#which felt like sisyphus rolling his boulder up that hill but sure whatever

[nazumichi]

speaking of, do the words “spiderwick chronicles” ring a bell for anyone at all

[deskgirl]

Fic: Devil of a Job

[[Rise of the Guardians Fanfiction

AU: Undercover/Dark Guardians: Kozmotis is an undercover DEA agent, infiltrating the Man in the Moon’s network of crime. The various organizations are headed by Sandman, Toothiana, North, and Bunnymund. As Kozmotis poses as Pitch Black in an attempt to stop MiM and his spread of the dangerous drug, Dream Dust, his only help comes in the form of a genius serial killer known as Jack Frost. All credit goes to KSClaw.

Summary: Sequel to “Face to Face With the Devil,” (which has recently been revised). Kozmotis is presented with a seemingly impossible task, but with the help of the devil, he might pull it off.

Warning: Descriptions of gore and violence.]]

     Kozmotis let himself into his darkened apartment. He slid the deadbolt into place and slumped against the door with a sigh of exhaustion. When he’d agreed to work this undercover mission, he’d had no idea what the job would require—how drained it would leave him each day. He felt like he wasn’t getting anywhere. He had no idea where the Dream Dust was being made or how it was being moved. Sandman was very careful what he let his lackey “Pitch Black” see or know about the Man in the Moon’s operations. And now this meeting… He made his way to the kitchen without bothering to turn on the lights. He didn’t feel hungry, but he knew he hadn’t eaten since breakfast.

     “You’re finally back,” a voice said from the dark.

     Kozmotis threw himself backwards and felt his hip connect with the counter. Then he recognized the voice. He wished he didn’t; it had begun to haunt him in his sleep lately.

      “You’re not supposed to be here, Jack. You’ll blow my cover,” Kozmotis said. He reached over to turn on the light above the kitchen sink.

      Jack Frost sat at the breakfast bar, the infamous serial killer with the face of a child. When Kozmotis met him several months ago, at that packing building by the docks, he’d thought he was just a boy. There was an innocence to his face despite the blood coating his hands and the terrible things that came out of his mouth. But Kozmotis knew better now: he was too intelligent, too world-weary. He was no child.

      Jack was wearing medical gloves to avoid leaving fingerprints in the apartment, and he was playing with one of the larger kitchen knives from the knife block Kozmotis kept by the stove. He smiled and set it down when he saw Kozmotis tense up.

      “Don’t worry, officer, I’m not here to kill you. You went to see my friend Sandy today, didn’t you?”

      Kozmotis nodded.

      “What did he want?”

      “He wants me to kill you,” Kozmotis said. “Man in the Moon’s tasked him with making you disappear, and he gave the job to me.”

      Jack looked practically delighted by the news. “Interesting. Either Sandy has more faith in your abilities than we realized, or he’s just that desperate. Perhaps he doesn’t think you’ll succeed at all; you’re just bait for a hook. To your credit, though, you did a great job the other week. With that fire? You have a real talent for arson, officer. It’s too bad you lack the passion for the career. I can’t imagine Sandy would just throw you away. Maybe it was Moon’s order to put you on the job, then. You know, like a test. Let’s hope so. Could mean good things for you.”

      “You seem to be taking this all rather well,” Kozmotis said. “But what am I supposed to do?”

      Jack became very still as he thought about it, and his words were weighted when he spoke: “You could always try to kill me. I wouldn’t hold it against you, although I think we both know how it would end.”

      Kozmotis glanced down at the knife in front of Jack, then shook his head. “Come on, Jack, you agreed to help me because you think I’m smart. I’m not going to make a dumb move like that. Right now, you’re the only support I have. I’ve got no contacts in law enforcement because it’d be too risky. I need your intel and your protection. I don’t stand a chance otherwise. Whatever goes down between us after this mission is over, we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.”

      “I look forward to it,” Jack said.

      Kozmotis felt a shiver run up his spine. Jack really did sound like he was excited by the notion. “In the meantime, I have to find some way to fake your death well enough to convince Sandman and the Man in the Moon. And they’re both scrutinizing crime lords who’ve dealt with plenty of cheats, liars, and narcs. I’m a DEA agent, not James Bond.” Kozmotis scrubbed at his face with a hand. He felt stretched thin.

      “I don’t see why you’re so concerned,” Jack said.

