Doom Patrol #8 - The Song of Love (Part 8)

The battered old van continues stubbornly on its way down the road. Larry, part relived, part impressed, taps the steering wheel and wonders how it has made it all these miles without a hitch. He looks at the dashboard and clicks his tongue. He turns to look at Eric, asleep next to him, and watches the others. The thin curtains have been pulled to the best of their ability across the windows, casting opaque shadows across the dusty interior; making it hard for Larry to see them from up front.

 

Larry: We need gas.

 

A voice pipes up from the shadows.

 

Rita: You didn’t think to check that before we left?

 

Larry: We had enough. To be honest I was amazed this thing still worked, I was kinda preoccupied.

 

Cliff sits up.

 

Cliff: Didn’t Chief have any lyin’ around back home?

 

Larry: I grabbed a few jerry cans, but that was all I could find. Besides, they’re useless – nothing in them. We can fill them up when we stop.

 

Cliff: We’re stoppin’?

 

Larry: We have to.

 

A nervous tension fills the air.

 

Larry: Look, I don’t particularly want to either, but if we don’t then we can’t go anywhere. Plus we could do with a few supplies.

 

Cliff: Who’s gonna get out?

 

They look at each other, then simultaneously cast their gaze on Rita. She stammers apprehensively as she sits up.

 

Rita: Oh that’s right, get her to do it, at least she looks normal. Just because I’m not a robot or bandage-wrapped like a burrito doesn’t mean I don’t have issues, you know.

 

Larry nods to Eric.

 

Larry: Fair enough. He can do it.

 

Cliff: What, and ditch us at the first sniff of freedom? He’s gotta stay in here.

 

Larry: Okay, I’ll do it.

 

Hearing no objections, Larry nods and settles himself. Cliff mutters under his breath as he slumps back into his seat.

 

Cliff: You must really wanna get him back.

 

They continue on for a short while until they arrive at a small town. Larry heads off the main road and pulls the van to a gentle halt at a shabby looking gas station. Cliff stirs and sits up, pulling the curtain back slightly.

 

Cliff: Where are we?

 

Larry: Somewhere in the States, I think. We haven’t passed a road sign for a few hours.

 

Rita and Eric observe the place through their own respective curtains. They don’t know it, but Larry looks around at the place worriedly. No one makes any attempt to move.

 

Cliff: So, you gettin’ out?

 

There is silence, permeated only by the distant sound of a group of kids mounted on bikes.

 

Morden: I can fill up if you’d like?

 

Larry considers this for a moment.

 

Larry: Fine. We don’t wanna be here any longer than we have to. You fill, I’ll go grab some supplies. Signal me when you’re done and I’ll pay. You two keep an eye on him.

 

Rita: Are you sure-

 

Larry: Rita, it’ll be fine.

 

He points to Eric as he stands and heads for the door.

 

Larry: Watch him. I’ll be two minutes. Let me know when you’re done.

 

Morden: Okay boss.

 

He pokes his head back in.

 

Larry: And don’t call me that.

 

Eric looks around uncertainly for a moment and follows Larry out. He goes over to the pump and begins to fill the van up as Larry heads for the store. He pushes the dirty glass door gently open and steps inside, a faint tune ringing out overhead. Despite his outer covering of bandages, the smell of sweat and strong liquor hits him like a wave and floods his senses. He looks at his chest as he feels a dull pulsing sensation.

 

Larry: Not now, please not now.

 

The feeling subsides. A few people previously occupied by the store’s jumbled shelves turn to look at him, and much like the store’s unique aroma it seems their eyes see through him instantly.

 

Larry: Hey guys, I’m pretty lost. You don’t happen to know of any pyramids in the area?

 

No one says anything, their eyes still burning into him.

 

Larry: That was a joke to break the ice.

 

He takes a breath and wanders over to the freezers, grabbing anything they may need whilst waiting for Eric to finish. He looks behind him out the store window and watches as Eric fills the van.

 

 

Eric continues on, watching the pump slowly tick over. Rita adjusts herself inside the van as she watches him, eagle-eyed. A sudden pang of nervousness reverberates through her, and as she looks down she realises she’s gripping the window ledge so hard it has started to leave an imprint in her malleable hands. Cliff pays her no attention as he faces away, spread across the back seat with his head gently resting on the window. He listens to the sounds outside: the drawl of passing cars; the birds circling above, until his attention is drawn to a group of kids on bikes, pulling up to the edge of the gas station. He gazes mindlessly at them, until they stop dead in their tracks and stare directly back at him. The shock of their faces all immediately turning to look at him causes him to sit up – if he had a heart, it may have skipped a beat. He continues to stare at them, seeing his own red eyes reflected back at him in the window. He suddenly realises how uncomfortable he’s become.

