The Most Unusual of Nights
Disclaimer: I do not own Hemlock Grove nor any other subject matter associated with the published novel or television series. All rights go to Brian McGreevy and Eli Roth. This is just a personal rendition of a story without attachment or advisement toward the original series.
The landscape was all but barren, dark, and grey, holding almost no amount of light as the moon hung high above the line of trees in the distance. Clouds threatening to consume the lunar spectacle made the meadow seem much more deserted and cold than it truly could ever be. Thousands upon thousands of moths, spiders, and other insects scattered the garden every night. A single crow's cry filled the nights air, echoing and bouncing its way toward the looming mansion. From the small window in the attic, a small ladybug crawled its way into the dark room through a tiny fracture in the paned glass. There it slowly moved toward a dark shadow in the distance, laying prostrate on an overused, over-exhausted, and seemingly ancient mattress. It crawled and crawled, covering feats of space in a short matter of time, before flying shortly up onto the bed and onto the body of a teenage boy. In a matter of moments the ladybug crawled up onto the figure, and proceeded to enter the boys nasal cavity.
"Peter!" Roman shouted, startling from his sleep and tossing the sheet of silk from his body into the crevice between the mattress and the wall. Roman inhaled boughs of air into his lungs, which currently heaved as he struggled to attain his fill. As Roman lifted himself from the bed to wander over to the window, he could feel a warm tingle in his nose, before a small trickle of blood poured itself down unto his upper lip. Roman allowed the blood to rest on his lips for a while before he lapped a bit into his mouth with a single swish of his tongue. Edging toward the glass closer and closer, and looking out into the darkness of the night, a single shape emerged from the hedges that lined the manor. Peter.
Roman eagerly rushed for the corner of his room that contained a clump of clothes worn from the day before, took a whiff of the fabric, and then proceeded to slide his legs into a pair of skinny black jeans. He wove a belt through the loops that lined his waistline and threw on a burgundy t-shirt and a black leather jacket. Rushing down the stairs, Roman effortlessly stirred with movements that were calculated and elegant. The door closed behind him with a distasteful crash that would surely enrage Olivia, his mother, which he typically referred to as "the beast." Peter usually didn't like the reference, but it matched her terrible attitude and her unnatural appeal. Furthermore, her lascivious treatment of his sister didn't do much for his regard for her either. But all in due time, Roman thought.
Roman raced across the barren meadow, passing naturally through the thickly lined row of trees, which were now permanently dead, and toward the hedges. He could see Peter's shape moving slowly back and forth, kicking the leaves as he puffed a cloud of smoke from his lungs. The smell hit Roman first. The smell of bacon, mingled with a bitter smell of obscenely cheap cologne.
"There better be a good reason for this, Rumancek," Roman spoke bitterly. He investigated the look on Peter's face with wondering anonymity, but the frown was all that he could manage to see before Peter began to speak.
"We have a problem." It was only four words, but Roman knew better than to underestimate any problem that happened upon Peter's fortune. Better yet, Roman knew that it had to do with another death. He could feel it in the way Peter's skin bristled with newly hatched Goosebumps and the way his eyes flicked to and from the ground unsteadily. "A boy. Renner Halworth. Found near highway 653."
"Well, I'm sorry to have to disappoint you but it wasn't me," Roman replied matter-of-factly. Peter responded with a repugnant look and eyes that held no ounce of pleasure. "I'm kidding, Rumancek. Learn to take a joke."
"Maybe I would if you would start acting like this isn't some big joke that's been played one too many times. Besides, I didn't think it was you who did it anyway."
"Oh, really," Roman replied inquisitively, his voice edging on sarcastic. "Well I'm guessing that you didn't stop here in the middle of the night for a little chat, am I right?" Roman gave Peter a flash of a smirk and a wink.
"You're so frustrating!" Peter hardly ever raised his voice around him, but Roman knew better than to test him, so he moved closer toward him slowly. "I have this theory…I haven't been able to get too close to the body but I'm pretty sure that it's connected to the last murder. The coroner said that it had something to do with his throat, which matches up with the last victim. I don't want to assume anything, but my best guess would be—"
Peter's rant was cut off as Roman's lips pressed against his smoothly. Peter was taken aback and attempted to take a step backward, but Roman's hands wrapped themselves firmly around his waist. Roman's lips were cold, but also soft to the touch, and Peter could taste something distinctly resembling blood. Peter gasped when Roman intensified their embrace by slipping his tongue into his mouth. Furthering their tangle, Roman's hands slid underneath Peter's worn shirt and his right hand reached up to where Peter's tattoo rest over his ribs. A low moan escaped from Peter's lung cavity before he realized what was happening.
"Roman…wait…Roman…stop…Roman…" Peter kept calling out between gasps of air, as Roman's kiss became perplexed with a desire – and an overbearing hunger – for the other boy. Peter gasped as Roman ripped his belt from his jeans in a movement so effortless in its distinction. "I said stop!" Peter called out, thrusting his elbows into Roman and sending his tall figure barreling into the ground.
Roman pulled himself from the grass, wet and cold from the afternoon showers, and spat out a wad of greenery from his mouth. He turned to face Peter, whose eyes were filled with anger. Roman could feel the wolf inside Peter eagerly trying to escape, catching a glimpse of its glowing yellow eyes overshadowing Peter's bleak brown irises.
"I think it was your mother," Peter said enraged, gasping for air, his large white canines protruding from the darkness of his mouth. "I think it was Olivia."