Narrative - Feathers Fly Within The Cage Who: Aidan Hunter NPCs: Where: Second Floor Apartment Building, East End When: November 16, 2012 [backdated] What: Aidan goes into the old apartment, memories emerge Rating: PG → R [triggery]
Technically, it was breaking and entering. But Aidan didn't care. And he couldn't, couldn't yet think of himself as being called 'Jason'. But he had to see where...it seemed he lived the first fifteen, sixteen years of his life. Wat the slap of images, sounds, smells, vivid senses.
Click, knock, click, click - the door opened and Aidan carefully stepped in. His credentials were clipped to his waistband along with his firearm. Shining a small maglite, the young man closed the door behind him. The apartment was empty, but for trash and rundown furniture. In the back of his mind was a flickering film.
Aidan smelled the poorly cooked eggs he had cooked at age 12. He got smacked for it and locked in his room. There he wiped tears as he worked on his math homework.
"Daddy's gone, Jace. You are going to keep this family going, yes?"
"Yes, Momma."
"Good boy. Go out downtown and steal what you can - pickpocket the rich ones. Take money, credit cards. Dump the rest of the wallets."
Catherine's voice was drawn out with the lingering last high of the last hit of heroin. When Jason returned the second day of thieving, his nightly hell began.
Aidan moved past the small kitchenette and turned to the narrow hallway that led to three doors - bathroom, bedroom, and tiny bedroom. A scent memory of vomit made him stop and mentally catch his stomach. But he pushed the bathroom door open. Nothing but decay and darkness.
Then the sounds of rustling clothing, whispers, and a muffled cry swirled in Aidan’s mind as he pushed open the door to the larger of the two bedrooms. Trash littered the floor and peeling wallpaper curled down like banana leaves. What was left of a bed frame was hunched on the floor like a broken spider.
Tears were streaking down Aidan’s cheeks as he stood there, flashlight lighting up the room. Then the broken bed frame gave out a weak creak to the change in temperature. Something happened in the young pathologist’s mind and he turned to race to that tiny bathroom. Falling to his knees, he emptied the contents of his stomach into the already putrid toilet. Aidan slowly leaned back and sat down as his mind played what had long-been forgotten – how his mother had valued her addiction more than him and used her son to fund it through prostitution. He was only a child.
Getting to his feet, Aidan left the bathroom, crossed the living room, and stopped at the window that he had seen on that motorcycle ride. The tattered curtains remained and now he understood why he felt drawn to the window. He had spent many nights sitting there as a boy…wondering when he’d be able to leave for good – runaway, jump. But now he felt that he did find a way and that was after the bitch that bore him had died.
Wiping at his mouth, Aidan slipped out of the apartment. Jason Todd was slowly emerging. For now, he was a young man free of one hell.