Reversal: Time Shift

Friday, June 5, 2009
Los Angeles International Airport

He was walking through the airport looking for gate 32b. Fucking LA shit was always too complicated, and the current level of security on international flights was a clusterfuck that he always arrived early to avoid. He had a few hours before his flight to Amsterdam started boarding. Brad Jackson just hated looking for the gates. He finally stopped in the middle of the walkway, hands stuffed deep into his pockets while he fixed that intense glare around the place. Overhead the speakers blared, calling someone to the white courtesy phone. Hands clenching, he looked around aimlessly, until his ears perked up at the sound of a very familiar voice.

"Well well, fancy seeing you here, Sweetcheeks."

Jackson turned around and caught his best, probably his only friend sitting at gate 16. Sinnocence. Her black hair pulled up into a sloppy bun and large sunglasses hid her green eyes.

The smile that curved his lips was there and gone in an instant as he moved towards her. The chatter of the loudspeakers and the hustle around them seemed to fade away into the background, letting him relax his clenched teeth before his jaw could lock up on him. He leaned against the pillar beside her seat, folding his arms across his chest.

"Didn't expect to see you here," he said slowly, watching her from behind the shadow of the battered Chicago Cubs ball cap that served as his disguise.

Her hand came up, bringing the sunglasses down for a moment so she could look at him properly. "You look like hell. Feeling any better?"

He grunted, shifting his gaze from her face to look out at the human element moving past them at a frenetic pace. "I'll live." His standard response to everything life threw at him. Passive aggressive bullshit was his favorite thing to hide behind. "You look good… nice week off to rest up. Guess we know who the favorite is these days." He said the words without a trace of irony, but she could feel the resentment behind them.

"My last fight wasn't that hard, though I'm not going to tell that to Comrade Petrov. It's about time I be the favorite. It's not my fault you're slipping." She grinned up at him, "I'm guessing you're all healed up from the beat down you took. Petrov showed me a Polaroid and warned me against doing anything like it or I'd get worse. He's a real asshole, but the pay is good."

"Yeah. Did he tell you what I did?" He chuckled softly, reaching in his pocket, and pulling out a pack of gum. Liberating one of the foil wrapped sticks, he slipped it into his mouth, surprising the hell out of her. Even with the NO SMOKING signs posted everywhere, she'd expected him to bust out that pack of Camel deadheads and spark one up. God, he really was slipping.

She shook her head, "Just that you refused to throw the fight with Ozzy."

Jada adjusted her sunglasses, looking past him for a moment. "What the hell is taking Ozzy so long to get me a damn cheeseburger? Oh well. What happened, Jax?"

"They threw a giant pile of money at me… dragged Aleks into the middle of it. I told them to fuck off. Might have fucked up their muscle in the process… can't really remember the fight all that well. I think I might have taken a shit in the briefcase as well. It was a crazy night." A wry smile curved his lips, "you know me. Sometimes the mouth bypasses the brain filter."

"You always did talk too much." She chuckled, crossing one leg over the other and looking up at him. "You're not the only one who's head over heels in deep shit."

Jada cracked a grin, "I may have gotten in a little over my head in my latest venture."

One dark brow rose, "prob'ly going to regret asking... aren't I?"

"I did a little research and found out Spiral jumped his probation. So I sent him a little note telling him that unless he did what I said, I'd tell the authorities where he is." She had the grace to look a tad ashamed.

"I asked him to pay my newly freed mother a visit, to teach her a lesson and scare the shit out of her. Jax...he eviscerated her. The cops paid me a visit and told me all the grisly details. How do I control him?"

"Control him?" Jackson laughter was raucous, "that's like saying 'oops, I opened Pandora's Box… how do I roll back the fuckin' Armageddon I just unleashed?'… there's no way to control that kind of destruction." Jackson shook his head, sobering quickly. "Fuck, you're serious, aren't you?"

"Serious as a heart attack. I'm in deep shit here, aren't I?" The look on his face was confirmation enough. Her hand came up and rubbed lightly at her temple. "Just tell me about him...I never did get to know him too well before I did that job for him."

"He's evil, Jada." The conviction in his voice was almost akin to religious fervor. His eyes narrowed as he mulled over her words, "what job? Don't tell me you've done a favor for that twisted piece of shit."

"You remember your divorce from Georgie?" She frowned, better to tell him now rather than later. "The girl from the pictures? That was me. He called me with an offer: asked me to drug you, take some compromising pictures, and give them to him. I told him I'd do it for free. Georgie was just dragging you down, Brad...I only did it give you a reason to get out."

