Corby pressed his forehead in frustration against the window glass, and then bumped his head several times against it, growling. The night had passed. Oh, what a night it had been! The buildings outside were beginning to catch the gold of the early morning light already.
Thinking about it, he sighed. Man! He couldn't believe it actually happened to him, couldn't stop thinking about it. Mostly he couldn't stop thinking about the boy. He fell from the sky on him, quite literally. Arrived from outer space in his golden carapace.
Where did General even take him? Corby didn't know. Not a clue! He didn't get much sleep last night; his mind was hazy. He felt both tired and wired at the same time, and he hated it. He wanted to be more alert, more present for this, something important was happening. Something that didn't happen to him every day. His heart thumped uneasily in his chest, ready to vault at the slightest inconvenience.
What if the boy needed him? He didn't know where he was, or what they were doing to him. It was difficult to let go. Come to think of it, he didn't think he actually wanted to let go, not at all. He made a mistake last night letting him go, didn't he? He should have tried and stopped them. If he thought he could, he would though. But, frankly, he wasn't in his best shape. He shook his head. No, it was probably best he didn't try. Between the General and her baboon soldiers, they would have no doubt tackled him. That way of thinking was a no-go. Whatever he'd done or didn't do, now it was all in the past. Little to no point thinking about it.
He sighed the second time, glumly. He did the right thing! He knew that. The best he could do at the time. The boy was probably…likely enough, in good hands. Besides, he didn't know the first thing about him, how was he supposed to be any better? How was he supposed to help him if he didn't know who he was and why or how he came here? General Monroe probably did know. He did the right thing letting him go, he knew that.
Yet, it didn't feel right. It didn't sit well with him. Something was gnawing at him, quite persistently, a feeling. Like something was wrong. Like he overlooked something. He bit his thumb woefully, trying his best to guess what it was. But he just couldn't quite put his finger on it.
He sighed the third time, and finally turning away from the window, arms akimbo, gave his apartment a once over. The service bots did well. They'd patched up most of the damage. For a flat fee, they'd taken care of almost everything. Good thing Corby now had five thousand dollars worth of reparation from the government. Bad thing, money couldn't clear up the mess he'd made out of his life. But it was nice to know, at least, his cooperation was valued. Because the last time he was this cooperative, they gave him the boot from the military.
Things were looking up now, at least. It was all getting better. He had the money. His apartment was fine. He got an actual job offer. And he was no longer contemplating suicide. It was fine, right? Everything was peachy.
So why in the world didn't he feel peachy then? Why didn't he feel all warm and fuzzy inside? He felt like crap. He felt worse than yesterday actually. At least yesterday he had a solid plan. It was a shit plan, granted, but at least he knew what he was doing. And now, what was he even doing now? He shook his head, getting tired of himself. He shouldn't have let the boy go. That was what was wrong with this picture. He shouldn't have let Monroe take him.
He guessed, his old habits kicked in, her being here, he was suddenly back to where it started, him taking her orders, taking a hundred percent of her crap. Whatever she had to give to him, he'd take it. That was how it'd been. Always. He was so used to it. Only now he didn't have to take orders from her anymore. She was no longer in command of him. He was his own man. He was free to do anything he wanted. And yet, there he was, taking crap from her again. He chewed on his lip. Just a force of habit, that's all it was. For too many years he followed her orders, so blindly it was suddenly hard not to. She trained him well!
He rubbed his eyes wearily; he needed some sleep. But she was wrong! Back when she kicked him out of the military, back when that thing happened, she was wrong. He was following her command back then, knowing damn well she was wrong. And yet he couldn't stop himself from going through with it. He growled angrily, raising his eyes to the ceiling. He was back again thinking about it, and he'd wasted enough time thinking about it already. He should have let it go. Only he couldn't let it go. Back then, he should have gone with what his gut was telling him. Because his gut was telling him she was wrong. And right now his gut was telling him she didn't know what she was doing with the boy either. He ought to get him from her, that was the only way to make sure he was safe.
Just as the resolve hardened in him, the doorbell rang, distracting him from his doleful thoughts.
Someone was at his door. Again?
