There were deep red marks in Vera's arm from where Jenna's nails had dug into her during the fight. Things looked very grim for Will for a while there, especially when he took that massive hit to his shoulder. A commotion came from the massive doors to the arena, the smaller door built into it swinging open with Stuart dragging his brother into the room, Will's right arm draped over his shoulders and his feet dragging. Blood stained his jersey and matted his hair to his head. His left arm was hanging limp. Will was barely conscious, but blubbering about something.
"Goddamned fuckin' rat cunt wanker," he said. "Imma kill Branch! I'll bloody fuckin' kill him!"
"Quiet the fuck down," Stuart said, slamming his brother down onto a bench that shut Will up in a hurry, his body tensing up. "They can't hear you."
"Will!" Jenna ran to his side, Stuart pushing her back.
"Look, wench," he said. "He's hurt real fucking bad, you can suck his cock later."
"Just leave him be, Jenna," Vera tugged her back. "Will is gonna need some medical attention here, we can't do much for him."
"Okay," she said, sounding defeated.
"Stuart," Vera turned to him. "Could you get her out of here, please?"
"Fine, fine," he said, leading her out of the room towards the elevators. "Find Doc Faraday."
"Veeeeeera," Will crowed. "Vera."
"What, Will? I'm right here."
"You were fuckin' right, ya know that?"
"I know, Will. I know."
"Why didn't I listen to ye?"
"Because you're a drunk, stubborn bastard who is obsessed with the rush from that glory out there? You want to feel loved, I don't know, the lot of it?"
"Fuck you," he said, Dr. Faraday slipping into place tending to Will's injuries, Vera and her exchanging exasperated looks. The doctor cut away his shirt to reveal a compound fracture of his collarbone, the bone sticking out and blood pouring freely from the wound. They began tending to the wound, Will crying out while they tried setting the bone back into place.
"This is a compound fracture, I don't have the tools to tend to this out here," the doctor sighed.
"Do ye know who the fuck I am?"
"She's aware, Will," Vera was trying to calm him down, to no avail.
"Bill said that we can take him to the med bay, at least, can you help me lug him over there?" She asked Vera.
"Yeah, of course, c'mon you big lug," she tugged his arm up over her shoulder.
"Fine, fine, you lot do what ye wish. Vera," he looked up at her.
"What?"
"I'm sorry, lass," he said. "I was wrong."
"I know, Will. You'll be fine, go," she said. Her eyes were misting up at the big lunk. He was such a fool, but goddamnit he was her fool. They loaded the belligerent fool onto a stretcher and rushed him off towards the med lab. Hopefully, there wasn't too much damage to the shoulder, but the shock was what worried her. A lot of electricity had ran through his body and no matter how much of a tough bastard he was, that was hard to handle.
Will had told her that this fight would be nothing, that Branch had promised that Crusher would fall to him, that Will would be the mighty champion of the arena and win over the hearts and minds of everyone. While that may have been the end result, the whole scene was still horrific to her. That first punch that put Crusher down should have been it, it should have been over after that, especially if Branch would follow his own plan. Instead, Crusher got back up, and the attack was worse than before.
She paused, it was Demoreo; she had to remind herself. That wasn't a beast, but a human man, one that she knew was a gentle soul, not a bloodthirsty monster. He wasn't the Crusher, no matter what they did to him, what they stripped away, that was Demoreo. He was alive; she knew that much, but she wasn't sure for much longer. She wouldn't be able to get in to see him anytime soon, either. Branch's lackeys would run tests on him, pumping him full of more chemicals and trying to tweak him. That was, if anything went wrong. She suspected that nothing had gone wrong with Demoreo, that everything went according to Branch's plan.
This only strengthened her resolve; she needed to find Demoreo's wife. There was a very real chance that he didn't have long to live and she didn't want him to die alone, to die without knowing that his family remembered and loved him.
