Volume 4: Metaphase

Issue 9: Refuge

Jannette Adrian Churchwell

By Nova

“Stitch?” The voice came low and scratchy over the phone.

“Y-yeah, it’s me,” I said. The cold air clung to me, freezing me to the bone. I shivered, hopelessly, against the chill.

“Do… do you know what time it is?” Ramirez said. He sounded tired. Really tired.

“I kn-know i-it’s late…” I stuttered.

“Late? Stitch, it’s 3 AM,” Ramirez said, not trying to hide his irritation.

“I-I know, I’m really s-sorry. I’m really sorry if I w-woke you u-up.”

Ramirez sighed. “No… I actually wasn’t asleep,” he said. “But now that you got me, what’s happening? Did you make a break in the case?” There was a pause. “At 3 AM?”

I nearly hung up, but for some reason I stayed on the line. “N-no, Ramirez I…” I took a few shuddering breaths. “I-I really need a pick up. For you to pick me up. Right now.”

I could almost see him thinking on the other side of the phone. “Never mi-” I began to say, but he cut me off.

“No, that’s fine. Where?” he asked.

I gave him the address.

“Shimizu? Stitch, what the hell are you doing there? That’s deep in Yakuza turf… if someone sees you, you’ll have a villain on your ass in minutes.”

Oh great, he knew this place too? Was I the only person who didn’t? “I’m not in costume,” I said, “no one knows I’m here.” Except Wasabi, of course, but I wasn’t in the mood to hunt him down.

Again, another pause. “You’re… not in costume?” Ramirez asked. “You sure you want me to pick you up?”

“Yes,” I said. “Please. I don’t care… I don’t have my costume on me.” The closest thing I had were my regular clothes I had worn on the flight over… but that was half a block away and I wasn’t sure I could walk that far right now. Especially not with what I was wearing… God I was such an idiot, going this deep into enemy turf in a cocktail dress.

“Okay,” Ramirez said. “I’m… on my way.” There was an unfamiliar note of confusion in his voice—it was clear he didn’t really know what was going on.

To be fair, I wasn’t either.

I leaned back against the brick wall. I didn’t really know why I was still here, though I was thankful no one in the club or on the street had come to the alleyway. Maybe they saw Seraph and decided to clear away.

Or maybe they just could smell the blood and bile that coated me. The adrenaline was wearing off and I became acutely aware of the stench of the alley dumpsters and myself.

Of course, the guy was still here. I had no idea what to do with him. I stabilized him—so he wouldn’t just die here—but I didn’t have the energy to haul his body out from between the dumpsters. So, I instead retreated further back into the alleyway. From here, I stared at his feet, the only part of his body I could see. His shoes looked oversized, like two clown shoes on feet still too small to use them properly. I blinked—his feet hadn’t shifted—he still was down.

Just cause I knew he’d be out for a while didn’t mean I actually trusted him to stay out.

After a few minutes of staring, I glanced up at the night sky. It was getting foggy as the sky shifted from a pitch black to an almost… orangish gray. The city itself was quiet, or at least as quiet as a city of millions could be. The occasional car or motorcycle rumbled softly in the distance, accompanied by the distant flitting of a helicopter. High above, echoing down from the sky, I heard the faintest sonic boom… Was it Seraph? Heading across the Bay? Or maybe it was someone else, maybe even an airplane or something. The sky sure didn’t reveal it. I couldn’t even see the stars, the moon… or even one of the orbital cities that normally ruined stargazing. Just an opaque haze, hanging low above the city.

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The sound of my phone buzzing startled me back to Earth. “I’m here,” Ramirez’s text read. I shakily walked to the end of the alleyway and peered down the street. I saw a police car parked at the curb—Ramirez at the wheel. Even through the glass, I could see his fingers on the wheel thrum impatiently. I hurried over to him, keeping a hand on the wall to stabilize myself while clutching my purse with the other hand. Fortunately, there weren’t any more drugs in the purse; I’d double-checked. I’d either taken them all or they’d been distributed around the rest of the club.

As I neared the car, I saw Ramirez glance my way, then look away, before glancing back. His eyes narrowed, then widened. He rolled down the window. “Hey…” he said.

“I-it’s me,” I muttered. I suddenly became incredibly aware how much of a mess I was. Blood and bile covered the front of my dress, my hair was matted with sweat and… God knows what else. I was sure I stunk of booze and drugs.