 

 

Outside, Eric watches as the display ticks over one last time and the pump clicks off. He removes the nozzle, resting it back on the pump and turns to the store and gives Larry two thumbs up. Larry waves a small hand back and Eric moves to the van door. Rita nudges it open for him, and as he climbs in he notices her looking over his shoulder at a pair of men. He doesn’t recall seeing them before, but he watches with interest as they emerge from round the side of the store and come to a halt. He realises they’re staring right at the van and shivers. He doesn’t know why – it’s not particularly cold.

 

 

Larry gathers his things and heads for the checkout, which is mercifully quiet. He smiles at the cashier, realises she can’t see it under his bandages, and drops his items clumsily onto the counter as he feels the eyes of several people on him. He feigns a look behind him as a glance at a shelf and notices none of them have moved.

 

Larry: I’ll have pump number four as well. Thanks.

 

He drums his fingers on the counter anxiously as the cashier scans his items.

Larry: Looks like I picked the wrong day to enter that invisible man lookalike contest, huh?

The cashier looks at him strangely. He can’t determine whether it’s fear, amusement or concern. She presses some buttons on the register as he grits his teeth and continues to drum on the counter.

 

 

Cliff, meanwhile, hasn’t stopped watching the gaggle of kids on their bikes – and they, rather disturbingly, haven’t stopped watching him. He doesn’t turn away as he hears Rita’s voice float quietly over from the other side of the van.

 

Rita: Cliff…?

 

Cliff: Hey Rita, come look at this.

 

But she doesn’t. She goes to speak again, but the words catch in her throat. Though only going slowly, the two men at the side of the store start to walk towards the van with an ominously blank expression on their faces.

 

Rita: Cliff…

 

Cliff turns his gaze from the kids.

 

Cliff: What? What is it?

 

He goes over to her and stares out the window.

 

 

Larry pulls some notes out of his coat pocket and hands them over to the cashier. She collects them up quickly and hands Larry his things in a plastic bag. He goes to take them off her, but she keeps a hold of them and leans in.

 

Cashier: You and your friends need to leave.

 

She speaks in a hushed voice, empty of malice and spoken like a warning. Her tone sends a haunting shiver of fear down Larry’s spine. He stares at her silently as he grips the bag in her hand.

 

Larry: I know.

 

He doesn’t know where the words came from, but he’s glad they came out. She lets go of the bag and Larry walks out of the store, careful not to look like he’s rushing. He doesn’t know if he imagines it, but he’s sure someone inside whispers something to the others as he leaves. He grips the bag in his arms and moves with purpose across the gas station and towards the van. He allows himself a quick glance to the side, where he spots a couple of men walking slowly forwards. The tension in his body is released as he lays a hand on the van door and climbs back inside. Never has its grim interior felt so welcoming.

 

Rita: Larry, we need to go.

 

She turns to him, and her expression immediately fills him with that same empty feeling of dread he had in the store. Rita goes back to staring out the window as Larry climbs into the driver’s seat, but before he can do anything Cliff moves to the door.

 

Rita: What are you doing? Cliff!

 

He slams the door open and steps out onto the asphalt.

 

Rita: Cliff! Get back in here right now!

 

She hisses at him but he takes no notice, instead staring at the two men.

 

Cliff: Hey assholes! Yeah that’s right, I’m talkin’ to you! You got a fuckin’ problem?

 

The two men stand still, arms by their sides and stare Cliff down.

 

Cliff: You got somethin’ you wanna say, huh? Come on assholes, COME ON!

 

Rita slips out the door behind him and tugs on his arm, but stops as she notices more people emerging from the store. The two men don’t move.

 

Rita: Cliff! Cliff that’s enough!

 

Cliff: Naw, I ain’t done yet. We’re just gettin’ acquainted, right fellas?

 

Larry runs out to join them and grabs his other arm. Cliff goes to shout again, but notices the others slowly closing in on them from the store. The two men smile.

 

Larry: We’re going! Get him inside!

 

Cliff backs up slightly, giving the others a chance to pull him back inside the van. The minute he’s in, Rita slams the door and Larry darts over Eric, still seated, to the driver’s seat.

 

Rita: We need to go. Now.

 

She turns to Cliff on the verge of angry tears.

 

Rita: What the hell do you think you’re doing?!

 

Cliff doesn’t say anything.

 

Rita: Reckless and stupid! You could have-

 

She catches herself as her cheek begins to droop. She gasps, bringing a hand to her face and pushes past Cliff into the bathroom. Cliff falls back in his seat as Larry pulls away, and he notices the faces in the gas station staring blankly back at them. From behind him comes a small rapping sound against the window, and he snaps his neck round to see the group of kids on bikes throwing carefully-aimed stones at the van. He says nothing, but knows Larry can hear them too as he pulls out of the gas station and back onto the road. Larry stares ahead for a minute, lets out a breath and says:

 

Larry: That was… I’m sorry. Don’t look back. Don’t look back…

 

But Cliff does look back, taking one last look at the gas station as it grows smaller in the distance. He can’t be sure, but it looks like the men are laughing as they disperse and vanish out of sight.

