a man like him: ruthless, cold, even the one that graced the page in front of him?unmerciful. The word that he was thinking of however, didn't have anything to do with the definitions that were rifled in his brain: Guilt.

It started off with just a tremor in his fists, shaking balled fingers until they collided with the wall. That was all--one singular hammer sling of fists and he was in calm repose. Their vacation would be spent in the way that he hadn't intended at all and yet...Had he not mentioned relaxation? No, it was much more work to pretend that you were dead.

Days would pass in a relative sort of apprehension--no contact made it difficult for him to concentrate. Routine was an impossible thing to break and once it was severed, there had to be a new routine. The cathedral was passed on a daily basis but for some reason, he felt the need to turn in to it. Was it some sort of divine intervention in his life? Some sort of sign for the need of redemption? No.

This was more a statement of finding a new routine than anything else. To the side there lay the table where the Virgin mother outstretched her hands and hung on canvas like her son upon the cross. Candle spread in a sea of controlled fire before her with dipping sticks in order to light another--he lit two. They were small and less noticeable among the wicks of others, but they would become his now. A silent sort of votive for two who were still among the living.

http://www.prisma-online.de/image/56...ff89a6d56.jpeg

And he talks of people ten years gone
Like I've known them all my life
Like scattered black & whites
I come back here from time to time
I shelter here somedays
--Elbow

Funeral black was an everyday occurrence for him, though today it was most poignant. He had been waiting for this phonecall, this meeting, the chance to see their vile faces painted in something of pride. He was a fledgling who had come so far in their eyes--who had overcome his obstacle, who had...

The elevator shaft was the same dreary steel that it had been months ago when he first learned of his assignment. His spine was knotted as straight as he could manage it when the doors opened again to the three men standing infront of more--like a child lost in wonderland, he was awaiting direction and guidance, even as his guns were taken from him. He made no motion of protest and when they were sated that he was no longer a threat, they allowed him entry into a room where ten men sat in regal chairs like emperors of the same throne.

"Have a seat Mr. Maxwell."

Klavier was the first to speak with Icelandic eyes piercing through him rather than resting upon him. They were skeptics, each one that sat there with the file in front of them explaining the actual death of Julia and Kate James--numbers that came to a red lettered close at the end of this meeting. Pleased or not, each face was just as stoic as his own.

"I'd rather stand, thank you."

All pairs of stone eyes rested on him then--they were unaccustomed to his mannerisms of subtle defiance. Klavier took this as a sign that perhaps some bit of grief lingered in the corners of his eyes.

"Very well.."

The conversation started off politically slow--each voiced their opinions on matters that didn't concern him while he wound hands in a clever knot before him with a jawline stressed in the tension of waiting. Finally the words refiltered in a manner that affected him.

"Mr. Maxwell has been offered the position as our eleventh member. That is why we brought you here."

Klavier gestured with a hand and perhaps a hint of something more akin to pride than anything else towards the empty seat. Grim shifted in his stance only slightly before the pause in speech was slaughtered by his words.

"As much of an honor you'd like to make this, I'm quite certain that you only offered me this position because of the recent events in Maldives. I would like to make it perfectly clear that I am not here to win your approval or acceptance to a position based solely on my ability to follow directions."

Klavier stood when Grim paused, his jaw locked in anger while the stoic faces of those present crackled into looks of panic. They had branded him with the word "volatile" since the beginning, even when they surrogated his spine with viral codes.

"That is no--"

"I am not a child who needs to prove their worth in this organization if you desire me to accept this position so badly. Have I ever given you a reason to think that I am anything but loyal? No, so I will take this insult with as much dignity as I can and gracefully decline the position offered. Let your hounds fight over it."

Survive. The word resounded in his ears even after he left a board room full of aghast men, the weight on his shoulders lightened temporarily but he was waiting for everything to crash down on him.
--
Two days after the events involving the inner workings of The Order, Grim had packed most of his things in the apartment--a barebones structure with little left in it any way. (Hollow hearts make hollow homes.) Words replayed from a letter written in foreign but familiar handwriting jarred his thoughts and deafened him to the sound of cracking wood. Some how, he already knew this was coming.

Three men slipped in like serpents--the two that flanked Klavier were simply used to tear the lock off the door. Feet clacked against floorboards and Grim straightened from his position near a box on the living room floor.

"Mr. Maxwell, are you leaving us so soon?"

Grim addressed the window instead of the man who stood behind him.

"You broke my door, I suppose I need to find a place of better security."

The motion in which Klavier sent the other two men out was swift--a quiet swish of expensive suit fabric and then he was stalking across the room towards Grim.

"The door is the least of your problems, Mr. Maxwell."

Grim turned to face him, almost immediately with a look on his face and exposed the idle threat for what it was--a fallacy with little strength behind it. His arms folded behind him, not out of propriety, just out of comfort--the handle of his gun rested at a strange angle along a mangled spine.

"You came here to threaten me or to act on your threats Mr. Klavier?"

"Arrogance is your fatal flaw." The words from his mouth were hissed as a hand rose to strike him, but instead filtered through a pocket to pick out a cigar. "I want to know why, Mr. Maxwell, you turned down such an offer...One that could offer more security than the gun you're so intent on using."

"I already told you why. Your organization only chose me because of my efficiency, which was tested and shouldn't have been. I don't make a habit out of missing marks, the same way you oughtn't make a habit of smoking in someone else's house."

At this, Grim's hand shot forward to swat the cigar away from Klavier who in turn, sent arthritic knuckles into the side of his face.

"I have been waiting to do that all day."

"Was it what'd you'd hoped?"

