I've rewritten this because I am a perfectionist and am not wholly satisfied with how I rushed the ending, and my writing has improved (I hope). There are pieces I've been cringing at for some time now for either being out of character or just plain wrong. Hopefully I've achieved the final product here.
Warnings: Mentions of rape, incest, drug use, alcohol, language, murder and violence. I do not condone any of it.
Blood is Thicker Than Water
Prologue
There was never a moment when I neglected to love him, though the fates were cruel as nature often is. They shredded what stability remained in our lives and tested and twisted that love we shared. The blood is steaming, I cannot feel, and his smile does not allow me to cry.
The golden years had disappeared and taken our innocence to accompany it, leaving us defenseless against a reality we were unprepared to confront. The things that remained were our invisible, unbreakable bond and the reassurance of love in the darkest abyss. There existed nothing beyond ourselves, for any attachments a fragment less than what we had only brought about heartbreak. Light ceased to illuminate our path long ago and we wandered amongst darkness and shadows in our eternal search for the hope that had abandoned us.
Chapter 1: Kneel before the morn, for it will never come
"Promise me something," he whispered in my ear, breath hot and fast against my cool skin. Our heavy boots resounded off of the cobblestoned alleyway in an empty little town with its smooth, fair buildings and lifeless walls. Warm blood spilled from messy, ragged wounds left a distinguished trail in our wake. At least the moon worked in our favor, the thin sliver against the pitch black sky no more useful than the weak stars twinkling in far off dimensions.
"Anything," I replied, squeezing his warm hand sticky with sweat, our fingers tangled in a grasp that was all that remained of times long gone. The clamor of cars and motorcycles churned in the distance, but we were neither foolish prey nor naïve predators. Hounds bayed and boots clanged against the ground behind us, so close and dangerous. Metallic weapons screeched and laughter of the hunt pierced the night.
"Promise me you'll still be alive when we find each other again. I couldn't…here, take this." He stopped midsentence and pulled a feathered, silver-coated pendant attached to a strong chain from his shirt. The precious object wasn't made of such a fragile substance; I felt the weight and power radiate against my skin as he pressed it into the hand intertwined with his. The shape was identical to the one I wore, but it was clearly his to keep. "They won't work separated. Take it; I know you'll get yourself into trouble somehow…try not to make any scenes, okay?"
Almost as soon as the last words escaped his mouth he tore his hand away and shot down another alley, dark cape melding with the shifting shadows while I was alone to continue along the same path. Before he left, in a split second I whispered three words that made him falter and glance back, but a second was all we had of each other. I slung his chain around my neck, next to its identical twin and darted down another alley. Whatever path these walls lead me to, there was no doubt that it would be tough and lonely and darker than ever before. Behind my usual confidence there was apprehension, the natural sort of anxiety that came with uncertain situations and uncertain futures.
I lost him once. I swore to never repeat that. Three times now I had failed and it pained my heart more than the ache of leaving home, never to return. Not a single flesh wound, no matter how severe, would ever have compared.
I soon ran out of turns and stopped before a stone wall, limbs burning in liquid fire and embers in my eyes. The hounds' baying drew closer until their pointed snouts with lolling tongues and sharpened teeth emerged from the shadows alongside the barrels of guns. A much larger form inched into the dim lighting cast by a flashlight- a metal cannon. It was a barbaric sight of the middle ages, fit for books of lore- of beasts dwelling among people- the hunted against the hunters.
Our pursuers were perfectly made, as beautiful as the statues erected in honor of the gods. Their stone mouths moved in persuasive precision and offered riches and luxuries in exchange for service. Such frivolities were useless to us, I told them, keeping a stony face flushed with the night chill as they tried to make me believe that they'd captured him already. I knew it to be a blatant lie; I would feel immeasurable pain if he were injured or dead. No amount of distance could break that bond, not even the distance of dimensions.
"You can't expect peace carrying weapons," I said. The firearms were for show; they had already proven that engaging them in combat was a useless effort even with our combined strength. Fighting was a moot point anyways. Maybe if he hadn't given me his pendant I would have fought to the death against these pallid walls. But I couldn't throw away my life if he was so willing to sacrifice his own. With one hand, the hand that had held his not so long ago, I lifted the twin pendants and stared one creature in their bloodshot eyes. "I swear if you hurt him, no piece of you will remain when I'm done."
