by Danny, thedoctor, Grimm, Chewy Walrus and TheTimeTrust
Danny Hearn stepped out of his room, having been entirely unable to get to sleep. He made his way to the elevator, got in, and pressed the button for the ground floor. He still didn't entirely trust these elevator things. But Danny wasn't in the mood for the stairs; he wasn't exactly at full health.
He placed a hand softly on his side, near his kidney. He winced and drew it back. "Fuckin' stab wound..." he said softly.
The elevator dinged, and the doors opened. There stood Sam Dawson.
Sam got on. Danny got off, saying, "Hey, Sam..."
"Thought you were going to bed."
"Couldn't get to sleep..."
"Oh." Sam pressed the button for the doors to close.
Danny turned and yelled "Azrael!" as they did so.
"What?"
"Azrael!" The doors closed tight. "Well, that was... awkward," Danny said, and began to wonder exactly how, when, and who put a bug in Sam's arse. He walked out to the foyer, where Shirley Francis was at her desk, and Grimm was just entering the building with a newspaper under his arm.
"Been to the newsagent, then?" Danny asked.
"Yup," Grimm replied, lifting his paper, as if to prove his claim that yes, he had indeed been to the newsagent. You never could tell; kids today, with their crazy newsagent stories.
"Get any weird looks?" Danny said.
"Plenty," Grimm answered. He walked on into the living area. Danny's gaze followed him out of the room, and he furrowed his brow in thought. Oh, how he furrowed. Much furrow was had on this day.
"What's the matter? Scared of the new guy?" Shirley said, grinning.
"Hm? Oh. Right. Uh... not really. Just... I dunno... unfamiliar. We don't know him at all. Or Dirk. Or Chance. We're only just starting to get used to Turkish. Not that I don't like them, but..."
"You want to get to know them before you're ready to risk your life alongside them."
"Something like that."
"You should talk to them."
"Tried it. With Dirk. He didn't really take to it."
"Grimm may be different. He seems... friendlier than he looks," Shirley said.
"Maybe... but I'll worry about that later. Today, I have a parade to see. This'll be the first time I've ever seen a parade that's on the ground. Should be... interesting," Danny said, and walked out the front door.
The occasional breeze fluttered the neat folds of Turkish Stringfellow's robe as the prophet sat in meditation on the roof in the afternoon sun. His mind was transfixed on itself, searching for clues and answers that would not come. Gulls cried out to one another in the sky. A cheering crowd and a band marching to a loud and happy tune came from the streets below. But those sounds did not come to Turkish's ears. He only heard the enthralling rhythm of his own heartbeat and breath creating a symphony to his soul.
SLAM!
The door to the roof swung open and crashed against the wall. Dirk Bell hopped on his good leg up the last couple of steps and out onto the roof. His right hand flipped open his Zippo and lit it while his left produced a cigar and brought it to his mouth. A few puffs later, the lighter was returned to its pocket, and Dirk looked out to the scenery surrounding the MBL Consulting building.
"Nice quaint place you've got here," he said to Turkish, who never moved any part of his body so much as an inch. "A little paint, some pictures, a few throw rugs, and you'd have yourself one hell of a bachelor pad."
Dirk propped himself up on the side of the ledge on the west side of the building. "So. How exactly is it that you do all that freaky shit you do?" No reply. "Do you do some incantation?" Nothing. "Pray to a god?" Still nothing. "Roll a D20? Click your heals together three times and make a wish?" And still, the prophet didn't move.
Dirk hobbled his way back to the doorway. "And people say I'm an inconsiderate bastard." He disappeared down the stairs.
Turkish sat in his meditation. His heartbeat regulated to a slow and steady rhythm, his breath deep and long. The symphony played on as he felt a shadow of a cloud blocking out the sun pass over his face and the wind build and slide across his body, his mind still searching for the truths that it was hiding from itself, playing a child's game of hide and seek with itself. A clap of thunder rang out in the distance.
Grimm sat in his room, intently scanning the newspaper he'd been forced to go out and buy after Mick Harrison destroyed the copy that the company was subscribed to. He searched the international section. Nothing. Nothing. Still more nothing. Perhaps he would have to get another paper. Perhaps he would chance another trip to the newsagents to try and get an American paper.
