FIC: Those Men Will Break Your Bones
Those Men Will Break Your Bones
by eggblue
Notes: Bruce/Harvey Dent written in May 2000. Set in the time before Two-Face became a reality. Characters belong to DC and not to me, etc.
For my old friends on the Batslash yahoogroup, and in Europe, who liked this story best of all. I love you guys.
*
*Harvey’s Turn*
This city makes men mean-- monstrously mean, like rabid dogs who eat the neighbors’ baby. I watch every day for one good man, just one, to stand out from the pack. He never comes.
I must’ve gotten it wrong somewhere along the line. I used to believe that there was such a thing as right and wrong. I was going to fight for the right and punish the wrong-- the good old American way. The problem is, I haven’t found much right. In fact I have found very little right. Alright, I haven’t found any right.
Instead I get enough wrong to fill up ten cities. And those who aren’t bad (which is a few, a very few) have stopped fighting back. All is violence or apathy. I can’t decide which is worse.
I know how they live. Bankrolls and pretty girls with glassy eyes. Red wine and dark fedoras above cigar smoke. Cheap drugs and dirty needles. White collars and black greed. Little boys with murderous minds. This town has its share of criminals of every sort. The one universal truth is that none of them feel remorse. I see it over and over again, like a recurring nightmare that has lost it’s ability to scare.
Everything has too many angles, everything is dirty.
Like that damn Rinaldi case. Michael has a younger brother Carlo. One day Michael comes home to find Carlo there waiting for him. He askes his older brother for some money to help pay back a debt. Sure, it is a steep amount. Little Carlo has this little problem with gambling, and sometimes he gets in over his head. He says there are men after him, men who want to kill him. He comes to his brother in desperation. Michael listens with a sympathetic ear, then tells his brother that he’ll take care of it. What he does is pull out a gun and leave a few bullets in his little brother’s chest (and one in the head for good measure). Then he calls up some pals and gets Carlo’s debt settled, after which he proceeds to smoke a cigar in his favorite chair while waiting for the police to show up. He wasn’t even scared, he knew he would get through the system untouched. This man who I sent free yesterday, this man killed his younger brother for no reason, none at all. Bastard. I wonder how many people on my side aren’t being bribed. I doubt there are many of us left.
I must be a fool to be one of them. I’ve started jumping at shadows, waking up with night sweats waiting for the other shoe to drop. Being an assistant DA is too high profile of a job, and Gotham chews us up and spits us out like cheap tobacco. Yeah, lucky me. I’m the latest in a long line of suckers.
Do you know why I’m the biggest sucker of all, though? I still believe in my job. There, I’ve said it. What I should do is hand in my resignation tomorrow. But I won’t. Tomorrow begins yet another trial against organized crime, another chance to do my duty and rid this city of some of its meanest dogs. As long as I have a shred of hope left, I won’t stop. Though, mind you, I have been drinking since before noon. I wouldn’t believe everything that I’ve told you, especially the part about hope.
My office downtown wouldn’t even be big enough to hold Michael Rinaldi’s collection of fine leather shoes. I spend more time in this tiny room than I do anywhere else. I’ve forgotten what a social life even looks like. It must involve cigar smoke and gun clips. It certainly doesn’t have to do with asbestos poisoning and one-window rooms. I don’t really know, I’ll have to ask Michael next time he kills someone. Ha.
The fluorescent light saps the little bit of self-worth that I have left. The bulb is going dead, flickering some sort of morse code SOS, and I let it. I don’t even see him at the door until he clears his throat.
“Come on in Bruce. You’re not interrupting anything,” I say. In the meantime, I turn back to my lightbulb.
“Maybe you should try going home, Harvey. Get some rest.”
He sounds so concerned. I forget that some people can still feel that way. “Sure Bruce, since I’m obviously not doing anything important here.”
“We all do what we can... sometimes it’s not enough, I know...”
I narrow my eyes at him. The pampered playboy, the man who doesn’t have to work a day in his life, is telling *me*... “No, you don’t know.” That shuts him up. He just stares at me, and I realize I’m holding onto my desk so tight my knuckles are turning white.
“I think you could use a break, Harv.” His voice has lost its plaintive tone. About time.
I wait for him to come to me, like he thinks this time it is going to be different. He knows I can’t rest with things the way they are. There are too many men like Rinaldi out on those streets and no way to stop them. I can’t rest and say I still have a conscience. I don’t know, maybe I don’t. But someone out there has to have one. Right? Yeah, probably not. Hey, look at that... the room is spinning...
