A/N: I need to escape my life, so here is this thing.
It's a really shitty chapter. Sorry.
Warning: a lot of cussing in this chapter.
Chapter Twenty-One
Tres had insisted on digging the grave. Bishop Linda said she would take care of it, but he wouldn't let her get anywhere near the shovel. Last night was the first time in a while that Esther had seen Tres truly distraught. The last time had to have been months ago in the library back in Rome. Oh, how far away it all seemed, how long ago.
He told her he should have just shot her when he had the chance. If he had just hit her in the back at the very beginning, this wouldn't have happened. A little boy wouldn't be dead and his mother wouldn't be grieving. He wished he could, just once, have the courage to defy his orders. He wished he could have just killed her.
Today was the first day Esther had seen Tres wear normal clothes. In fact, the only thing he still wore from his uniform was his boots. He wore a dark grey shirt with sleeves that cut off just at his elbow and grey pants he kept tucked into his boots. The belt he always wore with the hostlers for his guns was ever present. It was weird, seeing him look so human. And after knowing him for so long and only seeing him in AX uniform, it was definitely strange.
The rain was ruthless today, but Tres didn't care. He was a pluviophile by now. The graveyard was a good ways from the main square, and he looked with disdain at the bloodstain on the ground as he passed by.
Stupid idiot, he cursed himself. Why didn't you kill her when you had the chance?
He knew this Methuselah woman was fast. She could use haste more times in a few minutes than he had seen most vampires use in a day. She must have incredible stamina and endurance. Normal Methuselah could only use haste once or twice in a battle before they tired. And yet, she had done it not once or twice, but three times, and she still had the strength to feed.
But he knew it was a woman, and of the 152 people in this city, only 55 were women. And of that number, only 42 could possibly be the Methuselah. The height of the Methuselah was not that of a child. 42 possibilities. 42 possible killers.
He reached the graveyard and began digging. He slammed the shovel into the muddy, rocky earth and went at it, more frustrated and angry than he had ever been.
He hated Methuselah. He hated that they existed. But then again, where would he be if the Methuselah hadn't existed? He wouldn't have been created. Alexander Braddock might have lived an easy life with his family if he had never had to join Albion's army. Maybe Alexander would still be alive.
He hated the rain. He wish it would just fucking stop. All it did in this damn town was rain. No town gatherings, nobody went out into the streets and mingled. Nothing but death and fear. It was nothing like Rome, where most times the streets were so crowded that you could easily get lost.
He hated the emptiness that lingered over this town. He hated how everyone was afraid of their own damn shadow. And all because of that stupid fucking woman!
He didn't realize he was already done digging the grave until he hit a rock again that jarred him out of his thoughts. He glared down at the dirt covered stone with malice, but he didn't know why. Today it seemed like everything set him off edge.
He climbed up out of the hole and proceeded to dig three more for the corpses he had surveyed previously.
That night, after the service was held (really wasn't even a service as only Bishop Linda and the boy's mother had gone), Tres returned to the bell tower. The Methuselah woman would make an appearance again. She hadn't fed since they arrived in Letetia two weeks ago, and certainly the blood of a young boy hadn't satisfied her.
This time, however, he wouldn't be so merciless.
The night was darker than ever, so Tres kept his eyes closed and merely listened. His hearing was much better than his vision, anyway. He heard the rain on shingles, but that wasn't what interested him. He needed those footsteps…
Just come out already.
And there they were. Far off, to his left. He whirled, using his sights to get a better look at where she was. When he spotted her, she was walking over the roof of the diner, and he wondered briefly if she hadn't already killed someone inside. That thought sickened him.
He waited, watching her carefully. And she seemed to be looking for him, as well. He didn't move, didn't make a sound as she came closer. Oh, how he wished he had his Vidhwansak AMR right now. A 114 millimeter bullet going 1,080 meters a second would look good between her eyes right now.
But he waited until she was close, then he fired a shot right at her heart.
As predicted, she used haste, but he was already off the bell tower. He would get her this time. Tonight, she wasn't getting away. He fired three more times, in alternating areas, but none right at her. Distractions were necessary in catching this Methuselah. She was much too fast to rely on only brute force.
She leapt down from the roof, hitting the streets earlier than he expected her to. It was if she was asking for him to chase her. So this wasn't like last night. The Methuselah was toying with him tonight. He knit his arched eyebrows and followed after her anyway, emptying an entire magazine at her. Use up her haste, he told himself. Even she has to have a limit.
