Aliens on Aventine Hill

Prometheus [Part 3]

Alice had come to speak to Joseph.

Jimmy had said he would be here, though he hadn't known why. When Alice had asked, his ears had gotten pink and he hadn't been able to stammer out more than "...old friends, I think." Joseph had shown as promised—with heartbreak on his face no less—but as Alice watched him, she wondered at Jimmy's suggestion.

He seemed so different from the careless boy with the case of Coors, more the man terrified of lights in the sky and the ghost in the doorway. He was dressed in a nice suit and somber expression, but his face was marked by several large, dark bruises. His neck was ringed with pale purple like fingertips.

Alice thought of approaching him then, but something held her back. The others milled about, exchanging condolences and memories, but Joseph remained in his seat, arms crossed, completely disinterested. His eyes flicked every now and then to the parking lot as if he were waiting for someone to arrive—though the expression on his face made Alice think Joseph didn't expect them to.

Joseph suddenly tensed, relaxed and then fixed his eyes firmly in the other direction. Alice turned and felt the same surprise and relief—and intrigue. It was Grayson.

His strange face was downcast, trying to hide both his emotion and the identical bruises on his face. Alice smirked. Ah, so that's what happened...

As she looked, her smirk slipped from her face. Grayson's suit, though expensive, was ill-fitting. It hung awkwardly off of him, wrinkling as if there was hardly a body underneath. It was obvious, both from the dark circles beneath his eyes and the dreamlike way he considered his surroundings, that he had not slept the night before—and from the way he squinted at the light, Alice guessed he was badly hungover.

There was a child hanging off his arm. The little boy couldn't have been more than eight years old, although there was something strange about his eyes. It was the same strangeness of Grayson's eyes: they simultaneously looked older and younger than they should have been.

So this was the younger brother.

His eyes landed on hers and she quickly looked back at Joseph, remembering his harsh tone from the day before (and her milkshake blunder). I'm not here to bother you!

Her father cleared his throat and urged people to their seat. Alice sunk deeper in her plastic chair. It would be nice—her father was not so terrible at his job—but she had been to enough of these things that those kind, somber words no longer held any significance to her.

Disinterested with the priest, Alice looked again for Grayson. He and his brother had taken seats in the front row, next to Joseph. Grayson's eyes were scanning the crowd; they skipped past her and settled on someone beside her.

His face contorted with fear and then anger as he remarked something to Joseph. The dark-haired young man followed his friend's gaze, spit out some explanation and turned stiffly away again. There was something between the two of them—something more than the bruises on their faces, something more than what had happened Monday night—something old and twisted and painful.

Alice couldn't help feeling that Arnold, whoever he'd been, was at the center of it. The eulogist finished speaking, and her father beckoned the mourners to bid their goodbyes with a basin of white roses. They lined up one by one, while Alice stepped aside to wait for Joseph.

"Alice!" her father beckoned her over, looking worriedly at the queue. She rolled her eyes, threw on a saccharine smile and bounded over, "What is it, Daddy?"

"Would you go get the second vase of flowers from the car? I'm not sure we'll have enough as it stands now."

"Oh," she pursed her lips, glancing back at Joseph's place in line, and bobbed her head, "Sure."