Then the light flickers out for good, and we’re in darkness.
*Bruce’s Turn*
Even with all the training I’ve been doing, he still gets the better of me. Not that I’m going to fight him off. But I should have seen it coming. Whatever the hell gets into Harv sometimes, I can’t figure it out. It scares me...
That’s another thing I have to work on-- the fear. I’ve only been on the streets for a few months, but it’s enough to get my ass handed to me on a platter more times than I care to remember. I’m still young, and stupid. But that’s no excuse for some of the mistakes I’ve made. I let the fear get to me, and it makes me reckless.
I’m not afraid now. I remember this is Harv, my friend since my first days at the University. I used to spend nights at his apartment, the few times he would allow it. They don’t come more intense than him, that’s for sure. His intensity seems to multiply the more time he spends doing this job. Even after all this time I haven’t learned when to keep away. I gravitate towards the tough cases. Like I said-- stupid.
So I’m in the room five minutes and somehow he has me pressed against the desk with the length of his body. And it’s dark. I can feel his breath on my ear. Blood’s pounding in my head so loud it’s like a drum. My senses won’t obey me so all I can do is listen to his words and feel his hands gripping my arms so tight they go numb. It doesn’t sound much like the Harvey I knew.
“Did you know I have a brother, Bruce? A younger one. His name is Steven. A lot like you, actually. He didn’t know what life was all about either. He lived in this fantasy world like nothing could touch him. He was wrong though. Dad would still give him a whipping and no little boy fantasy was going to save him from that. But you know what? I could. I was his big brother, I was supposed to protect him.
“And I did. Not every time, but I took the blame for him when I could or showed him where to hide out until Dad passed out. I got used to the belt. It took a long time though. Do you know what that’s like? to always be waiting for that next beating when it came, not knowing how to predict the inevitable, but too afraid to move out of the way?”
He has me leaning over the cheap desk now, bracing myself with my hands. I can feel wood splinters burrowing into my palms. Harvey’s working on my belt now. I can feel the bruises already forming on my arms.
“But that was alright. You know why? Because at least he didn’t get Steven. He would use his belt on me until he got too tired to use it anymore. But I’d take whatever he dished out. Just one thought of Steven and I’d have the guts to stand there until he finished with me.”
My pants are around my ankles when I hear a loud snap and can feel my entire backside catch on fire. I have to shut my eyes but I remain quiet through the pain. I wait for the next blow but it doesn’t come.
“Don’t worry, I’m not going to do to you what he did to me.”
I remember how pale Harvey was under the fluorescent light. Even so, he hasn’t exceeded his bounds yet. I’ve seen him do worse. When he buries his face on my shoulder and tries to enter me, I expect it. He moves his hands to my waist to hold me still. I want to lean forward more to make it easier on myself but he’s not much for give and take tonight. He’s pressing into me but it’s not that bad this time. Harvey knows my body well enough, he’s done this before.
When he starts to move, I see electric lights go off in my head. My body hums like a current and my elbows shake under the strain. His words bring me down again.
“You should have seen him, Bruce. Steven had these brown eyes that were so warm when they looked at me. I loved making him smile. I knew he loved me back too. There was no one else I could say that about. I used to dream about holding him, sometimes every waking moment it seemed. I don’t even know where he lives now. I can’t imagine the thought of him being out there somewhere, stealing or starving away in some gutter. Or maybe he’s not even in this city anymore. Maybe he was smart and got out of here, before it made him mean.”
His voice shakes even as he thrusts harder into me. I feel wetness through my shirt from his tears and at the same time I wince from the grip he has on my waist. It gets tighter.
“And this sonofabitch can shoot his brother without any remorse and not even pay the price. Brothers don’t even love their brothers anymore, you know? We die and we die again and again and no one notices us. I’m worthless against it. I can’t do a thing to stop them, and every day I fear that I’ll be the next one to show up in the morgue. Imagine that, waking up tomorrow...”
He has stopped moving. He has his hands around me like I’m the only thing keeping him on the earth. Harvey slowly sinks to the floor with his face trailing tears down my body. He’s not sober, and probably hasn’t been since early this morning. Now I can smell the alcohol like a flood. I’m too exhaused to feel numb anymore, and my senses reawaken as his body is freed from mine.
He is sobbing on the floor, an absolute mess. I kneel next to him and hold him to me in a small gesture of fraternity. I don’t know where I get this capacity from, to take on his pain as well as my own. Maybe it is because my pain feels like nothing against Harvey’s. I look at his face. I haven’t cried like that in a long long time. I don’t remember when. But it feels like I am, kneeling next to him right now. It makes me feel old.