For months he had literally no visitors. Nobody was interested in him. And now, all of a sudden, he was getting so many. He narrowed his eyes at the door. Good things don't ring your doorbell, he thought. They crash through your ceiling.
In the meantime, waiting in the hallway behind the closed door was priest Vitto Carnellius, accompanied by his young (twenty-two) boyfriend David. Fresh off the plane from Egypt, the two were in desperate need of catching their breaths, especially Vitto. It was a rough twelve hours for them, let's just say that. But they were back home finally, yet they couldn't even go home, to their apartment, not yet, not even for a minute, not even to take a shit. They had to go straight to one Major Corby Dallas's apartment. They had to ascend fifty-two flights of stairs by foot on their way there too. Or was it fifty-three…? Vitto couldn't remember. All elevators in the building were out of order, probably due to the meteorite.
But it was beside the point. The point was Vitto was a man over forty, and a priest. He was not made for this. But if taking the stairs was what he needed to do to get here, he was going to do it, without second thought and pretty much without complaint. He was a man on a mission now, more so than he had been before. To hell, it was for real now! He was now certain it was all real. And climbing the stairs was the least he could do if you put things into perspective. It was a small price to pay to save the world. Which was what he needed to do now. He sorta had to do it before too, but shit got real now.
And that was why they were here, standing in front of this stranger's apartment, ringing his doorbell, trying futilely to catch their breaths, especially Vitto, especially futilely. The two were transporting valuable cargo. That was the reason they were here. The moment Vitto heard the news about an alien ship exploding in the atmosphere, a weird-looking ship, he knew he had to grab the stones and get here. The one piece of debris that had fallen on New York must have been the fifth element. If there was anything able to survive the explosion and the fall on board, that must have been it. Him! It must have been him. It was still hard to believe he was real though, and he was here, on Earth, walking among them for the first time in five thousand years. But it was all true. Vitto was certain now. There was no more room for doubt.
The spaceship in the news matched the description of the gods' spaceship from the manuscript exactly. It was the one they'd been waiting for; he'd been waiting for. But if it really exploded something must have gone terribly wrong with the divine plan. Someone fucked up, big time! And to think they'd been waiting for it for five millennia. Now something must have been done (and quick) about it. The Doomsday was upon them.
Standing in front of Corby's apartment, ringing his bell, Vitto was going through a whole range of emotions, and a list of things that needed to be done was building up in his head, all part of a plan. Though he didn't really have a plan, not yet. And usually, he was good at this, the planning, the conjuring up of ideas, project management. He cracked under pressure though, usually. Having to think straight under circumstances like these was driving him into a low-key hysteria. He was very delicate that way. He didn't expect to be thrown right into the thick of things. He wanted to shut down, shut out the world, and crawl under the covers. Together with David maybe. Only he couldn't do that. He couldn't shut down, shut out the world, and use David to make his stay in the do-not-care-ville comfortable. Life in the entire galaxy depended on him. The future of the entire human race was in his hands. And at the moment, his hands were trembling.
He had the stones with him, thank God. Tucked away safely in David's backpack. His duty, as a member of the order, was to chaperone the fifth element to the location of the stones, make sure they wound up together. Originally, they were supposed to be less than a hundred yards from one another, of course. But since the fifth element had landed in New York instead of Egypt, he was going to have to take the stones to him.
Corby Dallas's profile was all over the Internet, as a small chunk of the spaceship was considered to have landed in his apartment, the others destroyed in the upper atmosphere. For everybody else, it could have been anything as trivial as a toilet seat. But for Vitto, he had little doubt it was the fifth element. Comforted by the fact of its safe landing… His! His safe landing, although he'd been designed to survive anything, Vitto was at the same time discomforted by the ex-marine. He didn't know what to make of him. He wasn't a part of the divine plan. And military folk were rough around the edges oftentimes. Vitto bit his lower lip. He didn't know if he could trust him with something like this, if he was the right kind of person to divulge this secret to. But unfortunately, there was nobody else.