The pendants radiated the twisting power of a dark magic, the air around distorting in preparation. It took all of my focus and willpower to keep the destination on this realm. It was not something we were normally concerned about. Normally, any world that dragged us away from the current one was well enough. Such heavy concentration forced my body still even as I watched a creature fire a gun that released a single bullet. The tiny object tore through my shoulder, leaving a burning fire and hot blood bursting in its wake. The dark substance splattered upon the stones, pooling underneath my feet. I bit back a cry as the large cannon slid into position. I didn't want to know what it launched.
And I never found out because a moment later the magic snapped into action just as the weapon fired and a light engulfed me. It should have been the two of us.
Traversing dimensions was less of a painful process than it was disorienting, especially since time and space did not exist. The destination was completely random and the pendants tended to spit its users somewhere inconvenient. I remembered when we landed at the very edge of a steep cliff that sharply dropped off into the sea or when we appeared at the altar of a church during a sermon, at the base of a lake below the ground, and in the midst of a vampire meeting in a throne room.
It might have been seconds, minutes, or hours before the pendant chose a spot to dispel me, this time into a forest of pine and damp, earthy scents that bordered a lively little town. Dirt and fallen needles clung to my clothes, so trapped by blood that I didn't bother sweeping the filth away. Just beyond the shifting branches tiny pinpricks of light lined the horizon. The sounds of human inhabitation reached my ears as I struggled to push my feet underneath me. The disorienting journey made my head pulsate for a few minutes.
I dreaded peeling away the black fabric to reveal the gunshot wound beneath so much that I ignored the burn the best I could. No matter the amount of damage, there was nothing I could do about it at the moment. It was better that I not understand the extent of the damage. I began to drag my feet, the effort enough to tear my thoughts away from my shoulder. There was nothing abnormal about this forest that I noticed, except that the previous town had been shrouded in night. Here the orange and red dyed sky washed the forest in a strange light.
Apparently the little town had a healthy nightlife. Both normal partygoers and the seedier types crowded the streets, restaurants, and theatres. Accustomed towards hostile welcomes, I found myself surprised when I had passed a block without someone stopping me for my ragged appearance. This didn't seem like the kind of place where people went out of their way to be compassionate or interfere with others' lives, but still it was a bit strange. That was all well enough for me. Without people calling an ambulance and carting me off to an unnecessary hospital we would be reunited much faster.
After awhile the adrenaline and strength from the chase subsided and walking became strenuous, but I couldn't collapse until I'd found the proper place to conduct my business. I needed the seediest, most infernal bar there was in this town, someplace where people wouldn't ask questions. More importantly, I needed a place where the scum of the earth rested and bet their wages for drugs, money, alcohol, and sex. And the best way to find those places was to follow the rats- rats on motorcycles. It wasn't easy keeping track of them in my condition, but I managed to drag my feet to a part of town that seemed no worse or better than the rest.
The bar was normal from an outside view and I frowned, thinking that I might have to resume my search. Next door a cinema's flashing lights attracted hordes of people, across the street a high-end clothing store twinkled in the night. Some small restaurants and convenience stores lined the street. The only thing missing was the police station. All too willing for a rest even if I hadn't found my destination, I shrugged to myself and slipped into the bar. The gang of bikers had retreated in here and their raucous laughter filled a booth near the front.
Everywhere I stepped there were people, so crowded together that no matter how much I shifted position there was always someone there to step into. Men shouted out bets and insults across the din, hands darting out to distribute cash and tiny white packets and strange bottles. Women in scanty outfits draped themselves over the men and swung their bodies in dance as I struggled to push my way to the actual bar. Here no one stopped me to ask for identification as more respectful places might have done. The bartender carelessly slid me a glass of sherry upon request without a glance.
