Author's note: Yes, I will be explaining the whole "Coral Death/Overprotective" thing. But it won't be as direct. Subtlety is fun! And yes, I will be getting back to the "tank". And I realize it's disjointed, but… you've all seen the movie. At least… I assume you have, otherwise what purpose is there in reading this? ^.^ Just know your favorite parts are coming… just… slowly. And disjointedly.
"AAAAAAH! Something's got me!"
He lessened his hold on her wrist, but did not completely let go. There was no way he'd find her again if he did, not in this darkness. "Something's got y—that's just me!" he growled. "Sorry, just me."
"Who's that!?" There was real panic in her voice now.
Had he been able to see her, he would have probably attempted to strangle her. "Who could it be? It's me!" He led her along by her hand, pressing on towards the parking lot. Occasionally, both of them would trip over spilled trash, sending cans clattering before them. He had to steady her more than once, her long legs tripping her up often. Nevertheless, she remained upbeat, humming her little swim song to herself as she walked, sometimes taking a slight dancing step between regular strides. It was during these times that she tripped most often. Once she went so far as to actually fall, landing on a pile of some bagged item that made an unpleasant sound as she hit it. He dragged her to her feet, resenting her company more and more each moment. She never bothered to thank him, or even acknowledge his help, nor did she seem to realize she had fallen. The thought of her bare feet on broken glass crossed his mind, fleetingly, but he grudgingly let it go. If she'd been okay in the park, where there was just as likely to be broken glass, she'd be okay out here. However… it had been light in the park… here it was pitch black.
Doggedly, he trudged on, shoving any worries to the back of his mind. How much longer could this alley go on anyway?
"I see a light."
He stopped. Turning to face what he hoped was Dory, he stared into the darkness. "A light? Where?" He could see nothing but darkness. "I don't see a thing."
"Over there." Her fingers latched onto his chin, turning his head sharply towards a seemingly random spot in the shadows. "Right there. By that thing."
There was indeed a light there, blinking faintly next to the metallic hulk of a dumpster.
"Are we dead?"
"No… Dory, not yet."
A soft clink was heard, followed by the scrape of claws on concrete. He could almost hear the pounding of his heart and was vaguely surprised when his companion failed to comment on it. Yet, as he watched, the odd blinking became slightly hypnotic, despite every instinct screaming at him to keep moving. He didn't notice it moving closer. Even Dory kept silent, staring towards the light. She knelt and carefully reached out to the small, flashing thing. Something restrained him from pulling her back and dragging her to the safety of the streetlamps. All he could do was set his hands protectively on her shoulders, feeling her collarbone stand out vividly against barely fleshed tissue. At the back of his disjointed mind, he wondered at the reason behind the young woman's near-emaciation.
However, he didn't have much time to think on it.
Something launched itself at them, snarling. He had enough of his mind left to pull Dory back before it hit them. They smacked against the brick of the bar's outer wall, his back aching from the contact. Glasses flew askew, dropping towards the ground as he hauled her up, pulling her in a breathless run for the relative safety of the parking lot.
She eventually outpaced him, screaming at the top of her lungs. He didn't really blame her. Later, he would recall his own panicked cries as they raced along. All that mattered at the time was getting out of the alley. Light glittered, growing larger with each ragged breath, each hasty footfall. Dory increased her frantic pace until she fairly flew along, her fingers digging five trenches in his wrist, through the fabric of his shirt. It was all he could do to keep up.
Before he was prepared, the van appeared, gleaming white in the glow of the streetlamp. Had Dory not pulled him to the side, he would have careened straight into the side of the van. They ran alongside a pickup, and she hauled him up onto the hood next to her. For a few moments, they sat there, gasping, disoriented. They would have stayed there, had their assailant not tried once more to attack.
Out of reflex, he shoved Dory up on top of the cab, bracing against her to keep her from the dog's slavering jaws. It barked, jumping, its claws scratching at the pickup's paint. He kicked at it and it bit his shoe. Stifling curses, he kicked it with the other foot to loosen its hold. With a yelp, the brute fell back to the asphalt.
It was only then that he noticed the van pulling away from its parking space. He cried out, scrambling off the hood. On cue, the dog leaped up, snarling. He couldn't pass. The van was leaving. It was all falling to shreds in his fingers. Helplessly, he tried to make out the lettering on the side, cursing his glasses for falling off and his eyes for being so weak.
" 'Pacific Shores'," read a voice over his shoulder. " 'Mental Institution'."
Inspiration overcame despair. "Dory! Dory, read the rest!" he yelled, grabbing her shoulders. "Hurry!"