 

 

====================-Colombia-====================

 

 

As the late afternoon sun scatters forth its blinding rays of light across the Colombian landscape, an old, battered pick-up truck trundles on down its terminal path. From the back seat of said truck, Niles Caulder stirs quietly and notices his bound wrists and ankles. He grimaces as he massages the chafing skin around his restraints, then sneers to himself at the thought someone would feel it necessary to bind the ankles of a paraplegic. He looks forward at the back of a man’s head – that same one who came for him at the manor, he remembers – and cranes his stiff neck to look out of the window.

 

Niles: Hmm, Colombia. How quaint.

 

The man up front recoils at the sound of his voice and takes a moment to steady his driving before looking back at him in the rear-view mirror.

 

Beard Hunter: What?

 

Niles: We’re in Colombia.

 

Beard Hunter: You’re not as stupid as you look old man.

 

Niles: That’s funny. I don’t believe I’m either.

 

Niles smiles to himself as Beard Hunter maintains a diplomatic silence.

 

Niles: And you are?

 

Beard Hunter: That’s none of your concern.

 

Niles: Now you see, it really is. You come into my home, you assault me under my own roof and you disrupt some serious business of mine that, for every second I cannot attend to, grows in severity. I think, at the very least, you owe me your name, no?

 

Beard Hunter: Fine. My name is Beard Hunter.

 

Niles gapes at him for a moment.

 

Niles: I beg your pardon.

 

Beard Hunter: You heard me.

 

Niles: Beard Hunter? Seriously?

 

Beard Hunter: Seriously. Now keep quiet before I come back there.

 

Niles: You’re not going to do that.

 

Beard Hunter: And how do you know?

 

Niles: You’re sweating-

 

Beard Hunter: It’s hot.

 

Niles: Fidgety…

 

Beard Hunter: It’s been a long drive.

 

Niles: And looking over your shoulder every other second. You’re nervous. Clearly we aren’t far from wherever it is you’ve been told to bring me. You’re not going to waste time stopping this vehicle to discipline me now, surely?

 

Beard Hunter: How do you know I’ve been told to bring you anywhere?

 

Niles: Oh please. You expect me to believe a man who calls himself the Beard Hunter has enough authority to be a self-sufficient criminal? You’re muscle for hire, and a shoddy one at that.

 

Niles raises his bound hands.

 

Niles: And you call this a restraint? Dear me. And let’s not get started on my ankles. Think I’m going to run away, do you? My grandmother could do better and she’s been dead forty years.

 

Beard Hunter: Don’t make me come back there old man.

 

Niles: And what of it if you do? Are you going to kill me? Killing an unarmed cripple, your mother must be proud.

 

Beard Hunter: Don’t talk about my mother!

 

Niles pauses. He’s got what he was looking for.

 

Niles: Ah. I see.

 

Beard Hunter: What? What do you see?

 

Niles: Oh this really is amusing.

 

Beard Hunter: What’s amusing? Tell me!

 

Niles: You’ve got so many personality defects you may as well be a caricature.

 

Beard Hunter: Like what?

 

Niles: To begin with, you call yourself ‘the Beard Hunter’. If that’s not the sign of an inferiority complex then I’m Princess Diana.

 

Beard Hunter grinds his teeth.

 

Niles: And what is it with people like you and maternal issues, they’re ten a penny. What’s mumsy done to this one?

 

Beard Hunter: SHUT UP!

 

His hands leave the steering wheel and for a moment the truck swerves to the side. Realising what he’s done as soon as he’s done it, Beard Hunter grasps the wheel again and takes back control.

 

Beard Hunter: I see what you’re doing, and it won’t work. Nothing gets through my skin.

 

Niles snorts.

 

Niles: You do think rather highly of yourself, don’t you? Let me tell you my boy, there are terrible things in this world, perhaps even one in this very vehicle. And I can assure you, he most definitely isn’t sat in the front seat.

 

Beard Hunter: Is that supposed to sound threatening? You’re just some stupid old man, you don’t scare me.

 

Beard Hunter looks away and stares ahead at the road. Niles sits forwards, wrists still chafing in his restraints, and makes thunderous eye contact with himself in the rear-view mirror. All cheeriness in his voice gone, he speaks with all menace of a school headmaster who’s found phallic images drawn on his blackboard.

 

Niles: If you wish to continue on this path of deluded self-destruction, do be my guest. I shan’t stop you. But know this: when I get out of this – and I will – you would do well to find yourself a friend; someone you trust to watch your back. You will find yourself very much in need of it. Take me to wherever it is you’ve been told to take me, of course, I’ll play along. But one day, when you think your life is going fine, and consider this job far behind you, you will find the wrath of one stupid old man something most formidable.

 

He sits back and continues to stare in the mirror. Ernest Franklin looks round and shuffles uncomfortably. Trying with all his might to stay focused on the road, something in him sends a shiver through his body, and for the first time in his career he begins to doubt his life choices. He grinds his teeth, grips the steering wheel, and stubbornly continues onwards down the final stretch of road.

 

Done