      Kozmotis gave him an incredulous look.

      Jack stood on the bar stool, climbed up to sit on the breakfast bar, and then swung his legs over so he could face Kozmotis. He was wearing sneakers that didn’t look to be his style or size. They likely served the same purpose as his gloves. “You don’t need to worry about a thing, because I’m going to handle this. I’ve always wanted to fake my own death. It’s so cloak and dagger. Plus there’s nothing more interesting than our own mortality, don’t you think? How much we can endure and how easily we can die in turns. And how history forgets some of us but makes immortals of others.”

      Jack looked at Kozmotis conspiratorially. “No one is ever going to forget me. I’ve made sure of it.”

      “I can think of a few people who would prefer to forget you.”

      “Oh? Like you?” Jack teased.

      “I meant like the Man in the Moon.”

      “That’s the best part, don’t you see? I’ve been nipping at Moon’s nose lately, so he’s been nipping at my heels. If he thinks I’m dead, he’ll stop worrying about me, and he’ll drop his guard, which is good for the both of us. Moon thinks he’s the big dog in the neighborhood. Likes to bark and snap at me, but he doesn’t realize he’s baring his teeth at a wolf. By the time he realizes his mistake, I’m gonna have my fangs in his neck.

      “Now, you just leave my death to me. I’ll handle all the details. In a couple of days, you’ll receive a call from me with specific instructions. Do everything I say to the letter, and don’t waste my time with questions, understand?”

      Kozmotis hesitated, then nodded.

      “Good.” Jack grabbed an apple out of the fruit bowl, and hopped off the counter.

    “Oh, you’re running low on milk,” Jack said before he stuck the apple in his mouth, undid the door lock, and let himself out.

    Jack’s plan, when he finally called to tell Kozmotis about it, was rather clever. If grotesque. Jack gave him a list of materials to acquire and the best way to obtain them without leaving a trail for the police to follow. The list included a shovel.

    Kozmotis called Sandman when the job was done, and they arranged to meet in a parking lot with minimum security that evening. Kozmotis had expected a limo or something. Instead, the car that drove up and parked beside him was a sleek 1930s Bugatti 4-seater all in black with gold trim and tinted windows. A classic luxury car.

    Kozmotis got out of his vehicle and walked over. A window rolled down to reveal one of Sandman’s assistants. He sat on the far side and used the assistant as a mouthpiece, like always.

    “Hello Pitch. I hear you have good news for me,” the assistant said. They wore gold eyeshadow that made their eyes seem dark and delicate, and matching gold lipstick.

    Kozmotis reached into his jacket slowly and withdrew a packet of photos. “Proof’s all there, including the negatives.” He handed it over to the assistant who opened the packet and handed the individual photos over to Sandman.

    Kozmotis remembered his shock when Jack had shown him the pressurized, stainless steel vat. “It’s for beer,” Jack had explained. “Well, not today it isn’t. Today it’ll be for sodium hydroxide. You know what sodium hydroxide does, right? You’re DEA. You know what cartels like to do with bodies. I hope you remembered that disposable camera I asked for.”

    Sandman flipped through the photos. A before photo of Jack Frost laying on cold, cracked cement. His face was blank, his eyes wide and pale as ice. He was much more animated in the next photo: the one of him trying to climb out of the vat with his hands tied while a clear liquid was poured on top of him. It was just hot water. Jack had been pleased when he saw the steam show up in the photos. “It has to look like it’s boiling hot. Lye baths take forever to dissolve bodies if the liquid isn’t heated properly.”

    The photo after that was far more progressed. That photo had real sodium hydroxide and a real dead body, although it wasn’t Jack’s, and it wasn’t much of a body anymore. Kozmotis had been understandably upset about the body. After all, he didn’t know how Jack had gotten it, and Jack wouldn’t say. He just smiled. Explained that it was important that the body be the same build and weight and height, and such things weren’t easy to find. “He’s already dead. You can’t do much about it now,” Jack had pointed out before having Kozmotis help him lift it into the vat.

    The next photo was in a new location: somewhere with hills and grass and nothing much else in sight. Kozmotis and Jack had drained the vat into stainless steel barrels and driven them out of the city where Kozmotis had been put to work digging a pit deep enough to pour all the evidence. It had taken a long time for everything to seep down into the ground. Fine bits of bone had been left behind. Kozmotis had broken them up with the blade of his shovel before filling the pit in. But not before he took the last photo.

