He could feel it slipping into him, hear it, touch it as it racked through his brain, setting him up for pain, nothing new. He could hear the shadows gathering, a boy crying, a girl running. And still all he felt was his naked feet burning as he touched them covered in dust and mud. He fled back in his corner, hiding from eyes to worn to see.
The world was covered in the last light of day and for now, still, it was peace. And he huddled in his stolen clothes, a shirt and pants taken from a wire to hide reborn Victorian modesty, a century out of date. He was the silent one, not bothering to share with the others covered in rags, searching warmth from a little fire made in the middle of the room. He didn't speak, not with the humans covering like sheep, not with the predators lurking in the shadows below.
A rat slipped past him, he grabbed it before he even realized what he did. Staring at it's rugged fur, feeling it's little heartbeat raging in its body. Food, yet no more. His face stayed human now, no longer a mask hiding his true self. He threw the critter, it scattered away, running for it's miserable drop of life.
He didn't know,
what,
no clue.
His name,
his past.
Not him, no more.
Covering in light, sitting by the window watching the city pass by as he burned, red hot. Still didn't know if he freckled. His stomach rumbling, it didn't stop when he wanted it too.
Empty.
Yet nothing compared to the hunger that had devoured him for the past century. It still stung, not enough to make him kill, yet enough to turn a lost bananapeel in a three course meal.
No shoes, no tie, no service.
He didn't dare sleep.
A predator reduced to this, prey to the dark, his punishment.
********
"Charles Gunn, senior management."
Charles let his finger gently brush past the letters of the tag on the door before opening it, holding his one cardboard box as he entered his office. It had been a month since they'd taken on Wolfram and Heart's offer and this was the first time he'd dared to actually see the office as his.
It was an interesting feeling. Charles Gunn, formerly homeless and jobless, now on the top floor. He had a secretary. Charles Gunn had a secretary.
And of course.... Macy, waiting for him at, well on his desk. His assistant, officially.
Even if he still wasn't sure what his job was supposed to be.
"Welcome boss."
Gunn's secretary stood up, clutching a few papers.
"Mr. Gunn, you have some messages. Mr. Wyndam-Price said he found a prophecy which will need to be taken care of by.... Next year. You got a call from Miss Raiden. She's needed to reschedule dinner for eight o'clock. You also got a call from a.... Randall Golden."
He snapped up, suddenly full of attention.
"Randall? What'd he say?"
His hand clutching on his leather chair.
"Did they get the funding for the gang?"
Macy got out her book. "We sent ten thousands dollars to your 'crew'.
They refused to take it though. The check still hasn't been cashed."
"What?"
"They didn't cash the check. Should I send another?"
"Sure, so what did Randall say?"
Why hadn't they taken it, he knew they could use the money, even if only to get food for the crew. For the families...
Sally looked over the message. "He said that there's a nest you might be interested in down on fifth."
"Hmmm, what else did he say?"
"That was it, Mr. Gunn. Sorry."
He knew there had to be more, Randall wouldn't just leave it at that. God he missed them, all of them.
He'd gotten so far, wanted to do so much, to help them, by helping Angel, by doing something, through this, the money he now had...
So why did he now feel farther away from them than ever before
He needed to go find them. Talk to them, face to face.
Let them know he was still one of them, now especially...
He grabbed his cell, calling Angel as he went, Angel didn't answer of course, he rarely had the time these days...
One small nest, shouldn't be a problem right?
He would be fine on his own, especially if he ran into the crew on the way.
He was wrong of course.
*******
His dad had just left. Leaving boxes upon boxes there to be unpacked. Sure there had been offers of helping with the unpacking, but there were some things that parents weren't meant to see.
Not typical teenage stuff. Most of it were Playboys and bongs, but not all of it.
Connor took the curved knife out of the box. He didn't know why he had bought it. He had seen it while shopping with Tracy. He had been drawn to it.
Part of his mind imagined blood on it. He'd hidden it, never using it, but the blood was still clear even as the blade was clean.
But the blood wasn't... Red. It wasn't... Human.
He shrugged it off, hiding the knife under the mattress seconds before his roommate entered the room, arms filled with boxes. He was a skinny, pale kid.
"Hi. Connor Nelson, right? I'm Paul." He put down his boxes. "What are you majoring in? I'm doing Computer Sciences."
"Ancient history and languages."
Paul nodded, putting a poster up on the wall. It was a... Vampire?
"Nice, and here I figured they'd put me up with a jock."
"Nope. Not here. Definitely not. I played chess."
"Thank God."
"You?"
"An entire life of nerd-dom I'm afraid to say."
"Cool."
"We're the max." He smiled as he signed the Vulcan greeting. Not doing it completely right.
Paul gave him a funny look.
"How long have you been into Star Trek?"
"Hmm ten... moths."
He smiled apologetically.
"T'Pol is hot."
"Damn right!"
They both laughed, continuing with their unpacking.
And then Paul turned on his cd player, Celine Dion.
*********