Where's home, Patsy?

[DoS Archive]

From: charliejericho@aol.com (Charlie Jericho)
Date: 10 Aug 2002 01:37:19 EDT

Patrick raised a closed fist, rapping hard on the door twice with the side of his fist rather than his knuckles. The nail holding the top of the 9 of the 9B lettering on the door had popped out long before that night and the 9 hung on the door only by it's bottom nail, appearing to be a 6. The bug-filled light beside the door, which was one of only three that barely lit the dank hallway, flickered several times
before the light disappeared completely.

Patrick glanced up at the now dark light beside the door and then sent a tired glance to the man who had identified himself as Mr. Browning, the apartment manager, moments before. Mr. Browning was clad in a faded blue robe, about two sizes too small, with the logo of a local hotel on the right breast pocket. Occasionally, the robe would part enough to reveal a beer gut covered by a white tank and a pair of red boxers covered with pink hearts
which the manager had embarrassingly offered up the explanation to Patrick that the boxers were a touch to please the "little woman". Patrick highly doubted that the sight before him could please any woman.

Mr. Browning glanced up at the now dark light before shrugging to Patrick. "I'll have it fixed in the morning." He fidgeted nervously, shifting his weight from one foot to the other occasionally. His anxiety was understandable. It wasn't everyday that angry gangsters showed up at his door in the middle of the night.

Patrick simply grunted in reply, crushing a giant cockroach beneath a black leather shoe. The odor of rotting fish that floated in through the opened window at the hall was nearly sickening. Patrick silently cursed this section of town -- the "Dock Side" -- the blocks of squalors that surrounded the docks of Talsiny.

"Mr. Elliot," Mr. Browning said, finally getting the nerve to speak up. "I don't believe the girl in this apartment is the woman you're looking for. I've seen Mrs. Jericho once when she used to own that bar -- Charlie's. The woman in this apartment looks nothing like her. All she is interested in is her next fix. She still owes me some rent money," the man spat, shaking his head in disgust at today's wayward youth.

Wordlessly, Patrick motioned to the lock. Mr. Browning shrugged to himself and then searched through his key ring to find the one labeled "9B". He slipped it into the lock, jingled it for a moment to unlock the door knob. "These locks get a little finicky this time of year. The humidity or something," Mr. Browning explained sheepishly as he took a step back after succeeding.

"Or something," Patrick mumbled beneath his breath, twisting the knob and giving the door a firm push to open it. His hand blindly searched the wall, finding the light switch and flipping it up into the "on" position. The mess that was revealed by the light was a surprise to even Patrick. Charlie, infamous for her neatness, must truly be out of it if this was her current dwelling.

"She certainly isn't getting her security deposit back," sniffed Mr. Browning, tugging his robe around him tighter as he inspected the mess. Clothes were strewn across the room along with the remnants of meals, notebooks lying open with incoherent scribble across the pages, books torn and discarded.

Patrick tore his eyes away from the disaster, turning his frustration on the balding man instead. "She's not here. Where is she?"

"This time of night? Probably that hole in the wall bar down the street," Mr. Browning replied nervously. Patrick Elliot was a member of the notorious Nausikaa Enterprises -- the cover for a close knit circle of criminals. The last thing Mr. Browning needed was trouble with Nausikaa Enterprises. He silently prayed that this girl going by Catrina wasn't Charlie Jericho.

"A bar? It's four in the morning," Patrick groaned.

Mr. Browning hesitated for a moment before closing the apartment door, leaving the question unanswered as he returned his key ring to the pocket of his robe. "Will that be all, Mr. Elliot?"

"Yeah," Patrick grumbled, a dismissive wave as he began to head towards a worn set of stairs. He avoided the debris scattered along the stairs -- from beer cans to children's toys. After nearly breaking his neck avoiding a toy truck, Patrick reached the door of the building and stepped out into the night.

