There are some people who were meant to kill, I really believe that. They are able to justify what they've done with heroism and protecting the innocent. Or, they say, it is the way of the world. Kill or be killed. I'm just not one of those people.
I stumbled into the alleyway behind the hotel, but I knew I couldn't stay there long. The police would catch up with me soon.
My vision went blurry for a few seconds, the wall beside me a slur of bricks and graffiti.
A part of me knew Sebastian wasn't going to kill me, but a bigger, more selfish part of me hoped he would. It was the part of me that wanted to jump in front of a police car, and go to jail, and have the right to remain silent like every other human walking the streets tonight, but I didn't even have that anymore.
I turned my head at the sound of a police siren wailing, and car doors slamming. Time was up. I dropped to my knees and wrenched open the sewer plate, cold and slimy in my hands. I held my breath as I went down, hoping it didn't taste as bad as it smelled.
Surprise, surprise, the sewer was not only cleaner than I expected it would be, but it must have been low tide. The water only went up to my ankles. Florescent lights buzzed overhead, and I found that comforting. I couldn't imagine anything scarier than jumping into a dark hole.
Is this where the nosferatu call home, I wondered to myself, and if so, where are they?
My footsteps echoed in the nasty water and hollow lonely tunnels. I found a map but it took a while to read it. When I found venture tower in big bold letters, I still had no idea where the right tunnel was.
I walked around, avoiding rats. I tried not to think about things like the rats having rabies and eating me or getting swept up in a giant tide of sewer water if more than one person flushed at once. But of course I did.
It seemed like hours and just when I thought I was lost and going in circles, I found it- the big rusted F sign that lead to my freedom.
I climbed into the hole with gusto, and made my way up the ladder. It took some extreme skill to not fall off the ladder whilst hefting open the sewer plate above me.
My fingers gripped concrete, and I lifted myself up.
I found myself in some kind of basement with storage boxes that look like they hadn't been opened in centuries. Probably not too far off from the truth.
There was an elevator, too. It looked extremely out of place in a basement. I stood up and dusted myself off. When I pressed the up arrow, it dinged softly.
At least it works, I thought to myself. I didn't know if I could've gotten by the security desk with Chunk. He probably knew that the police were looking for me…that I murdered one of his fellow officers. I couldn't believe I could kill any innocent-
No. I stopped my thoughts before they can get that far. I'd only end up making myself cry, and crying in front of Lacroix again was definitely not on my agenda. One time was embarrassing enough.
The elevator came, and the doors opened. I swayed dizzily when I tried to move. I couldn't seem to persuade my feet to go forward.
Do it for the sweet relief of death, I reminded myself. But death wasn't looking so sweet anymore, not in the sane confines of an office building.
Do it for Lacroix. He doesn't deserve to have to chase you down for breaking the masquerade. The least you can do is not waste his time.
There. My feet moved beneath me.
The elevator doors closed behind me.
My hand shook so hard I could barely press the right button.
The elevator was so familiar, so heart wrenchingly familiar. I used to work here. I used to have it so good, and I didn't even know it. Man, did I regret quitting my job.
How did I ever think I could live on my own without a sire? Even if that sire did do a shitty job at it? Even if that sire didn't want me? How could I possibly think I would do okay by myself when I could bearly keep it together going to an office building everyday?
How did that Elijah dude do it? It had taken me a week to kill somebody. That had to be some kind of record.
Maybe I'd ask Sebastian about it before he blew my brains out.
No, he probably wouldn't use a gun. He probably wouldn't even give me the privilege of doing it himself. He'd make his sheriff do it, of course.
I pressed my forehead to the wall, "I don't want to die," I confessed to the lonely elevator.
The doors slid open with another ding.
I breathed what was supposed to be a calming sigh, but it came out shaky and wheezy. I stepped off the elevator.
The familiar doors to Lacroix's office lay before me. They appeared larger than usual, epic looking. Was this the last thing I'd see before I died?
Lacroix's office, once an ordinary, safe place in my mind now filled me with dread and regret.
I reached for the door handles, but my hands were sweaty and it was hard to hold on. Maybe I would have noted what a human trait this was, if I hadn't been so preoccupied with my impending death.
I took a deep wheezy breath, and swung the doors open wide. Quite a dramatic entrance, if I do say so myself.
I'm not sure what I expected. Guns blazing? Some kind of all-out battle for my humanity? I don't know.
I definitely didn't expect Lacroix to be sitting at his desk, doing paperwork as usual.
I know its pretty stupid to not expect that… I mean, that's what he does. Every day.
But I don't know, something as big as your death, you think people are going to be doing something different than what they usually do.
So I stood there, looking stupid for a few minutes before Sebastian even acknowledged my presence.
In fact, I probably could've stood there forever and he wouldn't have looked up. It was only when I stumbled forward to his desk that he paused in his work.
"Hmm.." he murmured to himself without looking at me, and went back to whatever he's writing, "I thought I was going to have to break you out of jail tonight."
I smiled, despite myself, and then quickly forced it away. Oh how I missed that snobby French accent… more than I'd freely admit.
There was a grainy female voice, the factual voice of a reporter muffled from the other room. I knew it was a conference room, so I figured the T.V. must be on.
