His father can't just buy him out of anything.
"Why don't you all have drinks. We're waiting for company," suggests Oso.
Noe has a new face to him that he puts on for everyoneâwhen everyone turns to himâthat he hasn't put on for me. I hadn't seen it on him, but I had seen it inâand within plenty of charactersâin mystery, action, drama, or crime movies.
Not my favorite.
"We're not waiting for any company, sir."
"Shut up!"
Congo hasn't got violentânot friendly wise, at leastâin front of me since I've been here, or since I've met him. Therefore, this was new to me: his newly shown friendly violence.
Moritz takes a good one from Oso. It looked like it stung too. It pushes Moritz a good few feet back, knocking him over tables and ashtrays and glass cups.
"Please, sir, we just want my granddaughter back."
"And I said she's not going anywhere," insists Oso.
While the shattered glass frills the floor to create a mixture of glossy, black, reflective, disco-like blades that travel throughout every square inch of the tiles chosen for the platform below us, Moritz shakes himself off, throwing more blades beside him and all around him. In confusion from the hit, he attempts to get up but slips, with his fingers and hands grappling and pressing onto more sharp edges, forcing him to then fall flat, back on the ground.
"Carefulâhere, here," my grandmother says, taking a hold of Moritz so that he can regain his consciousness, along with his sense of location.
I was right by his side, ignoring Pamela, Fernando, and Noe.
"Are you okay?" I ask first, looking after Moritz. Then I went for Oso:
"Why did you do that?"
"You know you can't go anywhere," Oso says.
"I know, I know. But you don't have to hurt them," I throw back, hugging my grandmother after saying the phrase I so deeply meant, covering her with my arms like a shield that could possibly keep all harm away from her; oh how fooled I've been.
"Ha!" Oso laughs.
I don't know why.
"But they know who we are, miss divine," replied Congo, finally breaking off the hunger for blood that clearly showed itself in the air around us.
"What does that mean?" I follow.
My grandmother gets Moritz upâfully.
And before Congo can give me a more detailed answer, the front door of the bar opens.
And it's not someone I've seen before. I suspect, it may be whoever Oso was expecting before, whoever he was talking about.
***********************
When people leave this placeâthe barâI don't know where they go. Obviously, they probably go home. But I don't know if they live together, or if they have some sort of living arrangement.
Is this person that just walked in, that I don't recognize, part of the Black Catz, and I just haven't seen them before?
In the bar, there's about twenty or so people. They're scattered everywhere. Some are by Noe. Others are by Moritz, with their phones out filming him.
And that's when it hits me: did my grandmother, or Moritz, have police from the other side of the Wall, follow them here; can't they just call someone from their mobiles?
But before I can mention the thought to my grandmother or Moritz, all of the peopleâthose scattered by Noe, etcâ-all those, gathered elsewhere. than next to Moritz, trying to help him up, all come together, closer to the door where the "new person" just walked in, the one I don't recognize...but they do, the people, they all seem to recognize her, and they gather closer, as if they're bearing witness to some grand miracle, some light thrown down from God, some light that I obviously don't see. She had some monument-presence to her.
"She's here," I heard Noe mutter to himself but catching the ear of whatever Cat was in front of him.
Oso shuts his mouth at the presence of this monumental figureâif there was such a monumental figure in-front of us as I so declare to witness to you.
She, on the other hand, was looking right at me.
She laughs before speaking:
"So you killed two birds with one stone, huh Oso?" she says, in a towering, malodourous voice.
Over her body, a long sleeve, yellow shirt covered her skin before the camouflage vest covered the shirt over her. On her legs, rainy-day pants covered in pocketsâfrom waist to toeâstyled, and hid, whatever she was carrying, which were thenâonce they reached her feetâtucked into high army-like, jet-black boots.
Her hair was plumb and ravishing, with full-extent volume that hovered like a halo over hear head. And her skin was that of my grandmothers.
"Luviel?" I then heard, in a flabbergasted voice, coming from the direction of my mother, given to me by my abandoned mother. "How can this be? You're dead."
