When Marcos found her the morning after, deciding after all that he needed to check up just to make sure that she was all right he couldn’t believe his eyes. She was sat on the bed almost catatonic, tears streaming down her face. He kept asking her what had happened but from the looks of her he could make a pretty good educated guess. What the fuck was going on in the world? Didn’t this woman of all women deserve some kind of break? She surely did not deserve to be going through this on top of what had already happened. Losing that kid had destroyed her, and where was her brother? Out playing vigilante. He hoped that the stupid fucker was at least getting somewhere. If he had been here protecting his sister it would have been doing a damned sight more for the world he was sure.
She got up from the bed, wrapping herself carefully and tightly in that stained sheet and, crying, she made her way to the closet and started to grab some clothes. He turned his back while she made herself decent. She moved like a sleep walker, a slow keening sound coming from her all the while. It broke his heart to see her like this. After Farrell had been knocked down they had all asked themselves what else could ever happen that was going to make things worse? Nothing could be worse than that. Stupid to ever believe that life would give you any respite.
He managed to get F’s phone number from her and he tried to ring the bastard. After five attempts it became plainly obvious that he wasn’t going to answer. That either meant that he didn’t want to speak to his sister or that he was doing something that required him to have his phone turned off. Marcos would kick the living shit out of the moron.
‘Do you know who did this to you?’
‘He left this here,’ she said, and handed him a wallet. It had scribbled notes, a load of bullshit as far as he could tell – and it had a press clipping. Grisfleur: so, he was a writer.
‘I’ll find him.’ he said. She held up her hands as if in protest, then she let them drop. What use was it to tell a man that revenge was of no help to her at all? That revenge wouldn’t bring her son back and that revenge wouldn’t fix what had just happened. Marcos left – off to do exactly the same stupid thing her brother had decided to do. Men: what use were they?
Filed under: F, G, Grisfleur, Updates, marcos, onward steps, story | Tagged: eschaton, F, fiction, fugue legion, G, Grisfleur, H is for Help, literature, marcos, onward steps, paul grimsley, prose, skull cull, story, tale, update, writer, writing