Grim was still standing, just resetting his jaw that was starting to swell in red blotches where he had been struck. Klavier only shook his head and sighed.

"You are going to take the position, regardless of your feelings towards me or any other member on the board."

"And if I don't?"

"I'll kill you."

At this, Grim's gun was brought forth and the safety was thrown off but instead of pointing it at the man infront of him, he offered out the handle.

"Go ahead."

So here I sit, completely dumbfounded as to the events of tonight. I know now what a luau swine must feel like before the big roast, though there was nothing so pleasant as an apple that was stuck in my mouth. I suppose I should begin at the beginning in order to better convey the events of tonight and try to get a grasp on understanding them.

It has been seven months since Julia's death has been faked and tonight was wine and cake night--a half birthday if you will. I had settled on something vintage and a slice of chocolate cake, with Peter Gabriel in my stereo as a relaxer because my door, though fixed, still rattles. A few hours later I decided to sleep. I realize now that may've been a mistake.

Not because I didn't need the sleep but because, if I knew I were to be kidnapped? I would have dressed for the occasion. My Peter Gabriel shirts are not to be trifled with and I think there is a hole in it now. Either way, I was kidnapped, thrown into a van and before the tranquilizers set in, thrown onto an aircraft.

When I was awoken, my handlers shuffled me in to what I later found to be a warehouse, removed the bag over my head and left me there. I figured they left the restraints on so that I wouldn't kill whatever was just beyond the pool of light that was blinding me. As it turns out? It was Julia.

So you see, I'm not so sure why she had to kidnap me when she could have just called. Then again, she wears the pantsuits.

(intermission.)

Part One.

Full Name: Graham Stewart Maxwell
Goes by..: Grim
Current location: New York, New York.
Description: An apartment.
Occupation: I have one.
Current age: 33.
Date of birth: November 11, 1970.
Birthplace: London, England
Name(s), age(s), and occupation(s) of parent(s):
Deceased.
Name(s), age(s), and occupation(s) of sibling(s):
Deceased
.Height:6'1"
Weight: 170.
Hair color: Blonde.
Eye color: Blue.
Left-, right-handed, or ambidextrous: Ambidextrous.
Heritage/Nationality: English.
Religion: Terrorism.
Education:
Oxford Graduate.
Marital status: Widowed.
Children: Julia, oh.. Of my own? none.

Part Two.

Likes: Not very much.
Dislikes: A lot.
Phobias: None.

Part Three: Do you...

Smoke: Yes.
Curse: Bloody well.
Sing well: No.
Sing in the shower: Yes.
Talk to yourself: No.
Believe in yourself: I believe in my self control.
Play an instrument: No.
Want to go to college?: No.
Want to get married?: I killed the last wife.
Want to have children?: Yes. But, that's just my secret.
Think you're a health freak?: I know enough to survive.
Get along with your parents?: No, they're dead.
Get along with your siblings?: Again.

Part Four: Current...

Clothes: A black suit, I believe this is Prada.
Mood: Silly?
Music: Some of Julia's singing..If you call it that.
Taste: Dinner.
Make-up: No?
Hair-style: It's growing out, because someone has an issue with my style.
Annoyance: Julia and her threats on Mr. Gabriel.
Smell: Julia's house.
Book you're reading: Eye, David Schow.
CD in CD Player: The Police - Greatest Hits.
DVD in player: Peter Gabriel, in concert.
Refreshment: Water.
Worry: Who I'll shoot first, Julia or myself if she keeps singing.

Part Five: Favorites:

Food: Chicken.
Drink: Red Wine.
Color: White.
Album: Anything Peter Gabriel.
Shoes: The ones I have on, thank you.
Candy: Dots.
Animal: Rats, purely for annoyance's sake.
TV Show: Alias. It's the only thing Julia and I can agree on.
Movie: Snatch.
Song: Salsbury Hill, Peter Gabriel.
Girl's name: Julia or Petera.
Boy's name: Julian or Peter.
Vegetable: Broccoli.
Fruit: Clementines.

Part Six:

If I were a month, I'd be: Febuary.
If I were a day of the week, I'd be: Wednesday.
If I were a time of day, I'd be: Dusk.
If I were a planet, I'd be: Saturn.
If I were a sea animal, I'd be: A sea-horse, they get to carry their young.
If I were a direction, I'd be: Road Closed.
If I were a piece of furniture, I'd be: A plate that Julia could throw.
If I were a sin, I'd be: ...Any one of the seven.
If I were a historical figure, I'd be: Ghandi.
If I were a liquid, I'd be: Merlot.
If I were a tree, I'd be: A birch.
If I were a bird, I'd be: A lark.
If I were a flower, I'd be: A rose.
If I were a kind of weather, I'd be: The apocalypse.
If I were a mythical creature, I'd be.: Hades.
If I were a musical instrument, I'd be: A piano.
If I were an animal, I'd be: A snake.
If I were a color, I'd be: Black.
If I were an emotion, I'd be: Desperation.
If I were a vegetable, I'd be: Corn.
If I were a sound, I'd be: Air.
If I were an element, I'd be: Gold.
If I were a car, I'd be: An Aston Martin, Vantage.
If I were a song, I'd be: Oh, anything by the Police.
If I were a movie, I'd be: Face off.
If I were a food, I'd be: A scone.
If I were a place, I'd be: Liverpool.
If I were a material, I'd be: sulfer.
If I were a taste, I'd be: acidic.
If I were a scent, I'd be: The ocean.
If I were a religion, I'd be: Terrorism.
If I were a word, I'd be: bulletproof.
If I were an object, I'd be: A love bullet.
If I were a body part, I'd be: broken bones.
If I were a facial _expression, I'd be: A snarl.
If I were a part of a house, I'd be: The laundry chute.
If I were a subject in school, I'd be: Math.
If I were a cartoon character, I'd be: ...
If I were a shape, I'd be a: Shapely.
If I were a number, I'd be: Imaginary.