"Well, believe it, old lady, because I'm here...living," she replies, still in a laugh, sniggling, like she's got some plan we don't know about but she can't wait to tell us. And she doesn't. "I got the van parked out back," she tells Oso.
"We can get this done before nightfall," Oso then says.
Get what done before nightfall, I think.
And where in the hell are the Government bodies responsible for those men and women that we buried earlier todayâor later at night, as facts be told (I'm trying to come clean now).
"Did you take out the building we asked you to take out?" the women then asked Oso.
"Yup."
"Perfect."
Something about their talk seems like it's piecing together that Government question I had earlier.
"I can get that Venmo over to you right now," the lady winks. "Then I'll get the next one over once this job is done," she then says, looking at us: my grandmother, Moritz, and myself.
I don't want to think what my brain is telling me to think.
*************************
Brain: These evil mother F's just got paid to murder; and you're next; and so is your grandmother; and so is Moritz; and Oso betrayed you this whole time. At what? I don't know yetâbut I do know one thing: run.
*************************
"Venmo for what?" I ask, because nobodyânot Moritz, not my grandmotherâdared to ask the very question they were thinking.
But why didn't Moritz ask?
Why didn't Pamela?
Why didn't Fernando?
*************************
Brain: You know why.
*************************
The woman, whose skin resembles that of my grandmother's, smirks at me, fixing her vest up over her breasts.
"So how do you like this side of The Wall," she then asks, pompously.
"Luvielâwhat in God's name is going on? You and your sister are supposed to be dead," my grandmother lets out, stepping beside me, almost in a shield-like manner, bumping her body outwards as if she was going to use it to protect me. But my grandmother's age would never allow her to protect me.
But most importantly: who is Luviel?
Who. In. God's. Name. Is. Luviel?
"You thought a lot of things, mother. And they were all wrong."
What?
*************************
Brain: Okay, stay calm. This may all be an accident. Maybe your grandmother didn't just find your mother. Or a daughter you hadn't heard of, because your grandmother never mentions your mother, but the few times she did, she never mentioned siblings.
*************************
"Is the same location still on?" Luviel asks Oso, ignoring my grandmother.
"Yeah, but we gotta get there soon."
"Let's get them in the van then," Luviel says, looking at all three of us. And noâwhen I say "three of us," I don't include Pamela, Fernando, or Noe. They're, apparently, not in whatever plan Luviel has up her sleeveâor should I say vest, cargo shorts, and sweater.
**************************
This is new to me: the totally-lost-in-purgatory feeling. I've been lost since I "joined"âor got recruited byâthe Black Catz. But I've never been this lost.
Noe gives me this eye that tells me he's not lost. I notice it when I turn over in a scared, frantic-sort-of movement.
The bar is still there. And so are the Catz. They're all stacked up, in a line, like always, downing Noe's favoritesâthat poison that helps you forget about everything; like where you're at.
"Where are we going?" I ask; and I've probably asked that for the millionth time since I left my uncles; I don't think I've said "where are we going"âor don't think I've asked it; I guess you can't tell someone that, reallyâmore in my life than I have since crossing The Wall.
Noe won't look at me.
"Why are you taking them?" Pamela then asks.
And here I was, walking, helping Moritz, holding onto my grandmother, thinking maybe that Pamela knew; Pamela hasn't been as rough as Oso or Congo, even if she seemed it on the first ride I took with Noe by my side.
"Sir, please, I'll pay you anything," my grandmother insists again.
But where is her car? The car she was going to take me to?
"Sorry, lady. We already have plans for you all. You're just the hook we need," Oso says, blinking at the lady with "the plan"âthe way someone would with a plan they didn't want to unbend.
Did he mean "hook" how I think he means "hook"?
*****************************
Brain: Of course he did, you dummy.
You. Are. The hook.
*****************************
"For who?"
Oso turns like he thinks I know something I'm not supposed to know.
So does Noe.
But what does Noe know?
