Blue Veil: The Endless Sky Playlist //Season One

[BLUE VEIL SEASON ONE TRACKLIST]

All of my writing comes with playlists. I just like playlists. Shut up, I'm autistic.

You're such a cutie.

I'm Vicious. Enjoy.

https://music.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLrQcR2FXEc2u5xPCn9mNaJvotkw9_CLs5&feature=shared

Track 1: Drugs

My body was starting to ache. My hands were shaking. Not a lot, but enough to tell me I was gonna break soon if I didn’t get a fix. They didn’t care though. This was the game they liked to play.

When you were at the mercy of NEST, they liked to dig the knife in and wiggle it around.

This was my seventy-first interview since I started to remember more than just glimpses. I was a late bloomer. Most Re-Cars got their memories back around puberty. I didn’t get them all back until I was almost twenty and when I did, they were all jumbled bits of mental throw up.

Up until then, most normal people just thought I was crazy. A bad seed.

And I was.

God, I was a horrible girl. Sometimes I think back on those times and I feel sorry for my mom and stepdad. I feel like such a horrible person for what I did.

For Sam.

“You’re thought looping,” he said to me, sitting across the stainless steel table.

I looked around the small interrogation room. Smelled the old plastic from the foam on the walls. Looked at the dead ashes in our ashtray. Four or five butts had already been put out in it and most of them were mine. I could feel little beads of sweat working their way onto my forehead. Not just from the lights overhead either.

I couldn’t look him in the eyes though. I couldn’t look anyone in the eyes. Never was able, really. It wasn’t just autism. Sure it was a bit of that… I’d never admit to it though. Something about eye contact just kills me. It feels too personal. Too real. Something about people looking at me like that just makes me feel smaller. I just want to shrink into the floor.

“No. No, I’m here.” I said, taking a long breath. My eyes tick-tocked about like they always did when my thoughts were racing.

“You sure?”

I glanced up at his handsome, dark-skinned face. He was a tall, broad-shouldered man, maybe in his late forties. Looked like he could handle himself alright, but he and I both knew what he really was. At a moment’s notice he could snap me in half.

He was a celestial. Or, a lesser celestial if he was here on earth.

I guess if I thought about getting snapped in half that wasn’t particularly hard though. At five foot and ninety-two pounds with my pockets full, I’m guessing most anybody could break me in two. I remember reading somewhere that my ideal weight was like almost one-hundred and ten. I suppose I might be able to pull that off.

Y’know.

If not for crushing poverty.

“Your processing interview wasn’t the greatest this month. How are you adjusting?”

He tilted his head to catch my eyes and for a moment I looked back. It wasn’t long before my eyes retreated and I heard him cough out a sound that was probably a chuckle.

“I’m doin’ okay,” my knee started to bounce.

“Are you?”

“Yeah,” I said, nodding my head.

Too fast.

I wince.

“Are you back on drugs?” He asked, his dark eyes weighing on me.

“No.”

“Are you back on drugs?” He asked again, exactly the same way he had before.

“No.” I shifted in my seat.

“Are you back on drugs?” He repeated for the third time.

“Yes.”

He leaned back in his chair.

Fuck.

I was almost out of here.

“Look,” I said, “we’ve been at this for a while. I’ll tell you whatever you want to hear, I just,” my breath caught in my chest and I exhaled.

I tried to lift my hands to brush my wavy hair back but one of my wrists caught on the handcuff they had me in. The metal clicked as I accidentally pulled it taut. I dropped my hands back on the table.

“You’re right. It’s been eight hours. And from the looks of your hands, I’d say it’s about time for you to fix. Isn’t that right, Charlotte?” The smug look on his face sickened me.

“Fuck you.”

I turned my head to look at the wall as he chuckled. The sound made me want to throw things at him.

I started to say something but instead forced myself to look at him.

“I’m sorry, Agent Atherton.” I lied with as much conviction as I could.

Seconds later my eyes retreated to the table.

“No you’re not, but I’ll accept it,” he opened his notepad again and fetched his pen from his jacket pocket.

“What are you taking, Charlie?”

“Vicodin.” I lied.

“What are you taking, Charlie?” His pen didn’t move.

“Vicodin.” I tried to lie again. His pen still showed no sign of movement.

I rolled my eyes and blew a heavy sigh.

“I take a pill cocktail in the morning before breakfast. Percocet, Vicodin, Adderall.”

I hesitated. He knew there was more. I could feel him judging me.

“I like ’em together,” I added, trying to hide my hesitation.

There was a long, pregnant silence. I heard him take a slow breath of his own.

“That’s all. I swear.” I looked down at my hands, wishing I’d spoken up louder.

“Pull up your sleeve, Charlotte.”

“Fuck.” I kicked the table leg. “Just lemme go home, alright?” I begged, disrespecting my New York roots.

“Pull up your sleeve.” He repeated and I just wanted to yell at him.

“Just- why a-,” I couldn’t get my words together. “God.”

