"..the thing about situations like that, Henri, is that you don't have time to think." Emilena forced the smile her public relations coach assured was making her more likable. "You just react, and do everything you can to stay alive. I only did what anyone would have done to survive."
"Now, you may say that, Emilena..." the talk show host laughed even though Emilena didn't find anything funny about their conversation, "...but you were practically the sole survivor. In fact, you're the only living individual confirmed to have been in the room when Vergil Speicher ended Rex's reign of terror and saved the planet."
"Well, wait, that's not true, there's Mr. Stracci and...oh." Emilena trailed off, realizing the interviewer was baiting her into revealing more about that climactic final battle. "You know I'm not allowed to talk about any of that, right?" she sighed.
"Of course, of course," Henri brushed off the notion with another fake laugh. "'Confidential incidents.' You've mentioned that you fully endorse the official story, and who are we to question the government?" The studio audience laughed as he turned to them expectedly for support. "I mean, when have they ever lied to us, right?"
"You calling me a liar?" Emilena growled, suddenly balling her fists. The laughter quickly died and the room grew awkwardly silent. She took a deep breath, closed her eyes and counted down until her blood cooled. "Sorry. It's just that...a lot of people died during those confidential incidents. People I was very close to." She opened her eyes to stop the faces flashing across her vision. "Some died in front of me. Some we found the body afterward. And the remainder have gone completely missing. I know these are celebratory times for all you, but for me it involved losing almost everyone I've ever known. So, if you'd kindly stick to the topics we agreed upon when scheduling this interview..."
"Okay, okay," the host laughed again. "Pinkie promise. And make no mistake, we are all incredibly thankful for your sacrifices. But you gotta admit," his eyes glinted jokingly, "it helps at least a little to become filthy rich. I know I'd be buying another solid gold humvee if I were in your shoes!"
Emilena sighed and turned the television off as her on-screen counterpart decked the talk show host across the face. She was in her umpteenth six-star hotel; each was more expensive than everywhere she'd ever lived combined, but her bank account had so many digits she didn't see a reason to bother buying a permanent place to live. In fact, she felt more comfortable knowing that nobody could ever pin down her location. Not to mention, the one time she'd tried buying her own building she'd spent the whole night jumping at every little rustle of wind or creak in the woodwork. Even here, her ears twitched and she winced when anyone walked past her hotel room door. Get a grip, Emilena... she exhaled, rising up from her form-fitted massage couch and wandering to the window.
The setting sun cast vibrant rays over her hotel room, bathing her pale fur and making her look almost as orange as she'd been in her youth. Emilena knew stress could cause premature aging, but even she hadn't thought it was possible for a muzzle to turn grey before 25. Hell, for all she knew it was the Growth Acceleration procedure finally catching up to her. Whatever. She'd never particularly feared her own death, and it seemed even less of an issue now that everyone she'd ever known had already passed to the other side.
She glanced at the ornate desk, the main piece of furniture that had sold her on this room. She'd always wanted a big fancy desk, from her first day as a junior police officer in the long-destroyed city of Lanthae, but now she had nothing to do with it. No cases...no job...no need to even balance her expenses. No reason to live.
Thock. Someone lightly rapped against her hotel room door, causing her to grab a letter-opener off the couchside cabinet and leap to a defensive angle before her brain caught up with her reflexes. "Who...who is it?" she asked.
"Message for you, Ms. Echo," a stuffy British voice informed, and a laminated envelope slipped under the door. Emilena had all her calls cleared through the front desk, and the list of approved numbers was incredibly short. Waiting until the footsteps had faded down the hallway, Emilena inched forward and sliced open the note to read that Tony Stracci was inviting her to drink at a local bar.
She couldn't help but smile. I guess not everyone's dead and gone. Seeing a friendly face might stave off the melancholy thoughts for at least a while.
---------------------------
Fifteen minutes later, she walked through the back door of the bar, bundled up with the same sort of heavy coat and sunglasses getup she used to give members of witness protection programs. "Please keep the press out," she said under her voice to the bartender, slipping $500 on the counter, "and get me a Blue Cherry with ice."
She finally relaxed once she was next to Tony at the bar. "You seem to be taking to the celebrity life well," she teased, glancing at the crowds admiring his car. Thankfully, they hadn't noticed her yet. "It's nice to see you again."
