Post by Delilah Ghost on Nov 14, 2008 16:41:10 GMT -6
The snow has yet to fall in this part of Vermont. A white-haired gentleman walks down the stairs at the back of his cabin, zipping up his heavy black parka. A cold, biting wind has kicked up and he raises the fur lined hood over his head. The stairs end at a dock that stretches several yards into the lake. He walks out to the end of it, staring out at dark green water, the wind stirring it into choppy waves. He's made this trip several times, at least once a day for a couple of weeks. Every day, down the stairs, out on the dock, where he waits. Sometimes he stares up into the sky, listening. Others, he takes a fishing pole and a folding chair out of the boathouse.
More often than not, he merely gazes out over the water, pondering whatever it is dying men ponder.
Lately he's decided to cling to hope. His doctor had been spouting off about a new treatment that could possibly help, maybe even cure him. On top of that, a phone call from a dear friend currently on a mission of sorts for him had raised his spirits somewhat. Mr. Brady was more than happy to be the bearer of good news. And now he still waits, but with a considerably lighter heart.
A young woman that he'd always thought of as a daughter may...no...will come back to him.
He'd tried so hard to do right by her. Tried to be her guide down the path, though questionable, she'd chosen. He'd given her the tools, the skills, and when needed he'd given her sanctuary. When she'd decided to give up the old life for a new one, he gave her his blessing without blinking an eye.
He never had any sort of desire for her. The only love he had for her was that of a parent for a child. A willful, disobedient and slightly unbalanced child, yes, but still his. His actual child, Jonathan, had grown into a fine man. He'd taken great pains to keep him away from the other side of his life. As far as Jon was concerned, all the money came from the shipping company. Daddy would never have such a dark past. His life wasn't financed by blood, drugs and bullets.
The funeral is gonna be a hell of a mindbender for Jon, he thought with a chuckle.
He'd decided to head back up to the house when he heard it. That sound he'd been waiting for. The hood fell away from his head as he scanned the grey sky for what he'd hoped to see for weeks now. The sound of those twin engines was burned in his memory. That plane had been his home for years in his younger days. He'd know those twin engines anywhere. The sound grew louder and louder, but he still couldn't spot the plane. He turned toward the cabin just in time to see a Grumman Goose come in low over the trees. Laughing, he waved as it flew overhead, the wings dipping in response. It circled around, going to the far side of the lake before dropping down and coming in for a picture-perfect water landing. The engines cut, momentum carrying it forward alongside the dock.
His heart ached at the sight of it. It nearly broke when the hatch on the side opened and a red-headed woman stepped out onto the dock.
"I'd say help me tie 'er off but she'll prolly freeze in place pretty quick. Jesus, Clive, you couldn't pick a warmer place to live?"
"It never bothered you before."
"Before? I hadn't lived on a lil' tropical island before. You should try it."
Laughing, Clive swept Delilah up in a fierce hug, thanking whatever gods watched over him.
They made small talk as they lashed the plane to the dock and headed up the stairs to his cabin. Once inside, Delilah told him stories of her time in the tropics, dodging pirates in Boomtown, doing a spot of smuggling here and there. Clive puttered about the kitchen while he listened, making coffee and fixing up some food for the both of them. Delilah kept chattering on as they ate, not even stopping as she helped him clean up. Soon they were in the living room, coffee in hand, watching the sun set over the lake.
"So..."
"So."
Delilah grinned at him, taking a pack of Camels out of her pocket and lighting one. "I suppose this is where we dance around whatever uncomfortable subject is at hand."
"Or we could talk about it like adults."
"I've never been one for acting my age. Well, my physical age at least."
"Me either, but I was hoping we could try. Lay it all on the table, you might say."
The grin replaced with a sullen look, Delilah stared out the window. "I'd rather not."
"Delilah."
"Clive."
"We need to."
"Do we? Do we really? I was having a perfectly good day. The weather was good all the way up, smooth flying, lovely scenery and me looking forward to catching up with an old and dear friend. Thinking that after that I could head on down to Brazil, maybe Peru. Enjoy some south american hospitality, pick up a job or two and then back to my little haven in the Keys. Maybe even Cuba. I haven't been there in a while."
"Anything to forget about that old, dear friend that will soon be friend in the past tense."
"If I start...if I start thinking about that, I'll start thinking about all the others. About Sammy. About..."
"About Pete?"
"You wanted me to come back to the world, Clive. Here I am. Can I leave it now, or do you want to parade the rest of my failures out for me to see?"