Vera stood nervously in front of room 1507 with the notebook clenched in her sweaty hand. Why was this so difficult? This was the right thing to do. They deserved to know what happened to Demoreo; they deserved to know that he was still alive while there was still some ghost of his former self alive inside of that shell of a monster that they had turned him into. Still, it was difficult to bring her hand up and to knock on the door. What if they didn't want to remember him as a monster? Their memories of him were most likely of the heroic man who brought his family to what they thought would be their salvation. In that vision, that man had died a hero.
"Um, can I help you?" A boy asked.
"Oh, sorry," Vera turned to look at him. He was still young, but a teenager with short curly hair, dark skin and at least a partial resemblance to some of the features that Demoreo still had that looked human. The biggest was the piercing brown eyes. "I was just looking for Mrs. Johnson."
"That's my mom," he said. "What d'you want with her?"
"Oh, nothing, I guess. I was just wanting to talk to her a bit is all."
"She's working late tonight," he said. "People are always really hungry after a big show like that. Man, did you see that fight out there? Farrington really beat the Crusher, I can't believe it."
"Yeah, quite a show," she said. "Do you know when your mom will be back?"
"Not for a few hours, at least," he said.
"Oh, shoot."
"Well, what were you here about? I am the man around the house now, you know."
"I'm sure you are," she said. "I was kinda here to talk about your father with her, though."
"My dad?" he asked. "He's been dead for a long time, lady. Did you know him or something?"
"Yeah," she said. "I most definitely did."
"Whoa, are you kidding me?"
"No, I'm not. You must be Tyler, then?"
"Yeah, yeah," he smiled. "That's me. So you really knew my dad?"
"I did."
"Want to come inside and talk a bit? I want to hear all about him, I really do. He was a hero, he saved us, you know?"
"I know that he did," she said, following him into the small suite. The room was just a converted hotel room with two full-sized beds next to each other, a bathroom, a television and a window overlooking the vast nothingness that resided out in the wasteland. Most of Branch Tower was like this; just converted hotel rooms given to the people that lived and worked there. Will was lucky enough to have a suite which felt more like a full apartment up near the top of the building.
"I still miss him, though," he said. "I can still remember that day when we showed up here, Mom was so upset, Dad was barely hanging on. I had to help drag him the rest of the way. They told us that they'd take care of him, but we never saw him again. My mom has taken it the hardest. We know that he's gone we just, I don't know, want closure? Nobody ever told us what happened to him."
"God that's horrible," she said, strengthening her resolve. They deserved better, Demoreo deserved better. This boy needed to know about his father. "I can only imagine how you two feel."
"Everything went to shit. I get that. I'm lucky to even be alive, to have a roof over my head. My mom reminds me all the damned time," he gave a wry smile, a slight twinkle in his eye that reminded her of Demoreo during his earlier, more lucid moments, "but I just wanna know what happened to my dad. So how did you know him again?"
"That's what I wanted to talk to you about. Maybe we should wait for your mom?"
"Did you know him before the fall?"
"No," she said. "After."
"So wait, you knew him after we came here?"
"In a way, yes," she was starting to feel flustered. The look on the boy's face was one of a he
artbroken puppy. How could she hold out? "Your father didn't pass right away. They did their best to save him, they did... things, but--"
"Wait... What happened? That can't be right."
"The treatment they were trying to experimental, he just..." Tears welled up in her eyes. None of them deserved this. Then again, who really did? She had to remind herself this was a new world. Survival wasn't assured, nor was sanity. "We should wait for your mother."
"Are you okay, lady?"
"I'm fine," she said.
"What's your name?"
"I'm Vera," she said, feeling guilty for not introducing herself soon. "I'm Vera and I'm a friend of your father. Still."
"Slow down," he said, "how?"
"Your father loved you very much. He loved all of you."
"He talked about us?"
"Sometimes, yes. Do you still draw? He told me how much you liked to draw."
"Sometimes, I guess," the boy said. "Wait, he told you that? What else did he tell you?"
