The next ten minutes or so are relatively uninteresting, as the van gets briefly onto a multilane freeway and cruises towards the urban sprawl that is The Edge. The city looks amazingly like most Mediterranean cities - there is something about it that reminds one in some vague way of a postcard picture. Chen points out the occasional feature, but mostly seems content to just sit in the front and stare out the window in silence.
Dani finds the city charming, in a rather backwards, "oh-my-god-this-is-SO-quaint" way. Ingar finds it vaguely disturbing - like he should recognize certain features but doesn't. The experience is rather like going back to the town you grew up in after twenty years and found out that they have replaced the drive-in where you first got laid with a mini-mall.
Taking an off-ramp, the van descends into city traffic. The streets of the Edge are amazingly small for the amount of traffic that they carry - and everyone seems to drive with manic intensity. Pedals in Al Amarjan vehicles seem to have two settings - all the way to the floor and not pushed down at all. Buildings loom over the narrow streets, sometimes with balconies or clotheslines actually hanging over the roadway.
The reverie of the pair of Burger comes to an abrupt end, however, as the van pulls away from a stop light, only to have a large, dark pickup truck with oversized tires, searchlights, antennae, and lots of chrome rocket out of the opposite lane and smash into it head-on!
Dani, prudently wearing her seat belt, is bounced around a bit in the back, and both Yazoo and the female cop get some bruises and facial cuts from broken glass. Ingar is catapulted feet first out the front windshield, however, and lands in a horrible, squelchy heap on the hood of the truck after bouncing off its windshield as well.
Before anyone can recover their wits, the doors of the truck fly open and two men - looking grubby, sullen, and mean - leap out, brandishing large hand guns. Ignoring Ingar on the hood for the moment, they run forward and wrench open the front doors of the van, sticking the guns in to cover Chen and the lady cop respectively.
"DON'T MOVE, CHEN!" yells one
"FREEZE LADY!" yells the other. Both have an accent that sounds vaguely German, vaguely French.
The side door slides open and Dani is confronted by a rather incongruous sight - a matronly old woman, white haired and bespectacled, wearing a floral print dress, peers inside.
"Pardon me, young lady," she says politely, "Would that happen to be Dr. Forn on the hood of the truck?" She asks with the same polite lilt that one would expect were she instead asking, "Would you like some milk and cookies?"
Freaked out to say the least (not to mention covered with spilled red pepper flakes and specks of grated parmesan cheese), young Dani St. Claire stops silently thanking God for whomever invented seat belts long enough to glance from grandma in the floral dress to Ingar on the hood, to the ominous guns in the two mean-looking guys' hands.
Dimly realizing that no answer she can give will result in a 100% chance of everyone not getting shot, Dani stalls for time by suddenly grabbing the back of her neck with both hands and letting out a pained shriek.
"Eeeeeeee! My neck! Whiplash! You... owww! You gave me whiplash! Ow owie owie, it hurts, owie, it hurts!"
Dani finds that her writhing and complaints fall strangely short of expectations. She is reminded of the difficulty inherent in lying to one's sainted grandmother (who always seems to KNOW somehow). She has little time to dwell on this, however, for she is almost instantly overcome with a wave of nausea so severe that she vomits up the lahssi and pizza all over the back of the van!
The old woman steps daintily into the vehicle and gently holds Dani's head as she throws up. "There, there," she says soothingly. "Its all right, young lady."
Dani retches for what seems like a very long time, hiccups, then starts sobbing uncontrollably. In her dazed, sick and horrified condition, she looks a far cry from the pretty, fresh-faced, bright-eyed teen who boarded the plane to Al Amarja with a spring in her step. No, she's a mess, quite frankly, and her mind is reeling from recent events. Try as she might, she can't seem to get a grip on herself. So she lets the old woman cradle her head -- dimly realizing in the back of her mind that this combination of vomiting and sobbing might serve as a half-decent distraction, should any of her travelling companions decide to take initiative...
Yazoo Chen, sitting in the front passenger seat, finally speaks up.
"FUCK!" he says. "You wrecked my van!"
"Shut up Chen," snarls the guy pointing the gun at him. Chen ignores him, and glances briefly at the driver.
