Disclaimer: I do not own anyone in the Invisible Man universe. I don't own them, and neither do you, as much as we might want to. Tyler Bardeux is mine though. MINE, I tell you!
"The philosopher, Heracleitus, once stated that `it is difficult to fight against anger; for a man will buy revenge with his soul.' That might have been true in his time, but today's running price for revenge is your sanity. At least, that's what it almost cost me."
That Saturday started like any other. Darien awoke at around 9:30 and sluggishly got into the shower. What made this Saturday different was the phone call that came while he was shampooing his hair.
"Aw, crap," Darien said, as he quickly rinsed, turned off the water and grabbed a towel from outside the curtain. Wrapping the towel around his waist, he went into the den to grab the phone, which was on its third ring. Only then did he remember that he didn't have a phone. He always used the pay phone on the street.
Looking around the room, he quickly noticed the black cell phone lying on his leather chair. He picked it up just as it began ringing for the fourth time.
"Stay deep in the shadows and stay out of the pen," a voice relied on the other side of the line.
Darien nearly dropped his towel when he heard those words. That phrase, which would have seemed odd to most people, struck a deep cord within Darien. He hadn't heard that expression since...
"Remember your tools, and remember your time," he spoke back into the phone.
A deep laugh came through the line. "Damn, it is you, Darien. I couldn't believe it at first. I thought Mark was sending me on a wild Fawkes hunt. How the hell are ya?"
"Sopping wet, actually. You caught me in the shower, Tyler." Darien said as he adjusted his towel.
"Oh, it's that time of the month, huh?" The voice chuckled. "All right, how about we meet in about thirty minutes? I noticed a bar across from your joint while I was breaking in."
As Darien crossed the busy street, he tried to gaze into the bar window to catch a glimpse of a man that might be Tyler Bardeux. Back in juvenile hall, Tyler had been your typical troublemaker, and he had looked the part: ragged clothes which he had worn with pride, piercings all up his ears, and hair that was usually a different color each week. But try as he may, Darien couldn't see a man who possible fit Tyler's usual appearance.
Darien entered the bar, thinking that Tyler had ditched him. He quickly looked around, not noticing his old friend. Disheartened, he turned to leave but stopped when he heard his name called from the other side of the bar.
"Fawkes, get your ass over here."
Darien looked in the direction of the voice, and noticed his friend sitting alone in a corner: wearing a three-piece suit. Casually walking over toward Tyler's table, Darien gave him a quick looking over.
"What did you do to yourself, Tyler?" Darien asked as he pulled up a chair. "You actually look, dare I say it, normal."
Tyler snickered, but Darien noticed a nervous tone deep in the laughter. "Well, I got myself some corporate sponsors. I'm working with some of the big boys now, you know, capital larceny and stuff, and they ask that we look...professional." Tyler paused for a second to take a swallow from the Corona in front of him. Then, he continued: "What about you, Darien? Last I heard, they had you on a bottom-of-the-ninth, swing-and-a-miss third strike. How'd you con your way out of that? Did you break out or something?"
Darien looked him straight in the eye. "Would you believe me if I told you I did?"
Tyler scoffed. "No."
"Then I won't say that I did."
Tyler looked at Darien with skepticism for a second, then the realization hit him. "You sold out, didn't you? They'd let you go if you ratted on someone else? Who'd you squeal on? Not Liz, was it? `Cause I knew you two were close and all--"
"Tyler, I didn't squeal on anyone," Darien interrupted. "I just had better things to do than rot in prison."
"Which federation bailed you out?" Tyler was insistent.
Darien sighed. "A private agency, but that's
"Not a prob, bro," Tyler stated while grabbing another sip from his beer. "In fact, it might help me. A lot."
Darien looked at his pal, then folded to the temptation to ask. "Help you with what?"
"Darien, I'm in deep shit."
"During my short time at the Agency, I've seen some pretty amazing things: poisonous fingertips, homicidal rats, Claire dancing around in her bra. However, none of those things could have prepared me for what my childhood pal was about to tell me."
Tyler took a long gulp of his beer before he continued. “You know me, Darien. I’ve always enjoyed a challenge. So, when Mr. Galatea called--”
“Wait,” Darien interrupted. “Stephan Galetea? Isn’t he--”
Tyler nodded. “Yeah, and all the stories are true, too. Every burglar working under his ‘rule’ is held by a strict contract. I’ve seen some of his best men shot down because they merely thought about talking to the police.