He was poured over a legal pad on the living room coffee table while she spun back and forth between the kitchen counter and the living room. A pen was angled in his hand--ready to stab through the paper in frustration, where her hand was noosed around the neck of a wine bottle with a finger stabbing towards him.

"Why do you look like you're drawing up a strategy for Risk or..." Her smile curved into something mischievous. "Writing a love letter."

At the mention of the words 'love letter', his face visibly contorted into violence incarnate (because he looked as if he had swallowed a lemon, rind and all). "What I am doing, is of no concern to you."

"Aha! So it is a love letter." Ana swayed as if some invisible violinist had begun to play her favorite love song. "Here, I'll help you. No way of dealing with this feeling...Can't go on like this too long.."

Without warning Grim flung his pen at her, making contact with her arm. It was one thing to make fun of him, but to include Peter Gabriel in that was intolerable. "Oh come off it will you!"

She laughed at him and offered the bottle his way. "Someone needs to untwist their knickers....It's okay, you know, if you are writing a love letter. I won't bother you."

Grim moved as if to intercept the bottle graciously but instead grabbed her forearm and forcefully guided her towards the door where he deposited her outside and slammed his door shut. Satisfied, he moved back towards the couch when he heard a palm slamming into the wooden door.

"Graham! I need my purse!"

The muffled sound was greeted with a hand dangling the desired item through a sliver of an opening. Once it was snatched he stalked back over to the couch and wrote down his first terms for ceasefire.

Must not consort with Anastasia.

The sun was a bright contrast to the worn ash color of the warped picnic table that he sat upon. His watch hadn't been checked at all, though he knew that David would be late. David was always late when it came to cryptic appointments, though out of the corner of a shaded eye--he saw the high strung man staggering across the field in front of him. A smirk crossed his face before it was washed off by a swipe of his palm. David sneezed into a tissue a few times before offering a nervous smile.

"H-Hey Grim. I just got your message."

"Allergies?"

"What?!"

Grim pointed towards the hand that was holding the Kleenex. "Allergies. Are they bothering you?"

"OH! Oh, yes a little I guess." He was searching for the nearest bin to throw the Kleenex into before stuffing hands into his pockets.

"Are....You going to just stand, or have a seat?"

"Uh...Right." David slid onto the bench across from him and settled hands along the warped wood. "So.. What's the big deal?"

"How are you and Christy?"

".....Fine...Hey! If this is about Karen man I'--"

Grim held up his hand to stop David's ramble and David simply cringed a bit.

"This isn't about Karen. I'm simply asking how you are doing."

"....Why?"

"I can't...ask you how you are?"

"Well....you can, but you didn't. You asked about Christy and I."

"Fine." Grim gritted his teeth and folded hands on the table top. "How are you, David?"

"I....am good?" David stared at Grim with an incredulous look. "Why?"

"Because I was asking how you were you twit!" Grim slammed his hand down on the table. "Is it really that bloody hard to answer a question?"

"I just wanted to know why because you never have before!" David was nearly cowering under the table by that point.

"Well, I am making an effort now. Please. I'm not going to hit you."

David peered up from the table, before finally righting himself."So.......How are you then?"

"Fine."

"Just fine?"

"Fantastic. Is that a better answer?"

"There's the Grim we know and love!"

"You're not funny, David."

"Julia thinks I am."

David's smug tone made Grim wish he hadn't mentioned that he wasn't going to slap him.

"I highly doubt that."

"Why? Just because she doesn't l--"

"Actually, no. That's a lie David."

"WHAT?!"

It was a sound that seemed to echo through the open space that surrounded them. Grim just broke into an enigmatic grin.

"If I repeated it, David, I'd have to kill you."

"Hey man it's David. Give me a call, I wanted to talk to you about having a dinner thing at Christy's? She said that Karen ran into you and Julia the other night and wondered if maybe we could all do something. Karen's dying to show you guy ssome interior design plans she made I guess, I don't really know, but I thought I should just call and let you know. So, remember to call me back."

The "erase" button was pushed as Grim rifled through his gourmet blends of coffee in search of Thursday's mix.

"Hey. It's David again. You haven't called me back and Christy's been asking about it, you're not mad at me or anything are you? Well, just give me a call back."

Grim rolled his eyes and started the coffee before he heard the voice of his cousin.

"Grahm, it's Ana. I just called to say....I told you so and I hope you were nice to her!"

The glass was nearly smashed in his hand as he fumbled to set it down. One thought wrang out in his mind over and over:

So much for secrecy.

Goa was bustling with tourists content to soak up the rays of the sun that beat on white sand and turned the ocean into a vivid blue. The television was blaring some disney movie that Kate had selected for their afternoon indoors--Julia was inevitably ignoring him again (a comment or two had made them draw an invisible line along the room) and his phone seemed to only pick up static when he attempted to answer it. Eventually he found that standing near the window (where the sun was impossibly bright) allowed him a better connection.

"Having fun?"

He let out a sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose before even bothering to respond. The only thing more annoying than the sound of his cousin's voice, was perhaps the sound of her voice in person.

"What do you want?"

He was sure that Julia was snickering from her corner and his urge to flip her off was only deterred due to the fact that his ear was assaulted with a high pitched volt of interference. The phone was held away from his ear a moment, hoping that she might hang up.

