“You’ve got a big closet over there,” he pointed to a closed set of pocket doors on the wall beside the bed. “Anything you need before we can get to the store, just ask me. I refuse to share underwear, however.”
“I’m fine going commando, thank you very much,” she glared.
“Ew,” he scrunched his face for a moment.
“You expect me to wear the same ones I have, until then?”
“No. But I don’t wanna know when you’re going commando.”
“Easily obliged,” she replied.
“Here’s the bathroom,” he pointed out, quickly changing the subject. The lights flickered on as he entered. “There are towels in here in the cabinet, and stuff to wash with already in the shower. Everything here is hand-made by people on the island, so whatever you used before, get used to doing without. This stuff is good, though. And there are different scents and stuff at the store, so if you don’t like those, you can get something else.”
“Where’s the washer and dryer?”
“We don’t have them,” he told her. “There’s a launderer downtown. We take everything there. They hand-wash everything.” Birdie looked a bit uncomfortable with that thought. “I wash some of my own things here. Like underwear, because I’ll be damned if anyone is touching my underwear besides me.”
“And I’m sure they appreciate that,” she raised her brows, amused.
“Hey, those people wash everyone’s underwear,” he retorted. “I just like some of my business to be my own.”
“Yeah, I think I’ll go ahead and do my own, as well… Wait, everyone’s? No one has a washer or dryer?”
“It’s inefficient to have them,” he told her. “There’s one area where everything is contained and done. Everyone needs a job on the island. It’s how we pay for everything else. There are people that rotate in and out of that place day and night.”
“A twenty-four hour Laundromat? That sounds very convenient.”
“Considering there are over two hundred and fifty people’s clothes to wash, it’s kinda necessary.”
“How does money work here?” she asked, intrigued, as she walked to the shower and began inspecting the soaps.
“It’s not really money, so much as credits,” he explained, leaning back against the wall and crossing his arms. “Whatever job you work, and however many hours, goes into a credit system. So it’s kinda like bartering, in a way. Your I.D is also your credit card, so to speak. Whatever profits I make off my books goes onto my credit. The actual money goes to the government sector that funds the island. My credits are worth as much, though. Pretty much everything I need or want is covered, and then some.”
“Guess you’re books do well then,” she raised a brow.
“Not too bad,” he smirked, revealing the dimple on his left cheek. “Plus, anything I want that’s not on the island, I can bribe and transfer credits to a hunting Observer.”
“Hunting?” she questioned. “You mean when we go to fetch a Proprietor?”
“That, or when they’ve located a Defector,” he told her. “It’s rare, but sometimes they find them on the grid. They’ve gotta go pick them up and try not to cause a scene in the meantime.”
Birdie nodded in understanding. “So what kind of stuff do you usually ask them to get?”
“Eh,” he let out a breath as he thought. “Books, magazines, games, movies… or stuff they don’t quite make the way I like, here. Wish I could convince them to let me have a car.”
“Where would you drive it?” she looked at him incredulously. “There’s no where to drive and nothing to drive on. Not to mention gasoline.”
“I just miss driving, I guess,” he got a reminiscent look on his face.
“Maybe you can bribe one of us to take you on a hunt with us,” she smirked. “I’m guessing we have to drive when we’re out there.”
“I’d have to do some serious bribing. Even at the right price, they’ve gotta clear it with the big boss. Or risk losing their job by sneaking me along. Though, it would be easier for me, since I don’t report to an outside job, and I spend most of my time at home. I’d have to bribe to barista not to mention they haven’t seen me at the shop,” he laughed.
“I’m thinking this is totally doable,” she said, seriously.
“Yeah?” he got a bit of an excited look on his face. “Well, that’d be awesome. But I’d hold off a while, at least. You’re new on the job, and I can’t imagine you having to serve coffee for a living if you get canned.” They shared a laugh at that.
After they each had a shower, Birdie convinced Brian to let her stay in his room for the night. She told him it was because her bedroom creeped her out a bit. But in reality, she just wanted to be near him. She wanted to be able to just look over, if she woke up in the night, and be reassured that he was still there. He didn’t even fight her about it, since he felt the same way.
They laid there on their separate sides of the king-sized bed, Brian staring up at the ceiling, and Birdie on her side facing him. The lights were out, but the blue glowing numbers on the alarm clock beside the bed illuminated the room enough to see each other.
“Do you remember dying?” Birdie asked, quietly, after several minutes of silence.
Brian turned his head to glance at her for a moment, before looking up at the ceiling. “Do you?” he asked.
“Yeah,” she replied, thinking back. “I remember it was cold. It was raining and I was lying in the street.”
“How did you die?” he looked at her again.
“I was shot,” she told him. “Chasing a suspect,” she elaborated. “He was scared. I don’t think he’d ever shot anyone before. I remember his face just before he ran away again. I felt sorry for him.”
“He’d just shot you, and you felt sorry for him?”
“I knew I was gonna die, but I felt sorry that he’d just basically ended his whole life with a split-second decision,” she explained. “He was so young.” She watched as Brian looked back up at the ceiling.
“I remember talking to Mom,” he said.
“She called you to check in, she said.”
“Yeah,” he let out a small, breathy laugh. “She wanted to know if I was any closer to finishing my book. I told her I didn’t have time for it, with work. I’d already had a hit in my system and was too far gone to continue the conversation. I told her I’d call her the next day.”
“Then you ordered a pizza,” she added.
“I did,” he looked over at her for a moment, then back to the ceiling. “And as soon as I hung up with them, I took another hit. It made me so floaty and tired, I laid my head back on the arm of the couch and passed out. That’s the last thing I remember, before waking up in debriefing.”
There were a few moments of silence as they both thought. “Why did you do it?” she asked. “Was it because we saw Dad?”
“Kind of,” he let out a breath. “I was so… pissed at myself for doing anything at all, that night. Seeing Dad hurt, and I didn’t wanna feel it. That, and what I made you promise me,” he looked over at her again. “I felt like I’d given you a burden you didn’t deserve to have to carry. Those things, coupled with the guilt of screwing up sobriety, made me do even more.” Birdie heard him swallow. “I am sorry, Birdie. I didn’t mean to die. I swear that much. And I’m sorry I screwed up. And I’m really sorry that you had to find me like that. If it’d been the other way around… Hell, Birdie, I wouldn’t have been able to keep going like you can.”