this is a place where i don't feel lost

[wellthatdepends]

 

They leave New Mexico in the dust.

Literally and figuratively.

Sad but true:

- This is not where their story ends.

Just another subtle beginning.

Joe gets custody. Ruber takes the fall for killing Lou (the acts of a madman on the run), The Weasel for kidnapping Anna and he gets painted the hero.

Fate smiles down in his favour.

But his head pounds and his hands shake and jolts of pain wake him from slumber. He dreams of motel room 10, he dreams of objects calling him closer.

(He dreams about endings.)

He quits the police department and joins the legion. (God bless wealthy benefactors.)

Jennifer smiles wryly.
Sure that’s wise? Us mixing business with pleasure?

(Rough sheets and mysterious motel rooms; skin over skin - he tastes his own desperation on her lips and can’t avoid the sadness in her eyes. Objects don’t work inside the room, but he swears he can feel some powerful forces intervening.)

He kisses her quick and hard.
Isn’t it the way it’s always been?

She smiles, curls flutter in the breeze and he wishes she could feel like home.

You’re different, Wally notes and already he knows too much.

Nope, Joe shakes his head, still the same. (His head aches; he feels like he’s on fire.)

What happened in that room, Joe? He’s not the first to ask that question (Jennifer, in his bed; her voice so cautious).

Nothing, Joe lies, nothing at all.

Then why does it feel as though my bus ticket is trying to leap from my pocket?

Joe sighs.
I’m the new occupant.

(Wally, with a flick of his wrist, sends him down to hell. Pity he’s already there.)

The pain becomes a dull throb. He manipulates his power; keeping the objects at bay; keeping them in check.

In the meantime; life, wouldn’t you know it, goes on.

Anna breaks her arm on the jungle gym; his ex-wife threatens him with more custody battles. Jennifer moves in.

This is not an easy adjustment.

Motherhood does not come naturally. Too used to fending for herself, Jennifer makes mistakes. Anna does not notice. Joe does. Much to their despair, his ex-wife Vanessa does too.

Joe, I don’t know who this woman is, Vanessa is all clipped tones and long, loud sighs, but she can’t let our daughter watch R rated movies or eat leftover pizza for breakfast.

Tense conversations; he can’t find the words that fit.
I know you didn’t sign up for this…

Jennifer is patient. Jennifer is understanding. Jennifer is all the things he never expected her to be and more. She nods seriously, buys breakfast cereal and watches Nemo, mouthing the lines over and over again. (She never complains.)

At the mall, Anna’s small hand slips into Jennifer’s much larger one. She does not falter and that makes him smile.

Suzie Kang sneers from her desk in the back room of the dry cleaners.

Legion now, huh. You should know well and good I don’t do business with Legion, motel guy.

Joe is all smirks and rolls of the eyes and Suzie takes a draw of her cigarette and eyes him warily.

What’s your play, motel guy?

I’m not ‘motel guy’ anymore.

Suzie’s eyes narrow. She barks out a laugh.

Lost it, huh? Figures. Owners never last long - either end up dead or just misplace the thing out of their own stupidity. No offense.

Joe’s turn to laugh.

I got rid of it. Threw it in the room and closed the door.

Eyes wide in shock. She swallows.

That’s not how it works, Joe.

He looks at her. The cigarette lies forgotten in the ashtray.

That’s not how it works at all.

Jennifer finds out the truth and leaves. Anna won’t stop asking why.

He calls and he calls and he calls. He visits the one place he knows she’ll be.

Sitting beside her brother, she does not speak. She lets him take her hand; let’s herself rest her head on his shoulder. Let’s herself choke out a hoarse, painful sob.

You should have told me, Joe. You should have told me everything.

Would it have made a difference?

Jennifer turns, glancing out the window in search of answers. Joe turns his attention to Drew’s crude drawings; a bar of soap, a flask, a cigarette, a knife. A man.

Drew meets his eye line and he can’t help but shudder.

The key does not stay lost for long.

Somehow, Joe is not surprised.

The Sood calls late one night; frantic whispers and slurring of the words (Joe wonders if this is his future).

The key is out. Beneth the alcohol, there’s no exclamation, no expression. The Sood mutters his words with precision and calculated coolness.

What do you mean? Joe has never understood this world properly. Who has it?

The Order.

This is not a good idea, Jennifer mutters. She is a different version of herself; clandestine meetings in alleyways, black trench coats and red lipstick and oh so wary eyes.

She grips her gun tightly. She does not walk behind.