“So, why did you come talk to me?”
Another gulp of beer. “I want out, but I don’t know how. You were always the brains of the operations. You came up with plans, and I was the idiot who carried them out.”
“Why don’t you just call the cops now? I’m sure the police are dying to catch this guy.”
“Because the police can’t catch him. He uses every means possible to escape. He’s killed children, for crying out loud.”
Darien paused for a minute, then took the beer from his friend’s hand. “Okay, any ideas how to get you out of this?”
A wave of relief washed over Tyler’s face. “Well, at first, I thought you had broken out of third strike, so I was gonna ask to hide with you, since you’re doing such a good job staying out of sight. But now that you’re with this Agency, as you called it, maybe you could pull some strings with the big cheese, if you know what I mean.”
“Big is right,” Darien watched as Tyler took the beer from his hand. “All right, I’ll talk to him. In the meanwhile, stay at my place. I believe you know the way in.”
“Fine,” Tyler said. “That’s fine.”
Darien stood up. “I’ll go right now and play puppeteer. You stay out of sight.”
“Thanks man. And Fawkes, stay in the shadows.”
Darien smiled. “Remember your time.” With that, he walked out of the bar--
--and right into Bobby Hobbes.
“So, Fawkes,” Hobbes started. “I had figured I would stop by your place before work, sans donuts, and offer you a ride to headquarters, but you were gone. So, I had figured you had left already, but your car was still there. So, I decided to search for you, and here I find you, at a bar, at ten thirty in the morning, talking to someone I don’t know or approve of--”
Darien interrupted Hobbes mid-lecture. “Hobbes, buddy, Tyler is just a friend. No one can replace you in my heart.” He clasped his hand to his chest and sniffled. “You’re right here, man.”
“Funny, Fawkes. Let’s see you still joke when the Official docks you for being late, once again.”
“I was heading there right now. I need to talk to Charlie about something.” Darien looked back into the bar, but Tyler had left the table.
Hobbes sighed. “Fine, let’s just get going. I’ll drive.”
Hobbes was right about The Official’s reaction.
“That’s twice this week, Fawkes,” he stated, leaning over his desk. “Ten times this month so far.”
“Eleven, sir,” Eberts corrected him.
Darien glared at Eberts, then turned back to Charlie. “I promise it won’t happen again,” he said half-heartedly.
“Don’t talk to me in that kind of tone,” the Official warned.
Darien blinked in surprise. Then, he smirked. “Yes, Daddy. I won’t be mean again. Can I go out and play now?”
“If you’re going to act like that, I’ll play along. You’re grounded, without allowance, and your older brother, Hobbes, gets all your desserts. Three days suspension, with no counteragent, so you had better watch it with the quicksilver. Now, get out of my office.”
Darien stormed away from the desk and threw open the door, only to find Hobbes eavesdropping outside the barrier. As Darien walked through the archway, Hobbes straightened himself to full standing position.
“So, how did it go?”
Darien just ignored him.
Hobbes continued. “Did you at least ask him what you wanted to?”
“No, I probably should have done that before I pissed him off, now shouldn’t I?” Darien paused, wondering what to do next. “I should probably go talk to The Keeper, break the news of my unscheduled vacation to her gently. She’ll be devastated, you know.”
“Oh yeah, inconsolable.”
“She’ll need a shoulder to cry on.” Darien looked right at Hobbes.
Slight pause. “It’s my turn to get the girl,” Hobbes joked as he quickened his pace. Darien increased his speed as well. Before they knew it, it was a race to the lab, barely won by Lithium Bob.
“Ha!” Hobbes chuckled as Darien swipped his security card through the lock. Both men entered the lab and found The Keeper sitting in front of her computer.
“Hey doc, how’s it going?” Darien asked as he walked to the refrigerator, opened the door and removed his lunch.
Claire spun around in her chair to face the men. “No.”
Darien looked at her with disbelief and held up his lunch. “What’s wrong with yogurt? It’s nutritious, delicious and tastes like--”
“I just got off the phone with The Official.” She pointed at Darien. “You’re not supposed to be here, and you know it. And I know you, you’re about to ask me for a quick shot of counteragent, which I will not give you. I’ve broken enough rules for you and Hobbes.”
“But I--” Darien started, pulling up his sleeve.
“No buts.” Claire got up and made the door open. “Out.” She watched as Darien paced out, head held low, while Hobbes followed close behind.
