Memories - Act 1
Central Park, New York City, June 11, 1984
He walked down the twilit pavement faster than usual. His steps were quick and impatient. The sun was going down. He didn't care. He'd walk all night if that was what it took. He needed to clear his head.
It was warm, even for June, and he pulled his grey suit jacket off and folded it over one arm. He would need to stop eventually, he knew. He couldn't run forever. He was just so damned frustrated. First the school thing, now this... Decisions were being made without him — not good decisions, either. He was losing control.
He sat down on a nearby bench, glancing over to the small creek which wound its way beside the path. In the darkening evening, the water was black, its sounds emanating from what seemed like a dark ravine. It would look much happier in the sunlight, he knew. Night changed things, showed things for what they really were. Empty spaces, devoid of happiness or opportunity, in darkness became voids of fear, as they should be. Faces became masks of shadow. Words became echoes and eyes became pits.
With dark thoughts circling in his head, he followed the water's course with his eyes upstream to where it disappeared under a small bridge. With a struggling buzz, then a warm hum, lamps snapped to life, lighting the path up which he had walked. The lights passed him, however, leaving his little bench in an island of shadow, and continued along the path ahead of him. The water's surface now glinted with the pale light as the trail of lamps continued to where the path turned and crossed the river.
His gaze followed it, as if it were urging him to continue, to stray farther into the lonely night. Then with a hesitant flicker, the lamp on the bridge itself came to life, catching the figure standing there in a cone of light.
His eyes locked in the direction of the bridge and he stood, slowly, unsure of his own intentions. Soon he was walking towards her, sure that he was just walking father from home. The lights continued on down the path past the bridge, but he stopped at the small railing over the water and leaned against it, looking out as the water flowed from under them both.
They both stood for several minutes, enjoying the warmth of the night breeze and the gentle sounds of the water beneath them. Finally she spoke up and he turned to listen.
"I like standing on this side of the bridge," she said quietly. Her voice was smooth and yet strong. "I like watching the water flowing away from me. I know that it can see where it's going."
He wasn't looking at the water any more. As she stared contemplatively at the little creek, he committed every detail of her perfect form to memory. She was a little shorter than he, dirty blond hair hanging about her shoulders in a way which said she cared little for what people thought of her. From her shoulders down she seemed to be blanketed in a black leather jacket which was at least a size too big for her. Her jacket being open at the front, he could see her tight, threadbare T-shirt taut between her young breasts. He glanced back up to her face and judged her to be in her early twenties.
He recalled with regret what he had been doing when girls like her had been chasing after him. Studying. Law school had been stifling and he had managed only the occasional tryst before graduation. Then he had met her and he had made a leap of faith. The woman who became his wife. The mother of his child. She was at home right now. And he was not.
"Does it care where it's going?" he asked as the young woman looked down at the water. He sank a little lower between his shoulders and let her turn and examine him. She was similarly silent for a moment before she slid a little closer to him along the railing and the trace of a smile appeared on her lovely face.
"It doesn't care where," she answered playfully, but certain of the truth of her words, "it just needs to know."
Logan let the smile onto his own face. "Well, what about down there," he pointed farther down the river to where it bent out of site. "How does it know where that goes?"
The girl considered this, then shrugged slightly. "Sometimes it just has to make a leap of faith."
Logan leaned into her a little, enjoying the feel of the dangerous closeness of a stranger. "But leaping," he said carefully, "always ends with falling."
The girl nodded very slowly. As they both watched the water round the bend in the creek he sensed she knew he was right — knew it more truly than he could ever imagine. And for the first time he felt something. In the silence of that night he felt something.
Behind her strong eyes — her strong voice, behind the overpowering strength she wrapped around her like the jacket, an injury, a wound lay open, slowly filling with tears. A frown of empathy creased Logan's face and he reached his arm around her shoulders and held her close.
She didn't pull away or protest in any way, as a part of him still expected her to do. She merely laid her cheek on his chest and continued to gaze at the water carrying their lives away. His touch was no more comforting than the touch of a tombstone, but he was there and he, like a tombstone, had a purpose to serve.
Niki gently relaxed into the man's arms, letting him take the weight off her tired muscles. She hadn't felt warmth in the embrace of a man since... not since she had found her destiny. Since her destiny had found her. Found, claimed and enslaved her to do its bidding. Even the water, flowing along a narrow channel to be unavoidably swallowed by the sea, had more freedom than she.
He would probably leave her, the young Slayer thought, as everything else she had loved had left her. But not right now. Right now he was holding her and his strength was supporting her, his smell was surrounding her, his voice was calming her. His lips...
--
Park Avenue, New York City, March 16, 1988
Niki gasped as Logan's hands moved over her, his crushing grip, his burning lips. In the dim light cast into her room by the moon, she saw his body over hers. His skin, silver in the moonlight, glistening with sweat. He moved down her body, trailing kisses and hot caresses.
