ANGEL OF THE BRONX
A.N. I'm going to hell for this chapter so I'm apologizing ahead of time. (jumps into hatch to escape fangirl wrath). The room was still uncomfortably cold despite the blanket covering his back, shoulders, and almost wrapping around his drawn up knees. Murphy shuddered violently, tugging harder on the coarse material in attempt to pull it fully around his aching limbs. Nothing had noticeably changed since the last time he had been in here. The rust shaded brick walls surrounding a cold, grey, cement floor could have been found in any basement in the States. Granted, someone had seemed to take the liberty of hosing down the bloody walls and floor without bothering to dry them afterwards. Murphy could feel the dampness soaking easily through the blanket and his boxers. Leaning against the corner farthest from the door, he closed his eyes in surrender. A steady stream of tremors racked through him, bringing with them an encompassing pain throughout his body, particularly along his joints. He felt everything. The extended stay in his dark, crawl space prison had activated a hypersensitivity to all his senses. Even through the blanket, he could feel the rough edges of the bricks scratch along his back and sides. The light from the swinging lamp burned through his eyelids. The sounds of traffic or machinery echoed past the brick, louder then it should have been. Was there traffic last time I was here?Murphy thought to himself, pulling himself further into a ball to escape the temperature and noise. He found he couldn't remember and immediately gave up caring. The man he had first been in this room was gone. Replace irrevocably by...Who? Murphy thought to himself, not for the first time, who have I become? "Yer a coward", the first voice in his mind provided. Oddly enough, it sounded like Connor. Opening his eyes, Murphy was unsurprised to see his twin leaning against the opposite corner of the room. Hard, angry, blue eyes stared back at his behind a film of cigarette smoke. Connor, or rather his spirit, took a long drag before flicking a few stray embers to the side. Murphy forced himself to sit up, matching his twins glare with one of his own. "Wha' did ye call me?" he demanded. "A coward," replied Connor, standing up himself, "A fuckin' pansy. Wha' would Da think of ye now? Ma? Yer a disgrace to the fa-" "Shut up, Connor!" Murphy screamed suddenly, unable to take it any longer. His twin had taken his own personal thoughts and them against him, "Shut up! Shut up! Shut the fuck up!" He bent his head onto his knees, covering his hands with his ears like he'd done as a small boy. Shame rolled off him in waves as he began to rock back and forth. He didn't even notice the blanket had slipped from his shoulders into a pile surrounding him. "Tis not that ye got caught," Connor's voice was in his ears and in his head, "Tis tha' ye left me. Brothers are suppose ta take care of each other, Murph. Where were ya? Yer were suppose ta have my back, Murph. You let me die alone." "Stop! Fer the love o' God, shut up," Murph begged, clenching his eyes tighter against the tears threatening to break through, "I tried, Connor, Christ I tried. He'll kill Smecker if I don't... I can't have another body on me con-" "He killed me," Connor replied, "Wha's one more body on yer road ta hell, Murphy?" Murphy shuddered. Connor only called him his full name when he was serious, or angry. Murphy felt his shoulder tighten as he pulled himself into a tighter ball. He couldn't bear to look up. To see Connor's face bearing down on him with righteous fury. He knew he deserved his brother's wrath. He had failed him, their mission, God Himself. On the same token, though, he also couldn't bear to look up and find nothing there. "Did you even bother ta ask forgiveness?" Connor continued to berate him, "Did the thought even cross-" "Leave him alone," another male voice sounded, echoing through Murph. It was gruffer then Connor's, a reflection of the man who owned it. Murph felt rather then saw the owner of the voice approach him and squat down beside him. His sensation of Connor had vanished entirely, making him feel all the more miserable. Angry though he was, Connor was still his brother. "Got yerself in a real fucking pickle, eh Murphy?" the voice sounded beside him, giving Murph the impression the man was looking around the cell, "Fuck me, a big fucking pickle." "Not ta put too fine a point on it," Murphy replied, supressing the sudden urge to grin. The tension throughout his body seemed to ease. Though he couldn't feel any skin, he sensed the man had put his hand cautiously on his shoulders. "Look at me, Murphy," the man said. Murphy shook his head. "Murph, it's not like we got a lot of time. I need you to look at me," the man insisted, though there was a startling patience to his voice. "Ye won' be there," Murphy replied, beginning to rock again, "Yer jus' a fuckin' figment, cause I've gone fuckin' mad." A equally patient sigh followed, added by, "Yeah, you jumped on the loony bin wagon a long time ago. Doesn't mean I'm any less real. Besides, I couldn't talk to you if you weren't." Murphy