No, he wasn't quite ready for another round of staring and odd looks from the locals. The looks he got from his teammates were bad enough. Maybe he shouldn't have blown off that Danny kid so quickly.
Grimm got up and walked over to the sparse bed. He reached over to his left arm and pressed a small button (hidden unless you knew just where to look) and removed the gauntlet there. He repeated the motion for the other arm.
He laid the heavy iron items on the bed and threw his leather jacket on top of them. He did the same with the chains he wore around his neck. He then sat down and removed his heavy biker boots. He stretched out his toes. "Aaahhh..."
Taking a moment to stop at the old oak dresser that the room had been furnished with, he pulled out a black extra-large T-shirt (with the sleeves cut off) and put it on. He picked up a battered copy of Jack Kerouac's Dharma Bums (he had found it late one night while rummaging through the library) and settled down on the old couch in the far corner of the room next to the window to relax and read.
No sooner had he started the first paragraph, when he bolted upright, a searing pain bursting in his head, the word Vengeance burning in his mind spelled out in red flames. Grimm fell backward onto the couch, unconscious.
Danny walked around outside trying to find a good position to see the parade from. Not being familiar with this place (or even this era), he wasn't sure how to best situate himself for best viewing. And the streets were already getting crowded.
"Man, that music's loud, and awful."
"Ha."
Danny bumped into something.
"Hey, watch ou-- Um, hi."
A beautiful local girl was staring back at Danny. "Hi, are you here to watch the parade?"
"Yeah. I've never seen one before."
"Really?"
"Yeah, I'm Danny, by the way."
"Hi, Danny, I'm Rachel."
"Nice to meet you."
"Nice to meet you. You know, Danny, my parents have an apartment with a balcony view. We could watch the parade from there without all these people around."
"Sounds great."
Mick Harrison turned around to see the La Perdita local marching band Chapter 27 walking straight toward him. Mick was paralyzed. The band continued walking toward him, never stopping or slowing down. Mick was pulled into the band and dragged down the street, being prodded and jostled from all sides. Eventually, he was dragged down to the ground and the band was marching on top of him.
Mick was in pain, dazed, and could only do one thing. The word fell out of his mouth. "M'xy..."
Grissom Montag looked at his watch as the cab he sat in continued at its stand-still position just a few blocks from the island headquarters of MBL Consulting.
"What's taking so long, mate?" Griss asked, leaning forward to talk to the cabbie.
"It's the parade," the cabbie quipped, pulling his cap over his eyes. "They have the road blocks up. It should be going on for most of the day."
"You're kidding me," Griss said, hitting the seat with frustration. "What is this? The La Perdita gay pride parade?"
"Who knows?" the cabbie answered. "All I know is there's s'posed to be some psychic kids appearing."
"Psychic kids," Grissom said, more of a statement than a question. "I've heard enough."
Next thing the cabbie knew, he heard the back door slam and his charge walking down the street, past the parade roadblocks. Before he could say anything, he looked down on his lap and saw a folded U.S. fifty-dollar bill laying in his lap.
Without saying a word, the cabbie pulled his cap back over his eyes and fell asleep, waiting out the parade.
Kristofer Schanz, alias Chance, stood by his window, only halfheartedly watching the parade outside on the street, while deep in thought. He could no longer deny what Dr. Quantos had told him. Suddenly, all the pieces began to be put together in his mind. And the explanation answered so many questions: Why the guys treated him like a newcomer and why Dirk said his little speech. Why his room had been even messier and unkempt than it had been when he first moved in. And why Shirley and Mick were engaged. The Kristofer Schanz of this world died on New Year's Day of 2002.
Part of him felt somewhat relieved, as far as Shirley was concerned. She hadn't rejected him after all, because she'd only just met him for the first time this morning. But she and Mick were much closer in this universe, without Chance having ever entered the picture. Well, she was engaged to Mick now; she loved him, and Chance had to honor that. If only it was as easy to dispose of his feelings for her.
Poor Pete! He suddenly realized how he had been treating the little ghost lately, never knowing that Pete had been right all along. This was HIS place on the team Chance had taken. This was HIS apartment, HIS money. Poor, poor Pete. He was dead, a ghost. How unlucky was that?