Chapter 11: Moving Right Along

Dave had to grab Grey with both arms to keep him from falling to the floor. He'd gone limp almost as soon as he said he was tired. Dave was, for just a moment, terrified that somehow he'd misjudged the time and sunrise had already come, but he didn't feel tired at all. He felt a weird, kind of edgy feeling knowing he'd have to get somewhere safe soon, but not tired. He tried to shake Grey a little, just to see if he could at least get him to carry himself up the stairs, but he was as good as dead in his arms. That made sense, he guessed, but it also made things incredibly awkward.

He swung Grey's legs up so he could carry him up to the apartment. He was surprised at how light he felt, but it could have had something to do with him being gone for the day. Under any other circumstances it would have looked like he was carrying a drunken friend home, but nobody was going to be able to get past the way Dave looked to ever think that. He took the stairs one by one, as slowly and quietly as he could manage. He stopped at every door and listened, but couldn't hear anyone moving around. If there was anyone else living in the building they were probably the type that slept 'til noon before they went to pick up a welfare check, but he still couldn't shake the nagging fear of being discovered. With every step up Grey's boneless right hand brushed against Dave's side, making him wish he could safely hurry. Funny that a little thing like that would bother him, considering, but it did. A lot.

It took three tries to get the door open. Dave almost dropped Grey on the second, but he made it in. He looked to the clock on the wall and decided it had taken about five minutes to get up the stairs, making it five minutes since Grey had collapsed. A cockroach scurried out from underneath the clock just as he finished with calculation, reminding Dave of how much he hated the place. He laid Grey down on the bed, but as soon as he did he was faced with a new problem. He knew that, like Grey, he'd probably be completely unaware of anything during the day, but he still didn't want to take his chances on the floor. Anything else living in the apartment could spend all day crawling over him if he slept there, maybe even to find its way inside. He couldn't stand the thought bugs setting up shop in his body, even if it was a train wreck. The bed probably didn't reduce the chances of that happening all that much, but he could fool himself into thinking it did. Dave pushed Grey over, closer to the wall.

"Don't take this the wrong way or anything," Dave said, crawling onto the bed. There was barely enough room for the two of them, but if he was lucky he'd be up before Grey too.

Dave rolled over on his side, putting his back to Grey, so he could watch the clock and count the minutes until he fell asleep. He wished he could feel at least a little sleepy before it happened, instead of just getting sucked under when it happened.

Thirty minutes, that's how much Grey was off by. That's odd, Dave thought, and then he was out.

Grey was still asleep when he woke up. Dave had a feeling it would be another half hour before Grey rejoined him. He decided to check his e-mail in the meantime. There was nothing new, but as he looked at the address listed he remembered that it was the account that had been set up for him, not the one he'd used before he died. It wouldn't take much to open a browser window and look, but that would be too weird. All of that, even his old undeleted spam and newsletters, felt like it was lost to him. Besides that, the people who'd be nice enough to set the place up for him probably had some way to monitor everything he did on their crappy laptop.

Dave tried to decipher the fancy invitation left on the desk again, but the thing about finding the sender where the mystical sun burned still made no sense to him. It didn't sound like he'd ever be able to find him. He tossed the card aside and stood back up, feeling something in his pocket brush against his side as he did. His camera, of course. He took it out and slid the cover back, wondering what might have happened to all his other equipment. Just like his e-mail, it might still be possible for him to go back to his old apartment and see if anything was left, but that would definitely be too much to handle. If he'd been trapped in that room as long as he thought then he'd probably been declared legally dead already. His family would have come in to pick through his belongings, probably to auction over the internet for crazily low prices. All his stuff, all of his really good camera equipment, would be gone. The landlord would have wasted no time once they were through to put the place back up for rent. All Dave would have to do was check the paper to confirm that much, but he still didn't want to know.