found himself opening his eyes at the confession. Cautiously, he lifted his head and glanced to his right. Rocco was looking at him, an almost sad smile on his face. His old friend looked far better then the last time he had seen him. The bloodied torn white shirt had been replaced with a simple grey one beneath a pea-jacket tailored to fit. The jacket itself seemed far more expensive then anything the crazy Italian could have afforded in life. "Jesus," Rocco said, the smile falling as he took in Murphy's appearance, "You look like shit." "Thanks Roc," Murphy replied dryly, slipping into the old banter as though he were no longer flirting with the brink, "Can't say ye looked much better last time I saw ya." "No," Rocco replied, the sadness from his previous smile colouring his tone, "I suppose not." Murphy felt a wave of guilt flood through him. He could still remember the feel of his friend's last gurgling breath. The feel of his spirit leaving its body while he was bound helpless to stop it. A day had not yet passed when he didn't think of what he could have done, what he should of done. Now he was going to fail again. "Hey, stop," Rocco called out, as though knowing what Murphy was thinking, "There was not one fucking thing you could have done to stop the son of bitch, short of magically jumping in front of the bullet, and if you had...God knows that would have been a disaster." "Why's tha', Roc?" Murphy replied, still unable to let go of his dark thoughts. "Cause I fucking sucked at shooting," Rocco replied without a hint of humor. Murphy snorted. The snort became a chuckle. The chuckle became a laugh. It wasn't long before the laugh became sobbing. "I can't do it, Roc," Murphy gasped, "I can't die...I can't...I can't k-ki..." Rocco, for his part, looked aghast as if he had no idea what to do. Suddenly, out of nowhere, he pulled back and smacked the crying Irishman across the face. Murphy jerked in surprise. He had heard the smack, seen the movement, but felt nothing. Putting his hand up, he rubbed the several weeks worth of beard growth, surprised not to feel stinging. "Get a fucking hold of yourself, Murphy," Rocco breathed, sounding as surprised with himself as Murphy was, "Look, I told you we don't have much time. The only reason I'm still here is the Big Guy," he glanced upward momentarily and crossed himself, "Owes me a favor. Now listen, helps coming." "I know tha'," Murphy interrupted. "Not Smecker," Rocco replied. "Than who?" Rocco opened his mouth to reply, then hesitated. "Roc?" "I can't tell you," the dead Italian replied, "Some big cosmic free will bullshit...just...it's in the cards for you to live, but you have to be willing to keep trying. Murphy, don't let this mother fucker get to you! Don't trust him. Don't believe. Help is..." The cell door opened. Murphy looked at his captor as the man walked into the room. He felt a small tingle crawl up from the bottom of his spine, growing colder the higher it went. There was something in the man's eyes not there before. A twinkle of unstoppable savageness he'd never seen before. The small hope that rose from Rocco's visit crashed to a fiery death in the pit of his stomach. "Parlando a noi ora?" the man spoke, slowly making his way towards Murphy. Great, thought Murphy, Back to Italian. "Lei sa, alcuni dei pił barbari trattamenti erano talvolta pensato come psicologico cure," the man continued. Suddenly, the man lunged at Murphy. Before the Irishman could stop him, the man grabbed a hold of his ankles. Yanking Murphy forward with viscious strength, he began to drag him out of the room. "NO! STOP! YOU PROMISED! Lei ha promesso!" Murphy screamed, thrashing wildly. His arms and back dragged against the smooth concrete, giving him nothing to grab hold of. The man said nothing, glancing back momentarily at the door. Twisting right sharply, he pulled Murphy's legs back out from under him, sending the man spinning head first against the wall. A flash of pain and the room began to spin around Murphy. He could feel the man drop his legs and somewhere in the back of his mind he knew he had to get away. Try as he might, however, his arms and legs couldn't seem to work. He felt the man put his arms underneath his, wrapping around his chest. He groaned as the man hefted him up and dragged him from the room. Cool metal ran against his wrist, followed by a clinking sound, and the floor falling away from him. A humming sounded not far from him. The air smelled of ozone. He blinked his eyes in time to see the man pointing a metallic rod towards him. Fire erupted across his body. Pain. Then darkness. A.N.C. I told you I was going to hell. But I couldn't let the story go by without involving Rocco! If Duffy can do it, so can I. Anyway, I hope you all enjoyed it nonetheless. So please review...please? Translations Parlando a noi ora- talking to yourself now? Lei sa, alcuni dei pił barbari trattamenti erano talvolta pensato come psicologico cure.- You know, some of the most barbaric treatments were sometimes thought of as psychological cures. Lei ha promesso- you promised
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