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[OOC Note: The following post describes events that occurred during the weekend after Werika and Brad's break up. Read about the break up here.]

Perhaps it was the recent chaos in the man’s life that made him long for her quiet and peaceful home. Fathle nearly felt impatient to get to his destination and the road was like an endless stretch of black tape. He had escaped the suffocating confines of the city late last night and left Werika to his own company. The vampire smiled to himself as he remembered his strange desire to leave the other man a note explaining his sudden disappearance. However, he was quite sure the shaman’s reaction to such a quaint gesture would have entailed a blustery speech about how he wasn’t the vampire’s mother.

It had been hours since the terrain had lost the artificial touches of the city and opened up into more gentle country. The rolling hills were dotted with lazy farms with modest patches of land that were inhabited by cattle or horses that were just beginning to graze. It was still too early to see any humans.

I could live like this…, Fathle thought as he rested an elbow upon the handle of the car door. Just disappear. And who would ever have to know?

The sun was just beginning to break past the rugged and uneven horizon, and its rays began to warm the vampire’s tireless, pale skin as the car rumbled and rolled up the thin, dusty gravel road. Fathle found himself wondering how much older would she look when he shut the door of his Mercedes. Would she remember him?

Before the Ancient could climb the worn, wooden porch steps, an old lady appeared behind the screen door. Her hair was white as snow, and it was curled into delicate, fragile tendrils that framed her weathered face. The woman’s body was bent over by the weight of age but her icy blue eyes denied the burden.

“I don’t think I ever believed you until now, Fathle… but you really haven’t aged a day.”

Fathle smiled at the warm affection in her familiar voice and swept her a gallant bow.

“It’s good to see you again, Alice.”



There was something surreal about watching a petite, old woman slit the throat of a skinny chicken and drain the blood into a large bowl. Mrs. Masterson would not hear of Fathle having nothing to drink and also refused any help. And for a woman going on to her early seventies, she was quite stubborn and strong. Thus, the Ancient could only sit politely at the small kitchen table made for four – but truly only big enough for two – and watch.

“You have quite the way with animals, Alice,” the vampire said with a quirk of his lips as she disappeared for a moment to put away the dead fowl. “Why? Make you squeamish, Fathle?” Alice retorted as she came back into the kitchen bearing a small tray with two porcelain cups. “I think Hell would freeze over before such a wolfish man like you felt pity for a chicken.” Mrs. Masterson’s words lost its venom from the teasing smile upon her lips. Fathle quickly stood up and helped Alice into her seat before she could protest. “Ah, you truly are beautiful in your mercilessness, my lady… How could any gentleman stay away from your company?”

The old woman’s laughter brought in her silent-footed black cat, Millie, who sat down on the cold kitchen floor and watched the pair while swishing its tail back and forth.

“I’ve missed you, Fathle. And here I thought you had forgotten all about me,” she said as she handed Fathle his cup. The Ancient took a moment to appreciate the warm scent that swirled up from the thick, red liquid before politely taking a small sip. Animal blood was never as satisfying or sweet as the blood that coursed through the human body. It was one of the morbid quirks of Fathle’s curse; animal blood could only go so far until the vampire eventually went into a bloodlust-driven frenzy.

“So what brings you here, Fathle?” Mrs. Masterson asked as she stirred in two healthy spoonfuls of sugar into her small cup of hot tea. “I missed you, that’s all…,” he murmured with a sly smile and Alice snorted at his flattery as she set down her spoon. “Please, spare me, Fathle. You were never a whimsical man. You always have a reason.” The Ancient laughed.

As sharp as ever…

“I wanted to get away, my dear Alice, and your home was the first thing that appeared in my mind when I thought of a haven,” Fathle said truthfully as he took another sip from his cup. Alice frowned slightly. “Get away?” The Ancient nodded and merely explained that the city could be suffocating and filled with troubles that were characteristic of areas heavily populated with humans. “I believe that fresh, country air can be therapeutic for those who are used to the daily dredges of urban life,” Fathle said as he watched Mrs. Masterson wipe away any sugar that had fallen on the kitchen table onto the floor. “I couldn’t agree more. Why do you think I live out here?”