"Don't do anything stupid," he says. "It won't work anyway."
He turns to the back where the nice old woman is helping Dani vomit profusely. Chen looks mournfully at the mess.
"Jesus Christ, Brinker!" he says, "This is too much!"
"Shut UP Chen!" says the guy holding the gun on him.
"Yeah, right, whatever," says Chen, waving a hand vaguely. "You know they're gonna hunt you down like a dog and kill you for this, don't you?"
"Why dear, whatever do you mean?" asks the nice old woman in an innocent voice.
"Look, I KNOW your a sweet old grandmother, and so innocent that nobody would ever want to hurt you, but Brinker..."
"Call me 'ma'," says the old woman.
...but ma," continues Chen, "your... sons... are... PSYCHOPATHIC MUTANTS! They MELT people's BRAINS for a living! Maybe this sweet little old lady stuff works for you, and maybe it even offers them some protection, but they aren't with you all the time!"
"SHUT UP CHEN!" screams the guy holding the gun on Chen, poking it into his ear. Chen rounds on him.
"Oh, yeah, right! Big man with a big gun, eh Klaus? Well why don't you just go ahead and do it, huh? Blow my fucking brains all over the inside of the van? Or just melt my cerebral cortex? Go on, do it! I dare you you chickenshit little mutant! Do it! DO IT!"
Klaus screws up his face in a look of utter hatred and rage. He places the gun flush against Chen's forehead and his finger tightens on the trigger.
"Now Klaus," says the old woman, "you know I abhor violence."
Klaus sags, visibly deflated. "Aw mom, pleeeeze!" he says.
"Klaus?" says the old woman, raising an eyebrow.
"Yes mom," says Klaus. He puts his gun away.
About this time Ingar finally slides off the hood of the truck, and smacks into the pavement, making a sound equivalent to that made by a sack of wet cement hitting the ground. The old woman looks up, then back at Dani. "Could you excuse me for a moment, young lady?" she asks politely. "I do need to check on Dr. Forn."
Unable to tell who are the "good guys" and who are the "bad guys" here in the wrecked van and beginning to worry that nothing is as black and white as she might hope, Dani simply nods at the old woman. "Can I come with you?" she asks with a glimmer of hope in her eye. "I really, really, really need some fresh air."
"Of course you can, dear." says the old woman, "and please, call me 'Ma'. Everyone does."
And now, so does Dani.
The pair exit the van and walk over to the front. The pickup truck's windshield is shattered, apparently by Ingar's impact, and the front of the vehicle is sprinkled with a bluish black substance that resembles a hellish cross between roofing tar and bubble gum, and smells like an abattoir badly in need of a steam cleaning. Of Ingar, however, there is no trace.
"Oh dear," says Ma. "Klause, Pere, have either of you seen Dr. Forn?"
"No ma," the pair of hulking brutes respond in unison.
Ma sighs deeply. "Oh dear," she says again. "Tiffany will be so disappointed."
At that time, a dark, hulking monstrosity stand up on the other side of the cars. On further observation, it is just Ingar covered in soot and oil. Then again, what's the difference?
Ingar's suit is torn in several places, and much of his body is covered in oil, soot, and some indeterminable, gooey stuff. His right arm seems to have been dislocated. He looks more as if he has crawled through a major oil spill than like a man who has just crawled under a car.
"Hello, Mrs. Brinker, I am right here." he says, grinning from ear to ear in a way that would be really cute if he did not have quite such sharp and supernumerous teeth. This is accompanied by some twitching in his right arm. Casting a glance at it, with arched eyebrows and a "something just ain't right" expression, Ingar gives it a brutal jerk and twist with his left hand, relocating it, and then raises it halfway up to give a slightly effeminate wave, grinning even more. "Hi Klause." "Hi Pere." "Dani, are you all right?"
"Hello Dr. Forn," replies Mrs. Brinker, "Please call me 'Ma'."
"Right, Ma," he beams. "Please call me Ingar".
Klaus and Pere simply stare sullenly and grunt an acknowledgment.