    “This is officially the worst thing I’ve ever done,” Kozmotis had said. “If I was going to be involved in someone’s murder,  I should have just killed you for real.”

    “Oh come now,” Jack had replied, “I’m sure you’ll do plenty of equally horrible things in the future. Give yourself some credit! And besides, if it eases your conscience, keeping me alive keeps you alive, and the longer you live, the more people you may save down the road. Which, frankly, feels like a bit of a Sisyphus and the boulder deal to me, but you go ahead and waste your short life however you want.”

    The assistant leaned towards Sandman as he spoke in a hushed voice. “I’m impressed,” Sandman’s assistant said. “You’ve really outdone yourself, Pitch. I assume you were careful about getting and disposing of everything you used?”

    “Meticulous,” Kozmotis said. “If you could, please, apologize to Miss Toothiana for me in advance. I’m willing to guess she’ll be disappointed I didn’t save any of his teeth, but I wanted to make sure there wasn’t any DNA evidence left behind.”

    Sandman raised a curious eyebrow as to what that meant, so Kozmotis elaborated, “People talk. Even people who are good at keeping quiet. I know that she had some sort of history with Jack Frost, and she showed me her trophy jewelry when you sent me to deliver some information about transport dates to her office.”

    Sandman whispered to his assistant, and they spoke: “I don’t approve of Toothiana’s hobby. Teeth are as good as bodies if the police find her collection. You did the right thing.” A pause as Sandman handed the photos back to the assistant to reseal in the envelope. “I’m impressed, Pitch. I’m sure the Man in the Moon will be, too. I’ll send this along to him. He’ll be glad to know that little thorn in his side is gone. By the time you get home, you’ll find payment for the job in your personal account. Keep your phone on hand at all times: you might receive an important call soon. This was big, Pitch. I’m proud of you.”

    The assistant bowed their head slightly and rolled the window up, signifying the end of the conversation. Then the Bugatti reversed and pulled away, leaving Kozmotis to stand in the dark of the parking lot alone. He looked out at the congested downtown streets, the old hotels with their classical architecture standing beside sleek new business buildings, and then he looked up. The moon was barely a sliver, like an eye cracked open to peek through its eyelashes coyly at the world, spying on all the little people down below. Kozmotis felt like it was looking right through him. He felt small and thin and transparent. He realized with a sudden clarity that he might make it out of this alive in the end, but he wouldn’t be the same person when he did. He was already changing. Already someone different. And there was no going back now.

[disciple-of-justice-blog]

Jar of Hearts

A memory about one of their loved ones, happy or sad 

The little two-bedroom Chicago apartment they lived in was small enough that he could hear someone sneeze in the living room all the way from the bedroom which he and his older sister shared and most of the time Adeel at eight years old paid no heed to noise unless it was his mother yelling his full name (he was in deep trouble then) or calling them out for lunch and dinner. There was one sound that never failed to get him up from his bed where he sat watching the streets outside from his window however; the thin plinkety-plink of coins in glass. He would open the door as quietly as he would and tiptoed over to the thin wall that separated the cramped living room from the kitchenette where he would watch his father hunch down near one of the cupboards with a glass jar that was slowly filling up with money. It seemed an odd thing to do---they were almost always without money, his mother would dither about the rice running out or having no flour for paratha bread and all father would tell her was to cook for three instead of four. At first it seemed as though they were all to eat less, but it became clear over several nights that what father meant was to leave him out of dinner entirely. Yet there was money sitting in the jar while the man starved, and Adeel couldn't make heads or tails of why. 

He told Amira about it and they both took out the jar one day when father and mother were out working and laid out the small mountain of coins and dollar bills on the floor. Amira was older and she knew how to count to a hundred and perfected her timetables which he still stumbled over, so she could count a lot faster than he could; he simply sorted out the bills from the quarters and the quarters from the dimes. 

"Five-hundred and ninety-five." Said his sister in a whisper as they took a step back looked at the neatly-stacked rows of coins and notes in awe. "That's so much." "How much is that in candy?" Adeel whispered back---to an eight-year old, a hundred dollars could buy the world what more five. 

