This is something I wrote a long, long time ago. I did once submit it under an old account that was long since deleted...long story, very boring, I won't go into it. Suffice to say that writing for publishing is not half as rewarding as writing fanfic, so after a great deal of soul searching, I've decided to stop pursuing the elusive contract that was once promised and never materialised, and instead concentrate on doing something that doesn't make you totally feel like pants all the time :-D
Anyway, I hope you enjoy. This is a finished work, novel length, based around the 'Tooms' episodes. He was always one of my favourite characters, and I enjoyed exploring this AU kind of scenario. I'll try to post as regularly as I can around work, but if you're interested in reading more and would like quicker updates, you could always leave a quick review...;-) Thanks in hope! :-)
PROLOGUE
LONDON, ENGLAND
MONDAY, FEB 15, 1999
5.15PM
Blue - like the sky. Brilliant, clear, azure blue. Calling to him, willing him closer like a siren amongst the sea of grey.
Closer, closer.
He followed it, entering the train, merging with others trying to escape but it couldn't. Not from him. Not when he was so close. Every nerve in his body strained in anticipation, completely focused like a cobra's stare. He sat down behind it, could smell its metallic blood, almost taste its sweetness, see it coursing through its pulsing jugular. Yes, this was the one. But not here. Too crowded. Too many people. His urgent, all consuming need was greater than the fear of being caught. But he couldn't be caught. Could never survive. Could never fulfill the need. Would die. Not possible. Unthinkable. He was smarter than those who had caught The Other. He had the edge. Was beyond their reach, untouchable, disappeared. Like a scorpion beneath a stone. Waiting.
Waiting.
Waiting.
No one would dare stop him like the other was stopped. The other had been careless; he was far too smart for that.
Now was the time.
It started to move, he followed pushing through the ever-increasing waves of grey pushing him back, trying to alter his course. Daylight ahead. Blinding light. Dazzling, couldn't see. Painful, like a thousand knives stabbing at his retina. He pulled out his sunglasses and continued. He was hungry, so very hungry. He shuddered with the pain, sweat forming rivulets down his neck, peppering his forehead. He needed to strike soon. The need drove him on through the city towards the blue, brighter now than ever. It stopped, turned around.
'Can I help you?'
Calm, don't panic. Not yet.
'Yes, actually, could you tell me where the Chamber of Horrors is please?'
Each word was an effort, to stay focused, to stay calm. His hands trembled, and insects of tension crawled around beneath his skin.
'Go look for an information booth and stop following me. Bloody weirdo.'
He smiled. A predator's smile. A smile without humor. A smile for the damned.
He followed on, more cautiously. To its home, at last. Still too light, too many people. He would wait. He knew how to wait, be patient for a few more hours. He was used to that. It would be worth it. Around the back, through the trees. A shed. Open.
Perfect.
Darkness. Its velvet smooth, nurturing caress was welcomed like a lover's touch. No, that wasn't true. No one had ever loved him. Not in that way. Maybe a mother's touch. Nurturing. A refuge. He needed it, as much as the blood and the kill. Without it he was nothing. The house was in darkness too. Perfect, still, caressing, concealing darkness. The window was left open in the kitchen. Too easy. So simple. Damn. Not wide enough for him. Safety catch.
He smiled.
That wouldn't stop him.
He stared at his hand, ice white in the moon's milky light. Concentrated as he watched his muscles, sinews, nerves and bone move beneath his skin like millions of worms struggling for freedom. His fingers crunched as the bones distended, stretched. His sinews pulled his palm inward, elongating, crunching like gravel. He enjoyed the sensation. But he was weak, needed it soon.
His arm clicked out from the elbow, sinews writhing and pulling beneath his skin as it stretched. But no pain. Euphoria. Like sexual release. With his mutated arm and hand he reached inside to the catch and released it, pouring himself inside gracefully and smoothly as liquid, silent as the grave. Silence. He could smell the blood again. He was close. The sirens call again, stronger than before, but not lulling. His senses sharpened. He could hear it breathing as loudly as if it were in this room. Could feel its life-force. Upstairs, quickly.
There. Surrounded by grey again, trying to hide, but there was no escaping now. Not from him. Not when the need was as great as this. He eased closer, closer. Good, sleeping. Easier.
Its mouth was open, its chest rising and falling. He smiled as he leaned in close with the needle and slid it into its arm. That would make it easier. Safer for him. He reached into his pocket and withdrew the blade. As black as blood, as deadly as anthrax. He stared at its majesty, its power, glinting in the soft moonlight through partially closed drapes, controlled by a practiced hand as he pulled aside the bedclothes. His goal.
The soft belly, rising and falling as it breathed its last. So hungry, sweating with need. The blade shook in his fingers as he controlled the tremors. Almost there. Soon. Must be careful. The blade kissed the skin, a trickle of blood, like electricity down his spine. Sweet blood. Deeper, deeper, through the soft flesh to his goal.
At last.
His prize.