His lips moved down from her now aching breasts to linger at her taut belly. Her fingers combed through his sweat-matted hair, urging his head lower as her breath came out as low moans. Fuck. It was like a drug. The thought was immediately driven from her mind as his breath tickled her inner thighs. She sucked in a breath as he planted a gentle kiss on her aching clit. His lips began to move, kissing in circles, his tongue flicking here and there — he always knew where.
Niki groaned as he finally drew her orgasm from her. In a flash the cool spring air was washing over her again. Her eyes opened and she saw him kneeling over her panting body. He came down hard onto her, thrusting into her, holding nothing back. She wasn't some delicate flower. She could rip him to pieces and they both knew it. But now it was his turn to split her in half.
He lay down over her, holding her wrists hard against the bed, his head ducking down to take her breath away. Always he pounded into her, feeding something he couldn't name. Feeling what he wouldn't name.
They came together, as he always intended, their lips parting for the final thrust as she groaned and he sighed. He gave into her for several more heartbeats, finally collapsing down on the sweat-soaked sheets next to her naked form. His fingers slid up her slick stomach, up and down as her hand found his and interlocked with it.
Their breathing slowly smoothed out and she finally drifted off to sleep in the silver sheen of the moonlight.
As soon as she stopped guiding his caressing hand, Logan extricated himself from her soft flesh and rolled out of her bed. He pulled on his clothes and padded quietly to the kitchen where he found his khaki jacket. He folded it over his arm and turned to the fridge.
He stared at the blank whiteboard for what seemed like an eternity. I love you? He knew she didn't love him. Call me? She wouldn't and he didn't want her to — especially not at his house. You were a damn good lay? True, at least.
Finally, he pulled the cap from the marker and scribbled his words to her in sloppy longhand. In the quiet of the night and still smelling like mixed sweat, he slipped out of her apartment for the last time.
--
Niki awoke without a sound, without a word. She swallowed when she felt the emptiness of the bed next to her.
Standing up into the column of sunlight pouring into her room from the window, she wandered into the kitchen and found her apartment empty. She rubbed her eyes and moved towards the coffee pot. She emptied its cold contents into the sink and swirled hot water around, her eyes drifting over to the whiteboard.
Scrawled in Logan's cursive writing, the message was simple and in all ways true. Niki couldn't blame him any more than she could blame herself.
I can't do this anymore. Goodbye.
That wasn't all of it, thought. Beneath, in Niki's own messy printing, another message took hold of her heart; simple, and hauntingly true.
You have been deceived.
--
Memories - Act 2
Nassau Avenue, Freeport, December 11, 1980
He didn't know how they got in. He had been busy doing other things up in his room when he heard the noise downstairs. He crept down the stairs to peer through the bars of the banister. His eyes grew wide and his mouth hung open. He wanted to shout to them, but he was too afraid. He was smart enough to know there was nothing he could do anyway. He was only six. This was the first time he had been only six instead of already six. The sight in the front hall below him made six seem a very small number.
Mom and dad were desperately trying to keep hold of each other's hands, but the men were strong and there were lots of them. The men were laughing and breaking things around the house. They smashed the lamps and broke the hanging light in the hall. They laughed as they did all of this, like they found it funny. It wasn't funny. Even though Matt had wanted to break some of these lamps before – had wanted to act crazy and laugh out loud, he didn't like the way these men were doing it. And mom and dad looked really scared.
Matt watched as one of the men, not so big looking, walked up to dad and hit him in the face. Mom screamed and fought against the two men who held her, but the men laughed. Then the man who had hit dad punched him in the stomach. Dad doubled over and coughed, then the man hit him in the face with his knee. Matt wanted to run down and hit the man, kick him maybe, but he was paralyzed with fear. He couldn't even tear his eyes away. That is, not until the man went to mom.
Matt's eyes widened as the man leaned over mom's shoulder, looking like he was going to kiss her. Kiss her on the neck. But one of the other, bigger men handed him something shiny – a knife. Matt sucked in a breath and thought he was going to cry. Instead, he closed his eyes tight and turned his head away. When the screaming started — his mother in pain, his father... Matt covered his ears, clenching his jaw and curling up on the stairs. After a few minutes, he heard his mother's screams die away and his father's shouts were silenced.
He slowly opened his eyes and mom and dad were gone. There was only one of the big men left in the front hall and the rest seemed to have gone to the living room. Very slowly, Matt moved down the stairs to where he could see into the living room. He let out a little whimper of terror as, in the darkness of the living room, he could see his mother's arm hanging down from the coffee table where she lay.
With a cheer, the men raised cups they held and they drank. Then, with a spark of hope, Matt heard his dad's voice again, a hoarse and desperate pleading voice begging them to leave mom alone.
With wide eyes, Matt watched as dad was dragged into view in the living room, kneeling and looking up at the man who had killed mom. Farther down the stairs, Matt could now hear clearly what was being said. The man's voice was cold and cruel. To hear him speaking to dad like that made Matt's chest tighten with anger.
"Your wife," the vampire said simply, "was delicious. You were a lucky man. Emphasis on the were." He laughed a little with the vampires around him as he refilled his glass from the dripping corpse. "Don't get me wrong — she still is delicious: she'll keep for a good twenty minutes. You were a lucky man because until tonight you hadn't met me."
