evowhisperer | IC Voicemail

*Cesar doesn't remember calling 911. He knows he must have, because the doctors say he did, and they say that he came in an ambulance. He tries to remember for a brief while, but gives up soon. There's some memories he doesn't miss.*

*His cellphone stays in his hospital room the whole time. He doesn't check it, but it sits there, like a tiny gargoyle guarding his bed. The room isn't private, but it happens to be empty, and it's surprisingly nice, for what it is. The pain medications are more than enough for him to sleep for the first day, and then most of the next.*

*He's awake enough by the third to realize what he's lost, and that he'll never speak again.*

Edited 2014-12-18 00:17 (UTC)

[L had already called a few times over the last few days... out of concern or morbid curiosity, he didn't know, but the truth was that he felt a certain compulsion to check up on Cesar since the all too recent death of his brother, Moises. Since the calls have not yielded a response, he opts to send a text, because the Numbers, strangely and unfortunately, are failing to succeed at establishing a connection.]

I noticed that something significant has changed. Are you all right? [The first text he'll try to send; if he receives no response, or an unsatisfactory one, he'll try again several more times.]

*Cesar will look at the text, start to swallow (stop himself), and close the text window. It's nothing but a text from that numbered kid Cesar-from-a-few-months-ago thought would be an acceptable substitute for a professional detective.*

*The text will wait. A lump is trying to form in Cesar's throat, made enormously more painful from the issues already there, and Cesar wants to try to sleep through it again.*

[The text will wait. It's sender, on the other hand, will not.]

I know your phone isn't dead. I called and it wasn't sent immediately to voicemail; it rang five times. I think if the number had been changed its new owner would have sent a message back to tell me as much and save me the trouble. Is it because you're not Numbered anymore?

*Cesar lies there for a few minutes, attention sharpened by the latest vibration-hum of another text. He waits for his mind to wander.*

*His patience falls through before it has the time. Cesar picks up the phone, thumbing the screen on and reading the bottom message.*

*He doesn't put the phone down again. He remembers this 'L', and this recent clarity he's having is also letting him see that as self-deluded as he is, L clearly wants some kind of answer. A kind one would be a neat little reassurance. An honest one would admit that Cesar didn't think he'd ever been a numbered, and that they'd had their tragedies for nothing. There was never anything special about any of them. They were just idiots, playing with fire and mourning the burns.*

*The words stick to the back of his mind as though it wasn't just his voice that was removed, but his ability to communicate at all. He doesn't reply, but he sits there, unable to put the phone away.*

My last two texts were "delivered." Answer; if you do not, I will send one more, reminding you of what you offered to do for me. I realize it's entirely possible that you do not remember. I also realize it's possible that you are avoiding me, and in that case, obviously a different approach is required.

*Cesar frowns at his phone, touching at the padding at his throat while he reads. He doesn't remember. It must be from one of the dark windows of time where memories on either side of it slip together, drawing shut like blinds.*

*He waits, hoping that 'one more' text means the end to any more texts.*

I thought so. Hope you like lilies.

*'...Lillies?' Cesar mouths, touching his throat again and moving the blanket away. Was L going to buy flowers and send it--what, to his house? The man thought he was a detective, so he might get that far. Was he planning to send some to Cesar's hospital room?*

*Cesar lets the screen go dark, but can't quite banish the crease that has formed between his eyebrows. Was L going to show up there? At his room? ... Could Cesar preemptively request the nurses to let no visitors in until he's gone? No, that last one would be jumping the gun. Except how else would L have known to bring flowers if he didn't clearly already know that Cesar was in a hospital?*

*By the time L arrives, Cesar's nurses will have been shown a phone-typed message requesting no visitors, and Cesar will have pushed the phone back on the table to sleep. (Or he'll try to: his eyes are closed, but his breathing isn't deep, or even.)*

*He's worse for wear. There's a cut with some bruising at his top and bottom lips, severe chapping, and there's a feeding tube coming out of one nostril. More than any of those are the strong shadows of bruising at his forehead, jaw, and the wrist that's over the blanket.*

