California thought about saying something in Kitty's defense, something kind of retort, something to show faith in her friend, but she couldn't come up with anything.
So the comment passed unmentioned.
When Salem mentioned Kai jumping in front of a bullet her head twitched to the side slightly, almost imperceptibly.
There was a long pause as for one of the first times California could remember, she was the one trying to get Salem to focus on her eyes.
"Why would you say that?"
it takes a lot to make a stew
Day 4 afternoon; open once Deamon enters
"Look, you've got your head screwed on straighter than Trinity does, so you know that people be willing to kill." Salem flapped an erratic echo of the half a jazz hand he'd given Kai at Cali. "I told you I'd tell you the truth, and I am. This is it."
He did look at her, but only sidelong. There was an itch under the skin on the left side of his face, like the muscle there wanted to spasm. "The truth is, I've got a gun." He lets his words hang, and then moved on.
"And the truth is, your friends are gonna keep killing, and if you go to find them, then-"
There were words filling his throat and crowding up behind his teeth, but for once in his life, Salem found himself unable to let them out.
"I've got a gun," he said again, instead. "And I told Kitty that if I saw her again, I'd use it. And that's the truth."
And a dozen, two dozen, a hundred other things that he'd never said. Would never say. The trolley problem. That old chestnut. If you were standing by the tracks of a runaway trolley, and you had to choose between letting it run over one person you love, and five strangers, would you pull the lever?
And who was on the tracks?
California's face was a mirror that Salem refused to look at directly. No matter what he found looking back at him, he wouldn't like it.
He did look at her, but only sidelong. There was an itch under the skin on the left side of his face, like the muscle there wanted to spasm. "The truth is, I've got a gun." He lets his words hang, and then moved on.
"And the truth is, your friends are gonna keep killing, and if you go to find them, then-"
There were words filling his throat and crowding up behind his teeth, but for once in his life, Salem found himself unable to let them out.
"I've got a gun," he said again, instead. "And I told Kitty that if I saw her again, I'd use it. And that's the truth."
And a dozen, two dozen, a hundred other things that he'd never said. Would never say. The trolley problem. That old chestnut. If you were standing by the tracks of a runaway trolley, and you had to choose between letting it run over one person you love, and five strangers, would you pull the lever?
And who was on the tracks?
California's face was a mirror that Salem refused to look at directly. No matter what he found looking back at him, he wouldn't like it.
"Art enriches the community, Steve, no less than a pulsing fire hose, or a fireman beating down a blazing door. So what if we're drawing a nude man? So what if all we ever draw is a nude man, or the same nude man over and over in all sorts of provocative positions? Context, not content! Process, not subject! Don't be so gauche, Steve, it's beneath you."
California tensed at the mention of Kitty and the gun.
So that was it.
California's teeth bit into her lip and she tasted blood.
Salem still refused to look at her.
Trying to remain calm she focused on the new information he'd given her. Information that stung her as she remembered her initial abandonment.
"You've talked to Kitty?" She asked, voice quiet.
So that was it.
California's teeth bit into her lip and she tasted blood.
Salem still refused to look at her.
Trying to remain calm she focused on the new information he'd given her. Information that stung her as she remembered her initial abandonment.
"You've talked to Kitty?" She asked, voice quiet.
Freeze frame, record scratch, "you're probably wondering how I got here" voiceover. Curb Your Enthusiasm theme playing softly in the distance. In reality though, there was just the wind and brush of waves on the rocks in the spaces between them.
"Couple days ago, yeah. We talked." Why did Salem even need to elaborate? She hadn't killed him, and he hadn't killed her. If the way that you determined who won an exchange was by tallying up who got away with the most, it was a solid draw.
Maybe the needle moved slightly in Kitty's favor if you went by who was keeping whom up at night. But only slightly.
"We went our separate ways, but next time-"
A sigh heaved itself out of Salem's chest. "There's not gonna be a next time."
He stared out at the ocean, and in the fractions of seconds where its surface smoothed out into glass, he imagined just throwing some finger guns Cali's way and skating off on it, never to be seen again.
"Couple days ago, yeah. We talked." Why did Salem even need to elaborate? She hadn't killed him, and he hadn't killed her. If the way that you determined who won an exchange was by tallying up who got away with the most, it was a solid draw.
Maybe the needle moved slightly in Kitty's favor if you went by who was keeping whom up at night. But only slightly.
"We went our separate ways, but next time-"
A sigh heaved itself out of Salem's chest. "There's not gonna be a next time."
He stared out at the ocean, and in the fractions of seconds where its surface smoothed out into glass, he imagined just throwing some finger guns Cali's way and skating off on it, never to be seen again.
"Art enriches the community, Steve, no less than a pulsing fire hose, or a fireman beating down a blazing door. So what if we're drawing a nude man? So what if all we ever draw is a nude man, or the same nude man over and over in all sorts of provocative positions? Context, not content! Process, not subject! Don't be so gauche, Steve, it's beneath you."