"Leave her alone," dad said, his voice choking. "Don't touch her—"
"I'll touch her however I choose," the vampire grinned, sliding his hands all over the corpse. Matt couldn't see what was going on, but dad's voice hardened into a shaking fury as the big men laughed and the arm of his mother he could see jerked a little. At first Matt thought she was still alive, but when the man who had killed her came back into view, his hands all red, her arm stopped moving.
"You bastard!" dad cried, falling to the floor as one of the big men kicked him in the back. They continued kicking him as he lay on the floor until he was barely moving.
The man who had killed mom ordered the bigger men to hold dad up. They pulled him up onto his knees and stretched out his arms. Pulling on his hair, they tilted his head back. His mouth hung open as he gasped for breath. Matt's clamped a hand over his mouth to keep from shouting out as the man with the red hands took a sword from one of the bigger men and held it, pointed down dad's throat.
Dad tried to say something, but the man didn't give him a chance, plunging the sword down his throat, all the way to the hilt. Dad gurgled a spray of blood, then fell back to the carpet, the sword's handle sticking out of his mouth.
Matt was gasping for breath, tears filling his eyes, he wanted to cry – wanted to scream how much he hated the man who had done this, but he was too afraid. With his eyes tightly shut, he scrambled back up the stairs to his room. He closed the door and ran for his closet. He slid behind the hanging clothes, wriggling behind the boxes of Christmas decorations to curl into a little ball and cry as quietly as he could.
Pierce watched out of the corner of his eye as the child ran up the stairs. He wiped the man's blood from his hands into his hair, slicking it back so it would stay. He held up his hands and ordered the others. "Eat, enjoy: the night is ours."
When they had begun to gather around the corpses, Pierce slipped out past the front hall and slowly made his way through the darkness up the stairs. Sometimes he liked to enjoy a little bite just for himself. The child he had seen was little more than a mouthful, but his blood would no doubt be extra sweet. Perhaps there were other children up there... A nice plump toddler... a juicy baby... Pierce licked his lips. Of course when the screaming started, he'd have to share...
The vampire moved as silently as he could down the hall to where the scent of boy-child was strongest. Baseball cards and bubble gum. New shoe smell and the leather of a baseball glove. The Prince ran his hands through his blood-matted hair. He approached the door with the low door handle and pushed it open. It swung in silently and Pierce scanned the darkness with his yellow vampire eyes. His sensitive nose picked up the intoxicating smell of terror coming from the closet.
With a wolfish grin, the vamp stalked towards the closet door, sliding it open without a sound. Drinking in the fear which filled the small space, he pushed aside the clothes hanging behind the door. There you are... He shoved a box aside and Matt cried in terror.
Pierce bared his teeth and grinned in the most fearsome way he knew how, sucking up the terror of the little tear stained face. He loved this part.
Matt held his arms over his head, sobbing in terror. Then, amid the fear, another emotion curdled up and flared in the boy's eyes. Vengeance. "I – I wish you weren't so scary," he sobbed between gasps, curling into an even tighter ball.
Pierce frowned a little, the darkness of the closet suddenly striking him. He tentatively reached for his forehead and felt the smooth contours of his human face. He bit his lower lip and felt his human canines.
The vampire took a step back out of the closet and the crying child inside and concentrated. He envisioned hate and hunger – blood and lust. Nothing. Frowning deeply, he glared at the carpet, trying to bring out the demon inside him again. Nothing. He stepped back into the closet where the boy was still crying. He could still smell the terror. Now, though, instead of a nourishing milk the terror was a acrid fume.
Pierce nearly fell backwards, stumbling away from the terrified child as nausea overwhelmed him. He gripped his gut and staggered from the room, heading for the stairs. What the fuck was going on?
Matt swallowed his fear and peered up from where he huddled in the back of his closet. The scary man was gone. But Matt was not alone in the closet.
"There, there, honey. Everything'll be alright now." The woman said soothingly. "He'll never scare you again."
Matt swallowed. Her presence didn't evoke fear, or even confusion. She was lovely. A comforting face like his mother. Her voice was soft and reassuring. "Who are you?" he asked uncurling himself and wiping his sleeve across his red eyes.
"Call me Hallie." She ran her hand through his hair, looking into his wide, worried eyes. "I'll take care of you now."
--
Nassau Avenue, Freeport, March 16, 1988
"Halfrek," Matt crossed his arms with a sigh. "Halfrek..."
The justice demon scowled, looking him up and down. "What?"
The teen raised his eyebrows. "The face...?"
Halfrek felt her fear-inspiring demon face and laughed. "Oh, sorry," it shifted back to her casual human appearance. "I had a job downtown... tis the season for vengeance." She tossed her hair slightly and reached for the orange juice carton.
Matt scoffed. "It's always the season for vengeance."
"So, how was school today?" she evaded, pouring herself a tall glass of juice. "Learn anything distressing and disappointing?"
"The usual," he said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "You were at St. Petersburg, right?"
Hallie frowned. "When?"