Part of him- that stupid, whimsical part of him- wanted to pretend that David Kim was still out there somewhere, still making a living off the star's most embarrassing moments. But that was stupid, the self-proclaimed ninja was dead, and all that was really left of him were the first few pictures in the camera's memory. If he really wanted to get over himself and move on, he would have just deleted the pictures right away, completely wipe the memory card and save the batteries for something he might need later. Instead Dave sat on the edge of the bed, flipping through the pictures again and again. The first few were of his reflection in his old bathroom mirror. His eyes were on the camera, just like they were with every idiot who had to use a mirror to take a picture of themselves. His hair was short, and spiky, and in retrospect he always put too much gel in it to keep in that way. He'd always thought of his face as too bland for comment, and all his acquaintances pretty much confirmed that when they could only ever describe him as 'that Asian guy' or 'that guy, I think he's Chinese'. Dave had given up on correcting people since before he was out of high school. You were Chinese or you were Japanese, people never guessed Korean on the first try. Not like it mattered anymore. The next three pictures were more of the same, him trying to be cool about taking a picture in the mirror or at arm's length, like it wasn't totally pathetic to have no one to take them for you.

"Don't dwell on it," he told himself. He wasn't even sure which part he meant, all he knew was the silence in the room was getting to him. It was a bad sign to be talking to yourself, and just thinking about it made him glance back to Grey.

He put the camera down long enough to stand and turn the TV on. The bent antennae sticking out from the back was enhanced by a piece of tinfoil, which allowed it to barely pick up the local stations. The picture was terrible and the bursts of static occasionally interrupted the sound, but it was something. He had the option of the radio on the kitchen counter, but that would only make him think of the weird cab ride after the theatre incident. He didn't even want to think about that, but there he was, torturing himself with the stupid camera. Picking and choosing what he wanted to fuck up his emotional state with gave him a warped feeling of control, something he really needed after being tied up and dragged around for the past week.

He sat back down and continued looking through the pictures. The fifth photo was nothing but a vanity shot, still one of him taking a picture in the mirror, but that time without a shirt. He'd always thought having a great body could make up for the average Asian looks, but thinking about it now only made him laugh. He hit the options button, and the little trash bin icon was there, ready and waiting to wipe away those images forever. All he'd have to do was hit OK, and then he could start forgetting about himself. Instead he hit cancel and kept cycling through the pictures. Who was he kidding? He wished he'd thought to take more pictures of himself, but all he had left were five shots he'd taken just to test the camera and flatter himself. The quality of the photos got much better after that, but it wasn't of anything he wanted to see. There was the street outside of his old apartment at daytime, where one of the cars on the street had its front window smashed. There were tourists in Hollywood, also in the daytime, paying no attention to where they were going as they focused on the walk of fame. There was Mr. Benz, glaring drunkenly at the camera, a whole series of shots that Dave couldn't have given away to tabloids. And the final picture, the one Dave had taken before moving on to the bar where he'd met that damn woman, was of some Hispanic girl's ass, taken from across the room as she leaned over the bar. He was already drunk when he'd taken the picture, easy prey. He'd set himself up.

"Great way to end things, man," Dave said.

He cycled back to the beginning of the pictures, back to who he used to be. He really had to get over it, but not just yet. He didn't know how long he sat there, going back and forth between those five pictures, but he was snapped out of it when he heard the bedsprings squeak. Dave turned the camera off just as Grey rolled over.

"Morning," Dave said, looking over his shoulder. Good evening sounded way too Bella Lugosi.

Grey looked incredibly disoriented. Dave couldn't blame him. He took the opportunity to slip the camera back in his pocket while Grey was soaking up the atmosphere. The way his head very slowly turned back to him when he was done was too creepy for words.

"How long?" Grey asked.

"You mean like how long have I been up?"

"That works too."

Dave glanced at the clock. He was right about the time. "About a half hour, why?"

"Oh." The way Grey stared ahead after that was like he'd just been told he had cancer. Dave leaned forward and nudged his shoulder. He jerked back when Grey started laughing.