The conversation eventually became a polite, formal scenario of “catch-up,” though, Fathle skillfully kept most of it focused on Alice’s life instead of his, and she didn’t seem to mind the attention. Mr. Masterson had died two years ago from a heart attack that was complicated by his diabetes. One of her grandchildren had been accepted to a prestigious private college with a full scholarship. Life had become harder without the comforting presence of her husband but it not unbearable. At least Millie was there to keep her bed warm; though, the cat was sometimes a grouchy bedfellow. By the time there was a lull in their conversation, Alice was on her second cup of tea, and Millie had jumped onto Fathle’s lap, purring loudly as his pale fingers absently ran through the black fur.

“And you, Fathle? What is the going rate of an immortal man’s life these days?” Alice asked as she warmed her hands against the sides of her tea cup. “The going rate?” The Ancient repeated with amused smile upon his face, “I suppose it is rather interesting in a morbid, dramatic way. A continual human drama full of dire consequences. Though, I would be a poor guest indeed to bore you with the details.”

“Oh please, bore me away, Fathle,” Alice said with a smile. “What troubles have you gotten yourself into this time?” It took a few more prodding words before the vampire finally relinquished a very abbreviated and a very dry version of the past events that included Zeke, Brad, and Werika. “An allergic reaction?” she asked as her blue eyes studied the man’s face. “Yes. It’s rare but it occurs.” Fathle looked down at his empty cup; a dusty red-brown ring had formed on the very bottom from the blood the Ancient had missed. “Well, at least he seems to be doing better,” Alice started, “I never knew the city life could be so exciting.” The Ancient could not help but grin at her casual words; other more strong-hearted persons would have bolted at his strange, macabre story. “It would be more pleasant if you were in it, my dear Alice.”

Mrs. Masterson shooed away the Ancient’s affectionate gestures as she stood up and took the tea tray back to the kitchen. The black cat gave a growl of protest as it lost its comfortable seat when Fathle followed after her.

“I am nearly 71, Fathle, and you still have the balls to sweet talk to me,” she said as she ran hot water over the cups and dishes. The vampire watched her age-spotted, wrinkled hands tremble slightly as she did this and hid a small frown. “Only because you inspire me to, Alice.” Fathle laughed when he saw her roll her eyes. “Now shut up and help me clean up your mess.”



The Ancient spent the entire day helping Alice with simple chores around the house and more strenuous work around the modest farm. It was easy for Fathle to lose himself in such satisfyingly mundane labor; the questions of the universe fell away to nothing at the simple rhythm created by the sharp edge of an axe as it split logs or at the earthy smell of dried hay. For, at least on this day, the Ancient became a nondescript creature reveling in the everyday struggles of man.

“I think we’ve earned ourselves a break, don’t you think? Come on,” Alice said as she gestured to the vampire to sit next to her on a small, rickety porch swing. The air was beginning to become cool with the passing of the sun and a deeper chill crept over the land. The old woman smiled as Fathle wrapped a warm blanket around her thin shoulders and clucked her tongue at his worries. “I am stronger than you think, Fathle.” The Ancient sat down and placed his arm around the Alice’s shoulders with a kind of comfortable affection. “Humor me, my dear.”

They sat in silence for a while, watching the day lazily give way to the graces of the night. Only the occasional song of a bird or the whistle of the wind broke the peaceful silence that covered the country land.

“Why do you not fear me, Alice?” Fathle finally asked while his red eyes watched a withered vine caught on a fence be tossed about in a gentle breeze. “You must understand that… no matter how good my intentions are, there will always be a part of me that thirsts for your blood. Why do you not cringe away?” Alice was silent as she turned to stare at the Ancient’s side profile. She said nothing for so long that Fathle almost apologized for his question but then she spoke.

“Because I feel safe with you, Fathle. People may say that you’re a monster for what you are and what you have done but… then I guess that makes me a monster too.” Alice said quietly. “Did you know they were going to release him because the police said I didn’t have any proof that it was rape?” She was silent again for a moment before pressing her head against Fathle’s shoulder. “They were trying to be professional about it but I could tell what they were smirking about behind their backs. I was a whore, and I must have led him on. It wasn’t rape. Just… a misunderstanding.” Alice said her last word with a hateful hiss to her voice.

“Alice, I’m sorr—“

“Well, I’m not, Fathle. Do you understand me? I’m glad you killed him, and I’ve never regretted feeling joy about it. Sometimes I go to bed with a smile on my face knowing that he must be rotting in Hell somewhere. If you are a monster, then so am I because I will never feel anything but gratitude towards you for what you did for me.”