I bet Moritz has never seen this many armed people.
I would say my grandmother tooâthinking she has never seen this many armed people eitherâbut being that she apparently knows this lady, Luviel, I'm not quite as confident as I once was.
"Why don't you all hurry. We don't have much time," Luviel says.
"Luvielâplease. She's just a girl."
"Yeah, but she's not yours, right mom?" Luviel winks, wickedly.
"Who are you?"
My grandmother, here she is, standing before me, but who is that that is standing before us?
"Is she my mother?" I whisper, somehow, to my grandmother.
"Don't be silly, girl. Look at her."
Look at her? Maybe she has a point.
"Luviel," my grandmother repeats, this time with more authority, but still the shaking voice. "I'm not letting you take all my kids."
What?
*****************************
Brain: This can't be your mother.
*****************************
Oso and Congo begin to make this sort of wall around usâI know: wallâwhatever.
More of the Catz, ones I haven't met beforeâall those except Pamela, Fernando, Noe, and otherârile around, to crowd us in: my grandmother, Moritz, and myself. It's like seeing these mindless zombies all coming together for this one meal. This one, last meal. It's not a pretty sight.
I ignore themâthe Catzâfor a bit, to check on Moritz. I know he's not fully here yet.
"Are you okay? How much glass do you have on you?"
"I'm fine. I'm fine," he shakes, touching his bloody arms, his head, his stomach.
Luviel pulls out a cigar from her back pocket and lights it before she ever glances back at us. She rolls her sleeve before pulling down on her flip-back lighter. On her wrists, I spot the same Party tattoo I spotted on the soldiers we were forced to bury.
As volatile as this sounds, it seems, like the end I so much feared, would not fear me as much as my fear fears it.
*************************************
With my grandmother and Moritz in hand, attached to my hip now, it is only a matter of time before whatever Oso planned comes true, turning me into a sort of candy-like object for whoever I was snatched out to see, left to rot and trap a mouse or thief or rat, left to trap whatever there is to trap.
We walkâMoritz, my grandmother, and myselfâbecause there is no other choice but to walk, with closed-fists pushing us from behind, our backs grappling with each punch forward, while the Catz behind us, took their turn.
Moritz and my grandmother are probably the only people in this bar without a vest. At least they are the only people I can see. I still have mine on from all the times we've been pushed out the door with vests because they (the Black Catz) say we need vests.
But to where are we headed now?
"The place is not far from here," Oso says to Luviel, almost detecting my own question and directing his avowal at me instead of Luviel, as Luviel believed he was doing. "We have a good set of land in one of our farms where she's set to be waiting," he then follows.
"Luvielâwhat are you doing?" my grandmother asks, wanting to take my own question from me.
Out of all the guns on all the tables, Noe picks up a new, tiny one from the bar that was rested by another Cat. He flips the barrel of the gun open to light the flame of the engine-roaring-like lighter.
That thing--Noe's new-found lighterâis the closest thing to a Party that I've seen all day. And for people with Party tattoos on their arm--at least the two I sawâtheir activities haven't been so festive.
I can see slices cut open on Moritz when he walks into the rays of hard-light-saving flamesâor lasersâmade by the energy-saving bulbs on every corner of the bar, with a few extra curls of shine over the bar. The slices are deep too. He must have fallen right on the hard, long shards of glass made when he took that hit from Oso. One of the slices opens wide, dropping more blood over his face than the rest of him, turning that which reached his hair into dry, red portions. The sight of this, all of this, made my fantods crawl all over me, covering me until I was an inner-shaking mess.
"Where are you taking us, Luviel?" my grandmother rackets at the women that claims to have part of her pastâand from the words of it, her blood too.
Moritz has more blood though; more blood than the one I've even heard of from my grandmother and Luviel until now; not only is Moritz beginning to be covered in dry-patchy blood, but he's also beginning to look a little woozy, drooping a bit and falling back every other step he takes forwardâor in attempts of going forwardâfollowing the orders of Congo, Oso, Luviel, and the other Catz.
