Silence

by Tyler Vance

  Sheikoh’s hair was frizzled and with his slightly bemused look and the bags beneath his eyes, he looked like a bum straight out of a sitcom; dirty, handsome and confused. He arranged his features into an intense smolder, and the bum became a hoodlum. Satisfied, he began to undress.

  Sheikoh found a strange pleasure in trying on the clothes that Dorothi had picked out. He watched his reflection leap from West Sider to East Sider before his eyes. He liked his new look; the sizes on the East Side were much more precise than the ones on the West Side. The black jeans and thin khakis curved around his legs gracefully, without the flaring pockets that most of his other pants had.

  Sheikoh pulled on a few of the tight shirts, uneasily noting that they showed off his torso’s disproportion. He slung on his jacket, and the difference in his sides was hidden. Sheikoh eyed the holes in his coat. He mournfully resolved to pick out a new one as he walked out with the clothes that he’d decided on. The shirts that he’d picked up were all without writing and logos; he didn’t like to pay to be some kind of walking advertisement. Sheikoh liked dull muted blacks, greys and other dark shadowy, safer colors.

  Before checking out, Sheikoh and Dorothi went and searched the racks of jackets, skeptical that this was the store for it. There weren’t many jackets and Sheikoh was very particular about the article of clothing that held his utilities (even if he wasn’t technically a thief anymore).

  The ideal jacket was pitch black as well as a few sizes too big, the kind of coat that sunk into shadows obligingly. It was sturdy, as in the kind of sturdy that could take a Sheikoh-sized beating without showing it. It needed inside pockets for any plasmas. That wasn’t as firm a condition however; Sheikoh had sewn pockets inside a coat before.

  There didn’t seem to be anything that fulfilled the prerequisites though. Sheikoh looked around for Dorothi. He spotted the girl over in the clearance aisle. He beckoned to her, and she ran to meet him with a face full of excitement carrying something over her shoulder.

  “This is perfect, Sheek! Try it!” Dorothi exclaimed, holding out a black and silver coat. Sheikoh eyed it dismissively.

  “That silversteel outline is just begging for attention,” Sheikoh responded.

  “Please? Just try it on? I’m just trying to make you look less weird,” Dorothi murmured, training her wide, light-blue eyes on him.

  Sheikoh rolled his own eyes in response. Then he relented and pulled it on. The second that it’d wrapped him in its warm hug, Sheikoh knew that Dorothi was right. It was perfect.

  The jacked was a tailed overcoat that modeled high-class made cool. Its brandished silversteel outline traced the black edges around the neckline, down the front opening to end after having wound at the edges of the jagged, halved coat tails. The silversteel border fanged around the outline. Teeth-like waves jagged from the dull metal. Then the button hole, just above his heart, was encircled by three equal lengths of circling fangs.

  Sheikoh opened it up to find four pockets inside. He practiced his draw, using his Trinity in the place of a pistol, and it was like the thing had been designed for him. He ended up looking in the mirror for a long time warring with himself on whether to get the auspicious, awesome thing. Finally, Dorothi’s persistent compliments and Sheikoh’s own love at first sight relationship with the thing won him over. He paid for it all and walked out of the store in the outfit that he’d left the waiting room with.

  Sheikoh and Dorothi had a late lunch at an outside restaurant then. They spent over an hour picking at their food and talking excitedly about everything. Sheikoh wasn’t going to admit it to the girl but he’d had more fun that day than he’d had in years. They joked and laughed and teased with one another until their mouths hurt from smiling, not even noticing the sun’s steady path across the sky.

  While they talked, Sheikoh wondered what to tell Dorothi about Emili. He knew he needed to, but he had no idea how to do it. Nothing he could think to say felt genuine or even possible. Sheikoh simply resolved that there was nothing for it, he was just going to take Dorothi aside and try to be as straight forward as possible. Nervousness tangled his organs around his chest as he and Dorothi walked through the door to Camillio Tyche’s magic castle.

  Sheikoh closed the front door of Camillio’s castle behind him, grinning at Dorothi’s giggle. The latch snagged into the doorframe with a loud, echoing click, and almost immediately Indigo was there in front of the two of them. His face was suffused in relief and then annoyance as he noticed their shopping bags. The smile slowly slipped off of Sheikoh’s face as he took in the ganglord’s grave expression.

