Come Feed the Rain

Even after a demonstration of Alice’s considerable talents at distraction and his own extensive ability to avoid uncomfortable knowledge, the matter of just what had happened to Edward (as well as the uncomfortably large number of questions regarding his father’s sudden appearance) pushed their way back to the front of Thomas’ mind. The house was still quiet with the sun so high above, but the omnipresent white noise of emotions seemed an irritant when his head was already so full.

So on came the boxers and the jeans, the Desert Eagle tucked at the back of his pants and a handful of items went into his pocket. Thomas turned for the door, then thought better of it and threw on an unbuttoned shirt to cover up the grip of the gun. With the familiar weights of the gun at his back and his mother’s amulet at his neck, Thomas headed out of his room, down the stairs, and out the garage.

( A little time to think never hurt anyone )

Sunlight was already painting the sky orange when Thomas made his way back to his room. The night had been full, extremely so, but it had ended well enough. A hundred different thoughts, each with its own implication, ran through his mind, each of them shoved away for a later time, when he was ready for doubt and caution and self loathing. The only thing he allowed himself to keep in mind was the game, a thread of conscious thought simmering in the back of his mind, always looking, waiting, finding weakness, opportunity.

Still, the sun was rising and even Thomas had to admit he was exhausted. He shrugged out of his jacket, with the rare intention of hanging it back up in the closet, and stopped as his eyes landed on the boutonnière, the single blossom Dru had made. The shadow of a smile playing at his lips, Thomas reached for the flower and unpinned it from his lapel with deft fingers. He held it for a minute, the bloom and its accompaniments a warm, fragile weight in his hand, contemplated what to do with it. It couldn’t sit on his jacket forever, nor did it seem right to toss it into the trash, withered and dead.

He looked around his side of the room, considering options, until he saw Lacci’s iron box, Justine’s letters tucked inside. Except for one, a new but familiar envelope. Thomas set the boutonnière on top of the box and reached for the gloves he kept in the dresser’s top drawer. As he pulled on the right, he glanced down at his palm, where the faintest imprint of a crystal bead lingered on his hand, the skin around it pink, as if sunburned.

Thomas froze, the gloves falling to the floor. He glanced from his palm to the flower on his dresser, crystal beads adorning the stem. He swallowed, breathed slowly, then reached down to pick up his gloves, returning them to the drawer, suddenly in no mood to read the new letter. His words to Lacci on the range reverberated through his mind.

It was only a matter of time.

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!))

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.

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))

Reliving the past few minutes' events in his mind, Thomas tried to catch what he had been about to say while had had been mixing drinks. 'How was your trip?' As if he'd known she'd been gone somewhere, and then he'd looked up and that certainty had gone.

( 'Bob, can you hear me?' )

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.

Walking away from Edward and Lacci took noticeable effort, as if he were swimming against the tide. Thomas hauled himself into the rear of the Jeep and shoved the bottle of tequila into the cup holder. He had no intention of drinking in his current state, but it was what people expected from him and the proper forms had to be followed. Taking a deep breath, Thomas closed his eyes and sank into himself, shuffling through the memories of the past few days in search of some hint, some clue as to how the Hunger had taken control so easily.

The hunter he’d killed to escape. Alice and the soaring freedom of the Hunger’s music. Lacci and the music again. The fear and cage bars. Vlad and Edward and himself mimicking the Hunger’s skill. Fear again. Dru and the madness and the Hunger and the world breaking. Humans and their desires naked on their faces as he took them. Pain and anger and more pain. Edward’s face furious and hurting.( They were ripe for the taking. You were born for this. )

There. Young bucks with a desire so deep and intense that its unravelling would be a feast. Desire courses in their very veins. They are ours to take, ours to feed from, ours to exhaust as they shudder with want beneath our hand.

The two young men, dressed in smocks with the arcade's logo on the back, froze when Thomas' eyes fell upon them, their most basic instincts warning of danger. When all he did was smile, they relaxed and a spark of excitement shot through the blond on the left. He tugged at his friend's sleeve and whispered something urgently and Thomas' smile deepened. He could taste their excitement, their sheer potential even as a shiver of confused attraction ran through the brunet's mind.

Their emotions, malleable and shifting like quicksilver, was too tempting to resist and Thomas slipped away from the others to approach the two like some predatory angel. "Hello," he said with a voice like silk and honey. "Josh and Adam, is it? Is there something we can help you with?" Both young men swallowed hard and their eyes flickered between Thomas and the cameras.

"You're from that show, aren't you?" the blond, his nametag proclaiming him Adam, squeaked out. "You're the actor that plays the vampire who doesn't drink blood."

Young, ignorant bucks. See how they try to hang on to their illusions when you are there in the flesh, a predator promising every physical pleasure possible. See how blind they are, how ready to be taken. They will feed us, their lust dark and intoxicating like wine. Their pleasure will feed us with its intensity and we will leave our mark on their very souls. They will be ours. They will come to us with a thought, begging for the release we can provide. ( They will give themselves to us and we will drain them dry. )