Faith settled under the covers. Lindsey's room was on the opposite
end of the complex, and she was comforted by the fact that he wouldn't be
talking her ear off all night. Not that he was especially chatty, anyway,
but she didn't want to think about him. All she wanted to do was sleep.
What she got was a sleep marred by the visions that occasionally clawed at her rest and reminded her, even in her dreams, that she was the Slayer. Dreams of monsters and death and of tortured, desperate souls needing things from her. She'd been in prison for most of them, unable to do anything about the messages she received, but now she was free, and the fierceness of them jarred her from her sleep.
She looked at the alarm clock. It was nearly 7 a.m., anyway, so she grabbed her clothes and headed for the shower. She'd have to spend time figuring out what the dream meant, and why the vision held the constant presence of a certain dangerous lawyer suspended in the background like a trapped fly.
She walked into the parking lot to see a crowd gathered around the entrance of one of the motel rooms. Lindsey's motel room.
"What happened?" she asked a young woman in a black, skintight miniskirt and a red bustier.
"I hear someone died in there," the woman replied.
Faith craned her neck as far as she could, peering between the gaps in the crowd. Yellow police tape blocked the entrance. Just when she was about to give up her curiosity and move on, she spotted Lindsey at the side of the building, talking with a uniformed police officer. They wrapped up their conversation, and she cut off his path to his truck.
"So, what happened?" she asked. She was surprised by how worn out he looked.
"A bear broke into my room. I killed it." He tried to swerve around her, but she blocked his escape.
"A bear, huh?" She looked skeptical, and he glared at her.
"Mind your own business, Faith."
"Ooooh, was that a warning? Never mind the fact that you could never in your wildest dreams kill a bear with your hands. Even if one of them is evil." She knew the comment was a low blow, but she rationalized that he probably deserved worse.
"Not my hands," he explained, sidestepping her insult. "An axe."
"So, what kind of bear has purple blood?" She looked down, and he followed her gaze to his shoes, which were stained with purplish-blue ooze.
His glare intensified. "You're not the Slayer, Faith, as much as to pretend to be. You're just an overpowered street punk with a thirst for violence. Now get---"
The rest of his sentence was cut off when Faith grabbed him by the shoulders and shoved him hard against the side of the truck.
"This isn't about you, you prick! There are going to be more like that thing, and they're going to kill a lot of people. So why don't you just tell me why it was after you?"
"How do you know it will go after others?"
"Despite what you think, I AM the Slayer, and I know shit. Wanna test me?"
He was quiet for a long while, staring at his shoes. Then he looked up.
"OK, I'll tell you about it. But not here."
She nodded and followed him into the truck.
More to come.
What she got was a sleep marred by the visions that occasionally clawed at her rest and reminded her, even in her dreams, that she was the Slayer. Dreams of monsters and death and of tortured, desperate souls needing things from her. She'd been in prison for most of them, unable to do anything about the messages she received, but now she was free, and the fierceness of them jarred her from her sleep.
She looked at the alarm clock. It was nearly 7 a.m., anyway, so she grabbed her clothes and headed for the shower. She'd have to spend time figuring out what the dream meant, and why the vision held the constant presence of a certain dangerous lawyer suspended in the background like a trapped fly.
She walked into the parking lot to see a crowd gathered around the entrance of one of the motel rooms. Lindsey's motel room.
"What happened?" she asked a young woman in a black, skintight miniskirt and a red bustier.
"I hear someone died in there," the woman replied.
Faith craned her neck as far as she could, peering between the gaps in the crowd. Yellow police tape blocked the entrance. Just when she was about to give up her curiosity and move on, she spotted Lindsey at the side of the building, talking with a uniformed police officer. They wrapped up their conversation, and she cut off his path to his truck.
"So, what happened?" she asked. She was surprised by how worn out he looked.
"A bear broke into my room. I killed it." He tried to swerve around her, but she blocked his escape.
"A bear, huh?" She looked skeptical, and he glared at her.
"Mind your own business, Faith."
"Ooooh, was that a warning? Never mind the fact that you could never in your wildest dreams kill a bear with your hands. Even if one of them is evil." She knew the comment was a low blow, but she rationalized that he probably deserved worse.
"Not my hands," he explained, sidestepping her insult. "An axe."
"So, what kind of bear has purple blood?" She looked down, and he followed her gaze to his shoes, which were stained with purplish-blue ooze.
His glare intensified. "You're not the Slayer, Faith, as much as to pretend to be. You're just an overpowered street punk with a thirst for violence. Now get---"
The rest of his sentence was cut off when Faith grabbed him by the shoulders and shoved him hard against the side of the truck.
"This isn't about you, you prick! There are going to be more like that thing, and they're going to kill a lot of people. So why don't you just tell me why it was after you?"
"How do you know it will go after others?"
"Despite what you think, I AM the Slayer, and I know shit. Wanna test me?"
He was quiet for a long while, staring at his shoes. Then he looked up.
"OK, I'll tell you about it. But not here."
She nodded and followed him into the truck.
More to come.