He said nothing for a long moment, looking away from her again. She tensed with every passing second, almost certain that he was going to flip out and bash in her face. "Thanks." He said it so low she didn't hear anything more than a low mumble that was lost in the guttural rasp of his voice. Somewhere, deep down, he'd suspected that she'd had something to do with it. That redhead had known him too well.

She assumed he was okay with her answer and gave him a caring smile, "I didn't do it for him, hell... I just need to come up with some sort of contingency so he doesn't rip out my intestines and feed them to me."

"Yeah… there you go. Contingency plan against the fuckin' devil. Good luck with that, babe." He snorted in derision, "and for the record, there was no divorce… just a body on a slab in the morgue."

"Well excuse me for trying to deal with the problem instead of hiding from it. I've still got him under my thumb for now." She wanted to throw something at him, "I'm not going to apologize about that bitch. She would have ended up just killing you too and I'd rather you be alive than her. Christ...I was just asking your advice. He's not the fuckin' devil, Jax. He bleeds just like you and me."

"Does he?" Jackson shook his head, "not so sure about that. Yeah, he bleeds… I've seen it. I've seen him damn near burned alive, and somehow he always comes back." His hand closed over her shoulder, and he hunkered down beside her. "Between you and me, you were smokin' as a redhead. Jada…" his voice dropped to a lower register, that harsh rasp becoming a whisper. "The Georgie thing was a bad head trip… nothing more." It was his way of dismissing the issue. He'd thanked her. She hadn't heard it. She knew him well enough to get the meaning. He was right. That entire five month ride on the crazy train could have been written off as temporary insanity.

She let out a harsh laugh, "I'll have to dig up one of those pictures and ask Ozzy what he thinks. I'll do what I have to keep Spiral under my thumb. He's got to have a weakness of some kind."

"If he does… I haven't found it yet."

Jada glanced over to him, "speaking of head trips, Ozzy's been wanting to meet you."

"Y'know… pretty sure we've met," he snapped sarcastically, rolling his eyes as he withdrew his hand, slipping the rest of the way to the floor. He wrapped his arms around his knees, bringing them up to his chest. The intimate moment was shattered as he slipped back into that hard shell of his.

"Outside of the fight circle, jackass." She moved forward, wrapping her arms around him from behind. A few people stopped to stare at them, but she just sneered at them and they kept moving. "Damn it, Jax, don't do this to me. Don't shut down. Something besides me is the matter...tell me what's wrong. Come on, tell me..."

"Heh," the chuckle was a forced exhalation, sharp and derisive, "maybe you can jerk the leash one last time… for me." The words were confusing. She had no idea what he was referring to, and then it dawned on her from the look on his face. Shane Sanders. He'd never gotten that poison out of his system- the entire Georgie fiasco had been a means to bury his head in the sand, and escape the way that woman had made him feel. "He hurts her…" the words trailed off, but she knew what the intended ending was: I'll kill him.

She looked off into the distance, almost regretting her first order for Spiral. Take Shane Sanders down. Make her bleed. Sinn didn't want any unnecessary competition for her title.

"I can't stop him from doing what he does best in the fight circle, Jax...you know that. Would you kill me for hurting her when we fight? We'll eventually fight, you know that."

"Not the same thing… and you know it."

Jada could only shake her head. Ozzy was due back any moment. She climbed back into her seat, keeping a hand on his shoulder. "Look, I'm going to do my best...but if you mention a word of this to Ozzy, you'll regret it. I don't want him involved. You have enough on your plate as it is...I think I'd rather deal with Spiral than what you're going to have to deal with."

"You know me better than that, babe." He cast a dark look in her direction, as one corner of his mouth quirked upwards. "Secret's safe… s'long as you don't spill mine."

"Hey, hear no evil, see no evil, speak no evil. You know me." From the corner of her eye, she spotted her lover returning with an annoyed look on his face, but he had her cheeseburger in hand. "Oh good, my food is on its way."

Jackson followed her gaze, groaning softly. "Fuck. Guess my welcome's run out."

"Well, this is your chance to talk to him. He's not bad, Jax. Just say hi to him...and this time when you fight, don't throw him out of the circle. He really hated that." She grinned and squeezed his shoulder. "Don't worry; I'll protect you if he gets mean."