She didn't have the time to give him an answer, as the doorknob to their unit rattled and turned; the realisation of how many hours had passed crashed upon them and the reverence turned to panic as they tried to jam everything back into the jar and store it in the cabinet but they'd only gotten as far as screwing the lid on again when father walked in. The silence when he saw the two of them looking guilty as sin was awkward and he was the first to speak up in his weary, work-worn voice; "What are you two doing?" 

"What is this for?" both Adeel and Amira had blurted out at once as they held out the jar. 

"We could buy more food with this!" Amira piped up as Adeel nodded eagerly before adding on; "And you can eat dinner with us again!" 

"......It's for something more important than food for me." The bear of a man rumbled as he tightened the lid on the jar firmly and stowed it back in the cupboard before placing his hands on the heads of his children. "It's for your future. Both of you. So you can go to college and study and have better lives than this. For that I can afford to eat one meal a day." 

Adeel and his sister both blinked at him in silence, the explanation settling in and when the true magnitude of it did, they hugged him fiercely around the middle and saw him crack a rare smile. Nothing more was spoken on the matter save the occasional snippets of conversation Adeel would catch over the clatter of plates and running water in the kitchenette between husband and wife and he could barely contain his glee as he reported back to Amira one night. 

"A thousand!" He hissed at her as she fiddled with the knob of the old, second-hand radio father had bought for them at a garage sale. "He's going to open a bank account soon!" 

The gleeful grins and father's chipper humming later that morning, the good vibes all came to a screeching halt when Adeel and his sister came back to their unit to find the door ajar and the living room ransacked. They didn't have much to their name, even the old radio in their bedroom was hardly worth peddling, but his heart skipped a beat when he saw the cupboard where the jar was stored completely barren. Gone. All of it was gone. 

They had run all the way to the restaurant mother worked at washing dishes which was five blocks from the apartment, yelling about what had happened and she had run to them and wrapped her arms around around their shoulders, merely relieved that the robbery had happened when they were still at school. It was relief that his father shared as well when the man finally came home at dusk but as stoic as his father was, it was hard to hide the raw despair which he saw in the way the man's shoulders sagged while staring at the cupboard at 3am in the morning. It wasn't much to those who had lived here their entire lives but for immigrants, asylum seekers who came here with next to nothing to their names, it felt like Sisyphus being forced to push a boulder up a hill only to have it roll back down every time. 

Father had starved for that one thousand and it seemed like an impossible amount to capture twice but as Adeel and his sister wandered around the nearby stores on the rickety bicycle they shared after school while learning to read the advertisements and flyers pasted on the walls and lamps and grocer windows, his determination was galvanized by how many 'Wanted' flyers were up calling for workers.  Finding someone willing to hire a ten-year old however was another issue as the stores he went to turned him away the moment they saw him queuing up behind other much older applicants. He'd lost count of how many establishments they had walked into and Amira had asked him to give up for the day and try tomorrow when he marched into one last store with its flyer which he'd torn off an alley wall. This he placed on the counter of the owner who shot him a piercing glare from behind half-moon spectacles and stood up to peer at him closely like a scientist studying a particular interesting specimen.

"Well?" Came the gruff inquiry from behind the man's impressive walrus-like mustache. 

"I would like work sir." Adeel stated flatly, seeing no point in beating around the bush. He tried his best to suppress his accent, noting the furtive glances some of the shopkeepers gave him when they heard him speak.  "You need somebody to deliver papers, I can do that.”

"Fair 'nuff. There's probably a hundred kids older and stronger than you looking for a quick buck though, why should I hire you?" Came the man's inquiry with a wry smile that showed off several missing teeth. 

For a moment, Adeel felt his tongue unable to form words but the sight of his father hunched over the cupboard and missing from the dinner table was enough kindling for the flickering fire of determination within as he placed both hands on the counter and met the store owner's gave unwaveringly. 

"I want a future, but I don't want my Baba to starve for it anymore like he did before this." The ten-year old spoke earnestly and the two patrons left in the store stared at him in wonderment. "He works hard to feed us and make sure we are in school and have text books. I want to work for myself so I can go to college. So please let me work here!" 

The owner seemed taken aback for a few moments before letting put a bark of a laugh and Adeel felt a a flush of embarrassment rise up in his neck; had he said something wrong? 