Matt frowned in irritation. "In 1918 — Bolshevik revolution and all that?"
The demon grinned broadly. "Ah yes, the Romanov's. Those were the days. We did some good work back then... changing the world and all." She looked oddly across the kitchen table to where Matt was staring at her. "I wasn't mentioned in your history books, was I?"
Matt shook his head. "No... it's just that they tell it a different way."
Halfrek sipped her juice. "Yes... time will do that to a good story. Just remember what I told you. Firsthand accounts of history are hard to come by these days."
The teen nodded. "Yeah, I know. I appreciate it." There was silence for several minutes as they divvied up the cookies on the plate before them. "Hallie," he said hesitantly, "is it okay if Hanna comes by for a little while this afternoon?"
"Oh, honey," the demon said, a little disappointed. "I told you not to pursue that... it can only end in evisceration." She finished her juice, then pulled a small bottle from her jacket. She emptied the clear contents into the juice glass and swallowed it at once, making a face. "And as much as I love you, honey, I'm not above getting Anyanka down here to beat some sense into you with your own rib bone."
Matt glared at her, knowing the threat was sincere. "I would never hurt her," he said angrily. "She's the only one I can talk to. The only one who understands me."
"Oh, honey," Halfrek touched his arm gently. "I understand you."
"The only human who understands," he added spitefully.
"Ouch," Hallie grinned. "That one hurt." Standing, she walked to the sink to deposit her empty glass. "Sweety, I have to go out tonight... you'll be alright to order a pizza or something?"
Matt's gaze dropped. "Yeah... as usual."
Halfrek ignored the last and smiled. "Great. See you tomorrow."
Lifting her arms, she flared her hands and disappeared in a spectacle Matt had long ago found disinteresting. At least she was gone. As usual. The house was his. As usual. He stood and moved to the telephone on the wall, lifting the receiver and dialing the Kilpatrick house. He smiled as after half a ring Hanna answered.
"Hey," was all he needed to say.
--
Memories - Act 3
"Ooh, more palmy goodness..." Jessica snatched Niki's hand and stared down at it very pointedly. Her eyebrows shot up and she smirked. "Gettin' busy, aren't we?"
Niki pulled her hand away with a frown. "I need to know more about the Deceivers... or the Deception or whatever it is."
Jessica folded her hands and shrugged. "I've told you everything I can — everything I know," she corrected hastily. "You have to find someone you trust to keep you from doing things which might get you into trouble."
"Well, who can I trust?" the Slayer demanded. She looked around the mall as the odd person strolled past. "Everyone's gone." She frowned and leaned closer to the seer. "Can I trust you?"
Jessica laughed out loud. "Ha! No. The last thing I need is a Slayer hanging around – I have enough trouble as it is." She leaned in conspiratorially. "Some Council agents were by earlier asking about you. You can't come around here anymore."
Niki frowned. "Well... can't you tell me anything? Who the person is who summoned the Deception? Or, where Whistler is: I haven't seen him since the party."
Jessica shrugged. "Sorry, don't know either. That's not how this works." She seemed quite unconcerned about the Slayer's troubles.
Niki scowled and stood, her eyes narrowing. "Well thanks anyway," she said coldly as Jessica turned to the next customer.
Niki took a taxi back to her apartment. She rode the elevator in resentful silence and marched angrily to her door. Sliding her key into the lock, she turned and was annoyed to find the key wouldn't turn.
"Changed the lock," a voice said to her left. She pulled her key from the lock and glared at the superintendent who stood with a clipboard under his arm.
"Why?" the Slayer demanded, in no mood for this sort of thing.
"You're three months behind on your rent," he said unapologetically. Lifting the clipboard from under his arm, he showed her the document on top – her lease. "Read the fine print," he said smugly, "you can come back tomorrow and pick up your stuff... or not, and the garbage men will pick it up." He gave her a thumb to tell her to get lost.
When she didn't move, the superintendent smirked and walked away. Niki fumed, her fist tightening. Since her mistrial, she had stopped getting cheques in the mail. She had only the money she had been saving from the silver she took from the Goths to pay for meals and taxi fare. Bills and rent had not been a priority. Fuck. When she could hold it in no longer, her fist met the door with a loud bang.
--
"Fuck," Logan turned the key in the ignition again and again, hearing only a chugging sound. The little brown Pontiac had stalled outside of Matt's house as Logan had been dropping his daughter off.
Logan popped the hood and slid out from behind the wheel to take a look at the engine. Probably the alternator. This was the last thing he needed. As he lifted the hood and peered into the dark depths of steel and rubber, he considered what a crapped out alternator would mean.
Since he had quit Wolfram and Hart, money had been an issue. Back in the fall, he had planned for a raise, planned for a new car, a college fund for Hanna... something nice for Rachel. But none of that was going to happen now.
Surprise, surprise; the mistrial had nearly ruined his reputation as a defense lawyer. Since he had quit his last firm, no other big firm would touch him. Even Legal Aid hadn't called him back. After several months of unemployment, he had reluctantly returned to his old job. Small claims. Spending a depressingly large chunk of money to get listed, he went into business as an independent and hadn't had a case since.