"See what happens when you're an asshole?"

"I'm really very busy so if you cou--"

"Busy watching The Little Mermaid?"

"Kate is--"

"Suuuuuure she is. You don--"

"Oh bloody stuff it won't you?"

Grim attempted to walk away from the window, but the static became overwhelming again, so he was confined to his space.

"Someone's crabby. "

"Ana, I really don't have time fo--"

"I took your car out."

"WHAT?!"

Grim shouted into the phone loudly, only to receive stares which he was sure were coming his way and laughter from the other end of the line.

"You're so predictable."

"I'm hanging up now."

"I figured I'd call and try and be nice because I'm sure Julia's had it with your ass."

"Well I appreciate the gesture but I am fine."

"Maybe you should try and get some sun, it'll help you to not be so grumpy."

"Maybe you should try and--"

His words were cut short as the movie's chorus piped up and he remembered that he wasn't in any position to make threats. Instead he folded his phone closed and put it back into his pocket, vowing to check the caller I.D. before he answered it next time.

He tried to watch the landscape as a glimpse of paradise rather than home. The continent had become that way--a home, when skin had darkened enough not to feel the blaze of the sun upon it and then settled feeling had finally subsided. Kate had inevitably run off with her friends in a flurry of color and that only left Julia, who would most likely not let him make this phone call in peace. Which was why he had walked down to the edge of the ocean--just in case he needed to throw his phone to the bottom. He hesitated before dialing the numbers, because he already knew what he would hear on the other end. Sighing, he punched them in and held his breath while the phone rang. And rang.

And rang.

Scowling, he removed the phone from his ear just as she answered with something he didn't quite catch. The phone was pressed back to his ear as he shielded his face from the sun.

"What?"

"I said, if you have this number you're obviously calling about something important. So what do you want....Graham."

Her voice lifted in what he imagined to be a rather gruesome smirk as she said his name. He bit back the need to correct her, and instead adapted a pained happiness to his voice.

"Glad to hear you're doing well Anastasia."

"As well as one can in the Caribbean. So what do you want?"

"You're in the Caribbean? I thought you we--"

"I know you want something, so if we could leave my unfortunate series of events out of it and get to your point, that'd be excellent."

Grim sighed and mumbled something incoherent at the harsh words from the other end. Perhaps he should hang up now and claim he lost connection, that way he wouldn't have to call her again.

"Gra--"

"Yes. My point is, Julia wants you to come for holiday."

"If Julia wants me to come for holiday, why didn't she call me?"

Grim smeared a hand over his face as the indignant tone in her voice rose. He needed something to throttle and the closest thing was an ocean away. "Because, Ana. I...."

"You....?"

"I....w--" Taking in a deep breath he let out the string of words that seemed to be blockaded in his throat. "was supposed to call you, since you are my family."

"Oh, I see." The pause on the other end made him anxious. "Well, perhaps you should call me when you want me to come as well, because otherwise...."

He had just found his loophole. She wasn't going to come. She wasn't going to come!

"I'm just going to embarrass the hell out of you when I get there."

He groaned against her laughter as static began to interfere with their conversation.

"Keep yourself booked for the next few months then, Ana."

"What about Trump? You're breaking up."

"Nevermind. I'll call you later."

India's sun rose and crept through blinds the same as it had for the past months that they had been there but something about it seared through his skin. Pale eyes opened blindly toward the source of disturbance as he shifted away from it -- unsteady on his feet because he had just regained cognitive function, his hand fumbled for the dresser to keep him upright. Breath seemed to catch in his throat as he righted himself and reached for the door handle.

The house was too quiet -- he watched as the dark haired (Kate now included) children ran in circles out front, their mouths open in laughter but it was muted. The furniture and walls bled into a haze that diffused their edges until fingers fumbled daftly along their edges. If the television was on, or Julia was behind it, he didn't notice. He didn't notice anything until he was pulling open the refrigerator door and grabbing a water.

Half of the clear bottle was poured down his throat before he moved to set it on the counter and it dropped to the floor, crashing into his foot first. Spine yielded in a rickety fashion as he moved to sweep up the bottle and slurred his words in order to produce some kind of sound that came out more like a groan of old age than anything else. A towel swept along the floor to soak up the splashes that still lingered on the floor in crystalline droplets before he wandered back into his room.

Vision began to clear as he picked up his phone and pushed numbers into it. His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth like taffy as he chanted the name over and over again in an attempt to get whatever picked up on the other end to understand that something was wrong.

"David. David. David. David...."

The second phone call to the only blood relation that he knew of was made albeit reluctantly--out of earshot of any of the Singers. Numbers were punched as he sighed heavily into the ringing connection that turned slightly static as he walked off of the porch. He shielded his eyes and grumbled obscenities as the phone finally connected.

"Is that any way to talk to your family?"

"Hello to you too."

"Did you have something to say to me Graham, or are you just wasting my minutes?"

"Why are you such..." He stopped himself from making the comment and started over. "Yes, you're coming for Christmas."

"I am."

"We're having it in Switzerland."

"SWITZERLAND?!!"

The shriek turned into a metallic screech as he held the phone away from his ear and waited for the eruption to subside before the phone was angled back toward his face.

"Are you quite finished?"

"I don't see why we have to freeze just because you have cold blood."

"We wanted a--"

"Wait...Did you just say, 'we'?"

There was a pause followed by a melodic lilt of laughter. Grim bit his tongue to keep from sending harsh words to her, because he had promised to make this a good holiday.

"I did."