She blinked. "Okay, okay!" Now she squinted, focusing intently on the passing van. For too long a time, she was silent, as if pondering the meaning of the symbols called letters.
"What's it say!? Speed read!"
"Pacific Shores. 42 West Abby Way, Sherwood!" There was a definite note of triumph in her voice. "That's it! Well… that and the whole 'mental institution' part…"
"An address…" he breathed. At last, a definite location. A place to locate and center his search, and then his anger. Who were these people? What right did they have to his son? He glared after the departing van, daring it to come back and face him. He didn't need to chase after it any more. He had an address! Boldly, he started to climb down from the pickup—
Only to be yanked back up by Dory. She was screaming about a dog. …The dog! Of all things, he'd forgotten the dog. It was still there, slobbering and barking. The fatal light on its collar still blinked. Dory wouldn't stop screaming. She was perched on top of the cab, huddled up in a shaking little ball. Biting his lip, he crawled up to her, resting his hands on her shoulders in a gesture of comfort. To his surprise, she wrapped her arms around him, squeezing tightly. He allowed a fairly undignified noise to escape. This brought a laugh. He disentangled her arms from his waist, trying to figure a way out of this.
Maybe the dog would get bored and go? Maybe someone would come out and shoo it off? Maybe it would calm down…?
Yes, and then perhaps Dory would remember her own name.
There had to be SOME way to get out of here safely…! He turned to Dory, about to ask her for her limited view on the situation, only to discover she had disappeared. Startled, he looked around wildly, hoping to whoever was listening that she hadn't fallen off the truck. However, a glance around proved quite the opposite. She had clambered across to yet another car; this one a carpenter's van, judging by the supplies stored on the roof. Grimly, she threw open a box of tools and began throwing various things at the creature. It yelped, redoubling its efforts to get to her. This caused her to lose the resolve she'd gathered. She flung herself away from the box, purple eyes huge, ungainly limbs trembling.
That was his cue. He worked his way towards her, taking less caution than he was accustomed to while getting over the gap. Seeing him calmed the young woman immensely. She crawled up behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist as he tried to find something heavy enough to render the dog unconscious. His seeking fingers located the long, thin shaft of a piece of PVC pipe. He pulled it out, weighing it mentally before deciding. It was, in his mind, heavy enough to produce the results he wanted. Without further thought, he threw it at the dog, hoping beyond hope it would strike.
It did not strike.
It sailed forward, ricocheted off the van's hood, slid into the animal's collar, and lodged itself in a neighboring car's hubcap. Enraged, the dog launched itself forward, causing the pipe's opposite end to become wedged in the hubcap of the van—trapping it neatly. Its rage soon faded to confusion as it was repeatedly dragged backwards each time it attempted to reach them.
Nevertheless, he waited where he was, watching just in case. But the pipe was stuck fast. A surge of elation threatened to bowl him over, landing him in the dog's path. Unable to express this new emotion in any way that occurred safe, he hugged Dory. It was the only thing to do at the time that did not entail him dancing and potentially falling off the van. However, when his current position registered, he released her, blushing. She didn't seem to notice.
"We should get down," he said, trying to cover his affection. To prompt her along, he headed down the back of the van, as far from the dog as possible. "Where are we going again?"
"Pacific Shores. 42 West Abby Way, Sherwood!" she said, then gasped.
He looked up, afraid something had happened. The look of joy on her face startled him more than her gasp had. "What?" he asked. "What's wrong?"
"I remembered!" With that, she leapt down from the roof, landing in a crouch that looked practiced. The move was unlike anything he'd seen from her. It just added to the oddity that was the blue-haired woman. "I remembered the address!" She began to dance.
By this time, he'd reached the asphalt. He could faintly hear the dog snarling from the other side. Sherwood…? Where was Sherwood? It wasn't the way they'd come. He knew all the little towns on the west end of the city… but the east…
……Breaks squealing. A baby crying. Headlights bearing down on them. A jolt. Wet pavement. Broken glass. Flashing lights. Blood. Tears. A paramedic telling him the horrible news. His fault. Guilt. Rain falling……
……Coral……
It had to be to the east. It was the one place he'd never go again. Of all the twists of fate… He grabbed Dory's wrist, leaving the parking lot and heading east down the dirty sidewalk.
"Can I get a hotdog?"
"Fine…"
"How about two?"
"No."
"Cheetos?"
"…As long as they don't have any sugar."
"They're cheesy, silly! No sugar!"
