Cults of the Dragon Gods Page 4

  Life is nothing an unending, twisted, fucked up mess.

  *** Arizona – Earth ***

  Return: Day 343

  August 6, 2078

  (Thorrin)

  The suburban neighborhood outside of Phoenix that Pancho turns into is not gated, but each of the homes has its own wall or security fence. The surrounding land is still basically desert, but where these homes have been built everything is well-irrigated and green. This is not the kind of place were simple millionaires live. Each person living here has a net worth in the tens and hundreds of millions. It seems that Pancho's ex-wife was done very well for herself.

  “If your ex was this rich, you should never have divorced her.”

  Pancho looks at me out of the corner of his eye. “When I was with her, we did not have money. She made all of it after we were divorced. Getting away from me was probably the best thing for her at the time.”

  The house we pull up to is one of the smaller ones in this neighborhood, but it still has a pair of steel gates blocking the driveway. Pancho types a code into the security keypad, and the gates slide open.

  Driving through the gate, Pancho proceeds up the driveway and parks near the house.

  “Wait here. It might take a little bit to convince her who I am." Pancho actives a spell anchor that makes him looks like a Hispanic man in his sixties and gets out of the MTVR. Uncharacteristically, he seems more than a little nervous as he walks up to the door.

  The woman that comes to the door looks to be in her early fifties, she is probably much older. Pancho is only about fifteen years younger than I am. Since the woman was his second wife, she should be in her eighties. She simply stares at Pancho for thirty or forty seconds. The expression on her face, as she is faced with the man she thought was dead, would be comical, if it were not for the inexplicable aura of danger she gives off.

  Pancho's wry smile seems to be trying to hide his sheepish embarrassment. "Long time, no see. How have you been?"

  The cold hostile expression makes the woman's face looks stiff. "Miguel is dead. I went to his funeral. Who are you? What do you want?"

  If I was still human, I would never be able to hear the conversation. Only the superhuman acuity of Dvergar ears allows me to hear their voices over the constant soughing of the desert winds.

  "I'm Miguel."

  I think it is something about the woman's eyes that gives me a feeling of danger. This woman does not strike me as a person to be trifled with. "Miguel is dead. I will not repeat myself, again. If you do not get off my property immediately, I will have you removed permanently."

  "Consuela, it really is me. Do you remember after my second deployment, we spent a week at that cabin in the Sierra Nevada? I was so fucked up that I couldn't even get it up. You and I are the only ones that know that. Do you think I would ever have told anyone else about that?"

  The expression on Consuela's face seems to crack a little bit. I see a little bit of doubt and confusion mixed in her eyes. She just stares at Pancho for about forty to forty-five seconds, and then the mask returns to her face and hides any real feelings or thoughts.

  Pancho grimaces slightly and then smirks. "You did a real good job getting me past that ED. The things that you could do with your tongue, I still remember them. Sometimes, I dream about them. Even at my age, I didn't need any little blue pills to wake up with a hard-on."

  Consuela frowns but does not show any emotion in her eyes. "You're still a rotten ass bastard, Miguel. What do you want? What happened to you?"

  Pancho grins and hooks a thumb toward the MTVR. "I have a couple friends with me. Can we come inside and talk? This could take a while to explain."

  Consuela's frown disappears, and no real emotions are visible in her face anymore. "Bring your friends. You had better have a good explanation for why you let me think you were dead for two years."

  The grin Pancho has on his face turns a bit sheepish. Without saying anything else, he turns around and waves at us to come over. This woman is about the only person that I have ever seen make Pancho act like this. They may have been divorced decades ago, but Pancho still seems to have some very strong feelings about this woman.

  “Come on, girl.” I get out of the MTVR.

  “Old man, you're getting senile. My name is Sophia, or you can call me Isaria.” The girl follows me out of the MTVR.

