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“Something about you’s different—can’t quite put my finger on it..”
Jake Lockley needed a car to think. Legs up on the window, back pressed against the back seats. He looked back up at the ceiling and inhaled through his nose. There was always time to change his mind; staying in Mexico was probably for the best, but it wasn’t what he wanted. It wasn’t what Jake wanted deep down either, but it was never really about what Jake wanted.
He let out a huff. He closed his eyes and imagined what he’d be doing if he was in New York. Jake could see himself in the costume, bathed in white and shining in the darkness. His hands were wrapped around a man’s neck (not tight enough to kill him but just tight enough to scare the ever loving shit out of him). His vision of himself changed: a little more violent, more rugged, a lot more disappointing. Killing the man not because he wanted to, but because of the principle of it. It was so easy to. Watching the man choke purple until the light in his eyes flickered out like a final breath.
Jake opened his eyes. He was all to aware of his own surroundings to imagine the scene vividly. The backseat was made of a sticky fake leather that burned his skin to the touch if it sat to long in the sun. His shoes currently covered most of the window, but he could see the stars when he craned his neck back. He didn’t even care that his shoes were getting the window dirty. It was a shitty rental, anyway.
He put a finger under his nose to think, feeling the beginning of a real mustache. He could grow it out if he stayed in Mexico a little longer. This trip was really keeping himself in control more than it was about solving real crime. A new place to breathe. Somewhere with no attachments. Completely off the grid.
Though like all things that were good for him, he realized far to late that you can’t run forever. The people you know, the people that know a different part of you, will eventually come back into your life and break the illusion that you ever had a choice in the matter.
Jake held the bridge of his nose and groaned, “--You really want to go through with this?”
He spoke to no one, at least no one that anyone could see. Jake was talking to Marc, Steven, maybe even Khonshu.
Frank was simply the catalyst, he assumed. When he saw Castle, Jake felt his ears pierce with noise. An immediate migraine nearly as they spoke to one another. He kept his composure, asking him what he had done and listening to him talk about scotch. It was the first time he felt Marc Spector in a long time: the guilt he carried and the memories they shared of the man. Still, he continued to keep his composure as he watched Frank walk away. In that moment, Jake remembered how they felt about Jeffery. At the same time, Marc remembered what Frank did.
It was what Frank said next that threw them both for a loop: “Something about you’s different—can’t quite put my finger on it..” Jake felt a twisted pride in being recognized by the most aloof man he knew. Marc was unsure jow to feel.
It was only then that Jake made his decision to go with the plan. Say goodbye to the girl. Drink until the parasite in your brain goes quiet. Pour out the drink. Dump the money into an account. Catch the next plane to US.
“If we do, you have to promise me that you won’t kill again. Even if he really wants you to.”
Holding an in-car intervention with yourself was bad on the back.
They sat up, rolled out their shoulder, and climbed into the front seat of the car. The sun was finally coming up over the horizon and switching places with the moon.