“I’m not even close to needing a shot!” He called as the door closed behind him.
“Now what, Inviso Boy?” Hobbes quirked.
After somehow convincing Hobbes to go home, Darien headed back to his apartment to see if Tyler had successful settled in for a while. He walked in to see three six-packs on the kitchen table and a rented copy of Star Wars by the TV.
“We never finished it, man.” Tyler stepped out of the bathroom, dressed in his normal attire. Even though it had been years since they last saw eachother, Darien could have sworn that he remembered Tyler wearing that t-shirt.
He smiled. “Yeah, if I remember right, you were still confused about the whole bar scene. How did Ben Kanobi pull that trick off anyway?”
Darien paused, doubt in his mind. It was true that he drank a little alcohol, one or two beers, since the gland had been put in his head, but would that little sucker be able to handle an overload? Or would it cause that pesky penial gland to act up again and mess with his view of reality? Either way, this was gonna be one hell of an evening.
“You know, I always had a thing for Carrie Fisher.” Tyler was long gone. Between the two of them, they had finshed two out of the three six-packs and were down to only two beers left.
Darien laughed. “Naw, you had a thing for Vader, I know it.” He started rubbing his wrist absentmindedly. “It’s the voice, isn’t it?”
“Shut up, man!” Tyler threw an empty beer can Darien’s way, which he more or less dodged. Then, they both fell to the ground, laughing.
“I’m so gonna feel this in the morning,” Darien stated while taking off his watch. The tattoo monitor had begun to itch, and he did not want his watch over it now. “I don’t know which will be worse: this hangover or one of those pesky little Quicksilver madness migraines that I get.” He threw his watch on the table and started to stand up. A task that had suddenly become impossible for him. He staggered and fell again. “Aw crap.”
Tyler laughed. “Dude, what the hell is Quicksilver madness?”
Think fast, Darien, he thought. Gotta be smooth with this answer. “It’s a government experiment thing.” Damn it. Note to self: learn to shut up when drunk.
“You’re such a jerk,” Tyler said, startling Darien. “If ya don’t wanna tell me, make up a good reason, not this government shit. Fine, just tell me when the hell you got a tattoo. I thought you hated the idea of needles.”
“Ain’t it cool?” Darien said, holding up his wrist. “It tells me when I’m running low of counteragent.” Aw crap, he thought. Why am I so open mouthed?
“Dude, I’m not falling for this government crap. You couldn’t lie to me in juvi and you can’t lie to me now. I’m too good.”
“You think I’m lying? Check this out.” As he said that, Darien totally regretted it. However, his motor functions and adrenaline levels were not running on logic now, and so despite what his inner conscious told him, Darien could feel the cool metallic tingle of quicksilver begin to coat his body. Before the monotone glaze fell over his world, Darien caught a glimpse of the shocked look on his friend’s face.
“Okay, I must be drunker than I thought, because I can’t see you, Fawkes.”
“That’s because I’m invisible,” Darien decided to just spill the whole story. “Kevin had a little fun with his Mr. Scientist Chemistry Set.”
“Can you do that whenever you want?”
“Oh yeah, and sometimes when I don’t want.”
Tyler waved his hand in front of him, trying to catch a feel of his friend. Darien, being drunk, considered this a perfect chance to get Tyler back for the teenage prank of putting shaving cream in his hair. A big no-no in his book. Slowly and silently, Darien managed to stand up and creep next to his friend. Stifling a giggle, he stretched out his arms and grabbed Tyler around the waist.
Tyler immediately jumped to his feet, reached under his shirt, and pulled out the gun that Darien had failed to notice before now. “Damn it, Darien. Don’t do that!” He screamed while constantly pivoting on his heels, looking for a target.
“When the hell did you get a gun, Tyler?” Darien asked as he let the quicksilver flake away into nothingness.
“The moment all this shit started. Got scared, bought a weapon. Can you blame me?”
“No, but for the time being,” Darien took the gun from his friend and coated it with quicksilver. “Just until you’re a little more sober.”
“Wait, you can do that to anything?”
“Yeah, why do you ask?”
Tyler suddenly let a huge grin consume his face. Aw crap, Darien thought. I haven’t seen that grin since the last bright idea he had. Please don’t let this be another wild pig/Jewish convention idea.
“It’s time for fun, my fine Fawkesy man.”