  The woman in the door, with a false half smile on her lips that does not reach her eyes, watches the girl and I as we approach the house. I would expect her to be a lot more unsettled or maybe distraught by having her supposedly dead ex-husband show up at her doorstep with an unknown man and adolescent girl in tow. This type of calm composure seems out of place even for a courtroom lawyer. The air of danger may be gone, but the lack of reaction is more disturbing. I cannot put my finger on what it is about her expression that gives me a slightly uneasy feeling, but it may her inhuman control over her emotions.

  The half smile on the woman's face blooms into a full smile, but it still does not reach her eyes. "Hello, I'm Consuela. Knowing Pancho, he probably has not even told you my name and is just calling me the second or number two or something similar."

  Pancho reveals that slightly sheepish expression but does not say anything. This Consuela apparently knows him entirely too well.

  Glancing at Pancho out of the corner of my eye, I think I keep my smirk under control. While I do not offer her my hand, I give Consuela a half-bow. The habits of more than two decades in a more or less medieval culture have left their imprint. "You can call me Thorrin. It's a pleasure to meet you."

  Consuela's eyes narrow slightly, and I do not know what to make of her expression. "Thorrin, that is a rather unusual name."

  When I look at Pancho, he turns his head away. Don't look at me. You're the one that used a Dvergar name instead of your real name.

  Looking back at Consuela, I shrug my shoulders. "It's a bit of a long story. I'll tell you about it after Pancho explains how he's still alive."

  Consuela looks at Pancho. "Pancho? Isn't that the name of your character in that little game you're addicted to, the one that supposedly got you killed."

  Pancho glares at me and clears his throat. Turning back to Consuela, Pancho grins. "Well, it's like Thorrin said, it's a bit of a long story. Why don't we go inside and sit down, and I'll tell you all about it."

  Consuela smiles faintly. "Yes, why don't we do that, Miguel."

  After settling us in a large living room, Consuela has a maid a bring us tea and cookies. "Thank you, Maria. That will be all for now. You can start preparing for Mr. Navarro's visit."

  The maid, Maria, stiffens momentarily as her eyes widen. "Yes, Ms. Consuela. I'll take care of it immediately."

  Just like with Consuela, the maid's behavior strikes me as slightly off. Suddenly seeing her presumably dead ex-husband alive could account for Consuela's behavior seeming odd. However, the maid's reaction to the name Mr. Navarro does not make sense.

  Pancho, who is this Navarro?

  I have no idea. The name is not one I recognize.

  Consuela smiles at the girl. "So, my dear, you are an awful quiet young lady. What is your name?"

  The girl returns Consuela smile, but she appears more than a little nervous. "Sophia."

  Consuela glances at me for a second. "Are you Thorrin's daughter?"

  The girl grimaces. "I'm not related to this senile old bastard. I'm stuck with them because of that long story they were going to tell you."

  I think I manage to keep the frown off my face, but just in case, I cover it with a sip of tea. This time, I do not conceal my surprised frown. This tea reminds me of the English stuff that my second wife had a penchant for. By the time we were divorced, I hated the self-serving bitch's guts, but I really do like this tea.

  Consuela smiles, but it looks more like a shark in a court room sizing up its next victim on the witness stand. "So tell me, Miguel, or should I call you Pancho, I was told you were dead. I saw your corpse. I went to your funera
l. What happened?"

  Pancho smile sheepishly. "Weeellllll, I guess you could say word of my death wasn't exactly accurate. I did die, but I didn't die. The way I look right now it's a bit untrue. You could say it's an . . . illusion."

  As Pancho tells the story of being trapped in a another world, Consuela's face and demeanor reveal a clear expression of disbelief. The stare she keeps leveled on Pancho seems to say, "Stop bullshitting, and tell me the truth."

  The smile on Consuela's face doesn't fluctuate in the slightest. "An illusion? Trapped in a game world? You realize you are sounding a little bit . . . unbalanced, don't you?"

  Pancho frowns and stands up. "It would be a lot easier to just show you."

