Come Feed the Rain

They arrived in Chicago an hour before sunset and, surprisingly, it was Thomas who insisted they stop off at a mall. Within an hour or so, he had bought clothes and changed, and come out of a jewelry boutique with a small bag in hand. Prying Alice away from the shoe stores took a little doing, along with a pair of earrings from his bag.

The drive from the mall to Thomas’ apartment building in the expensive part of town didn’t take long, though by the time they got there the last rays of sunlight had faded from the sky. The doorman recognized him immediately and grinned, mentioning something about how good it was to see him again. Thomas swallowed his irritation and nodded back pleasantly, dragging Alice with him up the elevator before either she or the doorman could say anything more. Once inside the elevator, he pulled on his last purchase of the evening, a pair of fine, thin leather gloves.

The first thing Thomas noticed when he unlocked the door to the apartment was the scent of perfume, her perfume, bittersweet and familiar. Stepping inside, his eyes immediately went to the couch, where she sat waiting patiently to all eyes except his. Even without feeling her emotions, he saw the way her gloved fingers tapped against her leg, a tiny nervous gesture he knew as well as he knew his own hand.

Thomas’ laugh was weak as he practically stumbled down the stairs. Justine hadn’t even had time to move by the time he was down the stairs, falling to his knees in front of her, arms wrapped around her waist, clinging to her as if he could pull her into himself.

(Tag Alice!)

To: Lacrimosa Magpyr <lacrimosamagpyr@gmail.com>
From: Thomas Raith <godofcologne@livejournal.com>

Subject: Re: Groovus has gone mad and is taking hostages!

( Dear Lacci, Beer is an acquired taste, I think. )


Late that night, a large cardboard box was delivered to Lacci's door.

( Inside was another box )

On the back of a motorcycle pushing 120 mph, Thomas ran. Ran through winding roads in pine scented woods, through roads on the coast with salt in the air, down asphalt ribbons that cut straight through the city. Thomas ran with fear in his heart, and the scream of Hunger in his veins. He ran until daybreak, until the road led him back to the house.

Sunlight wrapped the house in silence, and only then did he dare come back, enter the house on silent feet, up the stairs and into his room. With quiet efficiency, Thomas grabbed a duffel bag and threw in a few sets of clothes, the kukri he kept beside the bed, the cavalry saber, the shotgun, the long-bladed knife. Dru’s gift, Maladicta’s gift, those he left under the bed. Thomas left the fine grey suit in a puddle on the floor, and threw on jeans, a shirt, and the leather jacket. The Desert Eagle, with extra loaded clips in his pockets, went into his waistband, hidden by the jacket.

His camera crew stood quiet, uncertain, as he rushed around the room in silence. This wouldn’t have been the first time Thomas left abruptly and armed to the teeth. But they had seen. They had heard something in the night, and now they stood, unsure whether to let him go and risk Her, or to block his path and risk him. Unfortunately for them, before they had formulated the question, Thomas was no longer in the room.

The sun was bright in the morning sky when Thomas threw the duffel bag over one shoulder and started the motorcycle again. Without looking back, Thomas raced away from the house.

*****

Thomas drove with single-minded purpose for hours, stopping only twice for gas, as he strove to get away. Away from Her, away from what had almost happened. It wasn’t until the sun was low in the sky that he noticed a sign beside the freeway. “Los Angeles, 103 miles.”

The motorcycle screamed to a stop on the side of the road and Thomas’ hands shook a little as they released their grip on the handlebars and reached for his cell phone. He hit Alice’s number and waited.

“I’m an hour outside Los Angeles.”

Remembering to put his trunks on before exiting the surf, Thomas made his way back to shore with every intention of heading towards the volleyball game that was starting, but one of his crew members waved for his attention. "Your phone's been ringing for hours, man," the grizzly, gum-chewing man said. "And it's been the same damn song, not the fangirls' ring."

Raising an eyebrow, Thomas changed course and headed back to the bike, where he'd left his pants. A quick glance and call to his voicemail confirmed that, yes in fact someone had been calling him, repeatedly.

"Um, ok, I don't even know if you're checking your voice mail anymore since the last time I saw you were getting like mega fangirl inundation but I kind of have some decisions to make and more importantly you haven't emailed me back and it's been like forever and I'm kind of worried for a whole bunch of reasons but I'm going to run out of message time which only never happens to me, Thomas look just call me, ok?  If you get this?"

Some of the evening's laughing warmth leeched out of Thomas' face as he listened to the message, and he glanced around. Finding himself mostly alone, he scaled one of the sand dunes, hopping over it with ease. It wasn't much privacy, but it was something, and hit "return call".