Major Dallas opened the door and looked curiously at the pair before him. One of the two was, apparently, a priest, a man in his forties dressed in a flowing brown soutane, belted tight at the waist. The belt plaque was made entirely out of gold, it seemed, and had a series of symbols etched prominently on it. Symbols Corby didn't recognize. An unorthodox religion maybe? A sect? What would an unorthodox priest be doing at his doorstep? Corby frowned. He wasn't a religious type. Was it the priest General Monroe was talking about? So what, now he'd found him first?
The lines on Corby's forehead deepened, all the while the face of the man in front of him became tomato-red. Corby raised his eyes at them questioningly.
"Yes?" he asked, very curious to what the priest had to say.
"Major Dallas?" the priest asked. "Corby Dallas?"
"Yes."
"Oh good! Then we've come to the right place."
The priest exhaled with relief, then cocked his head to the side awkwardly and peeked behind Corby. Was he actually trying to take a look into Corby's apartment while Corby was still there, looking at him? If he was trying to be inconspicuous, he failed.
"They've already taken him away, Father," Corby said, point blank. And the priest seemed to have deflated.
"Oh, have they? I was really hoping to find him here," he murmured nervously, and then looked at his feet, apparently not sure what else to say.
"I knew finding him would have been difficult but I wasn't prepared to be like looking for a needle in a haystack," he suddenly said, confiding in Corby.
Corby narrowed his eyes at him. How did he know the boy was here in the first place?
"How can I help you, Father?" Corby asked tentatively, having decided he was going to let him talk first, then ask questions later, if necessary. The man seemed very fidgety for a priest. And Corby's idea of a priest was to be calm and composed. Maybe he wasn't a priest at all? Maybe he was pretending to be a priest. But then again, why would he be pretending? At any rate, something was off. Tired of addressing questions to himself he decided it was best to just let the man talk. After all, wasn't it in his job description to provide people with answers?
"Mr. Dallas," the priest started carefully. "We're here because..."
And then he trailed off.
"I'm not really sure how to explain it exactly. May we come in?"
Corby twisted his mouth. "You seem to be very eager to get into my apartment, Father."
"Please, Mr. Dallas. It's very important! I could explain everything. Just not here."
He must have really been the priest, Corby thought. He was being vague and insistent.
"Sure," he sighed. "Come on in!"
Letting them in, he figured he could always shoot them if they presented a problem.
After the door closed, the two took their time taking a look inside. If they were after the boy, Corby had already told them he wasn't here. Other than that, there wasn't much to look at. It was a cubicle of an apartment, and they all knew it. It was a shithole!
"So…it's a nice place you've got here, Mr. Dallas. And I see you've already taken care of the meteorite damage," Vitto said, trying for a polite conversation while stalling for time. He didn't know how much of what he was about to tell the man was going to land well or not–if anything at all.
"It wasn't a meteorite, Father. And they have taken care of it for me, I'm afraid…I don't have much time," Corby replied. "Why don't we get down to business?"
Narrowing his eyes at the priest for just a moment, he then turned away. He needed coffee if he was going to get through this.
"Coffee?" he offered, sticking a coffee pot to the magnetic wall. The stove in his apartment was vertical to save space; everything in his apartment was meant to save space, but it didn't much help. The coffee in the pot started boiling though.
Vitto considered the leftover coffee Corby was reheating, and promptly shook his head.
"No, thank you! We're good," he quickly returned, maintaining a pleasant smile.
"Suit yourself," said Corby and poured himself a cup. When he turned to the priest again, he looked at him expectantly from under his eyebrows, taking a sip of his coffee with a deliberate slurp.
It was Vitto's cue and he understood beating around the bush much longer was going to be pointless.
"Right–" Vitto said, straightening up. "Mr. Dallas, we have a job offer for you. If you would be so kind as to consider it."
"A job?" Corby asked, surprised. All of a sudden he was getting job offers left and right. What was up with that?
"A mission of sorts," Vitto continued, vaguely.
"What kind of mission, Father?" Corby's eyes were on the priest. This was all very weird. He thought they were going to be talking about the boy, not discussing job opportunities.
"I'm afraid this is difficult to explain, Mister Dallas. I'm not sure you're going to understand me correctly…" Vitto admitted, squirming a little under the man's steady gaze.
"Try me."
From the look in Corby's eyes, the priest could tell he should start talking.
