The private lounge in the west wing of The Carlyle felt cramped despite its size—perhaps because of Alexei's presence sitting on the sofa across from him. The low mahogany table sat between them, a single gold-colored wall lamp glowed dimly, and outside the frosted glass window, snow continued to fall silently.
"Is there nothing you want to say?" Alexei asked, breaking the silence that had lasted too long.
Noel was slightly taken aback. Those hazel eyes stared at him from across the table, and for a moment Noel forgot that this body wasn't his, that the name Alexei was looking for was Nate, not Noel. He could only remain silent, confused about what to say.
Was this a coincidence?
Or was it truly fate?
The man whose presence he had always avoided was now right before him.
Fifteen years was not a short time, but it passed in the blink of an eye. Like the Earth continuously spinning around the sun, that was how fate guided their connection. Traversing through time that kept passing, fate eventually brought Noel back to Alexei, because that man was the axis through which he could see that man again, hear his voice again. However, everything was no longer the same as before, like when that man had not yet become his nightmare.
"What business do you have with me?" A flat intonation was clearly heard flowing from Noel's lips.
Alexei smiled faintly. "If I had no business, am I not allowed to see you?"
Noel didn't respond; he dared to stare into the man's cold eyes and waited for what Alexei would say next.
"What makes you always avoid me?" Alexei asked finally.
"Nothing," Noel denied.
However, his reflexive denial pulled both corners of Alexei's lips upward a centimeter, even though that answer was only an alibi. And Alexei was able to dismiss Noel's alibi.
"If you truly didn't intend to avoid me by going to New York, why haven't you returned home in so long?"
Noel fell silent.
"Or is it because of that journal that you're avoiding me?"
Noel's eyebrows furrowed. What journal did this man mean?
"You don't need to worry that I'll take it from you. I'm no longer interested in that object." After a deliberately timed pause, Alexei continued. "You'd better be careful; someone might be after it."
Noel still didn't understand what Alexei meant, but Noel answered with conviction. "Thank you for the warning, but I've kept that object in a safe place." After apparently having entertained Alexei like a statue long enough, Noel stood up from his sitting position to leave.
Alexei also stood and grabbed Noel's arm, pulling him closer as soon as he knew the man intended to leave.
Noel, not expecting such a sudden action from Alexei, jumped in surprise, causing his body to tilt backward so that his back softly collided with Alexei's front.
Taking advantage of this opportunity, Alexei hooked both his arms around Noel's shoulders from behind while whispering something into Noel's ear. "Don't think you can just walk away from me like that."
Alexei's warm breath brushed against Noel's neck. Noel's body froze, not from fear—but from anger that he suppressed in silence. If it weren't for the major consequences looming, he would have already punched that man's jaw.
"If you don't release your hands, I won't hold back from breaking them," Noel threatened coldly. But in his heart, he was filled with anxiety if Alexei got provoked and did something suddenly.
"You haven't changed at all, have you?"
Without any resistance, Alexei immediately released both his hands, moving in front of Noel—or who he knew as Nate.
"Neither have you. Still the same as before, like a Joker wearing Batman's mask," Noel replied without looking at Alexei.
Alexei flinched slightly at what Noel had just said, but he quickly flattened his expression again. "If I'm the Joker, then what are you?"
Noel didn't answer; he tried to hide his stiffness. As a pair of dark eyes stared sharply into his own.
"Nate, instead of you constantly being Killer Rabbit, how about you become my Harley Quinn instead?" Alexei offered, lifting the chin of the man before him, staring at him intensely.
Nate's grey eyes stared back at him warily.
Heartbeats raced in tension as their eyes met. Noel could see a glint in that man's eyes. The way Alexei looked at Nate was the same way that man had looked at him in his previous life. Back when Noel didn't yet know who Alexei truly was. Had Alexei already forgotten him?
Noel felt his heart ache. What was happening to him? He should be happy to be forgotten by someone like Alexei, but why did he feel the opposite? If there was a feeling that could describe his emotions toward Alexei right now, perhaps it was hatred. Yes, hatred that was fitting to use in relation to a man like him.
Noel clenched his fingers. "Joker and Harley Quinn, huh? In your dreams."
Alexei only fell silent when his hand was pushed away by the man in front of him. After pushing it away, that man immediately strode away from him, heading toward the door. While he himself remained fixated on that figure, and....
The sound of the door slamming shut became Alexei's companion in the silence, replacing Noel's departure. The man didn't chase after him, only stood in his place with a gaze still looking at the closed door, accompanied by the returning silence.
*
Noel ran, looking around to see if anyone was following from behind. After feeling the situation was safe, the man entered the apartment, closed the door, and locked it.
"That was close, terrifying, truly terrifying." Noel patted his chest with trembling hands.
Noel didn't know what Alexei would do to him if that man found out that the Nate now was not the real Nate. Armed with Gregory's notebook about Nate, Noel acted like the real Nate, and it successfully fooled Alexei.
