Chapter 2

August 9^th AC 201

5:30am

Sun cutting through the blinds like sharp knives; alarm clock screeching through the almost otherwise silent air; stifling heat threatening to suffocate and also cause the plain white sheets covering the bed to become sweat soaked and clingy. A wonderful way to start a Monday morning, he thought bitterly.

In the next room he could clearly hear the loud snoring of his roommate. The inhumane noise was enough to keep him awake for hours on end. Not that he could complain, he was sharing the apartment with her, and it was hers.

He climbed out of bed, peeling the covers off himself. He had been planning to get the air conditioner fixed but could never find the money. After two years of stealing for a living, he learned that you had to work twice as hard when the work was honest. He was lucky to have been able to afford room and board at the dump he inhabited now.

He put on a t-shirt to accompany the boxers he had been wearing. His roommate had berated him constantly on sleeping naked or walking around with out a shirt. She seemed to think it detracted her clientele. Not that they’d notice much besides her ‘wares.’

Turning on the ancient calcium etched coffee maker, he heaped six large tablespoons of ground coffee beans into the filter and pressed the on button. He was only making four cups but seemed to have developed a tolerance to the caffeine. He dreaded the taste of the coffee but knew it would be made to look like the finest French cappuccino is compared to the vile filth he drank at work.

While waiting for the coffee to brew, he went into the washroom to relieve himself and to make himself presentable. He ran a razor over his five o’clock shadow and splashed water on his face to try to remove the tiredness. He probably should be trying to sleep in another half hour but getting up when he did was the only way he managed to acquire any peace and quiet at the apartment.

Looking at his reflection in the mirror, he shook his head in disgust. His platinum-blond hair was cut severely short and his baby-blue eyes were so blood shot the almost looked red. This is what you get for late nights, early mornings, and no sleep, he thought to himself.

Many women had commented on how good-looking he was, though he himself did not see it. Also, many people had remarked on how looked so much like that Winner kid that had disappeared a few years back, only more mature. If only they knew.

He went back into the kitchen and poured himself a cup of strong black coffee. He walked out onto the balcony with the cup in hand to watch the sun appear over the skyline. It was a ritual he had been doing since he had moved into the dump of an apartment to calm his nerves and give himself a little down time.

At six o’clock, after finishing the rest of the coffee, he went into his room and changed into his work clothes. His entire wardrobe consisted of two pairs of light weight gym shorts, five or six white t-shirts, five pairs of navy-blue dress pants, two pairs of well worn blue jeans, six white, stiff-necked shirts, multiple pairs of socks and boxers, one pair of running shoes, and one pair of polished, black, wingtip dress shoes.

He donned himself in the dress pants, boxers, socks, and stiffed necked shirt, and grabbed his wallet and wingtip shoes. Upon entering the kitchen, he saw his roommate sporting a new black eye.

“Have fun last night Sherry?” he asked cheerily.

“Oh just stuff it Lucky! I’m not in the mood for this right now,” she muttered half-heartedly. He wasn’t shocked. She never responded well to his not so good-natured mockery. In general, he didn’t have much respect, of liking for women of her profession. Then again, she didn’t have much adulation for people in his profession either.

“Have a nice day too,” he said before leaving.

His car, or rust bucket, was as nondescript as they came. It was like any other piece of crap one might find on the street, thought he was pretty sure it was, at one point, red. He climbed into the drivers seat and turned on the engine. The car started easily for something in its state.

He drove to his place of employment, the local police station. He thought if quite humorous that an ex-criminal was now a police officer. Then again, it was the only place a person with his skills could get a decent paying, honest job.

He entered the police station and moved towards his office giving the fellow officers a brief nod. For him, that was the equivalent to another man’s hello, and all of the officers knew that. He stopped a moment at the front desk to pick up any messages he might have but instead received the shock of his life; someone called him by name. His real name.

“Quatre?”

He ignored the shout and moved towards his office, forcing his face to go blank of expression. Why here and why now?

12:36pm

The noise on the patio was just enough to be considered an annoying buzz, yet the two women dinning at a table that had a lovely view of the bay didn’t pay it any mind. The sun was shining, the sky was blue, and the clouds were white and fluffy. Not that the two women were paying much attention to that either. They were, on the other hand, paying close attention to the heated discussion going on between the two of them.