"My name is Vitto Carnellius, Mr. Dallas. I'm here on behalf of…" He stopped to think about it a moment. "Someone looking for the man that was here earlier, the one responsible for the hole in your roof, and the mess. We're looking for him because…We were waiting for him a long time, you see…And the reason for that is–" Vitto gulped. "He isn't exactly a man. He's a–"
"A boy!" Corby answered before the priest could. That part was easy. He didn't need him to explain that to him. Corby could still remember the man-boy in every detail. He couldn't forget him even if he wanted to.
The priest looked puzzled for a second, "A boy?"
Corby nodded, positive. "Six two. Redhead. Twenty-ish. He was stark-naked when he burst in."
"Redhead?" the priest repeated. This was all news to him.
"Very redhead, Father," Corby said. "As redhead as one can be. You can take my word for it. He said his name was Loo."
"Loo…? How peculiar," Vitto whispered. There wasn't anything like that in the book, his age, or his hair color, or even his name. He was but a smudge on the page, depicted in no particular detail.
Corby crossed his arms on his chest. "He was covered in gold when he landed too. The gold was everywhere. The whole place was gold, not just him. Only they've taken it all away, my buds from the military. So if you're looking for him, I have no idea where they'd taken him."
Vitto had already figured as much. "Gold, you say?"
"Yes, gold. Lots of it. Requisitioned by the government."
"Of course…" Vitto nodded.
"This boy…" he said, looking Corby straight in the eyes suddenly. "He's not a usual kind of boy, is he, Mr. Dallas?"
"No kidding," Corby agreed, watching him. "I don't think I've seen one like him before, and I don't think I will again. He's one of a kind, I think."
"One of a kind…" Vitto muttered thoughtfully, but then he shook his head dismissively. "You don't understand, Mister Dallas. You see, he's not really a boy…Or a man even…Not like one of us. How do I explain this?"
Corby was eager to find out. But the priest was looking for words again. "He's like an angel, Mr. Dallas. A heavenly creature, sent here to protect us, all of us. He's to deliver us from evil. Do you understand?"
Vitto was looking at him hopefully, his hands probing the air in front of him as if he was trying to grasp something intangible to show Corby as proof. Corby frowned; he couldn't see it.
"Right," he said. He didn't think he believed in angels; or God, or heaven for that matter. He wasn't particularly religious, he would say. Or at all. He'd been to the heavens. There was no God there. Just an infinite stretch of space. And it was empty for the most part anyway; nothing like what they imagined it to be whenever they wrote Bible, or whatever other religious nonsense the priest in front of him subscribed to. Corby let out a long sigh.
"What kind of mission were you going to offer me, Father?" he asked, by means of shortening the conversation. He was beginning to think the priest didn't know anything about the man-boy after all. He was probably just a religious nut, is all. Corby wanted him and the dude accompanying him out of his hair as soon as possible.
Vitto wasn't a nut, so he immediately caught where Corby was going with this.
"If you want to see the boy again, snatch him out of the government's paws, Mr. Dallas…" Vitto said seriously. "You're gonna have to let me finish."
Something about the tone of his voice told Corby that he should listen to him.
"You've got five minutes," he said shortly. Vitto nodded, compliantly. Five minutes was all he'd need.
"I'm gonna be frank with you, Mr. Dallas. That boy is the most precious possession humanity ever had. Being what he is…there's none other like him."
"And what exactly is he, Father?" Corby asked, staring at the priest. He was dying to know; not sure if what the priest was going to tell him was going to be true or not, he wanted at least an attempt at an explanation out of him. Because the boy was anything but a regular human. The priest was convinced he wasn't. And Corby, himself, didn't know what to believe.
"He's…he's the fifth element, Mr. Dallas," Vitto whispered with awe; he had no time to beat around the bush anymore. "The perfect creature created to protect us all. But for him to do so, we must protect him first. The military, having him in their possession, they wouldn't know what to do. They wouldn't be any good helping him. They wouldn't even be able to understand him, if anything. He'd consider them a threat and try to escape, even if they tried to help him." Vitto put his hands on his chest and looked at Corby beggingly. "He needs us, Mr. Dallas."
"Perfect, eh?" Corby repeated; the only part of it that stuck. 'Perfect' was what he was looking for.