Our hands and legs are not tied like they were on the soldiers we buried. But they might as well be...because our hands are tied, when we're speaking about everything but what is actually around our hands. Look around us: if you do, you'll see all the faces looking at usâall the droopy eyes dropping on us; all the smiles pretending to be welcoming; all the Catz pawing at the chance for blood.
We're not going anywhere.
We're dragged out by every Cat around us. Some take a hold of Moritz. Others take a hold of my grandmother. And Noe and some Catz take a hold of me. Yes, Noe. Has he turned? I guess so. The bar, you could sayâand seeâwith us being held and dragged, was some sort of animadversion in action rather than in word.
Moritz's' light-waves, over his crown, skull, craniumâwhatever you want to call itâdon't look as light anymore under the light as they once did. His glasses are cracked and I can't tell what parts are the shards of glass that landed and stuck to him, and what are the shards that came with him all along, stuck to the circular frame of his dark, brown spectacles. The light green eyes that once radiated whenever they were open, weren't as radiating anymore. But that could simply be the gloom you feel upon crossing to this side of The Wall.
"Come on, come on," Congo says, like the time he was helping me outside for target practice. I wish it was that this timeâthe target practice timeâagain, so I wouldn't have to see the one's I love dragged into the mess I created.
********************************
The smoke of the cigar lingers in-between the human lines and nods. Where it traces back to, to the lips it chases back, was a surprise to those walking in from the front entrance, but not the backdoor, as only Catz are allowed through that door. It is these same lips that guide you to where the greyness comes from that also dictates where we are going.
In the background, alwaysâmost of the timeâplaying, chancy, raunchy music beats and drops for us to knob to, is the DJ, who has always stood in the same podium he is currently at now. Excluding myself, Moritz, and my grandmother, it's really nothing but a bunch of teenage-kid army's mindlessly dancing like drones, all programed to do two things: dance and kill.
It's all like a teenage rom-com done for real.
But we'll leave the Pictures for another times. Right now, we obey the "dictator".
The van, as she saidâLuvielâis parked right outside. When you passed the outer gate keeping a safe haven of the backyard, you saw the giant, black van. Perhaps the color was chosen to get lost in the dark?
Outside the town, on the outskirts before hitting the next town, lots and lots of land lay scattered from one owner to the next. The problem is, with so many owners being so poor that just about anyone would do anything around here to put bread on the table and food in their family's mouthsâI have seen that much since I've been hereâyou can't really count on anyone saying anything if they saw anything, because like I said: they need the money, the food, and keeping their mouths shut in return for that, always seems like a fair bargain when you have your own kids dying before you. So yeah, you can't count on the people that see you dying to help you, or to say anything. You can only count on yourself, on what you can do for yourself. But even if the Catz needed to hide anything, black vans would do just that, as they would get lost immediately in these long, patchy fields; as soon as they (the black vans) hit them (the patchy fields), they would get lost.
On the other side of the Wall we don't have as many empty lots. Most of the space is taken over by shops and hops and tops. Most of the town is not much of a town anymore but more of a mini-city, mimicking the capital Towns and layouts.
Would you go into a van that's going to end you? Probably not. But if you had no choice, would you? I'm guessing you'd try not to. And I would like to try not to too. But like I had to do at my uncle's place, I can't not do itâI have to do it for my grandmother...and for Moritz...or else they'll pay the price.
*************************
Congo opens the back door for us. It slides open to reveal an empty back space. The seats have been taken out. And the inner workings are grey. They are as grey as our feelings, as our insides. The two seats that are still there, are at the front: driver and passenger.
One man is already taking one seat: the passengers.
His hear is hanging over a bandana. It's long and dark. And his teeth are gold. One eye bling's in red, flashing when he turns to check each one of us.
When he pulls out a knife from his leather pockets, he says...
..."is she the pupil?"
Pupil? But who?
I notice his French tuck and wonder if maybe he's not just some visitor traveling from town to town looking for someone that's not me.