Dani reaches up to wipe away a fleck of vomit at the corner of her mouth. "Never better," she lies, wary eyes watching Ingar carefully. The clues that there might be something really, really strange about Ingar have been steadily building and now Dani can ignore them no longer. She makes no move to run -- not yet -- but the muscles in her legs tense as she turns slightly to her left, trying to position herself in such a way so she can sprint far away from him and Mrs. Brinker if they decide to, for example, melt her brain.
As Ingar observes the telltale physiological signs of the "fight-or-flight" syndrome in Dani, his face sags into a very human expression of infinite sadness and helplessness. Stress and conflicting emotions have made him sloppy, and another friend has been lost. He gazes pleadingly (and cocker spaniel-like) at Dani.
Dani's instincts for self-protection haven't crippled her empathy; Ingar sees her react tellingly to his sad "puppy-dog" look. For an instant, she looks as if she might go to him, but no, she can't relax her guard. She stays tense and ready to run, needing, at the very least, some kind of explanation.
"What's going on here?" she wants to know, considering this a far more valuable question than any Regis Philbin would ever think to pose.
"Oh, we're kidnapping Dr. Forn," replies Ma Brinker in a sunny tone of voice. "Or rescuing him. I suppose it depends on your perspective." She looks kindly at Dani. "Dear, you look like you could use a nice cup of tea," adds Ma.
Dani finds herself nodding. Tea sounds nice. Tea sounds normal. Tea sounds like it might even settle her stomach.
Mrs. Brinker turns to Klaus and Per. "Come along you two - I think we have had enough excitement for the day. I'll get you all fixed up with a nice hot meal and a place to rest and recuperate. Klaus, would you please get their bags out of the back?"
"OK mom," says Klaus sullenly, and moves to comply.
"You're going to regret this," says Chen accusingly.
"Shut up Chen!" says Pere, in a voice amazingly like that of Klaus.
Dani glances at Chen. "What kind of criminals?" she asks, finding herself cautiously shifting her allegiance toward Ma and Ingar just the same.
"Terrorists," reply Ma and Chen in unison.
"Trippy," is all Dani can think to say.
Klaus has by now gotten the bags out of the back, and is busily dumping them into the bed of the truck. Distant sirens can be heard.
"Time to go, mom," says Pere.
"Thank you dear," replies Mrs. Brinker.
Instinctively sensing that it wouldn't be the greatest idea to trust the police in a place as monumentally psychotic as Al Amarja, Dani finds herself gravitating more and more toward Ma Brinker. If they all make a getaway, she'll... well... she guesses she'll go with them. For now. Besides, Chen never came up with a suitable apology (much less an explanation!) for the C&I workers streteching and shredding all her intimate apparel...
Chen sighs and shrugs his shoulders, then leans back in his seat. "Don't go with them, Forn." he says in a voice that indicates clearly that he knows that what he is saying is futile. "You'll regret it. These folks are criminals."
"Now, now Mr. Chen!" says Ma, waggling a finger, "That is no way to talk."
Ingar exclaims: "Ma is right, Chen. If for no other reason, I should go with with the Brinkers to keep you from further alienating these dynamic if somewhat troubled young men! How would you like to be called a "psychopathic mutant"? Perhaps you would become a little hostile yourself? The correct term is "sociopath", and your derogatory use of "mutant" is nothing less than racist! Besides, I was assigned to go to Mrs. Brinker in the first place, was I not?"
Chen's eyes narrow. "That's... true." he says slowly. "How... interesting."
"Oops," says Mrs. Brinker.
"Goodness' cover's blown, mom," says Pere. "We'll have to kill them both."
"Now dearie," replies Mrs. Brinker, "You know how I hate violence."
"But moooooooom...!" replies Pere in a nasal whine quite inappropriate when coming from a hulking thug.
"Checkmate," replies Chen with a smile.
"Oi!" says the even more hulking and decidedly self-conscious academic
Unable to follow this exchange all that well (how can the concept of goodness blow a cover, anyway?), Dani spends her time cautiously wondering which "both" Pere was talking about. Killing Chen and the woman cop? Or killing Ingar and herself?
How to stop the taking of life? Maybe she should say a prayer to Saint Arthelais? Or Dagobert II? No, what about Simon of Trent? Hmm...