“He doesn’t exist. Pull up your sleeve.”

I reached over to my shackled wrist, grabbed the sleeve of my sweater and yanked it up. I knew what was there. I was too ashamed to look down at it with him. I just sat there staring at the padded wall.

“And I guess those are all just bee stings. Right?” He said.

Tears started rolling down my cheeks. I was so mad at myself I was trembling. I held my sleeve up though. Defiance my last defense.

“Back on heroin,” he said in confirmation and I finally hear his pen scratching away at that notepad. The sound made me clench my jaw tighter.

“How much are you taking?” He asked.

“Two… maybe three bags a day.” If I didn’t sound defeated before, now I just sounded like a kicked dog. I shoved my sleeve back down and wiped my face.

“What do you get outta this?” I stared daggers at him for a moment.

Only a moment.

“Out of what?” He asked, genuinely curious, sitting back in his chair and looking at me.

I saw one of his eyebrows lift a little.

“Outta beatin’ me down all the time.” I said back, my free hand sweeping across the table, smacking his notepad to the floor, “like my life’s not hard enough without this shit. You guys drag me up here once a month, ask me the same questions for hours, make me feel bad about myself. Then I get to sit in here with you afterwards so you can make me feel worse.”

“I’m just-”

“Doin’ your job,” I cut him off, “yeah. Whatever. Look, I’m not proud of what I am. People in my position don’t get luxuries like pride. That’s for people like you that get to judge people like me.”

There was another long silence.

He picked his notepad up from the floor and started writing something else. I sat back in my chair. By then the need was really eating at me. All I could think about was shooting up. I just needed to get to my kit. If I could just get out of here and catch a bus home.

“Last question, Charlie. Where is it?” He asked, and I nodded my head.

It’s what came at the end of every one of my follow-ups.

The question.

“I don’t know.”

“Where is the Heart Fire, Charlie?” He asked again.

“I don’t know.”

“Where is it?” He scribbled a few lines on his pad then looked up at me. His eyes were squinting at me like he was trying to read into my head.

“Look, you gotta know if I knew where it was, I’d have told you by now.” I said, but he didn’t seem convinced. He just sat up in his chair and sighed.

“You don’t believe me. Right.” I blew a resigned breath of my own, “Am I going on ice?”

“No, I believe you.” He lifted both hands in a non confrontational way. The gesture was comforting. “I don’t think putting you on ice is going to do any good.”

I exhaled pure relief.

Nobody wanted the ice. That’s when they lock you up in a mental ward and tell your family you had a psychotic break. Not that they’d have to tell my family anything.

They all hated me.

On ice you’re on twenty-four seven lockdown. You don’t have any contact with the outside world. It’s just you and a couple other reincarnates bitching about not getting pudding on Fridays. You get process interviews every day, get force fed medication and have to stick out your tongue to prove you swallowed it. They humiliate you, treat you like a child, use sleep deprivation techniques to make you snap.

When you snap, you get what I always get.

When I get mad, I break shit.

When I break shit, an orderly beats my ass.

After they beat my ass, I get a zombie shot in the neck and a straitjacket to drool on.

NEST keeps a pretty tight hold on the lives of any reincarnated god. You act up and they’ll put your ass on ice so long you’ll forget your name. And for a Re-Car, that’s a big deal.

We live a really long time.

It’s hard to fit two lives in one brain. You end up losing touch with what’s real. Some people are stronger than others, but for the most part, NEST doesn’t have too hard a job finding us. You just check every behavioral program, nuthouse, county jail, lockup, rehab or ghetto and you’ll usually find one of us.

We can’t cope.

We can’t function in society.

My entire race was defined by being screw-ups, rejects, alcoholics and addicts.

We get born here no more powerful than anyone else. Only thing we get is a guaranteed hard life and when we turn sixteen we get handlers. Mine were agents Paul Lyons and Levy Atherton.

Apollyon and Leviathan.

There were other agents too. Like Lilly Little. Lilith. She was a real bitch. One of the Triumvirate. Paul Lyons, he was one of the Triumvirate as well. I didn’t see him much though. Mostly Levy here. Paul was far too busy coordinating NEST countrywide.

Most Re-Cars get moved to the States after they’re discovered. The one country that had a track record for locking up people they were embarrassed of.

Bring me your tired, poor and wretched masses yearning to get marginalized.

Problem solved I guess.

Lastly, there was William Lisle, the head of the Triumvirate. I won’t spell that one out, it’s too obvious. He was a cold son of a bitch. I met him one time by accident. Levy had me handcuffed outside in the hallway because me and my temper had decided to show my ass again. I started kicking shit over and throwing a tantrum.

He put me into the wall hard and sat me down right when good ol’ Billy was walking by. He looked down at me and said one word.

Icebox.

Off I went. Gone for three months to the land of drool and withheld pudding. But not before his right-hand lady Lilly got a piece of me.

She liked to hurt me.

Levy was staring holes into the side of my head but I didn’t look at him.