***************************************
Brain: No, no, noâviator or no viator, people don't just call other people "pupils," no matter what he might have meant by that.
***************************************
"Oh, she's the pupil all right," Luviel says. "Isn't that right, Oso?" she then confirms.
"That's right. We picked her up at her uncle's store just like you told us," replies Oso, looking at the new Catâor new stranger with the knife, the one I believed to hopefully, simply be a viator.
Before being thrown into the van with my grandmother and Moritz, I happened to catch a glimpse of a nametag on the man's leather pocket, the one right over his heart.
Zero, read the tag.
"Did you use the fool I handed you?" asked "The Zero".
"Yeah. Poor boy didn't even know what was happening," laughed Oso.
"Yeah. He knew he was fucked," then said Congo.
"Aren't we all fucked?" quipped Luviel.
"Sort of. But we get paid to be fucked," said Zero.
And everyone agreed with him. They showed it through a simple gesture: a collective laugh.
Luviel then began wrapping my wrists in plastic bands. She did me first.
Then she wrapped Moritz.
Then it was my grandmother, whom was still whimpering, looking up at Luviel like she couldn't believe her eyesâmore that she couldn't believe the woman in front of her was actually standing in front of her, rather than in disbelief that her eyes were actually working as they intended to be, or that the woman in front of herâthe one she believed to be of our own blood, was actually tying her wrists together with plastic bands to add her to a kidnapping caseâlike every other kidnapping case I've seen all along.
We didn't have these plastic wraps for the soldiers. Oso, instead, just used rubber bands.
With bullets, you don't need no bands," Oso showed off as he marched the soldiers to their gravesâor better yet...as he asked us to march the soldiers to their final resting place.
At this point, or this aim, Zero got closer to the door of the van. Since Moritz was the one sitting near the entrance of the kidnap-mobile, he got the first look at Zero up-closeâZero and his funny-colored-camouflaged blade.
"So who are you?" Zero asked, sliding the blade over his pants, as if to clean something off of it when nothing was on it to begin with. "The pupil's boyfriend," he laughed in question, with Oso and Congo trailing along, scooting up from behind in perfect tow. "Oh, and you must be the mother of the mother of the pupil," he then purred in a sarcastic, empathetic tone, even tilting his head down and letting out a slight grin...before bursting out into a laughter only he could comprehend.
Zero then brought Moritz closer together.
He brought his blade closer to him too.
He then brought my grandmother closer, whom let out a sigh, which also provoked a sigh out of me.
Her fear was ever so present now.
The blade's point was at the tip of both of their skinsâmy grandmother and Moritz'âready to insert itself into the protective-layer censoring the insides of my loved ones from this horrid Cat world; the blade was ready for any sudden movements.
Since I'm at the opposite end of the door, furthest from it, further than my grandmother and Moritz, I'm late to react. But Zero doesn't really seemed bothered by meâby my late reaction.
"Are you guys ready to pay for the Pupil's sins?" he asks.
"You can call her Miss Divine," says Congo, with Oso agreeing with him, with a head nod, a bend down, in all agreement even though inside there was no agreement.
Mindlessly agreeing, constantly, with myself included in that group, is the reason we are where we are at the moment.
Zero looks up at both of themâat both Oso and Congo. Then he looks at Luviel.
"Ha! Isn't that ironic?" Zero asks me, his vision now turning towards me. "You think you're in a divine situation?" Zero laughs at meâwanting to ask me but not holding in any of the laughter; therefore, turning the question into another sarcastic statement aimed at hopeless souls which can only take all they're given before they stop feeling any of what is actually going on and any of the situations actually happening around them.
Because I am pretty tired of hearing the same comment, but even if I wasn't I'd still react the same, I simply turn what can turn out to be an argument, into a solutionâor possible solutionâfor my grandmother and Moritz.
****************************
"You can take me and let them cross back to the other side," I tell Zero, feeling Luviel's eyes burning from behind, right on me, pointed square on my back, at the precise moment that I began to beg, to plead. From the corner of my eye, I could also see Noe, Pamela, and Fernando heavily eyeing me, as if they're trying to catch me doing something they think I'd do right now.