"Failures? You think you failed them?"
"I don't think. I know. I know I failed them. Leaving that sick son of a b*tch alive was an epic fail on my part. I failed, and they're dead because of it. Because...because of me."
"No, darling girl, not because of you. Never because of you."
"If I had wasted him when I had the chance, they'd be alive right now. Sammy would be married, Pete would still be chasing every skirt in Chicago and they..would..be..alive. I couldn't get up close and personal with the bastard. I couldn't take him on face to face. I couldn't finish it. They paid. I made the mistake, and they paid for it. He would've...would've..."
"He would've killed Mikey if you hadn't ended him."
Delilah grasped her cup with both hands, staring down into it like some sort of answer floated on top of her coffee. She looked back up at Clive, his chest tightening at how lost that look was.
"I can't, Clive. I can't come back to the world. Blood and pain and death follows me wherever I go. I don't want anyone else touched by it. By me."
"You make it sound like you're cursed."
Delilah snorted, a mirthless grin crossing her face. "Aren't I?"
"No, Kate, you're not."
Delilah looked up at him, startled at the name she hadn't heard in years.
"You're not cursed. A hard life isn't a curse. You've taken it on with a style and grace all your own. You turned your back on what you knew and decided to go a different route. Yeah, sure, it came back to bite you on the ass. Happens to all of us. Happened to me."
"To you?"
"How do you think I lost my wife, Delilah? She didn't leave me. And I, like you, visited my own brand of justice on those that took her from me. I made my son and his family safe, just like you did. We've both taken lives for money. We've both probably made the world safer than even we know. We've both lost pieces of ourselves at the hands of others. We've both made them pay dearly for what they did. The only difference between you and me is that I've made peace with it. I went on with my life. You haven't."
"I can't."
"You can. You will."
"And exactly how the everlovin' crap am I supposed to do that?"
"Live. Come back to the world, like I asked. Come back here, live with an old man. Find work. I'm sure you could even go back to Arkansas and get your old job back. Hot chicks equal ratings, or so I'm told. I'd imagine your fans would be overjoyed to see the infamous Delilah Ghost in action yet again."
Clive smiled at her. A weight seemed to lift from the room as she smiled back at him, her eyes filled with unshed tears.
"I would also like to think that there's a young man somewhere that would enjoy seeing you again."
"Oh Clive," was all she got out. The cup slipped from her hands, breaking on the floor as tears began to stream down her face. Clive went to her, gathering her in his arms as she began to cry for what she had lost, and what she might have again.
More often than not, he merely gazes out over the water, pondering whatever it is dying men ponder.
Lately he's decided to cling to hope. His doctor had been spouting off about a new treatment that could possibly help, maybe even cure him. On top of that, a phone call from a dear friend currently on a mission of sorts for him had raised his spirits somewhat. Mr. Brady was more than happy to be the bearer of good news. And now he still waits, but with a considerably lighter heart.
A young woman that he'd always thought of as a daughter may...no...will come back to him.
He'd tried so hard to do right by her. Tried to be her guide down the path, though questionable, she'd chosen. He'd given her the tools, the skills, and when needed he'd given her sanctuary. When she'd decided to give up the old life for a new one, he gave her his blessing without blinking an eye.
He never had any sort of desire for her. The only love he had for her was that of a parent for a child. A willful, disobedient and slightly unbalanced child, yes, but still his. His actual child, Jonathan, had grown into a fine man. He'd taken great pains to keep him away from the other side of his life. As far as Jon was concerned, all the money came from the shipping company. Daddy would never have such a dark past. His life wasn't financed by blood, drugs and bullets.
The funeral is gonna be a hell of a mindbender for Jon, he thought with a chuckle.
He'd decided to head back up to the house when he heard it. That sound he'd been waiting for. The hood fell away from his head as he scanned the grey sky for what he'd hoped to see for weeks now. The sound of those twin engines was burned in his memory. That plane had been his home for years in his younger days. He'd know those twin engines anywhere. The sound grew louder and louder, but he still couldn't spot the plane. He turned toward the cabin just in time to see a Grumman Goose come in low over the trees. Laughing, he waved as it flew overhead, the wings dipping in response. It circled around, going to the far side of the lake before dropping down and coming in for a picture-perfect water landing. The engines cut, momentum carrying it forward alongside the dock.
His heart ached at the sight of it. It nearly broke when the hatch on the side opened and a red-headed woman stepped out onto the dock.