He sighed, moving towards the counter, carrying his own meager food. His glasses had been found in a jacket pocket upon their departure from the bar's parking lot. They'd come to a small gas station on the outskirts of the downtown area, looking for both a rest and directions, as he had little idea of where exactly Sherwood was. However, all he got for his efforts—not to mention his correct change—was a nod from the bubblegum chewing cashier, no matter how hard he tried. Disgusted and frustrated, he stalked out of the store area, flopping down on the curb outside and taking a vengeful bite out of an unassuming hotdog.
His appetite fled. All he could do was stare at the misshapen bite missing from the snack. Next to him, Dory tore into her food, devouring it with such abandon that it pricked his conscience for his body's lack of appetite. After a moment, he handed her his uneaten hotdog. She stared at him with such wide-eyed appreciation that he blushed. With a breathless word of thanks, she gulped down the second hotdog in a matter of moments before starting in on the small bag of Cheetos. It was all he could do not to stare. Where on earth had she come from? Was she from a poor family? The streets even? Wherever she'd come from, it was obviously a place where adequate food was not a constant variable. Finishing off the Cheetos, she stared so mournfully into the empty bag that he was moved.
"You still hungry?"
She looked up, blue hair framing her startled face. "Yeah…" she admitted, fingering yellow nails. "Sorry."
"No, it's all right." He stood, taking her hand. "C'mon. You're starved. You'll need more in your system besides junk food." A frail smile crossed his face. "Maybe they have sandwiches."
The look on her face made him blush anew. He'd only seen that look of absolute joy once before… and it brought back memories he wished would stay buried. Before he could look back, he pulled her back into the store, refusing to take even one glance at her shining eyes. He just couldn't look. If he did… he knew… he knew what he'd find there. Sorrow. Only sorrow; despite the contagious joy radiating from Dory.
It was then he realized his plight. For her to remain with him would cause him such pain… it already was. There was just too much about her that brought back memories he didn't need. The only saving grace was that the majority of the time she reminded him more of a child than of… of… someone else. But those fleeting, singular moments when she became so much more than just a child—those hurt him more than she would ever know. Yet if he were to abandon her, he would be the one who caused the pain, he would be the one to break a heart. He would be guilty all over again.
Upon entering the store, they found it nearly overrun with women in gray and black outfits. They were everywhere, poking into the refrigerated goods and rummaging through bags of salty snacks.
Nuns?
Where had nuns come from? Vaguely, he recalled a bus pulling into the gas station, emptying its cargo of gray-clad devotes into the area. There was a shelter in his neighborhood for women, run by persons similar to the ones now swarming around him. Normally, he paid his respects quietly, giving them their space, but now… now they were just getting in his way. Trying his best to remain civil, he maneuvered around them, occasionally scooting some out of his way as he moved toward where he assumed sandwiches would be kept. They greeted his flinty courtesy with looks of contempt. Some even muttered things at him as he passed. Blatantly ignoring them all, he pulled a cold turkey sandwich from the glass case, paid for it, and pulled Dory out from between racks of brightly wrapped candies.
Outside once again, he inhaled deeply of gasoline fumes mixed with cool night air. There was indeed a bus parked at one of the filling stations. Sleek, and shaped like the classic Greyhound, it dominated the space. However, it was not the size, but the letters painted on its side, reading:
"St. Victoria of Sherwood Presents: the Impressionist Nuns!"
The mingling smells and the sight of this bus gave him the resolve he needed. Dory would forget whatever hurt he inflicted on her. One small benefit. Yet, he waited until she'd finished devouring the sandwich before he spoke. It was one more small favor for her. His eyes roamed about the gas pumps, waiting for her. She stood, brushing crumbs from her jeans. He was snapped back from the formation of an idea by her movement. "So!" She grinned brightly. "Where to?"
"Dory… sit down…" he sighed, putting his hands on her bony shoulders and guiding her down to the curb again. "We… need to talk."
"Okay." The brightness never left her gaze.
"This…" he began, pulling a wad of crumpled bills from his pocket. "This is for a cab home. I'll call it for you… if you can remember where you live." He pressed them into her fragile hand. "I'll call a cab… and wait until you get in. Then… you'll go home, and I'll… I'll go to Sherwood."
Now confusion clouded her purple eyes as they darted around, her mind whirling. A weak, "What?" was all that would emerge from her lips.
"You need to go home." There he'd said it, purely and simply. "I need to go on. Alone…"
Now it dawned on her, and the hurt in her eyes was almost too much for him. She folded in on herself, wrapping spindly arms around her knees, dropping her forehead to rest against them. Her shoulders shook with rigidly suppressed sobs. He winced. "No… no… Dory… don't…" He was unable to finish—due to both his own uncertainty and concern for her. "It's not so bad…"
"You leave her alone!"
