Chlorine Halos

Truces

As the lividness poured out of his scowl, Oz stormed underneath the pier and wiped the rain from his face. Jake held up her hands, directing her approaching henchmen to halt. Oz stood in front of me, taking loud, heavy breaths. 

"It was stupid of me to think you'd go back to where you came from," he said, panting some of his words. "Are you staying until the job is finished?"

"I never meant for any of this to happen," I desperately pleaded, slowly moving my head from side to side and lowering my eyebrows. "You've got to believe I would never hurt you or your family."

He replied with a scoff, shoving away the act of forgiveness. "I don't have to believe anything you say. Ever since you came back, it's been craziness followed by more craziness. Why did you even come back? Was the orphanage so lonely that it made you decide to go out and make more orphans?" 

I sighed, feeling my emotions collapse. "Oz, that's not where I was."

"Then, where the hell were you, Avian?" he fired back. "Where did you disappear to for nine years?"

"I don't remember," I answered, unable to provide him with any reasonable explanation.

"Oh, you don't remember?" he mocked, pressing his fingers against his temples. "How convenient for you. You can just forget your tragedy. But, for the rest of my life, I get to live with mine!"

"You don't understand! I know who did this to you! I know who's responsible!"

"So do I! You! It all comes back to you!"

The last string of blame tied the two of us into a silence. His emerald eyes deepened, looking into my defeated stare. The hope for a salvaged friendship faded into the bitter reality below the pier. As I swallowed my promise to avenge his parents, I slowly lowered my head, taking notice to a striped, button-down shirt which he wasn't wearing when last we spoke. Stitched, underlined letters stretched across his chest: Twins. 

Oz groaned in pain as Jake's cigar smoking comrade tackled him to the ground. 

"What are you doing? Stop it!" I begged. Jake grabbed my arm, pulling me away from the two brawling on the beach. Electricity crackled over the sounds of grunts and landed punches. After a final blow, the Séance enforcer stood, holding up a bracelet of bronze links.

"He's a Con!" yelled the man, coughing and spitting to the side. "Either that or a scalper dumb enough to rip off a Con." As he waddled in the sand closer to Jake, myself, and his short, single-shoed partner, he boasted his battle trophy, raising the bracelet in the air with one hand, while rifling through his pants pocket with the other. He fished out a long plastic bag and fumbled with the seal, making an opening large enough for a fresh cigar to slide through. Using his teeth tarnished by tobacco, he clamped his victory stogie, puffing as he lit the end with the beaming, blue flame of a butane lighter. He chambered a deep drag and suddenly froze.

Smooth, slicked, sandy brown hair and sinfully shaded eyes rose over his shoulder. At the end of his cigar, the glow of the ember intensified, quickly sprinting up the oily paper sheath to his motionless mouth. An evil grin inched closer to his ear.

"Those things are terrible for you," Mike said with a buried chuckle. "But, I am so much worse."

Unable to shake the stillness, he only responded with a morbid rattle from his throat. Fragments of the ember radiated underneath his skin, bolting down his limbs and circling back to the center of his chest. Flakes of ash rapidly spread over the entire surface of his body, until a lifeless, fragile statue stood in his place.

Mike kicked through the ashes, crumbling and scattering the remains on the sand. "I see you're making friends with ghosts now, Avian." As he stepped forward, the short, chubby friend of the fallen retreated into the rain, down the beach. "Considering how everyone you care about becomes a chore for a dustpan, maybe befriending ghosts is the way to go."