"Fabulous," Jackson growled, pulling his bulk upright, with a loud symphony of popping joints. This ought to go about as well as a foray into a shark tank with t-bones stapled to his shorts.



Tuesday, May 12, 2009
Los Angeles, CA

More than seven hours had passed. In his condition, he was blessedly unaware of this simple fact. Small favors. Mostly naked, he lay facedown on the dry earth, half in the ditch that bordered the service road like a war-time trench. His skin was reddened, the healthy tan already drifting closer to lobster red.

Fat beads of sweat on his feverish skin glistened. His lips were dry and cracked, blistered and covered in a disgusting patina of dust and dried blood. His face was mangled. One eye was crusted shut with blood from his split open temple. All he could remember of the affair was a pair of cold blue eyes, and the tooth-jarring impact of the butt of her gun.

He lay upon the dusty earth, lacking the energy to get up. Reality shimmered around him like a mirage. That cold room with the moonlit skylight flickered and faded like a subliminal message.

If breathing were not automatic, he may have expired hours ago, while baking under the unforgiving sun. The phone clipped to his belt vibrated, somehow still holding on to that last sliver of battery charge as though by sheer force of will. Jackson didn't hear it; he wouldn't have been able to comprehend it even if he had. His gaze was unfocused and the vultures were circling- metaphorically of course. The only animal actually lurking was the sleek, fat crow that watched him from the broken pole that stuck out of the earth, defying gravity at such an extreme angle.

His head rested against the gritty ground, his eyes wide and staring, glassy and empty. A runnel of drool trailed down his chin from his slack mouth, moistening the parched earth.

The phone continued to buzz, the display blinking with the cellular number of Ryann Hardy. He didn't remember jostling the phone while he was still inside the car before passing out. He had no idea where she was, or where he was. This situation seemed dire. Certain death loomed.

Fucking Russians.

Was Jackson dead?


"Who the hell are you?" The voice filtered to his ears, making him lift his head. His eyes were open now, both fully functional. He cocked his head, looking at the moonlight silvered glass and the inky black night that pressed against it. He pressed his palms against the dusty floor, and felt the solidity.

"I could ask you the same question." His voice was a harsh rasp- one that shouted an anguished plea for water.

The crow mimicked his pose, staring down at him from the window ledge. "You could."

"Subjective answer. My name doesn't mean anything." He laughed softly, looking at his inverted miniature reflection in the bird's jet-black stare.

"You were dreaming," the crow said, taking a small shuffling step.

"It's all a dream, isn't it?" He was aware of pain now, an empty, hollow ache that filled him completely. He could smell ozone, like the scent of the air in the calm before a summer storm. Something whispered on the edge of his hearing, sounding like the palm trees of his youth. Filled with portents and secrets as they whispered in voices only he could hear. He looked around, seeing nothing but that velvet dark bracketing that perfect slice of cold silver light.

"Have I died?" He eyed the crow suspiciously.

"Have you?" The crow echoed, stretching its neck to see him better.


Was he dead? His eyes were cloudy, red rimmed and blood shot. He didn't seem to be breathing, in fact he was utterly still, sprawled where he fell. Dust coated his jeans. There was grit in his hair. That silver ribbon of drool was the only thing that lent the impression of life. Everything was silent, as though a cauldron of the void had been poured over the scene.

Somewhere in the cosmos, a man in black looked up from whatever he was doing, as though he'd heard a sound. With a loud gasp, Jackson jerked spasmodically, his vision clearing as he blinked the sand away. He coughed hoarsely as he dragged himself painfully upright, balancing on trembling arms that felt like brittle sticks. The effort was nearly Herculean, and left him seeing stars, on the verge of passing out. Somehow he knew that would be a fatal mistake. Right now, that was the only thing he knew.

He spit dirt from his mouth, and continued to cough, rolling over on to his side and doubling up with the intensity. He tasted blood, the sickening coppery tang as his lips split open, filling his mouth with filth and then bile as he gagged, stomach heaving. Gathering up all his spit from his too dry mouth, he spat the mouthful into the sand.

The wind shifted, and Jackson's head snapped up, his eyes wide and wild. The crow stared at him from its perch. Jackson remained on the ground, trembling imperceptibly, as the phone continued to vibrate on his belt. Hot tears fell from his eyes, splashing to the thirsty ground. He shook like a junkie, and his mind felt as though it was trying to break free from the constraints of his head. His consciousness swam, and then the silence was broken by the sound of an engine- miles away, but getting closer.