  As Pancho deactivates the spell anchor, the illusion disappears, and his real appearance becomes visible. Instead of a Hispanic male entering his elderly years, he now appears to be an extremely well developed man of around thirty years of age. His skin is still swarthy, but now, it is more of a bronze than a brown color. His thinning salt-and-pepper hair, with much more salt than pepper, has changed to a head of long, thick, blue-black hair.

  Consuela gasps and her eyes widen in apparent surprise, but the change seems too smooth and practiced. She seems to be a lawyer playing her part in front of a jury. I feel like she is putting on an act. I do not know why I feel this way, but the more I watch her, the more certain I am becoming that everything she has said and done since we walked in the door is an act. There is something about her that I do not trust, and I cannot figure out why I do not trust her. Maybe, it is only my inherent dislike and distrust of lawyers, even retired ones.

  "Who are you? What do you want? How did you learn those things that should only be known to Miguel and myself?" Consuela's surprise seems to have turned into outrage, but even though it appears completely genuine, she still feels off to me.

  Pancho grimaces. "I really am Miguel, or at least, I used to be. My Earth Body is dead and gone, but I'm still alive. My Mind and Soul survived. This is my Body now. For me, it's a second chance. Taereun, the world from the game, it's real. I have a new life there, or I guess, I'm trying to build a new life there."

  Consuela's eyes narrow. "Then, why are you here? What do you want from me?"

  "I came back with a . . . friend of sorts. He had some business to take care of here on Earth, and I used the opportunity to return. I have things I need to resolve. Before I was trapped in the game world, Candace had gotten involved with drugs. I'd only logged in to tell my friends in the game that I would be away for an indeterminate period of time. I was planning to come here, to Phoenix, and solve the drug dealers that were selling to Candace, once and for all. Now, I can't find any information on Candace's whereabouts. There is some information on the web about her being in reform school but nothing after her release. Consuela, you still have connections. Please, help me find Candace." Pancho has a helpless look on his face. Since the start of The Great Fuck Over, that is an expression I have seldom seen him show.

  Consuela's expression softens, and she frowns slightly. "I still have some friends, who can probably track her down, but it may take a few days. Where are you staying? How do I get in touch with you?"

  Once again, Pancho's grin is a little sheepish. "Well, I really haven't made any arrangements yet."

  Consuela's frown deepens, but she looks like she is about to burst out into laughter. She sighs. "Why don't you stay here for a couple days?"

  Pancho's sheepish grin turns into a bit of a smirk. "That would be great."

  Consuela laughs, but the laughter does not appear to reach her eyes. "You are as shameless as ever."

  The smirk never leaves Poncho's face. "You know we haven't eaten all day. You wouldn't happen to have food in the house?"

  "I will have Maria prepare something." Consuela stands up and walks toward the back of the house.

  "Does she know how to cook authentic Mexican food?"

  As she disappears down the hall, Consuela does not acknowledge or react to Pancho's question.

  Pancho, your ex seems a bit off. She gives me the feeling that everything is an act or we are being played. Has she always been like this?

  Pancho looks at me with a wry smile. She wasn't like this when we were married, but after she became a lawyer, she changed. After I left for my third deployment, it was about eight years before I saw her again. She divorced me while I was in the mountain country in Afghanistan. I didn't even know I had been divorced until a couple months after it happened. When I met her again, she was like she is now. She has this persona that she never lets drop. I used to think that she did it to better manipulate the juries in trials, but now, I don't know what to think. Maybe, the act had become the real her.

  No matter how hard I try, I cannot keep the frown off my face. I guess all that we can do is play it by ear, but your ex's behavior is really making me nervous.

  Pancho grins. Relax, man. Consuela is just being Consuela. There's nothing to worry about.