Things were tight, that was for sure, but Rachel was bringing in some money from her job at the hospital and they were getting by. The alternator was definitely crap. Logan had neither the money for a new one or for a tow home. He leaned in, searching for the offending part.
Spotting it, he laid his hand on it and closed his eyes. With a flash of yellow light, the alternator sprang to life and the engine roared. Alternative maintenance, Logan mused.
"I knew it!" a young voice said from behind him.
Shit. Logan slowly turned and closed the hood, taking a deep breath. Matt was standing, in a position to have seen over his shoulder the alternative maintenance Logan had just performed.
"You are a wizard! Or a sorcerer or something..." the kid's face was bright as he considered the ramifications.
Logan too was considering the ramifications, trying to think of a way of diffusing this before it got out of hand. "Look, Matt, I don't know what you think you saw, but—"
"No, it's okay," the boy laughed, running his hand through his blond hair. Logan realized Matt looked a lot like he did when he was that age. "It's good," he said excitedly. "It means you understand. I can tell you the secret."
A troubled look brewed on the lawyer's face. "What secret?"
Hanna watched the two of them through the bay window inside Matt's living room. She loved how strong Matt always appeared – how independent and fearless. The only thing she loved more was watching him and her father together. Not because Logan tore Matt down, but because he strained all of Matt's defenses, gave him a real fear before which he could be fearless. And it was amusing to the extreme.
Hanna munched on the pizza Matt had ordered (as usual) and watched the conversation. Sometimes it was particularly exciting, because Logan was trying to hide his magic stuff from everyone and Matt was always suspicious: he was the only one she knew, besides Hanna's mother, who could make Logan squirm.
Suddenly she stopped, mid-chew. Logan had started actually yelling and Matt looked terrified. He went running back to the house and Logan followed, bursting through the front door seconds after Matt.
Hanna dropped the pizza in shock as Matt rushed past her and took her hand in his. She looked with confusion from her boyfriend to Logan, who stood by the door, facing them and looking very angry.
"Hanna," he said through a thin veil of calm, "get in the car."
She sagged. "But I just got here," she protested. She felt Matt's grip on her hand tighten as Logan stepped forward, threateningly.
"Get. In. The. Car." He pointed a quivering finger out the window to the idling car. "Now!"
Hanna looked worriedly to Matt who was, himself, quite worried. Finally she swallowed and pulled her hand from his, walking carefully to the car and getting in the back seat. From there she saw more yelling through the bay window, followed by Logan storming out of the house and marching towards the car, very pissed.
He slammed the driver's door closed and drummed his fingers impatiently on the steering wheel as he waited for the right words to come. Fuck it, he thought. "Hanna, you're never seeing him again."
The girl's eyes widened and her jaw dropped. "Are you... kidding me!?" she demanded, anger exploding in her voice. "Why?"
Logan threw the car into gear and stepped on the gas without a word. Hanna quickly turned and pressed her hand to the car's window. Through it she could see Matt standing at the bay window, looking back at her.
Hanna whipped her gaze forward to Logan's eyes as he watched her in the rear-view mirror. Her eyes narrowed and her voice quivered. "I hate you," she said through clenched teeth.
Averting his eyes, Logan lost his daughter's eyes. He swallowed. This was really the last thing he needed. Something that couldn't be fixed with alternative maintenance.
--
Niki stood at the ATM, carefully counting the twenties. She didn't dare look at the remaining balance in her bank account. Tucking the wad of cash back in her pocket, she turned and hailed a taxi. Considering how much she paid the cabbies of New York City, they should at least give her a free ride once and a while.
"Queens," she said simply, shuddering to think how much a trip from Jersey to Queens would cost. She just hoped she'd have enough left for a prophet.
--
Memories - Act 4
Hanna lay on her bed, angrily holding back tears. Logan sat on the bed's edge, trying to be as gentle as he could, not fully understanding what she felt.
"Honey, you just can't see him anymore. Not at school, not here, not ever." He tried to touch her back, but she pulled away.
"Why not?" she demanded, her voice quivering.
Logan knew she knew what he could do, what some of the dangers of the real world were, but she obviously didn't know Matt's 'secret'. "Because he's dangerous," Logan said regretfully. "Bad things hang around him, bad things happen to people he loves."
"It doesn't have to be like that," she said, sitting up and turning to her father. He frowned and shook his head a little. "I know his parents were killed by vampires... but they don't bother him anymore. He told me. He– he's all alone now..." her eyes hardened again, "why can't I see him?"
Logan doubted very much this kid was 'all alone' with a demon looking after him. Who knows what he'd been trained to do... what he'd been instructed to do with Hanna... Logan intended to find and kill the demon. That would be a start, at least.
"Trust me, honey. I know what's best for you. To keep you safe."
"Logan," Rachel's voice called him quietly from the hallway. "Can I talk to you for a minute?"
Logan slowly stood from his daughter's bed and walked to the hall, closing the door behind him. He swallowed, seeing Rachel's hard look. This wasn't going to be a pleasant conversation.