  “Silence, where the hell did you go off like that?” Indigo demanded gruffly.

  He nodded at Dorothi and let his wary eyes settle back on Sheikoh.

  “Chill, I was just making sure that Camillio made good on his tab,” Sheikoh told him bracingly. Indigo rolled his eyes.

  “You haven’t turned on a TV today, have you?” Indigo asked, rubbing the side of his head.

  ”No. Why? Did something happen?” Sheikoh asked. He glanced over at Dorothi. She was anxiously eyeing Indigo. Sheikoh suddenly realized that their conversation about Emili was going to have to wait. He couldn’t help but feel a little bit relieved. In answer, Indigo pulled out another monocle that’d presumably replaced the one that he’d lost.

  Sheikoh opened his mouth to make some comment about how Indigo had obviously gone out to buy that, but he was interrupted a female newscaster.

  “The Supreme Centaurai, Cylium Vest, was kidnapped, reportedly by the west side gang that calls themselves Legacy. Cylium Vest managed to escape their cavern hideout, before it detonated and collapsed in on itself, also sparking a wild forest fire that has spread across the Schizma Canopy; experts suggest it was an inadvertent reaction of improperly stored high-grade explosives.

  “Arch Centaurai Vest claims that Legacy has terrorist intentions. The Centaurai has made dismantling them his top priority and is currently in the process of demolishing the wall and rounding up so-called West Siders in punishment of harboring Legacy’s criminal enterprise for so long.”

  “His individual kidnappers are still at large. The public is advised not to approach, they are extremely dangerous. If you see any of these people, please, call the Century immediately; Sheikoh Namar known as Silence, Drek Colmar alias Indigo and Emili Wray of Interium, led by Legacy’s Ghost, Malien Grey.” The screen of Indigo’s monocle flashed with each of their profiles in turn.

  A gasp at ‘Emili Wray’.

  Sheikoh closed his eyes and cursed under his breath. His hands curled into tight fists. He glanced over at Dorothi.

  She was studying her sister’s profile in the monocle’s screen, wearing an expression of horrified confusion. Then she turned a look of condemnation on him. Sheikoh turned his attention back at the screen, guilty and anxious. The scene had changed to one of a group of white-robed, menacing Century tearing his old house apart, presumably searching for clues to their whereabouts.

  “Rewards are offered in exchange for any information regarding the criminal’s whereabouts. Under no circumstances, should the individuals be approached. They are volatile as well as extremely dangerous. I repeat; if you have any pertinent information regarding the criminals, call the Century immediately. This-”

  Indigo clicked the speaker off. Dorothi turned and raced down the hallway. Sheikoh caught the glint of tears on her bronze cheeks. When he made to follow her, Indigo grabbed his arm and pulled him around. The ganglord held his eyes with intensity.

  “Silence, that’s been playing on every channel for the past two hours. You’re seriously lucky both of you made it back. Don’t try it again, kid,” Indigo cautioned him.

  “Thanks for the advice. Now let go of my arm!” Sheikoh responded harshly.

  Indigo held his gaze for a moment with a strange light in his eyes. Sheikoh’s eyes went into dangerous slits. He needed to get to Dorothi right now, he needed to explain.

  His muscles tensed, and he got read
y to attack Indi- Drek.

  Then Indigo let his hand fall. Sheikoh blurred out of the doorway and glanced around in every direction. He ran through the colorful castle, opening doors, while his heart pounded desperately and his left palm drenched itself in sweat. Sheikoh shot through the rooms of the first floor, then the second floor, then the third, fourth and the towers like a hurricane, leaving trashed rooms in his wake. He searched for hours, but Dorothi was nowhere to be found.

  She must’ve gone through the door.

  Sheikoh pounded up the staircase that lead to Camillio’s study and hammered at its entrance, aiming his fist at the wood around the pentacle. His knock caused the arranged runes to cascade in a threatening blue flickering around the circle. Sheikoh quickly whipped his hand back from the hissing energy.

  “Camillio! Open up! We need to talk!” Sheikoh shouted desperately. He hoped that Camillio wasn’t through the archway and back in that white room, oblivious to the outside world.

  Luckily, that didn’t seem to be the case. The door swung inwards. Sheikoh flinched back in surprise. The circle of age darkened wood had passed straight through the disheveled body of Camillio Tyche like he was a ghost.

