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Another night, another nightmare.
It was the same one she'd been having for a few weeks now, ever since that game. It starts out simply enough, another game, another field, though everything is so indistinct, she can't make out who they're playing against, or who she's playing for, no matter how hard she tries to make it out. The mood is good, cheerful even, then she gets called up to pitch. She steps up, waving to the indistinct crowd, all cheering either for her or the batter, and goes through her motions, limbering up and getting ready.
It's always a bean, the first pitch.
The cheering lessens slightly, then picks back up, as though no one else can smell the faint whiff of charred meat. She shakes it off and pitches again.
Another bean.
Every pitch, every bean, the stadium gets quieter and quieter, until a deathly silence reigns in the air as the smell of burning flesh chokes the air, making her gag and pale at the mound. She can't stop though, she can never stop, instead the people struck becoming clearer and clearer with each hit.
Cookbook.
Scorpler.
Marijuana.
Mason.
So many. They crowded the field, more than she could ever count as the terrible, all-encompassing form of a Rogue Umpire filled the sky above them all. Fire filled the stadium and washed over everything, bleachers melting, metal twisting, fans screaming. It washed over everything and everyone except her and the mound. All she could do was scream and pitch, and now it was the band on the plate with each pitch, ball flying true to strike them one after the other. And then it was her, towering over the plate. Silent, waiting for the inevitable, she stared her down, eyes smouldering with contempt, disgust, rage. The pitch came in slow motion now, dragging itself out second by second as though to torture her as she struggled to do anything other than hit the batter on the plate.
The batter didn't flinch when the ball struck her cheek, searing its stitching into her skin. She didn't flinch when the flames licked at her ankles, then flared up her legs as she stalked to first base, glaring at Jaylen all the way.
Then it ended the same way it always did, in a cacophony of screaming, burning players and the thunderous, triumphant laughter of the Umpires.
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It was early in the day when Jaylen showed up at the Big Garage. Not being able to sleep probably helped her be able to do that, but she'd intended to do this the minute she'd learned she was going back to the Garages after that short stint with the Pies. Teddy Duende was waiting for her, standing just inside the main gate from the parking lot as Jaylen rumbled up on her Harley, and stopped her before she went in.
"You don't need to do this Jaylen, it's not on you." He said softly, putting a comforting hand on her shoulder as he spoke.
"If it's not on me then who is it on Theo? And I can't just avoid her forever, we have to do this sometime, and sooner is better. You always told me that." Jaylen patted the comforting hand and smiled, crooked, a little more than exhausted, but a glimmer of her old self still there. Then she kept walking.
Teddy just shook his head as she walked into the players entrance, looking up at the morning sky that was already darkening with rain clouds just like the forecast had predicted. "Not sure Paula is gonna think the same."
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Jaylen found Paula in the gym, working away on the treadmill. The transplanted Tigers batter noticed her as she walked in, but that was about the extent of the acknowledgement Paula would normally give her. For Paula, Jaylen was someone to be tolerated at best, an impediment to her normally average day. At worst she was a reminder of lost friends, and the pain that came with that.
Today was one of those days.
She pointedly ignored the pitcher as she walked up, throwing up her best impression of a brick wall to her team mate as she walked up. It took her a minute to realize that Jaylen wasn't coming in for her own exercise, though, and she didn't bother trying to hide the grimace on her face when Jaylen stopped next to her.
"Morning, Paula." Jaylen said tentatively, plastering a smile on her face to cover her own discomfort.
Paula just grunted, keeping pace on the treadmill.
"I wanted to talk, Paula."
"Strange, I somehow start giving you the impression that I wanted to?" Paula replied coldly, not even bothering to look Jaylen in the eye. Jaylen flushed, embarrassed and hurt and pushing it all down.
"No, but then we haven't talked to each other at all since. . . "
"Since what, Hotdogfingers? Since you marked all my friends for the Umpires?" Paula said simply, icy disregard for the pitcher rolling off her in waves. "Oh, maybe it was since you struck me and took me away from the friends I have left? Was that the 'Since' you were referring to?"
Jaylen didn't talk, her own deep shame constricting her throat. Paula did look at her now, and the stitch pattern of a blaseball stood out in a brilliant, fiery gold tattoo right where Jaylen had slammed a pitch right into her cheekbone.
"Or maybe you want to talk about how the first thing you did leaving the team was to bean me again? As though once wasn't enough after everything you've done?" Paula snarled this last, the full extent of her contempt for Jaylen on show now. The force of it made Jaylen back up a step, pale now.
"I. . . I wanted to say sorry, Paula. . . " she stammered out, trying to push through with what she wanted to say.
"You think Sorry is going to be enough after everything you've done to this league? That's pathetic Jaylen."
"I can't fucking raise the dead Paula, what else do you want me to do?!" Jaylen snapped back, angry at herself the instant the words left her mouth and knowing exactly the response she was going to get.
"Worked for you didn't it?"
"Paula. . . please, I am sorry, and I know it's not enough but I have to try something. . " Jaylen's voice broke a little as she spoke, desperate to get through to Paula somehow.
"No you don't Jaylen. You can be as sorry for what's happened as anyone, but in the end you chose yourself over the rest of us, isn't that right? And now here you are, pathetically trying to beg forgiveness for yourself from those of us who have no reason at all to give it to you." Paula turned the treadmill off at that, slowing to a walk then stepping off and past Jaylen towards the locker room, dismissing the pitcher with one last thought.
"Next time, do us both a favor and take the hint Jaylen. I don't want to talk to you or forgive you."