"You made her break up with her boyfriend?" Rachel asked, maintaining a rational calm.
Logan took a deep breath. "I found out he's into drugs. Lots and lots of drugs. And his supposed mother — never around. The kid is bad news and I don't want our daughter anywhere near him."
Rachel appraised him, hearing his words, but not appearing to believe one word of the lie. "He's bad news," she nodded. "Like Michael is bad news. Like we shouldn't be anywhere near him?"
Logan grated his teeth. He had dropped the issue with Michael, the mysterious man with a blue tie when he had realized they couldn't get by without Rachel's income or afford to send Hanna to a private school.
"I stand by that," he said indignantly. "You don't know these people as well as I do."
Rachel threw up her hands. "Well, I'd like to! I'd like a chance to get to know them and form my own opinions, but you won't allow me to have them over!"
"They're dangerous people," Logan stressed, his voice earnest. He took Rachel by the shoulders and pulled her a little closer. "I'm trying to protect you! You have to believe me!"
"Why?" his wife demanded. "Why should I believe you?" She pulled herself from his grip to stare down his intense gaze. "You're back to being out all night – I have no idea where you are. You never talk about what's bothering you or why you think these people are dangerous! Why should I believe you?"
Logan's mask of intensity melted to one of hurt. "Because I love you," he said as if it were obvious. "I would do everything I could to protect you."
"Protect us from what!?" Rachel shouted, marching away from him towards their bedroom. Stopping at the door she turned. "The only thing that's ever hurt this family is you Logan Kilpatrick."
--
Niki handed over the wad of cash to the taxi driver through his window. It hadn't cost the arm and leg she thought, and she guessed she might have money left for a motel room for the night. And maybe some coffee. Assuming the prophet wasn't too expensive.
Niki started walking for the overpass of the Long Island expressway, under which she had been told a crazy former business mogul turned prophet now lived. The taxi couldn't stop anywhere close to it, so it was nearly dark when she finally got there.
The Doppler rise and fall of the sound of cars rushing past became almost hypnotic as she slowly walked towards the dark abyss that was the underside of the overpass. She was walking on the right shoulder, traffic flying past her from behind. For a few seconds each time, the world ahead of her was lit by headlights, then was drenched in blood red tail light and finally went dark again as two red eyes sped away ahead of her. In these flashes her eyes searched the shadows among the concrete pillars where light never reached. There was a mess of garbage and graffiti strewn about, but for a moment, Niki could have sworn she saw movement.
Carefully, she approached the cavern-like space between the concrete wall covering the embankment and the pillars which supported the broad dark roof above them which was the expressway. Passing cars now flooded the dark space with moving beams of light which tracked towards her between the massive pillars. In the light and darkness, the Slayer could see the shape of a person, moving hastily across the sloped wall, its arms moving wildly here and there. She stopped in her tracks and waited. The figure seemed to ignore her for several moments until she uncertainly cleared her throat.
Instantly, there was a blinding light in her eyes. She squinted and held a hand before her face to block the glare. Eventually, the flashlight was lowered and Niki got a good look at the figure who was holding it on her.
Somehow, Niki had just assumed the man to be old. Weren't business moguls old? Weren't crazy men who lived under overpasses old? The man who stood before her now was a very worn, very unkempt thirty seven year old. His hair was carrot-red and his eyes were wide. He wore several layers of clothes, none of which seemed to fit, and his hands were brightly colored.
"It's you," he said with a trace of disappointment. "I must be early."
Niki blinked. This was a prophet? Maybe not. "Someone named Whistler told me there was a... uh... prophet who lived around here."
"He's exempt. No taxes, no audits." The man switched off the flashlight, turned and continued whatever he had been doing. Niki squinted into the darkness to see, catching brief flashes of it as cars sped past.
"You know Whistler?" She asked tentatively, stepping closer.
"There's a finite amount of Whistler in all of us," the man said thoughtfully. "Not redeemable, though." He turned to her with a puzzled look, as if this had just occurred to him. "Shame, really."
"Are you the prophet?" Niki crossed her arms, getting a sinking feeling that prophet or no, this man was too far gone to be helpful.
"I am the Profit. The Assets minus the Expenses." He looked over what was on the wall before him, running his fingers along it, as if inspecting it for errors.
Niki looked from him to the wall, seeing what was at first glance graffiti and at second glance dozens of rows of numbers written in three wide columns. Glancing down at the man's hands, she could see he was writing in paint with his fingers; red, blue and green.
"What are you working on?" she asked with a little frown.
"My report..." he muttered distantly, scanning the numbers very carefully. "My editor went out for lunch, never came back. When he does, he'll be facing disciplinary action."
"What are all the numbers?" Niki asked, stepping closer. As her eyes grew accustomed to the darkness, she could see three distinct blocks of numbers. One written in red, one in blue and one in green. "What do they mean?"
The man suddenly turned on her, holding up a colored finger and waving it unsteadily. "Blue," he said boldly. "Blue is you, what to do." He quickly looked back to the center block of numbers, the one written in blue. "Here it is," he pointed vaguely to some numbers at the center. "It's all right here. All the stats, all the accounts."