“Jesus…” he muttered. “You look awful,” he said, confirming my fear. The door unlocked. “Come on, get in, let’s get you out of here.”

I took a careful step into the car. Sitting down, I glanced back at the brick building that hosted Shimizu. Wasabi was probably still in there, somewhere. I should probably go in for him.

I pushed the thought away and closed the door. Ramirez set off down the road, indicating right. “Wait,” I said.

“Hmm?”

“I… have a bag of stuff, half a block up from the club.”

Ramirez just nodded. He flipped a u-ie and stopped once we reached the right alleyway. I darted out, as fast as I could in my current state, then rushed back to the car.

“What’s in there?” Ramirez asked.

“Just a change of clothes…” I muttered.

Again, he just nodded, and we started off down the road. After a few blocks, he glanced my direction. “So, now that we’re clear of Yakuza turf…” Ramirez said. I knew what he wanted, but I didn’t say anything. “Look, I get that you might not want to, uh, give up your identity or anything. I mean, Jesus, I don’t know your real name-”

“Jannette,” I said, cutting him off.

“A-alright, uh, Jannette,” Ramirez said, as if he wasn’t quite comfortable saying my name. “But, I get it, I don’t need to know those details. Or anything you don’t want to.” His eyes darkened. “I have no idea what happened back there but I’d guess it wasn’t a regular bust-gone-bad, huh?”

I bit my lip, but didn’t say anything.

“Alright,” Ramirez said. “That’s your business then. But I do need to know where I’m taking you. You have an address? A secret hideout? A friend or something to bunk with?” He paused. “Ripple, maybe?”

I clenched my fist. “I…” I began, but my voice died in my throat.

“Stitch?” Ramirez asked.

“I-I don’t…” Again, my voice failed me.

Ramirez was quiet for a bit as we drove. Whether the silence was an invitation to give him an address or if he was just thinking on how he was going to respond, I didn’t know. Instead, I joined his silence, listening to the soft rumble of the engine, the clicking of the turn signal…

It must have been a few minutes later when Ramirez said, in a voice softer than I’d ever heard from him before, “You know, if you need a place to sleep tonight…”

He didn’t finish, but he didn’t have to. I just nodded, my eyes wet, then looked out the window, watching the street lamps as they passed us by.

It was a few minutes before we reached our destination: a modest townhouse on the northwest of Mission. Ramirez pulled to the curb out front, muttering something about “getting the vehicle back tomorrow.” I shifted awkwardly, unsure if I should get out now or wait for him…

But as if to answer my question, he turned to me. “Alright, Stitch, or, uh, Jannette. I don’t know what happened but…” His voice took on an edge to it as he continued, “if you’re wrapped up in something that’s going to follow you… follow you here, tell me. Now.”

I shook my head. “No…” I muttered.

Ramirez nodded. “Good.” He got out of the car and headed toward the front door. I followed him, waiting for him to unlock the front door, and stepped inside. After walking up a short flight of stairs, we reached what looked like the living room. A counter island separated it from the kitchen, and a small dining table sat near a window. “Take off your shoes,” he whispered, pointing at a collection of shoes and boots near the stairs. I saw heavy boots that looked like his, as well as smaller shoes… a wife’s? A handful of small, children’s shoes were scattered around as well.

Getting my heels off took some work, but Ramirez waited patiently. “The kids’ bathroom has a shower,” he whispered, pointing at a door down the hall. “Take as long as you need.”

I never knew that Ramirez had a family, though I supposed it made sense. Still, a pang of anxiety rolled through me. “I-I promise to be quiet, not to wake them,” I muttered.

Ramirez smiled, slightly, at this. “Thanks, it’s a school day tomorrow.”

I headed down the hall, bag in hand, before I stopped. “I-is this okay? Do they know? Your family?”

Ramirez sighed. “No, but… don’t worry. I’ll take care of it.”

I nodded. “T-thank you,” I said. I almost sobbed, but—remembering the sleeping kids—managed to keep myself quiet.

“It’s not a problem,” Ramirez whispered. “I’ll get the couch ready for you. Normally we just kick Jackson out of his room for guests, but, uh, we can’t do that right now.”

I smiled, despite it all. “Thank y-you,” I said again. I headed down the hall, toward the bathroom. I locked the door behind me.