"For the lack of a better word, yes," Vitto nodded. Corby looked at the man. He wasn't lying, he could tell. The priest spoke of the boy reverently. For whatever divine entity he was taking him, he must have truly believed he was. Made Corby wonder what kind of religion he professed exactly.
"I'm not sure you've come to the right place, Father," Corby said, earnestly. "If it's a man of faith you're looking for, I gotta tell ya, I'm not."
"I can assure you I'm not looking for a man of faith, Mr. Dallas. A soldier is what I'm looking for," Vitto said, without a trace of a doubt. "Someone good with a gun, preferably. Someone skilled enough to protect him."
"I failed my last mission, Father," Corby countered. "They booted me from the military and all."
Vitto looked him in the eyes. "You're the man for the mission, Mr. Dallas! I couldn't be more certain of anything than this. There's a reason the boy landed in your apartment. Couldn't be a coincidence. Tell me I'm wrong, but I think you've been waiting for him all your life, same as I have. And it'd taken me a real long time to admit it. But I know it now, Mr. Dallas. And I think you do too. You're the man for the job, and I'm willing to bet my life on it."
Corby considered it, frowning. That was a lot of words; but, strangely, some of it did make sense.
"Let me sleep on it," he said, definitively.
"It's eight in the morning, Mr. Dallas. We don't have time for sleep," said the priest, looking like he wasn't going to take no for an answer.
"Well, your boy here and the guys from the military kept me up all night, so…I need my beauty sleep, Father. Or else I'll be no good protecting anybody, I promise you."
Vitto sighed. "I understand. Just promise me to get in touch with us right after, Mr. Dallas. This is very important. We don't have much time. The fate of the entire galaxy depends on it..."
Corby narrowed his eyes at the priest, watching him produce a business card from his soutane pocket. Corby inspected the card curiously and then granted him with a pleasant smile in return.
"Sure thing, Father."
Now was the time for him to go, but the priest lingered. "He needs us, Mr. Dallas. He needs my guidance and your protection. It might not look like it, but he's not nearly as strong as it seems. He won't be able to make it on his own. He needs our help."
"Thought you said he was perfect," said Corby.
"Oh, he is. Doesn't mean he's not fragile. This world of ours has every capability to break him, Mr. Dallas. Don't let it break him. He's our only hope."
Corby nodded. "I'll get in touch with you, Father. Thank you for thinking of me."
"Please do! The sooner the better, Mr. Dallas," Vitto pleaded urgently. Corby just showed him the door.
Alone at last, Corby was ready to do some thinking.
He'd rather go to sleep, right then and there, but sleep wasn't coming easy to him, unfortunately. He was wide awake now.
It was hard to think, having had no sleep at all; and yet thinking was all he was doing. He wasn't in control of it. Various thoughts were bouncing around in his head. Replaying the events of last night mostly. And then the conversation with the priest. He didn't know what to think of it. He didn't know if any of it was true or not. He didn't have a full picture. To make it make sense was difficult, and yet it was all he wanted to do. One thing was clear. He couldn't shake the memory of him out of his head. The man-boy!
With a push of a button, his bed emerged from the wall. And when it swapped places with his kitchen unit, Corby sprawled on it in utter exhaustion. It was soft and sort of comfortable, even though the sheets were plastic and the pillow crunched under the weight of his head. He took a deep breath and exhaled, letting his body relax. Though his body wasn't a problem. The problem was in his head! He was awake for many hours now and the coils of his brain had gotten tangled into a spasm. He couldn't sleep even with his eyes tightly closed. The thoughts of everything that happened permeated his every brain cell. He wanted to scrutinize every little detail about last night, everything he could remember of him. Though he knew immediately remembering him wasn't a good idea. It wasn't going to be enough. Now that he knew the boy existed, he wanted more. And he didn't think he could ever stop himself from wanting.
Shush, you! he told himself. Enough is enough. Though his mind didn't seem to listen. The thoughts of the boy were building into a tsunami in his head. And Corby knew tsunamis were dangerous. He was smarter than this. Come on! He willed himself to shut his eyes close, keep them that way, and just go to sleep. Back in the military, it used to work like a charm on him; less than five minutes and he was fast asleep, every time. Not now though. He was out of practice.