Once again, she was heading straight towards the church. The both of them knew she wasn't going to make it there. Tres knew she had used up her haste by this point. She had become much slower.
He put a silver bullet in her shoulder and hip and down she fell. Even so, he didn't waste any time. He pressed her against the ground, tying her hands behind her back and binding her feet, and then he pushed her over to look at her.
A middle-aged Methuselah, with dark black hair and steel grey eyes looking up at him with hatred. He knew who she was. Esther had spoken to her several times. It was Jezebel, or 'Jezzie'. The woman who worked in the diner as the barkeep.
"Caught you," he said, his voice cold. This Methuselah had killed so many people, had more than one opportunity to kill Esther… He paid no mind to the blood that was pooling underneath her. At this rate, she would probably bleed to death, and he was okay with that. Slow and painful is what she deserves.
Jezebel smiled, and it twisted her face so she looked insane. "Are you so sure?" she murmured and his eyes widened as he felt her hand grip at his neck. But not hers. Hers were bound, so who…?
It wasn't until he was slammed into the ground did he see how. There were two of her. She could clone herself? And the bitch actually had the nerve to point his own gun at him. Brute force seemed to be a necessity now.
He was about to move when gunfire came from behind him, towards the church. A gleaming silver bullet hit her right in the forehead, and her body turned to ash that fell onto him like a blanket. Esther was there, her robe tied tightly around her, holding her shotgun steadily in her hands and looking quite vicious.
"Don't you dare touch him!" she roared, and Tres had to admit, she scared even him.
But he didn't have time to think about that.
He grabbed the gun Jezebel's clone had taken from him as well as the other and stood up, eyeing the real Jezebel with a look that made her shiver. Esther flats made no sound as she ran to his side, meeting Jezebel's steel eyes.
"Why?" she hissed. "Why you, Jezzie? I thought you were trying to help us!"
At this, Jezebel smiled again, tsking at her. "You really do trust people much too easily, Esther," she cooed eerily. "You're much too gullible and pathetic. Why do you think, out of everyone here, I chose you to talk to everyday? It was easy, you know. To become your 'friend', as you pathetic Terran call it. It would be easy to tell you a little story and lead you and your pet-" she narrowed her eyes at Tres. "away from me."
Tres's anger flared up again. How dare she call Esther pathetic! God, he wanted to shoot her so badly right now.
Instead, he made sure his magazine was full before he aimed his gun at Jezebel. "Tell me how to stop the rain," he said. Esther flinched, looking over at him. Now more than ever he reminded her of the Tres he had been before.
Jezebel laughed. "There's only one way, you stupid priest," she spat. "I bring the rain with me wherever I go. I was cursed from birth, but I see it as a blessing. I don't have to worry about the sunlight. Diluted silver is so hard to find here in Franc, you know? Might as well get rid of the sun itself. And besides." She shrugged. "With everyone too dimwitted to leave here, there were plenty of pickings. Like that boy, who was much too keen on playing in the rain."
Tres fired, hitting her near the heart. She gasped in shock and pain and crumpled to the ground, her hand coming to cover the blood now spilling from her chest.
"I kill you and that stops the rain, huh?" Tres said, glaring down at her. "Simple enough."
"You won't kill me, priest," she laughed, though it was strained. "Your orders are to bring me in, not-" Tres didn't listen to the rest of her argument. He put the end of his gun to her head and pulled the trigger. Her lifeless body flopped to the wet, muddy ground with a dull flop. A bleeding, ragged hole was in her forehead and the back of her head was blown out, bits of her brain scattered on the ground.
And as her blood stained the ground, the rain began to stop. He no longer heard raindrops hitting the shingles on the rooftops or splattering in week old puddles.
Instead, the clouds that had lingered above the town broke, and for the first time in months, sunshine hit the muddy streets of Letetia.
A/N: Yay, the bitch is dead.
Just FYI, the name Jezebel means "not exalted" or "impure", and in the Bible, she was an evil queen of Israel who was condemned by God. So she was meant to be evil and manipulative.
Trying to Understand hit 1,022 today. I'm beyond excited about this.
But getting this chapter done took some work. I had so much writer's block. I was on deviantart looking at Destiel fan art (YES I SHIP THAT, I SHIP IT SO HARD), and got sucked in.
Review!