The next morning, Darien woke up with two problems. One, he had a killer hangover and two, the monitor tattoo was itching like crazy. As he looked at it, he noticed that less than a quarter of the scales were red. Darien pondered this occurrence. “It’s the same as--”
His thoughts on that matter stopped when the memories of the previous night came rushing back. He dipped his head in shame as he walked to the shower, carefully stepping over Tyler, who was still clutching the trophy in his sleep. Even in their drunken stupor, both of them had possessed enough sense not to betray their respective bosses: Darien could not get caught stealing, again, and Tyler was not allowed to do a job without Mr. Galatea’s consent. Therefore, Tyler had suggested going out on the town and scaring the crap out of people. They had walked around town, while Darien had quicksilvered his arms, introducing themselves to people and watching their reactions. They had stopped at random corner shops, and Darien would quicksilver the cash register, then they would sit back and watch the chaos ensue, all the while giggling.
All of this had been fun, until while passing by a strip bar, Tyler had insisted on going inside. It had been amateur night with a $500 prize on the line, open to all contestants. While sitting down and ordering drinks, Tyler suddenly got the strangest idea. “Dude, you could do that.”
“What? Make a fool of myself?” Darien pointed at the stage. “Cause that’s what she’s doing right now.”
“But seriously, you would win.”
The waitress brought their drinks, two Irish Car Bombs, and gave Darien the once-over. As she walked away, she gave a coy little smile.
Tyler took a quick chug from his drink and continued. “See? The women would love you.”
Darien had turned to his friend. “Only if you go up with me.” Those seven magic words started it all.
Now, as Darien stood under the hot water of the shower, he hoped upon hopes that the water would somehow wash away those memories. They had won, but only after Tyler had thrown a bowl of flour from the kitchen in the air, and Darien had “disappeared” under the cloud, creating their own little magic show along with the strip tease. Everyone in the bar had been too drunk to question how the Great Inviso-Duo really worked.
He stepped out of the shower and quickly got dressed. Gently kicking Tyler on the floor, he woke his friend. “Hey, I’m going shopping. You want anything?”
“Tylenol.” Tyler grumbled. “And Bayer. And Excedrin. Something to kill this marching band in my head.”
“Got it. Be back in a minute.”
Darien stepped out the door and headed to the supermarket down the street, completely oblivious to the three creeps lingering around his building’s door.
In the market, Darien started to reminise about the old days with Tyler. As he strolled down the aisles, he remembered their nicknames. D&T: The New Explosive. No one could cross one of them without the other getting volatile and going Vesuvius on their ass. It had been their time, their era.
Until Tyler was moved to a different facility. Darien had been inconsolable after that. They did not even tell him where Tyler had been taken. He just woke up one morning and found his best friend gone.
Well, that was not about to happen again. Darien was going to look after his buddy and make sure that he got this whole situation worked out. He went to look at his watch to see how long he had been at the market, but remembered that he had taken his watch off. Looking at his tattoo, he still could not figure out why there were more green bands than red, considering how much quicksilver he had used last night.
Darien paid for his groceries and started to head home, still thinking about his past joys with Tyler. While he was walking, the tattoo still itched like crazy, but he could not figure why. Also, his hangover started to kick in, a little stronger than usual, but that was expected with the exercise and the bright sunlight. He paid no attention to it.
He rounded the corner to his apartment building and got the feeling that something was wrong. Picking up his pace, he bounded up the stairs and barged into his home, dropping the bag of groceries on the way.
His place was a mess. Furniture overturned, paper everywhere, tv smashed in. Deep in his mind, Darien was thinking, Great, what am I gonna do on Friday nights now? But first, he had to find his friend.
“Tyler?” He called out. “You hiding?”
When there was no answer, Darien figured that his old “pal” had ransacked the place and took off. He was just about to leave, when he heard a small gasp for air from his bedroom. Dashing in, Darien tried to convince himself that what he saw before him was not real. But it was.
There Tyler lay, bleeding to death. Just by looking at the blood stains on his shirt, Darien guessed that his friend had been shot at least six times.
“Darien,” Tyler’s once boisterous voice was reduced to a shattered whisper. He then said something that Darien could not decipher.
Darien moved closer to his friend, who was lying on his bed. As he did, Tyler’s eyes grew wide, almost panicky. Then, he repeated his lost phrase with more urgency: “Don’t!”