He jumped, staring up in shock at the burlesque woman in grey—a nun—who had materialized from the interior of the convenience store. Dory looked up too, her tearstained face paling briefly, then returning to a more normal color as confusion overtook her fears. The woman moved between them, putting a comforting arm around Dory. He sputtered, unable to speak.
"There, there, dear," she said, patting Dory's arms. "Is he bothering you?"
Now even more confusion filled her face. "I… I don't… remember…" She scrunched up her face in thought as he silently thanked everything he could think of. However, his elation rapidly deflated when she turned to him. "Who are you again…?" she asked, wiping at her eyes.
"Ehh… I'm… you remember me? Marlin…? Bought you a sandwich…?" he asked, trying to jog her memory as best he could.
She was about to answer, but the nun cut her off. "Do you like impressions, dear?" At Dory's nod, she scurried off to collect a flock of her fellows. They hustled over, clucking amongst themselves. After a moment, they regrouped, forming what was quite obviously a group of mimes. "What are we?" their leader prompted.
Dory's lengthy pause was far more than he could take. "Mimes," he whispered. Unfortunately, the nuns heard him. They shot him a few glares before returning to their routine. More horrendously easy questions followed, and he had to bite his tongue to keep the answers from leaking out. His question burned in him. Finally, he was unable to contain himself any longer.
"Can one of you PLEASE tell me which way it is to Sherwood!?"
There was a moment of terse silence. One of the nuns snickered, then launched into a rather impressive mimicry of his own voice. The others erupted in giggling laughter, Dory included. Heat rose in his cheeks as embarrassment and indignation flooded his senses. How dare they? He stalked away, hands clenched into fists, muttering to himself. Would NO one on this planet take him seriously?!
It was then he felt a hand on his shoulder. He whirled around, ready to berate one of those interfering women, only to come face to prominent collarbone with Dory. From the concern in her face, it was obvious she'd forgotten about their little… argument of a few minutes prior. "You okay…?" she asked gently.
Despite her good intentions, he felt himself cut loose on her. "NO! I am NOT okay! I'm who-knows-where, with a busload of tyrannical nuns, and a woman who can't even remember her own name—"
"That must be frustrating," she interjected
"—all the while my son is lost in some city I've only heard of! And NO ONE will help me find him!"
A soft, placid look came into her face, and she smiled. "I'm helping you though, aren't I? Why else would I be here?" Without waiting for her words to sink in, she turned back to the cloister of gray-robed women. "Oh ladies!"
They snapped to attention. "He's not still bothering you, is he?" asked the leader, her voice dripping with suspicion over the authenticity of Dory's upcoming answer.
"Nah, he's all right," the blue-haired woman answered, beaming. "He's just lost, and kinda frustrated. I guess he has a right to be." She giggled. "Anyway, we're looking for Sherwood. Can you help us?"
"Oh of course!" Now their leader was all smiles. She pointed with a gnarled finger. "It's just down that road!"
It was his turn to snap around. "How far?" he asked, hoping his eagerness was not too betrayed by his face.
"Uhhh… about… thirteen miles or so?" Another murmured her agreement, so the lead nun continued. "You'll come to a river which spits out into the ocean. Follow the ocean east for about…. Five miles? You should start seeing city limits signs then."
He barely had time to blurt a hasty "thanks" before he was off, moving as fast as his tired feet could carry him. He was out of earshot when Dory began following him. One of the nuns pulled her back, however, to whisper conspiratorially to her.
"Listen, girl. A word of caution. You'll come to a fork in the road eventually. One way leads down a forested road, the other a highway. Take the woods. It's far safer for people walking. Don't forget now."
She shot them a wide grin. "Don't worry! I'll remember! Thank you!" With those parting words, she dashed off after her red-haired compatriot.
Author's note #2: Finally got some pictures up on Side7 of my little guys. I repeat SOME. More are coming 9.6
Dory: http://www.side7.com/cgi-bin/S7SDB/Display.pl?act=image&iid=283026
Marlin: http://www.side7.com/cgi-bin/S7SDB/Display.pl?act=image&iid=283053
Peach: http://www.side7.com/cgi-bin/S7SDB/Display.pl?act=image&iid=283181
Crush&Squirt: http://www.side7.com/cgi-bin/S7SDB/Display.pl?act=image&iid=283699
Gill&Peach: http://www.side7.com/cgi-bin/S7SDB/Display.pl?act=image&iid=284998 (I'm especially proud of this one)
Gill: (least favorite out of them all, the B&W one is much better) http://www.side7.com/cgi-bin/S7SDB/Display.pl?act=image&iid=283182
"AAAAAAH! Something's got me!"
