A few hours later, George sat on a double bed bare chested. His muscles were burnt in several places, scorched flesh marks over his torso. He'd endured the battle, winning without using his spirit essence, but it had come at a great cost. He couldn't trust any of the regular healing services his faction would use, not without linking himself to the event, so instead, he was hiding out in a seedy hotel room deep in the belly of the Section 41 slums.
The window was open slightly, the sounds of the city rising from below: PTVs, street chatter, sirens. These sounds were all partially obscured by a shower in the next room, the delicate patter of running water on taught flesh.
He'd been cleaning the wounds, dabbing them down with iodine, but each one stung causing his teeth to clench. He'd dealt with the main ones by now, the ones covering his chest and abdomen, but there were still a couple left to deal with.
He tackled the one on his forearm next, still putting off the worst—one on his neck—a particularly vicious strike from the lightning effect of the leader's brass knuckles. Even at the time, hopped up on all the adrenaline of battle, that one had stung. The lightning ability was a powerful one, one which even the Four Pillars looked up to and feared, belonging to the family who figuratively sat atop the pillars—the so-called Olympians, one of only two known powers to clear a nightmare gate, and the only one in the northern hemisphere. George was thankful he had not faced someone who genuinely wielded the power, only borrowed it.
At that moment, he heard the shower turning off. A few seconds later, the door opened and steam escaped from the doorway before a slender figure emerged, wrapped in a clean white towel.
"The water's hot," she said, walking his way. Sadie's black hair was drenched, covering her tanned shoulders. She used a second towel to momentarily dry off the excess moisture before tying it up in a knot on top of her head.
George nodded, finishing off applying the iodine to his forearm. He clenched as the solution was applied, grimacing.
"Here," said Sadie coming over. She sat on the bed next to him, taking the iodine and applicator from his hands. She whipped the towel off her head and passed it to him. "Bite on this," she said.
He did so, clenching it tightly between his teeth, while she finished off cleaning the wound. She had a gentle touch, as if this was something she had done many times before—which she had. When they had been together and George was only a promising red sash, like herself, he had needed to be patched up many times when they were out venturing on the beast planets. It was there they had developed feelings for one another, patrolling one of the giant fortresses together in the late hours of the night. Then George had been taken under the wing of a young Salamander and life had sent them separate ways.
"I need to do the one on your neck," she said.
George grunted in resignation. As she swabbed the area, he swallowed down a small scream. "Don't be a baby," she said.
"You know, normally we have spirited to deal with these things…"
Suddenly, he felt a large amount of pain on his neck as she pressed more firmly.
"Sorry, I wasn't complaining," he said, his voice apologetic.
"No, I'm sure you spirited look after one another."
The words were barbed and full of subtext. Even a simple man like George couldn't help but grasp their hidden meaning.
"Look, Sadie—"
"No, I don't want to hear it," she said. "You made your choice. Whatever excuses you've made up over the years, whatever you've told yourself to feel better about it, I know what happened."
George lowered his eyes. "Do you regret anything?" he asked.
"Does he have a good life?"
"Yes," said George.
"No then," she continued to dry her hair for a moment, then stopped. "Sometimes…" she admitted.
"He looks like you, you know? Got your temper too."
"Can we not…?" she said, not meeting his gaze. "Let's just pretend these fifteen years didn't happen." She reached inside a bag on the floor, something they'd picked up from a flea market on the way. She pulled out a pack of cigarettes, taking one out, but carried on rifling through the bag for the lighter.
"Here," said George, flames flowing from his fingertips.
She bent towards the flame, lighting the cigarette on her lips and taking a long drag. "Thanks."
They sat there for a few moments, the air heavy between them. Although they had a lot left to say to one another, at the same time, they did not wish to drag up ancient history. Instead, they just wasted a few moments, carelessly.
"No, I mean it. Thank you," she said.
"It's only a lighter," he said, playfully.
She poked him in the ribs; he grimaced from the pain.
"Sorry, I forgot." She took another drag on her cigarette, then stubbed it out on the bedside table. She turned to him, looking into his eyes. They were both exhausted, but there was still a spark there, an image of a different path they'd missed, as their lives took different tracks.
George placed her hair behind her ear. She leaned in and kissed him. In return, he started to kiss her neck and the towel around her loosened.
*
A loud knocking woke them up. They were groggy and tired and the sheets had a faint animal smell, like sweat and longing.
"No one should know we're here," whispered George.
"Then don't answer it."
"You'd think that would work, but if they wanna get inside, they will do, eventually. I've seen it."
"It might just be the hotel?" she said, hopefully.
George threw back the quilt. It had only been a few hours, but the passive effect of his monster tier bracelet had caused the many burns on his body to close, now showing several days of healing. He put on more clothes, covering himself, and went to find out who was at the door.
"Hello…?" said George.
There was no reply, and no eyehole to spy on the caller. He clasped the handle tightly, pausing for a moment, then pulled it down quickly and flung the door open… but the doorway was empty. He stuck his head out, looking in the passageway for someone, anyone to explain the knocking, but there was no one in sight. He closed the door and headed back inside. He sealed it behind him with a firm click, placing the chain on the door and popped inside the bathroom to use the toilet. Coming back into the room, he yawned, looking at Sadie who was staring up at the ceiling, a vacant expression on her face.
"Sadie…?"
There was no reaction, her look still vacant. George took a few steps forward and pulled back the quilt… she was laid in a pool of blood, her throat slit. At that, he felt a sharp pain in his back.
A blade had been stabbed into the base of his spine, then dragged up. As it reached the top of his shoulders, the invisible blade turned black, then back to a regular colour. George fell to the floor, paralysed, blood leaking from him.
A shadowy figure materialised in the room, before showing in regular colour. A short man with a bald head and dark eyebrows was looking down at him.
"You think we didn't know it was you?" he said. "You should have let it go. The girl was fine, alive at least." He took a phone from his pocket, making a quick call. "It's done," he said, before hanging up. He took a couple of pictures with the camera on the device.
"You know, I always used to think there was something special about you Salamanders, but you bleed like everyone else."