I let my guard down. I think I know what Harvey this is I am holding in my arms-- the sad drunk Harvey, the Harvey who feels like a failure. I’ve met him before. His body feels so weak against me despite its bulk. I don’t know this Harvey is dangerous until it’s too late.
White light is in my head again, except this time it feels like an explosion. My head is wet with something that burns my eyes raw. The smell of alcohol is overpowering. Harvey is on top of me now holding something that nics my throat. I can’t see a thing through the burning pain, I just know that I have to hold him back.
Stupid, stupid, Bruce. What was I thinking? I remember back to when I first saw Harvey today. His eyes were wild, not focused on anything for more than a few seconds. And his skin was way too pale, even for the bad lighting. His voice sounded mechanical and automatic... He is a sick man, and has been for a some time.
I get my feet free and kick him hard in the belly. My eyes open. He moves slow after hitting the ground, his reflexes shot. I don’t have enough control to search for a nerve, so I just go for the knockout punch to his temple and hope it’s enough. It is. I have to use my shirtsleeve to wipe my eyes. It doesn’t help much with the pain but at least I can see well enough to pull myself together. I still have to get Harvey out of here tonight, and hopefully with some privacy.
I know I have lost him. Friendship is such a failure. Every time I think I have it, it just slips away from me again. A man whom I consider to be my closest friend has been slipping into madness for some time now and I was too wrapped up in my pointless crusade to notice. No, not pointless. If I believe that what Harvey is doing is worthwhile than I have to believe in what I do as well. And I’ve just started. I have so much further to go…
I pull our clothes on without much finesse. I’m still working in the dark. Well, except for the lights in the night sky, but they’re small help. The hallway is empty, and it is easy to avoid suspicion in the parking garage. I mentally congratulate myself for leaving Alfred out of this. Harvey still hasn’t regained consciousness by the time I pull up to his deserted house. The commute is ridiculous to make every day back and forth to the suburbs. Especially if there is nothing but an empty house waiting for you.
I collapse against the steering wheel after I turn off the purring ignition. I take that back. Friendship is not a failure-- I am. I can’t get away from memory. Every moment is lived in one breath. I exist as if I were 5 years old, 8 years, 21, and now 28. Moments from my life haunt me, and probably always will. I can handle that though. As long as I am alone. But bring someone else in and they become lost. Every gaze that I keep directed inward keeps me from seeing the obvious with even my oldest friends. I could have been there for Harvey, years ago, but I wasn’t. Now he is dangerous to himself and a stranger to me. Talk about failure...
I carry him inside, the man who held a broken bottle to my throat just over an hour ago. I set him down on the bed, propping him on his side. If he wakes up and remembers me in the morning, perhaps he will call. I hope he doesn’t remember this night, for his sake.
I stand in the doorway and watch him. A part of me wants to stand there forever and wait for him to wake up. But what can I do if I keep coming back to him, until that day when he goes too far and finally loses it? It would destroy us both. I’m not strong enough yet to fight him off. Maybe if we live separate lives I could save him with that distance. I know that getting closer would be disaster-- we indulge each other too much. I will come back for him, someday. I swear to. So I leave, waiting for that day when we meet up again.
*Two-Face’s Turn*
“Bruce?”
“He’s not here. He abandoned you.”
“Who are you?”
“Trust me.”
“Why should I?”
“Because I can help you get better. Do you remember last night?”
“Bits and pieces. Everything is very confused right now. How can you help me? Will you tell them I am sorry? Will you bring them all back to me?”
“I can’t give you all of what you want. If I do that then you will get rid of me. I can’t have that. I will just help to make things a bit clearer.”
“How can I get rid of you when I don’t even know who you are?”
“You know me already. I will lead and you will follow. I will remind him and he will remember you. They all will.”
“Why should I believe you?”
“Because I am you. Anyway, look around you, Harv... There’s no one else here to believe.”
“What do I have to do in return?”
“Nothing much... Remember that coin your father gave you? The one with the scarred side on it?”
“Yes...”
“Just flip it from time to time. When you need a favor, I will be there.”
“That is all I have to do?”
“Right. Just, don’t do it yet. I will tell you when.”
“*When*”?”
“Yes. It’s not time yet. Wait until the trial tomorrow. I am planning a surprise that will make everything clear to you. No more worries after that.”
“Fine, I will wait. But you didn’t answer my question-- Who are you?”