"Wanted for the murder of LA police officer Joel Connelly, presumed armed and dangerous…"
Lacroix shook his head, "Have you any idea how long it will take me to clear your image, and more importantly, mine, and this company's from the papers? To think…" he said, shaking his head at whatever he was writing, "You, a murderer! I didn't think you had it in you." He clucked his tongue in mock scorn.
Me neither, I wanted to say. An ache settled in my chest at him saying those words.
I don't remember making any noise, but I must have whimpered, or cried out or something, because Lacroix looked up.
He looked at me carefully, skeptically, as one might a wounded animal. Not with concern exactly, but caution. Will it attack if I provoke further?
He must have decided not, because he went on.
"I'm quite impressed, actually. How is it that you manage to escape the entire Los Angeles SWAT team?" He gave me a patronizing smile.
His grey eyes were steady, unrelenting. He sighed, as if the very act of me standing here in front of him was a waste of his precious time.
And then he did something I didn't expect him to.
His face changed, so subtly that I doubted I saw it at all, into a slightly concerned look. I wasn't sure where exactly he pulled it from his big pompous ass.
"Are you injured badly?" he asked as he inspected my body.
It was weary concern, the kind you give to a child that slams its head on the coffee table because its too stupid to realize its fat head won't fit under there…
But it was concern nonetheless.
I looked down at myself and realized for the first time how many injuries I'd sustained. I was riddled with so many bullets that parts of me looked like Swiss cheese. No wonder I could barely stay on my feet.
Blood covered the front of my shirt, crusted on my arms, my neck. I looked like I'd just walked off the set of a horror movie… only this was real life, and the blood was real. The real blood of some guy I'd murdered.
My vision spun so I looked away from the mess of my shirt.
I didn't trust myself to speak. There was a lump in my throat, and I was sure I was going to cry if I didn't get it under control.
Still, I had to say something because Lacroix was frowning at me now.
I breathed deeply and tried to sound like an emotionally stable person, but it came out high pitched and desperate sounding, "When are you going to kill me?"
He just kind of stared at me, his eyebrows dipping quizzically, as if I could say nothing more puzzling. I wondered if his English had suddenly left him.
"When am I going to kill you?" he repeated, like a kid in a spelling bee.
Buzz, sorry. The answer was N-O-W.
He stood from his office chair, purposefully, and I thought that maybe he was just messing with me. I stumbled backwards, drunk with fear.
He froze at my actions, mid step, looking more and more confused.
"You honestly believe me to cause you harm," he said, more to himself than me, "Why?"
"I broke the masquerade," I said quietly, "A sketch of my face is on the evening news."
Sebastian came around the desk to stand in front of me, hands behind his back, a neutral look on his face.
"I killed someone," I said quietly, like I was telling some deep dark secret.
Sebastian was staring at me again, as if analyzing my face. I did the same to him. Frustration, confusion, and indeed, I was pissing him off.
"Humans die all the time." He said finally, his voice cold and calculating. I think it was meant to comfort me, to reason with me, but it didn't. It made me angry.
"You say that like you aren't... like you've never been one," I replied.
Lacroix blinked at me, somewhat bewildered, but I kept going anyway, "They don't deserve to die and I killed him. We don't have to kill them. That police officer…had a family…and a life."
Just kill me already, I pleaded in my head. I didn't want to have to face my thoughts; my guilt over his death. I wondered how he'd do it, if he ever got around to it. Part of me hoped it would be slow and painful.
"You're…. being ridiculous," Sebastian struggled to understand why I was so angry, I could hear his confusion.
I shut my eyes tight, and bowed my head, waiting for the chop of that huge sword over my neck.
There was a long silence. It seemed like hours, but I'm sure it was only a few minutes, at the most.
Then something light and feathery touched my face.
My eyes flickered open, and I nearly fell backwards.
Sebastian's masculine features were close to mine. His face was serious as he inspected me with a frown. His hand dropped from my jaw, where he'd been touching me gently, and he sighed. "This injury heals too slowly," he observed, "How did you get it?"
I touched the area just above my jaw, and my hand came away bloody. I stared at it, dazed. Why was he asking about my injuries? Why did it matter? I decided to ignore his question, and get back to the real issue…
"When are you going to kill me?" I asked again.
He looked disturbed at the thought, "I'm not going to."
I could feel my fragile state of mind slipping. I was going to start crying, "Why not? I broke the masquerade!"
"It is not beyond repair, Juliet," he said in a soft, foreign tone that made my insides churn with a longing for something I didn't recognize.
I think Sebastian stood there a long time, trying to figure out what to do. He'd seen Eliza hug me before, so maybe that's where he got the idea. At any rate, it was a complete surprise to me. It happened suddenly, and once… like getting hit by lightning. Probably wouldn't ever happen again, I thought.
One minute I was standing there, the next minute Sebastian's entire upper torso was pressed against my face.
Shock came first. For both of us I think, because neither of us moved a muscle, and it was dead silent.
We stayed like that for a very long, very awkward minute, his arms engulfing my body, my face so close to his neck that I could count the hairs…
And then my stomach did this little flip of joy, my breath hitched in my throat. It occurred to me how very close he was. So close I could hear him swallow.
And then, he was suddenly pushing me away, forcefully, as if I just slapped him or something.
He stood and walked over to the window, and I stared at the floor.
I don't think he meant for it to be like this. I think Sebastian just panicked. He didn't understand why I was crying, and when he talked it just made me angry. He didn't know what else to do so he hugged me because that seemed to work with Eliza.
But he wasn't Eliza.