Faced with a similar dilemma, and feeling somewhat sheepish for disclosing sensitive information of the good Mr. Goodness, Mr. Forn resolves to remain quiet for the time being and let Mrs. Brinker excert her maternal authority unimpededly.
"Come along Ingar, miss," says Mrs. Brinker in a polite tone of voice. "Its time to go."
"Uh, mom, what about these two?" says Pere, indicating Chen and the driver.
"Oh I'm sure they won't cause any trouble," replies Mrs. Brinker.
"Betcher ass we will... ma," says Chen.
"Now this is very aggressive behaviour... Perhaps we should meet some day and talk about your way of relating to people - I fear that it may interfere both with your personal life and your professional duties" says Ingar.
"Look, Forn." replies Chen wearily. "You are being abducted by armed terrorists who are interfering with the duly appointed authorities of the Al Amarjan government. Maybe she seems like a cute old lady to you, but she's dangerous, and her offspring are on the wrong side of the homicidal mania fence."
"SHUT UP, CHEN!" howl both Pere and Klaus in unison, their faces contorted in frustration. They both eye their mom warily, like children trying to gauge whether their parent is sufficiently distracted that they can raid the cookie jar.
Chen ignores them. "If you think I am going to sit here passively while that happens, then you're as crazy as they are," he continues. "You're falling in with the wrong crowd, Forn. Its going to get you killed if you aren't careful."
Mrs. Brinker just shrugs and heads for the truck. "Ingar, I'm afraid there isn't really room for you in the cab," she says. "Would you be willing to ride in back?"
"No problem, Ma."
Klaus chucks all the luggage into the bed of the truck, then hops behind the wheel, and Pere sullenly folds back the passenger seat and climbs into the little back seat, folding himself up like an accordion. Mrs. Brinker hops into the back seat as well.
Ingar places his right hand on the edge of the truck's bed and bounces up, pivoting his entire body around his right arm, and landing with his back to the driver's compartment in one fluid move. Much like an 8' foot tall, elderly and grossly overweight Olympic gymnast (duh?). He eyes the accordionated Pere with some interest. He also eyes Dani, to see how she reacts.
"Hand me the cordless telephone, will you dear?" Ma says to Klaus.
"Its a cell phone, mom," replies Klaus, handing it to her.
"Thank you dear," replies Mrs. Brinker and begins dialing.
The sirens are getting closer.
"I still think we should have killed them, mom," says Pere sullenly.
"Shhhh!" says Mrs. Brinker, "It's ringing."
The truck speeds through traffic like a rabid lab rat on crystal meth through a maze.
"Hello dear," says Mrs. Brinker after a short pause, " it's Mrs. Brinker. I wanted to call to let you know thatwe picked up that nice Dr. Forn and his friend at the airport. There's been a slight problem though. Yazoo Chen of Terminal Security got to them first, and we had to, well, intervene." She says the last as though it was absolutely the most scandalous of ideas.
Several vehicles with red flashing lights and the logo of the Al Amarjan Peace Force zoom past, headed in the opposite direction. Mrs. Brinker seems unfazed by this, though Pere and Klaus both grimace.
Mrs. Brinker pauses for a moment, listening to the voice on the other end.
"Oh dear," replies Mrs. Brinker with heartfelt sympathy. "I'm sorry to hear that. You might try Achmed's Quick Clinic."
She pauses again. "The thing is, dear, that Ingar mentioned your connection to us to Yazoo Chen. You will have to forgive him, he's rather new to this sort of thing. I'm afraid your cover is blown, dear."
Pause.
"Oh don't be silly, Dear!" exclaims Mrs. Brinker in the same grandmotherly tone of voice. "All you have to do is make it to the Safe House in Great Men, and I'm certain we can do something to fix things up."
There is a sound of screeching tires, and Mrs. Brinker says, "Oh my. Klaus, mind the pedestrians. Dear, I have to go now - it seems we are caught up in a vehicular chase with the Al Amarjan Peace Force. Good luck getting out of the Terminal!" she ends with a cheery lilt.