The loud pumping rock music led him down the half of block to the bar that Mr. Browning mentioned. Cat's Pub read the sign above the door. The "C" on the neon sign flickered on and off.

"Hey, honey. You don't look like you belong around here. Lookin' for a lil' company?" Patrick ignored the voice from behind him as he stepped cautiously into the bar, his eyes searching the dimly lit interior.

At this time of night, the bar held an interesting cast of characters. A few drunks were dancing with each other in a corner, several more passed out on the bar, and a table of a mixture of dirty kids who were oddly quiet. The bartender, a young man who immediately recognized Patrick, gave a civil nod before returning to wiping down the glasses.

Patrick knew exactly where to find her now. His quiet strides took him to that back table. It took even a minute for him to pick her out of the crowd. Her appearance had changed quite a bit in the past couple months. It wasn't a surprise that Mr. Browning hadn't recognized her.

Her blonde hair which had been shoulder length was now chin length and streaked with bright red highlights. She appeared at least ten years older. Her face was drawn and tired, most likely from a lack of sleep. Knowing Charlie's favorite drugs, Patrick figured she probably hadn't slept in the past three or four days. Her clothes hung off her figure which, when he last had seen her three months earlier, had been healthy and fit. Her fingers
were fiddling nervously with her hair as she stared blankly at two people at the table having an incoherent conversation.

"Char," Patrick spoke up quietly. The conversation continued but Charlie's eyes instinctively turned as she heard her name. It took several moments before recognition of who was before her appeared on her face. "It's time to go home," Patrick spoke gently.

Charlie released a wry chuckle, shrugging. "Where's home, Patsy?"

"Where's your husband, Char?" Patrick had heard rumors but had certainly hoped they weren't true. Since she had been married, Charlie had actually gotten her act together.

"I killed him," Charlie shot back, her eyes immediately narrowing as her jaw set firmly.

Patrick hesitated a moment before continuing, "I'm not even sure if I want to know whether or not that's true." Charlie's only reply was a shrug. Her shirt slipped off a shoulder with the motion, revealing a large bruise along her shoulder bone. Patrick sighed, silently wondering exactly what kind of trouble the girl had gotten herself into in the past couple of months. He doubted even Charlie herself knew.

"Look. Arane and Edwin sent me. It's a job offer with Nausikaa Enterprises. The same kind of stuff you used to do. Forget everything else. You're part of us."

Charlie's eyes dropped to the table top. "I don't know, Patsy."

Patrick paused again, his eyes carefully inspecting the girl. "Arane told me to tell you that Ramsus has been asking about you. She said he's a baron now and is around quite a bit," Patrick spoke. He was unsure whether or not that information that Arane had encouraged him to use to get her to come back was true but at this point he just wanted to get her someplace safe before anybody found out her real identity.

"Really?" Her eyes quickly jumped from the table top back to Patrick. He spotted that glimmer of hope.

Patrick placed an envelope down on the table and slid it towards Charlie, leaving her question hanging. "Inside is enough money to get you back to RhyDin and a key for your usual room at the Nausikaa Hotel here in Talsiny. We want to help you get back on your feet. I'll see you in RhyDin," Patrick spoke firmly but quietly. The conversation at the table had continued but he was still wary of the newspaper headlines if any reporter got wind that
the woman before him was Charlie Jericho.

His hand strayed to Charlie's shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. Her eyes focused on the envelope in front of her, her hands remaining on the table top on either side of the envelope. Patrick's hand dropped back to his side as he turned for the door, quickly disappearing from Cat's Pub.

Charlie, or Catrina as she was known to those at the table, leaned back against the hard wood back of the chair she was seated in. Her gaze lingered on the envelope. Another fresh start. She didn't even know if she had the energy to do that yet again. However, now that Nausikaa knew where she was, they wouldn't give up until her binge had ended. She certainly didn't have the energy to deal with that. With a flaccid shrug, she pocketed the
envelope.