The deep amber liquid swished with clarity as I tilted the glass to my lips. Streaks of the dim golden lighting distorted as it passed through the drink. I took a small taste first, the distinctive flavor of nuts and fruit melded into something faintly sweet as it washed down my parched throat, leaving its characteristic dryness in its wake. I resisted from downing the sherry, knowing full well that something so fine wasn't meant to quench thirst, but rather as a taste to be savored. After awhile, when my tongue no longer tasted and my head swam with amber and golden hues tinted dark around the corners I downed the rest of the glass and ordered another.
My fondness for sherry was a little strange. Most people didn't drink much of it at once due to its overwhelming taste. It wasn't an alcohol like beer that could be downed in large quantities, and I supposed that not everyone enjoyed their drinks dry. Usually I had a higher tolerance than I had that night, but even with one glass in me chills ran down my spine and the ceiling twisted and morphed above my head. A groan escaped my lips. The gunshot wound was not a helpful factor. Though I took my time with the second glass, I wanted that alcohol to numb my shoulder already.
"Little young tuh be drinkin' like that, eh?" a deep voice chuckled beside me. I started, unaccustomed to being snuck up upon, and almost fell off of the faux-leather padded stool. My body shook, no thanks to the alcohol and injury, even as I used both hands to steady the glass. The man was probably laughing in his mind at the pitiful sight I painted. I could hardly focus in on his face, let alone comprehend what he'd said with that slur of his. A thick shudder passed my lips as I tried to respond and squint at him for a better look. He was middle aged, didn't look too wealthy, and certainly was no businessman. Everything else was a blur of dark colors.
"No," I finally managed to chuckle, my voice pathetically weak and vulnerable and slurred to my ears. As if to prove my point, I ordered another drink, something harder on the alcohol. The man asked if I should be drinking that, but I disregarded him and his lying voice. There was no real concern there; if he cared he might've told the bartender not to give me anything else. Such was society, I sighed as I pressed the cool cocktail to my lips. The heavy, but cold alcohol slid down my throat with a faint taste of lime. The cold drink certainly helped my body temperature for the moment.
Then I remembered that I would never get this out of hand if he were here and something caught in my throat. I didn't realize until I felt the drops on my clenched hands that I had started to sob. The memories burned worse after all those drinks, I should have known that. I buried my head in the crook of my arm and bit back another pathetic sound from escaping. "He's gone. I miss him," I mumbled against the dirtied fabric. "I'm sorry; just…just hold me again."
"What, your lover left you, kid? Ha, figures a pretty boy like you'd be queer," the man chuckled with no amount of compassion. I detected a faint trace of disgust in his tone, or at least I thought I did. We were both under the influence and my ears were ringing so I might not have heard anything right. What I understood didn't help my mood one bit. Bitter anger bubbled beneath the nausea that was beginning to build in my stomach. It had ultimately been his decision, but there hadn't been any other choice but for him to leave.
"He didn't leave me," I said, almost incoherent. That gin and tonic must have been stronger than I anticipated. Despite how much I swallowed, there was always a nasty taste left in my mouth. I wanted to vomit and tear my head off for the pain it caused me. Alcohol didn't normally affect me this badly, but it did have a tendency to unwind my mouth and let bits of the truth out. Both of us were liars because it was always a good method to fall back on. Around each other it was much harder to keep the truth inside, but around others lies were all we had.
"I want to forget 'bout him. It hurts to think 'bout him. I miss 'im so much," I mumbled, droplets of real tears falling from my eyes. A heavy sob caught in my throat that I tried to shove back down, but it won and a shudder traveled down my spine as I whined and choked. I think I might have looked really pitiful. That was the appearance I was aiming for, the vulnerability that I counted on to fulfill my goals. Even an intoxicated man wasn't that slow if he had the right state of mind. It was so easy to take advantage of my fragile emotional state under the influence of alcohol.
"I can make you forget," the man whispered in my ear. My delicate nose wrinkled at the stench of his breath and clothes- a wretched combination of beer and heavy liqueurs. I hadn't noticed that he'd gotten so close until he draped a weighty, muscled arm across my shoulders. The man must have been a heavy, constant drinker to smell that bad, as if he lived in it. He probably did. Maybe something had gone wrong in his life at some point too, but that wasn't my concern. I was only here to forget and heal, so I nodded sleepily. He gave me a harsh slap on the back that sent my mind and body reeling.