He lessened his hold on her wrist, but did not completely let go. There was no way he'd find her again if he did, not in this darkness. "Something's got y—that's just me!" he growled. "Sorry, just me."
"Who's that!?" There was real panic in her voice now.
Had he been able to see her, he would have probably attempted to strangle her. "Who could it be? It's me!" He led her along by her hand, pressing on towards the parking lot. Occasionally, both of them would trip over spilled trash, sending cans clattering before them. He had to steady her more than once, her long legs tripping her up often. Nevertheless, she remained upbeat, humming her little swim song to herself as she walked, sometimes taking a slight dancing step between regular strides. It was during these times that she tripped most often. Once she went so far as to actually fall, landing on a pile of some bagged item that made an unpleasant sound as she hit it. He dragged her to her feet, resenting her company more and more each moment. She never bothered to thank him, or even acknowledge his help, nor did she seem to realize she had fallen. The thought of her bare feet on broken glass crossed his mind, fleetingly, but he grudgingly let it go. If she'd been okay in the park, where there was just as likely to be broken glass, she'd be okay out here. However… it had been light in the park… here it was pitch black.
Doggedly, he trudged on, shoving any worries to the back of his mind. How much longer could this alley go on anyway?
"I see a light."
He stopped. Turning to face what he hoped was Dory, he stared into the darkness. "A light? Where?" He could see nothing but darkness. "I don't see a thing."
"Over there." Her fingers latched onto his chin, turning his head sharply towards a seemingly random spot in the shadows. "Right there. By that thing."
There was indeed a light there, blinking faintly next to the metallic hulk of a dumpster.
"Are we dead?"
"No… Dory, not yet."
A soft clink was heard, followed by the scrape of claws on concrete. He could almost hear the pounding of his heart and was vaguely surprised when his companion failed to comment on it. Yet, as he watched, the odd blinking became slightly hypnotic, despite every instinct screaming at him to keep moving. He didn't notice it moving closer. Even Dory kept silent, staring towards the light. She knelt and carefully reached out to the small, flashing thing. Something restrained him from pulling her back and dragging her to the safety of the streetlamps. All he could do was set his hands protectively on her shoulders, feeling her collarbone stand out vividly against barely fleshed tissue. At the back of his disjointed mind, he wondered at the reason behind the young woman's near-emaciation.
However, he didn't have much time to think on it.
Something launched itself at them, snarling. He had enough of his mind left to pull Dory back before it hit them. They smacked against the brick of the bar's outer wall, his back aching from the contact. Glasses flew askew, dropping towards the ground as he hauled her up, pulling her in a breathless run for the relative safety of the parking lot.
She eventually outpaced him, screaming at the top of her lungs. He didn't really blame her. Later, he would recall his own panicked cries as they raced along. All that mattered at the time was getting out of the alley. Light glittered, growing larger with each ragged breath, each hasty footfall. Dory increased her frantic pace until she fairly flew along, her fingers digging five trenches in his wrist, through the fabric of his shirt. It was all he could do to keep up.
Before he was prepared, the van appeared, gleaming white in the glow of the streetlamp. Had Dory not pulled him to the side, he would have careened straight into the side of the van. They ran alongside a pickup, and she hauled him up onto the hood next to her. For a few moments, they sat there, gasping, disoriented. They would have stayed there, had their assailant not tried once more to attack.
Out of reflex, he shoved Dory up on top of the cab, bracing against her to keep her from the dog's slavering jaws. It barked, jumping, its claws scratching at the pickup's paint. He kicked at it and it bit his shoe. Stifling curses, he kicked it with the other foot to loosen its hold. With a yelp, the brute fell back to the asphalt.
It was only then that he noticed the van pulling away from its parking space. He cried out, scrambling off the hood. On cue, the dog leaped up, snarling. He couldn't pass. The van was leaving. It was all falling to shreds in his fingers. Helplessly, he tried to make out the lettering on the side, cursing his glasses for falling off and his eyes for being so weak.
" 'Pacific Shores'," read a voice over his shoulder. " 'Mental Institution'."
Inspiration overcame despair. "Dory! Dory, read the rest!" he yelled, grabbing her shoulders. "Hurry!"
She blinked. "Okay, okay!" Now she squinted, focusing intently on the passing van. For too long a time, she was silent, as if pondering the meaning of the symbols called letters.