"Well...I don't know what to say, Graham."

"You could start by not speaking at all."

Silence.

"Ana, there is one more thing I have to ask of you."

"I'm not going to be your best man, Graham."

"No. This is different."

"Spit it out already."

"Do you have Anika's contact information?"

"...Why?"

---

The answering machine to David's mobile kicked on by the time Grim had finished speaking to his cousin.

"David, it's Grim. I've booked a flight to India after holiday. Call Anika and tell her to schedule a meeting with the doctor. The following is her information..."

<font color="#000000" size="1">[ March 18, 2005 10:06 PM: Message edited by: secondhand bruises ]</font>

Switzerland is nothing like India. I almost miss the sand and the heat, if only because the crowded masses of people didn?t have names to me. Cruel, I know, but true. The situation of having Julia?s family mixing with the remnants of my own is slightly worrisome. I walk on eggshells because I promised her that this would be a good time. Rather, I promised her that I wouldn?t say anything to insult anyone or have an all out brawl because this whole thing was done for Kate?s benefit.

Kate.

What a replica of her mother she?s turned into. I have to laugh whenever they have an argument because it serves Julia right to have a taste of her own medicine. Kate stands out now, where she wanted to blend in. In some ways this gathering does remind me a bit of a Nazi regime?if only for the Aryan display of pale eyes and pale hair.

I?m really trying not to think about what is going to happen when we are finished here. I attribute the sick feeling in my stomach to the wave of memories that Julia?s gift produces rather than the alternative. David should be coming within the next week, so I just have to wait this out. Until then, it will all be attributed to the change in altitude and gifts.

I tried to avoid looking at it for some time. The dancers still hold the same warmth that they did in Nonna?s apartment, but it still feels strange that they are now considered my possession. I look at the way their lithe bodies are poised and think of nothing by the way that my sister looked. Alana. Her name is something I haven?t said aloud in nearly twenty-two years. It isn?t that I can?t, it?s that I refuse to.

If one part of myself leaks, the entire framework will crumble. I can?t have that. Not now. Not when we?re all so close?.

There was no convoy, no tactical team that took the house under siege with gunfire and broken doors. Instead, there was a singular fumbling man in a long wool coat with a scarf wrapped underneath his cap like some impoverished refugee post-world war two. Early. Nearly a week early, but he was still late according to the anxious face that was ticked towards red-rimmed eyes as he waited. David?s visit was cold and lonely, where Grim (much like his moniker) would have picked him up from the airport and rattled off rules of procedure, he remained in the house surrounded by pale eyed relations.

Grim shot glances at the sullen woman who had found something to busy herself with, then to Kate who was reading through magazines that Ana had provided, who upon inspection had mysteriously disappeared with Paul, who he prayed wasn?t wearing something in a color that was named after a frozen treat. The elder Singers were in their respective places, humming conversation between almost all sides while Grim watched the door for an escape. The last glance at his watch was jolted by a knock at the door which caused a near collision as Grim fought off Kate to open the door. In the end, David bowled them both over in an attempt to get warm. Bags were set down carefully due to their fragile contents as he rubbed his arms.

?Sorry I?m late! I ha?? Upon cold vision clearing, he noted the sets of eyes that stared at him like some distorted version of the Brady Bunch. At this moment, he relived a scene from a horror movie where the cabin fever crazed residents cannibalized the newest entrant, but the thought was quickly shaken. ?Had a lay over.?

?That?s quite all right, listen, I?ll show you to your room and then you can come out and meet everyone.?
?B-but why? I?m??

The glare and slightly harsh jostle of his shoulder told David that he should listen to Grim first. Nodding, David picked back up his bags and offered a wide smile to everyone before he was disappearing down the hallway to the room that he had been thrown into ? Grim?s.

?I should be flattered, shouldn?t I? Sharing your room with me and all.?

?David?? Grim took in a deep breath and forced a thin smile. ?I have a complication, not a handicap.?

?Right, right! Sooorry chief.? David held up his hands once his things had been settled down and rolled eyes. ?So, you look good. Very tan, bet Julia loves that eh??

When David shot out an elbow to nudge Grim, fingers caught it and sent his arm upward at a harsh angle causing David to yelp.

?Jesus! You are testy. ?

?You?re not here because you have jokes.? Grim shot him a look.

?Whoa, holy shit?Did you, just.. say what I think you said??

Grim just shot him a glare as David wiped an imaginary tear from his face.

?My little Grimmy, all grown up.?

?Come out and meet the family, we?ll discuss the arrangements after dinner.?

?About that?? David held up a finger and stumbled after Grim as his coat was shed. ?We?ve got a problem.?

?We?ll talk about it later, here comes Kate.?

Tracks were made in snow ? blackened figures like ink smears trailed along the white landscape of Switzerland. Soon these traveling smudges became one in the form of a mercury glossed car. Bags were sent through customs, passports checked, tickets exchanged ? everything followed a clinical routine. Airport travel was a routine operation carried out by mechanical motions but Grim felt gears and wires slowly stopping their spin to break off and fall away. He was decaying slowly with each step, turning to ash ? dissipating.

Metal wings cut through the air quietly as the altitude changed. While the ears of some popped, Grim?s pressure adjustment came in the scarlet ribbon trailing from his nose. Dots like candle wax stained the tray, slow at first but by the time he had pulled a Kleenex from his pocket, a pool had settled on the gray plastic. Eyes were half-lidded while a hand waved off David?s nervous questioning. Soon they would be in the States. Soon they would meet with the doctor. Soon. Soon?