"I'll get you another drink, then we'll rent a room, 'kay sweetheart? I know these folks, good folks they are; they owe me a favor." His words took a while to process and I frowned when I realized what he'd called me. Such a demeaning pet name made my blood boil but if he was going to make me forget and force the pain away from my shoulder that was alright. I'd never been called 'sweetheart' before, probably because I could never live up to such a name. Not that I would have allowed anyone to give me that name if I were sober.
The man slipped a wine glass filled with deep, dark red into my fingers. The liquid ran thinner than my blood, but I grew nauseous as the wine touched my tongue. It disagreed with my previous choice of drinks and left a nasty aftertaste. Perhaps it was not the wisest decision, but I downed the glass in as few gulps as necessary to avoid the unpleasant contrast. I squinted but couldn't distinguish the sharp edges of the glass and twisted it around, as if that might help. It almost slipped and shattered in my loose grasp before the man caught it with a hearty chuckle.
After a few moments something in my body decided it didn't want to stay even partially upright afterwards. The floor would not have been very nice to my face if the man hadn't caught me. His arms were thick and covered by leather, wrapped around my thin waist as he pulled my limp body against him. We had never weighed much, made of mostly long, awkward limbs that our bodies finally grew into these past few years. The man cradled me in his arms like a bride, a prospect I was none too happy about but too tired to object to. My head fell against his chest as we moved towards the stairs, my eyelids almost too heavy to open. I moaned and mumbled something incoherent. I wanted to vomit. The man made some snide remark I didn't catch.
He brought me to one of the private rooms upstairs. The place assaulted my senses with the sweet, bitter smell of sex, sweat, alcohol, and smoke. Downstairs the blasting music pounded through the floors, suspicious noises traveling through the walls from neighboring rooms. The lights were dim when the man walked in, from bare light bulbs hanging from the crusty ceiling. There was a dilapidated bed in the center, sheets grey and musty and dirty against my skin as he gently lay me down and doubled back with a key he probably got from his bar buddies. The room hadn't stopped spinning but my stomach settled and I had enough strength to curl up and lift my head to look at my surroundings.
Something I did must have upset the man. He snarled and went to the side tables with leftover white packets, bottles, and syringes on the surface. A hand swept the remains into a trash bin filled with questionable items. He opened a drawer and I squinted, trying to see what it contained. If I could pale at the sight I would have; instead bile gathered at the back of my throat as he shut the compartment. A smile returned to his face as he came over, though it was different from before. I couldn't pinpoint how when I could barely make out his features.
He ripped open a plastic package containing a new syringe, an amber bottle in his other hand. He filled it with little difficulty, careful to pay attention to the measurements. Maybe he was less drunk than I anticipated if he could actually read the tiny measurements. I had been the one with my head in the clouds, too preoccupied to examine him as I might have done sober.
"You should be dead-stoned by now," the man said with a deep frown set into the wrinkles of his face. I frowned too, angry with myself for not having noticed. I supposed that I'd been too intoxicated to pay attention to anything that wasn't in the forefront of my mind. Even though I wouldn't have reacted had I known, the fact that someone could slip drugs into my drink so easily disturbed me. The man shook his head and grabbed my arm, which looked so thin and fragile compared to his tanned, hairy one. He must have taken the jacket off at some point. I hadn't seen that either, though it had happened a few feet from the bed.
Chills and outbreaks of heat still swept through my body so I barely felt the needle slide into my skin, leaving a tiny pinprick of blood as the man withdrew. He disappeared into the bathroom as I lay there blinking sleepily at the stained wallpaper. The effects hit me later than it should have, I think, because the man was mad when he returned. He did wait beside my head, dragging thick fingers through my hair until a layer of sweat covered my skin and tremors shook my frame. All instinct before had been raging to fight him when he injected that stuff into my arm and I regretted not having acted upon those desires.