"What's it say!? Speed read!"
"Pacific Shores. 42 West Abby Way, Sherwood!" There was a definite note of triumph in her voice. "That's it! Well… that and the whole 'mental institution' part…"
"An address…" he breathed. At last, a definite location. A place to locate and center his search, and then his anger. Who were these people? What right did they have to his son? He glared after the departing van, daring it to come back and face him. He didn't need to chase after it any more. He had an address! Boldly, he started to climb down from the pickup—
Only to be yanked back up by Dory. She was screaming about a dog. …The dog! Of all things, he'd forgotten the dog. It was still there, slobbering and barking. The fatal light on its collar still blinked. Dory wouldn't stop screaming. She was perched on top of the cab, huddled up in a shaking little ball. Biting his lip, he crawled up to her, resting his hands on her shoulders in a gesture of comfort. To his surprise, she wrapped her arms around him, squeezing tightly. He allowed a fairly undignified noise to escape. This brought a laugh. He disentangled her arms from his waist, trying to figure a way out of this.
Maybe the dog would get bored and go? Maybe someone would come out and shoo it off? Maybe it would calm down…?
Yes, and then perhaps Dory would remember her own name.
There had to be SOME way to get out of here safely…! He turned to Dory, about to ask her for her limited view on the situation, only to discover she had disappeared. Startled, he looked around wildly, hoping to whoever was listening that she hadn't fallen off the truck. However, a glance around proved quite the opposite. She had clambered across to yet another car; this one a carpenter's van, judging by the supplies stored on the roof. Grimly, she threw open a box of tools and began throwing various things at the creature. It yelped, redoubling its efforts to get to her. This caused her to lose the resolve she'd gathered. She flung herself away from the box, purple eyes huge, ungainly limbs trembling.
That was his cue. He worked his way towards her, taking less caution than he was accustomed to while getting over the gap. Seeing him calmed the young woman immensely. She crawled up behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist as he tried to find something heavy enough to render the dog unconscious. His seeking fingers located the long, thin shaft of a piece of PVC pipe. He pulled it out, weighing it mentally before deciding. It was, in his mind, heavy enough to produce the results he wanted. Without further thought, he threw it at the dog, hoping beyond hope it would strike.
It did not strike.
It sailed forward, ricocheted off the van's hood, slid into the animal's collar, and lodged itself in a neighboring car's hubcap. Enraged, the dog launched itself forward, causing the pipe's opposite end to become wedged in the hubcap of the van—trapping it neatly. Its rage soon faded to confusion as it was repeatedly dragged backwards each time it attempted to reach them.
Nevertheless, he waited where he was, watching just in case. But the pipe was stuck fast. A surge of elation threatened to bowl him over, landing him in the dog's path. Unable to express this new emotion in any way that occurred safe, he hugged Dory. It was the only thing to do at the time that did not entail him dancing and potentially falling off the van. However, when his current position registered, he released her, blushing. She didn't seem to notice.
"We should get down," he said, trying to cover his affection. To prompt her along, he headed down the back of the van, as far from the dog as possible. "Where are we going again?"
"Pacific Shores. 42 West Abby Way, Sherwood!" she said, then gasped.
He looked up, afraid something had happened. The look of joy on her face startled him more than her gasp had. "What?" he asked. "What's wrong?"
"I remembered!" With that, she leapt down from the roof, landing in a crouch that looked practiced. The move was unlike anything he'd seen from her. It just added to the oddity that was the blue-haired woman. "I remembered the address!" She began to dance.
By this time, he'd reached the asphalt. He could faintly hear the dog snarling from the other side. Sherwood…? Where was Sherwood? It wasn't the way they'd come. He knew all the little towns on the west end of the city… but the east…
……Breaks squealing. A baby crying. Headlights bearing down on them. A jolt. Wet pavement. Broken glass. Flashing lights. Blood. Tears. A paramedic telling him the horrible news. His fault. Guilt. Rain falling……
……Coral……
It had to be to the east. It was the one place he'd never go again. Of all the twists of fate… He grabbed Dory's wrist, leaving the parking lot and heading east down the dirty sidewalk.
"Can I get a hotdog?"
"Fine…"
"How about two?"
"No."
"Cheetos?"
"…As long as they don't have any sugar."
"They're cheesy, silly! No sugar!"
He sighed, moving towards the counter, carrying his own meager food. His glasses had been found in a jacket pocket upon their departure from the bar's parking lot. They'd come to a small gas station on the outskirts of the downtown area, looking for both a rest and directions, as he had little idea of where exactly Sherwood was. However, all he got for his efforts—not to mention his correct change—was a nod from the bubblegum chewing cashier, no matter how hard he tried. Disgusted and frustrated, he stalked out of the store area, flopping down on the curb outside and taking a vengeful bite out of an unassuming hotdog.