The remainder of the ride is rather uneventful (if one considers a frantic chase through the streets of the Edge with patrol cars of the Peace Force to be uneventful, that is). Eventually Klaus manages to lose his pursuers in traffic, and the party heads off merrily on their way.
The section of the Edge into which they head bears a striking resemblance to Baghdad just after Operation Desert Storm - to call the place "decrepit" would be an understatement. The buildings are, for the most part, in sad states of repair, and it is obvious to both Ingar and Dani that the inhabitants of this area fall somewhere on the socioeconomic spectrum around four levels below "destitute". The phrase "an air of quiet desperation" would be accurate only if one removed the word "quiet" and replaced it with the phrase "brutally sociopathic". Dani gets the distinct impression that were she to walk these streets alone the remainder of her life would be both extremely short and almost unimaginably horrible.
Ingar, on the other hand, visualizes this as just the sort of place his relatives would love to visit.
After driving for perhaps ten minutes through this decayed urban wasteland of abandoned cars, shells of burned out buildings, and ragged inhabitants barely recognizable as being distantly related to human beings only by the fact that they walk on two legs, the truck makes an abrupt right hand turn and pulls into the driveway of... fairyland.
Well, not quite. But compared to the rest of the structures that surround it, the building is amazing. A large, three story Victorian set in the middle the block, with landscaped hedges, grass, and fruit trees all around it. It looks like one of those fancy, $200 plus dollars per night Bed and Breakfast Inns (though the location is not optimal). Out in front there is a tastefully done sign with scrollwork around the outside. In nice, Victorian lettering are the words "Safe House."
"We're here," says Mrs. Brinker brightly.
Pere just grunts.
Mrs. Brinker bounces out of the cab with vigor that belies her years. "Pere, please help Dr. Forn out of the back and get the luggage. Klaus, you might want to park the truck inside the garage."
"Yes mom," echo the twins.
"Come along dearie," Mrs. Brinker says to Dani, "I'll show you to a room where you can lie down."
Pere walks around to the back of the truck and begins pulling suitcases out of the bed. "C'mon Dr. Forn," he says in a tone of voice that is, while not exactly civil, at least less sullen than is usual for him, "I'll give you a hand down."
Dr. Forn scoots to the back of the truck bed, pushing himself along with his hands. He pulls along any suitcases which are out of Pere's reach. "Thank you, Pere." he says in a surprisingly pleasant baritone, as he descends stiff-legged from the truck. He then tries to see whether Klaus and Pere needs any help with the luggage.
Meanwhile, Dani and Mrs. Brinker head inside the house. The instant the front door closes Klaus guns the motor and sends the truck roaring into the garage, while Pere steps in front of Ingar, drawing his large caliber handgun in the process and scanning the buildings across the street for signs of trouble. "PICK UP THE LUGGAGE AND GET INSIDE! MOVE IT!" he yells over his shoulder at Ingar.
"Why - certainly!" squeaks Dr. Forn, grabbing the luggage's handles with his two great hands. Regaining his composure, he walks quickly, yet calmly (for a person gaining forward momentum by throwing his upper body from side to side) towards the doorway where he last saw Mrs Brinker, mentally evaluating different treatment plans for the socially challenged Brinker brothers.
It's only paranoia if they aren't out to get you....
There is the sound of gunfire - multiple shots in rapid succession *BLAM-BLAM-BLAM*, and something jerks one of the bags out of Ingar's hand despite his strength, and sends it tumbling away. Ingar has now now built up sufficient momentum that he can't stop to go back for it, instead tottering towards the porch at speed.
"SNIPER!" screams Pere, and there is immediately the deep *BOOM* of his heavy automatic pistol as he returns fire. "RUN FOR THE" *BOOM* "DOOR" *BLAM-BLAM-BLAM* "FORN!" *BOOM* *BLAM-BLAM-BLAM*, "Ugh... Da's kloten van de bok..." says Pere.
*BLAM-BLAM-BLAM* Another three round burst whizzes past Ingar as he totters forward, smacking into the nice carved railing leading up to the front porch.
Sometimes, indiscression is the better part of self-preservation. Dropping the pieces of luggage, Ingar briefly contemplates the possibility that a shot to the head might end his troubles, but dismisses this as negative thinking, and besides, dying probably would not solve anything. "That is not dead..." and so forth.