"He did," she said, pulling the notebook up onto her lap. "He wasn't able to speak much after the transformation, but he was able to write, though. I helped him to capture his thoughts in here and... look for yourself. It's all in there."
Vera held out the beaten up spiral-bound notebook, unsure of what she was doing. Showing him that book could be a huge mistake. He was still just a boy. What was she doing? Tyler reaching out tentatively and plopping it down in his lap carefully, like he was holding a holy, pre-fall relic. The boy leafed through the notebook with a look of disbelief painted onto his face. She sat quietly while the boy absorbed in whatever he could, Vera knowing full well that the deeper that he read into the notebook the more shocked he'd be. His father was still alive, at least his body still was, whatever was left of it. At this point it was almost certain that his mind had gone, but that was always difficult for loved ones to grasp at times, especially while overcome with emotion.
"What..." he started. "What did they do to him?"
"It's difficult to explain, Tyler. He—"
"What did they do to him?" The tears overwhelmed his eyes and his right hand balled up into a fist. "Tell me!"
"I really don't understand it myself, but—"
"How did he die?" The boy was shouting, the notebook dropping to the ground and tears streaming down his cheeks. Vera panicked. She knew that this would be difficult, but the whole idea blew up in her face a lot quicker than expected. "How did he die?"
"Look, Tyler, I don't know where to even begin with this. It's all such a giant fucking mess and--"
"What's going on here?" A tired-looking woman in uniform was standing in the doorway, her hair pulled back and her lips pursed. "Tyler, who is this?"
"You must be Mrs. Johnson," Vera said.
"I am," she said carefully. "And who are you and what are you doing here?"
"Mom, she knew dad," Tyler said, picking the notebook back up. "After we got here."
"What are you talking about? Why are you in our room?"
"My name is Vera, Mrs. Johnson, and I met Demoreo shortly after I arrived here, he was—"
"After you arrived? No, Demoreo passed after he came here. He's dead," the look in her eye was that of fear mixed with anger. Tyler continued to leaf through the notebook, staring in disbelief and shock before springing up again.
"Mom!" Tyler held the notebook up towards her. "Dad wrote this. Look, right here, he talks about them doing things to him. Mom, they did things to him, they—"
"Tyler," she said. "Please sit down. As for you, Ms., well, I don't care. I don't appreciate whatever you think that you are doing here."
"I'm righting a wrong, Mrs. Johnson," she said. "Just let me explain, just let me—"
"Let you what? Bring this into our home, bring back these memories and give him false hopes? Not uh, bitch."
"No, please, it's not false hope, this is real. This is…"
"Haven't we been hurt enough?" Shar grabbed Vera gently by the wrist, looking into her eyes and pleaded at her. "Please, leave us alone. Please."
"No, you don't understand, I'm just—"
"You need to leave!"
"Mom," Tyler's voice broke through the chaos, "this notebook... They kept dad in a cell in the basement, they made him kill people. This isn't true, is it?"
"Tyler," she looked over at him, "please put that down. Please, baby."
"But what about Dad? What if he’s…"
"Tyler put the damned thing down already," she looked pained, careworn and ready to collapse.
"Mrs. Johnson," Vera was pleading. "You don't understand."
"No, I understand all right." She dragged Vera towards the door, "I understand that you need to leave us alone and not talk to my son ever again."
"Mrs. Johnson, he deserves to be remembered for who he was," she was standing in the doorway, ready to leave, but felt herself losing control. "Don't let him be remembered as a monster, please."
"A monster?" Tyler asked.
"Please leave," Shar said, forcefully. "Just leave, now."
"What does she mean, mom?"
"Tyler, please! I'll try to explain it all later, but you know that I've done my best for you. You know," she was weeping. "You know, right?"
"Wait, you knew?" Vera looked at her. "You knew what they made him?"
"I don't know anything," she said. "All I know is that he's all that I have left now. You can't do this to us, you can't. What if they take him next?"
"No wait," Vera caught the door while Mrs. Johnson was closing it. "You knew? You knew?"
"What? Mom?" Tyler said.
