Chapter Three
=============
Jake loses control in a spectacularly bloody fashion.
Crawford is forced to return to business only to be disappointed.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Blood. So much blood. The walls were painted red with the precious fluid.
And at the heart of this ghastly charnel scene sat a blood-soaked Jake, slowly rocking back and forth unmindful of the carnage.
"Not me. Not me. No perfumes of Arabia required, ahaha!"
Around the alleyway where he sat were scattered the remains, for "corpses" was no description of these gory husks, of an indeterminate number of people.
"Solitude at an end, blended together, no pain, no hurt. All is... happiness. But the night continues, and more come to me to receive this sacrament."
In fulfilment of his prophecy, a small figure in a short black dress appeared at the corner, a young blonde girl, wearing badly applied lipstick and make-up, and carrying a handbag that'd look less out of place on her mother's shoulder. Her eyes looked glazed, and her movements awkward.
"Are you lost child? Lost and alone, abandoned by those who do not care? Come, I will ease your pain."
His dulcet tones though seductive should not have disguised the desperation in his voice, nor should they blot out the evidence of the girl's eyes; should not. She hovered a moment, then in defiance of all sanity, she stepped forward, ready to receive his sacrament. She knelt in the blood before the still rocking Jake, and bowed her head, casting away the handbag.
"Quickly my saviour. Quickly, for my heart beats with fear."
There was no emotion in her voice as she spoke, but tears trickled from her eyes, and ran down her nose. A single droplet of water hung from the tip, poised to fall.
"My child."
There were tears in Jake's eyes too, as his hands reached out for her neck. A quick tug, an audible snap, and her body crumpled to the ground, her dress soaking up the blood beneath her.
He rose, paused a moment, then completed the sacrament.
"And time weaves his winged chariot on through the night, now angry that another has escaped his torments. But he claims more victims, for we cannot escape him, not by ourselves. For we have given him his power...we have given him his power, and...and can't take it back."
His voice was dropping, so that the last sentence was barely more than a whisper. He sat back down, closed his eyes, and began to rock once more. The girl's corpse lay unmoving, and unmoved.
"Michael. Where are you Michael," he murmured.
"Behind you Jake."
"Of course you are. I hear your voice even when you do not speak."
Laughter.
"Do I amuse you, Michael?"
"No, you're too pathetic to be amusing any more."
"Pathetic. Yes, truly pathetic - a pitiable specimen that serves to meet the morning sun."
"I'm not arguing."
"Michael, you're normally so much... nicer than this."
"Save it. You've just killed ten people - pardon me if I find Jake darling a little inappropriate."
"But isn't that..."
"I don't want to hear it. Look, perhaps this was a mistake, I don't know. Look, just take this."
"What is it Michael?"
Silence.
"Michael?"
Jake opened his eyes, and looked around. There was no one there. Looking down he could see a computer disk had been pressed into his hand. He smeared his other hand in blood again then started marking his face with the vitae. But any certainty that he had felt was gone now. He tried to giggle, but it came out hollow. Sighing, he stood up, and shook some of the blood off his clothes.
"Whatever can you be up to Michael?"
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Crawford sighed with exasperation, then bellowed at the top of his voice, "Michael!"
Whilst he waited, he knelt down again to take a closer look at the problem. His lover lay across the table, his eyes wide open, but blank. His body remained perfectly stationary, and his skin was ice cold. He'd been like this for the last ten minutes. Crawford had gotten used to it by now, but it still annoyed him intensely.
"Michael!"
"So soon you call me back Crawford? Tarry not with me rash wanton, please."
"Are you finished?"
"Nay, thou shalt not from this grove till I torment thee for this injury."
"There isn't even a 'nay' in that line, Michael. Whatever's gotten into you?"
"What visions have I seen! Methought I was enamoured of an ass."
"I'm sure. Are you going to keep this up much longer?"
"Philistine!"
"Because I don't care to see the Bard's verses polluted by your usage?"
Michael's eyes glinted.
"What was it you wanted Crawford?"
"To look at this disk of course. My partner is indisposed at present."
He waved at the table where his partner lay unmoving. Michael's eyebrows rose.
"Whatever's come over him? Is he..."?
"He does it all the time. Lapses into some state where reality cannot intrude for an hour, then comes to spouting all sorts of strange notions at me."