California looked at Salem then her eyes darted away. Uncertainty beginning to set in. Nothing about the encounter was as she had imagined, how she wanted. When she had seen Salem on the horizon it had felt like the clouds parting and the sun's rays finally shining down. The plague of the night being banished for a bright new day.
But that wasn't what she had ended up with. Instead, the shadows cast by the light had grown long and seeped into everything. Small patches of darkness that could never fully be eliminated.
Even then as they stood on the beach a cloud rolled overhead, its mass dampening the sun.
She blinked a few times as she thought about what he'd said. A futile effort to find the best possible meaning behind the words, a translation that didn't hurt. Her hands started to shake.
"We can," She started, but her voice caught in her throat.
"I don't have to go find them."
But that wasn't what she had ended up with. Instead, the shadows cast by the light had grown long and seeped into everything. Small patches of darkness that could never fully be eliminated.
Even then as they stood on the beach a cloud rolled overhead, its mass dampening the sun.
She blinked a few times as she thought about what he'd said. A futile effort to find the best possible meaning behind the words, a translation that didn't hurt. Her hands started to shake.
"We can," She started, but her voice caught in her throat.
"I don't have to go find them."
"But you want to."
"You think you can go and somehow make things right, just like Kai."
"If you being there was all it took, she'd have stopped at Robin."
"And you know that too. But it doesn't matter."
That whole gun-aimed-at-Salem's-head thing was really more of a mutual situation. They just never got so close to pulling the trigger on each other these days.
Almost never.
"I don't think I can do this." Was it a retreat, a cop-out, to throw the same line at Cali that he'd given Janice? It felt safer than anything else, so probably.
"You think you can go and somehow make things right, just like Kai."
"If you being there was all it took, she'd have stopped at Robin."
"And you know that too. But it doesn't matter."
That whole gun-aimed-at-Salem's-head thing was really more of a mutual situation. They just never got so close to pulling the trigger on each other these days.
Almost never.
"I don't think I can do this." Was it a retreat, a cop-out, to throw the same line at Cali that he'd given Janice? It felt safer than anything else, so probably.
"Art enriches the community, Steve, no less than a pulsing fire hose, or a fireman beating down a blazing door. So what if we're drawing a nude man? So what if all we ever draw is a nude man, or the same nude man over and over in all sorts of provocative positions? Context, not content! Process, not subject! Don't be so gauche, Steve, it's beneath you."
“Do what?”
For a minute (maybe two minutes, maybe longer, too long in any case) only the rhythmic slap of the water answered Cali's question.
Eventually, Salem rolled his head and grinned at her, bright but casual, like he would at anyone else in the class.
"Oh, you know."
Eventually, Salem rolled his head and grinned at her, bright but casual, like he would at anyone else in the class.
"Oh, you know."
"Art enriches the community, Steve, no less than a pulsing fire hose, or a fireman beating down a blazing door. So what if we're drawing a nude man? So what if all we ever draw is a nude man, or the same nude man over and over in all sorts of provocative positions? Context, not content! Process, not subject! Don't be so gauche, Steve, it's beneath you."
California stared at Salem, mouth agape.
She stood there, understanding exactly what had happened, but unable to find a way to react that felt correct or adequate.
For a time the only sound was of the waves and their breathing.
It would have been a nice moment of peace between them if not for everything that had come before.
California blinked rapidly, trying to clear her eyes.
The waves continued to lap at the shore, nature not noticing the door that had slammed shut upon the sand.
"Please don't do this."
She stood there, understanding exactly what had happened, but unable to find a way to react that felt correct or adequate.
For a time the only sound was of the waves and their breathing.
It would have been a nice moment of peace between them if not for everything that had come before.
California blinked rapidly, trying to clear her eyes.
The waves continued to lap at the shore, nature not noticing the door that had slammed shut upon the sand.
"Please don't do this."
Salem's plastic smile stayed in place for several moments longer than it should have, but he turned away as soon as he saw Cali tearing up.
"I'm just-" He breathed. The wind had briefly changed, carrying a whiff of decay to them over the salty air.
Far along down the beach, his eyes landed on a lumpy shape. Studying it brought its form more into focus. The curling fingers of a discolored hand, the insides of a person laid bare to the sky and steadily putrefying even in the cold.
"Y'know."
Salem stared over the distance at Ingrid, blocking out Cali's sniffling next to him, and he thought about what must have been going through her head during that last mad dash out into the sea. He wished he could have asked her about it and taken notes.
"I- gotta go," he finally said in a stilted voice, and he broke into a run back up the shore before California could respond.
((Salem Fox continued in The Sleep of Reason Produces Monsters))
"I'm just-" He breathed. The wind had briefly changed, carrying a whiff of decay to them over the salty air.
Far along down the beach, his eyes landed on a lumpy shape. Studying it brought its form more into focus. The curling fingers of a discolored hand, the insides of a person laid bare to the sky and steadily putrefying even in the cold.
"Y'know."
Salem stared over the distance at Ingrid, blocking out Cali's sniffling next to him, and he thought about what must have been going through her head during that last mad dash out into the sea. He wished he could have asked her about it and taken notes.