Already his body, suffused with biochemical transmittor substances is
reverting to a more primal and natural mode of movement, disregarding any
second thought his brain might have on the matter and also overlooking
such pleasantries as the normal limitations of human joints. With
fluid, inhuman grace, he leaps up to the porch and tries to open the front
door.
Ingar makes a couple of giant strides into the room and immediately begins to revert to a more human posture, thankful that Dani does not seem particularily alert at this time. He then turns to the front door again and tries to see how the twins are doing.
"I'll be down in just a moment Ingar," she says, leading Dani up the stairs.
Ingar begins panting heavily. "Ma - You are aware that there are people shooting outdoors, are you not?" He asks in a wheezing voice. "Oh. I seem to have lost the luggage. Terribly sorry."
Mrs. Brinker shrugs. "It seems like the neighborhood just isn't what it used to be." she replies, making a shooing motion with one hand. "I'm certain that Klaus and Pere will take care of the luggage. Why don't you wait for me in the kitchen downstairs Ingar? Through the door on your left." She resumes walking up the stairs with Dani.
"I'll do that, Ma," says Ingar, once more at ease, and heads through that door.
Mrs. Brinker and Dani disappear up the stairs, and Ingar heads for the kitchen. Before he can get there, however, the front door bursts open and Klaus staggers in, heavy automatic pistol in one hand, and a bleeding & unconscious Pere being dragged along in the other. Just before staggering across the threshold he turns and fires three shots, *BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!*, in the general direction that the automatic weapons fire came from. His eyes are glowing with some unearthly blue fire.
"DAMN IT FORN, HELP ME GET HIM INSIDE!" he screams at Ingar (apparently referring to Pere).
Though disgust with this display of violence is written all over his face, Forn wisely decides that the Golden Rule might better be discussed under more relaxed circumstances, and helps Klaus pull Pere inside.
While Forn gave up getting into the Red Cross volunteers a long time ago, he tries to put his extensive knowledge of the human anatomy to use in stopping Pere's blood loss as soon as they are safely (this being a very relative term) inside.
Pere has been hit in the shoulder, abdomen, and left leg by high velocity slugs. The shoulder wound is particularly unfortunate in that the slug obviously hit - and shattered - bone, since the exit wound is about the size of a donut. The signs are easy to read - twitching, pallor, irregular breathing - Pere is in deep shock and looking to die in the very near future without some immediate and serious medical intervention.
Reasoning that the less blood Pere loses, the longer he will live, Forn quickly pulls off his belt (holding up his trousers with his girth and uses it as a tourniquet around Pere's leg. Simultaneously, he calls out: "Ma, I hate to sound negative, but Pere is seriously hurt and I think that we ought to get him to a medical doctor as soon as possible, otherwise, he may die!" As soon as the tourquinet is finished, he tries to dermine whether it might be possible to staunch the blood loss from the two other wounds (applying pressure and so forth) without harming Pere further.
Klaus immediately attempts to stop Ingar from applying a tourniquet to the leg. "What are you trying to do you idiot? Make him lose a leg? Use a pressure bandage!"
"I-think-that-you-may-overestimate-the-speed-of-human-tissue-entrophy-though-this-is-not-really-my-field- i-must-admit-either-way-there-is-no-need-for-verbal-abuse-if-I-may-say-so" says Ingar in a quick yet timid retort.
Klaus ignores this verbal gambit for the moment. He rolls Pere over in the widening pool of blood on the floor and rips open the back of Pere's shirt, revealing the ugly hole in his shoulder. "I need to pack this. Let me have your shirt!" he yells at Ingar. "And don't bother ma, she's busy!"
From upstairs Mrs. Brinker can be heard humming to herself. Her telephone rings.
"I do not think you really want my shirt in contact with Pere's bloodstream, Klaus," answers a startled Forn, casting a quick glance at his soggy, blackish-blue, slowly disintegrating shirt. "Perhaps there is something else we could use?" He forlornly starts looking about for suitable textiles.