Niki squinted at the numbers. ...11 45 7 8 90 89... "I was told you know about the Deceivers. The Deception, how it works, who—"
"Seven," the man interrupted, pointing to the number. "That's the key. You see, over here," he pointed at the green, "this is nine." Indeed it was. "Nine is two more than seven."
Niki's frown deepened. "...Yes. Yes it is."
The man turned away from the numbers and glared at her. "I'm not crazy!" he said angrily, crossing his arms. "I can still do the math. Still do the numbers. I haven't lost my mind, you know. Blue is do, who are you?"
"I'm Niki Valtaine," the Slayer said uncertainly. "What's blue?"
The man squinted, as if she were the crazy one, not him. "The numbers are blue," he said patronizingly. "And blue for you and blue for you." He turned back to the green numbers. "And here again. Eleven. Eleven is two more than nine, and..." he looked back to the blue numbers. "You're nine."
"I'm nine?" Niki shook her head. "What are you talking about?"
"Blue," he said emphatically. "I'm talking about blue."
"Who's blue?" Niki shouted, at the end of her patience.
"You're blue!" the man shouted in reply. He waved his hand over the center block of numbers. "This is you. All of you."
"All of me?" Niki looked closer at the numbers. "I'm all blue?"
"Not you by yourself. All of you. Of them." He returned to the numbers, running his fingers over the rows of numbers. "Like here. Seventeen. You've got seventeen left."
"Seventeen what?" Niki was completely lost. All of her was blue?
"You're all blue," he said distantly, his hand caressing the blue numbers with care. "Well, not blue. Pink and brown and yellow and every color but blue. But blue."
"What are you—" Niki squinted at him as he looked at the numbers. "Slayers. Slayers are blue. This..." she looked over the numbers in the center block, "this has something to do... this says something about Slayers — about me?"
The man continued muttering. "And the Nobel Prize goes to..."
"What does it say?" Niki demanded, taking his arm and turning him to face her. "What does it say about me?"
"It says everything there is to know," he pulled his arm from her grip. "Everything is in blue."
Niki looked at the numbers, seemingly random. "But I can't read it," she argued. "How can it say anything?"
"Blue was never very smart," the man mumbled as he kept tracing a finger over the numbers. "Until it was green."
"Who's green?" Niki turned to the third block of numbers.
"Blue is x plus y where y is zero," the man pointed to the topmost line of the blue block where the equation was written. "Green is x plus y where y goes to infinity."
Niki stared blankly at the rows of green numbers. "Yeah, but who is green."
"They'll all be green," the man replied. "All the pink, brown, yellow, red... all the blue. They'll all be green." He held up a finger and a smile spread across his face revealing mottled teeth. "But not for fifteen."
The Slayer looked at the numbers for a good long time, trying to extract some meaning. "You don't have anything in... words I could look at?" she was shaking her head.
"My editor," the man muttered, "out for lunch and all that..."
Niki nodded. "Sure," she turned and started back the way she had come, but the prophet stood.
"Where are you going? I'm not that early." He indicated the block of blue numbers. "Don't you want a peek at your future? At the plan?"
Niki's frown melted. "Now you're talking."
--
Hanna was awoken by a tapping at her window. Before she had fully resolved where she was and what time it was, she heard the noise again. Very carefully, she pulled back the covers and slipped out of bed. She padded through the darkness to the dim pink glow coming from her window. She squinted out into the night and saw a figure standing below. He was lit from behind by the nearby streetlight and she could tell from the way he stood that it was Matt.
Moments later she stood in the darkness of the front hall, staring at the closed front door. It loomed before her, silent and terrifying. She didn't remember everything about that night —the night she had found out who her father really was— but she recalled she had woken up outside with vampires pawing at her.
Hanna swallowed, slowly moving forward and taking the door handle with a clammy hand. She turned it and pulled, realizing after a moment that the deadbolt was still in place. She turned the lock and then turned the door handle again. With a brave tug she pulled the door wide open.
She let out a little yelp when she saw a figure standing right in the doorway. She calmed, however, as soon as he reached in and took her hand, leading her out the door with urgency. It was Matt.
"What are you doing?" she hissed as he hurried her to the street where the taxi idled.
"Don't worry, I'll have you back before sunrise," he said over his shoulder. "I just had to see you." He opened the door of the taxi and motioned for her to get in. Hanna glanced uncertainly over her shoulder at the dark house and then back at her forbidden boyfriend. Her Montague. In the space of a heartbeat she was in the car, waiting for him to hurry and get in the other door. Her eyes were on nothing but him as the taxi took off into the night.
--
Niki looked over the blue numbers in the grey of the pre-dawn hours. Her rising comprehension had faded to a sort of sick feeling when she had realized she was looking at her entire life. Seven hundred and twelve numbers summed her up completely. Past, present and future. And it wasn't so early as the prophet had thought. Not just her life either, but the lives of all slayers before her and after until they became 'green'. Each number, even though their lives differed, applied in a different way to each slayer. And they were never wrong.