The hours had stretched Grim into his deteriorated state and as they pulled into a landing, feverish eyes widened as vessels began to burst. Stiffening limbs had David worried, but the continual slow slur of words kept him seated. His mind was set adrift in the loss of consciousness as his skin turned pale but flashing lights and savior sirens awaited them as soon as the plane made its final lurch into landing gear.
Let off first, they were both escorted out to where the brightened box awaited with oxygen masks and professionals who spoke too coherently for the choppy speech of David to make any sense. Wheels rolled into the hospital, and the stretcher was pulled as Grim watched the sky change from light to dark to light again ? the stale smell of bleach lifted into him and he felt his spine curve as hands struggled to hold him onto the stretcher.

Blackness was a deep and tranquil sea. Too much time spent under the waves took the possibility of resurfacing farther away. Mechanical humming was the first thing he heard through filtered ears and while he wanted to pull eyes open, the light above them was too intensified. He waited until he was pulled out of the pressure chamber and shifted onto another bed before the cracks in his eyelids widened ? alone behind a curtain he saw the machinery wired into his arm and eyes struggled to close again as he turned his head to the side.

Through the slant of the door David made exaggerated gestures while the doctor shook his head and pointed to a chart. David?s shoulders slumped and he nodded before the doctor left him, sending him into a slow pace outside of the door. Grim?s mouth opened to call out but he couldn?t feel his tongue move against the roof of his mouth, or hear the sound of his voice in his own ears. The door felt shut and he was left with the deafening sound of silence.

David threw off his coat and left it to puddle on the floor as a hand tugged on his ear in silent chastising. His phone was flipped open as feet started to shuffle towards the doors, breaking them open with a palm he punched in numbers and waited. Snow had piled up here and his breath made pockets of frost as he counted off the rings like heartbeats. No answer. Again, the numbers were punched and breath was held in as if he was stealing it from the other end of the line. No answer. Again.

They were both losing time ? numbers were rerouted to a static-filled line that he wasn?t allowed to use. Instead of the other end picking up, he received the voicemail box and he didn?t expect otherwise. The woman had been left in a fit of rage.

?Julia, it?s David. Listen.. I.. I need to kn-know if you..Grim?s? Can you get a hold of an Alexai Vermeil? I don?t.. I don?t know who else to call.?

part I

The hospital room had become a sepulcher ? dark and medicinally coated like dark earth, though the continual blip of machinery kept the appearance of sallow skin unnatural chartreuse. Sweat slicked and heavy lidded, Grim succumbed to the drip drop of morphine as sheets were adjusted by faceless hands ? brought up like funeral linens on his last day. Everyone seemed intent on burying him alive. Voices warped and became unrecognizable as the slow draw of sedation forced eyelids closed.

Red. Green. Blue. Yellow. The colors spun at an alarming rate until one by one, they branched out like arachnid limbs ? forced onto the metal of a merry-go-round. Alana swung from the blue railing like a ship?s flag ? blonde hair brushed over the jacket of the man spinning her, as her mouth drew open in a wide laugh. The sound, however, came after when blue eyes were sharp on his own. Again, the hand of the man rested on the red rail of the merry-go-round and spun it, causing Alana?s face to disappear. Grim reached out a hand to find its proportions considerably smaller, as fingers stretched farther they were snatched up in the firm grasp of someone else.

Little Boy Blue,
Come blow your horn,
The sheep's in the meadow,
The cow's in the corn.
Where is the little boy
That tends the sheep?
He's under the haystack,
Fast asleep.

Kiajara?s voice rang in his ears as she spun him in circles. Dark hair covered her face as she suddenly began to run away from her sister who was still spinning. Grim tried to pull his hand from her, but she was too strong and as Kiajara ran into the grass, he watched what looked like leaves rise back toward branches. Butterflies. Hundreds of them, beat wings in a pattern all too familiar ? shining like red droplets in the sun. They had stopped running, Kiajara was taking the hand of the man who had been pushing his sister ? the one with a symbol marked deep in the webbing of his thumb and index. At first it was hard to make out, but it became increasingly clear.

Grim woke with a start, gasping for air as his thumb frantically pressed the call button ? it only took a second to realize that there wasn?t a call button at all. As eyes adjusted to the poorly lit room, he realized exactly where he was. Wrists made an attempt to lift from his sides, but the metal clamor of chained cuffs assaulted his ears.

?Good morning, Graham.?

Eyes turned to watch the addresser ? a white stretch of coat and a metal clipboard were the only things visible to him. Grim opened his mouth to speak but found that his tongue could do little more than roll around in his mouth. The laughter warbled soon after, leaking out like the sound of a moving train. Eyes closed and when they re-opened he was passing florescent light fixtures at an alarming speed. Turning his head to the side, he expected to see an orderly?s form but found his brother wrapped in his mother and father?s arms ? immobile as the train?s window passed them by. He was in the train. Eyes turned back to watch the lights passing overhead ? making him dizzy until the screeching of a metal hull derailing broke the sound of the train. He felt himself being pulled apart, stretched into a thousand pieces.

?You are completely relaxed. Count back from ten.?

?Ten..?

Each number lifted from his mouth cause his spine to curve off of the table they had attached him to. Eyes went wide as the wires of lashes hooked into the pale skin of his eye sockets ? holding them open. Latex covered hands like milk, adjusted the electrodes pressed to his temple and shoved a bit into his mouth. By the time he reached a muffled one, he was drooling over the paisley print that they had put over his body. The hands again removed the bit ? the hand with mark now had his imprints, coated in the syrup of blood where teeth had broken into the skin.