"Get out!"
The door slammed in her face. All that she could hear was raised voices coming from inside of the room. Whatever Mrs. Johnson did or didn't know didn't matter now, the notebook was in their possession and she had done what she could for poor Demoreo. Nothing surprised her anymore, and if Jordan Branch was somehow holding this over the head of the poor wife of Demoreo, it would be right in line with what he considered best practices.
With a sigh she turned around, only to find herself flanked by both Stuart and Viktor, Branch's two henchmen. Viktor closed in without a word, like usual, a pair of handcuffs in his grasp. "Stuart, what is going on?"
"You didn't tell me who she was, love," Stuart said.
"What do you mean?"
"I shoulda known better."
"I don't know what you are talking about, Stuart."
"Don't be dense, ya cunt," Stuart said. Viktor grasped at her hand, snapping the cuffs around her left wrist before twisting her hand behind her back and securing the other—tightly enough for her to let out a yelp.
"Where are you taking me?"
"You shouldn't have put yer nose where it didn't belong," Stuart said. "Gotta lock you up."
"What?"
"I'm sorry," he said. "Stop fuckin' around."
Seventeen
The Doctor
After the wounds that she had treated of men and women who had fought in the arena, Will's injuries seemed superfluous and silly. His reaction only made it even more surreal, acting like the world was ending at a couple of busted up ribs, abrasions and such. Yet, the attention that he received was second to none, even though his life was never in peril. She had seen three boys no older than 20 die from wounds that she could've easily treated with all of this equipment, instead of locking it away exclusively for his favorites. That was the harsh reality of the world that Branch had created, the world that she inhabited and the world that she had to coexist with, if not for her own survival, for Elsie's.
For that, she bit her tongue.
Exhausted, she returned to her room to find Elsie with a coloring book, knowing that Stuart had most likely brought it to her. She didn't even bother asking her. There was still blood staining her hands and clothing, but Elsie had learned to deal with it without blinking an eye. Somehow the girl had adjusted to her life inside of the tower and the sight of blood.
"Auntie Ruth, look," she held
up her coloring book, showing a horse in a field, the grass neatly colored a deep green, the sky a light blue while the horse remained the off-white of the page.
"That's fantastic, sweetie, have you eaten today?"
"Stuart brought me a grilled cheese with some chocolate milk! It was yummy."
"I suppose I'll go find some food for myself, do you want a pudding or anything?"
"Ooh, pudding! Yes!"
"What do you say?"
"Pudding, please."
"That a girl."
Normally she would have gotten some different clothes, but she didn't bother. The exhaustion was creeping in slowly, like a spring storm looming on the horizon, as was the fact that nothing that she did seemed to really matter anymore. Will Farrington got the best care available, while the poor that fought for their lives—not for their own egos—were the ones that lived and died like slaves. Her job was to patch them up and get them back into the fight, but it felt more and more like she was just putting bandaids on mortal wounds in an attempt to make it look like someone cared.
Every floor had its own designated cafeteria of sorts, where the residents would go for their daily rations. Back before the fall they had been restaraunts of varying quality, each a different part of the opulence of Las Vegas casino resorts on the strip. Branch's casino was special, featuring cuisine from all around the world, with each floor its own dizzying adventure into culinary expressions for the discerning tastebuds. Their floor featured what was formerly a Moroccan restaurant and still showed signs of its former life in its arches and tapestries that lined the walls. Other than that, it was a collection of tables, a few coolers, and a shelf where prepared food was laid out.
Tensions were usually high among the inhabitants of the tower, at least on her floor, and very rarely would anyone even bother to look the other way when she entered. This was supposed to be Branch's new world—his new society—yet these people were all scared out of their minds and kept to themselves. Sure, in the arena his new elites were boisterous, excited and put on a big show, but the mood otherwise was that of solemn fear. She grabbed an apple from the counter as well as a cup of chocolate pudding along with a plastic spoon before letting out an exasperated sigh and headed for the door when she felt someone grab her arm.
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