She wasn't too clear on the relationship between the blue and the green, or what the red was at all, but the blue was starting to make sense. Terrible, stomach turning sense.
"Seventeen," she said with a cold chill down her back. "That's all?"
The man nodded. "Less than or equal to the cube of the sum of the integers," he answered, "is the number of instants." He slowly traced a blue finger over the four which was the very last number. "Instants and instances."
"What does it say about the Deceivers? How many are there? How many until they're gone?" Niki reached out and touched the numbers, feeling the paint was still wet near the end. She ran her fingers over the numbers, smudging some of them, but he didn't seem to care.
The prophet slowly dropped a finger from the eight and lifted it, selecting the number carefully. "We're at now," he said distantly, landing on a zero. The zero was on the third last line of numbers, near the bottom. "And they're lost at five. Three and two and free as blue."
"Three and two," Niki considered this. "I guess you couldn't give me a name," she wondered, not really to him. "Five is good enough. Seventeen is bad, though, really bad."
"Numbers aren't bad," he said with a shrug. "They are just and true. Even and odd. Interesting and tedious. Thirteen, for example. Very misunderstood. Seven? Blown way out of proportion."
"It's just one more than six," Niki added, before she realized she had begun to think like him.
His eyes lit up and he smiled. "exactly," he held his grin and moved away from the wall to a small pile of junk. "Now you have to go," he said suddenly with a worried note in his voice. "Go now, take the blue away, don't let it ever come back. Only black here, only white."
"Why?" Niki returned her attention to the here and now.
The prophet turned and tapped the last number of the red column. "It's seventeen too," he said with an apologetic shrug. "But this seventeen is much smaller. Much more red." Niki was shaking her head in confusion when the man walked back to his pile of junk. "So much paint," he said with a scolding tone. "Improperly stored. Disciplinary actions. Too many fumes..."
A car sped by and the colored blocks of numbers were caught in the traveling beam. Niki slowly began to back away as the man began tossing garbage here and there.
"Seventeen," he muttered, "sixteen... fifteen... fourteen... thirteen..."
Niki's eyes widened and she turned to run. Her Slayer legs carrying her quickly and smoothly as she could. As she ran back down the shoulder of the road, each car caught her with its headlights. Soon she was running with her eyes closed, sensing through her eyelids each time a car past. The rush of the engine and whoosh of air.
After a good ten seconds, another sound made her open her eyes. A scraping sound was approaching from ahead and when Niki opened her eyes, she could see a badly dented car swerving back and forth across the road. Behind it, its bumper was hanging down onto the pavement and sending a plume of sparks onto the shoulder.
Niki dove out of the way as the car swerved past her and headed to the overpass. Looking up from the grass embankment beside the shoulder Niki saw the damaged car disappear under the overpass. Two... one... With a roar, the darkness under the overpass was consumed with a fireball. Bright red, it shot out on either side of the expressway above, followed by the screeching of tires and the honking of horns.
Niki frowned. Paint fumes? He had foreseen his own death... He was numbered at seventeen too. Slowly Niki stood from the grass and brushed off her white T-shirt and jeans. The wind was a bit chilly and she hugged her bare arms together for warmth.
Next to the confusion of the traffic, she walked slowly and silently back down the highway. No place to go. Not until morning.
It took an hour and a half of walking through the dim early morning hours before she recognized the signs of the kind of bar she wanted. She slowly descended the steps and pushed the door open.
Demon bars in Queens were quite nice compared to the Malleus or even the Nail Biter. The place was adequately lit and only dark in purposeful sections. There was distant, not-too awful music playing and several televisions hanging from the ceiling. The floor was tiles and looked as though it had actually been cleaned, once.
Niki approached the bar and sat herself down. The demon serving drinks approached and looked her over. "What can I get for you tonight?" he asked with a friendly enough tone.
Niki reached into her pocket and pulled out the wad of money she had been saving for a place to sleep. She took a deep breath and slowly let it out, her eyes locked on a small glass bottle behind the barkeep's back. He followed her gaze and gave a knowing nod.
"That kinda night, eh?" He took the bottle of Stuff and began mixing it into a golden drink.
Niki slowly slumped forward, resting her forearms on the bar as her gaze dropped from the drink being prepared to the blue paint on the tips of her fingers. "The only kind I know."
—
Park Avenue, New York City, June 17, 1984
The young Slayer slowly drew her hand across the bare chest of her sleeping lover. Her new lover. Logan was amazing. He did things that Jimmy would never even dream of. No question, she was hooked on this handsome, blond, small claims lawyer. At least, hooked on parts of him.
She still ached in all the right places. There was a sheen over their skin, reflected silvery blue in the moonlight streaming through the window. She felt like she could live in this moment forever. No stresses, no commitments, just fantastic sex with no strings attached.
Addison would be pissed when he found out. Niki grinned. Even better. She leisurely stretched out naked on the sweat-soaked sheets next to her silvery blue addiction. With a smile on her lips, she closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep. What a dream. What a night.