What was the relationship between Alexei and Nate? Did Alexei want to treat Nate the same way he had treated Noel in the past?
No, that was impossible.
Noel and Nate were different, like an abandoned kitten and a lion that ruled over grasslands stretching for miles and miles.
Joker and Harley Quinn.
That image disturbed his mind. It was a mad relationship, full of manipulation and dependency. Did Alexei see Nate—and before, himself—merely as puppets in his dark fantasy? An object of possession to be destroyed and glued back together at will? Noel felt nauseous. He would never be anyone's Harley Quinn.
*
Unexpectedly, the snow stopped falling after midnight. However, a gentle breeze still continued to blow, as if guiding winter to quickly change into spring. Tonight, he didn't get what he wanted. Even so, he had gotten what he had long hoped for. A faint gentle smile crossed his lips, accompanied by the dim light of the moon that had been covered by thick clouds since early evening now entering through the glass window.
"I saw him this morning, and I deliberately bumped into him so he would greet me first. But it turned out he didn't recognize me."
A teenage boy spoke while approaching Alexei. He was the one who had accidentally—or rather, intentionally—bumped into Noel this morning.
"He's changed, hasn't he, Dad?"
Alexei Belinsky carved a crooked smile. "Yes, you're right, he's changed."
*
The thumping of lukewarm remix music played by the DJ echoed, seeping into one of the private rooms.
Gregory sat on a black leather bar stool that was somewhat saggy from age, his fingers squeezing a glass of whiskey that was almost empty. Across from him, Vincent Basciano leaned back with an attitude that was too relaxed—like a lion who knew he owned the room. Around them, at least four men in black suits stood with their arms crossed over their chests, their positions flanking the exit. There was no easy way to leave here.
"Why does Nate want to cancel this mission?" asked a middle-aged man in a dark grey blazer, his body sitting back on the sofa in the dimly lit, modern-style room at Cock and Ball, a bar located deep in Manhattan. Behind him stood several people with somewhat confrontational postures.
The man in his mid-thirties gave a brief moment of attention to the person he was speaking with, then reached for a pack of cigarettes and replied apathetically. "Nate just wants to take a short break."
Gregory knew this wasn't a reason that would be accepted by a mafia boss of Vincent's caliber. In this world, a contract was final. Especially for a hitman of Nate's caliber—there was no such thing as a break. But Gregory had no choice. He couldn't say that Nate was now inhabited by the soul of an innocent young man who was even afraid of his own shadow.
Vincent Basciano was a former Sicilian immigrant. A middle-aged man of Italian-American nationality, the head of the organized Donnano crime family in New York. Three months ago, Vincent had contacted Nate. He wanted the death of the head of the rival Cuntrera-Caruana mafia clan from Cosa Nostra. However, Nate had suddenly canceled the contract with Vincent a week ago. So today Gregory met Vincent as Nate's representative to clarify the contract cancellation that had not been mutually agreed upon.
"A break? Did he take the wrong medicine or hit his head so hard his brain shifted? I know what kind of person he is." Vincent Basciano sneered. A woman wearing a maroon dress that was lacking in fabric giggled in the mafia boss's embrace; her brown eyes, lined with eyeliner, occasionally glanced mischievously toward Gregory.
Gregory ignored the temptation. Not because he wasn't interested, but because every second he spent here was a second Noel was alone in the apartment—without protection, without anyone knowing that he was Nate. One mistake, and Noel might do something stupid that would bring disaster.
Having ignored the woman from the start, Gregory replied, "It's not like that, but..." He sighed deeply, "In the past few months, our movements have been successfully tracked by the FBI; even Nate's apartment in Washington has been found by them. Fortunately, we managed to erase our tracks before leaving that place." While his mouth spoke, his hand pressed the bottom of the pack, pushing out a cigarette, which he immediately caught by pulling it out with his lips.
While Gregory lit his cigarette, Vincent said, "One of my men saw him yesterday, talking to a police officer. Doesn't Nate hate the police? His behavior was also a bit strange. What's going on?" His pair of wrinkled eyes stared at Gregory with deep suspicion.
Gregory felt a chill run down his spine. So they were watching. Since when? How much had they seen? If Vincent knew that Nate was walking around Times Square in a cat-faced hoodie asking for directions from a police officer... Gregory suppressed the panic that was beginning to gnaw at his chest.
Gregory didn't answer immediately, a Dunhill cigarette still tucked between his lips. His hand was busy flicking the lighter, and his left hand was in front of the cigarette, blocking the air conditioning that could put out the flame. After inhaling until greyish smoke billowed from between his lips, Gregory asked, "Since when does Mr. Basciano care about someone like Nate?"
Vincent snorted. "I don't care about him, but I'm disappointed with his contract cancellation."
Putting the lighter down roughly, greyish smoke again billowed from his mouth as Gregory sighed, rising to create an additional color in the bar dominated by red and blue. Hearing this, a sense of worry disturbed him. Gregory worried about Noel, whom he had left alone in the apartment.