"Aren't an optimistic little shit, you know how many people in this city work two jobs and still can't make it through college?" Came the snort of derision and Adeel shrunk into himself though what the man said after gave him some measure of reassurance.  "But better a worker who has something on line than some yuppie who just wants extra cash for another video game or whatever. Yeah kid, fine. You're hired. Come here tomorrow after school if you want to get started. Papers and flyers---Twenty bucks from Mondays to Saturdays, I'll throw in an extra five bucks if you wanna come in on Sundays." 

The bright grin was one he couldn't helped as he bowed in the shop owner's presence, not quite noticing the bemused expression the man wore for a few seconds. 

"Thank you, I won't let you down!" 

The ruse wasn't hard to keep up---their mother was at work until five in the evening, and they were on their own devices until then as Amira cycled and he ran around delivering whatever was asked of him. Then Amira had the idea of collecting tin cans from dumpsters and their neighbors to be sent to something called a 'recycling facility' for an additional ten dollars a week, and he was certain that the glares pedestrians shot them as they blithely rummaged through dumpsters were derisive, but he didn't care. Every dollar mattered, every chance at making one in a manner which didn't impeded on their schoolwork (Mother would have skinned them) wasn't passed up. 

There were skinned knees, the occasional scrapes and bruises from falling over which he would attribute to recess roughhousing whenever mother asked about them and the one time Amira had to pedal the fastest she ever had with him clinging to her for dear life when some street hoodlums had given them chase, but the store owner has demanded to know what had happened for him to have come back from his run so shaken up and he didn't know what the man did, but he never saw the thugs again. Of course, they couldn't keep things a secret forever and a trickle of news managed to work its way back towards their parents about seven months later.

"My friend at work told me she saw you two trawling through rubbish two blocks from the shop." Mother had asserted during dinner one night as she cleared the tables and beckoned for them to sit down with their sternly-frowning father. "And another saw you three miles away from the apartment. Do you know how far that is? What on earth were you two doing? Who are you seeing?" Adeel merely offered her a smile as Amira and he ran to their rooms before mother could stop either of them and came out with two jars of money which they hefted upon the table proudly, much to the bug-eyed surprise of their parents more so his father who immediately stood up. "What is--where did you get this?!" Came the deep baritone of the man's voice which was on the verge of scolding---there were more unsavory ways of earning money in the city, his fear was understandable. "Papers!" Adeel explained quickly, hoping to put his father's heart at ease. "The man with the sundry store two blocks from here. Mr.Lamarque, he gave me a job! I send papers and flyers to people and Amira cycles me there!" "A-And we collect the tins for recycling! It's not garbage, they pay for it!" Amira added on as their parents traded shocked and baffled glances. "There's five hundred in each. We counted." Adeel spoke up again as he pushed both jars towards his father. "A thousand, for the thousand you saved for us." A hush fell over the dining room table as everything sank in and Adeel saw his father's shoulders shake while his mother clapped her hands over her mouth. He had never seen them this way, not when he and his sister were concerned and immediately his blood went cold---they were going to yell. The streets were dangerous, who knew what could have happened to them if they hadn't been careful? "Idiots." Said their father quietly and Adeel and Amira both flinched, expecting the man's voice to rise; it did, but not in the rage they were expecting. "You should have told me, what if the thief came here again?! All that hard work for nothing like what happened, you should have asked me to open an account for you!" He surprise them further by pulling them both in for a tight hug and kissing their foreheads as Adeel buried his face in the man's shoulder. "Mere aulaad......you didn't have to!" 

"We wanted to Baba!" Adeel said fiercely as Amira wiped her nose on her sleeve and added,  "We don't want you to go hungry like last time! We want you to sit at the table with us, this way we'll have enough! You work really hard for us, let us work for us too!” 

“We’ll go to the bank first thing tomorrow.”  Their father’s voice was thick with emotion as he spoke and mother had now joined them in the hug, tears streaming down her face. “You’re right. Both of you. We can do this together and if you want to work for your future, I will support you----but tell your mother and I next time, because you are our future, you understand?” 

Adeel nodded dutifully, breaking into a gap-toothed grin which his sister mirrored as he looked around the cramped apartment unit they shared with its leaking ceilings and creaking floorboards and faded wallpaper; One day, they would have enough to be out of here---all of them to a beautiful place with heating and hot water where father would no longer have to worry about the rent anymore. 

“Together. That’s a promise!”