?Very good, Graham. Welcome back to the land of the living.?

part II

David was curled in the cushy hospital chair that was provided in the dark room ? feet pulled up, with arms hooked around his knees. He slept soundly despite the mechanical commotion that was next to him where Grim lay completely silent. It had bothered David at first, the lack of commotion or noise in Grim?s REM cycles, but under heavy sedation, he didn?t figure that the same rules applied. The only motion that had happened in hours were Grim?s fingers twitching slightly like spider?s legs that had been detached and still thought they could walk on their own. Chapped lips fell apart as if breath had finally started behind them before eyelids cracked themselves open despite the saline barrier.

Grim awoke to the belly of Saturn ? cables and wires suspended in a ghoulish light that, coupled with the antiseptic smell, brought him toward realization. He was in the hospital, connected to a machine that watched his heart make mountains and valleys. Where it would had increased, Grim paced himself by keeping breath shallow. There was no need for alarm, at least, not yet.

His jaw unhinged as if rusted, no sound came from his mouth as a lead tongue struggled to form syllables. Again mouth opened and shut, snapping teeth once. The sound was hollow and rang through his ears, but it wasn?t enough to wake David, who simply shifted further into the wool of his coat. Grim repeated the motion, working his jaw like the chamber of a revolver that had no bullet to give as a warning shot. Panic rushed into his veins in place of adrenaline, forcing Grim?s heart rate to alter in a mountain range of louder beeping ? the sound was David?s alarm clock, forcing eyes wide with sleep.

David stretched and yawned, a characteristic that caused Grim to roll glassy eyes as fingers fanned out in a cyclic movement, pinky to thumb, thumb to pinky. Moving the wrist would come with more effort, but he only wanted David?s attention. Again his mouth opened to hiss breath loud enough to catch David?s eye and force him immediately rigid in the chair.

?G-Grim?? His voice was nervous as fingers dug into the armrests.

Grim hissed again in response, louder this time as wrists were bent to pry hands from their prison of hospital linen.

?Grim!? David?s voice dropped to a whisper as if there were people listening in. ?Do you need a doctor? What is it??

Grim?s tongue clucked once, a response he had been trying to produce for what seemed like an eternity.

?What is that?? David?s whisper turned shrill as he leaned forward in the chair, but never fully rose. He knew better than to get too close. ?What, Grim? What is it??

The response was faint, a dimly lit mouth formed the word that he could not speak. Grim?s functions had been turned off at needlepoint ? immobilized by medicine that was supposed to be saving his life. He saw nothing beyond the blurry edges of an illuminated hallway. His mouth moved in the formation of the word again before choppy movements lifted his hand in a wave. David, against his better judgement, lifted from the chair and crept over toward him with eyes widening.

?What is it? Gr-Grim, hey come on man. Y?scarin? me here.?

David?s nervous speech went ignored as Grim swallowed harshly in an attempt to be heard. The word was mouthed as his tongue pulled from the roof of his mouth silently, David bent closer to him ? a desperate move that yielded the desired result however.

?Pen.?

Grim?s voice seemed to come from his throat, the way a ventriloquist manipulated the masses into thinking that the wooden creation spoke without being prompted. David pulled away confused and looked toward the window as it was shadowed by passing medical personnel.

?Pen? Wh-what about it? D-do you want me to get you one? I ca??

His words were cut short as he tried to backpedal away from the bed. Grim caught the fabric of his coat as frail fingers suddenly became his only anchor, holding onto the only thing in the room that was familiar.

?Okay! Okay! Here, take it!? David was surprised at the amount of strength (perhaps his own nervosa had imagined it) Grim still had left and offered the pen out to him.

Grim?s fingers took the pen in a grasp meant to choke the life out of something ? the plastic utensil was his only life line, despite the machines around him. It alone had the ability to write out the key to solving this entire puzzle. The pen was scratched along linen until David pulled a piece of paper from his pocket and set it underneath the pen. Slowly, crude letters were printed out in the dull lighting -- Grim couldn?t see the paper any way, blind eyes slid back under heavy lids until the pen stopped moving. The only things he had managed were the words:

??????? ???
Julia.

?Grim?? David?s voice called timidly because under all pretenses, the man seemed to have fallen asleep.

Slowly, David reached for the pen until Grim?s body curved its spine from the mattress as the machine monitoring his heart flat lined. It only took a second before Grim?s body began to seize and David pulled the paper from its place before running toward the door. The hallway was broken into a fever pitched scream.

?I need a doctor! Anyone! I need a doctor!?

part III

?Do you know who I am??

Eyes opened slowly at the sound of the man?s voice ? glasses like twin mercury plates were the only remarkable thing about the stoic man?s facial features. His eyes rolled away toward the tray nearest to him. Syringes lay in a rainbow of colors ? an array of anti-psychotics and suppressants, an array of experimentation. His veins had become a test subject for the man with the gruff voice. Latex fingers picked up a syringe, but he didn?t keep his eyes open long enough to see the color.

A flashbulb went off and he was gasping for air on a steel table ? shoulder blades crashed against the unyielding surface as white coats held him down. Wide eyes watched another syringe be taken off a similar tray, only this time it was empty. They were harvesting now and soon he would be a number among the rows of other children who were strapped into beds and branded with electrodes to monitor their behaviorism.

The wheels on the gurney screeched and rattled against the tiled flooring as if it were uneven. With his eyes closed, he could tell when he had reached the end of the hallway and started into another. The lights turned into windows that under the duress of unconsciousness he could watch the day pass by through the grates. Slate skies were cut jagged by the unfurling of black trees with leafed branches that always seemed to be blown by a hurricane ? he liked to think that someone had taken the time to paint each and every individual leaf because the scenery never changed.