“Look at me.” He said, like he was reading my mind.

My face twisted and I gave a defeated whimper. I mustered defiance on my face and forced my eyes up.

“Good. Don’t look away.”

It was murder.

The only way I could keep staring him in the eyes was not to blink. My eyes started to burn.

“Now smile.”

Agent Atherton knew exactly what he was doing.

I felt exposed.

“C’mon, man.”

“Charlie, a handler is supposed to challenge you. My job is to remind you that you have no power. You are completely out of control.” He let a long silence creep between us again.

“Smile.” He said. It wasn’t a request.

I forced the world’s most cringe-worthy smile.

Levy stared right through me.

“Go home, Charlie.” He stood up and the cuff on my wrist released on its own.

I rubbed at the red ring on my flesh.

“Really? No foolin’?” I asked, afraid to stand up. Afraid it was another trick.

“Really,” Levy replied from the door, holding it open.

I stood up and quickly made my way to it. He tapped me with his notepad on my way out and I stopped.

“What’s up?” I asked, real worry in my eyes as I looked back, afraid agents were about to swarm me from the doorways in the hall. Afraid of a needle in my neck and a trip to the box.

“You talk to your family lately?”

“C’mon. You know they don’t talk to me.” I said. “’Scept maybe Max.”

“That’s who I mean. You told her about any of this?”

“No,” I shook my head, “I wouldn’t do that to her. And yeah… we talk off and on. I can tell she forces herself to speak to me, but it’s still kinda nice. Y’know. Like, I dunno. Like we’re still sisters.” I said, shrugging.

“Yeah.” He nodded, “She know you’re back on the needle?” He asked.

I felt my eyebrows twitch at what sounded like a touch of concern in his voice.

“No.”

“You should tell her.”

He tucked his notepad under his arm and started away down the pristine metal hallway.

Everybody was always trying to stick me somewhere they thought would help. NEST was always threatening the icebox, the cops were always threatening jail time. Max wanted me to go to rehab.

All I wanted to do was go home, get high and forget about all of them.

I even smiled a little at the thought. Not of Max, not about finally getting out of here. No, what excited me the most was the thought of being able to get back home to my love. My peace-giver. Just thinking about the prick of a needle gave me a wave of excitement and joy.

I hurried out to the lobby to check myself out. I stood in line, smiling to myself like someone had told me a funny joke a moment ago. I scribbled my sloppy signature on the line at the bottom of my out paperwork and confirmed my next appointment in thirty days.

“Charlie S. Ryan,” I said, giving the paperwork back to the woman sitting opposite the intake window.

“Ms. Ryan, your next appointment will be on the nineteenth at 5:00 AM. If you miss this appointment your NEST Agent will collect you by force. If you resist you will be detained and immediately processed for isolation pending an assessment by the Triumvirate. Any and all unpermitted travel is restricted. If you intend to travel outside of your geo-fence you are to report immediately to agents Paul Lyons or Levy Atherton. Furthermore, you are in no way permitted to raise your hands in any form of aggression, assault or self-defense for the betterment and safety of non-reincarnates. Any violation of your BTP or Borrowed Time Policy will result in immediate arrest and possible time spent in a NEST isolation and rehabilitation center. Your freedom is a privilege, not a right. Do you understand?”

It was the same speech everyone got when leaving but I didn’t hear any of it. My mind was on getting rid of this ache in my body. The soreness in my bones that could only be cured by one thing.

“I understand.” I nodded.

She slid my personal items under the glass window in a NEST bag. Inside it, right beneath the Naturalization Enforcement and Securities Triumvirate logo was my small wallet, a half-empty box of cigarettes and a cheap lighter with a gas station logo on it. They slid me my backpack and cellphone through the two-way drawer under the counter.

I had a habit of carrying a guy’s wallet. Not because I didn’t like girl wallets, but because when you spend half your life running or in one-sided street fights, dainty little magnet clip foldovers just didn’t quite make sense. That and I couldn’t afford a real wallet so I Googled a video on how to make one out of duct tape. One trip down to the maintenance closet in my building and I had a sturdy bifold job I could cram all my personals in.

I rifled through my cell phone out of habit. I don’t know why I bothered checking it. Nobody ever called. It wasn’t the most lavish thing in the world, the screen was cracked and my dollar store case had seen better days but it did its job. I had seven contacts saved: Mom, Dad, Max, Bobby, Andy, Sam and Tambourine Man.

Only two of them ever spoke to me.

Max and my dealer.

I put my earbuds in, shuffled my playlist, signed my acceptance of the terms of my temporary freedom and headed towards the big glass front doors. Several other Re-Cars sat in the lobby waiting their turn to be heckled, poked, prodded and made fun of. I recognized a few faces from being here previously, but I didn’t want a conversation. I didn’t want to say hi to someone I’d likely never see again if they gave the wrong answer in there and ended up getting sent up the river.

I just left.

See you next Episode.

Later, gator.

• Vicious

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