"Ludivina, there are things you should know," my grandmother starts.
"You can shut it now, old lady," Zero interrupts, pulling her in closer. "There's nothing you can tell her now that will save her."
"Just let them go," I repeat.
"I'll set them free," Zero says, pulling his knife even closer to both Moritz and my grandmother. "Is that what you want?" he then asks.
I see both of their faces go white, both my grandmothers and Moritz', frightened as a jolly ice cream pop covered in sparkles and confetti; their eyes could have been the colorful part the ice-cream tries to resemble whenever in the hands of the kids, but they were too busy looking down at Zero's knife edging ever-so-closely to each of their stomachs, taking turns as Zero flipped it from one side, to the other.
Zero thrusts his knife upwards, suddenly, frightening my grandmother and even making her jump up at the thrust of the knife. Luckily, Zero went towards Moritz first.
Cut!...
...Went the knife. And it wasn't Moritz' stomach like I thought when I closed my eyes and prayed (even though I never prayed), like I never did before, wishing Zero hadn't done what I thought he had done.
"You won't run, will you?" Zero asks Moritz, showing him the sharp edge of his orange-sunburst blade.
Zero then went towards my grandmother, whom wasn't as scared as before seeing that he had literally freed Moritz instead of spilling his guts in front of her.
"How about you?" Zero then asked my grandmother.
And cut...went the knife again.
"He loves stabbing people," Luviel blurted, not holding back the sinister laugh behind the comment.
"Sir, what do you want with us?" my grandmother asked Zero, ignoring Luviel, or even the fact that Zero had cut her lose, and maybe, she could even try to make an escape, try to make a run for it, with whatever strength her legs would still give her. But her legs can't run as they once did, of course. And my grandmother isn't a fool.
*******************************
This one time, about a decade ago, when I was barely nearing the prepubescent age of eight, my grandmother took me to a lady in a blue room. That's all I really remember about the room, or that day, because when I was inside, all the lady did was pray. She prayed for me, over and over again. She held her hand out high, right smack on my forehead, and she prayed while doing soâwhile keeping her hand smack on my forehead. After she prayed, she would lean over to a tin bucket resting beside her and would then decompose of her stomach insides inside that tin bucket. She did this for about a straight hour, and a whole five times, repeating the decomposing of her stomach insides into that tin bucket. I could say I was in that room for more than an hour, because that's what it felt like. I didn't know what strange, spiritual sit-downs I had been dragged intoâand I still don't know.
"You can't be caring about anyone and touching their foreheads, Ludivina!" my grandmother then scolded me, with this one phrase, after I left that room with the lady and her stomach liquids, all inside that poor, poor bucket.
It was after she (my grandmother) told me this, and after it sunk into her, that her phrase then really sunk into me, showing me those worrisome eyes I had never seen before, like she had just learnt something about me that I was not going to be able to outwork, something that I was not going to be able to outlive.
Those eyes areâthe ones my grandmother gave me that day, after the Blue Roomâhere, again, looking at Zero as they ask what he wants with us.
My vision, with this energy, gets drawn towards Moritz.
Don't get feelings, I think.
Okay. I'll try.
I then look at my grandmother, and at Zero. His blade (Zero's), is still out and about.
"Can you just take me? Please?" I beg.
"Yo! Zeroâwhy don't you just take her man?" Pamela asks, simply giving into me out of annoyance at my constant, non-stop, scared-out-of-their-panties barking.
"Because I want her to see us bury all three," he responds.
All three.
Want who to see him bury all three?
"I mean, it's not what we agreed with her, but I could care less," Luviel laughs off...
...to my grandmother's horror.
"You know...we really liked you miss Divine," Congo says, as if to know something I already suspected. But I guess he thinks I don't suspect it, so heâCongoâhangs the "secret" over, and in-front of me, like a war-carrot.
Or maybe I should say rat, as that is what appetites a Cat best.