At the moment, strong hands clasped around Darien’s throat, catching him by surprise. Despite his struggling, Darien could not break free of the monsterous grip. So, he did the only thing one can do in that type of situation. One high kick backwards and the guy was down for the count. That’s when the other two guys stepped out of the shadows of the closet, guns in hand. Darien’s instincts took over, and he ran out of the apartment.
“Catch him, you idiots!” The man called from the floor as he was slowly getting up. The two others took off after Darien, with the first slowly following behind them. When they stepped out of the door, they could not see him anywhere.
“Where’d he go, Lorus?” One of the lackeys turned to their leader.
“No idea,” Lorus stated, while still walking slowly. “But if we don’t find him, Mr. Galatea will be really pissed off. Split up. Shoot on sight, cause we can’t let him get word to any cops.” With that, the three of them headed down the stairs, prepared to go their own separate ways.
When they were clearly out of sight, Darien became visible again. He had never left his own apartment, merely quicksilvered as he ran. Now, despite the increasing pain of his hangover, he hurried back to his bed where Tyler lay, grasping to the final strains of life he had.
“Hold on, man. I’ll get you help.” Darien looked at at Tyler’s face, and knew that no help could possibly make a difference. His friend was going to die, and there was nothing he could do. Except... “Tyler, where do those goons report to Galatea?”
Tyler strained to speak. “His apartment. 56 Manchurian Avenue......10L.”
“Don’t worry man. They’ll pay for this one.” Darien was already thinking of the vengeance he would invoke for Tyler’s sake. He was not thinking straight.
Tyler gave a weak smile. “Stay in the shadows, Fawkes.”
“Remember your time.” Darien choked out.
Tyler paused. “Damn it, Darien. What the hell is happening to your eyes?” Those were his last words. One final gasp of air, and he was gone.
Darien sat there, looking at the inanimate body of his childhood friend, for what seemed like hours. It didn’t seem real. Tyler was never supposed to die. Not the Amazing Tyler, who somehow managed to steal the keys to his parol officer’s car when they were bored, or always found a way to make Darien laugh, no matter how upset he was.
Darien looked at the snake on his wrist with his now perfectly crimson eyes. Still only a fourth of the way full.
“I guess excess alcohol messes with the monitor.” Darien said to no one and everyone. “Too bad.” He stood up and walked to the door. 56 Manchurian Avenue. Time to play.
“They say that revenge is the driving force of evil, with only common sense to restrain it. It’s amazing what happens when the common sense vanishes, and the revenge is all that is present. As I quickly learned, pure instinct is an incredible driving force as well.”
With his sunglasses on, Darien walked out of his building and headed toward Manchurian. Despite his dangerous gait, all appeared to be normal, until Hobbes decided to visit.
“Fawkes,” he called while trying to catch up. “Fawkes, would you wait a minute?”
Darien paused, and turned to face Hobbes. “What do you want, little man?”
Bobby was taken aback. “Little man? Might I remind you who you are talking to. Bobby Hobbes doesn’t take well to being called ‘little man.’”
“Oh well, he’d better get used to it. Now leave me alone. I got business to take care of.”
“Business? You’re on suspension. You shouldn’t have any business unless we know about it.”
Darien started to walk away again, but Hobbes grabbed his arm, causing him to whip back around. He moved so fast that the sunglasses slid down his nose just enough that Hobbes fully saw his eyes. Those red globes that belonged to a demon, not his partner.
“How could you get so far, Fawkes? You weren’t supposed to use the quicksilver.”
Darien ripped his arm from Hobbes grasp and punched him with the same fist. As Robert fell to the ground, Darien looked down at him. “Like I said, leave me alone.” With that, he started off again, walking a little faster than before.
On the pavement, Hobbes reached for his cell phone and dialed the Fish and Game number. “Connect me with the Keeper.”
56 Manchurian. A huge building with lots of guards.
“What’s a guy to do?” Darien smiled as he let the chilling quicksilver glide over his body. Screw the counteragent, this was going to be fun.
He entered the building unseen and headed toward the elevator. The one other person in the elevator never noticed him, not even when the lift unexplainably stopped on the tenth floor. Darien headed toward 10L, sunglasses now removed and intent shining in his solid red eyes.
Calmly, he knocked on the door. This apartment, or rather, this penthouse, looked as though it should be owned by Bruce Wayne, not some low-key demonic crime boss. Everything about it looked clean. Spotless windows, white carpeting outside, even the door was white and unmarked by fingerprints.