“I’m swearing to you Relena, that Quatre I saw at the police station.” The one woman stabbed her finger on the table to emphasise her statement, before returning to her food.

“I’m not doubting what you think you saw Hilde, but Heero has been looking for Quatre since the day he disappeared from the hospital. On all the files on the web, not a single one mentioned any one who acted like Quatre, and that type of man is not hard to miss.” Relena said the last statement around a mouthful of food. Her manners certainly have gone down hill since she became Mrs Yuy, she thought dryly.

“He looked exactly like him Lena. He even tensed up when I called his name.” Hilde ran a hand though her black hair in frustration. Her hair was now long, because that was the way Duo liked it. “It has to be him…”

Relena shook her head ruefully. “He didn’t answer when you called him though,” She said empathetically. “Haven’t you ever heard that every person has a twin they don’t know about? That’s probably who this guy is.”

“But don’t you see? He’s working at the police station. What better way to help enforce peace?” She knew once Relena made her mind up about something it wouldn’t be changed. She could be as stubborn as a mule if she put her mind to it. Well so can I, Hilde determined

Relena burst her bubble quite effectively though. “Quatre would never work at a police station. That would mean training to become violent, and using a gun. He would never touch a gun unless his life depended on it. Even then it would be unlikely.”

Hilde nodded in agreement, though she hated herself for it. She knew the person she had seen at the station had been Quatre and she was going to convince someone of it. She ate the rest of her meal in relative silence until Relena asked if anything was wrong. She never would ignore her closest friend except if there were something on her mind. She forced herself to make idle conversation all the while convincing herself it wasn’t Quatre at the station. It didn’t hit her until later that though working as a police officer would be completely against Quatre’s beliefs, so was drinking and driving, yet he had done that anyway.

5:00pm

He hated suicides. Anything else was better than a suicide. Quatre couldn’t understand for the life of him why someone would take there own life when there was so much to look forward to in life. He somehow remembered a saying along the lines of ‘Everything is okay in the end. If it’s not okay, it’s not the end.’ He had hit some fairly bad times in the past. Including waking up in a hospital with broken appendages and a concussion only to realize you couldn’t remember a damn thing and you had killed your friend who was about to get married and crippled another, he thought bitterly.

Upon entering the site of the suicide Quatre became baffled. The house was large and made of marble. The interior was decorated with fine gold ornaments and expensive paintings. Quatre didn’t know for sure if they were expensive- he wasn’t an artist of any sort- but they looked it. The rugs felt as if they were in good quality. Donning a pair of latex gloves her picked up and the address book and flipped through it. He didn’t have to worry about ruining evidence; forensics had already scoured the place for any clues they could find, and dusted for prints. As he had expected, the address book was full of appointments and dinners.

On the mantel was a picture of a rather handsome couple. That confirmed that the man was married. Quatre shook his head in confusion. The man had a luxurious life style, plenty of friends and a beautiful wife, yet he had killed himself, he pondered. …Or had he?

He moved up the stairs toward the bedroom, where the suicide had taken place. In the middle of the room was a large puddle of brownish liquid, mixed in with spinal fluids. Small parts of what had been the man’s nervous system were now splattered on the wall.

When he looked back on the situation, he didn’t know what had possessed him, but he moved over to the chest of drawers and picked up the newspaper. His eyes quickly scanned the page, and his hands slowly tightened on the paper. Obviously the forensics people hadn’t taken any notice that the newspaper was from September twenty-eighth of three years ago. It clearly looked as if the reader was supposed to notice the article about a certain car accident.

He forced his hands to unclench from the paper. It was then he noticed the notes jotted on the side of the page.

‘Thus the contract written;

Thus an agreement made.

What was asked is given;

Now the price must be paid.

Quatre put the newspaper in a plastic ziplock bag and made him self mechanically go over searching the rest of the house. He knew he wasn’t doing a very good job but he couldn’t put his heart into it. He had figured out something worse than suicide. Homicides. Particularly when it was to send a message to someone. Homicides were definitely worse then suicides. Especially when it’s directed at me.