Ruber is a prophet without a purpose; spouting lies and false hope. They follow blindly; lost souls with an addiction for objects - he is their drug and they take him without question.

Bullets bounce and knives cut but he does not bleed. Objects are rendered useless.

But how? They whisper, muted voices turning to Ruber in desperation. How is this possible.

I am the new Occupant. Joe ignores the throbbing in his head, the objects that draw him closer. He focuses on their stunned faces and their weapons that do not work.

(In his ear, Jennifer’s breath is loud and nervous.)

What do you want?

Joe’s answer is simple:

I want what is mine.

The room is quiet. Sunlight from another time streams through the curtains; objects lie in their proper place; the ash tray, the deck of cards, the clock. He does not feel them and they don’t work in the room. He feels at peace.

He tosses the key and doesn’t look to where it lands. Slamming the door shut with his foot, he quickly presses her against it; his lips on her neck, her throat, her lips.

Joe. Jennifer gasps. She barely has time to catch her breath when the back of her knees hit the edge of the bed and she’s falling.

Later, she screams his name because no one can hear her. He whispers hers like she might be the last thing he’ll ever see.

He’s never quite certain about her. Anna is growing up; Jennifer becomes a definite and permanent fixture. Shopping trips and secret conversations; Vanessa never really understood her daughter in the ways that Jennifer does.

Are you going to stick around? He asks. She hasn’t disappeared in awhile.

Her answer is a tentative yes.

(They dance around the unavoidable; one step, two step, three and four.)

I’m pregnant, she tells him. In the house she sometimes lives. In the house he first pointed his gun at her stomach.

It goes exactly like this:

Shock and disbelief; joy and happiness. Anna is excited.

I always wanted a little brother and sister. Do you have any siblings, Jennifer?

I had a brother, once. Joe does not miss the lie hidden in the tenses.

She loses the baby. This should not be a surprise.

She leaves for the second time. Leaves a locket, but not the truth. Anna is fourteen and this time round, doesn’t ask why.

Joe does not call. The Legion asks where and he answers I don’t know. He does not visit her brother.

He collects objects. He puts them back in the room. Repeat steps one and two until completion.

Anna wakes up screaming.

The phone rings and he’s met with silence.

Who is this!? Joe yells.

They answer with the dial tone.

Objects spin and circle him; he pushes them away - further and further until the pain is a dull roar.

Some days, when the pain is too much, there’s the key.

Anna, wide-eyed, holds it gingerly in her hand.

I thought I made this up.

It’s real, baby, Joe replies, sadly.

Can I…? she gestures towards the door.

No. Joe takes the key from her grasp. You can never go back there.

She nods. Reaching for her backpack, she grabs an envelope from inside.

Someone gave this to me after school - said I should give it to you. They said they were an old friend of yours?

He peers inside. A lone paperclip glints back at him.

Anything important, Dad?

He covers his horror with a gentle smile.

No honey. Not at all.

Jennifer calls and he meets her; a back alley in the rain.

(History was always doomed to repeat itself with them.)

A bag in one hand; jacket pulled tight. It’s been a year, but she hasn’t changed. He embraces her roughly; she melts into him and he breathes her in.

The room, she whispers and he complies. In the room, she shrugs off her jacket, wincing. He spots the crudely wrapped bandage on her arm.

What happened? He mutters, touching her arm gently. Who did this?

She flinches.

The Order, Joe, she whispers. Look in the bag.

Picking up the bag, he rummages through clothes and other belonging, pulling out a small sack and dumping the contents on the ground.

The binoculars, Jennifer sits carefully on the bed. They can see through walls. The deodorant makes people attracted to you. The dime flips tails - every single time. The harmonica hypnotizes people. The lighter-

Where did you get all this? Joe interrupts, glancing at the objects, over fifteen in total. How did you get these?

She shrugs and glances at the door. There’s a look on her face like she's being chased, still, and Joe puts a placating hand on her hip.

No one can get you. You’re safe - I won’t let anything happen to you.

She shivers, but not from the cold, even though her clothes are drenched.

I’m going to take a shower.

(It’s been a year; he wants her to know this and he does, fucking her hard against the tile; his mouth rough against hers; leaving bruises, making marks. She moans his name loudly and he bites her lip until it bleeds. He tastes his own blood along with hers, her legs wrap around his waist and his thrusts become more forceful.

A whimper at the back of her throat and they both tense. She bites his shoulder and he hisses her name, Jennifer.

In the room, he feels alive.)

After: he holds her in his arms, forces her to meet his eye line.

Stay.

A sob catches in her throat.

Only if you promise to fix my brother.