Jackson began coughing again, doubling over as pain arced across his bruised ribs. He ran a hand across his lips, wiping away spittle and blood, wincing as his fingers came in contact with the blistered skin. "Fuck…" he pitched forward, eyes rolling up in his head. A puff of dust rose up from the impact.


"You were dreaming again," the crow said, lifting his beak from the grooming of his ragged feathers.

"Was I?" He croaked, his voice barely above a whisper. He cocked his head, considering the statement. "Yes," he said after a moment, "I was."

He turned his head, feeling the creaking of his stiff neck.

"What were you dreaming about?" The crow asked.

"I…" the reply died on his lips as the dream faded away from the dreamer, leaving behind a state of unease.

"You were thinking about escape again." The crow chided, shaking his head slowly. "Slipping through the cracks of reality, the dreamer dreams... and in his state of restless rest, the schemer schemes…"

The words resonated with him, making him flinch. "I said that once. Who-" his voice cracked, a rattle in his throat. A glass of water would be divine. "are you…?"

"Don't." The crow chided, rocking forward. His talons scratched against the wood, "you can't escape here. You might as well give up. Reconcile yourself to this fate. You keep coming back because this is where you really belong."

"Fuck that," he snapped, leaning his head back as though it was growing too heavy to hold. "I don't settle." Certainty colored the words, almost masking the fearful tremble, "escape is the first thing a prisoner should always consider. Strategy…"

"A prisoner? Who said this was a prison?" The crow chortled, the sound like a rattle of dry bones. "If one is a prisoner of love, must one escape then… to solitude? If one is a prisoner of happiness, must one then escape to sorrow?"

"Damn right. It's not supposed to be easy." He turned slowly, moving his body in a slow swivel before resting his knuckles on the hardwood floor to support his weight. He bared his teeth in a snarl, and then lurched to his feet, towering over the bedraggled crow.

"Ah, well," the crow seemed bemused, "I see you're still angry that I won't tell you my name."

"Tell me, you fuck. What is this place?"

"What does it matter?" Came the reply, just another question, "if I tell you my name is Corvus, and that we've met before, under similar circumstances, would it change things? Would that give you peace of mind? Hmmm…?"

"Is that your name?" He turned away, hands still squeezed into ineffectual fists. He felt as weak as a kitten.

"It isn't," the crow said nothing for a moment, letting the silence thicken, "but then, nothing is really what it seems..."

"I don't know you." He folded his arms across his bare chest, that stubborn chin jutting out.

"I suppose not. You don't even know your own name." The crow clicked his tongue, the sound echoing, "in revealing my appellation, I tell you nothing- but I leave myself at a disadvantage. Words still have meaning, even when written in water… and names have power."

"Names…" he echoed, shaking his head. He couldn't remember anything past the void.

"The universe was forged with a word. A single utterance. But which came first… the word, or the thought?"

He snickered, "the egg." He looked around, eyes roaming over the walls. Blank and black- nothing special. The moonlight dappled his hands silver as he held them out, beseeching.

"No, I see you're far to wrapped up in this theory of escape. Too wound up in this question to consider the large issues."

"What?" His voice was filled with urgency, those twilight eyes narrowing slightly. "What question?"

The crow rose, moving towards him, the voice a low rasp. "Who are you?"

"How… how did you know about that?"


"How did….you…know…where to find…me?"

Water dripped from his face, diluting the filth and the blood.

Ryann crouched beside him, reaching out to touch his shoulder, recoiling instantly at the searing heat of his skin. She held out a half full bottle of water, pressing it into Jackson's bloody hand. "Brad? What do you mean? You called me…" she consulted her watch before continuing, "eight hours ago…"

The sun was setting. The sky was tinted with peach and tangerine. It was beautiful.

Jackson groaned, shaking his head as he poured the water over his face, letting it flow into his opened mouth. "I…"

Her hands went to her hips, feet kicking up dust as she moved them restlessly. "Brad? What happened?"

Every thought was fuzzy, and suddenly, Jackson could remember nothing leading up to this moment. He couldn't recall how he'd gotten to this place- or even where he was. He looked at her in bewilderment, and suddenly, he was even unsure of who she was. "I didn't call you."

He said the words with conviction. The cell phone on his belt was cracked, the display bleeding black across the screen. He cocked his head in the direction of the crow. "Maybe he did."

Tears filled her eyes as she dropped to her knees beside him. The sob caught in her throat, and then she felt the warm wetness on her face as she wrapped her arms around him. "I'm so glad you're ok."