A plastic cup touched my mouth, the cool water tasting faintly stale flushing out my burning throat. It didn't help my vision or pounding head much. The man didn't seem to care as he pulled my limp, trembling body across the bed. Despite the obvious filth, my eyelids began to flutter closed as my whole back relaxed into the mattress. Beggars weren't choosers, after all, and we'd slept in much worse places before. The man grunted and slapped my cheek a few times as he mumbled something that sounded vaguely familiar. Did I want to forget him? The answer was yes, I wanted to forget about how his back disappeared in the darkness and how I could do nothing for him, ever.
The man slid a hand under my head and grasped my hair, crushing his dry, unpleasant lips against mine. They tasted foul and I almost gagged, as if the alcohol wasn't enough to make my stomach want to turn inside out. It was when a thick, wet tongue forced its way into my mouth that I realized just what I signed up for. This was what I wanted, not what I needed. It was also something I didn't desire to happen to me. My mind wasn't clear then, or else the whole ordeal might have come to a conclusion the moment he closed that door.
He ran callous-covered hands along my thin frame, underneath my shirt and over my chest, avoiding the darkened area smeared with blood. There was no compassion in his light eyes as he slipped the cape and white shirt off and tugged at my close-fitting pants. The burning, freezing fire swept through my nervous system and I simply moved along with the actions. It was easier than resisting- to accompany the flow and react to touches as desired, no matter what my conscious might have thought. Our bodies might have moved together, not in harmony but in a hasty, impatient dance, but I didn't make a sound.
I always believed myself too strong for that. It angered the man though, angered him enough to quicken the pace and forget about playing pretend. Hands yanked my pants down and over my legs, and returned to take away the last of my decency. I uttered a noise of disagreement and feebly pushed at him until he slapped me and seized both my wrists in one of his hands. It didn't hurt, but I stopped struggling.
"Thought you wanted this, you whore," he snarled. I let out a shaky breath and sighed heavily, confused as he bent over my neck and drove blunt teeth against the tender skin there. It took all my self-control and willpower to keep from panicking and fighting tooth and nail. That was so wrong, no one should have ever touched that spot except for those close to me and it just wasn't in my nature to allow anything so close when I was so vulnerable. Sometimes I even had qualms about letting him that close, even though his intentions were pure.
"No," I whispered, "I don't want you." He snarled and growled and everything moved at such a blurred pace afterwards. He might have released my hands, but I didn't notice. I didn't notice much of anything until I cried out in pain of the initial shock, a pain that traveled up my spine and that would not stop no matter how I shifted. After that I gasped and exhaled sharp whines, never having realized just how much it hurt. Blood and tears were everywhere. I don't remember ever crying ever since this ordeal started, even after I'd lost him that first and second time.
"Stop," I said before a deep and guilty moan escaped my mouth. This didn't help me forget. It made me recollect just how sweet it was between the two of us, never mind how wrong it was. Not this guy with his bruising grips and dry, savage thrusts and grunts filled with nothing but never ending lust. I whimpered in pain, determined to keep at least those moans to myself. Dark flashes began to spot my vision. It was just a pity that my high pain tolerance prevented me from passing out. Eventually though, blood loss and fatigue won and I drifted away regardless.
Morning rolled around sometime later and the life from the bar downstairs dimmed to a quiet clang of cups and old bottles being swept away, traces of the night's activities gone. I woke with a dreadful headache, sober now but sporting a horrible hangover. Thin streaks of light sunshine crossed in bars across my face, stinging eyes accustomed to the dark now. Every movement, even blinking and breathing was a world of pain. I lay there for a few moments, listening to the employees and the soft chirps of birds in the alleyways. A heavy weight draped across my midsection. I didn't want to confirm the truth by twisting to face the form that wasn't him.
After a time the weight moved and a loud groan broke the near-peaceful silence. The bed shifted as he drew closer, his breath still rank with the stench of beer. I shivered and wanted to vomit from the overwhelming scent. His hand grasped my injured shoulder cruelly, the tender skin struggling to mend itself breaking under his force. Blood seeped from the injury as he turned my body to face him. There was nothing special about him, just a middle-aged man who probably spent his days at a half-assed job earning minimum wage. The nights were spent using that money on drinks and drugs and sex like this.
