Daystar (88 page)

“Who would flee with me?”
 
Ravil choked back a sob.
 
“These Wasters know nothing about anything!”

 
“These creatures are driven by a constant flight from boredom, when has your life been boring?”

“Never.
 
I want boring!”

Calpsan nodded as his joints began to ache.
 
He pulled out a syringe and stabbed his thigh.
 
His aging halted.
 
“Eventually, you’ll get your wish.”

Ravil looked at the syringe.
 
“Do you have more?”

He shook his head.
 
“Only one, but I will have enough time to see you right.”
 
Calpsan patted her head.
 
“Now nap, Ravil.”

“But...”

He waved his hand in front of her face.
 
“You desire a nap more than anything right now.”

Ravil’s eyes grew heavy; she blinked against the sleep.
 
“Not fair.”

“Life is never fair, especially not for one like you.
 
Remember that.”

***

Rake bucked on the ground of an empty warehouse.
 
A syringe slipped through his fingers and hit the concrete.
 
His pulse went erratic, pressure strained his heart.
 
He stared at the ceiling and struggled to breathe.
 
“Fu—fucking...”

A wave of adrenaline pumped through his blood.
 
He drove his heels into the concrete and pushed his body across the ground.
 
He slammed his head into the floor.
 
Spit dribbled out between clenched teeth, his muscles spasmed.
 
Rake shoved his hand into his mouth and bit down on his palm to keep from breaking his teeth against each other.
 

The wave passed and his muscles relaxed.
 
He sucked in air.
 
“Fucking stims!”
 
He coughed and rolled to his stomach, feeling the worst had passed.
 
Blood dripped out his nose, but his pulse slowed.
 
Rake jumped to his feet, his hands shook, his legs twitched.
 
He glared at his limbs.
 
“Behave!”

He thumped his chest, angry at his heart, which pounded as if he had run a marathon.
 
He rubbed his temples.
 
No fix, no food, and he still stank.
 
Rake made a face and stalked towards the warehouse door.
 
Pain drove him to his knees.

He struggled to stand.
 
“Get up you weak bitch!
 
Get up, Rake!”
 
He closed his eyes and charged for the doors, ignoring the shortness of breath that left him dizzy.
 
He slammed into the boxes he’d originally moved to block the entrance.
 

Rake knew he should thank everyone else’s gods that he had not shot up with something worse, but he was pissed off at himself for not checking it in the first place.
 
He’d just been so in need.
 
“Idiot!
 
Stupid, Rake.”
 

The sound of his voice drove him on.
 
He shoved the last of the boxes out of the way and stomped into the humid afternoon air.
 
The alley should have been sunny, but the buildings were tall and the smog thick, so it was dark already.
 
He rubbed blood off his upper lip and stumbled away from the warehouse.

A woman beckoned him and he waved her off.
 
A man held his hand out with something for sale.
 
Rake shoved him away.
 
A child ran up with its hands out for money.
 
Rake held his sides.
 
“Fuck off!”
 
He said the equivalent in Mandarin.
 

His vision doubled, but his tremors slowed.
 
His body ached and he scratched at his arms to relieve the pain.
 
As he came down from the stims, withdrawals of another kind set in.
 
He bit his cheek as cold sweats made him chill in the heat.
 

He got his bearings; he knew where he was at least.
 
He slipped his hand inside his pocket and pulled out his switchblade, no reason to advertise he was a target.
 
He forced a wide smile; he hoped he looked too poor or too crazy to be worth the effort.

Rake kept it up for several blocks.
 
He joined into a market and kept his eyes in front of him and his knife in sight.
 
He drove his fingernails into his palm to take his mind off his headache.
 
His skin ached as if dull spikes hammered through it from the inside out.
 
Every sound too loud, the smells too much.
 
Rake’s world throbbed.
 
He needed to get high fast.
 

Rake scanned the crowd, watched how people stayed away from him.
 
He sniffed the air; he needed a bath.
 
He wouldn’t be able to turn a trick in this state, not without getting cleaned up or at least smelling better.
 
He wouldn’t even fuck himself right now.

His eyes caught on a flashing light, the neon red sign of the joint he was looking for.
 
He hobbled towards it, hoping his legs would get him there before they decided to give out.
 
He fell on the unmarked backdoor.
 
He slammed his forehead against it.
 
“Open!”

An elderly Asian woman answered.
 
She looked at him and clucked her tongue.
 
She grabbed his arm and pulled him inside.
 
“Rake, you are getting my door and floor filthy.”

“Sor…sorry.
 
I need...”

“I know what you need.
 
You have money?”

Rake fumbled for the bills he had stolen earlier, he shoved the entire wad at her.
 