Klaus rolls his eyes in frustration (the glow is more or less gone from them by now, incidentally). "Linens in the hutch over there. DON'T use the christmas tablecloth. Hurry UP!"
Ingar tries to find some suitable linens, tossing them to Klaus as soon as he has made sure that they are not the Christmas tablecloth. He manages to find some linens in the hutch, and even (barely) manages to identify the red and white and green one as being christmas-oriented.
The next ten minutes are spent tearing up linens at Klaus command, and holding limbs or moving Pere around while Klaus patches up holes in his brother. By the end of it everyone, Ingar included, is covered in blood (this may or may not bother Ingar in the slightest) but Pere seems to still be breathing and all the holes are leaking less.
Ingar listens attentively to Klaus's commands, and truly shows himself to be a "gentle giant" while attending to Pere. However, while his hands move with deft gentleness, his nostrils dilate at the smell of blood, and his lips pull back into a hungry smile. Seconds later, he becomes aware of his own thoughts, he instantly shifts both thoughts and face into a far more clinical configuration. "Fy skam meg1", he mutters to himself in Norwegian.
Sometime during the excitement Mother Brinker comes downstairs and can be heard rattling around in the kitchen.
"Help be carry him upstairs," Klaus says at last.
"Certainly, my good man" responds Ingar with a timid smile.
Mrs. Brinker leads her down a hallway, chatting happily all the while. "Now we only have one guest at the moment - Mitsy - but Mitsy is up in the third floor suite getting some rest, so I don't think you'll meet him until breakfast. Mitsy's had rather a rough time of it - rather sad really, but we think he'll come along quite well once we get a couple of gallons of chicken soup into him. Also, we're expecting that nice Mr. Goodness. I think we'll put him in here - " she gestures towards a sunny room, "so we'll just put you down at the end of the hallway."
The room that Mrs. Brinker leads Dani to looks like something out of a child's dream, made real and expanded into adult size. There is a huge, king-sized bed in a brass frame, complete with fluffy comforters, a hand-stitched crazy quilt, and lots of pillows. Stuffed animals adorn the room. There are a couple of comfy looking stuffed chairs, a writing table, and several puzzles and board games placed neatly in the walk-in closet. But the most striking thing about the room is the large bay window that lets in plenty of light.
Plenty of light that is subtly the wrong color - a bit too red.
The vista that the bay window overlooks is one of swirling, mixing colors, not unattractive - in fact rather hypnotic in its own way - but DEFIANTLY not what Dani was expecting to be outside her window.
Mrs. Brinker appears not to notice. "Here you go, dear. I'll have Klaus or Pere bring up your luggage, and I'll bring you something to settle your stomach. You just rest - you've had a trying day. If you want to freshen up, the bathroom is two doors down and to your right."
With that, Mrs Brinker turns and heads back the way she came.
As she walks out, her telephone rings. She pulls it out and answers brightly. "Mrs. Brinker here!" Pause. "Oh hello dear. Please, call me 'Ma.'" Pause. "I'm just fine dear. And you?" Longer pause. "Why Mr. Forn is here, of course. He's down in the kitchen at the moment. I believe that he's trying to keep Pere from bleeding to death in the foyer - we've had a bit of trouble with some pesky sniper fire here I'm afraid. I'm afraid that I just put his friend, Ms. Saint-Claire, to bed. She's had a rather rough day and is feeling a bit under the weather. I could take a message if you like. As for errands, if you could stop by a convenient grocery and pick me up five pounds of unbleached organic white flour, some cinimon sticks, and a pint of honey I would appreciate it. Oh, and some gauze bandages, antiseptic, and some stain remover."
Another pause.
"Oh, I'm sure that Klaus and Pere have taken care of things - they're such good boys that way. Just the items on my shopping list, if it isn't inconvenient," chirps Mrs. Brinker. Pause. "Goodbye Mr. Goodness," says Ma Brinker brightly.
She clicks off her phone and smiles widely for Dani's benefit. Mr. Goodness and his friend are on their way," she announces. "Now you just get a bit of rest, dearie, and everything will be all right." She walks out, humming, and heads for the kitchen.