"What's your name?" he asked gruffly. I shivered, didn't want to respond, wanted to just curl up and sleep or die. The hangover intensified when he cuffed me over the head, eliciting a flinch from me. I'm still not sure why I bothered enlightening this scum. Soon he wouldn't need my name or his own name for that matter. I could have even told him my real one, but apparently I still wasn't in my right mind. We didn't often use aliases, but I remembered an old tale that seemed to transcend dimensions. The name for someone who was searching for something-
"Alice," I mused aloud. If he were here, he'd die of laughter. The man must not have been in his right mind either, because he took it seriously and broke into a tremendous laughter that shook the bed. Another hard hand came down on my head. I was starting to question if he did this to everyone around him. Maybe that was why he was a lonely bastard.
"What a retarded name!" he chuckled as he leaned down to press his lips against mine again. This time I wasn't intoxicated and drugged. This time I had reason and my senses and personality back. I reached a hand behind his back and let it claw on bare skin, his body shivering at the sensation. A lecherous grin spread across his face. The man made me want to retch.
"Thank you for helping me," I said simply, puzzling the man for a moment. That was certainly something he didn't hear every day. An insane grin crossed my lips and a wild look haunted my eyes, the appearance I had when the idea of E entered my brain and I was particularly starved. This time I was not here for a feast, and I could wait well enough if I were healed. Slime like this had to be bad for the body, anyways.
Tendrils of energy from my very core fled to my fingertips and with a whoosh there was blood all across my bare chest and face. I let it fall upon my shoulder and sighed in relief as it seeped into the wound and healed the tissue ruined by the bullet. The warmth didn't disgust me, the stickiness and scent almost pleasant if it weren't tainted by alcohol.
The man gurgled for a few moments, eyes bulged wide and though he died in agony, it was a quick death. There was no time for fooling around with the prey. His weight was suffocating and I had a bit of difficulty moving out from beneath him. I winced as I sat up; he'd been rough and I hadn't done that in a while. I had certainly never done it with someone so huge and uncaring. The talon nails that extended from my hand retracted and left my fingers coated in blood. I smeared the excess gore onto the sheets as I stood on shaky legs and shuffled towards the bathroom. Every tile inside seemed crusted in layers of grime and grit, but I supposed that no one noticed at night.
The mirror had a long crack down its middle and I stood in front of it and grimaced at my appearance. Knots matted my dark hair sprayed with blood, the skin underneath my eyes darkened. The temperature of the shower didn't matter so much after I saw my horrible appearance. I wouldn't say I felt dirty, because that was clichéd and who didn't feel dirty some time in their life? There was plenty for me to be guilty about and this was only one insignificant casualty. I'd used people in the past and they used me in turn. That was the way the world worked.
I ran a hand over the injured shoulder and felt the skin perfectly mended, not even the faintest scar left. Smiling, I ran a hand down my flat, smooth chest and tilted my head to the ceiling. I whispered a few words then, incoherent and not a part of any language but our own. There was only one recognizable word: a name, "Subaru". I wished that we could still feel each other. The distance was too far to feel much more than a tingle. But he'd heard me, however faint the connection, however noisy it was where he stood.
After I'd made sure that the shower was void of blood and I dressed in my clothes still bloodstained and tattered I headed to the man and stared at his glossy, opened eyes. Though I hadn't done it for justice, he couldn't hurt anyone else now and that was satisfaction enough. The window was my only destination, but before I left I unlocked the door so that the owners downstairs wouldn't have to pay for that on top of whatever it took to clean the mess. I left the keys tossed on the bed, mindless of fingerprints. No one would have me in their data.
The hangover had not fully left. I found that out when I dropped from the second story in what should have been an elegant landing that almost alerted the owners. The birds were frightened away and departed in a chaotic flutter of feathers and I left the dank place, into the shopping center that had lightened considerably. The place seemed decent, respectable now. Not that it mattered when I was never coming back. People were around so I draped my cape over my previously injured shoulder. There was no need to call attention to the darkened splotch of blood.