  Sheikoh held a hand over his racing heart; he didn’t expect to see the Celestial in the middle of the door’s pathway. He shook himself and eyed the man in front of him. He noticed that Camillio’s face was haggard with a jaw shadowed by prickling, grey stubble. He met the Celestial’s bloodshot eyes.

  “What?!” Camillio demanded waspishly.

  “Dorothi disappeared, and I can’t find her anywhere. I think she might’ve left your house,” Sheikoh explained worriedly. “Is there anything you can do?”

  Camillio Tyche cursed in exasperation and rubbed his temples. Sheikoh held his breath, waiting for an answer.

  “I’ll do what I can,” Camillio finally said wearily. “You’d better come in.”

  Sheikoh followed Camillio through the circular passageway. Then across the threshold of the archway. After the shadowy tunnel, they appeared into the stark-white of the Transcendent Room.

  The floor-grown desk was still there, grown into the floor under the other side of the room. Its surface had widened to accommodate three heavy, leather open tomes with overlapping corners. Pieces of paper, covered in complicated calculations and scribbled out runes, were strewn all around the cluttered desk.

  Camillio bent over the table and pulled one of the sheets over and begun scrawling something unintelligible. Then he dashed a line through the thought and replaced it with another paragraph. Sheikoh waited almost half a minute before loudly clearing his throat, but Camillio didn’t even look up.

  “Well?” Sheikoh hinted sharply. “Dorothi, remember? Finding her? Ring anything?”

  “Okay… okay… okay,” Camillio muttered, finishing one more sentence. He looked up at Sheikoh, irritated. “Hopefully I remember this train of thought or your interruption might just add a week to the wait for Emili.”

  “Seriously, whatever. Dorothi’s more important right now,” Sheikoh answered with finality.

  Muttering darkly under his breath, Camillio Tyche gingerly lowered himself onto the white floor and crossed his legs. The Celestial closed his baggy eyes and laid his palms on his knees. He breathed in and out deeply, impossibly still while Sheikoh watched on impatiently. Time stretched itself on and on until he was sure that the dude had fallen asleep sitting there. Then Camillio Tyche opened his eyes.

  “So where is Dorothi?” Sheikoh demanded desperately. “Is she alright?”

  “She’s fine. She didn’t even leave the house. She and I just had a chat. I explained everything that’d happened around her sister,” Camillio told him patronizingly. He sighed and climbed to his feet. “She’s a very smart girl.”

  “Where is she now?” Sheikoh asked Camillio with a relieved smile.

  “She doesn’t want to talk to you right now. She wants some time to herself to think about things. Now that that’s taken care of, it is time for you to leave. I have a lot of work left,” the Celestial dismissed him, turning back to sit at his cluttered, white desk.

  Sheikoh stood there for a moment in frozen disbelief. The Celestial looked up from his papers.

  “Is there anything else that I can do for you?” Camillio asked him sharply.

  Wordlessly, Sheikoh shook his head and walked out.

  Sheikoh walked around, aimless and despondent, half-heartedly scanning the rooms he passed by. Even though Dorothi didn’t want to see him. He couldn’t stop himself. His chest was hollow with guilt. He felt helpless. Looking at this lapse through Dorothi’s eyes, he felt she would never forgive him.

  Mixed in with the depression however, were a few sparks of undirected rage. Slowly, they set upon a target. Sheikoh knew that Indigo hadn’t known Dorothi’s relationship to Emili, but still. The ganglord was so tactless. Couldn’t Indigo have kept his mouth shut for two minutes? Couldn’t he’ve kept the stories for when he and Sheikoh were alone?

  Full of self-righteous indignation, Sheikoh stormed to Indigo’s room. A rational part of him knew this was ridiculous, but he refused to give into sadness and self-pity. He didn’t want to sit back and think things through over and over and over. He wanted to do something.

  His anger was the only alternative.

  When Sheikoh reached Indigo’s, Drek’s, room, he kicked the door out of his way. If it hadn’t been opened already, he would’ve broken the hinges. Indigo snapped to his feet, a new assault rifle in hand. The ganglord’s eyes were cold slits, a look more dangerous than his glare. They widened in surprise when he saw Sheikoh. He lowered his weapon fractionally. Sheikoh took a few quick steps until he was in the bigger man’s face.

