Gang: Book 3

Murderer

He didn't look at me. Just kept his cheek resting on his knuckles, elbow on the arm rest.

I sat next to him. After a moment's debate, I tentatively rested my fingers on his hand.

"Gene...you know this isn't right."

The hand twitched, but otherwise he didn't move. The stillness of his face unnerved me.

A sudden explosion on the screen lit up the theater like orange lightning. The man on the screen dove in slow motion and managed to roll behind a dumpster.

"He would've hated this movie," he said in a pause not filled with roaring air.

"Did he like any movie?" I asked, unable to help my curiosity.

The corner of his mouth twitched as though to smile. "He'll hate me for saying, but...he loved this weird little known film called A Little Princess when he was a kid."

I blanched. "You're joking. I always thought he'd like horrors, right?"

The smile spread to half of his mouth now. "Nah, he thought those were comedies. No one could get properly scared with him cackling and repeating lines. No. You probably know he isn't much for TV."

"A Little Princess?" I screwed up my face. "With frilly dresses and—"

"Oh, the title is misleading. It's actually not that girly of a movie, surprisingly. It's about this girl who get's sent to a boarding school so her father can go to war, where he ends up dying, so she ends up as a servant, more like a slave. She keeps herself up through stories though, and, in the end, she finds her father alive and with amnesia and manages to get his memories back." The smile slid away. "Says a lot about Noll...if you think about it..."

Another explosion, accompanied by a rain of puttering gunshot, filled our silence. I wondered how many minutes had passed.

"Gene..." I started, hesitantly. "It's not right..."

"Excuse me, Mai, but how could you know? You've never died." He yanked his hand from my touch, all signs of softness gone and his face once more cold and still. "You've never been murdered. You've never been a ghost."

"But Naru's still alive—"

"No he's not. He's dead. It's me now."

My blood ran cold and my heart skipped a beat. "I'm not stupid, Gene."

"You must be, because I'm telling the truth. What do you think death is, anyways? Destruction? Is it when your heart stops beating? Or is it when you walk that plain of foxfires? But you don't know, having never died."

My hands had started shaking so hard, I had to clamp them between my thighs to keep them from shaking my whole body. He must have noticed, as he turned his face to me for the first time, and I saw a ripple of the compassion that was so unique to him. So easily moved.

I snatched at that and didn't bother hiding the despair from my voice. "Please, Gene, I love him."

That had been the wrong thing to say.

The compassion twisted to something new, something pained, angry, and far too desperate for comfort.

I had to strain to hear his low words past the yelling on the screen.

"I'd take better care of you. I wouldn't be as insensitive or cold, I'd understand your feelings, I'd better understand you. He might try hard now, but give him a year and he'll vanish into his work, you know that. He's a workaholic, he loves his world of facts. He says he's not comfortable with romance, but all romance is is being thoughtful and involved in another person's well being. He's arrogant, he's narcissistic—you know that. And I would love you for all the days of my life. I'd do everything to make you happy, I'd never forget what you mean to me, I'd put you first—"