"How strange. Part of the blood?"
"Stop fishing Michael."
Michael smiled, deigning to look slightly embarrassed.
"It matters little anyway - I do not succumb to such...silliness."
"I thought it was a gift."
Crawford stared levelly.
"Let's not play games Michael. We both know that's so much..."
"As you say," Michael interjected smoothly, "but at any rate I've already glanced at the disk - it's worthless."
"What?!"
"The file's corrupted."
Crawford's left eye started to twitch.
"Corrupted?"
"It's a bad file. No-one's fault really darling, but it just ain't happening."
"Why are you making excuses for him?"
"What?"
"I gave him his first assignment of any real importance, and screws up."
"But...."
"I suppose it's my fault for expecting any better of someone who can't even stay compos mentis for more than a few hours at a time."
"Perhaps if you gave him more reason to stay in the real world he'd..."
"Quiet! I've given him everything he desired, and he repays me thusly."
"He's your childe. He's..."
"Useless. I have explained to him the consequences of his condition; the treachery that lurks behind every friendly face; the prospect of death that hangs over us all; the powers that manipulate us like puppets from behind the scenes..."
"Pff!"
"I'm funny now, am I?"
"I'm just comparing this to the 'everything he desired'."
"Laugh it up. He made his choice in full knowledge of the consequences."
"Really," asked Michael, rather surprised.
"Really."
Michael sat down at one of the seats by the table, and gestured for Crawford to take the other.
"No, I think I will be leaving now."
"So soon? What about your childe?"
"I care not. Throw him out whenever you choose. Actually, if he manages to wake up, tell him to do something about getting the file some other way."
Crawford marched out without another word, leaving Michael sitting over his childe. Michael laid a hand on Crawford's childe's forehead thoughtfully.
"So cold."
He stared out the door a moment then smiled.
"When thou wakest, let love forbid."
He removed his hand, and sat back lost in thought.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The stranger's eyes flickered open. The pool of blood had dried by now, but it was still dark. The sound of the waves lapping against the beach had not changed.
"It's not time yet."
But he did not smile. His eyes closed again.
=============
Jake loses control in a spectacularly bloody fashion.
Crawford is forced to return to business only to be disappointed.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Blood. So much blood. The walls were painted red with the precious fluid.
And at the heart of this ghastly charnel scene sat a blood-soaked Jake, slowly rocking back and forth unmindful of the carnage.
"Not me. Not me. No perfumes of Arabia required, ahaha!"
Around the alleyway where he sat were scattered the remains, for "corpses" was no description of these gory husks, of an indeterminate number of people.
"Solitude at an end, blended together, no pain, no hurt. All is... happiness. But the night continues, and more come to me to receive this sacrament."
In fulfilment of his prophecy, a small figure in a short black dress appeared at the corner, a young blonde girl, wearing badly applied lipstick and make-up, and carrying a handbag that'd look less out of place on her mother's shoulder. Her eyes looked glazed, and her movements awkward.
"Are you lost child? Lost and alone, abandoned by those who do not care? Come, I will ease your pain."
His dulcet tones though seductive should not have disguised the desperation in his voice, nor should they blot out the evidence of the girl's eyes; should not. She hovered a moment, then in defiance of all sanity, she stepped forward, ready to receive his sacrament. She knelt in the blood before the still rocking Jake, and bowed her head, casting away the handbag.
"Quickly my saviour. Quickly, for my heart beats with fear."
There was no emotion in her voice as she spoke, but tears trickled from her eyes, and ran down her nose. A single droplet of water hung from the tip, poised to fall.
"My child."
There were tears in Jake's eyes too, as his hands reached out for her neck. A quick tug, an audible snap, and her body crumpled to the ground, her dress soaking up the blood beneath her.
He rose, paused a moment, then completed the sacrament.
"And time weaves his winged chariot on through the night, now angry that another has escaped his torments. But he claims more victims, for we cannot escape him, not by ourselves. For we have given him his power...we have given him his power, and...and can't take it back."
His voice was dropping, so that the last sentence was barely more than a whisper. He sat back down, closed his eyes, and began to rock once more. The girl's corpse lay unmoving, and unmoved.
"Michael. Where are you Michael," he murmured.
