Light and shadow. Sometimes the city seems thrown into such sharp relief by the artificial lights, that all he really sees is a blur of light and shadow. Black and white. Flame and ebony. Everything here is so harsh and cold and hard. Unyielding, unsympathetic. Just like him. And it makes him smirk with a self indulgent glee. This is where he belongs, these shadows and harsh angles. This is where he is able to be free. On these dark and unending streets, twisting and turning into corners and alleys. This is where he finds them, this is where they scream. There is nothing quite so intimate as a dying gasp, a final plea. These stupid fools, thought they knew what they wanted. Thought new body parts would complete them. Thought one more surgery would save them. When that efficient, slicing scalpel enters them, it will be the last thing they ever feel. His eyes, behind that glowing mask, will be the last thing they look upon. He is their ending. He is death in slick, black leather that shines under the harsh light.
It's raining and it annoys him slightly. His boots make watery noise in the puddles on the pavement. Hard to be stealthy in water. Yet the sound of the pouring rain all but drowns out his footsteps. That is the silver lining, he expects, of this miserable weather. The air is cold, the rain icy. His jacket is thick and warm, helmet protects most of his face from the downpour. And he walks through the storm, in the dark. The shadows are inky black like velvet, street lamps glow and buzz through the mist of the pouring rain.
Sometimes Nathan feels his melancholy thoughts as if they hang around him in a cloud. His unrelenting grief for Marni, his guilt and remorse for his actions. Constantly eating at him and making his chest hurt. All the things he should have done, all the ways he could have saved her. It burns and taunts him, painful enough to bring tears to his eyes. And yet he torments himself, stares at his wife's lifeless face behind the glass in the wall. Only her chin, only her mouth, is visible. The rest is hidden beneath the black shroud. Hiding those empty sockets, hiding her bald head. And so he stares at that mouth, at those lips that used to smile and laugh and kiss him. He can still remember the sound of her voice, the smell of her skin. He will walk a well worn path down the hall, and just stand before her in reverence and silent agony. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry! And sometimes it seems she is almost smirking at him. Almost taunting him. Murderer!
The world is so dark. And some days, everything reminds him of the wife he lost that awful night. His one spark of light, one glimmer of hope, is in that pale little face of Shilo. Those luminescent eyes, that quirky little smile. He is not a murderer in those eyes. He is not a monster. He is her father, he is her doctor, he is her comfort and company. He is her everything. Surely he is, for who else is there? And that's how it should be, right? That's how it has to be. No one else would love her as he can. No one else would care for her. Jangling of keys in the door, he opens the door and that cozy, yellow glow of her room engulfs him. No dark shadows here, no. Lamps and light and delicate wallpaper. No shadows in her room. And he will check her pulse, and listen to her little heart beat. That pounding, steady rhythm that is magnified and enhanced by his stethoscope. Thump-thump, thump-thump. All is well. She is strong, and well, and safe. And his.
"Drink your medicine and go to sleep, darling." "I love you, Shi." "I love you, honey." "I love you, precious." "I'll see you in the morning."
And then downstairs and into the shadows again. A warmth inside him at the thought of her. A glimmer of hope, a fragment of pleasure. And into the shadows, where she will become a dim memory, and Nathan will become a dim memory too, and he will stalk his prey.