“Drugs, bath, food.
 
Whatever I don’t have the money for I’ll work off.”
 
He flashed a smile.
 
“You know I can earn it.”

“Of course, come.”
 
She gestured and he followed.
 
The hall was dark with one solitary bulb at the end.
 
She knocked on the door.
 
A burly man eyed them both.
 
He recognized Rake and let them pass.

The lowest levels of the gambling house were for those that worked there.
 
Some practiced cards, others made food.
 
The woman took him to the bedrooms.
 
Girls giggled as he passed, some said hello.
 
Rake ignored them, his thoughts locked on one thing.
 
He slumped down on the first bed she led him to.
 

The elderly woman held up a syringe.
 
He grabbed for it, she pulled her hand back.
 
“One only, Rake.
 
If you work, you need to be sensible, no blackouts again.”

“I am the epit—epit—epitome.”
 
He flinched against the pain.
 
“Of sensible.”

She wrinkled her nose.
 
“Then you can shower, you can eat leftovers, and
then
work the tables.”
 
She handed him the syringe and helped him out of his coat.
 
She raised an eyebrow at the state of his body.
 
“You get in fight again?”

“Probably.”
 
He managed to smile.
 
“I lived.”

 
She tightened a belt around his upper arm.
 
“You should quit, we would hire you fulltime at tables.”

“What fun would tha—that be?”
 
Rake watched her tap on his vein.
 
“I am fr—free.”

“Free to die in alley.”

“My choice.”
 
Rake closed his eyes as she stuck his arm.

The woman shook her head as his body relaxed.
 
“You remember where showers are?”
 
He nodded, smiling.
 
She got up from the bed.
 
“We open in an hour.
 
They may be occupied, not saving them for you.”

He nodded.
 
“I’m not shy.”

“Eh.”
 
She frowned and walked out, her voice trailing after, “See kitchen for food.”
 
She left him to himself.

Rake saw stars behind his eyelids, space, and the calm silence.
 
He didn’t care about anything else, nothing but this here and now.
 
His hand lifted off the bed, reaching for what would have been controls in his cockpit, his muscle memory perfect from years of training.
 
Where would he soar tonight?
 

“Jupiter,” he slurred and smiled.
 
“Or further, into the empty.”
 
He pointed and in his mind, he saw the space between his solar system and everything else.
 
He drifted off to a semi-sleep of euphoria.

People moved and time passed.
 
Rake stayed still, locked in place.
 
Girls readied themselves, put makeup on, and gossiped.
 
A few checked in on him, washed his brow.
 
One left him a fortune cookie, and another draped a blanket over his body.
 
Life continued as he stayed numb in stasis.
 

Rake rested, nestled in a cocoon of soft cotton, of pleasant sensations, an escape from everything that plagued him.
 
But even that safe haven without memories had to end.
 
His eyelids fluttered.
 
His breaths grew deeper and his heartbeat strong.
 
His eyes flicked open.
 

Rake rolled off the bed and to his feet in one smooth motion, relaxed and rejuvenated.
 
He yawned and stretched.
 
He snatched up the fortune cookie and grinned.
 
He broke it open and popped both of the pieces in his mouth.
 
He read the handwritten fortune and pocketed the paper.
 
“Thank you, wise cookie.”
 

He sauntered out of the basement and followed his nose upstairs to the kitchens.
 
The cooks waved him out.
 
Rake wouldn’t leave.
 
“If the health department ever came to this part of the city they’d shut you down anyways!
 
Gimme a plate of something!”
 
His stomach rumbled to punctuate his point.

The cooks handed him a tureen of leavings from lunch, and a fork.
 
Rake grabbed a bottle of wine and left them alone.
 
He wolfed the noodles down, a mixture of Thai and Chinese food.
 
He popped the top off his bottle and washed down the grease.
 

He hummed and carried the tureen and bottle with him.
 
He walked up a flight of concrete steps towards the top floor.
 
He passed by curtains and hangings, beads hit him in the face but he ignored them, his body still blissfully numb.
 

Rake set the tureen down in a hall and headed for the showers.
 
He put his ear to the door and pulled out his knife.
 
He pushed the door open, no reaction.
 
He jumped in and looked around.
 
He dropped to the floor and stared under the toilet stalls.
 
Empty, no one showering, mugging, or fucking.

The showers were nothing more than a set of three metal hoses that hung from wall hooks.  There were no dividers or doors to maintain privacy.  Rake stripped off his clothes and threw the pieces near a drain.
 
He flicked on the first shower and set it to wash his things.
 
The other he turned on hot and stepped under the spray.
 
He leaned his forehead on the tile and let the water run across his skin.
 
He drank straight from his bottle.