His appetite fled. All he could do was stare at the misshapen bite missing from the snack. Next to him, Dory tore into her food, devouring it with such abandon that it pricked his conscience for his body's lack of appetite. After a moment, he handed her his uneaten hotdog. She stared at him with such wide-eyed appreciation that he blushed. With a breathless word of thanks, she gulped down the second hotdog in a matter of moments before starting in on the small bag of Cheetos. It was all he could do not to stare. Where on earth had she come from? Was she from a poor family? The streets even? Wherever she'd come from, it was obviously a place where adequate food was not a constant variable. Finishing off the Cheetos, she stared so mournfully into the empty bag that he was moved.
"You still hungry?"
She looked up, blue hair framing her startled face. "Yeah…" she admitted, fingering yellow nails. "Sorry."
"No, it's all right." He stood, taking her hand. "C'mon. You're starved. You'll need more in your system besides junk food." A frail smile crossed his face. "Maybe they have sandwiches."
The look on her face made him blush anew. He'd only seen that look of absolute joy once before… and it brought back memories he wished would stay buried. Before he could look back, he pulled her back into the store, refusing to take even one glance at her shining eyes. He just couldn't look. If he did… he knew… he knew what he'd find there. Sorrow. Only sorrow; despite the contagious joy radiating from Dory.
It was then he realized his plight. For her to remain with him would cause him such pain… it already was. There was just too much about her that brought back memories he didn't need. The only saving grace was that the majority of the time she reminded him more of a child than of… of… someone else. But those fleeting, singular moments when she became so much more than just a child—those hurt him more than she would ever know. Yet if he were to abandon her, he would be the one who caused the pain, he would be the one to break a heart. He would be guilty all over again.
Upon entering the store, they found it nearly overrun with women in gray and black outfits. They were everywhere, poking into the refrigerated goods and rummaging through bags of salty snacks.
Nuns?
Where had nuns come from? Vaguely, he recalled a bus pulling into the gas station, emptying its cargo of gray-clad devotes into the area. There was a shelter in his neighborhood for women, run by persons similar to the ones now swarming around him. Normally, he paid his respects quietly, giving them their space, but now… now they were just getting in his way. Trying his best to remain civil, he maneuvered around them, occasionally scooting some out of his way as he moved toward where he assumed sandwiches would be kept. They greeted his flinty courtesy with looks of contempt. Some even muttered things at him as he passed. Blatantly ignoring them all, he pulled a cold turkey sandwich from the glass case, paid for it, and pulled Dory out from between racks of brightly wrapped candies.
Outside once again, he inhaled deeply of gasoline fumes mixed with cool night air. There was indeed a bus parked at one of the filling stations. Sleek, and shaped like the classic Greyhound, it dominated the space. However, it was not the size, but the letters painted on its side, reading:
"St. Victoria of Sherwood Presents: the Impressionist Nuns!"
The mingling smells and the sight of this bus gave him the resolve he needed. Dory would forget whatever hurt he inflicted on her. One small benefit. Yet, he waited until she'd finished devouring the sandwich before he spoke. It was one more small favor for her. His eyes roamed about the gas pumps, waiting for her. She stood, brushing crumbs from her jeans. He was snapped back from the formation of an idea by her movement. "So!" She grinned brightly. "Where to?"
"Dory… sit down…" he sighed, putting his hands on her bony shoulders and guiding her down to the curb again. "We… need to talk."
"Okay." The brightness never left her gaze.
"This…" he began, pulling a wad of crumpled bills from his pocket. "This is for a cab home. I'll call it for you… if you can remember where you live." He pressed them into her fragile hand. "I'll call a cab… and wait until you get in. Then… you'll go home, and I'll… I'll go to Sherwood."
Now confusion clouded her purple eyes as they darted around, her mind whirling. A weak, "What?" was all that would emerge from her lips.
"You need to go home." There he'd said it, purely and simply. "I need to go on. Alone…"
Now it dawned on her, and the hurt in her eyes was almost too much for him. She folded in on herself, wrapping spindly arms around her knees, dropping her forehead to rest against them. Her shoulders shook with rigidly suppressed sobs. He winced. "No… no… Dory… don't…" He was unable to finish—due to both his own uncertainty and concern for her. "It's not so bad…"
"You leave her alone!"
