2022-04-22 - My Eyes

Blue and red lights dance in the reflection of the puddle his Air Jordan was just about to slam in. Myles shoulders hike up. That's the first part. His shoulders slowly rise in tension as he waits for the second part. The single wee-WOOP cry of the police car has him stopping dead. Closing his eyes tightly he lets out a sigh. Fuck. He moves over into the sidewalk and turns to face the police cruiser of the GHPD. A little surprise in his features as the cop walking up to him isn't the cop he expected. A younger man. Never seen him before.

"Hey there, how's it goin?"

"Good, sir." Myles states, eyes going back down to his feet immediately. "How are you sir?"

"Can't complain. Thanks for asking. Where you headed to?"

"Home, sir."

"Yeah? Where's that?"

"Elm Street, sir." His father would have been pissed at him. He doesn't need to answer these questions. But the sooner he does, the sooner they go away. Hopefully. Every time he senses the younger cop not looking directly at him, his eyes flash to the cruiser. To the passenger seat. He in there? Watching? Was he behind this?

"Yeah. Coming home from school, little late for that, isn't it son?"

His eyes went sharply back to the young cop at that word. His shoulders filled up. Only sixteen, but already a very large young man. He probably had thirty pounds on the wiry cop. Which is why he has to be careful. He forces his eyes back down. "Football practice, sir. Then was studying for a little at the library."

"Anyone studying with you?"

Brows furrow. "My girlfriend."

"Mm."

A long span of silence. Myles keeps looking at the ground. Keep your eyes down.

"Well we've had a few break ins in the area last couple months."

Myles does his best to resist rolling his eyes. Instead he nods.

"Got some ID on you, son?"

"No, sir. I don't drive yet."

The exchange continues. Back and forth, back and forth. Getting all this information he doesn't need. Asking all these questions that don't need to be asked. Cars go by on the street. People see him standing there in the blue and the red lights. It ends up like Myles is telling him his entire schedule of the week. The cop always seems to have more inane questions to follow up with. Until he finally asks about graffiti. Myles slowly looks up.

"You wouldn't know anything about that, would you son? Gang signs going up in the area."

Gang signs. The impulse to roll his eyes intensifies but he shakes his head. "No, sir." He lies.

"Would you mind, for my own safety if I quickly checked you for weapons."

It drags on again. Myles complies, his hands on the top of his head, the police officer's hand clamped over both of his as he is searched. Facing the cruiser. Finally the passenger seat opens up. The other cop gets out. There he is. Hank Aldrich. Myles stares at him as his partner searches him thoroughly. Finally the cop leaves him, telling him to wait right there. He heads back to Hank, shaking his head as they go. The two confer quietly as Myles stands there, not allowing any emotion onto his face. Stand there. Keep your mouth shut.

Finally Hank saunters over. "Sure you don't know anything about this vandalism, Webber? Because I'll be damned if it doesn't keep popping up around me. In my neck of the woods."

"No, sir."

Hank takes a step forward, holding his hand out. "Give me your bag, Webber."

The backpack is handed over. The old man searches it right there in front of him. There's nothing in it. Myles isn't stupid. The backpack is practically shoved into his chest. Hank takes a single step forward so his lips are closer to Myles' ear. "As long as you insist on hanging around her. This won't stop. My eyes are on you. Always. When you slip up. I'll be there. You understand?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Go on, then."

Myles can't sleep.

He's sitting up on the edge of the bed in his childhood bedroom. Staring at the digital clock. 1:58 AM. Stare at it till it becomes 1:59. Stare harder. It becomes 2:00 AM. Still no closer to sleep. He lowers his head. Black jeans go on first. As he pulls his pants on his eyes go around in the dark of the room. Posters of J-Lo, Penelope Cruz, Salma Hayek are everywhere. He was going to take them down, but stopped when he saw Nicasia's reaction. Made him smile. He'll keep them up a little longer. Long sleeve shirt next. Hoodie. He's on his knees pulling out his duffel from under the bed. He checks his supplies. When he's satisfied, the duffel is tossed on top of the bed. Can't go down the stairs. That floorboard betrayed him. Instead it's out the window. Something he hasn't done in quite a few years.