Once Moritz and my grandmother are "free"âas free as they can be without the plastic bandsâZero hunches under the roof of the van to slide the upper-half of his body into the van, until finally reaching me at the opposite end, with my back resting on the wall of the van that was facing Zero and the back of Moritz and my grandmother.
"You won't run either, right?" Zero then asks me.
"Not sure if you want to trust her," says Luviel.
"It's all right. She knows what will happen if she does try to run," Oso comments, fist-pumping Congo.
Was there something I missed, or did that fist-bump come from an inside joke I, was, obviously, not a part of?
"Plus, we know where her uncle lives," Congo throws in, as if Zero, or Luviel, or Oso, all needed more evidence to know they could find me and everything I loved and end it if I so happen to run from this hell-hole. "We know where both of you two live too, sweet-tarts," then said Zero, turning towards Moritz and my grandmother, with a smirk dropping onto his chin.
"Such a shame your long-lost family is going to have to watch you die on your birthday, eh?" Luviel says to my grandmotherâstill sniggling.
Her birthday? But it isâit isâMarch.
"Her birthday is the same day as my birthday, in December," I say, to a still laughing Luvielâbut it seems like my comment makes her burst out into a bigger laugh.
"Oh, geez, woman! Don't tell me you still do that whole saint thing!" screamed Luviel. "Didn't you know December is only her saint's birthday," Luviel then reveals to me.
But how can this be? How the Saint can this be?
************************************
Brain: I told you it was all a lie. Everything has been a lie. Even your grandmother's birthday is a lie. And she had no problem taking all the celebrations in from the rest of the family while you sat alone in the other room on your actual birthday. How much can this woman care about you if she wasn't even able to give up her fake birthday for your real birthday? Did she set you up?
No, she couldn't have had, I tell myself, again, giving myself a mental cheer-on for once. But I'm not sure it's working.
************************
"Where's your saint to save you now, woman?" Luviel asks, this time in a more sinister, sarcastic toneâvery un-saint-ish, if anything.
That smell of cheap-pomander that reminded me of the churches my grandmother would drag me to at youth, suddenly comes into the air.
Behind Zero, I also spot a persimmon tree. A jewel at this moment, because my stomach is growling like a hungry, unluckyâor hornyâlion, straddling, tiredly, and hopelessly, ready to eat anything, in the African outlands.
"Luviel, where have you been?"
"There's no point in talking about that now."
Zero snaps my plastic band before I can react, or notice that he's doing it.
"Don't run," he says, teasing me with his knife, waving it from side to side.
Oso and Congo come forward to whisper something into Luviel's ear. Once they do, they head back into the crowd of Catz, and Luviel heads into the passenger seat.
Zero heads into the driver's seat and Oso closes the door in front of Moritz and my grandmother.
"See you guys on the other side," Oso says, slamming the door and hearing a "hey, watch it with the door" from Zero.
"Can we get something to eat?" I ask, thinking back on that persimmon tree and also hoping to force another stop in this trek before getting to whatever destination Zero and Luviel and Oso and Congo have planned for us.
Luviel drops the vanity mirror over herâbut not to add vanity on her face, not that she needs it because she has a rather beautiful, astatically clean faceâbut rather, to block the sun instead; she then opens the mirror, but to look at me, not to look at herself.
"You won't need any meals," she says. "Remember, mom, how we used to do it?"
My grandmother looks up at her.
"What do you know about what we went through?" my grandmother snaps.
"Easy now," Zero says, glancing back through the rear view mirror.
"I know enough," Luviel then lances back at my grandmother.
Moritz, this whole times, has his eyes on me. He looks at me in this way like he doesn't know me. He looks at me in a way he didn't look at me on the other side of the Wall.
"LuvielâI only did what was best for you," my grandmother throws back. "And then you claimed yourself dead."
"Yeah. And who else is dead, mom?"
"Don't ruin the surprise," Zero says.
Moritz slides closer to me.