((Tag Alice!))

Around noon on Day 34, a small brown box was left outside Isaac's door. Inside was a bracelet made of silver shields ( as well as a note )

About 4 PM that day, a FedEx employee would drive through Forks, Washington, through the surrounding forest, and deliver a short note, as well as the entire Chinese Laundry shoe inventory to one Alice Cullen.

( Dear Alice, I'm sorry for taking so long to write... )

Despite how drained he felt, both mentally and physically, Thomas didn’t leave Lilith Park until the first rays of sunlight began creeping over the horizon. Even then, he drove aimlessly, the opened collar of the slightly too-small shirt he’d borrowed from a crew member flapping in the wind. So Thomas wasn’t too surprised when motion out of the corner of his eye caught his attention and made him realize the road he was driving on was unfamiliar.

The motion that had caught his attention was a woman’s hair, long and dark waving like a banner in the early morning sun. She stood next to a car with its hazards flashing, her arm extended, thumb up, in the universal sign of the hitchhiker and Thomas slowed the motorcycle to a stop beside her. Thomas had absolutely no talent with cars, but the woman’s body language had indicated she needed a ride, which he could provide. Up close now, he could see she was beautiful, almost unearthly in the morning light, and the beginnings of Hunger gnawed at him. “Need some help?” he asked, climbing off the bike.

The woman’s face blossomed into a smile of profound relief and she pushed her fine, almost iridescent, black hair out of her face to reveal a pair of bright green eyes. “Thank you, I’ve been standing here for an hour and you’re the first person to pull over,” she said, her voice rich and resonant. Thomas smiled unconsciously, hungry and predatory, but she merely smiled back, the gesture lending her a mysterious, almost feline quality. She reached over and patted the hood of her car, the motion sending a stream of acrid smoke into the air. “I was driving up to visit a friend,” she explained. “But, as you can see, my car’s not as eager to see my friend as I am.”

“You want me to call a tow truck?” Thomas offered. “The only thing I know about cars is how to call the mechanic.” He ran a hand through his hair and chuckled self-deprecatingly as he reached for his phone. “How far away is it to your friend’s?”

“About ten miles or so,” the woman answered, waving up the road. “She lives in the artsy loft district. And honestly, I’d rather go find her before I call a tow truck.” She gestured at herself and laughed. “I’ve spent the last hour being honked at by every trucker that passed by. You’d think I were wearing a red dress and six inch heels instead of tshirt and jeans.” She shook her head and offered a hand. “By the way, I’m Catherine; most people call me Cat.”

“Nice to meet you, Cat. I’m Thomas.” Her hand was cold against his and Thomas frowned briefly as he relinquished it. “If you have an address or directions, I can take you to your friend’s place right now,” he said, gesturing to the bike. “If you don’t mind riding without a helmet, that is.” His smile was warm but still holding a hint of hunger. “I promise I’m a good driver, and I’d hate to leave a beautiful woman at the mercy of randy truckers.”

Cat tossed her head back as she laughed at his words, the ink black length of it catching the light. “You are just a knight in shining armour!” she exclaimed as she approached the motorcycle. “I’ll leave myself in your capable hands.”

*****

With Cat’s arms around his waist a cool reminder of her presence, Thomas drove slower, both for safety and so she could guide him to her destination. To Thomas’ surprise, Cat guided him to the building across the street from Zero. He killed the bike’s engine and got off, extending a hand to help her dismount. “There’s a nice club around here,” he said conversationally. “If you’re around for more than a few days, maybe I’ll see you there.”

Her hand’s touch on his was brief, just a flicker of cold fingertips. “I will be. I’ll keep an eye out for you, knight on a motorcycle. Maybe you can show me around.”

Her touch made Thomas frown. “Are you alright, Cat? Your hands are cold.”

“I’m fine, but thank you for your concern, Sir Thomas. Just poor circulation.” She laughed as she reached over to kiss him on the cheek, and there was something familiar about her laughter, the warm full-throated purr. But then she spoke, and that moment of recognition was gone. “I have a feeling we’ll see each other again.”

Thomas waited, watching until she disappeared into the building, before he mounted the bike again and pulled into the road. Her kiss had been like a touch of winter frost, cold for a moment but faded quickly in the morning sun.

Thirty Minutes In Heaven: 
A heart to heart with Thomas Raith

( Cosmopolitan's Susan Algernon sits down for an interview with hot new reality TV star Thomas Raith )


Credit for questions go to jumble   and ojouchan  , aka Edward-mun and Dru-mun, for answering the call over at rwb_ooc  .