"I- gotta go," he finally said in a stilted voice, and he broke into a run back up the shore before California could respond.
((Salem Fox continued in The Sleep of Reason Produces Monsters))
"Art enriches the community, Steve, no less than a pulsing fire hose, or a fireman beating down a blazing door. So what if we're drawing a nude man? So what if all we ever draw is a nude man, or the same nude man over and over in all sorts of provocative positions? Context, not content! Process, not subject! Don't be so gauche, Steve, it's beneath you."
She stayed staring out at the horizon, focusing on the point where the sea and sky met. The two different shades of blue melded together before splitting apart more vividly. Tears ran down her cheeks as she heard Salem scrabbling across the rocks, heading back up the beach and away into the wilderness.
Her own younger brother had abandoned her, cast her out, and made clear he no longer wanted her around. She sniffed and her breath hitched as she pawed uselessly at her eyes.
By the time she had turned around, he was gone.
Once again California was alone.
She stared at the treeline, scanning for any sign of him, trying to trick herself into believing he'd return. It was childish and she knew that. And when he inevitably didn't jump out from behind a tree and announce that his prank had worked perfectly she began to wander the shoreline.
There was no purpose to it. She was just moving to move.
Eventually, as she walked she caught sight of something metal glinting within the water of a tide pool. Eyebrows knitted she stepped closer to inspect, eagerly embracing the distraction. What she found was crude and useless. A flail made of scalpels. It was clearly homemade, created purely for the entertainment of those that had left them on the island.
She rolled up her sleeves and then reached into the pool and withdrew it. The water droplets ran down the blades before dripping onto the sand, leaving no trail behind on their surface.
Out of a macabre curiosity, she flicked her wrist back, causing the scalpels to leap in one motion and flip onto her forearm. Multiple thin and clean bright red cuts came into being, appearing in front of California's eyes like the tape had skipped or there had been a jump cut. One minute her pale skin was clean and the next small globules of blood had begun to form across its surface. As California watched the blood continue to buddle forth she moved her wrist forward and back and as she did so the cuts expanded and contracted as if they were the gills of a fish, greedily gasping for air.
California winced but didn't make any noise besides her sniffing.
Taking a firmer hold of one of the scalpels she raised her free hand and brought her palm up to the blade. But when she pressed against the skin of her palm it split easily and painlessly. She held the blade in her hand and watched the blood run down it, onto the handle, and pool against her thumb and index finger, leaving no trace of its flow along the blade. After a few seconds, she withdrew the blade and squeezed her hand into a fist, digging her nails into the cut she had made.
Then she pulled her arm back and with all her might threw the scalpel flail into the ocean, it landed in the waves with a small splash and vanished from her view.
Unsatisfied California turned and made her back up the beach and onto the shoreline, but when she took one final look back out at the sea she could see the flail lying in the sand, deposited there by the surf to mock her.
((California Fox continued elsewhere...))
Her own younger brother had abandoned her, cast her out, and made clear he no longer wanted her around. She sniffed and her breath hitched as she pawed uselessly at her eyes.
By the time she had turned around, he was gone.
Once again California was alone.
She stared at the treeline, scanning for any sign of him, trying to trick herself into believing he'd return. It was childish and she knew that. And when he inevitably didn't jump out from behind a tree and announce that his prank had worked perfectly she began to wander the shoreline.
There was no purpose to it. She was just moving to move.
Eventually, as she walked she caught sight of something metal glinting within the water of a tide pool. Eyebrows knitted she stepped closer to inspect, eagerly embracing the distraction. What she found was crude and useless. A flail made of scalpels. It was clearly homemade, created purely for the entertainment of those that had left them on the island.
She rolled up her sleeves and then reached into the pool and withdrew it. The water droplets ran down the blades before dripping onto the sand, leaving no trail behind on their surface.
Out of a macabre curiosity, she flicked her wrist back, causing the scalpels to leap in one motion and flip onto her forearm. Multiple thin and clean bright red cuts came into being, appearing in front of California's eyes like the tape had skipped or there had been a jump cut. One minute her pale skin was clean and the next small globules of blood had begun to form across its surface. As California watched the blood continue to buddle forth she moved her wrist forward and back and as she did so the cuts expanded and contracted as if they were the gills of a fish, greedily gasping for air.
California winced but didn't make any noise besides her sniffing.
Taking a firmer hold of one of the scalpels she raised her free hand and brought her palm up to the blade. But when she pressed against the skin of her palm it split easily and painlessly. She held the blade in her hand and watched the blood run down it, onto the handle, and pool against her thumb and index finger, leaving no trace of its flow along the blade. After a few seconds, she withdrew the blade and squeezed her hand into a fist, digging her nails into the cut she had made.
Then she pulled her arm back and with all her might threw the scalpel flail into the ocean, it landed in the waves with a small splash and vanished from her view.
Unsatisfied California turned and made her back up the beach and onto the shoreline, but when she took one final look back out at the sea she could see the flail lying in the sand, deposited there by the surf to mock her.
((California Fox continued elsewhere...))