Where did he come from anyway, the man-boy? The priest didn't mention it. It seemed like he fell down from heaven. But was he really an angel? Nah! Corby didn't think so. He tossed and turned in his bed; he wanted to know. The priest said he was perfect. But if he was human, he couldn't be. Nobody was ever perfect. People were flawed. And Corby was sure of it not just because he'd seen people from their worst side, but because he'd been looking for perfect all along and never found it.
His body was perfect though. Corby could give him that. Tall, lean, great smile, blue eyes…Corby couldn't help but smile too thinking about him. Why in the world was he smiling? He wasn't big on smiles. Never. And yet, thinking about the boy, he couldn't stop. A silly grin was plastered on his face right now and he couldn't get rid of it. Those perfect blue eyes…in the short time he had a chance to witness them, they did something to him. And he didn't realize the impact they had on him until now. Now though that he couldn't look into those eyes, now that the boy wasn't with him, he was beginning to understand–he was never going to be the same; now everything was different. He had butterflies in his stomach thinking about the boy. And in his groin. The priest was right. The boy was perfect.
On the verge of falling asleep at last, with his hand on a bulge of his pants, and a smile on his face, he was awakened suddenly by the buzzer. Someone was at his door again! With the smile fading from his face, he got up–grudgingly. He paraded towards the door in a series of clumsy steps and smacked his hand on the big flashing button.
The door slid open. There was a large group of people outside. He studied them with his bloodshot eyes under which dark circles were deepening. They were mostly young, twenty-ish. And they looked the part, Corby thought. Freaky clothes, hair dyed neon, and in multiple colors. Corby narrowed his eyes at them, and like a group of startled chimpanzees in the zoo, they stared back at him.
"Ye-e-e-s?" he said, angrily stretching vowels.
A girl stepped forward, one that looked even freakier than the rest. Her stripy black, white, and brown hair looked like she'd stripped it off a chipmunk. She stretched her hand to him by way of a greeting, the back of her hand painted dappled red. Staring at the red spots that looked like lesions to him, Corby realized that in her hand she was holding an audio recorder. He sighed. She didn't mean to greet him by shaking his hand; which it was honestly fine. But she was a reporter! They were monkeys from the press, hungry to get an exclusive. He shook his head in frustration; he should have known. By now his name must have been dragged all over the newsfeeds.
"Mr. Dallas, I'm such a fan!" the chipmunk girl chirped.
"You are?" Corby asked, dubiously.
"Yes!" she yelped, stifling a shriek of excitement. "I'm your biggest fan ever. Take my word for it." She let her hands shake in front of her as if she couldn't hold it in any longer. "I'm so excited to meet you. Finally!"
Corby moved back cautiously. "Can I help you?" He was getting annoyed now. He was not a celebrity. He was fine not having a fan base.
"Mr. Dallas, you are the luckiest man alive, do you know that?" she said. She looked like she was going to pee herself, she was so excited.
"I am?" he asked, frowning at her as he looked her up and down. "Did I win a lottery or something?"
The girl guffawed as if it was the funniest joke ever. "Better, Mr. Dallas. Better!"
Her eyes were bulging out of their sockets now. "Ruby personally requested your presence. He sent me down here to tell you in person that you were in!" She winked conspiratorially at him, so many times he wondered if it was Morse code. "A little birdy told me a certain someone might be the main guest tonight, in today's Hearsay of the Day segment!"
She was saying this in a way that was supposed to make a lot of sense but it made zero sense to Corby. She awaited his reaction, beaming at him while he scratched his head. The other monkeys behind her were beaming too. No reaction followed though. Corby just didn't know what she was talking about.
"Didn't you hear what I said, Mr. Dallas? Mr. Roid's inviting you to be the main–"
"Who?" he asked, interrupting her, and they all gasped. Then a couple of seconds later the girl laughed, realizing that it must have been a joke; and the others followed suit laughing.
"Funny," she said, waving him off and turning to the group. "Isn't he just so funny? I'm loving this man." She turned back to Corby. "You better keep those jokes for the interview though." She nodded to herself and the others agreed. Corby was just confused.
