Flames Ignoring my thoughts, which are running every which way but the logical, at
the moment, I drive through the streets, leaving off at semi-regular intervals
to check the piece of paper with Krycek's address on.
The streets around here are a lot darker. I don't know if that's simply my
imagination, it could be... but they seem darker, creepier... and the people are
giving me strange looks. I don't think I'm making that up.
There are a few cars around, but they're mostly wrecks at the side of the
road. Blackened. A lot of them have been burnt from the inside out, for the
insurance money I suppose. Not that anyone who lives around here could even
afford insurance.
Okay, so that was an incredibly judgemental statement. But they don't look
like they could afford anywhere to live, enough to eat... let alone insurance in
case their car gets damaged, stolen, or... burnt from the inside out.
I sigh a little, and keep driving.
It's getting fairly late, and there are prostitutes lining the sidewalks. I'm
careful not to make eye contact with any of them. I'm not in the mood for that
sort of thing. I suppose it's been a while since I was in the mood.
///And so you settle for whatever gets you through the night///
To my left, I see a man who looks a lot like Krycek. Same build, leather
jacket, jeans, figure... I snap my vision over to glance at him, and realise
that it's simply my mind playing tricks on me again. I'm seeing Krycek in places
he isn't.
I wonder if that means anything. Probably not.
Actually, I lie. It probably does.
Trying not to think or make judgements on anyone who's staring, leering and
pointing at my car, I turn into the road Krycek's apartment is supposedly on.
There's nothing that is any better than the rest of the neighbourhood.
Gingerly, not willing to leave my car, locked or otherwise, with everyone
looking at it in the way they are, I pull over and step out of my vehicle.
Several people are on the curb, and they reach out to touch and stroke my
car. I wonder about them... what they're like. If my car is such a wondrous
object to them, what does it say? What does my car mean to them?
Still clutching the piece of paper tightly in my left hand, I lock the car
and walk into the building.
There's a lot of noise, coming from upstairs. I jog up two flights, to
Krycek's floor, and see a crowd at the far end. I don't know what they're there
for, but I go along to them.
Checking the number of the door they're standing outside against the number
on my paper, I realise they're one and the same. This is Krycek's apartment.
The door's slightly ajar, and I see inside... at the ashes of a fire.
///The flame you thought was dead may suddenly begin to burn///
I don't believe it. I won't believe it.
I can't.
I push through, and am stopped by someone. "Hey, you can't go in there."
"FBI," I reply instinctively, and although I don't have my badge on me, he
lets me past. I walk into the small apartment, and around for a minute.
It doesn't say much about Alex. The apartment hardly seems to be his. Nothing
characteristically him is anywhere to be seen, burnt or otherwise.
I walk over to a table, find a few photos scattered around. They're only
burnt at the edges, and I can still make out...
My face?
Wordlessly, I pick the three photos up, and slide them into my pocket. I walk
out again, and stop at an old lady.
"Did you know the man who lived here? Alex Krycek?"
"Oh, Alex," she begins, smiling sadly. "Lovely boy. Lovely. It's such a
shame..."
"Such a shame?" I repeat. It's an old psychologist's trick, to repeat the
last few words of what a person says, to keep them talking. She looks at me.
"Well, he was in the apartment when the fire happened. No one saw him walk
out the front doors."
No.
No.
No!
It can't be right. I stare at her blankly, not seeing anything, and wondering
why someone like her is living in a place like this.
Without saying another word, I turn and walk down the hall, stopping at the
end.
Why? Why now?
Goddamn, Krycek, Alex, can't I have another chance?
I kneel down, as if I was a child needing to pray, and look out the
grease-stained window.
Why has it taken me so long? Because of that, I've lost the opportunity. It's
gone. And I'm never going to get such a chance again.
The hopes and anti-dreams of the holiday season.
All gone up in flames.
///And broken hearts can be repaired, that's something that you learn///
The End
Moods VIII
by Fleur
///Sometimes you turn away from what your heart tells you is right///
23/12/98