  “Why the hell did you say that in front of Dorothi?” Sheikoh demanded harshly. “What gives you the right to be stupider than anyone else?”

  Indigo shoved Sheikoh back a few steps, surprising him. Sheikoh had thought he’d physically outclassed the ganglord. He remembered laughingly recalling back a few days ago, when he thought a broken trigger finger would keep him from kicking the ganglord’s ass. He stared up at Indigo’s haughty face.

  “I would’ve said that in front of anyone,” Indigo retorted coldly. “And if we’re looking for world’s stupidest, maybe we should talk about the dude who’s walking around like he isn’t a wanted fugitive-

  Sheikoh opened his mouth furiously.

  -putting a little kid in danger,” Drek went on sharply.

  Indigo’s words hit home. Sheikoh was struck dumb. Sheikoh knew that the ganglord was right. What’d he been thinking? Vest had all but promised this would happen at the first sign of betrayal. And Sheikoh was at the third sign, at least. How could he have been so stupid? Sheikoh kicked the door. It thumped against the wall and bounced back, creaking mournfully. Sheikoh mumbled something indistinct under his breath and turned to leave.

  “I know what you need,” Indigo said behind him. Sheikoh grunted and turned around impatiently. He immediately noticed Indigo was grinning.

  “Write a poem?” Sheikoh muttered.

  Indigo ignored him.

  “Follow me,” said the ganglord.

  Indigo pushed around Sheikoh and walked into the hallway. Sheikoh stared after him, bemused. Then he followed the ganglord down the hall. They passed a couple of doors, a host of eclectic paintings, and climbed a staircase. Indigo stopped at a wooden door and swung the door open. Turning to flash a quick leer at Sheikoh, Indigo ghosted the threshold and disappeared inside.

  Hands in his pockets, Sheikoh strode after him. Then he gazed around with surprise. The room was a lot bigger than he’d first guessed. It was all soft, deep blues and reds, and the ground was cushy like a firm mattress. The walls were too if they were the same material. They looked like it. Turning, Sheikoh saw Indigo strapping a couple of boxing gloves onto his hands. When finished, Indigo reached into a cabinet and tossed a pair over at him.

  Sheikoh caught them deftly.

  “Let’s go
a few rounds,” Indigo invited.

  The ganglord put up his fists, falling into a tight stance, and Sheikoh smiled back without humor. No human could ever hope to stand against a cyborg. This was some kind of joke. He waited for the punch line, making no move to put on the gloves.

  “Come on,” Indigo challenged. “What is it with you? Scared again?”

  “You should be,” responded Sheikoh.

  The ganglord grinned maniacally.

  “Why don’t you try and make me?” Indigo sneered.

  “Fine,” Sheikoh responded, smiling darkly. “But I’m in a bad mood. So no blame when you don’t walk away from this.”

  “Back ‘atchya,” Indigo retorted.

  But Sheikoh could tell that the ganglord wasn’t in a bad mood at all. In fact, it looked like Indigo was having the time of his life. Sheikoh wound the gloves around his fists, and then the helmet and shoes that Indigo tossed his way. Even though they were light, they felt clunky and slow. He had to admit, the idea of beating his frustration out on Indigo was an appealing one.

  “Ready when you are,” Indigo challenged.

  “Back ‘atchya,” Sheikoh mocked.

  He flexed his hands inside of the gloves, positive this would end with his first strike. A one-way sudden death. Sheikoh leapt at Indigo arm outstretched, going for the midair clothesline. He saw Indigo tighten, but it was too slow to dodge. Sheikoh had already won this little match.

  Only he hadn’t.

  He realized this when Indigo managed to catch his arm. The ganglord swung Sheikoh in a few dizzy circles, before letting him fly back against the wall. His body squeaked against it, bouncing him back towards the soft floor. Sheikoh spun to land on his feet with almost catlike grace. The effect was wasted on Indigo, who was laughing slightly too hard to have noticed.

  In the spirit of mostly fair play, Sheikoh gave Indigo a second to regain control of himself. But the ganglord’s laughter didn’t show any sign of dying. Sheikoh decided to take the opening. He streamed towards Indigo, leveling a good old-fashioned punch at the ganglord’s midriff.