He can’t do it, but he promises her all the same.

Anna gets older and Joe stays the same. There are birthdays and boys and graduations and Jennifer does not leave.

Vanessa is wry smiles, the years have softened rather than hardened and she glances at the other woman curiously.

Why haven’t you married her, Joe?

It’s complicated, leaves his mouth before he can stop it. Vanessa raises an eyebrow.

Uncomplicate it.

There’s a ring that lies in a drawer that they don’t talk about. He does not ask her to marry him.

Jennifer, in turn, does not deny him.

The facts are these: Anna, Jennifer, the world gets older.

Joe stays the same.

The Weasel calls him one day; static voice over a prison line.

Just got out of jail, Miller. How about a drink?

Joe, well, he’s got nothing to lose.

The Weasel looks exactly the same. His name is not a nickname, but fact; conning and conniving his way through a jail sentence and the years fell away. Joe slips into the bench opposite. He chuckles.

Word on the street is that you’re the Occupant. How about that, huh. Get out of jail and you find out the rules of the game have changed.

Joe laughs.
This isn’t a game.

True.

The Weasel leans in close.

How’s your daughter, Joe. She’d be, what, 18 now?

A slam of the fist on the table.
You stay away from her, you hear.

I have a proposition, Miller.

I don’t care what you have to say.

Joe stands and walks towards the exit.

I can save your girlfriend’s brother.

Pause.

I just need a little something in return.

Strings come attached, naturally; Joe didn’t expect anything less.

Jennifer is wary.

You don’t have to do this.

I want to do this.

(In the end, he would do anything for her.)

The object in question is a suitcase, tan in colour, made of fibreglass. The Weasel (call me Howard, please) glances at The Sood’s photo triumphantly.

What does it do?

The Sood gives Joe a look a sighs.

It’s like a Pandoras box of sorts. Basically, whatever you want, gathered it’s suitcase size, write on a piece of paper, place it in the case. Once it’s locked, enter the combination and it appears in the case.

Joe nods. The Weasel grins.

Doesn’t sound so terrifying.

In the 80s it was used in a bombing at a train station. The owner didn’t survive, but the case did.

Joe glares at The Weasel.

What do you want this case for?

Oh please, Joe, he rolls his eyes, you think I’m some sort of maniacal super villain. I’m thinking of the profit. Drugs, cash, jewels. Anything. I. want.

And you can fix Drew Bloom?

The Weasel frowns.

I can show you how to fix him, Miller. I can’t actually do it. Once I tell you, you’ll understand.

Who has it? Joe asks The Sood.

(One look at the other man’s face and Joe knows the answer.)

One does not simply walk into The Order’s headquarters.

(Joe knows this. So you’d think he’d know better.)

A knock on the door and the people part like he was parting the red sea. And, from the looks on their faces, you’d think he did, once upon a time during a holy war they had no part of. No claim to.

You’re back. Ruber’s the shocked Prophet (he should have seen his arrival coming; he never was a good liar). They stare at him curiously. Of course you’re back.

I need something.

What now? Didn’t your girlfriend take everything you needed? You can’t protect her forever, Miller.

Joe glares and they cower like the god-fearing disciples they are.

I want the suitcase.

We want something in return.

(Joe wonders if ‘God’ had this problem too.)

What do you want?

We want to see the room.

Followers are never as blind as you would think; Joe forgets this fact and resents The Order for their own failings. Seeing is believing; objects don’t cut it anymore and they want reassurance.

Case in his hand, he opens a door with his key.

A collective ahh. Joe rolls his eyes; tosses the suitcase on the bed from the doorway and turns back.

These objects are not God. This religion - this is a cult.

He slams a door on The Order (he knows this interaction will not be the last).

Are you sure?

Jennifer is cautious words and worried glances. The Weasel grins slyly, gives her a wink.

It’ll work, sweetheart. You can trust Howard Montague.

Right-hook to the jaw and Howard falls to the ground.

I think I’ll call you Howard now.

it takes place at the Sunshine Motel off route 66. Room 9, to be exact and no one is surprised.

Room 9 is where it started. Room 9 is where it will end.

Jennifer holds her brother’s arm tightly. Howard says his goodbye’s - his job is done.

I’ll have to reset the room when he’s in there. Then I’ll have to go in and get him.

Jennifer nods.

It begins.

Open and shut. Open - Joe’s eyes meet Jennifer’s and he enters, shutting it behind him.

Where am I?

Drew Bloom was a believer. Is a believer and he stares around the room, picking up objects holding them carefully like they might shatter in his hands.