Friday, June 5, 2009
Los Angeles International Airport

"Well, this is your chance to talk to him. He's not bad, Jax. Just say hi to him...and this time when you fight, don't throw him out of the circle. He really hated that." She grinned and squeezed his shoulder. "Don't worry; I'll protect you if he gets mean."

"Fabulous," Jackson growled, pulling his bulk upright, with a loud symphony of popping joints. This ought to go about as well as a foray into a shark tank with t-bones stapled to his shorts.

Anger hummed through his nerve endings as he watched Sinn's lover stride towards them. Ozzy's jaw was set, the cheeseburger being mangled in his hand.

"You!"

Sinn jumped in, her hands against both their chests. "Don't, please...not here."

Jackson growled low in his throat. "I could kill him now, snap his neck… make a break for it," he thought. Instead he narrowed his eyes and turned that glare on Sinn. "I told you I've worn out my welcome." He pulled away from her, but she grabbed hold of his shirt, eyes pleading behind the huge shades. Puppy dog eyes. Shit. His eyes slid to Ozzy's, and he met that challenging gaze head on.

"Can't you two just talk for a few moments, Ozzy? He's not going to throw you out of the damn window."

"I might," the thought made him have to stifle a grin.

"Oh, he'd be welcome to try, but I don't think he could even if he wanted to. Off a stupid platform, maybe. Through a window? I wouldn't bet the house on it. Anyway, this isn't the place – even if the timing is perfect." Kilminster glanced over his shoulder, as though the rent-a-cops weren't visible to even the visually impaired.

If they were anywhere else right now, the fucker would be on his back, busted wide open. Wouldn't be the first of Jada's lovers that he'd beaten up. He remembered another night, more than a year ago. That Abercrombie and Fitch dipshit with his marijuana fetish. God, her taste in guys left something to be desired. At least this prick wasn't a goddamn rapist.

"So... what pressing matter do we have to discuss?"

Jackson smirked, rolling his eyes. "Got me. She's the one that wants us to talk."

Jackson nodded in Sinn's direction as he leaned back against the pillar. He reached into his pocket, automatically digging out that mangled pack of Camel deadheads. He looked at them for a long moment before sighing. Another piece of Juicy Fruit joined the first, his jaw cracking as he worked the bit of rubbery gum between his molars.

"What is your problem with each other? You haven't had any contact outside of the damn fight circle."

Kilminster's voice was filled with scorn. "You want me to play happy families with the guy who screwed me the last time we fought, just because he's your little buddy? You want me to be all nicey-nicey with the guy I'm fighting again very soon, just because he's your friend? Sorry, but it doesn't work that way."

Jackson meets that measuring stare, watching the veins pulse in Kilminster's temples. How lovely. He favored the jackass with that smug smile, fleeting at best. "Get over it. You're just pissed off that I beat you... even after getting a damn good offer to throw the fight."

A look of panic crossed Sinn's face, and she rushed in to bury his words. "I'm asking you to be civil, Ozzy. Besides, he probably knew that he couldn't beat you properly so he just beat you the only way he could." Jada grinned up at him, earning a look of malice from Jackson.

"Fuck you, Jada."

"Maybe later, Jax."

He laughed as she held his gaze way too long before turning her head to look at Ozzy. Jealousy was written all over his face. It was clear that there was no love lost between the two men.

"I guess I just thought you both could be adult enough to agree not to throw each other out of the circle and fight properly...You know, a tapout or knockout kind of fight."

Kilminster held up a hand, taking the bait. "Hold on. You reckon you got an offer to throw the fight? You're talking out of your arse, as usual. I heard you'd had some problems with the promotion, but that's just a real load of old-"

"They weren't just problems, Ozzy. Petrov's men beat the fuck out of him for not throwing the fight...then Petrov and his goons showed up at the Queen, threatening me with worse if I did the same stunt. He's not just talking out of his ass." She scowled, eyes flicking to Jackson's remote features, and back to those of her angry lover. "I've still got bruises if you wanna see 'em."

Jackson moved closer to her, bending his head to mumble an excuse. Not his usual deal and it took her by surprise. "Look, I've got to find my gate. I'll see you at the event, Sinn." He dismissed Kilminster, watching him silently seethe at the blatant snub. Whatever. Let the asshole stew in his own juices.

Shouldering his duffel bag, Jackson disappeared into the crowd.