  I do not turn my head, but out of the corner of my eye, I see Consuela, at the end of a long hall that leads from the living room to the back of the house, watching us. Despite the mask on her face hiding all her emotions, there is a cold intensity in her eyes. She is probably unaware that I have seen her. From the brightly lit living room, with the dark shadows cloaking the end of that hall, a normal human would be hard-pressed to make her out.

  While I do not say anything to Poncho, I have no intention of letting my guard down around this woman.

  *** Central California – Earth ***

  Return: Day 343

  August 6, 2078

  (Brand)

  The townhouse door swings silently open. It is obviously uninhabited. A thick layer of dust covers the floors and furniture. The woman who may or may not be my aunt has not been here for a long time. From the thickness of the dust, the last time could easily have been shortly after I graduated from high school.

  The last time I set foot in this dwelling was when I was moving out after finishing high school, and already, she was seldom home. For most practical purposes, I was living alone from around the age of twelve. Two years before, that woman had already given up custody of me to the state, and if it had not been for Ryouske Urehara intervening, I would have spent the rest of my life in a test lab.

  This is still listed as my aunt's legal address. Where has she disappeared to? Is she even on Earth any longer?

  Like the two who may or may not be my parents, Karin, my nominal aunt, was very tall, and she was not slightly built. Even though the styles are more or less feminine, all the furniture in the townhouse is large and bulky. The pale shades and flowery prints always seemed at odds with her somewhat reserved arrogance and haughty demeanor. Looking at the place now, I have the distinct impression that everything is a facade.

  In the living room there is a gas fireplace, and on the mantel, there are pictures. There are pictures of me as a child, before I was scarred, and there are pictures of my parents. Oddly, there are no pictures of other family members. Before being trapped in the Great Fuck Over, I never thought twice about it. I was aware that there were supposedly other family members, but they were not on speaking terms with my parents and aunt. After listening to Urehara-sensei's message and running searches on those people, I can be almost certain that they were nothing but lies. This townhouse is nothing more than a facade meant to conceal the fact that me, my parents, and my aunt were not from this world.

  I take the pictures of my supposed parents from the mantel and put them in my main storage ring. I do not know if there is any real relation between us, but they apparently lost theirs lives while protecting me. I do not wish to forget them, but the memory of their faces has grown hazy. Almost everything from before that accident that was not an accident has become difficult to clearly remember.

  In the vain hope that there might some useful clues, I ransack the entire townhouse. Even going so far as to tear open the walls and ceilings. There are several empty hidden storag
e compartments and a safe. After cutting open the safe, I find it to be empty as well. There are no personal effects, no papers, no hints that a person actually lived here besides the pictures.

  My aunt has moved on without leaving any traces besides those pictures. What is the significance of that? Why did she leave just the pictures behind? Why did she not destroy them, if she was not taking them? Without asking her, I will never know the answer, and even if she were to tell me, how would I know if she spoke the truth?

  Leaving the townhouse, I lock the door behind me.

  The late afternoon sun is baking the tar of the driveway, causing a heat shimmer to rise from it, but I barely notice the heat. Even when I woke from my coma, I still would have considered this heat to be uncomfortable, but now, I barely notice it. This temperature is no longer enough to make me sweat.

  Across the street, I see a middle-aged woman that I recognize. Her height and appearance are average, but she has pinched features and permanent frown lines. When I was growing up, she was a vicious, nasty bitch. She was the type of person that would target and persecute an eleven-year-old child. Since she did not know that my aunt hated me, she would wait until she thought my aunt was not home. Then, she would try to corner me when I came out of the house and hurl insults at abuse me. Even though I was a child, she was always careful to make sure that there were social cameras that had a line of sight on me. She knew that if there was any physical altercation I would be the one to be in trouble. Even though I was a child, she was a Hispanic female and I was a white male that identified as heterosexual. With the laws in America, even a heterosexual white male child is a heterosexual white male and that means that he cannot be a target of racism or any other hate crime. With my disfigured monstrous appearance, in her eyes, I was the perfect victim.