“I’m your best friend, Harv.”
The End
by eggblue
Notes: Bruce/Harvey Dent written in May 2000. Set in the time before Two-Face became a reality. Characters belong to DC and not to me, etc.
For my old friends on the Batslash yahoogroup, and in Europe, who liked this story best of all. I love you guys.
*
*Harvey’s Turn*
This city makes men mean-- monstrously mean, like rabid dogs who eat the neighbors’ baby. I watch every day for one good man, just one, to stand out from the pack. He never comes.
I must’ve gotten it wrong somewhere along the line. I used to believe that there was such a thing as right and wrong. I was going to fight for the right and punish the wrong-- the good old American way. The problem is, I haven’t found much right. In fact I have found very little right. Alright, I haven’t found any right.
Instead I get enough wrong to fill up ten cities. And those who aren’t bad (which is a few, a very few) have stopped fighting back. All is violence or apathy. I can’t decide which is worse.
I know how they live. Bankrolls and pretty girls with glassy eyes. Red wine and dark fedoras above cigar smoke. Cheap drugs and dirty needles. White collars and black greed. Little boys with murderous minds. This town has its share of criminals of every sort. The one universal truth is that none of them feel remorse. I see it over and over again, like a recurring nightmare that has lost it’s ability to scare.
Everything has too many angles, everything is dirty.
Like that damn Rinaldi case. Michael has a younger brother Carlo. One day Michael comes home to find Carlo there waiting for him. He askes his older brother for some money to help pay back a debt. Sure, it is a steep amount. Little Carlo has this little problem with gambling, and sometimes he gets in over his head. He says there are men after him, men who want to kill him. He comes to his brother in desperation. Michael listens with a sympathetic ear, then tells his brother that he’ll take care of it. What he does is pull out a gun and leave a few bullets in his little brother’s chest (and one in the head for good measure). Then he calls up some pals and gets Carlo’s debt settled, after which he proceeds to smoke a cigar in his favorite chair while waiting for the police to show up. He wasn’t even scared, he knew he would get through the system untouched. This man who I sent free yesterday, this man killed his younger brother for no reason, none at all. Bastard. I wonder how many people on my side aren’t being bribed. I doubt there are many of us left.
I must be a fool to be one of them. I’ve started jumping at shadows, waking up with night sweats waiting for the other shoe to drop. Being an assistant DA is too high profile of a job, and Gotham chews us up and spits us out like cheap tobacco. Yeah, lucky me. I’m the latest in a long line of suckers.
Do you know why I’m the biggest sucker of all, though? I still believe in my job. There, I’ve said it. What I should do is hand in my resignation tomorrow. But I won’t. Tomorrow begins yet another trial against organized crime, another chance to do my duty and rid this city of some of its meanest dogs. As long as I have a shred of hope left, I won’t stop. Though, mind you, I have been drinking since before noon. I wouldn’t believe everything that I’ve told you, especially the part about hope.
My office downtown wouldn’t even be big enough to hold Michael Rinaldi’s collection of fine leather shoes. I spend more time in this tiny room than I do anywhere else. I’ve forgotten what a social life even looks like. It must involve cigar smoke and gun clips. It certainly doesn’t have to do with asbestos poisoning and one-window rooms. I don’t really know, I’ll have to ask Michael next time he kills someone. Ha.
The fluorescent light saps the little bit of self-worth that I have left. The bulb is going dead, flickering some sort of morse code SOS, and I let it. I don’t even see him at the door until he clears his throat.
“Come on in Bruce. You’re not interrupting anything,” I say. In the meantime, I turn back to my lightbulb.
“Maybe you should try going home, Harvey. Get some rest.”
He sounds so concerned. I forget that some people can still feel that way. “Sure Bruce, since I’m obviously not doing anything important here.”
“We all do what we can... sometimes it’s not enough, I know...”
I narrow my eyes at him. The pampered playboy, the man who doesn’t have to work a day in his life, is telling *me*... “No, you don’t know.” That shuts him up. He just stares at me, and I realize I’m holding onto my desk so tight my knuckles are turning white.
“I think you could use a break, Harv.” His voice has lost its plaintive tone. About time.
I wait for him to come to me, like he thinks this time it is going to be different. He knows I can’t rest with things the way they are. There are too many men like Rinaldi out on those streets and no way to stop them. I can’t rest and say I still have a conscience. I don’t know, maybe I don’t. But someone out there has to have one. Right? Yeah, probably not. Hey, look at that... the room is spinning...
Then the light flickers out for good, and we’re in darkness.