*He'd been restrained.*

Edited 2014-12-18 04:19 (UTC)

[Though Cesar has asked for privacy from visitors, there's a certain leniency administrations practice when it comes to proven family. L arrives and is, fortunately, not recognized for who he is; this could be because he's been taking far better care of himself since the last time he saw these people, or simply because he's carrying himself differently. He speaks earnestly to the woman at the front desk, explaining that he was told that his brother, Cesar, is here and hurt and that he, Moises Sanchez-Ortiz, is someone Cesar would certainly want to see. He provides an ID confirming who he is, and the receptionist, falling victim to his wide eyes and haunted tone, is quick to buzz him in and give him directions to the room. He carries a small flower arrangement in his hands, and any who question him are quickly told that he is family, and here to see his brother, and they fall back.

Moises parting the Red Sea, for true.

He announces his presence with two sharp raps on the door, entering and unceremoniously dumping the flowers on the bedside table.]

No visitors? You really did want to keep me away.

*Cesar's eyes snap open, and before it occurs to him to play possum he's turning over. Shit--too late to go back now. Cesar's mouth opens and closes, and he starts to sit up.*

*'How?' is visible in his eyes and half-grimace, but he doesn't speak the word.*

[L tilts his head, studying Cesar's appearance and trying to discern the extent of the damage done to him. He casually tugs the corded call button out of Cesar's reach, then circles around to the foot of the bed, reaching for his chart and thumbing through it. His eyes widen slightly as they scan over the pages.]

I tried to contact you. Before today, even, but... you were off-network. This is really unfortunate...

[And that is really the understatement of the century. Briskly, L sets aside the chart.]

I need to know what you remember... about being Numbered, and about who did this to you. Please cooperate; if you do, I'll happily leave you alone, if that's what you really want, but it could be very helpful, and I have to be persistent. I hope you understand.

*Cesar's fingers grasp at air, and he looks at the edge of the bed that the button fell away over with clear frustration. 'How' turns to 'Get out', and 'go away', and the blanket falls back as he hunches warily.*

*'Persistent'. What, for his own good? Bullshit. 'Please cooperate', as though Cesar was being the difficult one. His mouth closes, pressing his lips to a thin line, and his glare only gets narrower. Who did this guy think he was, anyway?*

*The phone is back in his hands. Strangely enough, he has fewer filters now than he ever did when he could speak out loud.*

I know that your persistence was probably what got my brother killed. I don't remember the details.

*There's a fumble in his stride. He remembers more than he wants to let on, but the impact is in his next words.*

As for me, they thought I talked to much.

Now I'll never speak again.

*He turns the phone, holding it without giving it up.*

[The clear hostility in Cesar's expression doesn't cause L's to change at all; his pale features are placid and unresponsive, and he pulls up a chair, clearly intending to stay for awhile. When he sees what Cesar has typed out on his phone, he blinks, but otherwise doesn't react.]

Your chart says that your vocal cords were removed, so I suppose that's true. Did they tell you anything specific? Why they did this to you, after everything you and your family have already been through?

[The words are level and serious; though L's bedside manner isn't particularly sensitive or empathetic, he is far from making light of the situation.]

Edited 2014-12-18 05:34 (UTC)

*Cesar brings his phone back. Types, punching the message in below the first.*

I just told you.

Don't sit down.

Leave now, before I have you thrown out.

[He sets his jaw. Persistent to the last, even if it's foolish, even if it's downright crazy.]

Why make this harder than it has to be? You lost your Numbers. I still care what happened then, and what happens from here. What do you remember about the people who did this to you?

[He pulls the call button off the bed entirely, kicking it under the metal frame.]

If you can tell me, give me anything at all to go on... I'll do my best to help you remember. I can't imagine you're wholly determined to remain ignorant of what was so important so recently.