"Uh, Grey?"

He didn't answer, at least night right away. It took a few seconds for the laughter to stop. Grey's shoulders sagged when it did. He wouldn't look at Dave. Instead he was way too intent on the closest mystery stain on the mattress. Dave leaned close enough to see that Grey's eyes were wavering back and forth a lot, like he was thinking hard about something. He leaned so close that when Grey jerked his head towards the kitchen he nearly fell off the bed.

"How can I when I can find no purchase?" Grey snapped at the refrigerator.

"Purchase?" Dave echoed. It was that or try asking if he had a problem with appliances.

Grey's head jerked back to him. His eyes were wide, like he'd been caught at something very embarrassing. They stared at each other for what seemed like a long time. Dave was starting to doubt if taking Grey in had been such a great idea after all. He really should have just turned and ran the moment he saw him in the beach house, but instead he had to get all sentimental. It was stupid to even think things would be exactly the same as before, like the last five years hadn't even happened.

"Just forget it," Grey said. Dave was a little surprised to see he was addressing him.

"It's kinda hard to," Dave said. The look Grey gave him froze him, but his lips kept going. "Seriously, what happened to you, Grey?"

"You wouldn't understand," Grey said. He lay back down on the mattress. "No one understands. No one can see what I truly mean, no matter what I say."

Dave rolled his eyes. "So why don't you try? I mean, we're still friends, right? And we're both va- Kindred- so we can talk about this stuff, can't we?"

Grey was silent. The TV droned on, saving them from total silence with static-filled commercials for oven cleaner and new cars. When Grey sat up again he looked resigned.

"Each of us is twice cursed," he said. He used his good hand to hold up two fingers. "The founders of our lines were, in their own ways, naughty children who angered the Dark Father enough to be cursed by him. His curses persist as much as that which was meant to be his alone. They have been passed down through the ages, one for every clan- for every Antediluvian. But now the lines are growing too thin to support so much as the one. Strange things happen there, where the line is thinnest… Very strange, unsettling things."

Dave listened, barely understanding any of what Grey was saying. As grim as he sounded, it was still hard to understand, but Dave had one thing he could understand and cling to. "I know about clans having their own curse and all."

Grey looked like he'd been slapped in the face. "How? Who told you?"

Dave felt gratified he knew at least a little bit about things. "This guy named Jack. He met me outside the theatre, helped me sneaked past the Sabbat when they attacked."

"Jack helped you?"

"Uh, yeah. Do you know him?"

Grey looked to the board covering the window beside the bed. "Perhaps better than I actually do."

"What?"

"Sometimes my thoughts are not entirely my own," Grey said, reaching out to trace his finger across a scratch in the wood.

"Oh. Okay." Dave decided it was pointless to try and get him to elaborate on stuff like that. "So what's your clan?"

"I am Malkavian," Grey said. His eyes lost focus, like a war veteran thinking back on some horrible experience. "Our curse is that we see too much, know too much. From the very moment we die, we are exposed to something vast and terrible. It breaks us, some more than others, so that we can never be whole again. It's something no words can describe. Something you can only understand by being broken in the same way. I wouldn't wish that on anyone."

There was probably a much simpler way to describe that, and Dave was pretty sure he knew how, but he was afraid to say it out loud.

Grey picked up on it anyway. "It's true," he said, fixing his eyes on Dave. He smiled, so quickly it was more like a muscle spasm. "We're all mad."

It was probably a coincidence that Grey seemed to know exactly what he was thinking, but the really scary thing was Dave had no idea what vampires- any vampire- were capable of. Hiding was apparently his only real talent, and that seemed to be enough, but what about all the stories? Bats and mist and mind control, he really should have thought about that sooner. Grey had fallen silent again, thinking about god knew what, and Dave would feel stupid trying to broach the subject after he admitted something like that. He would have felt even more stupid trying to saying something in response. It sucked, but then so did his own curse. At least Grey still looked human, even if he was crazy.

