Day 29 - Post #2

[ancastar.livejournal.com]

A Bodie Carol
by Ancasta
(Continued)

By the time Bodie reached his flat, lugged his bags upstairs and got the heat going, it was half past eight.  He had stopped off at the market on his way, picking up a few things to tide him over, perishables mostly, and a four-pack of his favorite lager.  His return to familiar lodgings wasn't as sweet as he had hoped it might be.  He hated coming home in winter after a lengthy absence.  The place was dusty and, with it being too cold to air it out properly, the flat smelled like his old gran's attic, neglected and unwelcoming.

 

The exhaustion he had suffered during the long motor trip back had dissipated a bit now that he was out of the car and moving about.  So Bodie decided to unwind some before retiring for the night.  He puttered around the place, unpacking his suitcase, getting together a sack of dirty clothes to take to the laundry, and basically setting things to right. 

 

Chores finished, he made himself a cheese and pickle sarnie, and took it, a bag of crisps and a can of lager into the lounge, where he settled on the couch.  Toeing off his shoes, he made himself comfortable and reached for the television remote.

 

It didn't take long for him to realize there was nothing much worth watching.  Annoyed, he sat, munching his sandwich and idly flipping channels, clicking past church services and choirs singing and some heavyset woman coaxing music out of an oversized harp.  Finally, he landed on something he thought he might be able to stomach, Scrooge, starring Alastair Sim.  It was just starting.  Given his earlier comment, Bodie felt it only fitting he spend some time with the miserly old curmudgeon.  After all, it seemed they had a few things in common.

 

Of course, his issue really wasn't centered around Christmas, he admitted to himself, finishing his lager and going back into the kitchen with his empty plate and leftover crisps to retrieve another can.  While admittedly no great fan of the season, Bodie didn't hold any particular antipathy towards the holiday.  In truth, he hadn't really given the day all that much thought at all.  He typically worked on December 25^th, and until that morning hadn't expected the custom to change.  Besides, what did it matter one way or another?  Work or no, it wasn't as if he had a family to come home to, a tree lit and packages stacked beneath it.  That wasn't who he was.  Christmas was a day, like any other day.

 

So what if it seemed the rest of the world felt differently, he told himself as he settled back on the couch.  His life was his work, the very necessary job he and his partner had to do.  Keeping the villains at bay so that others might practice peace and good will towards men.  It wasn't the easiest way to make a living, but one at which he excelled.  He couldn't see doing anything else.  Bodie knew he belonged there, in the real world, not in some fantasy realm of mistletoe and roasting chestnuts and loved ones sipping punch before the fire.  He would not apologize for that.

 

But for his feelings towards Doyle…

 

There, he admittedly had regrets.  Bodie wished he could stop himself from wanting the impossible, that he could turn back the clock to the days when their partnership had been newly minted and Doyle had been nothing more than the ratty copper with whom he had been partnered.  But such feats were beyond him.

 

"Christ, mate," Bodie murmured, knowing even as he spoke how utterly selfish his words were, yet at the same time recognizing the grain of truth they held.  "My life would be so much simpler if you weren't around."

 

Stretched out lengthwise on the sofa, his head propped on a wadded up throw pillow, Bodie's muscles gradually grew lax, his lashes weighty. Sipping his beer, he watched the film, so familiar with the story he could doze his way through entire scenes and still follow what was going on.  When his second can of lager was drained dry, he knew he ought to go to bed.  But he was awfully comfortable there on the couch.  His flat had at last grown cozy with warmth.  Dark save for the flickering television and the feeble light above the kitchen stove, the resulting ambiance was tranquil and snug.  Might as well sack out here, he thought, turning on his side and tucking his hand beneath the pillow.  He was too tired to get up and go in to the bedroom.

 

And so he drifted to sleep, Dicken's Christmas classic playing softly on the telly like a lullaby.

 

*******

 

He woke to the sound of a gun being cocked.

 

Hearing the distinctive click, Bodie startled to awareness, eyes not yet focused, searching blindly for both the threat and his own weapon. 

 

"Sloppy, Sergeant.  Very, very sloppy."

 

Bodie knew that voice.

 

Mastering his alarm, Bodie looked towards the foot of the couch.  There, seated on the coffee table, just even with his knee, was a man he recognized, even if all he could see was the bloke's shadowy profile.  A long, distinctive nose and shaggy head of hair gave the identity away.  "Keller.  What the hell are you doing here?"

 

Dressed head to toe in dark clothing, topped by an equally dark overcoat, Jimmy Keller shifted to look at him.  The glow from the television, now broadcasting only a test card, lit up the left side of Keller's face and body, giving him an odd harlequin aspect.  He was holding the gun Bodie had heard and had it pointed in Bodie's direction.  "I'm here to give you a wakeup call, Bodie.  From where I'm sitting, you badly need one."

 

Swinging his feet to the floor, Bodie sat up and shook his head, desperate to clear out the cobwebs.  Something wasn't quite right about this.  How did Keller know where he lived?  How had he got past the alarms?  Then it hit him.

 

"You're dead."

 

"You only just now remembered?" Keller taunted with a smile.  "I once described you as not too bright.  Didn't realize at the time how accurate I was."

