Come Feed the Rain

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  .

The motorcycle roared through the streets of Anonymous City, leaving behind a trail of dust and desire in its wake. Thomas made it back without his crew and all but vaulted off the bike as it shuddered to a stop in the garage. Alice was standing in front of a little red Corvette he'd never seen in the house before, and, without a word, Thomas crossed the garage and swept her up into his arms, his lips on hers in a bruisingly intense kiss.

"Come with me."

((Tag Alice))

From: Sgt. Karrin Murphy <kmurphy@si.chicagopd.com>
To: Thomas Raith <godofcologne@livejournal.com>

Subject: You owe me…

Thomas –

Harry stormed in this morning, threw a piece of paper at me, and ran off before he managed to completely fry my computer. As it is, you owe me: a new cell phone, a new radio, and repairs on the office copier. You may also want to start saving up, because if even half of what his letter (attached) is saying is true, you are going to owe me at least one computer and maybe a new car.

The SI guys have cooled a little on your show, so take heart that you are now only occasionally a laughingstock around Chicago PD. Harry gave up altogether sometime around the second week’s worth of episodes. I still watch, for research purposes, since there are more kinds of you than even Harry knew and God knows SI could use every advantage it can get out there. Harry asks about whatever dumbassery you’ve gotten up to, and I tell him, most of the time. The thing with your sister and that pompous ass from St. Louis though… I didn’t tell Harry that one, figured you wouldn’t want him to go burning your family home to the ground.

There have been some interesting tidbits coming off the internet about your show, Thomas. The fact that you and your little harem seem to drop off the grid has fans turning detective, and some of what they’re claiming to have found is… concerning. I won’t ask about hotel rooms; trust me, I do NOT want to know. But there’s been some hidden camera footage leaks from a nightclub.

Thomas. Heroin is illegal. Just saying.

Try keeping yourself out of trouble,
Karrin

*****

Thomas –

Just talked to Bob. You’ve managed to get your idiot self roped into the priesthood of some ascending mad goddess?! You IDIOT. Seriously, you MORONIC IDIOT. Do we remember how bad Arctis Tor was?! And Mab is only a demigod. You are going to get your ass KILLED if you stay. I told you Drusilla wasn’t Justine. And now she’s a budding goddess. One who can probably KILL YOU just by looking at you. Damn it all Thomas. I can’t come hauling you out of this one.

Get OUT.
Harry

PS – Where did you take Bob? He’s been a gibbering idiot for days, and keeps talking about glittery lesbians.

There was a cream coloured envelope on top of Thomas' dresser when he woke up in the late afternoon, and if it had been put there with more care than his letters were normally delivered, well, it wasn't as if anything had happened the night before to change his crew's opinion.

( I cannot help but want to make things better, bcause I cannot make them right. )

It was almost sunset when Thomas went back to his room after checking his email, a can of cat food in hand. “Dinner time,” he said, pushing open the door to the bathroom. For all he knew, the bathroom had sustained even more damage that day, but given that every surface had already been clawed to within an inch of its life, a few more weren’t going to hurt. Instead of a possessed cat clinging to a ceiling, Thomas found a normal cat sitting on top of the toilet tank, tail flicking serenely, and a bright sparkling orange cloud hovering over a leather-bound journal and a sea of papers.

Thomas watched in fascination as a pen rose over the papers and began scribbling. “You just gonna gawk or are you gonna help me do my job here?” Bob asked irritably, the pen pausing in its scribbling.

“What do you need?” Thomas set the cat food down in a corner and approached the stack of papers.

( “Would it have killed you to leave a romance novel or some porn in here?”  )

After listening to Harry's voicemail, Thomas made a few more phone calls.

By nightfall, Drusilla would have waiting in her room ( a dozen roses and a slim black velvet box )


And waiting for Lacrimosa ( would be the same )

Two flights of stairs might have been Everest as far as Thomas was concerned as he staggered out of the basement. He barely noticed the stragglers being dragged back into the house as he made his way up the stairs. The blissful numbness that had filled his mind started to fade, as if being burned away by the slowly rising sun, and his stomach threatened secession with every move. Thomas made it to the first floor without falling and was about to reach for the banister on the second floor stairs when Lara’s instructions rose unbidden over the disappearing numbness. Something between a sob and a scream passed his lips as Thomas forced himself to turn from the stairs, and the promised refuge of his room, and make for the computer room.

Hoping the void that kept the threatening maelstrom at bay would hold for a few more minutes, Thomas turned it on and pulled up his email program.


The numbness was fading fast as Thomas hit send and began making his way up to the second floor. It disappeared utterly when his foot hit the second floor landing, in sight of his room, and Thomas dragged his body inside by sheer force of will, locking the door behind him with fumbling hands. He leaned against the door heavily as the emotions that he’d numbed with alcohol, the memory of what he’d done, rose up in Thomas’ mind in a confused conflagration. An overwhelming sense of defilement, as if something thick, dark, and oily covered him, just under the surface of his skin, filled Thomas and he ran for the bathroom connected to the bedroom.

He had just enough sense left in him to lock that door too before he was on his knees, pale hands gripping the porcelain god. The patron of college students everywhere was used to hearing simple prayers muttered as the night’s revelry turned sour in stomachs; this prayer, however, was different, beyond its ability to grant. Every limb, every muscle, every square inch of skin felt tainted, as if marked by some dark stain, and Thomas’ hands tightened against the cool white porcelain, his only anchor in a sea of guilt and shame, as he tried to wretch up everything inside himself.