I hope Noel will be alright...
He thought about ending this meeting immediately. But Vincent wasn't finished. It was clear that the man wouldn't let Gregory leave just like that without getting what he wanted.
Pulling the ashtray that had been provided on each table, Gregory immediately stubbed out the tip of his cigarette, which hadn't even been half burned. He stared back at the middle-aged mafia boss in front of him, whose expression had turned cold.
Standing up from the bar stool, Gregory said, "I've returned the money you transferred a few hours ago. Consider this meeting as never having happened." Having said that, Gregory stood up, turned to leave. Not accepting that it ended here, Vincent released his embrace of his woman, reached for something from behind his blazer, and stood up.
"Do you think you can leave here easily after canceling a contract?" Vincent pointed his revolver at Gregory.
As he turned, Gregory maintained his calm expression even though the cold muzzle of the revolver was almost touching his head. One shot would be enough to scatter his brains within seconds of Vincent pulling the trigger.
Gregory closed his eyes, briefly regulating his breathing that thundered beneath his ribs. He wasn't afraid. However, his mind struggled to find a way out of this situation; Gregory was worried about Noel.
He imagined Noel, who might be sleeping soundly in the apartment right now, unaware that somewhere, Gregory's life was hanging by a thread. Or worse—perhaps Noel was already panicking because he had been gone too long and decided to go out looking for him. Alone. With Nate's face. In a city full of enemies.
Vincent had sent someone to their apartment, while Nate's body was currently being controlled by Noel's soul. If something bad happened to Noel, it would affect Nate, because Noel couldn't possibly protect himself.
"Drop your weapon!" Unexpectedly, a cold and firm baritone voice was heard from the side.
Every eye in the room immediately shifted. At the threshold of the open private room stood a man with dark blonde hair and cold grey eyes. The blue cat-faced hoodie that Noel usually wore had been replaced with a black leather jacket. His posture was different—upright, ready to attack, with one hand holding a Colt M1911 aimed precisely at Vincent's head. This was not the gentle, awkward Noel. This was Nate. Or at least, the version of Nate that everyone remembered.
Seeing who had appeared, Vincent smiled crookedly. "Wow, our villain has finally arrived apparently." His lips formed a sneer. The atmosphere in the room suddenly became tense.
Gregory held his breath. His eyes stared at the figure of Nate—not Noel—and for a moment he felt relieved. But that relief was soon replaced by new worry. If Nate had returned, then where had Noel gone? Had his soul disappeared? Had he... died again? No, Gregory thought, this wasn't the time to ask questions. The important thing now was to get out of here safely.
"Drop that revolver now! Or I'll blow your head off," the man threatened.
Vincent's hand trembled slightly, but it remained aimed precisely at Gregory's forehead.
"You think that rab—"
BANG!
That sentence never finished.
The gunshot echoed in the small room, drowning out the thumping music from outside. Thin gunpowder smoke rose from the muzzle of Nate's pistol. The flash of the shot was momentarily blinding, and when vision returned, the scene before their eyes had changed drastically.
Vincent was thrown backward, blood spurted out, and the room suddenly fell into a suffocating silence. It startled everyone and drew the attention of all the Donnano mafia boss's subordinates in the room.
Gregory only frowned slightly, seeing the condition of the middle-aged man who had just pointed a gun at his head—now lying on the floor with part of his head destroyed. Thick red liquid pooled on the floor with a little scattered brain matter. A sight enough to make any ordinary person vomit.
The woman in the maroon dress who had been giggling in Vincent's lap now whimpered softly, her body trembling uncontrollably on the floor, both hands covering her mouth while holding back nausea. Several men in the corner of the room looked deathly pale, even though their hands still held their weapons.
"You..." One of them pointed at Nate, hardly processing what had just happened; their boss had been killed right before their eyes.
Of course, this event received an immediate reaction. Within seconds, the Donnano mafia subordinates simultaneously took out their respective firearms, aiming them precisely at Nate. Some of them seemed to be pointing their guns with slight trembling.
However, Nate didn't move. His cold grey eyes swept the room, counting the number of threats, weighing the possibilities. One against six—not ideal, but not the first time. His hand was still raised, the pistol's muzzle still emitting thin smoke, ready to fire the next shot at any moment. The atmosphere in the room was tense; only the hum of neon lights and the held breaths of several people could be heard.
Nate glanced coldly and expressionlessly at a woman—she was trembling, kneeling near his feet while covering her mouth to hold back sobs, submerged in severe shock. Tears streamed down her cheeks endlessly, just as blood continued to flow from the skull of the late Vincent Basciano.
Gregory, who had been trying to stay calm, finally moved. With slow steps—so as not to trigger gunfire from Vincent's subordinates—he approached Nate. "We need to go," he whispered, barely audible amidst the tension freezing the room.
Gregory was quite startled. Since when had Noel dared to do something like that? Unless...
Unless Nate had returned.
[•°]