"I'd say help me tie 'er off but she'll prolly freeze in place pretty quick. Jesus, Clive, you couldn't pick a warmer place to live?"
"It never bothered you before."
"Before? I hadn't lived on a lil' tropical island before. You should try it."
Laughing, Clive swept Delilah up in a fierce hug, thanking whatever gods watched over him.
They made small talk as they lashed the plane to the dock and headed up the stairs to his cabin. Once inside, Delilah told him stories of her time in the tropics, dodging pirates in Boomtown, doing a spot of smuggling here and there. Clive puttered about the kitchen while he listened, making coffee and fixing up some food for the both of them. Delilah kept chattering on as they ate, not even stopping as she helped him clean up. Soon they were in the living room, coffee in hand, watching the sun set over the lake.
"So..."
"So."
Delilah grinned at him, taking a pack of Camels out of her pocket and lighting one. "I suppose this is where we dance around whatever uncomfortable subject is at hand."
"Or we could talk about it like adults."
"I've never been one for acting my age. Well, my physical age at least."
"Me either, but I was hoping we could try. Lay it all on the table, you might say."
The grin replaced with a sullen look, Delilah stared out the window. "I'd rather not."
"Delilah."
"Clive."
"We need to."
"Do we? Do we really? I was having a perfectly good day. The weather was good all the way up, smooth flying, lovely scenery and me looking forward to catching up with an old and dear friend. Thinking that after that I could head on down to Brazil, maybe Peru. Enjoy some south american hospitality, pick up a job or two and then back to my little haven in the Keys. Maybe even Cuba. I haven't been there in a while."
"Anything to forget about that old, dear friend that will soon be friend in the past tense."
"If I start...if I start thinking about that, I'll start thinking about all the others. About Sammy. About..."
"About Pete?"
"You wanted me to come back to the world, Clive. Here I am. Can I leave it now, or do you want to parade the rest of my failures out for me to see?"
"Failures? You think you failed them?"
"I don't think. I know. I know I failed them. Leaving that sick son of a b*tch alive was an epic fail on my part. I failed, and they're dead because of it. Because...because of me."
"No, darling girl, not because of you. Never because of you."
"If I had wasted him when I had the chance, they'd be alive right now. Sammy would be married, Pete would still be chasing every skirt in Chicago and they..would..be..alive. I couldn't get up close and personal with the bastard. I couldn't take him on face to face. I couldn't finish it. They paid. I made the mistake, and they paid for it. He would've...would've..."
"He would've killed Mikey if you hadn't ended him."
Delilah grasped her cup with both hands, staring down into it like some sort of answer floated on top of her coffee. She looked back up at Clive, his chest tightening at how lost that look was.
"I can't, Clive. I can't come back to the world. Blood and pain and death follows me wherever I go. I don't want anyone else touched by it. By me."
"You make it sound like you're cursed."
Delilah snorted, a mirthless grin crossing her face. "Aren't I?"
"No, Kate, you're not."
Delilah looked up at him, startled at the name she hadn't heard in years.
"You're not cursed. A hard life isn't a curse. You've taken it on with a style and grace all your own. You turned your back on what you knew and decided to go a different route. Yeah, sure, it came back to bite you on the ass. Happens to all of us. Happened to me."
"To you?"
"How do you think I lost my wife, Delilah? She didn't leave me. And I, like you, visited my own brand of justice on those that took her from me. I made my son and his family safe, just like you did. We've both taken lives for money. We've both probably made the world safer than even we know. We've both lost pieces of ourselves at the hands of others. We've both made them pay dearly for what they did. The only difference between you and me is that I've made peace with it. I went on with my life. You haven't."
"I can't."
"You can. You will."
"And exactly how the everlovin' crap am I supposed to do that?"
"Live. Come back to the world, like I asked. Come back here, live with an old man. Find work. I'm sure you could even go back to Arkansas and get your old job back. Hot chicks equal ratings, or so I'm told. I'd imagine your fans would be overjoyed to see the infamous Delilah Ghost in action yet again."
Clive smiled at her. A weight seemed to lift from the room as she smiled back at him, her eyes filled with unshed tears.
"I would also like to think that there's a young man somewhere that would enjoy seeing you again."
"Oh Clive," was all she got out. The cup slipped from her hands, breaking on the floor as tears began to stream down her face. Clive went to her, gathering her in his arms as she began to cry for what she had lost, and what she might have again.