A few moments later, Ingar and Klaus head up the stairs, carrying the inanimate form of the bandaged Pere. Walking up the stairs to the third floor with Pere securely in his arms, Ingar experiences a rather odd sensation - rather like entering the Terminal for the first time, but without the same "homey" sensation. He betrays no sign of disturbance, save for a momentary widening of his eyes. Klaus appears not to notice anything particularly amiss.
The top floor is rather small, containing just enough space for a full bathroom and three bedrooms. Klaus leads Ingar into one of them - a horrible morass of unwashed laundry, crumpled linens, unclosed dresser drawers, discarded stacks of magazines with names like "Guns and Bullets" and "Swingin' Biker Gals". Posters of german punk bands decorate the walls, and there is a massive stereo with hundreds of CDs scattered around it. There is a weight bench in one corner.
In short, it looks like a "guy" room and smells like a locker room. The only oddity that Ingar notices are the curtains over the window, which are as thick as blankets and prevent any light whatsoever from leaking in from the outside.
"Put him on the bed," says Klaus.
"Yah" says Ingar and lays Pere gently on the bed. As soon as he has straightened up again, he begins making mental notes of whore-madonna complexes, insecure identities stemming from a lack of male role models, generation gaps, all ready to be noted down in his little black book. While doing so, he keeps part of his attention focused on Klaus, expecting him to make some statement as to what happens next.
"Shit," mutters Klaus, who walks out of the room without another word.
Ingar pulls out his book and writes notes on the Brinker family for a few minutes. His pen moves at prodigal speed. He also notes in his long-term planner that Mr. Chen and whoever was shooting outside the house surely need psychotherapeutical help.
Forn then turns to the door and leaves the room. Hoping to find
Ma, Klaus or Dani, he heads for the stairs and descends.
Ingar steps into the kitchen, hesitating a little, he shifts his weight from one foot to another. Forn watches the "in potentia" chocolate chip cookies with some interest - his relatives never made any food which did not involve the spilling of blood. Folding his hands in front of him, with his arms hanging freely, he begins hesitatingly. "Hi, Ma. Sorry to bother you, but how is Dani? And how are you, have you not found the experiences of this day to be somewhat stressful - If you don't mind me asking?"
Ma looks up and smiles brightly. "Dani is fine so far as I know, though she's asleep at the moment."
"But should she be sleeping? What if she has had a concussion?" replies Ingar worriedly.
Ma just shrugs. "I'm certain she'll be fine," she says confidently. She slides a tray of chocolate ship cookies into the oven. "As for me, well, its just another day. I'm afraid when you get to be my age you've pretty much seen it all, so these things aren't quite as exciting as they are for you youngsters."
"Oh. Well. Mrm."
"Now then dear," says Ma, brushing flour off her hands and apron, "just what brings you to Al Amarja, Dr. Forn?"
"Mf. Well... I guess could say I had some serious trouble with my family and relatives. In chief, one could say that our opinions on my life and carreer was rather divergent. Other people were getting involved... I just had to get away from it all, and hoped to find some rest and relaxation on Al-Amarja. It was a spur-of-the-moment decision. Now, I am considering moving here permanently, as people here seem to be quite tolerant of my differences, though the law enforcement community does seem a bit hostile..."
Ingar blushes a bit, looking at the floor as he asks, "Mrmmurgh. WHO'S TIFFANY?!" Unfortunately, his voice, until this time a pleasant if agitated tenor slips down into something rather reminicent of Samael in the first Warlock movie (or any number of male Goth vocalists).
Mrs. Brinker seems somewhat surprised and amused. "Tiffany Trilobite? She's a cartoon character, of course. There's a set in the sitting room if you want to have a chat with her."
"A cartoon character, Ma?!" queries the confounded Forn, in his "normal"
voice. While he has known from an early age that humans overrate
the accuracy of their heuristics regarding the nature of reality, he remains
convinced that free-willed cartoon characters are but an illusion crafted
by a sportswear conspiracy. However, Mrs Brinker is a point of warmth
in an world gnawed on by chilling insanity, and so he is rather reluctant
to contradict her... "Oh well... I might as well do go and 'talk'
to Tiffany, then..." He heads for the sitting room.
To Be Continued...