I can't look at him. There is too much I can't answer. And I can't begin to think about what he thinks when I don't even know where my life is headed to. The van is moving, but where are all of our lives headed; where is Zero taking us; what surprise do they have for us; are the rest of the Catz following behind, right on our trail?
"Sir, my father has money. He can pay you whatever you want," Moritz blurts out, keeping his eyes on me but throwing his rash, idiotic words towards Zero. Of course he would offer his father's money.
"Your money is not going to save you," Luviel says.
"It's not his," Zero then intervenes, knowing what I know but I am predicting the other Catz don't know. "Didn't you hear. It's his father's money."
Both Zero and Luviel laugh.
"But why are you doing this to us?" Moritz continues, still believing that his father's money would get him out of this pickle he had traveled and dunked himself into, along with my grandmotherâand a rather sour pickle it is.
"It's bigger than you, kid," Zero replies, telling you what I've already told you.
Luviel then jumps in like I thought she would:
(It seems all these Catz are the same: they love to hear themselves talkâor better yet, I should say...purr)
"It's our time to take the throne," Luviel purrs.
"A country run by the Catz and the Zero's" Zero says, inhaling the air that blew-in through his side of the window with a smile. "Doesn't that sound nice?" he then asks us, again, this time directing us, speaking at us, with different words but the same intention.
Luviel then takes the lead:
"Has a great ring to it," she replies, for us. "Plus, I can finally get that Rover I've always wanted," she then shows off, flaying her hands in the air as if she's already living that daydream, that fantasy.
"Wasteful, wasteful," Zero says. "What do you all think?" he then asks us, really wanting to get us into the conversation.
**********************
The van wrestled against the road as Zero hit and let go of the gas pedal. And the view from his rear view mirror jiggled like my empty stomach. I didn't recognize anymore of the surroundings like I did when we stuck around Black Catz.
Tree after tree, and I still recognize nothing. The patchy roads don't help my vision either, making every picture jump up and down my mind's carousal and its fast-moving frames that made up most of it.
"I think I want to know where you're taking us and for who?" I demanded, speaking up for my grandmother and Moritz, whom were still stuck in that first state of shock when you think you're going to die and you're living your last minutes on Earth. I'd probably be freaking out the same way, but I've lived that shock since I left my uncle's store, so the thought of it, or the feeling of it, doesn't faze me anymore. "I want to know what 'this plan' you two keep repeating is all about," I then say. "If we're going to die, then I want to know why. Don't we deserve that much?"
*******************************************
Brain: Dang, girl, if you would have told me you were going to go out like this, going to throw everything you had and going to say whatever was on your mind, well, hell, I would have kept my mind in my dreams, tucked under the sheets, kept in perfect harmony and warmth. Do you know what I mean? Chill it! Cool it! Before you get us killed!
*******************************************
"I demand to know," I then reiterate, making my point clear, driving my point home, fully, until there was no room to drive no more and the point had been fully driven home, or to their apartment, or to our deathbed, which is where they say we are going; where we are going and its point is beyond me, because, like the rest of us non-born Catz, the truth, the true destination, is kept from us, hidden for only them to know in the first and last place, wherever that place is.
The van hits another jump and we all jump, except Luviel and Zero, whom are nicely tucked on their seat with the strap meant for keeping people from slamming and crushing their heads straight on the windshield, strapped into place; a case unlike ours, whom are not able to return to their families; but it's okay, because the seatbelts keep Luviel and Zero safe, so they don't jump, so they stay firmly stuck and seated in their place, able to enjoy their view and the rest of their lives, unlike us; they are reassured of their safety, of their next days.
Accusations were never my forte, but at this moment, I wish they were.
To make a decisionâand the right oneâat any given notice: well, that would come mighty fine, especially now.
"Oh, she demands to know," Zero tells Luviel, taunting me.
"Yeah, she does," Luviel then says, taunting me as well, but with a deadlock, vision right on me.
"Are you her mother?" Moritz asks for me.
"Don't be silly," my grandmother somehow let's out in between those tears she hasn't cried since my grandfather left us.