It took some navigation and a few wrong turns to figure a way out of the town and into the forest. There was a road trailing into the distance so I intended to follow it to whatever civilization sprouted next. I never heard anything about a man dying in a bar. There were no police sirens or frantic voices. And soon, I was in the middle of a forest filled with pines and the damp scent of something that never truly dried. The road was long but easy on the feet, the undergrowth surprisingly soft.
I enjoyed the peaceful atmosphere while it lasted. A lot of good things never lasted in life. Fate seemed out to make people remember the bad memories a lot clearer than the good. It was strange how humans were built like that. I enjoyed it even as I walked all day, my feet aching and my legs burning. That blood had helped, but without actually consuming it there was only so much energy I could restore.
Sometime later the slices of broken light through the canopy darkened and disappeared and a few wet droplets dripped down from the treetops. For the most part the thick cover blocked the rain until I came upon a tiny, sleepy and dead looking town late in the night. Even with the protection I stumbled in drenched and one very unhappy boy. This little town looked as if people would actually notice a visitor and attention was not desirable, so I quickly sought some sort of shelter. I needed to rest and recover, and I had a gut feeling that I'd find answers here. Those emotions were important, even if they seem illogical at first. Instinct always knew better.
I stumbled around until I found the local police station, another building that looked as depressed and grey as its surroundings. The whole thing might as well have been swallowed by the springy, damp ground. It was not hard to appear miserable as I walked through the doors, staining their floor with mud and tracking water behind me. There had been enough hardship in my life for me to pretend. People were easy to deceive. If I had been a little shorter, I might not have even bothered with the extra theatrics. The small, vulnerable child seemed a better card to play.
There were a lot of questions. Who are you, how'd you get here? This was a remote town, so apparently they didn't expect someone to visit by foot. Where are your parents? How can we contact them? Come sit, you must be tired and hungry and go find him something warm and bring clothes too. There weren't many people there, but I felt overwhelmed in their attention. I didn't even respond, too anxious that I might slip in my lies, uncertain of which lies to tell. Eventually I mustered up a cover so that they wouldn't begin to think me mute.
"I-I don't remember," I said plaintively, "I can't remember." My eyes pleaded for someone to understand, to let them see that helplessness and uncertainty. I ignored the warm cup of tea even though it had me salivating for something to soothe my aches and pains. "I have to…to find it. I have to find it. Please, don't let me leave without it." I didn't let them know that it was a person I wanted. That would have been dangerous.
The sympathy in their faces increased and they said it was alright and gave me the tea. The gratitude and utter bliss from the simple drink was not an act. Dry clothes were an extra bonus that started to make me too comfortable for my own good. The safety though- that was something I had thought I'd never experience again. It was a different type of safety than what I experienced with Subaru. He always had my back and we'd always be there for each other, but even though we comforted each other this was different.
"What's your name? You remember that, right?" the chief of police asked. He had a warm tone, a fatherly one I suppose, not that I would know the difference. Taking advantage of his patience, I pondered my situation. If I was an amnesiac, maybe all I could remember was a name. One name was enough to thwart anyone, especially a name influenced by uncertainty. So I figured that Subaru was my rabbit or my freedom or whatever it was that that main character sought in the story and said, "My name is Alice".
"Alice? My daughter knows a girl named Alice…" the police chief said in confusion. "But you're a boy. Are you sure your name's Alice? It's not…Allen or something?"
"Nope, I'm pretty sure that's my name. I can't remember anything else, after all…" I shrugged and drew my shoulders closer together, huddled on the chair as if the room had suddenly turned cold. The slight heat in my face and tired pangs behind my eyes were real, really pitiful that was. Something about me must have said, "'don't take away the only thing I know', because he dropped the Alice thing and asked other questions- none of which my alias could remember, of course. It was a little fun to act clueless, actually.
• The boy Alice and parts of the plot is inspired by the manga Are You Alice? written by Ninomiya Ai.
• I've updated my knowledge on alcohol and as a note: drier sherry is usually lighter. Do NOT drink gin and tonic with any other drink in the same sitting, I've heard it causes nasty headaches. In fact, drinks are not meant to be mixed except in cases of cocktails, etc.