*Bruce’s Turn*
Even with all the training I’ve been doing, he still gets the better of me. Not that I’m going to fight him off. But I should have seen it coming. Whatever the hell gets into Harv sometimes, I can’t figure it out. It scares me...
That’s another thing I have to work on-- the fear. I’ve only been on the streets for a few months, but it’s enough to get my ass handed to me on a platter more times than I care to remember. I’m still young, and stupid. But that’s no excuse for some of the mistakes I’ve made. I let the fear get to me, and it makes me reckless.
I’m not afraid now. I remember this is Harv, my friend since my first days at the University. I used to spend nights at his apartment, the few times he would allow it. They don’t come more intense than him, that’s for sure. His intensity seems to multiply the more time he spends doing this job. Even after all this time I haven’t learned when to keep away. I gravitate towards the tough cases. Like I said-- stupid.
So I’m in the room five minutes and somehow he has me pressed against the desk with the length of his body. And it’s dark. I can feel his breath on my ear. Blood’s pounding in my head so loud it’s like a drum. My senses won’t obey me so all I can do is listen to his words and feel his hands gripping my arms so tight they go numb. It doesn’t sound much like the Harvey I knew.
“Did you know I have a brother, Bruce? A younger one. His name is Steven. A lot like you, actually. He didn’t know what life was all about either. He lived in this fantasy world like nothing could touch him. He was wrong though. Dad would still give him a whipping and no little boy fantasy was going to save him from that. But you know what? I could. I was his big brother, I was supposed to protect him.
“And I did. Not every time, but I took the blame for him when I could or showed him where to hide out until Dad passed out. I got used to the belt. It took a long time though. Do you know what that’s like? to always be waiting for that next beating when it came, not knowing how to predict the inevitable, but too afraid to move out of the way?”
He has me leaning over the cheap desk now, bracing myself with my hands. I can feel wood splinters burrowing into my palms. Harvey’s working on my belt now. I can feel the bruises already forming on my arms.
“But that was alright. You know why? Because at least he didn’t get Steven. He would use his belt on me until he got too tired to use it anymore. But I’d take whatever he dished out. Just one thought of Steven and I’d have the guts to stand there until he finished with me.”
My pants are around my ankles when I hear a loud snap and can feel my entire backside catch on fire. I have to shut my eyes but I remain quiet through the pain. I wait for the next blow but it doesn’t come.
“Don’t worry, I’m not going to do to you what he did to me.”
I remember how pale Harvey was under the fluorescent light. Even so, he hasn’t exceeded his bounds yet. I’ve seen him do worse. When he buries his face on my shoulder and tries to enter me, I expect it. He moves his hands to my waist to hold me still. I want to lean forward more to make it easier on myself but he’s not much for give and take tonight. He’s pressing into me but it’s not that bad this time. Harvey knows my body well enough, he’s done this before.
When he starts to move, I see electric lights go off in my head. My body hums like a current and my elbows shake under the strain. His words bring me down again.
“You should have seen him, Bruce. Steven had these brown eyes that were so warm when they looked at me. I loved making him smile. I knew he loved me back too. There was no one else I could say that about. I used to dream about holding him, sometimes every waking moment it seemed. I don’t even know where he lives now. I can’t imagine the thought of him being out there somewhere, stealing or starving away in some gutter. Or maybe he’s not even in this city anymore. Maybe he was smart and got out of here, before it made him mean.”
His voice shakes even as he thrusts harder into me. I feel wetness through my shirt from his tears and at the same time I wince from the grip he has on my waist. It gets tighter.
“And this sonofabitch can shoot his brother without any remorse and not even pay the price. Brothers don’t even love their brothers anymore, you know? We die and we die again and again and no one notices us. I’m worthless against it. I can’t do a thing to stop them, and every day I fear that I’ll be the next one to show up in the morgue. Imagine that, waking up tomorrow...”
He has stopped moving. He has his hands around me like I’m the only thing keeping him on the earth. Harvey slowly sinks to the floor with his face trailing tears down my body. He’s not sober, and probably hasn’t been since early this morning. Now I can smell the alcohol like a flood. I’m too exhaused to feel numb anymore, and my senses reawaken as his body is freed from mine.
He is sobbing on the floor, an absolute mess. I kneel next to him and hold him to me in a small gesture of fraternity. I don’t know where I get this capacity from, to take on his pain as well as my own. Maybe it is because my pain feels like nothing against Harvey’s. I look at his face. I haven’t cried like that in a long long time. I don’t remember when. But it feels like I am, kneeling next to him right now. It makes me feel old.