"Behind you Jake."
"Of course you are. I hear your voice even when you do not speak."
Laughter.
"Do I amuse you, Michael?"
"No, you're too pathetic to be amusing any more."
"Pathetic. Yes, truly pathetic - a pitiable specimen that serves to meet the morning sun."
"I'm not arguing."
"Michael, you're normally so much... nicer than this."
"Save it. You've just killed ten people - pardon me if I find Jake darling a little inappropriate."
"But isn't that..."
"I don't want to hear it. Look, perhaps this was a mistake, I don't know. Look, just take this."
"What is it Michael?"
Silence.
"Michael?"
Jake opened his eyes, and looked around. There was no one there. Looking down he could see a computer disk had been pressed into his hand. He smeared his other hand in blood again then started marking his face with the vitae. But any certainty that he had felt was gone now. He tried to giggle, but it came out hollow. Sighing, he stood up, and shook some of the blood off his clothes.
"Whatever can you be up to Michael?"
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Crawford sighed with exasperation, then bellowed at the top of his voice, "Michael!"
Whilst he waited, he knelt down again to take a closer look at the problem. His lover lay across the table, his eyes wide open, but blank. His body remained perfectly stationary, and his skin was ice cold. He'd been like this for the last ten minutes. Crawford had gotten used to it by now, but it still annoyed him intensely.
"Michael!"
"So soon you call me back Crawford? Tarry not with me rash wanton, please."
"Are you finished?"
"Nay, thou shalt not from this grove till I torment thee for this injury."
"There isn't even a 'nay' in that line, Michael. Whatever's gotten into you?"
"What visions have I seen! Methought I was enamoured of an ass."
"I'm sure. Are you going to keep this up much longer?"
"Philistine!"
"Because I don't care to see the Bard's verses polluted by your usage?"
Michael's eyes glinted.
"What was it you wanted Crawford?"
"To look at this disk of course. My partner is indisposed at present."
He waved at the table where his partner lay unmoving. Michael's eyebrows rose.
"Whatever's come over him? Is he..."?
"He does it all the time. Lapses into some state where reality cannot intrude for an hour, then comes to spouting all sorts of strange notions at me."
"How strange. Part of the blood?"
"Stop fishing Michael."
Michael smiled, deigning to look slightly embarrassed.
"It matters little anyway - I do not succumb to such...silliness."
"I thought it was a gift."
Crawford stared levelly.
"Let's not play games Michael. We both know that's so much..."
"As you say," Michael interjected smoothly, "but at any rate I've already glanced at the disk - it's worthless."
"What?!"
"The file's corrupted."
Crawford's left eye started to twitch.
"Corrupted?"
"It's a bad file. No-one's fault really darling, but it just ain't happening."
"Why are you making excuses for him?"
"What?"
"I gave him his first assignment of any real importance, and screws up."
"But...."
"I suppose it's my fault for expecting any better of someone who can't even stay compos mentis for more than a few hours at a time."
"Perhaps if you gave him more reason to stay in the real world he'd..."
"Quiet! I've given him everything he desired, and he repays me thusly."
"He's your childe. He's..."
"Useless. I have explained to him the consequences of his condition; the treachery that lurks behind every friendly face; the prospect of death that hangs over us all; the powers that manipulate us like puppets from behind the scenes..."
"Pff!"
"I'm funny now, am I?"
"I'm just comparing this to the 'everything he desired'."
"Laugh it up. He made his choice in full knowledge of the consequences."
"Really," asked Michael, rather surprised.
"Really."
Michael sat down at one of the seats by the table, and gestured for Crawford to take the other.
"No, I think I will be leaving now."
"So soon? What about your childe?"
"I care not. Throw him out whenever you choose. Actually, if he manages to wake up, tell him to do something about getting the file some other way."
Crawford marched out without another word, leaving Michael sitting over his childe. Michael laid a hand on Crawford's childe's forehead thoughtfully.
"So cold."
He stared out the door a moment then smiled.
"When thou wakest, let love forbid."
He removed his hand, and sat back lost in thought.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The stranger's eyes flickered open. The pool of blood had dried by now, but it was still dark. The sound of the waves lapping against the beach had not changed.
"It's not time yet."
But he did not smile. His eyes closed again.