The plastic of the medical bracelet cut into pale skin ? a red raw mark that would stick out memory, no matter how many times he tried to hide it. Silence was a figmentary notion, waves of breath became the dull roar of the human sea that the bodies created in rows. Each one being taken back to the man with a disease for every healthy boy or girl, and a cure within reach.

?Tell me what you see.?

The man never asked for anything until after he had injected a dosage of truth into Grim?s veins. Violet lids crashed over pale eyes and lashes made a deafening sound ? like hundreds of birds taking flight all at once as they tangled together. His breathing became a roaring wind and his heartbeat cracked open land with its thunderous beating. It was the only time he was allowed off of the gurney, settled uncomfortably on hard leather that was kept together with tiny gilded buttons ? it was meant to look expensive, but the smell of decay sunk too deep into his lungs.

He lied. Mouth opened and rattled off imagery he had seen on his way toward the room he had been locked into, but as the pulsing of blood and drug made it through his heart valves he felt compelled to speak the truth. His brother was standing underneath the dark tree holding onto his hat, dressed in an officer?s uniform. His mouth opened to say something, but everything burned away like a photograph over a flame. Small hands reached out to grab hold of the corners, but it was already too late.

part IV

Through the cracks in his eyelids, Grim watched the slowed motion of limbs reach for his body before eyes rolled back in their sockets. Instead of seeing some white light, he was asphyxiating in a warm kind of dark. Voices surrounded him in a monstrous slur of words that never quite made it into coherent sentences. He rattled and shook against the bed, pulling tubing and wires with him as hands struggled to keep him still and keep him from swallowing his tongue.

Paddles were being charged as the heart monitor continued to display a flat line ? David didn?t realize what was happening until the doctor yelled for the count. It was almost as if he were watching Victor holding the lightning rod that shocked the dead back to fully functional life. As he tried to break through the small crowd of people, the paddles had already been compressed against Grim?s chest. A convulsion of life sparked on the machine before the doctor called for the count again. David, against his better judgement, lunged through the door that had been left open.

The chaos outside the waking world had little to do with what was swimming in Grim?s suffocating mind. Shocked again, this time he split eyelids open to watch white light filter through spidery veins of retinas as the heart monitor finally sparked a slow pulse. Tiny mountains were rising up along the screen as the ventilator took over breathing for choking lungs.

Movements had been predicted before acted upon ? David?s valiant efforts to restrain the code blue had him reeling away from the building, shoved out by taupe uniforms. A phone was fumbled out of his pocket as trembling fingers punched in the correct number after the seventh or eighth try.

part V

Snow littered the ground like shifting sand -- they had stood in institutional rows for nearly six hours with bare feet firmly planted on dusted concrete. Rows of half-lidded eyes and rawboned children only changed direction when the word was uttered. The command changed and he felt himself running through a tangled web of spidery tree branches that cut through his skin and tore patches of his clothing to hang like victory flags. There was a sound -- a crack of thunder and the overpowering brilliance of white.

"Do you know who I am?

The voice echoed behind mirror plated glasses -- in this white lab coat, with a mouth stitched thin, the man looked more mad scientist than savior. He was seated comfortably in the metal chair across from the boy's crumpled frame -- purple and black from exposure to extreme cold. The boy's chapped lips cracked open to speak but nothing followed, his tongue was lead, his head was heavy and he collapsed.

"When was the first time you fired a gun?"

"I haven't."

"What was the name of the boy that you shot this morning?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Like a clap of thunder, he saw the image of his sister with the back of her skull still smoking. The familiar scent of copper was soaking into his lungs and his eyes shut to block out the image. As soon as lashes had tangled together, he felt himself shocked back to life -- gasping for air as if his first breath was his last. He could hear the heavy scratching of ink on paper as pens moved in the observation room. Even with his eyes closed, Grim was a perfect shot.

part VI

"We're going to let you go now, you won't remember this when you wake up. But, you will come back to us."

For nearly three weeks before, he had been sprawled on his stomach with the intricate nervous system of his spine exposed under halogen lamps as surgeons bent themselves over, poking and prodding along the spinal cord until they produced a desired reaction. The scars were designed and perfected to resemble those of scoliosis procedures exactly. Their design, of course, was flawless thanks to one man who daubed at his brow between pulling tendons and tissue out of his way. Completely immobilized, it was hard to imagine the damage this little boy had done in maturing into a modernized machine. The last components to his transformation came in two small chips, which were butterfly stitched between nerves for optimum efficiency.

The procedure was clean. The healing was clean. The experiment had been a complete success.

"Your scar is from corrective surgery. You attended a formalized institution to receive your education but the name is irrelevant. You've blocked it because of your family's fatality."

The first of the children, a girl, had been a failure. Her bones were too fragile and her mind was too weak. Epilepsy had been a side-effect, one they had tried to eliminate, but ultimately their attempt failed. He had taken care with this one, not to ruin it spirit but merely alter. They had been so careful in developing the new techniques that the new design was nearly flawless. He was the seven hundred and forty-second, but he was the selected recipient of the new technology. Microchips that served as mobile tracking devices as well as ledgers. A living, breathing machine.

The boy had always been favored -- his lack of communication and antisocial behavior in their first observations had been why he was selected. The rest had fallen into place. He didn't ask for specifics on what fell into place, he merely doled out the medications and treatments so that the boy would eventually wind up in his care.

He was going to change the world, simply by mechanizing it. The future was planted firmly along the boy's spinal column. They only had to wait and see what would become of him.