The window is opened, Myles leans out looking over at the window of the master bedroom. Used to be Leonard he was checking for. Now Nicasia. Leonard slept like the dead though. The duffel is dropped down into the grass and moments later, Myles it out the window, hanging from the sill before he follows suit with a roll, quickly grabbing his duffel and making his way onto the street.

He runs, most of the time. It's different than in Nevada. If a cop rolled up on him like this in the middle of the night, given his frame and manner of dress.... He runs. Using alleyways between houses, darting through trees. It takes him just a little while before he's on the bay. Looking out at the ocean as he pants, out of breath. Now to find the perfect angle. It takes a little while, surveying the marina. Running down the streets. Where would his commute take him? Where would he see it?

Too much posh stuff. That could get him unwanted attention. But eventually he finds a good spot. An old broken down warehouse, a gray background. Facing the marina. It's a good spot.

It takes a little while. The warehouse barely has anything keeping it locked. It's not very hard to get in. It's harder to climb to the top. Making his way carefully on dilapidated walkways and managing scaffolding.

Nic wanted him to take Lady.

The thought occurs to him while he hangs from a beam probably fifty feet in the air. He lets out a puff of humor before pulling himself up. Gotta climb. Eventually Myles finds himself on the roof of the warehouse, making his way to the edge of the ceiling. His phone comes out. He took pictures. The best place would be down, way far down from where he could safely hang. He lets out a sigh. Unless he had rope and a whole kit it wouldn't come out perfect. And it needed to. He opens his bag, taking out a single can. This would never work. He closes his eyes and hangs his head for a second. Closing his eyes tight. He breathes. Slow.

The can is no longer in his hand. But it is in his control. He keeps his eyes closed. He can hear it shaking. He can hear the spraying sound. His other hand stretches. He hears another can shaking, he hears the paint spraying. Slowly, his eyes open. There he is sitting on the edge of a roof of a large run down warehouse, with two cans of spray paint acting as if on their own volition fifteen feet below him. Slowly Myles shifts, moving to roll on his stomach, reaching out as if guiding the cans. He doesn't really think about what he's doing. He just does it. Is this insane that he's controlling two cans of spray paint that are not in his hands? Yes. But he almost doesn't even notice.

He feels the need to make this happen.

So he just will.

His will made manifest on the wall of the warehouse, staring out at the marina.

He's not sure how long it takes. Time just goes by. Different cans float back down and back up to him as time goes by. Before he knows it, the dark night sky is lighting up. Dawn. He needs to be gone and soon.

Boots crunch back down against the earth as he moves away from the warehouse. Looking up over his shoulder to the warehouse. His lips curl up at the sight. It's big. He did good. Just one thing left to do.

He makes his way to the marina, onto to the dock. Myles knows where he lives. He makes his way down to the houseboat, floating there. He steps onto it. There's a little gate on the front, keeping people from readily boarding there even if its only waist high. The can of light blue is taken out and a thin strip is quickly done on the interior of the latch. The spray might have woken him but it doesn't matter. He's done. Myles is soon back on the dock before he's running away. Running home.

The thin strip of light blue paint is done on the latch. When Hank Aldrich leaves his house in the morning he'll find paint on his hand. A light blue. He won't know why. It won't make any sense to him. It won't be until he makes his way past that warehouse. Until he sees in bright blues and greens, a pair of mournful eyes, piercing and haunting. The eyes are looking towards the marina as if looking directly at the house boat. Above the eyes in blocky stylized letters: MY. Below the eyes: ON YOU. It's a beautiful mural really if there wasn't the hint of a threat in it. The callback of an old man's mistakes.

If Hank raises his hand, he'll find that the bright blue on his fingers matches the blue painted on the eyes on the warehouse.