I let my guard down. I think I know what Harvey this is I am holding in my arms-- the sad drunk Harvey, the Harvey who feels like a failure. I’ve met him before. His body feels so weak against me despite its bulk. I don’t know this Harvey is dangerous until it’s too late.
White light is in my head again, except this time it feels like an explosion. My head is wet with something that burns my eyes raw. The smell of alcohol is overpowering. Harvey is on top of me now holding something that nics my throat. I can’t see a thing through the burning pain, I just know that I have to hold him back.
Stupid, stupid, Bruce. What was I thinking? I remember back to when I first saw Harvey today. His eyes were wild, not focused on anything for more than a few seconds. And his skin was way too pale, even for the bad lighting. His voice sounded mechanical and automatic... He is a sick man, and has been for a some time.
I get my feet free and kick him hard in the belly. My eyes open. He moves slow after hitting the ground, his reflexes shot. I don’t have enough control to search for a nerve, so I just go for the knockout punch to his temple and hope it’s enough. It is. I have to use my shirtsleeve to wipe my eyes. It doesn’t help much with the pain but at least I can see well enough to pull myself together. I still have to get Harvey out of here tonight, and hopefully with some privacy.
I know I have lost him. Friendship is such a failure. Every time I think I have it, it just slips away from me again. A man whom I consider to be my closest friend has been slipping into madness for some time now and I was too wrapped up in my pointless crusade to notice. No, not pointless. If I believe that what Harvey is doing is worthwhile than I have to believe in what I do as well. And I’ve just started. I have so much further to go…
I pull our clothes on without much finesse. I’m still working in the dark. Well, except for the lights in the night sky, but they’re small help. The hallway is empty, and it is easy to avoid suspicion in the parking garage. I mentally congratulate myself for leaving Alfred out of this. Harvey still hasn’t regained consciousness by the time I pull up to his deserted house. The commute is ridiculous to make every day back and forth to the suburbs. Especially if there is nothing but an empty house waiting for you.
I collapse against the steering wheel after I turn off the purring ignition. I take that back. Friendship is not a failure-- I am. I can’t get away from memory. Every moment is lived in one breath. I exist as if I were 5 years old, 8 years, 21, and now 28. Moments from my life haunt me, and probably always will. I can handle that though. As long as I am alone. But bring someone else in and they become lost. Every gaze that I keep directed inward keeps me from seeing the obvious with even my oldest friends. I could have been there for Harvey, years ago, but I wasn’t. Now he is dangerous to himself and a stranger to me. Talk about failure...
I carry him inside, the man who held a broken bottle to my throat just over an hour ago. I set him down on the bed, propping him on his side. If he wakes up and remembers me in the morning, perhaps he will call. I hope he doesn’t remember this night, for his sake.
I stand in the doorway and watch him. A part of me wants to stand there forever and wait for him to wake up. But what can I do if I keep coming back to him, until that day when he goes too far and finally loses it? It would destroy us both. I’m not strong enough yet to fight him off. Maybe if we live separate lives I could save him with that distance. I know that getting closer would be disaster-- we indulge each other too much. I will come back for him, someday. I swear to. So I leave, waiting for that day when we meet up again.
*Two-Face’s Turn*
“Bruce?”
“He’s not here. He abandoned you.”
“Who are you?”
“Trust me.”
“Why should I?”
“Because I can help you get better. Do you remember last night?”
“Bits and pieces. Everything is very confused right now. How can you help me? Will you tell them I am sorry? Will you bring them all back to me?”
“I can’t give you all of what you want. If I do that then you will get rid of me. I can’t have that. I will just help to make things a bit clearer.”
“How can I get rid of you when I don’t even know who you are?”
“You know me already. I will lead and you will follow. I will remind him and he will remember you. They all will.”
“Why should I believe you?”
“Because I am you. Anyway, look around you, Harv... There’s no one else here to believe.”
“What do I have to do in return?”
“Nothing much... Remember that coin your father gave you? The one with the scarred side on it?”
“Yes...”
“Just flip it from time to time. When you need a favor, I will be there.”
“That is all I have to do?”
“Right. Just, don’t do it yet. I will tell you when.”
“*When*”?”
“Yes. It’s not time yet. Wait until the trial tomorrow. I am planning a surprise that will make everything clear to you. No more worries after that.”
“Fine, I will wait. But you didn’t answer my question-- Who are you?”
“I’m your best friend, Harv.”
The End