He jumped, staring up in shock at the burlesque woman in grey—a nun—who had materialized from the interior of the convenience store. Dory looked up too, her tearstained face paling briefly, then returning to a more normal color as confusion overtook her fears. The woman moved between them, putting a comforting arm around Dory. He sputtered, unable to speak.
"There, there, dear," she said, patting Dory's arms. "Is he bothering you?"
Now even more confusion filled her face. "I… I don't… remember…" She scrunched up her face in thought as he silently thanked everything he could think of. However, his elation rapidly deflated when she turned to him. "Who are you again…?" she asked, wiping at her eyes.
"Ehh… I'm… you remember me? Marlin…? Bought you a sandwich…?" he asked, trying to jog her memory as best he could.
She was about to answer, but the nun cut her off. "Do you like impressions, dear?" At Dory's nod, she scurried off to collect a flock of her fellows. They hustled over, clucking amongst themselves. After a moment, they regrouped, forming what was quite obviously a group of mimes. "What are we?" their leader prompted.
Dory's lengthy pause was far more than he could take. "Mimes," he whispered. Unfortunately, the nuns heard him. They shot him a few glares before returning to their routine. More horrendously easy questions followed, and he had to bite his tongue to keep the answers from leaking out. His question burned in him. Finally, he was unable to contain himself any longer.
"Can one of you PLEASE tell me which way it is to Sherwood!?"
There was a moment of terse silence. One of the nuns snickered, then launched into a rather impressive mimicry of his own voice. The others erupted in giggling laughter, Dory included. Heat rose in his cheeks as embarrassment and indignation flooded his senses. How dare they? He stalked away, hands clenched into fists, muttering to himself. Would NO one on this planet take him seriously?!
It was then he felt a hand on his shoulder. He whirled around, ready to berate one of those interfering women, only to come face to prominent collarbone with Dory. From the concern in her face, it was obvious she'd forgotten about their little… argument of a few minutes prior. "You okay…?" she asked gently.
Despite her good intentions, he felt himself cut loose on her. "NO! I am NOT okay! I'm who-knows-where, with a busload of tyrannical nuns, and a woman who can't even remember her own name—"
"That must be frustrating," she interjected
"—all the while my son is lost in some city I've only heard of! And NO ONE will help me find him!"
A soft, placid look came into her face, and she smiled. "I'm helping you though, aren't I? Why else would I be here?" Without waiting for her words to sink in, she turned back to the cloister of gray-robed women. "Oh ladies!"
They snapped to attention. "He's not still bothering you, is he?" asked the leader, her voice dripping with suspicion over the authenticity of Dory's upcoming answer.
"Nah, he's all right," the blue-haired woman answered, beaming. "He's just lost, and kinda frustrated. I guess he has a right to be." She giggled. "Anyway, we're looking for Sherwood. Can you help us?"
"Oh of course!" Now their leader was all smiles. She pointed with a gnarled finger. "It's just down that road!"
It was his turn to snap around. "How far?" he asked, hoping his eagerness was not too betrayed by his face.
"Uhhh… about… thirteen miles or so?" Another murmured her agreement, so the lead nun continued. "You'll come to a river which spits out into the ocean. Follow the ocean east for about…. Five miles? You should start seeing city limits signs then."
He barely had time to blurt a hasty "thanks" before he was off, moving as fast as his tired feet could carry him. He was out of earshot when Dory began following him. One of the nuns pulled her back, however, to whisper conspiratorially to her.
"Listen, girl. A word of caution. You'll come to a fork in the road eventually. One way leads down a forested road, the other a highway. Take the woods. It's far safer for people walking. Don't forget now."
She shot them a wide grin. "Don't worry! I'll remember! Thank you!" With those parting words, she dashed off after her red-haired compatriot.
Author's note #2: Finally got some pictures up on Side7 of my little guys. I repeat SOME. More are coming 9.6
Dory: http://www.side7.com/cgi-bin/S7SDB/Display.pl?act=image&iid=283026
Marlin: http://www.side7.com/cgi-bin/S7SDB/Display.pl?act=image&iid=283053
Peach: http://www.side7.com/cgi-bin/S7SDB/Display.pl?act=image&iid=283181
Crush&Squirt: http://www.side7.com/cgi-bin/S7SDB/Display.pl?act=image&iid=283699
Gill&Peach: http://www.side7.com/cgi-bin/S7SDB/Display.pl?act=image&iid=284998 (I'm especially proud of this one)
Gill: (least favorite out of them all, the B&W one is much better) http://www.side7.com/cgi-bin/S7SDB/Display.pl?act=image&iid=283182