 

Bodie ignored the dig.  "You're dead," he said again, needing to confirm the statement, if only for himself.  "Flatlined on the way to hospital, months ago."

 

"Yes," Keller agreed.  "After I saved your life.  Again."

 

"Then how could you…," Bodie began, only to stop himself before he could complete the thought.  Stupid question.  "I'm dreaming.  That's what this is.  I'm not awake.  I only think I am.  This is all a dream."

 

"You keep telling yourself that, mate," Keller said.  "But as you do, you listen to me as well.  I'm about to save your life one last time."

 

Bodie chuckled, his laughter rueful.  "That right?  And you plan to do that by pointing a gun at me, do you?"

 

Keller smiled and glanced down at the weapon, as if only just now recalling it.  "I wouldn't worry about my gun, if I were you.  You've got far bigger concerns."

 

"Such as?"

 

"Such as I'm just the first of several visitors you'll have tonight."

 

"You're what?" Bodie bleated.  "Oh for Christ sake.  Not the whole past, present, future thing.  Can't a man take a kip on his own couch without his dreams goin' barmy?"

 

"Apparently not," Keller said, his tone deliberately dry.

 

Bodie was not amused.  "I swear to god, this is the last time I fall asleep watching the late movie."

 

"You're blaming this on poor old Dickens?" Keller queried, seemingly tickled by the idea.  "That's not very nice, Bodie.  Not very accurate either.  This one's all on you."

 

"What are you talking about?" Bodie asked, getting pulled into the argument despite his better judgment.  "Oh, what am I talking about—you're not real.  None of this is.  It doesn't matter whether you make sense or not."

 

"I'm making sense, mate," Keller said.  "If you'd just listen for a second, you'd realize I'm making all kinds of sense."

 

Scrubbing his palms over his face, Bodie gave up.  "Fine.  Just…fine.  You've got something to say, so say it.  Maybe then I can go back to sleep." 

 

"All right," Keller said.  "Probably shouldn't waste time anyway.  You've got a long night ahead of you." The glitter in his eyes contradicted his calm, measured tone.  "The reason I'm here is I don't want you to end up like me."

 

"Shot full of holes by the terrorist I double-crossed?" Bodie murmured with a lift of his brow.  "Not bloody likely."

 

"Listen to me, you cocky son of a bitch," Keller snarled, pressing to his feet to glower down at Bodie, his gun arm extended, the gun itself aimed at Bodie's chest.  "You think you know it all, don't you?  Know who you are, what's important.  I was like that once.  Thought I had it all figured out."

 

"I'm not you, Keller," Bodie said, warily eyeing Keller's weapon.  "I won't make the same mistakes."

 

"No," Keller murmured with a shake of his head.  "You'll make your own, won't you?  Turn your back on what's good, what's right.  Give up everything without even token resistance."

 

"What are you on about?" Bodie asked.

 

Lowering his weapon, Keller didn't answer him.  At least not directly.  "Don't die like me, Bodie.  Alone and dishonored, with no one to truly mourn your passing.  Listen to the others.  They'll set you straight."

 

Something in Keller's eyes spoke to Bodie.  Without meaning to, he found himself moved by the sorrow he saw there, the regret. 

 

"I don't plan on dying at all, mate," he said with what he hoped was a jaunty smile.  "At least not for a very long time."

 

"Neither did I," Keller said, lowering his gun.  "But look at me now."

 

As if those words were the equivalent of abracadabra, Keller suddenly started to change.  His skin, which had appeared firm and healthy only moments before, abruptly turned tissuey and grey, scored with lines maturity alone couldn't draw.  Once thinned and stretched to its limits, Keller's flesh began to tear from the bones in his face, sagging in messy folds before dropping away completely.  His eyes bulged, then collapsed, like twin soufflés, falling in on themselves.  His lips peeled back and away, exposing a terrible jack-o-lantern smile.

 

"Oh my god," Bodie breathed, unable to look away.  

 

"Ashes to ashes, Bodie," gurgled the monster in Bodie's lounge.  "Dust to dust."

 

With that, the thing's limbs shook as if with palsy and withered, growing frail beneath its clothes.  As its skin shrank from its bones, its arms flailed, its legs twisted and jerked.  The apparition danced like a demon marionette.  

 

Bodie watched with horror as bony fingertips popped through newly fragile hide like knives spearing paper.  The creature's shoulders narrowed and slumped, while its skeleton feet stumbled around in now oversized socks and shoes, clomping on the hardwood so loudly, Bodie was certain his neighbors below would be pounding on the ceiling before long.

 

Then as suddenly as it had started, it ended.  With one last hideous shudder, the figure collapsed, its bones turning to powder, Keller's gun clattering to the floor now that no hand was there to grasp it.

 

"Remember," a ragged voice whispered, echoing, seemingly from everywhere.  "Remember this.  Remember me."

 

Staring wide-eyed at the heap of grit-covered clothing lying half a room away, Bodie swallowed once, then again, and realized he was trembling.

 

"Fuck," he mumbled, dropping his head into shaky hands and closing his eyes.  "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck."

 

(to be continued)

Comments

[ancastar.livejournal.com]

I think I needed to make the whole Dickens connection a wee bit more obvious at first. *g*

So glad you liked the line. One thing you've got to say for the lads--it's fun to write their dialogue.