*L has made several mistakes in this conversation. One was to assume Cesar's threats were idle.*

*The next was to bring himself within arm's reach as he kicked the button under the bed's frame, and then to not back out of it again. Cesar doesn't even need muscle for this: just rage.*

*His hand snaps out, grabs L by the front of his collar, and yanks him to the bed's edge. Cesar shoves the cellphone an inch or two away from L's eyes, and it's a visible effort to stop himself there.*

*All his answers are still visible, from his memories to his threat.*

Edited 2014-12-18 05:56 (UTC)

[L goes down easily; his recent efforts at taking better care of himself, becoming more substantial, more of a force to reckon with, are unpracticed and inconsistent and require much more than spurts of earnest effort to achieve lasting results. He's still willowy and frail, and for the first time since setting foot in the room, something lights up his dark, empty eyes. Wariness, fear, and certainly shock.

He wrenches his eyes away from the screen after he's seen the same stubborn answers. He speaks quickly and softly.]

My friend's funeral is tomorrow. His death was a direct result of Albero's actions. You've made your point, and I am truly sorry that this happened to you... but everything is escalating, and even if you're angry, and you resent the hell out of me, this has to end.

[He's aware of the barely-restrained rage that he can feel in Cesar's tensed muscles that are in direct control of his grip. He's aware that he should be making hurried promises to back off the second he's free.

No one has ever accused him of possessing profound wisdom.]

*A second ticks by. Two seconds.*

*The grip on L's collar eases. Cesar lowers the cellphone, exhausted in ways that have nothing to do with his recent exertion. The rage from before still lurks under the surface, but he's typing, now, not threatening.*

My condolences. Name?

[L's previous mistake, the one where he got close enough for Cesar to seize, is hastily remedied; when he's free, he makes it a point to get out of arm's reach while still remaining close enough to read what Cesar types into his phone.]

Anthony Janvier. Albero's people sawed open an old woman's head. Removed her brains. The media latched onto the imagery of a zombie doing that to her, and I'm sure you can imagine how the frightened public responded. I tried to tell him to run; he wouldn't leave me to face them alone.

[L shakes his head restlessly. The ever-present rings under his eyes say that he hasn't slept since this happened.]

It should have been me. Someday it will be, and this cosmic joke will end, and I hope you can take as much comfort from that as I do. Until then... what's happening is evil, and I am asking you to help me fight it. I can't do it by myself.

*Silent lips trace words that can't be identified, and his complexion is greyer than before. Cesar's hand goes to the bridge of his nose.*

*Seconds pass.*

*Now, typing.*

They kidnapped me. Brought me to a warehouse. Said it was punishment.

Left me there when they were done.

*Cesar's eyes stay on the phone, this time.*

[L doesn't know what he'd expected; more fury, a total breakdown, even the worst possible reaction, derision and cruelty tearing down efforts that would be worthless at best and destructive at worst.

He reads what's been typed, and it's a painful kind of comprehension because it's so familiar.]

Yes, that sounds about right. I am... truly sorry.

[Two months ago, he and Tony went through a similar ordeal. L survived, and came away from it in one piece, another part of that cosmic joke that inexplicably continues to spare someone who should, by every natural law, die easily and quickly.]

How... how long were you there. After they left, and... who came for you?

*Cesar shakes his head.*

I don't know how long. No one came. They say I called an ambulance.

*He starts to show the message, and then pulls back to add,* Somehow.

*His lips twitch mirthlessly, and the expression dies before it gets far.*

[L nods gravely; it's a far cry from the kinds of answers he supposes he'd hoped for, details and names and time frames, but he was in no shape for questioning after he came back. Hell. He'd barely known his own name.]

I know it's hard. Thank you for what you've told me; I believe that it will help us. In return, I want to help you; I'll leave, of course, like you wanted, but in addition, do not worry about hospital expenses not covered by your insurance, as they'll be taken care of.

[He nods briskly, turning towards the door.]

*Cesar waves a dismissive hand ('No, don't bother',) but doesn't insist. He'll deal with cost once L is gone, and when he's in better health.*

*As things are now, he lifts his gaze to watch L leave.*

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