The butler answered the door. Figures, Darien thought. Leave it to Jeebes to do all the dirty work.
“May I help--” Then, the butler got a good look at the man in front of him.
“What do you mean, there was another guy?” Galatea was more than upset. “I send you to take care of a simple security leak, and now there’s another guy that knows who I am and saw your faces.”
Lorus looked at Mr. Stephan Galatea. This guy was half his size, yet he had a aura around him that just screamed “Fear me.” Despite the fact that Lorus could break Galatea in half, the big man just stood in fear, awaiting his punishment.
“You had better find this guy. Otherwise--”
“Excuse me, sir.” The butler walked in, stiff as a board. “I think we have a problem.”
“What is it, Fredrick?”
Suddenly, an unseen force picked up Fredrick and threw him across the room. Galatea and Lorus watched as Darien suddenly appeared before them.
“That’s the guy!” Lorus cried.
“Ding ding,” Darien started walking toward Galatea. “Give the man a prize. So, you’re the son-of-a-bitch who ordered my friend to die.”
The boss pointed at Darien. “Get him,” he said nonchalantly to Lorus. And the big man went after Fawkes.
Despite Lorus’ size advantage, the fact that Darien was working off of pure animalistic instinct made him the better fighter. For every punch that Lorus could throw, Darien dodged and hit with his own. Finally, Fawkes threw one massive jab to Lorus’ stomach. The force of the hit caused him to stumble backwards, and Darien watched as the giant man crashed through the window and fell ten floors to the street below. Darien walked to the window to see the broken body below.
“Who the hell are you?” Galatea asked while slowly pulling a gun from under his own jacket.
Darien did not answer. Instead, he dislodges a piece of broken glass from the window and turned to face Galatea. There he stood, face to barrel with a .35 Smith and Wesson. His shoulders hunched slightly, so despite his height, he looked like a crazed animal.
Fawkes raised his gaze so that he stared into Stephan’s eyes. For the first time, Galatea really saw his opponent. Those blood red eyes bore into him, actually giving him the creeps.
“What are you gonna do?” Darien asked, his voice calm and collected. Then, without warning, he swung his arm around, slashing Galatea’s hand and causing him to drop the gun. The unarmed man now gripped his hand tightly and tried to run away. However, the quicksilver madness took full hold, and Galatea never made it to the door.
Darien pounced. Holding the glass shard in his hand, he lept onto Galatea’s back, knocking him down, and began pummeling his victim. Stephan tried to free himself, but his stuggling had no effect. Finally, Darien got bored of beating the crap out of him. He raised the glass shard high above his head, preparing to slam it down between Galatea’s vertebrae.
And was stopped by a needle into his neck. The last thing he saw before he passed out was the concerned faces of Claire and Hobbes.
Darien awoke in the lab, surrounded by familiar faces. However, the previous look of concern had been replaced by disappointment.
“I hope you’re happy,” the Keeper said to him. “Your little drinking party completely upset to monitor. I had to reconfigure the entire thing so that alcohol would not block the concentration readings.”
Darien looked over at Hobbes. Bobby now had a bruise on his lower jaw, but it was nothing to be upset about. Or so Darien thought.
“The moment you get up,” Bobby started. “You’re going down. I am taking you down, my friend, ‘cause Bobby Hobbes doesn’t take that from nobody.”
“What happened to Tyler?” Darien was not listening to Hobbes. “Did you--”
“We’re taking care of it.” Ebert said from the doorway. “Even in your madness state, you helped the Agency’s reputation by hunting down this know criminal, and so we managed to find it in the budget to give your friend a descent burial.”
“How’d you do that?” Hobbes asked.
“Sorry, Hobbes. No vacation for you this year.” The Official chimed in.
Three weeks later, Darien was finally able to visit Tyler’s grave. He was doing that a lot lately, visiting graves.
“I’m sorry,” he said to the tombstone. “I should have done something better. I just don’t know what.”
Darien looked up from the grave and notice that it was not too far from where his brother was buried. Next stop, he thought. He took one last look at the grave marker: “Tyler Bardeaux. 1966-2000. The End of An Era.”
“Goodbye, man. Remember your time.” With that, Darien got up and walked away.
“It is difficult to fight against anger, for man will buy revenge with his soul. A heavy price, but one that some will freely give. Me? I went bankrupt with this sale, for I nearly lost it all and gained nothing back but pain. Guess that’s what happens when you overdraw from the bank of life.”
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