I know you. His eyes narrow, how do I know you?

I’m a- I’m a friend of your sister. Of Jennifer’s. Joe.

Joe, Drew shakes his hand, Jenn’s never mentioned you before. How’d you meet?

Floored, Joe glances at the easy going expression on the other man’s face.
You don’t remember, do you?

Eyes wide, he gasps.

Room 9 - there was a woman…

That was fifteen years ago, Drew.

She took my soul. She dragged it into another dimension.

Drew-

Joe! He grabs the lapels of his jacket roughly. You can’t fix this - whatever this is.

He let’s the man go.

I just want to speak to my sister.

At the door, Joe turns the handle slowly. Jennifer waits, nervously and he ushers her in.

Drew. She gasps and throws her arms around her brother. Joe turns his head, out of respect, really.

Hey Jenn.

She laughs - musical and joyful and unlike anything he’s ever heard from her before.

Hey Drew. How about we go home?

Palm on her arm. Drew's grin disappears.

It’s not that simple.

Arms drop; she steps back, closer to Joe.

What do you mean.

I can’t exist in this reality. Outside this room - in your world, it’s just not possible. My soul is trapped in another.

Sad smiles and sadder eyes. Drew grabs his sister’s hand.

You have to let me go.

She chokes out a sob.

It’s the only way, Jenn.

Jennifer hugs her brother furiously, burying her face in his neck. Joe holds open the door as she leaves, looking back the whole time.

Don’t break her heart, Joe. Drew says sadly, eyes solemn and honest.

Joe’s nod is both a wish and a lie.

Joe’s promise is unfulfilled. Jennifer does not leave.

Curled up on her side in the motel room, he holds her tight and she does not cry.

Marry me. He whispers. Sunlight forever streams through threadbare curtains. Outside the world is 1961 and full of ghosts.

(In this room, at this time; they do not exist and they hold onto that feeling and try not to let it go.)

Yes.

She loses her first engagement ring in the reset.

(This is the first sign.)

He does not go looking for it.

(This is the second.)

The legion sends their message with a bullet. Her body, cold and lifeless in his arms; received loud and clear.

He burns their building to the ground.

(Joe is a merciless god; his revenge is swift, his decisions are final. They scream and they beg and shakes his head; this is your punishment, children. This is what you deserve.)

All that remains is objects and burnt corpses. He doesn’t know which is worse.

He finds the quarter, by chance. A payphone of route 66; another fruitless search for answers and the pain is sharp and it burns.

The Sood nods, grimly.

That’s the one. Do you have the ring?

The ring?

Didn’t Karl tell you? If you pair the quarter with the wedding band, it gives them freewill.

Joe files this information away for later.

Gun in his hand; an abandoned warehouse twelve years after the fact. Howard’s one for nostalgia, The Weasel chuckling as he interrupts Joe’s suicidal games.

I’ve been telling people for years - these objects are a curse. No one believes me until another unfortunate soul blows his brains out.

What do you want? Joe sighs because he hates himself; hates the choices he has made except the one that saved his daughter. That one, he constantly tries to forget.

I have a gift for you.  Courtesy of Suzie Kang and The Sood. Forces combining and all that crap. Seems being the Occupant gives you clout.

Howard tosses him a box.

Maybe this will make eternity more bearable.

It’s a ring. Joe drops his gun in surprise.

(It explodes with a bang.)

The metallic taste of the quarter burns and ring cuts of his circulation and the pain is so extreme he thinks he might die.

She appears before him, exactly how he remembers her; determined eyes and calculating smile.

Jennifer he mutters because she is not real. He reaches out to touch her and almost gasps when she does not slip through his fingers.

Hello Joe.

He presses his lips to hers and her arms go around his neck automatically, and this? He never wants to end.

It hurts so good.

The pain is blinding as he comes. She laughs and sighs, hair unruly and he traces question marks on her bare skin because this is not possible.

But it is, she murmurs and he shivers. This is not real.

It is, she whispers, why else would I be here?

The objects, he swallows, I did this. They did this.

I’ve missed you, Joe.

His own thoughts echo in his head before he thinks them. He shrugs off the impossible.

I’ve missed you too.

The world is quietest when she’s not there; when he’s in the room and the door is shut and for that time everything makes sense.

Objects don’t work in the room. She doesn’t exist in the room. He doesn’t know which state hurts more.

(The gun is solid, strong in his hands.)

He’s waiting for the days when he doesn’t exist either.

They don’t come swiftly. Joe waits and considers the choices he doesn’t have.

(This is his curse. This is his fate.)

The story does not end.