The light gently streaming out from the kitchen was the only thing that warded off the lonely darkness that had completely covered the land. The moon was just starting to creep over the gentle hills guided by a few brave stars. Fathle tightened his grip around this singularly gracious and strong woman.

“Thank you… Alice.”



The Ancient started his drive back home early in the morning. Knowing that the red-haired man was not too big on goodbyes, Alice left a small note on the kitchen table next to a fresh batch of cookies.

These are not for you. Give them to your friend.
He is a better man than most. Please visit me again.
I’ll have more chickens next time round.

Love,
Alice

Fathle smiled at her unending thoughtfulness and tucked her note within his inner jacket pocket. He then carefully set the tray of cookies next to him in the passenger seat of his Mercedes and started the long journey home.

from the notebooks of Detective James Ramsey...

Got called in to a case around the North District. Some junkie found a dealer brutally murdered. There was blood everywhere. It looked like the guy had imploded on himself. His face was so badly messed up that the M.E. had to actually take dental and finger samples. We got a hit on CODIS pretty fast though. Some low-life crack dealer with a murder rap.

Of course, the M.E. thought maybe it was a large dog or maybe something had escaped from the zoo but… this is the ******** messed up part, he said that the bite marks were human. God, it was like… someone was trying to ******** eat him or something.

No leads right now. I questioned every Tom, d**k, and Harry there but all of them swore up and down that they didn’t see anything. They just found him lying in his own entrails with flies covering him like a ******** blanket.

We had to take that junkie to the hospital though. Docs say that she’s still in shock. She won’t say anything more goddamn intelligible than: “Satan’s red eyes” or something else about a demon. I swear she didn’t stop crossing herself until the nurses put a sedative into her IV. Need to talk to her tomorrow and get Henry to help me scoop out the neighborhood.

God, and I thought my job couldn’t get any weirder…

J.R.

Just a Dream

I had a dream about you.


You were clinging to yourself as though you were afraid of watching your body slowly disappear. You heard me softly approaching, and you turned your eyes to my face. I saw fear and a strange kind of pain in them, however, I did not see regret. You were too strong to ever feel regret.

There were still tears clinging to your thick lashes, and you tried to wipe them away before I could see. Such a human gesture. I gently pulled you against me and let you rest your head against my chest, and your entire body began to shake with your sobs.

Oh, god, I’m so scared, Farael. I don’t know how to explain it but… I feel so alone.

Before I could say a comforting word, the scene changed, and I was standing alone near the banks of a lake.

Farael…

You were calling me but I couldn't see you.

Farael… please… help me.

You were calling me but I couldn't touch you..

The cold night air suddenly became a raging inferno, and I couldn’t breathe. My mouth was open in a scream but not a sound slipped from my lips. You were lying next to me, only inches away, and I tried to reach you but the flames began to engulf you in a swirl of toxic fumes --

Ariel!

Your name was still ringing in the darkness of Werika’s apartment while I took a few seconds to remember where I was, and the haze of sleep slipped away from my mind.

Just a dream.

It was just a dream.

The Ancient gently untangled himself from the ivory hotel bed sheets without disturbing the slumbering body lying peacefully next to him. God, what time was it? Three? Four in the morning? Fathle slowly stood up and walked toward the large, glass balcony door that looked out onto the city. The cool, air-conditioned room quickly chilled the man’s naked, sweat-slick body, leaving nothing but the smell of her embedded upon his pale skin.

The vampire took a moment to find his discarded jeans and slip them on before he turned his red eyes upon the woman on his bed. The moon managed to gently highlight the smooth curves of her stomach and her breasts. Every now then, Fathle would check to make sure her chest was moving before letting his eyes wander down to the small, clean puncture wounds upon her neck. The only evidence left of his voracious appetite was a single red stain upon the woman’s pillow.

The woman was just one in a number of one-night stands that Fathle had participated in after escaping the confines of Werika’s apartment. It had been about three days since the immortal had nearly gutted the shaman for his blood; he had not set foot in his friend’s place after that little incident. Instead, the Ancient had rented out a hotel room and this marked the beginning of a rather ruthless, if methodological, search for blood.