Another round of commercials was finishing up on the TV. Dave hadn't even noticed what show was playing, but the snippet of the local news station's theme grabbed his attention. He looked over his shoulder to see the smiling face of Kurt Tucker peer. The color on the TV was off, making Kurt look green. "Tonight on Channel Six, police investigate a possible connection between last night's gas explosion at a Santa Monica home and a brutal murder on the pier. Also, a special report on seven common household items that could kill you and your family. Join us for these stories and more tonight at eleven."

Dave turned back at Grey just as the screen faded back to a sitcom rerun. "You blew up the house!"

Grey held up his hands, like Dave was silly for thinking it was a bad thing. "It was all I could do."

"You're not responsible for the thing on the pier, are you?"

"The wolf?"

"What wolf? I mean the murder!"

Grey shook his head. "Before I was redecorating the house I was making my way there. What I found is what allowed the Beast to slip its leash. I could only manage on atrocity in one night."

"This sort of thing doesn't happen often, or does it?" Dave asked. He probably should have asked what Grey found, but it was too late for that. There were a hell of a lot of things he meant to ask, and should have asked, but the opportunities kept slipping away before he even realized they were there. So much for getting answers.

"At times there's nothing to be done to stop it." Grey gave him a somber look. "You'll see. That much you can come to understand."

It was time to change the subject again. Dave put both hands to his head. It didn't feel right, but then he remembered his hair was gone as his fingers were a freakish mess. "Okay, look, we really can't spend all night sitting here talking." He moves his hands from his head to his knees and squeezed. He still needed new jeans, but he had to focus. "I've gotta go see some woman about calling off a feud."

"What woman is this?"

"Mercurio said her name's Therese." The look of recognition mixed with horror on Grey's face made Dave turn the rest into questions for some reason. "She runs a club across town? Called the Asylum?"

"I know the place," Grey said, his voice sounding faint. He was staring past Dave again. "But what of the feud?"

"I don't know much about it." Dave stood up and started the pace the room. He felt Grey's eyes following him the whole way. "See, I'm really supposed to be seeing this guy Bertram Tung, but he's in hiding because of something he did to piss Therese off or something like that."

"I can only imagine," Grey muttered.

"Yeah, so, I've gotta try and convince Therese to call off the feud before I can get with Tung. After that, I don't really know."

Dave turned back to face Grey, but once again he looked out of it. Dave figured he was just going to have to get used to that if they were going to stick together. He was just starting to wonder if that was really the best thing when Grey looked up at him. "There's too much fire in your future. I wouldn't want you walking through it alone."

"It can't be that bad."

"You're going to stand before a terrible goddess, the dark daughter of Janus, with no offering. Besides that, you may find it hard to enter her domain unseen without help."

"So how are we gonna do this?"

Grey stood up. "I'll explain on the way."

"Whoa, wait!" Dave shot to his feet. "I can't just walk with you down the street!"

"No one has to see you as I explain," Grey said, opening the door.

Dave nervously followed after him. No one was in the hall, but he still couldn't relax. "Don't you think it'll look weird if people see you talking to nothing?"

Grey stopped at the foot of the stairs and turned back to look at him. Then he laughed.

"Oh," Dave said. "Sorry."

Grey shook his head. "I don't need your pity any more than you need mine. Your collection will rival my own before long." He started down the stairs, and as Dave followed he added, "For now, worry about the daughters of Janus."

"Daughters?" Dave asked. "But I only have to speak with Therese."

He couldn't see Grey's expression, but it sounded like he was still close to laughter when he said, "Oh yes, I know, but you can't have one without the other. Or maybe you can. We shall see."

At the bottom of the stairs Grey opened the door out and gestured that Dave go ahead. He didn't look at him, so Dave guessed that was his cue to do his thing. Once he stepped outside, all he could do was try and keep up and stay out of sight. All his questions would have to wait for later.