"What interview?" he asked.
"The Hearsay of the day segment, of course. Only the most high-ranking show on TV. As I was saying, Mr. Roid wants you–"
"What, he's some kind of celebrity or something?" Corby asked, interrupting her again. And this time she didn't think it was funny. She managed a strained smile though.
"The biggest celebrity on the planet, duh!" the girl gushed, humoring him. As if he didn't already know. The monkeys behind her laughed nervously.
"We're here to ask you a couple of preliminary questions, Mr. Dallas. For the promos, you know. It will only take a few minutes. And then, we'll be on our way," she explained. She was being very serious this time; she was done joking. "Mr. Roid will be sending a car to pick you up around seven o'clock. And you shall be getting a call from his PA in about two hours."
"I don't do interviews," he said, and the monkeys giggled again. The girl in front of them stayed serious.
"Funny," she said, forcing a laugh. Clearly, she didn't think it was funny. "Mr. Dallas, being interviewed by Mr. Roid is an absolute honor, not to mention that a spot on the Hearsay of the day is extremely coveted. I'm sure you–"
"Why me?" he asked, interrupting her once again. She was beginning to get pissed off now.
"You're the talk of the town, Mr. Dallas. Haven't you heard? Your name is all over the newsfeeds!"
Yeah! Figures.
"People would like to know you, Mr. Dallas," the girl said in a punctuated tone as if she was talking to a child; she was beginning to think he was a little slow. "Who Corby Dallas is? What makes him tick? What color eyes has he? What size is he wearing? What did he eat for dinner last night? That's why I'm here, Mr. Dallas. To ask you all these questions."
"That's a lot of questions–" Corby tried, but she stopped him putting her index finger up.
"That's a lot of questions, so you better start talking now," she said. She put her recorder in his face, and continued, "What's your favorite color, Mr. Dallas? Do you own a car? Are you a cat or a dog person?"
"I don't own a car," he said, shaking his head. "I drive a rental."
"Do you have friends, Mr. Dallas? Do you date women or men? What are your preferences in bed?"
"Don't you think that's kind of personal?" he asked, narrowing his eyes at her. But the girl wasn't done yet asking questions.
"Do you own this place? How much did you make last year? What are the names of your parents?"
Corby scowled. Did she actually think he was going to answer all of it?
"Mr. Dallas, I must know everything about you," she said as if having read his mind. Her eyes got super-focused, looking a little deranged now, determined to get everything she wanted from him. The monkeys behind her were all piercing him with their eyes.
"Okay, I'd like you to step away from the door now," he said politely. The girl didn't budge.
"We're not done yet," she declared.
"I say we're done. I'm not doing your stupid interview. Tell Mr. Roid or whatever, thanks but no thanks. Not interested."
"Mr. Dallas, you can't say no to Mr. Roid," she said, convinced. "He gets what he wants!"
"Okay, I'm closing the door now." He tried but the girl slipped her foot in and the automatic harm-prevention system stopped it. Her eyes were getting glazed now.
"I know fame does things to people, Mr. Dallas," she said. "But you're the story for one night. He's forever!"
Corby sighed. He didn't sign up for this. "Step away from the door now, please."
She didn't listen. "I can't return to the studio without the preliminary interview, Mr. Dallas. Mr. Roid's going to kill me."
She looked into his eyes, his beautiful hazel eyes. Corby had kind eyes, and it often deceived people into thinking he wasn't dangerous. He retrieved a gun from his belt holster before she knew it and aimed it at her head. The Ruger 9mm emitted a high-pitched tone, letting him know it was loaded now.
"If you're not off of my doorstep in the next five seconds, I'm going to kill you," he said. And the girl knew he wasn't joking this time. She backed away from the door slowly.
"Easy, Mr. Dallas…Easy…" she mouthed. "No need to resort to violence."
But he was done being polite now. He had enough visitors for one day; he just wanted to be alone now. He wanted to be left alone.
"Goodbye now," he said, and the door finally closed. He exhaled slowly, regretting opening it in the first place. He closed his eyes, letting them rest for a little while. It was a very, very long night. He'd very much like to rest now.