That was always the downside of self-flagellating. Once you got over the guilt that drove such masochistic punishment, your bad habits would come back with a vengeance. The first night was the bloodiest. The drug district of the city was hit by a series of brutal murders and even the hardened criminal felt a chill go up his spine when he saw something move out of the corner of his eye. The second night, with his initial bloodlust sated, Fathle began to seek out other kinds of pleasures. The hotel employees watched men and women fall under the vampire’s charm and disappear behind the heavy doors of the man’s penthouse suite.

Good evening, Fathle

The Ancient did nothing to imply that he had heard Azrael’s cool voice. He even ignored the pale hands that explored his naked skin and the black nails that raked down his back. Fathle pushed the wraith away from him and stepped out onto his balcony with a cigarette clinging to his fingers. Only the clearest sounds made it up this high to the penthouse. Thus, the Ancient could only hear the shrill, urgent sounds of ambulances and police sirens. Of course, every now and then, he could even hear gunshots.

Mmm, how many is that? Your fourth human? Your fifth? I stopped counting…

The wraith grinned as he pressed his lips against Fathle’s back and let his tongue capture any dried sweat clinging to the man’s skin. There was soft snarl of warning that rumbled deep in the red-head’s chest but Fathle did not pull away from Azrael’s attentions. “My fourth…,” he finally said quietly, knowing full well that the specter would not give him any peace if he did not answer his question.

Impressive… of course, that number doesn’t include the few that you slaughtered some nights ago. Watching you kill them gave me a chill, Fathle… it was like watching you when you were younger… so beautiful in your cruelty. Like a wild beast.

Azrael slowly pulled Fathle around so that they could face each other, and the wraith could pin the Ancient against the cold, metal rail with his ethereal body. There was no apprehension written in Fathle’s red eyes as he stared down at the specter’s grinning face. Only something like apathy.

What is it then about Werika that makes you stay your hand, Fathle? He was willing enough. The human very nearly took advantage of you…

The wraith laughed at the irritation that flashed against the Ancient’s face before letting his hands run across the smooth expanse of Fathle’s chest in a soothing manner, carefully outlining the ‘K’ shaped scar on the man’s pectoral. “I would not take advantage of Werika in such a manner. I could have killed him.”

Oh, I think it’s more than that. I think you care for him, my little Ancient.

“I care for him as a friend,” the Ancient emphasized coldly, the tone of his voice warning Azrael to shut his mouth. The wraith grinned maliciously as he pulled the cigarette out of Fathle’s mouth and tugged the man down toward him.

If you say so, Fathle…

Azrael whispered against the man’s lips before pulling the Ancient in for a soft kiss. Fathle jerked away with a snort and quickly went back inside, leaving the wraith smiling after him.

“Oh god, please! J-jesus, man! Please!”

My calm footsteps falter. He knows there’s no where to run. His friends have stopped screaming from pain or fear. There is no one else. Everyone has fled to save their own lives.

He knows he is going to die.

At my hesitation, he shakily reaches into his back pocket but ends up dropping the limp, brown wallet upon the trash strewn floor.

“Look, man, I-I only got twenty bucks on me and --- Jesus! Stay the ******** away from me!”

He yelps as I take another step toward him, and he crosses his arms while he cowers at my impending assault.

“I got k-kids, man! And a wife! Please!”

My red, slick lips curl into a sneer. I cannot imagine a man like this having a family. However, I indulge him by letting my eyes follow the point of his finger toward the floor. Oh, the wallet. It has conveniently exposed its plastic innards, and I soon find myself staring at a youthful face, eyes dull by inexperience and naivety. Strangely enough, I find myself drawn this picture.

A grain of truth?

I let him sweat it out for a moment. Let him wonder if his life is going to end as abruptly and horrifically as his dead comrades strewn about at his feet. I can literally feel his sigh of relief as I wordlessly turn around and begin to walk away.

One. Two. Three. Four.

“Yeah! You ******** piece of s**t! How do you like that, you ******** freak?”

Each bullet hits my body with the force of a hammer falling down upon a stubborn nail. They lodge into my upper back, wickedly burrowing and creating long, bloody tunnels in my flesh. A sense of suffocation begins to grow as my blood floods my punctured lungs, and I feel warm liquid trailing down my lips. I turn to face him and I am quickly rewarded with the last two bullets in his gun. One slams into my chest. The other into my lower stomach. I am this man’s unwilling pin cushion, and I fall to my knees.

He approaches me in a calm manner, mocking me for my current position. He says something flippant but I do not catch it because his words suddenly become gurgled and sluggish. His eyes are protruding with his surprise as he suddenly finds a metal pole cutting a path through his head. I pull my hand away from the cool, circular shaft as his body suddenly collapses into sporadic seizures next to me, his feet gently pushing his friends toward me.

I rise – albeit unsteadily - and stare down at the foolish expression frozen on his face.

Disgusting.

I lean down and pull the pole back out of his head and stare at the thick sheen of blood and brain matter that now stain it. The sound of approaching police sirens break me from my reverie, and I listen to the irritating clang of metal against concrete as I let go of the murder weapon.

Before I turn away, my eyes catch sight of the man’s wallet and some sort of morbid curiosity forces me to stoop down and pick it up. I stare at its contents blankly before my harsh, labored laughter fills the empty building. The human was quite the actor. This wallet was just one of the thug’s trophies from one of his victims. I carelessly toss it away from me, and it bounces once off the man’s still chest before it falls somewhere on the ground beneath.

Just another ordinary piece of human trash.

“Mmmm, you never pay attention to me anymore, Fathle,” the wraith said softly against Fathle’s ear as he nudged the Ancient’s book aside and slid effortlessly into the man’s lap; his pale arms wrapped around the other man and let his lips touch the side of Fathle’s jaw before he gently nipped at the man’s ear. Fathle gave a hiss of warning as he jerked away from Azrael’s attentions and set his book down next to him on the soft, worn fabric of Werika’s couch with a hint of irritation.

“I assumed you had come to terms with my dislike of you, Azrael.” Fathle’s tone was bitter and unforgiving but the ghost was not deterred by it. “Your feelings for someone never stopped you before,” the wraith said with a lecherous grin as he captured Fathle’s lips into a soft kiss. The Ancient did not pull away immediately and let their lips linger against one another before he finally turned his head. Azrael watched Fathle stand up and walk away from him with a small smirk upon his pale face.

“Aw, little Ancient… does a certain delicious shaman keep you from enjoying yourself with me?” Azrael asked as he took over the spot on the couch that the Ancient had deserted. Fathle snorted as he turned and looked at the wraith while he let his back lean against the nearest wall. “No. You just do not hold much sway over my judgment anymore, wraith,” he said simply, underplaying the violent, parasitic, and nearly destructive nature of their past relationship. “Oh, is that right, my little Ancient?” Something dangerous lingered in the wraith’s voice as he slipped away from the couch and slowly closed the distance between them. “Perhaps… I have not been trying hard enough to bring myself back into your good graces. What do you say, my dear Fathle? Shall I try harder?...”

Whatever retort Fathle’s mind created died at the edge of his lips as the Ancient watched Azrael’s white hair and grey eyes suddenly saturate with color while his body became softer and fuller. No! Not again. Not this time. He tore his eyes away from the wraith, forcing himself from watching the transformation as he turned and walked away toward the kitchen. However, Azrael suddenly appeared in the Ancient’s path, staring up at him with brown eyes. “Going so soon, Fathle? Don’t you want to say hello?”

It was surreal to watch Ariel’s face curl into a sneer and have the wraith’s amused voice spill from her lips. “What’s the matter, Fathle? Don’t you love me? Oh, Fathle. Don’t you love me anymore?” Azrael completed the illusion as he adopted Fathle’s lover’s voice and plaintively walked toward him and the wraith nearly threw his head back with laughter when the Ancient flinched backwards. “Look at you. You’re pathetic, Ancient. You can’t even raise your hand to me even if you want to. Ah, true love. How wonderfully pitiful you are.”

“Come, Fathle. Tell me you love me, Ancient. Tell me everything is going to be alright. Tell me that you tried. Tell me that you tried to save me as you watched me burn!” Azrael could not help the maniacal laughter from roaring out of this usurped body as flames suddenly swirled around him. The Ancient was frozen. He could not look away; her screams were dulling his mind. Ariel. His Ariel...

The reenactment only lasted a few moments before the wraith quickly disappeared with the swirls of smoke that choked the room and the flames suddenly died down.

So, you see, my little Ancient? I do still have a sway over you and you should be wise to remember that you will never escape me…

You are mine.

Fathle said nothing as he fell to his knees, a dull thud ringing throughout the suddenly empty and silent apartment.